 Chapter 4 Part 2 of Christian Non-Resistance. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 4 Part 2 of Christian Non-Resistance in All Its Important Bearings, Illustrated and Defended by Aidan Balu. Special Illustrations, Facts from Real Life. I now propose to offer a series of facts from real life, illustrative of the truths for which I am contending, and in confirmation of my arguments. Subdued Pride and Scorn. A lady, in one of the neighboring towns to that in which the writer resides, had repeatedly treated a well-disposed young man with marked contempt and unkindness. Neither of them moved in the upper circles of society, but the lady, without cause, took numerous occasions to cast reproachful reflections on the young man as beneath her notice and unfit to be treated with common respect. This lady had the misfortune to meet with a considerable loss in the destruction of a valuable chase, occasioned by the running away of an untied horse. She had borrowed the horse and vehicle, and was required to make good the damage. This was a serious draft on her pecuniary resources, and she felt much distressed by her ill fortune. The young man, being of a kind and generous disposition, and determined to return good for evil, instantly set himself about collecting money on her relief. Subscribing liberally himself, and actively soliciting others, he soon made up a generous sum, and before she became aware of his movement, appeared before her and placed his collection modestly at her disposal. She was thunderstruck. He left her without waiting for thanks or commendation. She was entirely overcome, wept like a child, and declared she would never be guilty again of showing contempt, speaking reproachfully of, or treating with unkindness, him or any other fellow creature. Was there anything in all this contrary to nature? The man whose temper was broken. A man of my acquaintance, on hearing some remarks I had made on this subject, observed that he knew, by experience, the doctrine was correct, and though he himself had never practiced non-resistance from principle in his general life, he practiced it from impulse on one occasion with astonishing success. He was brought up with a childless uncle of his, who was remarkable for his violent anger when excited, and for the cruelty with which he beat his cattle, and such boys as he had taken to bring up, whenever they provoked his vengeance. He could bear but a little from boy or brute, and therefore was a frequent and various whipper till considerably past the middle age of life. The narrator stated that he was well nigh a man grown, when on a certain occasion he went into the woods with the team, in winter, to sled-home fuel. At length, when on their way out of the woods through an unbeaten path, the sled struck some obstacle concealed under the snow, and the team was completely set. The uncle, provoked at this interruption, cried out to his nephew, who held the whip to drive on and put the cattle through. He shouted and used the lashed order, but in vain the sled was fast. My uncle flew into a most violent rage, said he, and seizing a club from the load came furiously at me with terrible threats, as the author of the whole mischief. I felt entirely innocent, and for the moment determined I would not further resist my uncle's wrath than to exchange my whip for his club, which was nearly of the size of a common sled-stake. As he rushed upon me with uplifted weapon, I firmly grasped it in one hand, reached out my cart-whip with the other, and said, Here, uncle, you shall not beat me with such a thing, take the whip. He instantly relinquished the stick of wood, and seizing the cart-whip, beat me outrageously over the head, shoulders, and back. He then offered me the whip, exclaiming with stern vehemence, now drive that team home. I calmly but firmly replied, No, I have done my best, and shall not try again. Drive it yourself, uncle. On this he violently assailed the poor oxen, shouting, screaming, and beating them quite as mercilessly as he had me, till he fairly gave out from exhaustion. Pausing for a moment's rest, and coming a little to his reason, he commenced searching for the obstacle, and soon found that a large-sized sapling had fallen across the path and become firmly bedded in the subsequent snows. Having ascertained this, he directed me to cut off the trunk in order to its removal. I commenced, my back and shoulders smarting grievously from their underserved stripes. When partly through, I looked up at my uncle and said, Uncle, do you feel any better for the cruel beating you have given me? He looked pale and conscience stricken, and without a word of reply started for home. I extricated the load, and without further difficulty drove the team to its destination. From that time, sir, my uncle never broke out of his old gusts of passion, never struck, scolded, or abused me. Never mistreated his cattle. And going quite to the opposite extreme, suffered himself to be several times almost imposed on by a mischievous lad he had taken to bring up. Without inflicting a blow, or even expressing anger. I continued with him several years, and seeing him, as I thought, grown too lax in correcting the lad just named, I one day asked him what had so entirely changed his conduct. He looked me in the face with a melancholy expression. What he, do you remember the cruel flogging I gave you when that load of wood got set in the snow? Too well, answered I. That broke my temper, said he. I never had such feelings before. I have never been the same man since. I then solemnly vowed never to strike another cruel blow on man or beast while I lived, and I have scarcely felt the disposition to do so since. Large tears rolled down his cheeks, and he turned away in silence. Many a time have I thought of that matter, said the nephew, since my uncle has gone to the grave. It convinces me your doctrine is the truth. How does it impress my reader? Does it indicate that non-resistance is contrary to or consonant with the laws of nature? The Colored Woman and the Sailor A worthy old colored woman in the city of New York was one day walking along the street, on some errand, to a neighboring store, with her tobacco pipe in her mouth, quietly smoking. A jovial sailor, rendered a little mischievous by liquor, came sawing down the street, and, when opposite our good phyllis, saucily crowded her aside, and with a pass of his hand knocked her pipe out of her mouth. He then halted to hear her fret at his trick, and enjoy a laugh at her expense. But what was his astonishment, when she meekly picked up the pieces of her broken pipe without the least resentment in the manner, and giving him a dignified look of mingled sorrow, kindness, and pity, said, God forgive you, my son, as I do. She touched a tender cord in the heart of the rude tar. He felt ashamed, condemned, and repentant. The tear started in his eye. He must make reparation. He heartily confessed his error, and, thrusting both hands into two full pockets of change, forced the contents upon her, exclaiming, God bless you kind mother, I'll never do so again. The Haymakers Two neighbors were getting hay from adjoining lots of marshland. One had the misfortune to mire his team and load, so as to require aid from the other. He called to him for assistance with his oxen and men. But his neighbor felt churlish, and loading him with reproaches at his imprudent management, told him to help himself at his leisure. With considerable difficulty, he extricated his load from the mire and pursued his business. A day or two after, his churlish neighbor met with a similar mishap, whereupon the other, without waiting for a request, volunteered with his oxen and rendered the necessary assistance. The churl felt ashamed of himself. His evil was overcome by his neighbor's good, and he never afterwards refused him a favor. The Two Students Two students of one of our universities had a slight misunderstanding. One of them was a warm-bloodied southern. He conceived himself insulted, and began to demand satisfaction, according to southern notions of honor. He was met with a Christian firmness and gentleness. The other calmly told his excited fellow student he could give only Christian satisfaction in any case, that he was not conscious of having intended him either injury or insult, and that if he could be convinced he had wronged him at all, he was willing to make ample reparation. The southern boiled over with chivalrous indignation for a few moments, discharged a volley of reproachful epithets, and threatened to chastise his cowardly insolence. But nothing could move the other's equanimity. Without the slightest indication of fear or civility, he met his opponent's violence with true heroism, declared that they had hitherto been friends, and he meant to maintain his friendly attitude, however he might be treated, and conjured the Threatener to consider how unworthy of himself his present temper, language, and conduct were. His manner, look, words, tone had their effect. The flush of anger turned to a blush of shame and compunction. The subdued southern stepped frankly forward, reached forth his trembling hand, and exclaimed, I have spoken and acted like a fool. Can you forgive me? With all my heart was the cordial response. Instantly they were locked in each other's embrace, reconciliation was complete, and they were evermore fast friends. The substance of this anecdote was given by a worthy minister of the Baptist's persuasion, after one of my lectures on non-resistance, and I think he represented himself as a witness to the scene. Two neighbors and the manure. Two of my former neighbors had a slight controversy about a few loads of manure. One of them was the other's tenant. The lesser had distinctly stipulated to reserve all the manure of the stable, and had offset it with certain privileges and favors to the Lacey. But as the Lacey had purchased and consumed from abroad a considerable amount of hay, he claimed a portion of the manure. He proposed leaving the case to the arbitration of certain worthy neighbors. The other declined all reference to a third party, alleging that they both knew what was right, and ought to settle their difficulties between themselves. But the Lacey contrived to have a couple of peaceable neighbors at hand one day, and in their presence renewed with earnestness his proposal to leave out the case to their decision. The other, grieved at his pertinacity, promptly replied, I have nothing to leave out. I have endeavored to do as I agreed, and to treat you as I would be treated. God Almighty has planted something in our breasts, which tells us what is right and wrong. If you think it right to carry off that manure, do so just when you please, and I pledge myself never to trouble you with even a question about the matter again. This was a factual. The tenant felt his error, all was quiet, the claim expired at the bar of conscience, and non-resistant kindness and decision healed all contention. This was related to me by one of the friends selected as a judge and decider in the case. His peculiar comment was, that was one of the greatest sermons I ever heard. Impounding the Horse A man approached his neighbor in great anger one afternoon, saying, Sira, I found your horse loose in the road this morning, and put him in the pound, where he now is. If you want him, go and pay the fees and take him out. And I give you notice now, that just as often as I find him loose in the highway, I will impound him at your cost. And I, said the neighbor, looking out of my window this morning, saw your cows in my cornfield. I drove them all out, and turned them into your pasture. I now give you notice, that as often as I find them in my cornfield, I will do so just again. The first was humbled, reconciled, sent to the pound, paid the fees, and restored his neighbor's horse to him with an honorable apology for his ill temper. Anonymous Two Neighbors and the Hens A man in New Jersey told Henry C. Wright the following story respecting himself and one of his neighbors. I once owned a large flock of hens. I generally kept them shut up. But one spring I concluded to let them run in my yard after I had clipped their wings so that they could not fly. One day, when I came home to dinner, I learned that one of my neighbors had been there, full of wrath, to let me know my hens had been in his garden, and that he had killed several of them and thrown them over into my yard. I was greatly enraged because he had killed my beautiful hens that I valued so much. I determined at once to be revenged, to sue him, or in some way get redressed. I sat down and ate my dinner as calmly as I could. By the time I had finished my meal, I became more cool and thought that perhaps it was not best to fight with my neighbor about hens, and thereby make him my bitter-lasting enemy. I concluded to try another way, being sure that it would be better. After dinner I went to my neighbors. He was in his garden. I went out and found him in pursuit of one of my hens with a club trying to kill it. I accosted him. He turned upon me, his face inflamed with wrath, and broke out in a great fury. You have abused me. I would kill all your hens if I can get at them. I never was so abused. My garden is ruined. I am very sorry for it, said I. I did not wish to injure you, and now see that I have made a great mistake in letting out my hens. I ask your forgiveness, and am willing to pay you six times the damage. The man seemed confounded. He did not know what to make of it. He looked up at the sky, then down