Dr. Campbell had been for some time a prominent member. Hard-headed and hard-handed, of a bold, open countenance, and with a habit of planting his foot pretty firmly on the ground,—the outer man well indicated the inner; kind-hearted and affectionate at home, but not the same on a platform, or with an editorial pen in hand. He then gave no quarter to anybody who opposed him. “You are a good fellow,” it was once said to him by a loving spirit; “but I don’t like that great club you carry.” That great club he swung about, much to the terror of many, and consequently he exercised a despotic sway, to which they were indisposed to submit. He held the doctrines of Calvinistic theology with a firm grasp, and looked with alarm upon certain opinions springing up amongst his brethren. He considered that there was looseness of sentiment, and a range of thought too free, existing amongst younger men, which imperilled the evangelical soundness of the Churches. He gave it the name of _Negative Theology_. The name took, and was bandied about to the annoyance of persons to whom it was applied, many of them holding positive truths as firmly as Dr. Campbell himself. It happened that in 1856 Mr. Lynch, a man of genius and sensibility, with a mind cast in a mould the opposite of Dr. Campbell’s, published a small volume of poetry entitled “The Rivulet.” Some of the hymns it contained excited admiration, and are now extensively used; but the book, as a whole, aroused Dr. Campbell’s wrath beyond measure. He wrote a criticism upon it, which awakened indignation in those who had read “The Rivulet” with approval. Fifteen brethren drew up and signed a protest against this style of review. There existed, no doubt, a tendency on the part of a few brethren to give up certain theological expressions long held sacred, and also to throw into the background, if not to question, points of doctrine deemed perfectly Congregational. In the opposite quarter there appeared a tenacity of diction and an emphasis of opinion on old lines, accompanied by ungenerous reflections respecting those whom they deemed innovators. Very naturally, personal feeling was thus stirred up, and the Union seemed threatened with disaster. “We men are a mysterious sort of creatures,” said John Howe to Richard Baxter. No doubt we are, and that in more ways than one: in this especially, that whilst discussing theories of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit—all fountains of love—we are apt to be found drawing water from the wells of Marah. The controversy, now spoken of, related to old and new aspects of theological thought. Looking back, I can but say, the balance sheet of past and present, in respect to what is now noticed, shows both gain and loss. All the gain, it strikes me, might have been secured without incurring loss at all; and, in making up the whole account, there should have been more charity in judging individuals, and more justice in discussing principles.