Here arises a fear lest the apologetic nature of our remarks may seem to indicate a much greater need of apology than actually exists.  We have been led into this line of remark, not so much by a perusal of the book under consideration, in which, indeed, there is very little, if anything, to offend, as by the nature of the objections which we have most frequently heard against this author’s productions, both written and spoken.  We do not even confine ourselves to defence, but go farther, and question whether the allegations of coarseness may not oftener be the fault of the plaintiff than of the defendant.  Is there not a conventional standard of refinement which measures things by its own arbitrary self, and finds material for displeasure in what is really but a sincere and almost unconscious rendering of things as they exist?  There are facts which modern fastidiousness justly enough commands to he wrapped around with graceful drapery before they shall have audience.  But do we not commit a trespass against virtue, when we demand the same soft disguises to drape facts whose disguise is the worst immorality, whose naked hideousness is the only decency, which must be seen disgusting to warrant their being seen at all?  So Mr. Beecher has been censured for irreverence, when what was called his irreverence has seemed to us but the tenderness engendered of close connection.  Cannot one live so near to God as that His greatness shall he merged in His goodness?  What would be irreverence, if it came from the head, may be but love springing up warm from the heart.

One of the strongest characteristics of Mr. Beecher’s mind, the one that has, perhaps, the strongest influence in producing his power over men, is his quick insight into common things, his quick sympathy with common minds.  He knows common dangers.  He understands common interests.  He is sensitive to common sorrows.  He appreciates common joys.  Without necessarily being practical himself, he is full of practical suggestions.  He is a leveller; but he levels up, not down.  He continually seeks to lift men from the plane of mere toil and thrift to the loftier levels of aspiration.  He would disinthrall them from what is low, and introduce them to the freedom of the heights.  He would bring them out of the dungeons of the senses into the domains of taste and principles.  He believes in man, and he battles for men.  With him, humanity is chief:  science, art, wealth are its handmaidens.  Yet, writing for ordinary people, he never falls into the sin of declaiming against extraordinary ones.  No part of his power over the poor is obtained by inveighing against the rich, as no part of his power over the rich is obtained by pandering to their prejudices or their passions.  He builds up no influence for himself on the ruins of another man’s influence.  The elevation which he aims to produce is real, not factitious,—­absolute, not relative.  It is the elevation to be obtained by ascending the mountain, not by digging it away so that the valley seems no longer low by contrast.