To Faber it seemed the true and therefore right thing, to deny the existence of any such being as men call God.  I heartily admit that such denial may argue a nobler condition than that of the man who will reason for the existence of what he calls a Deity, but omits to order his way after what he professes to believe His will.  At the same time, his conclusion that he was not bound to believe in any God, seemed to lift a certain weight off the heart of the doctor—­the weight, namely, that gathers partly from the knowledge of having done wrong things, partly from the consciousness of not being altogether right.  It would be very unfair, however, to leave the impression that this was the origin of all the relief the doctor derived from the conclusion.  For thereby he got rid, in a great measure at least, of the notion—­horrible in proportion to the degree in which it is actually present to the mind, although, I suspect, it is not, in a true sense, credible to any mind—­of a cruel, careless, unjust Being at the head of affairs.  That such a notion should exist at all, is mainly the fault of the mass of so-called religious people, for they seem to believe in, and certainly proclaim such a God.  In their excuse it may be urged they tell the tale as it was told to them; but the fault lies in this, that, with the gospel in their hands, they have yet lived in such disregard of its precepts, that they have never discovered their representation of the God of Truth to be such, that the more honest a man is, the less can he accept it.  That the honest man, however, should not thereupon set himself to see whether there might not be a true God notwithstanding, whether such a God was not conceivable consistently with things as they are, whether the believers had not distorted the revelation they professed to follow; especially that he should prefer to believe in some sort of vitalic machine, equally void of beneficence and malevolence, existing because it can not help it, and giving birth to all sorts of creatures, men and women included, because it can not help it—­must arise from a condition of being, call it spiritual, moral, or mental—­I can not be obliging enough to add cerebral, because so I should nullify my conclusion, seeing there would be no substance left wherein it could be wrought out—­for which the man, I can not but think, will one day discover that he was to blame—­for which a living God sees that he is to blame, makes all the excuse he can, and will give the needful punishment to the uttermost lash.

There are some again, to whom the idea of a God perfect as they could imagine Him in love and devotion and truth, seems, they say, too good to be true:  such have not yet perceived that no God any thing less than absolutely glorious in loveliness would be worth believing in, or such as the human soul could believe in.  But Faber did not belong to this class—­still less to that portion of it whose inconsolable grief