ess to undertake to interest and edify a modern
congregation by talking about a virtue so prosaic as goodness. "He was
a good man." We do not thrill when we hear that. It is not a word
that quickens our pulse beat. We do not sit up and lean forward. We
rather relax and stifle a yawn and look at our watches and wonder how
soon it will be over. We are interested in clever men, in men of
genius. We are interested in bad men, in courageous men, in poor men
and rich men, but good men--our interest lags here, nods, drowses, goes
to sleep.

The truth of the matter is that the word "good" is a bit like the poor
fellow that went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. It has fallen among
thieves that have stripped it of its raiment and have wounded it and
departed, leaving it half dead. It is a word that has a hospital odor
about it. It savors of plasters and poultices and invalid chairs. Its
right hand has no cunning. Its tongue has no fire. Its cheeks are
corpse-like in their paleness. It seems to be in the last stages of
consumption. If people say we are handsome or cultured we are
delighted, but who is complimented by being called good?

What has wrecked this word? What is the secret of its weakness and
utter insipidity? Answer: bad company. The Book says, "The companion
of fools shall be destroyed." And this word is an example of the truth
of that statement. It has been forced to rub elbows with bad company
till it has come into utter disrepute.

Its evil companions have been of two classes. First, it has been made
to associate with the gentleman about town whose greatest merit was
that he would smoke a cigar with you, if you would furnish the cigar,
or take a drink with you, if you would furnish the liquor. He also
graced a dress suit, even though it were a rented one with the rent
unpaid. And he looked well in pumps. He was a graceful dancer and
good at poker. He also was very skilled in never having a job. And
his friends all said that "he was a good fellow." And, of course,
being forced to keep company with said fellow was enough to ruin the
reputation of the word forever more.

But as if that were not enough calamity to befall any innocent and
inoffensive word, it was forced into another association that was but
little less disreputable. There was an individual--sometimes a man,
sometimes a woman--who did not swear, nor lie, nor steal, nor dip
snuff; whose conduct was as immaculate as that of a