(the aggravation of general misery), mark how subtilly they have wrought. They call themselves by various names, to excite passions suitable to the names they bear. Thus some forbid the perusal of that book to their disciples, and others assert, that from the exclusive study of its pages alone, can the hope of salvation be learned or substantiated. It is singular, however, that with all their ingenuity, they have never been able to extract a subject of difference from the essential contents of that book, to which they all appeal—so they proceed after their manner.

“They never dare to dispute that it contains irresistible injunctions,——that those who believe in it should live in habits of peace, benevolence, and harmony,—that they should love each other in prosperity, and assist each other in adversity. They dare not deny that the spirit that book inculcates and inspires, is a spirit whose fruits are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, mildness, and truth. On these points they never presumed to differ.—They are too plain to be denied, so they contrive to make matter of difference out of the various habits they wear; and they cut each other’s throats for the love of God, on the important subject(16), whether their jackets should be red or white—or whether their priests should be arrayed in silk ribbons(17), or white linen(18), or black household garments(19)—or whether they should immerse their children in water, or sprinkle them with a few drops of it—or whether they should partake of the memorials of the death of him they all profess to love, standing or on their knees—or—— But I weary you with this display of human wickedness and absurdity. One point is plain, they all agree that the language of the book is, “Love one another,” while they all translate that language, “Hate one another.” But as they can find neither materials or excuse from that book, they search for them in their own minds,—and there they are never at a loss, for human minds are inexhaustible in malignity and hostility; and when they borrow the name of that book to sanction them, the deification of their passions becomes a duty, and their worst impulses are hallowed and practised as virtues.”—“Are there no parents or children in these horrible worlds?” said Immalee, turning her tearful eyes on this traducer of humanity; “none that love each other as I loved the tree under which I was first conscious of existence, or the flowers that grew with me?”—“Parents?—children?” said the stranger; “Oh yes! There are fathers who instruct their sons——” And his voice was lost—he struggled to recover it.

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