at the earth, and then at the poor hen he had been pursuing, and said nothing. Tell me now, said I, what is the damage, and I will pay you six fold, and my hens shall trouble you no more. I will leave it entirely to you to say what I shall do. I cannot afford to lose the love and goodwill of my neighbors, and quarrel with them, for hens or anything else. I am a great fool, said the neighbor. The damage is not worth talking about, and I have more need to compensate you than you, me, and to ask your forgiveness than you, mine. Writes Kiss for a Blow Henry and Albert I write chiefly to give you an account of the power of love that took place in the family of an old friend of mine, who is now no more. Besides other children he left two sons, Henry, aged about twenty, and Albert, about sixteen. The latter possessed what is called a bad, ungovernable temper, that gave his mother much trouble, and she, probably in a pet, told Henry he must whip him. He did, but Albert resisted, and he received a severe thrashing. But it did not tame him at all, and he vowed that he never would speak to Henry again, until he was old enough to have his revenge. While he stayed at home, some months, I believe, he never spoke to Henry. After this he went to sea, and was absent four or five years. But Albert was a boy of many good qualities. He laid up money, and while the vessel was loading and unloading at the ports of the distant countries he visited, he made short excursions into the interior, and made use of his eyes and ears to improve his mind and gain what information he could, and came back an amazingly stout, athletic young man, and apparently greatly improved. He was frank and social with the rest of the family, but not a word did he say to Henry. The latter by this time had become a methodist preacher, and Albert's conduct toward him grieved him to the heart. After a time Henry went to Albert, and with tears in his eyes said to him, Albert, I cannot possibly live in this way any longer. Your silence I cannot bear another hour. You remember, you said, when you had whipped me you would speak to me again. I am now ready to receive my punishment. Let us go to the barn. I will pull off my coat. I promise you that I will make no resistance, and you may whip me as long as you please. And we will then be friends. I never should have struck you, if mother had not requested it. I am sorry that I did. Albert's stout heart could bear blows in almost any quantity without shrinking, but Henry's love he could not withstand. It melted his proud spirit instantly, and in a moment he was bathed in tears. They embraced each other directly. For a time their love was too great for utterance, but soon Albert expressed his regret for what he had said, and they are now, for ought that I know, two as loving brothers as any in the country. And to God, the God of peace, be all the glory. Letter from Alfred Wells in the Practical Christian The Subdued Hatter Some nineteen or twenty years ago, when I was in the hatting business, I employed a man by the name of Jonas Pike, from Massachusetts, who was a most excellent workman in the manufacture of hats. But he was one of that kind of journeymen who would have their trains, as they were familiarly called amongst us in that day. Therefore, as a natural consequence he was without comfortable clothing the most of the time. After he got a shop he would work very industriously until he had earned from twenty to thirty and sometimes forty dollars worth of clothing, for he was always in want of clothing when he commenced work. And then he would get on one of his trains and dispose of every article of his clothing that would fetch six cents, expending all for whiskey. When all was gone and he began to cool off a little, he would be very ugly, sometimes he would fret and scold, and then he would coax and plead to have me trust him a hat or something else that he might sell and thereby get more whiskey. When I refused him he would become very angry and threaten to whip me, which I told him he might do as soon as he pleased. But, said he, I will not do it in your own shop. If I had you out of doors I would thrash you like a sack. After hearing him repeat these sayings several times I walked out at the door. I then spoke to him, saying, I am now out of the shop, thou canst whip me if thou wishest to so very much. At which he stepped out of the shop, came furiously toward me, squaring himself for a box, and struck me a blow on the breast, at which I put my hand upon my cheek, and held it down to him, saying, Now strike here, Jonas. He now looked at me with surprise and astonishment, then turning round, saying at the same time, Damn you, if you will not fight, I will let you alone. He went into the shop, sat down, and was quiet. He got sober and went to work, and ever after was affectionate and kind, and very peaceable with me. I employed him several times afterwards to work for me. And he was always very peaceable and obliging. Letter from Erastus Hanchett in the Practical Christian. THE REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIER A beloved brother, now dead, related to me a circumstance of his life, which I think is worth preserving. He was a soldier in the Revolutionary War. After he came here he became religious, and was convinced that all wars and fightings are contrary to the gospel of Christ. His zeal in advocating his principles stirred up the enmity of a wicked man in the neighborhood, who threatened when his son came home from the army he would flog him. Sure enough, when the son came home the old man told such stories to him about this brother that it excited him to that degree that he came to the house where my brother lived in a rage determined to fight. My brother expostulated with him and endeavored, by all means in his power, to allay his anger and deter him from his purpose, but all would not do, fight he must and fight he would. Well, says the brother, if we must fight, don't let us be like cats and dogs fighting in the house. So go out into the field. To this he assented. When they had got into the field and the young bully had stripped himself for the fight, my brother looked him in the face and said, now you are a great coward. Coward, don't call me a coward. Well, you are one of the greatest cowards I ever saw. What do you mean? I mean as I say, you must be a very great coward to go fighting a man who will not fight you. What, don't you mean to fight me? Not I. You may fight me as much as you please. I shall not lift a finger against you. Is that your principle? Yes, it is, and I mean to be true to it. The spirit of the young soldier fell, and stretching out his arm he said, then I would sooner cut off that arm than I would strike you. They then entered into an explanation and parted good friends. Non-resistant. Ex-President Jefferson and the Cooper's Shop. The following was related many years since by one of the parties who was a very respectable citizen of Montgomery Country, Pennsylvania, since deceased. During the presidential term of Thomas Jefferson, two young men from Pennsylvania took a lease from him of his merchant mill at Monticello, one of the stipulations of which was that the landlord should erect for their use within a given period a Cooper's Shop. The time for a meeting of Congress soon arriving, the President had to repair to Washington to attend to his official duties, where he remained a long time absorbed in national concerns, and the building of the Cooper's Shop was entirely forgotten by him. Not so with his tenants, whose daily wants constantly reminded them of the provisions contained in the lease, and finally they determined to erect it themselves and charge the cost of it to their landlord. On the return of the President to his mansion, the parties meant to settle a long account current, which had been running during his absence. The items were gone over and scrutinized one by one, and all found satisfactory but the charge for building the Cooper's Shop, to which he objected, alleging that he could have erected it with his own workmen. Several attempts were made to effect a settlement, but they always failed when they came to the Cooper's Shop. The young men became warm and zealous in the affair, and the parties, instead of getting nearer together, found themselves at every interview wider apart. In this state of affairs, the father of the young men, who was a mild, affable, conciliating gentleman, possessing some knowledge of the world and its ways, arrived on a visit to his sons, who informed him of their difficulty with their landlord. He requested them to leave it to him, observing that he thought he could effect an amicable settlement in the case. This course was accordingly acceded to, and in due time, he waited on the President with the account. It was scanned and agreed to, except the charge for building the Shop, which he said, with some firmness, he should not allow for reasons stated. His opponent, observing his apparent decision on the subject, very gravely remarked, Well, friend Jefferson, it has always been my practice through life, to yield rather than to contend. Immediately on this remark being made, the President's chin fell on his breast for an instant. When, raising his head in an erect position, he observed in a very emphatic manner, a very good principle, Mr. Shoemaker, and I can carry it as far as you can, let the account for the Cooper Shop be allowed. Thus ended the difficulty, and the parties continued their friendly regard for each other, till death separated them, and the cultivation of a similar disposition to follow peace with all men would terminate thousands of difficulties, add much to the happiness of individuals, and tend to promote the general harmony and order of society. William Ladd and Neighbor Pulsefer The late William Ladd, denominated the apostle of the peace cause, used to relate the following anecdote. I had a fine field of grain growing upon an out farm, some distance from the homestead. Whenever I rode by, I saw my neighbor Pulsefer's sheep in the lot, destroying my hopes of a harvest. These sheep were of the gaunt, long-legged kind, activist spaniels, they could spring over the highest fence, and no wall could keep them out. I complained to Neighbor Pulsefer, and sent him frequent messages, but all without avail. Perhaps they would be kept out for a day or two, but the legs of his sheep were long, and my grain rather more tempting than the adjoining pasture. I rode by again, the sheep were all there. I became angry, and told my men to set the dogs on them, and if that would not do, I would pay them if they would shoot them. I rode away much agitated, for I was then not so much of a peaceman as I am now, and I felt literally full of fight, all at once a light flashed in upon me. I asked myself, would it not be well for you to try in your own conduct the peace principle you are preaching to others? I thought it all over, and settled down my mind as to the best course to be pursued. The next day I rode over to see Neighbor Pulsefer. I found him chopping wood at his door. Good morning, neighbor. No answer. Good morning, I repeated. He gave a kind of grunt like a hog without looking up. I came, continued I, to see about the sheep. At this he threw down his axe, and exclaimed in a most angry manner, Now aren't you a pretty neighbor to tell your men to kill my sheep? I heard of it, a rich man like you, to shoot a poor man's sheep. I was wrong, neighbor, said I, but it won't do to let your sheep eat up all that grain. So I came to say that I would take your sheep to my homestead pasture, and put them with mine, and in the fall you may take them back. And if any one of them is missing, you may take your pick out of my whole flock. Pulsefer looked confounded. He did not know how to take me. At last he stammered out, Now, squire, are you an earnest? Certainly I am, I answered. It is better for me to feed your sheep in my pasture on grass than to feed them here on grain, and I see the fence cannot keep them out. After a moment's silence, the sheep shan't trouble you any more, exclaimed Pulsefer. I will feather them all. But I'll let you know, when any man takes off shooting, I can shoot, too, and when they are kind and neighborly, I can be kind, too. The sheep never again trespassed on my lot. And, my friends, continued Father Lad, addressing his audience, remember that when you talk of injuring your neighbors, they talk of injuring you. When nations threaten to fight, other nations will be ready, too. Love will beget love. A wish to be at peace will keep you at peace. You can overcome evil only with good. There is no other way. Democratic review. Conclusion. The foregoing illustrations are from the common affairs of life, and though not involving cases of extreme personal danger and escape, are nevertheless pertinent and important. They show the adaptation of Christian non-resistance to human nature in the 10,000 occurrences of personal difficulty. They demonstrate that it is not contrary to nature, but is peculiarly suited to allay and purify the rising passions of men, that the worst of people are favorably affected by its interposition, that the decent sort might be preserved by it from numberless contentions, and that instead of counteracting the law of self-preservation, it is the highest and surest method of securing the great ends of that law. This will be more fully demonstrated by a continuation of illustrations involving cases of great peril and deliverance in the next chapter. In the meantime, I can hardly