trength is in their co-working and army
fellowship, and their delight is in their giving and receiving of
alternate and perpetual good; their inseparable dependency on each
other's being, and their essential and perfect depending on their
Creator's. And so the unity of earthly creatures is their power, and
their peace; not like the dead and cold peace of undisturbed stones
and solitary mountains, but the living peace of trust, and the living
power of support; of hands that hold each other and are still.[30]

[30] A long, affected, and obscure second volume sentence, written in
imitation of Hooker. One short sentence from Ecclesiastes is the sum of
it: "How can one be warm alone?"

73. It is good to read of that kindness and humbleness of St. Francis
of Assisi, who spoke never to bird, nor to cicada, nor even to wolf
and beasts of prey, but as his brother;--and so we find are moved the
minds of all good and mighty men, as in the lesson that we have from
the 'Mariner' of Coleridge, and yet more truly and rightly taught in
the 'Hartleap Well'--

"Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels,"--

and again in the 'White Doe' of Rylstone, with the added teaching,
that anguish of our own

"Is tempered and allayed by sympathies
Aloft ascending, and descending deep,
Even to the inferior kinds;"--

so that I know not of anything more destructive of the whole theoretic
faculty, not to say of the Christian character and human intellect,[31]
than those accursed sports in which man makes of himself cat, tiger,
leopard, and alligator in one; and gathers into one continuance of
cruelty, for his amusement, all the devices that brutes sparingly and
at intervals use against each other for their necessities.

[31] I am more and more grieved, as I re-read this and other portions of
the most affected and weak of all my books, (written in a moulting time
of my life,)--the second volume of 'Modern Painters,'--at its morbid
violence of passion and narrowness of thought. Yet, at heart, the book
was, like my others, honest; and in substance it is mostly good; but all
boiled to rags.

74. He who loves not God, nor his brother, cannot love the grass
beneath his feet, nor the creatures which live not for his uses,
filling those spaces in the universe which he needs not: while, on the
other hand, none can love God, nor his human brother, without loving
all things which his Father loves