"I suppose now, my dear sir," added Marble, innocently, "that is what is
called having a religious turn? I've often foreseen, that religion would
fetch me up, in the long run; and now that I am altogether relieved from
bitterness of heart on the subject of belonging to none, and no one's
belonging to me, my sentiments have undergone a great alteration, and I
feel a wish to be at peace with the whole human family--no, not with the
_whole_; I except that rascally old Van Tassel."

"You must except no one--we are told to 'love those that hate us, to bless
those that curse us, and to pray for those that despitefully use us.'"

Marble stared at Mr. Hardinge; for, to own the truth, it would have been
difficult, in a Christian land, to meet with one of his years who had less
religious instruction than himself. It is quite probable that these
familiar mandates had never been heard by him before; but I could see that
he was a little struck with the profound morality that pervaded them; a
morality to which no human heart appears to be so insensible as not in
secret to acknowledge its sublimity. Still he doubted.

"Where are we told to do this, my dear sir?" demanded Marble, after
looking intently at the rector for a moment.

"Where? why, where we get all our divine precept and inspired morality,
the bible. You must come to wish this Mr. Van Tassel good, instead of
evil; try to love, instead of hating him."

"Is that religion?" demanded the mate, in his most dogmatical and
determined manner.