r
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 USAXD. 

 
 TALES AND TAKINGS, 
 
 SKETCHES AND INCIDENTS, 
 
 ITINERANT MD EDITORIAL BUDGET 
 
 OF 
 
 KEV. J. Y. WATSON, D. D., 
 
 SEVENTH THOUSAND. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 
 
 200 MCLBERBY-STREET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 C A ELTON & PORTE E, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of 
 New-York.
 
 BV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 SEVERAL articles found in this volume are 
 from the pen of paid contributors to the com- 
 piler's paper during his ten years' connection 
 with the press. They have been deemed of 
 too much merit to be suffered to pass into for- 
 getfulness. A still smaller number of articles 
 have been appropriated from that public do- 
 main of literature in which are to be found 
 many gems, and to which all seem to have an 
 equal right. He has made the appropriation 
 the more readily, as a few of his intellectual 
 children have strayed beyond his reach into 
 this wide field. In other words, he has con- 
 tributed his share to it, and is not, therefoie, 
 without the right of making drafts upon it. 
 The staple of the volume, however, is from the 
 author's pen.
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 If fiction plays any part in the " Tales," it 
 will be found here in a form wholly unexcep- 
 tionable, even to the most fastidious. So far as 
 regards the author's "Incidents," these are facts; 
 and in the description given of missionating in 
 cabins on the frontier of the early West, he 
 thinks the reader will find here a few pictures 
 more true to the life than he has ever met 
 with elsewhere. 
 
 As it respects the "Takings," these consist 
 of the mere neglige descriptions of sundry 
 members of the late General Conference. They 
 are not intended as eulogies of their subjects. 
 Their principal merit consists in what the 
 author trusts will be deemed just discrimina- 
 tions of character and useful suggestions on the 
 subject of preaching. The young preacher will 
 be glad to find them here ; the friends of the 
 men described will be glad to find them here. 
 
 The number of these " Takings" would have 
 been considerably increased but for the con- 
 dition of the author's health rendering the 
 early completion of the volume necessary. As 
 to the "Sketches," these are on various but 
 important topics.
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 The contents of the volume are composite; 
 the spirit of it homogeneous. Age and gravity 
 will here be amused, if not instructed, while 
 the Sabbath-school scholar and the little miss 
 that would while away an hour in the parlor, 
 will here find something equally adapted to 
 their taste and capacity. It possesses the at- 
 tractions of some bad books which we hope it 
 may supplant, while it possesses the merit of 
 being, the author hopes, a good book. The 
 author makes no literary claims in its behalf. 
 The attacks of the critic upon it, therefore, will 
 be without challenge and without rejoinder. 
 
 As a trifling souvenir, the author tenders 
 this volume to his extensive acquaintances 
 and many friends, hoping it may lighten some 
 leaden hours which are wont to rest at times 
 upon all hearts, that it may inculcate the sen- 
 timents of virtue and religion with which it 
 abounds, and be the means, at the same time, 
 of cherishing some fond remembrances which 
 no one cares to forget. The author's relation 
 to the public has extended his acquaintance 
 beyond that which falls to the lot of most men. 
 Where his paper has gone, he will flatter him-
 
 8 PREFACE. 
 
 self that his little book will go. He will ap- 
 peal to the sympathy of none, as the book will 
 be worth its cost, but he will not conceal the 
 fact, that a principal object of issuing this vol- 
 ume is to secure means to be employed in re- 
 cruiting his exhausted health. In other words, 
 if the profits of this enterprise should be satis- 
 factory, they may enable its author hereafter to 
 present to his friends something more worthy 
 of their patronage. 
 
 NOTE. The reader, we presume, has been made 
 acquainted with the fact that the lamented author of 
 this volume did not live to employ the means referred 
 to in recruiting his exhausted health, as he died just 
 before the work was sent to the press. EDITOB.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER 15 
 
 A Family Scene A Reader without Listeners The Solemn "To- 
 morrow" A Favorite Sou The First Sermon The Preacher's 
 Solicitude, and a Mother's Counsel The taunting Brother 
 Going to Church " Mother" would not go First Appearance in 
 the Pulpit A Failure, followed by a thrilling Appeal Power of a 
 Mother's Prayers The First Sermon rewarded with a " Sheaf." 
 
 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT ; OB, ELDEB BLUNT AND SISTEE SCBUB 31 
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT 39 
 
 Fixing for the Preacher His Arrival incog., and the Treatment 
 he received The Preacher taught the Number of Command- 
 ments, but is too obstinate to learn The " Eleventh" Command- 
 ment. 
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER 55 
 
 How easily Mr. Blasset believes a false Report The Party at 
 Squire Black well's Talk about Miss James Mr. Windham's 
 Interview with the Village Minister With Mr. Jones How 
 Suspicion blinds the Eyes Wholesome Advice Chasing down 
 a Lie Ankle not Uncle.
 
 10 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAEITY ENVIETH NOT 69 
 
 How a Velvet Talma and an Eight-dollar Bonnet troubled Mis 
 Prime How Mrs. Snelling sighed forth the Buddings of Unchai- 
 itableness Give according to your Means Dress to suit your 
 Condition Quandary about Carpets Seeing the "Mote," but 
 overlooking the "Beam" Obtruding Thoughts The Trials of 
 Mrs. Snelling Blindness of Envy or false Estimate of Character 
 -A touching Interview. . 
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER 85 
 
 CHAPTER I. A Journey Camp-Meeting Character in a Squat- 
 ter Cabin A " Hen-pecked" Husband The " high larut" Nigger 
 A Magniloquent Description of his Eloquence The Backwoods- 
 man's Philosophy A promising Family Composure in refer- 
 ence to the Future The Kid-gloved Missionary and Backwoods 
 Preacher Those who "Don't hoe it enough" Arrival at Camp- 
 Meeting The Eloquent Preacher His opening Prayer 85 
 
 CHAPTER II. A Sermon The Shadow of a Great Rock More 
 about the Eloquent Negro 98 
 
 CHAPTER III. Another Sermon The River of Life 109 
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE 123 
 
 Mr. Bolton made Miserable by loving Himself A Mother's Love 
 and Counsel fail to melt the Frost of Selfishness Mr. Bolton's 
 Religious Motives Money and Peace of Mind Giving which 
 leaves a Sting A broken Leg leads to the breaking of a Heart 
 Mr. Bolton and Farmer Gray Mr. Gray's Farm. 
 
 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG PEOPLE OF COLOR 141 
 
 THE UNMEANT REBUKE 155 
 
 The sad Reverse The fatal Touch of the Destroyer Innocence 
 involved in the Disgrace of its Parents " People mustn't see us 
 playing with Drunkard's Children" The irresistible Reformers 
 The Great Reform The Drunkard's Wife restored to Happi- 
 ness, and his Children to Society.
 
 CONTENTS. 11 
 
 PAOK 
 
 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER 169 
 
 We must have Brother Johnson "Methodism will Die unless we 
 have a Man of Talents'.' The Failure to have their Wishes grati- 
 fied The Preacher who was Sent His Journey, with Bishop 
 George The Bishop takes the Asthma All Remedies fail to re- 
 lieve him Finally relieved by Prayer The bearer of Evil Tid- 
 ings The Preacher's Despondency The Way it was cured 
 The Efficiency of Prayer His Triumph Great Revival. 
 
 MARRYING RICH 181 
 
 CHAPTER I. Farmer Barn well His "good Luck" and happy 
 Home Charles Barnwell Mrs. Barn well and her great Fault.. . 181 
 
 CHAPTER II. Mrs. Barnwell's Solicitude for Charles Her Ad- 
 vice to marry Rich Miss Marks, the Heiress Charles confesses 
 his Espousal 186 
 
 CHAPTER HI. Charles Barnwell as a Student The Stranger at 
 the Prayer-meeting The Sewing Circle Mrs. Gray and he/ 
 Niece, Miss Ellen Gray Miss Gray as Sewing Girl An Evening 
 at Squire Little's 191 
 
 CHAPTER IV. The " Crisis" Charles engaged to a poor Seam- 
 stress 200 
 
 CHAPTER V. What Charles meant by marrying Rich Mr. and 
 Mrs. Barnwell to attend the Wedding Mrs. Barnwell greatly 
 troubled about their Debut among the Rich and Fashionable Grays 
 
 The Gray Family in an humble Cottage A Denouement Mrs. 
 Barnwell discovers the true Riches of Ellen Gray The Marriage 
 
 Another Denouement The double Plot exposed Mrs. Ellen 
 Barnwell as Rich in Goods as in Graces 205 
 
 THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS 217 
 
 The Theater The Disgust of one of its Devotees The happy 
 Change of View and Place of Resort The Season of Penitence 
 Learning how to Pray A new Trial The Joys of the young 
 Convert vei-us the Pleasures of the Ball-room and the Theater 
 Praying a Sister Home from a Ball The happy Conversion of 
 that Sister.
 
 12 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY 233 
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING 299 
 
 EEV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFPTTT His SAD END AND CHHISTLUT 
 
 CHARACTER : . 813 
 
 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST A DIALOGUE 331 
 
 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED A PLEA FOE SABBATH 
 
 SCHOOLS 341 
 
 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN 355 
 
 A QUARTERLY MEETING OF OLDEN TIME 365 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADES IN ITINERANCY 377 
 
 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS 387 
 
 REV. Joss DEMPSTER, D.D 387 
 
 % REV. WILLIAM F. FARRINGTON ". 395 
 
 REV. F. C. HOLLIDAT, A.M 399 
 
 REV. JOHN HANNAH, D.D 403 
 
 REV. HTRAM MATTISON, A.M 406 
 
 REV. ISAAC M. LEIHT 409 
 
 REV. F. J. JOBSON, A.M 412 
 
 REV. W. L. HARRIS, D.D 418 
 
 REV. ROBINSON SCOTT 423 
 
 REV. EDWARD THOMSON, D.D., LLJ) 425 
 
 REV. DANIEL WISE, D.D 435 
 
 REV. RESIN SAPP 436 
 
 REV. LUKE HITCHCOCK 440 
 
 REV. W. P. STRICKLAND, D.D 444 
 
 REV. J. G. DIMMTTT 450 
 
 REV. J. L. THOMPSON 453 
 
 REV. B. F. CRAET, A.M 458 
 
 BKV. R. S. RUST, A.M 462
 
 THE 
 
 YOUIG PREACHER.
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 
 
 WE were sitting together in the quiet parlor at 
 Oakwood Farm, Mr. and Mrs. Ray, and Elliot and I. 
 
 Elliot was reading aloud, but I doubt whether one 
 of his listeners could have told the subject of the book, 
 or the name of its author. Mr. Ray sat, as was his 
 custom, with his hat on, though now it was drawn 
 further over his eyes than usual. He was leaning 
 back in his chair, with his hands clasped before him, 
 and his two thumbs working restlessly over and over 
 each other and, could it be possible ? yes ; there was 
 moisture gathering in his eyes; great, half-formed 
 tears, started beneath the lids, but were quickly forced 
 back again. It could not be that he was afiecte/l 
 by what his son was reading, for Elliot was smiling 
 at the sentiment his lips had just expressed. And his 
 mother she had been knitting, but her work was ly- 
 .ng idly in her lap, her elbow rested on the table 
 close by Elliot's hand, her cheek lay in her uplifted 
 *alm, and she was gazing, with moist eyes too, full
 
 16 THE YOUNG PEEACHEE. 
 
 upon Elliot's face. Perhaps he thought she was listen 
 ing to him, and drinking in the beautiful sentiments 
 that flowed like music from his lips. But I knew she 
 was not, neither was his father, neither was I. 
 
 We were all thinking of to-morrow. This was Sat- 
 urday night, and to-morrow Elliot was to stand for the 
 first time in the sacred desk to speak of the Saviour, 
 and of salvation to those who had known him from 
 Jjjs birth. He was naturally nervous, excitable, and 
 much inclined to indulge in a depressing melancholy. 
 He had been treated by his father with uncommon 
 tenderness, almost idolized by his mother, and had 
 little worldly experience, except what he had gained 
 among his college mates, where his generous nature 
 had always made him a favorite. 
 
 He had prepared himself for the ministry by close 
 and careful study; his natural love of reading had 
 made him acquainted with the best speakers of an- 
 cient and modern times, and yet his friends predicted 
 his failure. Elliot, too, had his fears. He had been 
 talking to his mother about it, and she had encourag- 
 ed him with words of hope, while fear and trembling 
 were in her heart. " Think of the sacredness of your 
 mission, Elliot," she said ; " think, not of your own 
 weakness, but of Him who has said, ' As thy day, so 
 shall thy strength be.' But do not dwell too much 
 upon the morrow, now. You are too much excited ; 
 read something that will calm you ; it will do us all
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 17 
 
 good ; let us forget that to-morrow is more than any 
 other day." 
 
 And Elliot had forgotten it, apparently, for his eye 
 kindled as he glanced along the lines, keeping time 
 with the rapidly moving melody of his lips, and now 
 and then he smiled or raised his hand impressively 
 as some new and startling idea was presented. 
 
 But his father had not forgotten it, else why that 
 solemn look so seldom seen on his jolly face, and why, 
 did his thumbs perform such- rapid and untiring revo- 
 lutions over each other, as they always did when 
 deep or unusual emotions were struggling in his great 
 heart? His mother had not forgotten it, as the love 
 that filled her swimming eyes, and the fear that paled 
 her cheek, could witness. And I, as I watched the 
 changing emotions, flitting like light and shade across 
 his eloquent face, I could only think "of the coming 
 ordeal, the dreaded, yet hoped-for to-morrow. 
 
 Neither had Charles, his wild and reckless young 
 brother, forgotten it, for he broke in upon our 
 enchanted circle with a boisterous laugh that startled 
 his father from his dreamy reverie, made Elliot close 
 his book, and brought a reproof from the mild lips of 
 his mother. 
 
 "So, we shall have a preach to-morrow, shall we, 
 Brother Elly, old boy, eh?" he exclaimed, throwing 
 his riding gloves and whip into one corner and his cap 
 into another. " Hurrah for the Rev. Brother Ray!
 
 18 THE YOUNG PREACHER, 
 
 How many converts do you expect to make to-mor- 
 row, Elly?" 
 
 " Do not be so rude, Charles," said Elliot, whose 
 flushed cheek told how painfully he felt his brother's 
 raillery. 
 
 " It don't hurt your feelings to be called Brother 
 Bay, does it ? I declare you blush like a girl ; better 
 get used to it now, and wear off your modesty before 
 you go out among folks. I'll bet a dollar you'll faint 
 away before meeting's half out to-morrow." 
 
 " Charles !" said his father, as his foot came down 
 emphatically upon the floor. 
 
 " Mother," whispered Elliot, in a low tone, as he 
 turned toward her, with cheeks and lips white enough 
 now, " Mother, cannot you persuade Charles to stay 
 at home to-morrow ?" 
 
 "No, you don't!" exclaimed Charles; "I'm going to 
 church, and I'm going to sit exactly in front of 
 Brother Ray, and the first word he says that don't 
 tally with his everyday life, I'm going to take my 
 hat and march straight out, making my bow to him 
 as I go along. There's no joking about it now, Elliot. 
 I'll do it; see if I don't!" 
 
 It was in vain that Elliot pleaded, that his mother 
 coaxed, and his father threatened. Charles was a 
 passionate, headstrong, reckless boy, yet not altogeth- 
 er without feeling when it could be rightly awakened. 
 
 He asserted that he was as good as Elliot, and had
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 19 
 
 just as much of a call to preach. Elliot's delicate hands 
 and nimble tongue, he said, were the greatest qualifi- 
 cations he had to entitle him to a place in the pulpit, 
 but he knew if his past life should rise up before him 
 then, his tongue would be dumb and his pretty hands 
 drop out of sight ; " and," continued he, " I'm going 
 to sit and look at him in such a way, that he can't 
 help thinking of some things I know of." 
 
 "Words were thrown away upon the willful boy that 
 night, and as our little company part'ed, we sought 
 our respective rooms with the most unpleasant fore- 
 bodings for the morrow. 
 
 Charles and I rode together that Sabbath morning. 
 Elliot and his-father were riding before us; his mother 
 did not go. NEED I TELL ANY MOTHER WHY ? I saw 
 her hands tremble as she tied Elliot's cravat that 
 morning. I heard her say, " Be strong in the Lord, 
 my son. God will bless you. Think that your 
 mother is praying for you, and if you sh<3uld fail 
 
 "I shall never know it from you, mother," he 
 replied. 
 
 All the way as we rode along I tried to persuade 
 
 
 
 Charles from his purpose, but in vain. "Elliot," he 
 said, " had always been his mother's favorite ; he was 
 growing proud. He had been to college, and now he 
 had come home to set himself above those who were 
 as good as he. It would do the pale-faced pet good 
 to humble him a little, and he meant to do it."
 
 20 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 
 
 Elliot had just taken his seat at the little table 
 inside the altar, (for he would not go up into the 
 pulpit this time r ) when Charles came in. He had 
 stayed behind purposely, and now walked up the aisle 
 with a bold and defiant air, and seated himself in a 
 conspicuous place about midway between the gallery 
 and the altar railing. Mr. Ray sat in one of the side 
 slips, where he would not face his son, and I was on 
 the opposite side, where I could see them all. 
 
 Elliot opened the Bible before him ; his face was 
 deadly pale. I looked at the father ; his eyes were 
 cast down, his thumbs slowly revolving in their 
 accustomed orbits. Charles tried to preserve the 
 look of careless unconcern with which he came in, 
 but I thought I could detect traces of a better feeling 
 in the restless workings of his mouth, and the almost 
 pitying glance of his half-averted eyes. There 
 was a deathlike silence throughout the congregation. 
 Presently an old man, the patriarch of the neighbor- 
 hood, rose and said, " Let us look to God in prayer." 
 
 He stood within the railing very near to Elliot, for 
 he was quite deaf in one ear, and it had been his 
 privilege for years to sit immediately " beneath the 
 droppings of the sanctuary;" and I thought how com- 
 forting it must be to the young preacher, to have one 
 so loved and so good to stand beside him in that hour 
 of trial. The prayer was short, but appropriate and 
 affecting. Many a heart responded " Amen " to the
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 21 
 
 blessings invoked on Elliot's head, and many an eye 
 was dim with tears as the assembly turned again 
 toward the sacred desk. 
 Some one commenced singing the familiar hymn, 
 
 " In all my Lord's appointed ways." 
 
 The whole congregation rose to their feet and sung 
 as with one voice. The color went and came on 
 Elliot's cheek, as the inspiriting words echoed from 
 lip to lip, and at the close of the hymn he looked 
 almost like one inspired. Hardly were the people 
 seated before his voice was heard distinct and clear, 
 reading the 15th chapter of the Gospel of St. John. 
 When that was done he cast a rapid glance around 
 his audience, and commenced a thrilling dissertation 
 on the love of God to man. I glanced at Mr. Ray. 
 A flush of triumph was on his face, as if the danger 
 was past now, and Elliot could not fail. Charles had 
 evidently forgotten his pity, and was looking as impu- 
 dent as he dared, while a general feeling of relief 
 seemed to pervade the congregation. 
 
 But suddenly there was a pause ; the speaker hes- 
 itated ; he was embarrassed ; he passed his hand 
 hastily across his high, white forehead, now wet 
 with perspiration, and brushed back the damp 
 masses of hair which had fallen over it; he trem- 
 bled in every limb ; his father half rose from his 
 Beat, and more than one expected to see him fall"*
 
 22 THE YOUNG PEEACHER. 
 
 the next moment. But he (lid not. He was soon 
 calm again, but his face was so white and corpse- 
 like, it was almost fearful to look at. He tasted a 
 few drops from the glass of water that was handed to 
 him ; then folding his hands over his breast, he turned 
 to his audience, and said : 
 
 " Fathers in the Church, it might better become a 
 youth like me to sit and learn lessons of wisdom from 
 your lips, than thus to stand before you in the attitude 
 of a teacher; but it is not to teach you that I am 
 here. I was a child when you were men. I have 
 grown to manhood among you, my character has 
 been formed by the influence of your examples, and 
 those examples have taught me to look forward to 
 this period as to the commencement of a career of 
 usefulness. You know with what misgivings, with 
 what doubt, and trembling, and prayers, I ventured to 
 accept this sacred calling. I saw how broad was the 
 field, and how many laborers were already engaged 
 therein, but I thought that even an humble gleaner 
 like myself, if I had courage to venture in, might be 
 rewarded with a sheaf. It is not to teach those who 
 have long been laboring that I have come in, but to 
 learn of them. 
 
 " Fathers in the Church, teach me by your examples 
 yet, for I am ignorant ; bear with me and sustain me 
 by your prayers, for I am weak. 
 
 "Mothers in Israel! mothers of sons born to
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 23 
 
 inherit immortality ! think of the responsibilities that 
 rest upon you ; think of the honors that crown you ! 
 Mothers ! could you realize the influence you exert ; 
 could you know the blessings invoked upon your 
 heads by pious children; could you see how every 
 little act of tenderness is treasured up by your child, 
 careless and thoughtless as he may seem ; could you 
 know the deep gratitude that fills his heart when he 
 sees that you share in his sorrows, pity the weak- 
 nesses of his nature, and by your unfailing love 
 strengthen him in the path of virtue ; could you feel 
 and know all this, where is the mother, the Christian 
 mother, in this assembly, who would not pity and 
 forgive not only the weaknesses of her own child, but 
 also of one who, born and brought up among you, 
 has learned to love you, to look to you for encourage- 
 ment in every good word and work ! My mother ! 
 were she other than she is, what would her child 
 have been ? And she is not here among you now ! 
 Shall I tell you where she is? There is no need of 
 that. I see by your quivering lips and tearful eyes 
 you know she is praying for her child ! join your 
 prayers with hers !" 
 
 Here Elliot stood for a moment, pale, speechless, 
 and motionless. Mothers were weeping, younger and 
 more blooming cheeks were wet with tears, men 
 bowed their heads as if in prayer, and good old Mr. 
 Ray made no effort now to keep back the moisture
 
 24 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 
 
 gathering beneath his eyelids. The great tears 
 chased each other over his round cheeks and fell 
 upon his hands as they lay helplessly in his lap. My 
 eyes were too dim to see whether his thumbs were in 
 motion or not. I looked toward Charles, but his face 
 was not to be seen ; he was bending forward with his 
 head resting on the^ back of the seat before him. 
 
 Elliot resumed : " My dear young friends, sharers 
 of my childish sports, companions of my boyhood, my 
 associates in riper years, thus far through life have 
 we journeyed hand in hand, and shall we be parted 
 now ? I am not standing here to prove myself your 
 superior. O, no ; far from it. You know me too 
 well. You know my faults, you know the follies of 
 my youth ; but you know, too, that we have all taken 
 upon ourselves the same solemn vows to forsake our 
 sins and to seek salvation by turning to the Lord. In 
 our worldly enjoyments we have always tried to height- 
 en each other's pleasures by sharing them together. 
 Ought we not to do so in religion ? Let me not 
 seem to you as one who stands apart, saying, 'I am 
 holier than thou.' It is not pride nor vanity that has 
 led me tc this. Look at me, and see if you can find in 
 your hearts one spark of envy now. Do you not feel 
 pity for me rather? pity for the weakness I have shown ; 
 pity for that sensitiveness that was near overwhelm- 
 ing me with confusion and shame when I met your 
 cold and curious glances. I need your prayers and
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 25 
 
 encouraging smiles. I am full of fears, fears for my- 
 self and for the honor of the cause I would advocate. 
 Shall I fail when it is in your power to give me 
 courage and confidence? No; I read it in your 
 answering looks of love. God will bless you. Play- 
 mates of my boyhood ! it was at this altar that we 
 first confessed the Saviour ! Shall we ever dishonor 
 that confession, or worship at a shrine less holy ? 
 Sisters in Jesus! your tears of penitence and joy 
 were mingled with ours. Together we commenced 
 the Christian life, together let us strive to enter 
 upon the blissful rewards of eternity ! Fathers and 
 mothers! remember the children of your love. 
 Where you cannot approve and praise, it is yours to 
 pity and forgive. " 
 
 Elliot sat down and bowed his head upon his 
 hands. The white-haired patriarch arose and offered 
 a short, tremulous prayer. Then, as before, the 
 whole congregation rose and sung: that glorious 
 
 hymn, 
 
 " When all thy mercies, my God," 
 
 seemed to break spontaneously from every tongue. 
 Elliot stood up with the rest and joined in singing, 
 but his voice wavered in the second stanza, and 
 when they came to the third he sat down, and I 
 could see that he was convulsed with weeping. 
 There were tremulous voices besides his, and many 
 cheeks wet with tears.
 
 26 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 
 
 Charles had not once raised his head since Elli- 
 ot's allusion to their mother; but the father stood 
 erect, apparently unconscious that another person 
 was in the house. His hands hung listlessly at his 
 sides, and he was singing at the top of his stento- 
 rian voice. 
 
 After the benediction was pronounced, Elliot 
 stepped without the railing, and each one, while 
 passing by, shook the young preacher's hand, and 
 bade him God speed. 
 
 Charles was nowhere to be seen after the dis- 
 mission. I rode home with Mr. Ray, and Elliot 
 followed some distance behind with his uncle. 
 
 Mrs. Ray rose hastily from her chair as I went 
 in. She was looking very pale, but without noti- 
 cing me, she went to the book-case, took down a 
 large volume, and was returning with it to her seat, 
 when her husband entered. 
 
 " Why, Mary !" he exclaimed, " you are not 
 going to study surveying to-day, are you? God 
 bless our boy! He did nobly! You needn't be 
 ashamed of him; let me put this book in the library; 
 there's your Bible, dear, on the stand." 
 
 He said this very tenderly, and replacing the 
 book she had mistaken for her Bible, he led her 
 gently back to her chair. 
 
 She clasped her hands together, and I thought 
 she was fainting; but a glance in the direction she
 
 THE YOUNG PREACHER. 27 
 
 was looking showed me that Elliot had come. I 
 hastened to my own room, for I would not intrude 
 myself as a witness to such a meeting. 
 
 An hour afterward I passed the door of Elliot's 
 room ; it was open, and he stood by it, leaning hia 
 head against the casement. He looked exhausted 
 and pale, but very happy. He reached out his 
 hand to me, and as I took it I said : 
 
 " Tour recompense was sure : has not the gleaner 
 already been rewarded with a sheaf?" 
 
 "Yes, Sister A.," he replied, "and a richer one 
 than he deserved. Charles is in tears in his moth- 
 ers room ; but give her the praise ; I owe everything 
 t/ my mother."

 
 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT; 
 
 OH, 
 
 ELDER BLUNT AND SISTER SCRUB,
 
 SELF-DISPARAGE ME NT; 
 
 OE, 
 
 ELDER BLUNT AND SISTER SCRUB. 
 
 IN one of the Eastern states there is a settlement 
 which has long been celebrated as a stronghold of 
 Methodism. It is an out-of-the-way neighborhood, 
 yet no place in the whole country is better known, or 
 more highly esteemed. In the center of the settle- 
 ment, just where two roads cut each other at right 
 angles, making a " four corners," is the school-house, 
 painted red, and long familiar as the only place of 
 public worship in the settlement. The people are 
 well off now, and have built a nice and commodious 
 Church, on the opposite corner. A few rods up the 
 road from the school-house lived Squire Scrub. You 
 could tell, at first sight, that the " Squire" was " well 
 to do" in this world, for everything about him denot- 
 ed it. There was his picket fence all around his 
 garden painted red, and the top tipped with white ; 
 there was his house, a modest one story and a half, 
 with a leaning to in the rear, painted white all over ;
 
 82 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 
 
 there was the barn, a large, well-filled barn it was ; 
 there was the farm, a choice lot of one hundred acres, 
 well cultivated ; and besides all this, there were the 
 honors and emoluments of the important office of 
 justice of the peace. The " Squire" was, of course, a 
 man of note in his town. He had been a justice 
 several terms in succession. He was a trustee of 
 the school district, and he was both class-leader and 
 steward in the Methodist Church. I have no doubt 
 he would have received other honors at the hands of 
 his fellow-townsmen and brethren, had he been 
 eligible. Still he was a quiet, unassuming man, and 
 I verily believe he thought more of his religion than 
 of all his ecclesiastical and civil honors. His house 
 was the itinerant's home ; and a right sweet, pleasant 
 home it would have been but for a certain unfortu- 
 nate weakness of the every other way excellent Sister 
 Scrub. The weakness I allude to was, or at least it 
 was suspected to be, the love of praise. Now the 
 good sister was really worthy of high praise, and she 
 often received it ; but she had a way of disparaging 
 herself and her performances, which some people 
 thought was intended to invite praise. No house- 
 wife kept her floors looking so clean and her walls 
 so well whitewashed as she. Every board was 
 scrubbed and scoured till further scrubbing and 
 scouring would have been labor wasted. No one 
 could look on her white ash floor, and not admire
 
 SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 83 
 
 the polish her industry gave it. The " Squire" was 
 a good provider, and Sister Scrub was an excellent 
 cook ; and so their table groaned under a burden of 
 good things on all occasions when good cheer was 
 demanded. And yet you could never enter the 
 house and sit half an hour without being reminded 
 that "Husband held court yesterday, and she 
 couldn't keep the house decent." If you sat down 
 to eat with them she was sorry she " hadn't anything 
 fit to eat." She had been scrubbing, or washing, or 
 ironing, or she had been half sick, and she hadn't 
 got such and such things, that she ought to have. 
 Nor did it matter how bountiful or how well pre- 
 pared the repast really was, there was always some- 
 thing deficient, the want of which furnished a text 
 for a disparaging discourse on the occasion. I re- 
 member once, that we sat down to a table that a 
 king might have been happy to enjoy. There was 
 the light snow-white bread, there were the potatoes 
 reeking in butter, there were the chickens swimming 
 in gravy, there were the onions and the turnips, and 
 I was sure Sister Scrub had gratified her ambition 
 once. We sat down, and a blessing was asked. In- 
 gtantly the good sister began: she was afraid her 
 coifee was too much burned, or that the water had 
 been smoked, or that she hadn't roasted the chicken 
 enough. There ought to have been some salad, and 
 it was too bad that there was nothing nice to offer us.
 
