ter;
there must be the contagion of a noble indignation fueled with harder
wood than abstractions. The people can not be collected and incited to
take sides by the spectacle of a man fighting something that does
not fight back. It is men that Dr. Parkhurst is trouncing--not their
crimes--not Crime. He may fancy himself "dowered with the hate of hate,
the scorn of scorn," but in reality he does not hate hate but hates the
hateful, and scorns, not scorn, but the scornworthy.

It is singular with what tenacity that amusing though mischievous
superstition keeps its hold upon the human mind--that grave _bona
fide_ personification of abstractions and the funny delusion that it is
possible to hate or love them. Sin is not a thing; there is no existing
object corresponding to any of the mere counter-words that are properly
named abstract nouns. One can no more hate sin or love virtue than
one can hate a vacuum (which Nature--itself imaginary--was once by the
scientists of the period solemnly held to do) or love one of the three
dimensions. We may think that while loving a sinner we hate the sin,
but that is not so; if anything is hated it is other sinners of the same
kind, who are not quite so close to us.

"But," says Citizen Goodheart, who thinks with difficulty, "shall I
throw over my friend when he is in trouble?" Yes, when you are convinced
that he deserves to be in trouble; throw him all the harder and the
further because he is your friend. In addition to his particular offense
against society he has disgraced _you_. If there are to be lenity and
charity let them go to the criminal who has foreborne to involve you
in his shame. It were a pretty state of affairs if an undetected scamp,
fearing exposure, could make you a co-defendant by so easy a precaution
as securing your acquaintance and regard. Don't throw the first stone,
of course, but when convinced that your friend is a proper target, heave
away with a right hearty good-will, and let the stone be of serviceable
dimensions, scabrous, textured flintwise and delivered with a good aim.

The French have a saying to the effect that to know all is to pardon
all; and doubtless with an omniscient insight into the causes of
character we should find the field of moral responsibility pretty
thickly strewn with extenuating circumstances very suitable indeed for
consideration by a god who has had a hand in besetting "with pitfall
and with gin" the road we are to wander in. But