Therein
consists the essence of my story. But slight the change, sweet maids,
to make angels of yourselves.
FANCY'S SHOW-BOX.
A MORALITY.
What is guilt? A stain upon the soul. And it is a point of vast
interest whether the soul may contract such stains in all their depth
and flagrancy from deeds which may have been plotted and resolved
upon, but which physically have never had existence. Must the fleshly
hand and visible frame of man set its seal to the evil designs of the
soul, in order to give them their entire validity against the sinner?
Or, while none but crimes perpetrated are cognizable before an earthly
tribunal, will guilty thoughts--of which guilty deeds are no more than
shadows,--will these draw down the full weight of a condemning
sentence in the supreme court of eternity? In the solitude of a
midnight chamber or in a desert afar from men or in a church while the
body is kneeling the soul may pollute itself even with those crimes
which we are accustomed to deem altogether carnal. If this be true, it
is a fearful truth.
Let us illustrate the subject by an imaginary example. A venerable
gentleman--one Mr. Smith--who had long been regarded as a pattern of
moral excellence was warming his aged blood with a glass or two of
generous wine. His children being gone forth about their worldly
business and his grandchildren at school, he sat alone in a deep
luxurious arm-chair with his feet beneath a richly-carved mahogany
table.
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