our patriotism?
Where your gratitude? True, the charitable may find something in your
case, as you put it, partly to account for such reflections as coming
from you. Still, be the facts how they may, your reflections are none
the less unwarrantable. Grant, for the moment, that your experiences are
as you give them; in which case I would admit that government might be
thought to have more or less to do with what seems undesirable in them.
But it is never to be forgotten that human government, being subordinate
to the divine, must needs, therefore, in its degree, partake of the
characteristics of the divine. That is, while in general efficacious to
happiness, the world's law may yet, in some cases, have, to the eye of
reason, an unequal operation, just as, in the same imperfect view, some
inequalities may appear in the operations of heaven's law; nevertheless,
to one who has a right confidence, final benignity is, in every
instance, as sure with the one law as the other. I expound the point at
some length, because these are the considerations, my poor fellow,
which, weighed as they merit, will enable you to sustain with unimpaired
trust the apparent calamities which are yours."

"What do you talk your hog-latin to me for?" cried the cripple, who,
throughout the address, betrayed the most illiterate obduracy; and, with
an incensed look, anew he swung himself.

Glancing another way till the spasm passed, the other continued:

"Charity marvels not that you should be somewhat hard of conviction, my
friend, since you, doubtless, believe yourself hardly dealt by; but
forget not that those who are loved are chastened."

"Mustn't chasten them too much, though, and too long, because their skin
and heart get hard, and feel neither pain nor tickle."

"To mere reason, your case looks something piteous, I grant. But never
despond; many things--the choicest--yet remain. You breathe this
bounteous air, are warmed by this gracious sun, and, though poor and
friendless, indeed, nor so agile as in your youth, yet, how sweet to
roam, day by day, through the groves, plucking the bright mosses and
flowers, till forlornness itself becomes a hilarity, and, in your
innocent independence, you skip for joy."

"Fine skipping with these 'ere horse-posts--ha ha!"

"Pardon; I forgot the crutches. My mind, figuring you after receiving
the benefit of my art, overlooked you as you stand before me."

"Your art? You call yourself a bone-setter--a na