He had by nature a slender constitution, unable to endure long-continued muscular or mental exertion, or long- continued confinement in one place, but, by a wise apportionment of work and respite, his health and usefulness went on together. He had no general prostrations to complain of, never longed for the relief of a vacation, never petitioned for a furlough from duty. While others were enjoying rides over the country, or resorting to hunting or fishing excursions, he was teaching school, or aiding some church by holding religious meetings and making religious visits from house to house.
His desire, as much as in him lay to live peaceably with all men, led him, without a word, to yield his position to any one who he thought had a higher claim, and where this was not the case he would yield, rather than maintain any dispute. If he had grieved any one in regard to a difference of opinion, or some plan of proceeding, and afterwards discovered that he had been wrong, he would confess the error though long after the other party had forgotten it.
Letting alone contention “ before it be meddled with ” was one of his golden pules, and not only did he most studiously avoid any breach of it himself, but it stung him to the heart to see it broken by any of his Christian brethren. In the dining-hall at the Theological Seminary one day, a student sitting near him was engaged in the discussion of some exciting topic, and, excited by the remarks of his antagonist, broke out in a passion, using violent language. Goodell was electrified. With an earnest look, and a countenance full of astonishment, he said: “Brother D., that’s wicked. You mustn’t let the sun go down.”
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