“As all suffering in this world is of short duration, and as we voluntary bring most we do suffer on ourselves, and as we have reason to trust it will all, by our Heavenly Father, be overruled for good, and be succeeded by an eternity of blessedness, I cannot see that the few tears, and aches of this brief life militate against the goodness of the Creator. I am sure, when we shall have passed through the strifes and conflicts of this world, and can see the past in the light of their results, in the light of eternity, we will exclaim, ‘Love and mercy pursued us all the days of our lives.’ But misery without mitigation or end, without one ray of hope, nothing but an eternity of gloom, and the most intense agony, can never be reconciled with infinite goodness.” A few miles below Pittsburg, in Virginia--I now forget the name of the place--I stopped one Saturday evening, and told the people I would speak to them the next day, if they would give me a hearing. A citizen invited me to his house, and I delivered a discourse on Sunday morning, to a large assembly. In the middle of the afternoon, some ten or a dozen persons entered the house where I was stopping, and after being seated, the following ensued: “Are you the man who preached in the school house this morning?” “Yes.” “Well, we have called to let you know that you must not hold another meeting in this town.” “Why not? What is the matter, gentlemen?” “Your doctrine is dangerous; it is infidelity, and we want no more of it.” “Did any of you hear my discourse to-day?” “No, and we don’t want to hear such stuff.” “How then do you know it is dangerous and infidel?” “We are not here to have a controversy with you, but to notify you that you cannot occupy the school house this evening.” My host here informed the gentlemen, that he had an interest in that house, and that I _should_ preach in it if I desired to. “This gentleman,” said he, “is a stranger in this place; I heard his sermon in the morning, and although I know nothing about Universalism, he uttered not a word I consider dangerous or infidel.” “When you reflect,” I remarked, “on the mean business you are here on, you will be heartily ashamed of yourselves, and your conduct. You admit you did not hear me, and yet you are loud and angry in your condemnation. I am a stranger in this place, and to you; I have never harmed a hair of your heads, and yet you treat me with savage rudeness. Is this Virginia hospitality? What do you suppose I teach?” “We understand you teach, that there is no God, no Savior, no hell, and that the good and the bad, go to heaven together.” “You have been misinformed. My advice to you is, to acquaint yourselves with the principles you so rudely condemn, for you are as ignorant of them as the Hottentots are of English grammar.” “We have no more to say to you, except to repeat, that you must not again preach your abominations in this town.”