NORTH.
Wilkie himself, James, is no more than your equal.
SHEPHERD.
O man, Mr. North, sir, my heart is wae—my soul's sick—and my spirit's wrathfu' to think o' thae places in great cities which they ca'—Hells!
NORTH.
Thank Heaven, my dear James, that I never was a gambler—nor, except once, to see the thing, ever in a Hell. But it was a stupid and passionless night—a place of mean misery—altogether unworthy of its name.
SHEPHERD.
I'm glad you never went back, and that the deevil was in the dumps; for they say that some nichts in thae Hells, when Satan and Sin sit thegither on ae chair, he wi' his arm roun' the neck o' that Destruction his Daughter, a horrible temptation invades men's hearts and souls, drivin' and draggin' them on to the doom o' everlasting death.
NORTH.
Strong language, James—many good and great men have shook the elbow.