r 
 
 ■ 
 
 P. Outtkumt, 
 
In jftnttorimn 
 
 OF THE 
 
 REV. JOHN KENDRICK CONVERSE, 
 
 FORMER PASTOR OF THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, 
 
 PRINCIPAL OF THE BURLINGTON FEMALE SEMINARY, 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 Cc-*ak>>"u^- v ^^yv*- *-* 
 
 EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM. 
 
 PRI NTED BY 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 i 88 i. 
 

 From 
 Africa* Colonization Society 
 May 28, 1913- 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Go, little book, and bear thy testimony to the rare purity and no- 
 bility of life of him whom you memorialize. You are but a simple 
 offering woven by. a daughter's hand, but will you but bear to the 
 world the memory of his virtues, you will have fulfilled your mission. 
 
 All unworthy as you are I send you forth, trusting that from the 
 
 silence and shadows of the past the radiance of a good man's life 
 
 may empurple the grim gray substance of the present. By those who 
 
 knew him well, as Pastor, Teacher, Friend, you will not be needed. 
 
 To those who knew him not, you bear the transcript of a singularly 
 
 pure and beautiful life. 
 
 L. S. C. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY THE REV. JAMES BUCKHAM, 
 
 OF BURLINGTON, VT. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Miss Converse, daughter of the late Rev. John K. Con- 
 verse, is prepared to publish a brief memoir of her hon- 
 ored father, and she asks me to write a few paragraphs by 
 way of introduction to what she has to say concerning him, 
 wishing me at the same time to give my estimate of his 
 Christian and ministerial character. Though my acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Converse, who was by several years my 
 junior, was never very close or intimate, it extended 
 through a greater number of years, I think, than that of 
 any other minister in the vicinity; and it is on this ground 
 especially, as I imagine, that her request has been made. 
 In view of the esteem in which I have always held Mr. 
 Converse, and of the respect due to his surviving family, I 
 have not felt it to be my duty to decline the task which 
 I have been asked to undertake. 
 
 My acquaintance with Mr. Converse dates from the time 
 
 at which I first came from England into this country, and 
 
 it may not be without interest to some whose eyes may fall 
 
 7 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 on these lines to learn how it was brought about. On the 
 morning of the 4th of July, 1834, I started from Whitehall, 
 N. Y., by the lake steamer " Phoenix," to take Burlington 
 on my way to New Hampshire, where I wished to visit a 
 ministerial friend, who, like myself, had come from Eng- 
 land, and with whom I had previously corresponded about 
 my own removal to this country. It so happened, in the 
 course of the voyage down the lake, that the shaft of the 
 vessel was broken. This circumstance occasioned such a 
 delay in my journey as made it necessary for me to remain 
 in Burlington over the Sabbath which I had arranged to 
 spend in New Hampshire. On my arrival here I called 
 on the Rev. Dr. Wheeler, with whom also I had been 
 favored with important information concerning the state 
 of the churches in New England, and particularly in Ver- 
 mont. He very kindly and generously invited me to be 
 his guest while it was necessary for me to remain here, 
 and soon he introduced me to Mr. Converse, then pastor 
 of the church whose " meeting-house" was situated in 
 " White Street." The kind and courteous manner in which 
 Mr. Converse received me has never been forgotten, and 
 his exceeding friendliness, taken in connection with the 
 similar spirit of Dr. Wheeler, produced in my mind a most 
 pleasing and hopeful expectation of the cordial welcome 
 that I should meet with among the ministers of Vermont. 
 
INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 Nor was that expectation in any measure ever disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 During the Sabbath that I spent in Burlington, which 
 was the Communion Sabbath at the White Street Church, 
 I heard Dr. Wheeler preach in the morning to the Unita- 
 rian congregation from the text " Be courteous ;" and in 
 the evening, at the request of Mr. Converse, I preached 
 for him. Thus my first sermon in New England was de- 
 livered in the pulpit of the White Street Meeting-House. 
 I must not here forget to say that Mr. Converse had, but 
 a short time previously, been married to a daughter of the 
 Hon. Heman Allen, Member of Congress for the District 
 of Vermont, and that he and his bride were then inmates 
 of Mr. Allen's family, residing in the house which is now 
 the parsonage of the Episcopal Society in this city. I was 
 invited by Mr. Converse to take tea with him there, and 
 while I was enjoying that very pleasant visit Mr. Allen 
 arrived from Washington, the session of Congress having 
 just come to a close. 
 
 For some time Mr. Converse and I lived on different 
 sides of the Green Mountain range. With this barrier 
 between us, when the means of locomotion were very 
 different from what they are now, we met but very seldom, 
 and even when our respective fields of labor were nearer 
 to each other, he had ceased to be pastor of the church in 
 
 9 
 
INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 Burlington, and was engaged in conducting a Ladies' Semi- 
 nary in the city. The duties of that institution necessarily 
 prevented him from appearing so often or so prominently, 
 as had formerly been his wont, in his ministerial capacity. 
 When he became the secretary and agent of the Coloniza- 
 tion Society for New England he was very much from 
 home, so that, on the whole, though I have known more 
 or less of him for a long time, I have never had the oppor- 
 tunity of becoming very intimately acquainted with him. 
 My knowledge of him has been gained chiefly from the 
 reports and opinions of others, who knew him much better 
 than I did, and from my occasional intercourse with him at 
 such meetings as ministerial associations, conferences, coun- 
 cils, conventions, etc. But on the ground of all that I have 
 learned, from these and other sources, concerning him, I 
 have no hesitation in saying that, as it respects his minis- 
 terial and Christian character, there can, I think, be but one 
 opinion, viz., that it was not merely of a genuine, but also 
 of an exemplary excellence. My decided conviction is, 
 that by the example of holy living, which he was honored 
 and enabled to exhibit while among us upon earth, he still, 
 though now dead, addresses to all, and particularly to the 
 members of his surviving family, and those who once lis- 
 tened to his preaching in the White Street Church, if any 
 
 such are still left among us, counsels and instructions which 
 
 10 
 
INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 it would be good and profitable frequently and seriously to 
 ponder. 
 
 The whole tenor of his life may well be understood as 
 saying to all, whoever knew him, " Those things which ye 
 have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, 
 do, and the God of peace shall be with you." 
 
 Whatever business Mr. Converse engaged in, as his 
 stated employment for the time, he diligently and labori- 
 ously discharged the various duties which it involved. 
 Whatever he did he did with his whole heart as unto the 
 Lord ; hence, while pastor of the church in this city, he 
 not only performed the usual services of the sanctuary in 
 a careful and orderly manner on the Sabbath, and at other 
 stated times, but it was also his practice on different even- 
 ings of the week to hold religious meetings in the sur- 
 rounding neighborhood, where no one but himself seemed 
 to care for the souls of those dwelling there. To such an 
 extent did he carry this practice that I have heard those 
 who had been his hearers complain of it, as though it in- 
 fringed on the time and the study which might have been 
 given to the work of elaborating more brilliant discourses 
 for the pulpit on the Sabbath. But who doubts that, in 
 pursuing such a plan, he acted more in accordance with 
 the example of the Lord Jesus Christ and that of His 
 
 Apostles than he would have done had he followed the 
 
 ii 
 
IN TR OD UC TION. 
 
 counsel of those who were ready to advise him to desist 
 from his itinerant labors ? As an evidence of his diligence 
 and his constant readiness to seize every opportunity of 
 doing good which offered, I may remark that on the even- 
 ing on which I preached for him, as he had a substitute in 
 his pulpit, and was thus at liberty to labor elsewhere, he 
 took the opportunity of going out into a neighboring 
 locality — Colchester Centre, I think — to deliver a temper- 
 ance lecture. 
 
 When engaged in the business of the Colonization So- 
 ciety his labors were often very abundant. He was fre- 
 quently away from his home and from his family for weeks, 
 and, if I mistake not, for months together, and was em- 
 ployed most of the time in travelling from place to place, 
 and preaching for the Society wherever and whenever he 
 found the opportunity of doing so. On my last visit to 
 him, which occurred a month or six weeks before his 
 death, I was deeply affected by the sight of his enfeebled 
 condition, and particularly by the unmistakable evidence 
 that his mental faculties had become greatly impaired. 
 His conversation showed me how strong was the hold 
 which the interests of that institution had taken upon his 
 heart and feelings. He continued to talk of a long journey 
 into the State of Maine on the business of the Society, and 
 as having just returned therefrom, though it appeared that 
 
 12 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he had not been away from home, nor to the church which 
 he usually attended, nor even out of his dwelling, for a 
 number of weeks. 
 
 With regard to the manner in which Mr. Converse con- 
 ducted his school for young ladies, I am wholly unable to 
 speak from my own knowledge. But reasoning from the 
 character of those by whom it was supported, I cannot 
 doubt that it was worthy of the patronage which it received, 
 or that Mr. Converse carried into his modes of instruction 
 the same diligence and fidelity which characterized his 
 labors in other departments of usefulness. Moreover, the 
 general character of the numerous pupils who were trained 
 under his care, and who, I believe, are scattered over almost 
 all the different States of the Union, would, if it could be 
 ascertained and examined, furnish a demonstration of the 
 fact that in the school, as elsewhere, Mr. Converse proved 
 himself to be a workman that needed not to be ashamed of 
 his work. 
 
 Mr. Converse was a man of a remarkably calm and even 
 temperament. I do not remember an instance in which I 
 ever saw him ruffled or unduly excited. Any one who has 
 frequented such meetings as those he was in the habit of 
 attending, knows full well that occasionally things are said 
 or done which have a tendency to stir up feelings that 
 ought to be suppressed, and lead to such language as ought 
 
 13 
 
INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 not to be uttered, but I never knew any such occurrences 
 unduly discompose Mr. Converse, or disturb his usual 
 equanimity. 
 
 I have had but few opportunities of forming an opinion 
 of the manner of Mr. Converse's preaching. In fact, I have 
 not very often heard him preach, but, judging by the few 
 instances in which I have enjoyed that privilege, I think I 
 can safely affirm that his sermons were plain, scriptural 
 truth, intelligible to all classes of men. I should say that 
 the staple of his discourses were the great cardinal doc- 
 trines of the Gospel, and that these discourses were deliv- 
 ered in a calm, earnest, and affectionate manner. Cowper's 
 description of the preacher — such as Paul, were he on earth, 
 would hear, approve, and own — was as fully exemplified, I 
 think, in Mr. Converse as almost any other minister that 
 I have known : 
 
 " Simple, grave, sincere ; 
 In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
 And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste, 
 And natural in gesture ; much impressed 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
 And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
 May feel it too; affectionate in look, 
 And tender in address, as well becomes 
 A messenger of grace to guilty men/' 
 
 •4 
 
Xn ffltmovimn. 
 
" The Master is so fair, 
 His smile, so sweet to banished men, 
 
 That they who meet it unaware 
 Can never rest on earth again. 
 
 " It was not that our love was cold, 
 
 That earthly lights were burning dim, 
 But that the Shepherd from His fold 
 
 Had smiled, and drawn him unto Him." 
 
in iHcinon'am. 
 
 One beautiful Sabbath morning in early August a new 
 minister occupied the pulpit of the old White Street 
 Church. He was a man of apparently a little over thirty 
 years of age, of medium height, prepossessing in appear- 
 ance, and with a bearing so genial and courteous that every 
 one seemed to be at once attracted to him. A long resi- 
 dence at the South had worn away the reserve natural to 
 his New England education, and an innate refinement and 
 modesty had endowed him with a rare urbanity of manner. 
 His dark hair, even then slightly tinged with silver, — rather 
 remarkable in so young a man, — shaded a broad, white 
 brow, beneath which, beaming with the radiance of intel- 
 lect, shone the clear gray eye. The ruddy flush of perfect 
 health crimsoned his cheek, and the happy, joyous counte- 
 nance gave evidence of a mind at ease. Indeed, the tout 
 ensemble gave to the eye a pleasant picture. At the open- 
 ing of the service he appeared at first slightly embarrassed, 
 
 and hesitated a little at the sight of so large and august a 
 
 17 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 congregation, — for many gray heads mingled with those of 
 the younger members, — but soon the deep interest of his 
 subject entirely engrossed his mind, to the exclusion of all 
 earthly emotions. The responsibility of his calling, the 
 consciousness of the great message which he bore to the 
 listening throng before him, overcame all thought of self 
 or self-surroundings. His audience, too, became most 
 deeply interested, and listened in devout attention until the 
 half-hour passed away, and the benediction closed the 
 morning service. 
 
 Then slowly, reverently, they filed down the church 
 aisle, only to linger at the door for a glance or a greeting 
 from the new minister. His courteous manner and quick, 
 responsive sympathy, as he grasped their outstretched 
 hands, at once endeared him to every heart, and their kind 
 faces reflected a warm welcome to him. 
 
 Such was the advent of a clergyman who, for nearly 
 thirteen years, successfully occupied the pulpit of the First 
 Congregational Church. 
 
 The subject of this memorial, the Rev. John Kendrick 
 Converse, was born in Lyme, N. H., on the 15th day of 
 June, 1 801. He was the son of Joel and Elizabeth Con- 
 verse. His father had for many years been a resident of 
 the State of Connecticut, but had removed his family to 
 
 New Hampshire a few years before. He purchased for a 
 
 18 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 fair sum a bleak hill-side farm, and on this farm, the 
 youngest of nine children and the' seventh son, my father 
 was born. He was, as the youngest, the pet and plaything 
 of the house, and many wonderful tales of his youthful 
 precocity and mirth-loving nature have been handed down 
 to us by the elder ones of the family. 
 
 In the varied routine of pioneer farm-life, " doing chores" 
 on the farm in summer and attending school in winter, his 
 childhood passed uneventfully away. There was one trait, 
 however, that was perceptible even in childhood, and that 
 was his earnestness, — his enthusiasm in everything in 
 which he became interested. An evidence of this may be 
 noted in his delight in the exuberance of nature, in the 
 growth of the trees and foliage around him. While yet a 
 boy he planted a long line of maple-trees beside the house. 
 Those trees are now the beauty and pride of the old farm, 
 and add their lustrous green or autumn bronze or gold to 
 the quiet pastoral landscape. 
 
