Near it lay that bulky volume, the Ductor Dubitantium of Jeremy
Taylor, full of cases of conscience, and in which most men,
possessed of a conscience, may find something applicable to their
purpose.
"You see," observed Elliston, pointing to the book of serpents,
while a smile gleamed upon his lips, "I am making an effort to
become better acquainted with my bosom-friend. But I find nothing
satisfactory in this volume. If I mistake not, he will prove to be sui
generis, and akin to no other reptile in creation."
"Whence came this strange calamity?" inquired the sculptor.
"My sable friend, Scipio, has a story," replied Roderick, "of a
snake that had lurked in this fountain- pure and innocent as it
looks - ever since it was known to the first settlers. This
insinuating personage once crept into the vitals of my
great-grandfather, and dwelt there many years, tormenting the old
gentleman beyond mortal endurance. In short, it is a family
peculiarity. But, to tell you the truth, I have no faith in this
idea of the snake's being an heir-loom.
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