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or the nature of such action, have been what it might. In many cases, man has been carrying out a great principle, and acting for the highest interests of the human family, unknown to himself. He has been the instrument in the great chain of events designed to work out the end in view. The signature of King Louis to articles authorizing the departure of French soldiery to fight the battles of freedom in the United States, became, in a few years, the signature to his own death-warrant. So the act of King Charles, by preventing Oliver Cromwell from leaving the shores of Great Britain, shortly rolled his head in the dust!

But there are thousands of men of various creeds and opinions at the present day, who are acting understandingly in the great work of human redemption from physical, social, and political bondage. And however much they may differ with each other, in relation to one thing they are all agreed, and that is, that man does not occupy that position for which he was originally designed, nor possess that amount of happiness for which his constitutional principles pre-eminently fit him. And just in proportion to the strength of the conflict of mind with mind, so may be seen the strength of the desire that each partisan or sectarian feels to bring about the desired end in his own peculiar way.

There is a spirit of deep humanity and true sincerity in every heart, that responds to whatever is presented for bettering the condition of the human family; and most

men, if they were free, would act out these responses, if convinced that the means presented would effect the object. They might, as they doubtless would, differ; but in most cases their differences of opinion would be honest.

Men do not oppose principles intellectually. They are too often governed by their feelings. They do not all see through the same media. Temperament, education, surrounding influences, age, and condition, cause men to differ. Some will say, "Do your duty, and let consequences take care of themselves." Others will answer, "Yes; that is, when these consequences do not come in contact with the rights and privileges of others." And others will significantly ask, "What is duty ?" Of these three classes, the first are generally young men, together with those whose benevolence is so large that it rules the judgment. The second are generally, though not in all cases, middle-aged men, who view things through a proper medium. They have lived long enough to mature the judgment, and seen enough of the world to form a true opinion, or base a correct idea upon their own experience; and not enough to sour them against everything and everybody. With this class, man is not a living disappointment, nor life poetry or its paths flowers; nor is the world a great Golgotha. The third class are generally composed of older men, with those who possess large acquisitiveness and small benevolence, who, from much disappointment and suffering, and from having been so often deceived by false appearances, and, perhaps, through fear of losing

anything they may possess, view things through a distorted medium. Their prejudices are strong; they look upon every new measure as an encroachment upon established rights and privileges.

The first of these three classes are sometimes termed new-school men. They are apt to contend for the immediate adoption of a principle, regardless of consequences. The second class contend for the adoption of a train of expediences, with the view of arriving at the ultimate principle. Not wishing to hurry on the machinery of the moral universe, they are willing to wait the successive developments of the great chain of events that carry on the great operations of the moral world. The third class may be termed old-school men. They are as far behind the age as the new-school men are before it. They are everlastingly talking of the good old rules, and the good old With them, the world is not as it

days, of by-gone times.

used to be. They are constantly quarrelling with it, because it will not stand still, to suit their views and ideas of precedent, comfort, and right.

Now, if we had no class but the first of these, nothing would be perinanently accomplished. Being in possession of more "zeal than knowledge," the ardor of their opposition to existing customs and institutions clouds their reason, and urges them on to extravagance in speech and action, not consistent with the permanent establishment, or the firm foothold, of the principles they desire to introduce.

If we had none but the second, truth would progress but slowly. Their conservativism would withhold them from making the sacrifice necessary to the furtherance of all great movements. They might wish for reform; but lacking enthusiasm, no great principle would ever be discovered, or set in motion, for the well-being of the human family.

If we had none but the third class, things would roll on as they had rolled. Intellect would not improve. The arts and the sciences would not advance, and, consequently, the moral world would remain as it is.

But the existence of these three classes is absolutely necessary to the development of truth. The three form a perfect system: the third neutralizing, to some extent, the extreme ardor and zeal of the first; and the second holds both in their places like a balance-wheel, prevents the opposition of the third class from crushing the first, and steps in, guides, and directs, the two extremes. Thus the three classes, however untimely and out of tune each may appear individually, yet, taken collectively, they form a harmonious circle. Reforms thus move on as fast as the world can bear them; and whatever is sowed by the first, is prevented from growing too luxuriantly by the third, and directed to the happiest and the most permanent results by the second.

Again it is observed above, that the sentiment of the ardent enthusiast in politics, morals, or religion, is, "Do your duty, and let consequences take care of themselves;"

and that the question is asked, in reply, "What is duty ?" Now this question, under all the variously-conflicting opinions, and views, and doctrines, and creeds of men, in relation to truth, as at present advocated, would seem to be rather a difficult question to answer; about as seemingly difficult as that of Pilate, when he asked, "What is truth?" Indeed, this latter is the question that must be understood to some extent, before any man can understand the former. But, if we can not tell what it is, we know that it exists everywhere. The difficulty seems to be, where the truth lies. This is the provoking part of the question. It is one upon which no two can scarcely agree; and the controversy now between each is, who has the truth?

It is a great gain to see the necessity of a thing; but it is a greater point gained, when that thing is striven after. In relation to truth, activity has taken the place of torpor; and the various bodies of men are now unanimous in their efforts to ferret it out of its hiding-places, and understand it. This is the brightest side of the picture—the most important step in the journeyings after it; for the question itself is great and solid, solemn and momentous. Upon the responses which man may make to it, and the success of his efforts to find it, depend vast interests. Upon its solution depends the happiness or misery of all the millions yet to come on the stage of existence. Refinement, civilization, intellect, well-being, life, death, eternity, are all depending upon its momentous issues,

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