“I say all this to you, Uncle Zebulin, not as Josiah Allen’s wife, but as a woman with a vow on her. When folks set out on towers as Promiscous Advisors, they set out as sufferers and martyrs; they set out expectin’ to be burnt up on various stakes of the same. I have locked arms with Principle, I am keepin’ stiddy company with Duty, and they are a drawin’ me along and a hunchin’ of me in the side, a makin’ me say to you, that you are as self-righteous as the Old Harry; that you are more sot on makin’ a pattern of yourself than in makin the world ’round you happier and brighter; that instead of reflectin’ heaven’s peace and glory back again upon a sad earth as Christians ort to, you have made a damper of yourself, shettin’ off all warmth and light and happiness; a damper for sinners to set down and freeze to death by.”
“To think!” he groaned out, “that anybody should dare to find fault with me when I haint committed a sin in thirty-five years, nor smiled in over forty.”
“Not laughin’ haint no sign of religion Uncle Zeb; because a man makes himself disagreeable and repulsive, that haint another sign; gloom and discomfort haint piety; because a man is in pain it haint no sign he is enjoyin’ religion. I wouldn’t give two or three straws for a religion that didn’t make folks happier as well as better; more tender and charitable and pitiful; more loving and helpful to all humanity. Bigotry and intolerance never was religion, Uncle Zeb, nor never will be, though they have been called so time and again; religion is sunthin’ different, it is as beautiful as _they_ are hegus; it is gentle, full of joy and peace, pure, easily entreated, full of good works, mercy, and charity—which is love.
“It is not Samantha, but a woman on the battle-field of Right, who is a rakin’ you down with the arrers of Truth; it is a Promiscous Advisor who says to you, that you have for years been doin’ what a great many do in the name of religion; you have wrapped yourself in your own dignity and self-righteousness, and worshipped yourself instead of God.”
I didn’t say no more then to the old Deacon in a martyr way; I pulled in the reins and dismounted down from the war horse that was a canterin’ away nobly with me, and a snortin’ in the cause of Right. Though ready and willin’ in spirit to mount this war horse and foller on where Principle leads, without saddle or bridle, and to suffer as a Promiscous Advisor, still it is a tuckerin’ business, and if anybody don’t believe it, let em ride off this war-horse on a tower.