 34 JSELF-DISPARAGEMENT, 
 
 Wo, of course, endured these unjustifiable apologies 
 as well as we could, simply remarking that every- 
 thing was really nice, and proving by our acts that 
 the repast was tempting to our appetites. 
 
 I will now introduce another actor to the reader. 
 It is Elder Blunt, the circuit preacher. Elder Blunt 
 was a good man. His religion was of the most gen- 
 uine, experimental kind. He was a very plain man. 
 He, like Mr. Wesley, would no more dare preach a 
 fine sermon than wear a fine coat. He was celebrated 
 for his common-sense way of exhibiting the principles 
 of religion. He would speak just what he thought, 
 and as he felt. He somehow got the name of being 
 an eccentric preacher, as every man, I believe, does, 
 who never prevaricates and always acts and speaks as 
 he thinks. Somehow or other, Elder Blunt had heard 
 of Sister Scrub, and of that infirmity of hers, and he 
 resolved to cure her. On his first round he stopped 
 at " Squire Scrub's," as all other itinerants had done 
 before Ijim. John, the young man, took the elder's 
 horse and put him in the stable, and the preacher 
 entered the house. He was shown into the best room, 
 and soon felt very much at home. He expected to 
 hear something in due time disparaging the domestic 
 arrangements, but he heard it sooner than he expected. 
 This time, if Sister Scrub could be credited, her house 
 was all upside down; it wasn't fit to stay in, and she 
 was sadly mortified to be caught in such a plight.
 
 SELF-DISPARAGEMEN^. 36 
 
 The elder looked all around the room, as if to observe 
 the terrible disorder, but he said not a word. By and 
 by the dinner was ready, and the elder sat down with 
 the family to a well-spread table. Here, again, Sister 
 Scrub found everything faulty; the coffee wasn't fit 
 to drink, and she hadn't anything fit to eat. The 
 elder lifted his dark eye to her face ; for a moment he 
 seemed to penetrate her very soul with his austere 
 gaze ; then slowly rising from the table he said, "Broth- 
 er Scrub, I want my horse immediately ; I must leave." 
 
 " Why, Brother Blunt, what is the matter ?" 
 
 "Matter? Why, sir, your house isn't fit to stay in, 
 and you haven't anything fit to eat or drink, and I 
 won't stay." 
 
 Both the "Squire" and his lady were. confounded. 
 This was a piece of eccentricity entirely unlocked for. 
 They were stupefied. But the elder was gone. He 
 wouldn't stay in a house not fit to stay in, and where 
 there wasn't anything fit to eat and drink. 
 
 Poor Sister Scrub ! She wept like a child at her 
 folly. She " knew it would bo all over town," she 
 said, "and everybody would be laughing at her." 
 And then, how should she meet, the blunt, honest 
 . elder again ? " She hadn't meant anything by what 
 she had said." Ah ! she never thought how wicked 
 it was to say so much that didn't mean anything. 
 
 The upshot of the whole matter was, that Sister 
 
 Scrub " saw herself as others saw her." She ceased 
 
 3
 
 86 ^ELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 
 
 making apologies, and became a wiser and better 
 Christian. Elder Blunt always puts up there, always 
 finds everything as it should be, and with all his 
 eccentricities, is thought by the family the most 
 agreeable, as he is acknowledged by everybody to be 
 the most consistent of men.
 
 THE 
 
 ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 BY T. S. ARTHUR.
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 
 A NEW presiding elder, Mr. N., was expected in 
 
 District ; and as the ministers all stopped with 
 
 Brother W. and his wife, every preparation was 
 made to give him a cordial reception. The honest 
 couple thought that religion, in part, consisted in 
 making some parade; and therefore the parlor was 
 put in order, a nice fire was made, and the kitchen 
 replenished with cakes, chickens, and every delicacy, 
 preparatory to cooking. 
 
 "While Mr. W. was out at his wood-pile, a plain- 
 looking, coarsely-dressed, but quiet-like pedestrian 
 came along, and inquired the distance to the next 
 town. He was told that it was three miles. Being 
 very cold, he asked permission to enter and warm 
 himself. Assent was given very grudgingly, and 
 both went into the kitchen. The wife looked dag- 
 gers at this untimely intrusion, for the stranger had 
 on cow-hide boots, an old hat, and a thread-bare, 
 but neatly patched, coat. At length she gave him a
 
 40 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 chair beside the Dutch oven which was baking nice 
 cakes for the presiding elder, who was momentarily- 
 expected, and who was to preach the next day at the 
 church a mile or two beyond. 
 
 The stranger, after warming himself, prepared to 
 leave ; but the weather became more inclement, and 
 as his appetite was roused by the viands about the 
 fire, he asked for some little refreshment ere he set 
 out on a cold walk to the town beyond. Mrs. "W. 
 ' was displeased, but on consultation with her husband, 
 some cold bacon and bread were set on an old table, 
 and he was then somewhat gruffly told to eat. It 
 was growing dark, and hints were thrown out that 
 the stranger had better depart, as it was three long 
 miles to town. The wife grew petulant as the new 
 preacher did not arrive, and her husband sat whistling 
 the air of " Auld Lang Syne," while he thought of the 
 words of the hymn, 
 
 "When I can read my title clear," 
 
 and felt as if he could order the stranger off without 
 any further ado. 
 
 The homely meal was at last concluded ; the man 
 thanked them kindly for the hospitality he had re- 
 ceived, and opened the door to go. But it was quite 
 dark, and clouds denoting a storm filled the heavens. 
 " You say it is full three miles to D. ?" 
 " I do," said Mr. "W., coldly ; " I said so when you
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 41 
 
 first stopped, and you ought to have pushed on, like 
 a prudent man. You could have reached there before 
 it was quite dark." 
 
 "But I was cold and hungry, and might have 
 fainted by the way." 
 
 The manner of saying this touched the farmer's 
 feelings a little. 
 
 " You have warmed me and fed me, for which I 
 am thankful. Will yon not bestow another act of 
 kindness upon one in a strange place, and who, if 
 he goes out in the darkness, may lose himself and 
 perish in the cold?" 
 
 The peculiar form in which this request was made, 
 and the tone in which it was uttered, put it out of 
 the power of the farmer to say no. 
 
 " Go in there and sit down," he answered, pointing 
 to the kitchen, " and I will see my wife, and hear 
 what she says." 
 
 And Mr. W. went into the parlor, where the supper 
 table stood, covered with a snow-white cloth, and 
 displaying his wife's set of blue-sprigged china, that 
 was only brought out on special occasions. 
 
 The tall mold candles were burning thereon, and 
 on the hearth blazed a cheerful fire. 
 
 " Hasn't that old fellow gone yet?" asked Mrs. W. 
 She heard his voice as he returned from the door. 
 
 " No ; and what do you suppose ? He wants us to 
 let him stay all night!"
 
 42 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 " Indeed, we'll do no such thing ! We can't have 
 the likes of him in the house now. Where could he 
 Bleep?" 
 
 " Not in the best room, even if Mr. N. should not 
 come." 
 
 " No, indeed !" 
 
 " But really I don't see, Jane, how we can turn 
 him out of doors. He doesn't look like a very strong 
 man, and it's dark and cold, and full three miles 
 toD." 
 
 " It's too much. He ought to have gone on while 
 he had daylight, and not lingered here as he did till 
 it got dark." 
 
 " We can't turn him out of doors, Jane, and it's 
 no use to think of it. He'll have to stay, somehow." 
 
 " But what can we do with him ?" 
 
 " He seems like a decent man at least, and doesn't 
 look as if he had anything bad about him. We 
 might make him a bed on the floor somewhere." 
 
 " I wish he had been at Guinea before he came 
 here !" said Mrs. W. 3 fretfully. The disappointment 
 and conviction that Mr. N. would not arrive, occa- 
 sioned her to feel very unpleasant ; and the intrusion 
 of so unwelcome a visitor as the stranger completely 
 unhinged her mind. 
 
 " O, well," replied her husband, in a soothing 
 voice, " never mind. We must make the best of it. 
 He came to us tired and hungry, and we warmed
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 43 
 
 and fed him. He now asks shelter for the night, and 
 we must not refuse him, nor grant his request in a 
 complaining or reluctant spirit. Tou know what the 
 Bible says about entertaining angels unawares." 
 
 " Angels ! did you ever see an angel look like 
 him?" 
 
 " Having never seen an angel," said the farmer, 
 smiling, " I am unable to speak as to their appear- 
 ance." 
 
 This had the effect to call an answering smile to 
 the face of Mrs. W., and a better feeling to her heart. 
 It was finally agreed between them, that the man, 
 as he seemed like a decent kind of person, should 
 be permitted to occupy the minister's room, if that 
 individual did not arrive, an event to which they both 
 looked with but small expectancy. If he did come, 
 why the man would have to put up with poorer 
 accommodations. 
 
 When Mr. "W. returned to the kitchen, where the 
 stranger had seated himself before the fire, he in- 
 formed him that they had decided to let him stay all 
 night. The man expressed in a few words his grate- 
 ful sense of their kindness, and then became silent 
 and thoughtful. Soon after, the fanner's wife, giving 
 up all hope of Mr. N.'s arrival, had supper taken 
 up, which consisted of coffee, warm short-cake, and 
 broiled chickens. After all was on the table, a short 
 conference was held as to whether it would not do to
 
 44 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 invite the stranger to take supper. It was true they 
 had given him as much bread and bacon as he could 
 eat, but then, as long as he was going to stay all 
 night, it looked too inhospitable to sit down to the 
 table and not to ask him to join them. So making a 
 virtue of necessity, he was kindly asked to come to 
 supper ; an invitation which he did not decline. 
 Grace was said over the meal by Mr. W., and the 
 coffee poured out, the bread helped, and the meat 
 carved. 
 
 There was a fine little boy six years old at the 
 table, who had been brightened up, and dressed in 
 his best, in order to grace the minister's reception. 
 Charles was full of talk, and the parents felt a mutual 
 pride in showing him off, even before their humble 
 guest, who noticed him particularly, though he had 
 not much to say. 
 
 " Come, Charley," said Mr. W., after the meal was 
 over, and he sat leaning back in his chair, "can't 
 you repeat the pretty hymn mamma taught you last 
 Sunday ?" 
 
 Charley started off without further invitation, and 
 repeated very accurately two or three verses of a 
 new camp-meeting hymn, that was just then very 
 popular. 
 
 "Now let us hear you say the commandments, 
 Charley," spoke up the mother, well pleased at her 
 child's performance.
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 45 
 
 And Charley repeated them with the aid of a little 
 prompting. 
 
 " How many commandments are there ?" asked 
 the father. 
 
 The child hesitated, and then, looking up at the 
 stranger, near whom he sat, said, innocently : 
 
 " How many are there ?" 
 
 The man thought for some moments, and said, as 
 if in doubt : 
 
 ' l Eleven, are there not ?" 
 
 " Eleven !" ejaculated Mrs. W. in great surprise. 
 
 "Eleven!" said her husband, with more rebuke 
 than astonishment in his voice. " Is it possible, sir, 
 that you do not know how many commandments 
 there are! How many are there, Charley? Come, 
 tell me ; you know, of course." 
 
 "Ten," replied the child". 
 
 "Right, my son," returned Mr. W., looking with a 
 smile of approval on the child. "Right! There 
 isn't a child of his age in ten miles who can't tell you 
 there are ten commandments. Did you ever read 
 the Bible, sir ?" addressing the stranger. 
 
 " When I was a little boy I used to read it some- 
 times. But I am sure I thought there were eleven 
 commandments. Are you not mistaken about there 
 being only ten ?" 
 
 Sister W. lifted her hands in unfeigned astonish- 
 ment, and exclaimed :
 
 46 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 "Could any one believe it? 13ueh ignorance of the 
 Bible!" 
 
 Mr. ~W. did not reply, but rose, and going to one 
 corner of the room where the good book lay upon 
 the small stand, he put it on the table before him, 
 and opened at that portion in which the command- 
 ments are recorded. 
 
 "There!" he said, placing his finger upon the 
 proof of the stranger's error. "There ! look for your- 
 self." 
 
 The stranger came around from his side of the table 
 and looked over Mr. "W.'s shoulder. 
 
 "There! ten, d'ye see?" 
 
 "Yes, it does say ten," replied the man; "and yet 
 it seems to me there are eleven. I'm sure I have 
 always thought so." 
 
 " Doesn't it say ten here ?" inquired Mr. W., with 
 marked impatience in his voice. 
 
 " It does, certainly." 
 
 " Well, what more do you want ? Can't you be- 
 lieve the Bible ?" 
 
 " O, yes, I believe the Bible ; and yet, it strikes 
 me somehow, that there must be eleven command- 
 ments. Hasn't one been added somewhere else ?" 
 
 N ow this was too much for Brother and Sister "W. 
 to hear. Such ignorance of sacred matters they felt 
 to be unpardonable. A long lecture followed, in 
 which the man was scolded, admonished, and threat-
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 47 
 
 ened with Divine indignation. At its close he mod- 
 estly asked if he might not have the Bible to read 
 for an hour or two before retiring for the night. 
 This request was granted with more pleasure than 
 any of the preceding ones. 
 
 Shortly after supper the man was conducted to the 
 little square room, accompanied by the Bible. Be- 
 fore leaving him alone, Mr. "W. felt it to be his duty 
 to exhort him to spiritual things, and he did so most 
 earnestly for ten or fifteen minutes. But he could 
 not see that his words made much impression, and 
 he finally left his guest, lamenting his obduracy and 
 ignorance. 
 
 In the morning he came down, and meeting Mr. 
 "W., asked him if he would be so kind as to lend him 
 a razor, that he might remove his beard, which did 
 not give his face a very attractive aspect. His re- 
 quest was complied with. 
 
 " "We will have prayers in about ten minutes," said 
 Mr. W., as he handed him the razor and shaving-box. 
 
 The man appeared, and behaved with due pro- 
 priety at family worship. After breakfast he 
 thanked the farmer and his wife for their hospital-, 
 ity, and departing, went on his journey. 
 
 Ten o'clock came, but Mr. N. had not arrived. 
 So Mr. and Mrs. W. started for the meeting-house, 
 not doubting that they would find him there. But 
 they were disappointed. A goodly number of peo-
 
 48 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 pie were inside the meeting-house, and 'a goodly 
 number outside, but the minister had not arriTed. 
 
 " Where is Mr. !N". ?" inquired a dozen voices, as a 
 little crowd gathered around the farmer. 
 
 "He hasn't come yet. Something has detained 
 him. But I still look for him ; indeed, I fully expect- 
 ed to find him here." 
 
 The day was cold, and Mr. "W"., after becoming 
 thoroughly chilled, concluded to go in and keep a 
 good look-out for the minister from the window near 
 which he usually sat. Others, from the same cause, 
 followed his example, and the little meeting-house 
 was soon filled, and one after another came dropping 
 in. The farmer, who turned toward the door each 
 time it was opened, was a little surprised to see his 
 guest of the previous night enter, and come slowly 
 down the aisle, looking from side to side, as if search- 
 ing for a vacant seat, very few of which were now 
 left. Still advancing, he finally got within the little 
 inclosed altar, and ascending to the pulpit, took off 
 his old gray overcoat and sat down. 
 
 By this time Mr. ~W. was at his side, and had his 
 hand upon his arm. 
 
 "You musn't sit here. Come down, and J will 
 show you a seat," he said, in an excited tone. 
 
 "Thank you," replied the man in a composed 
 voice. " It is very comfortable here." And the 
 man remained immovable.
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 49 
 
 Mr. W. feeling embarrassed, weuf down, intending 
 to get a brother " official " to assist him in making a 
 forcible ejection of the man from the place he was 
 desecrating. Immediately upon his doing so, however, 
 the man rose, and standing up at the desk, opened 
 the hymn book. His voice thrilled to the finger ends 
 of Brother "W\, as in a distinct and impressive manner 
 he gave out the hymn beginning : 
 
 ','Help us to help each other, Lord, 
 
 Each other's cross to bear ; 
 Let each his friendly aid afford, 
 And feel a brother's care." 
 
 The congregation rose after the stranger had read 
 the entire hymn, and had repeated the first two lines 
 for them to sing. Brother "W. usually started the 
 tunes. He tried this time, but went off on a long 
 meter tune. Discovering his mistake at the second 
 word, he balked and tried it again, but now he stum- 
 bled on short meter. A musical brother here came 
 to his aid, and led off with a tune that suited the 
 measure in which the hymn was written. 
 
 After singing, the congregation kneeled, and the 
 minister, for no one doubted his real character, 
 addressed the throne of grace with much fervor and 
 eloquence. The reading of a chapter in the Bible 
 succeeded. Then thexe was a deep pause throughout 
 the room in anticipation of the text, which the 
 preacher prepared to announce.
 
 50 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 
 
 Brother "W. looked pale, and his hands and knees 
 trembled. Sister W.'s face was like crimson, and her 
 heart was beating so loud that she wondered whether 
 the sound was not heard by the sister who sat beside 
 her. There was a breathless silence. The dropping 
 of a pin might almost have been heard. Then the 
 fine, emphatic tones of the preacher filled the 
 crowded room. 
 
 " A. new commandment I gi/ue unto you, That ye 
 love one another" 
 
 Brother "W. had bent forward to listen, but now he 
 sank back in his seat. This was the Eleventh com- 
 mandment. 
 
 The sermon was deep, searching, yet affectionate 
 and impressive. The preacher uttered nothing that 
 could in the least wound the brother and sister of 
 whose hospitality he had partaken, but he said much 
 that smote upon their hearts, and made them pain- 
 fully conscious that they had not shown as much 
 kindness to the stranger as he had been entitled to 
 receive on the broad principle of humanity. But 
 they suffered most from mortification of feeling. To 
 think that they should have treated the presiding 
 elder of the district after such a fashion was deeply 
 humiliating; and the idea of the whole affair getting 
 abroad, interfered sadly with their devotional feel- 
 ings throughout the whole period of service. 
 
 At last the sermon was over, the ordinance admin-
 
 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. 51 
 
 istered, and the benediction pronounced. Brother 
 W. did not know what it was best for him to do. He 
 never was more at a loss in his life. Then Mr. N. 
 descended from the pulpit, but he did not step 
 forward to meet him. How could he do that ? Oth- 
 ers gathered around and shook hands with him, but 
 still he lingered and held back. 
 
 "Where is Brother W.?" he at length heard asked. 
 It was the voice of the minister. 
 
 " Here he is," said one or two, opening the way to 
 where the farmer stood. 
 
 The preacher advanced, and catching his hand, 
 said: 
 
 " How do you do, Brother W. ? I am glad to see 
 yon. And where is Sister W. ?" 
 
 Sister W. was brought forward, and the preacher 
 shook hands with them heartily, while his face was 
 lit up with smiles. 
 
 " I believe I am to find a home with you," he said, 
 as if it was settled. 
 
 Before the still embarrassed brother and sister 
 could reply, some one asked : 
 
 " How came you to be detained so late ? You 
 were expected last night. And where is Brother R. ?" 
 
 " Brother R. is sick," replied Mr. N., "*and I had 
 to come alone. Five miles from this my horse gave 
 out, and I had to come the rest of the way on foot. 
 But I became so cold and weary that I found it
 
 62 THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMEN1- 
 
 necessary to ask a farmer not far from here to give 
 me a night's lodging, which he was kind enough to 
 do. I thought I was still three miles off, but it hap- 
 pened that I was much nearer my journey's end than 
 I supposed." 
 
 This explanation was satisfactory to all parties, and 
 in due time the congregation dispersed, and the 
 presiding elder went home with Brother and Sister W. 
 One thing is certain, however, the story never got 
 out for some years after the worthy brother and sister 
 had passed from their labors, and it was then related 
 by Mr. N. himself, who was rather eccentric in his 
 character, and, like numbers of his ministerial 
 brethren, fond of a joke, and given to relating good 
 stories.
 
 THE 
 
 YI.LLAGE SLANDER. 
 
 BY WILLIAM COMSTOCK.
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Blasset, a worthy old inhabitant of our 
 village, was going to mill, some two or three weeks 
 ago, he met Mr. Samuel Gore, and after exchanging 
 the customary salutations with each other, the two 
 gentlemen held a short consultation. 
 
 " Do tell me, neighbor Gore, what sort of a man is 
 that Windham, who has lately taken a house near 
 you?" 
 
 " I don't like to speak ill of my neighbors," replied 
 Gore, " but I am afraid he is not such a man as you 
 could approve or esteem." 
 
 "Indeed! why so?" 
 
 " I fear he is a man of very high temper ; a very 
 dangerous man, in fact," said the other. 
 
 " That is bad, very bad," cried Blasset, shaking his 
 head. " The worst is his own, for I had intended to 
 offer him a prime situation, and a profitable one ; but 
 if he is a man of violent temper he would not answer 
 our purpose. It is a pity, but it cannot be helped."
 
 66 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 
 
 Mr. Blasset rode on, and Mr. Gore also went abou. 
 his business. 
 
 Two days afterward, there was a party of young 
 people at Squire Blackwell's house, and during the 
 evening a couple of young ladies present discoursed 
 as follows : 
 
 " Have you seen Miss Jaines lately ?" 
 
 " No, I have not. I understand she is very mel- 
 ancholy." 
 
 " That is not strange. It was cruel in her parents 
 to break up the match," 
 
 " Not altogether cruel, when everything is consid- 
 ered. I am certain that if I were in their situation, 
 I should not want to marry a daughter of mine to 
 such a man as Mr. "Windham." 
 
 " But perhaps it is not so bad as they have been 
 led to suppose." 
 
 " Yet, only think of it ! To attack a poor old man 
 in that way ! Really, I must defend the conduct of 
 Mr. and Mrs. James. I think they would have 
 proved wanting in their conduct to their daughter, 
 if they had permitted the marriage to take place." 
 
 " But will he not sue for a breach of promise ?" 
 
 " That admits not of a doubt. A man of so ma- 
 licious and fiery a disposition will leave no stone un- 
 turned. He will make trouble for them if he can." 
 
 " Well, it is a sad affair. How much mischief is 
 done in this world, and how many innocent persons
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 57 
 
 are made to suffer by the ungovernable passions of 
 an individual ?" 
 
 On the day after the above conversation had taken 
 place, there was a number of persons gathered to- 
 gether in the village tavern, talking politics, dis- 
 coursing about the news of the day, and playing at 
 checkers. The post-office was kept at the tavern, 
 and occasionally some person was obliged to run the 
 gauntlet through clouds of tobacco smoke, projecting 
 legs, and obtrusive elbows, before he could win his 
 way to the bar, and make the necessary inquiry. 
 Not much notice was taken, however, of those appli- 
 cants, until a young man of modest bearing, and ap- 
 parently with some hesitation, entered the room, and 
 pressed through the crowd for the purpose of obtain- 
 ing a letter. All eyes were immediately turned 
 upon him, and his countenance betrayed considera- 
 ble anxiety and agitation, when he overheard the 
 remarks which were obviously intended for his ear. 
 
 After leaving the tavern this young man passed 
 quickly up the main road for about the distance of a 
 quarter of a mile, when he turned off into a path 
 leading into a piece of woods, and then he slackened 
 his pace. He went slowly forward, muttering to 
 himself, while his features worked with strong emo- 
 tion, and an occasional tear glistened in his eyes. 
 When he had reached the middle of the wood lie 
 became sensible that some person was approaching
 
 58 THE VILLAG 
 
 SLANDER. 
 
 him from the opposite direction. He would fain 
 have turned aside, but it was too late, and suddenly 
 the minister of the village church stood before him. 
 
 " Good day, Mr. Windham," was the sudden ad- 
 dress of that gentleman; "I have been to your house, 
 but you were not at home. I have desired to see 
 you for several days. Nay, be not dismayed, I come 
 on a friendly errand. I have heard of your misfor- 
 tunes, and desire to alleviate, if not wholly remove 
 them. There seems to be a strong prejudice against 
 you in this place, and I suspect that it is ill-founded." 
 
 "Indeed it is," replied "Windham; "I know not 
 what it means. I have some enemy here who has 
 crossed me at every turn. Strange stories are re- 
 ported concerning me, and I know not from what 
 source they have taken their rise. Even now I went 
 to the post-office for a letter ; every one stared at 
 me as if I had been the great giraffe from Africa, 
 and when they whispered to one another, I could 
 hear them say, ' He has the gallows written on his 
 forehead !' f What a hang-dog countenance !' ' See 
 how his eyes glare!' I am certain I do not know 
 what it means." 
 
 "I believe you," said the minister, taking his 
 hand, " and I am persuaded that the people of this 
 village labor under some mistake respecting you. 
 It is said that you are hasty and passionate, and 
 I understand it was on that score the parents of "
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. i)9 
 
 Perceiving Windham becoming much agitated, the 
 speaker paused. He resumed in a few moments : 
 
 "No matter. I wish to put you in a way to re- 
 move the imputations which have been cast upon 
 you. If you are innocent you have nothing to fear. 
 Fix upon some one person who has evinced dislike 
 toward you. Go to him in a frank and manly way. 
 See him alone, and persuade him to give you the 
 name of the individual from whom he derived his 
 information respecting you. Then go to the individ- 
 ual named, and require the authority by which he 
 has spoken ill of you. When the foundation of these 
 reports is once laid bare, you may annihilate it with 
 a single breath." 
 
 "You impose upon me an arduous and painful 
 task," replied the young man. 
 
 "There is but one right way to do anything," 
 said the minister. "It is the part of virtue to 
 show its head. Vice skulks in dens and caves. 
 You must put on the armor of faith, and believe 
 that victory, sooner or later, crowns the right. 
 Confidence in the power of justice and truth, gives 
 moral courage. I beg that you will play the man 
 in this matter." 
 
 Windham seemed to catch the spirit of his advi- 
 ser, and promised to follow his directions. He 
 bade the Rev. Mr. Rogers good-by, and walked 
 directly back to the tavern. He stood at the door
 
 60 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 
 
 of the bar-room and looked in. A general sneer 
 was the consequence. There were frowns and mut- 
 terings, whisperings and threatening gestures. For 
 a moment Windham's heart misgave him. In an- 
 other instant he was at the side of one of his 
 persecutors. "Mr. Jones, I desire to speak to you 
 in private," said he. Now Mr. Jones was a pro- 
 fessor of religion, and a member of the Church ; 
 yet he had suffered himself to become violently 
 prejudiced against the young man. This sudden 
 challenge to a personal interview was as unexpected 
 to him as to the other individuals present. He 
 blushed, and looked about him as if doubtful what 
 course to take. He saw that the eyes of all pres- 
 ent were upon him, and he thought best to grant 
 the request of the youth. They walked out together 
 and stood upon the green in front of the church. 
 
 "Mr. Jones," said Windham, "you appear to 
 have heard some slanderous report respecting me. 
 Will you be so kind as to give the name of my 
 traducer ?" 
 
 "Well, sir," said the other, "you have some 
 assurance, seeing that I am a stranger to you. 
 What if I should say that you had no right to 
 demand such a thing of me? It's not my way to 
 make trouble between other folks. I've heard 
 enough to convince me that you ought not to be 
 tolerated in this town."
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 61 
 
 "What was the story that you heard, sir?" 
 
 "What did I hear? Ask your own conscience. 
 Your countenance shows it now. A person that 
 wasn't guilty would not tremble and turn pale as 
 you do. I suppose you will deny that you attempt- 
 ed your uncle's life ?" 
 
 "I, sir! I don't understand you. Here is some 
 mistake. I beg you, I beseech you, to give me the 
 name of the person who told you so." 
 
 " In order that you may go and attempt his life 
 too, "I suppose. No, no, young man; you don't 
 carry on such business in this village, I warrant you." 
 
 "Then you will not give the name of your in- 
 former?" 
 
 "I tell you I will not, .for everybody knows." 
 Here Mr. Jones suddenly paused, and betrayed 
 some emotion. Windham followed the direction 
 of his eyes, and turning his head, saw Mr. Rogers 
 looking over his shoulder upon the countenance of 
 Jones, with a steady but stern aspect. 
 
 " Ahem ! this young man has been telling me," 
 commenced Mr. Jones. 
 
 " I beg you will continue your conversation with 
 him" said Mr. Rogers. "As I am privy to the 
 subject of your discourse, I suppose you can have 
 no objection to my presence." 
 
 " Certainly not, Mr. Rogers," returned the other. 
 "He is a very dangerous young man, as you have
 
 62 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 
 
 heard, no doubt. He wants me to give the name 
 of the person who told me his true character. But 
 that would make mischief, you know." 
 
 "Have you reported the story to any other indi- 
 vidual ?" inquired the minister. 
 
 "I can't deny but what I have," answered the 
 other. 
 
