Ai stmf solitary I'nsL Office in thx Cabm ef 
 he lays the rem open his saddlebm, & reads tfie 
 rest, wiilkt slowly throagh thf foreit 
 
 Prndieton, Boston. 
 
 settler, he finds a letter Jrom home, i 
 irme pafes, »Me his horse willmtj to 
 
THE 
 
 OR, 
 
 tt)e (iri|risfiaiT(!ri)aractfrJikttta 
 
 Ihe iillle s'rww bird hofis cplon^ 
 befbre/jrouy- 
 
 lVi]LJ.iAM ]Pbii.cb,9 CoioiimLiL.. 
 
THE 
 
 WAY TO DO GOOD 
 
 oa TH« 
 
 CHRISTIAN CHARACTER MATURE. 
 
 THE «EaUEL TO 
 
 YOUNG CHRISTIAN AND CORNER-STONE. 
 
 BY JACOB ABBOTT. 
 
 S^^ vms*^ 
 
 THB 
 
 itjsifBSis: 
 
 &r 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM PEIRCE. 
 
 18S6. 
 

 yfrdyi 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by 
 
 WILLIAM PEIRCE, 
 
 in the Clerk's Oflice of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 STERBOTYFEb BY T. G. WELLS & Co. 
 ffOSTON. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Upon the Corner-Stone of faith in Jesus Christ, as the 
 atoning sacrifice for sin, there is reared the superstruc- 
 ture of holy life and action; and a holy life, is one which, 
 from the impulse of love to God, is occupied in doing good 
 to man. The Young Christian was intended to introduce 
 the reader to the first steps of the Christian life ; the 
 Corner-Stone to explain some of the simpler elements of 
 revealed religion; and now this work is intended to close 
 the series, by giving the reader some general directions in 
 respect to the great work which God has given him here 
 to do. 
 
 In thus bringing this series of Illustrations of Christ- 
 ianity to a close, I cannot but express my acknowledg- 
 ments for the favorable manner with which the community 
 has receivedithese humble attempts to divest religion of its f ^^ 
 theological and scholastic garb, and to present it in its j 
 simplicity, to the common classes of society, i I have been"^ 
 indebted to the criticisms which the former volumes have 
 called forth, for many valuable suggestions, of which I have 
 availed myself in the later editions of those volumes, apd 
 sometimes in the trains of thought pursued in this. Now, 
 however, although I bring the series to a close, the reader 
 must not expect to find that the whole ground is explored, 
 nor complain if he finds many important subjects wholly 
 omitted. To go over the whole field of religious truth and 
 duty, as minutely as I have examined those particular 
 
IV FREFACE. 
 
 views of it which are brought forward in this work, would 
 require a hundred volumes instead of three. I hope, 
 therefore, that the critic will not charge me with culpable 
 omissions, even if he should find some important subjects 
 not treated of in these volumes. 
 
 There is one subject to which I wish the above remarks 
 to be especially applied. I mean the great subject of 
 'progress in personal holiness I should be very sorry, if, 
 by devoting my concluding volume to instructions on the 
 Way to Do Good, I should convey the idea that the 
 proper performance of outward acts of benevolence con- 
 stitutes the sole, or even the principal work of the Christian 
 life. To describe the believer's inward conflicts with sin, 
 his trials, and temptations, and struggles; his fears, and 
 hopes, and joys; to delineate, in a word, the road by which 
 he finds his way from step to step, to the highest degree of 
 personal sanctification attainable here, is a task of a very 
 far higher character than any which I have attempted in 
 these volumes. That road is one which can be described 
 only by one who has travelled it; and years of extended 
 Christian experience, or else very uncommon spiritual 
 qualifications, could alone justify the attempt. 
 
 Though these works are thus necessarily limited in 
 respect to their range, I have endeavored to exhibit nothing 
 in them but truth. I have endeavored to exhibit that truth 
 too, which is most obvious, and most important in its bear- 
 ings ; and which may have the most immediate and direct 
 influence upon the feelings of the heart, in promoting 
 
 intelligent, devoted and happy piety. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER L— WORKS AND FAITH, OR THE STORY OF ALONZO. 
 
 Works and Faith. Alonzo's home. The farm-yard. Occupations of 
 childhood. The phenomenon. A struggle. Dialogue with con- 
 science. Early sin. Its nature. Self deception. A second trans- 
 gression. Progress in sin. The heart deceitful above all things. 
 Progress. Influence of education. Alonzo's virtues. His piety. 
 The way to manage conscience. Alonzo's discovery. Asking mother. 
 Maternal firmness. Effects. The seat in the orcliard. Conflicting 
 emotions. Healing the hurt slightly. Alonzo's opinio.! of himself. 
 An incident. The walk through the woods. Conversation. The 
 books in the satchel. Motives. An exposure. The teacher's que- 
 ries. Alonzo's perplexity. His reflections. Alonzo's virtues not 
 genuine. Summary of Alonzo's character. His occupations and 
 pleasures. Character of his prayers. The evening meeting. Set- 
 ting off. Nine o'clock. The Holy Spirit. Morning cloud and 
 early dew. Wandering tlioughts. Concealment. Slow progress. 
 Alonzo like the water skipper. Difficulties. Resolutions. Hop- 
 ing for a more convenient season. Alonzo's new home. Prepara- 
 tions. Taking possession. A hard duty. Conscience again. No 
 gain in delay. The inquiry meeting. Scene. The Pastor's remarks. 
 Common mistakes made. Difference between understanding and 
 feeling. Spurious gratitude. Indications of enmity. Alonzo's self 
 application The closing prayer. Alonzo in deeper difficulty than 
 ever. " Sin revived." Conviction not conversion. Alonzo's ex- 
 cuses and difficulties. His heart. Helplessness. Struggling with 
 sin. Beginning life anew, a vain wish. Self righteousness. Re- 
 pairing an old house. The parallel case. The true way of salva- 
 tion. Alonzo renewed. His walk home. New desires. The great 
 cliange. Created anew. Address to the reader. Conclusion. 13 
 
 CHAPTER n.— MOTIVES. 
 
 Motives. Happiness secured by Doing Good. Scene at home. The 
 
 , stormy evening. Enjoyments. Another plan. The walk. The 
 
 sick boy. Enjoyment of another kind. The return. Happiness 
 
 -secured though not directly sought. Various motives : perhaps not 
 
▼I CONTENTS^. 
 
 wliolly wrong. Sentimental feeling. Illustration; Another case^ 
 Principle. Nature of it. Policy. An Allegoiy. A scene in the 
 evening. Conversation. A wretched fireside. Effect of sympathy. 
 Feeling and principle contrasted. Feelii^ unsteady ; fickle ; incon- 
 siderate. Deficiencies of mere feeling. Principle. Principle per- 
 severing; systematic; a cooperator with God. Analysis of our 
 benevolent acts. The way to test the real motives. Character of 
 the benevolence of God. Plans to promote happiness. Simple 
 sources of pleasure. The snow. Running water. Emotions awak- 
 ened by them. Various sources of enjoyment. Higher pleasures. 
 Employment. The merchant's counting-room. The pleasure of 
 invention and construction. Higher enjoyments still. Love. Union. 
 The institution of tlie family. Its firm foundations. God's plans 
 for preventing sin. The sufferings of sin the most intolerabW 
 The most incurable. Illustration. Character of the divine benevo- 
 lence. Cooperation witli God. 50 
 
 CHAPTER III— OURSELVES. 
 
 Personal happiness. A distinction. Love of fame or of power distinct 
 from love of happiness. Love of happiness often overpowered. 
 The merchants. Happy rather than rich. Questions to the reader. 
 Thorough repentance and conversion. A common case. Incipient 
 neglect of prayer. Backsliding. The usual steps. Necessity of 
 entire reconciliation with God. 2. Order in worldly affairs. Effects 
 of system. Histoiy of James. His morning's duties. Pi'ocrasti- 
 nation. Its folly. James's sufferings, Shiftlessness ; — disorder;— 
 confusion, — and misery. James's character. Settled and perma- 
 nent unhappiness. The application. Necessary condition of hap- 
 piness. The master of a family. Regulation, The mistress. 
 Drawers and closets. Order, Review and arrangement of du- 
 ties. Peace of mind. Advice to a school-boy. Desks, drawers, 
 implements, books. The man of business. Unsettled accounts j 
 unfinished plans. Selection of objects. Expenses' and pecuniary 
 liabilities. Pecuniary embarrassment. Way to avoid. Conten- 
 tions The ChristPin principle. Conflicting claims. Non-resist- 
 ance Isaac's principle. Effects of opposition and contention, 
 Defencelessncss, Tlie Indiam An objection. Tlie question of 
 Avar, Occasions of contention. Case supposed. The travellers 
 and their guide. The Christian principle. The worldly principle. 
 Way in which quarrels originate. Our Savior's precept. Misery 
 of contention. Way to avoid it. Repining against God. Losses. 
 Disappointments. Joseph's case. Lesson to be learned from it. 
 Purposes of sickness. The sick mother. The man of business. 
 The sick child. Duty of submission. The respensibility of the 
 
CONTENTS. tU 
 
 decision. The mother and the sick child. Restless repining. Sum- 
 mary of the chapter. 73 
 
 CHAPTER IV.— THE POOR. 
 
 Common idea of giving to the poor. Causes of poverty. Exceptions. 
 An example. Tlie child. Its value. Vice and misery. What 
 can be done 1 Effect of charitable aid. The wicked woman's plan 
 of life. Treating symptoms. Another scene. The little beggar. 
 Misery not innocence. The return. A hopeless case. Reflections. 
 Character. The way to save mankind. Sentimental feeling. Some 
 cases of virtuous poverty. These exceptions rare. First direction. 
 Suffering vice and suffering virtue. A caution. Suffering virtue un- 
 common. Artificcsof the vicious. Hypocrisy. Danger of deceiving 
 ourselves. The stage-driver. The power of habit. Third rule. 
 Danger of overdoing. Encourage exertion. Illustration. Effects of 
 profusion. Danger of envy and jealousy. The benevolence of the 
 poor. The right way. Profuse benefactions. A case. The cabin. 
 Description of the interior. The physician's visit. A mediation. 
 The wise course. Last direction. Public charity. Its abuses. 
 Cause of pauperism. Its remedy. Too much ignorant labor. 
 Conclusion. 110 
 
 CHAPTER v.— PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 
 
 Connection between sin and suffering. Divine and human benevolence. 
 Expectations of the young. The only way to do real and perma- 
 nent good. PoAver of moral sympathy. Experiment wMth a child. 
 The power of persuasion and of sympathy compared. The child- 
 ren in a thunder-storm. Light; salt; leaven. The Savior's moral 
 power. Sermons. The mother. The way by which religion is tof 
 be spread. 
 
 I. The Preparation. Honesty. Assumed interest in religion. Interest 
 
 in human salvation. Companions; friends; neighbors. Prayer. 
 A test of sincere prayer. Religious emotion. Nature and prov- 
 ince of it. Illustration. The traveller at the West. His letter. 
 Emotion. Conditionsof religious emotion. Wasted efforts. Strug- 
 gling for feeling. The agency of the Holy Spirit. Greatness of 
 the change. Difficulties. Walk softly. 
 
 II. The Measures. Examination of the gi'ound. Popularity of our Savior** 
 
 preaching. Limitation of the principle. Estimation of virtue in 
 this world. Comnfon impression. A distinction. We must expect 
 a welcome. Favorable opportunities. Artifice. Anonymous let- 
 ters. Courtesies of social life. Discussions. Truth spiritually 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 discerned* Examples. Effect of a discussion. A common error. 
 Degree of knowledge necessai-y to salvation. A dialogue. Investi- 
 gation not the first duty. Tiie difficulty in the heart. Another case. 
 A proposed argument. Its uselessness. The proper course. Aim 
 to produce conviction of sin. Means of grace. Common impres- 
 sion; — groundless. Immediate action. Religious duties of the im- 
 penitent. Instructions of the bible. Paul's case. General direc- 
 tions. Philosophy of human nature. Immediate duty. Promote 
 a veiy thorough change. Approximation desirable. It lessens 
 danger, though not guilt. Cases. A family brought near. Ap- 
 proximation to right opinions. The greatest error the most danger- 
 ous. Caution. Dependence on divine influences. Perfection of 
 uature, and moral ruin of man. Man a moral wreck. 133 
 
 CHAPTER VI.— PUBLIC MORALS. 
 
 Influence of Christianity on the community. Christian and Pagan coun- 
 tries. Crime and punishment in Boston. Crime and punishment 
 in Constantinople. The Cliristian's appropriate work. Relation 
 to tlie community. A common scene at home. P.e):§uasion. Christ- 
 ians in the minority. No hope from open war. Weakened by in- 
 testine divisions. Denominational jealousies. Drawing lines, and 
 setting the battle in array. A wrong spirit. Its effects. The true 
 tacticfii. Wrong feelings. Censoriousness. Party spirit. Anger 
 and irritation. True sorrow for sin. Example of Jesus Christ. 
 Self deception. The public conscience. A criiel master. Means 
 of awakening moral sentiment. Excessive zeal. The true field of 
 Christian labor. Political evils and their remedy. Forms of gov- 
 ernment. Spread of individual virtue. France and New England. 
 The true support of despotism. The Christian citizen. Progress 
 of Chiistianity. 172 
 
 CHAPTER VII.— TIIE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 
 
 The plan of the Savior. He founded a church. Various branches. 
 Dissensions among them. Religious party spirit. Two ways to 
 make peace. Union of Christians necessary. Subordinate place 
 of forms. Attachments to them. The eight propositions. Chan- 
 ges. Times of Abraham, Moses and David. Time of tlie Savior. 
 His ecclesiastical polity. Ecclesiastical polity of the apostles. 
 Apostolic arrangements provisional. Election. Ordinations. The 
 general council. Description of usages. Levitical law. Fourth 
 commandment. Not strictly observed. Ordination. Ordination 
 of the twelve: of Paul. Ceremony waived, and why. Paul not 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 ordained by Ananias. ApoIIos. The ceremony of ordination, a 
 specimen. Apostolic practice not infallible. Distinction between 
 writings and acts. Apostolic example of great value. Scripture sys- 
 tem incomplete. Congregational additions ; — episcopal. The most 
 essential points unprovided for. Possible pei'version of tliese views. 
 The marriage ceremony. Rite of confirmation. Danger of one 
 consolidated government. Sanction of God's Spirit. The result. 
 Present state of tlie church. Cities; villages. The real difficulty. 
 Permanence of it. The disease an intermittent. Hot fit and cold 
 fit. The old texts. The only remedy for tlie evil. Prospect of a 
 change. Summing up the case. Spiritual integi'ity of the chm-ch. 
 Conclusion. 192 
 
 CHAPTER VIII.— THE SICK. 
 
 Flan of this work. Safe to do good to the sick. The sick laborer. 
 Good easily and safely done. The child. Happiness. Old age 
 Consumption and her victims. The family and friends of the sick 
 Cases. A family changed. A danger pointed out. Spiritual good 
 of the patient. Dangers. Various classes. Deceptions of friends. 
 Indifference and stupor. The deceived. Nervous influence of sick- 
 ness. The attendant of piety; its counterfeit. Little Nathan 
 Dickerman. Practical rules. Imposture. Necessity of caution. 
 
 Qllietneee and dclioaoy. Tho okilful att«>nrlaiat StUlnAoo anA 
 
 gentleness. Honesty. Manoeuvring. A case of it. Its efiects. 
 Plain dealing safer. Frankness. Pi'ivileged persons. Quiet for 
 the sick. Real object to be accomplished. Truth to be presented 
 quietly. A change of heart. The Savior. John Randolph. Re- 
 morse. An atonement. Questioning the patient. Difficulty of 
 judging; Faint hope of success. The sick Christian. How de- 
 cline. Expressions of piety by the sick. Professions. Authority 
 of physician. Limits and restrictions. Conclusion. 227 
 
 CHAPTER IX.— CHILDREN. 
 
 A supposition. The infants. Effect of education. Education of cir- 
 cumstances. Instructions not exclusively for parents. Influence 
 of relatives. The worsted pocketbook. Plan of the chapter. 
 
 I. Prominent Characteristics of Childhood. -Mental processes. Pleas- 
 ure of action. Understanding language. Stories. Stories for 
 cliildren. Source of pleasure. Love of employment. An offer and 
 the choice. Counting. Steps minute and simple. Make work for 
 children. Second principle. " More stories." Subjects for talk. 
 Every thing new. Tlie sand-box. Talk about it. A thousand 
 
Z CONTENTS 
 
 subjects. Describe any thing to children. The way to tell stories. 
 A specimen. Subjects. Fiction. A danger. Is fiction allowable 
 at all 1 The true line to be di-awn. The senses the avenue. Ex- 
 ample. Generalization and abstraction. Minute details. An 
 example. The boat. Explain minutely. The black sand. Style 
 abrupt. Tones. Gesticulations. The man and his dog again. 
 Third characteristic of childhood. Conditions of gratitude. The 
 way to a child's heart. Reasoning with children. The baby's 
 name. The logic of childhood. Power of association. Common 
 failure. The father. Power of affection. 
 II. Practical Directions. The field. Influence to be sought. The pa- 
 rent disappointed. Brothers and sisters. Indulgence. Presents. 
 Decision and firmness. The way to gain an influence. Way to 
 use it. Expression of the truth. The winter walk and the snow 
 bird. The expression of kindness or of cruelty. Formal instruc- 
 tion. Solitude. Influence of man upon man. Solitude. Learn- 
 ing by experience. Recapitulation. 259 
 
 CHAPTER X.— INSTRUCTION. 
 
 Instruction. Plan of the chapter. Five propositions. Mode of divine 
 instruction. Our methods. The contrast. Reason for it. Ilhis- 
 tration. Botany. The two students. The thistle. The rose. 
 Nature and use of science and system. The theologians. Province 
 and value of theological science. Systematic education. The Bible 
 the storehouse. Korab. Korah's mutiny. The parties. Their 
 designs. Conversation with Korah. A coincidence. Dathan and 
 Abiram. Their reply. Moral lessons to be deduced. Various 
 questions. Two kinds of interest in a story. Example. Job. 
 The dramatic interest. The moral interest. Both combined. 
 Third general head. Observation. Eflect of a habit of observa- 
 tion. Refined and vulgar taste. The evidence for moral truth. 
 Mathematical truth. A difference between intellectual and moral 
 science. Apparent exceptions. Proof of Christianity. Pi'oof by 
 experiment. Illustrations. Difficulty of sound induction. Truth 
 accessible. Arguing with error. First case. Another case. 
 Great forces to be overcome, Dangers. Practical directions. 
 The strange light. Two ways of combatting error. Collisions. 
 Misunderstandings. Sympathy. Effects of disputation. Exagger- 
 ation. Defending error, and its effects. Deal in great arguments, 
 uot in minute details. Faint hopes of success. Classes of reason- 
 crs. Way in which human opinions are formed. Result of the 
 •*»<nia3ion. Grounds of human belief. The way to spread the 
 ' f^tfl Infidelity. It§ spirit. Voltaire, 300 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTER XL— CONCLUSION. 
 
 Conclusion. Plan completed. Recapitulation. Views of God. Pan- 
 theism. Of sin. The slavery of sin. Freedom. Bondage. Un- 
 limited freedom. The difficulty. Suffering. Existence of suffer- 
 ing inexplicable. Christ the atoning sacrifice. The way of peace. 
 The soul thirsts for it. Difficulties. Disposal of the difficulties. 
 The church and the denominations. Various modes of doing good. 
 The author's farewell. 
 

 THE 
 
 WAY TO DO GOOD, 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 WORKS AND FAITH, OR THE STORY OF ALONZO. 
 *' Created In Christ Jesus unto good works." 
 
 Works and Faith. Alonzo's home. The farm-yard. 
 
 The exact nature of the connection which subsists be- 
 tween faith and good works, in the salvation of man, is a 
 subject, which, in a volume on The Way to Do Good, 
 ought to be well understood at the outset. I can best 
 convey to my young reader what I wish to say on this 
 point, by telling him the story of Alonzo. 
 
 Alonzo was a Vermont boy. His father lived in one of 
 those warm and verdant dells which give a charm to the 
 scenery of the Green Mountains. The low, broad farm- 
 house, with its barns and sheds, hay-stacks and high wood 
 piles, made almost a little village, as they lay spread out in 
 a sunny opening near the head of the glen. A winding 
 road repeatedly crossing a brook which meandered among 
 the trees, down the valley, guidtjd the traveller to the spot. 
 The wide yard was filled with domestic animals, the sheds 
 were well stored with the utensils of the farm, lilac trees 
 and rose bushes ornamented the front of the dwelling, and 
 from the midst of a little green lawn upon one side of the 
 house, was a deep clear spring, walled in with moss cov- 
 ered stones, and pouring up continually from below, a full 
 supply of cool, clear water. A group of willows hung over 
 the spring, and a well-trod foot path led to it from the house. 
 
14 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Occupations of childhood. The phenomenon. A struggle. 
 
 A smooth flat stone lay before the " end door," as they 
 called it, which led to the spring. Here, during the 
 second year of his life, Alonzo might have been seen 
 almost every sunny day, playing with buttercups and dai- 
 sies, or digging with the kitchen shovel in the earth before 
 the door, or building houses of corn-cobs, brought for his 
 amusement, in a basket, from the granary. The next 
 summer, had you watched him, you would have observed 
 that his range was wider, and his plans of amusement a 
 little more enlarged. He had a garden, two feet square, 
 where he stuck down green sprigs, broken from the shrubs 
 around him, and he would make stakes with a dull house 
 knife partly for the pleasure of making them, and partly for 
 the pleasure of driving them into the ground. He would 
 ramble up and down the path a little way, and sometimes 
 go with his mother down to the spring, to see her dip the 
 bright tin pail into the water, and to gaze with astonish- 
 ment at the effect of the commotion, — for the stony wall of 
 the spring seemed always to be broken to pieces, and its 
 fragments waved and floated about, in confusion, until 
 gradually they returned to their places and to rest, and for 
 ought he could see, looked exactly as before. This extra- 
 ordinary phenomenon astonished him again and again. 
 
 One day Alonzo's mother saw him going alone, down 
 towards the spring. He had got the pail, and was going 
 to try the wonderful experiment himself. His mother 
 called him back, and forbade his ever going there alone. 
 "If you go there alone," said she, "you will fall in and 
 be drowned." 
 
 Alonzo was not convinced by the reason, but he was 
 awed by the command, and for many days he obeyed. At 
 length, however, when his mother was occupied in another 
 part of the house, he stole away softly down the path a 
 little way. 
 
 There was a sort of a struggle going on within him while 
 he was doing this. "Alonzo," said Conscience, for even 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 15 
 
 Dialogue with conscience. Early sin. Its natiire. 
 
 at this early age, Conscience had begun to be developed, 
 " Alonzo, this is very wrong." 
 
 Conscience must be conquered, if conquered at all, not 
 by direct opposition, but by evasion and deceit, and the 
 deceiving and deceitful tendencies of the heart, are very 
 early developed. 
 
 "I am not going down to the spring," said Alonzo to 
 himself, " I am only going down the path, a little way." 
 
 •'Alonzo," said Conscience, again, "this is wrong." 
 
 " Mother will not see me, and I shall not go quite down 
 to the water, so that no harm will be done," said the child 
 to himself in reply, — and went hesitatingly on. 
 
 "Alonzo," said Conscience, a third time, but with a 
 feebler voice, — " you ought not to go any farther." 
 
 "My mother is too strict with me, — there can be no 
 harm in my walking as far as this." 
 
 He lingered a little while about half way down the path, 
 and then slowly returned, — the dialogue between Con- 
 science and his heart going on all the time. The latter 
 had succeeded so well in its artful policy, that when he 
 came back, he really hardly knew whether he had done 
 wrong or not. It did not seem quite right, and there was 
 a sort of gnawing uneasiness within him, but his heart had 
 succeeded by its evasions and subterfuges in making so 
 much of a question of the whole transaction, that he could 
 not really say that it. was clearly wrong. Alonzo had been 
 taught that God had made him, and that he watched over 
 him at all times, but some how or other, he did not happen 
 to think of him at all during this affair. He had also under- 
 stood something of his obligations to his mother, for her 
 kindness and love to him; — but he did not happen to think 
 of her now in this light. The contest consisted simply, on 
 the one side, of the low murmurings of conscience, telling 
 him sternly that he was wrong, and on the other, the turn- 
 ings and shiftings and windings of a deceitful heart trying 
 to quiet her, or at least to drown her remonstrances. 
 
16 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. I. 
 
 Self deception. A second transgression. Progress in sin. 
 
 I have dwelt thus particularly upon the philosophy of 
 this early sin, because this was the way in which Alonzo 
 committed all his sins for many years afterwards. Con- 
 science made him uncomfortable while he was transgress- 
 ing, but then his heart kept up such a variety of evasions 
 and queries, and brought in so many utterly foreign con- 
 siderations, that whenever he was doing any thing wrong, 
 he never seemed to have, at the time while he was doing it, 
 a distinct idea that it ivas clearly and positively wrong. For 
 instance, a few days after the transaction above described, 
 his mother had gone away to spend some hours, and his 
 sister who had the care of him, had left him alone at the 
 door. He took up the pail, and began to walk slowly down 
 the path. Conscience, defeated before, and familiarized 
 to a certain degree of transgression, allowed him to go 
 without opposition a part of the way, but when she per- 
 ceived that he was actually approaching the spring, she 
 shook her head and renewed her low, solemn murmuring. 
 
 "Alonzo, Alonzo, you must not go there." 
 
 " I shall not fall in, I know;" said Alonzo to himself; 
 
 "Alonzo, Alonzo, Alonzo," said Conscience again, — 
 "you must not disobey." 
 
 Alonzo tried not to hear her, and instead of answering, 
 he said to himself, 
 
 " It was many days ago, that she told me not to come. 
 She did not mean never. ^^ 
 
 This was true literally, and yet it may seem surprising 
 that Alonzo could for one instant deceive himself with such 
 an argument. But any thing will do to deceive ourselves 
 with. When we are committing sin, we love to be deceiv- 
 ed about it. Hence it is very easy. 
 
 While saying that his mother could not have meant that 
 he must never come, Alonzo leaned over the spring, and 
 tremblingly plunged in his pail. The magic effect was 
 produced. The stones and moss waved and quivered, to 
 Alonzo 's inexpressible delight. His mind was in a state of 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 17 
 
 The heart deceitM above all things. , Progress 
 
 feverish excitement, — Conscience calling upon him, and in 
 vain trying to make him hear, — fear whispering eagerly, 
 that he might be seen, — and curiosity urging him again 
 and again to repeat his wonderful experiment. 
 
 Alonzo was a very little child, and the language in which 
 I am obliged- to describe his mental states, and the words 
 with which I clothe his thoughts, may seem more mature 
 than the reality in such a case could have been. In fact 
 they are so. He could not have used such language, and 
 et it describes correctly the thoughts and feelings which 
 really passed within his bosom. 
 
 At length, he hastily drew out his pail, and went back to 
 the house. Conscience endeavored, then, when the ex- 
 -citement of the experiment was over, to gain his attention. 
 His heart still bent on deceiving and being deceived, 
 evaded the subject. 
 
 "My mother said," thought he, "that I should fall in 
 and be drowned if I went there, and I did not fall in; I 
 knew I should not fall in." 
 
 Thus instead of thinking of his guilt and disobedience, 
 he was occupied with the thought of the advantage he had 
 gained over his mother, — that is, the heart which ought to 
 have been penitent and humbled, under the burden of sin, 
 was deluding itself with the false colors which it had 
 spread over its guilt, and was filled with deceit and self- 
 congratulation. 
 
 Year after year passed on, and Alonzo grew in strength 
 «,nd stature; but he continued about the same in heart. 
 Instead of playing on the round, flat door stone, he at 
 length might be seen riding on his father's plough, — or 
 tossing about the drying grass in the mowing field, — or 
 gathering berries upon the hill side, on some summer after- 
 noon. He was continually committing sins in the manner 
 already described. These sins were different in circum- 
 stance and character as he grew older, but their nature, so 
 far as the feelings of the heart were concerned, were the 
 
18 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [CIl. I, 
 
 Influence of education. Aloniso's virtues. His piety. 
 
 3ame. There was the same murmuring of conscience j 
 the same windings and evasions of his heart ; the same self- 
 deception; the same success in leading himself to doubt, 
 whether the act of transgression, which for the time being 
 he was committing, was right or wrong. His parents in 
 most respects, brought him up well. They taught him his 
 duty, and when they knew that he did wrong, they remon- 
 strated with him seriously, or, if necessary, they punished 
 him. Thus his conscience was cherished, and kept alive, 
 as it were, and he was often deterred by her voice from 
 committing many sins. She held him much in check. His 
 parents formed in him many good habits which he adhered 
 to faithfully as habits, — and thus so far as the influence of 
 his parents could go, in aiding conscience, and in habituat- 
 ing him to certain duties, — so far he was, in most cases, 
 deterred from the commission of sin. Other things, how- 
 ever, equally sinful, he did without scruple. For example, 
 he would have shuddered at stealing even a pin from his 
 rsister; but he would by unreasonable wishes and demands-, 
 give her as much trouble, and occasion her as much loss 
 of enjoyment, as if he had stolen a very valuable article 
 from her. If he had undertaken to steal a little picture 
 from her desk, conscience would have thundered so terri- 
 bly that he could not possibly have proceeded ; but he 
 could tease and vex her by his unreasonable and selfish 
 conduct, without any remorse. If his heart had been hon- 
 est and shrewd in discovering its own real character, these 
 cases would have taught him that his honesty was artificial 
 and accidental, and did not rest on any true foundation, — 
 but his heart was not honest, nor shrewd in respect to itself; 
 it loved to be deceived, and when he read of a theft in a 
 story book, he took great pleasure in thinking what a good 
 honest boy he himself was. 
 
 So he would not, on any account, have omitted to say his 
 prayers, morning and night; but whenever he committed 
 sin in the course of the day, he never thought of going 
 
Ch. 1.] WORIfS AND fArTH; t^ 
 
 The way to manage conscience. Alonzo's discovery* 
 
 away alone before God to confess it, and to ask forgiveness. 
 Now if his heart had been honest and shrewd in discover- 
 ing his own character, this would have taught him that his 
 piety was all a mere form, and that he had no real- affection 
 for God. But his heart was not thus honest and shrewd, 
 and though he never thought much about it, he still had an 
 impression on his mind that he was the friend of God, and 
 that he regularly worshipped him. He knew very well that 
 he sometimes committed sin, but he did not suppose that it 
 was often. For as we have already explained, it was very 
 seldom, when he was actually engaged in transgression, 
 that he had a distinct and clear conception that what he 
 was then doing was positively wrong. He always so far 
 succeeded in blinding or misleading conscience as to make 
 it doubtful. And if he could succeed in making a question 
 of it, he would go and commit the sin, with a half formed 
 idea of examining the cdse afterwards. But then when the 
 pleasure of the sin was over, he found the true moral char- 
 acter of the transaction to be, somehow or other, rather a 
 disagreeable subject to investigate; so he left it, laid away, 
 as it were, in his memory, to fester and rankle there. And 
 though he had such at number of these recollections as to 
 give him no little uneasmess and annoyance, he still thought 
 he was a very virtuous and promising young man. 
 
 One day, Alonzo made a discovery which startled and 
 alarmed him a little. He was about twelve years old. 
 Some young men had formed a plan of ascending a certain 
 mountain summit, the extremity of a lofty ridge, which 
 projected like a spur from the main range, and which rear- 
 ed its rocky head among the clouds, in full view from his 
 father's door. They had fixed upon Sabbath evening for 
 this purpose, an hour or two before sun-down. "A great 
 many people, you know," said one of tlie boys, " think that 
 the Sabbath ends at sunset, and an hour or so before will 
 not make any great difference. We must be up in season 
 to see the sun go down." This, disposal of the difficulty. 
 
20 THE. WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Asking mother. Maternal firmness. Effects. 
 
 was abundantly satisfactory to all those who were inclined 
 to go, but Alonzo had some doubts whether it would appear 
 equally conclusive to his father and mother. One thing 
 favored, however. His father was away, having been ab- 
 sent on some business for the town, for several days; and 
 Alonzo thought that there was at least a possibility that his 
 mother would find the deficiencies in the reasoning made 
 up by a little extra persuasion, and that her consent to his 
 sharing in the pleasure of the excursion would be obtained. 
 At any rate, it was plainly worth while to try. 
 
 He accordingly came in on Saturday' afternoon, and 
 standing by the side of his mother, who was finishing some 
 sewing necessary to complete her preparations for the Sab- 
 bath, with much hesita|^cy and circumlocution he preferred 
 his request. She listened to him with surprise, and then 
 told him he must not go. 
 
 " It would be very wrong," said she. 
 
 "But, mother, we shall walk along very still; we will 
 not laugh or play. It will only be taking a little walk after 
 sun-down." 
 
 Alonzo 's mother was silent. 
 
 " Come, mother," said the boy, hoping that he had made 
 some impression, ''do let me go. Do say yes, — just this 
 once." 
 
 After a moment's pause, she replied, 
 
 " Some persons do indeed suppose that the Sabbath ends 
 at sun-down, but we think it continues till midnight, and we 
 cannot shift and change the hours to suit our pleasures. 
 Now, with all your resolutions about walking still, you 
 know very well that such an expedition, with such compan- 
 ions, will not be keeping holy the Sabbath-day. You come 
 to me therefore with a proposal that I will allow you to 
 disobey, directly and openly, one of the plainest of God's 
 commands It is impossible that I should consent." 
 
 While his mother was saying these words, emotions of 
 anger and indignation began to rise and swell in Alonzo's 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 21 
 
 The seat in the orchard. Conflicting emotions. 
 
 bosom, until, at length, foreseeing how the sentence would 
 end, he began to walk off towards the door, and almost 
 before the last words were uttered, he was gone. He shut 
 the door violently, muttering to himself, "It is always just 
 so." 
 
 In a state of wretchedness and sin, which my readers, if 
 they have ever acted as Alonzo did, must conceive of, he 
 walked out of the house, and sank down upon a bench 
 which he had made in the little orchard. Here he gave 
 full flow for a few minutes, to the torrent of boiling passion 
 which had so suddenly burst out of his heart. In a short 
 time, however, the excitement of his feelings subsided a 
 little, and there came suddenly a sort of flash of moral light, 
 which seemed to reveal to him for sifi. instant the true char- 
 acter of the transaction. 
 
 Something within him seemed to say, " What an unrea- 
 sonable, ungrateful, wicked boy you are, Alonzo. Here is 
 your mother, — as kind a mother as ever lived. You owe 
 her your very being. She has taken care of you for years, 
 without any return, and has done every thing to inake you 
 happy; and now because she cannot consent to let you do 
 what is most clearly wrong, your heart is full of anger, 
 malice and revenge. What a heart ! Love, duty, — all are 
 forgotten, and every feeling of gratitude for long years of 
 kindness is obliterated, by one single interferen^je with 
 your wicked desires." 
 
 This reflection, which it will require some time to read, 
 occupied but an instant in passing through Alonzo's mind. 
 It flashed upon him for a moment, and was gone, — and the 
 dark, heavy clouds of anger and ill will, rolled agaift over 
 his soul. He sat upon the bench in moody silence. 
 
 At length, he began again to see that he was very wrong; 
 such feelings towards his mother, were, he knew, unrea- 
 sonable and sinful, and he determined that he would not 
 indulge them. So he rose, and walked through a small 
 gate, into the yard, where a large pile of long logs were 
 
22 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Healing the hurt slightly, Alonzo's opinion of himself. 
 
 lying, one of which had been rolled down and partly cut 
 off. He took up the axe and went to work. But he soon 
 learned that it was one thing to see that his feelings were 
 wrong, and another thing to feel right. His mind was in a 
 sort of chaos. Floating visions of the party ascending 
 the hill, — vexation at his disappointment, — uneasiness at 
 the recollection of his unkind treatment of his mother, all 
 mingled together in his soul. " I wish I could feel right 
 towards mother about this," said he to himself; but some- 
 how or other, there seemed gathering over his heart a kind 
 of casing of dogged sullenness, which he could not break 
 or dispel. At least he thought he could not. So he rather 
 concluded it was best to forget the whole affair for the 
 present. He laid down the axe, therefore, and began to 
 pick up some chips and sticks to carry in for kindling the 
 morning fire; and he secretly determined that when he 
 went in and met his mother again, he would not evince any 
 more of his impatience and anger, but would act "just as 
 if nothing had happened." 
 
 Just as if nothing had happened! What, after such an 
 act of disrespect, ingratitude and disobedience, act as if 
 nothing had happened! 
 
 But Alonzo did not make any such reflection. His heart, 
 clinging to his sin, loved to be deceived by it. It seemed 
 to him impossible to feel the relenting of true, heartfelt 
 penitence, and that love and gratitude which he knew his 
 mother deserved, — and especially that cheerful acqui- 
 escence in her decision, which he knew he ought to feel. 
 So he concluded to forget all about it, — and the poisoned 
 fountain which had so suddenly burst forth in his heart, 
 was covered up again, and smoothed over, ready to boil 
 out anew, upon any new occasion. 
 
 This and a few other similar occurrences, led Alonzo 
 sometimes to think that there might be deeper sources of 
 moral difficulty in his heart, than he had been accustomed 
 to imagine; but he did not think much about it, and his 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 23 
 
 An incident. Tiie walk tlirough the woods. 
 
 life passed on without much thought or care, in respect to 
 his character or prospects as a moral being. He had, 
 however, a sort of standing suspicion that there was some- 
 thing wrong, — quite wrong, but he did not stop to examine 
 the case. The little uneasiness which this suspicion caused, 
 was soothed and quieted a good deal, by a sort of prevail- 
 ing idea, that after all, there was a great deal that was very 
 excellent in his conduct and character. He was generally 
 considered a pretty good boy. He knew this, very well; 
 and one of the grossest of the forms of deceitfulness which 
 the heart assumes, is, to believe that we deserve all that 
 others give us credit for, even where the good qualities in 
 question are merely the most superficial and shallow pre- 
 tence. 
 
 One incident occurred about this time, which almost 
 opened Alonzo's eyes to the true character of some of his 
 virtues. During the winter months he went to school, and 
 the good qualities which he fancied he exhibited there, 
 were among those on which he most prided himself. One 
 afternoon, as he was walking home, with a green satchel full 
 of books slung over his shoulder, he stopped a few minutes 
 at the brook which crossed the road, and looked down over 
 the bridge upon the smooth dark colored ice which covered 
 the deep water. It looked so clear and beautiful, that he 
 went down and cautiously stepped upon it. It was so 
 transparent that it seemed impossible that it could be 
 strong. He sat down on a stone which projected out of 
 the water, and while he was there the teacher came along, 
 and stopping on the bridge, began to talk with him. Alonzo 
 and the teacher were on very good terms, and after talking 
 together a few minutes at the brook, they both walked 
 along together. 
 
 Their way was a cross path through the woods, which 
 led by a shorter course than the main road, to the part of 
 the town where they were both going. 
 
 " Alonz©," said the teacher, as they were stepping over 
 
24 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Conversation. The books in the satchel. Motives. 
 
 a low place in the log fence where their path diverged from 
 the road; — "I am glad to see you carrying your books 
 home." 
 
 "I like to study my lessons at home in the evenings," 
 said Alonzo, with a feeling of secret satisfaction. 
 
 "Well, Alonzo, what should you say if I should tell you 
 I could guess exactly what books you have got in your 
 satchel ? " 
 
 "I do 'nt know," said Alonzo, — *' perhaps you saw me 
 put them in." 
 
 "No, I did not." 
 
 "Well, you can tell by the shape of the books, — which 
 you can see by looking at the satchel." 
 
 "No," said the teacher, "I see you have got either 
 your writing book or your Atlas, but I could not tell which 
 by the appearance of the satchel. I see also, that there is 
 by the side of it, one middle sized book besides; but its 
 size merely will not tell whether it is your Arithmetic or 
 your Grammar or your Geography." 
 
 "Well, what do you think they are?" 
 
 " I think they are your writing book, and your spelling 
 book." 
 
 There was in Alonzo's countenance an appearance of 
 surprise and curiosity. He said the teacher was right, and 
 asked him how he knew. 
 
 " I know by your character." 
 
 "By my character!" said Alonzo, " What do you mean 
 by that?" 
 
 " I will tell you; but I think it will give you pain, rather 
 than pleasure. You are one of the best boys in my school, 
 — ^you give me very little trouble, and are generally dili- 
 gent in your duties; and obedient and faithful. Now, have 
 you ever thought what your motives are for this?" 
 
 " No sir, I have never thought about it very particularly. 
 I want to improve my time, and learn as much as I can, so 
 as to be useful when I am a man." 
 
Ch. I.] WORKS AND PAITH. 25 
 
 An exposure©. The teacher's queries. 
 
 Alonzo thought that that ought to be his motive, and so 
 he fancied that it was. He did not mean to tell a false- 
 hood. He did not say it because he wished to deceive his 
 teacher, but because his heart had deceived him. It is so 
 with us all. 
 
 "You think so, I have no doubt. But now I wish to 
 ask you one cpiiestion. What two studies do you think you 
 ^re most perfect in ?" 
 
 Alonzo did not like to answer, though he knew that he 
 prided himself much on his handsome writing, and on his 
 being almost always at the head of his class in spelling. 
 At length he said, with a modest air, that he thought he 
 *'took as much interest in his writing and in his spelling 
 lessons, as in any thing." 
 
 "Are there any studies that you are less advanced in 
 than in these?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 *' Well," said the teacher, "now I want to ask you one 
 question. How happens it that the writing book and the 
 spelling book, which represent the two studies in which 
 you have made the greatest proficiency, and in which you, 
 of course, least need any extra efforts, are the very ones 
 which you are bringing home to work upon in the eve- 
 nings?" 
 
 Alonzo did not answer immediately. In fact, he had no 
 answer at hand. He thought, however, that if he was 
 inclined to study out of school hours, he had a right to take 
 any books home that he pleased. But he did not say so. 
 
 " And I should like to ask you one more question;" said 
 the teacher. " In what study do you think you are most 
 deficient?" 
 
 " I suppose it is my Arithmetic," said Alonzo: recollect- 
 ing how he disliked, and avoided as much as possible, 
 every thing connected with calculation. 
 
 " And do you ever carry home your Arithmetic to study 
 in the evening?" 
 3 
 
^6 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Cll. 1 
 
 Alonzo's perplexity. His reflections. 
 
 Alonzo shook his head. He knew he did not. 
 
 " Well. Now you know very well that there is no know- 
 ledge obtained at school more important to a man than a 
 knowledge of figures. How does it happen then, if your 
 motive is to fit yourself for usefulness and happiness when 
 a man, that the very study in which you are most deficient, 
 is the very one in which you never make any voluntary 
 effort.?" 
 
 Here was a little pause, during which Alonzo looked 
 serious. He felt very unhappy. It seemed to him that 
 his teacher was unkind. When he was bringing his books 
 home to study his lesson for the next day on purpose to 
 please the teacher, — to be blamed just because he had not 
 happened to bring his Arithmetic instead of his Spelling- 
 book, was very hard. Tears came to his eyes, but he 
 strove to suppress them, and said nothing. 
 
 "I know, Alonzo," continued the teacher, "that these 
 questions of mine will trouble you. But I have not asked 
 them for the sake of troubling you, but for the purpose of 
 letting you see into your heart and learn a lesson of its 
 deceitfulness. I want you to think of this to-night when 
 you are alone, and perhaps I will some day talk with you 
 again." 
 
 So saying, they came out into the road again, near the 
 teacher's residence. They bade one another good-by, and 
 Alonzo walked on alone. 
 
 "He means," thought he, "that if I honestly wanted to 
 improve, I should take most interest in the studies in which 
 I am deficient." And as this thought floated through his 
 mind, it brought after it, a dim momentary vision of the 
 pride and vanity and love of praise, which he suddenly saw 
 revealed as the secret spring of all those excellences at 
 school, on which he had so prided himself But to see all 
 those fancied virtues of industry, and love of learning, and 
 desire to be conscientious and faithful, wither at once, 
 under the magic influence of two such simple questions, 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 27 
 
 Alonzo's virtues not genuine. Summary of A!onzo's character. 
 
 and turn into vanity and self-conceit, afforded him no 
 pleasant subject of reflection. He was glad, therefore, to 
 see a load of wood coming into his Other's yard as he 
 appoached it, and he hastened to "help them unload." He 
 thus got rid of the disagreeable subject, without actually 
 deciding whether the teacher was right or wrong. 
 
 The affair, however, shook, and weakened very much, 
 his faith in the good traits of his character. He did not 
 come to the distinct conclusion that they were all hollow 
 and superficial, but he had a sort of vague fear that they 
 might prove so, — an undefined notion that they would not 
 bear examination. This was another source of uneasiness 
 laid up in his heart, — a part of the burden of sin which he 
 bore without thinking much of it, though it fretted and 
 troubled him. 
 
 Thus Alonzo lived. From twelve^ he passed on to fif- 
 teen, and from fifleen to twenty. He became a strong, 
 athletic young man, known and, esteemed for his industry, 
 frugality and steadiness of character. The time drew near 
 which was to terminate his minority, and at this age, his 
 moral condition might be summed up thus: 
 
 1. The external excellences of his character arose from 
 the influence of his excellent education. This would have 
 been no disparagement to them, if they had been of the 
 right kind; — but they resulted only from the restraints im- 
 posed by the opinion of those around him, — from the influ- 
 ence of conscience, which, in respect to some sins, had been 
 so encouraged and cultivated by his parents, that it was 
 very uncomfortable for him to act directly counter to her 
 voice, in respect to those sins, — and from the power of 
 habit. His industry, for instance, was based upon the last; 
 his regard for the Sabbath upon the second, and his tem- 
 perance and steadiness mainly upon the other. 
 
 2. He made no regular, systematic effort, to improve his 
 character. In fact, he felt little interest in any plan of this 
 kind- He was much interested in the various plans of cul- 
 
25 THE WAT TO DO GOOD, [Ch. 1. 
 
 His occupations and pleasures. Character of bis prayers. 
 
 tivation and improvement on his father's farm; but his 
 heart was chiefly set upon the amusements with which the 
 young people of the neighborhood regaled themselves, in 
 hours when work was done ; — the sleigh ride, — ^the sing- 
 ing school, — the fishing party, — the husking. In the 
 evening, he was occupied with some one of these enjoy- 
 ments, and the next day at his work he was planning 
 another, and thus life glided on. I do not mean that he 
 was entirely indifferent about his character and prospects 
 as a moral being ; he did sometimes feel a little uneasiness 
 about them. Such discoveries as I have already described, 
 gave him a momentary glimpse occasionally, of the secrets 
 of his heart, and he had a sort of abiding impression that 
 there was something there, which would not bear examina-^ 
 tion. It was an unpleasant subject, and he thought that 
 for the present he had better let it rest. As to his charac- 
 ter, it was, he knew, superficially fair. He prided himself 
 a good deal upon, the appearance it prese»ted towards 
 others, and he did not see how he could improve it much, 
 without making a thorough work among the motives and 
 feelings of his heart. This he could not but strongly 
 shrink from; so he passed quietly along and thought about 
 other things. 
 
 3. There was no connection between his soul and God. 
 I mean no spiritual connection, — -no communion, — no in- 
 terchange of thought or of feeling. He was taught ta 
 repeat a prayer morning and evening, and this practice he 
 continued, — that is, he considered it one of his duties, and 
 meant, generally, to perform it. As he grew up from boy- 
 hood, however, he often neglected it in the morning, until 
 at length he omitted it then altogether; and he gradually 
 found an increasing reluctance at night. He often omit- 
 ted it, — not intentionally, exactly; — he forgot it; or, he 
 was very tired and went immediately to sleep. Tliese 
 omissions, however, which, by the way, were far more fre- 
 quent than he unagined, did not trouble him as much as it 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITtt. S9 
 
 The evening meeting. Setting off. Nine o'clock. 
 
 might have been expected that they would, for he began to 
 think that the practice was intended for children, and that 
 he was getting to be too old to make it necessary that he 
 should attend to it. When he did remember this duty, it 
 was only a form. There was no communion or connection 
 between him and God. So far as the feelings of his heart 
 were concerned, he lived in independence of his Maker. 
 
 Such was Alonzo's condition, during the winter before 
 he was to be 4W5enty-one. One evening during that winter, 
 " a meeting'^ was appointed in the school-house. A stran- 
 ger was to preach. On such occasions the school-house 
 was always filled. The congregation came from the farm- 
 ers' families for several miles around; curiosity respecting 
 the stranger, the pleasure of a winter evening's expedition, 
 a sort of intellectual interest in the services, the exhilarat- 
 ing, and animating scene which the room presented, — the 
 light from the great blazing wood fire beaming upon a hun 
 dred bright and cheerful countenances, — and in some cases 
 at least, an honest desire to know and do duty, constituted 
 the motives which drew the assembly together. At six 
 o'clock, Alonzo harnessed a strong, fleet, well fed horse 
 into a gaily painted sleigh, and handing his father and 
 mother into the back seat, mounted, himself, upon a higher 
 one in front, and away they went jingling down the valley. 
 They were lost to sight-rby the turnings of the road among 
 the trees, and the sleigh-bells, sounding fainter and fainter, 
 at length died away upon the ear. 
 
 A little before nine, Alonzo might have been seen re- 
 turning slowly up the valley. The moon had risen, and it 
 shone through the trees, casting a beautiful white light 
 upon the snowy wreaths which hung upon them. The 
 horse walked along slowly, and Alonzo was making crosses 
 with his whip-lash upon the smooth surface of the snow 
 which bordered the road. He was lost in thought. The 
 subject of the sermon which he had heard, was, the impor- 
 tance of preparation for another world; and it happened, 
 3* 
 
so THE WAY to DO GddD. [Cfl. i. 
 
 The Holy Spirit. Morning cloud and early dew. 
 
 from some cause or other, that Alonzo's mind was in such 
 a calm, contemplative state that evening, that the dis- 
 course made a strong impression. It was not an impres- 
 sion made by any extraordinary eloquence. The preacher, 
 in a very quiet, unostentatious, simple manner, presented 
 truths, which Alonzo had heard a thousand times before, 
 though heretofore they had, as it were, stopped at the ear. 
 This night, they seemed to penetrate to his heart. He 
 came out of the meeting thoughtful. He rode home 
 silently. There seemed to be a new view opened before 
 his mind. The future world appeared a reality to him ; it 
 looked near; and he wondered why he was not making a 
 preparation for it. He rode home thinking of these things 
 silently. His father and mother rode in silence too, each 
 u,nconscious of the thoughts of the other, but both thinking 
 of their son. An unwonted influerce was moving upon the 
 hearts of all. 
 
 These serious thoughts passed away the next day, but 
 .iiey left behind a more distinct impression than he had been 
 accustomed to feel, that he had a great work to do before 
 he left the world, and that it was a work which he had not 
 yet begun. 
 
 He was careful to say the prayer of his childhood that 
 night, with great seriousness, and he made a great effort to 
 thiift what it meant, while he was repeating it. It is true 
 that there is a great, and one would suppose, a sufficiently 
 obvious distinction between having the meaning of a prayer 
 in the mind, and having the feelings and desires it expresses 
 in the heart. But Alonzo did not perceive this distinction. 
 He thought very distinctly of the meaning of the several 
 successive petitions and confessions, and that was all; but it 
 was enough to satisfy a deceiving and deceitful heart, and 
 Alonzo dismissed his cares on the subject of his preparation 
 for death, as he went to sleep, feeling that he had made a 
 good beginning. 
 
 Alonzo's attention was occupied early the next morning, 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 3l 
 
 Wandering thoughts. Concealment. Slow progress. 
 
 by an excursion into the forest for a load of wood with his 
 father, and he entirely forgot his new religious resolutions, 
 until the evening. This discouraged him a little. He, 
 however, again offered his prayer, with an effort to keep its 
 meaning in his mind, though that effort was less successful 
 than on the evening before. His thoughts would slip away, 
 as it were, from his control, and while he was saying, "My 
 sins have been numerous and aggravated," or " lead me 
 not into temptation," he would find that his mind was dwel- 
 ling upon the past scenes of the day; it would be off in the 
 forest where he had been at work, or surveying the smooth 
 slopes of hay in the barn lofl, or dwelling with pleasure 
 upon the fat sleek sides of Cherry, feeding in the stall. 
 
 Alonzo was so dissatisfied with his prayer, tiiat he began 
 again before he got through, though with not much better 
 success than before. He was vexed with himself that he 
 could not confine his attention more easily. He could not 
 understand the reason of it. The obvious explanation, — a 
 heart alienated from God, and eluding by its own spontane- 
 ous tendencies, every effort to bring it to him, — he did not 
 see. Willingly deceived, he was spiritually blind. 
 
 However, he succeeded so well, that he thought his 
 second prayer would do, and gradually fell asleep. 
 
 Weeks passed on, and Alonzo made, in the manner 
 above described, feeble and intermitted efforts to be a re- 
 ligious man. He said nothing of his feelings to any one. 
 In fact, he would not, for the world, have any body know 
 that he had any intention of serving God. Whether it was 
 because he was ashamed to be seen in the service of such 
 a Master, or because he thought that his new feelings 
 were of so high a degree of moral excellence, that modesty 
 required that he should conceal them, we do not say. He 
 was, at any rate, very careful to conceal them. 
 
 He made, however, little progress. Weeks and months 
 passed away, and it seemed to him that he remained sub- 
 stantially in the same place. The truth was, there was a 
 
5^ THE WAV TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Alonzo like the water skipper. Difflcalties. 
 
 current carrying him down which he did not perceive, but 
 whose effects at distant intervals were very evident. He 
 moved like the little water skipper, whose motions he had 
 often tvdtched, on his father's brook, who now and then 
 makes a convulsive and momentary effort to ascend, but 
 who is borne continually backwards by a current steady 
 and unceasing in its flow, so that notwithstanding his leaps, 
 he drifts insensibly down towards the gulf behind him. 
 
 Alonzo was like the skipper, too, in other respects. He 
 saw distinctly his own repeated efforts; but the slow, gentle 
 but continual operation of the current, was unperceived. 
 His face was turned up the stream too, where all was 
 smooth and sunny and beautiful. He did not see the dark 
 gulf that yawned behind. 
 
 In a word, Alonzo made but little progress. The work 
 was all up hill. He perceived that on the whole he was 
 not advancing, and yet he could scarcely tell why. There 
 were several difficuhies, the operation of which he felt, but 
 there was something mysterious and unaccountable about 
 them. 
 
 First he was continually forgetting all his good intentions 
 He would, for example, reflect sometimes on the Sabbath, 
 upon his duties and obligations, and would resolve to be 
 watchful all the coming week to guard against sin, and to 
 keep his heart right. But he found it very hard to control 
 thejconduct of one day by the resolutions of the preceding. 
 Saturday night would come, and he would wake up, as it 
 were, from his dream of business and pleasure, and find 
 that his spiritual work had been entirely neglected and for- 
 gotten during the week. Half ashamed, and half vexed 
 with himself, he would renew good resolutions to be again 
 neglected and forgotten as before. What could he do? 
 There was no want of good intention in his hours of soli- 
 tude, but how to give these intentions an arm long enough 
 to reach through the week; — how to make the resolutions 
 of retirement binding upon the conduct during the business 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 3S 
 
 Resolutions. Hoping for a more convenient season. 
 
 and bustle of life, was a sore perplexity to him. If he did 
 not think of his resolutions at the right time, of course he 
 could not keep them, and he could contrive no way to secure 
 thinking of them at the right time. There was another diffi- 
 culty which very much perplexed and troubled Alonzo in 
 his attempts to reform himself. Sometimes it seemed im- 
 possible for him to control his wrong feelings. When he 
 became vexed and irritated, as he sometimes did, about his 
 work, or when out of humor on account of some restraint 
 which his mother laid upon him, he was conscious that his 
 feelings were wrong, and he would struggle against them, 
 as he said, with all his strength, but he could not conquer 
 them. He thought he succeeded partially; but he was 
 deceived. It was even worse than he supposed. For all 
 the effect of his struggling was only to restrain the outward 
 manifestation of his feelings, while they burned on, in his 
 heart, the same. They were too strong for him, he per- 
 ceived ; and then in his despondency he would get lost in 
 the metaphysical difficulties of the question, how far he 
 could be blamed for what it seemed to him he could not help. 
 Thus, in ordinary temptations, Alonzo never could think 
 of his resolutions, and in extraordinary ones, he never 
 could keep them, and he knew not what to do. And yet 
 he was not very solicitous or anxious about it. There was 
 indeed a vague idea floating in his mind that there was a 
 great work to be done, which was involved in some pecu- 
 liar difficulties, — a work which he was yet only partially 
 performing. He determined to take hold of it soon, in 
 earnest. In the winter, it was so cold that he could not 
 conveniently spend as much time alone as he wished. He 
 thought that when the warm spring evenings should come, 
 he could enjoy more solitude, and that the spring, there- 
 fore, would be a more convenient season. When the 
 spring came, they were pressed with work, and Alonzo 
 looked forward for a time of a little greater leisure. But 
 when planting was done, there was haying, and after hay- 
 
34 THfi WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Alonzo's new home. Preparations. Taking possession. 
 
 ing, harvesting. Then Alonzo thought that in a few months 
 he should be free, and that he would make such arrange- 
 ments as to have the more perfect command of his own 
 time. Thus he passed on, thinking that he was watching 
 for an opportunity to do his duty. But he was deceived. 
 The secret was, an innate dislike and repugnance to the 
 work of doing it. There was a strange inconsistency in 
 his ideas. When he tried to purify and reform his heart, 
 he found, or thought he found, that he could not do it. And 
 yet he had an impression, vague and undefined, and yet 
 fixed and confided in, that he could take it up easily at any 
 time, and therefore it was of the less consequence that he 
 waited for a little more convenient season. 
 
 This postponement of a thorough attention to the work, 
 did not give him any particular uneasiness, for he was 
 conscious that though he was not doing his duty quite in 
 earnest enough, he still was not entirely neglecting it 
 
 Alonzo's father had purchased for him a small farm, a 
 mile or two from his own, and Alonzo was now, for some 
 months, much interested in his preparations for taking pos- 
 session of it when he should be twenty-one; and then for 
 many months afterwards, his whole soul was engrossed in 
 his plans and labors for repairing the premises, getting his 
 stock in good order, and putting the first seed of his own 
 into the ground. During these months, he remained 
 still a member of his father's family, his own little farm- 
 house being empty and desolate. Occasionally, however, 
 a piece of furniture was brought there, and he would carry 
 it in and fix it in its place, and then survey it again and 
 again with a look of satisfaction. First came a stained 
 birch bureau, then a half dozen of chairs, then a bedstead. 
 A few simple implements for the kitchen followed, and a 
 load of wood was piled up in the yard, — in short the house 
 began to look as if it was really intended to be occupied. 
 
 At length, one evening, lights were seen by the distant 
 neighbors in both the rooms, — for there were but two. 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 35 
 
 A hard duty. Conscience again. 
 
 Busy preparations were going forward, and at eight o'clock, 
 Alonzo drove up to his door in his own sleigh, and handed 
 out, first his sister, and then the bride, whom he had brought 
 to share with him the responsibilities of his new home. 
 
 Alonzo led his horse away to the barn, took off the har- 
 ness and fastened him to his crib, previously filled to the 
 top with hay. While doing this, he could not help think- 
 ing of his obligati£>ns to God for the circumstances of pros- 
 perity, and the prospects of happiness under which his life 
 had been commenced. He thought he ought to be grateful. 
 But this, as he afterwards found, was a different thing from 
 actually being grateful. At any rate, he could not help 
 thinking of his obligations, and of the duty of gratitude, 
 and this reminded him of the question whether he should 
 commence, that evening, family prayer. 
 
 "It is your duty to do it;-' said Conscience. 
 
 " You will not do it properly. You will be embarrassed 
 and perplexed: you cannot begin to-night," said Distrust. 
 
 " Still," said Conscience again, "it is yourdt(/i/todo it. ' 
 
 " You had better wait a day or two till you get settled, — 
 it will be much easier, and more pleasant then," said a 
 lying spirit of evasion and delay. 
 
 "It is ijoiir duly to do it to-night,^' murmured Con- 
 science again. -^ fiHime*: 
 
 Distracted by the discordant thoughts within him, Alonzo 
 cut short their clamor, by saying to himself that he could 
 not begin that night, and hurried in; and the murmurs of 
 conscience grew feebler, and feebler, and at length died 
 completely away. 
 
 Alonzo was not to blame for his diffidence, — he was not 
 to blame for shrinking from embarrassment, or for consider- 
 ing the duty before him a real trial, -r-but if he had actually 
 been grateful to God for his goodness, instead of merely 
 thinking that he ought to be so, he would have pressed for- 
 ward with alacrity to the fulfilment of this (hity towards 
 him, even if it had been ten times as painful to perform. 
 
.i'W*'- 
 
 36 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 No gain in delay. The inquiry meeting. Scene. 
 
 Alonzo found it harder and harder to begin, the longer 
 he postponed it. A month passed away, and the duly 
 continued to be neglected. It was his design to read the 
 Bible every day, but it seemed rather awkward to sit down 
 before his wife, and read it silently and alone, and he 
 gradually neglected that. At night as he went to bed, he 
 usually offered a sort of brief ejaculation, which was, in 
 fact, though he did not perceive it, a sort of compromise to 
 Conscience, to induce her to let him rest in peace. He did 
 not, however, feel happy in this mode of life. Uneasiness 
 and anxiety rankled in his heart more and more, and one 
 evening, after hearing a plain and heartfelt sermon from his 
 minister in the school-house near his farm, he heard him, 
 with pleasure, appoint, what in New England is called '* an 
 inquiry meeting," the next evening, at his house. The 
 design of such a meeting, is, to afford an opportunity for 
 more plain and direct and familiar religious instruction to 
 those who feel a personal interest in it, than the formal 
 discourse, offered to a promiscuous assembly, can well 
 contain. 
 
 Alonzo and his wife both resolved to go, — and early in 
 the evening, they took their seats with twenty others 
 around their pastor's fireside. Such a meeting is one of 
 great interest and solemnity. It is understood that all 
 present feel a direct personal interest in respect to their 
 own salvation, and they come together with a stillness 
 and solemnity, which scarcely any other assembly ex- 
 hibits. 
 
 The pastor sat by the side of the fire. First he read a 
 hymn. It was not sung. Then he offered a short and 
 simple prayer. He then addressed the little assembly 
 much as follows. 
 
 "The most important question which you can ask re- 
 specting yourselves, is, * Am I the friend or the enemy of 
 my Maker? ' Now, probably, there is not one here, who 
 
Ch, 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 37 
 
 The Pastor's remarks. Common mistakes made. 
 
 really feels that he is his Maker's enemy, and yet it is very 
 possible that there is not one who is not so. 
 
 " God justly requires us all to love him, — that is, to feel 
 a personal affection for him, and to act under the influence 
 of it. They who do not, he considers as not belonging to 
 his spiritual family. They are his enemies. Not that they 
 are employed directly and intentionally in opposing him; — 
 they make perhaps no demonstrations of actual hostility; 
 but in heart, they dislike him. To determine, therefore, 
 whether we are the friends or the enemies of God, we must 
 ascertain whether our secret hearts are in a state of lovCj 
 or of dislike towards him. 
 
 " Methinks, now, I hear you say to yourselves, while I 
 make these remarks, ' I am sure I love God in some degree, 
 though 1 know I do not love him as much as I ought. I 
 pray to him, I try in some things to do my duty, I am, in 
 some degree at teast, grateful for his goodness, and 1 
 cannot perceive in myself any evidence of a feeling of 
 dislike or hostility.' " 
 
 The pastor was right, at least in one instance, for these 
 were exactly the thoughts which were passing through 
 Alonzo's mind. 
 
 "Now, it is a difficult thing to tell," continued he, 
 *' what the state of our hearts is, — or rather it is a very 
 easy and a very common thing to be deceived about it. I 
 will tell you how. 
 
 "1. By mistaking approbation, for love. We cannot 
 help approving God's character. We cannot deny the 
 excellence of justice, mercy and holiness, any more than 
 we can the directness of a straight line which we look 
 upon. Approbation is the decision of the intellect or of 
 the moral sense, which is entirely independent of the feel- 
 ings of the heart. I once asked a young man whether he 
 thought he loved God. ' O yes,' said he, ' certainly]^ I 
 ■ 4 
 
38 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. I. 
 
 Difference between understanding and feeling. 
 
 think our Maker is worthy of all our praise and gratitude.' 
 He was blind to the distinction, you see, completely. He 
 thought his Maker was worthy. Of course; — he could not 
 help thinking so. The question is not, whether God is 
 worthy of love and gratitude, but whether, in our hearts, 
 we really render these feelings. Now it is very possible 
 that if you look honestly into your hearts, you will find that 
 all your supposed love for God, is only a cold, intellectual 
 admission of the excellence of his character. This may 
 exist without any. personal feelings of affection towards 
 him. 
 
 "2. The second delusion is similar. We pray and 
 we make effort to confine our attention to our prayers, — 
 or, as we term it, to think what we are saying. This we 
 mistake for really feeling the desires which we express. I 
 doubt not that many of you are in the habit of prayer, and 
 that you often strive to confine your mind to what you are 
 saying. Now you may do all this, without having in the 
 heart any real desires for the forgiveness and the holiness 
 and the other blessings you seek. In fact, the very effort 
 you make to confine your mind, proves, or rather indicates 
 very strongly, that the heart is somewhere else; for the 
 mind goes easily where the heart is, and stays there, with 
 out any great effort to confine it, 
 
 "3. There is another delusion, similar to the foregoing. 
 Thanking God without gratitude. We see that he is our 
 benefactor, and that he deserves our gratitude. We say 
 this, and feel satisfied with it, — never reflecting that this is 
 a very different thing from actually feeling gratitude. 
 
 "For instance, we may rise in the morning, and look 
 out upon the pleasant landscape before us, in the midst of 
 which we are to work during the day, and think of our 
 pleasant home, our friends, and all our comforts and means 
 of happiness, which we are now to enjoy for another day, — 
 the thought of all these things gives us pleasure. We feel 
 a lHhd of complacency in them, which, connected with our 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH, 39 
 
 Spurious gratitude. Indications of enmity. 
 
 knowing that they come from God, we mistake for grati- 
 tude. We thus often think we are grateful, when the 
 only feeling is a plcascml recognition of the good enjoyed. 
 The difference is shown in this, that this latter feeling has 
 no effect upon the conduct, whereas real gratitude will lead 
 us to take pleasure in doing our benefactor's will. Even 
 a painful duty will become a pleasant one, for we always 
 love to make a sacrifice for one who has been kind to us, 
 if we are really grateful to him." 
 
 Alonzo here recollected the evening when he took pos- 
 session of his new hon\e, thinking that he was grateful to 
 God for it, while yet " he could not " do that evening what 
 he knew was God's will. 
 
 " In a word," continued the pastor, " we mistake the 
 convictions of the understanding, and of the moral sense, 
 for the movements of the heart; whereas, the former may 
 be all right, and the latter all wrong. 
 
 "I will tell you now, some of the indications, that a per- 
 son really in heart dislikes God, even if his understanding 
 is right in respect to his character and his favors. 
 
 "1. When his feelings do not go forth spontaneously 
 and pleasantly towards him. Payson once said to his 
 child, ' Have you not sometimes felt, when thinking of 
 some person whom you loved, and who was away from you, 
 as if your heart ivent out to that person, and then it seemed 
 as if the distance between you was lessened, though it was 
 not in reality.'' On the other hand, when you think of a 
 person whom you do not like, your heart draws back, as it 
 were, and shrinks coldly from him. Now just tell me in 
 which of these ways it is affected when you think of God.' " 
 
 Alonzo recollected how readily, when he was at work on 
 the hill side, or in the distant forest, his thoughts and afiec- 
 tions would roam away to his wife and his home, and h<#er 
 
40 THE WAT TO DO GOXJD. [Ch. f. 
 
 Alonzo'a self application. The closing prayer^ 
 
 there. He saw too clearly, also, that his heart never thus 
 sought God. 
 
 ''Another evidence of our dishking God, is, wh^n we 
 escape from his presence as soon as we can. When we 
 cut short our prayers, and our thoughts come back with a 
 spring to our business or our pleasures, as if we had kept 
 them on God for a few minutes, by force; — when the 
 Sabbath is a weariness, and secret communion with him a 
 burden.*' 
 
 Alonzo felt that the pastor was describing his feelings, 
 exactly. 
 
 '' 3. Also when we hold back a little from cordial ac- 
 quiescence in God's justice, and in his fearful decision 
 in punishing sin, both as exhibited in his daily dealings 
 of mankind, and in the Bible. We shrink from some 
 things in his administration, just as one condemned male- 
 factor is shocked at what he calls the cruelty of the gov- 
 ernment in executing another. <^> ! s^ >j»* 
 
 " Now do you, when examiaed by these tests, love God, 
 or dislike him? " 
 
 It was plain from the appearance of the assembly, that 
 they felt condemned. The pastor perceived that they 
 pleaded guilty. He closed his remarks by these words, 
 
 * ' You ought to love God. He commands you to do it. 
 You ought to have loved him all your lives; — you ought ta 
 love him now. He will forgive all the past for his Son's 
 sake, if you will now simply turn your hearts to him.. 
 Ought you not to do it? '^ 
 
 "A will do it," thought Alonzo, as they kneeled once 
 moiS, to offer their parting prayer. The pastor uttered 
 
Gh. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 41 
 
 Alonzo In deeper difficulty than ever. 
 
 expressions of penitence, gratitude, affection, but Alonzo 
 perceived that notwithstanding his determination, his heart 
 did not follow. The more he tried to force himself to love 
 God, the more clearly he perceived the distinctions which 
 the pastor had been drawing, and the more painfully 
 evident it was to him, that he had no heart to love God. 
 He rose from his knees with a thought, — half impatience 
 and half despair, — " I do not love him, and I cannot love 
 him. What shall I do.?" 
 
 For many weeks, Alonzo was much discouraged and 
 distressed. He saw more and more clearly, that he did 
 not love God, and that he never had loved him. Con- 
 science upbraided him and he had little peace. Yet he 
 would not come and yield his heart to his Maker. He 
 thought he wished to do it, — as if it were possible for a 
 person to wish to love, without loving. He struggled, — 
 but struggling did no good. What God commands us to 
 do, is to love him, not to struggle against our hatred of 
 him. He set a double watch over his conduct; he was 
 more regular in his prayers, more attentive to the Scrip- 
 tures, and to every means of instruction. But all seemed 
 to do no good. His heart was still alienated from God, 
 and it seemed to him to become alienated more and more 
 
 There were three great difficulties which he experienced 
 and which perplexed and troubled him exceedingly. 
 
 First, it really seemed to him that he could not change 
 his heart; he could not force himself to love God and re- 
 pent of sin. He also could not help the wrong and wicked 
 feelings which often raged within him, on occasions of 
 peculiar temptation. I am aware that the theological 
 philosophers disagree on this subject, but it really seemed 
 to Alonzo, that his wicked heart was too strong for him. 
 This thought, however, did not make him easy. Con- 
 science upbraided him the more, for being in such a state 
 of heart towards God. 
 
 Secondly, the more he thought of the subject, and the 
 4* 
 
42 THE WAY TO DO GOOl). [Cll. 1. 
 
 " Sin revived." Conviction not conversion. 
 
 more he tried to make himself fit for heaven, the more hol- 
 low and superficial and hypocritical he found all his suppos- 
 ed goodness to be. The law of God claiming his heart, 
 had come home to his apprehension, and brought a new 
 standard before him. His supposed gratitude and peni- 
 tence, his prayers, and all the virtues on which he had 
 prided himself, resolved themselves into elements of cor- 
 ruption and sin, under the powerful analysis of the Spirit. 
 
 Thirdly, in trying to correct his sinful habits, his pro- 
 gress in discovering his sins went on far in advance of 
 his success in purifying himself from them, so that in his 
 attempts to reform his heart, he was continually alarmed at 
 new and unexpected exposures. In fact the law of God 
 had come home to him, and as oil upon the fresh surface 
 of a variegated wood, brings out the dark stains which had 
 before been invisible, it developed corruptions and sins 
 in his heart, which he had never supposed to be slumber-^ 
 ing there. He was alive without the law once, but when 
 the commandment came, sin revived and he died; — his 
 heart sunk within him, to see his sad spiritual condition. 
 In a word, Alonzo opened his eyes to the fact that the ex- 
 cellences of character which circumstances had produced 
 in him, were external, and superficial, and that he was in 
 heart, and that he always had been, the enemy of God, and 
 the miserable, helpless slave of sin. 
 
 Though he was thus, in some degree, aware of the con- 
 dition of his heart, yet that condition was not altered. 
 The trouble with him was, that he still disliked God, and 
 loved the world and sin, but conscience pressed him with 
 the guilt of it, and he feared a judgment to come. Instead 
 however, of throwing himself fully upon God and giving 
 him his heart, he still kept away, alienated and miserable. 
 He had certain excuses with which he unconsciously de- 
 ceived himself, and was gradually lulling his conscience to 
 rest, when one day he had a private interview with his 
 pasfcr, iu which he presented his excuses, and they were 
 
Ch. I.] WORKS AND rAifrt. 43 
 
 Alonzo'a excuses and difflciillies His heart. 
 
 answered. These excuses, and the replies made by the 
 pastor to thepn, were, in substance, somewhat as follows. 
 
 '' I do feel, sir, that I am a most miserable sinner, but I 
 do not know what to do. I have been now seeking reli- 
 gion for many years, and the more I seek it, the farther I 
 seem to be from it." 
 
 " What more then, can you do? " 
 *• I am sure I do not know." 
 
 " Then why does not your heart rest quietly in the 
 consciousness of having been faithful to the utmost in 
 duty? God requires no more." 
 
 Alonzo hung his head. He perceived the absurdity of 
 his excuse, 
 
 "No," said his pastor; "You show by that remark, 
 how easily and completely the heart deceives itself. Up- 
 braided as you are by conscience, for guilt in disliking 
 and disobeying God, — reproached so severely and continu- 
 ally too, that you cannot rest, you yet say to me that which 
 implies that you have done and are doing all which God 
 requires." 
 
 Alonzo sighed; it was too true. 
 
 "I know it," said he; "It is just so. I continually 
 find some new proof of the corruption and deceitfulness of 
 my heart. I want to change it, but it seems to me that I 
 cannot." 
 
 " You speak as if your heart were one party, and you 
 another, and as if you were right, and all the blame rested 
 upon your heart, as an enemy that had insinuated itself by 
 some means into your bosom. Now what is your heart?— 
 why it is simply yourself; — your moral character and moral 
 feelings.* To talk of a contention between yourself and 
 your heart, is a complete absurdity, for the parties in the 
 contest are one and the self-same thing. The struggle, if 
 there is any, is between the claims of God's law, urged by 
 his Spirit, on the one side, and you or your heart resisting 
 
 * Payson. 
 
44 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Helplessness. Struggling with sin. 
 
 on the other. He commands you to give him your heart, 
 that is y our self ^-^y our affections, your love, and you do 
 not do it." 
 
 " I know it, but it seems to me that I cannot help it. T 
 
 am conscious that my affections are not given to God, — 
 
 they will cling to the world and sin, and I cannot help it." 
 
 *'The feelings however, which you cannot help, you 
 
 admit to be wrong feelings." 
 
 *' Yes sir, I feel and know they are wrong, and that is 
 what makes me miserable." 
 
 " Then you are more guilty than I supposed. What 
 should you say, if you knew of a man who said he had 
 such an uncontrollable desire to steal, or to kill, that he 
 could not help continually committing these crimes.'* Should 
 you think him worse or better than those who sinned 
 occasionally under strong temptation.'* " 
 
 " But I struggle against the feelings, and cannot 
 conquer them." 
 
 "And suppose such a man as I have described, should 
 meet you in a lonely place, and should tell you that he 
 must rob and murder you, — that he had been struggling 
 against the disposition, but it was too strong for him. 
 What would you think of him.'' Why plainly, that he was 
 a man of extraordinary depravity. The greater the strug- 
 gle, the greater the evidence of the wickedness which 
 could not be overcome. Our duty is to feel right towards 
 God, not to struggle with wr&ng feelings." 
 
 " I feel that that is true. But what to do, I do not 
 know. It does seem to me that I want to repent of sin 
 and forsake it, but — but — " 
 
 " But you do not, and therefore it is impossible that you 
 should want to. There is no force applied to you, to con- 
 tinue you in sin. If there was, your conduct would not 
 be sin. To wish to repent, without repenting, is as im- 
 possible and absurd, as to wish to be sorry for something 
 for which you are really glad. I have no doubt you 
 
J I' Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 45 
 
 Beginning life anew, a vain wish. 
 
 really think you wish to repent, but I think you deceive 
 yourself. What you wish for, is some of the results which 
 you suppose ivould follow from repentance. This is what 
 the desires of your mind rest upon; but repentance itself 
 looks disagreeable and repulsive, and as you cannot gain 
 
 I., those results in any other way, you are troubled and dis- 
 ^ tressed." 
 
 Alonzo saw at once by a glance within, that this was 
 true. He longed for peace of mind, relief from the re- 
 proaches of conscience, — ^the reputation and the standing 
 of a Christian here, and assurance of safety and happiness 
 hereafter; but he perceived that he did not long for peni- 
 tence itself. It was a disagreeable means of obtaining a 
 desirable end. He was silent for a few moments, and then 
 he said, with a sigh, 
 
 " Oh, how I wish I could begin life anew. I would live 
 in a very different manner from what I have done." 
 
 " That remark shows how little you know, after all, of 
 your own character, and of the way of salvation. It is not 
 by purifying ourselves, and thus making ourselves fit for 
 heaven, — or by any such ideas as should suggest the plan 
 of beginning life anew. If you should begin, you would 
 undoubtedly be again as you have been." 
 
 Alonzo saw that this was true. He was ashamed that 
 he had expressed such a wish, and at length asked, in a 
 sorrowful desponding tone, whether his pastor could say 
 nothing to aid or guide him. 
 
 "I do not know that I can," was the reply. "The 
 difficulty is not the want of knowledge of duty, but the 
 want of a heart to do it. If you had the right desires, your 
 difficulties would all be over in a moment, but as you have 
 not, I cannot impart them. Since you are thus bent on sin, 
 God alone can change you. 
 
 " I will ask you, however, one question. Do you clearly 
 understand what this verse means, ' For they, being igno- 
 rant of God's rigliteousness, and going about to establish 
 
46 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Self righteousness. Repairing an old house. 
 
 their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves to 
 the righteousness of God; for Christ is the end of the law 
 for righteousness to every one that believeth.' " 
 *' No sir, I have never thought of it particularly." 
 "You feel in some degree the hopelessness of your 
 condition, if God should leave you to yourself You have 
 been neglecting your highest duty all your days, and in 
 your efforts to seek religion, you have been endeavoring 
 to set yourself right, with an idea of thus recommending 
 yourself to God's favor. You have been discouraged and 
 disheartened by this hopeless labor, for the farther you 
 proceed in your efforts to repair your character, the more 
 deep and extended do you find the proofs of its inherent 
 corruption and depravity. 
 