 Always of a bright, joyous disposition, and active in all 
 out-door pursuits, yet from his earliest childhood he was 
 fond of books. He has often said that he could not re- 
 member the time when he could not read, and when so 
 small that he could not with safety be placed in an ordinary 
 chair he would sit on a foot-stool and read Bible-stories 
 from the open book placed in a chair before him. His 
 
 19 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 mother was an eminently pious woman, and in her daily 
 communion with her children she talked to them as natur- 
 ally and freely about God, and their duty and love for Him, 
 as she did of the every-day duties about them. Hence it 
 seemed as if from his earliest youth he grew up in the 
 companionship of his Heavenly Father; and in his religious 
 life he always evinced that wonderful childlike faith and 
 trust in his Saviour which seemed to be the very essence of 
 his being. An all-pervading spirit of religion was domi- 
 nant in that harmonious family. All the brothers and 
 sisters, I believe, grew up earnest, sincere Christian men 
 and women, marked by a rare purity of life, and an un- 
 blemished honesty of purpose and dealing with their 
 fellows. 
 
 Even in childhood he accomplished whatever he under- 
 took. When about eleven years of age some one presented 
 him with a small drum. It was but a child's toy, but he 
 soon made it an effective musical instrument. He became 
 in a very short time an expert drummer. Indeed, he 
 succeeded so admirably that soon he was promoted to the 
 dignified position of drummer to the brass band of the 
 village. His eyes would glisten at the remembrance of 
 those childhood's days, as he told us the story. He said, 
 " When I applied for the position, and stood before the 
 
 members of the band, great, stalwart men as they were, — 
 
 20 
 
IN MEMO RI AM. 
 
 many of them old enough to be my grandfather, — they 
 looked at me rather derisively, for I was but eleven years 
 of age and small for my age. They said, ' Well, sonny, 
 let us hear you play the drum.' But after I had accom- 
 panied several airs, in different time, creditably, they 
 seemed quite overcome with astonishment, and readily 
 gave me the vacant place." The band was a kind of ad- 
 junct to the New Hampshire militia, and thus, when they 
 marched to the capital of the State, he went with them. 
 He would say " that he never should forget his mingled 
 pride and patriotism the first time he donned his bright 
 scarlet and white uniform and marched away with the 
 band to the ' training.' " Those "training-days" were jubi- 
 lant days for him, and he ever held them in joyous remem- 
 brance. He became a great favorite in the company, and 
 when weary with a hot summer day's marching, they 
 would often place him in some wagon in attendance and 
 let him rest. In after-life, if he ever saw a boy with a 
 drum, he would take it and play it for a moment, saying, 
 " it brought back his childhood's days," and his eyes 
 would glisten as he recounted his experience with the 
 militia on " training-days." 
 
 Another marked feature of his early life was his determi- 
 nation to obtain a preparatory and afterwards a collegiate 
 
 education. Both he and his elder brothers and sisters were 
 
 21 
 
IN ME MO R I AM. 
 
 given every educational advantage that the village afforded; 
 but these were but meagre. An elder brother had left home 
 for college, but the rest had contented themselves with the 
 advantages of the place. My father, although yet a lad, was 
 most eager and ambitious for something better, and deter- 
 mined to secure it if possible. His father, although by no 
 means a poor man, yet, with a large family of children, was 
 unable to do much more than start them in life. Therefore 
 my father determined to help himself. He worked for his 
 father extra hours, and thereby acquired a small sum of 
 money, which he laid by for the future. Then, when about 
 sixteen, he began buying up pine logs, which he converted 
 into shingles. Pine logs were very plenty in those days, 
 however, and shingles were very cheap, and it took him 
 some three years to feel that he had enough to start out 
 into the world with. But when about nineteen years of 
 age, with the money earned by the sale of his shingles, 
 and some two hundred dollars more added by his father, he 
 left the old homestead and went forth among strangers to 
 gain an education and lay the foundations for his future life. 
 He went rather, if anything, against the wishes of his 
 friends, especially his boyhood's friends, as they thought 
 him exceedingly unwise to give up a good home and the 
 rural pleasures of the farm for the more precarious life 
 of a scholar. Before leaving Lyme he made a public pro- 
 
 22 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 fession of religion and united with the Presbyterian Church. 
 He first went to Thetford, where he was under the excel- 
 lent tuition of Rev. John Fitch. He worked assiduously 
 and was soon prepared to enter college. In the fall of 
 1823 he entered Dartmouth College, and began at last 
 the long-wished-for, long-toiled-for student-life. He was 
 an untiring scholar, and the closest application marked 
 his progress towards the end he had set before him. The 
 life of the student had a charm for him which never lost 
 its hold upon his imagination. Though a great devourer 
 of books, and although his mind was of a most expansive 
 tendency, he did not overlook the importance of a thor- 
 ough substratum. He worked industriously at all the 
 branches of the college course, but he greatly preferred 
 the ancient languages. Latin he thoroughly enjoyed, and 
 the musical cadence of Greek verse, he said, was as sooth- 
 ing as the evening tide lapping the beach. Mathematics 
 and the sciences, with the exception of chemistry, he 
 was not as fond of; but he shirked nothing: he was 
 patient and thorough in everything. The old English 
 writers, poets, and dramatists were keenly enjoyed, and 
 he read them with a discriminating sense of their beauty 
 and vigor. Deeply interested in the literature of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, he read everything which he could command 
 bearing on that important period. With his reading he 
 
 23 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 never lost sight of the practical end of self-culture, and 
 preferred those writers who possessed profound moral sen- 
 timent and intensity of feeling. These traits he considered 
 the peculiar characteristics of modern genius. 
 
 His devotion to his studies and literary pursuits did not 
 prevent the cultivation of the social affections of his nature. 
 Though a student, he was not a hermit, and he considered 
 intellectual intercourse incomparably of greater benefit than 
 any culture which could be acquired from books alone. 
 He greatly enjoyed the discussions of the literary clubs 
 and societies, believing the unrestrained interchange of 
 thought the best of discipline and a healthful spur to 
 literary activity. He realized that both to the scholar 
 and to the theologian they were of great importance, and 
 already he was looking forward to the latter career. This 
 was to be the ultimate object of his course. He conscien- 
 tiously sought to govern himself by pure morality, and to 
 subordinate the ambition of the scholar, great as it was, 
 to the higher aims of the Christian. He proved by his 
 own example that intellectual diligence was compatible 
 with deep, earnest, religious feeling. Although an ardent 
 scholar, his mind was not given to research and speculative 
 inquiry alone, his interest was in all that was conducive to 
 the highest religious elevation. With an humble, inquiring 
 
 spirit, he sought for the highest knowledge. With meek- 
 
 24 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ness and lowliness of mind he strove for the purity of 
 Christ. From the extracts from a diary kept by him during 
 his college-life at Dartmouth, one can readily form an idea 
 of the Christian simplicity of the man united to the enthu- 
 siasm of the scholar. 
 
 "September 17, 1824. — I have now entered upon the sec- 
 ond, my Sophomore year. One year has passed away with 
 amazing rapidity, and it has left me, I fear, but little 
 wiser than it found me. But of one thing I am certain, — 
 it has left me with embarrassment almost unparalleled. 
 After practising the most rigid economy, and using every 
 exertion in my power to meet the demands and bills that 
 are frequently brought against me, I find it utterly impossi- 
 ble to keep even with the world. But notwithstanding 
 these difficulties I must go on. If I now give over the 
 idea of acquiring an education I shall not only violate my 
 own feelings, but also give occasion to the world to point 
 the finger of scorn at me, and say, ' That man began to 
 build and was not able to finish.' Such a step would 
 excite a kind of temporal envy among those who once 
 claimed an equality with me, and perhaps imagined that I 
 was too aspiring to seek that education which gives a pre- 
 eminence to those who are possessed of it. Besides, it 
 would betoken indecision of character to relinquish a pur- 
 suit to which one has devoted a portion of the best part of 
 
 25 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 his life, even if circumstances were such as to justify the 
 deed in the opinion of the more candid and judicious. 
 Such a pretence could not be admitted among those of less 
 understanding. It is undoubtedly wrong, and a feeling 
 that ought not to be indulged in, to be continually harbor- 
 ing inauspicious forebodings of our future. But in my 
 situation I cannot avoid falling at times into reflections like 
 these. The ways of Providence appear unequal. I con- 
 sider ' how many of my fellow-students have enough and 
 to spare, while I suffer with want.' But, then, I think, per- 
 haps, after all, I might be inclined to habits of inattention 
 to study, even of dissipation of time, talents, and money, if 
 I were as well supplied with pecuniary means as some 
 others, whose lot is much more favored ; and on this sup- 
 position, it is a mercy rather than a misfortune that I am 
 situated as I am. 
 
 "September 18. — To-day attended public worship in the 
 sanctuary of God. The text — from Ezekiel — was a denun- 
 ciation of the Jews as sinners: the denunciation also holds 
 good at the present day. As to myself, it seems impos- 
 sible for the Lord not to be against me, or, I should rather 
 say, inconsistent with such a load of guilt against me, 
 with such depravity of heart and conscience, such a total 
 estrangement from Him, such a want of appreciation of His 
 
 love and mercy to me. I am sometimes led to the belief 
 
 26 
 
IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 that I have no part or lot in the subject of religion. But 
 God alone knoweth the heart. He is a heart-searching, 
 rein-trying, sin-pardoning God, — and may I make it my 
 duty and delight to surrender myself entirely into His hands, 
 to do with me according to His own good will and pleasure." 
 
 " September 30. — I this morning received the gratifying 
 but unexpected pleasure of the notice of my election into 
 the Adelphian Society. This I had in nowise expected; 
 far from it. From my election into this society I shall feel 
 my heart cheered, as I see it indicates that I have some 
 friends, and these very valuable, if considered in relation 
 to the best literary attainments. For these and all other 
 tokens of appreciation I trust I may not prove ungrate- 
 ful. Although I am deprived of many advantages which 
 others of my fellow-students enjoy, I hope I shall be wise 
 to improve those in my possession so as to reflect honor 
 upon myself and my friends, and prepare me for eminent 
 future usefulness in this world, for enjoyment of that which 
 is to come.'' 
 
 "October 2. — To the mind given to reflection there is a 
 peculiar pleasure in resting from the noisy scenes of active 
 life and giving ourselves up to retrospection. To the 
 Christian especially it is imperative that he should seek 
 in solitude for daily self-communing, and it is in the soli- 
 tude of the closet that he holds communion with his God. 
 
 27 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Withdrawn from outside influences, here he can pour out 
 his soul in prayer to that Being before whom he soon 
 expects to appear to be judged of the deeds done in the 
 body. Occasional retirement is also necessary for the 
 Christian, to contemplate the attributes and the grandeur of 
 God ; to examine his own heart and conduct ; to ascertain 
 whether his life corresponds with the model in the Scrip- 
 tures, to which he is to assimilate all his deportment, and 
 by which he is to regulate his own conduct and temper. 
 Oh that my zeal may be measured with His love ! that I 
 may enjoy His favor, which is life, and His loving kindness, 
 which is better than life ! May I look to Heaven for wis- 
 dom and protection to guide me in all my ways, and may 
 the God of Israel be my hope and my shield !" 
 
 "February 27, 1825. — I last night returned to Hanover, 
 from Acton, Mass., where I have spent the winter in the 
 character of teacher. Every fresh year's experience shows 
 me the responsibility incurred by him who undertakes the 
 early education of children and youth. Would the teach- 
 ers of our common schools but consider the morals and 
 manners of their pupils, as well as their minds ; would 
 they but bear in mind that they are sowing seed for eter- 
 nity ; that young immortals are committed to their charge; 
 that they are responsible for their example and influence 
 
 before them, and must shortly meet them at the bar of 
 
 28 
 
IN MEMO RI AM. 
 
 God, they would enlist every energy of their souls to pro- 
 mote their temporal and spiritual welfare. As it respects 
 myself, I hope I can look back with some degree of satis- 
 faction upon the advancement of my pupils in their rudi- 
 mentary education, and even in the sciences. But, oh ! 
 have I set always before them such moral and religious 
 principles as are essential to their peace here and hereafter ? 
 Has my example always been as it should be ? God grant 
 that if I ever again am placed in the capacity of instructor, 
 a situation so favorable for doing good and promoting His 
 interests, I may be more faithful ; that I may be more 
 solicitous in promoting the eternal interests of those com- 
 mitted to my charge ; that I may ever be guided in the way 
 of right and truth !" 
 
 " Sabbath evening, April 3. — The sources of error are so 
 numerous ! Previous to my connection with college-life 
 I looked upon a residence at college with the most ele- 
 vated expectations ! I conceived it a season peculiarly 
 adapted to the promotion of vital piety and the acquisition 
 of religious knowledge. For the latter purpose, for him 
 who ardently wished for improvement and who resolutely 
 endeavored towards it, a college course affords many valu- 
 able opportunities. But from the experience of nearly two 
 years, I have formed an opinion differing widely from my 
 
 former views. I have learned that a college-life may be a 
 
 29 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 dangerous one not only to piety, but even to morality and 
 principle. It is a period in life which gives a permanent 
 coloring to one's character. Often it is of a happy nature, 
 and the seeds of rectitude and honor blossom and bear rich 
 fruit in after-life ; but should it be to the contrary, it strikes 
 at the very root of moral principle and destroys every noble 
 and generous feeling of the heart. So numerous are the 
 temptations held out to the youth of quick feelings that he 
 needs the most constant watchfulness and prayer to keep 
 himself in the Christian path. 
 
 "Time rolls by so rapidly. In a little more than two 
 months I shall have ended my second year in college. 
 When I look forward and see how much yet remains to be 
 accomplished and how little I have really gained, I blush 
 for my ignorance and for my small attainments, especially 
 in classical knowledge. I feel my deficiency, and mourn 
 for my shortcomings." 
 
 "October 21. — During many occasions in this last term 
 I have enjoyed the means of extending my acquaintance 
 in society, hence of studying human nature in various 
 forms. This, indeed, is a branch of knowledge not easily 
 obtained from books, but one as indispensable to him who 
 anticipates the ministry as that of surgery or anatomy to 
 him who expects to administer to the physical welfare of 
 his fellow-beings." 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 "November 5. — The present state of religious feeling in 
 college does not give us reason to expect an immediate 
 outpouring of the Spirit of God. Surrounded by gay 
 and impenitent companions, who ought to derive benefit 
 from my example, and whose blood will, at the last day, be 
 required at my hands, enjoying, too, myself, so many tem- 
 poral blessings from the hand of God, I have become, in 
 a measure, insensible to His goodness and indifferent to 
 the present and eternal welfare of my immortal soul. Oh 
 God ! wilt Thou not awaken me to a sense of my awful 
 situation ? Show me the folly of thus sacrificing Thy favor 
 for the unsatisfying indulgence of worldly pleasures. Show 
 me the depravity of my heart and the vanity of all worldly 
 good. Restore unto my soul the joys of Thy salvation. 
 Bring me near unto Thee, and suffer me no longer to 
 wander in forbidden paths, but return me unto Thyself. 
 Make me to love Thy law and to rejoice in Thy word, that 
 I may thus become the willing instrument of Thy power 
 in doing good to the souls of men." 
 
