Many even of the better class of Unitarian ministers were fond of a
quiet literary life. They were students, scholars, and gentlemen, rather
than preachers and apostles. They were too good to be where they were,
and yet not robust, and daring, and energetic enough to make their way
into more useful positions. And their style of preaching was not
popular. It never would have moved the masses. Indeed much of it would
have been unintelligible to the kind of people who crowded to my
meetings. They could not therefore have moved into my sphere without
exposing themselves to want. If some one could have gone and helped them
in their own work, in their own spheres, it might have answered for
them; but it would not have answered for them to come out and battle
with the rude, coarse, outside world. And even if good, earnest
ministers had gone to their aid, it would have caused a rupture and
division in the church.
My labors therefore could do little more than rouse the better portion
of the Body to a temporary zeal and activity, and transfer a number of
my friends to their communion.
And I and my friends were out of our place, and out of our element, in
their society. The earnest words we spoke were not 'like fire among dry
stubble;' but like sparks falling into the water.
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