Rev. Dr. Tuckerman

"His success in winning the lost lie in his perpetual recognition of the spiritual, immortal nature of the poor, and it gave to all his intercourse a character of tenderness and respect. He spoke plainly, boldly, but still as to the children of the same infinite Father. 

He trusted in man's moral nature, however bruised and crushed; he was sure that no heart could resist him, if he could but convince it of his sincere brotherly concern. 

One rule he observed, he always spoke encouragingly. He felt that the weight under which the poor man’s spirit was already sinking needed no addition from the harshness of his spiritual guide. 

He went forth in the power of brotherly love, and found it a divine armor.

 He proved how much can be accomplished by a generous, affectionate mode of speech and action among those classes of society which it has been thought can only be reached by menace, sternness, and terror. 

Dr. Tuckerman and his successors in their labors with seamen, have taught us that men, in the most unpromising conditions, are to be treated as men; that under coarse jackets, and even rags, may be found tender and noble hearts; and that the heart, even when hardened, still responds to the voice of a true friend and brother. His words were steeped in his heart before they found their way to his lips. And flowing warm and fresh from this fountain, they were drunk in as living waters by the thirsty souls of the poor. 

A great secret of Dr. Tuckerman's success lay in his strong interest in individuals. It was not in his nature to act on masses by general methods; he threw his soul into individual cases. Every sufferer whom he visited seemed to awaken in him a special affection and concern. I remember well the language which he once used in regard to a man who had gone far astray. He said to me with deep emotion: “I want that man's soul; I must save him."

 He made the worst feel that they had a friend, and by his personal interest linked them anew with their race. 

  Let me add another explication of his success. He sought for something to love in all. 

He seized on anything good which might remain in the fallen spirit; on any domestic affection, any generous feeling, which might have escaped the wreck of the character. If he could but touch one chord of love, one tender recollection of home, one feeling of shame or sorrow for the past, not mater how faintly, he rejoiced and took courage, like the good physician who, in watching the drowned, detects a flutter of the pulse, or the feeblest sign of life. His hope in such cases tended to fulfill itself. His tones awakened a like hope in the fallen. "He did not break the bruised reed, or quench the smoldering wick." William Ellery Channing.