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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Young men love stimulating drinks," said Dimpdin, "strong drinks! alcoholic drinks! Here is a portion of Monongahela! old Monongahela! We will refresh ourselves!" He found a lemon, accidentally, in his saddle-bag, and contrived an informal punch, with wonderful dexterity. I took a draught modestly, and he emptied the rest, with an "Ah!" that shook the woods.
I wondered if the man Dimpdin would suggest the apportionment of flasks to soldiers, in his Evangelical report! He left me, when we regained the road, to ride with a lithe, bronchial person, in white neckcloth and coat cut close at the collar. They looked like the fox and the fiend, in the fable, and I seemed to hear the man Dimpdin's voice for three succeeding weeks.
"In fact," said Dimpdin, tragically, scalping himself meanwhile, "the church must be recognized in every department, and if my Memorial be acted upon favorably, we shall have such victories, in three months, as will sweep Rebellion into the grave. Yes! Into the grave! The grave!"
But inquiry into the fact, has satisfied me that the form of godliness does not exist. Ah!" When the man said "Ah!" I thought that my horse would run away, and really, the tone was like the deep conjuration in Hamlet: "swear-r-r-r!" "For example," said the man, who told me that his name was Dimpdin, "I made some remarks to the 1st New Jersey, on Sabbath week.
I was obliged to say, here, that my horse could not stand these sepulchral noises, and that my nerves, being shattered by the fever, were inadequate to bear the shock. So the man Dimpdin smiled, like a window-mummy, and contented himself with looking like Apollyon. We reached a rill directly, and he produced a wicker flask, with a Britannia drinking-case.
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