But the Doctor was by no means altogether polemical.  After defeating and utterly confounding the fathers who fired their last shot a thousand years ago, and who had not a word to say against his remaining master of the field, he was wont to unbend his mind and recreate his fancy by practical discourses.  His sermons upon lying were celebrated all through the village.  He gave the insidious vice no quarter.  He charged upon it from all sides at once.  Lying couldn’t stand for a moment.  White lies, black lies, blue lies, and green lies, lies of ceremony, of charity, and of good intention disappeared before the lightning of his wrath.  They are all children of the Devil, with different complexions, said Dr. Peewee.

But if lying be a vice, surely, said he, discretion is a virtue.  “My dear Mr. Gray,” said Dr. Peewee to that gentleman when he was about establishing his school in the village, and was consulting with the Doctor about bringing his boys to church—­“my dear Mr. Gray,” said the Doctor, putting down his cigar and stirring his toddy (he was of an earlier day), “above all things a clergyman should be discreet.  In fact, Christianity is discretion.  A man must preach at sins, not sinners.  Where would society be if the sins of individuals were to be rudely assaulted?—­one more lump, if you please.  A man’s sins are like his corns.  Neither the shoe nor the sermon must fit too snugly.  I am a clergyman, but I hope I am also a man of common sense—­a practical man, Mr. Gray.  The general moral law and the means of grace, those are the proper themes of the preacher.  And the pastor ought to understand the individual characters and pursuits of his parishioners, that he may avoid all personality in applying the truth.”

“Clearly,” said Mr. Gray.

“For instance,” reasoned the Doctor, as he slowly stirred his toddy, and gesticulated with one skinny forefinger, occasionally sipping as he went on, “if I have a deacon in my church who is a notorious miser, is it not plain that, if I preach a strong sermon upon covetousness, every body in the church will think of my deacon—­will, in fact, apply the sermon to him?  The deacon, of course, will be the first to do it.  And then, why, good gracious! he might even take his hat and cane and stalk heavily down the broad aisle, under my very nose, before my very eyes, and slam the church door after him in my very face!  Here at once is difficulty in the church; hard feeling; perhaps even swearing.  Am I, as a Christian clergyman, to give occasion to uncharitable emotions, even to actual profanity?  Is not a Christian congregation, was not every early Christian community, a society of brothers?  Of course they were; of course we must be.  Little children, love one another.  Let us dwell together, my brethren, in amity,” said the Doctor, putting down his glass, and forgetting that he was in Mr. Gray’s study; “and please give me your ears while I show you this morning the enormity of burning widows upon the funeral pyres of their husbands.”