But I speak not of myself--I ought not, indeed, to
do so--nor of Edith, whose head would be bowed in humiliation and
sorrow--nor of little Miriam, whose passionate heart would be half
broken by such a desertion. But I speak for the cause of morality and
religion here in this neighborhood, where we find ourselves placed by
heaven, and where we must exercise much influence for good or evil. Wait
patiently for those happy years, that the flying days are speeding on
toward us--those happy years, when you shall look back to this trying
time, and thank God for trials and temptations passed safely through. Do
not urge me again upon this subject. Be excellent, Thurston, be noble,
be god-like, as you can be, if you will; it is in you. Be true to your
highest ideal, and you will be all these. Oh! if you knew how your
Marian's heart craves to bow itself before true god-like excellence!"
CHAPTER XIX.
THE INTERCEPTED LETTER.
"No! The mail isn't come yet! leastways it isn't opened yet! Fan that
fire, you little black imp, you! and make that kittle bile; if you
don't, I shall never git this wafer soft! and then I'll turn you up, and
give you sich a switching as ye never had in your born days! for I won't
be trampled on by you any longer! you little black willyan, you! 'Scat!
you hussy! get out o' my way, before I twist your neck for you!"
The first part of this oration was delivered by Miss Nancy Skamp, to
some half-dozen negro grooms who were cooling their shins while waiting
for the mail, before she closed the doors and windows of the
post-office; the second part was addressed to Chizzle, her little negro
waiter--and the third concluding sentence, emphasized by a smart kick,
was bestowed upon poor Molly, the mottled cat.
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