refrain from pressing upon the reader's understanding and conscience. The question is not the doctrine contended for, most Christian, most rational, most excellent, most admirably adapted to promote peace on earth and goodwill among mankind? Is it not just what poor, groaning nature needs to soothe, restore it to health, and carry it forward to its glorious destiny? It will appear more and more sound and lovely, the more it is investigated. Oh, when will man unshackled rise, from dross of earth refined, read mercy in his neighbor's eyes, and be forever kind? End of Chapter 4, Part 2. Chapter 5, the safety of non-resistance. I have been endeavouring to demonstrate in the preceding chapter that non-resistance, instead of being contrary to nature, is in perfect accordance with all her fundamental laws. I intend in the present chapter to complete that demonstration by an ample illustration of the superior general safety of non-resistance. This will be done by anecdotes and historical facts, showing its actual workings in many cases of imminent danger. I do not think that this will be the case in the non-resistance. I do not undertake to prove that the practice of non-resistance will always preserve the life and personal security of its adherence, but only that it generally will. Jesus, the apostles, and thousands of Christian martyrs were slain, notwithstanding their non-resistance. Doubtless others will be wronged, outraged, and murdered in things to come, notwithstanding the same safeguard. Exceptions do not disprove a general rule. As the advocates of deadly resistance do not contend that it always ensures the preservation of life and personal security, so neither do I contend that Christian non-resistance will do it. They contend that discretionary resistance is safer than non-resistance, that its general tendency, despite of incidental failures, is to preserve life and render personal safety secure. I contend for the exact reverse. Here is an important issue. The deadly restraints affirm the superior safety of their principle of action, the non-resistance of theirs. The parties are in direct contradiction, which of them is right. The resistance have lost. According to Dr. Dick, 14 million, and according to Mr. Burke, 35 million of human lives since their experiment commenced. Can non-resistance make a greater loss than this? Can their principle of action result in a greater expenditure of life and happiness? No. Under the most favorable circumstances, they will not lose in the proportion of one to a thousand, and a few centuries of perseverance in their principle would totally extinguish the fires of human violence throughout the earth. Let me proceed to show that my practice of non-resistance is preeminently safe. Raymond the Traveler. Raymond, a celebrated European traveler, bears the following testimony. Speaking of the Spanish smugglers, he says, these smugglers are as adroit as they are determined, are familiarized at all times with peril, and march in the very face of death. Their first movement is a never-failing shot, and certainly would be an object of dread to most passengers, for where are they to be dreaded more than in deserts, where crime has nothing to witness it, and the feeble no assistance? As for myself, alone and unarmed, I have met them without anxiety, and have accompanied them without fear. We have little to apprehend from men whom we inspire with no distrust or envy, and everything to expect in those from whom we claim only what is due from man to man. The laws of nature still exist for those who have long shaken off the laws of civil government. At war with society, they are sometimes at peace with their fellows. The assassin has been my guide in the defiles of the boundaries of Italy. The smuggler of the Pyrenees has received me with a welcome in his secret paths. Armed, I should have been the enemy of both. Unarmed, they have alike respected me. In such expectation, I have long since laid aside all menacing apparatus whatever. Arms may, indeed, be employed against the wild beast, but no one should forget they are no defense against the traitor, that they irritate the wicked and intimidate the simple. Lastly, that the man of peace among mankind has a much more sacred defense, his character, agent of the Bible society in Texas. In the early part of the year 1833, or about that time, an agent of the Bible society was traveling in Texas. His course lay through a piece of woods, where two men waylaid him with murderous intentions, one being armed with a gun, the other with a large club. As he approached the place of their concealment, they rushed towards him. But finding that no resistance was offered, they neither struck nor fired. He began to reason with them, and presently, they seemed less eager to destroy him in haste. After a short time, he prevailed on them to sit down with him upon a log, and talk the matter over deliberately. And finally, he persuaded them to kneel with him in prayer, after which they parted with him in a friendly manner. Kalume. The young man near Philadelphia. A few years since, a young man in the vicinity of Philadelphia was one evening stopped in a grove with the demand, your money or your life. The robber then presented a pistol to his breast. The young man, having a large sum of money, proceeded leisurely and calmly to hand it over to his enemy, at the same time setting before him the wickedness and peril of his career. The rebukes of the young man cut the robber to the heart. He became enraged, cocked his pistol, held it to the young man's head, and with an oath said, Stop that preaching, or I will blow out your brains. The young man calmly replied, Friend, to save my money, I would not risk my life. But to save you from your evil course, I am willing to die. I shall not cease to plead with you. He then poured in the truth still more earnestly and kindly. Soon the pistol fell to the ground, the tears began to flow, and the robber was overcome. He handed the money all back with the remark, I cannot rob a man of such principles. Robert Barclay and Leonard Fell. Robert Barclay, the celebrated apologist of the Quakers, and Leonard Fell, a member of the same society, were severely attacked by highwaymen in England at different times. Both faithfully adhered to their non-resistant principles, and both signally triumphed. The pistol was leveled at Barclay, and a determined demand made for his purse. Calm and self-possessed, he looked the robber in the face, with a firm but meek benignity, assured him he was his and every man's friend, that he was willing and ready to relieve his wants, that he was free from the fear of death through a divine hope in immortality, and therefore was not to be intimidated by a deadly weapon. Fell then appealed to him, whether he could have heart to shed the blood of one who had no other feeling or purpose but to do him good. The robber was confounded, his eye melted, his brawny arm trembled, his pistol fell to his side, and he fled from the presence of the non-resistant hero whom he could no longer confront. Fell was assaulted in a much more violent manner. The robber rushed upon him, dragged him from his horse, rifled his pockets, and threatened to blow out his brains on the spot if he made the least resistance. This was the work of a moment. But Fell experienced no panic. His principles raised him above the fear of man and of death. Though forbidden to speak, he calmly but resolutely reproved the robber for his wickedness, warned him of the consequences of such a course of life, counseled him to reform, and assured him that while he forgave this wanton outrage on himself, he hoped for his own sake he would henceforth but take himself to an upright calling. His expostulation was so fearless, faithful, and affectionate that the robber was struck with compunction, delivered back his money in horse, and bade him to go in peace. Then with fears filling his eyes he exclaimed, May God have mercy on a sinful wretch, and hastened out of sight. ARCHBISHOP SHARP Archbishop Sharpe was assaulted by a footpad on the highway who presented a pistol and demanded his money. The archbishop spoke to the robber in the language of a fellow man and of a Christian. The man was really in distress, and the prelate gave him such money as he had, and promised that, if he would call at the palace, he would make up the amount to fifty pounds. This was the sum of which the robber had said he was in the utmost need. The man called and received the money. After a year and a half afterwards, this man came again to the palace, and brought back the same sum. He said that his circumstances had become improved, and that through the astonishing goodness of the archbishop he had become the most penitent, most grateful, and happiest of his species. Let the reader consider how different the archbishop's feelings were from what they would have been if by his hand this man had been cut off. DIMOND ROLAND HILL I have seen an impressive anecdote of this distinguished London preacher which I have failed to find among my papers, not withstanding considerable search. I have but an imperfect recollection of the details, but the substance was as follows. Mr. Hill was returning from an excursion out of the city. A man suddenly beset him from the wayside, pistol in hand, and demanded his purse. Mr. Hill calmly scrutinized his countenance with a look of compassion, and, while taking out his money, remarked to the robber that he did not look like a man of that bloody calling, and he was afraid some extreme distress had driven him to the crime. At the same time he inquired how much he stood in need of. The man was affected, declared this was his first offense, and pleaded the distress of his family as his only excuse. Mr. Hill kindly assured him of his sympathy, and of his willingness to relieve him. He gave him a certain sum on the spot, and promised him further aid if he would call at his house. The robber was melted into tears, humbly thanked his benefactor, and hastened toward the city. Mr. Hill, desirous of knowing the whole truth of the matter, offered his servant to follow the man home. This was accordingly done, and it was ascertained that the poor man occupied a miserable tenement in an obscure street where his wife and children were on the verge of starvation. He was seen to hasten first to a bakery, and then home with a few loaves of bread. His wife received the bread with joy, but with astonishment, expressing her hope that her dear husband had obtained it by none but innocent means. The children cried for joy as they began to satiate their hunger, and the father alone looked sad. Mr. Hill benevolently took this man under his immediate care, provided a tenement for his family, and made him his coachman. He proved to be a remarkably honest and industrious man, and in a little time became a convert to experimental religion, and connected himself with Mr. Hill's church. For fifteen years he walked with such Christian circumspection as to command the entire confidence of all who knew him. At time he died in the triumphs of hope. His pastor preached an affecting funeral sermon on the occasion, in which for the first time he communicated the affair of the robbery, and took occasion to impress on his auditors the excellency of Christian forbearance, kindness, and compassion towards the guilty. Here was a man withdrawn from an awful course of crime, and by divine grace rendered a child of God, an exemplary and beloved brother in Christ. How different might have been the result had Roland Hill either resisted him with deadly weapons, or taken the same pains to hand him over to the government, that he did to befriend him? Oh, how lovely is true righteousness! How comely is Christian non-resistance! How safe! The Methodist Non-Resistance The Reverend John Pomfret, an English Methodist minister, always advocated the practical applicability of the peace doctrine. If a man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also, and if he compel thee to go with him a mile, go with him twain. He's declaring that if he should be attacked by a highwayman, he should put it in practice. Being a cheese-monger, he preached to do good, not for wages, on his return from market one day. After he had received a large amount of money from his customers for the purpose of replenishing his ear's stock, he was accosted by a robber, demanding his money, and threatening his life if he refused. The Reverend Peaceman coolly and kindly replied, Well, friend, how much do you want? For I will give it to you, and thus save you from the crime of committing highway robbery. Will you certainly give me what I require, asked the robber? I will, in truth, if you do not require more than I have got, replied the non-resistant. Then I want fifteen pounds, about seventy-five dollars. The required sum was counted out to him, and in gold, instead of in bank bills, which, if the numbers had been observed, the Reverend Father, by notifying the bank, could have rendered uncurrent, besides leaving the robber liable to detection in attempting to pass them, telling him at the same time why he gave the gold instead of banknotes, and saying, Unfortunate man, I make you welcome to this sum. Go home, pay your debts. Hereafter, get your living honestly. Years rolled on. At length the good preacher received a letter containing principle and interest and a humble confession of his sins, from the robber, saying that his appeals waked up his slumbering conscience, which had given him no rest till he had made both restitution and