 This ends the diary at Dartmouth College. 
 
 Among his classmates and associates at Dartmouth there 
 were two young men whom he especially loved, and who 
 became his life-long friends. The names of both have long 
 since become eminent for classical lore and scholarly at- 
 tainments. Their names were Charles Dexter Cleveland 
 
 31 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 and Alpheus Crosby. Both became, afterwards, distin- 
 guished not only for their signal success in their profession, 
 but as men developing great truths as a heritage for pos- 
 terity. Mr. Crosby was several years younger than my 
 father, — a mere boy, — but his fair, delicate face even then 
 gave promise of the rare intellectual strength which accom- 
 plished so much in after-years. I cannot better allude to 
 him than by quoting a brief article written by my father, 
 at the request of his brother after his death, a few years 
 since : 
 
 "When the Freshman class assembled in September, 
 1823, for their first recitation, sitting in alphabetical order, 
 I found at my left hand a most interesting youth, dressed 
 as small boys were then accustomed to be dressed, with a 
 ruffled collar turned back over his coat-collar. When the 
 roll of the class was called he answered to the name of 
 Alpheus Crosby. I loved him at once, — so youthful, so 
 genial, so intelligent, — and a mutual attachment sprang up 
 between us which ended only with his useful life. We 
 were often together out of study-hours. He boarded 
 across the park, at Professor ShurtlefFs. He had one 
 peculiar habit, which I shall never forget. In the coldest 
 winter weather I never knew him to wear an overcoat or 
 cloak in coming to his morning recitation, but he would 
 
 come to his seat in the recitation-room and nestle under 
 
 32 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 my large camlet cloak to keep himself warm. Thirty years 
 afterwards, at one of our class-meetings, he inquired of me, 
 1 What has become of the camlet cloak?' " 
 
 They were all assiduous students, and rarely missed a 
 recitation. At the roll-call at morning prayers the names of 
 Cleveland, Converse, Crosby, always met with a responsive 
 echo. For a long period of time their ranks remained un- 
 broken, and every successive Commencement found them 
 generally again together. Then the thread of life was cut, 
 and two of the three vanished from the earth and left their 
 places empty. But a few short years rolled by, and then 
 the third was called to meet them in their heavenly home. 
 And now once more, at the higher roll-call of the Master, 
 to the names of "Cleveland," " Converse," " Crosby," they 
 again respond in unbroken order! 
 
 Those beautiful old college-days ! How he loved to go 
 over them again ! to recount their literary and social gath- 
 erings, their college games and amusements, and, above all, 
 the quiet, peaceful hours spent in the companionship of 
 some loved friend ! He felt great affection for all his class- 
 mates, and always took the deepest interest in their after- 
 life. 
 
 After remaining in college a little over two years, he 
 found himself so embarrassed pecuniarily that he deter- 
 mined to leave for a while and teach. He had spent his 
 
 33 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Sophomore winter at Acton, Mass., and in his Junior win- 
 ter he became the principal of quite a large school at 
 Keene, N. H. 
 
 He was more than successful as far as his duties as a 
 teacher were concerned, and it was greatly desired by his 
 employers that he should continue for a longer period. 
 His salary was not very large, however, and feeling that 
 time was very precious, he determined to go to Virginia, 
 where he had an elder brother located, and see what he 
 could accomplish there. Accordingly, at the end of his 
 winter term at Keene, he started for Virginia. His pecu- 
 niary necessities pressed heavily upon him, and he realized 
 that he could not complete his college course without 
 extra funds. He was more than two weeks en route, travel- 
 ling at that time was so tedious ; but finally he reached 
 Nottoway, Va., where he established a classical school for 
 youth. 
 
 "Keene, N. H., December 18. — Came to this place about 
 three weeks since, and am engaged teaching a school of 
 about one hundred pupils. The duties accompanying such 
 a charge, with the other demands upon my time, leave me 
 but little opportunity for reading and reflection. 
 
 "Student-life, together with the pursuit of science and 
 literature, though not as productive of the exalted pleas- 
 ures that the poet's fancy has attributed to them, still holds 
 
 34 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 charms for me far more attractive than the life of a peda- 
 gogue. His perplexities are numerous. He spends the 
 day in striving to enlighten ignorance ; to awaken stupidity 
 and mental lethargy to action ; to subdue obstinacy ; to 
 eradicate wrong ideas and principles, and substitute in their 
 stead sound ones. To execute successfully all these differ- 
 ent functions requires the exercise of great strength of 
 mind, health of body, and a greater variety of Christian 
 and moral qualities than is often to be found in one indi- 
 vidual. My school flourishes, and my success meets the 
 expectation of my employers, I believe. My situation is 
 indeed a responsible one, and I feel it to be such. Oh that 
 I could succeed in instilling into the minds of those in- 
 trusted to my care such principles as shall form their future 
 character for the good and noble in life, and form their 
 minds for the life to come ! I have frequently considered 
 it unfortunate that I should be forced to occupy the winter 
 months in teaching instead of study and reflection ; but, 
 after all, there is scarcely any situation better calculated to 
 afford a knowledge of human nature as it exists in all its 
 forms, — undisguised and distinct." 
 
 "January I, 1826. — I have this day commenced a new 
 year in my existence. The last has fled by with the 
 rapidity of the wind. Its scenes have passed away, never 
 to come back again, and only their results remain. The 
 
 35 
 
IN MEM0R1AM. 
 
 question comes to me most forcibly, How much have I 
 gained in moral and religious knowledge during the year ? 
 And how much have I contributed to the real welfare of 
 the human race ? The emotions awakened by a retrospect 
 of its fleeting days are of a different character from what 
 I sometimes wish they were. For the good measure of 
 health and strength that God has given me to enjoy, and 
 for the means given me of enabling me to pursue my 
 studies, without the drawbacks of sickness and indigence, 
 I have abundant reason to be thankful. But in return for 
 so great mercy what have I done for God? On the review 
 of the past I find I have done so little for Him. I have 
 done much that I ought not to have done, and I have left 
 undone so much that I ought to have done." 
 
 "Nottoway County, Va., March 15, 1826. — I left New Eng- 
 land for this place on the 10th of February, and after a 
 journey of two weeks arrived here on the 28th. I am now 
 instructing a school of some twenty-eight pupils, — a clas- 
 sical school, as it is called here. 
 
 " The school is worth to me fully seven hundred dollars 
 
 per year, besides my board. I reside in the family of Dr. 
 
 Dupuy, a prominent planter. My situation here is most 
 
 agreeable and pleasant in every respect. We have in the 
 
 family good society, good living, good books, and good 
 
 everything! We enjoy all the untold pleasures of life; 
 
 36 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 while in our retirement we are free from numberless intru- 
 sions and demands, which urge themselves upon the time 
 of those who pass their lives in cities. Mrs. Dupuy is an 
 elegant and accomplished lady, and unites in her character 
 both accomplishments and virtues. 
 
 " Dr. Dupuy is no less interesting, perhaps, in his ways. 
 He is well informed, converses easily and with ability on 
 most subjects, but enjoys most — as do most Virginians — 
 those connected with the politics of the day. He has a 
 family of lovely children, the eldest of whom are in school. 
 This family seems peculiarly favored by fortune. They are 
 wealthy, agreeable, accomplished, and all is peace and 
 happiness, mutual respect and mutual harmony. With 
 Virginia I am well pleased. There are many things here 
 entirely new to me, as they are to every New England 
 man. The manners of the Virginians are easy, open, and 
 familiar. There is in them a delightful freedom, calculated 
 to remove all restraint and embarrassment, even in circles 
 where one is but slightly acquainted. 
 
 " There is not as much affected dignity and assumed im- 
 portance as in New England. Old and young, rich and 
 poor, whenever they happen to meet in the same company, 
 are all treated nullo discrimine. 
 
 "In the fondness of Virginians for horses, in the chase and 
 other amusements, one can discover traits of their English 
 
 V 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ancestry. With all this delightful life and generous, noble 
 
 hospitality, there is very little religion, — or perhaps I should 
 
 say, few religious privileges. It is a moral waste, — there is 
 
 no foundation for the future." 
 
 " Nottoway, Va., March 21. — This morning an event took 
 
 place which, I trust, will have a happy influence on my 
 
 Christian character. Soon after entering the school-room 
 
 I was informed by one of my pupils that a person at the 
 
 door wished to see me. There was no one then at the door, 
 
 but as I opened it, I saw in the yard, not far from it, a man 
 
 sitting on the ground. He was an entire stranger to me. 
 
 I approached him and passed the compliments of the day 
 
 with him, not without wondering what could be the nature 
 
 of his business with me. As he turned his face to me I 
 
 saw it filled with the deepest grief and anxiety. After 
 
 hesitating a little he said, ' I am lost and I want you to 
 
 direct me where to go.' I asked him where he wished to 
 
 go ? ' To heaven !' he replied, in a voice broken with 
 
 tears. He then proceeded to say, ' I've been a very wicked 
 
 man and lived a very immoral life; but now I wish to do 
 
 better, and I fear the consequences of the past. I wish to 
 
 go to heaven and I do not know the way. I heard that 
 
 you were a Christian, and I thought you might direct me 
 
 and tell me what to do.' I was so much overcome by the 
 
 unexpected inquiry, by the anxious solicitude expressed in 
 
 33 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 every feature and action, that I knew not what to say. 
 Alas ! the way to heaven seemed to be dark with impene- 
 trable clouds to my own soul, and I greatly feared that I 
 myself had never known the way. I replied to the stranger, 
 ' I am indeed happy in the opportunity of a conversation 
 with you on so interesting a subject. May God lead you, 
 guide you, bless you ! Pray to Him to give you a new 
 heart, a free pardon of all your sins. Believe on the Lord 
 Jesus Christ and put your trust in His merits. Read your 
 Bible diligently and with prayerful attention, and remember 
 that He is ever ready to receive back to His fold the erring 
 one.' I conversed with him as long as possible for me, and 
 promised to meet him again." 
 
 "Nottoway, Va., April 8. Sabbath evening. — Last even- 
 ing I heard there was to be a kind of conventicle to-day 
 of the slaves from different plantations, so I took measures 
 to be present. Some three hundred negroes were present 
 in a field near Dr. Dupuy's seat. They formed a kind of 
 rude pulpit under a tree, and around it they built seats with 
 planks and boards. Jack, the preacher, was a slave of the 
 doctor's. He far exceeded my expectations. He repeats 
 over the first line of every hymn to his audience, and they 
 sing in full chorus ; and though occasionally a discordant 
 voice met the ear, generally, the singing was very sweet and 
 spontaneous. The speaker selected for his subject our 
 
 39 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Saviour's words to Martha, ' But Mary hath chosen the 
 good part, which shall never be taken away from her.' 
 
 " Many of his ideas were very good, far better than I had 
 thought him capable of; and although clothed in broken 
 language and somewhat disconnected, yet the belief that 
 they sprung from the heart, and were the undisguised 
 expressions of sincerity, gave them an influence of which 
 better language is ofttimes destitute. 
 
 " I could not, however, refrain from smiling at some of 
 the figures of speech of which he made use to illustrate his 
 subject. In alluding to the eagerness of the ' world' to 
 ridicule those who profess Christianity, he said, 'The world 
 is alius on the lookout for them persons who want to profess 
 religion,' . . . 'just like a faithful overseer is alius looking 
 after us to see just what we do.' My attention was deeply 
 attracted to the solemnity that pervaded every countenance. 
 Many were in tears, groaning and sobbing under their 
 chains of servitude, — not earthly oppression, although that 
 was grievous enough, but under the bondage of sin and 
 Satan. 
 
 " The condition of the slaves is deplorable enough. They 
 are not only excluded from all hope of freedom for this life, 
 but the iron-hearted policy of Virginia would even exclude 
 them from the hope of spiritual emancipation in the life to 
 
 come, by prohibiting the word of God from being preached 
 
 40 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 to them. To give them intellectual information to any 
 extent might be incompatible with their condition, and 
 inconsistent with their subordination and the general safety 
 of the community. But in Heaven's chancery there is no 
 law that shall exclude a mortal from those truths on which 
 his eternal welfare depends." 
 
 I would say here that of the many pupils that attended 
 the school in Nottoway was one — a brother of Mrs. Dupuy 
 — who afterwards became notorious by an action which 
 was the result of a mistaken zeal, doubtless long since re- 
 pented of. Edmund Ruffin was his name, and the first gun 
 fired in the late rebellion was by his hand ! He was a very 
 studious, quiet lad in school, and quite a favorite with his 
 teacher, but a true Virginian, and the conviction that his 
 State demanded such an act of aggression misled him. 
 While in the family of his sister he was ever an upright, 
 honorable youth, and displayed many qualities which made 
 him very agreeable. 
 
 The life of comparative ease and leisure which marked 
 my father's residence on this Virginia plantation was a great 
 respite to the labors and trials of the previous years. Be- 
 fore this every moment had to be husbanded, time was so 
 precious and time was so short; but in Virginia, although 
 he worked zealously in school hours and with school duties, 
 and read much afterwards, yet the climate, so much warmer 
 
 4i 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 than he was accustomed to, necessitated some relaxation, 
 and these leisure hours were devoted to the claims of so- 
 ciety and friends. Consequently his manners acquired a 
 change. Always genial and courteous from a child, yet a 
 certain restraint, peculiar to New England life, had hitherto 
 bound him, as it were, in conventionalities. These were 
 gradually done away with in his easy, unconstrained life, 
 so free from formality and so brimming over with hospi- 
 tality and graceful, agreeable society. This period and his 
 subsequent residence in Virginia endowed him with that 
 rare ease of manner and genial courtesy which impressed 
 his friends when he returned to them, and which, in the 
 whole of his long life, never left him. 
 
