But most of the gentry in every city belonged to the literary classes--theologians, jurists, and medical men. They represented probably every shade of the culture of the time, and the strongest contrasts of opinion were to be found in every great city. Now, the clergy were either orthodox or Pietist. The first, generally pleasant in social intercourse; not unfrequently _bon vivants_, able to stand a good bottle of wine, and tolerant of the worldly jokes of their acquaintances. They had lost a good deal of their old pugnacity and inquisitorial character; they condescended sometimes to quote a passage from Horace, occupied themselves with the history of their parish church and school, and already began to regard with secret goodwill the dangerous Wolf, because he was so striking a contrast to their opponents, the Pietists. Where Pietist clergy resided they were probably in better relations with other confessions, and were especially reverenced by the women, Jews, and poor of the city. Their faith, also, had become milder; they were, for the most part, worthy men--pure in morals, faithful shepherds of souls, with a tender, lovable character. Their preaching was very pathetic and flowery; they liked to warn people against cold subtleties, and recommended what they called a juicy, racy style, but which their opponents found fault with as affected tautology. Their endeavours to isolate their parishioners from the bustle of the world was even now regarded with distrust by a great majority of the citizens; and in the taverns it was usual to say, mockingly, that the pious sat groaning over leather aprons, shoemakers' lasts, and tailors' geese, and were on the watch for regeneration.