confession, besides wholly changing his course of life. Reader, conscience is a more powerful principle than fear, and more difficult to stifle. Precaution may make the wicked feel safe, but conscience is not to be thus put off, or its remonstrance is hushed by thoughts of safety. Punishment appeals to physical fear, which adieu precaution against detection-quiet. But cultivate and properly direct the consciences of children, and urge home moral accountability upon adults, and an effectual reformation will thereby be brought about. Reader, I leave it for you to say whether this is a law of mind. The Reverend Mr. Ramsey, another Methodist clergyman, was wholly dependent for his living on the quarterly collection made by his people, which was barely sufficient by the greatest economy to support his family. On the night that one of these collections was taken up, he was obliged to preach six miles distant from his home, and the night was too stormy to allow of his return. During the night, two robbers broke into his house, called up Mrs. Ramsey and her sister, there were now no men living in the house, and demanded to know where the money was. Mrs. R., in her nightdress, lit the candle, and leading the way to the bureau that contained the precious deposit, procured the key, opened the drawer, and pointing out the money as it lay in a handkerchief, said, This is all we have to live on. It is the Lord's money. Yet if you will take it, there it is. With this remark she left them, and retired to bed. The next morning, the money, to assent, was found undisturbed. Conscience, here, as above, was appealed to, and with the same results. Fowler's Frenological Journal The Two New Zealand Chiefs The following highly interesting fact relates to the conduct of two principal persons in New Zealand, one of them of the Nagapui tribe, and the other residing at Ohtu Moatai in that island. We are indebted for this truly gratifying account of highly elevated feelings, in men, until later looked upon as incorrigible savages, to the Reverend Messengers Taylor and Wilson stationed among them. It is extracted from the Church of England Missionary Register for January 1841. Who can but wish that all our countrymen, recently gone thither, may acquire this truly Christian spirit in settling disputes, and forget the war-like methods which, to the disgrace of Christianity, are practiced in Europe and elsewhere by the professed followers of the Savior of the World, the Prince of Peace. When the Nagapui people came to attack the town Ohtu Moatai, he one morning went out to reconnoiter their camp, and while in concealment amongst the fern, he perceived the principal chief of the enemy advancing toward him, who was coming with a similar intention. The enemy was well armed, but he had no weapon with him. Yet, not deterred, he continued for some time in his place of concealment until he observed the chief sit down on the shore at a distance with his back towards him. He then crept unperceived, and springing suddenly upon him like a tiger, he in an instant turned him over, rested his merry, a weapon of war, from his hand, deprived him of his double-barreled gun, and, tying his arms behind, made him march before him to his town. When he had nearly reached it, he ordered his prisoner to stand. He did so, expecting it to be the signal for his death, instead of which the conqueror unbound his arms and restored his weapons, bidding him to bind him and drive him in the same way as a prisoner to his camp, which was accordingly done. When they entered it, the people set up a shout on beholding their chief leading in so distinguished a prisoner, and it was with difficulty that he could preserve him from being instantly put to death. The chief who had been so nobly released bade them have patience until he told them how his captive had acted, when they might put him to death if they wished. After some hesitation they consented, and sat down in a circle around them. The whole story was then told, which not only raised a general feeling of admiration in favor of their prisoner, but was the means of an immediate peace being proclaimed. Should not Christians pray that a like spirit may hence forward animate themselves? Tract of London Peace Society The Missionary and Arabs Mr. King, a respectable missionary in Palestine, mentions a remarkable instance of the effective Pacific conduct, which operated to preserve his own life and the lives of a considerable party, when assailed by a more powerful band of Arabs on the plain of Esdrasion. The party of Mr. King had lost trunk, which had been stolen, as they supposed, by some Arabs. In consequence of this, they seized two Arabs and bound them together with cords, believing them to be the robbers. These they took along with them on their journey, contrary to the wishes of Mr. King. Soon the whole party were attacked by a band of Arabs, who set their brethren at liberty. Great was the alarm. But one of the party of Mr. King, being about to fire on the Arabs, Mr. King objected, and others interposed in season to prevent the evil intended. Every part of the cofila was soon attacked, and Mr. King observes. It was no time to parley. All was confusion. No one knew whether he expected life or death. The latter, however, seemed to stare us in the face. Our baggage was at length cut off. There seemed to be a little cessation on the part of the Arabs, and I hoped that, contented with our baggage, they would let us go in peace. But in a moment I saw them coming on again, and I thought that probably all was lost, and that, as they had stopped our baggage, they now intended to take our lives. It was an awful moment. I could only say, Heaven defend us. I was in front of the cofila, and a little distance ahead, when an Arab sheik came flying up to me on his steed with a large club in hand, making a halt I addressed him, calling him brother, and said, Do me no harm, I have not injured you. I spoke to him words of peace and gentleness. Upon this he let down his club, which he had been brandishing, halted, listened, and presently turned away. And soon after I saw him driving back some of our pursuers, and the cry of Iman, safety, was heard by us, and I need not say it was a welcome sound to our ears. The baggage, too, to my surprise, was soon after permitted to come on. The attack was a gallant one, and made by the Arabs as if they were determined to carry their point through life or death, and I have no doubt that had one of their party fallen by our hands it would have been the signal for the slaughter of us all. A Christian Tribe in Africa The following interesting incident is copied from Moffat's Southern Africa. It occurred in a remote village of Native Africans, the inhabitants of which had received Christian teachers, and were just emerging from a state of barbarism. This little Christian band had met on a Sabbath morning with the people in the center of the village to hold the early prayer meeting before the services of the day. They were scarcely seated when a party of marauders approached from the interior, whether they had gone for plunder, and not having succeeded to their wishes had determined to attack this village on their return. Motion, the chief, arose, and begged the people to sit still, and trust in Jehovah, while he went to meet the marauders. To his inquiry what they wanted, the appalling reply was, your cattle, you raise your weapons to resist. There are my cattle, replied the chief, and then retired and resumed his position at the prayer meeting. A hymn was sung, a chapter read, and then all kneeled in prayer to God, who only could save them in their distress. The sight was too sacred in solemn to be gazed on by such a band of ruffians, they all withdrew from the spot without touching a single article belonging to the people, the Moravian Indians. A small tribe of Indians in the West had been converted by the Moravian missionaries to their faith, one article of which is that Christians cannot innocently fight, even to save lives. A while afterwards, this little Pacific tribe was thrown into extreme alarm and distress by intelligence that a much larger tribe at some distance to the North meditated a hostile incursion upon them. They called on their Moravian teachers for advice. They did not see how they could possibly avoid fighting under such circumstances. They feared they should be utterly destroyed by their enemies unless they resisted. They were affectionately and earnestly exorted to abide by their principles and trust in God. They were told of the superior numbers of the hostile tribe, and how uncertain their fate would be should they presume to make deadly weapons their reliance. They were advised to select a few of their oldest men as a delegation, and to supply them with such presence of choice eatables and other articles as their circumstances would afford. This venerable delegation, entirely unarmed, except with their baskets of parched corn, fruits, etc., were to advance and meet the enemy at a distance from the village. Meantime, those who remained behind were to engage in united supplication to the father of spirits for his protection. The advice was accepted, faithfully followed, and successfully carried out. The hostile Indians were advancing upon their defenseless prey. The old men, laden with their simple but significant presence, went out to meet them. The invaders, astonished and awed by the spectacle, halted on their tomahawks. When the delegates reached the advance lines, they opened as if by magic, and a passage was freely offered them to the presence of the commanding Satchim. Their age and meekness commanded his instant admiration. He accepted their presence, listened to their councils of peace, declared his friendship, sent them back with assurances that no injury should be done by his tribe to theirs, and declared that if any tax should be made upon them, he and his people would be their protectors. Although these truly Christian Indians escaped entirely the threatened injury, and sat down in their cabins, surrounded by bulwarks of security, such as nothing but these divine principles and their all-perfect author can establish. The Moravians of Grace Hill During the rebellion in Ireland in 1793, the rebels, it is stated, had long meditated an attack on the Moravian settlement at Grace Hill, Wexford County. At length, in fulfillment of their threats, a large body of them marched to the town, but the Moravians, true to their principles in this trying emergency, did not meet them in arms, but, assembling in their place of worship, besought Jehovah to be their shield and protector in the hour of danger. The hostile bands, who had expected an armed resistance, were struck with astonishment at a site so unexpected and impressive. They heard the prayers and praises of the Moravians, they listened to supplications in their own behalf, and, after lingering in the streets a whole day and night, they, with one consent, turned and marched away, without having injured a single individual. The Shakers The Shakers, too, have experienced that protection which specific principles are sure to afford. About the year 1812, the inhabitants of Indiana were harassed by incursions from the Indians, but the Shakers who lived in that region, although they were without garrisons and without arms, appeared to have been entirely secure, while the work of destruction was going on around them. The question was once put to a prominent chief, why the Indians did not attack and injure the Shakers, as well as others. His answer was, we warriors meddle with a peaceable people. That people, we know, will not fight. It would be a disgrace to hurt such a people. The Friend of Peace The Indians and the Quaker Family An intelligent Quaker of Cincinnati related to me the following circumstance as evidence that the principle of non-resistance possesses great influence, even over the savage. During the last war, a Quaker lived among the inhabitants of a small settlement on our western frontier. When the savages commenced their desolating outbreaks, every inhabitant fled to the interior settlements, with the exception of the Quaker and his family. He determined to remain and rely wholly upon the simple rule of disarming his enemies with entire confidence and kindness. One morning he observed through his window a file of savages issuing from the forest in the direction of his house. He immediately went out and met them, and put out his hand to the leader of the party. But neither he nor the rest gave him any notice. They entered his house and searched it for arms, and had they found any most probably would have murdered every member of the family. There were none, however, and they quietly partook of the provisions which he had placed before them, and left him in peace. At the entrance of the forest he observed that they stopped and appeared to be holding a council. Soon one of their number left the rest, and came towards his dwelling on the leap. He reached the door and fastened a simple white feather above it, and returned to his band, when they all disappeared. Even after that white feather saved him from the savages, from whenever a party came by and observed it it was a sign of peace to them. In this instance we discovered that the Law of Kindness disarmed even savage foes, whose white feather told their red brethren that the Quaker was a follower of Penn, and the friend of their race. Montgomery's Law of Kindness The inhabitants of the Luchu Islands. These islands are in the neighborhood of the Chinese Sea. They had been