 A certain deference always shown to ladies, whether 
 young or old, and a wonderful delicacy and refinement of 
 feeling towards them, akin to the true chivalric spirit, were 
 perceptible in his manner. Indeed, it was often said, in 
 after-years, that he was more chivalrous and more cour- 
 teous to ladies than many young men, and often, even when 
 he was aged and feeble and his steps were tottering, he 
 would never allow a lady to go to her carriage unattended 
 when he was present. 
 
 To the poor and helpless he was, if possible, still more 
 attentive. Many a time I have seen him, even when old 
 
 age had impaired the free use of his limbs, rise in a car or 
 
 42 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 omnibus and offer his seat to some one who was much 
 more able to stand than he was. A true gentleman in 
 every respect, he was delicate to refinement in all his ideas 
 of life, and to that delicacy of feeling added the truest 
 ideas of right and honor. In his ministerial efforts after- 
 wards, his hearty, genial manner and his graceful bearing 
 had very much to do in promoting the success which he 
 achieved. To the young he was always companion, as well 
 as teacher and friend, and to the last days of his active life 
 he always had a way of interesting himself in their pastimes 
 or pursuits, so that they involuntarily forgot that he was 
 their senior by so many years, but felt that confidence and 
 interest which they would have for one of their more 
 youthful companions. 
 
 But to go back to the diary. The next entry is at the 
 close of his school year. 
 
 "December 24. — I have this day closed my school in 
 Nottoway, having continued it for forty weeks. I have 
 now been in Virginia ten months; have enjoyed good 
 health, and generally good spirits, except occasionally 
 from a want of society. From the lonely, retired situations 
 chosen by the Virginians for their residences, one would 
 judge them to be unsocial, and even inhospitable, but they 
 are very far from that. One seldom meets with the house 
 of a wealthy Virginian on the main road, so he may travel 
 
 43 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 forty miles and perhaps only see a few houses of the better 
 class. The roads are usually laid out on the ridges or up- 
 lands, where the soil is least productive. For these reasons 
 the traveller passing through the country is liable to form 
 very unfavorable opinions of it. On the whole, take the Vir- 
 ginians as a people, and they show more hospitality — they 
 have more leisure in which to do so — than the people at the 
 North. There is a republican simplicity in their manners 
 which is very engaging. There is a more unequal distribu- 
 tion of wealth than at the North ; also more misery, more 
 wretchedness among the lower classes, which are entirely 
 thrown out of employment by the use of slave labor. The 
 Yankees (as they here call the people of the North) have 
 less hospitality, but more state and ceremony in their inter- 
 course ; more taste and splendor in the arrangement of 
 their houses and furniture. At the North there are more 
 schools and colleges, consequently a greater diffusion of 
 knowledge, more happiness and intelligence in every class 
 of society. At the North the people are more enterprising 
 and active, more ambitious for wealth and competence. 
 The Virginians are more indolent, more luxurious, and im- 
 moral in their habits. At the North the people are more 
 frugal in their table luxuries, more abstemious in their 
 habits. At the South they are more given to epicurean- 
 ism. In short, if I decided to pass my life in seclusion and 
 
 44 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 inactivity and luxurious indolence, give me Virginia ; if a 
 life of action and enterprise, with a participation in those 
 pleasures which flow from the inspiration of the beauties 
 of nature and art, from scenes of industrious and well- 
 organized society, give me the land of the Puritans." 
 
 "Hampden Sidney College, January 19, 1827. — When I 
 left New England, it was my resolution to return at the end 
 of one year and join college in the same standing I was in 
 when I left, and take my degree with my old classmates. 
 Circumstances have induced me to alter those plans. The 
 considerations which induced me to change my course 
 were the following: the imprudence of undertaking a long 
 journey in the midst of winter, and exposing myself to 
 the rigors of a Northern winter immediately after passing 
 the warm season here ; also better encouragement for busi- 
 ness here, in case I should decide to teach another year 
 previous to studying a profession; and lastly, I shall prob- 
 ably receive my degree here earlier than I could had I 
 returned to Hanover; and this is desirable, as I am grow- 
 ing old, am now twenty-five. But, after all, whether the 
 course I am taking is best, whether I shall look back upon 
 it with satisfaction or regret, is a question which, if my life 
 is spared, is left for time alone to decide." 
 
 "March 15. — I have somewhat regretted my connec- 
 tion with this institution already. Proper discipline is not 
 
 45 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 maintained, little or no moral influence is exerted over the 
 students, and profane language and the most daring blas- 
 phemy are prevailing vices in the institution. Sabbath- 
 breaking and intemperance also are besetting sins of this 
 whole land, and are growing up among the students into 
 vices which, if not checked in season, will ruin their char- 
 acters not only for early youth, but for all time. Much 
 does this institution need the influences of religion. May 
 God bestow those blessings upon us, which in His mercy 
 He has been pleased to bestow in plenteous effusion upon 
 many colleges in our country! Although this institution 
 has been chartered and has been in operation more than 
 fifty years ; though it has had some eminently pious men 
 connected with it at several times who were fit instruments, 
 as it would seem, for bringing about the good of souls ; 
 although a theological seminary has been in its neighbor- 
 hood for several years; yet with all these means of religious 
 instruction it has never but once been blessed with a revival 
 of religion." 
 
 The next entry in his diary is dated at Richmond, Va., 
 whither he had returned after his graduation at Hampden 
 Sidney. 
 
 "Richmond, Va. } October I. — I received upon the 2ist 
 of September my degree of A.B. at Hampden Sidney Col- 
 lege. I pronounced an English oration on the occasion, 
 
 46 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 the subject being 'Classical Education: the benefits which 
 would result from a more rational and practical system.' 
 Also had a valedictory oration on the evening of the same 
 day, before the Philanthropic Society, the subject ' Origin 
 and Influence of Literary Societies.' I received several 
 flattering assurances from the audience of the acceptability 
 of these discourses. On the 28th took the stage for Rich- 
 mond, where I am spending a few weeks in the editorial 
 chair of the Visitor and Telegraph and Literary Maga- 
 zine." 
 
 Thus, always busy, always at work, as soon as one 
 sphere of action is withdrawn another fills its place, and in 
 his earnestness of purpose he presses on to new sources of 
 culture and progress. At a period when most young men 
 allow themselves a rest on the roadside of life, after a four 
 years' college course of incessant study and labor, he did 
 not pause, but pursued — courageously, unfalteringly — his 
 high purpose. There are few men who in the face of the 
 bitter obstacles that so frequently presented themselves in 
 his path would have achieved a collegiate and theological 
 education. But he felt he was on the road of duty and of 
 right, and he never swerved from it. 
 
 The eagerness which he in after-years displayed for the 
 education of his own children bore with it deep pathos 
 
 when he said, " I give you the best I have to give, and I 
 
 47 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 trust you will appreciate those advantages which your 
 father had to struggle so hard for, unaided and alone !" 
 
 Two other entries in his diary are of exceeding interest. 
 The first is a short resume of his life for the last seven years. 
 " It is now over seven years since I became master of my 
 time and myself, since I left the labors of the farm for the 
 more pleasing but equally arduous pursuits of the scholar. 
 These years have been years of pleasure. They have quickly 
 fled away. They have been years of health, of success in my 
 pursuits, and, for the most part, years of prosperity to my 
 friends and kindred. For the unnumbered blessings I have 
 received from the hand of God during these years I pray that 
 He may make me truly grateful. In every enterprise that 
 I have engaged in He has been with me and guided me 
 safely through ! More than two-thirds of these years have 
 been spent in preparing for and in passing through college. 
 When I commenced this course the path looked rugged 
 and cheerless ; dark shadows pressed close upon me from 
 every side. I was without means of going forward. I was 
 cast alone upon the world to choose a path for myself, and 
 although I had friends, they seemed not willing to aid me 
 by their counsel, but left me entirely to the decision of my 
 own judgment. 
 
 " My parents, though not poor, had not the means to 
 
 portion comfortably a large family of children. Therefore 
 
 48 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 it was the custom with my father to give them a small sum, 
 and with this let them go out into the world and seek or 
 make their fortune in whatever pursuit they might choose. 
 This sum, never over two hundred dollars, was lessened by 
 half in case they left the paternal roof before they were 
 of age. Accordingly I had my choice, and I chose to 
 leave the farm during my minority. I started out in the 
 world alone, unaided in many respects, a free man, subject 
 to no control but my own self-respect and Christian leader- 
 ship. I had only a tolerable common-school English edu- 
 cation, no knowledge whatever of the outside world ; 
 wholly destitute of experience, I commenced the world 
 for myself. I was without friends or patrons who could 
 advance me in any profitable business, and without those 
 competent to advise me, with the exception of one person, 
 an elder brother, — Amasa, — at that time in college. I was 
 almost destitute of money, as all the money I was then 
 possessed of, after procuring my outfit and books, was but 
 one hundred and twenty dollars. I received a small por- 
 tion from my father, and the sum realized from a small 
 flock of sheep loaned out at fair interest brought me in 
 fifty dollars more. These sheep were the product of one 
 sheep given me in my infancy. Thus circumstanced I 
 was to commence the journey of life. Like Hercules, in 
 that beautiful allegory of Addison, I think it is, I saw 
 
 49 
 
IN MEMOKIAM. 
 
 many roads before me but knew not which to take. As 
 the early part of my life had been spent in the cares and 
 labors of a farm, I felt that farming was the only occu- 
 pation that I was prepared to enter. But this I did not 
 like. My ambition led me to seek a higher, more ele- 
 vated existence. The paths of honor, positions of trust 
 and emolument, lay open before me, at a distance, and if 
 I could but overleap the intermediate space, — i.e., obtain 
 an education to qualify me for entering them, — I saw 
 no sufficient reason why I might not aspire to enter the 
 lists and become a competitor with the sons of the rich 
 and powerful for their rewards and honors. I saw no 
 good reason why these benefits should be confined to 
 wealth alone. Often did I determine to aspire to them, 
 and then 
 
 ' The native hue of resolution would be sicklied o'er 
 With the pale cast of thought,' 
 
 and the doubt would arise of the possibility of acquiring 
 an education with the scanty means then in my power, 
 without a single friend to aid me by either giving or loan- 
 ing me money. While thus in doubt I sometimes thought 
 I perhaps had better give up my outlook into life and re- 
 main a farmer. But here another fresh difficulty met me : 
 I had no money wherewith to purchase a farm, and I saw 
 
 5o 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 nothing before me here but poverty and labor and igno- 
 rance." 
 
 Another interesting fragment from a later diary seems full 
 of touching allusions to his childhood. " The history of 
 my religious life is the history of ingratitude and misspent 
 opportunities. Through my whole life, and especially 
 through my youth, my views and feelings, indeed my whole 
 conduct in respect to religion, were far from what might 
 have been expected as the result of the advantages I enjoyed 
 in my youth. I had the unspeakable advantage of having 
 ardently and actively pious parents. I do not know exactly 
 at what period my father and mother united with the 
 church, but I believe they were both members for over 
 half a century. They were both indefatigable in their efforts 
 to instruct their children in religious truth ; they regularly 
 devoted Sabbath afternoons and evenings to the subject of 
 religion, as well as other seasons and occasions that favored 
 the object which lay so near their hearts, especially the 
 occasions of family worship at morning and evening ; they 
 always strove to impress upon our hearts some interesting 
 truth, and improved every occasion for Bible-reading and 
 prayer. Indeed, they made every occasion, if possible, sub- 
 servient to religious culture. This was particularly evident 
 in my mother. I cannot remember the time when her 
 religious instruction commenced with me. I cannot re- 
 
 5i 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 member the time when I could not read. She early taught 
 me to love the Bible. To gain my attention, she would 
 first read some interesting chapter, or repeat a portion of it, 
 or narrate the story contained in it, and when my attention 
 was awakened she would take down the Bible and place it 
 on a chair, for I was not large enough to hold it, and there, 
 kneeling before it, or perhaps sitting in my little chair, I 
 would peruse one of its beautiful stories. Then, for the first 
 time, I read the story of Joseph and his brethren, and was 
 so deeply interested in it that I was melted to tears and 
 could hardly get on with my reading, so overcome was 
 I. From the reading of this touching and pathetic narra- 
 tive, accompanied by the remarks of my mother, I derived 
 impressions of tenderness and susceptibility of feeling for 
 the misfortunes of others, which I have not lost to the 
 present moment. I feel even now (I have just been reading 
 it) many of the same emotions that were present at the first 
 perusal, and it brings back the scene as vividly as possible 
 to my mind. I remember, also, reading the stories of our 
 Saviour's crucifixion, of Ruth, of Daniel, and of Jephthah 
 and his daughter, which are about the earliest of my recol- 
 lections. 
 
 " My mother early taught me to pray. She used to go 
 with me to my bed at night and pray with me and teach 
 
 me to pray. All these things made a deep impression on 
 
 52 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 my mind, and I became very thoughtful. I loved to read 
 the Bible, I loved to pray ; but, after all, I do not think I 
 was really religious. Years afterwards, through God's 
 grace, I became so, I trust." 
 
 A simple incident, which took place on his journey back 
 to Richmond, illustrated well his sympathetic heart. The 
 route was by stage for the greater part of the way back, and 
 at the first stopping-place a lady entered the vehicle accom- 
 panied by four small children. Soon, as there were but few 
 passengers, they all gradually entered into conversation, 
 and thus learned the sad story of their new fellow-traveller. 
 She was a widow, and was from one of the old aristocratic 
 families of Maryland, — had married young and settled in 
 Lynchburg, Va., several hundred miles from her friends, 
 or rather from where they once lived, for they were all dead 
 or scattered by the hand of misfortune. Her husband had 
 long been dead. She was indifferently dressed, but her 
 dress was arranged in good taste. Her countenance be- 
 spoke despair, and in the maintenance of her little flock was 
 worn by care and solicitude far beyond her years. She 
 bore the marks of extreme poverty, and, with the most 
 scanty means, was endeavoring to move her little family to 
 her friends. She was lady-like and refined, and her whole 
 appearance showed that she had been accustomed to better 
 fortune. " My friend, Colonel H., proposed that we should 
 
 53 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 contribute something to her aid. I readily assented, as did 
 also my two college friends, who were with me. We raised 
 several dollars, which she accepted with reluctance, but 
 with a heart overflowing with gratitude and eyes filled with 
 tears. I shall not soon forget the emotions awakened by 
 this trifling incident. It taught me a lesson, for it taught 
 me how sweet is that emotion that compassion leaves upon 
 the mind when it is exerted to relieve the distress of vir- 
 tuous suffering." 
 