 ""Were you not afraid that you should -make 
 mischief by so doing ?" asked Mr. Rogers. " Surely 
 a man who evinces so much tenderness of con- 
 science, ought to be careful how he gives currency 
 to idle rumors." 
 
 "Idle rumors, sir! "Would Mr. Gore report a 
 falsehood?" 
 
 "I will see Mr. Gore immediately," said the 
 youth with some eagerness. 
 
 "Do so," said the minister, as he turned to go 
 home, and left Mr. Jones alone upon the green, in 
 a state of bewilderment. 
 
 "Windham hastened to the farm-house, and found 
 Mr. Gore smoking his pipe in the corner of his 
 antiquated fire-place. 
 
 " Good-day, sir," said the young man. 
 
 Gore was in no haste to reply to the unexpected 
 salutation; but suflfering the smoke to clear away 
 from before his vision, and half shutting his eyes, 
 he peered earnestly through his knitted brows, as 
 if doubting the identity of his visitor.
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 68 
 
 The youth felt as if he had no time to lose. 
 
 "Sir," said he, "I have been shunned by my 
 acquaintances, denied admittance to the house of 
 Mr. James, and stared at like a wild beast in a 
 menagerie, for several days past." . 
 
 " For your bad conduct O, young man." 
 
 " No, sir ; but because you have reported that I 
 tried to kill my uncle." 
 
 "I did not say exactly so," returned Mr. Gore. 
 "But I heard that you made a murderous assault 
 on your uncle with an ax." 
 
 "Who said so?" 
 
 "I heard it from Mr. Smith, and he says he will 
 not eat his own words." 
 
 "Thank you, sir!" cried "Windham; and he ran 
 to the "store kept by Mr. Smith. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mr. Smith," said he, hastily. 
 
 "Well, sir," returned Smith, coldly. 
 
 "Did you report that I attacked my uncle with 
 an ax ?" said the young man. 
 
 " Certainly I did," responded the store-keeper. 
 " Did you not confess the crime to me yourself?" 
 
 " Never !" exclaimed Windham. 
 
 " What !" cried Smith ; " did I not meet you in 
 the road the other day, with a staff in your hand, 
 and did I not ask you how you did, and " 
 
 "I remember it all; how strange!" exclaimed 
 Windham. "Now, all who are present will be
 
 64 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 
 
 good enough to listen to me. I met Mr. Smith 
 in the road the other day. I had a staff in my 
 hand, for I was lame. He asked me how I did, 
 and I replied that I had hurt my amJde with an 
 ax." 
 
 "Did you not say that you hurt your wide with 
 an ax?" cried the store-keeper, blushing as red as 
 scarlet. 
 
 "By no means," cried Windham; and he imme- 
 diately stripped down his stocking and laid bare a 
 scar upon his ankle, which had evidently been 
 the result of a blow from an ax. 
 
 "The young man is right, it was my mistake!" 
 said the store-keeper. "Give me your hand. I 
 beg your pardon." 
 
 "Windham reached his hand to Smith, and all 
 who were in the store walked up and shook 
 hands with the young man, expressing their 
 regret for the mistake into which they had 
 fallen. 
 
 Before the sun went down, there was not a 
 man, woman, or child in the village who had 
 not heard the triumphant refutation of the fool- 
 ish slander. A reaction took place, and every 
 villager was desirous of doing Windham a kind- 
 ness. But he did not see Mr. Rogers again 
 until he was obliged to secure the services of 
 that gentleman in a delicate affair, which con-
 
 THE VILLAGE SLANDER. 65 
 
 cerned Miss James equally with himself. He 
 then thanked the clergyman for his timely ad- 
 vice and assistance!, and added : " Hereafter, 
 when a false imputation rests upon me, I will 
 meet it boldly, prove its source, and look it 
 down at once."
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 BY ALICE B. NEAL.

 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 " You don't say so ?" 
 
 " True as Gospel, Miss Snelling. That velvet cloak 
 of hers, she calls it a Talma, cost every cent of 
 twenty -five dollars. Then there is her bonnet; that 
 came from New -York too: Miss Dunn's work ain't 
 good enough for her of late years. Well, that bonnet 
 couldn't be bought for less than eight dollars. Why 
 the ribbons must be four-and-six a yard, not to speak 
 of the feathers. Then there's that new plaid silk, 
 you know, and that French merino ; neither of them 
 less than twelve shillings, and that's the way she 
 dresses. Time was when she was glad enough to get 
 me to sew for her. I've had her beg and beg, and 
 beseech me to give her a day, or even a half day, in 
 my spring hurry ; and now she's got a seamstress, as 
 she calls that stuck-up girl that sits in the sitting-room 
 all day. She makes the children's clothes, and hern 
 are cut and fixed in New- York, when they ain't 
 made there."
 
 70 ' . CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 
 
 "She's dreadful extravagant for a Church member," 
 said Mrs. Snelling, with a sigh, as she turned herself 
 slowly round before the little looking glass. She was 
 having a lining fitted by the village dress-maker, 
 Miss Prime5 and a merino dress she had worn two 
 years was partly ripped up on the chair by the win- 
 dow. It was the only dress-making she had on hand 
 for the season. It was a hard winter, and what with 
 the sickness of the children, and Mr. Snelling losing 
 so much time by the frost, their means were unu- 
 sually limited. No wonder she thought of the ease 
 and plenty of the rich manufacturer's household with 
 a feeling of envy. She did not know it, though. She 
 was a plain, good-hearted person naturally, strug- 
 gling on to do her duty, through the discouragement 
 of ill-health, ailing children, and very narrow means ; 
 but she could not help thinking Mrs. Hubbard was 
 getting worldly and extravagant, as year by year 
 her household arrangements and personal expenses 
 increased. 
 
 Only the Sunday before, at meeting, she could not 
 fix her attention upon the sermon for looking at the 
 velvet Talma worn by her old friend and still kind 
 neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. They were members of the 
 same church, of which Mr. Hubbard was the most 
 liberal supporter. He gave according to his means, 
 and at the same time desired his wife and family to 
 dress as became his altered condition and prospects.
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 71 
 
 "Time was wheiTshe had to work hard enough, 5 * 
 continued Miss Prime, pinching in a side seam in the 
 endeavor to produce the hour glass shape, orthodox 
 when she " learned her trade." " I remember when 
 they first set up housekeeping, and she had to do her 
 own work as well as other people, and her own sew- 
 ing too. Now I don't believe she takes a needle in 
 her hand from morning till night, while you and I, 
 Miss Snelling, don't get many play spells." 
 
 The leaven of uncharitableness worked on in Mrs. 
 Snelling's heart. 
 
 "I'm afraid there is not much spiritual growth, 
 Miss Prime. The cares of this world choke the seed." 
 Poor woman, she thought it was only an interest in 
 her neighbor's best good that prompted such a 
 constant review of her conduct. " People that have 
 their hearts set on dress and high living can't have 
 much time for better things." 
 
 " That's what I think. How do you like them bask 
 waists, Miss Snelling ? I hear they're all the fashion 
 in New -York.' Miss Dunn said she'd try and get me 
 a pattern when she went down in the spring. I 
 wouldn't ask Mrs. Hubbard to lend me hers to look 
 at for nothing in the world. How am I going to get 
 out new backs, Mrs. Snelling ?" 
 
 " There's the cape, you see." 
 
 "Why so there is! I never calculated the cape. 
 I was studying and contriving all the time you were
 
 72 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 m 
 
 at breakfast. Says I, 'Miss Snelling will have to 
 have them backs pieced, and then everybody in 
 town will know it has been made over.'" 
 
 As if everybody in Mrs. Snelling's community 
 would not have known and noticed, that her brown 
 merino of two winters ago had been turned and made 
 up again for her best dress. She had set her heart 
 early in the fall, on a new style of plaids, for sale at 
 Brown and Plaisted's ; but the doctor's bill was so 
 much larger than she expected, she was obliged to 
 give it up. The sacrifice had cost her many hours 
 of calculation, alternate resolves, and reconsideration. 
 Every purchase that she made indeed was, of neces- 
 sity, turned over and over in her mind for weeks. 
 
 Miss Prime went on with her fitting by the 
 window, and Mrs. Snelling with her task of washing 
 up the breakfast dishes, jogging the cradle with one 
 foot now and then, as her youngest child stirred in 
 his morning nap. 
 
 " That was a lucky thought, that cape." Miss Prime 
 resumed her thimble and her conversation together. 
 "It don't seem to be so much worn as the rest neither." 
 
 " No, it isn't ; I only kept it for very cold days. I 
 thought of it in church, Sunday, right in the middle 
 of the sermon. Queer, wasn't it ? I was dreadfully 
 afraid you couldn't get it out. So as soon as I came 
 home, I took it out and looked at it ; sure enough, it 
 was the very thing."
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 78 
 
 " I see Miss JamelThas got a new cloak this winter. 
 She hain't worn hers more than three winters, to 
 my knowledge. Well, these rich people are just as 
 worldly, for all I see, as if they wasn't professors." 
 Miss Prime was one of the most constant attendants 
 upon the prayer-meetings, and saw no " beam in her 
 own eye." 
 
 "Time was, as you say, Miss Prime, when we were 
 all plain people together, with good feelings toward 
 each other. I think of it very often the days when 
 Susan Hubbard and I used to send our little presents 
 to each other, New Year's, and be neighborly all 
 along. That was before the Jameses moved here, or 
 Lawyer Marten's people. She is so intimate with 
 them now, she hasn't got any time for old friends. 
 Many and many's the time I've sent her things right 
 off my table ; and when her Jane had the scarlet 
 fever, I sat up with her night after night. But I 
 don't mind that. What I look at is Christian pro- 
 fessors being so taken up with dress, and going about, 
 but dress particularly. It don't look right, and it 
 isn't in accordance with Scripture." 
 
 It was a wearisome, fatiguing day to Mrs. Snelling, 
 who did the whole work of her household. Her 
 oldest son was learning his father's trade, and the 
 dinner for the two had to be on the table precisely 
 at twelve, for they had but an hour's nooning. So, 
 scarcely were the breakfast things cleared away, when
 
 74 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 there were the meat and vegetables to prepare for a 
 " boiled dinner ;" and twice she was obliged to stand 
 and be pinned up in the thick jean lining Miss Prime 
 was fitting with unexampled tightness. The afternoon 
 was no better; she had Tuesday's ironing to finish, 
 her little boy was sick and fretful, and very heavy ; 
 he required to be nursed and tended as if he had been 
 a baby. She wanted to sew with Miss Prime ; but 
 no sooner would she get her needle threaded and her 
 thimble on, than some new demand would be made 
 upon her time ; and so the short afternoon passed 
 before she could stitch up a seam, and tea must be 
 ready by dark. Besides all this, Miss Prime was dis- 
 posed to continue her conversation, with very little 
 pause or stint, discussing the affairs of the neighbor- 
 hood and the Church, with a train of moral and relig- 
 ious and personal reflections. Every one knows how 
 fatiguing it is to be expected to listen to such a dis- 
 course, and respond in the right place, even when the 
 mind is unoccupied ; and then the dress did not look 
 near as well as Mrs. Snelling had figured it in her 
 mind, the new pieces being several shades darker than 
 the main body of the material. More discouraging 
 than all, it needed "finishing off" when seven o'clock 
 sounded the signal for the conference meeting, which 
 Miss Prime would not miss on any account. 
 
 " I wouldn't mind staying over my time just to 
 give you a helping hand, if it wasn't Church-meeting
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 75 
 
 
 
 night ; but you know it's very important all should 
 be there that can. To be sure, Miss Hubbard is so 
 took up with other things now, she never goes ; and 
 though Miss James joined by letter when she came, 
 she's never been to a business meeting. For my 
 part, I think we've got just as good a right to vote 
 in Church meeting as the men, and speak too, if we 
 want to, though Deacon Smith has set his face against 
 it of late years. So, you see, I'll have to go ; and 
 there's only the facing to face down, and them seams 
 to stitch up, and the hooks and eyes to go on. The 
 sleeves are all ready to baste in O, and there's the 
 bones ; but bones are nothing to put in, especially as 
 John Lockwood is to be dealt with to-night for going 
 to the theater last time he was in New- York. For 
 my part, I never did put much confidence in his re- 
 ligion ; and the more some of us stay away, the more 
 the rest of us ought to go. Don't forget to take in 
 that shoulder seam a little. For my part, I think his 
 sister ought to be labored with for singing such 
 songs as she does on the piano: clear love songs, 
 and plays opera pieces, Miss Allen says. Now 
 which is the worst, I'd like to know, going to the 
 theater, or playing opera pieces? Miss Hubbard's 
 Jane does that, when she's at home in vacation, 
 though. That piece under the arm don't look so 
 very bad, Miss Snelling there ain't more'n two 
 hours' work, any way."
 
 76 CHAKITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 | 
 
 Two hours' work to a person who could scarcely 
 get time to do her own mending from week to week, 
 was no trifle. Mrs. Snelling wavered for a little 
 time between the accumulated pile of dilapidated 
 under-clothes in the willow basket and the unfinish- 
 ed dress; but the dress must be done before New- 
 Year's day, now close at hand, and she lighted an- 
 other lamp, and drew her little work-stand up to 
 the fire, as the clock struck eight. Her mind had 
 opened itself to discontented thoughts in the morn 
 ing, and " the enemy had come in like a flood," until 
 all the brightness of her life had been swept out 
 of sight. She saw only the successive woes of ill- 
 health, loss, and wearing anxiety, which had rolled 
 over them in the past, and a blank, dreary prospect 
 in the future. Her very occupation reminded her 
 of it. If she could have afforded Miss Prime's as- 
 sistance two days instead of one, she might have got 
 ahead in her sewing a little ; now here was another 
 drawback, and she had so little time. And " There 
 was Susan Hubbard ; but then she did not give up 
 everything to dress and display, thank goodness ! as 
 Susan Hubbard did, bringing scandal in the Church, 
 and setting herself up over everybody." 
 
 A knock at the front door was a fresh annoyance ; 
 for her work had to be put down again, and the sick 
 boy quieted, before Mrs. Snelling went shivering 
 through the cold to answer it.
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 77 
 
 4p 
 The neighborly visitor was no other than Mrs. 
 
 Hubbard ; and " no fire except in the kitchen," was 
 Mrs. Snelling's first thought, as she recognized her 
 with admixed feeling of gratification, "hard thoughts," 
 and curiosity. Certainly it was a curious coinci- 
 dence that the person who had formed the subject of 
 her thoughts and conversation so much of the day, 
 should suddenly appear. 
 
 " Don't mind me," Mrs. Hubbard said, pleasantly, 
 stepping on before her old neighbor. " This way, I 
 suppose." And she led the way to the kitchen her- 
 self, thus avoiding the necessity of an apology on the 
 part of Mrs. Snelling.' "How bright and cheerful a 
 cook stove looks, after all ! and your kitchen always 
 was as neat as wax. We never used to keep but one 
 fire, you know." 
 
 This last was an unfortunate allusion. Mrs. Snell- 
 ing's softening face grew coldly rigid at what she 
 considered an attempt to patronize her. 
 
 " Poor folks had to," she said, taking up her work, 
 and stitching away vigorously. 
 
 " I haven't forgotten old times, Jane," Mrs. Hub- 
 Lard went on, not caring to notice the ungracious 
 tone in which this remark was made, "when we 
 were all .beginning the world together. You seem 
 to, though, for then you used to run in and see me, 
 and I was thinking to-night you haven't been up to 
 our house since October."
 
 78 CHAEITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 Mrs. Snelling began to say something about " not 
 going where she was not wanted ;" bnt it died away 
 lower and lower when she remembered that Mrs. 
 Hubbard had been in twice since then. ^ 
 
 "I know you have a great deal to keep you at 
 home ; I know how it used to be when my children 
 were little. You didn't let me pay three visits to 
 your one then, Jane." 
 
 Mrs. H. drew her thimble from her pocket, and 
 took up the top piece of mending from the big wil- 
 low basket, in the most natural manner. 
 
 " I can work and talk too, you know. Mr. Hub- 
 bard has gone to Church meeting ; but I don't think 
 it's exactly our place to attend to Church discipline ; 
 we women are so apt to make a bad matter worse 
 by talking it over among each other, and to people 
 that it doesn't concern. So I thought I'd just run in 
 sociably and bring my thimble, as we used to do for 
 each other." 
 
 Mrs. Snelling would have said, half an hour ago, 
 that she was completely fortified against Mrs. Hub- 
 bard's advances, in what shape soever; but she 
 began to find a mist gathering in her eyes, as that 
 old kindness and affection came stealing back again 
 in recollection. But Mrs. Hubbard was a wise 
 woman, and she knew that a friend aggrieved was 
 hard to win, whether the offense had been intention- 
 al or not.
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 79 
 
 " It's pretty hard work to live right, isn't it ?" she 
 Baid, verging round again to the old subject, after a 
 little talk about the roads and the weather. " Every 
 lot in. life has its trials. I used to look at rich people, 
 and think that they hadn't a care in the world ; but 
 now Mr. Hubbard has done so well, we have to live 
 differently and dress differently, and there's no end 
 to looking after things. I used to work hard all day, 
 and when the children were . asleep in the evening, 
 sit down comfortably to sew or read; but there's 
 something or somebody to see to, to the last minute. 
 To be sure, as far as dress is concerned, I don't think 
 half so much of it now as I used to, when I had to 
 plan and contrive about every cent. Why, I often 
 used to find myself planning about my sewing in ser- 
 mon time, if you will believe it, and how I should 
 get the girls two dresses out of one of mine. To be 
 sure, I have no such temptations now." 
 
 Mrs. Snelling looked up suddenly, as the recol- 
 lection of her Sunday plan about the cape came 
 into her mind. Could it be that to Him unto 
 whom all hearts are open, she had been the less 
 sincere worshiper of the two ! 
 
 "I should like to try a little prosperity by way 
 of a. change," she said, more pleasantly than she 
 had last spoken, but still with bitterness beneath. 
 " Fm tired of slaving." 
 
 "O, Jane!" Mrs. Hubbard said quickly, "don't
 
 80 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 choose, don't choose your trials. I used to say 
 that very thing, and that it was well enough for 
 rich people to preach." Mrs. Snelling saw the 
 painful expression that crossed her friend's face> 
 and the current report of young Robert Hub- 
 bard's dissipation came into her mind. " Every- 
 body has his own troubles; some don't stand out 
 as plain as others, and don't get so much pity. Rich 
 people get very little, and they have hard work 
 enough to bring up their children right, and live 
 in peace and charity with all. I've got so now I 
 only ask for patience to bear the trial of the time, 
 instead of praying to have it changed, and think- 
 ing that I could bear any other better." 
 
 The two women sewed in silence for a little 
 while ; each heart knew its own bitterness. 
 
 "Jane," Mrs. Hubbard said, stopping suddenly 
 and looking into the bright grate in front of the 
 stove, "shall I tell you what this puts me in 
 mind of, seeing this nice, bright cooking-stove? of 
 that New- Year's night, the winter Robert was 
 sick, and our children were all little, when you 
 came round and brought them over to spend the 
 afternoon, and boiled candy for them, and let them 
 pop corn. They brought us home a plateful of 
 braided sticks. Poor little things ! if it hadn't been 
 for you, they wouldn't have had so much as a pin 
 for a New- Year's present; their father was so sick
 
 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 81 
 
 and I was so worn out. Why, only think, they 
 had been teasing me to buy them some candy, and 
 I did not feel that I could afford that quart of mo- 
 lasses ! I've thought of it often and often since. 
 Somehow, this winter there's scarcely a day when 
 it doesn't come to my mind, and I always feel 
 like crying." 
 
 . Mrs. Snelling was crying, as Mrs. Hubbard's 
 voice faltered more and more; she did not attempt 
 to conceal it ; she remembered that New Year's 
 day so well, and how she pitied Susan's poor lit- 
 tle boys, and brought them home, and made them 
 as happy as children could be made, in the very 
 kindness of her warm heart. The long struggle 
 with poverty and care had not seared it after all. 
 
 "Don't cry, Jane; but you won't mind, and won't 
 misunderstand me now, if I've bought you a New- 
 Year's present of a dress? I was afraid you wouldn't 
 take it as it was meant, if I just sent it. Here it 
 is." And Mrs. Hubbard unrolled the very raw silk 
 plaid Mrs. Snelling had so long coveted. "I wanted 
 it to be useful, and I went down to get a cashmere 
 Like mine ; but you happened to be there when I 
 went in, and I saw how long you looked at this." 
 
 Mrs. Snelling remembered the day, and that she 
 had come home thinking Mrs. Hubbard felt too 
 grand to talk to her before the clerks. 
 
 "I was afraid you would find me out, and BO 1
 
 82 CHARITY ENVIETH NOT. 
 
 kept at the other end of the store. Now you will 
 not misunderstand me, will you, Jane ?" 
 
 "O, Susan, I had such hard thoughts, you don't 
 know." And Mrs. Snelling put her apron up to 
 her eyes, instead of looking at the new silk. 
 
 "Never mind that now, it's only natural. I 
 could see just how you felt, for the more I tried 
 to be neighborly the colder you got. It has griev- 
 ed me a good deal. But about the dress. Ann 
 was not very busy, and so I had her make the 
 skirt, as we could wear each other's dresses in old 
 times, and every little helps when a person has a 
 deal to do; if you will let me know when Miss 
 Prime comes to make it up, she shall come over 
 and sew for her." 
 
 "Charity is not easily provoked, suffereth long, 
 and is kind," was the minister's text the next Sun- 
 day; but Mrs. Snelling thought of a better illus- 
 tration than any he could offer, and noted the 
 rest of the verse with humiliation CHABITY ENVI- 
 
 ETH NOT.
 
 THE 
 
 ELOQUENT NEGRO PEEACHEE.
 
 THE 
 
 ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 CHAPTEK I... v 
 
 ENGAGED on a missionary reconnoiter in North- 
 western Missouri, I started, on the 5th of , in the 
 
 year , from the city of St. Louis, then a compara- 
 tively little city, to my destination, distant between 
 three and four hundred miles. A few days' travel 
 plunged me into a ^wilderness well-nigh pathless, with 
 but here and there, at long intervals, a rude and soli- 
 tary cabin. The proximity, however, of these "palaces 
 of our Puritan fathers," at some of the eligible points 
 on the water-courses, was such as to dignify the region 
 with the title of " settlements." 
 
 Sojourning for a day at one of these, and preaching 
 to a congregation of scarce over a dozen, children and 
 watch-dogs excepted, I was pleased to learn that a 
 camp-meeting was then pending at the next settle- 
 ment, distant some twenty miles, held by our " Free- 
 will Baptist" brethren, accompanied by a cordial
 
 86 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 invitation to attend, by an official of that order. I 
 also learned that the chief attraction of the occasion, 
 as it respected ministerial ability, was a colored 
 preacher by the name of Carper, an emancipated 
 slave from Tennessee, greatly celebrated (and as we 
 shall see presently, justly) for. his impassioned elo- 
 quence. My hospitable host and hostess dwelt upon 
 his merits in terms of the most emphatic eulogy. 
 " He's a mighty great preacher : he knows a heap : 
 he's powerful, at 'splanin' the Scripters," said the 
 former. But here (and it seemed a thing to which 
 he was used) he was suddenly interrupted by his 
 loving spouse, a plump, neat, little, short, scarlet- 
 cheeked, nimble-motioned woman, with a rather 
 palish blue eye, that reposed in its artless purity 
 like the maiden moon in the sky's blue depth. Her 
 hair was flaxen, with an auburn tinge, seeming scru- 
 pulously to eschew the red. Her lips were neither 
 thick nor thin a happy medium. She would not 
 fly into a pet, nor pout when she was in one ; a rare 
 union of " spunk" and patience, possessing enough of 
 the former to take fire in a moment, if there were , 
 really an occasion ; and enough of the latter, not 
 indeed to think before she spoke under provocation, 
 but to consider after she had spoken, and take back 
 what was rashly said. 
 
 With a nice little foot in a mongrel shoe, something 
 "between a shoe and a moccasin, a clean "linsey"
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 87 
 
 dress, check apron, and a cotton handkerchief about 
 her neck, she was busily engaged in frying a skillet 
 of venison and baking the " corn-cake" over a huge 
 hearth-fire, and restraining sundry little, tow-headed, 
 half-clad, shoeless responsibilities, anxious to antici- 
 pate the inviting repast, when, hearing the name of 
 the favorite preacher called, accompanied by some- 
 thing said in his praise, she whirled round like a top, 
 and with her husband's large hunting-knife in her 
 hand, she commenced, accompanying each sentence 
 with a most emphatic and often not graceless gesture : 
 
 " Why, Brother W., he's a posey of a preacher ; 
 he's a perfect flowing stream; he's a thur erbolt; 
 he's elokent, so he is ; he's flowery as a prairie in 
 June ; he's an eagle on the mountain peak ; he's an . 
 elk in the tall grass ; a son of the morning ; he's a 
 caution the highest larnt nigger ye ever seed. Why, 
 I've seed 'urn fall under his preach'n as if they were 
 shot, and a dozen jump and shout glory at once : I 
 tell ye, he's a screamer, all the way from old Ten- 
 nessee." 
 
 Here I smiled and ejaculated astonishment, and 
 her good-natured consort looked and nodded assent. 
 By the way, he was a marked specimen of a far West 
 " squatter," (there was a far West in those days,) a 
 class of semi-civilized preemptioners, that kept gen- 
 erally in advance of the chain and compass, taking 
 their meat chiefly from the woods and the waves;
 
 88 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 pasturing their flocks in those limitless meadows, out 
 of whose flowery bosom the sun seems to come forth 
 in the morning, and into which it seems again to 
 nestle in the evening ; raising their scanty supply of 
 bread on some of the alluvial deltas of the numberless 
 streams that interlace, like fillets of silver, the broad 
 lands of our Columbian Canaan. Pioneers of the 
 pioneers compose this class. Often for years beyond 
 the reach of the publican, the pedagogue, and the 
 preacher, they are " a law unto themselves." Neces- 
 sity is the parent of their arts, mutual interest the 
 mother of their morals, and tradition and instinct the 
 chief sources of their better hopes ; artless and igno 
 rant, with less of guile than many who know more. 
 .Knowledge, wealth, power, and place, much oftener, 
 as yet, minister to corruption in this world, than to 
 virtue. 
 
 Mine host was a man of high cheek bones, long, 
 projecting, and angular chin; mouth large and sunk- 
 en, as many teeth were minus ; nose long, but it 
 had failed to "come to a point," and was a little 
 flattened; eyes small and of a darkish gray, not a 
 quarter of an inch apart ; forehead high and not 
 retreating, but projecting; big head, with dark bushy 
 hair ; sallow countenance, with small neck ; long, 
 brawny limbs, with short body. Attired in a hunt- 
 ing shirt with a leathern girdle about him, mocca- 
 ains, and a pair of doeskin galligaskins, much op-
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 89 
 
 posed in their lower extremities to the extension 
 of territory, he sat upon a rude bench, leaning for- 
 ward like a half-open jack-knife, listening with 
 delight to the somewhat poetic eulogy of his better 
 half on the famous negro orator. 
 
 Our friend, it will be perceived, was the very 
 impersonation of a take-life-easy kind of a genius. 
 A little hen-pecked, (lie richly deserved it,) but he 
 did not know it; one instance, at least, in which 
 " ignorance is bliss." His heart reposed amid the 
 " olive plants," and they were not few, that girdled, 
 greedily, the frugal table of his forest home, like 
 the downy bird that nestleth in the gaudy foliage 
 of the rose bush, and feeleth not its thorn. What 
 solicitude should he feel about the future of his 
 dear ones ? He had been flung into the woods from 
 birth, helped himself and fared well enough, and 
 so might they. The oldest, not over fifteen, could 
 read an easy chapter in the Bible, by spelling the 
 hard words; for the rest, they mostly knew their 
 letters; the girls could hoe corn, hatchel flax, and 
 spin; the boys were a dead shot, could shave the 
 ear of a black squirrel with a rifle-ball, in the top 
 of the tallest tree, and heart a buck at a hundred 
 yards. In fact, our friend seemed greatly animated 
 with the thought of the distinguished spheres in the 
 world which his children bid so fair to fill. 
 
 Our friend's head was not so large for nothing.
 
 90 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 The world, to him, was very large and flat, for it 
 looked so ; and the stars high and little for the same 
 reason. He was an adept, also, in at least some of 
 Shakspeare's philosophy : 
 
 " I know that the more one sickens the less at ease he is ; 
 That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn ; 
 That good pasture makes fat sheep, and tha't a 
 Great cause of the night, is lack of the sun." 
 
 But religion in the sublimity of its simplicity 
 meets the wants of man in his intellectual infancy. 
 Mind that scarcely buds here may still feel the 
 genial warmth of her light, and shall blossom here- 
 after in the mellow morning of her radiance. "The 
 fool shall not" fatally " err" in his faith. Our friend 
 believed that Jesus saved him ; and that death would 
 hand him through the grave to the embrace of 
 angels. He believed, too, that his cherub boy, 
 (" the smartest child he had ever had,") whose lonely 
 grave, uppiled with rough stones, was by the root 
 of an old oaken tree, in the depths of the dark wild- 
 wood, would fly to him then, on wings of snowy 
 white, and clasp his little arms about his neck, dry 
 the last damps of grief from his cheek with his 
 kisses of rapture, and sing in his bosom such luscious 
 lullabies as infant angels soothe themselves to sleep 
 on in the land of souls. Higher motives for his 
 unlettered faith might have bewildered rather than
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 91 
 
 have nurtured it. In the work of reform in the 
 ruder phases of society, feeling has often in a grteat 
 measure to be substituted for tJwnhmg. Few are 
 found who can be made to think ; all can be made 
 to feel. And the attempt to exalt thinking at the 
 expense of feeling has always involved the kid- 
 gloved, college-made missionary for the far West in 
 a " splendid failure." " The pulpit pounder," and 
 the pounder of benches and crazy tables for the 
 want of pulpits to pound, the man of noise rather 
 than niceties, of sound rather than sense, the man 
 of stentorian lungs, wet eyes, and tiny brain, among 
 the cabins that first dotted our Southwestern frontier, 
 has had his mission of power. But how absurd and 
 how little in accordance with the progressive spirit 
 of the age, would be a system of Church policy that 
 should attempt to palm such preachers on a people 
 more intellectually advanced, and plead the precedent 
 of such examples. 
 
