At times he had thought they were like modern
democratic rights, linked to huge comprehending faculties, such as
was his good fortune to use when expounding state rights and federal
obligations.
Deacon Rosebrook is a comely, fair-faced man, a moderate thinker, a
charitable Christian, a very good man, who lets his deeds of
kindness speak of him. He is not a politician-no! he is a better
quality of man, has filled higher stations. Nor is he of the
modernly pious-that is, as piety professes itself in our democratic
world, where men use it more as a necessary appliance to subdue the
mind than a means to improve civilization. But he was always
cautious in giving expression to his sentiments, knowing the
delicate sensibilities of those he had to deal with, and fearing
lest he might spring a democratic mine of very illiberal
indignation.
"Come, gentlemen guests, you are as welcome as the showers," says
Marston, in a stentorious voice: "Be seated; you are at home under
my roof. Yes, the hospitality of my plantation is at your service."
The yellow man removes a table that stood in the centre of the room,
places chairs around it, and each takes his seat.
"Pardon me, my dear Marston, you live with the comfort of a nabob.
Wealth seems to spring up on all sides," returns the Deacon,
good-naturedly.
"And so I think," joins the Elder: "the pleasures of the plantation
are manifold, swimming along from day to day; but I fear there is
one thing our friend has not yet considered.
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