 " You are like the man attempting to repair a house 
 gone thoroughly to decay," continued the pastor, and as 
 he said these words, he took down from a little set of 
 shelves behind him, a small volume, from which he read 
 the following passage. 
 
 " * The sinner going about to establish a righteousness 
 of his own, is like a man endeavoring to repair his house, 
 which had thoroughly gone to decay When he begins, 
 there is a tolerably fair exterior. It appears as if a few 
 nails to tighten what is loose, — -a little new flooring, — and 
 here and there a fresh sill, will render all snug again ; and 
 that by means of these, together With paint and paper and 
 white-wash, to give the proper superficial decoration, all 
 will be well, — or i\t least, thd;t his building will be as good 
 as his neighbor's. When he begins, however, he finds that 
 there is a little more to be done than he had expected. 
 The first board that he removes in order to replace it by a 
 better, reveals one in a worse condition behind it. He 
 drives a nail to tighten a clapboard, and it slumps into de- 
 cayed wood behind, taking no hold; he takes away more, 
 by little and little, hoping at every removal, to come to the 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 47 
 
 The parallel case. The true way of salvation. 
 
 end of what is unsound; but he finds that the more he does, 
 the more disheartened and discouraged he feels, for his 
 progress in learning the extent of the decay, keeps far in 
 advance of his progress in repairing it, until at last, he 
 finds to his consternation, that every beam is gone, — every 
 rafter worm-eaten and decayed, the posts pulverized by 
 the dry rot, and the foundations cracked and tottering. 
 There is no point to start frorp, in making his repairs, no 
 foundation to build upon. The restoration of the edifice to 
 strength and beauty, can never be accomplished, and if it 
 could, the expense would far exceed his pecuniary power. 
 His building only looks the worse for his having broken its 
 superficial continuity. He has but revealed the corruption 
 which he never can remove or repair.' 
 
 " Now does not this correspond with your efforts and 
 disappointments during the last few months?" 
 
 "Exactly," said Alonzo. 
 
 " And your case is hopeless if God leaves you to your- 
 self You cannot he saved. It is not that you cannot come 
 and be the child of God if you wish to, but you cannot 
 come, because you do not wish to. 
 
 "Now this being your condition, you need a Savior. 
 There is one for you. If you wish, you can come and 
 unite yourself with him. If you do, through his sufferings 
 and death you may be freely forgiven. The responsibility, 
 the liability, so to speak, for the past will be cut off*. The 
 Savior assumes all that burden and you may go free. By 
 coming and giving yourself up wholly to him, you bring 
 your past life as it were to a close, and begin a new 
 spiritual life, which comes from union with him. The 
 burden of past guilt is like a heavy chain, which you have 
 been dragging along, until it is too heavy to be borne any 
 longer. Union with Christ sunders it at a blow, and you go 
 forward free and happy, forgiven for all the past, and for 
 the future enjoying a new spiritual life, which you will draw 
 
48 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 1. 
 
 Alonzo renewed. His walk home. New desires. 
 
 from him. In a word, you abandon your own character, 
 with the feelings with which a man would abandon a wreck, 
 and take refuge with Jesus Christ who will receive you, 
 and procure for you forgiveness for the past, and strength 
 for the future, by means of his own righteousness and suf- 
 ferings." 
 
 Alonzo had heard the way of salvation by Christ ex- 
 plained a thousand times before, but it always seemed a 
 mysticism to him, as it always does to those who have never 
 seen their sins and felt the utter hopelessness of their 
 moral condition. As long as man is deceived about his 
 true character, he needs no Savior. But when he detects 
 himself, — when his eyes are opened, and his deep seated 
 corruptions are exposed, — when he feels the chains of sin 
 holding him with a relentless gripe in hopeless bondage, — 
 then he finds that utter self-abandonment and flying for 
 refuge to union with a Savior crucified for his sins — 
 making thus as it were, common cause with a divine Re- 
 deemer whose past suflTerings may be of avail to ransom 
 him, and who will supply new spiritual life to guide him in 
 future, — he finds this prospect opens to him a refuge just 
 such as he needs. 
 
 As Alonzo walked home from this interview, his heart 
 dwelt with delight on the love of Christ to men, in thus 
 making arrangements for taking lost sinners into such an 
 union with him. His heart was full. There was no strug- 
 gling to feel this love and gratitude. It was the warm, 
 spontaneous movement of his soul, which no struggling 
 could have suppressed. He longed for an occasion to do 
 something to evince his gratitude. It was evening, and he 
 looked forward with delight to the opportunity of calling 
 together his family to establish family prayers. He al- 
 most wished that the exercise was twice as embarrassing as 
 it was, for it seemed to him that an opportunity to suffer 
 some real pain or sacrifice, in the cause of his Savior, 
 would be a high enjoyment to him, as a gratification of the 
 new feelings of love which burned within him. 
 
Ch. 1.] WORKS AND FAITH. 49 
 
 The great change. Created anew. Address to the reader. 
 
 As he walked along, his heart clung, as it were, to the 
 Savior, with a feeling of quiet happiness. In former days, 
 fee Ihougld he loved hira, deceived, as we liav^c already 
 shown, — now be knew he loved him. He saw ''God in 
 Christ, reconciling the world unto himself," and the Savior 
 whom he there saw was all in all. 
 
 When he opened his bible, old familiar passages, which 
 had always seemed to him mystical and unintelligible, 
 shone with new meaning 
 
 " Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, 
 being made a curse for us." *' Being justified by faith, 
 we have peace with God by our Lord Jesus Christ." " I 
 am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live, — but the life 
 i now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, 
 who loved n>e and gave himself for me." 
 
 Alonzo made greater efforts to do his duty after this, than 
 he did before, but it was for a different object and in a dif- 
 ferent way. Then, he was trying to establish his own 
 righteousness, so as to fit himself for heaven. He aban- 
 doned this altogether now, having hope only in Christ, — 
 undeserved mercy in Christ. He however made great 
 efforts to grow in grace and do good to others, — but it was 
 now simply because he loved to do it. Then he made 
 these efforts as an unpleasant but a supposed necessary 
 means to a desired end. Now he hoped to secure that end 
 in another way, and he made these efforts, because they 
 were delightful on their own account. He was, in fact, 
 a, 7iew creature ; a '•' new creature in Christ Jesus;" — 
 changed not by his vain eflforts to establish his own right- 
 eousness, but by the regenerating influences of the Holy 
 Spirit, altering fundamentally the desires and affections of 
 his inmost soul. 
 
 Reader! — in going forward through this volume, which 
 will explain to you the way to do good, if your aim is 
 secretly or openly to Jit yourself, by your good deeds, for the 
 
50 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Conclusion. Motives. Happiness secured by Doing Good. 
 
 approbation of God, and thus to procure the pardon of your 
 sins, — the farther you go, and the greater the effort you 
 make, the more discouraged and disheartened you will be. 
 For your progress in discovering the corruption and deprav- 
 ity of your heart, will keep far in advance of your success 
 in correcting or repairing it. The hopeless task may as 
 well be abandoned in the beginning as at the end. Come 
 first to the Savior. Give up yourself, your character, — and 
 all the hopes you may have founded upon it. Unite your- 
 self with Christ as the branch is united to the vine, that is, 
 so as to be sustained by one commoji vitality. This will of 
 course be a new life to you, a spiritual life, without which 
 all excellence is superficial, all hopes of eternal happiness 
 baseless, and all real peace and enjoyment unknown. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MOTIVES. 
 " That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven." 
 
 The last chapter was intended to show the reader that 
 the impulse which should lead us to the performance of good 
 works in this world of probation, is not a hope of thereby 
 fitting ourselves by meritorious performances, for God's 
 service in heaven; but a spontaneous love for God and 
 man, urging us forward in such a course, while our hope 
 of forgiveness for sin rests on other grounds altogether. 
 We have some other considerations in respect to the 
 motives which ought to influence us in doing good, which 
 we shall present in this chapter. 
 
 By engaging in the work of doing good to others, we do 
 not by any means sacrifice our own happiness. We often 
 indeed, give up some of the ordinary means of enjoyment, 
 but we do not sacrifice the end. We secure our own rich- 
 est, purest enjoyment, though in a new and better way. 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 51 
 
 Scene at home. The stormy evening. Enjoyments. 
 
 We change the character of our happiness too; for the 
 pleasure which results from carrying happiness to the 
 hearts of others is very different in its nature from that 
 which we secure by aiming directly at our own. Now the 
 reader ought to consider these things, and understand dis- 
 tinctly at the outset, whether he is in such a state of mind 
 and heart that he wishes to pursue the happiness of others, 
 or whether, on the other hand, he means to confine his 
 efforts to the promotion of his own. 
 
 On some cold winter evening, perhaps, you return from 
 the business of the day to your home, and I will suppose 
 that you have there the comforts of life all around you. 
 You draw up your richly stuffed elbow chair by the side of 
 the glowing fire which beams and brightens upon the scene 
 of elegance which your parlor exhibits. A new and en- 
 tertaining book is in your hand, and fruits and refreshments 
 are by your side upon the table. Here you may sit hour 
 after hour, enjoying these means of comfort and happiness, 
 carried away perhaps by the magic of the pen to distant 
 and different scenes, from which you return now and then 
 to listen a moment to the roaring of the wintry wind, or the 
 beating of the snow upon your windows. If you have a 
 quiet conscience, you may find much happiness in such 
 a scene, especially if gratitude to God as the bestower of 
 such comforts, and as your kind Protector and Friend, 
 warms your heart and quickens your sensibilities. Here 
 you may sit hour af\er hour, until Orion has made his 
 steady way through the clouds and storms of the sky, high 
 into the heavens. 
 
 But still though this might be enjoyment, there is another 
 way of spending an hour of the evening which would also 
 afford enjoyment, though of a different kind. You lay 
 aside your book, — trundle back your cushioned chair, — 
 pack your fruit and refreshments in a small basket, — take 
 down from your secretary a little favorite volume of hymns, 
 and then muffling youself as warmly as possible in cap and 
 wrapper, you sally forth in the midst of the storm. 
 
52 THE WAY ro Da GOOV. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Another plan. The waflc.. The s ick boy. 
 
 The brick sidewalk is half concealed by the drifts of the 
 snow, amoDg which you make yoitr slippery way, until you 
 turn down into a narrow court, guiding your steps to one 
 of its humble houses. You enter by a low door. It is not, 
 however, the abode of poverty. There is comfort and plenty 
 under this roof;-— on a different scale indeed, from that 
 which you have left at honrie, though perhaps not at all in- 
 ferior in respect to the actual enjoyment they afford. 
 
 The mother who welcomes you is a widow, and the daily 
 labor of her hands procure for her all that is necessary for 
 her wants, and much besides which she eigoys highly as 
 luxuriea. She enjoys them more highly, perhaps, than you 
 do the costly splendors you have left. Her bright brass 
 lamps, which she toiled several days to earn, and the plain 
 rocking chair in the comer, are, to her, as much, and per- 
 haps far more, than your tall astral, crowned with its cut 
 glass shade, or your spienGia ottoman. 
 
 In a word, all the wants of this family are well supplied, 
 so that I am not going to introduce the reader to a scene 
 of pecuniary charity, as he may perhaps have supposed 
 You must bring something more valuable than money here, 
 if you wish to do good. You have something more valuable 
 than money — Christian sympathy; this I will suppose you 
 to bring. 
 
 On one side of the fire is a cradle which the mother has 
 been rocking. You take your seat in a low chair by the 
 side of it, and leaning over it, you look upon the pale face 
 of a little sufferer who has been for many months languish- 
 ing there. His disease has curved his back, and brought 
 his head over towards his breast, and contracted his lungs, 
 and he lies there in bonds which death only can sunder. 
 Something like a smile lights up his features to see that 
 his friend has come again to see him even through the 
 storm. That smile and its meaning will repay you for all 
 the cold blasts which you encountered on your way to the 
 sick room. After a few minutes conversation with the boy, 
 YOU ask if he would like to have you walk with him a little. 
 
Ch. ^.] MOTIVES 
 
 Enjoyment of another kind. The return. 
 
 He reaches up his arms to you, evidently pleased with the 
 proposal, and you lift him from his pillow; — and you enjoy, 
 yourself, more, even than he does, the relief he experiences 
 in extending his limbs, cramped by the narrow dimensions 
 of his cradle. 
 
 You raise him in your arms. He is not heavy. Disease 
 has diminished his weight, and you walk to and fro across 
 the room with a gentle step, — his head reclining upon your 
 shoulder. The uneasy, restless expression which was upon 
 his countenance is gradually changed for one of peaceful 
 repose; until, at length, lulled by the gentle sound of your 
 voice, he drops into a quiet slumber. You may walk with 
 him many, many times across the floor, before fatigue will 
 counterbalance the pleasure you will receive, in watch- 
 ing his placid and happy look reflected in the glass behind 
 you, when you turn. 
 
 At last he wakes, and you gently lay him down into 
 his cradle again. You read him a hymn expressive of 
 resignation to God, and confidence in his kind protection. 
 Kneeling down by his cradle and holding his hand in yours, 
 you offer a simple prayer in his behalf, and when at length 
 you rise to go away, you see in his countenance and feel in 
 the spontaneous pressure of his little hand, that though he 
 says nothing, for he has not yet learned the cold forms of 
 civility, — his heart is full of happiness and gratitude. In 
 witnessing it, and in recalling the scene to your mind in 
 your cold and stormy walk home, you will experience an 
 enjoyment which I cannot describe, but which all who have 
 experienced it will understand. This enjoyment is, how- 
 ever, very different in its nature from the solitary happiness 
 you would have felt at your own fireside. Which kind, 
 now, do you prefer? 
 
 The case I have described is, it is true, an experiment 
 on a very small scale. The good done, was very little, — it 
 was only half an hour's partial relief for a sick child, and 
 another half hour's happiness for him^ afterwards^ as he lies 
 5* 
 
54 THE WAY TO 150 GOOD. [CIl. 5. 
 
 Happiness secured though not directly sought. 
 
 in silence and solitude in his cradle, musing on the kindness 
 of his visitor. This is indeed doing good on a small scale, 
 but then on the other hand it is making but a small effort. 
 It shows the better, perhaps, on account of its being so 
 simple a case, the point to be illustrated, viz. that you may 
 take two totally different modes to make a winter evening 
 pass pleasantly; and it is not merely a difference of means 
 when the end is the same, but a difference in the very end 
 and object itself. 
 
 "But is not the end sought in both cases our own hap- 
 piness.?" you ask. 
 
 *' No, it is not. And this leads me to a distinction, — a 
 metaphysical distinction, which every one who wishes to> 
 do good on the right principles ought to understand. The 
 distinction is contained summarily in the following proposi- 
 tions, and I wish my young reader would pause and reflect 
 upon them, untiltheir meaning is distinctly understood, and 
 then he will be prepared to enter into the spirit of the re- 
 marks which follow. The propositions are elementary, — 
 the very foundations of the science of doing good. 
 
 1. One may do good for the sake of^ the credit or the 
 advantage of it ; in which case it is a matter of policy. 
 
 2. He may do good for the sake of the pleasure of it. 
 Hiere it is a matter of feeling. 
 
 3. He may do good simply for the sake of obeying God, 
 and from the desire to have the good done. In this case it 
 is a matter of principle. 
 
 1 . A man may do good for the sake of the credit of it ; 
 and this is the secret of a far greater proportion of the ap- 
 parently benevolent effort which is made in the world, than 
 is generally supposed. I do not by any. means say that it 
 is wrong for a man to desire the good opinion of others, 
 and especially to wish to be known as a man of kind feel- 
 ing for the wants and sufferings of others, his fellow men. 
 This is probably right. The degree, the extent, to which this 
 operates upon us as a stimulus to effort, is the main point 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 63 
 
 t_ .. . . r .. .„- __^.i »_ _ 
 
 VarioOa motives : perhaps Hot wholly wrong. 
 
 There are various ways in which this principle may 
 operate. You may go and visit the sick, and carry com- 
 forts to the poor, and be very active and bustling in your 
 efforts to gather Sabbath-school scholars, or to distribute 
 tracts, or collect contributions for charitable purposes, — 
 and ydu pass along from month to month, imagining that 
 your motives and feelings are all right. And yet if you 
 were at any time to pause and reflect, and call your heart 
 thoroughly to account, you would find that your real stimu- 
 lus is the wish to be esteemed by all your Christian acquain- 
 tances, as an ardent and a devoted Christian, or an active, 
 efficient, successful member or. manager of a charitable 
 society. Or you may contribute money, — alas! how much 
 is so contributed, — because you know it will be expected 
 of you. The box or the paper comes round, and you can- 
 not easily escape it. You do the good, not for the sake of 
 having the good done, but to save your own credit. Or, to 
 take another case still, on a larger scale, and more gross 
 in its nature, — you may, if a man of business and wealth, 
 take a large share in some costly, benevolent enterprise, 
 with the design of enlarging your influence or extending 
 your business by the effect which your share in the trans- 
 action will produce upon the minds of others. It is true 
 that this feeling would not be unmixed. You would look, 
 and try to look, as much as possible at the benevolent ob- 
 ject to be accomplished, — and a heart deceitful above all 
 things, and desperately wicked, will attempt to persuade 
 you that this is your sole, or at least your principal desire. 
 But, if in such a case, you were suddenly laid upon a dying 
 bed, and could look upon the transaction in the bright 
 spiritual light which the vicinity of another world throws 
 upon all human actions and pursuits, you would see that 
 in all these cases, you are doing good, not for the sake 
 of pleasing God by doing his work, — but to promote, in 
 various ways, your own private ends. 
 
 Let it be understood that we do not say that this would 
 
66 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 * — i_^i . _J» - 
 
 Sentimental feeling. Illustration. 
 
 be wrong — nor do we say it would be right. We saj nothing 
 about it. How far, and into what fields a just and proper 
 policy, will lead a man, in the transaction of his worldly 
 affairs, it is not now our business to inquire. The subject 
 we are considering is not policy, but benevolence; — and 
 the only point which we wish here to carry, is inducing the 
 young Christian, in commencing his course of religious 
 action, to discriminate, -^to understand distinctly what is 
 benevolence and what is not ;— to have his mental and 
 moral powers so disciplined, that when he really is doing 
 good for the sake of the credit of it, he may distinctly 
 know it. 
 
 ^ 2. Doing good from the impulse of sentimental /ee/mg, is 
 regarded among men as of a higher moral rank, than doing 
 good from policy. Though after all, it might perhaps be a 
 little difficult to assign a substantial reason for the distinc- 
 tion. One of the lowest examples of doing good from mere 
 feeling, is where we make effort to relieve pain, because 
 we cannot bear to see it. A wretched looking child, with 
 bare feet and half naked bosom, comes to our door in a 
 cold inclement season of the year. He comes, it may be, 
 to beg for food or clothing. We should perhaps never 
 have thought of making any search in our neighborhood 
 for objects of suffering, but when such an object obtrudes 
 itself upon us, we cannot bear to send him away with a 
 denial. We give him food or clothing, or perhaps money; 
 but our chief inducement for doing it is to relieve a feeling 
 of uneasiness in our own minds. We do not say that this 
 is wrong. All we say is, that it is not acting from principle. 
 It may be considered a moral excellence that the mind is 
 so constituted in respect to its powers and sympathy with 
 others, that it cannot be happy itself while an object of 
 misery is near, and the happiness of knowing that all 
 around us are happy, m.iy be a kind of enjoyment which 
 it is very proper for us to seek. But still this is doing good 
 from feeling, not from principle* 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 67 
 
 Another case. Principle. Nature of it. 
 
 Feeling will often prompt a benevolent man to make 
 efforts to promote positive enjoyment, as well as to relieve 
 mere suffering which forces itself upon the notice. You 
 •' get interested," as the phrase is, in some unhappy widow, 
 perhaps, and her children, — a case of destitution and suffer- 
 ing, with which you have become casually acquainted. 
 The circumstances of her case are such, perhaps, as at first 
 to make a strong appeal to your feelings, and after begin- 
 ning to act in her behalf, you are led on from step to step 
 by the pleasure of doing good, till you have found her 
 regular employment, and relieved all her wants, and pro- 
 vided for the comfort and proper education of her children. 
 All this may be right, but it may be simply feeling, which 
 has prompted it. There may have been no steady prin- 
 ciple of benevolence through the whole. 
 
 3. Doings ,^gpd from £rinci^le. There is a far wider 
 difference between the benevolence of principle, and the 
 benevolence of feeling, than young Christians who have 
 not fully^ considered the subject ace awa]r<g,^of Principle 
 looks first to God. She sees him engaged in the work of 
 promoting universal holiness and happiness. Not universal 
 holiness, merely as a means of happiness, but holiness and 
 happiness; — for moral excellence is in itself a good, inde- 
 pendently of any enjoyment which may result from it. So 
 that Principle has two distinct and independent, though 
 closely connected objects, while Feeling has but one. 
 Principle decides deliberately to take hold as a cooperator 
 ^iviili God, in promoting the prosperity of his kingdom; — 
 which kingdom is the prevalence of perfect holiness and 
 universal enjoyment. She does not then rush heedlessly 
 into the field and seize hold of the first little object which 
 comes in her way. She acts upon a plan. She surveys 
 the field. She considers what means and resources she 
 now has, and what she may, by proper effort, bring within 
 her reach ; and then aims at acting in such a manner as 
 shall in the end promote, in the highest and best way, the 
 
58 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Policy. An Allegory. A scene in the evening 
 
 designs of God. She feels too, that in these labors she is 
 not alone. She is not a principal. She is endeavoring to 
 execute the plans of a superior, and she endeavors to act, 
 not as her own impulses might prompt, but as the nature 
 and character of his great designs require. 
 
 Doing good from motives of policy, the first of the in- 
 ducements we have considered, is not likely to find much 
 favor with human hearts, if it can be simply deprived of its 
 disguise. But the distinction between feeling and principle 
 demands more careful attention. The two may sometimes 
 cooperate. In fact, they do very well together, but Feeling 
 cannot be trusted alone with the Avork of benevolence. She 
 will aid, she will inspirit Principle, and enable her to do her 
 work better and more pleasantly, but she cannot be trusted 
 alone. 
 
 We can, perhaps, more clearly show the distinction be- 
 tween the benevolence of Principle and of Feeling, by an 
 allegorical illustration. Let us suppose then, that one eve- 
 ning. Feeling and Principle were walking in a road, upon 
 the outskirts of a country town. They had been to attend 
 an evening service in a school-house, half a mile from their 
 homes. It wsls a cold winter evening, and as they passed 
 by the door of a small cabin with boarded windows and 
 broken roof, they saw a child sitting at the door, weeping 
 and sobbing bitterly. 
 
 Feeling looked anxious and concerned. 
 
 *' What is the matter, my little fellow?" said Principle, 
 with a pleasant countenance. 
 
 The boy sobbed on. 
 
 "What a house," said Feeling, " for human beings to 
 live in. But I do not think any thing serious is the matter. 
 Let us ^o on." 
 
 "What is the matter, my boy.^" said Principle again, 
 kindly. " Can you not tell us what is the matter?" 
 
 "My father is sick," said the boy, and I don't know 
 what is the matter with him." 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 59 
 
 Conversation. A wretched fireside. 
 
 "Hark," said Feeling. 
 
 They listened and heard the sounds of moaning and 
 muttering within the house. 
 
 "Let us go on," said Feeling, pulling upon Principle's 
 arm, " and we will send somebody to see what is the 
 matter." 
 
 "We had better go and see ourselves," said Principle 
 to her companion. 
 
 Feeling shrunk back from the proposal, and Principle 
 herself, with female timidity, paused a moment, from an 
 undefined sense of danger. 
 
 "There can be no real danger," thought she. "Be 
 sides, if there is, my Savior exposed himself to danger in 
 doing good. Why should not I.'' Savior," she whispered, 
 "aid and guide me." 
 
 "Where is your mother, my boy," said she. 
 
 "She is in there," said the boy, "trying to take care 
 of him." 
 
 "Oh, come," said Feeling, "let us go. Here, my boy, 
 here is some money for you to carry to your mother. Say- 
 ing this, she tossed down some change by his side. The 
 boy was wiping his eyes, and did not notice it. He looked 
 up anxiously into Principle's face and said, 
 
 " I wish you would go and see my mother." 
 
 Principle advanced towards the door, and Feeling, afraid 
 to stay out, or to go home alone, followed. 
 
 They walked in. Lying upon a bed of straw, and cover- 
 ed with miserable and tattered blankets, was a sick man, 
 moaning and muttering and snatching at the bed clothes 
 with his fingers. He was evidently not sane. 
 
 His wife was sitting on the end of a bench, by the chim- 
 ney corner, with her elbows on her knees, and her face 
 upon her hands. As her visiters entered, she looked up to 
 them, the very picture of wretchedness and despair. Prin- 
 ciple was glad, but Feeling was sorry they had come. 
 
 FeelinjT began to talk to some small children, who were 
 
GO THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Efibct of sympathy. F^eeling and principle contrasted> 
 
 shivering over the embers upon the hearth, and Principle 
 accosted the mother. They both learned soon, the true 
 state of the case. It was a case of common misery, re- 
 sulting from the common cause. Feeling was overwhelmed 
 with painful emotion at witnessing such suffering. Prin- 
 ciple began to think what could be done to relieve it, and 
 to prevent its return. 
 
 "Let us give her some money to send and buy some 
 wood, and some bread," whispered Feeling, "and go away; 
 I cannot bear to stay." 
 
 " She wants kind words and sympathy, more than food 
 and fuel, for present relief," said Principle, "let us sit 
 with her a little while." 
 
 The poor sufferer was cheered and encouraged by their 
 presence. A little hope broke in. Her strength revived 
 under the influence of a cordial more powerful than any 
 medicated beverage; and when, after half an hour, they 
 went away promising future relief, the spirits and strength 
 of the wretched wife and mother had been a little restored. 
 She had smoothed her husband's wretched couch, and 
 quieted her crying children, and shut her doors, and was 
 preparing to enjoy the relief when it should come. In a 
 word, she had been revived from the stupor of despair. As 
 they walked away. Feeling said, it was a most heart-rend- 
 ing scene, and that she should not forget it as long as she 
 lived. Principle said nothing, but guided their way to a 
 house where they found one whom they could employ to 
 carry food and fuel to the cabin, and take care of the sick 
 man, while the wife and her children should sleep. They 
 then returned home. Feeling retired to rest, shuddering 
 lest the terrible scene should haunt her in her dreams, and 
 saying that she would not witness such a scene again, for 
 all the world. Principle kneeled down at her bedside with 
 a mind at peace. She commended the sufferers to God's 
 care, and prayed that her Savior would give her every day 
 some such work to do for him. 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES, 61 
 
 Feeling unsteady ^ fickle ; inconsiderate. 
 
 ; ] [ ---f 
 
 Such, in a very simple case, is the difference between ' 
 Feeling and Principle. The one obeys God. The other 
 obeys her own impulses, and relieves misery because she 
 cannot bear to see it. As a consequence of this difference 
 in the very nature of their benevolence, many results fol- 
 low in respect to the character of their efforts. 
 
 1. Feeling is unsteady. Acting from impulse merely, 
 it is plain that she will not act excepting when circum- 
 stances occur to awaken the impulse. She therefore can- 
 not be depended upon. Her stimulus is from without. It 
 arises from external objects acting upon her, and conse- 
 quently her benevolence rises and falls as external circum- 
 stances vary. The stimulus of Principle is from within. 
 It is a heart reconciled to God, and consequently united to 
 him, and desiring to carry forward his plans. Consequent- 
 ly when there is no work actually before her, she goes 
 forth of her own accord and seeks work. She is conse- 
 quently steady. 
 
 2. Feeling will not persevere. When she sees suffering, 
 she feels uneasy, and to remove this uneasiness, she makes 
 benevolent effort. But there are two ways o^ removing it. 
 She will cease to feel uneasiness not only when the suffer- 
 ing is relieved, but also when she becomes accustomed to 
 witnessing it. She feeds a starving child, not because she 
 wishes the child to be happy, but because she cannot bear 
 to see him wretched. Now, as soon as she becomes ac- 
 customed to seeing wretchedness, she can bear it easily 
 enough; and therefore she cannot go on with any long 
 course of benevolent effort. For before long she becomes 
 accustomed to the suffering, — it ceases to affect her, — and 
 her whole impulse, which is her whole motive, is gone. 
 
 3. Feeling is inconsiderate. What she wishes is not 
 to do good, but to relieve her own wounded sensibilities. 
 She will give a wretched object money at the door, though 
 she might know that he uses money principally as the 
 mtans of procuring that which is the chief cause of his 
 
 6 
 
62 THE WAY TO UO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Deficiencies of mere feeling. Principle. 
 
 wretchedness. That is, however, of no consequence to her, 
 for the new misery she makes will be out of her sight, and 
 her purpose is answered equally well, whether the misery 
 is relieved, or only removed from view. Therefore, she is 
 inconsiderate, — acting with good intentions, — but often in- 
 creasing the evil she intended to remedy. 
 
 4. Feeling aims only at relieving palpable wretchedness. 
 She might, indeed, if she was wise, aim at promoting gene- 
 ral happiness on an enlarged plan; for her own enjoyment 
 would be most highly promoted by this. But she is not 
 generally very wise; and while Principle forms plans, and 
 makes systematic efforts to promote the general enjoyment, 
 Feeling continues in a state of moral inaction in respect to 
 the work of doing good, unless there is some specific and 
 palpable suffering to be relieved. 
 
 5. And once more. Feeling does not aim at promoting 
 holiness or diminishing sin, on their own account. Princi- 
 ple considers sin an evil, and holiness or moral excellence, 
 a good, in themselves, on their own account, and indepen- 
 dently of their connection with enjoyment and suffering. 
 She would r^^ther have all men grateful, and obedient to 
 God, and united to one another, even if they were to gain 
 nothing by it in respect to happiness. Feeling does not 
 take this view of the subject. Nothing affects her but the 
 sight or the tale of wo. , If you can show her that sin is 
 the cause of some suffering which she is endeavoring to 
 relieve, she will perhaps take an interest in endeavoring to 
 remove it, as a means to the accomplishment of an end; 
 but in respect to the universal reign of love to God and love 
 to man, on account of the intrinsic excellence of love, she 
 feels no interest. She does not perceive this moral excel- 
 lence. She may be herself entirely destitute of this love. 
 
 In all these respects, and in many more, analogous to 
 them. Principle is very different from Feeling. 
 
 I. She is steady and persevering. She has in mind, one 
 great object, the universal establishment of the kingdom 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 63 
 
 Principle persevering ; systematic ; a cooperator with God. 
 
 of God. This is what she lives for, and she is steadily 
 p-fessing on in the accomplishment of her work. When 
 she attempts to do good in any particular case, it is not to 
 relieve herself from pained sensibilities, but to promote the 
 great cause; and when, accordingly, the acuteness of her 
 feelings have been blunted by time and use, she goes on 
 more vigorously and with more energy, — not less. Her 
 impulse is from within. It is a deliberate, a fixed and a 
 settled desire to please God, to cooperate in his plans, and 
 to promote human happiness. This is a steady principle 
 which leads her to seek work, — not merely to do what is 
 obtruded upon her. 
 
 2. Principle acts upon a plan. She makes it a part of 
 her business to look all around her, and see in what w^ays 
 and how extensively she can have any influence on the 
 character and happiness of human beings. . Then she con- 
 siders what objects ought to be aimed at, and what is their 
 comparative value, and how long life may be expected to 
 endure. With all these elements in view, she forms wise 
 and systematic plans, extending as far as her influence can 
 be made to extend. In a word, she feels that she has a 
 great work to do, and she endeavors to make*arrangements 
 for doing it systematically and thoroughly. 
 
 3. Principle aims, too, as I have l?efore intimated, at 
 promoting goodness as well as happiness. She looks upon 
 men as moral beings, not mqrely sentient beings, and aims 
 at promoting their moral excellence as well as their enjoy- 
 ment. In fact, the former attracts far the greater portion 
 of her regard, for it is not only a good in itself, but it is the 
 only sure foundation of happiness. 
 
 4. And once more, Principle engages in her work as a 
 child of God, and a cooperator* with him. She feels at all 
 times, therefore, a sense of filial dependence. She puts 
 forth her hand to be led, and goes wherever her Master 
 calls. She reports regularly to him, too, acting solely as 
 his obedient and dutiful child. 
 
64 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2, 
 
 Analj'sia of our benevolent acts. 
 
 The reader will thus, I hope, clearly understand the dis- 
 tinction between policy, feeling, and principle, as stimulus 
 to effort in doing good. The inquiry will naturally arise, 
 — -at least it ought to arise with each one, what is the 
 character of his own benevolent effort. We shall all find 
 that these motives are mixed in our hearts, and by a care- 
 ful self-examination, we shall probably perceive that policy 
 has more influence than either of the others. I do not 
 mean by policy, a deliberate intention to pretend to be be- 
 nevolent for the purpose .of accomplishing a sinister design; 
 I mean, doing good, with some real interest in it, but 
 where the paramount inducement, after all, is the light in 
 which the affair will be viewed by others. This may not 
 be always wrong, as we have before remarked. A man 
 ought not to be indifferent entirely to his own reputation 
 The favorable regard of the wise and good, every one 
 should desire, and it is right to take pleasure in the sense of 
 its possession ; but there are probably very few who would 
 not be surprised, if they were to see their good deeds 
 honestly analyzed, to find how large a portion of the in- 
 ducement in n^rly all of them, was to be seen of men. To 
 discriminafe between the benevolence of feeling and that 
 of principle, requires still greater care. The distinction is 
 not exactly one between right and wrong, for to be influ- 
 enced by feeling, in our efforts, is certainly not wrong. 
 We ought to feel deep compassion for the sufferings of 
 others, and a great personal pleasure in the work of aHevia- 
 ting them. But principle ought to be the great basis of all 
 our efforts at doing good. It is the only stable basis, — 
 and it is the only one which in any degree enables us to 
 fulfil our obligations as the creatures of God. Domg good 
 on principle, is the only kind of benevolence which is 
 pleasing to him. 
 
 JEf we wish to know which of these motives control us, 
 we must pause when we are about to make some effort to 
 do good, and allow our thoughts to go freely forward, and 
 
^ Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 65 
 
 The way to test the real motives. 
 
 see what is the object on which they will rest, as the end 
 to be secured. When, for example, you are making efforts 
 to prepare yourself well, for duties as teacher of a class in 
 the Sunday school, what is it, that your heart rests upon as 
 the object you are pursuing in it? Your imagination goes 
 forward, beyond your present preparation; now follow her; 
 see where she goes; what picture does she form? Does 
 she exhibit to your eye, the beautiful appearance of a full 
 and an attentive class, to be noticed by the other teachers, 
 or the superintendent, or by some individual friend, whose 
 good opinion you particularly desire ? Does she whisper to 
 you the praises of your fidelity, and your success, or does 
 she warn you of the reproof, or the censure, secret or open, 
 which you must expect if you are unfaithful? Or does she 
 on the other hand, lead you to the hearts of the children, 
 and show you renewed, sanctified affections there ? Does 
 she picture to you their future lives, purified from sin, and 
 lead you to anticipate through them, the extension of the 
 Redeemer's kingdom? 
 
 So when a friend calls upon you, tO ask your subscription 
 to a charity, — to relieve distress, for example, — and you sit 
 listening to the story, and determine to add your name to 
 the list, — what is it that your imagination reposes upon at 
 the instant of decision? The satisfaction of the applicant 
 at finding you ready to aid, or the sight of your name by 
 those to whom the paper is to be borne, or relief from the 
 pain awakened by the sad details of the story ? Or, is it 
 the pleasure of obeying God, and aiding in doing his work ? 
 What is it in such cases, that your mind rests upon at the 
 moment of decision? Recall a few such cases to mind, and 
 give the reins to your heart, and see where it will go. If 
 you take off all restraint, and let it move freely, it will run 
 to its own end, and there repose itself upon the object it is 
 really seeking. 
 
 So far as principle may control you in your efforts to do 
 good, it will tend to identify you in heart and feeling, and in 
 6* 
 
66 THE WAY TO DO dOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Character of the benevolence of God. 
 
 plans, with God, and lead you to act in imitation of his 
 example, and as a laborer by his side. Let us look then, 
 at the benevolence of the Deity, for this is the benevolence 
 which you are to cherish. This you are to imitate, — to 
 cooperate with. You cannot, therefore, study it too closely. 
 Let us devote, then, the remaining paragraphs of the chap- 
 ter, to a particular consideration of the character which the 
 benevolence of the Deity assumes. 
 
 1. It would seem to be the great plan and the great em- 
 ployment of the Deity, to fill the universe with sentient 
 existence, and to provide the whole mighty mass, with the 
 means of happiness in the greatest possible variety. There 
 is, it is true, a vast amount of suffering visible around us, 
 but far the greater portion of it, we can ourselves directly 
 trace to sin, and the bible tells us, that it all comes directly 
 or indirectly from this one poisoned fountain. The arrange 
 ments which God has made, tend all to happiness. It is 
 only our perversions of them, and our violations of his laws, 
 that tend to misery. 
 
 Take your stand upon the sea-shore, on a summer morn- 
 ing, and observe the expression of the face of nature. It 
 is, as it were, the expression of the countenance of God. 
 Observe the serene sky, — the mild balmy air, — the smooth 
 expanse of water before you, reflecting as in a polished 
 mirror, every rocky crag, and smooth island, and sandy 
 shore, and even every spar and rope of the vessel which 
 seems to sleep upon its bosom. Enveloping you all around, 
 is the thin elastic atmosphere, — balanced in a most delicate 
 equilibrium, — so delicate, that that workman's axe which 
 you see regularly descending upon the wood on that distant 
 point of land, sends a tremulous vibration through the 
 transparent fluid, for a mile all around. Yes, every ripple 
 upon the shore, every song of the locust, even the hum of 
 the distant town sends its own peculiar quivering through 
 the whole, and each brings distinctly and undisturbed to 
 
Ch. 2.J MOTIVES. 67 
 
 Plans to promote happiness. Simple sources of pleasure. 
 
 your ear, its own correct report. At your feet, the clear 
 waters bathe the rocks and pebbles of the shore, and aqua- 
 tic animals creep over them, or swim in the depths below, 
 enjoying sensations of pleasure which God has carefully 
 provided for every one. He who has a soul capable of 
 understanding it, will sit for hours upon the green bank, at 
 a time like this, receiving an indescribable pleasure from 
 the general expression of such a scene. It is an expression 
 of divine benevolence, beaming from the works of God, 
 which it is strange that human beings can ever fail to 
 understand and love. 
 
 How many thousand ingenious contrivances, has God 
 planned and executed to make men happy. The catalogue 
 is endless, of simple pleasures, each distinct from all the 
 rest, which the human being has the opportunity to enjoy. 
 In fact, if man acts on proper principles, and according to 
 the intentions of the Creator, every thing is a source of 
 happiness to him. Employment is pleasant, and rest is 
 pleasant. It is pleasant to begin a new work; it is plea- 
 sant to finish one, begun. Morning is delightful, — with its 
 freshness, its animation, its calls and its opportunities for 
 exertion. Evening is delightful too, with its quiet, its still- 
 ness, its repose. The summer's sun gladdens the heart, — 
 and so does the refreshing rain, when we see the dry ground 
 drinking it in, as if it enjoyed the extinguishment of its 
 thirst ; — and so does the wintry storm, when it howls through 
 the trees, and fills up every road and path, and obscures 
 the window, and spreads over fields, and plains, its mantle 
 of snow. Each comes with its own peculiar voice to the 
 heart, and fills it with peaceful happiness. 
 
 All these contrivances are plain and obvious, and yet 
 they are no less contrivances, artfully planned, to increase 
 human enjoyment. There must have been a peculiar and 
 skilful workmanship, in constructing the moral mechanism 
 of the human heart, to secure so many different kinds of 
 happiness, by means of external objects, so numerous, and 
 
68 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 The snow. Running water. Emotions awakened by them. 
 
 SO diversified. You can give no reason why the heart of a 
 child is filled with such joyous glee, when the first snow- 
 flakes descend. There is no very special beauty in the 
 sight, — and there is no very well defined hopes of slides or 
 rides, to awaken such joy. At fifty, the gladness is not 
 expressed so unequivocally, but yet when the gravest phil- 
 osopher rides through a wood whose boughs are loaded with 
 the snow, and whose tops bend over with the burden ; — and 
 looks upon the footsteps of the rabbit who has leaped along 
 over the ground, — he feels the same pleasure, though he 
 indicates it, by riding on in silent musing, instead of utter- 
 ing exclamations of delight. Can you explain this pleasure .' 
 Is there any describable pleasure in a great expanse of 
 white ,'' Is the form of the trees, or the beauty of its foliage 
 improved by the snowy mantle.'' No. The explanation is 
 that God, who formed the laws of nature, formed also the 
 human heart, and has so adapted the one to the other, as 
 to promote in every variety of mode, the enjoyment of the 
 beings he has made. There is no end to the kinds of en 
 joyment, which God has thus opened to us every where 
 They are too numerous to be named, and no intellectual 
 philosopher has ever undertaken the hopeless task of ar- 
 ranging them. Who, — to name one other example, — who, 
 when walking on the banks of a brook, at a time when busi- 
 ness or cares did not press him on, has not stopped to gaze 
 a moment upon the running water, as it rippled over the 
 smooth yellow sands. That quivering picture on the retina 
 of the eye gives delight, and the passing traveller is arrest- 
 ed and stands still, and keeps his eye fixed upon the spot, 
 that the retina may enjoy it. And who can define, or ex- 
 plain, or classify, or name the pleasant feeling.? There is 
 but one explanation. God, delighting in contrivances for 
 promoting enjoyment, has formed the brook, the retina, and 
 the feeling heart affected by it, in such a way that enjoy- 
 ment shall be developed, when they come into combination. 
 It is so, as I have said, in a thousand other cases, and man, 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 69 
 
 Various sources of enjoyment. 
 
 if he would keep his heart free from moral pollutions which 
 destroy peace, and disturb and poison every source of hap- 
 piness, would find all nature continually communicating to 
 him, through one sense and another, feelings of pure and 
 rational happiness. 
 
 Still all this is happiness of the lowest kind. It is true, 
 indeed, that these feelings may be so mingled and com- 
 bined with the higher moral feelings, as to partake in some 
 degree of their nature; still, in itself, this is happiness of 
 the lowest kind: but yet it is happiness which God has 
 made distinct, and expensive arrangements for; and these 
 arrangements, therefore, clearly speak his love. 
 
 The number and variety of these simple pleasures, which 
 the senses may be the means of affording, is immense, and 
 each must have required its own separate mechanism, to 
 secure it. I refer to the mechanism of the heart, not of 
 the organ of sense, by which the image comes in. The 
 feehng, for example, which is awakened by the sight of 
 running water, is totally different, not in degree, but in 
 kind, from that which we experience in looking upon a 
 tender, full, bursting rose-bud in the spring; — and both are 
 diverse from the emotion, awakened by looking out at mid- 
 night upon a sombre moon-light scene, among the solitudes 
 of the mountains. The same mechanism of the eye answers 
 for all, but the heart must have its own peculiar and appro- 
 priate susceptibilities for each. And so with all the other 
 thousand susceptibilities of enjoyment, which the human 
 heart possesses. Each is the result of a special arrange- 
 ment, made expressly to secure it. 
 
 And yet all these, numerous as they are, and high as 
 they would be, in the degree of enjoyment they would pro- 
 cure for us, were it not for the corroding anxieties of sin, 
 belong to the lowest class of human enjoyments. So much 
 so, that in most religious treatises upon the benevolence of 
 God, they are scarcely named. There are far higher, and 
 nobler plans, which God has formed for the happiness of 
 his creatures. 
 
70 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Higher pleasures. Employment. The merchant's counting-room. 
 
 2. Among these higher plans, is the pleasure which God 
 has annexed to the faithful and proper performance of the 
 duties of life. Each kind of employment, seems to have 
 its own peculiar and appropriate pleasure. One man is 
 stationed on a farm, which he holds as a little empire, with- 
 in which he is almost supreme, and the whole arrangement 
 of the circumstances of his connection with it, is such as to 
 afford him the highest happiness in administering his gov- 
 ernment there. Another is a merchant. You look into his 
 counting-room, and see nothing there, but a high desk 
 and a three-legged stool, and a row of ponderous ledgers. 
 "What a place for a human being to spend his days in!" 
 you exclaim. What a place? — why, in that cheerless look- 
 ing room, there are found all the materials for the highest 
 intellectual and moral enjoyment. In planning those voy 
 ages, in effecting sales, in transferring value from one form 
 to another, in inspecting his periodical balance sheet, and 
 watching his losses and gains, and examining the causes 
 which affect them, — in all these things the occupant finds 
 continual happiness, and returns day after day to his work, 
 with all the eager interest, which a child feels in the prog- 
 ress of a game. God has constructed the human heart so, 
 that the work of transferring and exchanging the various 
 products of the earth, from the places where they grow, to 
 the places where they are needed, is not a drudgery, — a 
 hard, unwelcome toil, — but an exhilarating, animating 
 game, which they, whose duty it is to attend to it, may 
 pursue with pleasure. Let it be observed that I say it 
 may be pursued with pleasure. For men may, as they 
 very oflen do, make it a work of toil and misery. They 
 may be so greedy of gain, as to be always on the point of 
 encroaching upon other persons rights, and thus always be 
 in contention; — or they may go so far beyond the bounds 
 of sound judgment, as to be harassed with continual anxiety 
 and care; — or they may yield to fretfulness and vexation, 
 upon every little disappointment or difficulty. In these and 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 7t 
 
 The pleasure of invention and construction. Higher enjoyments still. 
 
 in other ways, they may make the work which God intend- 
 ed should be pleasant, one of anxiety, toil, and suffering. 
 But this does not affect the nature of his plan. 
 
 A third individual is a mechanic, and God has so formed 
 his mental powers, that the work of invention and con- 
 struction is a positive and a lasting pleasure to him. He 
 will sit in his solitary room till the morning dawns, planning 
 the details of a machine, — held to his work by an appetite 
 whicn God has given him for it; — and if he is industrious, 
 and systematic, and faithful, he will find day after day, 
 continued and almost unalloyed happiness in managing his 
 establishment, arranging his work, and in seeing one useful 
 object after another accomplished, by the exercise of his 
 ingenuity and skill. Thus God is not a task-master, driv- 
 ing us to our duties by the force of suffering, — he is a kind 
 and benevolent friend, giving us pleasant employment and 
 making our greatest happiness to consist in the faithful 
 performance of it. 
 
 It is so with all the employments of life. There may be 
 some hours of fatigue, and now and then a crisis demand- 
 ing toil, of a character that we shrink from. But these are 
 so few, as only to brighten by the contrast, what would be 
 the happiness of a man's ordinary lot, if his daily duties 
 were performed in a faithful and proper manner. For we 
 are not to consider what is the actual amount of enjoyment 
 obtained in the ordinary pursuits of life, but what would be 
 the actual amount, if men would attend to these pursuits, 
 in the manner which God has required. If they were 
 faithful, industrious, moderate in their wishes, cautious in 
 their plans, and if they felt that filial confidence in him 
 which would enable them to cast on him all responsibility 
 and care. 
 
 3. God has planned human happiness of a still higher 
 kind, by making the heart susceptible of love, and requir- 
 ing men to exercise love towards one another. This union 
 of heart, bv which he meant to have all his creatures bound 
 
72 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 Love. Union. The institution of the family. 
 
 together, would give rise to far deeper emotions of happi- 
 ness, than either of those aheady named, or rather it would 
 mingle with and brighten these. ( How much greater de- 
 light will two children often feel in the friendship of one 
 another, than in gazing into the beautiful brook, or walking 
 upon the shore; or rather, how will their happiness be in- 
 creased tenfold by the opportunity of playing by the brook, 
 or rambling upon the sea shore together. There is a double 
 enjoyment in love, — the pleasure of feeling affection, and 
 the pleasure of being the object of it; it is hard to tell 
 which is the greatest?^ A man will sometimes neglect his 
 family, that he may increase a little the rapidity with which 
 his fortune accumulates. The game in his counting-room 
 interests him more than the circle at his fireside; — but he 
 makes a sad mistake, to barter for the interest of such a 
 work, the far richer, deeper emotions of happiness, which 
 he might secure by loving and being beloved. So men 
 every where are eager to secure their own rights to the 
 uttermost farthing, and consequently, live in a constant 
 scene of jealousy, suspicion, and angry disputes. How 
 badly they judge; — for the sake of a little more land, or a 
 little greater influence, or a little more rapid gain, to lose 
 the real, substantial, enduring happiness of peace, and 
 harmony, and happy union. And all this loss is in conse- 
 quence of a deviation from God's plan. His wish is, to 
 secure for us all, the happiness of union. He has planned 
 society so as to link men together in a thousand ways, — 
 and that too, by links so strong and so intricately fastened, 
 that we cannot loosen them. He intended that we should 
 be happy together. 
 
 See how he has grouped men in families, — having laid 
 the foundation of this institution so deep in the very consti- 
 tution of man, that there has been no nation, no age, — 
 scarcely a single savage tribe, that has not been drawn to 
 the result which he intended. For thousands of years, this 
 institution has been assailed by every power, which could 
 
I Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 73 
 
 I Its firm foundations. ' God's plans for preventing sin. 
 
 shake it by violence from without, or undermine it by 
 
 treachery within. Lust and passion have risen in rebellion 
 
 against it,— Atheism has again and again advanced to the 
 
 attack, — but it stands unmoved. It has been indebted to no 
 
 human power for its defence. It has needed no defence. It 
 
 stands on the firm, sure, everlasting foundations which God 
 
 has made for it. Wars, famine, pestilence, and revolutions 
 
 have swept over the face of society, carrying every where 
 
 confusion, terror, and distress; — Time kas undermined and 
 
 destroyed every thing which his tooth could touch, and all 
 
 human institutions have thus been altered and destroyed in 
 
 the lapse x)f ages. But the Family lives on: it stands firm 
 
 and unshaken. It finds its way wherever human beings 
 
 go, it survives every shock, and rises again unharmed, after 
 
 every tempest which blows over the social sky. It is a 
 
 contrivance for human happiness, and God has laid its 
 
 .. foundations too deep and strong to be removed. 
 
 |»^ And then too, God has so planned, the human heart, and 
 
 I the circumstances in which we find ourselves placed in this 
 
 I world, that men must live togejther in social communities. 
 
 ^ He has done this with the design that mutual- kindness, aid 
 
 I and affection should heighten the happiness of the whole 
 
 I These feelings, if they existed, would smooth the path, and 
 
 I quiet the fears, and assuage the sorrows of every man, and 
 
 * more than double every earthly enjoyment. 
 
 4. The benevolence of God shows itself most conspicu- 
 |.- ously in his plans for preventing sin, and for stopping the 
 progress and the consequences of it, when it is committed. 
 Temporary sufl?ering, however severe, including all the 
 varieties of physical evil, is nothing compared with the 
 miseries of sin, — that viper, whose fangs the wretched suf- 
 ferer never can extract, and whose wounds never heal. All 
 other ills human fortitude is sufficient to bear. There is 
 grief: — One may follow to the grave a wife, a mother, a 
 husband, a sister, a child, — many of these losses may, one 
 7 
 
74 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2. 
 
 The sufferings of sin the most intolerable. 
 
 after another, inflict their wounds; but there is a strength 
 in the human heart, which bears itself up under them all. 
 There is poverty and disappointment : — One may see hopes 
 blasted, his plans destroyed, and all the ills of penury made 
 his inevitable portion, for the remainder of his days; there 
 is a fortitude which can bear these things. There is 
 sickness and pain: — One may be a prey to disease, whose 
 intense pangs goad the sufferer almost to distraction, or 
 whose wearisome confinement knows no intermission for 
 years; — there is many a patient sufferer to be found, who 
 can bear it all with submission. But there is no manliness, 
 no fortitude in the human spirit, which can bear it up under 
 the horrors of guilt, — past, irrecoverably past, and yet 
 rising in all its vivid coloring to the soul which has incur- 
 red it, and overwhelming it with remorse and despair. The 
 reproaches of a conscience once thoroughly aroused, can 
 neither be silenced nor borne. They come, bringing with 
 them the frown of God. They bring with them recollec- 
 tions of the past, which pierce the soul with anguish, and 
 terrific forebodings as to the future, which overwhelm it 
 with horror. No human spirit can sustain its energies, 
 under such a burden, when it really comes. 
 
 Compared with the evil, and the attendant sufferings of 
 sin, all physical ill? sink into utter insignificance. The 
 blind and lame wanderer, without house or home, may have 
 a quiet conscience and a firm hope of happiness in heaven, 
 which will take away the sting of all his sorrows; while 
 the weahhy lover of the world, may spend his days in mis- 
 ery, under the galling yoke which he has brought upon him, 
 by leading a life of sin. WliD is it that is driven to suicide, 
 by intensity of suffering ? Not the sick man, tortured and 
 worn out with protracted and bodily pain; — not the half 
 starved or half frozen Indian, or gipsy; — it is the fraudu- 
 lent debtor, — the guilty defaulter, — the criminal exposed. 
 Yes, guilt is the fountain of real suffering, — and the great- 
 est of all the displays of the benevolence of God, is, his 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. 75 
 
 The most incurable. Illustration. 
 
 great original plan and his present efforts to atone for guilt 
 and wipe it away. 
 
 And besides, — as we shall see. more fully as we proceed, 
 sin is the source of nearly all the temporal sufferings of 
 mankind, and there can be no permanent relief from suf- 
 fering but by reclaiming from sin. Go for instance to the 
 house of a profligate and abandoned man, and when you 
 see the wretched condition of his desolate and suffering 
 family, make a kind and vigorous effort to relieve them. 
 Kindle up a blazing fire upon the dying embers over which 
 you found them shivering. Cover thorn with comfortable 
 clothing, and replenish, with a bountiful hand, their ex- 
 hausted stores. Afler a few weeks, return and visit them 
 again. The fire has long since burned away, and the 
 miserable cabin is as cold as before. The children are 
 again in rags, and the mother is again vainly striving to bar 
 her door against the devourer, hunger. 
 
 Suppose, again, that, dissatisfied with so partial and 
 temporary a relief, you make a second effort of a different 
 nature. You seek, and by the blessing of God, you reform 
 the man. Return again at the end of a few months, and an 
 industrious and frugal hand will be extended to you at the 
 door, to welcome you to a happy family, and to a per- 
 manently comfortable home; and you may now even take 
 provisions from his stoi-e, and fuel from his pile, and carry- 
 relief to others that are miserable. 
 
 This is a very simple case, but it illustrates an universal 
 principle which lies at the foundation of all wise and effect- 
 ual benevolence. Bring men back to God and to duty, 
 and their happiness is safe. Leave them in sin, and you 
 can make no sensible or permanent impression upon their 
 miseries. It seems as if God, in his providence, pursues to 
 a degree, to which human feeling is hardly prepared to fol- 
 low, the plan of leaving the miseries of sin to cut their own 
 dreadful way, — expending all his energies in removing 
 their cause. His benevolence is most conspicuous in his 
 
t6 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 2, 
 
 Character of the divine benevolence. 
 
 plans for spreading the dominion of holiness throughout his 
 empire, — and especially in this world, in his efforts to re- 
 claim mankind from their sins. 
 
 Such is God's plan for promoting human happiness. It 
 aims at promoting enjoyment of every kirid and in every 
 way. It is of a cheerful, happy character, too. The be- 
 nevolence which we often see exercised by men, is sombre, 
 stern and gloomy,— looking only at the great, serious in- 
 terests of humanity, and perhaps dwelling too exclusively 
 on the great futurity. The benevolence of God, while it 
 aims first at these great interests, does not neglect the 
 others. It takes a cheerful and pleasant view of the 
 present condition of man, and tries to make him happy to- 
 day, as well as to prepare him for happiness to-morrow. 
 It decks all nature in smiles, and arranges those thousand 
 influences which speak for the moment to the heart and 
 give it a transitory happiness. Gt)d gives conscience a seat 
 in the human soul, speaking strongly through her, of sin, 
 of righteousness, and of a judgment to come, that he may 
 make men happy in eternity; — he also adorns their present 
 home with a thousand beauties, and arranges a countless 
 variety of agreeable employments for them, that he may 
 make them happy here. He clothes the earth with a use- 
 ful vegetation to supply the substantial wants of the crea- 
 tures he has formed; and he also brings out the lovely 
 hues of the flowers, and arranges all the delightful influ- 
 ences of morning and evening, that he may gratify the eye, 
 •and please the fancy. He does not coldly and sternly 
 pursue what we call utility alone. He has taste, and has 
 ornamented his whole creation most richly, to give us, 
 together with the substantial supply of every want, the 
 charms of elegance and refinement. His plan is thus to 
 communicate to our souls, a cheerful, happy influence, to 
 gladden them at the present moment, as well as to prepare 
 them for substantial happiness to come. The Christian, 
 therefore, who wishes to do good on principle, and to be 
 
Ch. 2.] MOTIVES. tt 
 
 Cooperation with God. 
 
 the cooperator with God, must act in a similar way. He 
 must come and give himself up to his Maker's service, and 
 aim at carrying out all his plans. He must first of all 
 strive to bring men back to their allegiance to him, since 
 without this, every other plan for promoting human happi- 
 ness must fail. Then he must do all he can to promote the 
 present enjoyment of all God's creatures, in every way in 
 his power. He must love happiness on a small scale, as 
 well as on a large scale,- — he must wish that all around 
 him should enjoy themselves now, as well as a thousand 
 years hence, and a thousand years hence, as well as now. 
 This benevolence must reign so constantly in the heart, as 
 to give an habitual character to the feelings, and expres- 
 sion to the countenance, and tone to the voice, so that the 
 presence and the influence of the cooperator with God, 
 may speak in the same language to all around him, which 
 the expression of the face of nature so plainly conveys to 
 the heart that is reconciled and forgiven, and feels that its 
 Maker is really its Friend. 
 
 This, then, my reader, is the work which you must do, if 
 you wish to cooperate with God. These are the objects you 
 must aim at, — not occasionally, — not now and then merely, 
 when some details of suffering obtrude themselves upon 
 your mind, and awaken a temporary /eeZtng-, — but steadily, 
 constantly, unweariedly, as the great business of life. 
 Your own happiness will thus indeed be much promoted, 
 but your aim in pursuing these objects must not be your 
 own happiness, but the accomplishment of the objects 
 themselves, — extending the reign of holiness, and fulfil- 
 ling your duty as a grateful and obedient child of God. 
 7* 
 
78 THE WAt ro DO GOOD. [Ch.'3. 
 
 Personal happiness. A distinction. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 OURSELVES. 
 *' A wouBded spirit, who can bear.** 
 
 The reader hiay perhaps be surprised to find in a work 
 Oft doing good,, that one of the first chapters of practical 
 directions is devoted to self. But our duties in respect to 
 the promotion of our own happiness, are very often and 
 very sadly neglected. There is selfishness enough in the 
 world, no doubt, — and eager desires to promote one's own 
 interests in respect to property, and rights, and influence, 
 and power, — but there is very little sober, judicious, steady 
 effort to secure personal happiness. 
 
 And yet it is plainly a duty to do this. If the happiness 
 of the whole community is desirable, then is, of course, 
 the happiness of every individual who is a member of it. 
 And each one who aims at promoting universal enjoyment, 
 must take especial care to secure his owh. While he feels 
 that his own enjoyment is no more important than that of 
 every other individual, he must also remember that it is no 
 less so. In fact, his desire to secure the happiness of 
 others, is actually regulated in the Savior*s law, by the 
 measure of his interest in his own. 
 
 And here I ought to point out to my young readers a 
 distinction, which, though simply metaphysical in its char- 
 acter, is very important to a full understanding of this sub- 
 ject. It is often said that all men are pursuing happiness, 
 and must, by the very constitution and law of their nature, 
 — that they may mistake the mode, as they often do, but 
 that there is no want of the disposition to seek it. 
 
 Now it will appear, on a more attentive consideration of 
 human nature, that all men are not pursuing happiness. 
 They have other objects which they pursue as ends, not as 
 mere means. For example, a man in political life is press- 
 ing forward, and making every effort to obtain a certain 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES, 10 
 
 Love of fame or of power distinct from love of happiness. 
 
 place of influence. It is not, however, from any calculation 
 he has made that this is the way to find happiness. He 
 will tell you, if you ask him, that he has never enjoyed 
 any happiness since he entered the scene of strife, hatred 
 and war, in which he is involved, and that he never expects 
 to find any till he leaves it. Why then, you ask, does he 
 not abandon the ground.^ Because there is^ in the very 
 constitution of his soul, a thirst for power and fame, as well 
 as a thirst for happiness, and circumstances have so in- 
 flamed and excited the one, that he scarcely heeds the 
 other. He presses forward in his course, because he is 
 ambitious, not because he wishes to be happy; that is, he 
 seeks political elevation on its own account, — as an end, — • 
 he feels a thirst for it, which thirst can be slaked in no 
 other way than by the attainment of the particular thing he 
 seeks. It is true that there is a kind of pleasure in in- 
 dulging this and all the other simple propensities of the 
 human heart: but it is not a calculation on this pleasure 
 which carries a man onward. The mind rests or reposes 
 on the power, or the fame, as its ultimate end, — as a good 
 in itself, — not as a means merely of securing happiness. 
 
 Thus, so far from all seeking happiness, there is a great 
 number and variety of objects which we seek, each of 
 which is felt by the heart to be a good in itself, and is 
 sought on its own account. Sometimes we distinctly un- 
 derstand that the path which we are taking, is leading us 
 actually away from happiness, and yet we will press on in 
 it. How frequently does this take place in reference to 
 some besetting sin. We press on to the committing of it, 
 conscious, all the time, that we are only making misery for 
 ourselves. It is not in such a case that under the influence 
 of a hallucination, we think that sin is a means of happiness, 
 but that under the dominion of one of the original and sim- 
 ple impulses of our nature, we love sin rather than happi- 
 ness. Just as a hungry man eats, not under the influence 
 of a cool calculation that food is a necessary means of 
 
80 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Love of happiness oflen overpowered. The merchants. 
 
 preserving life, but impelled by an instinct of nature, rest- 
 ing on the food as its ultimate object. He will even, when, 
 in a starving condition, he comes upon an unexpected 
 supply, obey this impulse to such a degree, as to destroy 
 the very life which he ought to endeavor to save ; and that 
 too, when he is warned that this will be the effect. He does 
 not mistake the way to preserve his life,. — but the cravings 
 of starvation, demand food so loudly as to overpower even 
 the love of life.* 
 
 So the love for happiness is overpowered by the tumul- 
 tory clamors of the crowd of ungodly lusts and passions 
 which fill the human bosom. Men are employed eagerly, 
 indefatigably, in making money, — not for the sake of 
 happiness, but for the sake of the money. The mind 
 reposes upon possession as the good, — the ultimate end 
 which it seeks. Instead of desiring happiness, and plan- 
 ning with reference to the attainment of it, the thought 
 perhaps never comes into the head, from one end of the 
 year to the other. Ask a hundred merchants whether the 
 way they have adopted for the management of their busi- 
 ness is the best, i. e. the most profitable way, and they will 
 all be ready with an answer; they will show you that they 
 have looked at that subject all around, and are pursuing 
 their present plan? with the deliberate expectation that 
 they are the best they can form. But ask them whether 
 their plans of life are those which they think best adapted 
 to secure their highest happiness, and they will stare at 
 your question in vacant surprise. If they give any answer, 
 
 * If any of my readers entertain views of the human mind which lead them 
 to maintain, that by a careful analysis, we shall find that obedience to these 
 impulses is, in fact, only one of the forms which love of happiness assumes, 
 they must not consider these remarks as intended to conflict witli that theory 
 at all. I use the phrase, " love of happiness," in its ordinary, popular signi- 
 fication; — as this work is designed solely for popular use; and for all popular 
 and practical purposes, tliere is a wide distinction between the rational 
 search for happiness, and blind obedience to the instincts and impulses of 
 nature, as all will admit, whatever may be tlifiir metaphysical theories. 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 81 
 
 Happy rather than rich. Questions to the reader. 
 
 it will be a mechanical one, — or if they really look at the 
 question, in order to give an honest reply, ninety of them 
 will see that it is a question they never have considered. 
 They have been living on from year to year, obeying cer- 
 tain impulses, but never forming any serious plans for 
 happiness, or even taking the subject into account. 
 
 "He never will be very rich," said a gentleman de- 
 scribing a certain Christian merchant, "because he had 
 rather be happy than rich." It was a philosophical dis- 
 tinction, and it designated a state of mind which is not very 
 often found among those who have the opportunity of 
 making a fortune. 
 
 You have, therefore, my reader, two questions to ask 
 yourself in reference to the subject of this chapter. First, 
 are you happy now? Consider and answer it understand- 
 ingly. Is your mind at peace, and does the current of 
 time as it passes on, bring hours of enjoyment to you, day 
 after day. Look back to the past week; think of the feel- 
 ings with which you have engaged in your duties; call to 
 mind your employments, your connections with others, your 
 daily routine of duty, and the manner in which you have 
 performed it; — and then ask yourself the question whether 
 you are happy. Or is there something wrong? Is there 
 a corroding, restless uneasiness, — an unsettled, anxious 
 mind, such that your di^ys pass on without much real en- 
 joyment ? 
 
 The second question is whether you wish for happiness, 
 and are willing to plan for it. Or is your heart set upon 
 making money, or gaining fame, or gratifying appetite or 
 passion ? These impulses will lead you in a very different 
 path from that which conducts to happiness, and it is very 
 important that you should decide distinctly which you wilt 
 pursue. If it is happiness which you really wish for, and 
 if, for the sake of securing it, you are willing to give up 
 what is inconsistent with it, — sin, appetite, covetousness, 
 ambition, passion, and every thing else which comes in 
 
82 . THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Thorough repentance and conversion. A common case. 
 
 its way, you may easily, with God's blessing, accomplish 
 your desire. Here follow some rules. 
 
 1. See that you make your peace with God thoroughly. 
 This book, being a continuation of the Young Christian 
 and Corner-Stone, takes for granted that the reader has 
 had fully explained to him the necessity and the nature of 
 repentance and conversion. I shall not now, therefore, 
 repeat what has already been said on that subject. No 
 person can be happy who does not confess and forsake his 
 sins, and make peace with God; — that is very plain, — and 
 we are altogether too far on in the course of our instructions 
 to the young Christian, to urge it here. It is one of the 
 elements which we have gone by. The point to be urged 
 here, is not merely that you must confess and forsake sin 
 in order to enjoy peace and happiness, but that you must 
 do it thoroughly, and frequently, so as to keep at all times 
 in a state of perfect peace with God. 
 
 The religious history of the soul is commonly this. A 
 young man when first convicted of sin, arid brought to 
 heartfelt repentance, feels so overwhelmed with a sense of 
 the enormity of his guilt, and his heart is so full of love 
 and gratitude to God, that it seems to him that he can 
 never wander again. Sin seems to have lost all her power. 
 Temptation is robbed of all her alluring colors, and stands 
 exposed before him, the object of his utter aversion. He 
 wonders that he could have sinned as he has done, and is 
 sure that he can never do so again. 
 
 But sin is wounded, not destroyed. The evil plant is 
 cut down, but not eradicated. The roots remain, and in a 
 few days or weeks, when the excitement of his first ardor 
 is over, they begin, — slowly, — to sprout again. Whatever 
 his great besetting sins may have been, they appear again, , 
 disguised, however, by assuming a modified form, and in- 
 termingled with other and better plants in the garden of his 
 heart, — so that he does not notice them. He is busy 
 about something else, and in the meantime the noxious 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. ' 83 
 
 Incipient neglect of prayer. Backsliding. The usual steps. 
 
 y . , , 
 
 weeds grow on, but grow so gradually, that though he at 
 last begins to see them, they do not startle him. He gets 
 accustomed to them, before he observes them. 
 
 By and by he finds himself indulging sin, and perhaps 
 committing overt acts which imply that he has made a 
 very considerable progress in his downward road. Some 
 Saturday night as he is returning to rest, he thinks, just 
 as his faculties are sinking into slumber, that he has, to 
 all intents and purposes, actually neglected secret prayer 
 during the whole week. His moral sensibihties are how- 
 ever so much blunted, that he does not feel the guilt of this, 
 but still he recollects how often he has heard the danger 
 of this sin pointed out, and perhaps how often and how 
 emphatically he has himself pointed it out, — and he feels a 
 moment's alarm. But it is a very superficial alarm; he 
 commences a prayer, but before he has framed many of 
 his petitions, his growing drowsiness overpowers both con- 
 science and reason, and he sinks to sleep. The only effect 
 of this momentary alarm is, not to make him return to his 
 duty on the next week, but only to feel a little more uneasy 
 in the neglect of it. 
 
 Or perhaps his besetting sin is pride, or sensuality, — the 
 indulgence of some appetite, or animal passion, — or world- 
 liness, or covetousness; and he finds after a time, that 
 these sins, though he hoped they were crucified and slain, 
 are still existing in all their strength. They have returned 
 however, in the manner already explained, so gradually, 
 that he has become familiar with their dominion asain 
 They have fastened their chains upon him by slow degrees, 
 and he has gradually become accustomed to their thraldom, 
 so that he does not arouse himself to any vigorous effort to 
 » escape; he only perceives his condition just often enough, 
 and just distinctly enough, to make him uneasy and un- 
 happy. God withdraws from him and hides his face. His 
 prayers are not heard. He knows they are not heard. 
 He perhaps keeps up the form, but he feels guilty ana 
 
fill THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Gh. 3. 
 
 Necessity of entire reconciliation witU God. 2. Order in worldly affairs. 
 
 condemned all the time. But the most that he does, in the 
 way of repentance and return, is to say now and then, in a 
 moment of more sdrious reflection than usual, " I am wan- 
 dering sadly from God: I must return. This will never do; 
 for I am destroying my peace and happiness, and endan- 
 gering my soul." Then he sinks again i.ito his lethargy. 
 
 Now what I mean to say to the reader, in respect to this 
 part of my subject, is this. If you wish to be happy, — if 
 you wish to have any real peace, any steady and substan- 
 tial enjoyment, you must make up your mind decidedlyj 
 whether you will be the child of God, or not. If you ex- 
 pect him to take you under his care, you must be his, really, 
 honestly, thoroughly, — not merely in pretence and in form. 
 If you find, therefore, in looking into your heart, that you 
 are not happy, it is very probable that the cause may be, 
 that you are not really and fully at peace with God. You 
 have only declared a truce, and then recommenced hostili- 
 ties. Of course, you cannot expect to enjoy a quiet and a 
 happy heart. You may depend upon it, that your days 
 must be days of uneasiness and misery, until you come and 
 make yourself wholly the Lord's. To secure your happi- 
 ness then, your first duty is most faithfully and thoroughly 
 to examine your spiritual condition, — to confess and to 
 crucify your dearest sins, and casting yourself upon the 
 merits and atonement of your Savior, to make a complete 
 and lasting peace with God. Then you will be prepared 
 to go on to the next step. 
 
 2. And the next step, in the order of importance, is, to 
 see that all your worldly affairs are in order. The magic 
 power of system in facilitating effort, has often been praised, 
 but it has, if possible, a still greater power to promote hap* 
 piness. People talk about the cares of business, the per- 
 plexities of their daily lot, the endless intricacies in which 
 they find themselves involved. But they are, nine out of 
 ten of them, the cares of mismanagement, — the perplexities 
 and the intricacies of confusion. The burdens of human 
 
Ch. 3.J t)trRS£LVES. "55 
 
 Effects of system. History of James. His morning's duties^ 
 
 life, are, probably, upon the average, doubled, and some- 
 times rendered tea-fold greater than they otherwise would 
 be, by the want of regularity and system. The proof of 
 this is, that when a man, either from some native peculiar- 
 ity of mind, w the effect of earfy education, acquires the 
 liabit of orAor and method, he can accomplish more than 
 twice as much as ordinary men, — and of all the men in the 
 community, he is the most likely never to be in a hurry, — 
 but always to be calm and quiet, and to have leisure for 
 any new and sudden call. Now, if he can clo twice as 
 ftiuch, with no more care and hurry, it is plain that he 
 could perform the ordinary work of man, with a far more 
 quiet and peaceful mind. This is unquestionable. The 
 facts are notorious, and the inference from them immediate 
 and irresistible. 
 
 But let us look more particularly at the manner in which 
 irregularity and confusion, in the management of worldly 
 business, affects the peace and happiness of the heart. 
 There are few persons so correct in this respect, that they 
 will not find a testimony within them, to the truth of what I 
 shall say. We will begin with a very simple case. 
 
 James is a school-boy. His affairs, though not quite so 
 intrinsically extensive and important, as those of an East 
 India merchant, are still important to him. He has his 
 business, his cares, his disappointments, and the conditions 
 of success and happiness are the same with him as with all 
 mankind. We will, therefore, take his case as the basis 
 of our illustration, as we hope this chapter will be read by 
 many a school-boy, and the imagination of the man can 
 more easily descend to the school-boy's scene of labor, 
 than the boy^s ascend to that of the man. 
 
 James, then, as I have said, is a school-boy, and his first 
 
 duty in the morning, — I speak only of his worldly duties 
 
 here, — is to rise at six o'clock, and make the fires in his 
 
 father's house. James hears the clock strike six, — but it 
 
 8' 
 
86 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Procrastination. Its folly. James's sufferings. 
 
 is cold, and he shrinks from his morning's task, so he lies 
 still, postponing the necessary effort: his mind, all the time 
 dwelling upon it and dreading it, and his conscience goad- 
 ing and worrying him with the thought that he is doing 
 wrong. Thus pass, fifteen minutes most wretchedly. The 
 mistake he makes, is in imagining ihtit of the two evils, a 
 little sensation of cold on his face and limbs, while dress- 
 ing, and on the other hand, the corroding tooth of a dis- 
 turbed conscience, gnawing within,— the former is the 
 greatest. So he quietly waits, suffering the latter for fifteen 
 or twenty minutes, until the lapse of time makes it too in- 
 tolerable to be borne any longer, and then he slowly forces 
 himself out of his bed ; when he finds, — sagacious boy,—- 
 that he has got still to bear the other evil, after all. In- 
 stead of taking the least of the two evils, he has taken both, 
 and the bitterest first. Many of my readers will acquit 
 themselves of James's folly. But be not in haste. Do you 
 never in any way procrastinate duty ? Look over your 
 mental memorandum^ ?ind see if there is nothing upon it 
 that you ought to do, but which you have been putting off, 
 and putting off, because you have been dreading it. If so, 
 you are James completely. He who procrastinates duty 
 which he knows at last must be done, always does, of two 
 evils, choose both, beginning with the bitterest portion. 
 
 I said James had chosen two evils. He has, in fact, 
 chosen three, for the recollection of this neglect of duty, or 
 rather the impression it has made, will continue all the 
 morning. For hours, there will be a settled uneasiness in 
 his mind, whose cause and origin he may not distinctly un- 
 derstand, though he might find it, if he would search for 
 it. He feels restless and miserable, though he knows not 
 exactly why. 
 
 When James comes down to his work, he finds no prop- 
 er preparation made. The wood, which ought to have been 
 carefully prepared the evening before, is out under the 
 snow. The fire has gone out, and his tinderbox he cannot 
 
 I 
 
Ch. 3.] (tBRSEtVEs. 87 
 
 Shiftlessness j — disorder ; — confusion, — and miserj'. 
 
 find. He has no place for it, and of course he has to 
 search for it at random. When he finds it, the matches 
 are gone, the flint is worn out, and only a few shreds of 
 
 tinder icmaln. Perplexed and irritated at the hox, instead 
 
 of heing penitent for his own sinful negligence, he toils for 
 a long time, and at last meets with partial success in kind- 
 ling his morning fires, an hour after the proper time. The 
 family, however, do not distinctly call him to account for 
 his negligence, for the family which produces such a char- 
 acter, will generally be itself as shiftless as he. Still, 
 ^ though he expects to sustain no immediate accountability, 
 he feels uneasy and restless, especially as he finds that his 
 postponed and neglected morning's work, is encroaching 
 upon the time he had- allotted to his morning's lesson. 
 
 For James is, as I have already said, a school-boy, and 
 the lesson which he is to be called upon to recite, as soon 
 as he enters school in- the morning, he had postponed from 
 the evening before, when it ought to have been studied^ to 
 the half hour after breakfast, which, without any reason, 
 he expected that he should find. Acting without plan and 
 without calculation, he is, of course, disappointed, and 
 when he rises from his breakfast table, he seems surprised 
 to find that it is time for school to begin. He hurries away 
 to make his preparations, — to find his books, and his hat, 
 and his coat, — for every morning they have to be found. 
 He goes about the house with chafed feelings, scowling 
 brow and fretful tone, displeased with every body and every 
 thing, except the proper object of displeasure, — himself 
 
 He hurries to school. It is a bright and beautiful winter 
 morning, and every thing external tends to calm the mind 
 to peaceful happiness, or to awaken emotions of joy. But 
 James cannot be happy. Even if he -should now begin to 
 be faithful in duty, it would be many hours before the tur- 
 bulent sea of commotion which he has raised among the 
 moral feelings of his heart, would subside. He worries 
 along, restless, anxious,-^conscience gnawing upon him,— 
 
 "M 
 
88' THE WAT TO DQ GOOD. [Ch, 3. 
 
 James's character. Settled and permanent unhappmesa. The application, 
 
 unhappy, he knows not why, — and looking a\ray from him- 
 self, at the external circumstances in which he is placed, 
 as the sources of his sufferings, instead of finding their 
 true cause within. 
 
 I need not follow hhn tbrongh the day. Every one will 
 see,^ that with such habits, he must be miserable. And yet 
 James is not a bad boy, in the common sense of the word. 
 He has no vices. He will not steal. He will not lie. He 
 loves his father and mother, and never directly disobeys 
 them, or does any thing intentionally to give them pain. 
 And perhaps my readers will be much surprised, to have 
 me tell them that he is a Christian, He is, nevertheless, 
 a sincere Christian. He has repented of his sins, and 
 made his peace with God, and lives in the daily habit of 
 communion with God. In his hours of retirement and 
 prayer, he experiences many seasons of high enjoyment, — ; 
 and yet generally he leads a very wretched life, A con- 
 stant, wearing, irritating uneasiness corrodes his inmost 
 soul, he knows not why or wherefore. In fact, he seldom 
 inquires why. He has borne it so long and so constantly, 
 that Ire has no idea that serenity, peace of mind, and 
 steady happiness, is within the reach of the human soul, in 
 this world. Thus he goes on, accomplishing very little, and 
 suffering a great deal^ and the reader must remember that 
 it is the last, — ^the suffering, — that we are now considering; 
 for our object, in this chapter, is, not to show how want 
 of system, and regularity, and faithfulness, interferes with 
 success in life, but how it annihilates happiness. 
 
