stopped until he went out. Nobody ever grasped his hand cordially,
or slapped him on the shoulder, or spoke of him as a good fellow.
He seemed as dry and hard and tough as a piece of jerked beef.
There was no softness of character--no juiciness--no loveliness
in him.

Now it is of no use for me to undertake to realize to myself that
God admires such a character as this. I do not doubt that He loves
the man, as He loves all men; but to admire his style of manhood
and piety is impossible for any intelligent being. It lacks the
roundness and fulness, and richness and sweetness, that belong to
a truly admirable character. Such a man caricatures Christianity,
and scares other men away from it. Such a man ostentatiously
presents himself as one in whose life religion is dominant. It is
religion that is supposed to rub down that long face, and inspire
that stiff demeanor, and to make him at all points an unattractive
and unlovable man. Of course it is not religion that does any
thing of the kind, but it has the credit of it with the world, and
the world does not like it. It looks around, and sees a great many
men who do not pretend to religion at all, and yet who are very
lovable men. If religion can transform a pleasant man into a most
unpleasant one, and change a free, bright, and happy home into a
dismal place of slavery, and blot out a man's aesthetic and social
nature, the world naturally thinks that getting religion would be
almost as much of a misfortune as getting some melancholy chronic
disease, and I do not blame it. It is not to be wondered at that
the world should mistake, very much, the true nature of
Christianity, when Christians themselves entertain such grievous
errors about it.