if the world would only allow the child to become a man, and put away childish things, and speak the truth about the new thought and the new discovery, institutions would grow as trees and children do, by constantly adding new life to themselves. But they will not. There are always living at the same time those who see nothing but what was in the childish speech, understanding, and thought, and those who want to put away these childish things and become men. There are always those who feel about the creed and the church as some mothers do about their children: it is better that they should always be babies than to strike off into the mountain-road of manhood. They are annoyed at the way in which these young protestants of the ages tell the truth. They find it hard to respect the opinions of these nurslings reared on their own bosoms, and they try to bully or frighten each new generation of thinkers into thinking the old thought and saying the old creed. And this experiment is tried over and over again, and always with the same result-the old school breeds a new school, the high church a low church, the orthodox a Hicksite, the right wing a left wing, the conservative a radical. And so, instead of a growth like that of morning into noon, and noon into night; a growth like that of youth into manhood, and manhood into old age-always putting away the childish and taking on the manly and womanly--we see a growth by shocks and jars, like the purification of the air by thunder-storms, or a renewing of the earth by drought or flood. The stream of history is always broken by ragged points; and each step forward is a new birth, whose throes and pains fill the world with dismay. And so, friends, death seems to be a kind of war, a shock of summer-storm, through which we put away the childish things of earth and begin the manhood of heaven. We ers. and life is God's; life is the soul and reality of every thing. And as we are true to life in all the different stages of our growth, and speak honestly of it, and think truly of it, and understand it wisely, so shall we be prepared to enter upon that eternal manhood where we shall see as we are seen, and know as we are known. VIII. THE PROVIDENCE OF NECESSITY. THE nature of man is the scholar in the school of life. And hence, like any other scholar, he is not made for the school, but the school is made for him; he is not made for his teachers, but his teachers for him. The office of all its instructors is, not to make nature over again, but to aid its development; not to create it, but to correct it. Its true law of growth is by secretion from within by the laws of its being, as an oak-tree grows; not by accretion from without, as a snow-ball grows. All the good which can come to a soul must come from its growth, not from its reconstruction. To instruct this immortal pupil in all the branches of his education, God creates geniuses of art, of science, of philosophy, of religion, and inspires them with the necessity of utterance and a mission. In their special departments they are indeed far wiser than the nature they teach; but, compared with the whole and varied wisdom of God enveloped in that nature, the wisdom of their specialty is very small. One is the actual development of a human being in one branch of knowledge in this period of time; the other is the possible development of a human being in all knowledge through all time. But it seems to be the finite condition of genius that it possess all faith in its own specialty, and of course it is essential to its mission. Hence, it is almost certain to pour itself forth in efforts to reconstruct nature, to make men and women over again after the model of its own idea. But this nature must resist to the death. Nothing could be worse for her than such a reconstruction; therefore she avails herself of the inertia of undevelopment always found in some corner of the soul and of society, and thus resists her destruction. This inertia is often positive wickedness in its possessor, and it sometimes crucifies its teacher and friend: but it becomes providence to society; for the crucified one rests from the vain labor of reconstruction, and stimulates and inspires all souls with his life and light. It sometimes seems to me that man hints at a broader and more benevolent system of Divine Providence through what he denies than through what he accepts; through what he resists than through what he receives; through what he is not than through what he is. For when we look through society, and see what it denies, what it resists, and what it is not, we can not but wonder that law, or social order, or social progress exist at all. And who can look upon his own life, and see how indifferent, and unteachable, and inert he has been, and how thin the partition is which separates him from the poor, and unfortunate, and outcasts around him, without exclaiming, "By the grace of God, I am what I am"? And if we must pay such a great price to protect nature from reconstruction, according to the fair-seeming plans of inspired teachers, how magnificent must the development of that nature be to atone for such waste and apparent loss! If there were no providence even in these shadows, if no praise could come from this wrath of men, then there would indeed follow what the croakers of every age are always predicting, a general dissolution and return to chaos, universal atheism, unbelief, and utter annihilation of the old |