“Ah! well!—I see, I see—that is an unchristian allusion to my recent intercourse with the Rev. Phineas Lucre, the respected and highly connected rector of Castle Cumber, and his nephew, the Rev. Boanerges Frothwell, both of whom take a deep interest in the New Reformation movement which is now so graciously advancing. However, I shall pray for that man this night.”
“Sir, I feel much relieved; I'm a changed man widin these few minutes, I may say—but what, afther all, is aquil to a good example? I feel, sir, as if a strong hatred of idolaphry was comin' an me.”
“Idolatry, you mean, Darby?”
“Yes, sir, that's what I mean.”
“Where is that letter of Mr. M'Clutchy's—oh, I have it. Well, Darby,” said M'Slime, quietly changing it for another, “here it is; now, do you see how I commit that letter to the flames?” placing M'Clutchy's under the side of a brief; “and even as the flames die away before your eyes, so dies away—not my resentment, Darby, for none do I entertain against him—but the memory of his offensive expressions.”
“Sir,” said Darby, “this is wonderful! I often heard of religion and forgiveness of injuries, but antil this day I never saw them in their thrue colors. The day after to-morrow I'm to call, sir?”
“The day after to-morrow.”
“Well, sir, may the Holy Virgin this day—och, indeed I do not know what I'm sayin' sir—Religion! well if that's not religion what is or can be? Good mornin' sir.”
“Good morning, Darby, and remember my advice—pray, sing, wrestle—peace be with you!”