of his new faith and of his agreement with the anti-slavery principles of the older.  But it was altogether different with the assembled ministers.  Lundy, as was his wont on such occasions, desired and urged the formation of an anti-slavery society, but these sons of Eli of that generation were not willing to offend their slave-holding brethren in the South.  Eyes they had, but they refused to see; ears, which they stopped to the cry of the slave breaking in anguish and appeal from the lips of this modern man of God.  Garrison, eleven years later, after the lips, which were eloquent then with their great sorrow, were speechless in the grave, told the story of that ministers’ meeting.  And here is the story: 

“He (Lundy) might as well have urged the stones in the streets to cry out in behalf of the perishing captives.  Oh, the moral cowardice, the chilling apathy, the criminal unbelief, the cruel skepticism, that were revealed on that memorable occasion!  My soul was on fire then, as it is now, in view of such a development.  Every soul in the room was heartily opposed to slavery, but, it would terribly alarm and enrage the South to know that an anti-slavery society existed in Boston.  But it would do harm rather than good openly to agitate the subject.  But perhaps a select committee might be formed, to be called by some name that would neither give offence, nor excite suspicion as to its real design!  One or two only were for bold and decisive action; but as they had neither station nor influence, and did not rank among the wise and prudent, their opinion did not weigh very heavily, and the project was finally abandoned.  Poor Lundy! that meeting was a damper to his feelings.”  There is no doubt that Garrison was one of the very few present, who “were for bold and decisive action” against the iniquity.  The grief and disappointment of his brave friend touched his heart with a brother’s affection and pity.  The worldly wisdom and lukewarmness of the clergy kindled a righteous indignation within his freedom-loving soul.  This was his first bitter lesson from the clergy.  There were, alas, many and bitterer experiences to follow, but of them he little recked at the time.  As this nineteenth-century prophet mused upon the horrible thing the fires of a life purpose burned within him.  And oftener thenceforth we catch glimpses of the glow and glare of a soul bursting into flame.  The editorials in the Philanthropist, which swiftly followed Lundy’s visit, began to throw off more heat as the revolving wheels of an electrical machine throw off sparks.  The evil that there was in the world, under which, wherever he turned, he saw his brother man staggering and bleeding, was no longer what it had been, a vague and shadowy apparition, but rather a terrible and tremendous reality against which he must go forth to fight the fight of a lifetime.  And so he girded him with his life purpose and flung his moral earnestness against the triple-headed curse