visited by several navigators, and, among others, by Captain Basil Hall. He states that they have neither forts, men of war, garrisons, arms, nor soldiers, and appear to be quite ignorant of the art of war. They are kind, hospitable, courteous, and honest, and acquainted with some of the mechanical arts. Well, what has been their fate? Reasoning on the rash premises of our opponents, we should predicate their utter destruction. But have they been destroyed? Quite the contrary. They have been preserved in peace, safety, and happiness. The olive branch is planted on their shores, and they sit beneath it, no man daring to make them afraid. The Indians and the Quaker Meeting I have somewhere met with the following anecdote, but cannot now recollect where. In western New York, or Pennsylvania, in a period of Indian hostilities, a neighborhood of friends who had erected a log meeting-house, regularly assembled after the manner of their society. They had been invited and urged to come within the protection of the army and its fortifications, but they refused to abandon their testimony by expressing any such reliance on the arm of flesh. They were consequently exposed to the attack of every wandering horde of warriors on that part of the frontier. One day, while sitting in a silent devotion in their rude meeting-house, a party of Indians suddenly approached the place, painted and armed for the work of slaughter. They passed to and fro by the open door of the house, looking inquisitively within and about the building, till having sufficiently reconnoitred the quiet worshippers, they at length respectfully entered and joined them. They were met by the principal friends with the outstretched hand of peace, and shown to such threats as the house afforded, which they occupied in reverent silence till the meeting was regularly dissolved. They were then invited to one of the nearest dwellings by the leading man of the society, and hospitably refreshed. Under departure the Indian chief took his host aside, and pledged him and his people perfect security from all depredations of the red man. Said he, When Indian come to this place, Indian meant to tomahawk every white man he found. But when Indian found white man with no guns, no fighting weapons, so still, so peaceable, worshipping great spirit, the great spirit say in Indian's heart, No hurt them, no hurt them. So saying, he gave a final friendly grip and hastened off with his followers to find that sort of white man whose confidence in deadly weapons invited destruction. The Christian town in the Tyrell The following is a beautiful extract from one of Lydia Maria Child's letters to the Boston Courier. I commend it not merely to a pleasant reading, which it will be sure to receive, but to a most serious consideration. Today is Christmas. From east to west, from north to south, men chant hymns of praise to the despised Nazarene, and kneel and worship before his cross. How beautiful is this universal homage to the principle of love, that feminine principle of the universe, the inmost center of Christianity. It is the divine idea which distinguishes it from all other religions, and yet the idea in which Christian nations events so little faith that one would think they kept only to swear by that gospel which says, swear not at all. These have passed, and through infinite conflict have ushered in our brief day. And is there peace and goodwill among men? Sincere faith in the words of Jesus would soon fulfill the prophecy which angels sung. But the world persists in saying, this doctrine of unqualified forgiveness and perfect love, though beautiful and holy, cannot be carried into practice now. Men are not prepared for it. The same spirit says, it would not be safe to emancipate slaves. They must first be fitted for freedom, as if slavery ever could fit men for freedom, or war ever lead the nations into peace. Yet men, who gravely utter these excuses, laugh at the shallow wit of that timid mother who declared that her son should never venture into the water till he had learned to swim. Those who have dared to trust the principles of peace have always found them perfectly safe. It can never prove otherwise if accompanied by the declaration that such a course is the result of Christian principle, and a deep friendliness for humanity. Who seemed so little likely to understand such a position as the Indians of North America? Yet how readily they laid down tomahawks and scalping knives at the feet of William Penn? With what humble sorrow they apologized for killing the only three Quakers they were ever known to attack. The men carried arms, said they, and therefore we did not know they were not fighters. We thought they pretended to be Quakers, because they were cowards. The savages of the East who murdered Lyman and Monson made the same excuse. They carried arms, said they, and so we suppose they were not Christian missionaries, but enemies. We would have done them no harm if we had known they were men of God. If a nation could but attain to such high wisdom as to abjure war and proclaim to all the earth, we will not fight under any provocation. If other nations have ought against us, we will settle the question by umpires mutually chosen. Think you that any nation would dare to make war upon such a people? Nay, verily, they would be instinctively ashamed of such an act, as men are now ashamed to attack a woman or a child. Even if any were found mean enough to pursue such a course, the whole civilized world would cry fee upon them. And by universal consent, brand them as poltruans and assassins, and assassins they would be, even in the common acceptation of the term. I have read of a certain regiment ordered to march into a small town, in the Tyrol, I think, and take it. It chanced that the place was settled by a colony who believed the Gospel of Christ and proved their faith by works. A courier from a neighboring village informed them that troops were advancing to take the town. They quietly answered, if they will take it, they must. Soldiers soon came riding in with colors flying, and fives piping their shrill defiance. They looked round for an enemy, and saw the farmer at his plow, and blacksmith at his anvil, and the women at their churns and spinning wheels. Babies crowed to hear the music, and boys ran out to see the pretty trainers, with feathers and bright buttons, the harlequins of the nineteenth century. Of course, none of these were in a proper position to be shot at. Where are your soldiers, they asked. We have none, was the brief reply. But we have come to take the town. Well, friends, it lies before you. But is there nobody here to fight? No, we are all Christians. Here was an emergency altogether unprovided for by the military schools. This was a sort of resistance which no bullet could hit. A fortress perfectly bomb-proof. The commander was perplexed. If there is nobody to fight with, of course we cannot fight, said he. It is impossible to take such a challenge as this. So he ordered the horses' heads to be turned about, and they carried the human animals out of the village, as guiltless as they entered, and perchance somewhat wiser. This experiment on a small scale indicates how easy it would be to dispense with armies and navies, if men only had faith in the religion they professed to believe. When France lightly reduced her army, England immediately did the same, for the existence of one army creates the necessity of another, unless men are falsely ensconced in the bomb-proof fortress above mentioned. Captain Back, the Quakers, the Malays I shall make no apology for adding to the foregoing and following extracts from another article by the same fruitful and instructive pen. It is a mission worth living for, if I can give the least aid in convincing mankind that the Christian doctrine of overcoming evil with good is not merely a beautiful sentiment, as becoming to the religious, as are pearls to the maiden's bosom, but that it is really the highest reason, the bravest manliness, the most comprehensive philosophy, the wisest political economy. The amount of proof that it is so seems abundant enough to warrant the belief that a practical adoption of peace principles would be always safe, even with the most savage men, and under the most desperate circumstances, provided there was a chance to have it distinctly understood that such a course was not based on cowardice, but on principle. When Captain Back went to the polar regions in search of his friend Captain Ross, he fell in with a band of Eskimo, who had never seen a white man. The chief raised a spear to hurl it at the stranger's head, but when Captain Back approached calmly and unarmed, the spear dropped, and the rude savage gladly welcomed the brother man who had trusted in him. Had Captain Back adopted the usual maxim, that it is necessary to carry arms in such emergencies, he would probably have occasioned his own death and that of his companions. Perhaps the severest test to which the peace principles were ever put was in Ireland during the memorable rebellion of 1798. During that terrible conflict, the Irish Quakers were continually between two fires. The Protestant party viewed them with suspicion and dislike, because they refused to fight or to pay military taxes, and the fierce multitude of insurgents deemed it sufficient cause of death, that they would neither profess belief in the Catholic religion, nor help them to fight for Irish freedom. Victory alternated between the two contending parties, and as usual in civil war, the Quakers made almost indiscriminate havoc of those who did not march under their banners. It was a perilous time for all men, but the Quakers alone were liable to a raking fire from both sides. For seeing calamity they had, nearly two years before the war broke out, publicly destroyed all their guns and other weapons used for game. But this pledge of pacific intentions was not sufficient to satisfy the government, which required war-like assistance at their hands. Insurgents and insults were heaped upon them from all quarters, but they steadfastly adhered to their resolution of doing good to both parties, and harm to neither. Their houses were filled with widows and orphans, with the sick, the wounded, and the dying, belonging both to the loyalists and the rebels. Sometimes, when the Catholic insurgents were victorious, they would be greatly enraged to find Quaker houses filled with Protestant families. They would point their pistols and threaten death if their enemies were not immediately turned into the street to be massacred. But the pistol dropped when the Christian mildly replied, Friend, do with thou wilt, I will not harm thee, or any other human being. Not even amid the savage fierceness of civil war could men fire at one who spoke such words as these. They saw that this was not cowardice, but bravery very much higher than their own. On one occasion, an insurgent threatened to burn down a Quaker house unless the owner expelled the Protestant women and children who had taken refuge there. I cannot help it, replied the Friend, so long as I have a house I will keep it open to succor the helpless and distressed, whether they belong to thy ranks or to those of thy enemies. If my house is burned, I must be turned out with them and share their affliction. The fighter turned away, and did the Christian no harm. The Protestant party seized the Quaker schoolmaster of Balator, saying they could see no reason why he should stay at home in quiet while they were obliged to defend his property. Friends, I have asked no man to fight for me, replied the schoolmaster. But they dragged him along, swearing that he should at least stop a bullet. His house and schoolhouse were filled with women and children who had taken refuge there, for it was an instructive fact throughout this bloody contest that the houses of the men of peace were the only places of safety. Some of the women followed the soldiers, begging them not to take away their friend and protector, a man who had expended more for the sick and starving than others did for arms and ammunition. The schoolmaster said, Do not be distressed, my friends. I forgive these neighbors. For what they do, they do in ignorance of my principles and feelings. They may take my life, but they cannot force me to do injury to one of my fellow creatures. As the Catholics had done, so did the Protestants. They went away and left the man of peace safe in his divine armor. The flames of bigotry were, of course, fanned by civil war. On one occasion the insurgents seized a wealthy old Quaker in very feeble health and threatened to shoot him if he did not go with them to a Catholic priest to be christened. They had not led him far before he sank down from extreme weakness. What do you say to our proposition, asked one of the soldiers, handling his gun significantly? The old man quietly replied, If thou art permitted to take my life, I hope our Heavenly Father will forgive thee. The insurgents talked apart for a few moments and then went away, restrained by a power they did not understand. Deeds of kindness added strength to the influence of gentle words. The officers and soldiers of both parties had had some dying brother tended by the Quakers, or some starving mother who had been fed, or some desolate little ones who had been cherished. Whichever party marched into a village victorious, the cry was, Spare the Quakers! They have done good to all and harm to none. While flames were raging and blood flowing in every direction, the houses of the peacemakers stood