 His broad, sympathetic nature was exemplified in this 
 simple incident, and in after-life his hand was ever open to 
 the calls of the unfortunate. He was so nobly generous 
 that he would often deny himself some long-anticipated 
 pleasure, some coveted delight, in the shape of a pleasant 
 journey, or perhaps a rare volume for his study that he had 
 long desired, in order to bestow alms on some distressed 
 sufferer. 
 
 After his graduation at Hampden Sidney College he went 
 to Richmond, and remained there for a month or so, then 
 resumed the classical school which he had formerly taught 
 so successfully. In the middle of that winter he gave a 
 month's vacation, as was usual there. But he could not 
 afford to waste that precious month. Accordingly, he went 
 to Union Theological Seminary, and there studied indefati- 
 gably the Hebrew language with a private tutor, one of the 
 
 54 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 professors. He says " he made but little progress, yet 
 enough to go on by himself and read the Hebrew Scrip- 
 tures." He acquired most of the grammar and also the 
 pronunciation. With this he returned to his school in Vir- 
 ginia, and there remained through July. Before the end of 
 the year, at the close of his school, he returned to Rich- 
 mond, and for nearly two years acted as assistant editor of 
 the Southern Religious Telegraph and Literary and Evangel- 
 ical Magazine. He wrote many leading articles for both 
 papers, and also contributed to other well-known journals 
 and magazines. Indeed, his success in journalism was so 
 assured that it was the wish of many friends that he should 
 make it his permanent choice as a profession. But his 
 heart was in his Master's cause. To benefit his fellow-men 
 was his great ambition. To preach Christ and Him crucified 
 was his ultimate object, and from it he could not be diverted. 
 Although an immediate competence was assured to him on 
 the one hand, and on the other, black and discouraging, 
 loomed up before him trials and privations, the strictest 
 economy, if not poverty itself, nevertheless he had long 
 trampled down all earthly obstacles, and, unaided, he went 
 on his way. Unaided ? No ! Christ's message of salva- 
 tion was his trusty sword, a brave hopefulness his shield, 
 and again he pressed boldly forward. He entered Princeton 
 Theological Seminary, and there remained nearly three 
 
 55 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 years. During his second and third years there he fre- 
 quently preached in the neighboring parishes, among them 
 the parish and church of the sainted Tennent. This church, 
 consecrated not only by historic fame, but, even more, as 
 having been the scene of the ministry for so many years of 
 that holy man, was one of great interest to him. He said 
 that every time he ascended the pulpit-steps he felt as if he, 
 a young, unfledged theologian, were so unworthy to address 
 that august congregation and to stand in the foot-prints of 
 their cherished pastor. Judge of his surprise, then, when, 
 although they had had many pastors on trial, they selected 
 him as their shepherd, and gave him a call to settle. This 
 was about the end of his course at the seminary. At 
 nearly the same time he received a call from the church in 
 Trenton, N. J. Both of these calls were very unexpected, 
 and, feeling the great responsibility, he delayed replying to 
 them until after his return from New England. Thither he 
 was now returning for a visit, after a five years' absence, 
 to the home of his boyhood, — the old New Hampshire 
 farm. He could not but appreciate the high testimony 
 both churches bore to his preaching, and for this he felt 
 exceedingly grateful. He thought very strongly, he told 
 us afterwards, of settling in one of the churches. I do not, 
 however, recall which, but, I think, the old church of Mr. 
 Tennent. It was the farthest from his thoughts that he 
 
 56 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 should ever reside in New England again, and of Vermont 
 he knew nothing whatever. But the hand of God was 
 guiding his steps into a new and entirely different sphere of 
 action. Travelling was then mostly by stage and steamboat, 
 occasionally diversified by canal-boat, and, being detained 
 on his journey north, he arrived in Burlington on Satur- 
 day. Not wishing to travel on the Sabbath, he arranged 
 to remain there until Monday. The Congregational Church 
 being without a pastor at the time, some of the deacons, 
 learning that a young minister was at the hotel, called upon 
 him, and invited him to fill the pulpit the next morning. 
 He did so, and they also gave him a unanimous invitation 
 to become their pastor. Circumstances unforeseen devel- 
 oped themselves, and, after remaining a week or more in the 
 place, he resumed his journey to New Hampshire. He ac- 
 cepted the call on the 9th of August, and towards the end 
 of the month was ordained and installed as pastor. He 
 had but just commenced his pastoral duties when he was 
 called upon to attend the funeral of a child about eleven 
 years of age, the youngest daughter of the Hon. Heman 
 Allen. There he first met, or rather saw, my mother. Call- 
 ing a few days afterwards to offer consolation to the be- 
 reaved family, he became acquainted with her, and his 
 sympathizing manner and genial, friendly bearing at once 
 
 interested her. She, as well as all the family, mourned her 
 
 57 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 little sister very deeply, for she was a child of rare promise, 
 of great piety, and beautiful Christian life. My mother 
 often said that she evinced more judgment in her advice 
 than many older persons. She missed her thus very griev- 
 ously, and my father's deep sympathy won upon her uncon- 
 sciously. She was, as an old friend lately remarked, a very 
 sweet young girl, very modest and retiring in disposition, 
 but, notwithstanding, very engaging in presence and man- 
 ner, and withal a great favorite in the young society of the 
 place. My mother was very fortunate in her surroundings 
 in the way of society. There was, at that time, a large but 
 select circle of young ladies and gentlemen, not only pos- 
 sessing great social virtues, but also high intellectual attain- 
 ments ; indeed, in some cases, quite rare accomplishments. 
 They were very fond of social life, and not only did numer- 
 ous parties, assemblies, and sleigh-rides bear witness to 
 their social spirit, but musical societies and quiet dramatic 
 or literary clubs attested their efforts for mental aliment 
 during the long winter evenings. These were in the days 
 when the Catlins, the Loomises, the Hickoks, the Buels, 
 the Demmings, the Pomeroys, the Marshes, the Folletts, 
 and the Bradleys were the well-known names. In such 
 pleasant companionship my mother's girlhood was passed. 
 In it, also, were found many of my father's earliest friend- 
 ships. Thus the names were doubly endeared to us. 
 
 53 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 My mother, after receiving the best advantages which the 
 village afforded, was sent, through the advice of her elder 
 brother, afterwards known as Prof. George Allen, to one of 
 the best of the New England seminaries, — that of Miss 
 Fisk, at Keene, N. H. Here previously several other of 
 our most intelligent young ladies had preceded her. She 
 studied the usual English branches, together with music 
 and painting,' and also Latin and French. She remained 
 there two years. During the winter of her second year my 
 father was also there, teaching a select school ; but, although 
 they never met then, in after-life they found it very pleasant 
 to converse of mutual friends. 
 
 About the time of my mother's return home, my Uncle 
 George, then tutor in college in Burlington, was married to 
 Mary Hancock, the daughter of Rev. Oliver Withington, 
 of Boston (formerly a pastor in the Unitarian Church in 
 Burlington), grandniece of John Hancock, of Revolution- 
 ary fame. My mother accompanied him to the wedding, 
 and remained there for some little time afterwards, pursuing 
 her study of music. Soon after her return home she 
 evinced a lively concern in the subject of religion, and, 
 under my Uncle George's tuition, became particularly inter- 
 ested in the new Episcopal Society which was just forming. 
 Dr. Chapman she soon made a personal friend, and numer- 
 ous letters of that time attest her appreciation of his earnest 
 
 59 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 religious zeal and endeavors. Bishop Hopkins, too, she 
 knew and reverenced, as did every one who knew him. 
 She took all preparatory steps for her "confirmation" at the 
 first celebration of that rite in the village, but owing to a 
 sudden illness was prevented from uniting in the sacred 
 service. Subsequently she united with the Congregational 
 Church of which my father was the pastor. She always, 
 however, loved the beautiful liturgy of the church, and 
 whenever in a place where there was no Congregational 
 society, always attended the Episcopal Church. 
 
 My father and mother were married on the 2 1st of May, 
 1834, and started on their wedding journey amidst the warm 
 congratulations of their friends and under a sky all blue 
 and unclouded, as their whole after-life proved to them. 
 
 They first went directly to Washington, where my grand- 
 father was. Congress being in session, he was unable to 
 be present at the wedding. They remained there for more 
 than a week, and enjoyed the visit exceedingly. It was just 
 at the time that General Lafayette had returned to the 
 United States, to receive the warm acknowledgments of a 
 grateful country and the hand-clasp of millions of its in- 
 habitants, and my mother was one of the fortunate ones. 
 Indeed, she was more favored than many, for General Lafay- 
 ette being a friend of my grandfather's, she saw him several 
 
 times in a quiet, sociable manner. She became slightly 
 
 60 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 acquainted, as did my father, with many of the distinguished 
 Senators of the time. 
 
 After their visit in Washington, they continued their 
 journey to Richmond, Va., where my father's elder brother, 
 Rev. A. Converse, D.D., resided. After a delightful week 
 there, and another at Philadelphia and New York, they re- 
 turned, after a month's absence, to Burlington. My father 
 and mother resided for some time with my grandfather and 
 grandmother in their own house, now the Episcopal par- 
 sonage. Eventually they settled themselves in a pleasant 
 new brick house, which my father purchased, on Winooski 
 Avenue. This house, after being handsomely furnished 
 throughout by my grandfather, my father and mother made 
 the scene of their first independent life, and many happy 
 years followed. Both were very earnest in the cause of 
 Christ; but my mother, never of very strong constitution, 
 could not brave the hardships of life as could my father. 
 But she nobly did her best, and that was all that was needed. 
 They delighted in the long, pleasant rides which my father 
 so often took to the outskirts of the place to some weekly 
 afternoon or evening meeting, for there they could not only 
 be the means of good to others, but they could have a long 
 uninterrupted companionship with each other, which my 
 father's busy outside life often precluded at home. I forgot 
 
 to say that my grandfather furnished the barn, as well as 
 
 61 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 the house, and a horse and carnage, sleigh, etc., together 
 with a cow, made the first move at housekeeping very- 
 pleasant. Both my father and mother were very sensitive 
 to the influence of nature, and so these long rides, or, 
 often, quiet rambles in the woods, on their return from some 
 errand of mercy, were very refreshing to them, mentally 
 and physically. Our pleasant home-life I well remember : 
 the sweet face of my mother in our sunny nursery-window, 
 pointing out to us children some beautiful creation of God's 
 without, — a leaf, lustrous with the morning dew upon it, 
 or a half-opened flower, or perhaps the gilding of the sun- 
 light on the garden-wall. And my father taught us, infants 
 as we were, daily in a thousand beautiful ways. His 
 bright, buoyant disposition was always so cheering, so 
 illuminating in the house, that it seems to me now, as I 
 recall those long-past days, as if a rainbow spanned our 
 life and no outside cloud ever darkened it. 
 
 Yes, there was one tiny cloud ; but we children were un- 
 conscious of it. My father's health began to fail, not very 
 perceptibly, but he began to suffer with a bronchial affec- 
 tion, which, at times, inconvenienced him in the pulpit very 
 much, — the result of his exposure in his labors during the 
 cold winds of winter. 
 
 He was made the pastor of the church on the 9th of 
 
 August, and his installation took place soon afterwards. His 
 
 62 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 pastorate was quite a long one, extending over some thir- 
 teen years. He labored unceasingly during these years for 
 the welfare of the church, and his labors were crowned with 
 success. There were many conversions during the time, the 
 society grew in strength and ability, and many souls were 
 added to the fold of Christ. The Sabbath-school especially 
 was his delight, and in it he succeeded remarkably. He al- 
 ways loved the young people of the church, and the children 
 and youth returned his affection a hundredfold. One of his 
 former Sabbath-school children, now a middle-aged man, 
 assured us, but a short time since, that " Mr. Converse was 
 the only minister that could get him to go to Sabbath- 
 school" when he was a boy ; " but he did, and made him love 
 both church and Sabbath-school." Many others have added 
 a similar testimony. The weekly prayer-meetings, also, 
 were an occasion of deep interest to him, and he made 
 them, by his happy selections of Scriptural reading and his 
 persuasive eloquence, a source of great religious refresh- 
 ment to the church. 
 
 He was thoroughly impassioned in prayer, and he al- 
 ways seemed to live so near God in everything that his 
 prayers seemed but the natural outpouring of his soul. 
 One of his old parishioners said since he left us, that " He 
 was so earnest, so fervent in his prayers, that it seemed 
 as if they must be granted." Prayer with him was not 
 
 63 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 only the earnest petition to a heavenly Father, but also to 
 a dearly-loved, longed-for friend ! His selections from the 
 Scriptures for Sabbath reading were always well chosen. 
 Often some beautiful Psalm illumined his Sabbath discourse 
 and left its glory long lingering in the mind. He was very 
 fond of the Psalms, and, even when a child, I used to notice, 
 at family prayers, his admirable selections. Indeed, now 
 they are associated so closely with my dear father that I 
 never read them or hear them read without its bringing 
 back all too forcibly before me the beautiful old head, with 
 its snowy hair and soft gray eye. Especially associated 
 with his memory are those beautiful, hopeful ones, the 
 91st, 1 2 1st, 1 ooth, and 139th, and many, many others. The 
 verse, " For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to 
 keep thee in all thy ways," seemed so appropriate to him, 
 for in his many perilous journeys in his later years, both 
 by land and by sea, he was guarded and guided, and at last 
 brought safely back to us once more ! 
 
 He had memorized a great portion of the Bible, and I 
 have frequently heard him repeat a whole chapter to him- 
 self when reflecting on the works of God. 
 
 He often preached — perhaps I should say, generally 
 preached — three times a day; always twice in the pulpit of 
 his own church and frequently at one of the school-houses 
 in the suburbs of the village in the evening. During the 
 
 64 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 week he was often occupied every evening with different 
 meetings or benevolent societies. He not only preached in 
 the regular evening meetings, but he established weekly 
 meetings out at Dorset Street, and then again at Winooski. 
 The present church at Winooski is the outgrowth of those 
 meetings. He used, playfully, to call it his " missionary 
 field." He also, during his pastorate, laid the foundation 
 for the church at West Milton, and years afterwards regu- 
 larly supplied the pulpit there, although engaged in other 
 duties during the week. He worked unceasingly, untiringly, 
 thus evidencing his deep sense of responsibility in his 
 profession. 
 
