Protestant ministers exult, in contrasting the influences of the reformed faith with results like these; and yet witness their congregations thronging in crowds to see a wretched criminal swinging in the agonies of strangulation. The same people thrill with horror, as they hear, around their evening fire, how those whom they call savages, dance, and yell round the stake, at which a captive enemy is burning. To the red man it seems the extreme of cold-blooded ferocity, to execute a criminal with a halter, by the hands of a person who bears no ill will to the victim.
Far be it from me to question one of the sublime trophies of the gospel, or to doubt its refining and humanizing influences. But the whole aspect of history and society compels me to believe, that fashion and prevalent opinions exert an influence, that will bring men to tolerate almost anything. I much fear, that the spectacles of the Roman Amphitheatre might be revived, if a certain number of any community would pertinaciously conspire, to write in favor of them, and countenance them by their presence.
To present, in contrast, the favorable side of human contradictions:—I have seen a man plunge into the water, and put his own life at fearful jeopardy, to rescue a stranger from drowning. I have witnessed instances of disinterested and heroic sacrifice, which present men in the aspect of angels, in every walk of life. Such sublime samples of the capability of our nature are the appropriate theme of oratory, painting and song; and cannot be too much blazoned. Pity it is that history did not select more instances, and dwell upon them with more partial eulogy, instead of amplifying the revolting details of war.
Two instances of affecting manifestation of tenderness are deeply impressed upon my memory, simply because they were elicited by common cases of suffering; and had in them nothing of romance, or of uncommon tendency to excite the feelings.
I was passing in the streets of one of our northern cities. On the marble door steps of a sumptuous mansion sat a ragged boy, with a look at once dogged and subdued, manifesting long acquaintance with sorrow and want. Near him sat an aged woman, apparently his mother, decrepit, worn and squalid, with her face turned from me. The boy was devouring with voracious greediness a piece of dried herring. Fair and richly dressed children were passing to their morning school. Most of them jeered him, in passing, calling on him to get down from the steps, and asking him if he was very hungry? ‘Yes, and you would be hungry, and sad too, if you was poor and a stranger, and had to take care of an old mother, and had walked as far as I have.’ One of the boys lingered behind, as if ashamed of his feelings. I noticed his broad, high forehead, and eye speaking a soul within. His eyes filled with tears, as he handed the boy money. My own eyes moistened, as I witnessed the angelic expression of this noble boy, who I dare affirm, had not the spirit to do such things by halves.
The other was in another extremity of our country, where money and cotton, sugar and slaves, balls and theatres are the all-absorbing objects of interest. A large group of gaily dressed gentlemen and ladies were promenading, in company with an heiress and her intended husband, who were shortly to be married, and they were merely discussing the preparations. A poor, pale boy, apparently a stranger, came up to them, with his written petition for charity; and with the low and subdued tone of voice appropriate to shame, bashfulness and misery, began to tell his little story. The splendid laughers walked on with an incurious carelessness. One of the group lingered behind. He was struggling with the difficulties of obtaining a profession, and aiding in the support of a distant family. But, he bestowed on the boy one of his few remaining dollars. When I see such instances of native tenderness of heart, I thank God that men are not totally depraved.