"Who,--I? You know I'm such a graceless dog that these religious aspects of such subjects don't edify me much. If I was to say anything on this slavery matter, I would say out, fair and square, `We're in for it; we've got 'em, and mean to keep 'em,--it's for our convenience and our interest;' for that's the long and short of it,--that's just the whole of what all this sanctified stuff amounts to, after all; and I think that it will be intelligible to everybody, everywhere."
"I do think, Augustine, you are so irreverent!" said Marie.
"I think it's shocking to hear you talk."
"Shocking! it's the truth. This religious talk on such matters,--why don't they carry it a little further, and show the beauty, in its season, of a fellow's taking a glass too much, and sitting a little too late over his cards, and various providential arrangements of that sort, which are pretty frequent among us young men;--we'd like to hear that those are right and godly, too."
"Well," said Miss Ophelia, "do you think slavery right or wrong?"
I'm not going to have any of your horrid New England directness, cousin," said St. Clare, gayly. "If I answer that question, I know you'll be at me with half a dozen others, each one harder than the last; and I'm not a going to define my position.
I am one of the sort that lives by throwing stones at other people's glass houses, but I never mean to put up one for them to stone."
"That's just the way he's always talking," said Marie; "you can't get any satisfaction out of him. I believe it's just because he don't like religion, that he's always running out in this way he's been doing."
"Religion!" said St. Clare, in a tone that made both ladies look at him. "Religion! Is what you hear at church, religion?
Is that which can bend and turn, and descend and ascend, to fit every crooked phase of selfish, worldly society, religion? Is that religion which is less scrupulous, less generous, less just, less considerate for man, than even my own ungodly, worldly, blinded nature? No!
When I look for a religion, I must look for something above me, and not something beneath."
"Then you don't believe that the Bible justifies slavery," said Miss Ophelia.
"The Bible was my _mother's_ book," said St. Clare. "By it she lived and died, and I would be very sorry to think it did.
I'd as soon desire to have it proved that my mother could drink brandy, chew tobacco, and swear, by way of satisfying me that I did right in doing the same. It wouldn't make me at all more satisfied with these things in myself, and it would take from me the comfort of respecting her; and it really is a comfort, in this world, to have anything one can respect. In short, you see," said he, suddenly resuming his gay tone, "all I want is that different things be kept in different boxes. The whole frame-work of society, both in Europe and America, is made up of various things which will not stand the scrutiny of any very ideal standard of morality.