 " Man wants but little here below, ' . 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 
 In this sentiment our friend seemed truly orthodox, 
 and showed his faith by his works. Astronomy or 
 botany could be studied through his cabin by looking 
 in almost any direction. The crazy, clap-board doors 
 sagged and creaked on their wooden hinges as if 
 the tails of half of Samson's foxes had suddenly been
 
 92 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 caught in a vice. Undermined by wood mice, two 
 corners of the house, diagonally, had sunk a foot lower 
 than the other two. The ridge pole swayed low in 
 the center, giving the roof a saddle-like shape. The 
 stick chimney, as if conceiving an aversion for its 
 partner, leaned from the house at an angle of forty 
 five degrees, and was propped up with a pole. A 
 poultry roost was between the upper half of the 
 chimney and the gable of the house, as a protection 
 against the wild " varmints." In short, our friend's 
 "lodge in the vast wilderness" looked much like a 
 black cocked hat, a little " tattered and torn." On 
 its outer walls were stretched for preservation the 
 skins of the raccoon, deer, and opossum. On its 
 inner, and from its joists, hung strings of dried 
 pumpkin, commingled with skeins of flax thread, 
 jerked meats, clusters of choice corn, divers roots 
 and " 'erbs," and filleted bunches of spearmint, cat- 
 nip, and pennyroyal, the rarities and materia medico, 
 of backwoodsdom, (pity that they should ever be 
 superseded.) The trusty rifle reposed on two wooden 
 hooks just over the door. One oblong room served 
 all purposes well, for which various rooms in domi- 
 cils were ever thought of. Three large watch-dogs 
 kept sentry at the door, and a little up-backed 
 wiffet shared with grimalkin the " privileges of the 
 house." 
 
 Our friend's farm corresponded with all else. It
 
 ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 93 
 
 consisted of a few weedy acres of prairie land, in- 
 closed in a zigzag fence, and in no shape known in 
 geometiy. A fragile, bell-topped corn-crib, and a 
 nondescript inclosure of logs with a hollow tree-boll 
 for a manger, constituted the out-buildings. A living 
 spring bubbled up at the base of an abrupt hill, a few 
 paces distant; and its pebbled brooklet meandered 
 through the unfenced door-yard, and sung its cease- 
 less solo to the gabble of geese, the barking of 
 curs, and the uproarious laugh of a dozen gipsy- 
 looking, squalid children ; and then stretched away, 
 widening as it went, through wild meadows which 
 fringed its banks with a profusion of nameless under- 
 growth, which bent as if to worship its refreshing 
 presence, and interweave garlands of votive flowers 
 in the flashing sheen of its crystal bosom, until it 
 mingled its murmurings, melodies, and the cymbal- 
 noted cadences of its tiny cascades with the majestic 
 meanings of age-nursed forests, and was lost to the 
 view. Over the up-welling fountain was reared a 
 rude little structure, " the spring-house," over whose 
 floor of rock flowed the ice-cold fountain, and in 
 which was deposited for safe keeping the surplus of 
 the scanty dairy. Snowy nectar and golden treasure, 
 how sweet were ye to the taste of the weary itinerant! 
 Bees, hived in the hollow trunk of a tree, were hum- 
 ming their industrial songs, as they flew to their work 
 of sweetness; a gorgeous unroll of luxuriant green
 
 94 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 and floral beauty lay, sea-like, around me, under the 
 golden smile of a June sun, softened and mellowed 
 by the aerial haze of the season, which spread over 
 the hills and valleys like a gauzy vail on the virgin 
 face of beauty, as I went to the spring with my good, 
 easy, contented host, while our frugal dinner was 
 being spread on a table of cleft boards. * V 
 
 Returning to full trenchers, tin cups of milk, gourds 
 of wild honey, and hot hoe-cakes, it seemed appropri- 
 ate over the table to quote and comment upon the 
 text, " Butter and honey shall he eat ; his bread shall 
 be given him, and his waters shall be sure," etc. 
 Waxing warm in my exegesis, our little voluble 
 landlady in linsey laid down- her pewter fork, and 
 exclaimed, " Well, who ever hearn the like ! if that 
 don't come up to Carper." 
 
 " Yeas," replied mine host, with a dampened eye, 
 " it's ezactly so ; I always kind a knowed it to be so ; 
 but what a mighty good thing deep larnin' is arter 
 all ! I've always had luck in huntin' if my corn does 
 grow rather sorry." 
 
 " I guess as how," said his wife, in a tone that 
 showed that she meant to be understood, by her 
 husband at least, rather affirmatively than interrog- 
 atively, "I guess as how the boys don't hoe it 
 enough !" 
 
 I glanced at the stunted, weedy corn through the 
 open door, and thought to myself, " How many who
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 95 
 
 complain at the scanty supply of Providence, only 
 prove by their nmrmurings that ' they don't hoe it 
 enough !' r 
 
 The next day we were all en route for camp- 
 meetmg, where we arrived just as our sable orator 
 arose to officiate. Sans ceremony, and declining 
 all, I took my seat with the congregation, which I 
 perceived was large for the country, numbering 
 perhaps three hundred. We scanned with no 
 small interest the occupant of the "stand." He 
 was a light-colored mulatto, age about fifty, a little 
 corpulent, mouth large and well-formed, eyes rather 
 small, chestnut-colored, looking a little dull, but 
 lighting up with fire as he became excited. His 
 brow was square, prominent, and retreating. In a 
 word, his form was symmetrical, and countenance 
 more intellectual than any one of his race I had 
 ever seen; nor have I since, in this respect, ever 
 met his equal, either indicatively or in fact. So- 
 lemnity, simplicity, dignity, and sincerity marked 
 his progress through the preliminaries. He pos- 
 sessed but an imperfect knowledge of letters; 
 read with hesitancy and inaccuracy ; seeming to 
 depend less upon the text to guide him, than his 
 memory. He spoke in the true negro dialect, but 
 seemed to employ a refined, if you please, a classic 
 species. It rolled from his lips with a sharpness 
 of outline and distinctness of enunciation tha*
 
 96 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 seemed to impart to it a polish and a charm, trans- 
 forming it into the language of beauty. Some sen- 
 tences in his prayer are note-worthy, as furnishing 
 a fair specimen of that artless eloquence that 
 flowed as natural from his lips, and as fresh and 
 sparkling, and seemingly as exhaustless as a mount- 
 ain cascade. "O Load, dou art bery great; all 
 else but dee is as notting, and less dan netting; dou 
 touchest de mountains and dey smoke ; dou boldest 
 de great and mighty sea in de hollow ob dine 
 hand, and takest up de isles as a bery little ting, 
 and at dine rebukes de pillars ob heben shudder, 
 and at dine purity de angels turn pale," &c. "O 
 Load, send de Star ob Bethlehem to shine in all 
 lands, and de angels ob de manger cradle to sing 
 in all countries, dat de world may be full ob de 
 light ob lobe, and de musk; ob salvation, and be 
 so mightily like heben, dat when de souls ob de 
 good come back again to de world dey may scarce 
 know de difference," etc. "O Load, gader all 
 classes and colors to de cross, bind de parted na- 
 tions togeder in a bond ob lobe, strong as de chain 
 of dine eternal decrees, and lasting as all ages to 
 come." His sermon, which followed, was jeweled 
 with sentences of similar, and even surpassing 
 merit, uttered with a well-controlled and musical 
 voice, with brimful eyes, and a pathos and power 
 which it is less difficult to remember than not to
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 97 
 
 envy. One would forget the visit of an angel as 
 soon as the blazing countenance and magic mis- 
 sion of the orator, who plays at will with his heart 
 strings. Listening to the preacher, my delight was 
 only excelled by my astonishment. Losing sight 
 of color, and the degradation of his race, I rever- 
 enced, in an unlettered African slave, the genius of 
 an Apollos and the force of an apostle. At the 
 close of each of his periods of fire, a volley of 
 "amens" from the pious of his excitable audience, 
 pealed up to heaven until the pendent boughs over 
 our heads seemed to wave in the ascending gusts 
 of devotion. Of the length of the sermon, I have 
 no recollection. Of the sermon itself I have the 
 most distinct recollection. His artless visions, like 
 Hebrew poetry, hang as pictures in the memory, to 
 which time but adds additional life and freshness. 
 Here .was unsophisticated genius, artless as child- 
 hood, strong as Hercules, taught by God only, as 
 were the fisherman founders of our faith, and seek- 
 ing the covert of the wilds of the West to lavish 
 its sparkling stores upon a rude and fugitive popu- 
 lation.
 
 98 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 CHAHffiR JDL 
 
 WHAT follows is scarcely an outline of his ser- 
 inon, but rather a sketch of some of its most elo- 
 quent passages. He announced for his text these 
 words: 
 
 "And a man shall be as a hiding-place from 
 the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as rivers 
 of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great 
 rock in a weary land." Isaiah xxxii, 2. 
 
 Dare be two kinds ob language, de literal and 
 de figerative. De one expresses de tought plainly, 
 but not passionately; de oder passionately, but not 
 always so plainly. De Bible abounds wid bof dese 
 mode ob talk. De text is an ensample of dat lubly 
 stile of speech de figerative. De prophet's mind 
 was as clear as de sea ob glass in de Rebalations, 
 and mingled wid fire. He seed away down de riber 
 ob ages glorious coming events. He held his ear 
 to de harp ob prophecy, and heard in its fainter 
 cadences, loudening as he listened, de birf-song ob 
 de multitude ob de hebenly host on de meadows ob 
 Bethlehem. He seed de hills ob Judea tipped wid 
 hebenly light; de fust sermun mountin, and de 
 transfigeration mountin, and de crucifixion mountin,
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PBEACHEB. 99 
 
 and de mountin ob ascension, clapped dare hands 
 in de prophet's wision ob gladness. Gray-bearded 
 Time stretched his brawny sinews to hasten on de 
 fullness of latter-day glory. Brederen, de text am 
 as full ob latter-day glorias am de sun ob light 
 It am as full ob Christ as de body ob heben am ob 
 God. De sinner's danger and his certain destruc- 
 tion ; Christ's sabin lub ; his sheltering grace and 
 his feasting goodness am brought to view in de 
 text, and impressed in de language ob comparison. 
 
 "And a man shall be as a hiding-place from de 
 wind." Many parts ob de ancient countries (and it 
 still am de case) was desert ; wild wastes ob dreary 
 desolation ; regions ob fine blistering sands ; just as 
 it was leff when de flood went away, and which has 
 not been suffered to cool since de fust sunshine dat 
 succeed dat event. No grass, no flower, no tree 
 dare be pleasant to de sight. A scene of unrelebed 
 waste ; an ocean made of powder, into which de 
 curse ob angered heben had ground a portion ob 
 earth. Now and den, a huge rock, like shattered 
 shafts and fallen monuments in a neglected grave- 
 yard, and big enof to be de tombstone ob millions, 
 would liff its mossless sides 'bove de 'cumulating 
 sands. No pisnous sarpint or venemous beast here 
 await dare prey, for death here has ended his work 
 and dwells mid silence. But de traveler here, who 
 adventures, or necessity may have made a bold
 
 100 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 wanderer, finds foes in de elements fatal and resist- 
 less. De long heated earth here at places sends up 
 all kinds ob pisnous gases from de many minerals ob 
 its mysterious bosom ; dese tings take fire, and den 
 dare be a tempest ob fire, and woe be to de traveler 
 dat be obertaken in dis fire ob de Lord widout a 
 shelter. Again, dem gases be pison, and dare be de 
 pison winds, as well as de fire winds. Dey can be 
 seen a coming, and look green and yeller, and cop- 
 pery, spotted snake-like, and float and wave in de 
 air, like pison coats on water, and look like de 
 wing ob de death angel ; fly as swift as de cloud 
 shadow ober de cotton field, and when dey obertake 
 de flying traveler dey am sure to prove his winding- 
 sheet ; de drifting sands do dare rest, and 'bliterate 
 de faintest traces ob his footsteps. Dis be death in 
 de desert, 'mid de wind's loud scream in your sand- 
 filling ears for a funeral seraum, and your grave hid- 
 den foreber. No sweet spring here to weave her 
 hangings ob green 'bout your lub-guarded dust. De 
 dews ob night shall shed no tears 'pon your famined 
 grave. De resurrection angel alone can find ye. 
 
 But agin dis fire wind and dis tempest ob pison 
 dat widthers wid a bref, and mummifies whole cara- 
 vans and armies in dare march, dare is one breast- 
 work, one " hiding-place," one protecting " shadow " 
 in de dreaded desert. It am " de shadow ob a great 
 rock in dis weary land." Often has de weary trav
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHEE. 101 
 
 eler seen death in de distance, pursuing him on de 
 wings of de wind, and felt de certainty ob his fate 
 in de darkness ob de furnace-like air around him. 
 A drowsiness stronger 'most dan de lub ob life 
 creeps ober him, and de jaded camel reels in -de 
 heby sand-road under him. A shout ob danger from 
 de more resolute captin ob de caravan am sent along 
 de ranks, prolonged by a thousand thirst-blistered 
 tongues, commingled in one ceaseless howl ob woe, 
 varied by ebery tone ob distress and despair. To 
 ^' de great rock," shouts de leader as 'pon his Arab 
 hoss he heads dis " flight to de Refuge." Behind 
 dem at a great distance, but yet fearfully near for 
 safety, is seed a dark belt bending ober de horizon, 
 and sparkling in its waby windings like a great sar- 
 pint, air hung at a little distance from de ground, 
 and advancing wid de swiftness ob an arrow. Be- 
 fore dem, in de distance, a mighty great rock spreads 
 out its broad and all-resisting sides, lifting its nar- 
 rowing pint 'bove the clouds, tipped wid de sun's 
 fiery blaze, which had burnt 'pon it since infant cre- 
 ation 'woke from de cradle ob kaos at de call ob its 
 Fader. [Here our sable orator pointed away to 
 some of the spurs of the Ozark Mountains seen off 
 to the northwest through a forest opening, at a dis- 
 tance of from ten to fifteen miles, and whose sum- 
 mits of barren granite blazed in the strength of a 
 clear June sun, like sheeted domes on distant cathe-
 
 102 THE ELOQUENT NEQEO PEEACHEB. 
 
 drals.] Dat light be de light ob hope, and dat rock 
 be de rock ob hope to de now flyin', weepin', faintin' 
 and famishin' hundreds. De captin' has arrived 
 dare. [Here a suppressed cry of "Thank God," 
 eseaped many of the audience.] See, he has dis- 
 appeared behind it, perhaps to explore its cavern 
 coverts. But see, he has soon reappeared, and wid 
 joy dancing in his eye, he stands shoutin' and beck- 
 onin', "Onward, onward, ONWARD, ONWARD,'' 
 when he reels from weariness and falls in behind de 
 rock. [" Thank God, he's saved !" exclaimed a voice.]* 
 Onward dey rush, men, women, husbands, wives, 
 parents and children, broders and sisters, like doves 
 to de windows, and disappear behind dis rampart ob 
 salvation. Some faint just as dey 'rive at de great 
 rock, and dare friends ran out and drag dem to de 
 " hidin' place," when wakin' up in safety, like dat 
 sister dare, dat lose her .strength in de prayer-meetin', 
 dey shout 'loud for joy. [Here many voices at once 
 shouted " Glory."] De darknin' sand-plain ober 
 which dese fled for life, now lies strewed wid beast, 
 giben out in the struggle, and all useless burdens was 
 trowed 'side. De waby sheet ob destruction, skim- 
 min' the surface wid de swiftness ob shadow, now be 
 bery near, and yet, a few feeble stragglers and lub- 
 bed friends ob dis sheltered multitude are yet a 
 great way off. [Here words were uttered in a chok- 
 ed accent, the speaker seeming unable to resist the 

 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 108 
 
 thrilling character of the analogy.] Yes, a great 
 way off. But see, moders and broders from behind 
 de rock are shoutin' to dem to hasten. Dey come, 
 dey come. A few steps more, and dey are sabed. 
 But O, de pison wind is just behind dem, and* its 
 choke mist already round dem ! Dare one falls, and 
 dare is a scream. No, he rises again and am sabed. 
 But one still is exposed. It be de fader ob dat little 
 nest ob sweet-eyed children, for which he had fled 
 to de rear to hurry on. Dey have passed forward 
 and are safe. He am but a little distance from de 
 rock, and not a head dares to peep to him encourage- 
 ment from behind it. Already de wings ob de death 
 angel am on de haunches ob his strong dromedary. 
 His beast falls, but 'pon de moment ob him falling, 
 de rider leaps out ob his saddle into dis " hiding- 
 place from de wind." His little boy crouched in a 
 hole ob de rock, into which he thrusts his head, 
 entwines his neck with his little arms and says, 
 " Papa, you hab come, and we be all here." [Here 
 the shouts of " Salvation," " Salvation," seemed to 
 shake the place in which we were assembled.] 
 
 Now, de burnin' winds and de pison winds blow 
 and beat 'pon dat rock, but dose who hab taken 
 refuge behind it, in its overhanging precipices, are 
 safe until de tempest am ober and gone. 
 
 And now, brederen, what does all dis represent in 
 a figure? Dat rock am Christ; dem winds be de
 
 104 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 wrath ob God rabealed against de children ob dis- 
 obedience. Dem that he sabed be dem dat hab 
 fled to de refuge, to de hope set before dem in 
 Christ Jesus de Lord. De desert am de vast 
 howling wilderness ob dis world, where dare be 
 so little .ob lub, and so much ob hate; so little ob 
 sincerity, and so much ob hypocrisy ; so little ob 
 good, and so much ob sin; so little ob heben, 
 and so much ob hell. It seem to poor me, dat 
 dis world am de battle-ground ob de debil and 
 his angels against Christ and his elect, and if 
 de debil hab not gained de victory, he hold pos- 
 session because every sinner am a Tory. God 
 ob de Gospel, open the batteries of heben to-day! 
 (Here a voltey of hearty "Amens.") Sinner, de 
 wrath ob God am gathering against you for de 
 great decisive battle. I already sees in de light 
 ob Zina's lightnings a long embankment ob dark 
 cloud down on de sky. De tall thunder heads 
 nod wid dare plumes of fire in dare onward 
 march. De day of vengeance am at hand. Mercy, 
 dat has pleaded long for you wid tears of blood, 
 will soon dry her eyes and hush her prayers in 
 your behalf. Death and hell hang on your track 
 wid de swiftness ob de tempest. Before you am 
 de " hiding-place." Fly, fty, I beseeches you, 
 from de wrath to come! 
 But, brederen, de joy ob de belieber in Jesus
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 105 
 
 am set forth in a figerative manner in de text. 
 It am compared to water to dem what be dying 
 ob thirst. O, how sweet, to de taste ob de desert 
 traveler sweltering under a burning sun, as if 
 creation was a great furnace! Water, sweet, 
 sparklin', livin', bubblin', silvery water, how does 
 his languid eye brighten as he suddenly sees it 
 gushing up at his feet like milk from de fount- 
 ain ob lub, or leaping from de sides ob de 
 mountain rock like a relief angel from heben. 
 He drinks long and gratefully, and feels again 
 de blessed pulsations ob being. And so wid 
 de soul dat experience joy in beliebing; de sweets 
 ob pardon ; de raptures ob peace ; de witnessin' 
 Spirit's communings, and de quiet awe ob adop- 
 tion. Such a soul be obershadowed wid de Al- 
 mighty; he linger in de shady retreats ob de 
 garden ob God; he feed in de pastures ob his 
 lub, and am led by still waters, and often visits 
 de land ob Beulah, whare it always am light. 
 But, my brederen, all comparison be too dispas- 
 sionate, and an angel's words am too cold to 
 describe de raptures ob salvation! It am un- 
 speakable and full ob glory. De life ob inno- 
 cence and prayer; de sweet, childlike smile and 
 de swimmin' eye; de countenance so glorious in 
 death, dat but for decay, de body ob de gone- 
 home saint might be kept as a breathin' statue
 
 106 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 of peace and patience, smiling in victory ober 
 all de sorrows ob life and de terrors ob death, 
 are de natural language ob dis holy passion. O, 
 glory to God ! I feels it to-day like fire in my 
 bones! Like a chained eagle my soul rises toward 
 her native heben, but she can only fly just so 
 high. But de fetters ob flesh shall fall off soon, 
 and den, 
 
 " ' I shall bathe my weary soul 
 In seas oh hebenly rest, 
 And not a wahe oh trouble roll 
 Across my peaceful breast.' " 
 
 The sun had gone down in an ocean of vermilion, 
 which had melted away at his setting into the silvery 
 radiance of countless stars ; the evening was not hot 
 nor sultry, but mild and invigorating, and sweet as 
 the breath of orange blossoms. Not a breeze was 
 astir to wave or rustle the rich foliage of the slumber- 
 ing forest. A mellow moon was half seen above the 
 summit of a western hill, and her broad smile, gentle 
 as love, was every moment adding enchantment to 
 reality. "We were in the bosom of the primitive 
 wild-wood, where silence, solitude, and beauty seemed 
 the presiding deities. Within a small tented circle, 
 the camp-fires, and a few rude tapers affixed to the 
 trunks of the sheltering trees, made all as light as a 
 city church. It was an interim of worship from the 
 stand, and prayer-meetings were in progress in the
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 107 
 
 tents. Strolling out some distance from the camp- 
 ground to meditate on the strangeness and loveliness 
 of the scene about me, I wa seated upon the trunk of 
 a fallen tree, watching the rising moon and listening 
 4 o the intermingling songs and praises of the forest 
 worshipers, when I was joined, at my own urgent 
 solicitations, by " Brother Carper" the sable orator, 
 whom we have introduced to our readers. Seeming 
 humbled by the interest I evinced in his history, he 
 modestly gave me a hurried brief of it. He was 
 born in "Old Kentuck." His mother was a full 
 blooded negress, a favorite slave, distinguished for 
 her intelligence. His father, her master, was a white 
 man, of liberal education, and distinguished by his 
 tact and eloquence in the halls of legislation. Of his 
 parentage on his father's side, he was ignorant until 
 his death, knowing him only in the relation of a not 
 over-lenient master. Falling to his son, (in fact, his 
 half-brother,) a benevolent, good man, his second 
 master, for reasons one would think very natural, 
 seemed desirous to secure to him his freedom. His 
 master emigrated with his slaves to Tennessee. 
 Cwrper obtained the reputation of being " a mighty 
 smart and good nigger," and his master had refused 
 tempting prices for him. He had obtained religion, 
 joined the Baptist Church, and was authorized to 
 preach to people of color. His sermons, however, 
 soon attracted the attention of the whites, and he was
 
 108 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHEE. 
 
 considered an excellent preacher for a " nigger." 
 Carper's success in his sacred vocation seemed but to 
 increase his master's solicitude for his emancipation. 
 Liberally tendering him the privilege of self-purchase, 
 at a price less by one half than he would bring in 
 market, our genius in a colored skin set himself about 
 the task, which, by dint of hard work, and the 
 products of a few acres of ground, lent him for his 
 exclusive use, he was enabled to accomplish in about 
 three years. In the meantime he had planned the 
 liberation of his wife, a slave belonging to a neigh- 
 boring family, in the same manner. But on obtaining 
 his own freedom, the family owning his wife and two 
 children emigrated westward, and settled on the head 
 waters of the Arkansas. Thither he chose to accom- 
 pany them, when the breaking out of the cholera in 
 the family, consigned his wife and children, with both 
 their old " massa and missus," to one common grave. 
 Carper, the Negro Preacher, was left alone in the 
 world with no other inheritance but his freedom. 
 Subsequently to the time of our "interview, he 
 preached the Gospel pennyless and homeless, but 
 beloved, for a few years longer in this wild region, 
 when Providence offered him, and he joyfully 
 accepted, the tenantry of a pine-shaded grave on the 
 banks of the St. Francis Uiver, where he now rests 
 well, owning all the way to heaven.
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 109 
 
 CHAPTEE m. 
 
 HERE is another of Carper's sermons. The sub- 
 ject is the " River of the Water of Life." 
 
 "And he showed me a pure river of water of 
 life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne 
 of God and of the Lamb." Rev. xxii, 1. 
 
 Brederen, we all knows what a ribber am. It am 
 a mighty pretty ting, an' always looks to me like 
 a ribbin danglin' from de bosom ob old moder 
 earth. Dere be White Ribber, an' dere be Black 
 Ribber ; de Mississippi Ribber, an' de Ohio Ribber ; 
 Tennessee an' old Tombigbee, which we used to 
 see way down in old Alabama. How of 'en hab 
 we stood on de banks ob some ob dese here rib- 
 bers, an' seed dere blue -or creamy waters move 
 along dotted an' dented wid eddies an' ripples, 
 like de great dent corn ob de big bottoms ; an' 
 dese eddies, whirling an' gamboling, an' den melt- 
 ing out into each oder, like de smile ob welcome 
 on de face ob a friend, afore he do you a favor, 
 an' seemin' to say ob de ribbers, whose waters dey 
 adorn, We flow for all, an' flow on, on, foreber. 
 What would we do in dis world widout ribbers? 
 Dey be de servants ob de sea, an' as dat great
 
 110 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 water press itself up fru de earth, an' as de sun 
 an' de cloud, as de larnt men tell us, lift its waters 
 up fru de air, to descend in sparklin' showers on 
 de hill an' de vale, de corn, cotton, tobacca, fill- 
 in' men's hearts wid joy an' gladness ; an' dese 
 ribbers gedder de sea-born springs an' de cloud- 
 born rains, an' return dem again to dere home in 
 de sea, to repeat dere mission ob mercy to man! 
 De waters, brederen, are like circuit-riders, gwine 
 all de while round an' round, doing good. O, how 
 we lub our preacher! when he come round here 
 to dis 'pointment, an' preach once a day to us, 
 poor black people, telling us how Jesus died for 
 all, an' how dat we shall be as white as any ob 
 dem in hebben, an' sweep de gold-paved streets ob 
 de new Jerusalem wid our muslin robes ob linen, 
 white an' clean, which be de righteousness ob de 
 saints. Sister, instead dere o*b leanin' ober de 
 cotton-hill in de hot day, wid the great drops ob 
 sweat drippin' down on the hoe-handle, an' castin' 
 a wishful eye now an' den at your shortenin' shad- 
 der, which am your watch to tell you when it is 
 noon, instead ob wishin, in your weariness, dat de 
 row was hoed out, de hoe-cake dun, an' dat de 
 horn would blow, you shall bend wid an angel 
 form ober de harp of Judea, an' wake its strings to 
 dose notes [here the old man's voice became very 
 tremulous, and a big tear trembled in his eye]
 
 THB ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. Ill 
 
 which has sounded down de ages so sweet in de 
 ears ob all de saints, an' which notes in hebben 
 are as much sweeter in dere music den dey eber 
 can be on earth, as de notes ob a fiddle ober yer 
 gourd banjoes. [Here a loud shout of halleluiahs 
 was raised, and the sable audience seemed to 
 perfectly appreciate the illustration.] 
 
 But I'se speakin' ob ribbers. Dey are God's griat 
 turnpike roads from the Nort to de Sout, from de 
 East to de "West, an' de big steamboats jus walk 
 in dem, not like de giants 'fore de flood to do no 
 good, but to bear our cotton, an' rice, an' sugar to 
 de market, an' make de hearts ob our massas laugh. 
 Dey also float de "broad horn" [flat-bottom boat] 
 from de upper country, bringin' down de pig, de 
 beans, de bacon, an' de chick'ns, widout which our 
 moufs at de sugar-house, in de cotton fields, de rice 
 swamp an' tobacca field, would seldom be blessed 
 with greasy victuals, which poor slave like as much 
 as old Isaac like de savory meat ob de deceivin' 
 Jacob. When we get to hebben, brederen, we shall 
 hunger an' thirst no more. We shall lib just as 
 well dere, in de quarters, as massa and missus in de 
 mansion. Dere be no quarters in hebben ; all be 
 mansions. We read ob many mansions, but ob no, 
 quarters; ob saints an' angels, so many dat no 'man 
 can number dein, an' yet ob no white folks nor black - 
 folks. [Here a volley of " Amens" and " Glories"
 
 112 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 
 
 momentarily drowned the voice of the speaker.] 
 Bibbers begin wid leetle creeks, which a leetle 
 kitten might wade, an' swell to a greatness on 
 which de commerce ob de nations may trabel. Dey 
 come widenin' an' widenin', an' growin' an' bilin', 
 from old Chimborazo, de Mountains ob de Moon, 
 de Rocky Mountains, or some oder region unknown 
 toyer speaker's geography. Dere distant trabel, 
 an' mighty grof, takin' de leetle streams an' lesser 
 libbers in dere bosom as dey flow, as a hen gadder- 
 eth her chick'ns under her wings, am one ob de 
 tings which I like to tink about, as dey makes me 
 tink of Him who makes all tings bery good, an' who 
 did not consider de garden ob Eden as finished till 
 he had made a ribber to water it. De tree ob life, 
 in de. garden, no doubt, soaked its roots in de water 
 ob dis ribber. 
 
