"'You would be wrong; for the man, according to what you yourself have just said, would be, in your opinion, a perfect man; for he would neither have killed, nor stolen, nor forced your daughter. He could only be charged with having wished to amuse himself a little; which you say is not a crime.
"Still beside himself with rage, he said:—'Nevertheless, I would murder the wretch.'
"'But, my friend, recall to mind what you have done yourself, and then judge.'
"With tears in his eyes, and pressing the hand of his interlocutor, he said:—'Forgive me, sir; I lied to myself when I said what I did. I was boasting just as many others of us do; but I am better than my stupid speeches.'
"I may add, as a characteristic trait of the human heart, that after this dialogue, the father's emotion at seeing his faults placed naked before him was so strong, that he was seized with a fever which lasted several days; that he subsequently thanked me most warmly for having opened his eyes; and that I have now reason to believe in his complete and sincere conversion."
Are we certain that we should find the same frankness and courage elsewhere?
The people, notwithstanding the bravado common to their class, deplore their failings, and if intimate with them, you will often hear them expressing their regret in some such style as this:—"Pity me, for I am most wretched. Do you think it does not make me uncomfortable to see my wife and children miserable, and to know that I am the cause of their misery? I have made good resolutions a thousand times over, and have broken them as often. My passions and my habits have become so inveterate that I am unable to resist them." … They are right; for left to themselves they will never be able to persevere in well-doing. They need the aid of religion, which ought to be afforded them, and which is by no means an impracticable task. Let us hear no more of those incessant excuses that nothing can be done with them on that score.
Away with all discouragement! Away with all despair! Those who indulge in such feelings do us infinite mischief. They are a most dangerous class in our midst; they will do nothing themselves, and will not allow others to do any thing. They try to prevent all good by ceaselessly repeating:—"It will never succeed. … There are so many obstacles to be encountered. … It is headstrong to attempt it."
This is one of the most hideous sores of the age. Such men accuse others, and yet never seem to reflect that despair is the greatest possible crime in the sight of God.