“I have stayed to see him put on the treadmill of the prison for three years, and now I am about to travel on to New York. Boat and carriage are now at my command. In the summer I trust once more to see England, and a wife who will add to all her other undeserved goodness that of receiving her repentant and for-ever sobered “HENRY THORSBY.” “Well,” said Mr. Woodburn, “God grant that he may be as completely sobered as he says. That big hammer is one of the best things for taming a man I ever heard of. If it has effected a cure, as we will hope it has, Thorsby ought to have it emblazoned in his arms.” “Yes, truly,” said Mrs. Woodburn; “and I pray that it may have done that good work with all my heart.” “And you can still forgive him, Letty?” said Mr. Woodburn. “My dear father,” said Letty, smiling, “do you think I never say the Lord’s Prayer?” “Oh! as to that,” said Mr. Woodburn, “I know scores who say it every night and morning, and yet never forgive anybody. They hug their spites like dear babies, and remember a small offence ten or twenty years after as keenly as they felt it the moment it occurred.” “I don’t understand such people,” said Letty. “They don’t understand themselves,” said her father. “Many of these people think themselves admirable Christians.” “But,” said Letty, “if I am required by my Redeemer to forgive a brother, not seven times, but seventy times seven, how many times should I forgive a husband, whom I have sworn to take for better for worse? My notion is that so long as you can hope to reform and save a fellow-creature, you should not only forgive, but work hard for his restoration. If God permits me to reclaim an immortal being that He has thought it good to make, I don’t think I can be better employed.” “Nor I, neither,” said Mr. Woodburn.