 But de tex speak ob de ribber ob life. Dis, bred- 
 eren, be de ribber ob salvation. De world be bad 
 off widout de great an' mighty ribbers which encir- 
 cle it, like girdles ob silver an' purity, but much wuss 
 off widout dis one great ribber ob life, proceedin' 
 out of de trone of God an' de Lamb. In dis tex, 
 salvation be compared to waters, an' its course in 
 de world to a flowing ribber. Let us notice de last 
 fac fust, trace de fountain head ob dis ribber, an' 
 take a trip down it in de old ship Zion. 
 
 Dis ribber flow out ob de trone of God ; dat is. it
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 118 
 
 flow out ob God himself. God can hab n'o trone, an' 
 when de Bible speak ob him sitting on de trone like 
 a king, it only speak in de language ob figure to 
 help our idees. God am too great to hab a trone ; 
 he fill ebeiywhar himself. Larnt men tell us dat dis 
 earth be mighty big, eight thousand miles fru it, 
 an' twenty-four thousand miles around it ; an' 'stron- 
 omers tell us dat dere be millions ob worlds all 'botit 
 us, dancin' in noffin'ness, many hundred times greater 
 den dis, an' yet if all dese worlds were put togedder 
 to make a seat for God to sit upon, dey wouldn't 
 answer de purpose any more den a pin's head would 
 hab done for Jacob's piller at Bethel, when he seen 
 de angels comin' down an' goin' up agin to hebben, 
 as it were on a ladder. Sister, don't you nebber 
 tink dat yer leetle child who die in your arms, a 
 long time ago, down in old Alabama, does not come 
 down here in de night seasons, an', in de form of an 
 angel, spread its wing ober yer piller, or nestle in 
 yer busum ? O ! when I lost my sweet, darlin' boy, 
 dat belong to Judge Noble, way down in Georgia, 
 de third night after I buried him under de yellow 
 clay, it seem as dough I seen him in de quarters, a 
 lookin* right at me, an' pointin' away up in de sky, 
 eayin', Daddy, I lib up yender ! [Here a large, fat 
 sister fetched a scream, and commenced jumping 
 toward heaven, with streaming eyes exclaiming, 
 " Dere's my home an' portion fair," etc. But after
 
 114 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 this temporary episode and agreeable interruption 
 the speaker slowly and eloquently proceeded.] God 
 am great, too great to sit down, too great to stand 
 up, too great to take form ; he be widout body or 
 parts. God am a spirit, an' dis ribber ob life head 
 in dis infinite fountain. It am de Spirit dat quicken- 
 eth our dead souls ; it be de Spirit dat beget us anew 
 in Christ Jesus ; it be de Spirit dat make us happy. 
 When we be filled wid de Spirit, we be filled wid 
 de new wine ob de kingdom. De Holy Ghost be 
 one ob de authors ob salvation. Den dere be de 
 Lamb ; O, de precious, bleedin', Calvary Lamb ! 
 God, trone, Lamb ! Dis, brederen, teach de doctrine 
 ob de holy Trinity. As de ribber dat watered Para- 
 dise, so de ribber ob salvation, dat water de world, 
 rise in tree springs, an' yet are dese springs but one. 
 Dere be tree dat bear record in hebben, but dese 
 tree are one. 
 
 But now ob de ribber. An', fust, like all de rib- 
 bers, it begin in a little spring branch. Dere be 
 what I call de ribber ob promise. "When Adam 
 fell, an' de debbel tought he had outdone God, an' 
 was about to run away wid de world, God appeared 
 amid de glories ob him shameful victory, an' prom- 
 ised to bruise him head wid de seed ob de bery 
 woman he had deceived. Dis, brederen, must hab 
 humbled, 'stonished, an' alarmed de debbel terribly, 
 as we do not s'pose he know what war comin'.
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 115 
 
 His hell was bery hot before, but he had now 
 'creased it by an attempt to 'stinguish de flames 
 dat tortnred him. Adam an' Eve, sorry for what 
 dey had done, an' fully believin' dis promise ob de 
 Lord, hung up dere blasted hopes on cCs golden 
 chain let down from hebben, an' waterin' it wid 
 de tears ob dere penitence, it soon bloomed agin 
 like de orange blossoms on de coast in de spring 
 ob de year. Here war de beginnin' ob dis ribber. 
 It flowed out ob Eden, an' our fust parents were 
 compelled to follow its course, an' to find in drinkin* 
 ob its waters dere only consolation. Abel drinked 
 ob dem as he lifted up his bleedin' lamb upon his 
 altar. Enoch always dwelt near de brink of its 
 waters. An' by invitation ob de angels, one day, 
 who were guidin' its infant channel, he went home 
 wid dem to hebben. He war not, for God took 
 him; took to show in de 'ginnin' ob de world's 
 history, dat body as well as soul war to go up to 
 hebben. De tree ob life, which would hab kept 
 us from bein' sick or dyin', Adam war removed 
 from, so dat now our souls an' bodies must be sep'- 
 rated by death ; but dey are to be put togeder agin 
 in de resurrection. Oder patriarchs, an' Noah an' 
 him sons, seated upon de bank ob dis ribber, drank 
 ob its waters, an' lib foreber. After de flood, 
 Abraham war called from Ur ob de Chaldees to 
 
 settle upon its widenin' banks, an' teach his children 
 
 8
 
 116 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHEE. 
 
 after him de efficacy ob its waters. But time would 
 fail us to speak ob Melchizedek, ob Isaac, ob Jacob, 
 ob Joseph an' Moses, ob Aaron an' Dabid, ob de 
 lawgibbers, priests an' kings, all who libbed along 
 on de banks ob dis ribber, like de beautiful houses 
 dat peep from orange groves, from behind de levee, 
 along de mighty Mississippi. All dese libbed on 
 de ribber ob promise. Den dere were prophets,, 
 who declared dat de ribber war flowin' on, and dal 
 it would break forth in a mighty flood, an' spread 5 
 ober de whole earth ; dat reeds an' rushes should 
 spring up 'mid rocks an' sands; an' dat harvests 
 should wave, an' beauty should blush whar total 
 barrenness had reigned sobereign for six thousand 
 years. Here old Isaiah, who tuned his harp by 
 holdin' his ear up to hebben, an' catchin' de key- 
 note ob dis new an' strange moosic, which de angels 
 invented 'mid dere rapturous 'stonishment, when 
 dere war silence up dere for de space ob half an 
 hour : " De wilderness an' de sol'tary place shall be 
 glad for dem, an' de desert shall rejoice an' blossom 
 as de rose. It shall blossom Abundantly, an' de 
 glory ob Lebanon, ob Carmel, an' ob Sharon shall 
 be gib'n it. De parched ground shall become & 
 pool, an' de tirsty land springs ob water; an' de 
 hab'tation ob dragons, whar each fay, shall become 
 green an' grassy, wid reeds an' rushes. A 'ighway 
 shall be dere ;" dat be dis ribber. [Amen.] " It shall
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 117 
 
 be called de way ob holiness;" dat be dis ribber, 
 [Amen ;] " de unclean shall not pass ober it, [Glory,] 
 but it shall be for dose" us poor, unlarnt people 
 ob color "de wayfarin' men, dough fools, shall not 
 err derein." [Glory! Halleluiah!] O, brederen, 
 how sweet to float down dis ribber ! Of n, when I 
 hab floated down de Mississippi, on one ob massa's 
 boats, an' set down on de deck in de ebenin', when 
 all be still, an' de pale silbery moon show ebery- 
 Iting in de hazy, mellow light; an' I'd hear de boat- 
 horn from afar, 'bove us, fillin' de whole air wid 
 sweet, sad music, seemin' to say, We are comin', wid 
 ^le voice ob song, an', like you, hastenin' down de 
 ribber to obtain de treasures : of 'n, den, hab I tought 
 ob dis ribber ob salvation; and I tink ob dis fact, 
 now, when I hear Isaiah's windin' horn away up de 
 ribber ob life in tones ob joy an' gladness. But 
 de stream ob ages, floatin' down de waters ob dis 
 ribber ob promise an' ob prophecy, break forth into 
 de ribber of redemption and falfillment, when, in- 
 stead ob prophet's harps, or smokin' types, a light 
 is seen upon de plains ob Bethlehem, which smote 
 pious shepherds to de ground, followed by a multi- 
 tude ob de hebbenly host, singin' togeder in de 
 midnight sky, old Adam himself, p'raps, pourin' out 
 his voice in bass, "Glory to God in de highest, on 
 earth peace, an' good-will to man." .Ob de 'istory, 
 ob de birf ob Jesus, ob his life ob miracles an' mercy,
 
 118 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 ob his death on Calvary, his resurrection de third 
 day, an' ob his gwine up into hebben, we hab no 
 time now to speak. But, O ! how sweet de story, 
 an' what a mighty rise here in dis ribber ob salva- 
 tion ! It has been risin' ebber since ; ebery shower 
 cause it to oberflow its banks, widin which, de old 
 Jews always tought dey would keep it de banks 
 ob de law, brederen, dat is, de law ob carnal ordi- 
 nances, which neider we nor our faders were able 
 to bear. t 
 
 De fust great shower dat produced de fust great 
 freshet in dis ribber, came to pass on de day 
 ob Pentecost. Tree tousand here drinked ob its* 
 waters, an' eber after took passage in de old ship 
 Zion. Dey be 'rived safely on t'other shore. But 
 de shower dat turn away dis ancient ribber for 
 eber from its old channel, an' send it forth to water 
 de earth wherebber it was tirsty, took place at de 
 house ob Cornelius de Gentile. He war dry, and 
 knew not what to drink. His alms an' prayers 
 went up to God, but Christ come not into his 
 heart, de hope ob glory. To be good, an' to do 
 good, brederen, is not to hab religion. Yet dem 
 dat hab religion will always be good an' do good. 
 An angel reliebed Cornelius, an' might hab pointed 
 his thirsty soul to de exhaustless waters ob de rib- 
 ber ob life. But angels may sing ebbery time far- 
 off Omnipotence make a new world to break de
 
 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 119 
 
 Dlank ob emptiness; dey may eben be jurymen, 
 %n' help to judge de world in de day ob judgment ; 
 but dey shall not fill de exalted office ob preachin' 
 to man. Dis office has been reserved alone for 
 frail flesh, an' eben poor, despised "nigger" am 
 permitted to fill dis princely station. Dis be to 
 show de honor which God put upon our flesh 
 when he came down to dis earth. Dis show, too, 
 dat dis frail body, which crawlin' worms will 
 ^consume, has been tak'n into de keepin' ob God, 
 an' dat he will keep it, dough de lightnins may 
 sport wid it, de alligators chaw it up, as dey did 
 my broder, or de* plow turn up our bones to bleach 
 in de cotton-fields, as it has some ob our people 
 'fore us. For I be persuaded dat He will keep 
 dat which I hab committed unto Him against dat 
 day. 
 
 An' now, brederen, a word about de waters ob 
 salvation. Dey be pure, clear as crystal. Dis be 
 intended to show de word ob God, or de truth ob 
 God, in which dere be no mixture ob error. Just 
 tink how clear an' nothin'like, and yet it be 
 somefin' ! De pure waters gurgle up in your 
 spring- house, so dat you can see de bottom ob de 
 spring just as easy as if nothin' war dere. An' yet, 
 when de day am hot an' you be dry, how you lub to 
 take de gourd dat hang up dere, an' lift to yer 
 lip dat pure substance, which, when you hab
 
 120 THE ELOQUENT NEGRO PREACHER. 
 
 drunk, you feel strong agin, an' good all ober. 
 Now, brederen, it be so wid de truth ob God to . 
 dat weepin', penitent, despairin' sinner. "When he 
 drink ob dese pure waters, clear as crystal, dey 
 make bof soul an' body happy. O, sinner, come 
 to dis flowin' ribber! its waters murmur at yer 
 feet ; its billers kneel beseech'n'ly to you, cryin', 
 "Ho, ebbery one dat tirsts, some ye to de waters, 
 an' him dat hab no money ; come ye, buy wine an' 
 milk, widout money an' widout price." Yes, tank 
 God, dis ribber be water, or milk, or wine to us, 
 'cordin' to our faith ; a continual feast to de poor, 
 as well as to de rich. Halleluiah ! bless God dat 
 he ebber let loose dis ribber ! How rapidly we 
 glide to-day upon its movin' waters ! It will open 
 in de ocean ob eternity, right at de entrance ob 
 which am an island, called the land ob Beulah, 
 whar dere am always light, life, an' love, an' whar 
 de ransomed ob de Lord shall be near him, an' 
 go 'way from him into sin an' sorrow no more, 
 foreber an' eber. May we land safely dere, is de 
 prayer ob yer unwordy speaker.
 
 THE 
 
 NEW PLEASUKE. 
 
 BY T. S. ARTHUR.
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 THE whole pleasure of Mr. Bolton's life had been 
 the accumulation of property, with an end to his own 
 gratification. To part with a dollar was, therefore, 
 ever felt as the giving up of a prospective good ; and 
 it acted as the abridgment of present happiness. Ap- 
 peals to Mr. Bolton's benevolence had never been very 
 successful ; and in giving, he had not experienced the 
 blessing which belongs of right to good deeds. The 
 absolute selfishness of his feelings wronged him of 
 what was justly his due. 
 
 Thus passed the life of Mr. Bolton. Dollar was 
 added to dollar, house to house, and field to field. 
 Yet he was never satisfied with gaining ; for the little 
 he had looked so small, compared with the wealth 
 of the world, after the whole of which his heart really 
 panted, as to appear at times actually insignificant. 
 Thus, as he grew older, he set a higher value upon 
 what he had, as a means of gaining more ; and, in 
 parting with money, did so at the expense of a daily 
 increasing reluctance.
 
 124 THE NEW PLEASUKE. 
 
 In the beginning of life, Mr. Bolton possessed a few 
 generous feelings, the remains of early and innocent 
 states stored up in childhood. His mother, a true 
 woman, perceiving the strong selfish and accumulat- 
 ive bent of his character, had sought, in every possible 
 way, to implant in his mind feelings of benevolence 
 and regard for others. One mode of doing this had 
 been to introduce him into scenes that appealed to 
 his sympathies. She often took him with her to see 
 poor or sick persons ; and so interested him in them, 
 as to create a desire in his mind to afford relief. 
 As soon as she perceived this desire awakened, 
 she devised some - mode of bringing it into activ- 
 ity, so that he might feel the delights which 
 spring from the consciousness of having done good 
 to another. 
 
 But so strong was the lad's hereditary love of self, 
 that she ever found difficulty in inducing him to sacri- 
 fice what he already considered his own, in the effort 
 to procure blessings for others, no matter how greatly 
 they stood in need. If urged to spend a sixpence 
 of his own for such a purpose, he would generally 
 reply : 
 
 " But you've got a great many more sixpences than 
 I have, mother : why don't you spend them ?" 
 
 To this Mrs. Bolton would answer as appropriately 
 as possible ; but she found but poor success in her 
 efforts, which were never relaxed.
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 125 
 
 In early manhood, as Mr. Bolton began to come in 
 actual contact with the world, the remains of early 
 states of innocence and sympathy with others came 
 back, as we have intimated, upon him ; and he acted, 
 in many instances, with a generous disregard of self. 
 But as he bent his mind more and more earnestly 
 to the accumulation of money, these feelings had less 
 and less influence over him. And, as dollar after 
 dollar was added to his store, his interest in the wel- 
 fare of others grew less and less active. Early friend- 
 ships were gradually forgotten ; and the mutual desire 
 to see early friends prosperous like himself gradually 
 died out. " Every man for himself " became the lead- 
 ing principle of his life, and he acted upon it on all 
 occasions. In taking a pew in church, and regularly 
 attending worship every Sabbath, he was governed 
 by the idea that it was respectable to do so, and gave 
 a man a standing in society, that reacted favorably 
 upon his worldly interests. In putting his name to a 
 subscription paper, (a thing not always to be avoided, 
 even by him,) a business view of the matter was in- 
 variably taken ; and the satisfaction of mind experi- 
 enced on the occasion, arose from the reflection that 
 the act would benefit him in the long run. As to the 
 minor charities, in the doing of which the left hand 
 has no acquaintance with the deeds of the right hand, 
 Mr. Bolten never indulged in them. If his left hand 
 had known the doings of his right hand, in matters
 
 126 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 of this kind, said hand would not have been much 
 wiser for the knowledge. 
 
 Thus life went on ; and Mr. Bolton was ever busy 
 in his golden harvest ; so busy that he had no 
 time for anything else, not even to enjoy what he 
 possessed. At last he was sixty years old, and his 
 wealth extended to many hundreds of thousands of 
 dollars. But he was further from being satisfied 
 than ever, and less happy than at any former period 
 in his life. 
 
 One cause arose from the fact that, as a rich man, 
 he was constantly annoyed with applications to do a 
 rich man's part in the charities of the day. And 
 to these applications it was impossible to turn a 
 deaf ear. Give he must, sometimes ; and giving al- 
 ways left a pain behind, because the gift came not 
 from a spirit of benevolence. There were other and 
 various causes of unhappiness, all of which, combining, 
 made Mr. Bolton, as old age came stealing upon him, 
 about as miserable as a man could well be. Money, 
 in his eyes the greatest good, had not brought the 
 peace of mind to which he had looked forward ; and 
 the days came and went without a smile. His chil- 
 dren had grown up and passed into the world ; and 
 were, as he had been at their ages, so all-absorbed by 
 the love of gain as to have little love to spare for any- 
 thing else. 
 
 About this time, Mr. Bolton, having made one
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 127 
 
 or two losing operations, determined to retire from 
 business, invest all his money in real estate and 
 other securities, and let the management of these 
 investments constitute his future employment. In 
 this new occupation he found so little to do, in com- 
 parison with his former busy life, that the change 
 proved adverse, so far as his repose of mind was 
 concerned. 
 
 It happened, about this time, that Mr. Bolton 
 had occasion to go some twenty miles into the 
 country. On returning home, and when within a 
 few miles of the city, his carriage was overset, 
 and he had the misfortune to fracture a limb. 
 This occurred near a pleasant little farm-house, 
 that stood a short distance from the road ; the 
 owner of which, seeing the accident, ran to rein- 
 state the carriage, and assisted to- extricate the in- 
 jured man. Seeing how badly he was hurt, he 
 had him removed to his house, and then taking 
 a horse, rode off two miles for a physician. In 
 the meantime, the driver of Mr. Bolton's carriage 
 was dispatched to the city for some of his family, 
 and his own physician. The country doctor and 
 the one from the city arrived about the same 
 time. On making a careful examination as to 
 the nature of Mr. Bolton's injuries, it was found 
 that his right leg, above the knee, was broken, 
 and that one of his ankles was dislocated. He
 
 128 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 was suffering great pain, and was much exhausted. 
 As quickly as it could be done, the bone was set, 
 and the dislocation reduced. By this time it was 
 nightfall, and too late to think seriously of re- 
 turning home before morning. The moment Mr. 
 Gray, the farmer, saw the thoughts of the injured 
 man and his friends directed toward the city, he 
 promptly invited them to remain all night, and 
 as much longer as the nature of Mr. Bolton's 
 injuries might require. This invitation was thank- 
 fully accepted. 
 
 During the night Mr. Bolton suffered a great 
 deal of pain, and in the morning, when the phy- 
 sician arrived, it was found that his injured limb 
 was much inflamed. Of course, a removal to the 
 city was out of the question. The doctors declared 
 that the attempt would be made at the risk of 
 his life. Farmer Gray said that such a thing must 
 not be thought of until the patient was fully able 
 to perform the journey ; and the farmer's wife as 
 earnestly remonstrated against any attempt at hav- 
 ing the injured man disturbed, until it would be 
 perfectly safe to do so. Both tendered the hospi- 
 tality of their humble home with so much sincerity, 
 that Mr. Bolton felt that he could accept it of 
 them with perfect freedom. 
 
 It was a whole month ere the old gentleman 
 was in a condition to bear the journey to town ;
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 129 
 
 and not once, during the whole of that time, had 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gray seemed weary of his presence, 
 nor once relaxed in their efforts to make him 
 comfortable. As Mr. Bolton was about leaving, 
 he tendered ^he farmer, with many expressions of 
 gratitude for the kindness he had received, a 
 hundred dollar bill, as some compensation for the 
 trouble and expense he had occasioned his family. 
 But Mr. Gray declined the offer, saying, as he did so : 
 
 "I have only done what common humanity re- 
 quired, Mr. Bolton ; and were I to receive money, 
 all the pleasure I now experience would be gone." 
 
 It was in vain that Mr. Bolton urged the farmer's 
 acceptance of some remuneration. Mr. Gray was 
 firm in declining to the last. All that could be 
 done was to send Mrs. Gray a handsome present 
 from the city; but this did not entirely relieve 
 the mind of Mr. Bolton from the sense of obliga- 
 tion under which the disinterested kindness of the 
 farmer had laid him ; and thoughts of this tended 
 to soften his feelings, and to awaken, in a small 
 measure, the human sympathies which had so 
 long slumbered in his bosom. 
 
 Several months passed before Mr. Bolton was 
 able to go out, and then he resumed his old employ- 
 ment of looking after rents, and seeking for new 
 and safe investments that promised some better 
 returns than he was yet receiving.
 
 130 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 One day, a broker, who was in the habit of 
 doing business for Mr. Bolton, said to him: 
 
 "If you want to buy a small, well-cultivated 
 farm, at about half what it is worth, I think I 
 know where you can get one." **- 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Yes. Three years ago it was bought for three 
 thousand dollars, and seven hundred paid down in 
 cash. Only eight hundred dollars have since been 
 paid on it ; and as the time for which the mortgage 
 was to remain has expired, a foreclosure is about to 
 take place. By a little management, I am satisfied 
 that I can get you the farm for the balance due on 
 the mortgage." 
 
 "That is, for fifteen hundred dollars?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is the farm worth that? Will it be a good in- 
 vestment ?" 
 
 "It is in the highest state of cultivation. The 
 owner has spent too much money upon it. This, 
 with the loss of his entire crop of wheat, rye, oats, 
 and hay, last year, has crippled him and made it 
 impossible to pay the mortgage." 
 
 " How came he to meet with this loss ?" 
 
 " His barn was struck by lightning." 
 
 " That was unfortunate." 
 
 " The farm will command, at the lowest, two hun- 
 dred and fifty dollars rent; and by forcing a sale
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 131 
 
 just at this time, it can be had for fifteen hundred 
 9r two thousand dollars, half its real value." 
 
 " It would be a good investment at that." 
 
 After making some brief inquiries as to its loca- 
 tion, the quality of the land, the improvements, etc., 
 Mr. Bolton told the broker, in whom he had great 
 confidence, that he might buy the property for him, 
 if he could obtain it for anything below two thou- 
 sand dollars. This the broker said he could easily 
 do, as the business of foreclosure was in his own 
 hands. 
 
 In due time Mr. Bolton was informed by his 
 agent in the matter, that a sale under the mortgage 
 had taken place, and that by means of the little 
 management proposed, he had succeeded in keeping 
 away all competition in bidding. The land, stock, 
 farming implements and all, had been knocked down 
 ate price that just covered the incumbrance on the 
 estate, and were the property of Mr. Bolton, at half 
 their real value. 
 
 " That was a good speculation," said the grayhead- 
 ed money-lover, when his agent informed him of 
 . what he had been doing. 
 
 " First-rate," replied the broker. " The farm is 
 worth every cent of three thousand dollars. Poor 
 Gray! I can't help feeling sorry for him. But it is 
 his luck! He valued his farm at three thousand 
 dollars. A week ago he counted himself worth two
 
 * 
 182 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 thousand dollars. Now he isn't worth a copper, 
 Fifteen hundred dollars, and three or four years' 
 labor thrown away into the bargain. But it's his 
 luck. So the world goes. He must try again. It 
 will all go in his lifetime." 
 
 "Gray? Is that the man's name?" inquired Mr. 
 Bolton. His voice was changed. 
 
 " Yes. I thought I had mentioned his name." 
 
 "I didn't remark it, if you did. It's the farm 
 adjoining Harvey's, on the north?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I have had it in my mind, all along, that it was 
 the one on the south." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " When did you see Mr. Gray ?" 
 
 " He was here about half an hour ago." 
 
 "How does he feel about the matter?" 
 
 "He takes it hard, of course. Any man wouid. 
 But it's his luck, and he must submit. It's no use 
 crying over disappointments and losses in this 
 world." 
 
 Mr. Bolton mused for a long time. 
 
 "I'll see you again to-morrow," he said at 
 length. "Let everything remain as it is until 
 morning." 
 
 The man who had been for so many years sold, as 
 it were, to selfishness, found himself checked at last 
 by the thought of another. While just in the act of
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 138 
 
 grasping a money advantage, the interest of another 
 rose up, and made him pause. 
 
 " If it had been any one else," said he to himself, 
 as he walked slowly homeward, " all would have 
 been plain sailing. But but " 
 
 The sentence was not finished. 
 
 "It won't do to turn HTM away," was at length 
 uttered. " He shall have the farm at a very moder 
 ate rent." 
 
 Still, these concessions of selfishness did not relieve 
 the mind of Mr. Bolton, nor make him feel more 
 willing to meet the man who had done him so great 
 a kindness, and in such a disinterested spirit. 
 
 All that day, and for a portion of the night that 
 followed, Mr. Bolton continued to think over the 
 difficulty in which he found himself placed, and the 
 more he thought, the less willing did he feel to take 
 the.- great advantage of the poor farmer at first con- 
 templated. After falling asleep, his mind continued 
 occupied with the same subject, and in the dreams 
 that came to him he lived over a portion of the past. 
 
 He was again a helpless invalid, and the kind 
 farmer and his excellent wife were ministering, as 
 before, to his comfort. His heart was full of grateful 
 feelings. Then a change came suddenly. He stood 
 the spectator of a widely-spread ruin that had fallen 
 upon the excellent Mr. Gray and his family. A 
 fierce tempest was sweeping over the fields, and
 
 184 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 bearing all, houses, trees, and grain, in ruin to the 
 earth. A word spoken by him would have saved 
 all; he felt this; but he did not speak the word. 
 The look of reproach suddenly cast on him by the 
 farmer, so stung him that he awoke; and from that 
 time until day dawned, he lay pondering on the 
 course of conduct he had better pursue. 
 
 The advantage of the purchase he had made was 
 so great, that Mr. Bolton thought of relinquishing 
 it with great reluctance. On the other hand, his 
 obligation to the farmer was of such a nature, that 
 he must, in clinging to his bargain, forfeit his self- 
 respect, . and must suffer a keen sense of mortifica- 
 tion, if not dishonor, at any time that he happened 
 to meet Mr. Gray face to face. Finally, after a long 
 struggle, continued through several days, he resolved 
 to forego the good he had attempted to grasp. 
 
 How many years since this man had done a gen- 
 erous action ! since he had relinquished a selfish and 
 sordid purpose out of regard to another's well-being ! 
 And now it has cost him a desperate struggle ; but 
 after the trial was past, his mind became tranquil, 
 and he could think of what he was about to do with 
 an emotion of pleasure that was new in his experi- 
 ence. Immediately on this resolution being formed, 
 Mr. Bolton called upon his agent. His first inquiry 
 was : 
 
 " When did you see Gray ?"
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 185 
 
 " The previous owner of your farm ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Not since the sale. You told me to let every- 
 thing remain as it was." 
 "Hasn't he called?" 
 
 " The loss of his farm must be felt as a great mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 "No doubt of that. Every man feels losses as 
 misfortunes. But we all have to take the good and 
 the bad in life together. It's his luck, and he must 
 put up with it." 
 
 " I wonder if he hasn't other property ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Are you certain ?" 
 
 " O, yes. I know exactly what he was worth. 
 He had been overseer for Elbertson for several 
 years, and while there, managed to save seven 
 hundred dollars, which he paid down, the cash 
 required in purchasing his farm. Since then, he 
 has been paying off the mortgage that remained on 
 the property, and but for the burning of his barn, 
 might have prevented a result that has been so 
 disastrous to himself. But it's an ill wind that blows 
 nobody any good. In every loss somebody gains ; 
 and the turn of the die has been in your favor this 
 time." 
 
 Mr. Bolton did not appear to feel as much satis-
 
 186 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 faction at this view of the case as the broker antici- 
 pated ; and seeing this, he changed the subject by 
 asking some questions about the consummation of 
 the sale under the mortgage. 
 
 " I'll see about that to-morrow," said Mr. Bolton. 
 
 " Yery well," was replied. 
 
 After some more conversation, Mr. Bolton left the 
 office of his agent. 
 
 For years Farmer Gray had been toiling, late and 
 early, to become the full owner of his beautiful farm. 
 Its value had much increased since it had come into 
 his possession, and he looked forward with pleasure to 
 the time when it would be his own beyond all doubt. 
 But the loss of an entire year's crop, through the 
 burning of his barn, deeply tried and dispirited him. 
 From this grievous disappointment his spirits were 
 beginning to rise, when the sudden foreclosure of the 
 mortgage and hurried sale of the farm dashed his 
 hopes to the earth. 
 