 Very many of my readers now, will probably find, by 
 careful examination of themselves, that though their cir 
 cumstances and condition may be totally different from 
 those of James, their characters are substantially like his. 
 Disorder, irregularity, and perhaps confusion, reign in your 
 affairs. Instead of acting on a general plan, having your 
 business well arranged, your accounts settled, your work 
 in advance, — you act from impulse, and temporary neces- 
 
Gh. 3.] OURSELVES. • 89 
 
 Necessary condition of happiness. The master of a family. 
 
 ' T: • 
 
 sity. Instead of looking forward and foreseeing duty, and 
 providing for its claims, regularly and methodically, you 
 wait until it forces itself upon you, and then waste your 
 time and your spirits in hesitating on the question, which 
 of two things, both apparently duty, you shall do; or by 
 endeavoring to provide, by temporary shifts, for unexpected 
 emergencies, which need not have been unexpected or un- 
 provided for. You neglect or postpone unpleasant duties, 
 leaving them to hang a burden upon your mind, marring 
 your peace and happiness, until at length, you are forced 
 to attend to them, not, however, until some new neglect or 
 postponement is ready to supply their place by a new thorn 
 of irritation in your side. 
 
 I say then that the second great rule for the securing of 
 your own personal happiness, is, to reduce all your worldly 
 business, your affairs, your property, your domains, your 
 employments, your pleasures, — reduce every thing to order. 
 Without it, you cannot have a peaceful mind, and of 
 course, cannot be happy. But I must be more particular 
 in describing what I mean. For as the book is designed 
 for practical usefulness, I may often properly descend from 
 the dignity of general moral instruction, to minute and spe- 
 cific details of duty. 
 
 Suppose, then, you are the master of a family. Now 
 unless your household affairs are all well arranged, and 
 conducted methodically, they will be a source of uneasiness 
 to you. A gate hanging by one hinge, or a broken latch, 
 or a caster off of a piece of furniture, are mere trifles in 
 themselves; and so is the point of a thorn, broken off in 
 your hand, and one is just such a sort of trifle as the other. 
 You will find, probably, if you possess the difficult art of 
 analyzing your own feelings, that a very large portion of 
 the uncomfortable feelings, you have during those hours 
 which you spend at home, — for I suppose, of course, that 
 you are a Christian, and have no serious anxieties about 
 eternity, — arise from just such things. Now make thorough 
 8* 
 
do " THE WAY TO DCf GOODV [Cll. 5. 
 
 Regulation. w The mistress. Drawers and closets. 
 
 . —^ 
 
 work of k, an4 remove them all. Arouse your moral reso- 
 lution, and take hold at once. Go through your premises, 
 and see that every thing is as it ought to be. Whenever 
 you find any difficulty,— any thing that produces friction 
 and disturbance, stop till you have devised and applied the 
 best remedy you can. See that things have then- places, 
 and that they keep them. See too, that duties and employ- 
 ments have their times, and that they keep them. Do this 
 kindly, gently, but firmly. Interest others in the work of 
 cooperating with you in the change, and you will find that 
 a few hoars' attention fo this single field of labor — hours, 
 too, which may perhaps be taken from several successive 
 days, — 'you will remove a mass of causes of anxiety, and 
 sources of uneasiness and mental friction, which you had 
 no idea existed. 
 
 Perhaps you are the mistress of a family; — and some* 
 times you feel dejected and sad, you know not why. It is 
 very probable that it may be because you are unsystematic 
 and irregular in your sphere of duty. Is your house in 
 order ? Look around and see. Look into your drawers, 
 your closets, your bureaus, and imagine that a stranger 
 of distinction, whose good opinion you were desirous of 
 securing, is making the examination with you. You may 
 perhaps think it strange, that such a subject as order in 
 drawers and closets, should be introduced into a book of 
 religious instruction. But do you never consider, when 
 you tell your child that, though he may conceal his faults 
 from the eyes of man, he cannot conceal them from the 
 eye of God, — that the same God sees very distinctly, all 
 that you would so studiously conceal from your visiters and 
 your friends ? Or do you think that you are not responsi- 
 ble, for the manner in which you arrange and manage the 
 afliairs of your household; that domain, which God has so 
 peculiarly confided to you; — or imagine, when you attempt 
 to conceal the evidences of untidiness or confusion from 
 ♦he eyes of men, that any thing will do to satisfy God ? 
 
CL 3.] OURSELVES. 91 
 
 Order. lleview and arrangement of duties. feace of mind. 
 
 Are his idea^ of order and method less high, do you sup- 
 pose, than those of your neighbors, that you should fear 
 their scrutiny more than his ? 
 
 Put your house in order. Not merely in respect to its 
 arrangement, but in respect to all your duties, in the 
 administration of your sacred trust. Consider deliberately, 
 in your hours of retirement, what your duties are, and 
 arrange them. See that you devote a proper portion of 
 time to them all. Ought you to cultivate the morals of 
 your children ?' Then do it regularly, systematically; have 
 a plan for it. Ought you to cultivate your own mind.-* Then 
 make provision for this duty. Ought you to devote any 
 portion of your time to the occupations and pleasures of 
 social intercourse? If so, understand distinctly that it is 
 your duty, and consider how far it is your duty: and make 
 specific provision for it. I do not mean that you are to 
 mark out the hours of your day, and allot to every one its 
 prescribed task, as a school-boy may very properly do. 
 This, I well know, would be impossible, were you to attempt 
 it, and would be unwise, were it possible. It may, and in 
 fact, it ought to be done, in respect to those duties which 
 form a part of the daily routine of employment, but in re- 
 gard to others, it is neither possible nor wise. What I 
 mean, is, that the various occupations which have a claim 
 upon you, should all be examined, and that that portion 
 which you ought to undertake, should be marked out and 
 well defined. What comes within these limits will be duty. 
 Reduce then, to some system and method, what you ought 
 to do, and you may proceed with your daily avocations 
 with a quiet and happy heart. Without it, you will always 
 be restless and uneasy. As you walk about your house, 
 you will continually find objects to irritate and vex you. 
 Your various duties will jostle one another in their rush 
 upon you, and in their disputes for your attentioii; and the 
 time for attending to all of them will glide by, while you 
 are hearing their conflicting claims. Thus many hours of 
 
92 THE WIY TO DO GOOD. [Cll. 3. 
 
 Advice to a school-boy. Desks, drawers, implements, books. 
 
 every day will be passed in useless indecision, bringing 
 restless uneasiness to the heart so often, and continuing it 
 so long, that at length this will become its settled and per- 
 manent character. You try, you think, to be faithful, — 
 you certainly are hurried and busy enough, and you indulge 
 yourself in but little real recreation. Still you are not suc- 
 cessful. Life does not pass smoothly with you. You do 
 not accomplish what you wish, and what you see some 
 others do accomplish. You are wretched, and yet you do 
 not know why. 
 
 But perhaps my reader is a school-boy, and inquires 
 how these principles apply to his case. Put all your busi- 
 ness in order too. Look over your affairs, and consider 
 what your duties and employments ought to be, and see 
 that all are properly arranged and systematized. Have a 
 place, and s6e too that it is the best place, for your hat, 
 your coat, your sled, your books, — all your property of 
 every kind. Consider what your daily work at home is, — 
 for every boy ought to have some daily responsibility at 
 home, — and see whether you perform this in the best way. 
 Make regular and proper preparations for it. Have your 
 tools and implements in good order, and arranged in the 
 most convenient places. See that you do all your work in 
 season, i. e. a little before the season, so as never to be 
 hurried, and never to feel that you are behind hand. See 
 that your desk in school is in good order, — and every thing 
 in it arranged in the most convenient way for use, and do 
 the same with your shelves and drawers at home; — so that 
 you could go in the dark, and find any article in your pos- 
 session, by putting your hand where it ought to be. 
 
 If, now, your habits are, in these respects, as irregular 
 and disorderly as those of most boys, it will require some 
 time, and not a little faithful, vigorous effort, to accomplish 
 such a thorough revolution as is essential to your happi- 
 ness. But you may be assured that such a revolution is 
 essential. While everything is in confusion, — ^your books 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 9^ 
 
 The man of business. Unsettled accounts ; unfinished plans. 
 
 lost, your habits irregular, and your duties performed with- 
 out method and system, only as they are forced upon your 
 attention, you never can be happy. Unpleasant associa- 
 tions will be connected with all you see. Almost every 
 object which meets your eye, at school or at home, will 
 remind you of your remissness or neglect, — and of the sad, 
 shiftless condition of all your affairs. And though you 
 may not distinctly think of the cause, you will find arising 
 from it a constant, restless uneasiness of mind, which will 
 follow you every where, and effectually destroy your hap- 
 piness. 
 
 So, whatever may be the reader's situation and condition 
 in life, if he wishes to be happy, let him regulate his affairs. 
 If you have uncertain, unsettled accounts open, — which 
 you have been dreading to examine, go and explore the 
 cases thoroughly and have them closed. If there have 
 been duties neglected, which have still been lying like a 
 weight upon your mind, go and perform them at once. If 
 there are plans which you have been intending to accom- 
 plish, but which you have been postponing and postponing, 
 thinking of them from time to time, and saying to yourself, 
 you must attend to them, — summon your resolution, and 
 carry them at once into effect, or else determine to aban- 
 don them, and dismiss them from your thoughts. The 
 mind of a young and ardent man becomes loaded with 
 crude, half formed designs, unfinished plans, and duties 
 postponed. He is like a child unaccustomed to the world, 
 who takes a walk on a pleasant summer's day. Every 
 object seems valuable, and he picks up a pebble here, and 
 a stick there, and gathers a load of great flowers in 
 this place and that, until he becomes so encumbered with 
 his treasures that he can hardly go on. They are constantly 
 slipping and dropping from his hands, and become a source 
 of perplexity and anxiety to him, because he cannot retain 
 them alt. So with us. Every plan which reason forms or 
 imagination paints, we think we must execute; but after 
 
04 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Selection of objectSi Expenses and pecuniary liabilities. 
 
 having made a beginning, a new project enters our heads, 
 which we are equally eager to secure, and thus in a short 
 time, we become encumbered with a mass of intellectual 
 
 ^umber, which we cannot carry, and are unwilling to leave. 
 
 I Now look over all these things, — consider what you can and 
 will execute, and take hold of the execution of them now. 
 Abandon the rest, so that you may move forward with a 
 mind free -and untrammeled. It is the only way by which 
 you can enjoy any j)eace oy ^eret^^ty of jnind^Trr^and without 
 peace and serenity the*e^^«an-fee-no^ happiness. 
 
 This, then, is the second great rule for securing personal 
 happiness. Loo^Ljover j^our affairs^^ and 
 
 methodize eyeryjtoig.^ JDefine in your own mind, what 
 you have to do, and dismiss every thing else. . Take time 
 for reflection, arid plan all your work so as to go on 
 smoothly, quietly and in season, so that the mind may be 
 ahead of all its duties, choosing its own way, and going 
 
 / foi^ward quietly and in peace. 
 
 ''^ There is one point in connection with this subject of the 
 management of wordly affairs, which 'ought not to be pass- 
 ed by, and which is yet an indispensable condition of hu- 
 man happiness. I mean the duty of every man to bring 
 his expenses, and his pecuniary liabilities fairly within his 
 control. There are some cases of a peculiar character, 
 and some occasional emergencies, perhaps, in the life of 
 every man, which constitute exceptions ; but this is the 
 general rule. 
 
 The pletitifulness of money, depends upon its relation to 
 our expenditures. An English noblernan, with an annual 
 income of f 50,000, may be pressed for money, and be 
 harassed by it to such a degree as to make life a burden; 
 while an Irish laborer, on a railroad in New England, with 
 eighty cents a day, in the dead of winter, may have a plen- 
 tiful supply. Reduce, then, your expenditures, and your 
 style of living, and ijour business too, so far below your 
 pecuniary m«ans, that you may have money in plenty. 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 95 
 
 Pecuniary embarrassment. Way to avoid. 
 
 'here is, perhaps, nothing which so grinds the human soul, 
 ^and produces such an insupportable burden of wretched- 
 ness and despondency, as pecuniary pressure. Nothing- 
 more frequently drives men to suicide. And there is, per- 
 haps, no danger to which men in an active and enterprising 
 community, are more exposed. Almost all are eagerly 
 reaching forward to a station in life, a little above what 
 they can well afford, or struggimg to do a busincaa a littlo 
 more extensive than they have capital or steady credit for; 
 and thus they keep, all through life, just above their 
 means; — and just above, no matter by how small an excess, 
 is inevitable misery. 
 
 Be sure then, if your aim is happiness, to bring down, at 
 all hazards, your style of livmg, and your responsibilities 
 of business, to such a point that you shall easily be able to 
 reach it. Do this, I say, at all hazards. If you cannot 
 have money enough for your purposes, in a house with two. 
 rooms, take a house with one. It is your only chance for 
 happiness. For there is such a thing as happiness, in a 
 single room, with plain furniture and simple fare; but there 
 is no such thing as happiness, with responsibilities which 
 cannot be met, and debts increasing, without any prospect 
 of their discharge. If your object is gentility, or the credit 
 of belonging to good society, — or the most rapid accumu- 
 lation of property, and you are willing to sacrifice happi- 
 ness for it, I might, perhaps, give you different advice. 
 But if your object is happiness, this is the only way. 
 
 The principles which we have thus far laid down, as the 
 means of attaining personal happiness, relate to our duties 
 in respect, more particularly, to ourselves. Our happiness 
 will depend very much also upon the state of our relations 
 with others. There are certain principles, which must 
 regulate these relations, or we cannot enjoy peace and 
 happiness. The other beings with whom we h.ave chiefly 
 to do, are our fellow men and God, and by our feelings 
 and conduct towards both, we often mar and poison our 
 own enjoyment. 
 
98 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Contentions. The Christian principle. Conflicting claims. 
 
 1. By contentions with the injustice and selfishness of 
 men; ant), 
 
 2. By struggling and repining against the Providence of 
 God. 
 
 We must devote a few pages to each of these subjects. 
 
 1. Contentions with men. 
 
 Christianity makes the human soul unyielding, uncom* 
 jj^dmiffluig, firm even unto death, in a matter of principle 
 or duty: but the very reverse in all respects, in a matter 
 of personal interest. Some Christians, however, are as 
 strenuous in maintaining every tittle of their rights, from 
 their neighbors and business connections, as the most hard 
 hearted, usurious creditor is, in exacting the uttermost 
 farthing. It is true tjiat they endeavor to draw the line 
 correctly, between their neighbors' interests and their own, 
 but then they take their stand upon this line, with the de- 
 termination of a soldier, and resolve that as they will not 
 themselves encroach, so they will not submit to encroach- 
 ment. 
 
 Now this principle might not lead to any difficulty in-a 
 world not fallen, but it will not do here. Intermingled, as 
 are all the various interests of the community, and biassed 
 as every man's view is, in respect to his own, it is impossi- 
 ble to ascertain where these exact boundaries are, which 
 separate ''the mine" from "the thine." The vision is 
 affected by the disordered state of the moral affections, so 
 that men see differently, even what they wish to see as it is; 
 and if all men are therefore to adopt it as a principle, that 
 they will adhere firmly to every thing which they honestly 
 believe to be their rights, they must be continually coming 
 into collision. 
 
 Thus, any man who will look fairly at the condition of 
 human nature, will see the necessity of mutual forbearance 
 and concession. But all doubt in respect to duty on this 
 subject, is put at rest by our Savior's explicit instructions. 
 Let those of my readers who are accustomed to look upon 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 97 
 
 Non-resistance, Isaac's principle. 
 
 firmness in the maintenance of our own interests, as a 
 duty, consider the following words of our Savior, and ask 
 what they mean. 
 
 '•' I say unto you, that ye resist not evil; but whosoever 
 shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other 
 also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take 
 away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whoso- 
 ever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain.' 
 
 Are these now really the words of Jesus Christ .? And, 
 if so, what do they mean ? I admit, that they are figura- 
 tive. I admit, also, that the sentiment they contain, is 
 very strongly expressed. The more strongly, probably, 
 in order that it might stand in a more striking contrast with 
 the general sentiment of the day, which our Savior was 
 endeavoring to correct. Still, they must have a meaning; 
 they must be intended to convey a sentiment, and it is utter- 
 ly impossible to derive any meaning from language, unless 
 the speaker intended here to teach, that his followers must 
 not be engaged in quarrels to maintain their own personal 
 interests and rights. So far at least, the meaning of the 
 passage is clear; and Christians ought to obey the pre- 
 cept. If there is a quarrel about the well you have dug, 
 go, like Isaac, and dig another; and if this becomes the sub- 
 ject of contention, go and dig a third. Isaac's father, too, 
 understood the Christian way of settling disputes. '* You 
 may take the left hand, and I will take the right, or you 
 may take the right hand, and I will take the left. Is not 
 the whole land before thee ?" 
 
 But, says some reader, accustomed to the doctrine and 
 practice of self-defence, such a principle will leave every 
 man in the state of the most complete exposure to every 
 species of injustice and oppression; and will make him a 
 prey to the passions and the avarice of a selfish world. 
 
 To which I answer, that the principle is a principle of 
 Jesus Christ's, — plain, unquestionable; and, if any man 
 thinks that some other principle is a better and safer one 
 9 
 
98 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Effects ofopposition and contention. Defencelessnesa. The Indian. 
 
 for men to adopt, there is a difference of opinion on the 
 point, between him and his Master; and though he is per- 
 fectly at liberty to pursue his own course, if he chooses, 
 he cannot pursue it, and yet pretend to be a follower of the 
 Savior. 
 
 But it is not so. Jesus Christ understood human nature, 
 and the influence and operation of moral causes, better 
 than the shrewd, suspicious, watchful, and ardent defender 
 of his rights. Any intelligent observer of facts will soon 
 come to the conclusion, that he who will not quarrel for his 
 rights, has his rights most respected, as he who is unarmed 
 and will not fight, is safest from the hand of violence, — 
 and every one who really understands human nature, will 
 see that it always must be the case. It results from two 
 causes. 
 
 I say that the safety of a man, who will not quarrel for his 
 personal rights, results from two causes. First, it disarms 
 his enemies. Contentions and quarrels acquire nearly all 
 their acrimony, from the influence which each combatant 
 exerts upon the other, by their mutual and reciprocal hos- 
 tility. Opposition inflames and increases the ardor and the 
 fierceness of the attack. The conscience of the aggressor 
 is really quieted a little by the thought that an antagonist 
 is prepared for defence. The most blood-thirsty duellist 
 could not level his pistol, unless his enemy held a pistol 
 too. He could not do it; and almost universally, the vio- 
 lent and the oppressive will be disarmed by the quietness, 
 and peacefulness of the true Christian spirit. The worst 
 men will feel the influence of it; as the Indian who stood 
 with his tomahawk over the defenceless missionary, sleep- 
 ing in his wigwam, said, after gazing upon him in wonder, 
 at his voluntary exposure, *' Why should I kill him .'"' So, 
 in commanding men to live in peace, — not to resist evil, — 
 or quarrel for their rights, Jesus Christ showed, that he 
 understood better than we generally do, the secrect springs 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 
 
 An objection. The question of war. 
 
 of human action, and the principles by which human nature 
 is controlled.* 
 
 The minds of such of my readers, as are not quite ready 
 to adopt these views, have, undoubtedly, been busy, while 
 reading these paragraphs, in calling up cases where those 
 who were known not to contend, and who were, conse- 
 quently, in the attitude of the unarmed and the defenceless, 
 have suffered, and suffered severely. 
 
 They will say that defencelessness is not always safety, — 
 that, though the duellist will not fire upon an unarmed 
 man, yet the assassin will, and that the peaceful and the 
 unoffending are often thus a prey to secret injustice or 
 oppression. This is true, no doubt. And the question is 
 not, how can a man escape all injustice, in such a world as 
 this, and avoid every wrong ; this is impossible. The 
 question is, in what way will he escape the most of it ? 
 The mind should be busy, therefore, not in looking for 
 cases where the peaceful have suffered, but in considering 
 which avoid the most suffering from the injustice and sel- 
 fishness of men, the peaceful or the pugnacious. We will 
 abide by the result of any intelligent and honest observer's 
 opinion. 
 
 But this brings us to consider the second ground of 
 safety, for those who will not quarrel for their rights. The 
 determination that they will not quarrel, makes them more 
 circumspect and careful in avoiding all occasion for disa- 
 
 ♦ We do not mean to apply these remarks to the forcible execution of the 
 laws, by the proper authorities, nor to the question of defensive war, in the 
 case of a foreign invasion. The precepts of our Savior to which we have 
 alluded, were undoubtedly given with principal reference to the condition of 
 private Christians, in their intercourse with ordinary society. Did he mean 
 to extend them to such a case as the onset of a savage, foreign soldiery, 
 upon a peaceful community, defenceless except by force 1 The manner in 
 which Abraham's promptness in interfering without divine direction, for the 
 rescue of Lot, by military force, is spoken of, and the directions given by 
 John the Baptist to the soldiers, who came to hear him, and other eimilai- 
 passages in the Scriptures, render the answer to this question, at least, 
 doubtful. 
 
lOQ THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. S, 
 
 Occasions of contention. Case supposed. The travellers and their guide. 
 
 greement. Nine tenths of the disagreements among men, 
 in respect to personal rights, arise from vagueness and 
 indefiniteness in original arrangements, which might have 
 been avoided at the proper time ; and when a man adopts 
 the principle that he will not contend, he soon learns to be 
 distinct and de5nite in all his business, and thus avoids, 
 by prudent forecast, nearly all the ordinary occasions of 
 contention. He makes all his bargains and all his agree- 
 ments with the utmost clearness and precision. If a cer- 
 tain neighbor of his is quarrelsome, and unreasonable, he 
 treats him with kindness and friendliness, — but he deals 
 with another man. When a case occurs by which his 
 interests and rights are endangered, instead of working 
 himself into a passion, in his zeal to maintain them, in the 
 particular instance, he calmly examines the case, to see 
 how he might have avoided the difficulty, and deduces from 
 it a valuable principle for future guidance. 
 
 To illustrate what I mean, let us take a very simple 
 case; two pedestrian travellers in Switzerland, of narrow 
 finances, engage a guide at the foot of a mountain, to con- 
 duct them to its summit. On their return, they ask for his 
 charge, and find it double what they think it ought to be. 
 The explanation of this diversity is this. All the way up 
 and down the mountain, the guide has been thinking of his 
 remuneration, and wondering what it will probably be. 
 Personal interest has been pleading all the way, for a large 
 reward. His difficulties, his fatigues, his dangers, have all 
 been exaggerated, and his ideas of a suitable reward, have 
 been rising, and rising, until at length h6 reaches again 
 the village whence the expedition commenced, when they 
 stand at a level considerably elevated above the proper 
 point. It must necessarily be so, for before the court of 
 his conscience, only one side of the question has been 
 argued. In other words, there has been nothing to deter- 
 mifie and fix his ideas, and they have been operated upon 
 by forces, acting wholly in one direction. 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 101 
 
 The Christian principle. The worldly principle. 
 
 With his employers, the case has been just the reverse; 
 and they descend the hill, with their ideas settled at a 
 point as much too low, as their attendant's are too high, 
 and when they attempt a settlement, they find themselves 
 separated by a considerable chasm. 
 
 Now A, acting on the worldly principle, immediately falls 
 into a dispute. Though he is himself as much in the 
 wrong as the mountaineer, he sees distinctly the bias of 
 the latter, but is utterly insensible to his own. Hard 
 words and irritated feelings grow worse and worse, until, 
 after some sort of forced adjustment, they separate in anger. 
 
 But B, acting on the Christian principle, retreats from 
 the debatable ground. He sees that this debatable 
 ground is a region of uncertainty, between what is the 
 least which they themselves consider to be due, and the 
 greatest which the guide can with any plausibility claim; 
 and that probably the line of justice lies somewhere within 
 it, at a place not easily to be ascertained; and he accor- 
 dingly retreats from the whole ground. He perceives that 
 he ought not to have left room for such a region of uncer- 
 tainty, and, as he pays the money pleasantly, he says to 
 himself, " I might have known it would be so. We should 
 have defined our' mutual claims beforehand." 
 
 This is a very simple case, but it shows the principle on 
 which an immense proportion of contentions and quarrels 
 among men, arise, — just as the little currents of air over a 
 heated iron plate, on the table of the lecturer, exhibit the 
 principles by which all the storms and tempests, which 
 sweep over oceans and continents, are controlled. 
 
 It is thus. In the various relations which men sustam 
 to one another, their respective rights cannot always be 
 specified with exactness. There is between what is clear- 
 ly the right of the first party, on the one side, and what is, 
 on the other, clearly the right of the second, — a sort of 
 intermediate region of doubtful character, so that it is, 
 claimed by each, the judgment of each being warped a 
 9* 
 
102 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3, 
 
 Way in -which quarrels originate. Our Savior's precept. 
 
 little by his feelings. So that in almost all the connections 
 of business, between man and man, their mutual claims 
 overlap each other, as it were, a little, and it is in this dis- 
 puted and doubtful territory, that almost all the streams of 
 discord and contention take their rise. Now the Christian 
 will avoid this ground. He will generally set up no claim 
 to it. He will endeavor, by wise and prudent forecast and 
 circumspection, to make it as narrow as possible, so as to 
 leave as little room as possible for uncertainty; but when 
 such ground is left, he knows very well that the selfish 
 shrewdness of the one he deals with, will lead him to reach 
 his arm over to the further boundary of it; and, unless in 
 some very peculiar case, he will retreat at once to that 
 boundary, and make no serious attempts to secure any 
 thing, but what is most unquestionably his. 
 
 It is a good plan, whenever any subject of difference 
 seems to be coming up, between you and any man with 
 whom you have dealings, for you to go over in imagination, 
 as it were, to his side, and try for a moment to look at it as 
 he does; — not as he ought to look at it, but as you know 
 he will, — possessing as he does, the usual feelings of hu- 
 man nature. Now the encroachment on our rights, which 
 men of the world are thus likely to make, will only in gen- 
 eral extend over the uncertain territory, which, compared 
 with the whole amount, will, with ordinary discretion, be 
 usually very small, and it is generally best for the Christian 
 to abandon it altogether. 
 
 " If any man will sue thee at the law, and take away 
 thy coat, let him have thy cloak also." This may not mean 
 that we are never, in any case, to contend for our rights, but 
 it certainly does mean that we are very seldom to do it. 
 It teaches that, at least as a general principle. Christians 
 are to be content with what they can get peaceably. What 
 we cannot secure without quarrelling for it, we must be 
 willing to lose. If we determine beforehand to act upon 
 this principle, we shall plan accordingly. We shall not 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 105 
 
 Misery of contention. Way to avoid it; 
 
 expose ourselves, and in the end shall prosper as much, as 
 the most sturdy and determined vindicator of his rights, 
 who makes it his motto, never to demand more than he is 
 entitled to, and never to take less. 
 
 But we seem to be considering the duty of not quarrel- 
 ling, whereas our subject in this chapter, is not duty, but 
 happiness. We should, therefore, rather be attempting to 
 show the necessity of peace with our fellow men, in order 
 to secure our own enjoyment. Though this scarcely needs 
 to be shown. A man cannot be happy, while engaged 
 in a quarrel. The rising feelings of indignation against 
 injustice, are misery to the heart which feels them, — and 
 so are the whole class of angry, and irritated, and vexa- 
 tious feelings, about the misconduct or petty faults of 
 others. Never yield to them. Expect often to find men 
 selfish and blind to the interests and rights of others, and 
 make it a part of your regular calculation to experience 
 inconvenience from this source. Then you will not be 
 surprised or vexed, when this inconvenience comes. Ac- 
 custom yourself to look upon your neighbors' side of the 
 question, as well as your own. Be desirous that he should 
 do well and prosper, as well as you. In all your agree- 
 ments, be clear and specific beforehand, as you certainly 
 would be, if you knew that every thing left indefinite, would 
 go in the end against you. Where any question arises 
 between you and another, lean towards his rights and in- 
 terests. With all your efforts in that way, you will not 
 more than overcome your natural bias in favor of your own. 
 If there is any doubt, then, give your neighbor the benefit 
 of it, — any ambiguity, interpret in his favor. This will be 
 the best way to preserve your rights most effectually; but 
 if you do not think so, if you fear this course will lose 
 something of your rights, you must admit that it is the way 
 to preserve your peace and happiness. 
 
 2. There was one other point to consider, before bring- 
 ing this chapter to a close, namely, the extent to which 
 
104 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 
 
 [Ch. 3. 
 
 Repining against God. Losses. 
 
 Disappointments. 
 
 men mar and destroy their happiness, by struggling and 
 repining against the Providence of God. Whatever hap- 
 pens to you, if it is not the direct consequence of your own 
 personal misconduct, comes through the Providence of 
 God, and you ought to feel that he has sent it. Is your 
 child sick? that sickness comes from his hand. Is your 
 house, which you have earned by slowly accumulating the 
 fruits of your industry for years, burned by the carelessness 
 of a domestic, or the malice of an incendiary. It is the 
 same to you, as if it had been struck by the lightning of 
 heaven; the loss, in either case, comes in the Providence 
 of God, and you should no more make yourself miserable, 
 by angry resentment against the domestic or the incendiary, 
 than against the lightning. 
 
 Do you experience a heavy loss in your business, by the 
 fraud or the negligence of a creditor. Bear it patiently 
 and submissively as from God. It is from God. If you 
 have done all in your power, by prudent circumspection, to 
 guard against the danger, then you are not yourself respon- 
 sible for it, and you should not repine, any more than a 
 child should murmur at the loss of a plaything, when his 
 father has sent his brother or sister to take it away. 
 
 Many people think they have a right to murmur, and 
 make themselves miserable, at acts of injustice which they 
 suffer from others. They feel as if they ought to submit 
 pleasantly and quietly to those ills, which come more 
 directly through the exercise of Divine Power, as when 
 a ship is lost by a storm at sea, or sudden disease arising 
 from no perceptible cause, attacks them, or when their 
 business and their property is sacrificed by the progress of 
 a pestilence, or unaccountable changes in the times. But 
 when they can trace calamity, in the first instance, to the 
 agency of a fellow man, they are disturbed," and irritated, 
 and vexed, as if God had nothing to do with it whatever. 
 But the agency of God has as much concern in one of these 
 cases, as in the other. He has as much control over the 
 
If 
 
 ; Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 105 
 
 Joseph's case. Lesson to be learned from it. 
 
 actions and feelings of your fellow men, and regulates as 
 certainly the treatment you are to receive from them, as 
 he does the force of winds and storms, the progress of a 
 pestilence, or the track of the lightning. When Joseph 
 was let down in the pit by his brethren, he was as much in 
 God's hands, as was Jonah in the storm at sea. So Jesus 
 Christ when scourged and crucified, bowed with submis- 
 sion to his sorrows, as to sorrows and sufferings brought 
 upon him by his Father's hand. 
 
 Take the case of Joseph for instance. Suppose he could 
 have foreseen how his history was to terminate, and what 
 would be the ultimate result of his trials and sufferings, in 
 respect to their mfluence upon the posterity of his father, 
 and upon those who should read the narrative of them, in 
 the word of God, in all future ages. How would he have 
 felt, when his brothers sold him into bondage, to the wan- 
 dering sons of Ishmael } Would he have been irritated 
 and vexed, and would he have gone away into captivity, 
 with a heart boiling with rage, at the injustice and cruelty 
 of his brothers? No; he would have felt a calm and happy 
 acquiescence in the will of God. He would have felt himself 
 entirely in the hands of his Father, who would brmg ulti- 
 mate and lasting good out of his temporary sufferings. And 
 so will the Christian always feel, if he feels right. He will 
 carry about with him continually, the conviction that he is, 
 in every respect, in God's hands, — that nothing comes to 
 him but in the providence and as a part of the plan of God 
 towards him, — and while he takes every precaution to 
 guard himself from evil and danger, yet, when it will come, 
 whether it be through the wickedness of man, or more 
 apparently through the direct agency of God, he submits 
 to it calmly and with an unruffled spirit. Unless a man 
 takes this view of the occurrences of human life, his happi- 
 ness can never be on any sure and solid basis, in such a 
 world as ours. 
 f Perhaps, the most common way in which Christiana 
 
106 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Purposes of sickness. The sick mother. 
 
 struggle against the Providence of God, is, in the case I 
 have alluded to, where petty trouble or serious calamity 
 comes through the agency of man. We forget in such 
 cases, that so far as we ourselves are concerned, the trial 
 comes as really in the providence of God, as in any case 
 whatever. It is remarkable, however, that there is one 
 case of suffering, which most plainly comes from God, and 
 from him alone, and which Christians are very slow to sub- 
 mit to. I mean sickness, — our own sickness, or that of 
 our friends. How few there are who do not in heart strug 
 gle against their Maker, when he comes and places them, 
 or their friends, upon a bed of suffering. But sickness 
 really comes from God. We must admit this, at least in 
 those cases of disease which cannot be traced to impru- 
 dences or indulgences of our own. If We feel this, one 
 would think that we should yield to it submissively, and 
 bear it patiently. Suppose you take your child from some 
 work or play, in which he is interested, and ask him to 
 come and sit down by your side, while you speak to him 
 upon some important subject. Instead of giving up the 
 thoughts of his former employment, and listening attentive- 
 ly to what you have to say, he looks eagerly and anxiously 
 away from you, watching his companions, and evidently 
 longing to be restored to them. You reprove him very 
 justly for his inattention, and his evident eagerness to be 
 released from your hold. 
 
 But now come with me to this sick chamber. There lies 
 upon that bed, the mother of a family, removed from the 
 scene of her labors and enjoyments, and laid in helpless 
 inaction upon her pillow. Who has placed her there .'' 
 God. For what ? Because he has something to say to 
 her. Is not sickness a providence, that is intended to 
 speak to the soul .'* But, instead of lying quietly resigned 
 to God's will, and listening patiently to his voice, her heart 
 is filled with eager impatience to be restored to her family. 
 She thinks how many things are going wrong, — how many 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 107 
 
 The man of business. The sick child. 
 
 interests will suffer, — how much will be neglected, while 
 she lies helpless in her bed. But oh, thou impatient 
 mother, remember, that He who brings sickness, is to be 
 considered as bringing every evil, which necessarily follows 
 in its train. If you repine, then, or murmur at any of the 
 inevitable consequences of your removal from the scene of 
 your labors, you are in heart struggling against God. So 
 with the man of business. No matter what inconvenience, 
 or what losses come upon him, in consequence of sickness. 
 He ought not to walk his room with anxious impatience, 
 nor look forth from his window sighing to be free again. 
 He ought to feel that when God shuts him up from his daily 
 duties, that he takes upon himself the responsibility of it. 
 Whatever losses he suffers come from him. It is his duty 
 to be resigned, and to listen patiently to what God has to 
 say to him, in his silent and solitary chamber. 
 
 Perhaps the very object, for which the sickness was seht, 
 is to teach you resignation to the divine will. Perhaps God 
 has seen in your conduct, a dissatisfied and repining spirit, 
 awakened by a thousand little circumstances, which are 
 beyond your control, and which you therefore ought to 
 consider as ordered by Providence. Now perhaps God has 
 brought sickness upon you, for the sake of removing this 
 fault. How admirably is it calculated to produce this ef- 
 fect. How irresistibly must a man feel that a very strong 
 hand is over him, when he is taken from his sphere, and 
 laid down upon his bed, — all his plans suspended, or de- 
 stroyed, — and no human power capable of restoring him 
 to activity again. Oh, one would think, if man could learn 
 submission any where, it is here. 
 
 The same principles of duty should govern us in witness- 
 ing the sickness of a friend; and of all cases, the sickness 
 of a child, is the one against which we are the most likely 
 to struggle. There are thousands of parents professedly 
 Christians, whose lives are imbittered, and whose peace 
 and happiness is destroyed, because they cannot really 
 
103 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 3. 
 
 Duty of submission. The responsibility of the decision. 
 
 trust their children in the hands of God. Every little sick- 
 ness alarms them, — every precaution, whether suggested 
 by reason or imagination is taken, and the mind is full of 
 restless, unsubmissive fears, as if they were under the 
 dominion of a tyrant. Now there is a certain degree of 
 ordinary prudence and caution to be observed, and in case 
 of sickness, there is medical skill, which to a certain extent, 
 may modify or change results. But after all, these precau- 
 tions and this aid will go but a very little way. The invasions 
 of disease, especially in children, are far less dependent 
 on circumstances within our control than is often supposed. 
 The development of hereditary tendencies, the mysterious 
 influences of atmospheric changes, and a thousand combi- 
 nations of causes and circumstances, not to be controlled, 
 produce them; and when they come, all we have to do is 
 quietly and calmly to pursue the course which seems best 
 adapted to promote restoration. As to the responsibility 
 for the result, we throw ourselves on God; and let him do 
 just as he pleases. 
 
 Suppose, now, there should be a mother, always uneasy 
 and solicitous about her child, when it was in health, or 
 .sitting over it, when in sickness, restless and anxious, try- 
 ing this remedy and that, without reason and without hope, 
 just because she cannot give him up; — suppose, I say, that 
 God should come to the bedside, and say to her, "Anxious 
 mother,— I was taking charge of your child, but since you 
 are so restless and uneasy about it, I will give the case up 
 to you, if you will take it. There is a great question to be 
 decided; — shall that child recover, or die ? I was going to 
 decide it in the best way for yourself and him. But since 
 you cannot trust me, you may decide it yourself. Look 
 upon him, then, as he lies there suffering, and then look 
 forward as far as you can into futurity, — see as much as 
 you can of his life here, if you allow him to live; and look 
 forward to eternity, — to his eternity and yours. Get all 
 the light you can, and then tell me whether you are really 
 
Ch. 3.] OURSELVES. 109 
 
 The motlier and the sick chiW. Restless repining. 
 
 ready to take the responsibility of deciding the question; 
 whether he shall live or die. Since you are not willing to 
 allow me to decide it, I will leave you to decide it yourself." 
 
 What would be the feelings of a mother, if God should 
 thus withdraw from the sick bed of her child, and leave the 
 responsibility of the case in her hands alone. Who would 
 dare to exercise the power, if the power were given, or say 
 to a dying child, "you shall live, and on me shall be the 
 responsibility. '"* Then let us all leave God to decide. Let 
 us be wise, and prudent, and faithful, in all our duties, but 
 never, for a moment, indulge in an anxious thought; — it is 
 rebellion. Let us rather throw ourselves on God. Let us 
 say to him, that we do not know what is best, either for us, 
 or our children, and ask him to do with us just as he pleases. 
 Then we shall be at peace at all times, — when disease 
 makes its first attack, — when the critical hours approach, 
 by which the question of life or death is to be decided, and 
 even when the last night of the little patient's suffering 
 has come, and we see the vital powers gradually sinking, 
 m their fearful struggle with death. 
 
 Besides, were it not so much pleasanter.and happier for 
 us to submit cheerfully to God, it would be the height of 
 folly to do otherwise. Suppose that God has decided that 
 it is best for your child to die, — and has come into your 
 family, and laid it upon its bed, and has admitted a fatal dis- 
 ease into its system, which is busy at its sad work upon the 
 vital powers there. Can you change his purpose, do you 
 think, by restlessness and repining and rebellious anxiety 
 about it? No. That is the very best thing you can do 
 to accelerate the blow. Perhaps your want of submission 
 to God, is the reason why it is sent, and by indulging such 
 a feeling, you only demonstrate more fully the necessity of 
 the moral remedy you fear. It is a moral remedy, and 
 God will never be deterred from administering a medicine 
 on account of the impatience or resistance of the one who 
 needs it. No. The wisest and best thing we can do, when 
 10 
 
 I 
 
1 10 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 Summary of the chapter. Common idea of giving to the poor. 
 
 we see God approaching us with a bitter cup, is calmly 
 and submissively to take it from his hands, and drink it up. 
 If he perceives this feeling, he will administer the draught 
 with so much tender kindness that it will lose half its power. 
 The sum and substance then, of our directions for se- 
 curing personal happiness in this world, is this: Make your 
 peace thoroughly with God, — regulate all your worldly 
 affairs, and attend to them industriously and on system, — 
 have no quarrels with men, and submit cheerfully to all the 
 deahngs of God. Let any man who is not happy, take hold 
 of his character and habits, and reform them on these prin- 
 ciples. Let him do the work thoroughly and honestly, and 
 if then his peace and happiness do not return, it must be 
 that he stands in need of medical, not moral, treatment, 
 and I can do no more for him, but to commend him to the 
 care of his physician. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE POOR. 
 
 " Where there is no vision, the people perish." 
 
 There are a great many persons in the world, whose only 
 idea of doing good, seems to be the act of giving money, or 
 something which money will purchase, to the poor. Pecu- 
 nieiry charity, as a relief for physical suffering, they appear 
 to consider the great work of Christian benevolence. 
 Whereas it is but a very, very small department ; and 
 though it is a department which must on no account be 
 neglected, still it is probably one, in which the labors of 
 the philanthropist are most discouraging; and least effec- 
 tual in producing any ultimate, useful result. 
 
 The reason of this will be obvious, upon a little reflec- 
 tion, on the nature and causes of poverty. In America, 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 1 1 1 
 
 Causes of poverty. Exceptions. An example. 
 
 and probably in most parts of England, poverty >> by which 
 I mean, the absolute want of the necessaries of life, arises 
 in a vast majority of cases, from idleness, mismanagement, 
 or from vice. It is the punishment which Providence has 
 assigned to each of these offences against his laws, and, 
 as in all other cases, you cannot very easily abate the 
 punishment, without increasing the sin. Goodjcharacter, 
 iodustryj and prudence, will, in almost any country, under 
 almost any government, and in almost any condition, find 
 a comfortable subsistence. Of course, there are excep- 
 tions ; exceptions on a great scale, produced by great 
 national calamities, and on a smaller scale, by individual 
 sickness or suffering. There are men, undoubtedly, the 
 utmost efforts of whose feeble powers, will not procure the 
 means of subsistence; — and thousands may be reduced to 
 beggary by a pestilence, or a prevaihng famine, or turned 
 out of employment by a change in the arrangements of 
 business, — or reduced to the extreme of hunger and des 
 pair in a besieged city. It is not, however, my province 
 here to speak of these. They are beyond the limits of 
 ordinary private Christian charity. They are great emer- 
 gencies which must be met, each by its own appropriate 
 remedy, which the statesman must devise; or they are, as 
 is more frequently the case, judgments from Heaven, which 
 admit of no remedy, perhaps even no sensible alleviation 
 from the hand of man, but will do their awful work to the 
 full. 
 
 These instances are, however, rare ; all the ordinary 
 cases of suffering from poverty, are produced from one of 
 the three causes above enumerated, — idleness, mismanage- 
 ment, or vice; and it is almost impossible to alleviate the 
 consequences without aggravating the cause. 
 
 For example, let us look at a very common case. A 
 woman, apparently in the most wretched condition which 
 imagination can conceive, comes up to your door, begging 
 for some money to buy food. She carries a child in ho^ 
 
112 THE WAY TO BO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 The child. Its value. Vice and misery. 
 
 arms, pale and sickly, but lying quiet and passive; it has 
 too little vitality to cry. The woman is really fatigued and 
 hungry. So she was half an hour ago, and she stopped at 
 a house at a little distance, and perceiving that she was not 
 observed, she stole a pair of shoes, which, instead of con- 
 verting them to food, she has pawned at a grocery for rum. 
 As to her hunger, she presumed she should find some char- 
 itable person to supply her with food. The child is not her 
 own. A guilty and inhuman mother has given it to her. 
 "Given it to her !" you exclaim. "What can have in- 
 duced her to take such a burden ? " Because it helps her 
 to excite sympathy and obtain money. Besides, the little 
 sufferer's wasted and emaciated frame is not heavy; and 
 its pale and sunken countenance, and hollow, languid eye, 
 gains more silver than all that the artful woman herself can 
 say. She has been put into an almshouse once or twice, 
 but has made her escape. She prefers the roving life of a 
 beggar woman, with its liberty, its idleness, and its rum. 
 She generally finds enough good-hearted, but weak philan- 
 thropists, to give a sufficient quantity of money, for the 
 only purchase she wishes to make; and others, who will 
 not give her money, will give her food and clothes; — so 
 that the only evil she really fears, is a few hours' interrup- 
 tion to the supply of her cup. Habit has made any barn 
 or shed a comfortable lodging to her; — she has become 
 accustomed, too, to the burden she carries, and she has 
 slung it so dexterously, that it presses but lightly on her 
 back; and when the little sufferer cries, the same potion 
 which intoxicates her, will quiet him. It answers, too, the 
 additional purpose of perpetuating, by its poisoning effecty 
 that pale and sickly countenance, on which his whole value 
 depends. And she reflects that should he live, and become 
 too heavy to be carried, he will be old enough to beg, and 
 soon after to steal; — or, if he should not be an apt scholar, 
 she can leave him by the road-side, towards morning, in 
 some populous village, or upon the city side-walk. 
 
Ch. 4] THfi ifooR. 1 13 
 
 What can be done ? Effect of charitable aid. 
 
 This is the kind of life which she deliberately prefers. 
 Not because it is a happy one. It is a most wretched 
 one. Her days are spent in continual misery. Want often 
 presses her down; hunger gnaws; cold and exposure bring 
 frequent, and severe suffering, — and diseases, brought on 
 by vice, sometimes stupify her senses, and sometimes tor- 
 ture her with the acutest pains. And more than all the rest, 
 a guilty conscience corrodes her heart, and completes her 
 misery, by making her mind as full of sources of suffering, 
 as her body. She does not prefer this life, because she is 
 happy, but because she is wicked, and such a course opens 
 the widest door for the indulgence of every sin. 
 
 Now this wretched outcast comes up to your dwelling, in 
 an hour of real suffering from hunger. She wants bread 
 for herself, and milk for her starving child. She does really 
 want it. For a moment, hunger has overpowered a de- 
 praved and insatiable thirst; but if you satisfy the one, all 
 you do, is just to restore her to the dominion of the other. 
 As she leaves your house, after having been warmed, and 
 clothed, and fed, — she will pilfer something from the kitch- 
 en, if she can, and go away imploring Heaven to bless you^ 
 for your goodness; and at the next bar-room, she will ex- 
 change the article she has stolen, and the flannel, with 
 which you have wrapped her child, for something she 
 craves, and will have at every sacrifice. 
 
 Now, when such a case presents itself, what can you do? 
 Nine-tenths of the benevolent portion of mankind would be 
 deceived, and would profusely relieve such a case of suf- 
 fering, by money, or something which could be turned into 
 money, — not understanding the case. But suppose you 
 really understand it, what can you do ? Will you remon- 
 strate with her? You might as well talk to the idle wind. 
 Will you clothe her child? That clothing is just as good 
 as money to her, at many a haunt of vice: and, besides, 
 were it not so, she would not keep such clothing on. 
 Clothing the child comfortably, would spoil it as an instru- 
 30* 
 
tl4 THfi WAY TO DO GOOfi. [Cfl. 4 
 
 The wicked woman's pkin of life. 
 
 ment of accomplishing her purpose, and rather than destroy 
 its power of awakening sympathy, by having it comfortable, 
 she would throw your gifts away, over the first wall she 
 passes. Will you turn her away from your door, then, 
 without relief ? She is actually suffering with hunger, and 
 the lips of the helpless babe too, are parched with thirst, 
 which that cup of warm milk, standing upon your kitchen- 
 table, would so speedily relieve. No: you cannot send her 
 away. Will you, then, supply her immediate and pressing 
 wants, and those of her child, an^ refrain from giving her 
 any thing which she can pervert.'' This- is exactly her plan, 
 to get from the really benevolent, food and occasional shel- 
 ter, and from the unthinking liberality of others, or from 
 theft, the means of indulgence in vice. This is exactly her 
 plan, and by sending her away from your door warmed and 
 fed, you do what is exactly calculated to encourage her to 
 go on in her life of sin. 
 
 Still, perhaps, you ought to do it. As I shall presently 
 show, we must relieve, if we can, actual physical suffering, 
 no matter where it is found, or who is its cause. I detail 
 this case, thus particularly, to show how many, and how 
 great are the difficulties, which beset the whole subject of 
 pecuniary charity to the poor. Perhaps my readers, espe- 
 cially those not much acquainted with the world, may think 
 that this must be a very extraordinary case, altogether 
 unusual, and, consequently, one not to be safely used as a 
 guide to principles. The case would be a striking one, I 
 admit, but not strange and unusual in its character. It 
 illustrates strongly, but fairly, I believe, the general char- 
 acter of wretched poverty, in almost all civilized communi- 
 ties; and the difficulties so obvious in this one detached 
 case, are substantially the difficulties which have always 
 perplexed the most enhghtened philanthropists, in respect 
 to the whole subject of pecuniary aid to the poor. Their 
 poverty, their want, their hunger, their cold, their naked- 
 ness, are symptoms, and symptoms only ; and a system of 
 
Ch. 4.] THE fOOS,. 1 i 5 
 
 Treating symptoms. Another scene. 
 
 direct effort to relieve these, is what the medical profession 
 call treating symptoms, — a course which must sometimes 
 be pursued, but which is very far, usually, from having any 
 tendency to promote a radic vl cure of the disease. 
 
 We will present one moii case, which gives us a view 
 of the same state of things in, however, a little different 
 aspect. 
 
 In the back apartment of a miserable cellar, in a crowded 
 street of New York, lives a collection of human beings: 
 for it would be wrong, to call such a community a family. 
 There is a mother there, it is true, but all the other rela- 
 tions of life are obliterated and confounded. During the 
 day, — a cold January day — the miserable hole exhibits a 
 scene of riot and noise, of oaths and imprecations, — now 
 of wild unearthly mirth, and now of malicious rage; — such 
 a scene, as it would do too much violence to the feelings to 
 describe. Their means of vicious indulgence are nearly 
 exhausted, and to replenish them, the mother sends out her 
 child, — choosing the youngest and sickliest of the group, — 
 to stand upon the cold side-walk, and beg of the passing 
 stranger. "Say," says the unnatural mother, "that your 
 father is dead, and your mother is sick, and you want some 
 money for medicine." 
 
 The child will not go. She has no objection to the false- 
 hood, or to the dishonesty, but she is not inclined to obey. 
 Then follows a scene of passionate, furious contention, be- 
 tween an angry mother and a wilful and obstinate child;— ^ 
 for, from the first moment of her existence, that immortal 
 mind has been trained up, by measures and influences 
 most admirably adapted to produce their effect, to false- 
 hood, obstinacy, passion, and every sin. 
 
 Superior strength conquers, and the weak and trembling 
 child, paler than usual with anger, finds herself ejected by 
 force into the cohl street, the bleak wind driving upon her ' 
 uncovered head, and blowing the snow into her exposed, 
 half-naked bosom Do you think she feels it, or heeds it ? 
 
116 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 The little beggar. Misery not innocence. 
 
 No: she is hardened to physical suffering, and her whole 
 soul is absorbed by the tumultuary feelings of passion 
 within. 
 
 She walks along sobbing witt vexation, determined still 
 not to submit to her tyrant's commands, and yet knowing 
 that she must suffer cold and hunger many hours, unless 
 she can carry home the fruits of deception. She wanders 
 instinctively on, until she reaches a street, where she might 
 make application with some hope of success, and then, 
 almost instinctively, accosts the first well-dressed stranger 
 who passes by. He shakes his head at her and walks on. 
 
 A small boy, smaller and weaker than herself, approach- 
 es. He is returning from the grocer's at the corner, where 
 he has been to buy some bread, and he brings back the 
 change in his hand. It was but a step from his home, and 
 his mother thought she would trust him, though the wind 
 was cold. Our little beggar sees a shorter way to gain 
 her end. She seizes his arm, and with a dexterity, which 
 shows that this is not her first lesson, she wrests the small 
 silver and copper coins from the little messenger's hand, 
 and darts off round the corner. The boy screams aloud, 
 as he lies crying upon the snowy pavement, where the vio- 
 lence of the assault has thrown him. The passengers turn 
 their heads as they pass, and one, with more feeling for the 
 sorrows of childhood than the rest, stops to help him up, 
 and to ask what is the matter. But sobs and tears are very 
 general in their meaning, and the poor boy has no other 
 language at command. In the meantime the thief is far 
 away. 
 
 Holding her money tenaciously in her little hand, she 
 walks along, till, in a little sunny nook in a back yard, 
 surrounded by a high wall, she finds some children, wretch- 
 ed as herself, trying to play. Though the water drops 
 slowly from the icicles above them, it is yet cold: but it is 
 a change of miseries to sit here for a time. She joins them 
 and spends an hour, that she may not return too soon. 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 117 
 
 The return. A hopeless case. Reflections. 
 
 For she knows that if her mother should understand by 
 what good fortune her supply was so easily obtained, she 
 would exact a double task. The increasing chill, at length, 
 drives her home, but it is too soon. Her mother seeing 
 silver, knows that she has taken some more expeditious 
 mode than begging, — and snatching her booty from her 
 hands, she drives her out again with reproaches and blows. 
 
 The child returns to her post, stands chilled and shiver- 
 ing in the corner of the streets, and at length gains the ear 
 of a man, who can feel for human suffering, and tells him 
 with an artful air of artlessness, that her father is dead, and 
 her mother very sick, and begs him to give her a little 
 money for medicine. 
 
 Now what can money do in such a case as this .'* Sup- 
 pose that the benevolent man, who listens to the tale, is the 
 wealthiest man on earth; what can he do with wealth alone 
 that will touch such misery as this. And this is the nature 
 of almost the whole of that great mass of physical wretch- 
 edness, which has been for a century accumulating in Eng- 
 land and America. This case may be a strong one, but 
 it is true to the fact. The great truth, which it illustrates, 
 is one which should affect all our plans for doing good, or 
 rather the whole system of operations, which we attempt 
 to carry into effect. Sin and misery are almost inextrica- 
 bly mingled in the cup of human wo. There is destitution 
 of comfort and depravity of heart, and they both exist to- 
 gether. Each perpetuates the other, and any system which 
 aims at supplying the wants, while it leaves the depravity, 
 is only adding new fuel to the fires of these earthly hells. 
 We do not present these views, unquestionably true as 
 they are, to blunt the sympathies of the heart, or to lead 
 men to turn a deaf ear to the cry of suffering poverty, on 
 the ground that its sufferings are all deserved. It is true, in- 
 deed, that they are too often deserved, but this is a consid- 
 eration which should never lead us to disregard them. The 
 \\y way in which these unquestionable facts should influ 
 
118 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 Character. The way to save mankind. 
 
 ence us, is to lead us to look carefully, at what is to be the 
 ultimate tendency and effect of our measures of relief In 
 fact, there are two reasons, why every benevolent mind, 
 should be made clearly to understand the real state of the 
 case, in respect to the subject we are treating. The first 
 is, that they may be thoroughly convinced, that the only 
 way of doing any real, and substantial, and lasting good to 
 the human family, is by the improvement of character. 
 Character is every thing. Let this be right, and honesty, 
 industry, and prudence will root out want and wretchedness 
 from every part of the earth. But leave character unchang- 
 ed., and human want and wo are a mighty gulf, which will 
 swallow up all that the benevolence of the whole world can 
 throw in, and then be wider and darker, and more awful 
 than before. And the way to improve character is to bid 
 God speed every where, to the gospfel of Jesus Christ. It 
 is the only means, which has ever been found adequate to 
 the work, of subduing human passions, and securing to a 
 community the blessings of comfort and peace. Bring men 
 back to God, — show them that their aggravated sins may 
 all be forgiven, enkindle within them the hopes of a happy 
 immortality, and let them see in the great Mediator between 
 God and man, a guide, and a companion, and a sympathiz- 
 ing friend to them, in all their sorrows and cares, and in 
 the vast majority of cases, you need have no more fear of 
 cold and hunger and nakedness, — ^you will find no more 
 broken-hearted wives or starved children. 
 
 The second object we have had in view, in presenting 
 this view of the subject, is, to impress our readers with a 
 sense of the importance of their understanding what they 
 do, and what is the real tendency and effect of their meas- 
 ures, whenever they do act directly in the relief of present 
 suffering. They must understand that it is only alleviating 
 symptoms after all, while the real disease, rages with una- 
 bated power. There are some exceptions, but they are 
 much fewer than the inexperienced would generally sup- 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 119 
 
 Sentiment&l feeling. Some cases of virtuous poverty. 
 
 pose; and even when we are aware of the general rule, our 
 hearts are very prone to make the case, which is for the 
 moment appealing to it, one of the exceptions. There is a 
 sort of instinctive feeling, that the being whom we see suf- 
 fering before us must be innocent. Pity is cousin to love, 
 and love to moral approbation; and where the first comes 
 in by right, the last is very likely to intrude. 
 
 Those whose benevolence is based on sentimental feeling 
 alone, are in special danger from such delusions, and will 
 often do injury, where they were fondly hoping to do good. 
 You visit a wretched house, perhaps, and find a woman 
 there, who tells you a piteous story about her sufferings, 
 from the neglect and the wrongs endured from an intempe- 
 rate husband. Her story is plausible, and how much more 
 readily will a feeling heart, in observing the unequivocal 
 proofs of wretchedness around, believe than question her 
 story. And, then, if the understanding should coolly sug- 
 gest that character generally receives its direction in accor- 
 dance with the circumstances under which it is formed, and 
 that the abode of vice is not the place where you would nat- 
 urally expect to find a virtuous woman ; — and consequent- 
 ly that, though this may be an exception, you ought to be 
 cautious in admitting it to be such, without evidence ade- 
 quate to the case; — I say, if the understanding coldly sug- 
 gests these thoughts, we strive to banish them as if they 
 were unjust and cruel. It is a case where we are in special 
 danger of being led, by the heart, astray. 
 
 The views here given, do not apply to all the cases of 
 suffering poverty, which the Christian will meet. There is 
 virtuous poverty, though it is rare. The industrious and 
 frugal workman is kept for years on the verge of want by 
 his feeble health, and his increasing family, and sinks at 
 last under the burden which he can carry no longer. The 
 virtuous wife, too, is deprived of her earnings by the bru- 
 tahty of her husband, — and herself and her children suffer 
 all the bitterness of want, that the depraved and insatiable 
 
120 THE WAT TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 These exceptions rare. First direction. 
 
 appetites of the husband and father may be supplied. The 
 orphan child, too, is often, very often, left friendless and 
 alone, — to be saved by Christian charity, or else to go to 
 utter ruin. I should be sorry, indeed, if any individuals of 
 these classes, should read the remarks in this chapter, and 
 imagine that they could be intended to have any bearing 
 upon them. If there is any moral spectacle, which can 
 make the heart bleed, and bring tears of compassion into 
 the eye, it is to see a broken-hearted wife and mother, toil- 
 ing in vain to procure food and clothing for her defenceless 
 children, and to shelter them from exposure to vice and ruin, 
 while their insane and brutal father is raving in the streets, 
 with flushed cheeks, and glazed eyes, and muttering voice, 
 during the day, apd turning his home at night into a scene 
 of terror and despair. And then, to think, that for such 
 ills, there is and there can be no earthly remedy. Our 
 sympathy, our aid, our encouragement may give a little 
 alleviation; it is, however, but little after all. The bitter 
 cup we cannot sweeten nor take away. 
 
 These cases, however, much as every Christian philan- 
 thropist will feel for them, he will find comparatively rare. 
 They are exceptions to the general rule, that want is ordi- 
 narily the punishment of idleness, improvidence, or vice. 
 Still, to relieve it, is an important part of our duty, and we 
 shall devote the remainder of this chapter to some brief 
 rules and cautions, by which we ought to be guided in dis- 
 charging it. 
 
 1.' The distress must be relieved if possible. Whatever 
 doubts and difficulties there may be, about making formal 
 and systematic preparations for taking care of the poor, 
 and however justly the suff*erings of the poor may generally 
 be considered as the result of their own improvidence and 
 vice, yet, when real distress actually comes, we must imme- 
 diately do all in our power to relieve it. No matter whether 
 the sufferer is innocent or guilty. No matter whether he 
 has brought calamity upon his head, or is suflTering ills 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 121 
 
 Suffering vice and suffering virtue. A cautioix. 
 
 which no foresight could have avoided. It is enough that 
 he is suffering, and that we have power to relieve him. 
 
 In fact, in some points of view, suffering vice is a great- 
 er object of compassion than suffering virtue. In the 
 former case, there is nothing to alleviate, — nothing to sus- 
 tain or console; but the heart is overwhelmed with the sor- 
 rows and, sufferings which press upon it from without, and 
 yet finds nothing but gloom and desolation within. For a 
 man to find misery before and around him, staring upon 
 him, in the ruins of what was once a happy home, driving 
 his wife to despair, and starving his children, — and then to 
 feel that it is all the result of his own folly and sin, must be 
 wretchedness indeed. If we can relieve it, it must be re- 
 lieved. The Savior has set us the example. We must 
 stop the pain, and then, by the strongest moral means 
 which we can bring to bear upon his heart, we must bid 
 the sufferer sin no more. 
 
 We may, therefore, lay it down as one simple and uni- 
 versal rule, that when we find suffering, — real, unquestion- 
 able suffering, — we have no doubts and queries to raise 
 about the character or the desert of the sufferer. When- 
 ever and wherever we find it,— no matter what is its cause, 
 or who is its victim, — we must relieve it if we can. 
 
 2. We must take care that we correctly understand the 
 case: so that we may know how great the real suffering is. 
 In this respect we must guard against two dangers. First, 
 being deceived by the sufferer, and, secondly, deceiving 
 ourselves. 
 
 First. No persons, excepting those who have had a great 
 deal of experience, and, together with it, a great deal of 
 knowledge of human nature, and of shrewdness in under- 
 standing its movements, can form any conception of the 
 extent to which the Benevolence of Feeling is duped in 
 this world. The Benevolence of Principle is not so easily 
 deceived That there must be, from the very nature of 
 the case, such deception, any one will see by a moment's 
 11 
 
122 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4 
 
 Sufferiug virtue uncommon. Artifices of the vicious. 
 
 thought. The wretched and destitute in this world are, in 
 a vast majority of cases, the depraved and abandoned in 
 character. It may seem harsh to say it, but every one 
 who has had any opportunity for judging knows it is true. 
 Virtue suffering real want, is seldom to be found excepting 
 in poetry and fiction. It is in this way, that this becomes 
 true, either it is vice which makes a man wretched, and 
 brings him down from the position he might have occupied, 
 or else, if the inevitable circumstances of his lot bring him 
 to a condition of wretchedness^, they do, at the same time, 
 as the world now goes on, expose him to influences which 
 almost inevitably make him depraved. When therefore 
 we see an object of misery coming to us for relief, it is 
 very unsafe for us to believe, too readily, that he is an 
 honest man. 
 
 Still, as I have said under the preceding head, this is no 
 reason why he should not be relieved, if he is really a suf- 
 ferer. It is no reason why we should pronounce him a 
 bad man, or say any thing or do any thing to lead him to 
 suppose that we consider him so. It is only a reason why 
 we should be on our guard. In fact we ought not to con- 
 sider him, as an individual, bad. We ought not to decide 
 the question at all, till we have evidence which applies 
 to the particular case. Our feeling should be, that the 
 question whether the applicant before us is a good man or 
 a bad man is yet undecided, but that probably, when we 
 come to have evidence on the point, we shall find that it 
 will not be in his favor, and that therefore we ought to be 
 on our guard. 
 
 A volume might be filled with details of the contrivances 
 of artful men and women, and of children taught all the 
 practices of depravity at an early age, to feign wretched- 
 ness, and at the same time to assume the semblance of 
 virtue. They will put forward into display every sign and 
 muicctiion or suffering they can think of They inure 
 '*j»vrnselves to hardships that they may exhibit themselves 
 
 t 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 123 
 
 Hypocrisy. Danger of deceiving ourselves. 
 
 in the endurance of them. They know too, generally, that 
 it is from Christians alone that the suffering have much 
 ground of hope, and they soon learn the language of 
 seriousness, or of piety itself, that they may awaken a 
 moral interest in their behalf in the hearts of Christian 
 benefactors. They can talk of their sorrows, their trials, 
 their temptations, their hard struggles with the ills of their 
 lot, and by means of the confidence which the language of 
 piety obtains for them in the hearts of others, they procure 
 the means and the stimulants which carry them on with 
 redoubled rapidity in the career of depravity. This may 
 seem severe. The benevolence of sentiment and feeling 
 will perhaps exclaim against it; but the most experienced 
 and the most indefatigable friend of the suffering poor, will 
 testify that it is true. And what must we do? Relieve 
 the suffering if you can, and hear attentively the story 
 But suspect all mere professions of piety, or even of a 
 dawning interest in it, and do not take appearances as 
 evidence of the real extent of the suffering. Be, in a 
 word, on your guard. But never turn a deaf ear to com- 
 plaints because you suspect them to be insincere, or refuse 
 to relieve suffering because you believe it deserved. No 
 Vengeance is not ours. The more intimatejy sin and suf- 
 fering are mingled in a cup of misery, the louder is the 
 call to the Christian to come immediately with relief. For 
 here both the enemies against which he is contending may 
 be encountered together. The considerations which we 
 have presented, should therefore have influence only in 
 leading us to be careful that we ascertain correctly what 
 the real nature and extent of the suffering really is, and 
 not to postpone or to neglect relieving it when it is ascer- 
 tained. 
 
 Secondly, we are in great danger of deceiving ourselves 
 in respect to the amount of suffering we witness. We 
 consider how much we should suffer if we were in the 
 place of those whom we pity, and measure the extent of 
 
124 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4 
 
 The stage-driver. The power of habit. Third rule. 
 
 their pain by our susceptibilities. The body becomes 
 inured to hardships to a degree which is surprising. The 
 cold, the abstinence, the exposure which would destroy 
 one, will be borne by another without any serious suffering. 
 A stage-driver will sit upon his box all day, without seeing, 
 or wishing to see a fire; driving in an atmosphere of 
 piercing cold, so intense that the passengers within, though 
 protected from the air and muffled in cloaks and furs, can 
 scarcely bear its extreme inclemency while they are 
 passing from one blazing tavern-fire to another. How 
 often, too, have we seen, as we have been hurrying along 
 the streets to our home, in a bleak wintry day, a group of 
 boys with thin clothing, open bosoms, and bare hands, 
 amusing themselves with their coasting, or their snow-forts, 
 hour after hour. Many a time does the tender mother pity 
 her poor child, playing in the cold, when it is all enjoyment 
 to him It is so with abstinence from food. The human 
 constitution adapts itself with wonderful readiness and cer- 
 tainty to its conditions, and learns to do and to bear without 
 pain, what it is often compelled to do and to bear. Now 
 let no reader say that these remarks are intended to deny 
 that the poor suffer from hunger and cold. They do suffer 
 often and intensely — more intensely than the well-clothed 
 and well-fed dispenser of charity can conceive. Still they 
 often do not Suffer, where there is every appearance of 
 suffering; that is, we see that we should suflTer in their 
 place, and we think that they must suffer too. We ought 
 to be aware of this; for to enable us to act wisely and 
 judiciously, the first thing is to understand correctly^ the 
 case in respect to which we are going to act. 
 
 3. When we have found, thus, a case of real suffering, 
 and have taken those precautions which the nature of the 
 case will admit for correctly understanding it, we ought to 
 proceed soberly and cautiously in measures for relief If 
 your feelings become deeply interested in the case, — and 
 if your benevolence is rather that of feeling than of 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 125 
 
 Danger of overdoing. Encourage exertion. Illustration. 
 
 principle, they will be very likely to become so, by the in- 
 fluence of little circumstances which may give the charm 
 of sentiment or romance to the affair, — you may make a 
 great exertion, you may enlist the feelings and efforts of 
 your acquaintance, and you may, by your various plans, 
 carry your measures for relief altogether beyond just 
 bounds. It is not that you will be in danger of producing 
 too much happiness, but that by overdoing your part here, 
 you may aggravate, in the end, the suffering you intended 
 to relieve. How you will be in danger of doing this, will 
 appear more clearly from the cautions given in the two 
 following heads. 
 
 4. In all your efforts to promote the good of the poor, 
 endeavor to encourage, and bring out, and aid their own 
 efforts, not to supply the place of them by your charity. 
 Your principle should be, not to carry them, but to help 
 them walk, themselves. Aid them in their own plans, and 
 aid them too as little as possible, consistently with relieving 
 from actual suffering. If, for instance, a poor woman's 
 infant child is suffering for clothing, do not make a full 
 supply of such clothing as you would want for your own 
 child, and then send it in to her to surprise and gladden 
 her by the unexpected profusion. By doing so, you will 
 indeed produce a momentary feeling of surprise, and per- 
 haps gratitude; but you go so far beyond what her own 
 exertions could hope to reach, that she is discouraged 
 rather than aided, in respect to her own exertions for the 
 future. She despises the coarse and less comfortable sup- 
 plies which she can herself procure, and by spoiling, in 
 her view, the rewards of her own industry, that industry 
 is discouraged and depressed. She sinks into idleness, 
 waiting and hoping for another gift. 
 
 On the other hand, when you find one struggling with 
 
 poverty, aid those struggles. Ask them what they want, 
 
 what they are trying to obtain, and aid them just as much 
 
 as is necessary to enable them to obtain what they want, 
 
 11* 
 
126 THE WAY TO DO GOOlt. [Cfl. 4, 
 
 Efffects of profusion. Danger of envy and jeaiousy. 
 
 and to obtain it in their own way. Instead of sending them 
 a new bed, give them aid in getting the old one fixed and 
 mended. Instead of maying them to another house be- 
 cause you think you could not be contented in theirs, show 
 them how they can make their present cabin tidy and com- 
 fortable. In a word, instead of coming in at once with a 
 profusion of new comforts and supplies, to produce a sud- 
 den emotion of wonder and joy, help them a little, — just as 
 much as is necessary, — in going on in their own yvay, ex- 
 cept, of course, so far as their own way is positively wrong. 
 Thus by aiding them in their own labors and plans, you 
 encourage and stimulate effort, and make the little aid you 
 render of lasting benefit. 
 
 5. If you do too much for any one individual who is 
 suffering, you will excite the jealousy and envy of the rest. 
 Thus you will cut off the poor from the sympathy and aid 
 of one another, which is, after all, of more value to them 
 than the more liberal charities of the rich. Among the 
 lowest and most degraded classes there are all varieties of 
 condition. There are gradations of rank, of influence, and 
 property, as decided as in a royal court. A disposition 
 to relieve and help one another exists, too, among. them. 
 Whenever any case of extraordinary suffering occurs, the 
 neighbors flock around the scene, partly from real genuine 
 compassion, and partly from that mysterious principle in 
 human nature, the love of tragic excitement, which other 
 classes gratify by fiction, they by reality. 
 
 Suppose now in the course of your walks of charity you 
 come to a wretched habitation, half under ground, where a 
 woman is lying sick. Her room, if room it may be called, 
 seems to you, as you enter it, entirely destitute of every 
 comfort. The sufferer is alone when you come in, but 
 she is by no means deserted. Her poor neighbors, as you 
 would call them, — though as their daily labors bring them 
 all they want, they are very far from calling themselves 
 poor, — have come in to help her. One has lent her a 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 157 
 
 The benevolence of the poor. The right way/ 
 
 blanket. Another brought in that morning some wood to 
 make a fire for preparing her some food, and then extin- 
 guished it as no longer necessary when the food was pre- 
 pared. The room looks cheerless and uncomfortable to 
 you, but the patient is not cold, any more than you yourself 
 are cold, when sleeping in an unwarnied chamber in a 
 night in January. Other neighbors come in during the 
 day, from time to time, to talk a little with the patient and 
 cheer her heart. Thus all her real wants are supplied. 
 The appearances of suffering which strike you as you 
 enter, are only the general circumstances of her condition, 
 to which she has always been accustomed, and which pro- 
 duce no suffering, and awaken no feeling of discontent; 
 and she is in fact, only an object of compassion, just as all 
 other persons are who are sick, whatever may be the 
 aspect of the chamber where they are confined. 
 
 The wise course now, in such a case is, plainly, not to 
 come with a profusion of aid, so as to break in upon and 
 derange the operations of that neighborhood. Just en- 
 courage, and aid, and help forward those operations. Sit 
 a few minutes by the bedside, and tell the patient you are 
 glad she has so many comforts, and that her neighbors are 
 so kind to her. Inquire if there is any thing in addition 
 to what they do for her, that she wants. If there is, sup- 
 ply her as much as possible through them. Aid one a little 
 in obtaining wood when it is really wanted. Ask another 
 whether a physician is necessary, and if so, what one is 
 generally employed in that neighborhood, and help them to 
 obtain him. Thus strengthen and encourage, and aid the 
 sympathy and charity which is at hand, and on which the 
 sufllerer must after all mainly rely. 
 
 Or suppose you take the other course. Regardless of 
 what has been done and is doing for her, you come and 
 break suddenly in upon the system of kind attentions which 
 neighbors and friends had arranged, and by the compara- 
 tively profuse supplies which you can easily render, you 
 
128 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 Profuse benefactions* A Case. The cabin. 
 
 make all that they had done, appear insignificant and worth- 
 less. Soon after your visit, one neighbor comes in and 
 finds what she would call a rich counterpane upon the be(? 
 and the coarse blanket which she had made considerable 
 effort and sacrifice to lend to the patient, thrown aside. 
 Another enters and sees a great blazing fire upon the 
 hearth, — the little stock of wood which she had contributed, 
 and which she had been frugally using, all consumed, and 
 its place supplied by your extravagant contribution. They 
 see immediately that the case is taken out of their hands. 
 They were helping the poor traveller along the rough road 
 of life, but you have interfered and taken her into your 
 carriage, and they cannot keep up with you. They are 
 discouraged, and give up their neighbor in despair of help- 
 ing her any more. The feeling is worse than that of 
 despair. They will, in nine cases out often, look with envy 
 and jealousy upon your profuse benefactions, and their 
 compassion for their suffering neighbor will be turned to 
 dislike, by your raising her, for the moment, above them- 
 selves. It will be but for a moment, for, in a short time 
 you find some other object of compassion and charity, and 
 you gradually abandon this one, having by the indiscreet 
 profusion of your aid, deprived her of her greatest stay and 
 support. 
 
 A case has occurred within my knowledge, since this 
 chapter was commenced, which finely illustrates this sub- 
 ject. A benevolent physician was called to prescribe for a 
 sick woman in the cabin of an Irish laborer upon a Massa- 
 chusetts railroad. It was in the depth of winter, the 
 thermometer ranging from zero to twenty degrees below. 
 The rude cabin was made of posts driven into the ground, 
 covered with boards of rough sides and untrimmed edges. 
 Similar boards, rudely overlapping each other, constituted 
 the roof. The house was banked up upon the outside with 
 turf and stones, for several feet; but above, the cold winds 
 of the winter, whistled through the innumerable crevices 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR, 129 
 
 Description of the interior. The physician's visit. A mediation. 
 
 of SO rude a structure. Within, there was but one apart- 
 ment; a fire burned in a corner, the fireplace being a little 
 more than the angle of the wall, from which the smoke 
 ascended through a chimney of loose stones, topped out, 
 as the masons say, with a couple of empty flour barrels. 
 Near the entrance, two short posts were driven into the 
 turf, — for the natural surface of the ground was the only 
 floor, — and cross-pieces nailed from one of them to the 
 other and from each to the wall, constituted the bedstead 
 A covering of boards answered instead of cord or sacking. 
 The door, if it may be called a door, was near; for in order 
 to leave as much room as possible for the numerous occu- 
 pants of the cabin, the bedstead had been built, though 
 probably not in anticipation of sickness, as far as possible 
 from the fire. 
 
 One cold morning, the physician came to pay his last 
 visit, as his patient was decidedly convalescent. He found 
 as usual, the neighbors around the bed, in a wintry atmos- 
 phere utterly unaflfected by the fire, in the remote corner of 
 the room. Patient and visiters were however all talking 
 merrily together, amusing themselves with an infant child 
 lying by the mother's side. After making the customary 
 inquiries, and then leaving the general directions and 
 good wishes which usually attend the last visit to conva- 
 lescence, he was about going away, when one of the 
 visiters, who lived in just such a cabin, walked upon just 
 such a floor, and slept upon just such a bed, — if indeed she 
 ever, except in sickness, enjoyed the luxury of any bed at 
 all, — after some whispering consultation with the others, 
 took him to one side to plead for a moderate charge in the 
 way of fee; for, as she said gravely, " this woman and her 
 husband are rather poor, and have hard work to get 
 along! " 
 
 Now the point I have in view, in introducing this scene 
 to the reader's attention, is just to make this remark at the 
 close of it, namely, that the benevolence of blind feeling 
 
130 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4 
 
 The wise course. Last direction. • Public charity. 
 
 would have refused a fee altogether in this case, and have 
 left, besides, some extravagant donation in money, or in 
 something else. But a man, benevolent on principle, — 
 wise and circumspect, would have done just as the physi- 
 cian did, in this case, suffer himself to be persuaded to 
 take only a partial fee, and go away with that, — leaving 
 the patient to feel that she was independent, not living 
 upon charity, and the neighbors to see that through their 
 friendly intervention, they had done their friend a real 
 service, by diminishing the charges of her sickness. Fifty 
 dollars could not be expended upon such a family and 
 neighborhood, in a way to do more good among them, than 
 that effected by the simple influence of the proper course in 
 such a case as this. So much more important is it to en- 
 courage the ignorant classes to help themselves and one 
 another, than to ledd them to lean upon the charity of the 
 wealthy. 
 
 The last direction we have to give, is, to be cautious in 
 regard to all public, known, established organizations for 
 the relief of the poor. I do not say oppose them nor refuse 
 to aid them, but watch them. They who have been most 
 intimately acquainted with the operation of all systematic 
 and well known charities, unite in saying that though they 
 relieve a great deal of actual want which could not have 
 been avoided, yet that the great general result which is 
 produced by them is to lead the mass of the poor, i. e. of 
 the idle, the dissipated, and the vicious, to calculate upon 
 their aid, as a part of their regular resources; — and to en- 
 able them to carry to a still farther point, their idleness, 
 dissipation, and vice, without being called to account by 
 that stern master, hunger. There is no doubt that the 
 public poor, and the beneficiaries of private charitable 
 associations, both in England and America, calculate in 
 many instances almost as much upon their winter's aid, as a 
 bank stock-holder does upon his dividend, — and they make 
 as regular an allowance for it, in the industry and economy 
 
Ch. 4.] THE POOR. 131 
 
 Its abuses. Cause of pauperism. Its remedy. 
 
 they practice in the working season. We do not see this, — 
 we hardly believe it when it is proved, — so strong is that 
 mysterious delusion by which we always connect the idea of 
 innocence with that of suffering. But the influence of all 
 well-known and public arrangements for distributing to the 
 necessities of the able-bodied poor, is unquestionably of 
 this sort, and they demand the most careful attention. 
 They may be, in fact, sometimes needed. But they ought 
 not to be needed, in any country. There must be some- 
 thing wrong in the state of society, where they are de- 
 manded, and statesmen and philanthropists should set 
 themselves at work to discover and correct this wrong, 
 rather than vainly to attempt to remove the symptomatic 
 sufferings which come from it. 
 
