What an arraignment! "Every imagination," "evil," "_only_ evil;" no mixture of good at all; "only evil _continually_," no occasional spurts of good even--the whole fabric bad, and bad clear through, and all the time. Is not that a terrific arraignment? But listen further: "And it repented the Lord that He had made man on the earth, and"--listen to these last pathetic words--"_it grieved Him at His heart_."
Will you please remember that "grieve" is always a love word? There can be no grief except where there is love. You may annoy a neighbor, or vex a partner, or anger an acquaintance, but you cannot grieve except where there is love, and you cannot be grieved except wherein you love.
I have sometimes, more often than I could wish, seen a case like this. A young man of good family sent away to college. He gets in with the wrong crowd, for they are not all angels in colleges yet, quite. Gets to smoking and drinking and gambling, improper hours, bad companions, and all that. His real friends try to advise him, but without effect. By and by the college authorities remonstrate with him, and he tries to improve, but without much success after the first pull. And after a while, very reluctantly, he is suspended, and sent home in disgrace. He feels very bad, and makes good resolutions and earnest promises, and when he returns he does do much better for a time. But it does not last long. Soon he is in with the old crowd again, the old round of habits and dissipations, only now it gets worse than before; the pace is faster. And the upshot of it all is that he is called up before the authorities and expelled, sent home in utter disgrace, not to return.
And here is his chum who roomed with him, ate with him, lived with him. He says, "Well, I declare, I am all broken up over Jim. It's too bad! He was "hail-fellow, well met," and now he has gone like that. I'm awfully sorry. It's too bad! too bad!!" And by and by he forgets about it except as an unpleasant memory roused up now and then. And here is one of his professors who knew him best perhaps, and liked him. "Well," he says, "it is too bad about young Collins. Strange, too, he came of good family; good blood in his veins; and yet he seems to have gone right down with the ragtag. It's too bad! too bad!! I am so sorry." And the matter passes from his mind in the press of duties and is remembered only occasionally as one of the disagreeable things to be regretted, and perhaps philosophized over.