From the time of Mr. Willcoxen's arrival in the city, he had not ceased
to exercise his sacred calling. His fame had long before preceded him to
the capital, and since his coming he had been frequently solicited to
preach and to lecture.
Not from love of notoriety--not from any such ill-placed, vain glory,
but from the wish to relieve some overtasked brother of the heat and
burden of at least one day; and possibly by presenting truth in a newer
and stronger light to do some good, did Thurston Willcoxen, Sabbath
after Sabbath, and evening after evening, preach in the churches or
lecture before the lyceum. Crowds flocked to hear him, the press spoke
highly of his talents and his eloquence, the people warmly echoed the
opinion, and Mr. Willcoxen, against his inclination, became the clerical
celebrity of the day.
But from all this unsought world-worship he turned away a weary,
sickened, sorrowing man.
There was but one thing in all "the world outside" that strongly
interested him--it was a "still small voice," a low-toned, sweet music,
keeping near the dear mother earth and her humble children, yet echoed
and re-echoed from sphere to sphere--it was the name of a lady, young,
lovely, accomplished and wealthy, who devoted herself, her time, her
talents and her fortune, to the cause of suffering humanity.
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