 If in any community there are large masses of the popu- 
 lation who cannot by their labors procure their support, it 
 is plain that this must be owing to something wrong in the 
 constitution and condition of society there; for the pro- 
 ducts of the general industry are amply sufficient for the 
 general support. There can be no question that the culti- 
 vated portions of the earth, do or might produce, a very 
 plentiful supply, both of food and clothing, for all the 
 inhabitants. If, therefore, any go unsupplied, it must be 
 either that they cannotiabor to advantage, or that they are, 
 by faulty institutions or customs, deprived of their just and 
 fair reward. Both of these two causes operate. 
 
 The ignorant cannot work to advantage, because in 
 most civilized communities at the present day, there is 
 too much ignorant labor to supply the demand. To carry 
 forward the operations of society, by which food and cloth- 
 ing are produced, manufactured, transported, and exchang- 
 ed, there is demanded a certain amount of intelligence, a 
 certain amount of inventive power, a certain amount of 
 manual dexterity, and a certain amount of mere labor. If 
 there is an undue supply of either of these, the reward for 
 that which is in excess, must sink; for the fair proportion 
 
132 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 4. 
 
 Too much ignorant labor. Conclusion. 
 
 of the product of the common industry will in effect fall 
 to each class, and must be divided among them; and 
 where the claimants are numerous, the dividend must be 
 small. Now the market for labor, almost throughout the 
 civilized world, is glutted, while the demand for skill and 
 intelligence is but moderately supplied. The reason is, 
 that vast numbers have let themselves sink by their vices 
 to ignorance and degradation, where they can do nothing 
 but labor; and society have allowed the mighty mass to 
 accumulate, by not making proper efforts to save their 
 children. While thus the supply of mere muscular force 
 nas been increasing, the demand has been diminishing, for 
 the progress of civilization is continually finding ways 
 of accomplishing by the intelligence and skill of the few, 
 what was before effected by the blind labor of the many. 
 This double influence has gone on until at length, in 
 England, while the means of comfort and happiness among 
 the upper classes of society, are as abundant as they are 
 in any part of the world, there are far more than enough 
 of the ignorant and degraded, who can do nothing but 
 labor, to do all the labor there is to be done. The conse- 
 quence is, their pay is reduced to the very lowest ex- 
 treme, through a competition sharpened by hunger, and 
 urged on by despair; and still there are hundreds of thou- 
 sands who must be fed by the public or starve. Common 
 sense points out the remedy. Enlightening and educating 
 them, and their children, so as to raise a portion of them 
 from the ranks of mere blind, ignorant laborers, where they 
 are not wanted, to spheres of action where they can sus- 
 tain themselves, and promote the general welfare by in- 
 telligence and skill. 
 
 In a word, poverty and suffering in this world are 
 generally only the symptoms of ignorance and sin. Let 
 us mitigate the symptoms where they are severe. It is our 
 imperious duty to do so. But the great object to be ac- 
 complished is to cure the disease. 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETY. 133 
 
 Connection between sin and suffering. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 
 
 ** He that converteth the sinner from the error of his ways, shall save a soul 
 from death, and hide a multitude of sins." 
 
 It seems thus, from what we have said in the last chap- 
 ter, that we cannot sunder the connection between sin and 
 suffering ; and there is a little additional light thrown upon 
 our duty in respect to the way to do good in this world, by 
 the circumstance that God who can, will not. He might 
 easily and at once, put a final end to all the miseries which 
 men are every where bringing upon themselves by their 
 sins. How readily might he, by a word, restore every 
 broken constitution, — and bring back to prosperity every 
 wretched and ruined family, — and heal every corroding 
 and cankering disease, — and quiet the agitations of re- 
 morse and despair. But he will not. He has chosen to 
 connect by the most fixed and steady laws, suffering with 
 sin, and it is remarkable how exclusively all his plans of 
 doing good to men go, for their object, towards removing 
 the cause, and not towards disturbing this established 
 connection between cause and consequence. He has 
 determined that the way of transgression must be hard. 
 If man breaks his laws and lives in sin, he will not relieve 
 him of the penalties, and he puts it utterly out of our 
 power to afford any effectual relief. Thus he cuts off 
 from man all hope of happiness except from the abandon- 
 ment of sin. 
 
 There is thus a great difference between human philan- 
 thropy and divine philanthropy in their way of working. 
 Men are always trying to stop suffering directly. God's 
 plans are always aimed against sin. God sends prophets 
 and preachers to teach. He publishes his commands. 
 12 
 
134 THE Way to do good. [Ch. 5 
 
 Divine and human bencTolence. Expectations of the young. 
 
 He makes known his threatenings. He displays con- 
 spicuously on this theatre the moral example of his Son. 
 He gives the innocent victim to death, to make atonement 
 for our sins, and by his Spirit gently draws the heart to 
 penitence and submission. Man, on the other hand, 
 establishes the public infirmary, — gives money to the 
 vicious beggar, — provides publicly for the poor, — and 
 builds the foundling hospital. Let no one understand me 
 to say that these things are wrong. Some are undoubtedly 
 right, and others may be wrong. It is most plainly our 
 duty to do the little we can to alleviate the sorrows and 
 sufferings of humanity, even if these sorrows are caused 
 by sin. All we mean here to say is that we are prone, 
 very prone to turn our attention too exclusively to such 
 efforts, which must be extremely limited in their success, 
 / and which often create far more misery than they relieve. 
 I The great work of benevolence in this world, is the work 
 I of co-operating with God in attempting to redeem the 
 
 \ HUMAN RACE FROM ITS SINS. 
 
 The young readers, for whom this book is principally 
 intended, will doubtless feel somewhat surprised and per- 
 haps a little disappointed at this view of the case. In 
 early life we look upon the relief of bodily suffering as the 
 great way of doing good, and we regard money as the 
 most powerful and ready means of effecting it. If M^e feel 
 any benevolent desires, they flow out in this channel, and 
 we look forward with eager interest to the time when we 
 shall possess means of our own for the accomplishment of 
 such plans. If there are such among our readers, they 
 will feel disappointed and discouraged by the representa- 
 tions we made in the last chapter. But the representations, 
 though discouraging, are true. The more you reflect 
 upon it, the more you will be satisfied, that God has so 
 arranged the circumstances of human life, and so intimate- 
 ly and inextricably intertwined moral and physical evil, 
 that the latter admits of no separate remedy. 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETY. 135 
 
 The only way to do real and permanent good. 
 
 If then you wish to devote your life to the work of doing 
 good, you must devote it to a warfare against sin. You 
 can do nothing effectual in any other way. You may as 
 well attempt to hold back the tides of the ocean, or to 
 exclude insects from the forest, or clouds from the sky, as 
 to fence off hunger, and loathsome disease, and squalid 
 misery, from a community filled with sin. On the other 
 hand, make the most wretched outcast in the world, whose 
 sufferings are caused by his vice, a Christian, and the 
 work is done. No matter for your alms, his faith will. save 
 him. Regeneration cuts up the root of wretchedness, and 
 every bitter fruit will soon disappear. The ragged, hun- 
 gry, diseased and miserable vagabond, will soon be found 
 clothed and in his right mind. Temperance and purity will 
 restore his health, and industry and frugality will supply 
 every need; — and the wretched suppliant for relief which 
 he never could receive, will become the possessor of 
 independent happiness, and the dispenser of enjoyment to 
 the little circle around him. 
 
 As we have already remarked, this should not prevent 
 our doing the little we can to give temporary relief to the 
 sorrows and sufferings of men. We must not leave even 
 guilt to bear its burdens, with the stern reproach that it 
 deserves them all. We must feed the hungry, and clothe 
 the naked, and visit the sick, and do them all the good in 
 our power; No person who reads the precepts or observes 
 the example of Jesus Christ, can possibly doubt this. All 
 we mean to inculcate by the foregoing remarks, is, that 
 after we have done all that we can in this way, we have 
 in fact, done comparatively nothing. The great source 
 of the difficulty remains untouched, and we accomplish 
 nothing effectual or permanent for the good of man, except 
 so far as we promote his salvation from sin. 
 
 We come now, therefore, to consider the great means 
 by which this is to be done. 
 
136 THE WAY TO DO GOOH. [Ch. 5 
 
 Power of moral sympathy. Experiment with a child. 
 
 Our Savior's plan for the extension of Christianity in the 
 world, was, that the spirit of piety should spread from heart 
 to heart, by a sort of moral contagion. There was pro- 
 vision made, it is triie, for argument to convince, and 
 instruction to enlighten, and threatenings to awe mankind; 
 but from the whole tenor of the Savior's preaching, and his 
 whole course of conduct, it is plain that he relied mostly 
 upon that practical manifestation of the power of religion, 
 which he himself and his disciples were to make to men. 
 The various metaphors he used all indicate how much he 
 expected from the moral influence of a bright christian 
 example. It is surprising what an influence man has over 
 man, by the mere contagion of moral feeling. Such is 
 human nature, that the mere existence and exhibition of a 
 feeling, right or wrong, in one heart awakens its like in 
 the hearts that are around it. A good sentiment or a bad 
 one is spread among men by the simple expression of it, 
 more than by the reasoning by which it is supported. 
 Men catch the spirit of it, and their hearts vibrate in 
 unison, as one cord, untouched, echoes back the musical 
 tone that is sounded by another. 
 
 Few persons understand how great this influence is, 
 which heart has over heart by a sort of sympathy. And 
 yet you can easily see, by many simple experiments, how 
 much stronger it is than the power of cold argument, or 
 the influence of a calculation on rewards or punishments 
 to come. We can, as usual with moral experiments, test 
 it most easily with a child. Suppose his mother is sick in 
 her bed-room, and you wish him to be quiet and still, that 
 she may rest ; or rather, you do not merely wish to produce 
 silence mechanically, but you wish to awaken such a feel- 
 ing of love and interest and sympathy for his mother, that 
 he shall take pleasure in being still. Now you may try 
 two methods. First, argument and persuasion; you may 
 call him to your side and tell him how sick his mother is, 
 —how kind she has always been to him when he was sick, 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP P£llSOJ*AL PtEtY. iSt 
 
 The power of persuasion and of sympathy Comparfed 
 
 — how greatly noise disturbs her, and how clearly it is his 
 duty to avoid increasing her sickness or her suffering. 
 You may, perhaps, by such a conversation, produce a slight 
 momentary impression; but you will more probably find 
 by his restlessness and his wandering looks, that your 
 labor is in vain. 
 
 Now try the power of moral sympathy. Take your little 
 pupil by the hand, and say to him, " Come — ^we will go 
 and see mother." As you lead him by slow steps, up 
 the staircase, talk thus. You will observe that it is not 
 reasoning or persuasion, but only an audible expression of 
 your own feelings, intended to awaken, by the power of 
 sympathy, similar feelings in him. 
 
 "Poor mother! I am sorry she is sick. We will walk 
 very carefully and softly, so as not to disturb her. I will 
 open the door very gently. There," — (in a very gentle 
 and subdued tone;) — ** she will hardly know we are com- 
 ing. We will not disturb poor mother. I hope she will 
 get well; we will be kind to her and be still, so that she 
 may soon get well." 
 
 They who have observed the character and feelings of 
 the human heart, as exhibited in childhood, will understand 
 how readily the little pupil as he is walking up the stairs, 
 will catch the spirit exhibited so near him. His loud step 
 will be hushed into the most cautious tread. His boister- 
 ous voice will subside to a low murmuring sound, and he 
 will stand, at last, by his mother's bed-side, full, for the 
 moment at least, of the feelings of love, and compassion, 
 and interest, which you wished to awaken. You have 
 awakened them simply by the power of moral sympathy. 
 You brought his heart near to yours, and kindled it by the 
 flame that was there. 
 
 It is so with men as well as with children. They catch 
 the spirit of moral feeling from one another, to an extent of 
 which the great mass of mankind have a very inadequate 
 conception. It is so too, with almost every kind of feeling. 
 
138 THE Way to do good." [Ch. 5. 
 
 I The children in a thunder-storm. Light ; salt -, leaven. 
 
 Let a father come home among his terrified children, in 
 a thunder storm, and without his saying a word, his look 
 of calm composure, and his quiet air will reassure them all. 
 It will do far more than words. Nay, argument and rea- 
 soning would only interfere with its effect. Far the wisest 
 course, in such a case, would be to say not a word about 
 safety; but while talking of other things, to depend upon 
 the children's catching the spirit of comp^osure. Fear will 
 spread thus, too, as well as courage. On the field of battle 
 when a few are thoroughly terrified, it is a most desperate 
 eflTort only, which can prevent universal panic and flight. 
 It is not that the danger is greater, or that it is better 
 understood; — but that human hearts, when together, tend 
 strongly to beat in unison, and where some go wrong, they 
 draw on others to ruin with them, by this mysterious con- 
 tagion. 
 
 The contest which is going on in the world, between 
 good and evil, is a contest of feeling, more than one of 
 argument. Bad principles and bad passions spread by the 
 direct action of heart upon heart, and good principles, and 
 benevolent and holy emotions, appeal in the same way to 
 the consciences of men, with far greater power than any 
 other moral causes. This is the reason why our Savior 
 laid so much stress upon the power and influence of chris- 
 tian example. His followers were to be the light of the 
 world. They were to be the salt, which purifies and saves 
 by its presence, and its direct and salutary action. They 
 were to be the leaven, which communicates its own pro- 
 perties to the mass which surrounds it, by the simple in- 
 fluence of its touch. In many ways, Jesus Christ plainly 
 showed how much he expected would be accomplished by 
 the moral power of the mere presence and manifestations 
 of piety ill the midst of a world lying in sin. 
 
 He ordained many other modes of exerting influence to 
 spread his kingdom. But they all depended for their 
 success, in a great measure, on being connected with this. 
 
Ch. 5.] PR03K>TI0N OF PERSONAL PIETY. i^^l^ 
 
 The Savior's moral power. Sermons. The mothi - 
 
 The gospel was to be preached every where, but its prac- 
 tical effects upon the lives of those who embraced it, were 
 to give power to this preaching. In fact, it was our 
 Savior's character which gave their immense effect to his 
 instructions; and Paul, if he had been a selfish, worldly 
 man, might have declaimed against sin in Jerusalem, or 
 Athens, or Rome, for half a century in vain. The rapid 
 progress of true religion in early times, was undoubtedly 
 owing, in a great measure, to the lofty standard of practical 
 piety, by v/hich the instructions of public preaching were 
 enforced. The pulse of ardent love to God, and true 
 benevolence to man, beat high and strong in the hearts of 
 the early Christians; and the warm fire is the one which 
 spreads easily. 
 
 It has been the same in principle ever since those days. 
 The efforts which have been most successful in bringing 
 men to repentance and salvation have been, not those con- 
 nected with the most powerful arguing, or the most dis- 
 tinguished eloquence, or the most adroit manoeuvres; but 
 those which have originated in, and been sustained by, the 
 warmest and most devoted piety. Thus many of the most 
 successful sermons have had little literary merit. It was 
 the warm and unaffected spirit of the preacher, which 
 awakened, by sympathy, the moral susceptibilities of the 
 hearer. Many a mother, in despair of doing any thing her- 
 self for her child but to pray for him, has supplied by the 
 warmth and heartfelt interest of the prayers which she has 
 uttered in his presence, the very means of his conversion, 
 — so far as human means can go. The holy and heavenly 
 spirit which has glowed in her heart, the love of the Savior, 
 the hatred of sin, the desire for spiritual union with God, 
 have been made the means, by divine grace, of awakening 
 the moral susceptibilities in the heart of her child. Con- 
 science has been aroused, and the lost child saved; — 
 while the sons and daughters of many a profound theo- 
 
140 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 The way by which religion is to be spread. 
 
 logian, of far more extensive religious knowledge, but of a 
 more lukewarm heart, have gone down, notwithstanding 
 all parental efforts, to the grave, in sin. And so it has 
 often happened, that some obscure and solitary Christian, 
 living in want, and seeing all the world above him, has 
 spent year after year, thinking that he does no good, and 
 can do none, and wondering why God should spare a use- 
 less tree so long. And yet, though he knew it not, fhe 
 light and the influence of his christian example have been 
 seen and felt all around him. The spirit which has reigned 
 within his bosom, has spread, by sympathy, to many others; 
 and it has often aroused conscience, and held back a soul 
 from many of its sins, where it could not win it completely 
 to holiness; and thus God keeps this his humble follower 
 on the stage of action, as one of the most efficient laborers 
 in his vineyard, while he himself knows not why he is 
 spared. Yes, holiness itself, is the great instrument by 
 which holiness is to be spread. It will work most power- 
 fully itself, by its mere existence and manifestation; and it 
 must give to every other means, almost their whole effi- 
 ciency, in acting upon the human soul. Thus the exten- 
 sion of Christianity in the world, is not to be the triumph 
 of argument, nor the success of manoeuvres, — but the 
 spread of feeling from heart to heart, by a moral sympathy, 
 which God by his grace will make effectual to moral re- 
 newal. 
 
 If then, my reader, you wish to devote your life to the 
 work of doing good in the most effectual manner, or rather, 
 in the only effectual manner, the main work before you, is 
 the work of saving souls, by cherishing yourself, and ex- 
 tending from yourself to others, the spirit of holy obedi- 
 ence to God, and love to men. This general principle 
 being, I trust, established, it remains only to give some 
 plain and practical directions for carrying it into effect. 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PlETY. 141 
 
 Preparation. Honesty. Assumed interest in religion. 
 
 I. THE PREPARATION. 
 
 1. Be sure that you are sincere and honest. We very 
 often detect ourselves in assuming involuntarily, and al- 
 most insensibly, an air and tone of deep feeling in our 
 prayers and in our conversation, which we do not really 
 possess. We know that unless We are ourselves interested 
 in religious duty, it is in vain to attempt to interest others 
 in it, and we mistake appearing interested, for actually 
 being so. How often do we observe the affected serious- 
 ness of countenance and solemnity of tone. How often do 
 we detect ourselves in assuming it. Hypocrisy is one of 
 the foims of sin into which the human heart, prone to 
 iniquity, most easily and continually slides. It is one 
 which the most sincere and devoted Christian finds con- 
 tinually taking possession of his heart, under a thousand 
 shapes and disguises. But our hypocrisy seldom deceives 
 any body but ourselves. The world are quick to detect 
 the difference between what is natural and what is afiected 
 and assumed. It is real interest in religion, — real, heart- 
 felt attachment to God, and honest, friendly interest in 
 man, which the Spirit of God makes use of as a means to 
 touch the feelings of others, and to arouse conscience, and 
 awaken a sense of obligation to God; while the affectation 
 of what is not possessed, is a slim disguise, which the in- 
 stinct of mankind detects at once, and repels. Be honest, 
 then. Be natural. If you really feel any warm-hearted 
 interest in those around you, let your words and actions 
 freely show it; but if you do not, guard most carefully 
 against the attempt to feign any. I do not mean, guard 
 against a deliberate and understood intention to impose 
 upon men; for those only, who are utterly destitute of 
 piety will be guilty of this; but watch your heart, lest, 
 adroit as it is in eluding your vigilance, and running away 
 into sin, it should escape you here. If you are aware that 
 the real, unfeigned interest which you feel in the progress 
 
142 
 
 THE 
 
 WAY 
 
 TO 
 
 DO GOOD. 
 
 
 [Ch. 
 
 5. 
 
 Interest in human salvation. 
 
 
 
 Companions ; 
 
 , friends; 
 
 neighbors. 
 
 of God's kingdom and the salvation of sinners, is not 
 enough to enable you to go forward with much success, 
 you must not attempt to remedy the difficulty by exhibiting 
 more of the appearance, but by securing more of the reality. 
 This brings us to the second of the directions we proposed 
 to give. 
 
 2. Cultivate a genuine interest in the salvation of men, 
 by appropriate meditation and prayer. It should be a part 
 of our daily duty, in our hours of retirement and devotion, 
 to bring the spiritual condition and prospects of our neigh- 
 bors and friends distinctly before our minds. We have in 
 the ordinary walks of life, so many mere business dealings 
 with those around us, that we soon come to consider them 
 in the light of mere business or social connections. The 
 merchant or mechanic, whom we meet with every day, we 
 soon come to consider as merely a merchant or mechanic, 
 — we think of him as a workman, — we look at his character 
 in a business point of view, and after a short time, we cease 
 to regard him as an immortal being, going to the judgment, 
 and destined to an eternity of holy happiness, or of wretch- 
 edness and sin. We forget that he has a soul to be saved, 
 and that the responsibility of doing something to promote 
 its salvation, devolves upon us. Now, this disposition to 
 overlook the spiritual condition and prospects of our fellow 
 men, is one which we can avoid only by continued medita- 
 tion and prayer. We must have time, when, in the privacy 
 of the closet, we may regard our fellow men as they are, — 
 and see their true spiritual condition; when we may look 
 at our neighbors and friends with a view to their prospects 
 as immortal beings. 
 
 And we must not only think of the character and condi- 
 tion of our companions and friends, in respect to their 
 prospects for eternity, but a part of our daily duty must be, 
 honest, heartfelt prayer for them. I do not mean that we 
 must utter a cold form of petition, asking, in general terms, 
 for the conversion of sinners, and for the extension of God's 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY.. 143 
 
 Prayer. A test of sincere prayer. 
 
 kingdom. We all do this as a matter of course. The lan- 
 guage forms a part of every prayer, and it is uttered by 
 thousands every morning, who feel none of the desires 
 they seem to express. What I mean by really praying for 
 sinners, is a very different thing. 
 
 Sincere prayer for the conversion of souls must spring 
 from a distinct \'iew of their spiritual danger, and an honest 
 desire that they may be rescued from sin and its conse- 
 quences. We must think of our neighbors and friends, of 
 a parent, a husband or a child, as an enemy of God, justly 
 obnoxious to his anger, and actually condemned already 
 With our hearts full of compassion for them, and sorrow 
 for the awful fate which we see impending over them, we 
 must go alone before God, and pour out our whole souls 
 before him, in fervent supplications that he will have 
 mercy upon them and save them. It is not the cold repeti- 
 tion of a form of words, to which we have become so 
 habituated that we cannot well construct a prayer without 
 it, that will prevail with God. No, it is the warm, deep 
 fervency of the heart, thai feels for the sorrows and suffer- 
 ings which it wishes to relieve. 
 
 There is one test of genuine prayer for sinners which is 
 so simple and so easily applied, that I cannot forbear men- 
 tioning it here. It is the freedom with which particular 
 cases are brought before God. 
 
 When our devotions are cold and formal, we content 
 ourselves with generalities; but when prayer comes from 
 the heart, it is dictated by feelings of strong compassion, 
 and this compassion is awaked by considering the spiritual 
 wants, and the gloomy spiritual prospects, of individuals. 
 We shall bring these individual cases before God. We 
 shall come with our neighbors, our acquaintances, — the 
 one who walks with us to church, or who sits in the same 
 seat; or our friend, or our parent, or our child. We shall 
 bring the individual case to God, with strong crying and 
 tears, that God would save them, — those particular itidivid- 
 
144 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Cll. 5. 
 
 Religious emotion. Nature and province of it. Illustration. 
 
 tiofe, from the woes and sufferings we see hanging over 
 their heads. 
 
 3. Do notjjKiWjeyjer»^J^_tao«iU(ch stress upon religious 
 emtifion. One of jthe, most common religious errors of the 
 present day, is, the habit of confounding religious interest 
 with religious emotion. Interest in religion is our constant 
 duty. Emotion, is one of the forms which this interest 
 occasionally assumes. Now many persons confound the 
 two, and think that they are in a cold, stupid state, unless 
 their hearts are full of a deep, overwhelming emotion. 
 They struggle continually to awaken and to sustain this 
 emotion, and are distressed and disappointed that they can- 
 not succeed. They fail, for the obvious reason that the 
 human heart is incapable of long continued emotion of any 
 kind, when in a healthy state. Susceptibility of emotion is 
 given by the Creator for wise and good purposes, but it is 
 intended to be an occasional, not an habitual state of the 
 mind; and, in general, our duty is to control, rather than 
 to cherish it. 
 
 For example, a man loves his wife and his little children, 
 and thinks that he may promote their permanent good in 
 tlie world, by removing to a new home in the West, where 
 he can make his labors far more effectual in laying a foun- 
 dation for their wealth and prosperity, than he can in the 
 home of his own childhood. He sets off*, therefore, on the 
 long and toilsome journey, to explore the ground and pre- 
 pare the way for them to follow. As soon as he gets fairly 
 upon the confines of the settled country, his mind is daily 
 engrossed by his labors and cares. Now, he is toiling over 
 the rough and miry road, — now hesitating upon the bank 
 of a rapid stream, — now making his slow and tedious way 
 through the unbroken forest, his mind intent in studying 
 the marks of the trees, or the faint traces of the Indian's 
 path. During all this time, he feels no emotion of love for 
 his wife and children, but his mind is under the continued 
 influence of the strongest possible interest in them. It is 
 
II 
 
 Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 145 
 
 The traveller at the West. His letter. Emotion. 
 
 love for them which carries him on, every step of the way. 
 It is this that animates him, this that cheers and sustains; 
 while he perhaps very seldom pauses in his labors and 
 cares, in order to bring them distinctly to his mind, and fill 
 his heart with the flowings of a sentimental affection. 
 
 At length, however, at some solitary post-office, in the 
 cabin of a settler, he finds a letter from home, and he lays 
 the reins upon his saddlebow, and reads the welcome pages, 
 while his horse, willing to rest, walks slowly through the 
 forest. 
 
 As he reads sentence after sentence of the message 
 which has thus found its way to him from his distant home, 
 his ardent affection for the loved ones there, which has, 
 through the day, remained calm within, a quiet and steady 
 principle of action, awakes and begins to agitate his bosom 
 with more active emotions: and when, at the close of the 
 letter, he comes upon a little postscript, rudely printed, ask- 
 ing " father to come home soon," it calls to his mind so 
 forcibly that round and happy face which smiled upon him 
 from the steps of the door when he came away, that his 
 heart is full. He does not love these absent ones any more 
 than he did before; but his love for them takes for the 
 moment a different form. Nor is it that his affection is 
 merely in a greater state of intensity than usual, at such a 
 time. It is in d. totally different state; different in its nature, 
 and different, nay, the reverse in its tendency. For while 
 love as a principle of action, would carry him forward to 
 labor with cheerfulness and zeal for the future good of his 
 family, — love, as a mere emotion, tends to destroy all his 
 interest in going forward, and to lead him to turn round in 
 his path, and to seek his shortest way back to his home. 
 He readily perceives this, and though the indulgence of 
 such feelings may be delightful, he struggles to put them 
 down. He suppresses the tear which fills his eye, — folds 
 up his letter, — spurs on his horse, and instead of consider- 
 ing the state of emotion, the one to be cultivated, as the 
 13 
 
146 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Conditions of religious emotion. Wasted efforts. 
 
 only genuine evidence of true love, he regards it rather as 
 one to be controlled and suppressed, as interfering with 
 the duties and objects of genuine affection. 
 
 Now the discrimination, which it is the design of the 
 foregoing case to set in a strong light, is very often not 
 made in religion. But it should be made. Piety, if it 
 exists at all, must exist generally, as a calm and steady 
 principle of action, changing its form, and manifesting 
 itself as religious emotion, only occasionally. The fre- 
 quency of these emotions, and the depth of the religious 
 feeling which they will awaken, depend upon a thousand 
 circumstances, entirely independent of the true spiritual 
 condition of the soul. The physical influences by which 
 we are surrounded, — the bodily temperament, — the state 
 of the health, — the degree of pressure of active duty, — 
 the social circumstances in which we are placed, — the 
 season, the hour, the scenery, — a thousand things may, 
 by the combined influence of some or of all of them, fill the 
 heart with religious emotion, — provided that the principle 
 of religion be already established there. But we must not 
 suppose that religion is quiescent and inactive at other 
 times. Religion is, to say the least, quite as active a prin- 
 ciple, when it leads a man to his work in the cause of God, 
 as when in his retirement, it swells his heai't with spiritual 
 joys. They are, in fact, two distinct forms, which the 
 same principle assumes, and we cannot compare one with 
 the other, so as to assign to either, the pre-eminence. 
 Neither can exist in a genuine state, without some mea- 
 sure of the other. It is, however, undoubtedly the former, 
 which is the great test of christian character. It is the 
 former, which we are to strive to establish in our hearts, 
 and in which we may depend upon making steady and 
 certain progress just in proportion to the faithfulness of our 
 vigilance, and the sincerity of our prayers. 
 
 But in point of fact, the attention of Christians in their 
 efforts to make progress in piety, verv often looks almost 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 147 
 
 Struggling for feeling. The agency of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 exclusively to the latter. They think that continued reli- 
 gious emotion is the only right frame of mind, — while 
 the human mind is so constituted, that continued emotion 
 of any kind, is consistent only with insanity. They toil 
 and struggle for emotion, — but they labor in vain, for 
 emotion of any kind, is just the very last thing to come by 
 being toiled and struggled for. The result is, therefore, 
 either a feeling of dejection and confirmed despondency — 
 or else the gradual cultivation of a morbid sentimentalism, 
 which has nothing but the semblance of piety. 
 
 Our business then is, in our efforts to bring our hearts 
 in a right state in respect to God's kingdom in this world, 
 to cultivate a steady, healthy, active interest in it, — not to 
 struggle in vain for continued religious emotion. If the 
 one really reigns over us, it will lead us to exactly the 
 right sort of effort in God's cause; and it will bring to our 
 hearts many happy seasons of the other, in our hours of 
 retirement, meditation and prayer. 
 
 4. It must be your habitual feeling, in all your plans for 
 the salvation of souls, that you are and can be only the 
 instrument, — that the only efficient means of success must 
 be a divine influence exerted upon the soul. Consider 
 often, how radical, how entire is the change which you 
 wish to effect. If you only desired to alter a friend's course 
 of conduct, by showing him another in which he might 
 more safely and certainly gratify the reigning desires and 
 affections of his heart, you might perhaps do it by the 
 mere natural effect of the information you might give. But 
 here, it is the very desires and affections of the heart 
 themselves, which you wish to change. You are going to 
 offer him the communion and friendship of God. It is just 
 the very thing he would most dislike and avoid. He would 
 rather have God away than near. You are going to offer 
 him forgiveness of sin, through Jesus Christ, his Savior. 
 Far from valuing the forgiveness of sin, which implies the 
 abandonment of it, it is the continued commission of sin 
 
148 THE WAY TO BO GOOD. [Ch. 5 
 
 Greatness of the change. Difficulties. Walk softly. 
 
 which he most eagerly clings to. The terms of salvation, 
 and the duties arising from them, are humbling: he is 
 perhaps hesitating whether he can comply with terms so 
 disagreeable. He is naturally proud. He can be pleased 
 only with what is lofty. Now his heart must be changed, 
 so that he shall love these very terms, and love them on 
 the very account of their humiliating character. He never 
 can be saved, until he so feels his sins, and the attitude in 
 which he stands towards God, as to find the lowest place 
 before the throne of God, the one to which he comes easily 
 and with pleasure, and where he finds the greatest peace 
 and happiness. You do not come, therefore, to show the 
 soul a new way to get what it loves, but you come to lead 
 it to love what it most dislikes and avoids. Humility, 
 penitence, a lowly walk with God, the ceaseless presence 
 and restraints of divine communion, escape from sin and 
 every sinful pleasure, and the absorbing of the soul in holy^ 
 spiritual joys J — these favors, invaluable as they really are, 
 are not such as we can expect mankind to welcome, if 
 left to themselves. In some cases, that is, when you act 
 in coincidence with the desires and affections of the heart, 
 the more clearly and distinctly you present reasonable 
 claims, the more certain it is, that they will be adopted. 
 But the more clearly and distinctly you offer these spiritual 
 blessings to the world, the more open and unequivocal will 
 be the decision with which they reject them. For in their 
 very nature, they run exactly counter to, and across all 
 their natural feelings, and wishes, and desires. God must 
 work in them, to will and to do. While you kindly invite, 
 he must move their hearts to love the boon you offer, and 
 to accept the invitation. You must always feel this. It 
 will make you quiet, lowly, submissive. You will walk 
 humbly and softly before God in your labors to promote 
 his cause, and it will be safe for him to give you success. 
 
 "Walk humbly and softly before God." there is a great 
 meaning in these words. Like children, who go out with 
 
Ch. 5.] pftOMO-irioN op ^^irsoK-al pIetv. 149 
 
 The measures. Examination of the ground. 
 
 their father to a work of difficulty or danger, too much for 
 their feeble powers. They walk quietly by his side. They 
 speak to him with subdued voices, and walk with cautious 
 steps, looking up to him for direction, and trusting to his 
 strength for success. Just so the Christian should walk, 
 in his path of active duty in this world, — humbly and softly 
 by the side of his Father. 
 
 These suggestions we have offered in respect to the 
 preparation, — the state of heart appropriate to the work of 
 saving souls. We now come to consider the measures 
 necessary in the work itself. 
 
 THE MEASURES. 
 
 1. Explore fully, the spiritual field around you. Not 
 a little of good fails of being accomplished in this world, 
 on account of its not being known how easily it might be 
 done. Now every Christian, in his daily routine of busi- 
 ness and of intercourse with society, finds himself placed 
 in a little sphere of duty, which he ought to consider as 
 assigned espePially to him. The portion of the vineyard 
 by which he is immediately surrounded, is the one which 
 it is his peculiar province to till. And he ought, first of 
 all, to make himself carefully acquainted with its condi- 
 tions. We ought to make it our business to learn, by 
 delicate, and gentle, and proper methods, — the actual 
 spiritual condition of our acquaintances and friends, so as 
 to be ready to act when there is opportunity for action. 
 Hollow hearted and hypocritical zeal, in attempting to do 
 this, will run itself into continual difficulties; and by its 
 coarse, obtrusive, and censorious spirit, close up against 
 itself, every avenue to the heart. But humble, unassuming, 
 and heartfelt piety, warm with sincere attachment to the 
 Savior, and honest benevolence towards men, will instinct- 
 ively do this work without friction or noise. 
 
 The truth is, that there exists to a far greater extent 
 13* 
 
150 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Popularity of our Savior's preaching. 
 
 than is generally supposed, among impenitent persons in 
 every christian land, a disposition to listen, at least, to the 
 claims of religion, and to appreciate efforts for their salva- 
 tion, made in honest good will. While the heart rises 
 against holiness, union with God, and other spiritual bles- 
 sings, it still shrinks from the prospect of perpetual and 
 ceaseless sin; and he who tries to save his neighbors and 
 friends from this ruin, \yill generally find, that though they 
 may reject the salvation offered, and still cling to sin, they 
 will generally feel a sentiment of kindness only, towards 
 him who faithfully offered it. It was so with our Savior's 
 preaching, the common impression to the contrary, not- 
 withstanding. The ecclesiastical influence of his day, 
 armed itself against him, but the populace every where 
 thronged him. The common people heard him gladly. 
 They welcomed him when he came in peace, with hosan- 
 nas and branches of the palm tree; and wfien his enemies 
 contrived to enlist the Roman military power on their side, 
 so as to lead him out to Calvary, — the vast crowds from 
 Jerusalem, followed lamenting and bewailing him. In 
 those throngs, there might have been few who were his 
 sincere disciples, but though they would not yield to the 
 inflexible demands of the doctrine, — they could not but be 
 touched by the unaffected and unceasing benevolence of 
 the man. Now it always has been so, and it always must 
 be so with proper efforts to save men^s souls. Faithful 
 attachment to the cause of God, will bring upon those who 
 exhibit it, persecution, it is true, — but it is the persecution 
 of the few, not of the many. That is the true distinction. 
 The Christian must expect, if he is faithful, to be buffeted, 
 and opposed, and hated, — but it will only be by a few, 
 whose peculiar circumstances, or whose extreme depravity, 
 separates them from mankind at large. He must expect 
 that the mass of those whom he endeavors to save, will 
 appreciate his honest kindness, and feel something like 
 respect and gratitude towards him. 
 
Ch. 5,] PROMOTION 01* PERSONAL PIETY. l5l 
 
 Limitation of the principle. Estimation of virtue in this world. 
 
 These remarks, however, we wish the reader especially 
 to observe, are intended to apply almost exclusively to 
 private intercourse with neighbors and friends, in a quiet 
 Christian community, where the principles and duties of 
 Christianity are in theory admitted. When christian prin- 
 ciple comes to array itself in opposition to powerful inter- 
 ests, or to the prevailing habits or pursuits of the commu- 
 nity, it often awakens universal and most bitter hostility, 
 Such emergencies have often occurred. The Savior fore- 
 saw one of them in the circumstances in which the apostles 
 were to go forth, after his death, in a course whose tenden- 
 cy would be to undermine and destroy great nattonal sys- 
 tems of superstition. Hence he gave them the warning; 
 the plain and solemn warning, which would have damped 
 any courage- but that which he himself directly sustained.* 
 In respect, however, to the ordinary personal intercourse 
 of private Christians, with their impenitent neighbors and 
 friends, in a land like ours, we at least ought not to anti- 
 cipate hostility. Many circumstances in the past history 
 of piety, show that men have often been disposed to per- 
 ceive its excellence in others, even when they would not 
 yield to its influences themselves. Abraham was received 
 with favor where he went. Joseph was generally respect- 
 ed and beloved. They were few who lowered him into 
 the pit, and sold him into slavery. The character of Dan- 
 iel commanded admiration, though there were malignant 
 ' individuals who plotted against his life. John the Baptist 
 was in no danger from the throngs around him, while de- 
 fenceless, and in the solitary wilderness, he reproved them 
 of sin. They loved to hear him. It was the hate of only 
 one adulteress, and the cruelty of one tyrant, which cost 
 him his life. So the general popularity of our Savior as a 
 preacher, the crowds that every where thronged him, tes- 
 tify. His enemies were few, though they were powerful 
 
 * Matt, x: 16—33. 
 
r52 TH£ WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Common impression. A distindtion. 
 
 enough, with the help of Roman spears, to lead him to the 
 cross. And lastly, Paul found a welcomOj and listening 
 hearers wherever he went. His dangers and difficulties 
 were the work of a small number of designing men, and 
 the populace moved against him only when these few, by 
 falsehood and misrepresentation, urged them on. 
 
 Now \Ve are slow to make the distinction pointed out 
 above. We are apt to imagine that inasmuch as faithful, 
 christian effort, must expect opposition in every age, it 
 must expect it from every person; and we sometimes go 
 about our work, expecting to be met every where with the 
 look of hostility and defiance. And going with the expec- 
 tation of finding this feeling, we insensibly speak and act 
 in such a manner as to awaken it. The reader may have 
 been accustomed to take a diflferent view of the feelings 
 with which the mass of mankind are prepared to receive 
 honest eflTorts for their spiritual good, yet the more he 
 reflects upon it, the more he looks at the testimony of 
 scripture, and the history of the church, the more he will 
 be satisfied that the view above presented, is true. If it is 
 true, it is plain that we must go about the work of seeking 
 and saving men, with the feeling, that our efforts, if pro- 
 perly and kindly made, will not be angrily received. That 
 hostility and hatred are to be expected only from a few, 
 but that the great majority, while they will still perhaps 
 love and cling to their sins, will appreciate and feel the 
 kindness which attempts to save them from future misery. 
 
 It is very probable, now, that some reader who may have 
 perused these last paragraphs, without very discriminating 
 attention, may understand me to say that the natural heart 
 has no feeling of hostility to the claims of God's law. 
 Whereas, a little attention will observe that I say no such 
 thing. On the other hand, I have repeatedly asserted 
 exactly the contrary. There is hostility to the claims of 
 God's law, but not always hostility to the messenger who 
 kindly presents those claims. It may seem strange, per- 
 
1 1 Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETY. 153 
 
 II ■ 
 
 1 1 We must expect a welcome. Favorable opportunities. 
 
 haps, that a man should feel gratitude and attachment to 
 the friend who endeavors to save him from the sin, while 
 
 !■: he yet loves the sin, and clings to it, and is determined not 
 I to let it go. But such is human nature, and the experience 
 f of every Christian who has been faithful in his Master's 
 work, will readily call to mind many cases in illustration 
 of it. 
 1 1 We are to make it our business then, to look around 
 over the field to which God has assigned us, with the 
 expectation of finding, in ordinary cases, a welcome, not a 
 repulse, in our efforts to save the soul. This expectation 
 should lead us to go forward boldly, but at the same time, 
 delicately and kindly. \Vc must be active, and faithful, 
 and frank, and courageous, while at the same time we are 
 mild and unassuming. If our hearts are really in it, it will 
 be easy and pleasant work, and we shall have far more 
 numerous opportunities for doing something for the cause 
 of God, than we have supposed. 
 
 J Almost every Christian would find within his family, or \ 
 within the circle of his acquaintance, several persons who \ 
 are constantly expecting,^ — even desiring that he will in- 
 troduce religious conversation with them. Gently pressed, 
 from time to time, for many years, perhaps, with feeble 
 convictions of sin, they are continually hopiYig that some 
 faithful, christian friend will address th«m. AThough they 
 I L dislike the service of God, and contmue accordingly to j 
 I K live in sin, conscience is not quiet, and the ftiture is dark- / 
 1^ ened by their foreboding fears. They are inexcusable for / 
 I continuing thus in sin, waiting for an influence from / 
 I another, — but yet this influence, if exerted, might, very 
 I probably, be the effectual instrument in leading them to 
 I repentance. Now see to it, my reader, that no such cases 
 I' exist near to you. Perhaps there are some. Explore the 
 I ground and see. It may be your most intimate and familiar 
 I companion, whom you have seen every day for years, and 
 I conversed with on every subject of interest to you both, 
 
154 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5 
 
 Artifice. Anonymous letters. Courtesies of social life. 
 
 / except the salvation of your souls; it is strange, but it is 
 
 I very often the case, that the Christian and the sinner who 
 
 are most closely associated in the family, or in the business 
 
 or social relations of life, are those between whom the 
 
 subject of salvation is most shunned. 
 
 2. These views of the condition an^ji of the feelings of 
 mankind in respect to the efforts made for their salvation, 
 should lead you to be frank, and open, and candid, in all 
 that you do and say. Expect to be met with a friendly 
 spirit; and act accordingly, with frankness, openness, and 
 honesty. Resort to no artifices, no contrivances, no 
 management. An anonymous letter, a concealed tract, a 
 covertly insinuated reproof, w'\\\ awaken nothing but dis- 
 pleasure, v/here an honest, direct and friendly communica- 
 tion would be received in the -spirit with which it was 
 given. In being open, however, be careful not to be 
 ostentatious, and never let frankness degenerate into dis- 
 respectful familiarity, nor honesty become bluntness, nor 
 plain dealing, coarse obtrusion. In all your religious in- 
 tercourse also with others, be governed entirely by those 
 rules of delicacy and propriety which constitute the cement 
 and the charm of social life. Perhaps no error is more 
 common, than for a professing Christian, forward and zeal- 
 ous in his Master's cause, to consider himself absolved 
 from all obligjktio^is like these. The lofty nature of the 
 work he has to do, mes so high, he imagines, as to lift him 
 above all the restraints of these principles of action by 
 which human conduct is ordinarily controlled. Sad mis- 
 take! It is not, however, that the work of saving souls 
 ought to be sacrificed to the principles of human courtesy, 
 but that it cannot go on in defiance of them. The paths 
 in which we have to labor, in promoting the salvation of 
 men, are the avenues to the human heart, and we cannot 
 succeed, if we resort to measures by which every such 
 avenue is barred up and defended. 
 
 I ought, however, here, and repeatedly in the course of 
 
I Ch. 5. I PROMOTIOX OF PERSONAL PIETY, 155 
 
 Discussions. Trutli spiritually discerned. Examples. 
 
 these remarks, to remind my readers that these directions 
 are intended mainly for common Christians in the walks 
 of private life. Cases do doubtless often occur, in which 
 persons holding important stations in the church, and even 
 private Christians, are bound to rebuke sin and sinners in 
 the most decided manner. Nay, prevailing sins in a com- 
 munity, may sometimes call for an array of the followers 
 of Jesus Christ, in an attitude of open and positive hostility. 
 These cases we do not here include We refer only to 
 the private efforts of individual Christians, in the common 
 walks of life, to spread their Master's spirit from goul to 
 soul. 
 
 3^^enex^allyi^aiiUiid-4ise«ssioii__Qf doctrine with religious 
 inQuiLG^i™J:^M?!® isjijiouble reason for this. In the first 
 pla^,_ywi„(mnaQtreinoYe -the theoretical difficulties which 
 cluster about the subject of religion, while the heart of the 
 ing^uiref'rerhains unchanged; and then in the second place, 
 if y^tt could do it by great effort, this labor may as well 
 be spared, — for if the change in the heart is once eflected, 
 these difficulties will melt away of themselves, and all 
 your labor of endless debate will be saved. The need of a 
 Savior, for instance, you cannot establish by argument, to 
 the satisfaction of a mind insensible of guilt. But let the 
 moral sensibilities be once awakened, — brin ^conviction of 
 sin, and the soul will hunger and thirstier » Savior, with 
 an ardor of desire which nothing bufflan atoning sacrifice 
 of the Son of God, will effectually relieve and satisfy. So 
 in regard to the agency and the influence of the Holy 
 Spirit; — there are a thousand questions connected with 
 that subject, which cannot be understood by any mind in 
 which those influences have not been felt. But where they 
 have been felt, although the subject, even then, may not 
 be theoretically understood, all the practical difficulties at 
 once disappear. So with the desert of sin, — and the just 
 weight and duration of future punishment; they cannot be 
 seen by a mind that is impenitent and worldly. Many such 
 
 V 
 
136 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Effect of a discussion. A common error. 
 
 minds may, indeed, from the influence of early education, 
 receive unquestioned, the scripture statements on all these 
 subjects; but if they do not receive them, — if they have 
 begun to entertain doubts, or to feel difficulties, you can- 
 not easily solve or remove them by theological discussion, 
 while the subject of them remains in his sins. A dis- 
 cussion, though begun on his part with an honest desire to 
 have his difficulties removed, will soon become a contest 
 for victory; and far from solving his doubts, it will be quite 
 as likely that he will defeat you, as that you will satisfy 
 him. The reason is, that the truths, or rather the elements 
 to which the truths relate, which you wish to make plain 
 to him, are spiritually discerned, and he in his present 
 state, cannot know them. He may take them upon trust 
 from others; but he cannot see them with his own eyes, 
 or believe them with his own faith, till his eyes have been 
 opened by influences very diflferent from those of theologi- 
 cal discussion. 
 
 There prevails among irreligious men, I mean, those 
 who feel any interest at all in the subject of salvation, an 
 impression that they must have clear ideas of truth, before 
 they are under any obligation to do dutij. They talk of 
 looking into the subject of religion, of inquiring into the 
 tenets of diffeftnt persuasions, as preliminary altogether to 
 personal pietw T^y seem to imagine that so long as 
 peculiar circumstanced, — such as the pressure of business, 
 or the apparent balance of the argument, — keep them from 
 coming to a decision about the theory, they are under no 
 practical obligations whatever. The latter may, they 
 think, properly remain in suspense, until the former are 
 all settled; and the more argument and debate you hold 
 with them, the more permanent is this impression. But 
 the truth is, there is very little theoretical truth whose 
 possession is necessary to bring upon a man the whole 
 force of imperious obligation to repent of his sins. There 
 is one question, it is true, which a man must have know- 
 
Jl Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 157 
 
 Degree of knowledge necessary to salvation. 
 
 ledge enough to answer. "Have I ever done wrong? " 
 If the powers of his feeble intellect grope in darkness, in 
 respect to this question, his Maker will doubtless hold him 
 exempt from moral obligation, through the imperfection of 
 his faculties. But if, on the other hand, he has light 
 enough for this, he need not wait, certainly, for more. 
 The duty of repentance presses upon him with the whole 
 weight of her claims. Until these claims are admitted, he 
 ought not to expect to make successful progress in under- 
 standing the nature of God's government, or his relations 
 to men. How can he expect it, while he shows himself 
 (jrod's enemy, by clinging to acknowledged sin. 
 
 Our^rst-great- duty, then, -^^^rith religious inquirers, is to 
 bring them, not to correctness of theological sentiment, — 
 but To" lieartfelt conviction of sin: and this, not because 
 corfectness of religious sentiment is not immensely impor- 
 taiit,"^ur^ecause it is impossible to force it upon an im- 
 penitent heart by the mere power of reasoning. Error 
 comes through the corruption of the heart; and the full 
 establishment of the truth must be expected from its purifi- 
 cation. The Spirit does indeed make the truth the instru- 
 ment of conviction and conversion; nay more, the truth is 
 the only instrument; — but the important point to be no- 
 ticed is, that there is truth enough, which blazes before 
 the mind and conscience of every man, to bying upon him 
 the full force of moral obligation, though there may be 
 many things connected with revealed religion, which, 
 through the insensibility of a hardened heart, or the feeble- 
 ness and imperfection of human powers, are involved in 
 obscurity. Press, therefore, the obligations arising out of 
 truths which cannot be denied, and by the blessing of the 
 Holy Spirit, you may hope to awaken spiritual sensibility, 
 by means of which the soul which you are attempting to 
 save, shall hunger and thirst after more. 
 
 For example, we will suppose that an impenitent man 
 in conversing with a religious friend, under some circum- 
 14 
 
IbQ THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 A dialogue. Investigation not the first duty. 
 
 stances which have awakened temporary seriousness, ex- 
 presses his state of mind as follows. The replies and 
 remarks of the Christian, illustrate the course indicated by 
 these principles. 
 
 Sinner. This subject has lately been a good deal upon 
 my mind. I have, however, some difficulties. I have 
 been inclined to disbelieve the doctrine of future punish- 
 ment, — ^but some things lately, have led me to fear that I 
 may have been mistaken, and I intend to take hold of the 
 subject, and examine it fairly and thoroughly. Can you 
 recommend to me any books? 
 
 He says this with an air of satisfaction, as if his christian 
 friend would receive the intimation with joy and pleasure, 
 and regard his determination to give both sides a fair hear- 
 ing, as a very meritorious act. 
 
 His friend replies, 
 
 " I could name to you some books, but I should hardly 
 advise you to attempt such an investigation," 
 
 "Should not advise me to!" exclaims the inquirer, 
 "why not?" 
 
 " No, sir, I should not think that your first step would 
 be to examine that subject." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Will you allow me to ask you a question? Perhaps I 
 ought not to ask it; but since you request my advice in 
 respect to your religious course, and as I cannot give it 
 without distinctly understanding the facts, I know you will 
 excuse it. Are you in the daily habit of secret prayer? " 
 
 " Why, — no sir, — I cannot say that I am." 
 
 " You believe there is a God? " 
 
 " Certainly, I do." 
 
 " And that he exerts a constant oversight and care of all 
 his creatures? " 
 'Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you think it right, or wrong then, for us to live in 
 the neglect of all communication and intercourse with 
 him?" 
 
Gh. 5.] PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 159 
 
 The difficulty in the heart. Another case. 
 
 " It is wrong, — I must admit." 
 
 " I must ask one more question about it. When you 
 consider the whole case, our connection with God and his 
 commands, — do you think it very wrong, or only mode- 
 rately wrong, to live many years, as you have, without 
 any intercourse with him." 
 
 The man is silent. Utter speechlessness is the proper 
 answer to such a question. 
 
 "Now, sir, I think there is a far more important, and 
 more profitable question for you to examine, than the 
 question of future punishment. It is this. Why is it that 
 you are doing now, and have been doing, year after year, 
 for a very long time, what you must see is the height of 
 ingratitude and sin.'' " 
 
 " Why, sir, the truth is, I have not thought much about 
 it." 
 
 " True: but that only brings up the question in a little 
 different form. How could you have lived so long, with 
 so many memorials of God all about you, and so many 
 calls to love and serve him, and yet not think much about 
 it? If you go to examining the subject of future punish- 
 ment, you may, perhaps, get engaged in the discussion, so 
 that your reasoning powers will be interested; but while 
 your heart remains in its present state, you will end as you 
 began, — your reason perplexed by the opposing argu- 
 ments, and your conscience asleep, as it has been, in sin. 
 But if you look "into your heart, in view of your life of 
 ungodliness and sin, with humble prayer that God will 
 help you understand it, and that by his grace he will renew 
 it, you may hope to be saved." 
 
 Or perhaps the inquirer comes with the same dijfficulty, 
 but in a little different spirit. He wants to argue the case 
 directly with you. He knows that you believe in the eter- 
 nal suffering of the wicked, and comes with a store of 
 objections and arguments, to refute the opinion. Now, 
 
1^0 THE WAY TO DO GOODf. [Ch. 5. 
 
 A proposed argument. Its uselessness. The proper course. 
 
 however strongly you may yourself believe, and however 
 clear the arguments may stand in your own mind, and 
 however easily you may be able to set aside every objec- 
 tion, you can make no progress in a debate with such a 
 man. If he is a good disputant, he will know how to em- 
 barrass and perplex you, though he may have a bad cause. 
 If he is a bad one, he will not understand your arguments, 
 or appreciate the force and bearing of what you say; but 
 he will be slipping off, and flying away in every direction, 
 — and after an hour^s debate, you will find that you have 
 made no progress whatever. 
 
 You may say to him then, 
 
 "Suppose you should have such an argument, what 
 would be the result ? Suppose that you should convince 
 me that there is no punishment for sin, in another world, 
 what then? " 
 
 "Why then I should expect you would give it up, and 
 not let us hear any more of it." 
 
 *' And suppose I should gain the victory, and prove to 
 your satisfaction, that there is a judgment to come, and 
 that you will be called t ) account there for all your sins in 
 this world.?" 
 
 " Why — in that case, — I should admit it, if you con- 
 vince me satisfactorily.'* 
 
 "And should you feel an obligation to attend to the 
 subject of religion? " 
 
 "Yes, I should," he replies decidedly. — " If you will 
 convince me that there is to be a judgment after death, I 
 promise you, that I will immediately attend to the subject 
 of religion." 
 
 " What do you mean by religion? " 
 
 " Why — we both understand what is meant by it. — I 
 cannot undertake to define it." 
 
 "I understand by it, repenting of, and abandoning all 
 sin, and beginning to love and serve God, in hope of for- 
 giveness through Jesus Christ." " Very well." 
 
ir 
 
 Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETV. 161 
 
 Aim to produce conviction of sin. Means of grace. 
 
 " You admit this. Well, just see in what state of mind 
 you are, when you come to have a discussion with me. 
 You will not repent and abandon sin, or begin to love and 
 serve God, because you think you are,jiot to be called to 
 account for it. If I can prove to you that there is a future 
 world of eternal suffering, and that you must be ruined if 
 you die as you are, then you will alter your course, and 
 begin to love God; otherwise, you will not. Now I know 
 that I never could convince you, while you are in this state 
 of mind. It would do no good to try." 
 
 Your companion will find it difficult to reply to this, and 
 you can easily lead him to see, that the facts in his case 
 indicate a sad state of dislike to God and hostility to his 
 reign; and that instead of disputing on the question whether 
 he is to escape punishment for this or not, he ought to 
 humble himself at once before God, and secure his forgive- 
 ness: for whether he is to be punished or not for it, it is, 
 undoubtedly, a most heinous sin. So in all other cases. 
 A man living in impenitence and sin, is not in a state of 
 mind to be convinced of religious truth by disputation; 
 and it is wiser and better that the attempt should not be 
 made. This subject, however, will come before us again 
 in another chapter. 
 
 4. Endeavor to lead the inquirer immediately to use the 
 means of grace, honestly and faithfully. Let him begin to 
 read the bible every day, and to pray to God in secret, and 
 in his family, if he have one. Show to him that he ought 
 at once and openly to abandon his sinful and worldly 
 courses, and to devote a portion of his time to reading, 
 meditation, religious conversation, and prayer. We some- 
 times shrink a little from giving these directions, lest they 
 should turn off the attention from the duty of immediate 
 repentance, and lead to a round of mere external duties, 
 instead of forming that vital union with the Savior, by 
 penitence and faith, which can alone save the soul. And 
 there is, in fact, some danger here, but this should not 
 14* 
 
*62 
 
 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 
 
 [Ch 5. 
 
 Common impression ; 
 
 —groundless. 
 
 Immediate action. 
 
 prevent our pressing upon the impenitent sinner, his whole 
 duty, as claiming at once his immediate attention; and 
 these things are unquestionably a part of it. It is his 
 undoubted duty to commence immediately the study of the 
 bible, and secret prayer; — not hypocritically, or from mere 
 selfish fear of future punishment, — but with honest sinceri- 
 ty, and from a heartfelt and holy desire to know and do 
 the will of God. " But," say you, " he has not such holy 
 desires, — his mind is only under the influence of selfish 
 fear, and if he performs these external duties at all, it will 
 be such in a manner as will only increase his guilt." 
 
 True, I reply, I will allow it. I will allow that at the 
 moment of your giving the advice, the heart of the sinner 
 is unchanged, and that without thorough moral renewal, all 
 his external duties, will be merely superficial and hollow, 
 — an abomination in the sight of God; — though whether 
 they would be a greater abomination than utterly neglect- 
 ing them, may not be certain. Still, how and when are 
 we to expect such a moral renewal as is necessary, to take 
 place? How and when are we to expect new and holy 
 desires to spring up in the darkened and obdurate heart.' 
 What occasions are we to hope that the Spirit will make 
 use of, to renew the soul, and awaken spiritual life there,? 
 There can be but one answer. The right feeling is most 
 reasonably to be expected to arise, in conjunction with an 
 effort to perform the right act. If a hundred religious 
 inquirers were to be told simply, that it would be useless 
 for them to attempt to do their duty, until their hearts are 
 changed, they would imagine that they had nothing to do, 
 but to wait for this change, and the result would be, re- 
 turning indifference and stupidity, or else a gloomy and 
 settled discouragement, or despair. On the other hand, if 
 the religious teacher should urge immediate action, press- 
 ing, at the same time, the indispensable necessity of holy 
 motive, the very change desired, would be most likely to 
 take place simultaneously with the attempt to comply. We 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION Of PERSONAL PIETY. 113 
 
 Religious duties of the impenitent. 
 
 say to an impenitent sinner, " Go to your closet, and there 
 spread out your sins before God, confessing and giving up 
 every one, but be sure that you do it honestly. Hate and 
 loathe them, while in the act of thus confessing them. Be 
 sure to be honest with God." We say this, not with the 
 idea that it is possible for a sinner, remaining impenitent in 
 heart, to make an acceptable confession, — but because we 
 hope that the moment of falling upon his knees in solitude, 
 or the moment of determining to do so, or some other 
 moment during the season of confession, may be the one 
 chosen by the Holy Spirit, to renew and sanctify the dark- 
 ened and sinful soul. So we should say, "You ought to 
 set apart a time every day for reading the bible, attentively 
 studying it, and praying at the same time for God's guidance 
 and blessing in enabling you to understand and do his 
 will." And this, not that we imagine that the reading of 
 the Scriptures, while the heart remains hostile to God, can 
 be a service at all acceptable to him, — but because we 
 hope that the first sincere and honest desire to do God's 
 will, may be awakened by the renewing influences of the 
 Spirit, while the sinner is in the attitude of studying to knoiu 
 it. So with all the other means of grace, and external, 
 religious duties. The turning of the soul towards them are, 
 and always have been, the occasions which God has most 
 frequently seized upon, to renew and sanctify the soul. 
 Inquire of your religious acquaintances and friends, and 
 they will almost with one voice, tell you so. One felt the 
 first emotions of penitence arising in his heart, while he 
 was uttering the language of penitence. Another first 
 turned his soul to God, while reading of his holiness, his 
 majesty, his glory, in his Word. A third submitted, while 
 on his knees in prayer. It is not indeed always so. We 
 can assign no limits, nor prescribe any universal rule to the 
 operation of the Spirit upon the heart; but it is perfectly 
 safe to say that it is generally so. An immensely large 
 proportion of the conversions which take place, take place 
 
164 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Instructions of the bible. Paul's case. General directions. 
 
 while the soul is in such an attitude as I have described. 
 Our duty is, therefore, towards our impenitent friends, to 
 endeavor to bring them into this attitude. We must lead 
 them to commence immediately the performance of every 
 known duty, — charging them, however, to be sure that 
 they do it with right feelings of heart. We cannot be too 
 careful in leading them to see, that if they should do these 
 things with hearts still remaining hostile to God, instead of 
 doing any thing to merit his favor, they only provoke his 
 displeasure more and more. 
 
 We shall find, on examination, that the instructions 
 given in the bible, correspond with these views. The 
 direction given to religious inquirers, is, in a vast number 
 of instances there, not the naked and simple direction to 
 begin io feel right, but to begin to do right, in the exercise 
 of right feelings. See, for example, John's preaching, our 
 Savior's calls to his apostles, — the whole tenor of the 
 Sermon on the Mount, and, as a case peculiarly in point, 
 the directions given by our Savior to Saul. 
 
 "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? " 
 
 ''Arise," is the answer, " and go into the city, and it 
 shall be told thee what thou shalt do." Here is a simple 
 act to be performed. Not, in itself, at all of a religious 
 nature ; but it was to be performed on a principle of obe- 
 dience and faith. Paul obeyed; and his rising to go into 
 the city, in obedience to his Savior's commands, was per- 
 haps the commencement of his submission and his love, 
 and of that long continued and most devoted attachment, 
 which waters could not quench, nor floods drown. 
 
 In many other instances, however, in the New Testa- 
 ment, the direction is more general. Repentance, as a 
 feeling of the heart, is directly enjoined, and we ought 
 always to enjoin it, so that the inquirer may never, for a 
 moment, imagine that any thing but a radical, moral re- 
 newal, can ever make him a child of God, or a fit inheritor 
 of heaven. 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETY. 165 
 
 Philosophy of human nature. Immediate duty. 
 
 It is interesting to observe how the operations of the 
 Holy Spirit, in renewing the human heart, correspond with 
 the philosophy of human nature, in respect to all other 
 moral action; for we can in all other cases, best secure 
 right feeling, by enjoining a corresponding right act. If 
 the Samaritan had called back the Levite to the wounded 
 traveller, and remonstrated with him on his unfeeling 
 heart, and urged him to feel more kindly, and then to come 
 and help him relieve the sufferer, he would probably 
 have remonstrated and urged in vain. And yet, if he had 
 said, " Come help me raise this poor sufferer and carry 
 him to the inn, he will die if we leave him here," — the 
 Levite might perhaps have responded to the appeal, and 
 kind feeling might have been awakened in his heart, by the 
 very performance of a kind action. So when Nehemiah 
 said to his brethren, " Come, let us build again the wall 
 of Jerusalem," he awoke more effectually, the spirit of pa- 
 triotism, among his countrymen, by thus calling upon them 
 to act, than he could have done by the most powerful 
 appeal to the feelings alone. Such is human nature. 
 Right sentiments, and right emotions, come most readily 
 in conjunction with right action, and God, in the operations 
 of his Spirit, conforms to those laws of the human heart 
 which he has himself ordained. 
 
 We never need fear, therefore, pressing upon sinners, 
 the claims of immediate duty, in action, if we at the same 
 time, press the indispensable necessity that such duty should 
 be performed under the impulse of renewed affections. 
 Lead them to seek salvation diligently, in the use of the 
 means which God has appointed. There can be no rea- 
 sonable ground of hope for those who neglect them. 
 
 5. In all conversation with religious inquirers, we ought 
 to feel ourselves, and lead them to feel, that entering the 
 service of God, is a very great step, which changes the 
 whole plan and object, and alters all the enjoyments and 
 sufferings of life. The Christian who begins his new life 
 
166 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Promote a very tUorough change. Approximation desirable. 
 
 with an idea that it is a slight thing, will never make a 
 very efficient Christian. If we take any proper views of it, 
 it is a very great thing, and we ought to take special care 
 that all our influence over those who are seeking salvation, 
 should be such as to lead them to a very thorough change. 
 We must not heal the hurt of sin slightly, and thus make 
 superficial, heartless and worldly Christians, — to do nothing 
 while they live, but hover about the line between the 
 friends and the enemies of God, and thus obliterate the 
 distinction which God intended to have as strongly marked 
 as possible. Let it be a pure, a devoted, a thoroughgoing 
 piety, which our efforts may help to spread. 
 
 6. At the same time, we should be pleased with every 
 approximation to what is right. If men will not actually 
 do their duty, the nearer they come to doing it, the better. 
 And yet there is a very common impression that it is not 
 so. It is very often said, for example, that there is more 
 hope of an open enemy of religion, than of one who is 
 upright, and moral, and regular in outward observances. 
 But it is the love of paradox which gives such a sentiment 
 currency among mankind. Let any one look at the history 
 of any church, with which he has been connected, and 
 inquire from what classes of the community, the greatest 
 number of additions to it, have been made. It will be 
 found, almost universally, that though there may be many 
 detached instances of the conversion of the infidel or the 
 reviler, the profligate, the bold and open enemy of God, — 
 yet that these cases are comparatively few. The great 
 majority of admissions to the christian church, are from 
 the class of the moral, the thoughtful, the regular atten- 
 dants upon christian worship, and the readers of his Word. 
 When religion is revived, numbers from this class arise, 
 give up their sins, and enter the service of God; and 
 others are brought into their places, to become themselves 
 the subjects of renewing grace at a future time. Let no 
 one infer from this, that a man is any the less guilty of 
 
1 1 Ch. 5.1 PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 
 
 167 
 
 It lessens danger, though not guilt. Cases. 
 
 neglecting and disobeying God, because he is regular and 
 upright in the performance of his outward duties. I have 
 not said that he is the less guilty, but only that he is in 
 less danger. His danger is indeed appalling, — if he could 
 but see it, — appalling in living even for a day in sin, when 
 he is every moment liable to be called into eternity. Still 
 it is less than if he were the open and avowed enemy of 
 religion. So that if we really wish to save men, we shall 
 desire to bring them as near as we can to salvation. In- 
 duce as many as possible to enter the narrow way, and 
 then bring as many more as possible up near to the gate; 
 and those which are more remote, and will not come near 
 to it, perhaps may be induced to approach a little. All 
 approximation, while it does not diminish their sin, may 
 diminish their danger. 
 
 If, for instance, you have a neighbor who hates religion 
 and its friends, and has walled himself in, so that you can 
 gain no access to him with religious truth, you can do him 
 a kindness, if opportunity offers, and thus connect in his 
 mind one pleasant association with a religious man. It is 
 one step. A small one, I grant; but its influence is, so far 
 as it has any influence, to bring him a little more within 
 the reach of a call which may ultimately awaken him. 
 He remains quite as much the enemy of God, as before, 
 — quite as hostile, — quite as inexcusable, — but his case is 
 not quite so hopeless. In the same manner, if there is 
 near you, a family living in heathen indifference and neg- 
 lect of the ordinances of God, and you can bring them to 
 his house, and aid them to find their regular seat there, 
 'and lend them suitable books, for the Sabbath, and intro- 
 duce the children into the Sabbath school, — you will have 
 made important progress, though perhaps every member of 
 that family, may be as decidedly the enemy of God, as 
 fully obnoxious to his displeasure afterwards, as before. 
 You have made progress, for you have brought them fairly 
 within that circle, over which the waters of salvation flow, 
 
G3 
 
 
 
 THE 
 
 WAY 
 
 TO 
 
 DO GOOD. 
 
 [Ch. 5. 
 
 
 iimily brought 
 
 near. 
 
 
 
 
 Approximation 
 
 
 A 
 
 
 to right opinions. 
 
 and in years to come, there will probably be found among 
 the children and children's children of that family, many a 
 christian household, and many a saved soul, — though your 
 effort, in its immediate results, did not, in the least, diminish 
 the moral distance, which separated the objects of it from 
 God. And once more. If you have within the circle of 
 your acquaintance, persons of upright and moral character, 
 and you can induce them to read the Scriptures daily, and 
 to establish family prayer, even if they continue unchang- 
 ed, your labor is not lost. They are not indeed made half 
 Christians. There is no such thing as a half Christian. 
 They remain the enemies of God, while their hearts are 
 alienated from him; the more clearly the light of the gos- 
 pel shines around them, the more evident and striking will 
 appear their guilt, when God calls them to account. Still, 
 though there may be no piety, there is a slight increase of 
 hope. You bring them habitually under the influence of 
 the truth, and this is the only means by which they can be 
 saved; — and every approach to what is right, quickens the 
 moral sensibilities, and makes the next step easier. 
 
 In the same manner, approximation towards right opin- 
 ions, is always desirable. It is better to be a Deist, than 
 on Atheist, and a nominal Christian, however heartless, 
 iiiixn either. It is better to receive the New Testament 
 only as a revelation, than to reject both new and old. He 
 who acknowledges God, but rejects a Savior, is not in a 
 condition so desperate, as he who rejects both Maker and 
 Savior too. Persons embracing a corrupted or defective 
 form of Christianity, are more accessible, conscience is 
 more easily awakened, conviction of sin and penitence are 
 more readily felt, than under the deadening influence of 
 paganism. Many of my readers may have been accustom- 
 ed to think diflferently. The truth is, we have generally 
 the most controversy with those who differ the least from 
 us, and so we magnify and exaggerate the importance of 
 the difference, and say in the ardor of our zeal, that our 
 
Ch. 5.] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETY. 169 
 
 The greatest error the most dangerous. Caution. 
 
 immediate opponents are doing more injury than those 
 who reject a great deal more. But if we look at facts, we 
 shall find that it is not so. If we take any community, 
 which is divided into various sects, holding every form and 
 degree of error, from pure evangelical Christianity, down 
 to open Atheism, we shall find that the spread of real piety 
 among all these classes, will bear a pretty just proportion 
 to the distance at which they respectively stand from the 
 standard of scripture truth. Instead, therefore, of looking 
 with a jealous and malignant eye, upon those who differ 
 least from us, we should be glad to have them as near as 
 they are; and while we do every thing in our power, to 
 keep the standard of piety among the followers of Jesus 
 Christ, elevated, and the standard of doctrine pure, we 
 should rejoice at every approximation which we can effect, 
 either towards the one or the other. 
 
 It would be wrong to bring this chapter to a close, 
 without reminding the reader once more, in the most dis- 
 tinct and emphatic manner, that his only hope of success 
 in his efforts to save his fellow men, is in divine influences 
 exerted upon the heart, in connection with his endeavors. 
 We have no new truths to present to the minds of men, 
 and no new means to try. Our friends and neighbors who 
 are living in sin, know all that we can tell them; and in 
 repeating efforts which have been made before, in vain, 
 our only hope must be, in the renewing agency of the Holy 
 Spirit. Besides, if we were coming to our fellow men with 
 the first tidings which ever reached them of God, and 
 duty, and judgment to come, we could expect, if unaided, 
 nothing but unqualified and universal rejection of the 
 claims of religious duty. Persuasion, which is often pow- 
 erful in altering hugian conduct, can never change the 
 human heart. You may persuade a proud, ambitious man, 
 to take this or that course to gain his objects, but you can 
 never 'persuade him to be humble. Men generally dislike 
 15 
 
ttO THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 5. 
 
 Dependence on divine influences. 
 
 and loathe the idea of having God present with them at all 
 times, and you can never reason them into loving it. The 
 experiment would be like that of the foolish nurse, who 
 tries to make the shrinking child believe that the medicine 
 she offers him, is pleasant to the taste. She argues, 
 entreats, assures, but all in vain, — the palate, whose re- 
 volting tendencies lie beyond the reach of such means, 
 still rebels. And so with the unrenewed soul of man: the 
 difficulty with him is not ignorance, it is not darkness, — 
 it is not mistake, but it is that spiritual pleasures, — growth 
 in holiness, and the happiness of union with God, are 
 exactly what he most dislikes, and most wishes to shun; 
 and the more distinctly and clearly you present salvation 
 to him, — for it is these things which salvation means, — the 
 more distinctly he understands what it is, the more decid- 
 edly, if left to himself, will he reject it. It is, therefore, 
 not enough to say that the work to be done in saving men 
 from sin, is too great, in degree, for our powers, but it is 
 removed, by its very nature, from the field in which we 
 can exercise them; and if we rightly understand this, if 
 we see the subject in the light in which both the bible, 
 and a sound philosophy exhibit it, we shall work humbly 
 while we work diligently; and when God gives success to 
 our efforts, by the renewing agency of his Spirit, our 
 hearts will glide spontaneously into the ascription, "Not 
 unto us, not unto us, but unto God be all the glory." 
 
 In a word, — our efforts to do good in this world, in order 
 to be successful, must be grounded on the fact that it is a 
 world lost in sin. It is strange that even philosophers, not 
 to say professed, Christians, could ever have doubted this. 
 It would seem that every one, must be at once convinced 
 of it, by contrasting the admirable sujfcess of all the other 
 works of God, in answering their purposes, with the con- 
 spicuous and universal failure of man, as a moral being, to 
 answer his. Let the eye rove over this visible creation, 
 
Ch. 5,] PROMOTION OP PERSONAL PIETY. 171 
 
 Perfection of nature, and moral ruin of man. 
 
 and observe our fruitful fields, our splendid skies, our 
 glorious sun. Watch the movements and the changes 
 which the elements undergo, and see how admirably heat 
 and cold, — vapor, hail and snow, — the rolling ocean, and 
 the soaring cloud, do the bidding of God, and accomplish 
 to perfection, their purposes. Whether you regard the 
 grandeur of design, or the mightiness of execution, or the 
 inconceivable perfection in the finish of details, all will 
 impress you with an idea of the lofty standard which the 
 Great Architect haa aimed at, and reached, in all his 
 works. You may go into the forest, and examine as 
 minutely as you please, the most unknown and concealed 
 wild flower which grows there. Look at its form, its 
 colors, — the grace and beauty of its movements, as it 
 waves in the wind, whose movements are adjusted to an 
 exact equilibrium with the strength and pliancy of its stem 
 Observe the mechanism by which the seed is produced, 
 and the perfection of its structure when formed, and pack- 
 ed with a hundred others, as perfect as itself, in its little 
 capsule. Or look at the little insect creeping upon its 
 stalk, so minute, that you must magnify it a hundred times 
 to distinguish the brilliancy of its coloring and the perfec- 
 tion of its members. Or if you wish to take a specimen on 
 a larger scale, look into the heavens, and study the ar- 
 rangements and the motions of the solar system; and look 
 at the admirable success of these arrangements in produc- 
 ing here the change of day and night, summer and winter, 
 and all the agreeable vicissitudes of the year. Study the 
 movements of the great machine, and find if you can, the 
 jar, or the friction, or the irregularity. It has been in 
 ceaseless motion for forty centuries,— time, one would 
 think, to test the mechanism. 
 
 But when you come to look at man, considered as a 
 moral an4 social being, gathered into communities here, 
 to accomplish those purposes of holiness and happiness 
 which a benevolent Deity must have intended, in calling 
 
172 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Man a moral wreck. Influence of Christianity on the community. 
 
 moral and sentient beings into existence, you see a most 
 conspicuous and terrible case of failure. The plans which 
 God has formed for his social prosperity and happiness, are 
 all deranged by his sins. The family, the home, the con- 
 nection which binds parent to child, and child to parent, the 
 social relations which link society together, all these in- 
 tended fountains of happiness, are poisoned and spoiled by 
 sin. Yes, all physical nature is great and glorious, — but 
 man is degraded and in ruins. Every thing else, is right, 
 but his heart is wrong. The object of bis being, he does 
 not accomplish; the happiness which is within his reach, 
 and which he was made to enjoy, he does not gain; and 
 he stands forth, in the view of all the intelhgent creation, 
 a mournful spectacle of ruin. It would seem that no man, 
 who would candidly look at the facts, could ever for a 
 moment imagine, that the world is at all in the moral and 
 social condition, in which God intended it to be. No, it is 
 a world in ruins, — *' a moral wreck, and our business is, 
 while^we live here, to save as many from it, as we can." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PUBLIC MORALS. 
 
 ** By manifestation of the truth, commending ourselves to every man*s 
 conscience in the sight of God." 
 
 Christianity has not only the power to secure eternal 
 life to those who personally yield to her claims, — she also 
 exerts an immense influence in purifying^ and preserving 
 the whole social community. She has, however, done less 
 than christian writers have often claimed for her. She has 
 not put a stop to war; she has not put a stop to slavery, or 
 the slave trade; she has not infused moral principle into 
 the mass of any extended populace, so as to prevent the 
 
Ch. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS. 173 
 
 Christian and Pagan countries. Crime and punishment in Boston. 
 
 necessity of governing them by physical force; and it is 
 actually difficult to ascertain, from the contradictory reports 
 of intelligent travellers, whether life and property are safer, 
 or the state of public morals less corrupt, in Paris or Lon- 
 don, than they are at Constantinople, or on the banks of 
 the Hoang-ho. 
 
 We say, it is difficult to ascertain, — ^the difference is so 
 much less than it ought to be. The inquiry, fairly made, 
 however, gives a result greatly in favor of Christendom. 
 Life and property are safer, and public morals are far, very 
 far less corrupted in English villages, among the hills and 
 valleys of Scotland, in Germany, France, Italy, and New 
 England, — than on the shores of the Caspian Sea, or on 
 the plains of China, or in Syria or Java, or on the banks 
 of the Niger and the Nile. And the difference is greater 
 in reality, than in appearance, for we must consider, not 
 only the actual state of public order which prevails, but 
 the comparative degree of governmental pressure, which 
 is found necessary in the respective countries, to secure it. 
 The quiet and peace which reign in the interior of Christ- 
 ian countries, are maintained by a far lighter hand, than 
 that which is necessary to control a community of Moham- 
 medans or Pagans. A criminal in Boston has a remote and 
 uncertain prospect of suffering before him, to deter him 
 from crime. There is his hope of escaping detection, — 
 for there is no argus-eyed police, or watchful spy, taking 
 note of his movements. Then there are the forms through 
 which he must pass, the extreme scrupulousness with 
 which every evidence against him, not strictly legal, will 
 be rejected; the ingenuity of his advocate; the feelings or 
 the doubts of his jury ; and, lastly, the calm impartiality of 
 his judge, under the influence of no wish, bm to make the 
 punishment as light as justice will possibly allow. How 
 different from the stern and unfeeling severity, with which 
 the criminal of Constantinople is taken to the nearest 
 officer of justice, who is, perhaps, responsible for the order 
 15* 
 
174 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6, 
 
 Crime and punishment in Constantinople. 
 
 of his district, with his head, and there, without ceremony 
 or delay, bastinadoed, hung, drowned, strangled, or impal- 
 ed. Yes; to ascertain (he powei- of Christianity upon the 
 condition of the community, we must take' into view, not 
 only the degree of public order which christian and un- 
 christian countries secure, but the comparative amount of 
 despotic pressure and severity which they find necessary 
 in order to secure it. 
 
