abode. Can you deny, that even at present he often urges you to take
bloody revenge for an injury received when you were a boy?"--Earnscliff
started; the Recluse appeared not to observe his surprise, and
proceeded--"The trumpet WILL blow, the young blood-hound WILL lap blood,
and I will laugh and say, For this I have preserved thee!" He paused,
and continued,--"Such are my cures;--their object, their purpose,
perpetuating the mass of misery, and playing even in this desert my
part in the general tragedy. Were YOU on your sick bed, I might, in
compassion, send you a cup of poison."

"I am much obliged to you, Elshie, and certainly shall not fail to
consult you, with so comfortable a hope from your assistance."

"Do not flatter yourself too far," replied the Hermit, "with the hope
that I will positively yield to the frailty of pity. Why should I snatch
a dupe, so well fitted to endure the miseries of life as you are, from
the wretchedness which his own visions, and the villainy of the world,
are preparing for him? Why should I play the compassionate Indian, and,
knocking out the brains of the captive with my tomahawk, at once spoil
the three days' amusement of my kindred tribe, at the very moment when
the brands were lighted, the pincers heated, the cauldrons boiling,
the knives sharpened, to tear, scorch, seethe, and scarify the intended
victim?"

"A dreadful picture you present to me of life, Elshie; but I am not
daunted by it," returned Earnscliff. "We are sent here, in one sense, to
bear and to suffer; but, in another, to do and to enjoy. The active day
has its evening of repose; even patient sufferance has its alleviations,
where there is a consolatory sense of duty discharged."