"But when both parents saw their son Abel, a youth as beautiful as a star, gentle as a lamb, and devout as an angel, stretched stark dead upon the ground, wounded and weltering in his blood, a ghastly spectacle to behold; the bloom on his face gone, his lips livid, the light of his eyes utterly extinguished,—on first beholding all this, they could have no idea that he was dead, for they had never witnessed death; but drawing near they say:—'Abel, what dost thou here? Who hath done this?' The dead are silent. 'My beloved Abel, why speakest thou not? My son! my soul! I pray thee speak? But Abel has no more words, no more voice, no sight, no motion. Decay soon sets in, and Abel becomes foul and corrupt, and father and mother are obliged to cover him with earth. When at length they learn that it was their sin which had given entrance to death, what grief, what tears, what anger against the fatal tree, against the tempter, against themselves, and against everything which had contributed to their disobedience, must have agitated the wretched pair! Why did we pluck of that tree? Why did we not burn it rather than be tempted to gather its fruit? Why did we not quit the earthly paradise, and flee to the end of the world to avoid the risk of so tremendous an evil? Why did I not pluck out my eyes rather than look upon that which I was forbidden to know? Ill-advised that I was, why did I suffer myself to be amused with talking to the serpent? Liar, thou didst assure me that we should be as gods, and behold we are more humiliated and miserable than the beasts of the field!
"In like manner, when you are in hell, you will regret, and lament, and resolve; but it will then be too late. You will be maddened with spite and rage against everything that has conspired to your condemnation. Alas! why did I not cut out my tongue when preachers told me that my oaths would damn me? Why did I not smite to death this scandalous bosom of mine? Why did I not destroy the papers of that lawsuit which I prosecuted so unjustly, and the schedule and bond of that poor man who could not pay the usurious interest which I charged him for money lent? Why did I not leave the town and province, and bury myself in the wilds of Canada, rather than remain where there was an occasion of my falling into sin?"
In concluding, I must be permitted to quote a more recent example, premising that I only adduce it as a model of familiar conversation with the working classes.
M. l'Abbé Ledreuil, in an address to operatives, is endeavoring to convince them that they have no reason to envy the rich, since the working man has his share of joy and happiness as well as they. He expresses himself somewhat as follows, though I must apologize for abridging, and therefore for disfiguring his lecture:—
"My friends, do not envy the rich, and don't believe them happy because they have nothing to do. The rich must work, after their fashion, under pain of being unhappy and of leading a miserable existence. Hence it is that, for the most part, they condemn themselves to work as you do. … And do you know how one of this class passes his life who does not work? I will tell you: he thinks everything a bore, and he yawns.
"In the morning, he no sooner begins to dress than he stops short. He is so tired! He stretches his limbs, and—he yawns.
"He next sets about his toilet, which is a very formidable affair to him; enters into his dressing-room quite a perfumery shop in its way—looks around him, and then—he yawns.
"Breakfast-time comes. He goes to the breakfast-room, surveys the different dishes, knows not which to choose, for the poor man is not hungry, and—he yawns.
"After breakfast, he takes up a paper and skims over it. Pugh! politics are so uninteresting. Then more than ever—he yawns.