 The truth is, that a certain degree of regard for life and 
 property, and of public order, is necessary for the very ex- 
 istence of society; and governments insensibly assume the 
 degree of power, be it more or less, which may be neces- 
 sary to secure this. So that the influence of Christianity 
 upon a nation, will show itself, at first, not so much in 
 lessening the amount of vice and sin, as in diminishing the 
 pressure necessary to keep it within bounds. It lightens 
 the hand of government, and softens its asperities. For it 
 is public opinion which supports even the strongest gov- 
 ernments, — an opinion based on the necessity of suppres- 
 sing disorder and crime. Christianity, by diminishing the 
 tendency to disorder, compels government to lighten its 
 hand. We see, therefore, in the comparative mildness 
 and gentleness of christian governments, a tribute to the 
 salutary influence of Christianity. But when we make 
 the influence which she has exerted, as great as we can, 
 by this and other considerations, how far is it below what 
 it ought to have been. How sad is the moral and social 
 condition of the most highly christianized country on the 
 globe. How much is yet to be done in England and 
 America, in removing abuses, arresting the progress of 
 public vice, and «n carrying the light, and the happy influ- 
 ence of the "gospel into the great mass of society. How 
 many wrongs are yet unredressed; how many vices yet 
 urwestrained; how many unnecessary sorrows and suffer- 
 iiigs reign every where, which Christianity, even in its 
 indirect influence, might easily remove. 
 
II Ch. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS. 175 
 
 The Christian's appropriate work. 
 
 This chapter is to be devoted to a consideration of this 
 subject; — the way by which Christianity is to produce its 
 salutary effect upon the moral and social condition of the 
 community. Of course, the reader will not expect a spe- 
 cific plan of operations, for the removal of particular evils. 
 These will vary with the nature of the evil to be remedied, 
 and the extent of the moral means which may be brought 
 to bear upon it. Our design will therefore be, not to lay 
 down plans of proceeding for particular cases, but to bring 
 to view such general considerations, as ought to be kept in 
 mind, and allowed to influence our measures, and regulate 
 the feelings of heart with which we attempt to carry our 
 measures into effect. 
 
 1 . It is a very serious question, and one which the Christ- 
 ian community ought to consider well, how far we are to 
 leave our appropriate work of directly building up the 
 kingdom of Christ, for the purpose of going forth into the 
 world, to correct evils and abuses which reign there. No 
 one, who understands at all the nature of sin and its reme- 
 dy, can doubt that our great work here, is to bring as 
 many individual souls as possible to actual repentance, and 
 to raise the standard of holiness among those thus changed, 
 to the highest point. This is laboring directly, to promote 
 the kingdom of Christ, — the extension of its walls, and the 
 purification and spiritual prosperity of all within. This is 
 the true way, by which the remedy for sin, is ultimately to 
 reach the full extent of the disease. The plan of Jesus 
 Christ for saving the world, is not mainly, that the indirect 
 influence of Christianity upon the public conscience, shall 
 gradually meliorate the moral condition of unsanctified men 
 in a mass, but that these men shall, one by one, be brought 
 to conviction and thorough repentance, and made in suc- 
 cession, his followers and friends; not restrained a little, 
 as a communily, from their worst vices, by the indirect in- 
 fluence of the gospel, but changed thoroughly, as indi- 
 mduals, into new creatures in him. It is, therefore, to 
 
176 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Relation to the community. 
 
 promote the spread of this individual, personal piety, that 
 constitutes the great object at which we should aim. The 
 other is secondary. It is occasional. Still, it has its claims. 
 We are citizens of a community, as well as members of a 
 church, and each relation gives rise to its appropriate 
 duties. Cases often have occurred, in the history of 
 Christendom, and are now continually occurring, in which 
 religious men may go forth with advantage, into the great 
 community, aud accomplish vast good, by the power of a 
 moral influence, more eflScient in its appropriate sphere 
 than legislative enactments, or military force. Generally, 
 however, the province of Christian labor, lies in a different 
 region; and the influence which piety is to exert upon the 
 great unsanctified mass of mind which envelopes it, is in- 
 direct, spontaneous, collateral ; an influence which follows 
 of its own accord, while the Christian is intent upon his 
 own proper work of extending pure and thorough personal 
 piety. 
 
 2. When we go out to act thus upon society, we must 
 remember that we act as members of a community which is 
 under one common responsibility with us to God, and that 
 those whom we are endeavoring to influence, are not re- 
 sponsible to us. The evils which we attempt to prevent or 
 mitigate, are sins against God, and they who commit them, 
 are accountable to him for their guilt, — not to their fellow 
 men. This should influence the tone and spirit with which 
 we should approach them. We are like children whose 
 father is away, and if some do wrong, the others are not 
 clothed with any authority to arrest or punish it. The 
 only remedy, is the gentle moral influence, which one child 
 may properly exert upon another. 
 
 A father sometimes, in such a case, returns, and finds 
 an older child, dictating with earnest gesticulations and 
 imperious tone, its duty to another. He stands before the 
 little delinquent, putting down his foot with an air of au- 
 thoritative command, and insisting upon some supposed 
 
I Ch. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS. 177 
 
 i A common scene at home. Persueision. 
 
 I duty, with the language and tone and manner, which, per- 
 I haps, he has caught from some extreme exercise of author- 
 I ity, on the part of his father. 
 
 I The parent, coming in suddenly in the midst of this 
 I scene, remonstrates. "Why," says the child, "I am 
 I only trying to make him do what you tell him. Is not 
 if that," describing what he was endeavoring to enforce, 
 I ''what you tell. him ?" 
 
 I " Yes," replies the parent, " that is what he ought to do^ 
 
 i but yotr have no authority to make him do it. Your power 
 
 i over your little brother is persuasion, — not authority." 
 
 I Now there are many such scenes as these, acted among 
 
 I older children, than those which play around the fireside. 
 
 For human laws, restraining outward injury by man against 
 
 man, there is, indeed, human authority. But for the divine 
 
 law, as God is the sole avenger of it, so he alone may 
 
 speak with the tone of authority and command. We are 
 
 all, in respect to those moral duties and relations, which 
 
 human laws do not cover, only children of one common 
 
 Father, and the tone which we should assume towards our 
 
 fellow men, is that tone of gentle, unassuming, though 
 
 clear, and fearless, and decided moral influence which one 
 
 child may properly assume towards another., 
 
 3. It follows as a necessary inference from the last head, 
 or rather, as an expansion of it, that our work, when we 
 attempt to act upon the community, is the work of per- 
 suasion. If we assume the air and tone of censorious au- 
 thority, we fail entirely of our object, with those whom we 
 endeavor to influence. Usurped authority always invites 
 resistance. The little child will resist the unauthorized 
 dominion of his older brother: and how seldom, in the his- 
 tory of nations, has an usurper maintained a permanent 
 seat upon the throne. The dynasties of Cromwell and of 
 Napoleon, expired with their founders, as the dynasties of 
 usurpers almost always will. Even where men have no 
 special objection to the thing which is to he done, they 
 
178 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6 
 
 Christians in the minority. * No hope from open war. 
 
 will be led to resist it, even by the mere air and tone of 
 compulsion, coming from a quarter, where they feel that 
 there is no proper authority. Thus the human heart, may, 
 in a thousand cases, be easily led, when it cannot be driven 
 by those who have no right to drive. It results from that 
 instinctive principle of human nature, which leads man to 
 arouse himself to the resistance of all unauthorized power. 
 
 Now although good men seldom endeavor actually to 
 force a moral reform upon the community, by physical com- 
 pulsion, they do not unfrequently assume such a tone and 
 air of authority, as produces, in a great degree, the same 
 ill effects. We ought to guard against this; and we may 
 easily guard against it, by taking a correct view of our 
 place and province, as individual members of God's great 
 family. We, as well as others, and others as well as we, 
 are independently responsible for our moral conduct, to our 
 common Father. So that moral suasion, and influences 
 analogous to it, are our only sources of power. 
 
 4. We must remember that the true servants of God in 
 this world, are in a very small minority, and consequently 
 that they can do nothing by force. So that the view given 
 under the last head, is not only correct in theory, but it is 
 the only one which can be successful in practice. We are 
 in a very small minority, — so that unless the case is a very 
 extraordinary one indeed, giving us an immense aid from 
 the power of the public conscience, we cannot conquer in 
 open war. We cannot know the numerical ratio which the 
 friends of God, in this world, bear to his enemies; but 
 every one who has any proper idea of what a life of peni- 
 tence and faith is, — a habitual preference of duties towards 
 God, and the interests of eternity, over the pursuits and 
 pleasures of time and sense, — will admit that this ratio is 
 yet very small. We should have to make a very large 
 deduction, from even the number of communicants in the 
 churches, for hypocrites, and worldly minded Christians, 
 who, in any open contest, will always throw their influence 
 
Ch. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS. 179 
 
 I Weakened by intestine divisions. Denominational jealousies. 
 
 with the world. Thus in the contest between right and 
 wrong, as it is going on at the present time, even in the 
 most favored nation in Christendom, the armies are very 
 unequally matched in respect to numbers, and we therefore 
 can expect little success in open war. 
 
 5. Our own internal divisions and jealousies make us 
 wealier7than the mere inspection of our numbers would 
 in dica.t e. How often is it that one denomination, or one 
 tHeological party, shows itself far more afraid of the pro- 
 gress of the opposing one, than of the progress of sin. Thus 
 many a measure, originating in one quarter of the christian 
 connTruTiity7"fnrds^ hostility, or a feeling of jealousy equally 
 fafaT, in another; and the Congregationalist joins with the 
 Infidel to thwart Episcopal plans, or Baptist and Deist 
 combine to prevent Congregational ascendency. It is not 
 always so. There is often a praise-worthy cooperation; 
 but while the different branches of the church, place as 
 much stress as they do now, upon their distinctive forms 
 of organization and discipline, questions of public morals 
 will often become involved with questions of ecclesiastical 
 strife. This danger we should consider. It certainly is a 
 very important element to be taken into the account, in 
 estimating the moral force which the Christian community 
 can command in its contests with a wicked world, on 
 questions of public morals. 
 
 5. It follows from the preceding considerations, that we 
 
 ought to be cautious how we get the community divided 
 
 into parties, the church and the world arrayed, one against 
 
 I anortTiBr, in open war. We are not strong enough for such 
 
 a contest, and if we were, victory would be hardly worth 
 
 the gaining. 
 
 ti First, I say, we are not strong enough. This is evident 
 
 I from the preceding heads; and the moral history of all 
 
 i christian communities confirms it. Whenever, on any 
 
 I moral question, the lines have been drawn, and sides taken, 
 
 I" and a contest commenced, the success has been almost 
 
 ■1,. 
 
 ^ 
 
180 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Drawing lines, and setting the battle in array. 
 
 invariably on the wrong side. This has always been the 
 case, whether the arena of the conflict has been in the 
 competition of business, or in the enforcement of laws, 
 unsupported by public opinion, or in balloting at the polls. 
 The majority on the side of worldliness and sin, is altogeth- 
 er too great, yet, to be overcome in any such way. We 
 can neither conquer the wicked in an open contest, or run 
 them down in competition, or out vote them at elections, or 
 outnumber them in mustering our followers, or baffle them 
 in manoeuvering. We may exert an immense influence 
 over them and over the whole community, by the power of 
 moral suasion, and by the gentle, unassuming influence of 
 personal piety; but when it comes to drawing lines and 
 forming parties in array, setting one side against the other, 
 there is scarcely any question in public morals which can 
 Stand the struggle. 
 
 And yet we often take such a stand, and assume such a 
 tone, that the mass of the community feel themselves chal- 
 lenged to a war. They begin to array themselves then 
 against us. Watchwords and symbols are gradually 
 adopted on both sides. On the one part, religious zeal, 
 and on the other, enmity to God, is fanned and inflamed by 
 mutual opposition. The lines of demarcation become con- 
 tinually more distinct, and defeat to the right, is the almost 
 invariable result of the battle. There may be some few 
 and rare exceptions, but while the minority on the side of 
 duty is as small as it is now, and while that small minority 
 is so divided and weakened by intestine dissensions, the 
 exceptions must be exceedingly few and rare. 
 
 Then, again, the victory, if obtained, would be scarcely 
 worth the gaining. To put down sin by superior force, is 
 but putting a constraint upon human desires, whereas, the 
 thing to be done, is to change the nature of those desires. 
 We do not mean to say that the former is never desirable, 
 but that it is only by the latter, that the real kingdom of 
 Jesus Christ is to be extended in the world. What we 
 
Ch. 6.] • PUBLIC MORALS. 181 
 
 A wrong spirit. Its effects. The true tactics. 
 
 wish is, to bring men to abandon sin themselves, as individ- 
 uals, on their ovi^n individual, personal, single, free will. 
 And it is only so far as this is done, that any real progress 
 is made, in bringing back this lost world to its Maker. Let 
 us proceed, then, in all our efforts, with a proper under- 
 standing of the true nature of the work we have to do, and 
 of the moral means we possess of effecting it; and avoid 
 a course, when we can avoid it, which will awaken and 
 concentrate hostility to our cause, and unite the enemies 
 bf piety and bring them to bay. 
 
 6. Our plans for promoting the moral improvement of the 
 community, are often impeded by this cause, viz. that we 
 gradually connect with our efforts, something wrong in the 
 spirit which we exhibit, or in the measures we adopt, and 
 the result is, that the attention of the community is turned 
 away from the great moral evil itself, which we wish to 
 correct, and fixed upon the comparatively little evils which 
 creep into our mode of correcting it. Just as in an argu- 
 ment, if one overstates a fact a very little, or presses a 
 point a very little farther than it will bear, — his* antagonists 
 will immediately seize upon that excess, and try to transfer 
 the contest to that part of the field, where he has the ad- 
 vantage, — drawing it away from the general merits of the 
 question, where perhaps his cause could not be sustained. 
 So when we call the attention of the community to their 
 sins, eager as they will be to escape the subject, they will 
 scrutinize our conduct and measures, and transfer the con- 
 test, if any ingenuity can do it, to a dispute about some- 
 thing which we do that is indiscreet, or imprudent, or un- 
 guarded. Now a wise logician, in managing his argument, 
 aware of the danger I have above described, will state his 
 facts a little less strongly than he is prepared to prove 
 them, and in pressing his points, will stop a little short of 
 the line to which they might legitimately be carried, so as 
 to have every thing completely protected and secure, and 
 to expose no weak points to invite attack, and produce a 
 16 
 
182 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Wrong feelings. Censoriousness. Party spirit. 
 
 diversion. These tactics, so unquestionably sound in the 
 intellectual conflict, are equally so in the moral one. We 
 must consider beforehand what will be the charges proba- 
 bly made, and must guard especially against affording the 
 least ground for making them. 
 
 7. We are often actuated by feelings so inconsistent 
 with the principles of the gospel, in attempting to act upon 
 the moral condition of the community, that we cannot hope 
 for success. And yet these feelings, unhallowed as they 
 are, conceal themselves from our view, or disguise them- 
 selves in the garb of holy emotions, and thus elude us. 
 Perhaps those which most easily gain the ascendency in 
 our hearts, when we think we are only honestly interested 
 in the cause of God, are censoriousness, and party spirit. 
 The one, the corruption and perversion of the proper feel- 
 ings towards the sin which we oppose, and the other, a 
 similar corruption and perversion of the proper feelings 
 towards the kingdom of Christ, which we profess to pro- 
 mote. In other words, instead of a proper hostility to sin, 
 which is alw«,ys coupled with feelings of kindness and 
 compassion towards sinners, our hearts become the prey 
 of feelings of censoriousness towards the sins, and irritation 
 against the sinners, And so, instead of that calm, quiet 
 union of heart with all who love the Savior, and exemplify 
 his principles, united with a simple, honest desire that 
 these principles should spread, we insensibly yield our- 
 selves to the dominion of party spirit. We wish that oui: 
 side should conquer in the conflict; we enjoy the mortifi- 
 cation of our enemies, when they receive a blow; we 
 struggle for the pleasure of victory,- — having so identified 
 ourselves with our party, that we consider its victories as, 
 in some sense, triumphs of our own. 
 
 ^i;^?ii9H^^^-^^~^^^X-?^[>irit: — they are the bane and 
 the; _destrujptipn of the jCiijiatiaa^„cause.~~Ari3 yet censo- 
 riousness is not precisely the word to convey our meaning; 
 for that usually imports the habit of speaking with unchari- 
 
Ch. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS. 183 
 
 Anger and irritation. True sorrow for sin. 
 
 table severity, of the faults of others, whereas the sin which 
 we wish to characterize, has its origin in the heart, and 
 censoriousness is one of its fruits. It is the feeling with 
 which the unrenewed heart of man regards those sins and 
 failings of others, in which it fancies that it does not itself 
 participate. It looks upon these faults and failings with a 
 sort of malignant exultation, and upon the victim of them 
 with a feeling of irritation or hostility; and when he suffers 
 the bitter fruits of them, it enjoys a secret satisfaction 
 which is of the nature of revenge. True piety, on the 
 other hand, mourns over sin, and mourns equally, with the 
 tenderest compassion, over the sad prospects of the sinner. 
 Censoriousness, which is the outward expression of the 
 one, loves to talk of the faults she condemns when the 
 censured ones are away, and no. end can be accomplished 
 by it but the indulgence of her own malignant gratifica- 
 tion. A bitter smile, or an affected look of concern is 
 upon her countenance, and "I despise," or "I cannot 
 bear," is the language with which she expresses the vex- 
 ation and the impatience of her heart. But when she 
 comes into the presence of the object of her displeasure, 
 she is either all heartless sm.iles, or she assumes an air of 
 dignified and cold reserve; the two most common robes of 
 disguise, — oh, how frail and thin, — with which the hatred 
 of the human heart is covered. 
 
 Piety, on the other hand, sorrows for sin; — she is not 
 vexed and angry with it. She speaks of the guilt or the 
 errors of the absent, very seldom, — and then with no irri- 
 tation or secret satisfaction. And when she is in the pre- 
 sence of one whose sins or follies she mourns, the real 
 spontaneous feelings of her heart give an expression of 
 honest kindness and interest to her countenance, and a 
 friendly tone to her voice. The sin which she lartients, 
 she does not look upon as an offence against her, that 
 arouses hostility and hatred, but as a source of evil and 
 danger which awakens compassion and benevolent regard. 
 
184 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Example of Jesus Christ. Self deception. 
 
 Jesus Christ expressed it exactly, when he saw before him 
 the cro\Vded citj of Jerusalem, standing out upon its hills 
 in beauty and grandeur, — and then looking forward a few 
 short years, beheld, with his prophetic eye, the flames 
 bursting forth from its thousand dwellings, and roaring 
 around the walls of the temple of God. He expressed 
 exactly the feeling I have been attempting to describe, when 
 he said, with the most heartfelt sorrow, "Oh, Jerusalem, 
 Jerusalem, how gladly would I have protected thee, but 
 thou wouldst not."- It was the city which had killed the 
 prophets, and stoned the messengers from heaven; and the 
 time was drawing nigh, when he himself was to be led 
 forth from the gates, condemned to death. But there was 
 no malignant satisfaction in the Savior's heart, as he look- 
 ed forward to its approaching overthrow. . The just retri- 
 bution for her awful crimes, he mourned over, as a des- 
 truction which he would gladly have stayed. 
 
 Now the danger is, that the Christian, in his efforts to 
 promote the moral welfare of the community, will some- 
 times, while he retains the tone, and the language, and the 
 appearance belonging to the latter of these feelings, gradu- 
 ally allow his heart to come under the unhallowed dominion 
 of the former. Baffled, perhaps, in some .of our well- 
 intended plans, by the ingenuity, or the superior power of 
 wicked men, we find it hard to avoid the feelings of vexa- 
 tion and anger, which opposition generally awakens in the 
 human soul; and the enterprise which began as an honest 
 effort to do good to fellow sinners, gradually becomes an 
 imbittered contest for victory over foes. We do not 
 perceive the change. We are blind to the new feelings 
 which have obtained the mastery in our hearts. We do 
 not much alter, perhaps, the language or appearances 
 by which the spirit that actuates us is exhibited; but the 
 change, though superficially not very striking, is radical, 
 and ruinous in regard to all hope of success. We lose by 
 it, the only two means by which we can accomplish any 
 
Oh. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS. 185 
 
 The public conscience. ' A cruel master. 
 
 thing here, — ^the moral power of honest, simple-hearted 
 piety, — and the blessing of God. For a thousand instances 
 have shown, that he will abandon even his own cause, the 
 moment that efforts to promote it, degenerate into a contest 
 for victory between man and man. 
 
 8. Consider what is the real avenue by which Christian 
 principle is to gain an access to the great community, and 
 an influence over its moral condition. It is the pINblic 
 conscience. There is a public conscience, as well as a 
 public opinion;* and this moral sense of the community is 
 at once the great protector of public virtue, and the great 
 ally and supporter of those who labor to promote it. It is 
 the public conscience which we must arouse from her 
 slumbers, — it is she who can alone open to us, the brazen 
 doors of the great castle of public sin. She is our confed- 
 erate, our only efficient aid. She only can speak so as to 
 command attention, — she only, where Christian principle 
 is wanting, can restrain, at all, the mighty struggles of 
 human passion, or the deliberate excesses of habitual sin. 
 
 The sympathy of man with man, is shown in nothing 
 more strongly, than in the moral sentiments. A cruel 
 master, we will suppose, punishes his apprentice with 
 undue severity, and a simple statement of the case is 
 published in a newspaper, accompanied by an expression 
 of just, but calm indignation at the wrong. That state- 
 ment, and that expression, though enforced perhaps by no 
 argument, and exhibiting no new moral truths, awakens 
 the moral sensibilities of the whole community around, in 
 respect to the guilt of cruelty to a helpless boy, and though 
 the whole story may perhaps soon be forgotten, the in- 
 fluence of it will hold back the hand of many a cruel 
 master, for months or years. 
 
 It is on the same principle, that so great effects have 
 been produced in the United States within a few years, in 
 
 * Chalmer's Bridgewater Treatise. 
 16* 
 
186 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Means of awakening moral -sentiment. 
 
 curtailing the use of Alcohol, in its various forms, as an 
 article of common consumption. It is not so much the 
 power of the argument, it is not the result of the economi- 
 cal calculations, it is not the influence of self interest, or 
 of politicEil managenient, or of popular declamation, that 
 have produced the effect :-rit is, on the other handj the 
 simple exhibition of facts, and the expression of certain 
 moral principles in their application to them, which have 
 awakened the conscience and quickened moral sensibility, 
 and spread by sympathy, from heart to heart. This has 
 been the great source of the power whose efforts have 
 been so extensive; it is the power of one conscience, 
 acting strongly, an4 expressing its action, to awaken an- 
 other, until the moral sensibilities of a whole community, 
 closely united as they are by this mysterious sympathy, 
 vibrate in unison, and pronounce one mighty sentence of 
 condemnation against the sin which has awakened its 
 voice. 
 
 It was in the same way , that the great victory over the 
 slave trade, that worst daughter of the worst of mothers, 
 slavery, was obtained in Great Britain a quarter of a cen- 
 tury ago. The men who carried on that movement, would 
 have been weakness and helplessness itself without their 
 mighty ally. They knew where their great strength lay ; 
 and they directed their efforts to awakening the moral 
 sense of the c©mmunity, to the end that it might pronounce 
 a sentence of condemnation against the system; not as a 
 suffrage against an inexpedient political institution, but as 
 a moral condemnation of a great public wrong. 
 
 This is one great secret of all moral power. The de- 
 cisions of one conscience, freely and calmly made, — and 
 calmly and kindly, though decidedly expressed, will quick- 
 en the decisions of another; and to awaken, and cultivate, 
 and concentrate this moral sense of the community, is the 
 great work by which we are to preserve its general moral 
 health, and undermine great public sins. In accomplishing 
 
Cll. 6.] PUBLIC MOUALJ^. 187 
 
 Excessive zeal. The true field of Christian labor. 
 
 this, every caution should be observed to avoid al] which 
 can interfere with this work. If by the excesses of our 
 zeal, our exaggerated statements, our censorious or dic- 
 tatorial tone, our violence, our lukewarmness, our illogical 
 reasoning, our overbearing measures, or petty manage- 
 ment, or any other errors, we give just ground for censiire 
 against ourselves, we defeat our own aim. The public 
 mind, glad of an excuse for turning away from its own 
 guilt, makes a sally against our errors; and the conscience 
 which we were endeavoring to arouse, falls asleep again, 
 while the ingenuity and the satire, or the more malignant 
 hostility of the wicked, is occupied in discharging its arrows 
 at us. We do not mean to imply by this, that such hos- 
 tility can always be avoided, but only, that so far as we 
 excite it by what is really wrong in our spirit or measures, 
 we close the door in the most effectual manner, against 
 the only influences by which our cause can be saved. 
 
 9. After all, however, it is comparatively little which 
 the Christian community can do beyond its own bounds; 
 and our great work, therefore, is to expand those bounds 
 as rapidly as possible, and to purify and perfect all that is 
 within them, ^Tnuhejiietyj^^^onsisUng as it does, in honest 
 obedience to God, and heartfelt benevolence towards man, 
 vnir"BF~Tfs"W8Ti?;'ifl securing hu as fast and 
 
 J aFas irc ari go itself It is but a penumbra, — a twilight, .y 
 of virtue and happiness, which can, by the best of efforts, 
 BUHaJned beyond. We toil to alter human institutions, — 
 forms of government, — modes of religious organization, — 
 or systems of social economy, where we find them bearing 
 heavily upon the welfare or the happiness of men. W« 
 forget that it is human d epravity which gives to human 
 institutions all their efficiency in evil, and while the 
 depravity remains, it matters little in what forms it tyran- 
 nizes over the rights and happiness of men. A despotic 
 
188 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 Political evils ijnd their remedy. Forms of government. 
 
 monarch can do no more mischief than a tyrannical de- 
 mocracy; in fact, on the catalogue of human despots, 
 arranged in the order of injustice and cruelty^ a Republi- 
 can Committee of Safety would come first, and Nero would 
 have to follow. Where there is cold-blooded depravity in 
 power at -the head, and corruption in the mass below, no 
 matter for the forms. So in the church, — the worldly 
 spirit which in England would make a bishop an ambitious 
 politician, or a country pastor an idle profligate, — would 
 in America, under a more democratic organization, show 
 itself in factious struggles between contending parties, or 
 in the wild fanaticism of a religious demagogue. All this 
 does not show that it is of no consequence how our eccle- 
 siastical or political forms are arranged, but only that we 
 are in danger of overrating that consequence, and that our 
 great work is to spread the influence of genuine individual 
 piety every where. This alone can go to the root of the 
 evil. The thing to be done, is, not to go on changing 
 institutions, in the vain hope of finding some form which 
 will work well, while depravity administers it, — but to root 
 out depravity, and then almost any one will work well. 
 We should accordingly learn to look without jealousy and 
 dislike upon the political institutions of other countries, 
 even if they do not correspond with our own theoretical 
 notions. The theories of the reflecting portion of the 
 community, have but little to do with moulding their insti- 
 tutions; they are regulated by circumstances over which 
 any one generation has but little control. Why, for example, 
 should England quarrel with America for being a republic .=• 
 If she had wished to be a monarchy, where, I ask, could 
 she have found a king } It requires many centuries to lay 
 any firm foundations for a throne. And why should Ameri- 
 ca quarrel with England because she is a monarchy.? 
 Her present constitution of government is an undesigned 
 
Ch. 6.] PUBLIC MORALS, 189 
 
 Spread of individual virtue. France and New England, 
 
 result of the growth of centuries, that no combination of 
 human powers, which it is possible to effect in a single 
 generation, can safely change. 
 
 It is then the spread of individual virtue, and- the culti- 
 vation of the moral sense of the community, which is to 
 mitigate the evils that now oppress mankind. This will 
 alleviate individual sufferings, and soften the asperities of 
 intercourse between man and man, and render more mild 
 and gentle, the pressure of government and the necessary 
 restraints of law. Public virtue must be the great means 
 of extending free institutions, by relaxing every where the 
 grasp of power; for political power must be based on pub- 
 lic opinion. As we have shown before, a certain degree 
 of regard for life, and property, and of public order, is 
 necessary to the very existence of society, — and the de- 
 gree of power on the part of the sovereign, necessary to 
 secure this, public opinion will always tolerate and support. 
 Where there is, in any community, a vast amount of 
 degradation and vice, there will be tolerated a sufficient 
 degree of military power and of governmental restriction, 
 to keep it under control. Where, on the other hand, the 
 community is virtuous and peaceful, government, what- 
 ever may be its forms, must, insensibly, and by the influence 
 of moral causes more powerful than bayonets or cannon, 
 gradually relax its hold. We see the exemplification of 
 this, every where. In France, for example, where vital 
 piety scarcely lingers, — what a machinery of power has 
 been necessary to preserve the public order. What pass- 
 ports, — what a police, — what a gendarmerie! How com- 
 pletely is the whole community, in all its ramifications, 
 under the espionage and the grasp of governmental power; 
 by a system, which public opinion not only tolerates, but 
 sustains, knowing that without it, public tranquillity could 
 perhaps not be preserved a day. And yet in New Eng- 
 land, a man may spend his days, and scarely perceive any 
 
190 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 6. 
 
 The true support of despotism. The Christian citizen. 
 
 signs of a government, — and certainly not feel its pressure 
 personally, from his cradle to his grave. It is the public 
 conviction of its necessity, which Sustains the system in 
 the one case, and it is its manifest uselessness, which dis- 
 penses with it in the other. It is thus, that public vice is 
 always the origin and the supporter of despotism. It is the 
 very foundation of its throne. Banditti upon the highways 
 are invaluable auxiliaries to its cause, and every insurrec- 
 tion in the provinces, or riot in the city, adds to the number 
 of its bayonets, and supplies ammunition for its cannon. 
 And when despotism is thus established, revolution is no 
 remedy. It may shift the power to oppress, from one hand 
 to another, but there can be no effectual or permanent 
 mitigation of it, but virtue and self control, on the part of 
 the governed. 
 
 We ought also to remark, before concluding the discus- 
 sion of this chapter, that it relates to measures adopted 
 by Christians, as such, — i. e. as members of the kingdom 
 of Christ, in a world in heart opposed to him. The duties 
 of the Christian as a citizen, we do not now wish here to 
 discuss. He is a citizen of the state, as well as others, 
 mid all the responsibilities and duties of citizenship belong 
 to him fully. While he should most sedulously guard 
 against an assuming or a dictatorial spirit, and avoid all 
 manoeuvring and intrigue, and keep his heart free from 
 party spirit, and lust of office and power, — he should still 
 be vigilant, and faithful, and punctual, in discharging all 
 the duties which the constitution of his country imposes 
 upon him. And whatever share of influence he may 
 properly exert directly, in respect to the political ad- 
 ministration of his government, that he is bound to ex- 
 ert, in favor of such men and such measures as will pro- 
 mote the highest and most permanent public good. If all 
 are faithful in the discharge of these obligations, then just 
 so far as personal piety extends, so far will the social and 
 political condition of man be improved, and this is the only 
 
Ch. 6.j PUBLIC MORALS. 191 
 
 Progress of Christianity. 
 
 sure and safe mode of- progress. This subject, however, 
 we do not now propose to go into, but onl}^o consider the 
 extent in which the Christian community, as such, may 
 hope to exert a good influence upon the mass of mind 
 around it. 
 
 The work of the Christian, then, in this world, is mainly 
 witK^iiTn^ualsT^-Iiis object is to promote the spread of 
 p(grspnal7 individual piety, — ^the highest, in its standard, 
 and the most extensive in its range. Then let this piety 
 thoroughly inter-penetrate the whole mass of society, and 
 mingle every where, with mind, so as to bring the insensi- 
 ble, unobtrusive, but most powerful influence of its pre- 
 sence, to act upon the whole mass by which it is surround- 
 ed. It must not stand aloof. It must be separate from 
 the world in character, not in condition, it must sustain the 
 most friendly, business and social relations with all man- 
 kind, — and by a sort of interfusion with the mass, carry its 
 influence every where. While, however, piety goes thus, 
 like the Savior, wherever there is sin, she must, like him, 
 keep herself unspotted from its contamination, — firm and 
 unyielding in her lofty principles, and pure in her own 
 heavenly spirit. While she is kind, she must be decided; 
 -^coiiciliatory and unobtrusivej^_while_she„xs_.c(>nsisent 
 ^J^m. 7tTlo!E?tri5rher .^owit alluring garbj she must 
 exTiibit the moral beauty of obedience to God and benevo- 
 lence towards man, and thus, while she wins multitudes to 
 sincere repentance and eternal life, she wiir gently, but 
 powerfully, restrain the guilt and assuage the sorrows of 
 the.y^st multitudes which yet continue in their sins. 
 
192 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 The plan of the Savior. He founded a church. 
 
 • CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CHUftCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 
 *• Diversities of administrations, but the same Lord." 
 
 Notwithstanding the immense importance which may 
 justly be attached to private, individual effort, in the work 
 of Doing Good, ^e must not pass slightly over another 
 great and important topic, — union and co-operation. Jesus 
 Christ did not merely make arrangements for the spread 
 of personal piety from heart to heart, — he founded a church. 
 He took measures for concentrating the moral power 
 which he introduced, and for linking together his follow- 
 ers, by ties which formed at once their strength and their 
 protection. But the human heart, always ready to find 
 some door of escape where it may go astray, and espe- 
 cially always prone to slip away from what is spiritual, to 
 what is external, has perverted our Savior's originar de- 
 sign, until at length, after the lapse of eighteen centuries, 
 the arrangement which was intended by him, to establish 
 for ever, union and harmony, has resulted in the very ex- 
 treme of separation and division. 
 
 It is not, however, the number of distinct ecclesiastical 
 organizations now existing, that constitutes the main evil, 
 — it is the spirit of dissension and jealousy, not to say 
 hostility, which separates them from one another. For 
 example, a comparatively small degree of inconvenience 
 or injury would result, perhaps, from the arrangement, by 
 which the church of Scotland, stands a different organiza- 
 tion from the church of England, — each having its own 
 officers, its own rules and its own usages, and thus each 
 being independent of the other, — provided the two would 
 occupy their respective parts of the vineyard, as distinct, 
 but friendly divisions of the same great family, — each 
 enjoying the confidence and affection of the other. In the 
 
II Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 193 
 
 Various branches. Dissensions among them. 
 
 tl same manner, there might be little inconvenience or injury 
 j? from having a Methodist and a Congregational church in 
 the same city, in which case the respective fields of the 
 two organizations would be marked off, not by territorial 
 limits, but by the different tastes, or habits, or pursuits of 
 different classes of the community. We do not say that it 
 would be better to have two such organizations of the 
 Savior's followers, rather than one, — but only that it would 
 not be much worse, were it not for a spirit of dissension 
 and hostility between them. If the portions into which the 
 church is divided, were friendly families, nearly all the 
 evils of the division would disappear, and there would be 
 some great advantages to balance those which should 
 remain. But instead of being friendly families, they are, 
 in fact, too often hostile tribes, expending quite as much 
 of their ammunition upon one another, as upon the common 
 enemy; so that the evil consists, not so much in the lines 
 of demarcation, by which the great body of believers are 
 separated, as in the brazen walls of jealousy, and mistrust, 
 and excommunication, which are erected on these lines 
 , It is these last which make the mischief. 
 
 The cause of our difficulty seems to be the tendency of 
 mankind to run into an inordinate attachment to forms. 
 Forms are something distinct and tangible, and associa- 
 ttons of interest and attachment cling to them easily and 
 strongly. Then again, the religious usages to which we 
 are ourselves accustomed, are the ones which are in our 
 minds when we read the Scriptures, and we associate them 
 with the directions and descriptions given there, so strong- 
 ly, as at length insensibly to imbibe the belief, that these 
 very usages were the ones referred to and practised in those 
 days; each reader thus making his own accidental expe- 
 rience a part of his interpretation. Thus the officer or the 
 ordinance which we read of, is always the officer or the 
 ordinance which we are accustomed to; just as every 
 farmer's child, v/hen reading the story of the babe in the 
 17 
 
194 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Religious party spirit. Two ways to make peace. 
 
 manger, always pictures to himself a scene from his own 
 father's barn. .Then, besides, there is party spirit, a form of 
 human depravity, not slow to show itself in the most sacred 
 relations of the soul. We love to have our party prosper, 
 and so we are ardent and zealous for the interests of our own 
 pale; for thus, by the self delusion which is the inveterate 
 and perpetual characteristic of sin, we cp;a have the satis- 
 faction of thinking that our ardor is for the cause of God, 
 while in fact, we are only glorifying ourselves. And of 
 all the inaccessible and impregnable fortresses of sin, this 
 is certainly the worst. Human selfishness and pride are 
 firm and immovable enough, when open and undisguised; 
 — and real, devoted love to God, too, will sometimes stand 
 its ground well; — but when pride, and selfishness, and 
 party zeal clothe themselves with the garb of pretended 
 piety, and do it so adroitly as to deceive their very victim, 
 you have headstrong, unmanageable and indomitable ob- 
 stinacy personified. The pride and selfishness of party 
 spirit which constitute the real spring, are far within, pro- 
 tected by the superficial covering, from all attack and all 
 exposure. This kind of character is found in every deno- 
 mination of Christians, and it is the spirit which this dif 
 fuses and creates, that gives all its acrimony to the division 
 of the church; which division might otherwise be coijsid- 
 ered as an amicable arrangement, intended to accommodate 
 Christianity in its external forms, to the changing events, 
 and tastes, and habits of different ages and climes. 
 
 There are two modes by which the Christian church 
 may attempt to promote a state of greater harmony. One 
 is, for each denomination to struggle to bring all the others 
 upon its own ground, — which plan has been, for some 
 time, in the course of trial, and the result of the experiment 
 thus far, is, that the opposing forces, of the contending par- 
 ties, neutralize each other, and the only result which re- 
 mains, is a gradual thickening of the walls, and raising of 
 the battlements, and strengthening of the bulwarks by 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION, 195 
 
 Union of Christians necessary. 
 
 which they are separated. I need not say that I have no 
 intention, in this chapter, of engaging in this work. 
 
 The other plan is, while we leave each of the great 
 divisions of the Christian family in the peaceful occupancy 
 of its own ground, to endeavor to diminish, and ultimately 
 to destroy, the walls of jealousy and dislike which separate 
 tlicrn. The way to do this, is for us to learr i to att ach les^ 
 it"PQji ABce to the se differences. This we shall easily do, 
 if we look into the bible, wit^ lih honest desire to under- 
 stand the real place which forms and modes of organization 
 occupy there. 
 
 It was one of the most admirable provisions made to 
 secure the spread of religion in such a world as this, that 
 it was not left as a mere general principle, to work its way 
 itself among mankind. Jesus Christ not only taught the 
 principles of piety, — but he took measures for the.founding 
 of a church. He provided for the embodying of his follow 
 ers in united bands, and he showed by this arrangement, 
 his knowledge of a principle which the philosophers of 
 those days were not shrewd enough to discover. And, as 
 a distinguished writer has observed, if he had contented 
 himself with merely teaching Christianity, without founding 
 a church, the results of his labors could not have been 
 expected, on human probabilities, to have survived his 
 death by a single century. Yes; the union, the regular 
 organization of the disciples of Christ, is an essential part 
 of the plan of Christianity. To make each individual 
 Christian isolated and solitary in such a world as this, 
 would be almost as ruinous as the disbanding of an army 
 upon the field of battle. It is not therefore, the necessity 
 of an organization, itself, but the precise foriri and method 
 in which the organization is effected, that we are prone to 
 over-estimate. While the latter, the mode and foifm of or- 
 ganization has been continually fluctuating from the days 
 of Abraham to the present hour, the former, the necessity 
 of organized union itself, has remained, during all these 
 
196 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Subordinate place of forms. Attachments to them. 
 
 centuries unchanged, and must remain fixed and immov- 
 able as long as human nature continues as it is. 
 
 He, however, ^viio honestly wishes to know the will of 
 God in respect to this subject, will find, in looking care- 
 fully into it, a great many very striking evidences, that the 
 particular modes and forms by which the organization of 
 good men in this world is effected, assume, in the divine 
 counsels, a very subordinate and secondary place. And 
 let me remind the reader, before I proceed to mention 
 some of these evidences, that we are all exposed to a very 
 strong bias, while looking at them. We have ourselves 
 been educated in one Christian communion, — accustomed, 
 for many years, to one system, and the usages which have 
 thus become so familiar to us, have ^entwined themselves 
 around our hearts, and linked with themselves all our most 
 sacred associations. All this is well. It is perfectly right, 
 that we should cling with feelings of interest and attach 
 ment to what we have loved and venerated so long. But 
 then it is hard for us to distinguish, between what is thus 
 hallowed to us, as individuals, from the circumstances of 
 our past history, and what is absolutely enjoined, by the 
 word of God, and which we are accordingly to insist upon 
 from others. But we ought to distinguish between them. 
 While we cling, with as strong an attachment as we please, 
 to the institutions, whose happy influence we have enjoyed 
 for years, — until our religious sentiments and feelings are 
 inextricably interwoven with them, — we should still be wil- 
 ling to open our eyes to the distinction between what we 
 have thus ourselves justly learned to love, and what God 
 has absolutely enjoined upon all. While, then, I bring 
 forward the indications, that God considers the particular 
 mode by which his friends are organized, as of secondary 
 and subordinate importance, give them, reader, a candid 
 hearing; and remember, that they are not intended to di- 
 minish your attachment to the institutions which you love^ 
 but only to increase your indulgence for those who, by 
 
1 1 Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH ANT) CHRISTIAN IJNtON. 19? 
 
 The eight propositions. 
 
 precisely the same causes, are led to love institutions 
 somewhat different from yours. 
 
 In the examination of this subject, then, Wtfe shall en* 
 deavor to throw some light upon the degree of importance, 
 which God attaches to the particular forms of government 
 and discipline, under which his people are united, by the 
 establishment of the following propositions. 
 
 1 . Forms of ecclesiastical organization, while they were 
 under the special direction of God, in ancient days, were 
 not fixed and permanent, but were changed continually, ac- 
 cording to the exigencies of the times. These changes 
 continued down to the close of the scripture history. 
 
 2. The forms, which were in use at the close of the 
 scripture history, were only usages incidentally introduced^ 
 from time to time, and not adopted as a system deliberately 
 arranged and established, once for all. 
 
 3. The description of these us%es is very indistinct and 
 incomplete. 
 
 4. The apostles were not strict and uniform in the ob- 
 servance of them. 
 
 5. Their present authority rests on the mere practice of 
 good men, in early times, which is nowhere in the Scrip- 
 tures made binding. 
 
 6. The' most complete system which can be drawn from 
 these records of early practice, is not at all sufficient for the 
 present wants of the church. 
 
 7. The union of Christians, under any one consolidated 
 ecclesiastical government, must be highly dangerous, if not 
 fatal to the cause of true piety, 
 
 8. God sanctions, by the influences of his Holy Spirit, 
 the existence and the operations of all those denominations 
 of Christians, whatever may be their forms, whose faith 
 and practice correspond with his Word. 
 
 These propositions we now proceed to consider. 
 
 I. Forms of ecclesiastical organization, while they con- 
 
 17* 
 
19^ THE Way T6. D(J GOO0^ [Ch. t. 
 
 Changes. Times of Abraham, Moses and David. 
 
 tiliued under the special direction of God, in ancient days, 
 were not fixed and permanent, but were continually chang- 
 ed, to meet the emergencies of the times. 
 
 God has always had a body of true and faithful frienda 
 in the world, and he- might have adopted a plan for uniting 
 them, .from the beginning, in a church with prescribed and 
 permanent forms of government and worship. In fact, if 
 he had entertained" the views on this subject, which the 
 Christian church is protte to' entertain, at the present day, 
 he would have done so. Abraham and Melchisedec would 
 have been joined into A regular church, with rules for gov- 
 ernment and worship, which should have been exactly pre- 
 scribed, and made the model for all succeeding generations. 
 But instead of such a plan, God has made the precise mode 
 of union as changeable, as the varying circumstances of 
 every age. In Abraham's- time, the faithful constituted 
 simply a family, governed by patriarchal rules, and offer- 
 ing a very simple worship. In the time of Moses, circum- 
 stances change, and the whole ecclesiastical arrangements 
 of his people change with thecn. We have the church and 
 the state not merely united, but absolutely identified, — 
 governed by very pecuFiar rules and usages, which were 
 evidently not only temporary, but from their very nature, 
 limited and local. In the days of Joshua, the church, 
 which was before a moving state, takes the new character 
 of an invading army; and military rules, military customs, 
 and military movements, very seriously affect and modify all 
 the arrangements of the government and worship of the 
 church- of God. The whole Levitical system, planned and 
 minutely described by Jehovah himself, was local and tem- 
 porary, — confined necessarily to one small nation, occupy- 
 ing a spot scarcely discernible on the map of the world, 
 and limited by the very termination, which God himself 
 intended for it, to a few hundred years. 
 
 If the reader should say that there were peculiar reasons, 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CflURCE AND CHRISTIAN UNION. I9d 
 
 Time of the Savior. His ecclesiastical polity. 
 
 arising out of the circumstances of the occasion, why a 
 local and a temporary ecclesiastical arrangement should be 
 made for the Jews, he would be doubtless correct, and 
 would come to what is, unquestionably, the true principle, 
 viz. that in respect to ecclesiastical forms, it always has 
 been God's design, to regard the circumstances of the case, 
 in the regulation of them. With the view, which we are 
 prone to entertain, we should have placed church govern- 
 ment and the forms of worship, on. a fixed and permanent 
 basis, at the very beginning, — -making the system go on 
 unchanged from generation to • generation,— pursuing its 
 steady and unalterable way over monarchies and republics, 
 in civilized and savage life, still the same in every age^ 
 and among all nations, languages, arid realms. But God 
 in the most systematic, and formal,' and minutely detailed 
 ecclesiastical arrangement which he ever made, only in- 
 tended it for one single province, ^nd for a few centuries; 
 and in effect, he swept it all away himself, by a foreign 
 invasion, long before the time arrived which was appointed 
 • for its close. . • 
 
 We will not stop to notice, how different the state of the 
 church of God must have been in the time of the captivity, 
 — nor the changes which took place on the return, when 
 the introduction of the synagogue modified the whole plan 
 of public worship. We pass on to the Savior's day, wben 
 the constitution of the church was totally different from 
 what it ever was before, or has been since. It may be 
 given thus. 
 
 1. Twelve apostles. 
 
 2. Seventy itinerant ministers, travelling two and two. 
 
 3. One treasurer. 
 
 4. No local churches. 
 
 5. Meetings in the open air. 
 
 6. Ministry supported by the voluntary contributions and 
 hospitality of its friends. 
 
 7. Funds of the ministry in common. 
 
 8. No lay organization whatever. 
 
200 THE WAY TO. DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Ecclesiastical polity of the apostles. 
 
 And even these arrangements seem not to have been 
 made as the result of any settled plan; measures were 
 adopted to suit emergencies, and the above was the result. 
 If Jesus Christ had entertained the views which are very 
 common now in every denomination of Christians, one of 
 the first things which would have attracted his attention, 
 would have been the work of settling the constitution of 
 the Christian church The forms of government, disci- 
 pline, and worship, would have been fixed and minutely 
 described, for the guidance of his followers, in all future 
 time. But he could not have entertained such views; for 
 he took a totally different course. He adopted, for the 
 A^ime being, such measures as suited his own purposes,— 
 which were as peculiar as the circumstances in which he 
 was placed ; and when he left the world, and the circum- 
 stances under which he acted were changed, the whole 
 ecclesiastical polity, which was founded on them, was 
 changed too. 
 
 For after the lapse of a very few years from the death 
 of Christ, the reader of the New Testament finds himself 
 surrounded by quite a different system of religious institu- 
 tions. We have then, 
 
 1 . A ministry, sometimes itinerant and sometimes sta- 
 tionary. 
 
 2. Seven deacons, 
 
 3. Local churches. 
 
 4. Somewhat regular ordination. 
 
 5. Ecclesiastical councils. 
 
 6. An enumeration of four or five different officers, not 
 including deacons, viz. apostles, prophets, evangelists, 
 pastors and teachers.* 
 
 7. In some sense, and to some extent, not however very 
 distinctly defined, a community of goods. 
 
 * Ephesians 4: 11. " And he (i. e. Christ) gave some apostles; and some 
 prophets; and some evangelists; and some pastors and teachers, for th« per* 
 fecting of the saints, &c. 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 201 
 
 Apostolic arrangements provisional. 
 
 We will not follow the history of God's people any far- 
 ther, to show that the forms of their organization have been 
 continually changing since then, for the reader might insist 
 that all subsequent changes, have been unauthorized and 
 wrong. But, after looking at the facts which we have just 
 stated, no one can deny that so long as God himself, exer- 
 cised a direct control over the external arrangements made 
 by his people, he changed them continually, according to 
 the exigencies of the times. And this seems to show that 
 while he may attach great importance to organized combi- 
 nation itself, he must regard the particular mode, by which 
 it is to be effected, as of secondary and subordinate account. 
 
 II. The forms which are introduced at the close of the 
 scripture history, grew out of usages incidentally introduc- 
 ed, from time to time. They were not adopted as a system 
 deliberately arranged and established, once for all. 
 
 It is remarkable how entirely provisional, as statesmen 
 term it, were all the ecclesiastical arrangements, made by 
 the apostles. That is, the most important parts of their 
 system, were introduced in succession, — on emergencies, — 
 to answer particular and often temporary purposes, instead 
 of having been framed as a whole, with a general view to 
 the permanent and universal wants of the church. The dis- 
 ciples did not come together after the ascension, as we, in 
 modern times, should very probably have done, to form a con- 
 stitution for the church, wisely framed and adjusted, to cov- 
 er the whole ground. No. They went to their work at once, 
 giving their whole souls to the preaching of the gospel; 
 and, as from time to time emergencies arose, requiring new 
 arrangements, they met the cases as they occurred. For 
 example, they did not make a general rule, that all impor- 
 tant appointments should be made by election, and provide, 
 by rule, for the contingency of two prominent candidates, 
 in such elections. But when they came together, to fill 
 
202 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Ordinations. The general council. 
 
 Judas's place, they concluded, in that case, to elect, and 
 when they found, that there were two principal candidates, 
 they concluded, in that case, to decide by lot. Did they 
 intend this to be a precedent, to govern the mode of Chris- 
 tian elections in all coming time ? 
 
 After awhile, an emergency occurred, requiring aid for 
 the apostles in a certain business, altogether peculiar to 
 that age and country, and they determined to appoint seven 
 deacons, with special reference to that emergency. So 
 the rules of ordination were not adopted as general rules; 
 but when the churches wished to send Paul and Barnabas 
 on a foreign mission, they ordained them to that work;* and 
 when Paul left Titus in Crete, he gave him, Titus, direc- 
 tions about ordaining elders in that particular island, Crete. 
 On one occasion a question arose, which it seemed difficult 
 to settle, and a 'general consultation was agreed upon. 
 This formed the first council. It was called, not as the 
 first regular meeting of a body organized as a model for all 
 coming times, but as a special assembly, resorted to for a 
 temporary and single emergency. It will be found by 
 reading the book of the Acts, that all the ecclesiastical ar- 
 rangements of the Apostles, were made in this way; they 
 were not adopted at once, as a whole; they were not the 
 results of a deliberate plan to frame a system for them- 
 selves and posterity ; they were provisional, temporary 
 arrangements, resorted to successively, at distant intervals 
 of time, to aid them in existing emergencies, and to remove 
 difficulties as they occurred. This does not, indeed, prove 
 that we have nothing, in these days, to do with the example 
 of the early Christians, but it does prove, most certainly, 
 that they entertained views very different from those which 
 often prevail in this age of the world, in respect to the 
 nature and province of ecclesiastical forms. 
 
 * We shall hereafter see that they had both been regular and acknowledg- 
 ed ministers sometime before this ordination. 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 203 
 
 Description of usages. Levitical law. Fourth commandment. 
 
 III. The description of these usages is very indistinct 
 and incomplete. 
 
 The knowledge we gain of them, is not given in any 
 formal and methodical description, but in incidental allu- 
 sions, scattered through the Acts and the Epistles. This 
 is indicative of the degree of importance attached to them 
 by the sacred writers. Contrast it with the methodical and 
 systematic manner, in which the various subjects connected 
 with religious truth, are exhibited in the Epistle to the 
 Romans, or that in which practical duty in all the relations 
 of life, is drawn out and enforced in other epistles; and 
 this, loo, when it must be admitted by common consent, 
 that forms of government, more than any thing else, if in- 
 tended to be binding, must be precise, and minute, and 
 exact in all their specifications. God has himself given us 
 one example of this, in the statutes relating to ecclesia:stical 
 government and niodes of worship among the Jews. There 
 is a model. The Holy Spirit, in dictating the books of 
 Leviticus and Deuteronomy, recognized the necessity of 
 being minute, and particular, and specific in the extreme, 
 in a record of forms, which were intended to be binding 
 even upon one nation, and for a limited time. ' But, when 
 at length, these forms came to be abrogated,- and a spiritu- 
 al religion came to take their place, we have, instead of the 
 methodical and well digested system clearly described, — 
 only incidental allusions to the practice of individuals, in 
 the peculiar emergencies in which they were placed. 
 
 There is the institution of the Sabbath too, which, in 
 respect to the distinctness with which its enactment and 
 observance is announced, shows us how specific and direct 
 God's commands are, when they enjoin external observ- 
 ances, on which he really lays a stress. Announced in 
 general terms as universally binding, at the creation, and 
 then, — as soon as the state of society made written records 
 of value, — placed upon stone, in language definite and 
 
204 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Not strictly observed. Ordination. 
 
 exact, almost to legal technicality, it stands a model of 
 legislative precision. Read the fourth commandment, and 
 then collect together and read, all that is said of the mode 
 of Christian ordination, or the orders of the ministry, and 
 note the contrast. 
 
 We do not here say how far this ought to influence us, 
 but, certainly, no candid man can deny that it is worthy of 
 consideration, and should seriously affect, to some degree, 
 at least, our views of the proper place of forms in the 
 Christian system. • 
 
 IV. The apostles were not strict and uniform in the ob- 
 servance of these usages. 
 
 We might show this at length, if time and space would 
 allow, by going into a full examination of the ecclesiastical 
 arrangements of the early church, and showing, in detail, 
 how changeable and fluctuating they were. It will, how- 
 ever, be sufficient to take a specimen, especially if we take 
 some one so conspicuous and important in its character, 
 that we may safely reason from that to the others. 
 
 There is, for example, ordination: for we might expect 
 that if punctilious uniformity were to be insisted on, in any 
 ecclesiastical forms, it would be in the mode of mduction to 
 the sacred office. And we find accordingly, that a very 
 prominent and important place is assigned to this rite, in 
 our discussions at the present day. We select it, however, 
 here, not with any reference to these discussions, but only 
 as a conspicuous and proper specimen of the whole class 
 of ceremonial observances to which it belongs. 
 
 In the first place, we may safely infer a great deal, in 
 respect to the importance attached to the mere mode of 
 induction to the sacred office, from the manner in which 
 the whole subject of the ordination of the twelve apostles 
 is dismissed, with the words, "And he ordained twelve." 
 Just think of the occasion, — think of the men, their nura- 
 
Cb. 7.J THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 205 
 
 Ordination of the twelve : of Paul, 
 
 ber, the position they occupied, conspicuous and important 
 beyond all others, — and then consider, how imposing and 
 solemn would have been the ceremony, and how detailed a 
 description would have been given of it, if the views and 
 feelings of modern times, on such a subject, had been en- 
 tertained by our Savior. Instead of this, it is simply said, 
 '* And he ordained twelve;" language, which, according to 
 the opinion of the ablest commentators, means only that he 
 appointed them, set them apart, without at all implying any 
 ceremonial observance whatever, in inducting them into 
 office. 
 
 In the succeeding portions of the New Testament, the 
 ordaining of the apostles and preachers, who were succes- 
 sively added to the original number, is very seldom alluded 
 to. Contrast this with the prominence given to the time 
 and the place, and all the circumstances of the ordination 
 of a Christian minister, in modern biography. The promi*- 
 nence given to this solemnity in modern times, we do not 
 complain of as at all too great, A distinct and special 
 preparation, a formal examination, and an induction into 
 office, by appropriate ceremonies, are altogether more 
 necessary, to guard against improper admissions to it now, 
 in a community where all are professedly Christian, than 
 they were in apostolic days, when a simple desire to preach 
 the gospel, was almost, of itself, proof of competence and 
 honesty. The various ceremonial observances, by which 
 diffisrent denominations have, in modern times, guarded the 
 e/itrances to the gospel ministry, are thus highly necessa- 
 ry, but we ought to understand, that the necessity arises 
 out of the circumstances of modern times, and not out of 
 any binding obligation in favor of the precise forms, which 
 we respectively adopt, arising from apostolic practices. 
 
 There is much light thrown upon this subject, by the 
 
 case of the Apostle Paul. He seems not to have been 
 
 ordained at all upon his lirst entrance into the ministry. 
 
 Immediately upon his conversion, he went, at once, to 
 
 18 
 
206 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Cll. 7. 
 
 Ceremony waived, and why. 
 
 preaching the Gospel at Damascus, and it was three years 
 before he had opportunity even *'to confer with flesh and 
 blood," as he terms it, referring to the other apostles, from 
 whom, according to our theories, he could alone have de- 
 rived any proper authority to preach. 
 
 But, the reader will say, that, as Paul had an interview 
 with the Savior himself, he derived his authority directly 
 from him, and that there was no need of ordination in his 
 case. This is undoubtedly true, and it shows at once, 
 without farther reasoning, exactly in what light the Founder 
 of Christianity regards forms ; as important indeed, but 
 important as a means, not as an end. For here, where the 
 spiritual title was so sure, the Savior was content to waive 
 the ceremony. If now he had intended to enforce upon all 
 succeeding times, the indispensable necessity of any partic- 
 ular ceremonial conditions of induction into the ministry, 
 what an admirable occasion offered itself, in the case of 
 Paul, to show this, and to teach the lesson to all future 
 ages. Instead of authorizing him, at once, to preach the 
 gospel, suppose he had enjoined him to wait until he should 
 return to Jerusalem, and there be regularly inducted into 
 office, according to the principles of ordination which had 
 been established for the church. This would have been, 
 according to the known practice of our Savior, in all cases 
 of forms, really binding. The parents of the Savior, under 
 divine direction, took him to the temple, when he was eight 
 years old, and conformed exactly to all the Mosaic cere- 
 monies of circumcision and sacrifice. Those ceremonial 
 laws were then in force, and the exalted dignity of the 
 Savior was made no plea of exemption. When he cured 
 the leper, he said to him,* " Go show thyself to the priest, 
 and offer for thy cleansing according as Moses commanded, 
 for a testimony unto them." What! shall the man whom 
 Jesus Christ had cleansed, find it necessary to go and 
 secure a ceremonial purification, according to the law of 
 
 * Luke 5 : 14. 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 207 
 
 Paul not ordained by Ananias. 
 
 Moses? Yes. And why? That he might show that the 
 Son of God, exalted in rank and character as he is, will 
 give the sanction of his example, to conformity with even 
 ceremonial law, when he comes within its jurisdiction. On 
 this principle, he attended worship at the synagogues, he 
 paid his taxes, he ate the passover, and his whole story 
 shows that he would have been the last to have dispensed, 
 on such an occasion as this, with any of the forms which 
 he had really established as essential modes of regulation 
 for the Christian church. 
 
 Perhaps the reader may maintain, in order to avoid the 
 force of the foregoing reasoning, that Paul's interview with 
 Ananias, when the latter laid his hands upon him, immedi- 
 ately after his conversion, was his ordination to the work 
 of the ministry. The account is given in the 9th chapter 
 of the Acts, — but it is expressly stated, that the object of 
 this laying on of hands, was not to induct him into the 
 ministry, but that he might receive his sight. And then, 
 besides, the ceremony was actually before his baptism. 
 Can any contender for regularity in forms suppose, that 
 Paul was ordained a minister of the gospel before he was 
 baptized? 
 
 Besides, Paul was long after ordained, when he was 
 sent forth as a missionary with Barnabas at Antioch, as 
 recorded. Acts 13 : 2, 3. " The Holy Ghost said. Separate 
 me Barnabas and Saul, for the work whereunto I have 
 called them. And when they had fasted and prayed, and 
 laid their hands on them, they sent them away." This, it 
 must be observed, was after both of them had been for a 
 long time most active and efficient preachers of the gospel, 
 of universally acknowledged authority. With the views so 
 often entertained in modern times, respecting ordination in 
 a prescribed mode, as the only proper induction to the 
 duties of the Christian ministry, how can this case be 
 explained ? 
 
 The case of Apollos, too, is remarkable. He was bora 
 
208 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 ApoUos. The ceremony of ordination, a specimen. 
 
 in Alexandria, and carae to Ephesus, preaching repentance 
 and a coming Savior. EloqueDt and mighty in the Scrip- 
 tures, his preaching had great power, but so far from hav- 
 ing been regularly ordained by the apostles, — "he knew 
 only the baptism of John.^* While, however, he was thus 
 preaching all that he had learned of the truth, Aquila and 
 Priscilla met with him. And what did they do? Did they 
 remonstrate with him, for pretending to preach without 
 apostolic ordination .'' Did they remonstrate, — did they 
 try to silence him? No. They took him unto them, and 
 *' expounded the way ot Grod more perfectly," and then 
 bid him go on. They gave him letters of introduction to 
 the churches in Achaia, exhorting the disciples to receive 
 him.* And in the same manner, we shall find in regard to 
 a lar^^e proportion of the early preachers, that there is no 
 record or account of their ordination as ministers of the 
 gospel, whatever. Whereas, if it had been intended that 
 the church should, in all coming times, comply with certain 
 conditions of ordination, as essential to the proper exercise 
 of the duties of the Christian ministry, there certainly 
 would have been good care taken, to show that they were 
 complied with then. 
 
 We have taken the ceremony of ordination, only, as a 
 conspicuous specimen. Almost any of the other forms 
 cormected with the organization of the church, might have 
 been taken just as well. And, let me repeat here, that 
 these considerations do not at all go to the undermining or 
 disturbing the regular ordinances of the Christian church, 
 as now administered, by the various denominations of our 
 day. These views, if we adopt them, will not diminish 
 our attachment to the forms of our own church, for the 
 regular and appropriate administration of its government; 
 they will only lead us to cease to look with jealousy and 
 distrust upon the forms and principles adopted by other 
 denominations, varying somewhat from ours. 
 
 • See the whole account, in the close of the 18th chapter of the Act9. 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHtJRCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 209 
 
 Apostolic practice oot infallible. 
 
 V. The present authority of these usages, rests only on 
 the mere practice of good men in early times, which is 
 nowhere in the Scriptures made binding. 
 
 It is evident, that Apostolic practice was not always un- 
 der divine direction, and, if we attempt to make it an infal- 
 lible guide, we have no positive means of knowing when 
 it was, and when it was not. In some cases, it is distinct- 
 ly stated that the conduct of the Apostles was directed by 
 the Holy Spirit. For instance, in the case of sending Paul 
 and Barnabas on their first mission, *' The Holy Ghost said. 
 Separate me Barnabas and Saul," &c. And so in another 
 case; "They assayed to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit 
 suffered them not.^^ The interference of a divine influence, 
 seems to be mentioned in these cases, as special, — extra- 
 ordinary. At any rate, we know perfectly well, that in 
 many of the acts of their administration, these holy men 
 were not under divine guidance. Of this, the case of 
 contention, which occurred between Barnabas and Saul, is 
 a melancholy proof The question in that case, was, it is 
 true, only a question of private, individual action; but then 
 there were other cases, where the apostles were evidently 
 left to their own judgment and discretion, in regard to the 
 most important measures of the church. The case describ- 
 ed in Galatians 2: 11 — 13.* is a very striking one of this 
 sort. The question related to the course which should be 
 taken with the Gentile converts, in regard to the obliga- 
 tions of the old Jewish law. It involved the vital subject of 
 the connection between the old dispensation and the new, 
 and the manner in which the latter should be ingrafted 
 upon the former. There could scarcely be named a sub- 
 
 * But when Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, be- 
 cause he was to be blamed. For before that certain came from Jame^, he 
 did eat with the Gentiles: but when they were come, he withdrew, and sepa- 
 rated himself, fearing them which were of the circumcision. And the other 
 Jews dissembled likewise with hvm; insomuch that Barnabas, also, was car- 
 ried away with their dissimulation. 
 
 18* 
 
^10 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7 
 
 Distinction between writings and acts. 
 
 ject, connected with the external forms of Christianity, 
 more fundamental than this. Yet Peter, Peter himself, the 
 very apostle to whom the gospel of circumcision was spe- 
 cially committed,* was left to err in regard to it, and to 
 take an altogether wrong course. His error led Barnabas 
 astray, and Paul comes in and sharply reproves him before 
 them all. With such a case as this, on record, we certain- 
 ly cannot maintain the infallibility of apostolic practice. 
 
 We ought to make a clear distinction between the truths, 
 which sacred writers have recorded, and the actions, which 
 they performed. This distinction is not always made. We 
 confound the inspiration of the writings, contained in the 
 Scriptures, with the inspiration of the conduct, of those who 
 penned them. Now it is tlie Scriptures, that is, the written 
 records of truth, which are our only rule of faith and prac- 
 tice. The actual ineasures adopted in those days, are total- 
 ly distinct, and it is, we believe, nowhere claimed by the 
 sacred writers, that their actions, (whether in their private 
 conduct, or in their administration of the affairs of the 
 church,) are an infallible guide for us. In fact, if we read 
 the New Testament attentively, with a view to this point, 
 we shall be satisfied that the Apostles, in their administra- 
 tion of the church, acted for themselves, and for their own 
 times, not expecting that their conduct would be regarded 
 as a binding precedent for all future ages. In their record, 
 whether of historical events, or of revealed religious truth, 
 they were infallibly guided; but in their actions, they were 
 left to their own judgment and discretion, — subject, of 
 course, to the influence of such general principles and 
 truths, as had been revealed to them. Consequently, they 
 went on, acting as occasion demanded ; adopting such 
 plans and measures, or applying such remedies as were 
 called for, by the peculiar emergencies in which they were 
 placed. Sometimes they were right, sometimes they were 
 wrong, — sometimes they were checked in their proposed 
 ♦ Gal. 2 : 7. 
 
Cll. 7.] THE CHTjRCH and CHRISTIAN UJVION. 2t 1 
 
 Apostolic example of great value. 
 
 measures by a special interference of the Holy Spirit, 
 sometimes they disagreed and even contended; and if we 
 attempt to give to any of their measures the authority of a 
 precedent, binding upon the church in all ages, we cannot 
 possibly draw a line between what is thus authoritative, and 
 what is not. 
 
 Still, we must not go to the other extreme, and disregard 
 the examples they have set us. The practices and usages 
 of the early Christians constitute the very best model, no 
 doubt, for us to study and to imitate. They enjoyed the 
 most favorable opportunities of knowing what would be 
 agreeable to the will of their Master, and their hearts were 
 warm with a devotedness to his cause, which must have 
 led them to do his will, in the most strict and faithful man- 
 ner. We ought therefore, to study their acts, and imitate 
 the principles by which they were guided. But when we 
 attempt to extend to their conduct, the infallibility which 
 belongs only to their writings, — when we give to their 
 measures and administration, an authority to bind all suc- 
 ceeding times, we insist upon what they never claimed for 
 themselves, and what cannot, in theory, be supported, in the 
 case of any scripture character whatever. Noah, David, 
 Solomon, Daniel, Paul, Peter, and John, give abundant 
 evidence that they were inspired as penmen alone. 
 
 The disposition thus to exalt the measures and adminis- 
 tration adopted by the apostles, into precedents as binding 
 upon our forms of organization, as their writings are upon 
 our belief and moral conduct, — though it is thus utterly 
 baseless and defenceless in theory ,-i-steals insensibly over 
 our minds, and exerts a powerful influfenee. In fact, we 
 could not attach infallibility to apostolic practice as an 
 avowed theory. Such a doctrine could not be maintained 
 for an hour; but it insensibly creeps into our minds, and 
 we find ourselves tacitly admitting, and silently acting upon 
 that, which, as a distinctly stated proposition, we should 
 immediately reject. I repeat it, that apostolic example is 
 
212 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Scripture system incomplete. 
 
 of immense value and importance to us,- — but it is not 
 authoritative precedent, so that we are to reduce it to 
 system, and force it upon every company of Christians on 
 the globe, upon pain of excommunication. And yet this 
 is the true secret of the divisions and jealousies, which 
 prevail in the Christian world. The incidental, scattered, 
 and imperfect allusions, which the Apostles made, to the 
 measures they thought called for in their days, in which 
 there is no evidence whatever, that they were infallibly 
 guided, and which they probably never thought would be 
 looked back upon as infallible precedents, — these allusions 
 we search out and bring together, — we build up a great 
 deal of meaning upon expressions very brief and few, and 
 we mingle with the natural import of the record, the re- 
 collections and associations with which our own peculiar 
 religious history has stored our minds, — and the compli- 
 cated system which we thus fopm, we insist, is essential to 
 Christianity. 
 
 VI. The most complete system which can be drawn 
 from these records of early practice, is not at all sufficient 
 for the present wants of the Church. 
 
 This is admitted by the fact, that every denomination in 
 Christendom, has found it necessary in practice to eke out 
 the scripture system by their own additions. If any very 
 great stress had been laid upon the precise form of organi- 
 zation, under which the church was to exist in all ages, we 
 should have expected that a complete and sufficient system 
 would have been detailed, or at least exemplified, in the 
 primitive model. Instead of this, the practice of every 
 denomination in Christendom admits, that after all that the 
 most persevering ingenuity can draw from the Scriptures, 
 has been obtained, there must be many human additions to 
 the edifice, to give it completion. The Congregationalist 
 finds no authority in the Scriptures for his examining com- 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 213 
 
 Congregational additions ; — episcopal. 
 
 mittee, nor for his articles of faith, nor for his system of 
 licensing preachers, nor for his election of a pastor by 
 concurrence of church and society, nor for his associations, 
 or his consociations, or his conferences. And yet these 
 things may all be right, — they are the best modes which 
 he can devise for accomplishing very important purposes, 
 and for which the directions as to forms, left us in the New 
 Testament, make no provision. And how can we account 
 for their not having been provided for, if the precise reg- 
 ulation of forms had been considered by the sacred writers 
 an object of very special importance. 
 
 The Episcopalian, too, is in the same case. He can find 
 no authority or precedent in the Scriptures, and so far as 
 we know, he pretends to find none, for his rite of confirma- 
 tion, his consecration of buildings and grounds, his church 
 wardens, his vestry, his liturgy, his saints' days, his arch- 
 bishops, and lords primate, in one country, and his gen- 
 eral conventions in another. We do not find fault with 
 these arrangements, on account of there being no scripture 
 authority for them. Though they are all human institu- 
 tions and arrangements, they are very admirably adapted, 
 most of them, to the purposes intended. And as the Holy 
 Spirit allowed the Bible to be brought to a close, without 
 giving any directions in regard to the very important objects 
 which they aim at securing, the church is necessarily left 
 to frame institutions for itself, to cover this ground. Every 
 denomination has virtually acknowledged this, by resorting 
 to plans and measures for which nothing like a prototype 
 can be found in early ages. In fact, we are all compelled 
 to do this, for many of the most immediate and imperious 
 wants of the church, in respect to its government and dis- 
 cipline, seem to be lefl; without any provision for them. If 
 the sacred writers had felt that the precise mode in which 
 Christianity is embodied in organized forms was of as much 
 importance as we are often inclined to suppose, and if they 
 had intended to frame a system for this purpose, and hand 
 
214 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Cll. 7. 
 
 The most essential points unprovided for. 
 
 it down as a model for all posterity, is it conceivable that 
 they would have made no provision for the mode of support- 
 ing the gospel, or any of the temporalities of the church, — 
 nor for the mode of electing or appointing pastors, nor for 
 the examination of candidates, nor for the admission of 
 members, nor for the trial and deposition of false teachers, 
 nor for the management of missionary operations, nor for 
 the erection and control of houses for public worship? In 
 the Jewish law, points analogous to these, were most mi- 
 nutely and fully provided for, by ample specifications, for 
 iherCy it was the intention to prescribe a form. 
 
 The reader may, perhaps, endeavor to avoid the conclu- 
 sion to which these undeniable facts would lead him, by 
 saying that r.U essential arrangements are made, and that 
 it is things of secondary importance only, which are left to 
 human discretion. This is, however, not so. Some of the 
 particulars enumerated above, are of the very first impor- 
 tance, and provision for them is wholly omitted. Others, 
 of very far less importance are prescribed. Compare, for 
 instance, the mode of baptism, whether by sprinkling or 
 immersion, with the mode of examining candidates for ad- 
 mission into the church, or the mode of choosing pastors, 
 or collecting the support of the ministry. While we admit 
 that the former, once prescribed, brings with it the most 
 imperious obligation to conform to the prescription, yet 
 certainly no one would imagine that that would be the 
 thing selected as the one to be minutely fixed, while the 
 others-were to be left without any regulation. So that it is 
 not the most important things which will be found on ex- 
 amination, that modern Christians maintain to have been 
 enjoined. 
 
 Besides, we do not now make in practice, any such dis- 
 tinction, between what was originally required by the Apos- 
 tles, and the human additions which have since been made. 
 We put the human and the divine parts of the building 
 together, and make one system which we insist upon as a 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 215 
 
 Possible perversion of these views. 
 
 whole. The use of liturgy is insisted upon as firmly, and 
 considered as essential a condition of ministerial connec- 
 tion with the Episcopal church, as valid ordination. At 
 least, according to the theory, no person can be a member 
 of the true church of Christ, without adopting the one, as 
 well as admitting the authority of the other, and the Cath- 
 olic is not less tenacious, to say the least, of homage to the 
 host, than of the observance of the Sabbath-day. 
 
 Though we cannot but be fully satisfied of the truth of 
 these views, we are aware that, like all other truths, they 
 are liable to be perverted through the almost incurable pro- 
 pensities of many minds, to run off into extremes. The 
 considerations which we have adduced, show conclusively, 
 that the precise forms and modes of administering ecclesi- 
 astical government are not prescribed, — hence, some per- 
 sons will go by one of those leaps of ratiocination to which 
 a crazy intellect is fully adequate, to the conclusion that all 
 ceremony is unscriptural, and all steady forms of govern- 
 ment and discipline, useless trammels upon spiritual free- 
 dom. And perhaps some may gravely insist, that they 
 cannot perceive the distinction, between giving up the 
 necessity of regular organization altogether, and denying 
 that the precise forms under which it is to be eflTected, are 
 minutely prescribed. And yet there is the marriage rela- 
 tion to furnish us with a striking and clear illustration of it. 
 The necessity of a ceremony so arranged as to make sure 
 the important points, such as the deliberate, settled inten- 
 tion of the parties, the voluntariness of it on both sides, 
 and public opportunity for the presentation of valid objec- 
 tions, is admitted every where. The principles enjoined in 
 the Word of God, virtually require this, and the practice 
 of all Christian states recognise it. And yet, while this 
 necessity is almost every where recognised, acknowledged, 
 and acted upon, and these points almost every where 
 secured, how endlessly various are the modes of securing 
 them. Now these variations are of no great consequence, 
 
216 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 The marriage ceremony. 
 
 provided that the points are secured. It is, for example, of 
 not very material consequence whether the intention of mar- 
 riage is made public by the voice of the town clerk, or by a 
 posted notice on the church door, or by the publishing of 
 the banns in an interval of the service, or by advertising in 
 a newspaper, — provided that it is made public in some way 
 or other; and provided, that some regular and prescribed 
 form, is adopted in every community for securing it. One 
 uniform mode for all nations and ages is not prescribed in 
 the gospel, — but each nation and age is left to choose its 
 own. It by no means follows from this, however, that any 
 nation or age, is at liberty to abandon marriage ceremonies 
 altogether. There is an obligation to take some proper 
 ceremonial measures for securing certain essential points, 
 but no obligation in respect to the precise form of the meas- 
 ures themselves. 
 
 In the same manner, the principles of the gospel require 
 that the church should in all ages, make suitable ceremo- 
 nial arrangements for the proper examination of candidates 
 for admission to the church, and for the deliberate and 
 solemn induction of pastors to the sacred office, and for the 
 regular and orderly support of the Christian ministry; but 
 while the obligation to see that some proper provision for 
 Licse points is made, is imperious, there seems to be no 
 authoritative precedent as to the precisa form they shall 
 assume. Thus, in respect to the candidate for admission 
 to the communion of the church, the various branches of 
 the church have made very different provisions. There is 
 the Methodist class leader In one case, the Episcopal bish- 
 op with the right of confirmation in another, and the Con- 
 gregational examining committee, and the Presbyterian 
 session; all good and sufficient, but no scripture authority 
 for any one of them. There are scripture principles re- 
 quiring some one or other of them, or something equiva- 
 lent, to guard the Christian church from universal corrup- 
 tion, — but there is no scripture precepts, specifying either 
 
Cl^. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 217 
 
 Rite of confirmation. 
 
 of these modes or any other, as the precise mode, by which 
 these objects should be secured. It is, therefore, no valid 
 ground of objection to the Episcopal rite of confirmation, for 
 example, that the service was drawn up in the middle ages, — 
 a human contrivance of modern times. It is true that it was 
 80 drawn up; it is true that that service is a human contri- 
 vance of modern times,- — but it is^ contrivance to accom- 
 plish a purpose which the principles of Christiapity require 
 us to accomplish, viz. the deliberate, and cautious, and 
 solemn admission of members to the. communion of the 
 church,—- while they have left us no prescription of the 
 mode by which we should accomplish it; and we are con- 
 sequently left to frame a service of confirmation, or to 
 organize a church session, or appoint a committee, accord- 
 ing to the circumstances and character of our age or coun- 
 try, and our own best discretion. 
 
