In 1862, some friends of mine at Burnley, who had built a public hall
there, engaged me as their lecturer. The parties were unbelievers, but
they were opposed to the advocates of unbounded license. They were
favorable to morality, and wished to have an association that should
embody what they thought good in the Church, without being decidedly
religious. They wished to have music and singing at the Sunday meetings,
and to limit public discussion to the week-night meetings. They also
wished to have Sunday-schools, day-schools, reading-rooms, and
libraries. We had come to the conclusion that the Christians were right
on the whole in their way of conducting their public meetings, and we
were resolved to imitate them as far as we honestly could. And here I
lived and labored for more than a year. We did not succeed however so
well as we had expected. Our singers, and musicians, and Sunday-school
teachers had no high and powerful motive to keep them regularly at their
posts, so that whenever a strong temptation came to lure them away, they
ran from their tasks, and left me and another or two to toil alone. We
then formed a Church, and made laws, thinking to keep our associates to
their duty in that way. But this made matters worse. Their fancies and
pleasures were their laws, and they would obey no other.
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