it was equally barren of result.  Dr. Channing, indeed, did not take the trouble to hear any one of the three lectures of the young philanthropist.  Dr. Beecher, however, was at the pains to be present at the first lecture given at Julien Hall.  But he betrayed no real interest in the subject.  He had no time to devote to anti-slavery, had, in fine, too many irons in the fire already.  To this impotent apology of the great preacher of immediatism in his dealing with all kinds of sin, except the sin of slave-holding, for not espousing the cause of the slave, Mr. Garrison made his famous retort: 

    “Then you had better let all your irons burn than neglect your
    duty to the slave.”

What more did this poor and friendless man, with his one idea and his harsh language, know of duties and dangers than Daniel Webster, who was busy saving the Union; than Lyman Beecher, who was not less busy saving souls; or than Dr. Channing, who was quite as busy saving liberalism in matters of religion?  What folly and presumption it must have seemed to these mighty men this attempt of Garrison to impress upon them a proper sense of their obligations to their country.

“Your zeal,” said Dr. Beecher to him, with unlimited condescension of tone—­“your zeal is commendable, but you are misguided.  If you will give up your fanatical notions and be guided by us (the clergy) we will make you the Wilberforce of America.”

And so what was the young man, burning up with his one idea, to do in presence of such a failure to win these men to the leadership of the anti-slavery movement?  He could not hold his peace; his message he was compelled to deliver in the ears of the nation whether its leaders would hear or forbear.  Perhaps the common people would hearken to what the wise and powerful had rejected.  At any rate they should hear what was resting upon his soul with the weight of a great woe, the force of a supreme command.  But how was he, penniless and friendless, to roll from his bosom the burden which was crushing it; to pause long enough in the battle for bread to fight the battle of the slave?  Ah, if he had money! but no money did he have, not a dollar in his pocket!  Oh, if he had rich friends who would dedicate their riches to the preaching of the gospel of freedom! but alas! rich friends there were none.  Oh, if he could cry to the Church for help in this hour of his need! but it was slowly dawning on him that not from the Church would help come to his cause; for a grievous thing had happened to the Church.  The slave gorgon sat staring from the pews, and turning the pulpits to stone, turning also to stone the hearts of the people.