uninjured. It is a circumstance worthy to be recorded that, during the fierce and terrible struggle, even in counties where Quakers were most numerous, but one of their society fell a sacrifice. That one was a young man who, being afraid to trust peace principles, put on a military uniform and went to the garrison for protection. The garrison was taken by the insurgents, and he was killed. His dress and arm spoke the language of hostility, says the historian, and therefore invited it. A few years ago I met an elderly man in the Hartford stage, whose conversation led me to reflect on the baseness and iniquity often concealed behind the apparent glory of war. The thumb of his right hand hung down, as if suspended by a piece of thread, and some of the passengers inquired the cause. A Malay woman cut the muscle with her sabre, was the reply. A Malay woman, they exclaimed? How came you fighting with a woman? I did not know she was a woman, for they all dress alike there, said he. I was on board the U.S. ship Potomac, when it was sent out to chastise the Malays for murdering the crew of a Salem vessel. We attacked one of their forts and killed some two hundred or more. Many of them were women, and I can tell you the Malay women are as good fighters as the men. After answering several questions concerning the conflict, he was silent for a moment, and then added, with a sigh, Ah, that was a bad business. I do not like to remember it. I wish I had never had anything to do with it. I have been a seaman from my youth, and I know the Malays well. They are a brave and honest people. Deal fairly with them, and they will treat you well, and may be trusted with untold gold. The Americans were to blame in that business. The truth is, Christian nations are generally to blame, in the outset, in all the difficulties with less civilized people. A Salem ship went to Malacca to trade for pepper. They agreed to give the natives a stated compensation when a certain number of measures full of pepper were delivered. Men, women, and children were busy picking pepper and bringing it on board. The captain proposed that the sailors should go on shore and help them, and the natives consented, with the most confiding good nature. The sailors were instructed to pick till evening, and then leave the baskets full of pepper around the bushes, with the understanding that they were to be brought on board by the natives in the morning. They did so without exciting any suspicion of treachery. But in the night all the baskets were conveyed away, and the vessel sailed away, leaving the Malays unpaid for their valuable cargo. This of course excited great indignation, and they made loud complaints to the commander of the next American vessel that arrived on that coast. In answer to a demand of redress from the government, they were assured that the case would be represented and the wrong repaired. But Yankee cuteness and cheating a few savages was not sufficiently uncommon to make any great stir, and the affair was soon forgotten. Some time after, another captain of a Salem ship played a similar trick, and carried off a still larger quantity of stolen pepper. The Malays, exasperated beyond measure, resorted to lynch law, and murdered an American crew that landed there about the same time. The U.S. ship Potomac was sent out to punish them for the outrage, and as I told you, we killed some two hundred men and women. I sometimes think that our retaliation was not more rational or more like Christians than theirs. Will you please, said I, to tell me what sort of revenge would be like Christians? He hesitated, and said, it would be a hard question to answer. I never felt pleasantly about that affair, continued he. I would not have killed her if I had known she was woman. I asked why he felt any more regret about killing a woman than killing a man. I hardly know why myself, answered he. I don't suppose I should, if it were a common thing for women to fight. But we are accustomed to think of them as not defending themselves, and there is something in every human heart that makes a man unwilling to fight in return. It seems mean and dastardly, and a man cannot work himself up to it. Then, if one nation would not fight, another could not, said I. What if a nation, instead of an individual, should make such an appeal to the manly feeling which you say is inherent to the heart? I believe other nations would be ashamed to attack her, he replied. It would take away all the glory and excitement of war, and the heartiest soldier would shrink from it, as from cold blooded murder. Such a peace establishment would be at once cheap and beautiful rejoined I, and so we parted. CHAPTER V. PART II of Christian non-resistance in all its important bearings, illustrated and defended by Aidan Balu. Jonathan Diamond, Colony of Pennsylvania. I shall relieve myself and edify my readers by concluding this chapter with a somewhat extended extract from the essays of Jonathan Diamond. It is from that part of his third essay headed the probable practical effects of adhering to the moral law in respect to war. It is exceedingly pertinent, lucid, and convincing. He says, It is never to be forgotten that our apparent interests in the present life are sometimes in the economy of God made subordinate to our interests in fertility. Yet even in reference only to the present state of existence, I believe that we shall find the testimony of experience is that forbearance is most conducive to our interests. There is practical truth in the position that, when a man's ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him. The reader of American history will recollect that in the beginning of the last century, a desultory and most dreadful warfare was carried on by the natives against the European settlers, a warfare that was provoked, as such warfare has almost always originally been, by the injury and violence of the nominal Christians. The mode of destruction was secret and sudden. The barbarians sometimes lay in wait for those who might come within their reach, on the highway or in the fields, and shot them without warning, and sometimes they attacked the Europeans in their houses, scalping some and knocking out the brains of others. From this horrible warfare, the inhabitants sought safety by abandoning their houses and retiring to fortified places, or to the neighborhood of garrisons, and those whom necessity still compelled to pass beyond the limits of such protection provided themselves with arms for their defense. But amidst this dreadful desolation and universal terror, the society of friends, who were a considerable portion of the whole population, were steadfast to their principles. They would neither retire to garrisons, nor provide themselves with arms. They remained openly in the country, while the rest were flying to the forts. They still pursued their occupations in the fields or at their homes, without a weapon either for annoyance or defense. And what was their fate? They lived in security and quiet. The habitation, which, to his armed neighbor, was the scene of murder and of the scalping knife, was, to the unarmed Quaker, a place of safety and peace. Three of the society were, however, killed. And who were they? They were three who abandoned their principles. Two of these victims were men who, in the simple language of the narrator, used to go to their labor without any weapons and trusted to the Almighty, and depended on his providence to protect them, it being their principle not to use weapons of war to offend others or to defend themselves. But a spirit of distrust, taking place in their minds, they took weapons of war to defend themselves. And the Indians who had seen them several times without them and let them alone, saying they were peaceable men and hurt nobody. Therefore they would not hurt them. Now seeing them have guns and supposing they designed to kill the Indians, they therefore shot the men dead. The third whose life was sacrificed was a woman who had remained in her habitation, not thinking herself warranted in going to a fortified place for preservation. Neither she, her son, nor daughter, nor to take thither the little ones, but the poor woman, after some time, began to let in a slavish fear and advised her children to go with her to a fort not far from their dwelling. She went, and shortly afterwards, the bloody, cruel Indians lay by the way and killed her. The fate of the Quakers during the rebellion in Ireland was nearly similar. It is well known the rebellion was a time not only of open war, but of cold-blooded murder, of the utmost fury of bigotry, and the utmost exasperation of revenge. Yet the Quakers were preserved even to a proverb, and when strangers passed through the streets of ruin and observed a house standing uninjured and alone, they would sometimes point and say, that, doubtless, is the house of a Quaker. So complete indeed was the preservation which these people experienced, that in an official document of the society they say, no member of our society fell a sacrifice but one young man, and that young man had assumed regimentals and arms. It were to no purpose to say, in opposition to the evidence of these facts, that they form an exception to a general rule. The exception to the rule consists in the trial of the experiment of non-resistance, not in its success. Neither were it to any purpose to say, that the savages of America, or the desperados of Ireland, spared the Quakers because they were previously known to be an unoffending people, or because the Quakers had previously gained the love of these by forbearance or good offices. We concede all this. It is the very argument which we maintain. We say that a uniform, undeviating regard to the peaceful obligations of Christianity becomes the safeguard of those who practice it. We venture to maintain that no reason whatever can be assigned why the fate of the Quakers would not be the fate of all who should adopt their conduct. No reason can be assigned why, if their numbers had been multiplied tenfold or a hundredfold, they would not have been preserved. If there be such a reason, let us hear it. The American and Irish Quakers were, to the rest of the community, what one nation is to a continent. And we must require the advocate of war to produce, that which has never yet been produced, a reason for believing that although individuals exposed to destruction were preserved, a nation exposed to destruction would be destroyed. We do not, however, say that if a people in the customary state of men's passions should be assailed by an invader, and should on a sudden choose to declare that they would try whether Providence would protect them, of such a people we do not say that they would experience protection and that none of them would be killed, but we say that the evidence of experience is that a people who habitually regard the obligations of Christianity in their conduct towards other men, and who steadfastly refuse, through whatever consequences, to engage in acts of hostility, will experience protection in their peacefulness. And it matters nothing to the argument whether we refer that protection to the immediate agency of Providence or to the influence of such conduct upon the minds of men. Such has been the experience of the unoffending and unresisting in individual life. A national example of a refusal to bear arms has only once been exhibited to the world, but that one example has proved so far as its political circumstances enabled it to prove all that humanity could desire and all that skepticism could demand in favor of our argument. The Colony of Pennsylvania. It has been, says he, the ordinary practice of those who have colonized distant countries to force a footing or to maintain it with the sword. One of the first objects has been to build a fort and to provide a military. The adventurers became soldiers and the colony was a garrison. Pennsylvania was, however, colonized by men who believed that war was absolutely incompatible with Christianity and who therefore resolved not to practice it. Having determined not to fight, they maintained no soldiers and possessed no arms. They planted themselves in a country that was surrounded by savages and by savages who knew they were unarmed. If easiness of conquest or incapability of defense could subject them to outrage, the Pennsylvanians might have been the very sport of violence. Plunderers might have robbed them without retaliation and armies might have slaughtered them without resistance. If they did not give a temptation to outrage, no temptation could be given. But these were the people who possessed their country in security whilst those around them were trembling for their existence. Theirs was a land of peace whilst every other was a land of war. The conclusion is inevitable, although it is extraordinary. They were in no need of arms because they would not use them. These Indians were sufficiently ready to commit outrages on other states and often visited them with desolation and slaughter, with that sort of desolation and that sort of slaughter which might be expected from men whom civilization had not reclaimed from cruelty and whom religion had not awed into forbearance. But whatever the quarrels of the Pennsylvania Indians were with others, they uniformly respected and held, as it were, sacred the territories of William Penn. The Pennsylvanians never lost a man, woman or child by them, which neither the colony of Maryland nor that of Virginia could say, no more than the great colony of New England. The security and quiet of Pennsylvania was not a transient freedom from war, such as might accidentally happen to any nation. She continued to enjoy it for more than 70 years and subsisted in the midst of six Indian nations without so much as a militia for her defense. I cannot wonder that these people were not molested, extraordinary and unexampled as their security was. There is something so noble in this confidence in the supreme protector, in this utter exclusion of slavish fear, in this voluntary relinquishment of the means of injury or of defense, that I do not wonder that even ferocity could be disarmed by such virtue. A people generously living without arms amidst nations of warriors. Who would attack a people such as this? There are few men so abandoned as not to respect such confidence. It were a particular and unusual intensity of wickedness that would not even revere it. And when was the security of Pennsylvania molested and its peace destroyed? When the men who had directed its councils and who would not engage in war were outvoted in its legislature. When they who suppose that there was greater security in the sword than in Christianity became the predominating body. From that hour, the Pennsylvanians transferred their confidence in Christian principles to a confidence in arms. And from that hour to the present, they have been subject to war. Such as the evidence derived from a national example of the consequences of a pursuit of the Christian policy in relation to war. Here are a people who absolutely refused to fight and who incapacitated themselves for a resistance by refusing to possess arms. And these were the people whose land amidst surrounding broils and laughter was selected as a land of security and peace. The only national opportunity which the virtue of the Christian world has afforded us of ascertaining the safety of relying upon God for defense has determined that it is safe. End of Chapter 5, Part 2. Chapter 6, Part 1 of Christian Non-Resistance. