Yes, even such
kinship as human worthlessness may have with infinite perfection. People
will say to you about here, Miss Hungerford; 'Oh, never mind Godfrey
Cradlebow. He's always being converted, why, he has been converted twenty
times already!' very true, ay, and a hundred times, and I trust I shall
taste the sweets of conversion many times more before I die. I do not
believe the soul to be a barren tract, so far removed from the ocean of
God's love, that it may be washed by the waves only once in a lifetime,
and that, in case of some terrible flood. But I rejoice daily in the
sweet and natural return of the tide. How the shores wait for it! Strewn
with weeds and wreck, scorched by the sun, chilled by the night, how it
listens for the sound of its coming! until it rushes in--ah! roar after
roar--all-covering, all-hiding, all-embracing!"
Godfrey Cradlebow shook his head rapturously, tears rolled down his
cheeks, and all the while he went on rapidly with his netting.
He had the natural tact and grace of a gentleman, and was especially
courteous to his wife. This brought down upon him the derision of the
Wallencampers, whose conjugal relations were seldom more delicately
implied than by a reference--"my woman thar'!" or "my man over thar'!"
with an accompanying jerk of the thumb.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176