 "Who the real purchaser of the farm was, Mr. Gray 
 did not know, for the broker had bought in his own 
 name. So bewildered was the farmer by the suddenly- 
 occurring disaster, that for several days subsequent to 
 the sale he remained almost totally paralyzed in mind. 
 No plans were laid for the future, nor even those or- 
 dinary steps for the present taken that common pru- 
 dence would suggest. He wandered about the farm, 
 or sat at home, dreamily musing upon what seemed
 
 THE NEW PLEASURE. 137 
 
 the utter ruin of all his best hopes in life. While 
 in this state, he was surprised by a visit from Mr. 
 Bolton. The old gentleman, in taking him by the 
 hand, said, 
 
 li What's the matter, my friend ? You appear to be 
 in trouble." 
 
 "And I am in trouble," was unhesitatingly an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Not so deep but that you may get out again, I 
 hope?" 
 
 Mr. Gray shook his head in a desponding way. 
 
 " What is the trouble ?" Mr. Bolton inquired. 
 
 " I have lost my farm." 
 
 "O, no!" 
 
 " It is too true. It has been sold for a mortgage 
 of fifteen hundred dollars. Though I have already 
 paid more than that sum on account of the purchase, 
 it only brought enough to pay the incumbrance, and 
 I am ruined." 
 
 The farmer was deeply disturbed, and Mr. Bolton's 
 feelings were much interested. 
 
 " Don't be so troubled, my good friend," said the 
 old gentleman. " You rendered me service in time 
 of need, and it is now in my power to return it. The 
 farm is still yours. I hold the mortgage ; and you 
 need not fear another foreclosure." 
 
 Some moments passed after this announcement be- 
 fore Mr. Gray's mind became clear, and his entire
 
 138 THE NEW PLEASURE. 
 
 self-possession returned. Then, grasping the hand of 
 Mr. Bolton, he thanked him with all the eloquence a 
 grateful heart inspires. It was the happiest moment 
 the old merchant had seen for years. The mere pos- 
 session of a thousand or two of dollars seemed as 
 nothing to the pleasure he felt at having performed a 
 good action, or, rather, at having refrained from doing 
 an evil one. 
 
 As he rode back to the city, reflecting on what he 
 had done, and recalling the delight shown by Mr. 
 Gray and his kind partner, who had attended him so 
 carefully while he lay a sufferer beneath their roof, 
 his heart swelled in his bosom with a new and happy 
 emotion. 
 
 Having once permitted himself to regard another 
 with an unselfish interest, that interest continued. It 
 seemed as if he could not do enough for the farmer 
 in the way of aiding him to develop the resources of 
 his little property. In this he did not merely stop at 
 suggestions, but tendered something more substantial 
 and available. Nor did the feelings awakened in his 
 mind run all in this direction. Occasions enough 
 offered for him to be generous -to others, and to re- 
 frain from oppression for the sake of gain. Many of 
 these were embraced; and Mr. Bolton, in relating 
 the fact that it is sometimes more blessed to give than 
 to receive, found in the latter years of his life "A 
 PLEASURE" the pleasure of benevolence.
 
 LOVE-FEAST AMONG PEOPLE OF COLOR
 
 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG PEOPLE OF COLOR. 
 
 TWENTY-TWO years since it was our privilege to 
 take a sanitary stroll, South, through some of the 
 Northern slave states, as we will call them, and as it 
 was always agreeable to us to study the habits, sus- 
 ceptibilities, and peculiarities of the negro in slav- 
 ery, we found ourselves favored with an opportunity 
 here, of seeing him, in what might be called the 
 mildest and blandest form of oppression. He was 
 privileged, here, to assemble in his own house of 
 worship, provided some white persons were always 
 present. He was privileged to conduct his own 
 worship, to preach, etc. Learning, one pleasant 
 Sabbath morning it was in autumn-time, and the 
 forests were brown with beauty, squirrels chirruped 
 from every tree, and the sun had a mellow glory, 
 especially for the occasion that the brethren of 
 color, in a rude, but not uncommodious meeting- 
 house of logs, not far distant, were going to hold 
 their quarterly love-feast, we resolved immediately
 
 142 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 
 
 on attendance. As we were but a looker-on I'D 
 Yenice, and had obstinately refused all work for the 
 day, we sought the presence of the white official who 
 was to be in attendance, who gave us a very cordial 
 welcome to accompany him. With him", the thing 
 was neither new nor strange, and he seemed to 
 wonder a little at the enthusiasm which we mani- 
 fested in the matter. But here, if anywhere, the 
 colored man's religious emotions can be studied, and 
 the few central ideas around which his faith and 
 hope revolve, detected. Our brother desired us to 
 open the meeting, a point, again, in which we were 
 triumphant in our resistance. We availing ourself 
 the meantime of the occasion, to suggest that we 
 should be most happy to see this distinguished part of 
 the service conferred upon some one of the children 
 of Ham. Our suggestion took, and as if in gratifi- 
 cation of our curiosity, the preacher of ebony was 
 commissioned to the task. The house was densely 
 crowded. Windows were opened for ventilation, 
 and those who could not get in, flocked to them 
 like doves to their windows. The official was a tall, 
 athletic man, seemingly with deep piety, and possess- 
 ing, for his class, an unusual sense of propriety. 
 He arose, gave out from memory a few verses of an 
 appropriate hymn, which was followed by a prayer, 
 homogeneous with what followed. He then arose, 
 and observed :
 
 PEOPLE OFjOLOR. 143 
 
 " Bruddren, we hab come togedder for a lub-feast. 
 "We ought to lub each odder at all times, an' I trust 
 we does, but den we wants feasts of lub now an' 
 den." 
 
 Up to this point, things had proceeded very 
 gravely, but the quaintness and appropriateness of 
 the old man's remark, was a spark among tinder. 
 He proceeded : 
 
 " We doesn't want to eat just alike ebery time, but 
 dere am times when ebery once in a while we wants 
 a feast. Now, did we feast all de time, it would be 
 no feast, an' yet, as I was savin' afore, we always lub 
 good eatin' an' drinkin'. Now, in de service ob de 
 good Lord, dere be alwaje good eatin' an' drinkin', an' 
 now an' den a feast. Bless de Lord! But I's not 
 gwine to 'scuss de matter here .dis mornin'. I tink 
 we had better, commence feastin', an' now, Brudder 
 R., an' Brudder G. ober yonder, take dis bread an' 
 water, an' waits on de sisters. An' you, Brudder 
 Gumbo, an' you ober yonder, Brudder Sambo, take 
 dis bread an' water, an' pass it to de brudders." 
 The order was promptly obeyed, and a hymn struck 
 up, sung by everybody with great gusto. 
 
 " Lift your hearts, Immanuel's friends, 
 And taste the pleasures Jesus sends; 
 Let nothing cause you to delay, 
 But hasten on the good old way." 
 
 We noticet^that with a delicate sense of pro- 

 
 144 A LOVE-JTEAST AMONG 
 
 priety, the few white persons in the house received 
 the first tender of the bread and water. The spirit 
 of the meeting began to take hold of us, and we 
 never partook of the symbols of brotherly, love at 
 a love-feast with more pleasure. This part of the 
 service dispatched, the ruling official proceeded. 
 " Now, bruddren, a chance is given for all ob us to 
 speak ob de doings ob de Lord wid our poor souls. 
 I won't speak now. I may do so arter a while. I 
 wants to hear from all o' ye. I gives ye, den, de 
 chance. Speak for de Lord, for he 'spect us to 
 'knowledge him afore men." At this point, he 
 resumed his seat, when a very aged man, whose 
 hair was almost as white as wool, whom we had 
 quite overlooked, arose in the corner of the building. 
 He arose slowly, and stood tremulous with emotions 
 apparently too deep for words. Every eye was 
 upon him, for he was the patriarch of the slave 
 population in that neighborhood. 
 
 Silence relieved itself in these words: "Bless de 
 Lord, O my soul. I's been sixty years in dis good 
 old way. 'Most home now." And here the tears 
 started. "Yes, Uncle Jake 'most home. I sees 
 little wid dese eyes," putting his hand up to his 
 face, "but sees wid de eye ob faith de odder shore." 
 This was followed with a general response of Glory. 
 " Yes, Uncle Jake 'most home," (for so he was call- 
 ed.) And here, his worn and venerable counte-
 
 PEOPLE OF COLOK. 145 
 
 * 
 
 nance brightening in the gleams of heaven and 
 immortality, he resumed his seat. The spectacle 
 was so saintly and imposing, that we have not for- 
 gotten till this day the thrill it gave us. The verse 
 was struck up : 
 
 " O, tell me no more 
 
 Of this world's vain store*, 
 The time for such trifles with me now is o'er. 
 
 A. country I've found, 
 
 "Where true joys abound ; 
 To dwell I'm determined on that happy ground." 
 
 Next, a sister arose, large and burly, but had, evi- 
 dently, from the tone of her conversation, seen 
 many years, and endured^ many hardships. " Brud- 
 dren, I feels dis mornin' like Uncle Jake yonder, 
 who I's known dis forty year, dat I 'most home. I 
 lubs my Jesus. I feel he lubs me too. I always 
 'spects to lub him. I shall see him soon. Yes, see 
 him soon, Halleluiah !" " Glory" arose from all 
 parts of the house. "As I was comin' in to dis 
 lub -feast dis mornin', arter gettin' up mighty early 
 to get ready to come, to get de work of massa an' 
 missus all did up, I axed myself dis question, ' What 
 good it do Aunt Lizza?' Now, I verily believe dat 
 Satan put dat ar bery Question in my mind. Who 
 eber went to lub-feast, and it did^ 'em no good? 
 Why, as Uncle Frank, yonder, tell us in de begin- 
 nin', dis be a feast. For many long years I's feasted
 
 146 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 
 
 here. Glory to God, I 'spect soon to feast up yon- 
 der I Glory to God, I 'most home !" She resumed 
 her seat, and the verse struck up, 
 
 " 'Mid scenes of confusion and creature complaints, 
 How sweet to my soul is communion with saints ; 
 To find at the banquet of mercy there's room, 
 And feel in the presence of Jesus at home. 
 
 Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 
 Prepare me, dear Saviour, for glory, my home." 
 
 Up to this point, it was evident that Uncle Jake 
 had given the key-note to the style of speaking. 
 N"ext, a young sister arose. "I come to dis lub- 
 feast wid a bery heavy heart. I didn't mean to 
 speak, but I can't set still any longer. I's afraid 
 dat I's mightily backslid. I's had such a heap to 
 do, dat I keep puttin' off prayer, an' night would 
 come, an' I so tired, dat I thought no harm not to 
 pray. I's afraid I's backsliden. I does wish I had 
 more time to prwy, an' get to meetin's. O, bruddren, 
 pray for me. I tink I feels a little better." Here 
 the sympathies of the whole audience seemed to 
 embrace at onSe the penitent victim, and her soul 
 was manifestly struggling into liberty. Shouts and 
 words of encouragement reached her from all parts 
 of the house, when the big tear began to roll out of 
 enormous eyes, "and the speaker proceeded. "Yes, 
 I's feeling better. Glory to Jesus ! Glory to Jesus ; 
 He forgives. I's feelin' better !" and at this point
 
 PEOPLE OF COLOR. 147 
 
 she commenced jumping, and in the glorious confu- 
 sion that followed, we could make out nothing, but 
 now and then the shout, " Fs feelin' better ! G-lory 
 to Jesus, he forgives !" 
 
 "Awake, my soul, in joyful lays, 
 And sing the great Redeemer's praise ; 
 He justly claims a song from me 
 His loving-kindness, 0, how free ! 
 
 "He saw me ruin'd by the fall, 
 Yet loved me, notwithstanding all ; 
 He saved me from my lost estate 
 His loving-kindness, O, how great!" 
 
 The shouting and the jumping still continued in 
 the direction where the last sister had spoken, and the 
 singing prolonged, the most of this hymn being sung 
 at the top of a hundred voices : 
 
 " Our bondage here shall end 
 By and by by and by ; 
 Our griefs shall vanish then, 
 With our three-score years and ten, 
 And bright glory crown the day, 
 By and by by and by." 
 
 After a little lull, and an attempt by Uncle Frank 
 to divert the speaking to that end of the room, a white 
 brother arose. After stating in substance that he was 
 always happy to meet with his colored friends, and 
 that he hoped to meet them all in heaven, where the 
 
 distinction of color would cease, he resumed his seat 
 
 10
 
 148 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 
 
 A faint response of "God bless you, Massa Jones," 
 was all we heard in reply. "Massa Jones" was a 
 small, sallow man, eyebrows very low, and "eyes gray 
 and small ; between them there seemed to be a kind 
 of a gnarl or a knot; his mouth was round and 
 puckering. 
 
 Order was now nearly restored, when another 
 person rose, who will be readily recognized by all 
 observers of the negro character. She was a large 
 woman, features not very irregular nor black, but 
 looking sleek and shining brown, well formed, tem- 
 perament of the highest class for the colored, full of 
 spunk, and possessing a very fluent use of the tongue. 
 She was evidently a little vain of her qualifications ; 
 and others of her class about the neighborhood might 
 have reason to be proud of her, if it were not that her 
 love of talk perpetually impelled her to look up some- 
 thing to talk about. It became very convenient for 
 her to deal in inventions. Among white people, it 
 would have been said of her, Somewhat given to 
 tattling. She also was a specimen of one of those 
 moralists among our people of color who bring them- 
 selves to believe that there can be no crime in their 
 petty thefts ; that what their master has they earned, 
 and if he does not supply them they have a right to 
 supply themselves. She would go to meeting and 
 shout, and if in the evening, take a poultry-yard into 
 her way home. In the place of that moonlight dull-
 
 PEOPLE OF COLOR. 149 
 
 ness in her eye, there was the glassy brightness of 
 cunning. The chains of slavery lay hard on such 
 limbs. Our heroine, whom we have described, and 
 whom we hope does not practice upon the principles 
 of ethics which we have introduced, now arose, with 
 a nondescript bonnet full of yellow ribbons and flow- 
 ers. She was a captain among them, and every eye 
 and ear seemed intent on listening. 
 
 " Brudders, Fs here dis mornin' case I likes to be 
 in jist such places. I's not one ob dem dat would 
 neglect a feast. Many years ago God convart my 
 poor, blind soul. It war way down in ole Yirginny. 
 I neber forgets de time nor de place. I finds out I's 
 a miserable sinner, an' dat Jesus save by him grace 
 all dat come unto him, wheder brack or "white. I 
 links to myself, if dere be any chance for ine, now 
 am de time. I prayed mightily. I thought once I 
 should go down to hell, I felt I war so bery bad ; an' 
 one night, when comin' in from the milkin', I feel so 
 bad dat I spill 'bout half de milk. I gets down be- 
 hind a big tree, an' dere I ask my Jesus if he meant 
 to save me if I would be saved. I axed him, cryin' 
 as if dis heart would bust. I kept a axin' him, when 
 all at once a voice say to me, ' Yes !' A voice came 
 right down dat tree, an' say to me, 'All my promises 
 are Yea an' Amen, to ebery one dat believe.' O dat 
 lubly voice ! Brudders, I hears dat voice dis mornin'. 
 It war de voice ob deliberance ; it war sweet to me
 
 150 A LOVE-FEAST AMONG 
 
 as de honey. I still hears dat voice ebery night. I 
 knows my Redeemer lives ! Halleluiah !" 
 
 Here the audience had been wrought up again to 
 an intense point of feeling, and " Glory !" " Glory !" 
 spread electrically all over the house. After jumping 
 three or four times about a foot and a half from the 
 floor, our speaker relapsed into a somewhat graver 
 tone, and resumed : 
 
 " I knows I ain't as good as I ort to be, and some 
 ob you knows it too. I intends to be better. By de 
 glory ob God an' de grace ob God, I intends to be 
 better. I feel like 'ginning anew, Uncle Jake ;" and 
 here the old man of the corner threw up his face with 
 a saintly .smile. " I intends to meet you all in heb 
 ben. Fs got a little gal baby dere, and a little boy 
 baby. O, I sees 'em ! Why, look, dey walk away 
 up yonder dere among de stars ! Let us go up an' 
 see dem !" 
 
 Here she resumed her seat, and the hymn was 
 struck up : 
 
 " O, take me from this world of woe, 
 
 To my sweet home above, 
 Where teara of sorrow never flow, 
 
 And all the air is love. 
 My sister spirits wait for me, 
 
 And Jesus bids me come : 
 O, steer my bark to that bright land, 
 
 For Eden is my home."
 
 PEOPLE OF^COLOR. 151 
 
 After some more speaking, of which we shall give 
 no more details, the love-feast was brought orderly to 
 a close. Two impressions rested vividly upon our 
 mind : "that among a people unlettered and ignorant, 
 the highly emotional in religion is just as indispens- 
 able for the purposes of their conversion as is the 
 more intellectual among the educated and refined; 
 and that any extravagances which we might see in 
 such meetings as these, no matter of what color, such 
 extravagances are order. Our second conclusion is : 
 the creed by which the sinner may get to heaven is a 
 very brief one. It is simply for him to feel the need 
 of salvation; to be. told that the whole of salvation is 
 implied in JESUS, and that if this be believed, the 
 penitent is saved. We will name another impression 
 made upon our mind by witnessing this primitive 
 love-feast among people of color. The colored man 
 perpetually feasts himself on visions of heaven. He 
 is always speaking of getting home by and by. He 
 is always singing, 
 
 " I have a home in glory." 
 
 These things flow in his prayers, form the climax of 
 his speeches, the theme of his poetry, and flow forth, 
 in mellifluous beauty, in that rich form of song, those 
 individualisms of music, which so strongly mark the 
 negro character.

 
 THE 
 
 BY SYLVANUS COBB.
 
 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 CHABLES NELSON had reached his thirty-fifth year, 
 and at that age he found himself going down hill. 
 He had once been one of the happiest of mortals, and 
 no blessing was wanting to complete the sum of his 
 happiness. He had one of the best of wives, and his 
 children were intelligent and comely. He was a 
 carpenter by trade, and no man conld command 
 better wages, or be more sure of work. If any man 
 attempted to build a house, Charles Nelson must boss 
 the job, and for miles around, people sought him to 
 work for them. But a change had come over his life. 
 A demon had met him on his way, and he turned back 
 with the evil spirit. A new, experienced cdrpenter 
 had been sent for by those who could no longer 
 depend upon Nelson, and he had settled in the 
 village, and now took Nelson's place. 
 
 On a back street, where the great trees threw 
 their green branches over the way, stood a small 
 cottage, which had once been the pride of its
 
 156 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 inmates. Before it stretched a wide garden, but tall, 
 rank grass grew up among the choking flowers, 
 and the paling of the fence was broken in many 
 places. The house itself had once been -white, but 
 it was how dingy and dark. Bright green blinds 
 had once adorned the windows, but now they had 
 been taken off and sold. And the windows 
 themselves bespoke poverty and neglect, for in 
 many places the glass was gone, and shingles, rags, 
 and old hats had taken its place. A single look 
 at the house, and its accompaniments, told the story. 
 It was the drunkard's home. 
 
 Within sat a woman yet in the early years of 
 life; though she was still handsome to look upon, 
 the bloom was gone from her cheek, and the bright- 
 ness had faded from her eyes. Poor Mary Nelson ! 
 Once she had been the happiest among the happy, 
 but now none could be more miserable. Near 
 her sat two children, both girls, and both beautiful 
 in form and feature ; but their garbs were all patched 
 and worn, and their feet were shoeless-. The eldest 
 
 11 
 
 was thirteen years of age, and the other two years 
 younger. The mother was teaching them to recite a 
 grammar lesson, for she had resolved that her 
 children should not grow up in ignorance. They 
 could not attend the common schools, for thoughtless 
 children sneered at them, and made them the subject 
 of sport and ridicule ; but in this respect they did not
 
 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 157 
 
 suffer, for their mother was well educated, and she 
 devoted such time as she could spare to their in- 
 struction. 
 
 For more than two years Mary Nelson had earned 
 all the money that had been earned in the house. 
 People had hired her to wash, iron, and sew for 
 them, and besides the money paid, they gave her 
 many articles of food and clothing. So she lived 
 on, and the only joys that dwelt with her now, were 
 teaching her children, and praying to God. 
 
 Supper-time came, and Charles Nelson came 
 reeling home. He had worked the day before at 
 helping to move a building, and thus had earned 
 money enough to find himself in rum for several 
 days. As he stumbled into the house, the children 
 crouched close to the mother, and even she shrank 
 away, for sometimes her husband was dangerous 
 when thus intoxicated. 
 
 O, how that man had changed within two years ! 
 Once there was not a finer looking man in town. In 
 frame he had been tall, stout, compact, and perfectly 
 
 formed, while his face bore the very beau-ideal of 
 
 i 
 
 manly beauty. But all was changed now. His 
 noble form was bent, his limbs shrunken and tremu- 
 lous, his face all bloated and disfigured. He was 
 not the man he had once been, the fond husband 
 and doting father. The loving wife had prayed, and 
 wept, and implored, but all to no purpose ; the hus-
 
 158 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 band was bound to the drinking companions of the 
 bar-room, and he would not break the bonds. 
 
 That evening Mary Nelson ate no supper, for all 
 the food she had in the house, there was not more 
 than enough for her husband and children ; but 
 when her husband had gone she went and 'picked a 
 few berries, and thus kept her vital energy alive. 
 That night the poor woman prayed long and earn- 
 estly, and her little ones prayed with her. 
 
 On the following morning Charles Nelson sought 
 the bar-room as soon as he rose, but he was sick and 
 faint, and liquor would not revive him, for it would 
 not remain in his stomach. He had drunk very 
 deeply the night before, and he felt miserable. A1 
 length, however, he managed to keep down a few 
 glasses of hot-sling, but the close atmosphere of the 
 bar-room seemed to stifle him, and he went out. 
 
 The poor man had sense enough to know that if 
 he could sleep he would feel better, and he had just 
 feeling enough to wish to keep away from home ; so 
 he wandered off toward a wood not far from the 
 village, and was soon buried in a profound slumber. 
 When he awoke, the sun was shining down hot upon 
 him, and raising himself to a sitting posture, he 
 gazed about him. He knew that it was afternoon, 
 for the sun was turning toward the west. He was 
 just upon the point of rising, when his motion was 
 arrested by the sound of voices near at hand. He
 
 THE UNMEANT BEBUKE. 159 
 
 looked through a clink in the wall, and just upon the 
 side he saw his two children picking berries, while 
 further off were two more girls, the children of the 
 carpenter who had lately moved to the village. 
 
 " Come, Katy," said one of these latter girls to 
 her companion, " let's go away from here, because 
 if anybody should see us with those girls they'd 
 think we played with 'em ; come." 
 
 " But the berries are thick here," remonstrated the 
 other. 
 
 " Never mind ; we'll come some time when those 
 little ragged drunkard's girls aren't here." 
 
 So the two favored ones went away hand in hand, 
 and Kelly and Nancy sat down upon the grass and 
 cried. 
 
 " Don't cry, Nancy," said the eldest, throwing her 
 arms around her sister's neck. 
 
 " But you are crying, Nelly." 
 
 " O, I can't help it," sobbed the stricken one. 
 
 " Why do they blame us ?" murmured Nancy, 
 gazing up to her sister's face. " O, we are not to 
 blame. We are good, and kind, and loving, and 
 we never hurt anybody. O, I wish somebody would 
 lore us ; I should be so happy." 
 
 " But we are loved, Nancy. Only think of our 
 mother. Who could love us as she does ?" 
 
 "I know, I know, Nelly ; but that isn't all. Why 
 don't papa love us as he used to do? Don't you
 
 160 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 remember when he used to kiss us and make us 
 happy? O, how I wish he could be so good for us 
 once more. He is not " 
 
 " Hush, sissy ! don't say anything more. He may 
 be good to us again ; if he knew how we loved him, 
 I know he would. And then I believe God is good, 
 and surely he will help us some time." 
 
 " Yes," answered Nancy, " I know he does ; and 
 God must be our father s5me time." 
 
 " He is our father now, sissy." 
 
 " I know it ; but he must tie all we shall nave 
 by and by, for don't you remember that mother told 
 us that she must leave us one of these days ? Sh 
 said a cold finger was upon her heart, and, and " 
 
 " Hush, sissy ! Don't, don't, Nancy ; you'll " 
 
 The words were choked up with sobs and tears 
 and the sisters wept long together. At length they 
 arose and went away, for they saw more children 
 coming. 
 
 As soon as the little ones were out of sight, Charles 
 Nelson started to his feet. His hands were clinched, 
 and his eyes were fixed upon a vacant point with an 
 eager gaze. 
 
 " My God !" he gasped, " what a villain I am ! 
 Look at me now ! What a state I am in, and what 
 I have sacrificed to bring myself to it I And they 
 love me yet, and pray for me ?" 
 
 He said no more, but for some moments he stood
 
 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 161 
 
 with his hands still clinched -and eyes fixed. At 
 length his gaze was turned, and his clasped hands 
 were raised above his head. A moment he remain- 
 ed so, and then his hands dropped by his side and 
 he started homeward. 
 
 When he reached his home he found his wife and 
 children in tears, but he affected not to notice it. 
 He drew a shilling from his pocket it was his last * 
 and handing it to his wife, he asked her if she would 
 send and get some milk and flour, and make him 
 some porridge. The wife was startled by the 
 strange tone in which this was spoken, for it sound 
 ed just as that voice had sounded in days gone by. 
 
 The porridge was made nice and nourishing, and 
 Charles ate it all. He went to bed early, and early 
 on the following morning he was up. He asked his 
 wife if she had milk and flour enough to make him 
 another bowl of porridge. 
 
 " Yes, Charles," she said. " We have not touched 
 
 it." 
 
 "Then, if you are willing, I should like some 
 more." 
 
 The wife moved quickly about the work, and 
 ere long the food was prepared. The husband ate 
 it, and he felt better. He washed and dressed, 
 and would -have shaved had his hand been steady 
 enough. He left his home, and went at once to 
 a man who had just commenced to frame a house.
 
 162 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 " Mr, Manley," he' said, addressing the gentle- 
 man alluded to, " I have drank the last glass of 
 alcoholic beverage that ever passes my lips. Ask 
 me no more questions, but believe me now while 
 you see me true. Will you give me work ?" 
 
 " Charles Nelson, are you in earnest ?" asked 
 Manley, in surprise. 
 
 " So much so, sir, that were death to stand upon 
 my right hand, and yonder bar-room upon my left, 
 I would go with the grim -messenger first." 
 
 "Then here is my house lying about us in 
 rough timber and boards. I place it all in your 
 hands, and shall look to you to finish it. While 
 I can trust you, you may trust me. Come into 
 my office, and you shall have the plan I have 
 drawn." 
 
 We will not tell you how that stout man wept, 
 and how his noble friend shed tears to see him 
 thus; but Charles Nelson took the plan, and hav 
 ing studied it for a while, he went out where the 
 men were at work getting the timber together, 
 and Mr. Manley introduced him as their master. 
 That day he worked but little, for he was not 
 strong yet, but he arranged the timber, and gave 
 directions for framing. At night he asked his 
 employer if he dared to trust him with* a dollar- 
 
 " Why, you have earned three," returned Manley* 
 
 "And will you pay me three dollars a day?" 

 
 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 163 
 
 " If you are as faithful as you have been to-day, 
 for you will save me money at that." 
 
 The poor man could not speak his thanks in 
 words, but looks spoke for him, and Manley un- 
 derstood them. He received his three dollars, 
 and on his way home he stopped and bought, first, 
 a basket, then three loaves of bread, a pound of 
 butter, some tea, sugar, and a piece of beefsteak. 
 He had just one dollar and seventy-five cents left. 
 With this load he went 'home. It was some time 
 before he could* compose himself to enter the house, 
 but at length he went in and set the basket on the 
 table. 
 
 "Come, Mary," he said, "I have brought some- 
 thing home for supper. Here, Nelly, you take the 
 pail, and run over to Mr. Brown's and get a couple 
 of quarts of milk." 
 
 He handed her a shilling as he spoke, and in 
 a half-bewildered state she took the money and 
 hurried away. 
 
 The wife started when she raised the cover of 
 the basket, but she dared not speak. She moved 
 about like one in a dream, and ever and anon 
 she would cast a furtive glance at her husband 
 He had not been drinking she knew it and yet 
 he had money to buy rum with if he wanted it. 
 What could it mean ? O, how fervently she prayed 
 then.
 
 164 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 Soon Nelly returned with the milk, and Mrs. 
 Nelson set the table out. After supper Charles 
 arose, and said to his wife: 
 
 "I must go up to Mr. Manley's office to help 
 him to arrange some plans for his new house, but 
 I will be home early." 
 
 A pang shot through the wife's heart, as she 
 saw her husband turn away, but still she was far 
 happier than she had been before for a long while. 
 There was something in his manner that assured 
 her and gave her hope. 
 
 Just as the clock struck nine, the well-known 
 footfall was heard, strong and steady. The door 
 opened, and Charles entered. His wife cast a quick, 
 keen glance into his face, and she almost uttered 
 
 ' 
 
 a cry of joy when she saw he was changed for the 
 better. He had been to the barber's and the 
 hatter's. Yet nothing was said on the all-import- 
 ant subject. Charles wished to retire early, and 
 his wife went with him. In the morning the hus- 
 band arose first and built a fire. Mary had not 
 slept till long after midnight, having been kept 
 awake by tumultuous emotions, that had started 
 up in her bosom, and hence she awoke not so 
 early as usual. But she came out just as the tea- 
 kettle and potatoes began to boil, and breakfast was* 
 eoon ready. 
 