 Surely few ministers have the strength to endure such a 
 life ! My mother often said that there would be weeks 
 at a time when, except at meals, she scarcely saw him. 
 He was devoted to his clerical studies and duties in the 
 daytime, and the evenings were given up to the advance- 
 ment of religion. So great was his energy and enthusiasm, 
 and so thoroughly did he realize his solemn calling, that 
 he felt he could not do enough in his short life for his 
 Master. 
 
 His powers of observation were very acute, and his 
 memory equally so. He has been heard to say that he 
 knew and could call by name every child in the congrega- 
 tion, and it was a large one. Of course the adult mem- 
 
 65 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 bers were all well known to him, and at the many social 
 gatherings he was like a cherished brother and friend, as 
 well as the shepherd of the flock. 
 
 I shall never forget a beautiful picture that comes before 
 my eye, painted in the glowing colors of childhood, of one, 
 the last, I think, of the parish gatherings that annually met 
 at our house. I can see, now, my father, then quite a young 
 man, surrounded by a bevy of bright young girls, then just 
 blossoming into womanhood, yet lingering by the stream 
 " where womanhood and childhood meet." They all bear 
 well-known names to us. One is now the wife of an able 
 political leader and lawyer in New York. Two others, in- 
 telligent, cultivated women, have their homes far away from 
 their old home, while the fourth, still beautiful and accom- 
 plished, remains to adorn her native city. I can see their 
 bright, happy faces as, just at the evening's close, they 
 gather around their loved pastor and, clasping hands, play- 
 fully prevent his egress from the band. He willingly lin- 
 gers among the fair young maidens, and soon they all unite 
 in singing the evening hymn. Beyond the circle are many 
 mature faces, some whose lines of care and deep-set furrows 
 tell that a long life is nearing its close, others yet in the 
 sturdy ranks of middle age, and in the full vigor of life. 
 Alas ! of all that goodly number how few remain ! Only 
 
 the fresh, young maidens, the youngest of them all, are 
 
 66 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 here, and even they are beginning to see the pathway of 
 life bend farther down the declining slope of years. 
 
 He delighted especially in watching the growth of vege- 
 table nature. The garden he never weaned of, and often, after 
 a brain-worked day in his study, or an assiduous one in his 
 parish duties, he would seek the garden and find abundant 
 refreshment among his plants and flowers. Some brother 
 clergyman asked him " if he had his blue Mondays, too ?" 
 He said, " I was afflicted in that way formerly, and am now 
 occasionally in winter; but in good weather I forget the 
 depression in my garden !" It had for him wonderful recu- 
 peratory powers ! Perhaps it was the last lingering reflec- 
 tion of his old home-life among the New Hampshire hills. 
 
 The seasons, with their changes, always occasioned deep 
 interest, especially spring and autumn, — one, symbolizing 
 the birth, the other, the death of Nature. The frost-painted 
 forests, the beeches, oaks, and maples, golden-gray, with a 
 dash of scarlet, the bronze-brown of the hardening earth, 
 and the brooks bannered with the long arms of the sumach 
 or the coral-clustered boughs of the mountain-ash, — these 
 delighted him with their gleaming, gorgeous illumination. 
 They shone through his study-window with their sheen 
 of gorgeous scarlet and purple and gold, and made it more 
 bewildering and lustrous than the richest of stained-glass. 
 But spring, with its soft, fluttering drapery of tenderest 
 
 67 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 green, its tiny blossoms bursting up from their winter's 
 warm covering, its quick-moving sap, its green flame of 
 grass and foliage everywhere, seemed to lift him, as it were, 
 beyond the earth and lose his thoughts in heaven. It al- 
 ways reminded him so emphatically of the resurrection, of 
 the sundering of earth's fetters for a glorious immortality. 
 
 Shall I ever forget the old garden of our first home here 
 and the surroundings of trees and fruit? One picture always 
 comes back of it. It was a bright, warm day, and my father 
 sat in a rustic-seat beneath the wide-spreading boughs of the 
 old apple-tree in the yard. I was a mere child then, hardly 
 out of my babyhood, but it impressed me even then. He 
 was perusing his Sunday sermon, and had laid it open across 
 his knees, while thoughts of the world above him, which 
 seemed so near in the bending arch of blue, occupied his 
 mind. A pink-and-white shower of apple-blossoms had 
 fallen upon his head and made a kind of glory around his 
 upturned face. Through the wide-open gate came sug- 
 gestive glimpses of a sweet old garden beyond. Lilacs 
 and hollyhocks bordered its path, and shrubbery and wild 
 vines twisted and tangled themselves in inextricable con- 
 fusion. The path wound in and out among the foliage 
 and at last lost itself down the hill in a ruinous grape- 
 arbor, half buried beneath a mass of dewy roses. The 
 
 68 
 
IN MEMORTAM. 
 
 garden was a wilderness of bloom, and pools of color glis- 
 tened and glowed in the dark green leaves beyond. Still 
 later in the season the mourning-bride added its depth 
 of color, and the tiger-lily lit its lantern of yellow gold, 
 while coreopsis and marigolds brought their tiny fire-cups 
 to fill with sunlight. All the dear old-fashioned flowers 
 luxuriated in that garden of my childhood. The fruit, too, 
 was very fine, and even the lusciousness of the remembrance 
 is thrilling ! Great bell-pears hung in heavy clusters ; plums, 
 red, purple, and white, graced the boughs and varied 
 the color ; raspberries, yellow and red, sparkled on the 
 vines ; and apples, red-cheeked, golden, and russet, made 
 heavy the boughs and lightened the heart ! My father had 
 given much of his leisure-time to this his first garden, and 
 fine cultivation and frequent engraftings had resulted in 
 very choice fruit. I can see him now, as he took me upon 
 his shoulder and wandered with me among the trees, that 
 I might cull for myself the ripe o'erhanging treasures, or 
 gaze at the birds, — robins and sparrows, that lived so 
 happily in the bird-house near by. So, amidst bird-songs 
 and flower-incense, he softened the asperities of life and 
 kept his genial, happy disposition. 
 
 After my father had been settled several years in Burling- 
 ton, there came to him a call to become the pastor of a 
 
 69 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 church in Providence, R. L, — the Richmond Street Church, 
 I think it is called. This call, although most truly appre- 
 ciated, was, for a time, a source of much anxiety to him. 
 His residence here was very pleasant, and he loved his 
 people exceedingly ; but there were some reasons which 
 made him think it might be his duty to change. In the 
 first place, my mother was delicate; her health, never very 
 strong, was weakened by the cold winters here, and she 
 had been advised to try a warmer climate. My father 
 himself had acquired a bronchial affection, which seemed 
 to be constantly on the increase, — the result, evidently, of 
 exposure to the rigors of Northern winters, after a kind of 
 acclimation at the South. 
 
 Then, a minister is a man, and has the necessities of a 
 man, and his salary here of only seven hundred dollars, with 
 no parsonage or extras included, necessitated a very strict 
 system of economy. This economy was a hard thing to 
 keep up, as my father was exceedingly hospitable by nature, 
 and his position as minister in those days entailed upon him 
 an open house to other clergymen. This, however, was a 
 pleasure to him as well as a duty. The yearly donation 
 gathering was supposed to add considerably to the length 
 of his purse, but in reality it often added only good inten- 
 tions. This pastorate, then, in Providence, with a salary of 
 
 nearly double his present one, and with a comfortable par- 
 
 70 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 sonage included, seemed a real God-send, in the reverent 
 sense of the word. His father-in-law, Hon. Heman Allen, 
 always felt that my father was injudicious in hesitating for a 
 moment, and that he should at last resign it was, in his 
 opinion, an act of madness. His own health was so much 
 benefited by his Washington residence that he thought it 
 would greatly aid my mother to live there, and was endeav- 
 oring to secure a position for my father there when he 
 received the call from Providence. 
 
 Consequently that he should hesitate for an instant was 
 astonishing. Hesitate he did, however, although most 
 strenuously advised both by physicians and friends. He felt 
 a troubled doubt, a great anxiety, as to what was best — what 
 was right — for him to do. His family wants might be better 
 supplied, his sphere of action would be larger, and he might 
 accomplish more good there ; and yet he felt that, through 
 the help of the Lord, he had been a source of great good 
 in Burlington, and might be of much greater influence in 
 the days to come. Many souls had been added to the 
 church, many sin-weary ones had found rest and peace in 
 the way of life, through his teaching, and ought he to desert 
 them now, when they were, in a certain way, dependent 
 upon him as their pastor ? 
 
 While in this anxious, wavering mood, he was suddenly 
 
 awakened one morning by the constant ringing of bells and 
 
 7i 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 the screams of " fire !" beneath his window. He threw 
 open the shutters, and what a spectacle met his eyes ! The 
 whole vault of heaven seemed to bend a flaming arch above 
 him, while clouds of smoke and fragments of wood filled 
 the air. The old White Church was wrapped in flames, 
 and all endeavors to extinguish the fire were of no avail, so 
 thoroughly had it been ignited under the shield of darkness. 
 The edifice burned to the ground, and hardly anything of 
 its contents was saved, except the organ key-board, which, 
 in dumb despair, long graced the heterogeneous contents 
 of our garret. The people felt hopeless and gloomy enough. 
 My father preached a beautiful sermon that morning, im- 
 promptu, on the subject, and, many said, made it most im- 
 pressive by his thankfulness for past mercies. At the end 
 of the service an old, gray-headed deacon went up to him 
 and said, " Mr. Converse, you will not desert us now in our 
 distress ? Our church is gone, and we cannot lose our min- 
 ister also ;" and he wrung my father's hand. " No," he re- 
 plied. " It seems as if it were the hand of God bidding me 
 stay, and I will obey Him, and will not leave you. I have 
 prayed for guidance, and He has sent it me." The next day 
 he sent his letter of declination to the Richmond Street 
 Church in Providence. 
 
 An important element of success in my father's ministerial 
 
 career was his ability as an extemporaneous speaker. When 
 
 72 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 a student at Princeton he had trained himself in this method. 
 In his missionary labors in adjoining villages he found ex- 
 temporaneous speaking especially convenient. In preaching 
 generally he used only the outlines of the sermon, and few 
 could surpass him either in fertility of thought or fluency 
 of expression. The cultivation of this faculty, however, did 
 not lead him to neglect the more careful preparation with 
 the pen. Besides his sermons, he contributed various 
 articles in behalf of education and reform to reviews and 
 religious papers. 
 
 Another thing which contributed to his efficiency in the 
 pulpit, and especially in social prayer-meetings, was his 
 musical ability. An old parishioner of his assured me that 
 when he first came here he had a remarkably rich, sweet 
 voice, and a very fine, accurate ear. She said " he often led 
 the singing when circumstances prevented the presence of 
 the chorister, and it was very charming to the congrega- 
 tion to notice the fervor with which he united with them 
 in this service." " The hymns, too, were always so beau- 
 tiful and appropriate, and when it occasionally happened 
 that the tune as well as the hymn was left to his selection, 
 he always selected something to deepen the impression of 
 the sermon." 
 
 His decision having been reached to decline the call to 
 Providence, he labored assiduously and conscientiously in 
 
 73 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 his pastorate here. At last, however, the bronchial diffi- 
 culty which had troubled him for years became much worse, 
 and he found it difficult to continue his work. Preaching 
 two and three times on the Sabbath, besides his constant 
 almost daily week-day services, wore sadly upon him, and, 
 after some thirteen years of labor, he resigned his pas- 
 torate. His resignation being accepted, again he made 
 arrangements to leave Burlington and go farther South, 
 and again he was arrested in his movements. 
 
 The hand of Providence still held him here. Some of 
 the gentlemen of Burlington who were interested in the 
 cause of education came to him and enlisted his sympa- 
 thies for the welfare of the Burlington Female Seminary, 
 then under a cloud, and suffering, from various causes, a de- 
 preciation of numbers and strength. It needed a firm hand 
 and an enthusiastic heart to restore it to its former vigor, 
 and these, it was represented to my father, he possessed. 
 He accepted the trust, and again gave up his project of a 
 more Southern home, to become the principal of the Bur- 
 lington Female Seminary. This, then, became the second 
 scene of his life-work. The change brought with it many 
 accompanying advantages, but it necessitated also some 
 sorrows. Our dear home, which my father had purchased 
 the first year of his marriage, and to which he brought 
 
 his fresh young bride, must be sold, and all our pleasant 
 
 74 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 surroundings, endeared by associations, must be sacri- 
 ficed. Of course had we left the town the result would 
 have been the same ; but the circumstances would have 
 been different, as in new scenes and with new friends 
 old ties would be, in a measure, obliterated ; but to stay- 
 here and change our quiet, lovely home for the huge, hotel- 
 like seminary, with nothing alluring, at first, at least to 
 us, was saddening. However, our dear home, our child- 
 hood's home, was sold, and soon many changes made it 
 seem less like the old home of yore and deadened the 
 heart-beats of sadness. The garden, with its fruit-trees, 
 which had grown up with his children and were of the 
 same age, — for my father would often plant certain trees 
 with the infancy of each child, — seemed a lingering link 
 with our past lives ; and we were kindly offered free per- 
 mission, by its new owners, to pay it a visit often, and 
 this invitation for several years we gladly accepted, — I 
 suppose I ought to add, especially in autumn. 
 
