Deborah Thayer, Richard Alger, and Cephas Barnard, are instances of
the same spiritual disease. Barnabas to me was as much the victim of
disease as a man with curvature of the spine; he was incapable of
straightening himself to his former stature until he had laid hands
upon a more purely unselfish love than he had ever known, through his
anxiety for Charlotte, and so raised himself to his own level.

When I make use of the term abnormal, I do not mean unusual in any
sense. I am far from any intention to speak disrespectfully or
disloyally of those stanch old soldiers of the faith who landed upon
our inhospitable shores and laid the foundation, as on a very rock of
spirit, for the New England of to-day; but I am not sure, in spite of
their godliness, and their noble adherence, in the face of obstacles,
to the dictates of their consciences, that their wills were not
developed past the reasonable limit of nature. What wonder is it that
their descendants inherit this peculiarity, though they may develop
it for much less worthy and more trivial causes than the exiling
themselves for a question of faith, even the carrying-out of personal
and petty aims and quarrels?

There lived in a New England village, at no very remote time, a man
who objected to the painting of the kitchen floor, and who quarrelled
furiously with his wife concerning the same. When she persisted, in
spite of his wishes to the contrary, and the floor was painted, he
refused to cross it to his dying day, and always, to his great
inconvenience, but probably to his soul's satisfaction, walked around
it.

A character like this, holding to a veriest trifle with such a
deathless cramp of the will, might naturally be regarded as a notable