 These remarks are necessary to show, that throughout 
 the whole discussion contained in this chapter, nothing is 
 intended to be said to undervalue the importance of proper 
 and steady ceremonial regulations, in every branch of the 
 church. Without these, the objects which the general 
 principles of organization laid down in the gospel, require, 
 cannot be secured. And as we have already remarked, 
 the views exhibited in this chapter, will not, if we fully 
 adopt them, diminish our attachment to the ceremonies of 
 our own communion, nor weaken our conviction of the im- 
 portance of regular and steady arrangements for the gov- 
 ernment and worship of the church. They will only con- 
 vince us that it is only the general principles which the 
 New Testament presses; and that as one branch of the 
 church has, in the exercise of its own discretion, arranged 
 the details of its government and discipline with reference 
 to the wants of its own country and times, it ought not to 
 be jealous at the exercise of the same discretionary power 
 on the part of another. 
 19 
 
218 THE WAY TO DO GOOD, [Ch. 7. 
 
 Danger of one consolidated government. 
 
 VII. The union of Christians under any one consoli- 
 dated ecclesiastical government, must be highly dangerous, 
 if not fatal, to the cause of true piety. 
 
 Think of one great organization, ramifying into every 
 country, involving itself with the poHtical concerns of a 
 hundred governments, forming one great and united com- 
 munity, with its own rules and usages, and conditions of 
 admission, — and extending, even in the present state of 
 Christianity, over two continents. What avenues for am- 
 bition — what a field for political intrigue would such a 
 system present ! How impossible that the Author of the 
 sermon on the mount, could have contemplated such a 
 system for extending among mankind, the meek and hum- 
 ble virtues of the gospel. 
 
 But we are saved the necessity of speculating on the 
 probable consequences of such a plan, for we have had the 
 experiment. The church in the middle ages, exhibits to 
 us the scene ; clothed with power and splendor, — in herself 
 a continental empire, — she opened the highest and broad- 
 est field for human ambition, and was the great corrupter 
 and destroyer of souls. Christianity then felt the effects, 
 which such a system must inevitably bring. She shone 
 in courts, — she rode in splendid processions, ^she was a 
 party to every political quarrel, and oflen led her own 
 troops on to open war. She put her victims to the torture, 
 buried true piety in dungeons, and burnt the innocent at 
 the stake; while true devotedness to the real gospel of 
 Christ, fled from her presence and her power, and hid 
 itself in dens and caves of the earth, or escaped to the fast- 
 nesses of the mountains. These, too, were not accidental 
 and extraordinary effects. They were the natural results, 
 they might easily have been foreseen as the inevitable con- 
 sequences of presenting such a field to human ambition 
 and intrigue, as one ecclesiastical organization, extending 
 over fifty or a hundred nations, and governed by one cen- 
 tral power. 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 219 
 
 t Sanction of God's Spirit. 
 
 I VIII. God sanctions by the influences of his Holy 
 *■ Spirit, the existence and the operations of all those denom- 
 inations of Christians, whatever may be their forms, whose 
 faith and practice correspond with his Word. 
 
 This is evident from the success which has for the last 
 century attended the efforts of the several great branches 
 I of the church, differing widely as they do, in their modes 
 ■; of organization and worship. This arrangement, one 
 would think, must have some influence upon all those 
 who believe that the special influences of the Holy Spirit 
 are necessary to the success of any of our efforts to spread 
 the gospel. By giving triumphant success in so many 
 instances, to the preaching of the gospel, under Epis- 
 copalian, and Baptist, and Methodist, and Presbyterian, 
 and Congregational forms, does not the Holy Spirit sanc- 
 tion the organizations under which these several branches 
 of the church respectively act, at least, so far as to show, 
 that there is nothing in either, which excludes them from 
 being branches of the true church of Christ. If the suc- 
 cess of efforts to save souls was a result which human in- 
 strumentality could itself secure, unaided and alone, we 
 should not argue divine approbation from the mere fact, 
 , that God would not interfere to prevent success. But when 
 it is admitted that success cannot be obtained without the 
 special agency and co-operation of God, one would think 
 its attainment would prove that the organization under 
 which it is secured, could not be regarded by the Holy 
 Spirit as very radically wrong. We cannot suppose that 
 he would habitually appear to give his influences to sys- 
 tems of government and discipline opposed to the direc- 
 tions of Scripture, and whose prevalence could only tend 
 to undermine and destroy the true church of God. The 
 argument which Peter used, to prove that Gentiles, re- 
 maining such, might be admitted to the church of God, 
 was, that "God bears them witness, giving them the 
 
220 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 The result. Present state of the church. Cities ; villages. 
 
 Holy Ghost, even as he did unto us, and put no difference 
 between us and them, purifying their hearts by faith."* 
 This argument seems to be as good and as a|>plicable 
 now, as then. Whom the Holy Spirit acknowledges, we 
 ought not to disown. 
 
 Now, are not these considerations sufficient to show, at 
 least, that the degree of importance now commonly attach- 
 ed to the distinctive peculiarities of the various denomi- 
 nations 6f Christians, is greater than the real state of the 
 case will justify. We believe that they do, and that the 
 admission of this truth by the churches generally, affords 
 the only hope of the healing of our dissensions, which, 
 perhaps, more than all other causes combined, hinder the 
 progress of religion. The present state of things is cer- 
 tainly melancholy in the extreme. Each of the several 
 great denominations, considering its own peculiarities 
 essential to the character of a true church, the members 
 of one are suspicious and jealous of the others. They 
 must necessarily be sd, for thcy must regard all others as 
 schismatics. They muy, indeed; allow that many of the 
 members of other communions, as individuals, are good 
 men, but, as organized into ecclesiastical bodies, they 
 must deem them irregular and schismatical. Thus the 
 members of each denomination excommunicate the others, 
 and must do so as long as they maintain that their own 
 peculiarities, though not necessary to personal salvation, 
 are essential to the character of a true Church. There is, 
 accordingly, between these denominations, at the central 
 points, in great cities, suspicion, jealousy, mistrust, man- 
 oeuvring and counter manoeuvring. And the evil influence 
 spreads out to the remotest extremities, among the remote 
 and thinly peopled districts of the country. The evil is, in 
 fact, aggravated here, for all the Christian strength which 
 can be gathered from the thin and scattered population, is 
 only sufficient to sustain and carry forward the cause of 
 
 * Acta 15: 8, 9. 
 
If 
 
 Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. S21 
 
 The real difficulty. Permanence of it. 
 
 Christ, if united and at peace. But divided, and mutually 
 jealous and hostile, their moral power is destroyed, and the 
 community around them slumbers hopelessly in its sins. 
 
 And observe, that it is not the fact of division alone, 
 which makes the case so desperate. It is the circum- 
 stance, that each branch considers the others irregular and 
 spurious, so as to make it a matter of conscience to oppose 
 them. It is the fact, that each one is so sure that its own 
 peculiarities are essential to such an organization as will 
 be pleasing to the Savior, that it must utterly condemn all 
 others. This makes each one hopelessly rigid and tena- 
 cious of its position. It gives to party spirit^ a perverted 
 conscience for an ally, in the work of keeping up the walls 
 which separate them; and of all alliances, this is the most 
 obstinate and indissoluble. Even the outpouring of the 
 Spirit upon a Christian community thus situated, does not 
 remove the evil. For if men honestly believe that the 
 communion of Christians to which they do not belong, is not 
 organized on principles acceptable to Christ, they must 
 oppose it, — secretly or openly, they must, if they are faith- 
 ful, oppose it. And the more their hearts are stimulated 
 to interest and fidelity in the Savior's cause, the more 
 decided will be their hostility. They may suppress oi 
 conceal it, but it will still reign. It will keep its hold 
 in every denomination, notwithstanding all pretensions to 
 brotherly love, so long as the false idea is retained, that 
 Jesus Christ meant to prescribe all the peculiarities which 
 they respectively insist upon. While this idea remains, 
 there cannot even be a plea for union offered, by any one 
 who entertains it, which will amount to any thing more, in 
 fact, than a call upon the members of other denominations, 
 to come and join his own. 
 
 Such is the condition of the Christian church; while, 
 
 in the meantime, the world lies almost undisturbed in its 
 
 sins. Nature, however, in this, as in other diseases, 
 
 prompts to some struggles for relief These spontaneous 
 
 19* 
 
222 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch 7 
 
 The disease an intermittent. Hot fit and cold fit. 
 
 efforts are of two kinds, — first come contentions by argu- 
 ment, each party attempting to prove that its own forms 
 are according to the true apostolic model. An argument 
 from one quarter, arouses resistance and a counter argu- 
 ment from another; and all being equally in the wrong, in 
 claiming exclusive validity for their own modes, the result 
 of the contest depends upon theability of the leaders, or 
 the circumstances and prejudices of the minds they act 
 upon. Things remain, however, in general, very much 
 the same after the battle, as before;" -no extensive changes 
 of opinion result, though each one -clings, in Consequence 
 of the contest, more strongly to his own. At length, 
 wearied out with the unprofitable warfare, the parties sink 
 into a state of temporary repose. 
 
 This fruitless struggle being over, it is succeeded, per- 
 haps, after a short pause, by one of a different kind. A 
 fit of love and cO-operatioii comes on. Union in measures 
 and plans is proposed, ^^the parties each still thinking, 
 that its own chtlrch is the only true one. They agree, 
 however, to lay aside the discussion of the theory, and 
 see if they cannot act together; and they form a benev- 
 olent society, or arrange a union prayer meeting, or a 
 pubHc lecture in common. But while each portion of the 
 church considers its peculiarities essential, and all other 
 organizations schismatic, what kind of a union can this 
 be ? It is inevitable that each party will be watchful and 
 jealous. If they mean to take a high-minded and honor- 
 able course, they will be anxious and watchful, lest they 
 should themselves do something to offend their allies; and, 
 if on the other hand, they are narrow-minded, and envious^ 
 they will be on the watch, lest the others should do some- 
 thing unjust towards them. The very nature of the case 
 shows, what all experience confirms, that such alliances 
 between the denominations, while each one considers itself 
 the only true church, will always be of the nature, not of a 
 peace among friends,~but of a temporary and jealous truce 
 between foes. 
 
Ch. 7.] THE CHUltCH AND CHillSTIAN UNION. '103 
 
 The old texts. The only remedy for the evil. 
 
 Accordingly, after this has been tried a little while, the 
 lurking alienation creeps in again. The public lecture 
 etids in a general heart burning among the branches of the 
 church, instead of conviction among the impenitent; — the 
 great benevolent society resolves itself into its sectarian 
 elements; and the union prayer meeting, perhaps, breaks 
 up in an open explosion. 
 
 Then, perhaps, comes on another controversy, in which 
 the same old arguments, the same old texts, the same eld 
 quoting of precedents, and straining of words, and empha- 
 sising of particles, are brought forward^ against one an- 
 other for the thousandth time, to prove what never can 
 be proved. Thus the disease alternates. It is an inter- 
 mittent. There is the cold stage and the hot stage; — the 
 chilly fit of controversy, and the fever fit of forced and 
 pretended love. In the meantime, the church moans in 
 increasing weakness and suffering, and sin and Satan 
 rejoice that an enemy which they could not have conquer- 
 ed in battle, is conquered for them by a pestilential and 
 destructive disease. 
 
 What remedy now can there possibly be for these evils, 
 but for Christians to cease to attach such importance to 
 the differences of form which separate them? Is it not 
 plain that it is this overrated importance which each deno- 
 mination attaches to its own forms of organization, or to 
 its own-modes of performing the ceremonies of Christian- 
 ity, that constitutes the repellancy between the branches,- — 
 is it not plain, too, that it is this refusal to acknowledge one 
 another, and not simply the division, which makes the 
 trouble.'* For if this spirit of hostility and exclusion were 
 removed, the obstacle to coalescence would be removed; 
 and though the present great denominations might remain, 
 they would live together as sister branches, and individual 
 Christians would consider it of comparatively little impor- 
 tance to which they might belong. The man whose mind 
 is so constituted, that his devotion is -aided by forms of 
 
224 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch 7. 
 
 Prospect of a change. 
 
 prayer, would not be jealous of his neighbor, because he 
 preferred an extemporaneous petition ; and a devoted ser- 
 vant of Jesus Christ, going to reside among an ignorant 
 and vicious population, might perhaps hesitate whether a 
 Methodist or a Congregational mode of government, would 
 afford him greatest facilities for the successful prosecution 
 of his Master's work. Thus each grand division of the 
 church would wish well to the others, considering them all 
 as branches of the true church of Christ. This they never 
 can do now, for notwithstanding all attempts at union, and 
 all pretended love, it is plain that one branch can never 
 really wish well to another, while they consider it only an 
 irregular association of good men; pious, but deceived; 
 and hanging like an excrescence and a burden, about the 
 true church of Christ. 
 
 Thus the giving up the essential importance of any 
 particular modes of church government and worship, would 
 produce a right state of feeling among the great denomina- 
 tions of Christians. The members of each would undoubt- 
 edly feel a special interest, as they ought to do, in the 
 prosperity of their own branch of the church, but the bit- 
 terness of dissension would all disappear. The simple ad- 
 mission of the other xienominations to the rank of sister 
 branches of the true church, would change the whole 
 aspect of their relations to one another. Where the 
 population was large and dense, the taste and habits of 
 diflerent classes might be accommodated by arrangements 
 suited to all; and where it was scattered and thin, the 
 question would simply be, which of several equally regular 
 branches of the church of Christ, shall we build up here; 
 and it seems as if it would be impossible to keep true 
 Christians from coming together, on such a question. 
 
 I am, however, far from being so sanguine, as to suppose 
 that any very sudden change is to take place in the church, 
 in respect to her internal dissensions. All that we can 
 now hope to do, is, to find the direction in which the path 
 
I Ch. 7.] THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 2^S 
 
 t , 
 
 f Summing up the case. 
 
 to future peace and happiness lies. This has been the 
 object of this chapter. 
 
 To sum up the case, then, in conclusion, if we wish to 
 do all we can towards giving the Christian church that 
 efficiency and moral power, which she is designed to exer- 
 cise, we must heal her divisions; and the first step towards 
 this, is to banish ^rom our own bosoms those suspicions 
 and jealousies which so often separate the several branches 
 of the great family. It is idle to hope that either of these 
 branches will ever conquer and swallow up the rest. A 
 struggle for this end, only thickens the walls, and strength- 
 ens the defences, and animates the hostility which sepa- 
 rates the contending parties. It is time for the church to 
 take a different ground, to take' those views of the place 
 and province of modes and forms, which is, most evidently, 
 when we come to consider the subject, every where taken 
 of them by the Holy Scriptures. We may cling to our 
 own institutions as strongly as we~ please, and zealously 
 endeavor to promote their prosperity. But when we reflect 
 how much there is that is confessedly human in the struc- 
 ture, let us cease attempting to compel all others to give 
 up their attachments for the sake of embracing ours. 
 
 We should show a great ignorance of human nature, 
 and of the state of opinion in the various branches of the 
 church, if we did not expect that the views advanced in 
 this chapter would meet with opposition. The best of men, 
 and the most devoted of Christians, who have long been 
 accustomed to look forward to a consolidation of the 
 church, and whose imaginations have painted in very glow- 
 ing colors, the magnificence and beauty, but have concealed 
 the fatal dangers of such a result, will shrink from the 
 doctrines which we have attempted to maintain. Others 
 will have lived too many years under the feeling of an 
 exclusive attachment to their own forms, to think for a 
 moment of admitting others to a theoretical equality, and 
 
^^26 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 7. 
 
 Spiritual integrity of the church. 
 
 they will consider the prevalence of these views as fatal to 
 the integrity of the Church. But the true church of Christ 
 is a spiritual edifice, — its integrity is a spiritual integ- 
 rity; and that integrity, these views, if admitted, will es- 
 tablish, not destroy. They will make the church one, as 
 Christ was one with his disciples, that is, in heart, and 
 feeling, and desires, — and not merely in the frail bonds of 
 official connection. We are convinced that the preva- 
 lence of these views affords the only hope of the pacifica- 
 tion of the Christian Church; and it is this conviction of 
 their vital importance as a means of enabling the Church 
 to accomplish the full work of doing good, which God has 
 assigned her, that has compelled us to introduce the dis- 
 cussion here. 
 
 We believe too, that the Church is already beginning 
 extensively to receive these views, and the effect which 
 we expect from this chapter, upon a vast majority of its 
 readers, is, not to teach any thing new, but to reduce to 
 form, and to establish views which they have long been 
 insensibly imbibing. Let us extend them, and the pacifi- 
 cation of the Church is accomplished for ever. They can 
 be extended without disturbing the plans or the progress 
 of any branch of the church of Christ. They will go from 
 heart to heart, from closet to closet, and from prayer meet 
 ing to prayer meeting, and it will not be long before their 
 fruits will be seen in the establishment of a friendly inter- 
 course between all the branches of the great family of the 
 Savior. — Then shall Episcopacy, venerable with age, and 
 strong in the moral power of the hallowed associations which 
 cluster around her; — and Congregationalism, active and 
 vigorous in its simplicity, finding its ready way to the new 
 and ever changing scenes of human life; — :and Methodism, 
 warm with emotion, penetrating into the mightiest masses 
 of society, and changing the excitements of sin, into the 
 warm, happy emotions of piety; — and Presbyterianism, with 
 its steady and efficient government, its faithful standards, 
 
Ch. 8. J THE SICK. 227 
 
 Conclusion. Plan of this work. 
 
 and its devoted ministry; — these and all other branches of 
 the great army of God, shall all move forward, side by side, 
 against the one great enemy of their common Master. 
 The world will then no longer point to our contentions, and 
 quiet themselves in sin, but they will see, though our 
 forms and usages may differ, that still, in heart and pur- 
 pose, WE ARE ONE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE SICK. 
 "Sick, and ye visited me.'* 
 
 An inspection of our table of contents, would not lead the 
 reader to suppose that any very logical plan was pursued 
 in the arrangement of the topics discussed in this work. 
 It is, in fact, to be considered as a connected train of 
 thought, rather than a systematic arrangement of several 
 independent subjects of discussion. Accordingly, after 
 two or three preliminary chapters, we took up the first and 
 most obvious source of suffering which obtrudes itself upon 
 our notice, in this valley of tears. It was poverty; and, as 
 in the consideration of it, we saw that it admitted of no 
 effectual remedy but the removal of its moral causes, we 
 were led at once to the discussion of the great moral 
 remedy for all moral evils, — the gospel of Jesus Christ; 
 and the modes by which this remedy is to be most effect- 
 ually applied. Having in the three last chapters consider- 
 ed this subject in its three most important aspects, we now 
 return to the other great branch of physical evil. 
 
 Sickness; the twin sister and companion of want, and 
 the sharer with her of the empire of human suffering. 
 Like poverty, she is the daughter of sin, but is farther 
 separated from her mother. Sin moves on, and sickness 
 
$^ THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Safe to do good to the sick. 
 
 lingers often behind, so that you may deal' with her sepa- 
 rately. Want, on the other hand, clings closely to her 
 parent; they make common cause, and stand or fall to- 
 gether. 
 
 But to drop the metaphor, — although, as the bible 
 teaches us, all sickness and pain are to be considered as 
 the consequence of sin, yet they sometimes come from it 
 so indirectly, and are separated from it so far by lapse of 
 time, and are sometimes in so slight a degree connected 
 with personal transgression, that we may apply our reme- 
 dies directly to it, with comparativejy little danger. In 
 fact, there are several considerations, making our duty to 
 the sick a very important part of the field of benevolent 
 action. 
 
 1. We can very easily afford a great deal of relief and 
 even of happiness to the sick; and that safely. If it is 
 only temporary relief and happiness, it is an object worth 
 securingj provided that it can be secured without danger. 
 When we relieve the distresses of poverty by our friendly 
 interposition, we are always solicitous, lest we may, in the 
 end, make more unhappiness than we remove. The dis- 
 tress may be feigned, or may be in some way connected 
 v.jth deception, and our aid, in such a case, will only 
 encourage and embolden fraud. Or a man may have 
 neglected to make provision for coming wants, when ho 
 might have provided for them, and then, when he begins 
 to feel their pressure, we may cut off the influence of a 
 salutary lesson for the future, by the relief which we cannot 
 find it in our hearts to deny. It sometimes seems almost 
 cruel, to admit such suspicions, but it is only the extreme 
 of inexperience or of folly, that can be blind to them. 
 
 In cases of sickness, however, they do not apply. All 
 the good that we can do in the chamber of actual disease 
 or suffering, is, with exceptions very few and rare, a work, 
 at least, of safety. 
 
 And then, besides the safety of it, doing good in a sick 
 
Ch. d.] *Hli s!CK. Si29 
 
 The sick laborer. Good easily and safely done. 
 
 room, is a very effectual way of doing good. We work 
 there to great advantage. A very little effort gives a great 
 deal of relief, or a great deal of pleasure. Perhaps it is 
 owing to the feelings of helplessness and dependence, 
 which sickness brings, or perhaps to the effect of disease 
 in awakening the susceptibilities of the mind, and rendering 
 the sufferer more sensitive to kindness, as we know he is 
 to sounds, and light, and pain. The sternest man will be 
 soflened, if you approach him with relief, or even with 
 sympathy, when he is in sickness or pain. 
 
 Thus, if there are within the reach of your walks, a 
 number of cases of sickness among the poor, and unfortu- 
 nate, and neglected, there is no way in which you can 
 spend a few hours each week, in doing more immediate 
 and effectual good, than in seeking out the cases, and 
 carrying to them your relief, or at least, your sympathy. 
 There is, for examplcj in one lowly home, a poor man laid 
 upon his hard, uncomfortable bed, by an accidental injury 
 received in his work, — and the want, which his exertions 
 only keep at bay, begins to take advantage of his helpless- 
 ness, and to press his iron grasp upon the mother and 
 children- Now you may visit him,— your words of sympa- 
 thy and encouragement may save them all from despair. 
 Your aid may find a little employment for the wife, or for 
 a child, or a little medical advice for the patient, so as to 
 hasten his release; and thus with a strict economy of your 
 means of doing good, you may, by a small expenditure of 
 time, and money, and care, give at once, great immediate 
 relief, and save a whole family from much future suffering. 
 And while you are doing it, the light of Christian example 
 and character, which you will cause to shine into that dark 
 home, may allure some of its inmates, in the end, to the 
 banner under which you are serving. 
 
 Then again, here is another case. An incurable disease 
 of a limb, is wasting away a little patient, and carrying him 
 slowly and surely to the grave. Without pain, and with 
 20 
 
230 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 The child. Happiness. Old age. 
 
 very little general disease, he is confined by the apparatus 
 of the surgeon in one position, which there is only the 
 faintest possible hope that he will ever leave, till he is 
 released from it to be laid in the last position of mortality. 
 Till then, however, his arms and eyes are at liberty, and 
 his soul is free; and contented, cheerful and happy, he 
 welcomes you day after day with a smile, as you come to 
 admire the little windmills, and boxes, that he makes with 
 his penknife and glue, — or to give him new drawings to 
 copy, — or a new book to read, — or to sit at his bed-side, 
 with your hand upon his brow, wishing that all the suffer- 
 ing and the wretched could be as happy as he;— -or to 
 kneel by his bed-side, and pray simply for a continuance 
 of the goodness and mercy with which God surrounds his 
 little prisoner. His narrow room seems to be the connect- 
 ing anti chamber of earth and heaven, and viewing both 
 worlds from it, you can hardly desire that God should 
 restore its inmate to the one he has left. His soul seems 
 to float in the presence and communion of the Savior, as 
 the swimmer in the warm summer sea. 
 
 Again, there is age, decrepit old age, — sitting helplessly 
 by the fireside, in his ancient chair. His generation has 
 gone off and left him, and he is alone. He feels like a 
 stranger among the beings that have sprung up all around 
 him, as it were in a day, and his thoughts and his memory 
 run back spontaneously to times, and men, and events that 
 now are gone; and which, though they are every thing to 
 him, are nothing now to any body beside. It is painful to 
 bim to find that the knowledge and recollections to which 
 alone his mind runs back with interest and pleasure, are in- 
 significant and worthless to all around him. Now you may 
 look in upon him a few minutes, as he sits in his armed 
 chair in a winter evening, or stop to talk with him a mo- 
 ment under the trees, before his door, at sunset, in June; 
 and by your tone of kindness and interest, and the air of 
 respectful consideration always due to age, you revive the 
 
Ch. 8.J THE SICK. 231 
 
 Consumption and her victims. 
 
 heart of the aged pilgrim to sensations of happiness, which 
 beam over his soul brightly, while you are with him, and 
 linger there long after you are gone. The enjoyment is 
 but little, I admit, — but then the expense is but very little, 
 by which it is secured. 
 
 Then, besides all these sources of sickness and sulfFer- 
 ing, there is often near us, and sometimes at our very fire- 
 sides, a visiter, whom we scarcely know whether to call an 
 enemy or a friend. New England, if not her native land, 
 is at least her loved and chosen home. She thrives in the 
 refreshing coolness of our northern clime. The air of the 
 sea breeze, of the cool autumnal evening, and of the win- 
 try storm, constitute her very vital breath. Her form is 
 slender and delicate, — a little too delicate and feeble for 
 gracefulness; and her cheek, though it blooms, does not 
 bloom exactly with beauty: but then her eye is bright, and 
 her forehead is of marble. Her name is Consumption. 
 
 She loves New England, and lingers unobserved among 
 us in a thousand scenes. She is always busy here, select- 
 ing her victims among the sensitive and the fair, and coair 
 mencing secretly that mysterious process of entanglement, 
 by which they are to become, at last, her hopeless prey 
 She loves the slow moon-light walk, the winter sleigh-ride, 
 and the return in the chilly coach at midnight, from the 
 crowded city assembly. She helps make up the party in 
 the summer evening sail, — uninvited, unwelcome, and un- 
 observed, — but still there, taking her choice from all the 
 lovely forms before her. She knows too well how to choose. 
 She can appreciate intelligence, beauty, sensibility, an^ 
 even moral worth, and in the collected assembly of her 
 victims, you would find some of the brightest and loveliest 
 specimens of humanity. 
 
 Now, perhaps, you may find some one of these victims 
 in the circle of your walks, and you may easily do a great 
 deal to relieve weariness, and restlessness, and pain, during 
 the long months of decline, and to soothe the sufferings of 
 the last hours. 
 
232 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. &. 
 
 The family and friends of the sick. 
 
 The good, which the Christian visiter may do in the sick 
 chamber, is not confined to the suffering patient. The 
 family and friends are comforted, and sustained, and 
 strengthened by the influence of your presence. No one 
 who has not experienced it, can tell bow valuable is the 
 spontaneous and heartfelt sympathy of a friend, to a family 
 suffering, in one of its members, the invasion of alarming 
 or fatal disease. The heart of the wife sinking within 
 her, in anxiety and terror at her husband's sufferings or 
 delirium, is refreshed and strengthened as by a cordial, 
 when a kind neighbor comes in to share her watch and her 
 anxious care. And so the hearts of the parents, distressed 
 and filled with anguish, at witnessing the last struggles of 
 an infant child, are cheered, and sustained, and comforted, 
 by the presence and the silent sympathy of the friend, who 
 watches with them till midnight brings the last breath, and 
 the last pulsation, and gives the little sufferer repose. 
 There is, in fact, no end to the variety of modes by which 
 kindness to the sick is effectual in relieving pain and pro- 
 moting happiness. Sickness seems to soften the heart and 
 awaken all its susceptibilities of gratitude and happiness. 
 Kindness and sympathy are never so longed for, and so 
 welcome as here, and never touch the heart more effectu- 
 ally, or awaken stronger feelings of gratitude and affection. - 
 It may be all merely temporary pleasure, which is thus 
 communicated; but it is real and great, if it is temporary, 
 and it can be all accomplished with little effort and little 
 danger. 
 
 2. By kind attention to the sick, we may gain an influ- 
 ence in favor of piety, over the sick themselves, and over 
 the families to which they belong. Piety is, in respect to 
 mankind, love; and in no way, perhaps, can its true char- 
 acter be more fairly shown, than in the sick room. The 
 colors, too, in which it appears there, are all alluring. In 
 ordinary intercourse with mankind, the pressure of busi- 
 ness, or the forms and usages of social life, repress, in c^ 
 
I Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 233 
 
 Cases. A family changed. 
 
 great degree, those moral manifestations which shine out 
 spontaneously in the sick room, and exhibit the character 
 of submission to God, and kind interest in man, which the 
 Savior commands us to let shine as a light in this dark 
 world of sin. 
 
 Thus, in many, many instances, a cold, heartless, unbe- 
 lieving, and perhaps vicious father, has been led to see the 
 reality of religion, by his intercourse with the Christian 
 friend, who has come to visit his sick child. In fact, sick- 
 ness seems often sent, as it were, to open a door of admis- 
 sion to an ungodly family, by which the gospel may enter 
 in. The family are first grateful for the kindness, — then 
 they see the moral beauty of the character which exhibits 
 it. The religious conversation which is offered in a kind, 
 conciliating, and unassuming tone, in the sick chamber, or 
 around the fireside of an adjoining room, is listened to with 
 a respectful attention, though, perhaps, under no other cir- 
 cumstances could it have found an access to those ears. 
 These first steps may not be very important ones, but it is 
 something to bring the soul, which is utterly hostile to God, 
 to a parley. The reading of proper religious books, — an 
 occasional, and at length a regular attendance at the house 
 of God, are perhaps the succeeding steps; and when a 
 family is brought thus far, by the gentle and unassuming 
 moral influence which may, without great difficulty, be ex- 
 erted over them, it is safe to expect that the change will go 
 farther. It is into such a family that the Holy Spirit loves 
 to enter and complete the work which, without his aid, 
 could not even have been begun. Reader, — is there not 
 within your reach a family of unhappy wanderers from 
 God, into which sickness has gone and opened a door of 
 easy and pleasant access to you? Inquire and ascertain; 
 and if there is, find your way there without delay, and by 
 kind, unceasing and delicate attentions, fasten a silken cord 
 of gratitude and affection to their hearts, by which you may 
 draw the inmates to the Savior and to happiness. 
 20* 
 
234 tHE WAY f d Dd feooir. [Cfli. 8. 
 
 A danger pointed out. 
 
 Or, if the family, to which you show Christian kindness 
 m sickness, is cuhivated and refined, though worldly, the 
 light of Christian character is brought to their minds more 
 distinctly than before, and it comes in a more alluring form. 
 They are your neighbors or acquaintances, but as you 
 have been mutually conscious of the great difference be- 
 tween you and them, in respect to your religious feelings 
 and hopes, each party has imagined feelings of coldness 
 and reserve to exist in the other; nothing is more common 
 than this state of feeling, between religious and irreligious 
 acquaintances or friends. Now the sickness, which gives^ 
 you the opportunity of showing kindness, breaks down the 
 barrier, and changes the look and tone of cold reserve, 
 which each party imagined that he was adopting in self- 
 defence, to the open, and cordial, and honest expressions 
 of good will. 
 
 It is, however, somewhat dangerdtis to point out these 
 indirect results which come from kindness to the sick, lest 
 they should lead our deceiving and deceitful hearts to an 
 affectation of benevolence, or of solemnity, for the purpose 
 of securing them. But there is no disguise so slim, at 
 least, there is none more easily seen through, by the intelli- 
 gent observer, than affectation of piety; — tlie solemn look, 
 assumed to suit the supposed proprieties of an occasion, — 
 the aff*ected tone, a clumsy counterfeit of the inflections of 
 real feeling, -^the forced conversation, constrained, unnat- 
 ural, indirect, — and the prayer, in which the speaker pre- 
 tends to be addressing the Supreme, when you perceive, 
 at once, from the rhetorical structure of his sentences, 
 and the clumsy insinuations and allusions, that the bystan- 
 ders only are in his mind. If this is the kind of Christian 
 light, which these paragraphs tend to kindle in the sick 
 rooms, which the readers may visit, they had better never 
 have been written. No, let us be honest, open, direct in 
 all we say or do. If we feel no emotion, let us never feign 
 any; never. Let us see Ihat our hearts are right towards 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 
 
 Spiritual good of the patient. 
 
 God and man, and then let our words and looks freely fol- 
 low the impulses they receive from within. It is only hon- 
 est, frank, open-hearted, unaffected piety which can gain 
 any great or permanent ascendency, in such a world as ours. 
 
 3. By kindness to the sick, we have some hope of pro- 
 moting the spiritual good of the patient,— though we con- 
 fess that this hope must be faint and feeble. The good 
 that is done is mainly that specified under the preceding 
 heads; either the present relief and comfort, amounting 
 sometimes to positive enjoyment, which results directly 
 from the effort, or the influence in favor of the cause of 
 piety, resulting from the exhibition of its true character, in 
 its own appropriate sphere. These are often overlooked, 
 and the chief hopes of the christian visiter are directed to 
 the spiritual benefit of the patient himself, which we have 
 melancholy evidence is very seldom in any great degree 
 attained. This evidence, however, though it is melan- 
 choly, we ought to see. It is best for us to understand 
 what hopes there are of preparation for death on a sick 
 bed, both for our own guidance in respect to others, and 
 also that we may know what to calculate upon, ourselves, 
 in respect to our own last hours. 
 
 " But why," the reader will ask, who is accustomed to 
 think that sickness brings with it peculiar opportunities for 
 repentance, "why is it that we may not hope to promote 
 the spiritual good of the sick? They are then withdrawn 
 from the world. The power of its temptations is destroy- 
 ed, — etiernity, if not actually near, is at least seen more 
 distinctly, and more fully realized. There are many long 
 hours favorable to reflection, and every thing seems to in- 
 vite to repentance for sin, and reconciliation with God." 
 
 This is all true, and if nothing but an invitation to the 
 favor of God, and urgent, alarming necessity for reconcili- 
 ation with him were wanting, every sick man conscious of 
 sickness, would be sure to be saved. But unhappily it is 
 not all. There is a heart to be changed. A heart which 
 
236 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Dangers. Various classes. 
 
 shrinks from God, dislikes communion with him, and loves 
 sin, is to be so entirely altered in its very fundamental de- 
 sires, as to seek God eagerly and spontaneously, as its 
 refuge, its home, its happiness, — to delight in his presence 
 and communion, and to hate and shrink from sin. Now 
 the natural effect of sickness is simply to awaken uneasi- 
 ness or anxiety, and we can see no special tendency in 
 uneasiness or anxiety to produce such a change, in the very 
 desires and affections of the soul, as this. 
 
 But let us look at the facts a little more in detail. There 
 are several distinct conditions in which the dangerously 
 sick may be found, and most of them are such as to pre- 
 clude the possibility of deriving any spiritual benefit, from 
 the supposed facilities afforded by the situation. We will 
 consider some of these. 
 
 (1.) A large class never know their danger, or at least 
 have no time to think of it, uijtil they are too far gone to 
 be sensible of it. Thus for all purposes of reflection, they 
 know nothing of their sickness, till they are convalescent, 
 or until they awake in eternity. For example, a man in 
 the midst of his business, is suddenly attacked by severe 
 acute disease. The shooting pains, the chills, the fever 
 alarm him, and anticipating a fit of sickness, he is busy to 
 the last moment in making arrangements and giving direc- 
 tions, and when he can do no more, there follows the bustle 
 of preparation in his room, — the visit of the physician, the 
 bath, or the friction, or the venesection. An hour or two 
 spent thus is succeeded by a disturbed slumber, from which 
 he awakes in delirium. Perhaps a fortnight after, God 
 raises for a single hour, the mysterious pressure, under 
 which the soul had been imprisoned, and the unhappy man 
 has barely time to see the grave open at his feet, before 
 clouds and darkness shut in again over his soul, and he 
 sinks for ever. 
 
 Precisely this would be, indeed, a case of uncommonly 
 sudden and severe disease, but many such occur, and very 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 237 
 
 Deceptions of friends. 
 
 many occur which are precisely like it in the essential 
 point, that is, that the patient never knows his danger, nor 
 reflects seriously upon his sickness, till it is too late for him 
 to understand it at all. These cases are rendered more 
 numerous by the almost universal tendency, on the part of 
 family and friends, to present to the patient the brightest 
 side of his case. This arises not always from a deliberate 
 intention to deceive, — in fact, the parent, or the friend, 
 standing by the bedside, cherishes himself the hope which 
 he wishes to present to the patient ; and he unconsciously 
 overrates the grounds of it, in his desire to give the sick 
 one the advantage of its exhilarating and sustaining power. 
 At other times, the truth, too plain to the physician and 
 the friends, is suppressed, and concealed from the deceived 
 sufferer; and the grave grasps him, while the words are 
 actually on the lips of his attendants, that assure him that 
 he shall soon be well. Oh, how often have parents thus 
 deceived their dying children. How can they do it .'* How 
 can they bear to allow one, who looks up to them with en- 
 tire confidence and affection, to go from them suddenly into 
 eternity, and have there to reflect, that the last words he 
 heard his father and his mother speak to him, were false 
 hood and deception .-' 
 
 Still, nothing is more common, and from these and other 
 similar cases, it comes that a very large number of human 
 beings finish their pilgrimage without a warning. Of 
 course, the sick-bed affords no facilities for a preparation 
 for death, to them. 
 
 (2.) Then there is another large class, whose disease or 
 state of mind is such, that they cannot safely be addressed 
 on the subject. That is, the probability that any good will 
 be done, by religious conversation with them, is smaller, 
 than that if left to mental quiet, they may recover, and be 
 brought to repentance by future opportunities for enjoying 
 the means of grace. There are many cases where the 
 most faithful christian physician would require perfect 
 
238 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8 
 
 Indifference, aud stupor. 
 
 quiet and repose; and we are not obstinately to insist on 
 pressing the guilt and danger of the sinner upon his atten- 
 tion, where the probable result would be only to aggravate 
 disease, and hasten death, and thus secure, at once, the 
 ruin, from which we were endeavoring to save him. The 
 cases, however, where a kind and judicious religious influ- 
 ence, over one in dangerous disease, would really be un- 
 safe, are not very common: but those where the patient or 
 the friends think it would be unsafe, so as to feel obliged 
 to preclude it, are numberless. They form a second large 
 class, which cannot be expected to be much benefited by 
 the opportunities which sickness affords them. 
 
 (3.) Then there are a great number, who sink, in sick- 
 ness, into a state of indifference and stupor, from which 
 nothing can arouse them. Whether this is one of the in- 
 numerable forms of the infatuation of sin, or some peculiar 
 mental torpidity, resulting from disease, the effect is certain, 
 and the instances innumerable. Sometimes the patient 
 shrinks from, and shuns the conversation that would awaken 
 him, — and sometimes he welcomes it, and listens to it, as 
 if he wished that it might produce its proper effect, — and 
 then he complains with stupid despair, that he can see his 
 guilt and danger, but cannot feel them. 
 
 Hardness of heart does not arise from such causes as 
 that approaching death will certainly remove it. It is a 
 moral insensibility which has its existence within itself, and 
 is slightly affected by mere external causes. If the habits 
 of life have formed and fixed it, it will sometimes maintain 
 its hold, even to the last hour. 
 
 (4.) Then, besides, of those who are led to feel some 
 alarm, a very large proportion never go farther thanalarm. 
 They are agitated, and anxious, and unhappy ; but agita- 
 tion is not piety, — and anxiety about death, is not prepara- 
 tion- for it. In fact, the feehng of restless suffering is, 
 probably, in many cases, only a manifestation of actual 
 hostility to God. The soul finds itself brought up, as it 
 
Ch. 8i] THE SICK. 239 
 
 The deceived. Nervous influences of sickness. 
 
 were, to meet its Maker. It sees that it is approaching the 
 close of its connection with the world, and that the course 
 of time is drawing it directly on towards God. It looks this 
 way and that way for escape, but finds none ; and its rest- 
 less, anxious uneasiness, is only its shrinking, with instinc-* 
 tive dislike, from the great Being to whom it ought to fly 
 eagerly, as to its refuge and home. If this is its condi- 
 tion then, the more restless alarms, the more hostility; and 
 it goes at last into the presence of its Maker, like the terri- 
 fied child into the arms of the stranger whom it dislikes 
 and dreads. 
 
 These four classes constitute, undoubtedly, a very large 
 portion of the sick, — but we must thin the number that is 
 left, a little more; for 
 
 (5.) There are the deceived. One would think, that on 
 a sick and dying-bed, the heart would abandon its subter 
 fuges and deception, and be honest with itself at last, be- 
 fore it goes into eternity. Instead of this, self deception 
 maintains its hold here, as in its last intrenchment. 
 
 In fact, a little reflection would convince us at once, that 
 the circumstances of a sick-bed are such as to create very 
 great danger of self deception. That loss of interest in the 
 world, which is the result of confinement, weakness and 
 pain, — how easily may it be mistaken for a heartfelt and 
 voluntary renunciation of it. Death, too, may seem near, 
 — bringing with it all its terrors, and under their threat- 
 ening aspect the spirit sinks. Now how easy it is for the 
 soul to welcome the idea of reconciliation with God, sim- 
 ply as a relief from anxiety and suffering, and then to 
 imagine that to be the chosen object of its love, to which 
 in fact it only flies as a refuge from fear. Then again, 
 sickness, though it sometimes inflames and irritates the 
 spirit, perhaps oftener softens and soothes it, by some 
 mysterious physical influences upon the nervous system. 
 The selfish, turbulent and ungovernable child often lies 
 subdued and quieted under its hand, and gladdens his 
 
C40 THE WAY TO CO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 The attendant of piety ; its counterfeit. 
 
 mother's heart by his unlocked for manifestations of sub- 
 mission and gratitude; — the nurse welcomes returning 
 irritability as a sign of returning health. This morbid 
 loveliness of spirit, like the unnatural brightness of the eye, 
 or hectic bloom upon the cheek, is often the companion of 
 disease, and not unfrequently the immediate precursor of 
 death. It calms all the passions of the soul, it lulls the sen- 
 sorium into rest, and disarms temptation of its power, by 
 taking away the very fuel it feeds upon. It gives the kind- 
 est and gentlest intonations to the voice, and spreads over 
 the countenance an expression of benevolence and sub- 
 mission. It often mingles with piety, and clothes it in its 
 last hours, with a most fascinating loveliness; — but alas, it 
 also often takes its place, — its most successful and yet most 
 superficial counterfeit. It deceives death, — meeting him 
 with a smile; but convalescence is its certain detection and 
 exposure. For when health is returning, its colors soon 
 fade, and its moral loveliness turns to irritability, fretful- 
 ness, and selfish, suspicious jealousy. How far the move- 
 ments of a soul, thus so directly modified, either favorably, 
 or unfavorably, by the nervous influences of disease, are to 
 be considered as affected in respect to moral character and 
 accountability, is a question too deep for us to enter into 
 here. One thing, however, is certain, that if we make 
 allowances on this account, as by common consent we do, 
 for what is wrong, we must also make some deductions of 
 credit for what is right. 
 
 But we ought to repeat that the state of mind and heart 
 which we have been describing, though sometimes the 
 counterfeit of piety, is often its attendant, so that the 
 graces of character, which are exhibited in the sick-cham- 
 ber, where there is evidence of a stable foundation on 
 which they rest, are not to be considered as unsubstantial 
 and transitory. Every visiter among the sick, will call to 
 mind, cases where the solid characteristics of real piety 
 sho«e with a heavenly beauty and splendor, imparted to 
 them by these mysterious influences of lingering disep* 
 
 >» 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 241 
 
 Little Nathan Dickerman. 
 
 While saying this, there rises to my mind the recollectioii 
 of one sick-room which exhibited, before all others that I 
 have seen, the most striking example of it. It was that of 
 the child Nathan Dickerman,* whose chamber during the 
 last months of his life, beamed with an expression of 
 loveliness and peace, which no pen can describe. 
 
 Those grim tyrants, disease and death, seemed in his 
 case, to relax from their sternness and cruelty, that they 
 might vary their work of oppression, as other tyrants have 
 done, by showing for once what they do, in lavishing kind- 
 ness and decorations upon a favorite. 'Tis true, that they 
 insisted that he should be theirs, and so they maintained 
 with inflexible determination, their own destructive hold 
 upon the organs of life ; though he was their favorite, he 
 must wear their chain. For the rest, all was kindness 
 They brightened his intellect, they expanded, almost be- 
 yond maturity, his embryo powers, they smoothed the 
 features of his countenance into an almost heavenly ex 
 pression, and breathed into his soul an atmosphere of in- 
 describable sweetness and peace, and enjoyment. These 
 stern and uncc promising, and usually pitiless masters, 
 appeared disposed, in his case, to lay aside their terrors. 
 For once they seemed to love their victim; — they smiled 
 upon him where he lay. 
 
 The enchantmg expression, however, which beamed 
 from the whole scene which his little room exhibited, was 
 indebted for its chief lineq.ments to a most sincere and 
 unaffected piety. There was abundant evidence of it, of 
 the most solid kind. But piety, in such a case as this, 
 substantial and sure, is softened and beautified by the 
 mellowing influence of disease. It is the corporeal and the 
 animal only, which fails under its hand; all that is pure, 
 and lovely, and beautiful in the spirit, in the intellect, in 
 the soul, rises the more free and the more resplendent for 
 teing released from its ordinary burdens. 
 
 * Memoir of Nathan W. Dickerman. 
 
 21 
 
242 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Practical rules. Imposture. 
 
 But to return; this mysterious effect produced by disease, 
 in subduing and softening all the asperities of the character, 
 which sometimes accompanies piety, perhaps oftener merely 
 assumes the guise of it. It helps to make up the immexise 
 variety of modes by which the soul deceive^ ana is itself 
 deceived. 
 
 When, now, we come to consider all these numerous 
 cases in which no spiritual benefit is derived from the 
 opportunities afforded by a sick-bed, — those who are cut 
 off too suddenly to know their situation, those who are 
 rendered inaccessible by the nature and violence of their 
 disease, those who are indifferent and stupid, those who 
 are only alarmed, and those who are deceived, — we shall 
 have but few remaining who can be considered as making 
 any effectual preparation for death, when sickness comes 
 with its warnings. The good therefore, which we are to 
 expect to effect by our visits to the sick and the suffering, 
 is chiefly in other ways than in the preparation of the in- 
 dividual sufferer for his approaching account. There is 
 however, some hope, even of this. It is one of the objects 
 at which we have to aim. 
 
 Having thus brought to the view of the reader the na- 
 ture of the good which he must expect to do, we proceed in 
 the remainder of this chapter, to enumerate some of the 
 more plain and important directions necessary to enable 
 him most successfully to do it. 
 
 1. In your arrangements for visiting and relieving cases 
 of sickness among the poor, be always on your guard 
 against imposture. Go forward freely and openly to the 
 relief of suffering, wherever you find it, but be constantly 
 awake to the probability that you may in any case be de- 
 ceived. Nothing surpasses the readiness with which the 
 vicious poor resort to a feigning of sickness and suffering 
 in order to procure undeserved charity, unless it be the 
 adroitness with which they carry their wicked schemes into 
 effect. Sometimes the disease is entirely a fabrication, 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 243 
 
 Necessity of caution. Quietness and delicacy. 
 
 and sometimes, a little reality is made the basis of long con- 
 tinued indications of suffering. In fact, we often, by our 
 own indiscreet and profuse benefactions to a sick family, 
 actually produce such a state of things that recovery would 
 be a calamity. We place them under a strong temptation 
 to dissemble, and the lesson once learned, is not soon for- 
 gotten. 
 
 These remarks may seem rather severe and even cruel. 
 They are severe, I admit, and I assure my readers that I 
 exceedingly regret the necessity of making them. It is 
 far easier for us, and pleasanter at first, to give the reins to 
 sentiment, and follow on, wherever she leads the way. But 
 cool, calculating, intelligent principle is a better leader in 
 the end. We need warm feeling as a companion in the 
 voyage, but the understanding does better at the helm 
 What I have stated above, and similar views exhibited in 
 the chapter on the Poor, are unquestionably the truth, and 
 whoever is not willing to know the truth, even where it is 
 unpleasant, will never be very efficient or persevering in 
 doing good. His benevolence rests on delusion, — a very 
 unsubstantial basis. However, we ought not to be always 
 suspicious, — and above all, we ought never, without good 
 cause, to indicate suspicions. We want the art, — and it is 
 one of the last, and most difficult of the intellectual arts to 
 be acquired, — of suspending judgment. We must be able 
 to look at a case of alleged sickness and suffisring, and to 
 take effectual, though cautious measures for its relief, 
 while all the time we keep it a question whether it is real 
 or not. We do not suppose it to be pretended, — nor do we 
 believe it to be real. We have no evidence on one side or 
 the other, and we act very cautiously and prudently, 
 though kindly, until we have valid ground for a decision. 
 
 2. Be still and delicate and gentle in all your intercourse 
 with the sick. In fact, the same principle in this respect 
 applies to moral and physical treatment. That attendant 
 will do most towards promoting recovery, who can cari^y 
 
244 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 The skilful attendant. Stillness and gentleness. 
 
 the required measures into the most regular and complete 
 effect, and yet in the easiest and gentlest manner, — the 
 one who can open and shut the door most quietly, and 
 manage so as to have occasion most seldom to do it at all ; 
 the one who can replenish the fire so as least to attract the 
 patient's attention, and give the fewest directions in his 
 hearing, and have the medicine or the drink at his lips at 
 the proper time, with the least bustle of preparation; the 
 one who walks softly, whose tones are gentle, whose touch 
 is delicate, and whose countenance exhibits an expression 
 of cheerful repose. Such an one is most successful in 
 soothing and quieting the sensitive susceptibilities of acute 
 disease, and facilitating the sanative influences which medi- 
 cal skill, conjoined with the spontaneous efforts of nature, 
 have diffused through the frame. 
 
 Now it is not the sensorium merely that must be defend- 
 ed against the rude and rough approaches which it could 
 safely sustain in health. The organs of the mind are as 
 sensitive as the optic or the auditory nerves. This is 
 shown by the fact that all the stillness and gentleness of the 
 attendant must be easy and natural, or it is unavailing. 
 Evident and laborious effort to walk on tiptoe, or to renew 
 the fuel in the grate in silence, or to suppress the directions 
 which it is plain are given, will worry the mind, even more 
 perhaps than the sounds they avoid would disturb the ear. 
 Now we may learn from these unquestionable facts, a les- 
 son in regard to the whole manner in which we are to ap- 
 proach the sick, with the moral influences which we attempt 
 to bring before them. We must remember that even the 
 moral powers upon which we propose to act are in a state 
 of morbid sensitiveness; at least that the corporeal and 
 mental faculties through which we propose to reach them 
 are so. Even the moral powers themselves may be mor- 
 bidly sensitive, while yet they may be in a state, as we 
 have before maintained, altogether unfavorable to receiving 
 any permanently salutary impression. We must therefore 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 245 
 
 Honesty. Manoeuvring, A case of it. 
 
 be most gentle, and delicate, and tender, both in respect to 
 the aspects in which we bring religious truth before the 
 patient, and in the tone and manner in which we present it. 
 And we must be thus delicate and gentle, without the 
 parade of an effort to be so. 
 
 3. Be frank and open with the sick. Gentleness and 
 delicacy must never be allowed to degenerate into indirect- 
 ness and artifice. Be open and frank, and honest in all 
 you do. This is the only safe principle, in fact, in all 
 modes of religious influence. If you want to pursue a 
 couree which shall do the least good, and give the greatest 
 offence, your wisest way is to adopt a system of manoeu- 
 vring and hints and inuendoes. When we attempt to 
 convey secret reproof or instruction, by the language of 
 indirectness or insinuation, in order to save offence, we 
 lose our labor, if we are not understood, and we give 
 offence in the most awkward and unpleasant manner posr- 
 sible, if we are. 
 
 For example, a man has lived an irregular life, shelter 
 ed by his belief that there is to be no future judgment. 
 He is taken sick; he feels uneasy, and consents that his 
 wife should send for you. Now we will suppose that you 
 think it best to gain access to him by stratagem. A verv 
 common plan would be something like this. 
 
 You find in your little pocket bible some strong and de- 
 cided passage which asserts a future retribution, and put 
 a mark in at the place. Perhaps you adroitly adjust the 
 mark so that it protrudes but a little from the lower edges 
 of the leaves, so as to be observable only by your own eye 
 Thus provided, you make your appearance at his bedside, 
 and after a little preliminary conversation, you propose to 
 read to him a few verses from the bible, and open, as if by 
 accident, to the chapter you have privately selected with 
 reference to his own case. You make a few remarks on 
 other verses of it, but read very distinctly the passage 
 which you are most desirous that he should hear. Then 
 21* 
 
246 THE WAY TO DO G0013. [Ch. B, 
 
 Its effects. Plain dealing safer .^ 
 
 you kneel to offer prayer, and, perhaps, to carry out your 
 stratagem, you use expressions which are aimed all the 
 time against his errors, while you profess to be offering 
 supplications to God. After some farther conversation, in 
 which you cautiously abstain from all allusion to what has 
 been, during the whole time, uppermost in your mind, you 
 leave your patient, thinking that you have managed the 
 delicate case very adroitly. 
 
 But what now has probably been the effect on the mind 
 of your patient. Probably his thoughts have been occupied 
 all the time with the 'question, whether your selection of 
 that chapter was accidental or designed, and his specula- 
 tions upon this have diverted his mind from every serious 
 reflection: — if indeed he has not seen entirely through your 
 thin disguise, and is not secretly hurt and displeased at 
 your pursuing a policy of artifice and reserve, which chills 
 and discourages, and distresses him. The truth is, this 
 spiritual chicanery does not do. Management, artifice* 
 manoeuvre is always dangerous, whether between Christian 
 and sinner, teacher and pupil, parent and child, or friend 
 and friend. The chance that any person will understand 
 a hint or a covert allusion so far as to take its force, and 
 yet stop short of perceiving that it was intended, is very 
 small. So that such modes of acconiplishing the object, 
 greatly diminish the hope of doing good, and vastly in- 
 crease the probability of doing injury. 
 
 On the other hand, frank and open-hearted honesty and 
 plain dealing, scarcely ever give offence, provided that 
 they are under the control of real benevolence, and are not 
 dictatorial and assuming. In the case of the sick man last 
 described, how much more easily and pleasantly, both to 
 yourself and to him, would you gain access to his heart, 
 by ssying at once, with a tone of frank and cheerful kind- 
 ness, "I have understood, sir, that you have not been ac- 
 custcmed to believe in a state of future retribution; " and 
 then leading the conversation directly and openly to the 
 
Ch. 8.] THE sicn. 347 
 
 Frankness. Privileged persons. Quiet for the si rl. 
 
 point which both you and he have most prominently in 
 view. You thus open at once, a plain and honest under- 
 standing with him. He feels that he is treated frankly and 
 openly, and if you take the friendly, unassuming attitude 
 before him, which man ought always to take with his fel- 
 low man, you will find, that whether you succeed or fail 
 in bringing him to receive the truth, you will not fail in 
 securing his respect ^d attachment. 
 
 In fact, plain, honest, open-hearted men are noted for 
 giving no offence, — even to a proverb. They are called 
 privileged persons; so much are they allowed to say, with- 
 out awakening resentment But this, their freedom, is not 
 by any means, their own personal prerogative; it is the 
 universal privilege of frankness, honesty, and unaffected 
 good will, — all the world over. 
 
 4. While we are plain and direct in dealing with the 
 sick, we must remember their weakness, and not exhaust 
 them by such a course as shall force them to active effort in 
 our intercourse with them. So far as intercourse with us 
 is concerned, the more passive we leave them, the better. 
 Every exertion, mental or bodily, fatigues them. Forming 
 a mental conclusion on the most simple point, is often a 
 burden. If the question is only whether you shall bring 
 them one beverage or another, to moisten their parched 
 lips, both being upon the table, they would rather that you 
 would decide than put the question to them. 
 
 The act of considering, fatigues,— the simplest question 
 rouses them from the state of repose ; and framing an an- 
 swer to any inquiry, requires an effort which it is better to 
 save them. Thus even the visit of a friend, who barely 
 comes to the bed-side, and speaks scarcely a word, pro- 
 duces restlessness which is slow to subside again. The 
 simple presence of the stranger disturbs, and imposes a 
 feeling of restraint and a necessity of attention; — a sort 
 o£ feeling that something ought to be said, while yet the 
 patient has nothing to say. Even to look at a sick child, 
 makes him restless in his cradle. 
 
248 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Real object to be accomplished. 
 
 And yet, that same sick child would perhaps enjoy your 
 visit, if you pay no attention to him, but sit and talk a short 
 time with his mother. In that case, his mind follows on 
 easily and gently in the train of your narrative or dialogue, 
 without being aroused to the necessity of actively partici- 
 pating in it. The mind loves, in such a case, to be passive 
 and still. It often enjoys a gentle action exerted upon it, 
 while any thing that arouses it to any action in return, 
 destroys its rest, and makes it suffer uneasiness and 
 fatigue. 
 
 Now there are many cases where these facts must be 
 kept fully in view, in efforts to promote the spiritual benefit 
 of the sick, and where we must avoid arousing them to the 
 necessity of active intellectual effort. The direct question, 
 the train of argument, interlocutory conversation which 
 keeps the mind of the patient intent to follow you and to 
 frame his replies, — all these fatigue and exhaust, if the 
 bodily weakness is extreme. And they are not necessary, 
 as will be seen at once, if we consider what the nature of 
 the change is, which we wish to effect. Whatever may 
 be the character of the patient, it is a moral change, not 
 an intellectual one, which we desire to produce. We do 
 not wish to cultivate his intellect, to carry him forward in 
 theology, or to try his strength in an argument. We wish 
 simply to produce a change of action in the moral move- 
 ments of his soul. We wish that those affections which 
 now vibrate in unison with the world and sin, should change 
 their character into a unison with holiness and love. It is 
 indeed evident that the truth is the only means of promot- 
 ing this change; or rather, that a degree of truth must be 
 admitted by the mind, or there can be no hope. But then, 
 in a vast majority of cases, this truth is known and admitted 
 beforehand. In fact, far less is necessary to make the way 
 of penitence and faith plain and open before the feet of the 
 sinner, than is generally supposed. 
 Besides, it is not so much the truth, in the shape of pro- 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 249 
 
 Truth to be presented quietly. 
 
 positions whicii are to be maintained by argument, and 
 received as theological theorems forced upon the mind by 
 the severity of the logic which sustains them, which is the 
 means of conversion. It is truth, as a view, a moral pic- 
 ture, formed by the spiritual conception, and contemplated 
 in all its beauty and loveliness; it is this that touches the 
 heart, and is the means of awakening new spiritual life in 
 the soul. It is such truth as is jjresenied to the mind, 
 not proved to it. 
 
 Instead, therefore, of a labored argument, or a formal 
 exhortation to the sufferer, on the duty of submitting to 
 God, — an address to which he listens with painful, weari- 
 some effort, — and which only leaves him restless and 
 uneasy when you finish it, because he has nothing to reply, 
 you take from your pocket a little hymn book, and say to 
 him, " I must not talk with you. I know you are too 
 feeble to talk, but I will read to you a few verses of a 
 hymn, and then bid you good-by." 
 
 You then read as follows: 
 
 " ' My times are in thy hand,* 
 
 My God I wish them there; 
 My life, my friends, my soul I leave 
 
 Entirely to thy care. 
 
 " ' My times are in thy hand,' 
 
 Whatever they may be. 
 Pleasing or painful, dark or bright. 
 
 As best may seem to thee. 
 
 " ' My times are in thy hand,* 
 
 Why should I doubt or fearl 
 My Father's hand will never cause 
 
 His child a needless tear.' " 
 
 Now I am well aware that a cold, hardened lover of the 
 world, interested in religious conversation only because he 
 is alarmed at the approach of death, cannot certainly be 
 expected to yield himself at once, with filial submission 
 
250 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 A change of heart. ' The Savior. 
 
 into the hands of his Maker, merely by hearing the lan- 
 guage of submission used by another; even if the reading 
 of it is prefaced by words of kindness and sympathy on the 
 part of his visiter. The change from dislike, and fear, 
 and shrinking, in respect to God, to entire self-devotion, 
 confidence and love, is altogether too great, and also 
 altogether too far beyond all mere human instrumentality, 
 for us to depend upon this. Yet still, no person who has 
 observed human nature with attention, can doubt that the 
 state of mind produced by such circumstances as those 
 here described, is most favorable for the promotion of this 
 change. Such a presentation of truth, furnishes the occa- 
 sion on which new spiritual life is awakened. The idea 
 of filial submission, fairly and distinctly brought before 
 the mind, takes a stronger hold upon the conscience, than 
 the most conclusive argument for submission. The latter 
 calls the intellect mainly into action; the former goes 
 directly to the heart. 
 
 We must remember that it is not alarm or agitation, oi 
 the giving up of theological errors, or perceiving new 
 theological truth, which can prepare the soul for death; — 
 but a change of heart. This alarm or agitation, or this 
 change of theological opinion, may often be, especially in 
 cases of health, the antecedent step; and the labors of the 
 preacher may often be directed to the production of them. 
 But they are only means to an end, and there are some 
 peculiar reasons why, in sickness, the attempt to produce 
 them should be avoided. In sickness, the enemy is, as 
 it were, disarmed. He lies defenceless and helpless in 
 the hands of God, and our policy is to come to him in the 
 gentlest manner possible, out of regard to his physical 
 feebleness, and just lay before him the bread of life, in 
 hopes that the Holy Spirit will dispose him to eat of it, and 
 live. 
 
 I need scarcely say that the mercy of God in Jesus 
 Christ, is the main truth to be thus presented to the mind 
 
il Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 251 
 
 John Randolph. Remorse. An atonement. 
 
 of the sick or dying sinner. The need of a Savior is felt 
 then, though it may have been denied and disbelieved 
 before. John Randolph, when he gazed upon the word 
 Remorse, shown to him at his direction, upon his dying 
 bed, and repeated it with such an emphasis of suffering, 
 and then turned to an atoning Savior for a refuge from the 
 terrifying spectre, acted as the representative of thou- 
 sands. The soul, distressed, burdened, struggling in vain 
 to escape its load by mere confession, finds a refuge in a 
 Mediator, which it cannot elsewhere find. '' God so loved 
 the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
 ever would believe in him should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life," — comes home like cool water to the 
 thirsty soul. There is no substitute for it. Nothing else 
 will soothe and calm the troubled spirit under the anguish 
 of bitter recollections of the past, and dark forebodings for 
 the future. 
 
 But even this cup of comfort and peace must be present- 
 ed properly, or the presentation of it will be in vain. At 
 least, it is far more likely to be received, if brought for- 
 ward in accordance with the directions already given. 
 You may, for instance, here, as before, simply read a few 
 verses of a hymn, in the patient's hearing, thus: 
 
 *' Heart-broken, friendless, poor, cast down. 
 
 Where shall the chief of sinners fly. 
 Almighty Vengeance, from thy frown'? 
 
 Eternal Justice, from thine eyel 
 
 " Lo, through the gloom of guilty fears, 
 
 My faith discerns a dawn of grace ; 
 The Sun of Righteousness appears 
 
 In Jesus' reconciling face. 
 
 " My suffering, slain, and risen Lord, 
 
 In sore distress I turn to thee ; 
 I claim acceptance in thy word ; 
 
 Jesus, my Savior, ransom me. 
 
 fe . 
 
252 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Questioning the patient. 
 
 * Prostrate before the mercy seat, 
 I dare not, if I would despair; 
 None ever perished at thy feet. 
 And I will lie for ever there. ' 
 
 Or you may read a narrative, or you may address direct 
 conversation on the subject, or read and comment upon a 
 passage of Scripture; but in all that you do, keep con- 
 stantly in mind the patient's weakness, and the state of his 
 disease, and do not go beyond his powers. This you will 
 easily avoid, if you leave him as much as possible in a 
 passive state, so far as intercourse with you is concerned. 
 Let him lie quiet and undisturbed, so that the whole 
 physical and intellectual man may be as completely as 
 possible in a state of repose, while you gain a gentle access 
 directly to the soul, and hold up there those exhibitions of 
 truth which may awaken the moral powers to new spiritual 
 life. 
 
 6. Do not try to ascertain the effect of your instructions 
 to the sick. Do what you can, but leave the result to be 
 unfolded at a future day. The reasons for this direction, 
 are two. First, you cannot ascertain if you try. and 
 secondly, you will generally do injury by the attempt. 
 
 First, you cannot ascertain if you try. The indications 
 of piety, and also of impenitence, upon a sick-bed, are 
 both exceedingly delusive. So much depends upon cha- 
 racter, temperament, constitution, habits of expression, 
 &c. that the most dissimilar appearances may be exhibited 
 in cases where the spiritual state is substantially the same. 
 In one case, the heart is really changed, but the subject 
 of the change dares not believe it, and still less dares he 
 express any hope of it; and his darkness and despondency 
 would be mistaken almost universally, for continued im- 
 penitence and insubmission. Another, deceived by the 
 illusions which we have already explained, finds a false 
 peace, which, the more baseless it is, the more confidently 
 he expresses it; and Christians very rarely question the 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 253 
 
 IMfficnlty of judging. 
 
 sincerity of professions, unless they are compelled to do 
 it by gross inconsistency of conduct. 
 
 These difficulties exist, it is true, in other cases besides 
 those of sickness, and they should teach us to be less 
 eager to ascertain the immediate results of our efforts, 
 than we usually are; and less credulous in trusting to 
 them. But they apply with tenfold force to sickness, 
 whether it be in the sufferings of acute disease, or in the 
 slow lingerings of decline. The world is shut out, and 
 the ordinary test, — the only safe one, — the fruit, is here 
 excluded. 
 
 Then, secondly, we do injury by endeavoring to ascer- 
 tain. We harass and fatigue the patient by pressing him 
 to give us an answer to the claims which we present to 
 him. If we lay truth and duty before him, and, as it were, 
 leave it there, his health will suffer far less, than if we fol- 
 low it with a sort of inquisition into its effects. To bear 
 an examination is very hard work, when the subject is 
 strong and well, — it is exhausting and irritating, to the lasi 
 degree, in sickness, especially when the patient would 
 hardly know how to express his feelings, even if they were 
 distinctly developed and mature, and he is, in fact, only 
 beginning to experience new states of mind which he 
 scarcely understands himself, and certainly cannot describe. 
 
 It is far better, both for ourselves, and for the soul which 
 we wish to save, that we should not make much effort to 
 remove the veil which hangs over his future condition. 
 We shall go on with our work in a more humble manner, 
 and in a better spirit, if we feel that the duty only is ours; 
 and the result of it, God's; and the sinner who has post- 
 poned repentance till summoned to his sick chamber, will 
 be most sure of being safe at last if he does not think 
 himself safe too soon. Some degree of uncertainty in 
 respect to the genuineness of a change which has been 
 produced under such circumstances, will be the best for 
 him, whether he is to live or die. 
 
254 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Faint hope of success. 
 
 7. Do not confidently expect much good effect. This, 
 however, ought not to be said in an unqualified manner, 
 for in all our efforts, a degree of expectation and hope is 
 justly warranted, both by the word of God and by common 
 observation, — and this degree we ought to entertain as a 
 means of enabling us to work with ease and pleasure, and 
 with a prospect of success. But in our intercourse with 
 the sick, we must not so depend upon leading them to 
 repentance at the late hour to which they have postponed 
 their duty, as to be disappointed and discouraged if we see 
 no decided evidence of a change. Preparation for death 
 in sickness, is made far less frequently than is generally 
 supposed. It is surprising that it is ever made at all. But 
 the faintest hope that an immortal soul may be saved, 
 justifies the most earnest efforts, and the most heartfelt 
 prayer. This effort must by all means be made, but it 
 would be well for mankind, if they could, by any means, 
 be undeceived about the nature of the spiritual influ- 
 ences which will surround them in their dying hours. In 
 each particular instance that occurs, our sympathy with 
 surviving friends leads us to hope against hope, and to 
 encourage expectations which do not indeed affect the 
 dead, but which raise a false light to lure and destroy the 
 living. We ought to do all in our power t© make known 
 the melancholy truth, — sad, but unquestionable, — that 
 when the last hours of life come, it is generally too late 
 to make preparation, if it has been delayed, and too late 
 even to finish it, if it has only been begun. It is too late, 
 not because repentance would not even then be availing, 
 but because it is the tendency of that last sad occasion, if 
 it disturbs the stupor of sin at all, not to bring penitence, 
 but only agitation, anxiety and alarm. 
 
 8. The preceding heads have related chiefly to those 
 whom the invasion of sickness, or the approach of death, 
 has found unprepared. We are often, however, called to 
 *he bed-side of the dying Christian, whose life has exhibit- 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 255 
 
 The sick Christian. How decline. 
 
 ed evidence of his reconciliation with God. Our duty with 
 these, is to go on with them as far as we may, into the 
 dark valley, to cheer, and sustain, and help them. God 
 has himself promised to be their stay and support, and the 
 means he uses to accomplish this promise, are often tx) a 
 great extent, the kindness and sympathy of a Christian 
 friend. These cases are, in some important respects, dif- 
 ferent from the preceding. In those, the work of life has 
 been neglected, and is crowded into the last melancholy 
 hours: in these, that work is done already, and nothing 
 remains but to go through the last sickness and suffering, 
 to the home anticipated and provided for. In the other 
 cases, therefore, though there was need of the greatest 
 delicacy and quiet in the mode of calling the patient's 
 attention to what was to be done, there was yet a great 
 deal to do. In the latter, we have only to smooth the path 
 of the sufferer, and speak to him in tones of sympathy and 
 affection, and walk along by his side. 
 
 Whatever influence the degree of holiness which the 
 Christian may have attained to during his life, may have 
 upon his happiness and glory in eternity, we have very 
 little evidence that any progress which he can make in a 
 few days of severe sickness will materially affect it. Our 
 wisest course, therefore, in such a case, is, to bring occa- 
 sionally before the mind, as our interviews may give us 
 opportunity, such presentations of divine truth, as may re- 
 awaken holy feeling, and cheer and sustain the heart. One 
 of David's short and simple petitions, or a scriptural 
 promise, or a verse or two of a hymn, not didactic, but 
 expressive of feeling, or a few words in a gentle tone, so 
 framed as not to admit of a reply, will be all, in many cases, 
 that the patient can bear. I speak now of cases of some- 
 what severe disease. In these, if we have good evidence 
 that the preparation for death is really made,— we must, 
 as much as possible leave the sufferer in repose. We 
 must bring religious truth before the mind chiefly to 
 
 ii^' 
 
^6 THE Way to do good. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Expressions of piety by the sick. 
 
 strengthen and sustain it, and to keep there an assurance 
 of the unfailing kindness and continued presence of the 
 Savior, who has promised to love and to keep his children 
 to the end. 
 
 We err often in such cases, by endeavoring to draw 
 from the dying Christian, the assurances of his unwavering 
 hope, or his last testimony to the reality of religion. We 
 do this partly to procure subjects of pleasant recollection 
 to friends, and partly to furnish new and corroborating 
 evidence to the truth of Christianity. But it is wrong to 
 make any such efforts. We may safely listen to and 
 receive whatever the patient may spontaneously say; in 
 fact, some of the most striking and most powerful evidences 
 of the power of religion, have been furnished by the testi- 
 mony which has been recorded from the lips of the dying. 
 But if it is extorted, or even drawn out in the most delicate 
 manner, it is of little worth. 
 
 Besides, it is sometimes even cruel to attempt to do 
 this. It is painful and fatiguing in the extreme for the 
 patient to be examined, — or to be drawn into a conver- 
 sation so conducted as la have all the inquisitorial effects 
 of an examination. Then the results, in such a case, are 
 no safe criterion. The mind is so extensively and myste- 
 riously affected by the complicated influences of disease, 
 and nervous exhilaration or depression will so mingle with, 
 and modify the religious feelings and hopes, that the lan- 
 guage and expressions of sickness can be, in many cases, 
 only faintly relied upon as real evidences of the spiritual 
 state. 
 
 In cases of long continued and lingering disease, a 
 greater latitude of religious conversation and intercourse 
 with a christian patient, may be allowed than would be 
 useful in a rapid and fatal disorder. In fact, in such a 
 case, the patient may, in the course of several months of 
 slow decline, make a very considerable progress in piety, 
 and the christian visiter may have such a progress in mind. 
 
Ch. 8.] THE SICK. 257 
 
 Professions. Authority of physician. ; 
 
 and act with special reference to it in all his intercourse. 
 In this case, however, there is one great danger; especially 
 where the subject is young. The visiter insensibly allows 
 the object before his mind, to change from a simple desire 
 to promote the spiritual progress of his charge, into a 
 desire to gratify himself with the indications of this pro- 
 gress. His conversations gradually assume a tendency to 
 elicit expressions of piety, rather than to promote the 
 silent progress of piety within. The consequence is, that 
 after a time, some action or expression on the part of the 
 patient, betrays lurking vanity or spiritual pride, which 
 astonishes and grieves his visiter, and he opens his eyes to 
 the sad fact, that he has been all the time cherishing affec- 
 tation and love of display. I do not mean that it has been 
 all affectation and love of display. These feelings have 
 insensibly and slowly mingled with, and poisoned the piety 
 which existed at first, and it is these which the deceived 
 visiter has been, with far different intentions, steadily de- 
 veloping. 
 
 As the human heart is, we cannot be too cautious in all 
 cases and under all circumstances, how we encourage and 
 appear to be pleased with professions of any sort. The 
 step is so short and so easily taken, from a profession 
 springing spontaneously and honestly out of the feeling it 
 represents, to a profession arising from a self complacency 
 in the credit of that feeling, that the latter comes very 
 readily after the former. And this consideration mingles 
 with those others which have been already adduced, to urge 
 us to be content when we have faithfully endeavored to do 
 the good, without being too solicitous to ascertain exactly 
 whether the good is done. 
 
 9. We close this series of directions with one which 
 might very properly have been placed at the commence- 
 ment of it. In all our intercourse with the sick, we must 
 acknowledge and submit to the authority of the physician 
 and the friends, in respect to the extent to which we may 
 22* 
 
25S THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 8. 
 
 Limits and restrictions. 
 
 go in regard to a spiritual influence upon them We 
 ought not to violate by stealth or otherwise, the wishes of 
 those upon whom Providence has placed the responsibility, 
 and to whom he has given the control. I will not say 
 that there may not be some rare exceptions, but certainly 
 no one can doubt that where parental authority, in a case 
 fairly within parental jurisdiction, or the orders of a physi- 
 cian who has the responsibility of life and death resting 
 upon him, rise up like a wall in our way, there Providence 
 does not intend that we shall go. Whatever good we 
 might fancy that we could do by violating these sacred 
 powers, we have no right to violate them. In fact we 
 should do no good to violate them, for we should create 
 a suspicion and jealousy which would close many more 
 doors than we should thus unjustifiably open. It is well for 
 the spiritual friend of the patient to have an understanding 
 with the physician, and obtain some knowledge of the na- 
 ture of the disease, especially in respect to its influence 
 upon the mind; and then to endeavor to fall in with the 
 plan of cure pursued, at least to do nothing to interfere 
 with, or thwart it. We are bound to do this, even in a 
 religious point of view, for the hope of salvation in the case 
 of a sick sinner, lies generally more in a hope of recovery, 
 than in any reasonable expectation of benefit from spiritual 
 instructions given upon a dying bed. Besides, God has 
 surrounded us in every direction, in this world, with limits 
 and restrictions in our efforts to do good. We must keep 
 ourselves fairly within these limits. What we cannot do 
 without trespassing beyond them, we must be wilHng to 
 leave undone. Thus, in order to accomplish our benevo- 
 lent plans, we must never violate the rights of conscience 
 or of property, or invade the just and prO])er liberty to 
 which every man has an undefeasible title, or be guilty of 
 artifice or of unworthy subterfuge, or infringe upon any 
 sacred relations which God has established, and which he 
 justly requires us to respect. We must go forward to our 
 
Ch. 9.J CHILDREN. C59 
 
 A supposition. The infants. 
 
 work, not so anxious to effect our object, as to do nothing 
 in any degree wrong in the attempt to effect it. We must 
 conform most strictly and invariably to all those principles 
 which we are endeavoring to promote, and never transgress 
 them ourselves, in our eagerness to extend them to others. 
 In a v/ord, we must be upright, pure, honest, open and in- 
 corruptible in all we do. What we cannot effect in this 
 way, we must suppose that God does not intend that we 
 shall effect at all, — always remembering that a pure and 
 an unspotted example of piety, is more efficacious in pro- 
 moting the spread of the gospel, than any measures, what- 
 ever, which we have to carry into effect by the sacrifice of 
 principle. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 ** It is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones 
 should perish." 
 
 Suppose that a hundred healthy infants, each a few 
 weeks old, were taken from the city of Constantinople, 
 and arranged under the care of nurses, in a suite of apart- 
 ments, in some public hospital. In an adjoining range of 
 rooms, let another hundred, taken from the most virtuous 
 families in Scotland, be placed. Take another hundred 
 from the haunts of smugglers, or of the pirates which infest 
 the West India Seas; another from the high nobility of the 
 families of England, and another from the lowest and most 
 degraded haunts of vice, in the faubourg St. Antoine, in 
 Paris. Now, if such an infantile representation were made, 
 of some of tlie most marked and most dissimilar of the 
 classes, into which the Caucasian race has been divided, 
 by the progress of time, and the doors of the various apart- 
 
660 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Effect of education. 
 
 ments thrown open, — the question is, whether the most 
 minute and thorough scrutiny could distinguish between 
 the classes, and assign each to its origin. They are to be 
 under one common system of arrangement and attendance, 
 —and we have supposed all the subjects to be healthy, in 
 order to cut off grounds of distinction, which an intelligent 
 physician might observe in hereditary tendencies to disease. 
 Under these circumstances, if the several collections be 
 subjected to the most thorough examination, would any in- 
 genuity or science be able to establish a distinction between 
 them? Probably not. There would be the same forms 
 and the same color; — the same instincts, — the same cries. 
 The cradles which would lull the inmates of one apartment 
 to repose, would be equally lulling to the others, — and the 
 same bright objects, or distinct sounds, which would awak- 
 en the senses, and give the first gentle stimulus to mind, 
 in one case, would do the same in all. Thus inspection 
 alone of these specimens would not enable us to label them; 
 and if they were to remain months, or even years under 
 our care, for concealed and embryo differences to be de- 
 veloped, we should probably wait in vain. 
 
 But, instead of thus waiting, let us suppose that the five 
 hundred children are dismissed, each to its mother and its 
 home, and that they all pass through the years of childhood 
 and youth, exposed to the various influences which surround 
 them in the dwellings and neighborhoods to which they re- 
 spectively belong; — among the bazars and mosques of the 
 Turkish city, or the glens and hill sides of Scotland, or in 
 the home of noise and violence, whether forecastle or hut, — 
 of the bucaniers, — or in the nurseries and drawingrooms 
 of Grovesnor Square, or the dark crowded alleys of the 
 Parisian faubourg. Distribute them thus to the places to 
 which they respectively belong, and leave them there, till 
 the lapse of time has brought them to maturity ; — then 
 bring them all together, for examination again. 
 
 How widely will they be found to have separated now.^ 
 
Ch. 9. J CHILDREN. 261 
 
 Education of circumstances. 
 
