If this were to-morrow morning, and I had done it--O my soul, what
triumph, what satisfaction in past prayers, what hope for the future!
"Then thou shouldest believe the old legends of sinners numbered with
the saints, of tyrants taught to be gentle, of the unholy learning to be
pure--for one believes with heartiness what he has experienced--then
text and picture and cross should hang on, in spite of frailty, and in
this sign shalt thou conquer."
One ought to be very thankful for the blessings of good health and
strong nerves, but I sometimes wish I could cry more easily. I should
not like to be like poor Mrs. Rampant, whose head or back is always
aching, and whose nerves make me think of the strings of an AEolian
harp, on which Mr. Rampant, like rude Boreas, is perpetually playing
with the tones of his voice, the creak of his boots, and the bang of
his doors. But her tears do relieve, if they exhaust her, and
back-ache cannot be as bad as heart-ache--hot, dry heart-ache, or
cold, hard heart-ache. I think if I could have cried I could have felt
softer. As it was I began to wish that I could do what I felt sure
that I could not.
If I dragged myself to Philip, and got out a few conciliatory words, I
should break down in a worse fury than before if he sneered or rode
the high horse, "as he probably would," thought I.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200