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 6, Part 1 of Christian Non-Resistance in all its important bearings, illustrated and defended by Aidan Balu. Chapter 6, General Objections Answered. The present chapter will be devoted to the consideration and removal of sundry common objections to the doctrine of Christian non-resistance. Objection 1, Impracticable Till the Millennium. Your doctrine may be true in its principles and in its ultimate requirements, but it must be impracticable till the millennium. Then, when the whole human race shall have become regenerate, its sublime morality will be the spontaneous development of all hearts. Under existing circumstances, while there is so much depravity and such multitudes of men are restlessly bent on aggression, it is obviously impracticable. The wicked would shortly exterminate the righteous, with the latter to act on non-resistant principles. Answer, I affirm the exact contrary, v's that the righteous would exterminate the wicked in the best sense of the word, where they to act on strict non-resistant principles. They would immediately usher in the millennium, with all its blessings, where they to act on these principles in true and persevering fidelity. How else is it imaginable that any such state as the millennium should ever be developed among mankind? Is it to come arbitrarily and mechanically? Is it to come with observation the full-grown production of absolute miracle? Is not the kingdom of heaven within and among men, and thence like leaven hidden three measures of meal destined to ferment and rectify the whole mass? Ought not each true Christian's heart be a germ of the millennium, and each Christian community approximate miniature of it? If not, what is the evidence that men have been born again, that there is any such thing as regeneration? If professing to be disciples of Christ, they are unable, even by divine grace, to practice the precepts of their Lord and Master, merely because the unregenerate around them are so wicked, what is their religion, their profession, their regeneration worth? The objection before us involves such extreme incongruities that it can be entertained only for a moment. Let us examine it. One, it presupposes that Jesus Christ enjoined on his disciples duties for the whole period preceding the millennium, which he knew they could not perform until the arrival of the latter period, and yet gave them no intimation of that fact. Two, it presupposes that Jesus enjoined many particular duties for which there will be no possible occasion in the millennium, and which therefore can never be fulfilled. Three, it presupposes that the principles, dispositions, and moral obligations of men in the millennium will be essentially different from what the New Testament requires them to be now. Is there any doubt in respect to these three statements? It is certain that Jesus apparently inculcates his non-resistant precepts as now binding and practicable, and that he gives no intimation of their impracticability till some remote future period. Was this design, chance, or mistake? In either case, it derogates from the honor of the Redeemer. It is not to be presumed. It is equally certain on the objector's theory that Christ enjoined particular duties for which there can be no possible occasion in the millennium. In the millennium, there will be no occasion to put in practice the precept, Resist Not Evil, for there will be no evil doers to forebear with. In that day there will be no occasion for a man when smitten on one cheek to turn the other, when restrained of his coat to give up his cloak, when persecuted and reviled to bless, when trespassed upon to forgive, and no occasion to love his enemy, do good to his hater, or pray for his injurer, for there will be none to harm or destroy in all God's holy mountain. There can be no occasion for non-resistance where there is no aggression, injury, or insult. So that the objector virtually makes the Son of God appear in the highest degree, ludicrous and absurd, he makes him say, ye have heard that it had been said, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, but I say unto you that ye resist not evil, in the millennium, when there will be none. And if any men smite thee on thy right cheek, in the millennium, when all shall be love and kindness, turn unto him the other also, and whosoever will sue thee at the law, in the millennium, when the law of love shall be universally obeyed, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. Love your enemies, in the millennium, when you have no enemies, bless them which curse you, when there are none to curse, do good to them that hate you, when all love you, forgive offenses, till seventy times seven, when offenses shall be unknown. Feed your foes, when all are friends, and overcome evil with good, when no evil remains. These are sublime virtues which you are to practice, not now, when there are so many occasions for them, and when they might exert such a powerful influence in favor of my religion as contrasted with the spirits of this world, not now, for they are impracticable. The unbelieving world is too wicked for such an exemplification of righteousness, but in the millennium, then practice them, when you find no occasion for them, and when it will be absolutely impossible to fulfill them for want of an opportunity. For then all shall know and serve the Lord, from the least unto the greatest. Is the great teacher to be thus understood? Who will presume to say it? The third statement is also true. The objection presupposes that the principles, dispositions, and moral obligations of men in the millennium will be essentially different from what the New Testament requires them to be now. This is an error so fundamental and yet so common among professing Christians that it ought to be thoroughly exploded. Professor Uphem has done this so effectually in his manual of peace that I cannot refrain from presenting my readers with the following excellent extract. Principles of the millennium. Are we to expect a new code, a new system of methods of operation? Are we to expect a new savior, a new crucifixion, a new and amended addition of the New Testament? Certainly not. The doctrine of the millennium are the doctrines of today. The principles of the millennium are the very principles which are obligatory on the men of the present generation. The bond which will exclude all contention and will bind together all hearts will be nothing more nor less than the gospel of Christ. The gospel is a book of principles of great, operative, unchangeable principles. Men condemn it because they do not understand it. Even Christians may be fairly charged with treating it with no small degree of disregard because in their worldliness, they have neglected to estimate its heights and depths. If heaven could be brought down to the earth, if Europe and America and all other continents and parts of the world could at present moment be peopled with angels and with syraphic natures, the gospel, just as it stands, would be sufficient to guide and govern them. The blessed companies of the heavenly world, unlike the children of men, would ask no higher and better code. But can we regard it as allowable under any assignable circumstances for an angel to retaliate upon an angel, for a serif to exercise hostility upon a serif? For one of these holy beings to hold in his own hands the right of extinguishing the life of another? What sort of heaven would that be, which should be characterized by the admission of such a principle? And we may ask further, what sort of a millennium will that be, which shall be characterized, either practically or theoretically, in the same way? When men are fully restored to the favor of God, whether in heaven or earth, is there to be one code, one set of governmental principles for them and another for other holy beings? Certainly not. In all the great matters of right and duty, the law of serifs is the law of angels and the law of angels is the law of men. If it is utterly and absolutely inconsistent with our conceptions of the heavenly world, that the power of life and death should be taken from the hands of Jehovah and that angels and serifs should have the right to extinguish each other's existence, it is equally difficult to conceive of such a right in the millennium. And if it will not be right for the men of the millennium to exercise the power of life and death over each other, it is not right for them now. We have the same code of government now, which we shall have then. We have the New Testament now and we shall have it then. And not only that, we shall understand it better and love it more. Nothing will be added to it, nothing will be taken from it. If it does not now consider human life inviolable, it never will. If it does not now prescribe all wars among human species, it never will. The right of taking human life, if it exists now under the Christian code, will exist as a legal and authorized characteristic, painful and even horrible as the mere thought is, of the pure, blessed and angelic state of the millennium. On the supposition therefore, that life will be inviolable in the millennium and that it will not be considered right for one man to put another to death for any possible reason. We argue that it is not right now. This form of reasoning is applicable to any other analogous case, whatever. If it will not be right to steal in the millennium, it is not right to steal now. If it will not be right to be intemperate in the millennium, it is not right to be intemperate now. If it will not be right to hold slaves in the millennium, it is not right to hold slaves now. If it will not be right to take life and carry on war in the millennium, it is not right to take life and carry on war now. The principles which will be acknowledged as authoritative in the millennium are the very principles which are prescribed and are binding upon us at the present moment. No change in principles is required, but merely a change in practice. If the practice of men should tomorrow be conformed to the principles which the finger of God has written on the pages of the New Testament, then tomorrow would behold the millennium. We delight to linger upon this subject. There is a charm in the millennial name, scribenti menium ingisit et qualm libe vestinantem in se morari kojit. The wing of poetry flags under this great conception. Sometimes we see it under the type of a wilderness newly clothed with bud and blossom. Sometimes we see it under the type of a city descending from heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. Sometimes we behold it as a great temple, a rising out of the earth, and capacious enough to contain all nations. This temple is not built of earthly materials, that will perish with the using, but is supported on immutable columns. Every great moral and religious principle is a pillar in the millennial temple. The principle of total abstinence from all intoxicating liquor is one pillar. It suddenly arose fair and beautiful, and even now is enveloped with some rays of millennial glory. The doctrine that all slaveholding is a sin is another pillar, standing firm, awfully grand, and immovable. The doctrine of the absolute inviolability of human life is another. This is in a state of preparation, but it will soon ascend, and stand brightly and majestically in its place. And thus principle after principle will be established, column after column will be erected, till the spiritual house of the Lord shall be established in the tops of the mountain, and we shall expand upon the eye