- end_line
- 3077
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.722Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3043
- text
- be a true saying, then, for all the fine confidence you professed with
me, just now, distrust, deep distrust, underlies it; and ten thousand
strong, like the Irish Rebellion, breaks out in you now. That wine, good
wine, should do it! Upon my soul," half seriously, half humorously,
securing the bottle, "you shall drink no more of it. Wine was meant to
gladden the heart, not grieve it; to heighten confidence, not depress
it."
Sobered, shamed, all but confounded, by this raillery, the most telling
rebuke under such circumstances, the merchant stared about him, and
then, with altered mien, stammeringly confessed, that he was almost as
much surprised as his companion, at what had escaped him. He did not
understand it; was quite at a loss to account for such a rhapsody
popping out of him unbidden. It could hardly be the champagne; he felt
his brain unaffected; in fact, if anything, the wine had acted upon it
something like white of egg in coffee, clarifying and brightening.
"Brightening? brightening it may be, but less like the white of egg in
coffee, than like stove-lustre on a stove--black, brightening seriously,
I repent calling for the champagne. To a temperament like yours,
champagne is not to be recommended. Pray, my dear sir, do you feel quite
yourself again? Confidence restored?"
"I hope so; I think I may say it is so. But we have had a long talk, and
I think I must retire now."
So saying, the merchant rose, and making his adieus, left the table with
the air of one, mortified at having been tempted by his own honest
goodness, accidentally stimulated into making mad disclosures--to
himself as to another--of the queer, unaccountable caprices of his
natural heart.
- title
- Chunk 4