 Though they commenced life alike and together, their paths 
 began at once to diverge, and now, when we compare 
 them, how totally dissimilar. Contrast the Turk with the 
 Scot, — the hardened pirate, with the effeminate nobleman. 
 Examine their characters thoroughly, — their feelings, their 
 opinions, their principles of conduct, their plans of life, 
 their pursuits, their hopes, their fears. Almost every thing 
 is dissimilar. There is, indeed, a common humanity in all, 
 but every thing not essential to the very nature of man is 
 changed ; and characters are formed, so totally dissimilar, 
 that we might almost doubt the identity of the species. 
 
 There is another thing to be observed, too, — that every 
 individual of each class, with scarcely a single exception, 
 goes with his class, and forms a character true to the influ- 
 ences which have operated upon him in his own home. 
 You will look in v*ain for a character of luxurious effemin- 
 acy among the pirates' sons, or for virtuous principle among 
 children brought up in a community of thieves. You can 
 find cases enough, of this kind, it is true, in works of 
 fiction, but few in real life; — and those few are not real 
 exceptions. They are accounted for, by the mixed influ- 
 ences, which, on account of some peculiar circumstances, 
 bear upon some individuals, and modify the character which 
 they might have been expected to form. The Turkish chil- 
 dren are all Turks, unless there may be one here and there, 
 among a million, whose course may have been deflected a 
 little by some extraordinary circumstances in his history. 
 So the Parisian children all become Frenchmen in their 
 feelings and opinions, and principles of action; — ^the aris- 
 tocratic children all become aristocratic; and all those who 
 in London or Paris find their homes in the crowded quar- 
 ters of vice, — if they are brought up thieves and beggars, 
 thieves and beggars they will live. 
 
 And yet it is not education, in the common sense of that 
 term, which produces these effects upon human character; 
 that is, it is not formal efforts, on the part of parents and 
 
 L 
 
262 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 lustructions not exclusively for parents. 
 
 friends, to instruct and train up the young to walk in their 
 own footsteps. In respect to the acquisition of knowledge, 
 and of accomplishments, great effort would be made to 
 give formal instruction by some of the classes enumerated 
 above; but in regard to almost all that relates to the form- 
 ation of character, — principles of action, — the sentiments 
 and the feelings, — the work is done by the thousand name- 
 less influences which surround every child, and which con- 
 stitute the moral atmosphere in which he spends his youth- 
 ful years. 
 
 Now this kind of moral atmosphere, which is so effectual 
 in determining the character which the children who grow 
 up in the midst of it form, every one does a great deal to 
 produce, — altogether more than he would at first suppose 
 possible. So that our influence upon the young, is an ex- 
 ceedingly important department of our opportunities of 
 doing good. In fact, God has assigned us a double duty 
 to perform, while we remain here. First, to use the world 
 well, while we continue in it; and, secondly, to prepare a 
 generation to receive the trust, when we shall pass away 
 from the scene. We are not only to occupy well ourselves, 
 but to train up and qualify our successors. 
 
 Now the reader may, perhaps, think that these remarks, 
 and what remains in this chapter, on the subject of the 
 yoiing, must be intended principally for parents. Far from 
 it; for there are many relations in life, which give us a very 
 free access to the young, and an influence over them as an 
 inevitable result. One person is a parent, and consequently 
 exercises a very controlling influence over the whole char- 
 acter and future prospects of his children. Another is a 
 brother or sister, and enjoys opportunities of influence, 
 almost as great as those of a father or mother. Another, 
 who lives, perhaps, in a family where there are no children, 
 is intimate in the families of neighbors or friends, and is 
 thus thrown into frequent intercourse for years, with cous- 
 ins and nephews and neices, who are all the time catching 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 263 
 
 Influence of relatives. The worsted pocketbook. 
 
 his spirit and imbibing his principles. An uncle, or an 
 aunt, in such a case, is very apt to imagine that they have 
 nothing to do, but to keep in the good graces of their little 
 relatives, by an occasional picture book or sugar toy. They 
 forget the vast effects, which ten years of almost constant 
 and yet unguarded intercourse must have; and still more, 
 the very powerful influence which it might have, in giving 
 a right moral turn to the sentiments and the feelings, and 
 the whole cast of character, if the opportunity was proper- 
 ly improved. In fact, if we look back to our own early 
 days, we shall remember in how many instances our opin- 
 ions, and sentiments, and feelings, and, perhaps, our whole 
 cast of character received a turn from the influence of an 
 uncle, or an aunt, or neighbor. In my father's family, 
 there was an antique pocketbook, of particolored worsted, 
 — the admiration of our childish eyes, — a collection of the 
 college compositions, and journals, and letters, of an amia- 
 ble uncle, who died so early that his nephews could never 
 know hiai, except through these remains. And many a 
 rainy day, and many a winter evening was this pocketbook 
 explored, as a mine of instruction and enjoyment. Moral 
 principle was awakened and cultivated by the senti- 
 ments of an essay, and literary interest or ambition aroused 
 by the spirit of a forensic discussion, or by the various 
 memorials of a college life; and feelings of kindness and 
 good will were cherished by the amiable and gentle spirit, 
 which breathed in the letters or the journal. The whole 
 undoubtedly exerted a vast influence, in giving form to the 
 character and sentiments of the boys who had access to it; 
 and yet how vastly greater would have been the influence 
 of a constant intercourse with the living man. 
 
 Or, if the reader has neither of the above means of in- 
 fluence, he is or may be, perhaps, a Sabbath school teach- 
 er, or he may have boys in his employment, or he may, in 
 his business, have frequent intercourse with many who 
 come to him as messengers, or who stand by, unnoticed 
 
2ni THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Plan of the chapter. 
 
 but very attentive listeners to his directions or conversation. 
 We thus, in a thousand other ways, have a connection with 
 the young, which, though we may consider it slight, yet 
 exerts a powerful influence in impressing our characters 
 upon the plastic material which it reaches. Hence, all 
 who wish to do good, should understand something of the 
 character and susceptibilities of children, and make it a 
 part of their constant care, to exert as happy and as salu- 
 tary an influence upon them, as they can. I proceed to 
 give some practical directions by which this must be done. 
 They are not intended particularly for parents, but for all 
 who have any intercourse with the young. They who have 
 made this subject a particular subject of reflection, will find 
 nothing new in these suggestions. They are the principles 
 which common sense, and the results of common observa- 
 tion establish; — ^they are presented here, not as discoveries, 
 but as obvious truths, to be kept in mind by those who 
 would accomplish the most extensive and the most unmixed 
 good, in this part of the widely extended vineyard of God. 
 We scarcely need remark, that this direction will relate 
 solely to the employment of human means, which can be 
 really successful in promoting that thorough change in the 
 (desires and affections of the heart which constitutes salva- 
 ii^A, only so far as they may be made instrumental to this 
 end by the Spirit of God. 
 
 The plan of discussion which we shall pursue will be, 
 
 I. To consider some of the prominent characteristics 
 of childhood, in accordance with which, an influence over 
 the young, can alone be secured. 
 
 II. Deduce from them some general rules. 
 
 I. PROMINENT CHARACTERISTICS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 To understand the course which must be taken, in order 
 to secure an influence over children, we must first under- 
 stand the leading principles and characteristics of child- 
 
I Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 265 
 
 Characteristics of childhood. 
 
 hood, — for it is these, which we are to act upon. In a 
 summary expression of these, we may say that to exercise 
 upon every object their dawning faculties, both of body 
 and mind, — to learn all they can about the world into which 
 they are ushered, presenting, as it does, so strange and 
 imposing a spectacle to their senses, — to love those who 
 sympathize with and aid them in these objects, — and to 
 catch the spirit, and imitate the actions of those whom they 
 thus love, — these we should say, are the great leading 
 principles, by which the moral and intellectual nature of 
 childhood is governed. These we shall consider in detail 
 I. To exercise their opening faculties. 
 The infant's first pleasure of this kind, is the employ- 
 ment of the senses, beginning with gazing at the fire, or 
 listening with quiet pleasure to the sound of his mother's 
 voice singing in his ear. While the little being just usher- 
 ed into existence, lies still in his cradle, gazing upon the 
 wall, or with his chin upon his nurse's shoulder, listens al- 
 most breathlessly to the song which is lulling him to sleep, 
 how often does the mother say, "I should like to know 
 exactly what he is thinking of, — what state of mind he is 
 in." It is not very difficult, probably, to tell. Imagine 
 yourself in his situation; look up upon the white wall, and 
 banish all thought and reflection, as far as you can, — or 
 rather conceive of yourself as having done it entirely, so 
 as in imagination to arrest all operations of the mind, and 
 retain nothing but vision. Let the light come in to the eye, 
 and produce the sensation of whiteness, and nothing more. 
 Let it awaken no thought, no reflection, no inquiry. Im- 
 agine yourself never to have seen any white before, so as 
 to make the impression a novel one, — and also imagine 
 yourself never to have seen any thing, or heard any thing, 
 before, so as to cut ofl^ all ground for wonder or surprise. 
 In a word, conceive of a mind, in the state of simple sensa- 
 tion, with none of those thousand feelings and thoughts, 
 which sensation awakens in the spirit that is mature, and 
 23 
 
20^ THE WAV TO ba GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Mental processes. Pleasure of action. 
 
 you have probably the exact state of the infantile intellect, 
 when the first avenues are opened, by which the external 
 world is brought to act upon its embryo mind. Can it be 
 surprising, then, under such circumstances, that even mere 
 sensation should be pleasure ? 
 
 As the child advances through the first months of exist- 
 ence, the mental part of the processes which the sensations 
 awaken, are more and more developed; for we are not to 
 consider the powers of mind as called at once into exist- 
 ence, complete and independent at the beginning, and then 
 joined to the corporeal frame, — ^but as gradually developed 
 in the progress of years, and that too, in a great measure, 
 through the instrumentality of the senses. After some 
 months have passed away, the impressions from without, 
 penetrate, as it were, farther within, and awaken new sus- 
 ceptibilities which gradually develope themselves. Now 
 each new faculty is a new possession, and the simple exer- 
 cise of it, without end or aim; is and must be a great posi- 
 tive pleasure. First comes the power to walk. We are 
 always surprised at seeing how much delight the chUd, who 
 first finds that he has strength and steadiness to go upright 
 across the room, finds, in going across again and again, — 
 from table to chair, and from chair to sofa, as long as his 
 strength remains. But why shouidwe be surprised at it? 
 Suppose the inhabitants of any town should find themselves 
 suddenly possessed of the power of flying; — we should 
 find them, for hours and days, filUng the air, flitting from 
 tree to tree, and from house top to steeple, with no end or 
 aim, but the pleasure enjoyed in the simple exercise of a 
 new poiver. The crowds which press to the ticket office of 
 a new railroad, — or the multitudes of delighted citizens, 
 brought out by an unexpected fall of snow in a warm cli- 
 mate, jingling about in every sort of vehicle that can be 
 made to slide, show that man has not outgrown the principle. 
 Now this love of the exercise of the new power, is ob- 
 vious enough, in the cases I have referred to, as seeing, 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. ^67 
 
 Understanding language. Stories. 
 
 hearing, walking, and in many other cases, as using the 
 limbs, producing sound by striking hard bodies, breaking, 
 upsetting, piling up blocks, or dragging about crickets and 
 chairs. It is precisely the same feeling, which would lead 
 a man to go about, uprooting trees, or breaking enormous 
 rocks, if he should suddenly find, himself endued with the 
 power of doing so. It is obvious enough, in these common 
 physical operations, but we forget how many thousand 
 mental processes there are, and others complicated, partly 
 mental and partly physical, which possess the same charm 
 in their incipient exercise, and which, in fact, make up a 
 large portion of the occupations and eryoyments of child- 
 hood. 
 
 One of the earliest examples of a mental process, or 
 rather power which the child is always pleased to exercise, 
 is understanding language, or, to describe it more accurate 
 ly, the susceptibility of having pleasant images awakened 
 in the mind, by means of the magical power of certain 
 sounds striking upon the ear. There are thousands who 
 have observed the indications of this pleasure, who do not 
 understand the nature and the source of it. Every mo- 
 ther, for example, observes that children love to be talked 
 to, long before they can talk themselves; and they imagine 
 that what pleases the listener, is his interest in the particu- 
 lar thing said, — whereas, it is probably only his interest in 
 finding himself possessed of the new and strange power of 
 understanding sounds. The mother says, "Where 's 
 Father?" "Where's Father.^" and imagines that the 
 child is pleased with the m^mry,— whereas it is only pleas- 
 ed that that sound, — " Father,"— striking upon its ear, can 
 produce so strange an effect, as to call up to its conception 
 a faint mental image of the man. It is this magic power 
 of a word to produce a new and peculiar mental state, 
 which is probably the source of pleasure. Hence the in- 
 terest, which the little auditor will take, will not be in pro- 
 portion to the connection, or the point, of the story; but 
 
26^ THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Stories fbr children. Source of pleasure. 
 
 to the frequency of the worcls contained in it which call up 
 familiar and vivid ideas. Thus a talk like this. "Fire, 
 fire; pussy runs; tongs, tongs fall down; walk, run; Mary 
 walk, Mary run," — will be listened to by the child, who is 
 just learning to listen to language, with as much pleasure, 
 as the most connected or pointed little story. It is not, 
 therefore, what is understood, but the mere power of un- 
 derstanding, — the first development of a new mental facul- 
 ty, which pleases the possessor. 
 
 The reader may, perhaps, think at first, that this is 
 rather a dim distinction. That it is, however, in reality, a 
 broad and important one may be made obvious, thus. Sup- 
 pose we should suddenly become possessed of the power 
 of understanding the language of signs, used by the deaf 
 and dumb, and should meet a mute, and observe him talk- 
 ing to his companion. How much interest we should take 
 in watching his gesticulations, simply from the pleasure 
 which the first exercise of the new power of understanding 
 their meaning would give. It would be of no consequence 
 what was the subject of the conversation. We should take 
 as great an interest in the most common questions and re- 
 plies, as in the most interesting narrative ; for the source 
 of our enjoyment, would not be our interest in what was 
 said, — but the pleasure of first enjoying the power of un- 
 derstanding this new mode of saying it. So the very little 
 child is pleased, not with the point or connectedness of 
 your story, but by the strange production in his mind, of 
 conceptions and images by the magic influence of sounds, — 
 conceptions and images, which heretofore have only been 
 produced, by the actual presence of their prototypes. 
 
 This is one of the simplest cases of the pleasure arising 
 from the first exercise of a mental power. There are a 
 thousand others, which come forth, one after another, all 
 through the years of childhood and youth, and keep the 
 young mind supplied with new, and still new sources of 
 enjoyment. The amusements of children almost all derive 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 269 
 
 Love of employment. An offer and the choice. > 
 
 their charm from their calling into exercise these dawning 
 powers, and enabling them to realize their possession. 
 Digging in the ground, — making little gardens,— dressing 
 and undressing and disciplining a doll, — playing store, and 
 meeting, and company, and soldier, — and a thousand other 
 things, call into play the memory, the imagination, the use 
 of the limbs, and senses, and thus exercise all the powers 
 which have not yet lost their novelty. In fact, these powers 
 are so rapidly progressive, that they are always new. 
 
 This love of action now, — this pleasure in trying the 
 new powers, is among the strongest of the propensities of 
 childhood. It is certainly stronger than the appetites. At 
 least, my observation has led me to think so, and to put the 
 question to the test, in one case, I have addressed a boy 
 five years old, at least as great a lover of sugar, and sugar 
 dogs, as other boys of his years, who has come into my 
 study, while I am penning these remarks, thus : 
 
 *' Suppose, now, I should tell you, that you. might either 
 have four large lumps of sugar, or go and get some sticks 
 and paper, and help me make my fire; which should you 
 rather do?" 
 
 *' Why, — I think I had rather help you make the fire." 
 
 "Well, suppose I should tell you, I was going to cut 
 some paper into small pieces, and do up a little of my 
 black sand in each piece; and that you might have your 
 choice, either to sit up to the table and help me, or have a 
 large piece of apple pie, or three sugar dogs, and one 
 handsome sugar rabbit .''" 
 
 The countenance of the child showed for an instant that 
 it was a very serious question, but he said, 
 
 " I should rather help do up the sand, — if there are scis- 
 sors enough," glancing an eye at the single pair of slender 
 paper shears, which lay upon the table. 
 
 I have no doubt that a vast majority of children, from 
 three to five years of age, would answer similar questions 
 in a similar manner. What time and money are spent in 
 23* 
 
270 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Cfl. 0. 
 
 Counting. Steps minute and simple. 
 
 sweetmeats and expensive toys, to win an access for the 
 donors to children's hearts, or to make them happy, while 
 all the time the path to childish affection and enjoyment, 
 lies in so totally different a direction ! 
 
 Any one who will make childhood a study, by observing 
 its peculiarities, and making experiments upon its feelings 
 and tendencies, will find innumerable examples of the grat- 
 ification they thus derive from the mere exercise of their 
 nascent powers, without end or aim. There is enumeration, 
 for example, — the power of conceiving of numbers, and 
 their relations to one another. You may try this experi- 
 ment upon it; take a young child, from three to four years 
 of age, just old enough to begin to count, and sit up with 
 him to a table with ten wafers, or kernels of corn, or coffee, 
 before you. Let him look at the objects, until his interest 
 in them, simply as objects, is satisfied, and then begin to 
 count them and reckon them in various ways, so as gently 
 to exercise his dawning powers of calculation. First count 
 them all. Then count two of them, and two more, and 
 then the whole four. Go on perhaps thus : 
 
 "There is one, and there is another, that makes two; — 
 now there is another. How many do two and another^ 
 counted together, make? Let us see. One, two, three. 
 I'hrey make three. Two things, and then another thing 
 put with them, make three things. 
 
 " Now we will put them in a row, and begin at this end 
 and count them. It makes ten. Now we will begin at the 
 other end, and see if it makes the same. Yes, it makes 
 ten. It is the same. If we count them from this end to 
 that it makes ten, and if we count them from that end to 
 this, it makes ten. Now we will begin in the middle," &c. 
 
 I give this, in order to show how extremely short and 
 simple are the steps which must be taken, in order to ena- 
 ble the child to follow, when the reckoning powers are just 
 beginning to be formed. Such steps may be indefinitely 
 varied, by a little ingenuity, while the mind of the child is 
 
Ch. 9.J CttiLCftfiJ?. 
 
 Make work for children. Second principle. 
 
 all the time occupied with simply reckoning numbers, i. e. 
 exercising a power which he then, almost for the first time, 
 finds that he possesses* In fact, he can hardly be said to 
 have possessed it before. The exercise not merely calls 
 them into play; it almost calls them into being. Go on, 
 then, with the work, for the purpose of seeing how long he 
 will continue to be interested. Unless some other object 
 of excitement, has, at the time of the experiment, posses- 
 sion of his mind, your patience will be exhausted, long 
 before he will be ready to get down. 
 
 Such examples are numberless. In fact, let an intelli- 
 gent observer, when he sees children busily engaged in 
 some scheme of amusement or occupation, pause a moment 
 and look over them, and ask "What now is the secret source 
 of pleasure here ? What constitutes the charm .'' What 
 power of body or mind is it, whose exercise here gives the 
 enjoyment?" Such inquiries, and the analysis to which 
 they lead, will give one a deep insight in the character and 
 feelings of childhood, and the great springs of its action. 
 He who would gain an ascendency over children must thus 
 study them, and aid them in this their leading desire 
 Make work for them, — lay before them objects and occu- 
 pations, which shall make them acquainted with their pow- 
 ers, by calling them out into action; and lead them to a 
 mode of action, which will not interfere with the comforts 
 or rights of others. No one can really understand children 
 in this respect, and sympathize with them, and aid them, 
 without finding their hearts bound soon to him, by the 
 strongest ties of gratitude and affection. But we must 
 pass on to the other leading principles of childhood, above 
 enumerated. 
 
 2. To learn all they can about the world into which they 
 find themselves ushered. 
 
 Next to their desire to act, their strongest impulse is a 
 desire to know. This, like the other, has been universally 
 observed; but, like the other, its true nature is not very 
 
^*i^ THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9» 
 
 " More stories." Subjects for talk. Every thing new. 
 
 exactly understood. It is not so much a desire to know 
 what is remarkable or curious, as to know what is; it is 
 the interest of knotoing, rather than an interest in the ex- 
 traordinariness of what is known. With them, the distinc- 
 tion between what is common and what is extraordinary is 
 lost, or rather it has never been acquired. All things are 
 new to them, and consequently if you tell them something, 
 or explain to them something, it is of but little consequence 
 what it is. 
 
 "My child is continually asking for stories, — more sto- 
 ries, — until my powers of imagination and invention are 
 exhausted, — what shall I do.''" has been the exclamation 
 a thousand times. It shows that the mother who makes it, 
 does not distinctly understand the nature of the intellectual 
 want which she is called upon to supply. *' Stories " 
 mean talk, — or at least, any talk about what is new, will 
 satisfy the appetite for stories. Set off, then, on any track, 
 and talk. Suppose you could, yourself, meet a man who 
 had been in the moon, and he should sit down and describe 
 accurately and vividly what he saw there, any day; — how 
 he took a walk, and what objects he saw, and what incidents 
 he met with; or suppose he should describe the interior of 
 a room, — any room whatever, there, — the furniture, the 
 instruments, their uses and construction ; — why, there would 
 not be an hour of his residence in the planet, that would 
 not afford abundant materials for a conversation to which 
 we should listen with the deepest interest and pleasure. 
 Well, now we must remember that this world is all moon 
 to children, and we can scarcely go amiss in describing it. 
 There is no hour in your day, and no object you see, 
 which is not full of subjects of interest to them. 
 
 For instance, suppose a child comes to his mother's 
 side while she is sitting at her work, and wants a story 
 She casts her eyes about her for a subject, and as my sand- 
 box is the object that presents itself first to my attention, I 
 will suppose it to be the one that arrests hers. " Come," 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 273 
 
 Tlie sand-box. Talk about it. A thousand subjects. 
 
 she says, " I will tell you about my sand-box." She then 
 shows it to him, unscrews the top, points out the various 
 parts, and explains them. It is a little broader at the 
 bottom than in the middle, that it may stand steady, — and 
 at the top, that it may receive the sand easier from the 
 paper. She shows why there are many small holes, instead 
 of one large one, — what the sand is used for, — how it 
 sticks upon the wet ink and not upon the dry, — why black, 
 rather than white sand is used, and why the box is formed 
 into a sort of basin at the top. And each one of these 
 particulars, is a subject of itself, as copious as the whole 
 box which suggested them. The first, for instance, the 
 broadness of the bottom, to secure steadiness of support, 
 may lead to other similar cases; — the bottom of the lamp, 
 or the inkstand, or a hundred other things similarly con- 
 structed, and the principles by which steadiness is given 
 to chairs, tables, &,c. by the position of the legs. In the 
 same manner, each of the other parts of the article is, of 
 itself, an independent topic. 
 
 Thus every object in the room is the subject for a lec- 
 ture, or a story of half an hour. A pin, a wafer, ^ key^ j, J 
 ^a_stickof wood, — there is nothing which is not full of inter- ^ 
 est to chiKfetijTf yo^uwill only be mmitfe enough. Take 
 a^stick of wood. Tell how the tree it came from, sprung 
 up out of the ground, — years ago; how it grew every 
 summer by the sap ; how this stick was first a little bud, 
 next year a shoot, and by and by a strong branch ; how a 
 bird perhaps built her nest on it; how squirrels ran up and 
 down, and ants crept over it; how the woodman cut down 
 the tree, &c. Sec, expanding all the particulars into the 
 most minute narrative. It is surprising that any mother 
 can ever complain that she Ts~ar"arToss"fbF subjec^^^^ of 
 conversation with her child. 
 
 For T>e sides this whole class of subjects, — i. e. descrip- 
 tion"s^of the common things the child sees, there is not a 
 h.al£^an hour, in a day, whose history would not furnish a 
 
274 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Describe any thing to children. 
 
 highly jntejesting narxativ^ to a i^hild. Take, for instance, 
 your first half hour in the morning; how the room looked 
 when you awoke, — what you first thought of, — how you 
 proceeded in dressing, — the little difficulties you met with, 
 and their remedies; what you first saw when you came 
 down stairs, and what you did, — when you first met your 
 little auditor, — what you thought, and did, and said. The 
 whole would naturally suggest and include much which 
 would be new information to the child; although this 
 would not be the principal source of its interest. The 
 pleasure which the hearer would derive from it, is the 
 gratification of the mysterious appetite of the human mind 
 for language. If you describe nothing which the child did 
 not know before, he still enjoys the description. Our 
 readers will not dispute this, if they call to mind the fact, 
 that the most interesting passages they themselves read in 
 books, are graphic accounts of scenes or events which 
 they have witnessed themselves. The charm of all good 
 description, consists in its presenting to the reader, in 
 spirited, graphic language, that with which, as a reality, 
 he is most perfectly familiar. Hence it happens, that if 
 we take up a traveller's account of our country, we turn 
 first to read the description which he has given of our own 
 town; partly, perhaps, from curiosity to know his opinion 
 of us, but still, in a great degree, for the simple pleasure 
 of seeing, through the medium of language, that with 
 which we are perfectly familiar by the eye. 
 
 Our object, then, in talking to children, is not to find 
 something new, and strange, and wonderful. We have 
 only to clothe in language, such conceptions and truths, as 
 they can understand, without racking our invention to 
 produce continual novelty. Conversation conducted thus, 
 though, at first view, it might seem mere amusement, will 
 be, in fact, very highly useful. The child will rapidly ac- 
 quire familiarity with language by it, which is one of the 
 'most important acquisitions he can make, Then you will 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 275 
 
 The way to tell stories. A specimen 
 
 insensibly say a great, deal which will be new to your 
 auditor, though it may seem common place to you; and 
 though you may not aim always_at.mor4il instruct ion, the 
 narratives and descriptions you give, will spontaneously 
 tEcke^from your own mind, a moral expression, which will 
 have great influence upon his. 
 
 Thus^yery half hour of the day will furnish abundant 
 materials for a long narrative. Any walk which you have 
 taken, or piece of work which you have done, or any plan 
 that you have in mind, if properly described, will abun- 
 dantly feed and satisfy, for the time being, your child's 
 desire to know; for you must always remember it is not 
 necessary that what you say should be particularly inter- 
 esting to you, in order to interest him. 
 
 Or, it you wish occasionally for something more strictly 
 a. story, set off at once, with any hero, and in any direc-' 
 "itonj^ou cannot go amiss.' "*' A boy once thought he 
 would go out and take a walk, so he put on his hat, and 
 took a little cane, and went down by a brook behind his 
 father's house." Say so much without any idea of what 
 you are going to say next, and give the reins to the imagi- 
 nation and follow on. Do not task your powers to find 
 something new and strange; every thing is new and 
 strange to childhood. You may therefore save yourself 
 the trouble of research, and take what comes. Let your 
 hero see something on a tree, and wonder what it is, and 
 find that it is a knot, — and then see something else, and 
 find it is a bird's nest, and make various eflTorts to get up 
 to it. Let him meet other boys, and sit down on a log to 
 rest, or find a spring of water and try various ways to 
 drink, or throw little stones into a brook, the size and 
 shape of each, the kind of place they fall into, and the 
 various noises made by them, to be specified; — and when 
 you are tired of talking, leave your hero in the woods, 
 with the promise to finish the account of his adventures 
 and his return, the next time. 
 
276 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Subjects. Fietion. A danger. 
 
 A walk in a village, an imaginary history of a man's 
 bringing a load of wood to market, or an account of a boy's 
 making a collection of playthings in a cabinet, — what he 
 had and how he arranged them; — or the common every 
 day adventures of a cat about house, now sleeping in the 
 corner, now watching at a mouse's hole in the dark cellar, 
 and now ascending to the house top and walking along on 
 the edge of the roof, looking down to the boys in the yard 
 below. I mention these, not to propose them, particu- 
 larly, but to show how wide is the field, and how endless 
 the number and the variety of the topics which are open 
 before you. I ought to remark here, however, that the 
 distinction between what is true, and what is only imagina- 
 ry in its details, ought to be clearly explained to the child, 
 and he ought to know when you are narrating real, and 
 when fictitious incidents. 
 f Parents sometimes entertain some fears that there may 
 be danger in narrating any thing to children which is not 
 historically true, lest it should lead them first to undervalue 
 strict truth, and finally to form the habit of falsehood 
 These fears are not without some grounds, — for it does 
 require careful watch and constant effort, in any case, to 
 form and preserve a habit of veracity, in children. Wheth- 
 er you relate fictitious stories to them or notj you will often 
 find in them, propensities to deceit and falsehood, which it 
 will sometimes require all your moral power to withstand 
 We cannot, therefore, avoid the danger of children's falling 
 into the sin of falsehood. The only question is, how we 
 can most advantageously meet and overcome it. 
 
 Now it seems to me that we cannot most easily do it, by 
 confounding fictitious narration with falsehood, and con- 
 demning both. For no one pretends that the narration of 
 fictitious incidents, is, in itself, criminal. It is objected to, 
 only, as having a tendency to lead to what is criminal; the 
 intention to deceive being essential to the guilt of falsehood. 
 The question is, then, where, in attempting to guard chil- 
 
Cb. 9.] GHILDREK. 2^7 
 
 Is fiction allowable at all ? 
 
 dren from falsehood, we can most advantageously take our 
 stand. Shall we assume the position that all narration not 
 historically true, is wrong? or shall we show them, that 
 intention to deceive is the essence of the guilt of false- 
 hood, and contend only against that. My own opinion is, 
 that it is easier and better, in every respect, to do the latter. 
 If the distinction you make with them, is between what is 
 historically true on one side, and all that is imaginary on 
 the other, they can get but a shadowy idea of its being 
 really a distinction between right and wrong. If, however, 
 you bring them at once to the line between honesty and 
 deception, they can see easily and readily that you have 
 brought them to the boundaries of guilt. In maintaining 
 this distinction, you will have reason and conscience clear- 
 ly assenting, and here, consequently, you can raise the 
 strongest fortification against sin. On the other hand, if 
 you extend your lines of defence so as to include what you 
 admit is not wrong, but only supposed to be dangerous, 
 you extend greatly your circle of defence, you increase 
 the difficulty of drawing a clear line of demarcation, and, 
 notwithstanding all you can do or say, your theory con- 
 demns the mode of instruction adopted by the Savior. 
 
 We may, therefore, indulge the imagination freely in 
 children, but we must raise an impassable wall, on the first 
 confinesj)f Jwfenfio7i to deceive, and guard it with the great- 
 est vigilance and decision. 
 
 r*w^ouT3*7l!rerBfore, for example, if a little child should 
 ask for a story, say, perhaps, 
 
 " Shall I tell you something real or something ima- 
 ginary ? " 
 
 '' What is ' imaginary.? ' " 
 
 "Why, if I should make up a story about a squirrel 
 named Chipperee, that lived in the woods, and tell you 
 what he did all day; how he came out of his hole in the 
 morning, and what he saw, and what he found to eat, and 
 what other squirrels he met; and about his going down to a 
 24 
 
278 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 The true line to be drawn. 
 
 little brook to drink, and carrying home nuts for the winter, 
 &c. — when all the time, there never was any such squirrel, 
 but I made up the whole story, — that would be imaginary.' 
 
 "But father, that would not be true. Is it not wrong 
 to say any thing that is not true? " 
 
 *' No, it is not always wrong to say what is not strictly 
 true. If I were to say any thing that was not true, in 
 order to deceive you, that would be wrong. For example, 
 if I had some bitter medicine to give you, and should 
 cover it up with sugar, and tell you it was all sweet sugar, 
 that would be to deceive you, and that would be wrong. 
 But if I imagine a story about a squirrel, just to amuse 
 you, and teach you in a pleasanter way how squirrels live, 
 — when I tell you plainly, that it is not a true account of 
 any particular squirrel, — should you think that there would 
 be any thing wrong in that? " 
 
 Thus it seems that in this case, as in most others, it will be 
 easiest, safest, and most expedient, as well as most philoso- 
 phical, to draw the line at the real point where guilt begins. 
 Here only, is there a tangible, moral distinction which 
 children can appreciate, and though the work of keeping 
 them off of the forbidden grounds of deception and false- 
 hood, will require, in any case, much effort and care, it 
 seems as if this was the most proper place to take the 
 stand. If, however, after mature reflection, any parents 
 think differently, and still consider all fiction dangerous, 
 they ought, undoubtedly, to be controlled by their own 
 conscientious convictions, and abstain from it altogether. 
 
 We have mentioned three great classes of subjects, 
 which may supply mothers with means of conversation 
 with their children, so as to gratify their almost insatiable 
 appetite for knowledge. We have gone thus fully into 
 this part of the subject, on account of the universality of 
 the complaint on the part of those who have the care of 
 young children, that they do not know what to tell them. 
 The difficulty arises from having a standard too high, — 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 279 
 
 The senses the avenue. Example. 
 
 striving after something new and striking, or possessing 
 peculiar poetic or dramatic interest, and forgetting that 
 every thing is new and striking to children, and that, con- 
 sequently, there is scarcely any thing which can be seen, 
 or heard of, or conceived, which, properly expressed, in 
 language suited to their powers, will not possess a charm. 
 
 But how shall it be expressed in proper language.'' For 
 having thus attempted to show, to those interested in 
 children, what to tell them, we may perhaps devote a few 
 paragraphs to considering the best way to tell it. 
 
 (J^^^^_AdgyDBSs, the mind of the child through ..the senses, t 
 ^^ .^^2l^:^^L&^S^.S^S:3)!!'i^3..J^tS^^ mind by which the im- ^-^^ 
 pressions of the senses are recognised or recalled. In 
 oth'^words, present every thing in such a way that it may 
 convey vivid pictures to the mind. The senses are em- 
 phaticdlyjhe_gre at avenues to knowledge, in childhQtJTl, 
 and it is consequently through them that we can have the 
 ea'siest access. I can best illustrate what I mean, by 
 contrasting two ways of telling the same story, 
 
 "A man had a fine dog, and he was very fond of him. He 
 used to take a great deal of care of him, and give him all 
 he wanted, and, in fact, he did all he could to make him 
 comfortable, so that he should enjoy a happy life. Thus 
 he loved his dog very much, and took great pleasure in 
 seeing him comfortable and happy." 
 
 This now presents very few sensible images to the mind 
 of the child. In the following form, it would convey the 
 same general ideas, but far more distinctly and vividly 
 
 "There was once a man who had a large, black and 
 white dog beautifully spotted. He made a little house for 
 him out in a sunny corner of the yard, and used to give 
 him as much meat as he wanted. He would go and see 
 him sometimes, and pat his head, while he was lying upon 
 his straw in his little house. He loved his dog." 
 
280 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Generalization and abstraction. 
 
 No one at all acquainted with children need be told how 
 much stronger an interest the latter style of narration 
 would excite. And the difference is, in a philosophical 
 point of view, that the former is expressed in abstract terms, 
 which the mind comes to appreciate fully, only after long 
 habits of generalization; in the latter, the meaning comes 
 through sensible images, which the child can picture to 
 himself with ease and pleasure, by means of those faculties 
 of the mind, whatever they may be, by which the images 
 presented by the senses, are perceived, at first, and after- 
 wards renewed through the magical stimulus of language. 
 This is the key to one of the great secrets of interesting 
 children, and in teaching the young generally. Approach 
 their minds through the senses, JPescribe everything as 
 it presents itself to th^ eye and to the ear. ^different 
 course is, indeed, often wise ; as for example, when you 
 wish to exercise and develope the power of generalization 
 and abstraction, — but generally, when your wish is merely 
 to interest, or to convey knowledge; i. e. where you wish 
 to gain the readiest and most complete access to the heart, 
 these are the doors. You use others after a time, occa- 
 sionally, for the sake mainly of having them opened and 
 in use. 
 
 The intelligent reader will be able to apply this rule to 
 all the classes of subjects mentioned under the preceding 
 head, and will see at once how much additional interest 
 may be thrown over the conversations and narratives 
 described, by following this rule. We might well follow 
 out the principle, and its illustration and application to the 
 various stages of childhood and youth, and the proper 
 limits of it; for its limits must be observed^ or else we shall 
 make the pupil the helpless dependent upon his senses, for 
 life. There is, however, little danger of passing these 
 limits in early years. The great difficulty with instructions 
 and addresses to childhood, and the books written for them, 
 is not want of simplicity, as is commonly supposed, but 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 281 
 
 Minute details. An example. The boat. 
 
 generality, — abstractness, — a mode of exhibiting a subject 
 or attain of thought, which presents no distinct conceptions 
 to a mind which is unaccustomed to any elements of 
 thought which have not form or color. So that that which 
 is precise, and striking, and clear to the mind of the 
 speaker, is vague, and undefined, and inappreciable to the 
 unformed minds to which it is addressed. But we must 
 pass on. ^ 
 
 (2.) Be( exceedin gly minute in thg . detaUajaf, what you 
 descxihe^-JCake yery short steps, and take each one very 
 distinctly. If, for instance, you are narrating to a man, 
 you may simply say, if such an incident occurs in the 
 course of the narrative, — that your hero "went down to 
 the shore and got into a boat and pushed off." Your 
 hearer has probably got into a boat often enough to under- 
 stand it. But if you are talking to a child, he will be more 
 interested if you say, "he went down to the shore and 
 found a boat there. One end of the boat, the front part, 
 which they call the bows, was up against the shore, a 
 little in the sand. The other end was out on the water, and 
 moved up and down gently with the waves. There were 
 seats across the boat, and two oars lying along upon the 
 seats. The man stepped upon the bows of the boat. It 
 was fast in the sand, so that it did not sink under him. 
 Then he took up one of the oars and began to push against 
 the shore to push himself off. But as he was standing 
 upon the bows, his weight pressed the bows down hard 
 upon the sand, and so he could not push the boat off. 
 Then he went to the other end of the boat, g tepping over 
 the seats. The other end of the boat is the stern. The 
 stern sank a little, and the boat rocked from one side to 
 the other, and made the oar which was on the seats rattle. 
 There was nothing but water under the stern of the boat, 
 and that was what made it unsteady. The man stepped 
 carefully, and when he was fairly in the stern, he reached 
 his oar out again, and now he could push it off The bows 
 24* 
 
282 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Explain minutely. The black sand< 
 
 rubbed slowly back, off of the sand, and in a minute the 
 whole boat was floating on the water." 
 
 We have given this thus minutely, to show what almost 
 infinite expansion the most common incidents, which are 
 passed over usually by a word, in narratives addressed to 
 men, are capable of, when described to children. And it 
 is in this minute and particular way that they wish to have 
 every thing detailed which they have not become absolutely 
 familiar with. In fact, in writing, even, for the mature, the 
 success of the composition depends much upon the degree 
 of fidelity with which those most minute circumstances 
 which give to any scene its expression, are described to 
 the mind. But in addressing children, this is altogether 
 more necessary. For the complicated steps with which 
 long acquaintance with the world have familiarized men, 
 so as to make them the simple elements of higher combina- 
 tions, retain with children all their original complrcateness, 
 and must be expanded and exhibited in minute detail. It 
 would be well, for example, wh^n talking of the sand-box, 
 in addressing men, to say, " The sand is black rather than 
 white, that it may correspond in color with the ink that it 
 covers, and preserve a contrast with the paper." This 
 would not do for a child. *'No: the words would not be 
 understood," you say. True, but if we alter the words it 
 would then not be much better. Thus, " It is black rather 
 than white, that it may be like the ink, and different from 
 the paper." A boy four or five years old, in hearing that, 
 will probably ask why you want the sand different from the 
 paper, or else pause and reflect, trying to take, liimself, 
 the intermediate mental steps necessary to a full under- 
 standing of the explanation. The reason given to him in 
 fu^l would be, ''Suppose the sand was white, like flour, 
 and we pour it on. It would stick on the letters when the 
 ink was wet and make them look white. Now the paper is 
 whit> too, and you would hardly see that there were any 
 letters there. But by having the sand black, the letters 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 28:3 
 
 Style abrupt. Tones. Gesticulations. 
 
 continue to look black after the sand is on them, and of 
 course are plainly to be seen on the white paper." This, 
 which would be a tedious explanation to a man, even if he 
 had never heard of sand, — would be just satisfactory to a 
 small boy. 
 
 Thus, every thing should be related and explained 
 minutely; and any persons who will pause a little upon this 
 principle, and consider it in its application to common sub- 
 jects and to the common conversation they hold with chil- 
 dren, — they will see that every event, every incident, every 
 fact, every phenomenon, however common, and every 
 object of sight or hearing is connected with a thousand 
 associations and trains of thought, which may thus be ex- 
 panded, — and they will wonder that they could ever be at 
 a loss for materials for conversation. 
 
 (3.) Let your style be abrupt and striking, and give the 
 reins entirely to the imagination. Aim at the utmost free- 
 dom of form and manner, and let your tones and inflexions 
 be highly varied. The tones expressive of emotion are 
 instinctive, not acquired; as is proved by their universal 
 similarity among all nations, and by the fact that children 
 have them in greater, not less perfection than men. The 
 style, too, should be abrupt and pointed, and every thing 
 illustrated with action. At least, this is one element of 
 interest to be used in a greater or less degree at discretion. 
 We find that we are dwelling too much on these details 
 and must hasten forward, though this particular topic might 
 well occupy a dozen pages. We will, however, take one 
 example. It may be our old story of the man who was 
 kind to his dog. We have given two modes of commenc- 
 ing it, the second adding very much to the interest which 
 the child would take in it. But by our present rule of 
 giving abruptness and point, and striking transition to the 
 style, we can give it a still greater power. Suppose the 
 narrator, with a child on each knee, begins thus, 
 
 "A man one i;lea5ant morning v/as standing upon the 
 
 *3^ 
 
284 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 The man and his dog again. 
 
 steps of his door, and he said, * I think I will go and see 
 my dog Towser.' " 
 
 " Now, where do you think his dog Towser lived? " 
 
 *' I don 't know," will be the reply of each listener, with 
 a face full of curiosity and interest. 
 
 **Why old Towser was out in a little square house 
 which his master had made for him in a corner of the yard. 
 So he took some meat in his hand for Towser's breakfast. 
 Do you think he took out a plate, and a knife and fork? 
 
 "This man was very kind to Towser; his beautiful, 
 spotted, black and white Towser; — and when he got to his 
 house he opened the door and said, 
 
 " 'Towser, Towser, — come out here Towser.' 
 
 '' So Towser came running out, and stood there wagging 
 his tail. His master patted him on the head. You may 
 jump down on your hands and feet and I will tell you ex- 
 actly how it was. You shall be Towser. Here, you may 
 get under the table which will do for his house. Then I 
 will come and call you out and pat you on the head; " 
 &c. &c. 
 
 We go into these minute details with no little hesita- 
 tion, as some of our readers may perhaps consider them 
 beneath the dignity of a moral treatise. But when, as we 
 have occasionally paused, on this account, while penning 
 the preceding paragraphs, and hesitated whether it was 
 best to proceed, we have thought how many children there 
 are to be made happy through these simple principles, — 
 and how many mothers there are, and older brothers and 
 sisters, who, never having philosophiz^ed upon the subject, 
 may be considerably aided by these suggestions, obvious 
 as they may be, — and how many, many hours of inter- 
 course between parent and child, may be changed from 
 times of weariness and tedium, to those of profit and plea- 
 sure, by a knowledge of these simple avenues to the child- 
 ish heart, — we have taken courage and gone on. To know 
 how to make a single child happy for half an hour is indeed 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. . 285 
 
 Third characteristic of childhood. 
 
 a little thing; but the knowledge acquires importance and 
 dignity, when we consider how many millions of children 
 there are to be affected by it, — and how many half hours 
 in the life of each, may be rescued by these means, from 
 listless uneasiness, and given to improvement and happi- 
 ness. Thus the objects though comparatively trifling, when 
 regarded in severalty and detail, rise to dignity and impor- 
 tance, when we consider their vast aggregation. But to 
 return. 
 
 An abrupt and pointed style, and varied modes of illus- 
 traiyon mingle d^^^ w^^^^ spirit and interest, 
 
 even to many moral instructions. But we must not dwell 
 ^iTtFis point; arid we pass oh to the third great character- 
 istic of childhood. The reader will, we hope, keep in 
 mind the plan of our discussion. We are considering 
 some of the great characteristics of childhood, preparatory 
 to some practical directions for gaining, through them, an 
 access to the heart; and having examined, 1. Love of 
 action, and 2. Love of acquiring knowledge, we now pass 
 to the third, viz. 
 
 3. Affection for those from whom they receive aid and 
 sympathy in their desires. Gratitude in the young par- 
 takes of the general childishness of their character; and it 
 is not, perhaps, very surprising, that it should be most 
 strongly awakened by such kindness as they can most 
 sensibly appreciate. 
 
 In fact, the conditions of affection on the part of chil- 
 dren seem to be two. The first is, that the kindness in- 
 tended to awaken it should be on their level, as it were, — 
 i, e. that it should show itself in favors which they can un- 
 derstand and appreciate. If in a case of dangerous sick- 
 ness, an aunt comes and watches ov€r the child day after 
 day, and by means of this incessant watchfulness and care, 
 preserves his life, maintaining, however, during his sick- 
 ness and convalescence, a cold and reserved look and 
 
S86 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Conditions of gratitude. 
 
 demeanor, — there will be but a slight awakening of grati- 
 tude and affection in the heart of the patient. He sees his 
 indefatigable nurse moving in a region of thought and 
 feeling which is far away from him, and inapproachable. 
 She does not come near to him, and he cannot go near to 
 her. Under these circumstances, it is impossible for him 
 to realize that the unwearied care which he sees bestowed 
 upon him, can arise from affection to him personally. He 
 considers it as a sort of thing of course, and it awakens 
 little gratitude or affection. 
 
 This tendency in the heart of a child, is in perfect keep- 
 ing with the general laws of human nature in respect to 
 gratitude and love. For these feelings are awakened, not 
 by the deeds of kindness which we experience from others, 
 but by the feelings of kindness of which we consider the 
 deeds an indication. It is a sympathetic action of heart 
 ypon heart, through actions, or words, or looks, as the 
 medium; and consequently the effect is not in proportion 
 to the greatness of the favors, but to the distinctness with 
 which they conduct the mind of the receiver to the love 
 which originated them. Hence it is, that unless the kind- 
 ness you render to children is such as they can fully ap- 
 preciate, it will not produce its proper effects; but if it is 
 such as they can appreciate, i. e. if it is within their 
 sphere, it will produce these effects. Many persons are 
 often surprised to see how easily some of their acquaint- 
 ances will gain the affection of children, and acquire an 
 ascendency over them. But this is the secret of it. They 
 come down, — I do not mean in the actions and demeanor, 
 but in the nature of the favors they show to them, — to 
 their level. They excite or employ their mental powers; 
 they speak a kind word indicating interest in their plays 
 or pursuits; they aid them in their own little schemes, or 
 at least regard them with looks and words of kindness. 
 These are indications of a feeling of kindness which the 
 child can understand; and as we have before seen, it is in 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 237 
 
 The way to a child's heart. 
 
 proportion to the distinctness with which the feeling of 
 kindness is perceived in one heart, that gratitude and 
 affection are awakened in another. 
 
 The second condition on which the affection and grati- 
 tude of children is to be secured, is, that the favors which 
 call for it should be sincere; or at least that the child 
 should have sufficient evidence of sincerity. A splendid 
 toy, however adapted to interest the child, if sent to him 
 by a relative or an acquaintance of his parents, who really 
 cares little about him, will be received with selfish gratifi- 
 cation perhaps, but with little gratitude towards the donor. 
 In fact, this condition stands on the same foundation with 
 the other. The child must see, through the favor bestowed, 
 a feeling of real kindness in the one who bestowed it, — for 
 it is this emotion in one heart, which, by a kind of sympa- 
 thy, awakens the corresponding emotion in another. The 
 present or the favor, aids only as the medium by which the 
 inter-communication is made, and if the feeling is seen 
 without it, it will produce its effects. Thus one person 
 may make the most valuable and costly presents to two 
 children, and another will produce a stronger impression 
 upon their hearts, and awaken a more friendly feeling, and 
 connect himself with them by more pleasant and permanent 
 associations by the mere manner in which he looks at 
 them, as he passes by, while they are playing in the street. 
 4. The fourth great characteristic of children is their 
 disposition to catch the spirit, and imitate the actions of 
 those whom they thus love. Probably this imitative or 
 rather sympathetic principle, has more influence in the 
 formation of early character, than any other; nay, perhaps, 
 than all others conjoined. Associations and sympathy have 
 far more influence with children, than argument or reason- 
 ing. Or rather, we might almost say, associations and 
 sympathy have all the influence, and argument none at all. 
 How often do parents attempt to reason with children in 
 respect to some duty or command, by way of facilitating 
 
288 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Reasoning with children. The baby's name. 
 
 the performance, whereas the effect is directly the reverse. 
 The discussion unsettles the subject, throws a doubt about 
 the duty, for all argumeat of course, presupposes a ques- 
 tion in respect to the subject of it. It therefore almost 
 always makes it harder for the child to obey, than it was 
 before. Reasoning upon the general principles of duty, at 
 proper times, when the mind of the pupil is in a state of 
 repose, is highly important as a branch of instruction, as 
 will hereafter more fully be shown. But after all it has 
 comparatively little effect upon the formation of the habits 
 and character. The cause of this is that the powers of 
 ratiocination are among the last that are developed, — cer- 
 tainly among the last to come in for a share in the govern- 
 ment of the conduct and character. If the reader has the 
 disposition and the skill to experiment a little upon child- 
 hood in this respect, he will be astonished to find how 
 feeble and unformed are the powers necessary for per- 
 ceiving a logical sequence, and how entirely a pleasant 
 association will usurp the place and exercise the control be- 
 longing legitimately to sound deduction. Hence the nu- 
 merous prejudices and prepossessions of childhood, — as for 
 instance, the preference for the small silver coin over the 
 large bank note; argument and explanation being often 
 entirely insufficient to overcome the associations of value 
 connected with the appearance of the former. 
 
 On a question of a name for an infant brother, a boy 
 three or four years old, expressed and persisted in a pre- 
 ference for George over Francis, which was generally 
 voted for by the family. To see how great and unques- 
 tioned the control of mere association might be, in his 
 mind, I said to him, 
 
 •'If his name is Francis, you can, by and by, when he 
 grows up, say, ' Mother, may I take Francis out to ride? ' 
 and mother will say, 'Yes.' Then you can take Francis 
 up and carry him out and put him in your little wagon, and 
 take hold of the handle, and then say, ' Francis? are you 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 289 
 
 The logic of childhood. Power of association. 
 
 all ready.'" and Francis will say* Yes.' Then you can 
 draw him about a little way, and after a little while bring 
 him back and say, 'Here, mother, I have brought Francis 
 back safe.' — Do you not think, then, that his name had 
 better be Francis } " 
 
 *' Yes, I do," said he, cordially; convinced and con- 
 verted completely, by this precious specimen of logic. 
 
 Thus the reader will find, on scrutinizing the conduct 
 of children, that pleasant associations have more influence 
 in determining their preferences and habits, moral, intel- 
 lectual and physical, than almost all others. The reason- 
 ing powers ought to be cultivated, and to cultivate them 
 successfully, children must be led to employ them on the 
 various subjects which daily come before them; but while 
 this process is going on, we must take care that the other 
 great avenue to the soul, which is opened so early, and 
 which affords so easy an access, should be occupied well. 
 
 If, then, in accordance with the previous heads of 
 this discussion, you take such an interest in the children 
 around you, as to secure their gratitude and love, you 
 have formed in their minds strong, pleasant associations 
 with your character, and conduct, and feelings, whatever 
 they may be. You will find, consequently, that you will 
 have an immense ascendency over them. They will think 
 as you think, and feel as you feel. They will catch your 
 expressions, and the tone of your voice; your looks, your 
 attitudes; your habits and peculiarities, good and bad, — 
 the very same things, which, if they disliked you, they 
 would mimic and ridicule. So that he who associates 
 freely with children, and by his sympathy and regard for 
 them, acquires their love, will leave an impress of his 
 own character upon theirs, which all the years of after life 
 will never remove. This will be more peculiarly the case 
 with those higher sentiments, and opinions, and principles 
 of action, which are formed in the more advanced years of 
 youth; — they are caught by sympathy from the mind and 
 25 
 
290 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Common failure. The fether. Power of affection. 
 
 heart of some friend whom the pupil loves. Judicious 
 reasoning may help to give permanence to their throne, 
 but its foundation is in this sympathetic influence, which 
 argument will be utterly insufficient to withstand. In the 
 same manner bad principles, bad sentiments and feelings 
 are communicated to the youthful heart,— not mainly by 
 sophistical reasonings, nor by formal efforts on the part of 
 the corrupt to instruct their pupils in the principles of 
 depravity. False reasoning and deliberate attempts to 
 corrupt are undoubtedly often employed with fatal effect, 
 but the great prevailing principle of the spread of vice is 
 moral contagion; — the production of a diseased moral state 
 in one, by the proximity of its like in another. 
 
 Here is the failure of many parents. They stand aloof 
 from their children, occupied by business and cares, or 
 else having no sympathy with their peculiar feelings and 
 childlike propensities. The heart of the father, therefore, 
 does not keep so near to that of the child, that there may 
 be communicated to the one the healthy, virtuous action 
 of the other. This place of influence is left to be taken 
 possession of by any body, — a servant, a neighbor, or a 
 hnv in the streets, — and the father aims at forming the 
 cnaracier of his son, by addressing to him from time to time, 
 as his occupations may give him opportunity, plenty of sound 
 argument and good advice! The boy receives them in 
 silence, and the father hopes that they produce an impres- 
 sion. The downward progress which his heart is making, 
 by his intimacy with sin, is not perceived, but at last, when 
 he is twenty, it can be no longer concealed, and the 
 father perceives to his astonishment that all his good in- 
 structions have been utterly thiiown away. It is the as- 
 cendency of affection, and that founded on such evidences 
 of interest and good will, as the child can himself appreci- 
 ate, which will alone give us any considerable power; and 
 if we secure the affection we shall inevitably wield the 
 power. 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 291 
 
 Practical directions- The field. Influence to be sought. 
 
 Having thus considered the first general division of this 
 chapter according to our plan, we pass to the second. 
 
 II. PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS. 
 
 1. It will be well for the reader, if he desires to accom- 
 plish as much as he may, through his influence over the 
 young, to explore the ground first, distinctly, that is, to look 
 around him, and call to mind distinctly, the youthful indi- 
 viduals over whom he must or can exert an influence. In 
 fact, we should often do this in our hours of meditation, 
 when looking over our plans of usefulness and the manner 
 in which we are carrying them forward. By this means, 
 we shall keep before our minds a distinct idea of the extent 
 and boundaries of our field, and preserve a more steady 
 interest in it. A general survey like this, of what we have 
 to do, is, in all departments of duty, necessary, in order 
 to give system, and steadiness, and thoroughness to our 
 work. 
 
 2. Make it a special object of attention and effort, to 
 gain such an influence and ascendency as has been al- 
 ready described, over the minds of the children whom you 
 shall find thus within your reach; the influence of interest 
 and attachment. Parents often pay too little attention to 
 this. Their intercourse with children is only the necessary 
 intercourse of command and obedience. A father who 
 devotes some time daily, to interesting himself in the 
 pursuits and pleasures of his children, talking with them, 
 playing with them, or reading or telling, them stories, will 
 gain an ascendency over them, which, as they grow up, 
 will be found to be immensely powerful. They are bound 
 together by common feelings, by ties of affection and 
 companionship, which have a most controlling moral in- 
 fluence upon the heart. It is, however, often neglected. 
 The man overwhelmed with business, or burdened with 
 cares, does not descend to the level of the child. He sees 
 
292 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 
 
 [Ch. 9. 
 
 The parent disappointed. 
 
 Brothers and sisters. 
 
 that his hoys are trained up according to rule, confined 
 by proper restraints, and supplied with proper instruc- 
 tion; — but no strong ties of interest or affection, recon- 
 cile the little pupil to the restraints, or give allurement 
 to the instruction; and at length, when he is passing from 
 twelve to fifteen, or from fifteen to twenty, the parent 
 gi-adually finds, as we have before explained, that though 
 all has been to his eye right, his child has been, in heart 
 and inward character, going on in a course, totally differ- 
 ent from the one he intended. The alarmed and disap- 
 pointed parent tries to bring back his son, — but he finds, to 
 his surprise and sorrow, that he has no hold upon him. 
 They are, in heart, strangers to each other. Though they 
 have breakfasted, dined, and supped together, for fifteen 
 years, they have been, in fact, strangers to each other, all 
 the time. They have moved in different circles, — have 
 had difl^erent pleasures, different pains, different hopes, and 
 different fears. The son could not ascend to the region 
 occupied by the father, and the father would not descend 
 to that of the son. Thus they have been sundered, and 
 the father finds that he has no hold over the heart of his 
 child, only, when it is too late to acquire it. 
 
 But perhaps you are not a parent. You are an older 
 brother or sister, still, yourself, under your father's roof. 
 If now, you really wish to do good, your most important 
 sphere of duty is that little circle of children, who, next to 
 their parents, look up to you. In this case, it should be 
 your first concern to gain an ascendency over their minds; 
 — an ascendency based on their regard for your moral 
 worth, and an affection inspired by your kindness and 
 interest in them. 
 
 In the same manner, whatever may be your connection 
 with children, whether you are their teacher in a common 
 or a Sabbath school, or their father or mother, or their 
 governess or guardian, or their neighbor, or their brother 
 or sister, — you must first secure their interest and affec- 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. _ S9S 
 
 Indulgence. Presents. Decision and firmness. 
 
 tion, or you can do them little good. If they dislike you 
 personally, they will instinctively repel the moral influence 
 you may endeavor to exert upon them. If you have no 
 sympathy with their childish feelings, you can gain no 
 sympathy in their hearts, for the sentiments and principles 
 you may endeavor to inculcate upon them. If, however, 
 you can secure their affection and sympathy, your power 
 over them is almost unbounded. They will believe what- 
 ever you tell them, and adopt the principles and feelings 
 you express, simply because they are yours. They will 
 catch the very tone of your voice, and expression of your 
 countenance, and reflect spontaneously, the moral image, 
 whatever it may be, which your character may hold up 
 before them. 
 
 3. Never attempt to acquire an ascendency over chil- 
 dren by improper indulgence. It is one of the mysteries 
 of human nature, that indulgence never awakens gratitude 
 or love in the heart of a child. The boy or girl who is 
 most yielded to, most indulged, rs always the most ungrate- 
 ful, the most selfish, and the most utterly unconcerned 
 about the happiness or the suffering of father and mother 
 Pursue then, a straight forward, firm and decided course; 
 calm, yet determined, — kind, yet adhering inflexibly to what 
 is right. This is the way to secure affection and respect, 
 whether it be in the intercourse of parent with child, brother 
 with sister, teacher with pupil, general with soldier, or 
 magistrate with citizen. Yes, the youngest child, when 
 allowed to conquer, though, perhaps, gratified at his suc- 
 cess, has sagacity enough to despise the weakness and 
 want of principle which yielded to him. He cannot feel 
 either respect or afl?ection. ]n the same manner, you 
 cannot depend upon presents. Unreasonable indulgence 
 and profusion of presents, are the two most common modes 
 of endeavoring to buy the good will of the young. But, 
 the slightest knowledge of human nature ought to teach us 
 that love cannot be bought, and if we were without even 
 25* 
 
294 The way to do good. [Ch. 9. 
 
 The way to gain an influence. Way to use it. 
 
 this little knowledge, a few trials would be sufficient, one 
 would think, to convince us that these things, at least, 
 cannot buy it. Just so far as they are indications of your 
 sympathy and affection for the child who receives them, so 
 far they will tend to win his love in return. But other 
 indications of this sympathy and affection on your part will 
 answer just as well. Presents alone, have far less in- 
 fluence in awakening the affection and gratitude of chil- 
 dren, than kind words; and the most valuable gift, coldly 
 given, will not win a boy's heart half so effectually, as 
 sitting down with him for a few minutes on the bank, and 
 helping him make his whistle. 
 
 5. The ascendency and the influence thus described being 
 once gained over the children with whom you are connect- 
 ed, the rest of the work is easy. You have only to exhibit 
 right conduct, and exemplify and express right feelings, and 
 they will spontaneously imitate the one, and insensibly, but 
 surely imbibe the other. This they will inevitably do, 
 whether the expectation of it be a pait of your plan or not. 
 Whatever principles they see that you habitually cherish, 
 they will themselves adopt, and they will catch the lan- 
 guage, and tone, and manner, and even the very look with 
 which you maintain them. And this, too, whether the 
 principles are good or bad. If you are fond of dress, or 
 applause, or admiration, or money, the children who hear 
 your conversation, — if they love you, — will learn to be 
 fond of them too. If they see that you love duty, and your 
 Savior, and are living in the habitual fear of sin, and in 
 steady eftbrts to prepare for a future world, — they will feel 
 a stronger influence leading them to the same choice, than 
 any other human means can exert. In a word, if they love 
 you, there will be a very strong tendency in their hearts to 
 vibrate in unison with yours. 
 
 6. But this simple possession of the right feelings and 
 principles is not enough. That is, though it will alone 
 accomplish a great deal, it will not alone effect all that 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 
 
 Expression of the truth. The winter walk and the snow bird. 
 
 may be effected. You must distinctly express good senti- 
 ments in their hearing, as well as exemplify them in your 
 conduct. In the school room, on the Sabbath, by the fire- 
 side, in your walks, take occasion to express what is right. 
 1 do not mean here to prove it, or explain it, or illustrate 
 it, — I mean, to express it. Clothe it in language. Give 
 truth utterance. There is more in this than mankind 
 generally suppose. In many cases, when an argument on 
 a moral subject is successfully presented to a popular 
 audience, the logical force of the argument is not the 
 secret of the effect. The work is done by the various 
 enunciations of the proposition directly or indirectly con- 
 tained in the train of reasoning, — enunciations which pro- 
 duce their effect as simple expressions of the truth. There 
 is something in man which enables him to seize, as it were, 
 by direct prehension, what is true, and right, and proper, 
 when it is distinctly presented to him. He sees its moral 
 fitness, by a sort of direct moral vision; — he has an appe- 
 tite for it, as for food, which is only to be presented, iri 
 order to be received. 
 
 . This is specially true of children, for in them, the powers 
 of reasoning are not developed, and consequently the sus- 
 ceptibility of being influenced by reasoning, is smaller in 
 proportion, than with the mature. 
 
 For example, you are walking with a little child, on a 
 pleasant morning in the last of February, on the crust of 
 the snow, and some little snow birds hop along before you, 
 picking the seeds from the stems of the herbage which the 
 wintry storms have not entirely covered. Now the sound- 
 est and most intelligent argument you can offer the child 
 in favor of kindness to animals, would not have half as 
 much power over it, as some such a soliloquy as this. 
 
 " Oh, see that little bird. Shall I throw my cane at him? 
 Oh, no indeed! it would hurt him very much, or if it did 
 not hit him, it would frighten him very much. I am sure 
 I would not hurt that little bird. He is picking up the 
 
296 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 The expression of kindness or of cruelty. 
 
 seeds. I am glad he can find those little seeds. They 
 taste very sweet to him, I suppose. I wish I had some 
 crumbs of bread to give him. Do you thing he is cold? 
 No, he is all covered with warm feathers; I do not think 
 he is cold. Only his feet are not covered with feathers. I 
 hope they are not cold." 
 
 Or if your companion is a boy of ten or twelve years of 
 age, you may speak in a different manner, while still you 
 utter nothing but a simple expression of your kindness and 
 interest, and you will by it awaken kindness and interest 
 in him. You say perhaps, 
 
 " See that snow bird. Stop, do not let us frighten him. 
 Poor little thing! I should think he would find it hard work 
 to get a living in these fields of snow. He is picking the 
 seeds out of the tops of last year's plants. Let him have 
 all he can find. There is a fine large weed by the side of 
 that rock, I wish he could see it. We will move around 
 this way, and then perhaps he will hop towards the rock. 
 There he goes. He has found it; now stop and see him 
 feast himself." 
 
 Suppose, now, on the other hand, you say, 
 
 "Stop, there 's a snow bird; stand back a minute and 
 see how quick I will knock him down with my cane. If I 
 once hit him, I will warrant he will never hop again." 
 
 Now these are all mere expressions of your own feel- 
 ing, and in nine cases out of ten, the child who should 
 listen to them, would find his heart gliding spontaneously 
 into the same state with your own, whether it were that of 
 kindness or cruelty. This mere utterance of the senti- 
 ment or feeling of your heart, would, except where some 
 peculiar counteracting causes prevent it, awaken the like 
 in him. Hence, be always ready not only to exhibit in 
 your conduct the influence of right principle, but to express 
 that principle, in language; Many persons imagine that 
 unless they explain, or illustrate, or prove the truth, they 
 can have nothing to say. But they mistake; it is the 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. ^d1^ 
 
 Formal instruction. Solitude. 
 
 simple expression of it, pleasantly and clearly, in a thou-X 
 sand various ways, and on a thousand different occasions, J 
 which will do more than either explanation, illustration,* qj/ 
 proof. 
 
 7. But, still, though the former is what produces com- 
 paratively the greatest effect, the latter must receive 
 attention too. Correct moral principle must not only be 
 exhibited in your conduct and expressed in your conver- 
 sation; it is also of the utmost importance that it should be, 
 from time to time, formally illustrated and proved. The 
 admission of moral principle to the minds of the young, 
 and the formation of right habits of feeling, may perhaps 
 be most easily received at first, by means of these moral 
 sympathies; but it is only in the calm and intelligent con- 
 viction of the reason, that rectitude can have any firm and 
 lasting foundation for its throne. If your habitual conduct 
 does not exhibit, and your conversation express right 
 principles, you can never bring your children to adopt 
 them by any arguments for their truth; but if your habitual 
 conduct and conversation is right, formal and logical in- 
 struction is necessary to secure permanently, the conquests 
 which these influences will certainly make. ^ 
 
 8. One more practical direction remains. It does not I 
 arise very directly from the general views advanced in thia 
 chapter, and has in fact, no special connection with them. 
 
 It relates also more particularly to the duty of parents; 
 but it is so fundamentally important that it ought to be ap- 
 pended here. It is, keep children as much as possible by 
 themselves, — away from evil influences, — separate, — alone. 
 Keep them from bad company, is very common advice. 
 We may go much farther, and almost say, keep them from 
 company, good or bad. Of course, this is to be understood 
 with proper limits and restrictions; for to a certain extent, 
 associating with others is of high advantage to them, both 
 intellectually and morally. But this extent is almost univer- 
 sally far exceeded, and it will be generally found that the 
 
298 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 9. 
 
 Influence of man upon man. Solitude. 
 
 most virtuous and the most intellectual, are those who have 
 been brought up most by themselves and alone. 
 
 In fact, all history and experience shows, and it is rather 
 a dark sign in respect to poor human nature, that the 
 mutual influence of man upon man, is an influence of 
 deterioration and corruption. Where men congregate in 
 masses, there depravity thrives, and they can keep near to 
 innocence only by being remote from one another. Thus 
 densely populated cities, are always most immoral: an 
 army, a ship, a factory, a crowded prison, and great gangs 
 of laborers working in common, always exhibit peculiar 
 tendencies to vice. So with the young. Boys learn more 
 evil than good of their playmates at school; a college 
 student who is regular, quiet and docile at home, in his 
 vacations, is often wild, dissipated, idle and insubordinate 
 in term time at college; and how often has the mother 
 found that either one of two troublesome children, seem 
 subdued and softened and dutiful, when the other is away. 
 It seems as if human nature can be safe only in a state of 
 segregation; in a mass, it runs at once to corruption and 
 ruin. 
 
 So far then, as promiscuous intercommunication among 
 the children of a town or a neighborhood is impeded, so 
 far, within proper limits and restrictions, will the moral 
 welfare of the whole be advanced. Few companions and 
 fewer intimacies, and many hours of solitary occupation 
 and enjoyment, will lead to the development of the highest 
 intellectual and moral traits of character; in fact, his men- 
 tal resources may be considered as entirely unknown and 
 unexplored, who cannot spend his best and happiest hours 
 alone. 
 
 It is often said that the young must be exposed to the 
 temptations and bad influences of the world, in order to 
 know what they are, by experience, and learn how to 
 resist them. "They must be exposed to them," say 
 these advocates of early temptation, " at some time or 
 
Ch. 9.] CHILDREN. 299 
 
 Learning by experience. Recapitulation. 
 
 other, and they may as well begin in season, so as to get the 
 mastery over them the sooner." But this is not so. The 
 exposure, if avoided in youth, is avoided principally for 
 ever. A virtuous man in any honest pursuit of life comes 
 very little into contact or connection with vice. He sees 
 and hears more or less of it, it is true, every day, but his 
 virtuous habits and associates and principles are such, that 
 it is kept, as it were, at a sort of moral distance. It does 
 not possess that power of contamination, which a corrupt 
 school boy exercises over his comparatively innocent com- 
 panion. A vast proportion of the vicious and immoral are 
 made so before they are of age, and accordingly, he who 
 goes on safely through the years of his minority, will 
 generally go safely for the rest of the way. 
 
 The principles which we have been inculcating in this 
 chapter, may, then, in conclusion, be summed up thus. 
 
 Children are eager to exercise continually their opening 
 faculties, and to learn all they can about the world into 
 which they are ushered. Those who ■aid and sympathize 
 with them in these, their childlike feelings, they will love, 
 and their principles and conduct they will adopt and 
 imitate. 
 
 This being so, we have, by rendering them this aid and 
 sympathy, an easy way of gaining over them a powerful 
 ascendency. This once gained, we must exemplify in our 
 conduct, and express in our daily conversation, and enforce 
 by formal instructions, the principles which we wish them 
 to imbibe, and they will readily imbibe them. Then, to 
 make our work sure, we must shelter their tender minds 
 from those rude blasts of moral exposure, which howl 
 every where in this wilderness of sin. Any Christian who 
 will act faithfully on these principles, towards the children 
 who are within his reach, will probably save many of them 
 from vice and misery, and he will certainly elevate the 
 temporal virtue and happiness of them all. And if he acts 
 in these duties as the humble, but devoted follower of Jesus 
 
300 THE WAY TO DO GOOD [Ch. 10. 
 
 Instruction. Plan of the chapter. 
 
 Christ, — sincere, unaffected, honest, childlike himself, — 
 there are no labors in which he can engage, for which he 
 may with greater confidence invoke the interposition of the 
 Holy Spirit, to bless them to the salvation of souls. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 INSTRUCTION. 
 
 ■ Apt to teach, patient.'* 
 
 It might perhaps have been expected by the reader, that 
 the subject of religious instruction would have formed a sub- 
 ordinate topic of the last chapter, but it is so extensive and 
 important in its bearings, that it seemed better to give it a 
 more full discussion, and to confine that chapter simply to 
 the character of early childhood, and to the mode of gain- 
 ing an ascendency over it. Besides, it is not merely to the 
 young, that the principles to be elucidated now, will apply. 
 It is the whole question, of approaching the human intellect 
 with religious truth, that we shall here consider, whether 
 the subjects be old or young, — a class in the Sabbath school, 
 or a circle of children around the fireside, on a winter 
 evening, or a younger sister listening to the conversation 
 of an older one, while walking in the fields; — and even the 
 pastor will find these principles and methods, such as in 
 spirit guide him in his course of instruction to the adult 
 congregation, which he leads forward from week to week, 
 in religious knowledge. 
 
 The following propositions exhibit the view which we 
 shall take of the subject in this chapter. 
 
 I I. Our success depends upon the fulness and force with 
 which the details of truth and duty are presented, and not 
 
Ch. 10.3 iNSTRlJCTlON. 301 
 
 Five propositions. Mode of divine instruction. 
 
 upon the scientific accuracy with which they are condens- 
 ed into systems of theology. 
 
 2. Thie bible must be resorted to as the great storehouse 
 of moral and religious truth. 
 
 3. The field of observatianaad expejience must be ex- 
 plorettT^for the means of applying and enforcing it. 
 
 4. Its hold upon the soul is to be secured mainly by 
 wakening up a testimony in its favor from within. 
 
 5. Attempts to remove error by argument and personal 
 controversy, are almost always in vain. 
 
 These propositions we proceed to consider in their order 
 
 1. Our success depends upon the fulness and force with 
 which the details of truth and duty are presented, and not 
 upon the scientific accuracy with which they are condensed 
 into systems of theology. 
 
 We are in the first place struck, when we look at this 
 subject, at a very remarkable difference between the mode 
 which God has taken to instruct mankind in religious truth 
 and duty, — and that which, in modern times, we almost 
 spontaneously fall upon. His mode and order of instruc- 
 tion, are totally diflTerent from ours : I mean are totally 
 different in one respect. He exhibits the principles of 
 truth and duty, one by one, as they occur in connection 
 with the ordinary incidents and events of life. We give 
 them in the order of a well digested and logical system, 
 in fact, we may almost say that we teach the system, rath- 
 er than the truths themselves, by whose arrangement the 
 system is constituted. God's first lesson to the human race 
 was the first five books of Moses; — the simple story of the 
 Patriarchs, and of the children of Israel ; and the institu- 
 te 
 
302 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Our methods. The contrast. Reason for it. 
 
 tion of the moral and ceremonial law. Our first lessonr 
 would very likely have been an abridged, systematized, 
 severe treatise, on the science of moral and religious phi- 
 losophy. He simply tells the story of Cain and Abel. We, 
 perhaps, should have given a disquisition on the nature of 
 murder; proved that human life is sacred, and analyzed 
 ipalice. He narrates the history of Abraham, perhaps not 
 using the word faith, and certainly not making a single 
 remark concerning its nature, from one end of the story 
 to the other. We discuss the theory of faith, separate its 
 essence, — point out all the distinctions in its varieties, — 
 some real, others imaginary. Religious duty, as he pre- 
 sents it, is a living and acting reality, moving about among 
 men, developing its character by its conduct. In our 
 hands, it lies upon a table, as some writer has justly said, 
 and we are demonstrating, by means of the scalpel and 
 forceps, its inward structure. The dissection is most 
 ingenious and skilful, and the demonstration, though 
 sometimes lost in minute details, is still very scientific 
 and complete; but then the poor subject is often murdered 
 and mutilated under the operation. 
 
 And yet we ought scarcely to say that, for we do not 
 mean to condemn altogether the tendency to analysis and 
 system-making, so prevalent in modern days. Times have 
 changed, the human mind has altered, not, indeed, in its 
 native characteristics, but in its habits and modes of 
 thought, — and instruction now has somewhat different ob- 
 jects, and must pursue somewhat different means, when 
 addressed to individual infancy, by one of us, from those 
 adopted, when, three thousand years ago, it was addressed 
 by Jehovah to the infancy of the human race. We do not, 
 therefore, compare the two methods, in order to condemn, 
 altogether, ours. We wish to look at both, for we may 
 learn a good deal from either; and especially as it is un- 
 doubtedly true, that in our efforts with the young, and, in 
 feet, with the mass of mankind, it will be best for us to in- 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 303 
 
 Illustration. Botany. Tlie two students. 
 
 cline strongly to the example, which God has set us in his 
 own communications. 
 
 But a word or two more, before we proceed, in respect 
 to the nature of the difference, above referred to. We can 
 illustrate it by describing the modes, by which two individ- 
 uals may pursue the study of botany. One takes books of 
 scientific arrangement, and begins with classes, and orders, 
 and genera, and looks upon the whole vegetable kingdom 
 as a scientific system. He goes into the field to collect 
 specimens, simply as partial illustrations of the great arti- 
 ficial edifice, which the labors of the botanist have gradual- 
 ly formed. The system, the arrangement, the classifica- 
 tion, is all in all to him, — the observed facts are only sub- 
 sidiary and illustrative. It was not so with the botanists 
 themselves, when they formed the system. The observed 
 facts were the foremost with them, and stood out prominent 
 in their conceptions of the vegetable world. The system^ 
 the arrangement came last, and was subsidiary and illus- 
 trative in respect to the facts. But our studen* has revers- 
 ed this process. He begins where the botanist ends, and 
 works back to where they began. Because he is studying 
 their works, he imagines that he is treading in their foot- 
 steps. And so he is, but he is retracing them. The track 
 of his foot is reversed upon theirs all the way. He looks 
 in the opposite direction; he begins where they ended, 
 though he seldom gets to where they began. 
 
 Our other pupil now takes a different course. He goes 
 out into the field looking for plants, and he first sees, we 
 will suppose, along under the fences and by the road-side, 
 a profusion of thistles. He examines the structure of this 
 individual plant, notices the leaf, the flower, the seed. By 
 means of books, or through his teacher, he learns to what 
 degree the plant is extended over the earth, that is, what 
 portion of the earth it occupies; — whether it is spreading 
 still, and if so, where and how. whether it is useful for any 
 purposes, — or injurious; and what methods are in use by 
 
304 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 The thistle. The rose. 
 
 agriculturists for its extermination. So he examines mi- 
 nutely its structure; its leaves, its flower, its seed, — and 
 studies its habits. In a word, he becomes thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with this one plant, a plant that is all around him, 
 which he sees every day, and is very often made, in his 
 hearing, a subject of remark or conversation. While he 
 has been doing this, the pupil, who began at the other 
 end, has, perhaps, nearly finished committing to memory 
 the names of the Linnaean classes. 
 
 Our second pupil, however, having mastered the thistle, 
 takes next, perhaps, the rose, or some other common plant, 
 and after having studied it thoroughly in its individuality, 
 as he did the thistle, the teacher calls his attention to the 
 points of resemblance, in respect to structure, which it may 
 bear to the thistle. Here now is his beginning of system 
 and arrangement. Connecting together by observed simi- 
 larities, and discriminating by observed differences, the 
 objects with which, individually, he has become fully ac- 
 quainted. This is beginning at the right end. This is 
 really following on in the footsteps of the botanists, his 
 masters. As he profceeJs, he arranges and classifies his 
 knowledge, just as fast as he acquires it. System is thus 
 the handmaid and preserver of knowledge, as she ought to 
 be, and not the mere substitute for it. He builds up in his 
 own mind, the edifice of scientific system, just as fast as 
 the substantial materials are furnished him; and comes out 
 at the end, as the great masters did before him, with that 
 magnificent temple of science, which, like all other sub- 
 stantial edifices, must be built from bottom to top, and not 
 from top to bottom. 
 
