But I kep’ cool, and says I, “No, I don’t; but I believe faith and works ort to go together; they ort to work in one harness a drawin’ the soul along the straight and narrer way.” Says I, “They haint calculated to work in a single harness, either of ’em; they are double breasted, and folks ort to realize that they be.” Says I, “I have seen folks before now that kep’ the eye of their faith bent so stiddy upwards, that they didn’t know nor care how many weak and helpless ones they was crunchin’ down under their heels; how many infant babes was a perishin’ with hunger about ’em, starvin’ physically, and spiritually; the air full of the groans and prayers of a sufferin’ humanity, and they a walkin’ calmly on, a hangin’ on to their faith, and their old beliefs, as if it was the most delightful and consolin’ thing they ever heerd on, to think _they_ was goin’ to be saved, and somebody else wasn’t. And then I’ve seen them that laid themselves out on their good works, thought they was goin’ to earn a deed of the heavenly homestead by doin’ day’s works below; think they made themselves, and worship their maker. But there haint either of these ways the right way.”
Says I, “If you was a drowndin’, you would believe in faith and works both. You would want somebody to have faith, they could git you out, and then you would want ’em to lay to, and haul you ashore.” Says I, “Faith alone in that case would drownd you stiffer’n a mushrat; and jest so in various cases,—poor widders for instance. Now several hundred deacons may git together in a warm meetin’-house, and lean over on their creeds and have faith that a certain widder will come through the winter all right. And probable it wouldn’t be half the help to her that one small deacon would be that loaded up his Bobs with stove-wood, and flour, and potatoes, and side-pork, and jest worked his way along through the snow to her cold empty suller. And then on the other hand not to have any faith, that I couldn’t stand. Some folks say they wont believe in anything they can’t see for themselves. Good land! how will they git holt of the prefume of a rose, or tackle a gust of wind? One is sweet enough to fill you with happiness, and the other is strong enough to blow you over; but you can’t git holt of one, with your two hands, or wrastle with the other and throw it.