“That is an excellent observation,” said Solomon; “and I do suppose, that since this desirable change took place in your heart, you must have been woefully beset.”
“Never suffered so much in my life,” replied the other. “Now there's your two beautiful tracts, and may I never die in sin—I hope, sir, there's no great harm in that oath?
“No great harm but you had better omit it, however—it smacks of sin and superstition.”
“Well, sir—may I never—I beg pardon—but any how, the truth is, that ever since I tuck to readin' them, I feel myself gettin' as dishonest as if the devil—”
“Do not name him so, Darby—it is profane; say the enemy, or Satan, or the tempter.”
“As if the whole three o' them, then, war at my elbow. Why, for the last three or four days, I may say, they have cleared me out as clane of honesty as the black boy himself, and it is worse I am gettin'. Now, sir, it stands to sense, that that's temptation.”
“Unquestionably; and my great hope and consolation is, that you yourself are conscious of it. All you have to do now, is to pray unceasingly—wrestle in prayer, and you will ultimately triumph. Sing spiritual songs, too; read my tracts with attention; and, in short, if you resist the dev—hem—Satan, they will flee from you. Give that letter to Mr. M'Clutchy, and let me see you on the day after to-morrow—like a giant refreshed with new strength.”
“Well, now,” said Darby, assuming a more serious look—“do you know, sir, that I think your words have put new strength into me. Somehow I feel as if there was a load removed from me. May the mother of heaven—hem—I do, sir; and now, as a proof of it, I wouldn't feel justified, sir, in leaving you, widout sayin' a word or two about the same M'Clutchy, who, between you and me—but I hope it won't go farther, sir?”
“I don't think it would be permitted to me to betray confidence—I humbly think so. Be not afraid, but speak.”
“Why, sir, he has got a dirty trick of speakin' disrespectfully of you behind your back.”