of the beholder, far more beautiful than the Parthenon. And what then will be wanting? Only that the nations, in the language of prophecy, shall flow into it, only that the people should occupy it and rejoice in it. And this is millennial glory. But, unless you have firm, unchangeable, immutable principles, it will be like a certain house that was built upon the sand, and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it. Objection 2 Extremely Difficult If Not Impossible The practice of non-resistance, if not impossible for the great majority of Christians, is certainly extremely difficult, even for the most advanced. It seems like overstraining duty. It is urging on men so much more than they feel able to perform, that multitudes will faint under the burden, and abandon Christianity altogether as a system wholly beyond their reach. It is unwise to require what must discourage so many thousands from attempting anything at all, as avowed disciples of Christ. Who is to be the judge of what is possible, God or man? Who is to judge what and how much shall be required, Jesus Christ or His disciples? Are we to set at naught a duty because it seems to us difficult a performance? Are we to doubt that God's grace is sufficient for the weakest of His trusting children, to enable them to perform any duty He may lay upon them? Are we to accommodate divine truth and duty to the convenience of our fellow men in order to multiply superficial disciples? Are we to pare down and fritter away the requirements of our Heavenly Father for fears of discouraging and driving off half-hearted professors? Who is it that presumes to dobb with such untimpered mortar? He must be a most dangerous lidotudinarian. Is this the way in which Christ and His apostles built up the Church amid the violence of a contemptuous and persecuting world? Would it be any great misfortune to Christianity if nine-tenths of its present worldly-minded professors, convinced of the truth of the non-resistance doctrine, should honestly declare to the world, since this is Christianity, we cannot consistently profess to adhere to it, as its cross is greater than we are willing to bear? Would not the world at that moment be nearer its conversion than now? But why need we hold this language? God reigns, and not man. He declares the law of perfect rectitude through His Son. That Son is the head of every man, the Lord and Master of all true disciples. He has enjoined the practice of non-resistance on His professed followers as their indispensable duty. He has promised to be with and aid them to the end of the world. If so, let us say it once, whether we believe in Christ or not. Whether we will endeavor to follow Him and keep His sayings, or not. Whether we will try to do our duty, confiding in the proffered strength of heaven, or not. If we will be Christians, let us try with all our might to do our duty, and see how far we shall be left to fall short. Let men earnestly try to carry out Christian non-resistance with this full purpose of heart, and though they may experience the pain of the cross sometimes, they will soon rejoice in a crown of triumph. And it is difficult always to do right in this, as it is in respect to other departments of duty, and no more so. There is no virtue which does not involve some painful and almost overwhelming trials. If we were to cast off all obligations that ever required the hazard of mortal life, we should reject every single commandment of the living God. For there is not one that has not had its martyrs, and also its apostates, under great temptation. But to the faithful, how blessed is even death itself if duty obliges the sacrifice. And to the obedient, the willingly cross-bearing, how true is it that Christ's yoke is easy and His burden light. It is only for us to resolve that we will try. All things are then found possible, which are right. And what is there so discouraging to the humble and upright soul? Did not Jesus live and die the glorious exemplar of His own non-resistant precepts? Did not His apostles? Did not the primitive Christians for more than two centuries? Have I not brought up a host of witnesses practically illustrating that under the most adverse circumstances it was generally even safer to carry out non-resistance principles than their opposite? Behold robbers looked out of countenance and actually converted. Ferocious banditie rendered harmless, wild savages inspired with permanent kindness, and all manner of evil overcome with good. You might be asked after all this, what would you do if a robber should attack you, if an assassin should threaten your life, if a mob should break forth upon you, if a tribe of savages should beset your dwelling, if a foreign army should come against your land, if lawless soldiers should deal death and repine about your neighborhood. What would I do? If I did right, if I acted the Christian part, the wise and noble part, I should adhere to my non-resistance principles and tend to one experience the most signal deliverances and achieve the most glorious of all victories in the conquest of my own passions and those of my assailants. Hollowness of the Objection But the extreme hollowness of the Objection before us becomes at once obvious when I turn the tables and demand whether the practice of injurious resistance offers immunity from extreme trial, danger, hardship, and suffering. How happens it that human beings enough to people from eighteen to forty such globes as ours have perished in war? How happens it that blood enough has been shed by the sword to fill a harbor that would embozzum at quiet anchor the combined navies of the world? Do these tremendous facts indicate that resistance is sustained without hardships, distresses, and mortal agony? Let us contemplate the scenes of a single battle. Passage of the Tron In 1809, in the campaign of Aspern and Wegrim, Messina added to his own former renown and was one of the firm props of Napoleon's empire on those fiercely fought battlefields. Previous to the Battle of Aspern, after the Battle of Ekmal, while Bonaparte was on the march for Vienna, chasing the Archduke before him, Messina had command of the advance guard. Following hard after the retreating army of the Archduke as he had done before in Italy, he came at length to the River Tron, at Ebersburg, or Ebersdorf, a small village on its banks just above where it falls into the Danube. Here for a while, an effectual stop seemed put to his victorious career, for this stream, opposite Ebersburg, was crossed by a single, long, narrow wooden bridge. From shore to shore, across the sand banks, islands, etc., he was nearly half a mile, and a single narrow causeway traversed the entire distance to the bridge, which itself was about sixty rods long. Over this half mile of narrow path, the whole army was to pass and the columns to charge, for the impetuous torrent could not be forted. But a gate closed the further end of the bridge, while the houses filled with soldiers infallated the entire opening, and the artillery planted on the heights over it commanded every inch of the narrow way. The high rolling ground along the river was black with the masses of infantry, sustained by terrific batteries of cannon, all trained on that devoted bridge, apparently enough in themselves to tear it in fragments. To crown the whole, an old castle frowned over the steam, on whose crumbling battlements cannon were so planted as to command the bridge. As if this were not enough to deter any man from attempting the passage, another row of heights, over which the road passed, rose before the first, covered with pine trees, affording a strong position for the enemy to retire to, if driven from their first. Thus defended, thirty-five thousand men, supported by eighty cannon, waited to see if the French would attempt to pass the bridge. Even the genius of Massena might have been staggered at the spectacle before him. It seemed like marching his army into the mouth of the volcano to advance on the awful batteries that commanded that long narrow bridge. It was not like a sudden charge over a short causeway, but a steady march along a narrow defile through a perfect tempest of balls. But this was the key to Vienna, and the marshal resolved to make the attempt, hoping that Lannes, who was to cross some distance further up, would aid him by a movement on the enemy's flank. The Austrians had foolishly left four battalions on the side from which the French approached. These were first attacked, and being driven from their positions were forced along the causeway at the point of the bayonet, and on the bridge followed by the pursuing French. But the moment the French column touched the bridge, those hitherto silent batteries opened their dreadful fire on its head. It sank like a sandbank that caves under the torrent. To advance seemed impossible, but the heroic cohort, flinging himself in front, cheered them on, and they returned to the charge, driving like an impetuous torrent over the bridge. Amid the confusion and chaos of the fight between those flying battalions and their pursuers, the Austrians on the shore saw the French colors flying, and, fearing the eruption of the enemy with their friends, closed the gate and poured their tempest of cannonballs on friend and foe alike. The carnage then became awful, smitten in front by the deadly fire of their friends, and pressed behind with the bayonets of their foes, those battalions threw themselves into the torrent below, or were trampled underfoot by the steadily advancing column. Amid the explosion of ammunition wagons in the midst, blowing men into the air, and crashing fire of the enemy's cannon, the French beat down the gate and palisades and rushed with headlong speed into the streets and village. But here, met by fresh battalions in front, and swept away a destructive crossfire from the houses, while the old castle hurled its storm of lead on their heads. These brave soldiers were compelled to retire, leaving two-thirds of their numbers stretched on the pavement. But Massena ordered up fresh battalions, which, marching through the tempest that swept the bridge, joined their companions and, regaining the village, stormed the castle itself. Along the narrow lanes that led to it, the dead lay in swads, and no sooner did the mangled head of the column reach the castle walls than it disappeared before the dreadful fire from the battlements, as if it sunk into the earth. Strengthened by a new reinforcement, the dauntless French returned to the assault, and battering down the doors compelled the garrison to surrender. The Austrian army, however, made good their position on the pine-covered ridge behind the village, and disputed every inch of ground with the most stubborn resolution. The French cavalry, now a cross, came out at a plunging gallop through the streets of the village, trampling on the dead and dying, and amid the flames of the burning houses, and through the smoke that rolled over the pathway, hurried on with exulting shouts and rattling armor to the charge. Still the Austrians held out, till threatened with a flank attack. They were compelled to retreat. There was not a more desperate passage in the whole war than this. Massena was compelled to throw his brave soldiers, whether dead or wounded, into the stream to clear a passage for the columns. Whole companies falling at a time, they choked up the way and increased the obstacles to be overcome. These must be sacrificed, or the whole shattered column that was maintaining their desperate position on the further side be annihilated. It was an awful spectacle to see the advancing soldiers amid the most destructive fire themselves pitch their wounded comrades, while calling out most piteously to be spared by scores and hundreds into the torrent. La Grande fought nobly that day. Amid the choked up defile and deadly fire of the batteries, he fearlessly pressed on, and in answer to the advice of his superior officer, deigned only the stern reply, room for the head of my columns, none of your advice, and rushed up to the very walls of the castle. The nature of the contest, and the narrow bridge and streets in which it raged, gave to the field of battle the most horrid aspect. The dead lay and heaps and ridges piled one across the other, mangled and torn in the most dreadful manner by the hoofs of the cavalry and the wheels of the artillery, which were compelled to pass over them. Twelve thousand men thus lay heaped, packed, and trampled together, while across them was stretched burning rafters and timbers, which rung still more terrible crises and shrieks from the dying mass. Even Bonaparte, when he arrived, shuddered at the appalling sight, and turned with horror from the scene. The streets were one mass of mangled, bleeding, trampled men, overlaid with burning ruins. American review. Such was one of the world's 10,000 bloody conflicts. Suppose all the courage and endurance displayed on this horrible occasion could be brought into the service of peace and non-resistance. Should we hear any more of the extreme difficulty, if not impossibility, of carrying out the doctrine? Suppose these soldiers to have been devoted Christian non-resistance, scattered over the whole earth. And suppose them exposed to all the robberies, assaults, and batteries, abuses, injuries, and insults by any means likely to fall to their lot. And then, let the objector tell us how much harder their service would be in the army of the Prince of Peace than that of the Prince of Murderers. The truth is, men can endure almost anything.