 After the meal was eaten, Charles arose and
 
 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 165 
 
 put on his hat, and then turning to his wife, he 
 asked: 
 
 "What do you do to-day?" 
 
 "I must wash for Mrs. Bixby." 
 
 " Are you willing to obey me once more f" 
 
 O, yes." 
 
 " Then work for me to-day. Send Nelly over to 
 tell Mrs. Bixby that you are not well enough to 
 wash, for you are not. Here is a dollar, and you 
 must do with it as you please. Buy something 
 that will keep you busy for yourself and children." 
 
 Mr. Nelson turned toward the door, and his 
 hand was upon the latch. He did not speak, but 
 opened his arms, and his wife sank upon his bosom. 
 He kissed her, and then having gently placed her 
 in a seat, he left the house. "When he went to his 
 work that morning he felt well, and very happy. 
 
 Mr. Manley was by to cheer him, and this he did 
 by talking and acting as though Charles had never 
 been unfortunate at all. 
 
 It was Saturday evening, and Nelson had been 
 a week without rum. He had earned fifteen dollars, 
 ten of which he had now in his pocket. 
 
 " Mary," he said, after the supper table had been 
 cleared away, " here are ten dollars for you, and I 
 want you to expend them in clothing for yourself 
 and children. I have earned fifteen dollars during the 
 last five days. I am to build Squire Manley's great
 
 166 THE UNMEANT REBUKE. 
 
 house, and lie pays me* three dollars a day. A good 
 job, isn't it?" 
 
 Mary looked up, and her lips moved, but she could 
 not speak a word. She struggled a few moments, and 
 then burst into tears. Her husband took her by the 
 arm, and drew her upon his lap, and then pressed her 
 to his bosom. 
 
 " Mary," he whispered, while the tears ran down 
 his cheeks, "you are not deceived. I am Charley 
 Nelson once more, and while I live, not by any act 
 of mine shall another cloud cross your brow." And 
 then he told her what he heard on the previous 
 Monday, while he lay behind the wall. 
 
 " Never before," he said, " did I fully realize how 
 low I had fallen; but the scales -dropped from my 
 eyes then as though some one had struck them off 
 with a sledge. My soul started up to a standing- 
 point, from which all the tempters of earth cannot 
 move it. Your prayers are answered, my wife." 
 
 Time passed on, and the cottage once more as- 
 sumed its garb of pure white, and its whole windows 
 and green blinds. The roses in the garden smiled ; 
 and in every way did the improvement work. Once 
 again was Mary Nelson among the happiest of the 
 happy; and their children choose their own associ- 
 ates now.
 
 THE 
 
 UIELCOME PEEACHER. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR OF THE HOME CIRCLE.
 
 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 
 
 IN the fall of 1823, the Methodists of a certain town 
 in Kentucky concluded that they were able, though 
 but twenty-two in number, fo support a preacher by 
 themselves. Accordingly, they wrote to the confer- 
 ence, requesting the bishop to make a station of their 
 village. But, considering their want of numerical 
 and financial strength, it was deemed all-important 
 that the minister sent them should be a man of pop- 
 ular talents, because, unless he could command the 
 admiration and conciliate the favor of tlie people, 
 there was danger of failing to support him. 
 
 They therefore asked for a Brother Johnson, at that 
 time one of the most popular and effective ministers 
 in the state ; and made the getting of that particular 
 man the condition upon which they wished to be- 
 come a station. To them it was clear that the des- 
 tinies of Methodism, if not of Christianity itself, in 
 that particular region, depended upon their having 
 the man they wanted that very year. It was thought
 
 170 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 
 
 advisable, however, to station Brother Johnson else- 
 where. 
 
 There was in the conference at the time, a young 
 man who had just been received into full connection, 
 without experience or reputation as a preacher, and 
 by nature singularly disqualified for any position 
 where his sensibilities were likely to be tried. Ten- 
 der hearted and addicted to gloom, exposure to rude 
 treatment, or, what would be worse, a cold reception 
 from those to whom he might be sent, would dis 
 hearten him at once. Some such treatment most 
 probably awaited any Inan, save Brother Johnson, 
 who might be sent to the town of which we speak ; 
 yet this young man was selected to go. Fortunately, 
 however, the bishop was to accompany him. 
 
 It is known to as many as were acquainted with 
 Bishop George, that his most noticeable characteristic 
 was prayerfulness. The frequency, fervor, and sin- 
 gular power with which he addressed the throne of 
 grace, are mentioned as often as a reminiscence of 
 him is made. During their journey of two hundred 
 miles on horseback, the young preacher had abund- 
 ant opportunity to observe and imbibe the spirit of 
 this excellent man. Whenever they stopped for meals, 
 rest, lodging, or to see and encourage some pious fam- 
 ily, whose residence by the way was known to them, 
 they had a season of prayer. 
 
 When about twelve miles from the place of the
 
 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 171 
 
 young man's destination, at the house of a Brother S., 
 the bishop was attacked with asthma, a disease to 
 which he was very liable. The remedies which usu- 
 ally relieved him were tried without effect ; the man 
 of God got no better. At length he sent for the 
 young preacher, and directing his attention to the 
 sublime description of the new Jerusalem, contained 
 in the book of Revelation, desired him to take his 
 Bible into the grove, meditate upon that passage for 
 a season, and then come in and preach to him about 
 it; "For," said he, "I want to be happy. If my 
 soul were powerfully blessed, I think it would cure 
 my body." 
 
 The young man, ever distrustful of his own powers, 
 was alarmed at the idea. He begged to be excused ; 
 and, prompted as much, perhaps, by fear as by faith, 
 recommended to the bishop his never-failing expedi- 
 ent for " getting happy" prayer. 
 
 " Well," said the sick man, " go out, my son, and 
 shut the door ; let me be left alone." 
 
 His wish was complied with. In another moment 
 he was composing his mind to its favorite employ- 
 ment : Elijah, wrapped in the mantle of prayer, was 
 alone with God. 
 
 For a moment all was silent; but at length loud 
 and repeated praises issued from the sick-room. The 
 family gathered round to rejoice with the man of 
 prayer ; and the immediate effect of the excitement
 
 172 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 
 
 was a cure of the malady so effectual that the travel- 
 ers proceeded on their journeyin the morning. 
 
 But before they started, the good brother with 
 whom they were sojourning, broke to the unsuspect- 
 ing young preacher the shocking intelligence, already 
 in the reader's possession, that he would be an un- 
 welcome arrival in the place of his appointment. 
 Of course, he was sunk at once in the deepest 
 dejection. Possessed with keen perceptions of the 
 painful, nervously sensitive to any unkindness, he 
 was the very man to be overwhelmed in such a 
 situation. Personal danger, trial, toil, would not 
 have daunted him, but to be coldly pushed off as 
 not welcome, to feel that he was imposed upon a 
 people who did not want him, was what he could 
 not bear. Instantly resolving, therefore, not to 
 submit to such a mortification, he hastened to com- 
 municate his discovery and his purpose to the 
 superintendent. The bishop, aware of the feeling 
 of revolt with which his prote'ge' was liable to be 
 met, exhorted him, nevertheless, to determine upon 
 nothing rashly; to wait till he saw the place and 
 the people, and, in the meanwhile, give himself to 
 prayer; adding, that he had felt persuaded all the 
 while that the appointment was "right," and in 
 the end would prove providential. This advice was 
 reluctantly taken. 
 
 Arrived at the new station, they were guests of a
 
 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 173 
 
 prominent member of the Church, known for many 
 years afterward as the usual host and friend of the 
 preachers. The next morning, as the bishop was 
 preparing to pursue his journey, he and the good 
 brother of the house were conversing together in the 
 parlor, while, unknown to them, and without design, 
 the young preacher was sitting on the porch near the 
 window, with nothing but a thin curtain between 
 him and them ; so that what passed within was dis- 
 tinctly audible to him. 
 
 " "Well, brother," said the bishop, " how will the. 
 young man do ?" 
 
 " Not at all ; he will not do at all, sir ; we might 
 as well be left without a preacher altogether," was 
 the emphatic reply. 
 
 " O, I hope you will like him better after a while," 
 replied the old man. " Treat him kindly, and I am 
 persuaded he will do you good." 
 
 " I have no objection," returned the host, " to his 
 staying at my house for a few weeks, if you desire 
 it, but it will be useless; he is not the one we 
 wanted." 
 
 The poor young man could bear no more; he 
 crept from the porch almost blind with mortifica- 
 tion. The thought that he was to remain with a 
 people who considered him a tolerated burden ; that 
 every mouthful he ate was to be a charity; that he 
 was to be a young, healthy mendicant, sickened him!
 
 174 THE UNWELCOME PBEACHEB. 
 
 He was lying in wait as the bishop sallied forth, 
 and drawing him to a spot where they were shelter- 
 ed from observation, he burst into tears, exclaiming, 
 " O, bishop, I cannot stay ; I heard what passed in 
 the room, and indeed you must release me." 
 
 "Can you get your horse and ride a little way 
 with me?" 
 
 This he did with alacrity ; glad of even an hour's 
 respite from his painful position. , 
 
 After riding a few miles, they turned off into the 
 woods, and dismounting by a fallen tree, engaged 
 in solemn and importunate prayer; prayer for light 
 arid help in that dark and trying hour. Then, taking 
 the hand of his companion, the bishop turned upon 
 him a look of love, which none but a strong, stern 
 heart can feel; so deep and genuine was it, so full 
 of serious concern and earnest sympathy. 
 
 He concluded an address fraught with parental 
 feeling and sound wisdom, with, "Now, my son, I 
 will make you a proposition : see if you can fulfill 
 the conditions of it : 
 
 " Go back to town ; if you find a cross there, bear 
 it; diligently and lovingly perform every part of 
 your duty; 'do the work of an evangelist;' fast once 
 a week, and spend one hour of each day in special 
 prayer, that God may open your way in that com- 
 munity ; do this for one month, and at the end of 
 that term, if you do not feel willing to stay, consider
 
 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 176 
 
 yourself released from the appointment. Can you 
 do this?" 
 
 He thought he could: upon which they took an 
 affectionate leave of each other, and Enoch George 
 what signifies a title to such a man ? turned toward 
 the southwest, and resumed his pilgrimage of hard- 
 ships. The young man sat upon his horse watching 
 the receding form till it sank out of sight below the 
 horizon. Not until that moment had he fairly 
 tasted the exquisite bitterness of his cup. The " man- 
 angel," upon whom he had leaned, was gone, 
 and he was left to grapple with his trial alone. He 
 could have sobbed like any boy. 
 
 Faithfully did he comply with the conditions of 
 his promise through all the tedious month, without 
 discerning any material change in his own feelings 
 or in the bearing of his people toward him ; albeit 
 one wicked man and his wife had from the begin- 
 ning endeavored to encourage him. 
 
 Finally the last Sabbath arrived of the month 
 during which he had promised to stay. The glad 
 village bells were pealing their summons to the 
 house of God, as our hero was he not a hero? arose 
 from the struggle of the last covenanted hour of 
 prayer. He walked toward the little attic window, 
 which commanded a view of most of the streets, 
 wiping his eyes and thinking of the few reluctant 
 hearers who awaited him, when, lo ! what a sight
 
 176 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 
 
 met his gaze ! Group after group of citizens were 
 flocking toward the Methodist Church! At first a 
 sense of awe came over him, and then a class of 
 mingled feelings, as if confidence, and strength, and 
 joy were storming the heart, while fear, and weakness, 
 and mortification still disputed the right of possession. 
 
 He hastened to his pulpit, and as he arose from 
 the first silent prayer, the thought of victory thrilled 
 through him like the voice of a clarion. His text 
 was Isaiah 6, iv : " And the posts of the door moved 
 at the voice of him that cried." The attention of 
 the audience was arrested by the announcement, for 
 the voice that had been wont to tremble with 
 embarrassment, now rang clear with a tone of 
 authority; his eye, hitherto confused and unsteady, 
 now kindled with " a light that never shined on sea 
 or shore." Fresh from the chamber where he had 
 just accomplished his' thirtieth hour of special 
 prayer, the live coal had touched his lips ; he was 
 with a witness, " a man sent from &od," and glori- 
 ously baptized with the Holy Ghost. 
 
 He referred his text back to the point at which 
 Christ first interposed for man's salvation ; the voice 
 that cried, " Lo ! I come to do t thy will :" he applied 
 
 it to the sacrificial offering of Jesus ; the voice that 
 
 m 
 
 cried, " It is finished ;" he carnal forward the appli- 
 cation to " the right hand of the Majesty on high," 
 where the intercessor makes his dying words immor
 
 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 177 
 
 tal, crying with infinite iteration, "Father, forgive 
 them ;" to the day when sound shall make its next 
 impression upon " the dull cold ear of death ;" when 
 at the " voice of the Son of God, the dead, small and 
 great, shall rise." 
 
 The power of the Highest was manifestly upon 
 the audience, and the presence of an embassador of 
 Christ was attested by sobs and groans from every 
 part of the house. The preacher descended from 
 the pulpit without pausing in his discourse, and 
 invited to the place of prayer those who desired to 
 flee the wrath to come. With loud cries for mercy, 
 sinners came streaming down the aisle, and before 
 the congregation was dismissed seven souls professed 
 to find peace in believing. 
 
 When the meeting broke up, the pastor hastened 
 back to his closet. Many a time had he entered it 
 disheartened and sad, never before in triumph. He 
 thought of good Bishop George, and his steady 
 persuasion that the appointment was " right ;" of the 
 fastings and prayers, all the way down to the last 
 hour's experience ; and his faith in God, and in the 
 efficacy of prayer, then and there settled down into a 
 substance upon which tyne has made no impression. 
 Thirty-one years of toil and change have passed since 
 that sweet Sabbath ; tne vicissitudes of an itinerant's 
 life have led him through heat and cold, by night 
 and day, from one end of Kentucky to the other, till
 
 178 THE UNWELCOME PREACHER. 
 
 " He is known to every star, 
 And every wind that blows." 
 
 Forms then unknown, afterward became dear as life, 
 and then perished from his sight ; " sickness and 
 sorrow, pain and death," have left their scars upon 
 his form and heart, but nothing has ever shaken 
 his confidence in the God that answers prayer. The 
 memory of that bright morning is as fresh beneath 
 his gray hairs as it was beneath his locks of jet. 
 Like trampled chamomile, the virtues of his spirit 
 took deeper root for being bruised, and shed a per- 
 fume that has sweetened life's atmosphere ver since. 
 
 For four weeks very little else was attended to 
 but the revival. Stores and shops were closed 
 during the hours of worship, which occurred twice 
 and often three times a day. At one of the meetings 
 held in a private house, ( where the venerable John 
 Littlejohn was present,) a call was made for those 
 who wished to join the Church, and one hundred and 
 eleven persons presented themselves for admission ! 
 
 Thus the permanent establishment of Methodism 
 in Russelville, Kentucky, was effected, under God, 
 through the instrumentality of the "UNWELCOME 
 "PKEACHEK." 
 
 It will doubtless add to the interest of the fore- 
 going narrative for the reader to know, that the 
 subject of it is now the worthy Book Agent of the 
 Church, South, Rev. E. Stevenson, D. D.
 
 MAR EYING RICH 
 
 BY REV. W. B. SLAUGHTER. 
 
 12

 
 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 AT the end of a pretty lane, along the sides of 
 which thrifty maple-trees furnished a grateful shade 
 during the warm summer months, stood the cottage 
 of Farmer Barnwell. A beautiful lawn, skirted by 
 shrubbery and dotted over with pyramid ever- 
 greens, all tastefully arranged, spread out in front 
 of the cottage. An open porch afforded an agree- 
 able place to pass away a twilight hour. The doors 
 and windows were decorated with the queen of the 
 prairie, intermingled with jasmine and honeysuckle, 
 which climbed together the trellis, and hung in 
 graceful tresses in the air. Altogether, it was a 
 lovely place, quiet and inviting. Within, the same 
 taste that was evinced in the surrounding grounds, 
 was displayed in the order and neatness that pre- 
 vailed* in every apartment. The farmer's good wife 
 was a model of excellence, in her own proper sphere.
 
 182 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 If you could have inspected the barns and yards, 
 and the fields beyond, you would have found every- 
 thing indicative of the same care, and order, and 
 thrift. 
 
 The farm was not large, and the farmer had per- 
 formed most of the work himself. It was wonderful, 
 the neighbors said, that he could accomplish so 
 much. He never seemed in a hurry, yet he always 
 was up with his work. Now the secret of this was, 
 that he had learned how to practice the rule, "Every- 
 thing in its time, and everything in its place." In 
 the cold days of winter you might have found him 
 in his little shop, mending rakes, and plows, and 
 grain cradles, and other utensils of the farm. And 
 then you might have observed, too, that each article 
 was put away carefully where* it was safe from all 
 exposure. It was not so strange, after all, that the 
 farm was productive, that Farmer Barnwell never 
 was harassed in the summer-time with breaking 
 tools, that his cattle did not die as other i^rmers' 
 cattle did as the spring came on. It was not so 
 strange, yet the people wondered at it all, and said 
 that he was always " in luck," and so they went on 
 in their own way.* There was another thing they 
 wondered at. Farmer Barnwell had a choice col- 
 lection of books. Some of the best agricultural 
 works were on his shelves, and he found time, not 
 only to read them, but to study them. And then he
 
 MARRYING RICH. 183 
 
 had managed to procure the best fruits, and the 
 trees were carefully trimmed, and when the cold 
 winter came on they were , mulched, and thus they 
 escaped the fate of other men's trees, and grew in 
 beautiful thriftiness and tasteful forms. Many per- 
 sons, it must be confessed, could not understand why 
 his trees always lived through the hard winters, and 
 why they always bent under a burden of delicious 
 fruits. But so it was, they could not deny it, and so 
 they reasoned that he was a "lucky fellow." And 
 thus the years went on, one after another, and Farmer 
 Barnwell was a man of forty-five at the time our 
 story commences, and everybody said he was " well 
 to do" in the world. He had not bought other lands, 
 because he had enough ; and he thought it was better 
 to till the soil well and get grateful returns, than to 
 skin its surface for scant products. 
 
 And Farmer Barnwell had one son. He was now 
 a man. The father's thrift had enabled him to give 
 him the advantages of a thorough education. He 
 had but just returned from college, where he had 
 graduated with honor. 
 
 Charles Barnwell was a modest boy. His whole 
 soul had been engrossed in the earnest toil after 
 knowledge. He had studied as 'many do not study, 
 because he loved the truth for its own sake. The 
 facts and principles of science he imbibed, as a 
 thirsty man would drink water, to satisfy the cravings
 
 184 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 of his mind. He had graduated, but he thought not 
 once that his education was completed. He had in 
 view no profession. 
 
 The old homestead was associated- with his most 
 hallowed memories, and he had resolved to devote 
 himself to the cultivation of the soil. He loved its 
 rural quiet, its health-giving labor, and its invigorating 
 exposure. He assured himself that he should here 
 have an enlarged sphere of exi)loration after scien- 
 tific truth. He thought the vocation of the husband- 
 man more independent, and truly noble, than any 
 other. The intricacies and perplexities of a profess- 
 ional life he never could endure. He was an enthu- 
 siast in farming as much as an artist could be in his 
 art. 
 
 We have thus introduced the worthy family of 
 Barnwell to our readers, and the beautiful place 
 they called their home. If intelligence, industry, 
 refined taste in rural embellishments, and thrift, 
 constitute elements of happiness, the Barnwells were 
 a happy family. And so they were.- For to these 
 elements we must add that they were a truly pious 
 family. The old family Bible was well read. The 
 altar of prayer was ever held sacred. And the 
 library was well stored with excellent religious 
 books. 
 
 But the best of people have their weaknesses ; 
 and good Mrs. Barnwell would have been a singular
 
 MARRYING RICJfc * 186 
 
 
 
 lady indeed, if she had not any weak point. It 
 was her misfortune to think too much of money. 
 She had alw^rs been industrious, and prudent, and 
 economical. All that was needed to educate her son 
 she had most cheerfully appropriated for that pur- 
 pose. In fact, she did not so much desire wealth for 
 her own personal enjoyment as that she might 
 bestow it upon him. She doted upon him as mothers 
 only can dote, and with better reason than most 
 mothers have, for he was truly noble and worthy. 
 Perhaps, too, that rigid economy, which was neces- 
 sary when they were poor, and which had become a 
 habit while saving the means to educate Charles, had 
 contributed to give her a higher notion of the value 
 of wealth than she would otherwise have had. Now 
 whatever may have been the origin .of that feeling, it 
 was, at the time embraced in our narrative, her 
 greatest failing. The exhibition of it will be seen in 
 the following chapter.
 
 186* MARRYING RICH. 
 
 CHAPTER' H. 
 
 CHAKLES and his mother were sitting in the large 
 east room, toward the close of the day. The sun 
 shone brightly upon the opposite hill, and the fresh 
 spring breezes floated gently through the foliage of 
 the surrounding trees. The mother evidently wished 
 to introduce a subject of importance, and with some 
 effort she at length began : 
 
 " Charles, you are now twenty-three. You have 
 finished your education, and have come home to 
 stay. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you 
 back again." 
 
 " I am equally happy, to be" here, mother. Indeed, 
 I have always longed for this quiet home." 
 
 "It has cost a great deal of money to give you 
 your fine education, Charles." 
 
 "I know it, mother; and it has cost you many 
 other sacrifices. In all my absence this has been the 
 only thing that has cast a shadow on my heart. Yet, 
 mother, had the money and the time been all my 
 own, I should have felt that both were well invested 
 in the acquisitions I have made." 
 
 "And so I do, my son. I do not mention it be- 
 cause I regret it at all. No, no; I am proud of it all,
 
 MARRYING RICH. 187 
 
 and I am proud of my boy. You have not disap- 
 pointed me, and I don't think you will." 
 
 " I should be ungrateful to disappoint your expec- 
 tations, mother. As I love you, I shall ever strive to 
 honor you." 
 
 " But, Charles, what are your plans for the future ? 
 We must have some plans, my son." 
 
 "Yes. But have I not always said that I was 
 coming home to be a farmer, when I got through 
 college?" 
 
 " To be sure. But then there are other plans, you 
 know. You must have some other plans, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "Well about why about getting a wife, for 
 instance." 
 
 "Why, really," said Charles, laughing, "I can't 
 say that I have any very specific plans about that. 
 I have, certainly, a sort of vague impression that 
 ' marriage is honorable,' and that a ' wife is a good 
 thing,' but that would hardly amount to a plan, 
 would it?" 
 
 " O, you want to evade the subject." 
 
 "No, I am willing to converse seriously on that 
 subject with you, my dear mother. And may I 
 inquire, have you any plan in my behalf?" 
 
 " Well, I want you to do well." 
 
 " That is very natural, but not very definite."
 
 188 MAEEYING EICH. 
 
 " Well, then, I want you to marry rich" 
 
 "That may be difficult." 
 
 " Not at all. You are good-looking. You have 
 an excellent education. You can go in the best 
 society. And you can get a rich girl, if you try. 
 I'm sure you can." 
 
 " Do you know one that you think I could get ?" 
 
 " Yes. Miss Marks has been left with a handsome 
 fortune in her own right, and when her grandfather 
 dies she will inherit all his vast estates."- 
 
 " How much is she worth now, mother ?" 
 
 " Not less than twenty thousand." 
 
 " Are you much acquainted with the girl ?" 
 
 " No. I have seen her a few times abroad. She 
 visits at the Petersons, who are a very aristocratic 
 family." 
 
 " Does she go into our society much ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I have met her myself, mother, and think I know 
 her. In the first place, I am obliged to say that she 
 is not familiar with the better class of society. Her" 
 father was a craven money-lender. He made a for- 
 tune by oppressing the poor. The greed of gain con- 
 sumed him, and he died young, of very avarice. 
 His father had trained him up for such a life, and he 
 infused his spirit into his daughter also. She is 
 utterly incapable of any noble endeavors. Her 
 education is limited. Her mind is ever groveling.
 
 MARRYING RICH. 189 
 
 She has none of those accomplishments, none of that 
 refinement and feminine delicacy of sentiment that 
 is a passport to good society. She gloats over her 
 wealth, and assumes airs that are offensive. That 
 class of aristocrats to which she belongs, and with 
 whom she moves, are known among men as snobs. 
 They have an artificial and vicious standard of 
 etiquette. I don't feel much like assuming any 
 of the honors of such a connection, mother." 
 " But you will not forget that she is very rich." 
 "No. Nor can I forget that she possesses a nar- 
 row and vulgar mind. Her money can never buy 
 for her those qualities that a woman must have to 
 make her husband happy." 
 
 " I am afraid you are too sentimental." 
 " No. I look at this matter in a utilitarian light. 
 What should I gain by such a marriage ?" 
 
 "You would get twenty thousand dollars and a 
 wife." 
 
 "A wife? Ah, that word, in my mind, has al- 
 ways imported goodness, nobleness, amiability, devo- 
 tion. Why, that is the holiest word in the language, 
 aside from the name of Deity." 
 
 " Would you rank it above the word mother f" 
 
 "In some respects, no; in others, yes. To the 
 
 husband, wife is the most hallowed name; to the 
 
 sou, mother. But we should remember that the 
 
 woman may bear both these hallowed names. Miss 

 
 190 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 Marks is not such a person as I could place in either 
 relation. Why, I have seen her turn the poor from 
 her door in scorn, and her name for charity is a by- 
 word. But I really think that I can do better than 
 marry Miss Marks. To be honest, I think I can 
 marry richer" 
 
 " Well, if you <pan, I will be satisfied." 
 
 "Will you, mother?" 
 
 " Certainly ; and be glad of it too." 
 
 " Well, I can do it, and I will. In fact, I have 
 had more thought on this subject than I have ut- 
 tered." 
 
 "Where can you find a girl worth more than 
 twenty thousand dollars, that you can win ?" 
 
 " Well, mother, I may as well make my confession 
 first as last. I have seen a young lady whose wealth, 
 if all I have heard be true, is many times greater 
 than that of Miss Marks. I have been assured that 
 she is highly connected, and I have learned from 
 herself that she is willing to bestow all her treasures, 
 with her own hand, upon me. If I may but have 
 your blessing upon my union with her, I hope to be 
 the richest man in all this region. Now will you 
 allow me to follow my own inclination in this 
 matter? I assure you, my mother shall never 
 have occasion to blush at the choice her son has 
 made." 
 
 " Yes, certainly. I'm glad you have not been
 
 MARRYING RICH. 191 
 
 * 
 
 so foolish as to neglect the good fortune thus offered 
 you." 
 
 Little did Mrs. Barn-well understand the import 
 of her son's words. Little did she dream of the 
 mortification and sorrow in store for her. 
 
 CHAPTEK 
 
 CHAELES BABNWELL had always acquitted himself 
 well in his career as a student. His mind was of 
 that symmetrical cast that admits of seriousness 
 without severity, and sprightliness without levity. 
 An ardent lover of truth, he was energetic in its 
 acquirements. Esteeming the society of the wise 
 and the good, his walks were among the purest 
 and most elevated circles. Deeply pious, he was 
 ever happiest when lie was mingling with those 
 whose conversation was in heaven. It would be 
 expected that he would be found often in those 
 places where Christians meet for social worship. 
 
 The L - College was celebrated for the religious 
 influence that generally prevailed among its mem 
 bers. No season passed without a gracious revival 
 of religion in the town where it was located. Be-
 
 192 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 tween the citizens of the town and the students of 
 the college, there subsisted an intimacy of inter- 
 course and a sympathy of feeling that seldom are 
 seen at such institutions. They had little about 
 which to wrangle, and much in which to affiliate 
 and cordially work together. Let the reader ac- 
 company us to the house of God on a sweet May 
 evening. The people are quietly and cheerfully as- 
 sembling for social worship. The exercises com- 
 mence and proceed with sweet and uniform anima- 
 tion. Now the song of praise goes up like incense 
 to heaven; now from the bended knee the yearning 
 heart pleads with God. 
 
 Hark ! that voice is not recognized in this house 
 of worship. It' is a female voice. The language of 
 the petition is such as irresistibly to arrest the at- 
 tention of every one present. So elevated the 
 thought ; so pure and chaste the diction ; so calm 
 and subdued the tone ; so deep and soul-thrilling 
 the pathos. The soul of the petitioner evidently 
 wrestled calmly, earnestly, and mightily with God. 
 The words of the prayer burned into the very soul 
 of each one who heard them, and the whole assem- 
 bly was pervaded with the thrilling power of that 
 one heart's prevailing utterances. On no one did 
 the prayer of the stranger make a deeper impression 
 than on Charles Barnwell. He felt, as only a re- 
 fined and noble mind can feel, the depth of import
 
 MARRYING RICH. 193 
 
 that attended the most pure and glowing language 
 he had ever heard. 
 
 Yon will pardon him, kind reader, for resolving 
 then and there, to avail himself of the first op- 
 portunity to become acquainted personally with the 
 person in whom he was so much interested. 
 
 He did not have long to wait. He had been ac- 
 customed to drop in now and then at the meeting 
 of a sewing-circle. This circle met the next day. 
 He resolved to attend it, and as he had often done 
 before, inquire in what way he and his associates 
 could aid the objects of the society. Full of the hope 
 that he might meet this lady there, he proceeded to 
 the place of meeting. More than once he detected 
 himself asking why he felt such an interest in her. 
 She was to hicpt a stranger. He had seen her only 
 the evening before, and then he had seen but little 
 of her. He could not say she appeared beautiful, 
 but there was something in the deep, rich, subdued 
 pathos of her voice, something in the glowing fervor 
 of her soul, that fascinated him. 
 
