their hovels are good enough for them?

But all difference of thought vanished before the profound, sincere
eloquence of these men. Last night, at W.H. Channing's church, the room
was full, and the risen Lord Jesus might have smiled upon a worthy
worship. From all sections were gathered in that small room men led by the
same high thought, and in the light of that thought joining hearts and
hands, unknown to each other, never to be seen again, and in the early
dawn setting forth with hard hands and stout hearts to hew down the trees
which shall be wrought into the stately dwellings for those who come after
in the day. So knelt the devoted Pilgrims upon the sands of Holland, and
embarked upon that doubtful sea. They fought and perished; their homes
were pierced with the Indian's bullet and flames of fire; the solitude of
stern forests scared not their hearts, and we follow now and live in
peace. It was something to have felt and seen such heroism.

The meetings of the convention were made interesting by some speeches of
W.H. Channing. His fervor kindles the sympathy of all who listen. I do
not think he is a man of great intellect; his views of society are not
always correct. He speaks very often as an infidel-in-the-capability-
of-men might speak. He is fanatical, as all who perceive by the heart and
not the head are, as deeply pious men are apt to be. But I never heard so
eloquent a man, one who commanded attention and sympathy, not by his words
or thoughts, but the religion that lay far below them. It is a warm,
fragrant, southern wind at which the heart leaps, not the pure, cold,
ocean air which braces the frame. Between him and some whom I have heard
is the same difference as between Goethe and Novalis. The one a June
meadow, with flower-scents and cloud-shadows and the soft, sultry music of
humming-bees and singing-birds, with clear skies bending over; a deep sea
the other, whereon sail stately ships, wafted by health-bearing breezes,