"
"You are a Unitarian, then, or rather, perhaps, a
mere Deist?" said the curate, with a combative flush.
"You may label me as you like," I answered (and by
this time I fear that I had got my preaching stop fairly
out); "I don't pretend to know what truth is, for it is
infinite, and I finite; but I know particularly well what
it is NOT. It is not true that religion reached its
acme nineteen hundred years ago, and that we are for
ever to refer back to what was written and said in those
days. No, sir; religion is a vital living thing, still
growing and working, capable of endless extension and
development, like all other fields of thought. There
were many eternal truths spoken of old and handed down to
us in a book, some parts of which may indeed be called
holy. But there are others yet to be revealed; and if we
are to reject them because they are not in those pages,
we should act as wisely as the scientist who would take
no notice of Kirschoff's spectral analysis because there
is no mention of it in Albertus Magnus. A modern
prophet may wear a broadcloth coat and write to the
magazines; but none the less he may be the little pipe
which conveys a tiny squirt from the reservoirs of truth.
Look at this!" I cried, rising and reading my Carlyle
text. "That comes from no Hebrew prophet, but from a
ratepayer in Chelsea. He and Emerson are also among the
prophets. The Almighty has not said His last say to the
human race, and He can speak through a Scotchman or a New
Englander as easily as through a Jew.
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