 The new field of labor to which my father was called 
 earnestly engaged his attention, and soon he was as enthu- 
 siastic in his new vocation as if this was the one occu- 
 pation of his life. " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, 
 do it with all thy might," was the rule of action with 
 him. The seminary, however, was necessarily a work of 
 great interest to him, because he was in fact the founder 
 
 75 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 of it himself. In the first year of his residence in Burling- 
 ton he was much surprised, I might almost say shocked, 
 to learn that, with a village full of young girls fast ripen- 
 ing into womanhood, there was no school with any better 
 advantages than those afforded by a simple select school. 
 The college, too, was very small in numbers, and few, if 
 any, Burlington students increased the list. While in 
 the States around him there were very fair facilities for the 
 education of youth, there were none here. Those who 
 could afford to, sent their daughters away ; those who could 
 not, let their daughters go with the advantages of the village. 
 Such a state of things seemed extremely deplorable to him, 
 and after a residence of some two years here he felt that he 
 was known sufficiently well for his efforts to be understood 
 and appreciated. Accordingly, one cold, snowy February 
 night he called a meeting of the prominent citizens of Bur- 
 lington at the principal hall of the place, without giving the 
 invited any clue whatever to the object of the meeting. They 
 all attended, moved by curiosity and interest. My father 
 immediately broached the subject, and in eloquent language 
 and in his own enthusiastic way urged the necessity of a 
 school endowed with more liberal advantages for the youth 
 of Burlington ; in a word, he desired a female seminary, with 
 all the privileges that the name implies ; and so magnetic 
 
 was his influence, and so effectual his persuasion, that the 
 
 76 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 project met with favor at once, and there and then they 
 gave in their aid, in the shape of substantial subscriptions. 
 Thus was launched the Burlington Female Seminary, for 
 many years the only one in the State. Miss Mary C. Greene, 
 afterwards Mrs. Mayhew, of Baltimore, was made the first 
 principal, and proved an earnest and efficient teacher. She 
 was assisted by teachers in music, drawing and painting, 
 and modern languages. Whether the classics were taught 
 or not I have never heard. Many young ladies who have 
 since become useful, noble women received their higher 
 education under Miss Greene. The building which is now 
 called " the Griswold place" was long the one used for the 
 seminary. Afterwards the school was moved down to the 
 southeast corner of Church and Adams Streets. One of 
 the large and spacious buildings erected by Bishop John 
 Henry Hopkins was bought of him for the institution, and 
 here the work of education was conducted for several years. 
 Then, from several remote causes and some nearer at hand, 
 — through various teachers, — the seminary began to dimin- 
 ish in numbers, and finally became reduced to a very few 
 pupils. At this juncture my father became the principal, 
 and took the helm into his own hands. It was a kind of 
 foster-child of his own, and he could not let it die. He 
 bought the large south building, and with the rapid increase 
 
 in numbers afterwards built an additional house on Adams 
 
 77 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Street. Finding this also inadequate, he then bought a 
 second house on Church Street, — the former residence of 
 Bishop Hopkins, — and gave up his annex on Adams 
 Street, Here, for many years, he labored indefatigably, the 
 school ripening into perfect maturity under his able admin- 
 istration. He commenced with ten pupils; before the term 
 was half out he had nearly doubled the number. Before 
 three years had passed he had nearly one hundred pupils, 
 and over fifty in the music-class alone. As perhaps two- 
 thirds were boarders, — for the fame of the school was at its 
 height, and there were pupils from nearly every State in the 
 Union ; also from Montreal, Quebec, and other Canadian 
 cities, — his two buildings were even then inadequate for the 
 size of the school, and many were compelled to board in 
 neighboring houses. A wonderful zeal and enthusiasm 
 seemed awakened both in the pupils and the parents, and 
 his long class-list seemed constantly to increase. Enthu- 
 siasm took the place of indifference. From the first, or, 
 at least, from the middle of his first term, an interest 
 seemed to be developing itself more and more among the 
 pupils. He ever strove to stimulate their zeal to higher 
 effort, and introduced literary societies and critic clubs to 
 conduce still further to their intellectual growth. He of- 
 fered prizes of rare books or pictures to those who would 
 
 compete for them, and endeavored in various ways to pro- 
 
 78 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 mote a thoroughness in every department. He believed 
 especially in the study of classical literature, and earnestly 
 advised pupils to make the classics, especially Latin, the 
 stepping-stone to higher culture. He believed that that 
 language should always be the groundwork of a thorough 
 education, and as far as possible enforced its study, thereby 
 often earning for himself the gratitude of his pupils in after- 
 years. He thought, however, it was unwise to expect 
 every mind to be developed in the same way : something 
 should be yielded to natural inclinations and tendencies. 
 He considered it equally unjust that each one should be 
 confined to the same quantity and kind of study. When 
 a right tendency appeared, he deemed it best to give it free 
 scope for development and allow it to unfold itself, and not 
 cramp it at the outset by a restricted system. There should 
 not be unlimited choice, of course. He would have a 
 regular systematic course for general guidance, but pecu- 
 liar tendencies might be extended in the direction desired. 
 Often too great importance was attached to text-books, and 
 too little to oral teaching. A constant, familiar intercourse 
 between teacher and pupil awakened responsive sympathies. 
 He strove to promote in his pupils an intimate commun- 
 ion with nature. For he enjoyed the beautiful in every 
 form himself, and especially in the works of God. As he 
 gazed at evening at the blue sky above him, with the dis- 
 
 79 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 tant mountains but a shade deeper in tint, or watched the 
 western sky, painted in the tremulous gold and crimson of 
 our glorious sunsets, I have heard him softly murmur to 
 himself, " The heavens declare the glory of God. The 
 firmament showeth His handiwork." He recognized his 
 Father's hand in everything. No beauty could be perfect 
 to him without it. He could, at sight, name nearly all 
 the trees of the forests and the flowers of the field, and 
 every roadside blossom was a delight to him. He " rev- 
 elled in the pomp of grove and garniture of field," and 
 daily communed with the spirit of them all. The pic- 
 turesqueness of his Vermont home amply fed his aesthetic 
 taste, and he sought to make his pupils appreciate it 
 thoroughly. In a thousand ways he taught them the 
 bounteous wealth of the world of nature around them. 
 
 In the numerous scientific branches he would endeavor 
 to develop an interest by giving, beside the regular class- 
 lectures, additional ones, carefully prepared, and he also 
 procured, at considerable extra expense, public lecturers to 
 deliver their addresses in the school-room before the classes 
 in art, philosophy, and music. To say he was admired and 
 loved by his pupils is faint praise. His mildness and equa- 
 nimity during class-hours, even in the face of lawlessness 
 or inexcusable ignorance, and his devotion to his duties, 
 
 won for him the love and respect of every pupil. No one 
 
 80 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ever wilfully disobeyed him. The generosity, purity, hon- 
 esty of his character were a shield against all attacks open 
 or covert. To the interests of the school he donated all 
 his knowledge and ability, raising it to a high standard 
 of excellence and a most honorable reputation. He en- 
 dowed it with a valuable library, and procured for it the 
 germ of a fair chemical laboratory. He also added gym- 
 nastic apparatus and encouraged all suitable exercise. 
 
 Of his influence, both as teacher and guardian, enough 
 cannot be said, for with his own enthusiasm for knowledge, 
 which he engrafted on the mind of the scholar, he endeav- 
 ored to instil a deep love of everything pure and true and 
 noble in life. He promoted by every means the formation 
 of religious societies and weekly gatherings for prayer 
 among the pupils, and in many instances found them a 
 power for a good hope and growth in Christ. His constant 
 aim was to inculcate moral as well as intellectual discipline. 
 He himself enjoyed rare powers of concentration of thought. 
 He used to say " he could write a sermon with nine pianos 
 thrumming around him, with all their developments of 
 different stages of scales and exercises ;" and this concen- 
 tration of thought he endeavored to impress on and cultivate 
 in his pupils. He earnestly advocated the most liberal 
 education of women, believing that they should enjoy the 
 same opportunities as men. He taught them in the for- 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 mation of their minds to be self-reliant and courageous, 
 and led them to think that nothing was unattainable in the 
 field of intellect. " What woman has done, woman can 
 do," was his favorite maxim ; and with that he cheered on 
 the desponding to fresh endeavor. His intercourse with his 
 pupils was so kind and tender that it was more like that 
 of a father among his children than as a teacher among 
 pupils, and such faith had they in him, such love and rever- 
 ence for him, that seldom, if ever, was reproof needed. As 
 one of his old pupils — one of the many who have written 
 us since his death — wrote, " We all loved him so ; his very 
 reproof was so mild and beneficent that it rested on our 
 heads like a blessing." Another pupil said, " We would 
 rather have his reproof than commendation from another 
 teacher, so gentle and kind was he always with us." He 
 lives, even now, in the unfading affection of his old pupils. 
 He was the principal of the seminary for some twenty- 
 five years, and during that time he educated nearly three 
 thousand young ladies. When the school became flourish- 
 ing, as it soon did after he took the helm, he determined to 
 advance the cause of education by educating without charge 
 a certain number of pupils every year. In most cases he did 
 this in the cause of charity. In some rare instances he was 
 repaid in after-years. Thus many poor girls came to him and 
 
 received a thorough English education, which enabled them 
 
 82 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 to earn a subsistence by teaching, which was much. more con- 
 ducive to intellectual advancement than sewing, for many 
 were seamstresses and sewing-girls originally. It also af- 
 forded them a broader field of usefulness, and many of them 
 became noble, cultivated women before his death. Once — 
 years afterwards — when I was teaching in Virginia, I met a 
 beautiful, accomplished woman. I did not recognize her at 
 first. She was the wife of a lawyer and distinguished pro- 
 fessor in a Southern college. Her husband was a man of 
 wealth and influence, and they both held a high position in 
 society. Her two sons — her only children — were just pre- 
 paring to depart to Heidelberg to complete their education. 
 I asked her name, and she gave me her maiden name, and 
 exclaimed, " I wished to see you, to tell you that I am so 
 happy and blest, and that / ozve it all to your noble father /'' 
 She came to see me privately the next day, and in the 
 course of conversation remarked, " Whatever I am, I bless 
 your father for it. He took me, a poor sewing-girl, — yes, 
 and I had lived out, too, as servant-maid, — and gave me the 
 education I had yearned for; and then he sent me South to 
 teach. I taught two years, and then married the dear hus- 
 band you met last evening, and I have been so prosperous 
 and happy. Your father took me from the dust of the 
 roadside, as it were, and gave me everything that conduces 
 to happiness in life, by giving me an education." I will state 
 
 83 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 here that she promptly returned the expense incurred by 
 my father, previous to her marriage. 
 
 The affection retained for him by his numerous pupils 
 was shown in after- years, when, on his Colonization work, 
 after preaching in some distant city in Maine, New York, or 
 Massachusetts, he would find the pulpit-stairs blocked by 
 some blooming young matron, who would ask him " if he 
 did not remember so-and-so, of such a class," and would 
 summarily take him to her home. 
 
 Within a few days one of his former pupils — for many 
 years a resident of Europe — has written to add her loving 
 testimony to the tenderness and sympathy of her old 
 teacher. She says, " Rarely was a teacher loved and ven- 
 erated as was your father, and the news of his death, which 
 I have but just learned, comes to me like the overwhelming 
 shock of a dire calamity." She related a pleasant little 
 episode in her European life, which, as it also attests to 
 his appreciation by his pupils, I will relate. At one of the 
 last receptions given by Napoleon III. she met an ele- 
 gant young lady, the wife of the American minister. She 
 was introduced, and soon after the introduction, the lady 
 learning that she was originally from Vermont, said, " I too 
 am a Vermonter." Soon it came out that both were former 
 pupils of my father's, only in succeeding years, and the 
 
 minister's wife, Madame , soon forgot everything but 
 
 84 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 her old school-days, and in her rhapsody exclaimed, " I 
 shall never forget our dear teacher, and I would give more 
 to see him here in my lovely vineclad home on the Seine 
 than any one else in the world." 
 
 During the period of his principalship of the Burlington 
 Seminary he was for several years the superintendent of 
 public schools in the city, and as these, even then, were 
 numerous, it added greatly to his responsibilities. He filled 
 the office ably, and his efforts in the cause of educational 
 reform will not soon be forgotten. He advocated, strenu- 
 ously, a higher grade in scholarship in the public schools, 
 and also insisted upon newer and more convenient buildings 
 for their use. 
 
 The married life of my father and mother was a very 
 happy one; the union lasted more than thirty-eight years. 
 My memory recalls many fragmentary but beautiful 
 vignettes of the early married life of my parents, — one re- 
 mains stamped indelibly upon my mind. At night, after 
 evening prayers, my mother would seat herself at the piano, 
 and my father would accompany her in some beautiful 
 sacred song, or perhaps they would unite in the strains 
 of the "Pilgrim Fathers," that grand rich harmony, or join 
 in some dear, old-fashioned duet, or perchance the melody 
 of "Highland Mary," or "Sweet Afton," would fall in 
 snatches on my ear as I lay half curled up in " the shell of 
 
 35 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 sleep" in the cozy sofa-corner. Occasionally my father 
 would accompany my mother on his flute, which I learned 
 afterwards (at least so he informed me) " that he did not 
 play very well," but in my untutored ignorance its notes 
 seemed at the time like " the music of the spheres." 
 
 My mother was always a real helpmeet to my father in 
 helpful counsel and in loving sympathy. Her health was 
 not very strong, and she could not go out into the world and 
 take an active part ; but, as far as lay in her power, she aided 
 in every good work. She was lovely in her gentle piety; 
 tender and sympathetic in her affections. Long an invalid, 
 she sought in the home circle to perform her life-work by 
 brightening and sanctifying it to her family. Although 
 diffident and somewhat timid in social intercourse, she was 
 loved and cherished by all to a remarkable degree. Her 
 illness at last resulted in extreme debility, and from it she 
 could not rally. She lingered a few weeks after her last 
 prostration, and then left us sorrowing in our earthly home, 
 when she sought a heavenly, — the 14th day of April, 1873. 
 
 We can never recall her loving, trusting, sympathetic 
 
 nature without tears of bitter sorrow that she should have 
 
 been taken from us so soon and our hearts made desolate ! 
 
 The remembrance of that beautiful life, which God has 
 
 transplanted to a happier sphere, will be a lasting power to 
 
 encourage, to soothe, and to sustain. So lovely, so genial, 
 
 86 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 and so sympathetic was her nature that to know her was 
 to love her. Her friends always spoke of her with the 
 greatest affection, and the hearts of both young and old 
 went out to her in loving admiration and in perfect trustful- 
 ness. The grace of humility we never understood so com- 
 pletely before ; the claims of others were always thought- 
 fully recognized, and their wants and necessities carefully 
 considered. Her life was a perpetual blessing. Home was 
 a Paradise when she filled it with her presence, and in the 
 quiet of her every-day life, in her loving ministration to our 
 wants, her patience and care for us and her sympathy for 
 our trials, she daily taught us what a saint a loving mother 
 may become. 
 
 She was devoted to books, and a fine elocutionist. Often 
 has she held us spell-bound by her beautiful rendering of 
 some noble poem or fine passage, or enchained our interest 
 by her marvellous powers of description in depicting the 
 ways and customs of other days. With her to read to us we 
 cared for no other company, but were content to linger by 
 her side and listen to her voice. But death comes without 
 warning, and in the early light of Easter morn she passed 
 from our earthly sight. 
 