 To make this case clear and distinct, I have represented 
 the two modes, each pure in its kind, — the extreme cases 
 on the two plans. In point of fact, however, there is ordi- 
 narily some mixture of the two, or rather an adoption in 
 general of the one course, with some tendency towards the 
 other. In fact, intelligent teachers who may read this chap- 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 305 
 
 Nature and use of science and system. 
 
 ter, will probably perceive that the principle of the latter 
 mode, though really most philosophical in its nature, ought 
 not, for the common purposes of instruction, to be pressed 
 too far. The results arrived at by the original investigators 
 of the science, may aid the pupil very much, in his efforts 
 to follow them: and the system and the principles of ar- 
 rangement might very advantageously be explained in gen- 
 eral, and carried along with him, as he goes on. Many 
 teachers have erred in carrying the principle, which I have 
 been endeavoring to illustrate, to extremes: in the mathe- 
 matics, for example, and in the natural sciences. They 
 have thus, sometimes pressed the plan of making the pupils 
 pursue this natural course of induction, so far, as to deprive 
 them of the aid of those who have preceded them. In fact, 
 carrying out the principle to its full extent, would almost 
 make every pupil an independent investigator and discov- 
 erer, — whereas a life would not suffice for the most com- 
 mon attainments, in any one science, in this way. The 
 true principle seems to be, to lead the pupil over the 
 ground in the natural track, acquiring knowledge first in 
 detail, and arranging and classifying it, as he proceeds. 
 The worth and utility of what he learns, will depend upon 
 the fulness, and freshness, and vitality of his individual 
 acquisitions, and scientific system should be gradually de- 
 veloped as the apartments of it can be occupied. The 
 building is beautiful in itself, it is true, but it is valuable, 
 chiefly as a means of securing and preserving from de- 
 rangement and loss, the valuables it contains. 
 
 And now to apply these considerations to the subject 
 before us. Three thousand years ago, Jehovah began to 
 communicate by slow arid sinipte^st^^riiofal and religious 
 truth, and instruction in moral and religious duty, to man. 
 He brought forward these truths, not in the order of scien- 
 Tific system, but in that of commonness, — everyday im- 
 portance, — moral proximity. It is the thistle first, and 
 then the rose. These revelations were slowly continued 
 
306 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10, 
 
 The theologians. Province and value of theological science. 
 
 for many centuries. The profoundest intellects, and the 
 purest moral sensibilities, have been, in all ages of the 
 world, employed upon these truths, — examining and ar- 
 ranging them, and observing and noting the points of 
 resemblance or of diversity. They have examined them 
 synthetically and. analytically; they have made nice dis- 
 tinctions, dissecting out truth into all its ramifications, 
 and they have explored things most diverse and distinct in 
 appearance, and traced them to a common origin. These 
 intellectual processes have been going on for ages, and we 
 have now before us, as the result, the same truth, indeed, 
 which the prophets and the apostles taught, but arranged, 
 and classified, and formed into a scientific system. 
 
 Let now the reader not suppose that we mean to con 
 demn this. Not at all. If any thing is plain, it is that God 
 intended that the minds of men should exercise themselves 
 strongly and continually upon what he has revealed. The 
 field of moral and religious truth, as his Word and the uni 
 versal dictates of conscience lay it open, affords the finest 
 scope for the exercise of the highest hutnan powers; and 
 the nature of the case, and especially the very condition 
 in which the close of his revelation has left the whole 
 ground, shows plainly that he intended that we should ex- 
 plore and cultivate it. The object of these remarks is not 
 at all to condemn theological science, but only to point out 
 the facts in the case, with reference to their influence upon 
 the course we ought to pursue, in endeavoring to initiate 
 the young in religious knowledge. That great mass of 
 religious and moral truth, which the bible and the human 
 conscience bring before the mind, in slow detail and minute 
 applications, has been by the patient theological labor and 
 acumen of many centuries, at last elaborated into scientific 
 systems. Now Ave must not, in guiding the young, com- 
 mence with the science and the system, and work back to 
 the elements; we must go round back to the beginning, 
 and give them truth and explain to them duty, substantially 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. S61 
 
 Systematic education. 
 
 in the order ana manner in which God has done it, and 
 come to the science and the system at last. We shall 
 explain more particularly, how this is to be done, as we 
 proceed. But this general view of the subject, if properly 
 appreciated, will at once throw open a very wide field of 
 religious instruction, and make the work comparatively 
 easy. Persons very often feel timid and constrained, in 
 their efforts at instruction in the bible class, or Sabbath 
 school, or even with their own children at home, because 
 they feel that their own attainments are not of a sufficiently 
 logical and systematic character. They know vastly more 
 than their pupils, they admit, but they are not scholars 
 enough to teach what they know. Their own education 
 has not been regular and systematic enough, they imagine. 
 That is, they have not gone through the whole theological 
 course, and come out with that complete system of truth, 
 by which, as by a frame work, they imagine that all subor- 
 dinate teaching should be regulated. But this is not the 
 work to be done. Your simple business is.to, look at once 
 around you, and take any thing that is moral or religious 
 truthja^d^exQainJ''^ and exhibit it in its simpli- 
 
 city, and in its individuality, to the minds of the young. It 
 is no matter whether your knowledge exists in the form of 
 syst^ematized theology or not. In either case, your busi 
 ness is to bring before your pupils the elements, as indi- 
 vidual elements, in all their freshness and particularity and 
 their endless application to the circumstances and wants of 
 common life. The science which you feel the need of, though 
 it would be of immense value to you, as a means of giving 
 clearness to your conceptions, and vigor and confidence to 
 all your mental operations, is not, after all, what you want 
 to present, as such to the mind of the child. Teach them 
 all the details of truth and duty, and in any order. Study 
 and present the principles of piety in their ordinary applica- 
 tions to the circumstances of life. Dwell on what is ob- 
 vious, important, and of every day utility, rather than on 
 
 ^ 
 
308 THE WAY TO »0 GOOD. [Ch. 10 
 
 The Bible the storehouse. Korah. 
 
 what is metaphysical, or far fetched, or refined, and thus 
 store the minds of your pupils with the materials which 
 their riper studies may classif|r and^arrange. This is the 
 wisest course for them, whether they form a bible class of 
 youth, or a crowded congregation of adults, or a little 
 circle of children at the fireside. 
 
 2. The Bible must be resorted to, as the great storehouse 
 of moral and religious truth. 
 
 The doctrinal and preceptive portions of the Bible, de- 
 serve a prominent place, undoubtedly, as the source from 
 which religious instruction is to be drawn, but perhaps they 
 ought not to occupy a share of attention so nearly exclu- 
 sive, as they often do. The narratives of the Old Testa- 
 ment, and of the New, are full of materials, if read and 
 explained with a view to bringing out their moral expres- 
 sion. The Bible may be studied, in fact, with many totally 
 different objects and aims, each of which is valuable in its 
 place. We may carry a class rapidly over the books of 
 Kings and Chronicles, for example, with a view to obtain- 
 ing a general knowledge of their literary contents; and by 
 collating them, and comparing passage with passage, re- 
 duce to system, and to a clear, connected view, their chro- 
 nological and historical details. This now would be totally 
 different from taking up in detail the several narratives 
 which these books contain, for the purpose of bringing out 
 to view, the moral lessons which each one was intended to 
 teach. Now it is this latter mode, that 1 refer to here. 
 The Scriptures are an inexhaustible storehouse, from which 
 moral truth may be drawn, in every form of its develop- 
 ment, and in all the innumerable varieties of its application. 
 
 Let us take a case at random, to illustrate how full the 
 narratives of the Scriptures are of moral truth, which needs 
 only to be brought out to view, in order strongly to interest 
 and to benefit the young. We will take Korah 's mutiny, 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 909 
 
 Korah's mutiny. The parties. Their designs. 
 
 for example. We select this case, because it is one of 
 those narratives, which, on account of the terrible termin- 
 ation of the case, is generally somewhat known to children, 
 and, therefore, it is the more suitable to our purpose, of 
 showing how much may be brought out to view, by a Httle 
 attention, which otherwise would be passed by unnoticed 
 and unknown. 
 
 The teacher in his class, or the parent at his fireside, or 
 even the minister in his pulpit, opens the subject with the 
 J&rst verse of the passage, thus; 
 
 " Now Korah, the son of Kohath, the son of Levi, and Dathan and Abl- 
 lam, the sons of Eliab, and On the son of Peleth, sons of Reuben, took men; 
 And they rose up before Moses, with certain of the children of Israel, two 
 hundred and fifty princes of the assembly, famous in the congregation, men 
 of renown." 
 
 Now, in order to have the moral bearings of the narrative 
 clearly appreciated, the first thing is to consider distinctly 
 the several parties in the transaction; — ^Korah, one of the 
 Levites, and Dathan and Abiram, and On, of the people, 
 with their respective adherents. In all such cases, we 
 must observe, first, who are the persons brought upon the 
 stage of action, and what their situations and characters 
 are, so as to appreciate their words and actions, and to 
 observe whether they are in keeping with their respective 
 circumstances. In order to do this, in this case, we must 
 recall to mind the arrangement which God had made with 
 the Israelites in the wilderness. Aaron was the priest, 
 holding the highest ecclesiastical dignity. The family of 
 Levi came next, and the duties connected with all the 
 ordinary services of worship devolved upon them. The 
 people generally were of course devoted to other occupa- 
 tions. If the pupils now distinctly conceive of the vast 
 assembly encamping in the wilderness, Moses, the military 
 commander, Aaron holding the supreme sacerdotal digni- 
 ty, and the Levite Korah, uniting with the princes Dathan, 
 
310 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Conversation with Korah. A coincidence. 
 
 Abiram and On, in a mutiny, they will be prepared to 
 understand what follows. 
 
 ** And they gathered themselves together against Moses, and against Aaron, 
 and said unto them. Ye take too much upon you, seeing all the congregation 
 are holy, every one of them, and the Lord is among them; vtrherefore tlien, 
 lift ye up yourselves above the congregation of the Lord 1 " 
 
 Now, how much of human nature is to be seen in this 
 address, when we come to examine it. The real feeling in 
 the mind of the speaker was, *' I cannot bear to be second. 
 I mean to stand as high in official dignity as Aaron." 
 Ambition, pride, a spirit of unsubmission to God, was the 
 stimulus. But how is the direct expression of it withheld, 
 or rather covered up and concealed, under an accusation 
 against Moses and Aaron, and a pretended vindication of 
 the rights of the mass of the people, the universal pretext 
 of the spirit of disorganization and rebellion, in every age 
 "You take too much upon you;" — when they were them- 
 selves going to take, and that by usurpation, the very same 
 thing. And, " all the congregation are holy." They did 
 not mean morally pure, by this, but ceremonially competent 
 in the eye of God, to offer worship for themselves. This 
 was said just as similar things are said now, to gain parti- 
 sans. The aspiring demagogue, in order to carry on his 
 schemes, always flatters the great mass which he wishes to 
 move, teUing them that they deserve an equality with the 
 government, which he wishes them to help him overthrow. 
 Observe, now, an apparently undesigned, but very inter- 
 esting coincidence which testifies strongly to the truth and 
 faithfulness of the narrative. Who was the speaker in this 
 case? There were two parties in the rebellion, Korah, the 
 Levite, on the one hand, and Dathan, Abiram and On from 
 the people, on the other. Now which was the speaker 
 in this case? The narrative does not tell us directly, but 
 't^ speech itself betrays the feelings of the Levite. " Ye 
 "take too much upon you, for all the people are holy;" 
 referring evidently to the ecclesiastical aspects of the 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTIOxV. 311 
 
 Dathan and Abiram. Tlieir reply. 
 
 arrangement they opposed. The reply of Moses corres- 
 ponds. He spake unto Korah and all his company ; and 
 below, we find that the lay leaders, as we may perhaps call 
 them, were not present. 
 
 How appropriate, now, is the reply of Moses to Korah 
 and his adherents, — how exactly what it ought to be in 
 such a case, to set in a clear light their ingratitude and 
 wickedness. After proposing a test by which he was on 
 the morrow to submit the question to the decision of God 
 himself, he reminds them of the high station to which they 
 had been assigned, and of the ingratitude and criminal 
 ambition of aspiring to a higher one. 
 
 " Seemeth it but a small thing unto you, that the God of Israel hath sepa- 
 rated you from the congregation of Israel, to bring you near to himself, to do 
 the service of the tabernacle of the Lord, and to stand before the congrega- 
 tion to minister unto theml And he hath brought thee near to him, and all 
 thy brethren, the sons of Levi with thee; and seek ye the priesthood alsol '* 
 
 His reply thus, is not at all a reply to what Korah had 
 said. Moses disregards his speech entirely, and comes at 
 once to his feelings, — to the real source of the difficulty, 
 in the pride and ambition in his heart. 
 
 Then he sent to call Dathan and Abiram. They would not 
 come, but sent a disrespectful message, — one, however, 
 entirely different, in respect to the grounds of the complaint, 
 from the speech of Korah, and in exact keeping with the 
 characters of the men. Korah's pretence was the natural 
 one coming from an ambitious priest. That of Dathan and 
 Abiram was just as natural from a discontented and rebel- 
 lious people. 
 
 " Is it a small thing that thou has brought us up out of a land that floweth 
 with milk and honey, to kill us in the wilderness, except thou make thyself 
 altogether a prince over us? Moreover, thou hast not brought us into a land 
 that floweth with milk and honey, or given us inheritance of fields and vine- 
 yards; wilt thou put out the eyes of these menl We will not come up." 
 
 We will not go on any farther with the narrative. But 
 the following questions, most of which, even the youngest 
 
SI 2 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Various questions. 
 
 child, who had once read and appreciated the story, would 
 readily answer, shows how much moral truth, such a nar- 
 rative, when fully appreciated, may be the means of de- 
 veloping in the mind. 
 
 What did the sin of these men chiefly consist in, — the 
 feelings, or the words, or the actions? 
 
 Did Korah commit any wicked act? Did Dathan and 
 Abiram? 
 
 Did they not all commit sin in feeling? 
 What is the name for the kind of feelings they had? A 
 rebellious spirit. 
 
 Do children ever feel a rebellious spirit? Against 
 whom ? 
 
 Do they ever feel the rebellious spirit when they do not 
 manifest it in actions? When they do not express it in 
 words ? 
 
 What reasons are there that prevent their expressing or 
 acting it, when they have the feeling? 
 
 Can a rebellious spirit be expressed by looks as well as 
 by actions? Do children ever express it so? By what 
 sort of looks ? 
 
 Is the rebellious spirit a pleasant or a painful feeling? 
 Were Korah, Dathan, and Abiram happy probably, while 
 rebelling? Would they have been happy if they had suc- 
 ceeded in what they wanted to do? 
 
 The proposing of questions like these, might be the best 
 way of bringing out the truth contained in the narrative, 
 or suggested by it, if the pupils are children, whether they 
 are gathered in numbers arounti their teacher at the Sab- 
 bath school, or sit upon their father's knees, to look over, 
 while he reads the story from the great family bible, at the 
 chimney corner. If the audience is mature, the same 
 points would be brought to view, — the same moral analysis 
 of the story, though the results would receive an expression 
 in language in a somewhat different manner. The ques- 
 
Ch. lO.J INStRUCTlON. ' 313 
 
 Moral lessons to be deduced. 
 
 tions we have given above, have by no means exhausted 
 the subject. There are many other moral instructions to 
 be deduced from the narrative. Moses, for example, in 
 verse 11, considers the rebellion as against the Lord. 
 This naturally leads the mind to the consideration, that 
 Moses and Aaron, being appointed by God, were clothed 
 with his authority, and that opposition against them was 
 rebellion against Him. This, properly illustrated and ex- 
 plained, will set in a very striking light before children, 
 why a rebellious spirit against their parents, even if shown 
 only by looks, or not expressed outwardly at all, is a sin, 
 not merely against their parents, but against God. Then 
 there is the subject of punishment, too; the evil and the 
 danger resulting from such conduct making punishment of 
 it necessary, and the great guilt of it, making a severe 
 punishment of it just; and so with a great many other 
 subjects of inquiry and reflection, so numerous and full, 
 that the space allotted to this whole chapter would scarcely 
 afford room for a brief enumeration of them. 
 
 It is not that such a passage directly teaches all these 
 truths, or that they can be logically deduced from them, — 
 nor that they merely suggest them as principles to be 
 proved. The narrative calls up the principles to the mind, 
 as principles intuitively perceived to be true. They are to 
 be expressed by the voice of the teacher, knowing that the 
 expression of them will be re-echoed and confirmed to the 
 pupil, by a voice within. There are, indeed, moral and 
 religious truths which must be proved, but we do not speak 
 of them here. We speak now, of a thousand principles of 
 right and wrong, that are brought to view in the narratives 
 of the Scriptures, and which need no proof Apprehension 
 of them is conviction. Some are found by the mind in the 
 narrative, others, the narrative draws forth out of the mind. 
 So that in some respects, the story is the storehouse which . 
 the mind explores for moral treasures; in others, the store- 
 house is the mind, and the book the instrument of admission. 
 27 
 
314 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10 
 
 Two kinds of interest in a story. 
 
 We have taken this single case, and dwelt upon it, to 
 show how minutely and fully, the individual passages of 
 Scripture should be explored as mines of moral and reli- 
 gious truth. I need not say that the whole bible, examin- 
 ed thus, would furnish an inexhaustible store. 
 
 All persons, both old and young, will take a far greater 
 interest in the moral aspects and bearings of the Scripture 
 histories, than they do in the mere incidents of the narra- 
 tive; or rather the incidents and the narrative itself will 
 excite interest just in proportion as the moral meaning is 
 seen through them. Teachers of the young often overlook 
 this, — they bring Scripture narrative before their pupils, 
 simply as a history of occurrences, and a great portion of 
 the force, and point and beauty lying beneath the surface, 
 is not seen. 
 
 For example, take the story of Job. We may present 
 it in two totally different ways, to a class of little children. 
 Suppose, for the first experiment, we gather the little 
 pupils around us, and read them the account of Job's 
 prosperity, accompanying it with familiar explanations. 
 We tell them how many sheep, and oxen, and camels he 
 had, and help them to picture to their minds some idea of 
 his mode of life, and of the appearance of his vast herds, 
 and numerous household. They are highly interested. 
 Their curiosity, and imagination, and wonder are strongly 
 excited. Then you read to them, the account of his suc- 
 cessive losses. You describe the incursions of the enemy, 
 and the effects of the lightning, and bring home clearly to 
 the minds of the pupils, the terrific scenes alluded to in the 
 description. The children are all intensely interested in 
 it, as in a dreadful tragedy. At the close, perhaps, you 
 say that Job did not repine against God, notwithstanding 
 all these calamities; — that he was patient and submissive, 
 and we ought all to follow his example. 
 
 Thus the interest awakened in the minds of the children, 
 is an interest in the story, as a narration of wonderful ' 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 315 
 
 Example. .Tob. The dramatic interest. 
 
 incidents. The moral bearing of it, is but slightly alluded 
 to, and the whole impression made by it, is upon the 
 imagination, and not upon the heart. 
 
 We turn now to the opposite course, viz. passing lightly 
 over the incidents, and bringing out fully to view, the 
 moral meaning of the story. With the same, or a similar 
 little auditory around you, you begin by telling them of 
 Job's vast possessions, in general terms, and then saying 
 that God determined to take them all away, in order to try 
 him, and see whether he would bear it submissively and 
 patiently. 
 
 " Do you know what submissively and patiently, means?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." "No, sir." 
 
 " Why, suppose one of you should have a beautiful 
 picture book, and when you were sitting down by the fire, 
 to read it, your mother should say, ' Come, I must put 
 that book away now; I want you to go to bed;' what do 
 you think you should do or say.'' -' 
 Hl^A pause. 
 
 " Perhaps you do not know exactly what you would do 
 or say, but you may tell me what a bad child might do or 
 say, in such a case. Any one may tell me." 
 
 " He might begin to cry." — " He might say, ' I want 
 to sit up a little longer, very much.' " " He might say, * I 
 wont.' " 
 
 "Yes, and a boy who was patient and submissive, would 
 shut up the book pleasantly, and bring it to his mother, 
 and say, 'Very well.' Now, do you all understand what 
 patient and submissive means .? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, then we will go on with the story of Job. God 
 took away all his property, to try him, and see whether he 
 would be patient and submissive, or not. He wanted to 
 see what he would say." 
 
 Then read and explain the accounts of the calamities by 
 which Job was reduced to poverty and wretchedness, in 
 
316 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10 
 
 The moral interest. Both combined. 
 
 such a way as to awaken their sympathy for him, and their 
 curiosity in respect to its effect upon his mind. 
 
 "Thus," you say in conclusion, *' all his flocks and 
 herds were carried away, and his children were killed, and 
 his servants taken captive or destroyed," — 
 
 •'AH excepting the men who escaped to tell him." 
 
 " Yes, they were saved, it is true. Now, what do you 
 think Job said? — do you know.'* " 
 
 •'No, sir." 
 
 •'It was something very remarkable. It showed at 
 once, whether he was patient and submissive, or not. It 
 was something very remarkable, indeed. People have 
 repeated it a great many times since, when they have lost 
 something which they valued very much. It was this, 
 
 " 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: 
 blessed be the name of the Lord.' " 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " It was just as if the child whose mother had taken 
 away his beautiful book, should say, as he was going up 
 stairs with the candle in his hand ; ' My mother gave me 
 the book, and my mother has taken it away, I will not 
 complain of my mother.' — Should you not think that would 
 be a patient and submissive boy?" 
 
 Now, in this case, it is plain that the great effort has 
 been to bring out the moral expression of the story, so that 
 children can see and appreciate it. But we have not de- 
 tailed these two modes of explaining the same story, to con- 
 demn the former; but only to show how completely distinct in 
 its nature, an interest in the moral bearing of a narrative, 
 is from an interest in the incidents, considered simply as a 
 story. Both these kinds of interest ought to be awakened; 
 but the latter, especially, by all means. For it is the 
 latter alone, which can give to the study of the bible, any 
 influence on the affections of the soul. 
 
 Thus the bible is the great magazine to be explored. 
 
Ch. !0.] INSTRUCTION. ^tT. 
 
 Third general head. Observation. 
 
 And it is to be explored in this way, so as to bring out to 
 view the moral and religious truth taught in every page of 
 it. Excite in your pupils as strong a dramatic interest 
 in the narrative as you can, but let all this interest be 
 concentrated upon the moral principles, of which the nar- 
 rative is intended to be an expression. 
 
 3. The field of observation and experience is to be 
 explored for the means of enforcing and applying religious 
 truth in the most effectual manner. 
 
 The habit „o£jibserving and analyzing timmaii-. con duct 
 and character, and reflecting upon_it, is 8|^ neces- y^ 
 
 sary to enable us to command the avenues to the hearf^i 
 We must be in the habit of noting the most common oc- 
 currences^ and of tracing them back to the springs of 
 action from which they rise. Observe the moral truths 
 which they will illustrate, or the moral principles they 
 exemplify, and reflect upon them in this light, in your hours 
 of meditation. There is a vast diversity in different minds 
 in this respect, produced by habit or by different degrees of 
 intellectual culture. One, in looking upon the scenes of 
 daily life which are exhibited before him, perceives only 
 what comes to the eye or the ear. Another, traces back 
 the most common occurrences to their origin; and the 
 exercise, which was, perhaps, at first, a study, becomes 
 ere long, a habit, and at length the whole panorama of 
 life seems, to such a mind, alive with the expression of 
 those moral principles and laws of which it is, in fact, the 
 acting out, though not seen to be so by the common ob- 
 server. The ordinary exhibitions of human action, though 
 opaque, and tame, and spiritless to others, are bright and 
 transparent to him. He sees a spiritual world through the 
 external one, and the spectacle which thus exhibits itself 
 all around him, is clothed thus with a double interest and 
 splendor. 
 27* 
 
318 THE WAY TO 00 GOOD. [Ch. 10, 
 
 Effect of a habit of observation. 
 
 This habit once formed, every thing becomes expressive, 
 to the mind that has formed it. The attitude and manner 
 of a man says something of his character. A conversation 
 in a stage coach, on any ordinary topic, brings to the view 
 of the observer, the operation of many principles of human 
 nature,— and the actions of a group of children at play, 
 will reveal to him their respective dispositions, or exhibit' 
 in interesting lights, the various propensities of childhood; 
 while another, looking upon the same scene, would see 
 nothing in it, but unmeaning frolicksomeness and confu- 
 sion. 
 
 In the same manner, the events, and incidents, and 
 individual history which exhibit themselves in our progress 
 through life, as well as the various phases which human 
 conduct presents to us from day to day, ought to be studied 
 with reference to the moral principles which lie at the 
 foundation of them. All human character and conduct is 
 but the acting out of inward principle, and the events and 
 occurrences of life are determined by a combination of 
 movements in the moral and intellectual world, from which 
 they derive all their interest to us, as rational beings. It 
 is in the development of these, that we should be most 
 interested. It is the common, and the universal too, not 
 the extraordinary, which should interest us most strongly. 
 A vulgar eye stares at the strange, the monstrous, the 
 wonderful. A trunk of a tree, twisted into the rude re- 
 semblance of a man, pleases it more than if it grows into 
 its own prefer form, and exhibits its own proper expres- 
 sion: and it loves the gaudy deformities of excessive cul- 
 tivation, rather than the simple elegance of the natural 
 flower. Carrying the same principle into its observations 
 upon human life, it sees nothing to interest it in the beautiful 
 operations of ordinary cause and effect, —the healthful, quiet, 
 natural expression with which all the movements of society 
 beam. It is only the extraordinary development, the com- 
 plicated plot, the catastrophe, the escape, the wonderful, 
 
Ch. 10.] ..?!«. iNSTROcriaN. 319 
 
 Refined and vulgar taste. 
 
 the horrible, which can arrest its attention; — the true 
 philosopher derives a far higher pleasure, in reading the 
 meaning of every thing around him. The latter is pleased 
 with discerning, in common events, the operation of an 
 Universal Cause; and in an accidental interruption, he is 
 interested chiefly in observing the new influence, whose 
 intervention produced it. The other is pleased only with 
 accidents, and with them, only, because they are strange. 
 The less he understands them, the greater his delight, for 
 the very essence of his delight is surprise and wonder. 
 
 Now do not study the varied scene of life, which exhibits 
 itself around you, in this way. Make it your aim, not 
 merely to see what is visible to the eye, but to read its 
 hidden meaning, and take pleasure, not in novelty and 
 strangeness, but in the clearness with which you under- 
 stand and appreciate every common phenomenon. Be 
 intimately conversant thus with a moral and spiritual 
 world, to which the external one around you will be the 
 medium of access. He who does this, will find his mind 
 filled with a thousand recollections and associations that, 
 by means of a power which is neither imagination or 
 memory, but something between, will furnish him with 
 illustrations of all which he wishes to teach; — illustrations 
 true in spirit, though imaginary in form. 
 
 The study of man on these principles, will give the 
 Christian who pursues it, immense facilities for instructing 
 and interesting his pupils in religious truth. For he will, 
 by such means, greatly extend his knowledge of this truth, 
 in all its thousand ramifications, and ip its endless connec- 
 tions with the circumstances of life; and then this complete 
 Tamiliarity with the field, will give him an. independent and 
 original freedom of hand in the discussion and illustration 
 of truthj which nothing else can supply. Thoroughly 
 fumidhedUhmi^^ of the Scriptures, consider- 
 
 ed as/a great storehouse of moral truth, and with know- 
 ledge^Sf man, his feelings, his habits, his principles of 
 
320 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 The evidence for moral truth. 
 
 action, and the thousand changing hues which human 
 character assumes, he may go- freely and boldly forward, 
 and will be prepared to labor in this field with the greatest 
 success. This study of the bible, will give him the truth 
 which he is to present, and his study of man will open to 
 him the avenues by which he is to present it. 
 
 4. The admission of moral truth to the soul, is to be 
 secured mainly by means of a testimony awakened in its 
 favor from within. 
 
 In several instances in the course of this work, we have 
 had occasion to refer to the readiness with which moral 
 and religious truth is received by the human mind, when 
 properly presented to it. It seems to carry its evidence 
 within itself, or rather, it finds faculties in the human soul, 
 so well qualified to judge almost instinctively of its claims, 
 and so predisposed to admit them, that the single presenta- 
 tion of it, seems generally to secure its admission. There 
 is a sort of moral intuition, by which moral beauty and 
 excellence are apprehended, and moral truth received. 
 
 That this should be so, follows from the very nature of 
 moral truth. It does not consist of a series of propositions, 
 constructed with subject, predicate and copula, and fol- 
 lowing one another in order, like the successive theorems 
 of the science of Astronomy. In fact, this way of considering 
 the mathematical sciences is altogether artificial, and the 
 necessity of it results from the feebleness of our intellec- 
 tual powers. To a mind that could look upon the whole 
 planetary system, with powers sufiicient really to compre- 
 hend the mathematical bearings and relations of the whole, 
 the tendencies, the movements, the variations, the limits, 
 — the laws, the forces, their combination, or opposition, or 
 results, would appear as one magnificent and harmonious 
 whole, and would be seen by the intellectual eye directly 
 and together. Those few detached and separate principles 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. ■ 321 
 
 Mathematical truth. 
 
 which mathematicians have drawn out, and expressed as 
 laws, would be combined in the view with those thousand 
 others with which they are in reality blended, and the 
 mind would survey the whole complicated sj'stem, — (we 
 do not mean the system of visible motions, but of mathe- 
 matical laws,) — as the eye would take in an extended 
 landscape spread out before it. Thus the vast and com- 
 plicated results, which we have to deduce one by one, by 
 means of our laborious computation, would be directly 
 perceived, and would be looked upon by the mind as one 
 great and connected reality, and not as a few detached 
 and artificial propositions. Our intellectual vision is not 
 strong enough thus to grasp the higher sciences; and so 
 we grope our way from one detached and isolated principle 
 expressed in formal language, to another, wherever we can 
 find the shortest and simplest steps; like a blind man in a 
 palace, groping along by the aid of chairs and banisters, 
 and knowing nothing certainly, excepting the few separate 
 objects he has touched; which, few and scattered as they 
 are, prove to him, from their position and character, that 
 he is in the midst of a scene of magnificence and splendor 
 which he can never fully realize. 
 
 It is so with all other sciences. The properties of a 
 triangle are all involved in the very nature of the figure. 
 If our minds could comprehend that nature as a whole, we 
 should see all these properties as readily and directly as 
 we now perceive that there must be three angles if there 
 are three sides. Unable, however, thus to grasp the whole 
 at a single view, we grope our way to a few detached and 
 separate principles, by a toilsome, and slow, and cautious 
 ratiocination. Reasoning, therefore, step by step, from 
 premises to conclusion, is the resort of a limited mind 
 when its higher powers fail, and its detached and limited 
 results are but substitutes for more comprehensive know- 
 ledge. Still, the exercise of it may be, as indeed it is, an 
 exhibition of the noblest and greatest efforts of the human 
 
THE WAY TO DO GOOD- [Ch. 10. 
 
 A difterence between intellectual and moral science. 
 
 mind; as the highest effort of the sagacity of a blind man, 
 may be exhibited, in the dexterity with which he makes his 
 way in a crowded city, by his hearing and touch; — and 
 yet, after all, hearing and touch, however highly cultivat- 
 ed, are, in such a case, but an imperfect substitute for 
 vision. rA Inpiiaui 
 
 Now, we must, in the intellectual sciences, with minds 
 circumscribed as ours are, be content to penetrate the 
 boundless field before us, only in a narrow path like this, 
 passing on in it from step to step, by cautious ratio- 
 cination. And we can bring our pupil to any point 
 which we have ourselves attained, only by leading him 
 cautiously over all the previous steps by which we had 
 attained it. But it is not so with moral truth. Each 
 subordinate portion seems to bring with it its own testi- 
 mony, and to stand independent of the rest. There are a 
 th(2vusand connections, it is true, by which all the parts are 
 blended into one harmonious whole, but each carries its 
 own evidence within itself, and needs only to be appre- 
 hended, in order to be believed. 
 
 This would be true without limitation or exception, were 
 it not for the influence of passion and sin which produce 
 moral blindness, and cut off the view of moral truth from 
 the soul. The very way, however, by which these operate, 
 in shutting any moral principles from the mind, illustrates 
 what we have said; for they produce these effects, not by 
 incapacitating the mind from following any trains of rea- 
 soning by which the principle might be sustained, but by 
 rendering it insensible to its intrinsic excellence and beauty 
 Our great work, therefore, is, as we have said often before, 
 to present truth, rather than to prove it to man. We are to 
 gain access for it around, or under, or over, or through the 
 prejudices and sins which oppose its admission; — then we 
 are to present it in its own intrinsic excellence and beauty, 
 and exhibit it in its details and in its applications, confident 
 that if it is perceived, it will commend itself, and be estab- 
 
Ch. 10.] .<T«. INSTRUCTION. 323 
 
 Apparent exceptions. Proof of Christianity. 
 
 lished by its own intrinsic character, rather than by any 
 train of ratiocination by which it may be shown to result 
 logically from established premises. 
 
 This is true in regard to a great many cases, which 
 might, at first, appear as exceptions. There is, for exam- 
 ple, the evidence of the truth of Christianity. We are 
 accustomed to see it presented in a well connected train of 
 argument, which proceeds from what is admitted as pre- 
 mises, to the result finally arrived at as conclusion. But in 
 point of fact, we shall generally find, that though such an 
 argument maybe constructed, it is not the force of it which 
 generally determines the faith of Christians, nor does it 
 even materially affect that faith. The true ground on 
 which Christianity is received, where it is really received, 
 is a perception of its moral features, by a mind spiritually 
 sensible of them. It commends itself to the moral wants 
 of the soul, and where these moral wants are felt, Chris- 
 tianity is received by a process much shorter than Lard- 
 ner's. Tn other cases, Christianity is not really believed. 
 The education or the habits of the individual may be such, 
 that he does not choose to deny its truth, but he does not 
 really receive it. The argument, at least, does not con- 
 vince him. If, in any case, it seems to have some effect, 
 it is mainly by its moral influence in bringing the claims 
 of religion in their true character, fairly before the mind. 
 
 It is in accordance with this view of the subject, that 
 the various illustrations with which this work and its pre- 
 decessors abound, are given to the reader. They are 
 offered, not as arguments, but simply as aids to apprehen- 
 sion, in cases where the thought, if apprehended, will 
 commend itself Facts may be sometimes stated as evi- 
 dence; as for example, when a chemist informs us that he 
 subjected silex to a certain degree of heat, and it was 
 fused. If we believe his testimony, we learn, from his 
 statement of the fact, that silex is fusible at the specified 
 temperature. In such a case, every thing depends on the 
 
324 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. > 
 
 Proof by experiment. - Illustrations. 
 
 authority of the observer, and this on the accuracy and 
 faithfulness of his observations We know nothing about 
 the subject, except what he informs us. There is no in- 
 trinsic evidence in the case; and all the value of the 
 chemist's information, depends upon the fusion having 
 actually taken place in that particular instance, and under 
 the circumstances described. But an illustration of any 
 moral principle, though in the form of a reported fact, is 
 altogether different in its nature. I'ake, for instance, the 
 story of the boys on the ice, to illustrate the nature and 
 effects of sin and confession, in the first chapter of the 
 Young Christian. Its object is not to prove that sin will 
 burden the mind, and confession relieve it, from the result 
 of the experiment in that one case. Its object is not to 
 prove the truth, but only to make a clear exhibition of it. . 
 For its reception, we rely on a testimony in its favor in the 
 mind of every reader. So that the appeal is not to the 
 authority of experiment, but to the authority of every man's 
 consciousness, in respect to the operations of moral causes 
 upon the human mind. It follows, therefore, that while in 
 the chemical example, we must have the most unquestion- 
 able evidence that the experiment was actually performed, 
 and performed exactly as reported, — in the moral one, it 
 is of no consequence whether it was or was not ever 
 performed at all. An illustration of a moral principle or 
 truth, intended only to exhibit something which is to 
 prove itself when exhibited, if it is true to human nature, •, 
 may be as well imaginary as real ; for it is evidently of no t. 
 consequence, whether the occurrence described, ever took 
 place or not, provided that its only object is to bring before 
 the mind, the elements or materials upon which the mind^ 
 is aflerwards lefl at liberty to judge. 
 
 Moral truth, may, indeed, sometimes be proved by the 
 adduction of facts, — results of experiment. But this is a 
 very slow and toilsome process. ** Facts," it is said, by a 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION, 325 
 
 Difficulty of sound induction. Truth accessible. 
 
 common proverb, "are stubborn things:" to this, it has 
 been very properly replied, that they are the most pliant, 
 flexible, uncertain things that the human intellect has to 
 deal with. Even in the physical world, it is far more 
 difficult than is ordinarily imagined, to establish any truth 
 by a legitimate induction. Do the various positions of the 
 moon, in her monthly revolution, affect the changes of the 
 weather.'* To settle such a question by a series of obser- 
 vations, made with such accuracy, and perseverance, and 
 care, as really to settle it, will require a vigilance and a 
 labor, which those who are not accustomed to philosophi- 
 cal inquiries, would be slow to anticipate. But in the 
 moral world, the difficulty is incomparably greater; and 
 though it is very often the case, that writers attempt to 
 prove the wisdom of plans, or the efficacy of measures for 
 the promotion of piety, by an induction of facts, to prove 
 their success on experiment, — ^yet these facts are seldom 
 sufficient to establish the point according to the principles 
 of philosophical induction. 
 
 It is pleasant to reflect how close at hand, God has 
 placed all the moral and religious truth necessary for 
 human salvation. If labored reasoning had been necessa- 
 ry to establish it, how many millions, even in a civilized 
 and Christian land, must have lived and died in hopeless 
 ignorance; but God has provided better for the wants and 
 dangers of humanity. He has so adapted the constitution 
 of the human mind to the immutable and eternal principles 
 of right and wrong, that our great work is simply to mani- 
 fest them, in order to have them received; and where they 
 are rejected, it is sin, not intellectual incapacity, thai 
 causes their exclusion. 
 
 5. Attempts to remove error by argument or personal 
 controversy, are almost always in vain. 
 2S 
 
326 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Arguing with error. First case. 
 
 Sometimes when we argue, we are not arguing with 
 error at all. We aim directly at the establishment of the 
 truth, and that without supposing in our hearer any ten- 
 dency to error. As when, for example, one young man 
 presents to another, in a walk, the evidence in favor of the 
 immortality of the soul, which he may have collected; not 
 as a means of combatting his errors, but of confirming and 
 establishing his belief of the truth. Parents often thus 
 argue with their children, and pastors with their people. 
 They attempt to prove the truth, feeling all the time that 
 their hearers go along with them easily, wishing to have it 
 proved. It is obvious that there are few dangers or diffi- 
 culties here. The speaker and hearers are agreed. They 
 are travelling a road which they all wish to travel; the fol- 
 lowers looking up to the leader as a guide. Under such 
 circumstances, there must be some extraordinary clumsi- 
 ness or infelicity, to create any difficulty by the way. 
 
 Again, in other cases, we argue not for th6 truth, but 
 against error, our hearers, however, being, as before, unbi- 
 assed, and willing to be led wherever our arguments may 
 carry them. Here there is a little greater danger than in 
 the other case, for error is dangerous to meddle with in 
 any way. First, there is danger that our mere statement 
 of the error will introduce it; in accordance with the prin- 
 ciple that we have often alluded to, in the course of this 
 work, that statements have more influence generally upon 
 the human mind than reasoning. An idea presented, will 
 often enter and remain, bidding defiance to all the exor- 
 cisms of argument and appeal, by which the introducer of 
 it in vain attempts to get it out again. Then, also, by the 
 violence with which we assail an opinion and its advocates, 
 we may create a sympathy in their favor, and lead our 
 hearers to take their side; — on the principle which leads 
 us often to take part with the absent and undefended, 
 whether right or wrong. Thus, while we imagine that our 
 hearers are admiring the havoc our intellectual cannon is 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 327 
 
 Another case. Great forces to be overcome. 
 
 making in the battlements of the enemy, they are in fact, 
 secretly stealing over to the aid of the fortress assailed. 
 In these and similar ways, we may, while combatting error, 
 enlist some of the feelings of human nature in its favor, — 
 feelings stronger than allegiance to logic and reasoning. 
 These dangers, however, serious as they are, we must not 
 now dwell upon, but pass to a third case. 
 
 We sometimes argue directly with those holding erro- 
 neous opinions. This is what we intend by the phrase, 
 "attempting to remove error by argument," placed at the 
 head of this part of the chapter. Here lies the great dif- 
 ficulty and danger. The attempt to convince man of error 
 is the most delicate and hazardous of all the modes of ac- 
 tion of mind upon mind. By saying it is delicate, I do not 
 mean that it is a nice operation. The forces are not small 
 and weak, requiring nice attention and adjustment to de- 
 velop them. They are, on the contrary, great and uncon- 
 trolable. There is the mighty power of truth, on one side, 
 and the still mightier power of error, on the other. There 
 is habit with its iron chain, and prejudice and passion, with 
 their swift current, and pride with its strong walls, and 
 falsehood and inconsistency like heaps of rubbish. These 
 you have to overcome and remove. You have, indeed, on 
 yo«r side,ihe clear silent light of reason, and the voice of 
 consci^ce, — powerful enough to conquer any thing else; 
 but pride, and passion, and habit will conquer them. 
 
 When the speaker has a willing auditor, his work is 
 easy; but when he has one to lead along in the way in 
 which he does not wish to go, his work is all but hopeless. 
 Established opinions are, indeed, sometimes changed, — but 
 not often by reasoning. New associations, — the slow in- 
 fluence of altered circumstances,— the change effected in 
 the whole character of the soul, by real conviction of sin, — 
 these and similar causes, affecting the feelings more than 
 the reasoning powers, often subdue pride, and break down 
 obstinacy, and undermine long established errors. And so 
 
328 THE WAY TO DO GOOT3. [Ch. 10. 
 
 DangerL. Practical directions. The strange light. 
 
 does, sometimes, it must be acknowledged, the power of 
 naked reasoning; — sometimes, — but yet seldom. 
 
 Still, there are many cases where argument helps and 
 hastens the abandonment of error. Perhaps, however, 
 it as often only confirms its dominion. And yet many 
 persons, especially the young, are eager to engage in it. 
 Experience generally gives us more sober expectations of 
 success from it, but in early life we are always ready for 
 the combat. By faithfully studying and understanding and 
 adopting the following principles, our readers will avoid 
 many of the dangers of such conflicts, and will somewhat 
 increase the faint hopes of success. 
 
 (I.) Understand fully the position taken by the friend 
 whose errors you wish to correct. You must, to do this, 
 go to him as it were, and see with his eyes. Remember 
 that error appears reasonable to all who embrace it. It is 
 a fallacious reasonableness, I grant, but it appears real. 
 Now you must see this fallacious reasonableness yourself, 
 or you cannot understand the light in which the subject 
 stands, in the mind you are endeavoring to reach. If, in- 
 stead of this, we keep at a distance, and fulminate expres- 
 sions of reprobation at a man's errors, and of astonishment 
 at his inconsistency and wickedness in holding them, we 
 may gratify our own censoriousness and spiritual pride, but 
 can do him no good. 
 
 "Father," says a little child, sitting on his cricket by 
 the fireside, on a winter evening: "Father, I see a light, 
 a strange light out the window, over across the road.'* 
 
 " Nonsense, you silly child, there is no house across the 
 road, and there can be no light there this time of night." 
 
 "But I certainly see one, father, a large bright light." 
 
 "No such thing," insists the father, "It cannot be so. 
 There is nothing over there that can burn. I can see out 
 of the window myself, and it is all a white field of snow." 
 
 This is one way of combatting error. The boy is silenc- 
 ed, not convinced; and were he not awed by parental au- 
 thority, he would not even be silenced. 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 329 
 
 Two ways of combatting error. 
 
 " Where?" says another father, in a similar case. And 
 though from his own chair, he can see the field, across the 
 road, he goes to the child, and putting his eye close to his 
 son's, says, "Where ? — let me see?" 
 
 *'Ah, I see it: — well, now, walk slowly with me, up to 
 the window." 
 
 Thus he leads the boy up and shows him the grounds of 
 his illusion, in a reflection of the fire from a pane of glass. 
 
 Now, this is the proper way of correcting error. You 
 must first see it, as the friend whose opinions you wish to 
 correct, sees it. It has its specious appearances. There 
 are positions, towards which it presents reasonable, though 
 fallacious aspects. Now you can do your friend no good, 
 you cannot sympathize with him, you cannot understand 
 him, you cannot advance a step in reasoning with him, 
 unless you first go and put your intellectual eye where his is. 
 
 It is no matter what the opinions are, against which you 
 contend, you cannot contend against them to advantage, 
 unless you understand them, and you cannot really under- 
 stand them, unless you perceive them as they are perceived 
 by the mind which they possess. If you do not perceive 
 them thus, it is in fact something else that you perceive. 
 If any opinion seems to you preposterous and absurd, and 
 only such, the probability is that you could do no good to 
 the individual who holds it, by discussion; for it is plain 
 that it does not appear preposterous and absurd to him, 
 and, therefore, the perception which you attack, is not the 
 one which he maintains. It may be the same in name, and 
 somewhat the same in substance; but in all those aspects 
 and relations of it which constitute its life, and give it its 
 hold upon him, it is diff"erent to you from what it is to him; 
 and your discussion will be an angry dispute, in which 
 neither will understand the other. 
 
 If, therefore, a young man, in referring to any error, as 
 Atheism, or Deism, or disbelief m a judgment to come, 
 says, '*' It seems utterly astonishing to me, that any one can 
 28* 
 
1530 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10 
 
 Collisions. Misunderstandings. Sympathy. 
 
 believe such an error. I do not see what he can possibly 
 pay. I should like to meet with one, holding it; it seems 
 to me I could show him his mistake:" — if, I say, he speaks 
 thus, it is pretty safe to infer, that he would act most wisely 
 by letting the error alone. He does not understand it. In 
 a discussion, he would not make the slightest progress. 
 There would be a violent collision between him and his 
 unbelieving opponent, from which he would recoil in a 
 sort of maze, like a moth from a candle. 
 
 If he says, however, — "I do not think it surprising that 
 such a man should be a Deist. Considering his education, 
 his associates, and the position he occupies, I can see 
 easily how the subject of revealed religion should present 
 itself in such a way to his mind, as to lead him to disbe- 
 lieve it;" if he says that, there is a little more hope. 
 There is some ground for sympathy. The discussion can 
 have a beginning; and if there can ever be hope of any 
 progress, it is in such a case. 
 
 No one, therefore, can be qualified to attempt to lead 
 any soul out of its errors, but by first going to it, in them. 
 You must understand and appreciate the subject on which 
 men err, as it presents itself to their minds. Perhaps you 
 will shrink from doing this. It requires you, you will say, 
 for the time being, to go over to the side of error, and look 
 upon it with favorable eyes, and this is dangerous. It 
 is, perhaps, the most dangerous work which we can 
 engage in; and if the reader should consider his hope of 
 bringing any persons out of the wilds of error, too feeble 
 to justify his incurring the hazard of going on there after 
 them, — to be lost, perhaps, himself, — I should most sin- 
 cerely approve of his caution. But then, if he is deterred 
 by this danger from qualifying himself suitably for the work, 
 he must not imdertake it. He can do nothing but exhaust 
 and irritate himself, and fix his friend in his delusions by 
 attempting to argue without this qualification. 
 
 (2.) You must not only go to the intellectual position 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 331 
 
 fiffects of disputation. Exaggeration. 
 
 which your friend occupies, in order to begin the discus- 
 sion, but you must keep with him all the way. You draw 
 him out, as the magnet draws out the iron, by keeping in 
 contact, — the moment you break from him, you lose him. 
 You can do nothing at a distance, for arguments have 
 little weight, unless the heart is open to receive them; and 
 candor, good humor, and intellectual sympathy are neces- 
 sary in order to keep the heart open. 
 
 Now it is very hard to avoid an immediate rupture, the 
 moment you enter into conversation with a friend upon a 
 subject on which you disagree. The course of things 
 generally, is, that as soon as any thing like discussion is 
 commenced, each party recedes as far as possible from the 
 other, and by exaggeration, and overstatement, and pres- 
 sing to extremes, they get to as great a distance as they 
 can, and from these positions which they have respectively 
 taken, they cannonade one another with merciless violence, 
 each gravely expecting to drive the other over to himself. 
 In some cases of moral intercourse between mind and 
 mind, there may properly be a separation, — a want of 
 sympathy. As where a man is rebuked for a known and 
 admitted sin, or denounced for opinions which carry on 
 the face of them their own condemnation, and are, in 
 fact, only pretended opinions, assumed for selfish purposes. 
 But where there is real error, where the mind is really 
 deceived, you must go to it, and lead it out; you must 
 keep with it all the way. If you break from it, it falls back 
 again into a worse position than before. 
 
 To avoid this, you must not overstate any fact, or ex- 
 aggerate the f(Trce of any consideration which is in your 
 favor, nor underrate any thing which your antagonist may 
 advance. Be honest and candid. Admit the force of 
 objections and difficulties; listen attentively to what he 
 says, not as mere matter of civility, but from an honest 
 desire to know exactly how the subject stands in his mind. 
 Do not be in haste to reply to what he says, but admit its 
 
332 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Defending error, and its effects. 
 
 force, and lake it into consideration. Thus he will per- 
 ceive that your object is not victory, but truth; and as 
 you show yourself willing to lool^ candidly at the whole 
 subject, he will, by sympathy, catch the same spirit, and 
 you will thus go on together. As long as you can thus 
 keep together, you may perhaps advance, but the moment 
 you separate, he falls back, and your hold over him is 
 gone. 
 
 (3.) Avoid arousing your friend, by opposition, to take 
 ground in defence of his opinions. If you wish to fix a 
 man most firmly on either side of any question, the surest 
 way is to give him that side to defend. Hence the great 
 danger and evil of discussions; they become disputes, and 
 make each party more fixed and obstinate than before. 
 Avoid, therefore, putting your friend upon his defence, or 
 making an antagonist of him. You can do nothing with 
 an antagonist. If he adduces an argument, or states a 
 fact, do not reply to it, or contradict it; but on the other 
 hand, by an honest question or two, draw it out more fully, 
 so as completely to possess yourself of it, as it stands in 
 his mind. If it is weak, do not make him think it strong, 
 by putting him on the defence of it. If it is strong, do not 
 impress it upon his memory, and give it undue importance, 
 by arguing about it. In either case, trust to the great 
 leading considerations which you have to adduce, as the 
 means of overcoming its influence. With the greatest 
 circumspection, you will find it all but impossible to pre- 
 vent your conversation degenerating into a dispute. You 
 may read and understand these principles, now, and admit 
 their reasonableness. But when you come to apply them, 
 you will find an almost insurmountable difficulty. In fact, 
 the reader will be very likely to say, while reading these 
 paragraphs, that the rules are very good in theory, but 
 impossible to be kept in practice. I grant it. Or at least, 
 P.allow that it is almost impossible to preserve them, — it is 
 certainly almost impossible, in endeavoring to convince a 
 
Ch. 10.] INSTRUCTION. 
 
 Deal in great arguments, not in minute details. 
 
 friend of the erroneousness of his opinions, to avoid arous- 
 ing him to a resolute defence of them. This is true, no 
 doubt, and it is only saying that it is almost impossible to 
 do any good, by reasoning with people about their errors. 
 (4.) Make it your great object to present to your friend, 
 and to keep before his mind, those great leading considera- 
 tions on which the evidence of the truth must rest, and not 
 to discuss with him, the details, and difficulties, and objec- 
 tions which cluster around every great subject. It is but 
 a few great considerations, which determine the conviction 
 of the mind in all cases. The truth of Christianity, for 
 instance, rests, in the mass of minds, on its great, visible, 
 moral effects, and not on the details of that complicated 
 argument which researches into its history have furnished, 
 — nor on the possession of satisfactory answers to the 
 thousand objections which have been advanced. It is, 
 indeed, very important to possess these answers. There 
 are certain occasions, and certain purposes for which they 
 are essentially important. But in such discussions as we 
 are speaking of here, the more exclusively the mind that 
 is wrong is brought to look upon the great leading con- 
 siderations which establish the truth, the better. 
 
 We are very prone to overrate the extent to which it is 
 necessary that the^ many difficulties and objections which 
 can be raised against the truth, should be met and answer- 
 ed. They must, to some extent, remain. The mind is 
 full of them on every subject. All truth, whether believed 
 or disbelieved, is connected with difficulties which we 
 cannot remove. The most common doctrines of philoso- 
 phy, such as that sound is produced by aerial vibrations, — 
 and that the blood circulates, — and that cold is mere 
 absence of heat, — and many other most unquestionable 
 truths, are embarrassed with difficulties which it is very hard 
 to solve. The course, now, for a wise instructor to take with 
 his class, is not to call their attention too much to these, in 
 vain attempts to offer satisfactory solutions. This would 
 
334 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Faint hopes of bucccbs. Classes of reasoners. 
 
 be the way to spread doubt and uncertainty over their 
 minds, in respect to the whole subject. He had better, 
 when first attempting to inculcate the truth, admit these 
 difficulties, and acknowledge their force, — but then pre- 
 sent the great leading evidence, which is sufficient to 
 establish the truth, notwithstanding them. In religious 
 discussion, we should do the same. Our great object is to 
 bring forward the leading considerations which balance 
 the scale and determine conviction; and then to present 
 these to the mind, and make as little reply as possible, to 
 the counter considerations adduced in disproof. Thus you 
 gain a double advantage; you secure the presentation of 
 what must be the basis of conviction, if it is established at 
 all, and you avoid that most imminent of all dangers, put- 
 ting your friend upon the defence of his opinions, which 
 would inevitably confirm him in them. 
 
 These principles, if understood and practised, will 
 perhaps aid a little, but after all, we can promise the pri- 
 vate Christian very little success in his efforts to do good, 
 by reasoning with error. There are a thousand difficulties 
 and obstructions in the way of gaining such an access to 
 the human soul. There are some minds that cannot argue 
 nor appreciate argument. They seem to have no powers 
 of perception for a logical sequence. They go by authori- 
 ty, so far as they are influenced by others, and by mere 
 notions originating in themselves. Then there are others 
 who will not attend to you. While you are speaking, they 
 are conning a reply, not to what you are saying, but to 
 what they have heard said by others before. Then, there 
 is a third class, so loose, and illogical, and irrational, that 
 in one single sentence, you hear uttered or implied errors 
 enough to lay you out work for an hour, in taking them up 
 one by one, for examination and exposure. You, however, 
 begin with one, but the first sentence which you hear from 
 your interlocutor in regard to it, is another shoot at ran- 
 dom, over the field of prejudice and error, and you give up 
 
Ch. 10.] msTRUCTiox. SSb 
 
 Way in which human opinions are formed. 
 
 at once, in despair. Another person is so entirely away 
 from you in sentiment and feeling, that you can get no 
 common ground to start from. His ideas, and feelings, 
 and habits of reasoning are all diverse. He lives in a 
 different moral and intellectual world, and you cannot 
 understand one another at all. He takes principles for 
 granted, that you would deny, and if you turn aside to 
 discuss one of them, you take for granted, immediately, 
 what he does not admit, and thus you have no footing. 
 Then there is pride, and the power of habit, and the in- 
 fluence of association, and authority, and interest, and 
 the bias of feelings averse to the sacrifices which sound 
 moral principle requires. When we consider the nature 
 of these elements, we shall moderate our ideas in respect 
 to the immediate effects which we can hope to produce 
 upon them. Truth and logic, with all their power, are 
 proved to be frail instruments among such moral forces as 
 these. 
 
 The force of authority and personal influence, have a 
 far greater control over men's opinions, and reason, far less 
 than is generally imagined. Suppose, for example, that 
 for the sake of trying an experiment upon human mind, 
 and testing the real strength of truth, the philosophers 
 of England should divide themselves into two parties, 
 equal in talents and numbers, and enter into a controversy, 
 making a question, for this purpose, of some undoubted 
 truth. Let one party maintain, for example, the truth that 
 the earth is in motion, and the other, the falsehood that it 
 is at rest. The latter would, of course, pretend that recent 
 discoveries and calculations had overturned the long re- 
 ceived opinions, and that, after all, it was proved that it 
 was the sun, not the earth that revolved. We must sup- 
 pose that this latter party are equal in talents, and stand- 
 ing, and influence, with the others, and that they are 
 believed to be honest and sincere, and that they maintain 
 their cause with the same industry in arraying the facts 
 
53(5 ^ THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch, 10. 
 
 Be:)Ult of the discussion. Grounds of human belief. 
 
 which seem to favor their cause, and in fabricating inge- 
 nious arguments which should exhibit the appearance of 
 mathematical reasoning. Suppose the discussion to go on 
 for a half century, what would be the result.'* *' Why every 
 man," you would at once reply, **of any intelligence and 
 understanding, who would devote any proper attention to 
 the subject, would be brought to the right side. The 
 evidence for the truth in this case, is overwhelming." Very 
 well: admit it. But what percentage of the whole mass of 
 any people, are men of intelligence and understanding, 
 and what percentage of those would have paid such atten- 
 tion to the subject, as to separate for themselves truth from 
 falsehood, and to form an independent judgment of the 
 case, and see distinctly the solidity of the arguments for 
 the truth, and the fallacy of those for the error.'' A very 
 small one. The result would probably be, that the mass 
 of the people would be divided between the contending 
 parties, pretty nearly in proportion to the numbers, and 
 standing, and personal influence and popularity of the 
 respective leaders, and the termination of the experiment 
 would show that the opinions of mankind on almost any 
 subject which they hear discussed, and on which they 
 f^om to form a judgment independently, rest, after all, 
 u^jii the v/eight of authority, and not upon the perceived 
 conclusiveness of the reasonings. 
 
 It is true, that on subjects of mathematical and physical 
 science, where there is, in a general view of the great 
 mass of mind, no leading bias one way or the other, there 
 cannot be, for a long time, any such division of authority, 
 as we have supposed in this imaginary case. The force 
 of the argument will compel unanimity among leaders, and 
 then the influence of authority, will secure the unanimity 
 of the rest. But in moral subjects, this is not so. Take 
 such a question as the true character and desert of Napo- 
 leon Buonaparte. The moral argument here will not 
 enforce unanimity among the leaders of mind, and the 
 
Cb. lO.l INSTRUCTION. SS7 
 
 The way to spread the truth. 
 
 followers, swayed by tbe opinions or the representations, 
 or the personal influence of those to whom they are ac- 
 customed to defer, will be divided too. 
 
 We cannot trust, then, in the expectation that truth will, 
 in a world like this, necessarily make her way by our 
 simply arming her with intellectual weapons, and sending 
 her out to fight against error. The result of such conflicts 
 will generally depend more upon the ability of the advo- 
 cate, or rather upon his personal influence, than upon the 
 goodness of the cause. 
 
 I ought, however, perhaps, to say in conclusion, though 
 it may be scarcely necessary, that this chapter relates 
 mainly to personal discussion between private Christians 
 in the ordinary walks of life, and not to controversy among 
 leading minds advocating diverse opinions before the pub- 
 lic, for the purpose of eliciting truth by discussion, or 
 placing on record, arguments to sustain it. This public 
 controversy has its difficulties and dangers, immense and 
 great, but this is not the place to exhibit them. The 
 sphere of influence in which this book is intended to 
 move, is a diff*erent one altogether. In that sphere there 
 can be no question that disputation should hold but 
 a very low rank among the means of doing good. Our 
 means of promoting the spread of Christianity, is not 
 to effect triumphs for it in debate, but to spread its gentle 
 and noiseless influence. , We are to exhibit it in our lives, 
 we are to explain, and enforce, and exemplify its duties. 
 We are to express its principles, and gain, by every means 
 in our power, an influence for them among our fellow men. 
 Thus the rigidity of argumentative disputation will be re- 
 laxed, and the moral influence of an alluring exhibilion of 
 the principles and duties of piety, will find an easy way 
 where the most severe and scientific theological arguments 
 for the truth, and refutations the most triumphant of error, 
 would find every access barred and impregnable. 
 
 These remarks apply with peculiar force to infidelity. It 
 29 
 
38 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 10. 
 
 Infidelity. Its spirit. Voltaire. 
 
 prevails to a vast extent in the world, and must, for some 
 time, continue to prevail; and although the proof of the 
 truth ought to be constantly before the community, so as 
 to be accessible to every mind, yet to rely upon the 
 logical force of arguments, as the main instrument for 
 the expulsion of infidelity, is to mistake altogether, the 
 nature of its power. Infidelity, as it has generally 
 shown itself in this world, is not candid philosophical 
 doubting of the mind; it is rejection by the heart. Its 
 strength is not in its reasonings, but in its spirit. It is 
 dislike to God, to penitence, humility, communion with 
 heaven. It is love of this world, and of sin, and a deter- 
 mination to go on in its own way, without fear of a judgment 
 to come. It is a spirit of hostility to God, and to his reign, 
 and a determination not to s»bmit to it. Now such a spirit, 
 logic and reasoning can never change, — they do not even 
 tend to change it. 
 
 The spirit of infidelity ; — the lofty genius of Voltaire has 
 embalmed and preserved its deformed and malignant 
 visage, for all time, and we fear that his wretched soul 
 will find that he has done it for all eternity too, by his 
 famous watch-word, " Crush the wretch," applied to Jesus 
 of Nazareth. Read the Savior's life, — consider his char- 
 acter, his mild, unoffending, gentle spirit, — his labors for 
 the good of his race, — his patience, his forgiveness, — hiss 
 cruel wrongs, and the submissive, quiet, unruffled spirit, 
 with which he bore them. Read the whole story, and 
 think of such words as ^^ Crush the ivretch,' applied to him. 
 Oh, Voltaire, Voltaire, sad indeed, must have been the 
 moral state of the heart which could have been aroused to 
 anger, by the story of Jesus of Nazareth; sad the heart 
 which could call that homeless victim of toil, and of patient 
 suffering for others, a wretch, and which could meet his 
 kind invitations, by a cry uttered forth to the whole civilized 
 world, to arise and crush him. Do these malignant 
 passioas still burn in thy bosom, against him who would 
 
Ch. 11.] CONCLUSION. 339 
 
 Conclusion. Plan completed. Recapitulation. 
 
 fain have saved thy soul .'' We fear they do, for the strength 
 of angry passion which sent forth that defiance, could carry 
 it but a little way towards the eternal throne of the Son of 
 God. The lapse of years shows that throne standing 
 firmer than ever, and thy malediction has fallen back upon 
 thine own head, and thou thyself art the crushed wretch 
 now, for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The plan which I had marked out for myself in the 
 volumes of which this is the o|||nclusion, being now accom- 
 plished, nothing remains but for me simply to recapitulate 
 some of the fundamental principles on which the views 
 maintained in these works, are based, and then to bid my 
 readers farewell. 
 
 These principles may be briefly enumerated thus. 
 
 1. Lofty and cxpanded^views of the character and gov- 
 ernment of God. I have endeavored to lead the reader to 
 look upon Jehovah as the Universal Spirit, pervading, and 
 sustaining all things; — and to draw him away from the 
 absurd image of ivory and gold, which the imagination of 
 childhood paints, out into the mighty universe which spreads 
 itself inimitably all around us, and shows us God's doings 
 and character, in all the physical phenomena of nature, 
 and in all the social and economical relations of man. 
 
 Such views of the great Jehovah, will alone free the 
 mind from virtual idolatry. They alone will light up all 
 nature with an expression from God, and enable us to 
 realize, in the most complete and thorough manner, his 
 continual presence and agency. 
 
 I ought, however, to warn my readers very distinctly 
 of one danger arising from this view, and that is, that 
 
340 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [CK 11 
 
 Views of God. Pantheisin. 
 
 by considering God as the universal agency, operating 
 throughout the universe, they may lose sight of his per- 
 sonalily. We may feel that God is the great Universal 
 Cause, and forget that he is a watchful, moral governor 
 over every one of us. This is Pantheism. It makes 
 every thing God, and while it extends every where his 
 presence, it destroys his personality. It has been a very 
 common way by which men have escaped from the moral 
 control of their Maker. Philosophers discovered it, and it 
 has been, in every age, considered a very adroit, and 
 beautiful mode, of escaping from the claims of repentance 
 and faith in Christ. It is the way chosen by the philoso- 
 phers, the educated, the refined. They change Jehovah 
 from a person to a principle, they lose all sense of his 
 moral watchfulness over th^, and of their accountability 
 to him. In fact, his very individuality is gone, and all the 
 pressure of accountability to him, on their part, goes with 
 it, — and yet they pride themselves upon the loftiness of 
 their religious position, and retain and pervert all the 
 phraseology of piety, to help them in the deception. They 
 admire nature, and call it adoring God. 
 
 Now we must beware of this danger, and as we expand 
 our views of the divine character, and begin to conceive 
 of him as the eternal and omnipresent spirit, we must 
 not destroy his personality, nor lose sight, for a moment, 
 of that strict and solemn accountability, to which he holds 
 every intelligent creature that he has formed. 
 
 2. It has been another design of this work, to lead the 
 reader to deep convictions of his own moral helplessness, 
 as a sinner against God, and of the necessity of a radical 
 change by the influences of the Holy Spirit. The degree 
 of hopelessness and helplessness of a confirmed bad char- 
 acter, of any kind, is something which men feel, and 
 understand, but which they do not like to express in 
 language ; for they cannot express it, without encroaching 
 upon their theories of free agency. The strength and the 
 
Ch. 11.] CONCLUSION. 341 
 
 The slavery of sin. Freedom, Bondage. 
 
 weight of the chain with which any established habit, or 
 besetting sin binds the victim of it, is a great restriction to 
 the boundless freedom which we love to attribute to the 
 human soul. One kind of freedom is indeed boundless, 
 in man, — the freedom with which the mental acts flow 
 from the reigning desires. There is no outward restraint. 
 The band which enthrals the human soul, is an iron rigidity 
 within, and they who have ever really undertaken to grapple 
 with any one sin, and to root it out from its place in the 
 heart, will feel that sin is, after all, a slavery, — bitter, 
 helpless, hopeless slavery. 
 
 Hopeless, — that is, if the poor victim is left unaided, in 
 his struggles to get free. We may restrain the outward 
 transgression, by such considerations as we may force 
 before our minds, but how shUl we compel these deceitful 
 and corrupt hearts to cease from loving transgression, and 
 wishing that it might be safely indulged. A case of con- 
 firmed intemperance illustrates the difBcuIty. I have 
 known such a victim, of kind feelings, of honesty, upright- 
 ness, intelligence, — made the slave of the great destroyer 
 of men, — and in his days of reflection he wotild mourn and 
 weep over his ruin, — his broken-hearted wife, his suffering 
 children, — and resolve, and promise, and fix himself in the 
 utmost firmness of human determination, that he would 
 never yield to temptation again. But the hour of tempta- 
 tion came, and his decision and firmness would melt away. 
 With all his struggles, it would seem to him that he could 
 not resist. 
 
 Could he or could he not? Was he free, or was he not 
 free? Ah! he was free, and that very liberty was his 
 destruction; for it was freedom to act according to the 
 reigning desires of his heart, and these desires have been 
 hopelessly corrupted by long habits of sin. So with the 
 soul in its attitude towards its Maker. With feelings averse 
 to God, and to holy happiness, and these steady, perma- 
 nent, and tending to perpetuate themselves, — and then 
 29* 
 
542 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. II. 
 
 Unlimited freedom. The difficulty. StiflTering. 
 
 entire, and unlimited freedom to act according to those 
 desires, its case is hopeless. If a moral restraint from 
 without, could intervene, there might be a hope of salva- 
 tion; but when the desires are wrong, to be left to perfect 
 freedom, is to make destruction sure. So that the entire, 
 unconditional liberty of the sinner who is left to his own 
 ways, is the very key-stone of his dungeon; it makes his 
 moral ruin perpetual and hopeless. A thorough under- 
 standing of this, will lead to a self-abandonment, and a 
 surrender to the Savior, so complete and unconditional, 
 as to give real peace and happiness to the most wounded 
 soul. It is this, only, which lays the proper foundation for 
 happy piety. 
 
 That this view of the lost and helpless condition of man, 
 is the true one, the study o^our own hearts, observation 
 of mankind, and the Word of God, combine to furnish a 
 triple proof; and there is nothing to oppose to it, but 
 theoretical difficulty. "For how," asks the unbeliever, 
 '* can you reconcile such views of the hopeless ruin of an 
 immortal being, with the power, and benevolence, and 
 holiness of God." 
 
 I cannot reconcile them, — and so the squirrel, whose 
 limb a sportsman has shot away for his amusement, crawl- 
 ing into his hole in agony, presents a spectacle which it is 
 equally impossible to reconcile with the power, and bene- 
 volence, and holiness of God. You cannot take a step 
 towards the solution of either one of them; — not a single 
 step. Men have talked and reasoned about the existence 
 of sin and suffering, and attempted to explain them; and 
 there is no impropriety in such speculations; — but they 
 make no progress whatever, in making it plain to the 
 human mind, how a single instance of sin and suffering 
 can possibly exist in a world governed by spotless holiness, 
 and by boundless power. But when you have explained 
 how there can be one hour of sin and suffering, the diffi- 
 culty is all over, for the explanation will answer as well for 
 
Ch. ll.J CONCLUSION. 343 
 
 Existence of suffering inexplicable. 
 
 the second hour as the first, and for every succeeding oae. 
 Just as when you have explained the formation of one 
 drop, you have explained the whole shower, — and not only 
 that one, but all other showers that ever have fallen, or 
 will fall for ever. Vast and insuperable, therefore, as are the 
 difficulties which hang over the prospect of the utter and 
 perpetual moral ruin of any man, they are all removed by 
 explaining any single instance of sin and suffering. Tell 
 me how Judas could have betrayed his Master, and suffer- 
 ed such remorse and anguish for it, while on earth, and I 
 will tell you how it can be, that he is sinning and suffering 
 now; and I will repeat the explanation, for any other hour 
 of his future existence, whenever you may call for it. 
 
 The theoretical difficulty, then, while we acknowledge 
 its force, ought not to operate as a presumption against 
 what our own experience, and the Word of God, unite to 
 maintain, for the difficulty applies equally to what we hioiv 
 to exist, and therefore, though it appears insuperable to 
 us, we are compelled to believe that there is a solution for 
 it; and the solution which will cover one case, will cover 
 all. The difficulty is not increased by multiplying the 
 cases to which it will apply. Every separate portion of * 
 the existence of a fallen angel, or of a fallen man, may be 
 considered a distinct example of the existence of sin and 
 suffering; and whenever we are able to see the compati- 
 bility of one of them, with the boundless power and love of 
 the Supreme, we shall understand the compatibility of all. 
 
 The doctrine of the bible, then, is, that sin perpetuates 
 itself; and we see and feel this, its essential tendency, in 
 all our experience of its nature. It does it, however, not 
 by any compulsion from without, forcing man to sin, con- 
 trary to his desires, but by changing and corrupting those 
 desires, and setting them permanently in the wrong direc- 
 tion. The desires and the heart thus corrupted, and 
 alienated from God, freedom, of itself, becomes ruin, and 
 any one who looks into his soul, with careful self-examina- 
 
tN4 THE WAY to DO GOOD. [Ch. 11. 
 
 Christ the atoning sacrifice. Tlie way of peace. 
 
 tion, to study its feelings towards God, and to make them 
 what they ought to be, will find, after a few hard and weary 
 struggles, that the representations of the bible in respect 
 to the deathlike helplessness of the sinner, are too true. 
 I have wished to draw the reader to these views. They 
 are, I am convinced, fundamentally necessary. They, 
 and they only, will lead to that humble attitude before 
 God, and that simple reliance on his Spirit, which will lead 
 to any proper progress in piety. 
 
 4. It has been the intention of this work to lead the 
 sinner to trust in the suflJerings and death of Jesus Christ, 
 as the atoning sacrifice, by which it becomes just and safe 
 to forgive his sins. We escape a great many philosophical 
 difliiculties, I admit, by rejecting this view, and considering 
 Jesus Christ as only a human teacher of moral and reli- 
 gious truth; but with the diflSculties, we lose all the life 
 and spirit of piety. The human soul has always, in every 
 country and in every age, hungered and thirsted for a 
 sacrifice for its sins, and it always will. The mind of man 
 is so constituted, that it must instinctively feel that there 
 is something incomplete and unfinished in transgression, 
 until punishment, or something to take the place of punish- 
 ment, has ensued. You cannot quiet a child whose con- 
 science is wounded by some wrong towards yourself, that 
 he has done, by simply saying you will forgive him. There 
 is a moral instinct that expects something more. So the 
 soul, in its maturity, when conscience is wounded by its 
 sins against God, cannot be completely soothed, by offering 
 to it mere forgiveness. There may be, possibly, repent- 
 ance, as we have before shown, without a very distinct 
 knowledge of the Savior; and also a very great diminution 
 of anxiety, — but there cannot be perfect peace. Foreboding 
 fears will linger in the heart, and anxious solicitude about 
 the future, disturb its hopes of pardon. Then, besides, a 
 vital union with the Son of God, as the Redeemer and 
 Keeper of the soul, «?uch a connection with him as tho 
 
Ch. 11.] CONCLUSION. 345 
 
 The soul thirsts for it. Difficulties. 
 
 Great Mediator, the Justifier, constitutes the great moral 
 means of defence against future sin. It is the refuge to 
 which the soul flies in its hours of trial, feeling that such a 
 connection is just what it wants, and what it must have. 
 We make resolutions, and break them. We renew them 
 in hours of solitude and reflection, but when we are again 
 in the world, they are again disregarded and forgotten, — 
 bad principles and bad passions gradually and insensibly 
 gain the mastery over us, and after repeated efforts and 
 struggles, each returning hour of solitude and reflection, 
 finds our condition more hopeless than before. Discour- 
 aged, disheartened, and almost in despair, the soul pauses 
 in gloomy doubt, whether to renew again the hopeless toil, 
 or give up all. Now it is at such a time as this, that the 
 soul understands and feels the meaning of flying to Jesus, 
 — appropriating his righteousness, — looking up for pardon, 
 through his atoning sufferings, — and, in utter self-aban- 
 donment, casting all on him. You cannot make this 
 phraseology intelligible to a worldly man, while in the 
 midst of his worldliness, and never feeling the bitterness 
 and the weight of the bondage of sin. But they who have 
 felt these burdens, almost always find in the atoning suffer- 
 ings of a divine Redeemer, just such a refuge as they 
 most eagerly desire. It always has been so, in all ages of 
 the world. The most devoted and consistent piety has 
 always been coupled with the most distinct conceptions of 
 the utter ruin and helplessness of man, and of his sole 
 reliance on the influences of the Holy Spirit, for his sanc- 
 tification, and on the obedience and atoning sufferings of 
 a divine Redeemer, for his justification and pardon. 
 
 I do not deny that philosophical acumen may involve 
 these views in very serious and real difficulties; and so 
 it may any other subject whatever, that has as many 
 relations as this has, to the unseen, spiritual world. 
 There will always be plenty of difficulties, where any one 
 is interested to find them. Our wisest course, therefore 
 
S46 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 11. 
 
 Disposal of the difficulties. The church and the denominations. 
 
 te, to take home to our souls the view which is so clearly 
 fitted for them, and which the obvious meaning of Scrip- 
 ture plainly authorizes; and to leave the difficuUies for 
 another day. 
 
 In respect to redemption by Jesus Christ, and the philo- 
 sophical objections which may be urged against it, the soul 
 will feel when it is really burdened with its sins, as a 
 thirsty man before a fountain of water, with Berkeley by 
 his side, attempting to prove to him that it is no reality. 
 Though he cannot reply to the subtle argument, he will 
 drink and quench his thirst; and so will we. 
 
 5. I have wished to inculcate liberal views in respect to 
 all the essentials of Christianity. Just in proportion as the 
 mind is turned away from the consideration of the moral 
 ruin of man, and of the direct application of the great 
 moral and spiritual remedy as widely as possible, — and is 
 occupied about forms and organizations, and the details of 
 theological speculations, just in that proportion will true 
 piety decline, true, genuine love for the souls of men grow 
 cool, and the subject become a partisan, a disputant, a 
 manager, suspicious and jealous of sister branches of the 
 church, and a dead weight upon the Savior's cause. We 
 want to have our souls strongly interested in promoting, by 
 any proper means, the salvation of men from their sins; and 
 while we are steady and faithful in our attachment to the 
 institutions and forms with which we have been connected, 
 we shall, if our hearts are i-eally set upon the promotion of 
 God's cause, rejoice in the success of other laborers, and 
 allow them to love their institutions and their modes of 
 operation, as we love ours. 
 
 6. These works have endeavored to exhibit piety, as 
 active, — going forth to the work of promoting holiness 
 and happiness of every kind, and in every degree. This 
 comparative diminution of interest in one's own private 
 and personal pursuits, and desire to engage as a co- 
 operator with God in promoting universal good, is at once, 
 
Ch. 11.] CONCLUSION 347 
 
 Various modes of doing good. 
 
 the fruit and the evidence of piety; and the degree of 
 genuine, heartfelt, persevering, interest with which we 
 engage in our Master's work, is perhaps the best measure 
 of the degree in which we possess his spirit. I have 
 endeavored to delineate the temper and the feelings with 
 which this work should be done. This spirit, I have rep- 
 resented as mild, gentle, patient, unobtrusive. It should 
 take this form generally among those for whom these 
 books are chiefly written. While, however, in our ordi- 
 nary intercourse with mankind, we act in this gentle man- 
 ner, we ought not to feel that all violent collision with sin 
 is wrong, and condemn those, who, from the circumstances 
 in which Providence has placed them, are led to engage 
 in more violent struggles with sin. Such violent struggles 
 are sometimes, though perhaps seldom, unavoidable, and 
 we must not feel irritation or anger against those who use, 
 what we considt^r, harsh or severe language in denounc- 
 iti sin, or in measures to oppose it. Jesus Christ could 
 rebuK i<arply j^e once drove sinners away from their 
 work 01 vi'ickedness, with a scourge ; he described a class 
 of guilty men as a generation of vipers, and called one of 
 ais disciples a devil. This should not, indeed, lead us to 
 nabits of severity and denunciation, but it should, at least, 
 mitigate the censorious feelings which we are prone to 
 cherish towards those who rebuke sin with a bluntness 
 which we ourselves should not think of imitating. Moral 
 remedies are as various as moral diseases, and he to whom 
 Providence has, by circumstances, or by constitutional 
 temperament, committed one class of them, should not 
 censure harshly, those who have been entrusted with 
 another. John ought not frown at the boldness of Peter, 
 nor Peter look with contempt upon the mildness and 
 gentleness of John, 
 
 My work is done. It is four years since these illustra- 
 tions of Christianity were commenced; and the pen was 
 
Sn THE WAY TO DO GOOD. [Ch. 11 
 
 The author's farewell. 
 
 taken up with much hesitation and fear. So great has 
 been the indulgence, however, with which these humble 
 attempts have been received, both in England and Ameri- 
 ca, that I find myself in the midst of a vast assemblage, 
 now that I am about to take my leave. I tremble to think 
 of the responsibility I have been bearing, — a responsibility 
 whose extent and magnitude I so little foresaw. May God 
 forgive all that has been wrong, either in writer or readers, 
 and make use of these volumes as an humble part of that 
 mighty instrumentality, which He is now employing, to 
 bnng back this lost world again to Him. 
 
 END. 
 
 
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