Every one was impressed, and Bonaparte proceeded.

“Thirdly; let us not love too much. If that young man had not loved that young woman he would not have jumped into Mount Ætna. The good men of old never did so. Was Jeremiah ever in love, or Ezekiel, or Hosea, or even any of the minor prophets? No. Then why should we be? Thousands are rolling in that lake at this moment who would say, ‘It was love that brought us here.’ Oh, let us think always of our own souls first.

“‘A charge to keep I have,

A God to glorify;

A never-dying soul to save,

And fit it for the sky.’

“Oh, beloved friends, remember the little boy and the ‘meiboss; ’ remember the young girl and the young man; remember the lake, the fire, and the brimstone; remember the sucide’s skeleton on the pitchy billows of Mount Ætna; remember the voice of warning that has this day sounded in your ears; and what I say to you I say to all — watch! May the Lord add his blessing!”

Here the Bible closed with a tremendous thud. Tant’ Sannie loosened the white handkerchief about her neck and wiped her eyes, and the colored girl, seeing her do so, sniffled. They did not understand the discourse, which made it the more effecting. There hung over it that inscrutable charm which hovers forever for the human intellect over the incomprehensible and shadowy. When the last hymn was sung the German conducted the officiator to Tant’ Sannie, who graciously extended her hand, and offered coffee and a seat on the sofa. Leaving him there, the German hurried away to see how the little plum-pudding he had left at home was advancing; and Tant’ Sannie remarked that it was a hot day. Bonaparte gathered her meaning as she fanned herself with the end of her apron. He bowed low in acquiescence. A long silence followed. Tant’ Sannie spoke again. Bonaparte gave her no ear; his eye was fixed on a small miniature on the opposite wall, which represented Tant’ Sannie as she had appeared on the day before her confirmation, fifteen years before, attired in green muslin. Suddenly he started to his feet, walked up to the picture, and took his stand before it. Long and wistfully he gazed into its features; it was easy to see that he was deeply moved. With a sudden movement, as though no longer able to restrain himself, he seized the picture, loosened it from its nail, and held it close to his eyes. At length, turning to the Boer-woman, he said, in a voice of deep emotion, —

“You will I trust, dear madam, excuse this exhibition of my feelings; but this — this little picture recalls to me my first and best beloved, my dear departed wife, who is now a saint in heaven.”

Tant’ Sannie could not understand; but the Hottentot maid, who had taken her seat on the floor beside her mistress, translated the English into Dutch as far as she was able.