iffly.

"Well, the more human traits--'weak' is hardly the word I should have
used. His rebuke of the Sabbatarians, His personal violence to the
hucksters, His outbursts against the Pharisees, His rather unreasoning
petulance against the fig-tree because it bore no fruit at the wrong
season of the year, His very human feeling towards the housewife who
bustled about when He was talking, his gratification that the ointment
should have been used for Him instead of being devoted to the poor,
His self-distrust before the crisis--these make me realise and love the
man."

"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. The Bible, sir, is a book which comes out in instalments,
and 'To be continued,' not 'Finis,' is written at the end of it."

My visitor had been showing every sign of acute uneasiness during this
long speech of mine. Finally, he sprang to his feet, and took his hat
from the table.

"Your opinions are highly dangerous, sir," said he. "It is my duty to
tell you so.