 In 1832 my father became a member of the Vermont 
 
 Colonization Society, and soon afterwards its secretary, 
 
 an office which he filled for more than forty-three years 
 
 87 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ably and successfully. These years, of course, covered the 
 period both of his pastorate of the First Congregational 
 Church and of the whole of his seminary principalship. 
 Therefore his duties were onerous. Besides these re- 
 sponsible offices, there were numberless occasions when 
 the claims of friendship or the entreaties of the oppressed 
 involved him in multitudinous labors. Indeed, his duties 
 seemed ever on the increase, and he was always busy. 
 When he could gain time in no other way, he withdrew 
 it from his hours of rest. But, no matter how onerous his 
 duties, he never neglected the cause of the Colonization 
 Society, but worked unwearyingly for its success. 
 
 He believed in the emigration, — the colonization of the 
 colored people. He believed this to be the true solution of 
 the problem. He believed this to be the answer to the much 
 agitated question of what should be the ultimate home of the 
 colored race. He believed, however, that they should not 
 again be restored to ignorance and vice : therefore he en- 
 couraged, by every method in his power, the bestowal of 
 liberal advantages upon them. In his sermons for the cause 
 he was moved to a kind of magnetic influence, and those 
 who had never appreciated the Colonization movement be- 
 fore opened their hearts and their purses to the cause. I 
 have heard a gentleman assure him, after one of his last 
 
 presentations of the subject, that " he never before had heard 
 
 88 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 the efforts of the society presented in a way that influenced 
 him, but that my father, for the first time, opened to him 
 intelligibly the labors and results of the enterprise." His 
 own enthusiasm for the work strongly impressed others. 
 Through his ever-increasing interest in the growing state 
 of Liberia he made himself thoroughly acquainted with 
 all its belongings. He corresponded with many of its citi- 
 zens. Its first governor, Governor Pinney, was his life-long 
 friend. President Roberts he knew well, and also Mr. 
 Ashmun, one of the pioneers of the cause, and one who 
 accomplished probably more than any other in effecting 
 the settlement on the African coast. One of the professors 
 in the College of Liberia, formerly a resident of Vermont, — 
 a graduate of Middlebury College, — when on a visit to 
 this country a few years since, assured my father, that 
 " he knew his sermons had induced many in this locality 
 to emigrate, and that they were all thriving, prosperous 
 families there." He said " that it was an address of my 
 father's that first led him to think of the subject." 
 
 His zeal in the w6rk never abated. From the morning 
 of life, when with health-flushed cheek and upright form 
 he began his labors, through the maturity of vigorous 
 manhood, down to the verging slope of years, he labored 
 on, unfolding to his fellow-travellers this cause of right 
 
 and justice. And when at last the time came when he 
 
 89 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 could not work, when advancing age held him bound, it 
 seemed as if he could not give up. It was so pathetic to 
 see the dear one, so aged and worn, his hair silvered with 
 the frosts of age, his step infirm and feeble, still striving 
 not to give up, but to go on with the Master's work ! He 
 would still bear on his shoulder his burden of toil and 
 care, — still a little longer carry his message of love and 
 mercy to his oppressed and down-trodden brethren. 
 
 I think it was the heaviest cross he had, the thought that 
 advancing age would paralyze all effort, and that he would be 
 forced to give up the cause he had long and nobly sustained. 
 Although his physical infirmities for some two years before 
 his death prevented his pursuing his labors, yet so long 
 had he identified himself with the cause that every few 
 days the idea would return to him that he was away on 
 one of his usual tours. Sometimes he thought he was in 
 Augusta or Portland, Me., — sometimes in Manchester or 
 Portsmouth, N. H., — and then again he was but a short dis- 
 tance from home in his own State. If we would propose 
 some ride or visit for the afternoon, he would sometimes 
 reply, " I cannot go, for I must go home by the afternoon 
 train. I have been from home a long time." We, of course, 
 often thought of the higher home from which he had been 
 so long absent, and to which, in his beautiful childlike 
 
 purity and trust, he ever seemed so near. When we would 
 
 90 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 remind him that he was at home, he would directly remem- 
 ber, and reply, " Oh, yes, I forgot. I thought I was away 
 at my Colonization work." He would often tell us that 
 w T hen he was in Maine or New Hampshire he accomplished 
 such and such a duty for the cause : " he must go back and 
 finish his work." This work — the redemption of the Afri- 
 can race — had been his life-occupation for half a century. 
 Was it strange, then, that the tired mind recurred ever and 
 again to it ? 
 
 He lived to see the state of Liberia a prosperous, flour- 
 ishing colony ; to see the work of emigration carried on 
 by thousands instead of hundreds ; to see, in place of a few 
 half-built cabins, handsome houses, churches, schools, and 
 a fast-growing college. And as the last beams of sunlight 
 gilded his declining days on earth, the consciousness of 
 the resultant harvest, the knowledge of his own well-spent 
 life, added another sunbeam to the radiance of the past. 
 During the last of his Colonization journeys, which were in 
 the middle of January, we always waited in fear and trembling 
 for his return, so delicate his health, so feeble and tottering 
 his step, that it seemed as if a miracle alone could bring him 
 back to us alive. But the angel of the Lord watched ever 
 over him, for " He gave his angels charge to keep him and 
 guide him in all his ways." And he would come back 
 bright' and beaming with the success of his accomplished 
 
 9 1 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 work. But we saw, although mentally he was refreshed, 
 physically he was tired and worn. I think he grieved at 
 first very deeply when obliged to give up the work ; but he 
 bowed to the will of his heavenly Father, and with that 
 childlike trust that ever characterized him laid his hand in 
 that of Jesus, and calmly awaited life's end. 
 
 He was the pastor of the church in Colchester for five 
 years, from 1850 to 1855, and from 1855 to 1861 he was 
 the stated supply at Winooski. For several years — I think, 
 four — he was the regular pastor at West Milton. He also, 
 as far as possible, attended all the funerals and solemnized 
 the marriage rites of all the attendants of those churches. 
 
 Thus he was never idle ; he felt that his time belonged 
 to his Master, and he gave it to Him. He performed 
 his work with great ability, learning, and fidelity, and 
 from his position of usefulness he could not be drawn 
 away by any personal gain. He was evangelical and ele- 
 vated in his thoughts, and pure, simple, and direct in his 
 style of preaching. He charmed while instructing, and 
 bound his people to him by cords of reverential love. He 
 was orthodox in his creed, and Congregational in his ec- 
 clesiastical polity. Ever a brave, valiant defender of the 
 faith, he was, as preacher, impressive and instructive, as 
 pastor, tender and sympathizing. The grief-stricken heart 
 
 always found help and consolation in his loving counsel. 
 
 92 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 It has been said " that his prayers, unclouded by earthly 
 taint, seemed to bear them away for the time from all 
 sorrow, and lose them in the resting of divine love." His 
 sermons were distinguished by the sweetness, fulness, 
 and pathos with which he set forth the gospel claims. 
 His cordial, gentle ways, his dignity and weight of char- 
 acter, his quiet humor, his modest impressive bearing, won 
 their way to all hearts, and gave him great influence among 
 his different churches. His fervent piety led many to the 
 sacred fold, and his prayerful, pure example kept them 
 there. He was eminently successful in winning souls to 
 Christ, an untiring worker, wearing himself out for his 
 Master, always keeping in view his great aim, — the salva- 
 tion of his fellow-men. 
 
 His influence both in school-room and pulpit was widely 
 felt for good, and every one who knew him loved and 
 trusted him. When it was learned that his strength was 
 declining, and that the shadows of the dark valley were 
 fast gathering around his steps, many were the loving mes- 
 sages that found their way to his bedside, and many came 
 to gaze once more on earth upon their dearly-cherished 
 pastor and teacher. 
 
 And when the end came, and painlessly and quietly, in 
 the consciousness of a serene faith, he fell asleep, a deep 
 
 93 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 wail of sorrow went forth from many hearts that "they 
 should see his face no more." 
 
 He still lives in the unfading affection of his old pupils 
 and in the gratitude of many stricken hearts. His tender, 
 true, affectionate nature solaced by its sympathy the dis- 
 cords of many troubled lives and wove them into a full 
 and perfect harmony. His own high aim he early fixed in 
 life, — he reached it, — and his end was dignity and peace. 
 His was a rare and beautiful example of a completed life ! 
 
 " Thus in the hardest, grandest fight, 
 The life-long fight that may not stay, 
 But ever onward day and night, 
 
 He bravely fought the upward way, 
 
 " With childlike faith that asks not sight, 
 Waits not for wonder or for sign, 
 Still at the portal stands and waits 
 For the message of the Lamb divine. 
 
 " So with trustful soul in dawning light 
 He sees the gates now opened wide, 
 And angels clad in garments bright 
 Await his coming, on every side. 
 
 " Servant of Christ, thy work is done, 
 And life's long warfare closed at last ; 
 The battle fought, the victory won, 
 For loved ones wait till night is past. 
 94 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 " He best can drink his cup of woe, 
 
 And a kingly crown at last can gain. 
 ' If he patiently bears his cross below, 
 He follows in his Master's train.' " 
 
 During the last three years of his life his health had been 
 failing, but so gradually that it was hardly perceptible to the 
 home circle. To outside friends, who only saw him occa- 
 sionally, it was more evident. He had for many years been 
 subject to a chronic disease, and when old age added its 
 powerful impetus to its attacks it wore out the enfeebled 
 body. So slowly, however, did the fatal disease creep on 
 that for many weeks before his final illness he seemed so 
 well, so bright and cheerful, that his presence acted upon 
 the domestic air like a bright sunbeam. He sat among us 
 in his arm-chair on the piazza, or slowly walked out to the 
 garden with us, and we, all unconscious that he was to leave 
 us so soon, yet in the midst of our cheerfulness, felt the 
 overshadowing of the dread mystery. Then his step became 
 slower, — his walks less frequent; we, waiting in trembling, 
 watched him, fearing lest all too soon " the silver cord 
 would be loosed, the golden bowl be broken." And the 
 vanishing sands of life kept falling, — falling into the far-off 
 past, — and we knew they would never come back again ! 
 How beautiful, yet how sad, those last summer days! 
 
 Thus gradually declining, his sunny nature unclouded, 
 
 95 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 his faculties yet undimmed, he sank, like a tired child, to 
 his final rest. His pure and beautiful life seemed to grow 
 more spirit-like as the days went by, and even before he 
 left us we felt that we were " entertaining an angel un- 
 awares." The innocent, intuitive remark of a little friend 
 (then visiting at the house), just emerging from babyhood, 
 was so true and so touching that I cannot but repeat it. 
 He said to us, " Grandpa will leave us soon and go and live 
 with the angels !" So angel-like even then did he seem to 
 the sweet child. The natural gentleness and sweetness of 
 his disposition were always evident, particularly so in his 
 sickness, and he bore his prolonged illness with patient trust 
 and Christian resignation. His sickness, like his whole life, 
 was a glorious triumph of faith. He rested back in the arms 
 of Jesus, and no cloud overshadowed the perfect communion. 
 He had many returns of the fatal disease, from which, 
 after an illness of a few days, he would rally, and seem as 
 well as usual ; but the final attack, which took place on the 
 ist of August, 1880, left him very weak and debilitated, 
 and, although he was able to leave his bed, he was not 
 well enough to leave his room. He seemed to lose in- 
 stead of gain strength in the weeks which followed. Sud- 
 denly, but almost imperceptibly, as it were, to us, there 
 was a great change ; we saw it in his face, we saw it in 
 
 the face of his physician. Without any warning it had 
 
 96 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 come upon us. We were told he was leaving us ; " that 
 he might not live through the day ; that he might not 
 linger through an hour." God only knows the agony 
 of that hour ! We could not let him go. We held him 
 back to earth with our agonized prayers. God heard and 
 answered them, and even when his feet had nearly touched 
 the other shore, he came back to us. He revived, he 
 rallied, and, joy unspeakable, he was conscious and called 
 our names once more. Hope, with feeble accents, whispered 
 that he might yet be spared to us. For three days he 
 lingered with us. Then again the room was darkened by 
 the wings of the death-angel. Nearer and nearer it came 
 through that sad night of watching; lower and lower it 
 hovered over the dear one; and finally, just as the stars 
 of night were lost in the brightness of the dawn, his soul 
 fluttered from its earthly casement of darkness into " the 
 fulness of the perfect day." 
 
 As heaven's gate opened to him, a smile, so sweet, so radi- 
 ant, illumined the worn, tired face, that a glimpse of celestial 
 glory seemed vouchsafed for one brief moment to us poor 
 lingerers on earth. All through that Sabbath-day his face 
 retained that angel look, that wondrous, saint-like sweetness. 
 
 *^» "i* ^t? ^t* *1* *i* *i* 
 
 ?f* >p* *T* *T" *T* *!* 'T* 
 
 We laid him to rest in Lake-View Cemetery, beside our 
 
 mother, who had left us seven years before. 
 
 97 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 The day we bore him there was a beautiful October day. 
 The maples on the roadside had lit their torches of gold 
 and scarlet, while, in the fields around, the golden-rod and 
 blue-eyed gentian still lingered. Beyond, by the river-side, 
 burned the crimsoning banners of the sumach, while all 
 along the way flashes of amber, bronze, and scarlet gleamed 
 through the wooded hollows. A spray of woodbine, with 
 its purple berries, — planted there by himself, — clung to the 
 entrance of the cemetery enclosure, and under it we tenderly 
 laid him to rest. 
 
 Rest for the tired heart ! 
 
 Rest for the weary eyes, 
 Which, after life's long battle, 
 
 Now ope in Paradise ! 
 
 A noble Christian soldier 
 
 Has laid his burden down, 
 Has given o'er life's conflict, 
 
 Has won a starry crown. 
 
 He donned his armor early, 
 
 And bravely waged the strife 
 For Right and Truth and Honor 
 
 In the great march of life. 
 
 His life was one long poem, 
 
 Replete with generous deed ; 
 To aid his suffering brother 
 
 His constant aim and creed. 
 98 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 And now the weary pilgrim, 
 The father, pastor, friend, 
 
 Has given up the conflict 
 And reached his journey's end. 
 
 His mission now is ended, 
 His earthly warfare o'er, 
 His memory, pure and fadeless, 
 Will linger evermore. 
 
 A smile of wondrous sweetness 
 Illumes the face so fair. 
 
 The aureole of the sainted 
 Rests on the snow-white hair. 
 
 99 
 
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