Who
would own one of these ogres in comparison with the beautiful things
of God? Who would say of the obscene word, the profane oath, or the
filthy or impious thought, 'this is mine. I made it. I am the author
of its being--its creator!' And yet it may be so. If it is, there are
few of us who have not thrown into life much, very much to mar the
harmonies of nature, to throw discord among the spheres."
"Your statement," remarked Smith, "that accident has much to do with
making or marring the fortunes of men, is doubtless true. Men are
destroyed by accident, and their lives are sometimes saved by it. And
if you'll put away metaphysics, come out of the cloud in which you
have hid yourself in your dreamy speculations, I will furnish you with
a case in point, showing that a man may get into a very unpleasant
predicament, where he runs a great risk and gets some hard knocks, and
yet be able to thank God for it, in perfect earnestness of spirit. A
case of the kind came under my own observation, and while there was
not much philosophy, or abstract speculation about it, there was a
great deal of hard practical fact. It happened when I was a boy, at
the old homestead, in the valley that stretches to the southwest from
the head of Crooked Lake. That valley is hemmed in by high and steep
hills, and at the tune of which I speak, was much more beautiful in my
view than it is now.
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