Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 2

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In order that you may know something of the feelings at headquarters, I make a few extracts from a letter which I have received from Elizur Wright, Jr., a letter the tone and temper of which are so unlike himself, that you will find it difficult to believe that he wrote it. He says—

I could have wished, yes, I have wished, from the bottom of my soul, that you could conduct that dear paper, the Liberator, in the singleness of purpose of its first years, without travelling off from the ground of our true, noble, heartstirring Declaration of Sentiments—without broaching sentiments which are novel and shocking to the community, and which seem to me to have no logical sequence from the principles on which we are associated as abolitionists. I cannot but regard the taking hold of one great moral enterprise while another is in hand and but half achieved, as an outrage upon common sense, somewhat like that of the dog crossing the river with his meat.¹ But you have seen fit to introduce to the public some novel views—I refer especially to your sentiments on government and religious perfection—and they have produced the effect which was to have been expected. And now, considering what stuff human nature is made of, is it to be wondered at that some honest-hearted, thoroughgoing abolitionists should have lost their equanimity? As you well know, I am comparatively no bigot to any creed, political or theological; yet, to tell the plain truth, I look upon your notions of government and religious perfection as downright fanaticism—as harmless as they are absurd. I would not care a pin's head if they were preached to all Christendom; for it is not in the human mind (except in a peculiar and, as I think, diseased state), to believe them. . . .

My heart sickens over your letter to Woodbury. I feel that it does injustice to him. Grant that his publication was ill-natured, coarse, and acrimonious: there was still some reason—to his mind, very strong reason—for it. You meet him in a way which my whole soul tells me is sinful. You exalt yourself too much. I pray to God that you may be brought to repent of it, as repent you must, unless my moral vision is wofully bleared. I am as confident as of my existence, that a few more such letters would open a bottomless gulf of