 The ladies were assembled, and in the midst of 
 their work, when he made his appearence. He re- 
 ceived their cordial salutations, and returned them 
 with a cordiality equal to that with which they 
 were offered. There was one lady well known to 
 him on account of her self-sacrificing, devoted, relig- 
 ions life She was a widow, living in humble
 
 194 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 privacy, yet doing much good silently and meekly. 
 She was poor. Her own hands earned her dayly 
 bread. Mrs. Gray was at this time accompanied 
 by a young lady. A glance informed him that 
 she was the person whose acquaintance he so much 
 desired. As soon, therefore, as he could do so with- 
 out apparent haste, he placed himself by the side 
 of his friend and entered into conversation. He 
 was immediately introduced to M-iss Ellen Gray, 
 and the conversation was carried on between them. 
 "We will not undertake to report their conversa- 
 tion in detail. Yery naturally, the business- of the 
 circle suggested the destitution and wretchedness of 
 multitudes of our race, the best methods of reaching 
 the benighted heathen with the light of the Gospel, 
 and the power of that Gospel to quicfoen and elevate 
 the race. In these subjects she evinced a zeal full 
 of sympathy and intelligence. Charles was filled 
 with admiration at the extent and variety of the in- 
 formation she possessed, and fascinated with the ease 
 and grace of her conversation. He watched the ex- 
 pression of her countenance as she talked. Now the 
 bright light of her deep blue eye would seem to 
 scintillate around him; now a shade of sadness 
 would pass over her, and now the utmost gentle- 
 ness and tenderness would blend upon her features. 
 Altogether, when he retired from her charming pres- 
 ence, Charles Barnwell confessed to himself that she
 
 MARRYING RICH. 195 
 
 had become to him an object of very tender regard. 
 He was in love. Still he wished he could know 
 something of her history. He had entered his last 
 year as a student. He must not allow his mind to 
 be too much occupied with such a matter as love. 
 But no, he wouldn't do that. He begged to know 
 of himself if he could not maintain his self-mastery. 
 True, he admired Miss Gray, and who, that had met 
 with her and conversed with her, would not ? There 
 was nothing strange in his admiration of her. Surely 
 it would do him no harm to run in at Mrs. Gray's 
 now and then, and enjoy an hour of pleasant chat 
 with her and her beautiful niece. 
 
 In spite of himself, however, he often found his 
 thoughts wandering away from the book before liim 
 to the humble -cottage and its inmates. We do him 
 but justice, however, in acknowledging that he put 
 his vagrant thoughts under arrest at such times, and 
 dragged them back to their task. 
 
 One evening, while taking the air just for his 
 health's sake, nothing else, certainly, Charles found 
 himself sauntering along by the little cottage. It 
 was quite a matter of course that he should just call. 
 " But what is the matter with me ?" he said to him- 
 self as he opened the gate ; " I do believe I shall suf- 
 focate." Poor fellow! his heart was in his throat. 
 His knees trembled, and he felt that his face was 
 
 crimson. He never felt so before when he made a 
 
 13
 
 196 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 call on Mrs. Gray. But this was the first time he 
 had called since the niece arrived. Perhaps that 
 would account for feelings so unusual. 
 
 Miss Gray had an opportunity now to take the 
 part of an entertainer, being at home. And well 
 did she perform her part. Charles was soon made 
 
 
 
 easy in the presence of the ladies, and an hour pass- 
 ed more pleasantly, it seemed to him, than ever an 
 hour passed before. Did he not betray his emotions? 
 One of the three was suspicious of the fact that he 
 was more than interested in the conversation. The 
 widow Gray had observed the effect which her 
 niece's presence had produced on him, and she 
 secretly attributed it to the right cause. Nor was 
 she disquieted with her suspicion. The reputation 
 of Charles Barnwell was such as commended to her 
 any attachment that might grow up between him 
 and her niece. 
 
 w 
 
 Ko one in L knew anything of the young 
 
 lady's former history. All that was known of her 
 was, that her father was Mrs. Gray's brother, and had 
 resided in a distant state. It was said that he had a 
 moderate station in life, and was respected by his 
 fellow-citizens. No one knew his circumstances in 
 respect to property. Some said that he was poor, 
 others that he had a competence. But if the apparel 
 of the daughter was any index to the circumstances 
 of the father, it was evident that he must be a poor
 
 MARRYING RICH. 19T 
 
 man. It was observed that she never appeared in 
 anything but the plainest garb. The material of her 
 wardrobe was uniformly common, if not coarse. Yet 
 whatever she wore, she moved with the same calm 
 dignity and self-possession that marked the superior 
 qualities of her mind. In her aunt's family she 
 seemed as a maid of all work, now in the kitchen, 
 now in the chamber, and now plying her needle. 
 Ajid what some people remarked as a very singular 
 thing, she was never disquieted by being taken by 
 surprise at her work. She could leave her work and 
 engage in conversation with the utmost ease, and 
 never failed to interest those with whom she con- 
 versed. People speculated and queried much about 
 her. It was odd, they said, that so much grace of 
 carriage, so much polish of manner, so much ease 
 and sprightliness in conversation, and, withal, such 
 evidence of the highest culture, could consist with 
 the humble position she seemed to occupy. 
 
 All these queries were at length put to rest by the 
 announcement that Miss Gray had engaged to do 
 some needle-work in Squire Little's family. Now 
 it was known that she must -be a poor girl, and 
 though she was accomplished, as she was acknowl- 
 edged to be, it was evident that she was not admis- 
 sible to the first class of society. Of course, Miss 
 Gray, the seamstress, would not expect to associate 
 on terms of equality with the Misses Little.
 
 198 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 One evening the young ladies received a call from 
 some young gentlemen of the college. Among them 
 was our friend, Charles Barnwell. To be noticed by 
 this class of young gentlemen was always gratifying. 
 The party entered gayly into conversation, and wit 
 sparkled and flashed in their sallies. At length 
 music was called for, and Miss Julia Little led the 
 way with a piece only tolerably performed. 
 
 At length, as the performances seemed to languish, 
 one of the gentlemen asked, " Is Miss Gray with 
 you now ?" 
 
 "Yes, she has been working for us a few days 
 past." 
 
 " She seems quite an interesting girl !" 
 
 "Yes, rather," said Miss Julia, and after a mo- 
 ment added : " She is a beautiful seamstress." 
 
 " Yery likely," said Charles; "she would be beauti- 
 ful in any occupation." 
 
 i 
 
 " Charles Barnwell in love with a young seam- 
 stress !" cried two or three at once. 
 
 " As you please, ladies," said Charles, smiling ; " I 
 confess I admire her." 
 
 " O ! Julia," said the youngest Miss Little, " Miss 
 Gray plays prettily. I heard her this morning." 
 
 "Invite her in," said "William Blakeslee, half 
 ironically. 
 
 "Do, by all means," said Charles Barnwell, 
 earnestly.
 
 MARRYING RICH. 199 
 
 " O, we should have been glad to invite her in at 
 first," replied Julia, "only we could not know it 
 would please you." 
 
 Miss Gray was immediately sought for, and soon 
 made her appearance. 
 
 " Now, dear Miss Gray," said Emily, " you must 
 give us a song. Julia has been playing, and we all 
 want you to play for us." 
 
 Notwithstanding the evident ill-grace of the invi- 
 tation, looking, as it did, as though she had been 
 called in merely to entertain the company, she 
 readily complied. There was no affectation of airs; 
 there was the same serene dignity united with 
 unassumed meekness that always lent such a power- 
 ful fascination to her presence. 
 
 While she drew forth the full power of the instru- 
 ment, every one looked on with admiration. It was 
 evident that she was a proficient in this beautiful 
 accomplishment. Rising from the instrument, she 
 made a simple apology, and excused herself, saying, 
 she had promised to spend the evening with her 
 aunt. 
 
 " And with your permission, I will bear you 
 company, Miss Gray," said Charles.
 
 200 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 IT was now six months since Charles had first met 
 Miss Gray in the social meeting. His interest in her 
 had gone on increasing continually, and he acknowl- 
 edged to himself that he loved her. They had 
 often worshiped together. They had met frequently 
 at the house of her aunt, and whenever he had 
 attempted to study her deliberately, he had found 
 himself lost in admiring her. That she was a poor 
 girl was no objection to her in his mind. Her pure 
 heart, her high intellectual endowments, her genuine 
 piety, her unassuming modesty, and the grace of her 
 conversation, fully compensated, in his judgment, 
 the want of wealth; nay, more, her virtues and 
 accomplishments were the true jewels, whose posses- 
 sion would make any one rich. 
 
 Nor did Ellen seem to dislike his attentions. 
 There was a true congeniality of spirit between 
 them. Aunt Gray saw that they loved each other, 
 and she was secretly happy in view of their mutual 
 attachment. They were worthy of each other she 
 said to herself. And she often made an excuse to be 
 engaged when he called, and thus they were left 
 much in each other's society.
 
 MARRYING RICH. 201 
 
 Affairs at length came to a crisis. Charles must 
 soon return to his home. He confidently expected 
 to bear with him the highest honors his alma mater 
 could confer on- the young graduate. But he longed 
 far more earnestly to carry with him the pledge of 
 her whose worshiper he had become. Would she 
 consent to be his ? Ah ! this question, which seemed 
 to imply a doubt, threw him into a tumult of con- 
 flicting emotions? He resolved to know the worst 
 at once. Had he flattered himself that she loved 
 him when she did not? Full of these thoughts, yet 
 resolute to declare his love, he walked rapidly down 
 to Mrs. Gray's, and was soon in the presence of 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Ellen," said he, when they were alone, " I called 
 on business." 
 
 "With my aunt? Excuse me a moment, I will 
 call her." 
 
 " No, with you." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, with you. There is a place vacant which 
 you are desired to consent to fill." 
 
 "Do you think me qualified to fill it prop- 
 erly 1" 
 
 " Better than any other living person." 
 
 " Now you flatter me. But would you advise me 
 to accept the place ?" 
 
 "I cannot say that I would advise you, but, dear-
 
 202 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 est friend, I wiU entreat you. Pardon me, but I 
 came to tell you how dear you are to me, how my 
 love for you consumes me until I know whether I 
 may hope that it is returned or not. The vacant 
 place is by my side. I feel that you only can fill it. 
 Will you consent to share with me the fortunes of 
 life ?" Almost unconsciously he had taken her hand 
 in his, and she had not withdrawn it. She heard 
 him without any apparent displeasure. A tear 
 moistened her eye. 
 
 " Have you weighed this matter ?" she replied. 
 
 " Yes, again and again ; I can only be wretched if 
 you deny me. Let me tell you the truth ; I began 
 by admiring your fine talents. I soon admired, still 
 more, your deep piety. I sought your acquaintance. 
 I soon found myself seeking your socie'ty often. Has 
 not our intercourse, as friends, been sweet? We 
 have seemed to be formed after the same intellectual 
 mold. Tour thoughts have answered to mine, mine 
 have reflected yours. We have worshiped at the 
 same altar. We have read the same books. We 
 have admired the same objects. In all things our 
 aims, aspirations, sympathies, and opinions, have 
 seemed to coincide. How could it be otherwise 
 than that I should love you ?" 
 
 "But have you considered our stations in life? 
 Have you thought how it would be regarded by the 
 world, if you, who are just ready to receive the
 
 MARRYING RICH. 203 
 
 honors of college if you, whose future is fall of 
 bright promise, were to marry a poor girl, a seam- 
 
 " What do I care for the world's thought ? It will 
 affect me as little as the slightest breath of air. I 
 despise the factitious distinctions of the world. I 
 know you to be good, and intelligent, and accom- 
 plished. Your tastes, and sentiments, and views of 
 life, are in unison .with mine. What right, then, has 
 the world heartlessly to interpose its selfish laws be- 
 tween us? I know that the world is wrong in this, 
 and I will never be bound by its absurd rules. I 
 love you with my whole being. I cannot elevate 
 you in the social scale. You are already worthy of 
 the highest place. Besides this, I am not ambitious 
 to walk in what the world calls its highest circles. 
 There life is all artificial. The prisoner in the stocks 
 is not more absolutely bound than are the members 
 of those circles. They who, to gratify their vanity, 
 seek admission there, have to pay the full penalty of 
 pains and distress for their ambition. And it is a 
 terrible price. My intention is to lead a quiet rural 
 life. Only to serve my country or my God, would I 
 consent to forego the pleasure of my quiet home. 
 No, dearest Ellen, I care nothing for the world's 
 thoughts. And if I did, I know that the world, the 
 versatile world, would soon applaud my choice of 
 such a one as you."
 
 204 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 "Do you, then, think it possible to love unself- 
 ishly?" 
 
 " Ah ! I may be only too selfish in my love. I as- 
 sure you I should feel that I have secured a treasure 
 of wealth in you. "Were you the possessor of lands 
 and gold, I might have reason to hesitate lest my 
 affection was biased by a base motive. Heaven 
 knows I should never cease to despise myself for 
 such an act. Nor could I despise myself less, if 
 knowing that you had not property, I should cast 
 away your real riches of mind for a similar reason. 
 No, "you are rich in all that is permanent; in the 
 purity and nobility of the mind. That is the only 
 patent of nobility I recognize. But why should 
 I urge these views ? The only question is a question 
 of the heart. Can you love me, and will you be 
 mine?" 
 
 "I will not evade your question. My heart is 
 yours, Charles. Only I would not have you commit 
 yourself without considering the social position I oc- 
 cupy. I would not be to you an occasion of future 
 regret." 
 
 " Noblest, best of women ! My heart shall ever 
 bless you for the happiness you have occasioned 
 me."
 
 MARRYING RICH, 205 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 NOT long after the events narrated in the last 
 chapter, the conversation between Charles and his 
 mother took place. The reader will have seen in 
 what sense Charles understood himself when he 
 informed his mother that he was engaged, and 
 that he should marry rich. He was fully persuad- 
 ed that his mother, (who was an excellent woman, 
 despite the weakness before alluded to,) when she 
 came to know the exalted virtues of his adored 
 Ellen, would not only approve, but applaud his 
 choice. He did not intend wickedly to dissemble, 
 yet he could not altogether justify himself. Why 
 not tell her the girl was poor in this world's goods, 
 but rich in virtue, intelligence, refinement, and all 
 female accomplishments? Sometimes he almost 
 resolved to do it; to acknowledge his error, and 
 pray that his choice might be approved. Then, 
 again, he resolved to let time tell the story, and 
 trust to the influence of acquaintance with his 
 chosen bride to remove all objections on the ground 
 of poverty. It would be but a little time, for it was 
 arranged that their nuptials should be celebrated 
 during the latter part of the season.
 
 206 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 Thus the time hastened on, and the day arrived 
 when he was to go and claim his bride at the 
 hands of her parents. Already they had sanctioned 
 her espousal. They knew, they said, the reputa- 
 tion of the young gentleman who had done them 
 the honor of seeking their daughter's hand. They 
 had heard of his disinterested affection; of the mag- 
 nanimity with which he had sacrificed the chances 
 of, apparently, far more advantageous alliances, for 
 the sake of her own personal worth, which, they 
 truly believed, he had not overestimated. They 
 were ready to receive him as a son, and hoped for 
 much happiness to result from the relation. They 
 hoped that he would not fail to be accompanied by 
 his parents at the marriage. This was now agreed 
 upon, and Mrs. Barnwell's heart was in a constant 
 tumult of excitement, speculating upon what kind 
 of people the Grays could be. What style did they 
 live in? How should she appear in the society of 
 such grand people as they must be, if they were so 
 rich? She almost regretted that her son would get 
 a rich wife, now, for she began to fear that it might 
 be the occasion of some separation between the 
 parents and the children. How could she expect a 
 wealthy young lady, a person of aristocratic con- 
 nections, to be willing to descend to the circle in 
 which she had hitherto moved? And how could 
 she hope ever to feel at ease in those higher walks
 
 MARRYING RICH. 207 
 
 which would befit her rich daughter-in-law? Poor 
 woman, she just began to feel that she had miscal- 
 culated the advantages of her son's marrying rich. 
 She feared that she had put thorns in her own heart 
 by so often exhorting him to look for a rich wife. 
 
 Charles did not fail to perceive the trouble she 
 was in, and it gave him secret pleasure. It would 
 render the denouement less terrible than he had 
 feared. In fact, he believed that when the truth 
 was known, and it was found that she was not rich, 
 it would be an absolute relief to his mother's feelings. 
 
 As to his father, he had no misgivings on his 
 account. He cared but little for wealth. A com- 
 petence was desirable; more than this was a vexa- 
 tion. * He hoped the young lady had good sense 
 and a good heart, and he thought Charles would 
 not have fancied her if she had not. 
 
 But Charles was determined that his mother's 
 concern should be enhanced to that point that the 
 truth, when known, would be a positive relief. So 
 he took occasion often, when they were alone 
 together, to expatiate upon the queenly dignity, 
 the polished grace, and the lofty intelligence of his 
 affianced bride. The scheme worked well ; and, by 
 the time that they were ready to commence their 
 journey, Mrs. Barnwell was so agitated with doubts, 
 and fears, and misgivings, that she heartily wished 
 she had been less anxious to contract great alliances.
 
 . 
 208 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 The preparations were at length completed. A 
 
 ride of a day brought them to the village of C , 
 
 where the Grays resided. They had lived here only a 
 short time, and were little known in the village. A 
 man who was inquired of, pointed out a small house 
 in the edge of the village, as their residence. 
 
 ""What! that little white house without blinds?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 As they moved on, Mrs. Barnwell said : 
 
 "That don't look like the dwelling of a man of 
 immense wealth, does it, Charles ?" 
 
 "No, I should think not. Perhaps Mr. Gray is 
 not wealthy." 
 
 " But did you not say he was ?" 
 
 "No, mother; I never said anything about his 
 circumstances ; though I should think any man rich 
 who had such a daughter as Ellen Gray." 
 
 "Then she is not rich, after all. Well, I don't 
 know but I am glad of it. I do say the thought of 
 the wealth and the aristocratic position of this family 
 has almost destroyed my health lately." 
 
 "Ah, mother, I still think her the richest girl I 
 ever saw," said Charles, who was willing his mother 
 should now understand him fully. 
 
 "About as I expected," said Mr. Barnwell. "I 
 am well satisfied with your ability to choose for 
 yourself, Charles. Money is as often a curse as a 
 blessing to the rich."
 
 MARRYING RICH. 209 
 
 Mr. Gray received the Barnwells with easy af- 
 fability, and conducted them into the parlor. They 
 soon felt perfectly at home in the family. Aunt 
 Gray was there, and Charles felt a singular happiness 
 in the company of the worthy family. Never did 
 Ellen seem to him more lovely. Never did he 
 esteem himself so blessed as now. 
 
 The marriage was consummated in the evening, 
 and it was arranged that the parties should start on a 
 brief tour the next morning. It was a happy occa- 
 sion. Mr. and Mrs. Barnwell unreservedly applauded 
 the good judgment of their son. How could he help 
 loving so much beauty, and such perfection? they 
 asked each other. They were fascinated by her 
 artless simplicity, her unaffected dignity and un- 
 equaled grace. And when they saw her devotion 
 to religious principle, they rejoiced that she had 
 become their daughter. 
 
 We must hasten to the conclusion of our narrative. 
 The next morning Charles and his wife were about 
 taking their departure, when Mr. Gray said : 
 
 ."You will find us in the city on your return." 
 There was a meaning smile on his lips as he said this. 
 " But," said Charles, " do you break up here ?" 
 
 " Yes. We only came here to enjoy the country air 
 a few weeks, and we shall now return ; for you, sir, have 
 fairly broken us up by taking our darling away from 
 us. We shall hardly enjoy ourselves here any longer."
 
 210 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 "But what does this all mean?" said Charles, aside, 
 to his wife. 
 
 
 
 She had not time to answer before her father 
 proceeded : 
 
 "You, sir, have, as I said, broken us up. You 
 have allured our only daughter away from our 
 society. You have got the poor sewing-girl at last ; 
 ha ! ha 1 Good, sir, good. You'll find she is a 
 witch, sir. She is a good-for-nothing witch. Only 
 think ; here she has left us to die of loneliness, for 
 nearly a year, only just to catch some simpleton of 
 a fellow and make a husband of him. And she has 
 done it; ha! ha! But, sir, you have undertaken a 
 great task, the support of that girl. I suppose I shall 
 have to help you a little by and*by." 
 
 " O, father, how can you ?" 
 
 "How can I? "Well, now, perhaps I shall find 
 some way to " 
 
 " No, no ; I mean how can you talk so ?" 
 
 "O yes; why, you little deserter of father and 
 mother, and home, what right have you to question 
 me? Here, sir, I demand that you take her away, 
 and don't let her interrupt me again. It's a great 
 tax, sir, a great tax, to assume the support of that 
 girl. I pity you, sir; I do. So see here, just do me 
 the kindness to take this bit of paper to my banker, 
 
 in R , and it will be a great relief to my feelings, 
 
 Ha! ha!"
 
 
 MARRYING RICH. 211 
 
 Charles Barnwell's face was crimson. He could 
 not be displeased, but he was stupefied. Seeing his 
 confusion, Ellen snatched the paper from her father. 
 
 "Take it, my son," said Mr. Gray, more soberly; 
 "it is the first installment of the sewing-girl's por- 
 tion." 
 
 Charles took it. It was a check for twenty thou- 
 sand dollars, payable to Charles Barnwell, or bearer, 
 signed by her father. 
 
 " My dear Ellen, will you explain this to us all ?" 
 said Charles, nearly overcome by his emotions. 
 
 "Forgive me, my dear, for playing an innocent 
 trick. I have dissembled, but not wickedly I trust. 
 More than a year ago my parents urged me to 
 make a selection from among several suitors, and 
 marry. I was not able to do it. I was surrounded 
 with all the advantages ,of wealth, and those who 
 sought my hand knew it. Through the vehement 
 protestations of undying love made by them, I 
 thought I could see a cold, selfish calculation upon 
 the dowry I should bring them. At least I could 
 love none of them. There were young gentlemen, 
 in humble life, whose true hearts I could have 
 trusted, . but between me and them, society had 
 erected the barriers of heartless caste. I saw those 
 'young gentlemen who were ready to die for me 
 passing by a young lady, a friend of mine, a child 
 
 of misfortune, once an expectant heiress, and then 
 
 14
 
 212 MARRYING RICH. 
 
 sought after by them; now impoverished, obtaining 
 her living with her needle, and passed by without 
 BO much as a friendly recognition by those devoted 
 gallants. Alas! I said, I am most unfortunate. I 
 can never know when a true heart is offered me. I 
 would rather live in loneliness and die unmated than 
 aid to perpetuate those social evils which are the 
 destruction of all my joys. I then proposed to my 
 dear parents to allow me to withdraw from society 
 for a year, to go into some distant retreat, and find a 
 heart to love me for my own sake. I found you all 
 I had yearned after in secret. My beloved parents 
 were advised constantly of my affairs, and as they 
 had allowed my caprice, as they called it, so they 
 approved of my attachment, wh'en I informed them 
 of it. And now may I not add, I am grateful to 
 that Providence whose guidance introduced us to 
 each other. That by the blessing of that same be- 
 nignant Providence my father is the steward of 
 large mercies, is accounted by the world rich; and 
 that, as his only child, I am also prospectively 
 wealthy, need not diminish the happiness we have 
 had in each other's pure and unselfish love. To you, 
 who have shown yourself magnanimous and noble in 
 the past, God has given the means to be more useful 
 in the future. Happier in each other we cannot be 
 made by money ; but to the world we may be ena- 
 bled to do more good."
 
 MARRYING RICH. 218 
 
 " Rich or poor, you are all the same to me," said 
 Charles. Tears of gratitude and joy were in every 
 eye. 
 
 Years afterward, when Charles Barnwell had be- 
 come the owner of immense estates, whenever his 
 name was spoken and that of his worthy wife, it was 
 with the heartfelt blessings of the poor ; for as faith- 
 ful stewards, they ever dispensed the bounties of 
 Providence without stint. And still they live, hon- 
 oring the Christian name, and bringing happiness to 
 thousands of hearts.
 
 THE 
 
 SEA-CAPTAIFS DAUGHTERS.
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 MARIA and Annie were favorite children of the 
 wealthy and worldly Captain F. They had been 
 introduced to the gayest circles of the city in which 
 they resided ; their father having long since retired 
 from a life on the waves to a home of elegance in 
 B. Ko fashionable resorts or amusements were 
 unfamiliar to his daughters, whose beauty and ap- 
 pearance fully gratified his pride. But the_ holy 
 sanctuary was seldom frequented, and by himself 
 was wholly neglected. The gay assembly envied 
 his position, while the heirs to an eternal inheritance 
 mournfully pitied and earnestly prayed. 
 
 Late one Saturday night in February, Annie, the 
 younger daughter, returned home from the theater, 
 where she had witnessed an unusually exciting per- 
 formance. A death-scene had been the closing act, 
 and so perfectly was it represented, that for a 
 moment, silence reigned throughout the spacious 
 and crowded hall ; but it was suddenly broken by
 
 218 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 the exclamation beside her, more thoughtless than 
 herself, "Didn't he die splendidly?" Those words 
 lingered in her memory as the carriage wheels rat- 
 tled hastily over the pavement, and the same pre- 
 vented her eyes from slumber, .as she vainly sought 
 her pillow, restless and prayerless. 
 
 It could not be that the recollection of that 
 mock-scene, or the careless remark that followed, 
 so disturbed her, she thought, as daylight dawned 
 upon her unclosed eyelids. Little dreamed she it was 
 the awaking of a conscience which a want of relig- 
 ious education had caused to lie dormant nearly 
 twenty years. She had little thought that the very 
 amusement which never before failed to silence that 
 inward monitor, would prove the instrument through 
 which the Spirit's "still, small voice" might speak; 
 that where she expected pleasure, she would mys- 
 teriously find pain. But God, who can make " the 
 wrath of man to praise him," can likewise bring 
 good results from evil. 
 
 With a heavy heart she rose on Sabbath morning, 
 complained of an aching head, and asked permission 
 to walk alone to the park during the forenoon. 
 The church bells, which she seldom heeded, seemed 
 to summon worshipers to the house of God, and 
 almost unconsciously she found herself nearing one 
 of those earthly temples, toward which crowds were 
 hastening. "I never was in this church," said she
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTEBS. 219l 
 
 to herself, and prompted by a feeling of curiosity, 
 as she believed, she entered, and was immediately 
 conducted to a seat. The stated shepherd of this 
 flock was absent, and in his place sat the devont 
 Dr. B., of another city. His very countenance 
 was expressive of Christian love, and the fruits of 
 the Spirit were ever manifested in his life and 
 words. The organ peals, so unlike the lively strains 
 of music to which her ears were accustomed, sent 
 a solemn thrill through her soul, and for the first 
 time in her life, she bowed her head with the 
 worshiping congregation, while the clergyman lifted 
 up his voice in prayer. 
 
 Unknown to her, gat, very near, a playmate of 
 her childhood, now a devoted disciple of Jesus. 
 With grief, Miss B. had noticed the irreligious 
 influences by which Annie was surrounded. Often 
 she had pleaded for her at the mercy- seat, and 
 more than once sought an opportunity to speak upon 
 the subject so dear to her own heart; Irat the 
 attempt seemed to be in vain. Yet still she prayed 
 for her. Now she beheld her whom she loved, 
 seated near, in church, and noticed her devotional 
 attitude. And more fervently than ever, she be- 
 soiight the God of the sanctuary that the Holy 
 Spirit might accompany the word spoken, to her 
 friend's heart, and make it effectual to her conver- 
 sion. She closely watched her changing expression
 
 220 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 of countenance, as the eternal death of the sinner 
 was discoursed upon, and the entreaty urged to 
 come to the fountain of living waters, and be 
 cleansed from all guilt ; the text being, " Turn ye, 
 turn ye, for why will ye die, O house of Israel?" 
 A tear was visible upon Annie's cheek. Her heart 
 was softened. Tenderly, affectionately, and earnestly 
 the good servant of God appealed to the hearts of 
 the impenitent, to forsake sin, and accept offered 
 mercy ; and more fervently prayed Miss R. for 
 her. 
 
 The morning service being closed, she hastened 
 to her friend. Clasping Annie's hand within both 
 her own, she only said, "Let -nothing prevent you 
 from coming again this afternoon," and with a 
 meaning glance and a full heart, left her to plead 
 for her in her own closet, where none but God 
 was near. 
 
 Annie returned home with feelings unknown to 
 herself before. She knew and felt herself to be a 
 great sinner, justly condemned to eternal death, 
 and wondered why she had been so long in 
 ignorance of the alarming truth. Repeatedly and 
 hurriedly she paced her room, absorbed with her 
 own painful reflections, refusing to eat. Her friends, 
 supposing her ill, insisted upon sending for medical 
 advice ; but she objected, and expressed a determ- 
 ination to attend church in the afternoon. Little
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 221 
 
 thought they that Jesus, the great physician of the 
 soul, was only needed, and that they,, too, were 
 equally diseased, and in greater danger, because 
 unaware of their periJL Though surprised at her 
 wish, they reluctantly consented. 
 
 Accordingly she obeyed the summons of the bell, 
 now seeing as in a mirror her guilt and wretched- 
 ness, and desiring a clean heart and right spirit,, 
 without which she was convinced she must be for- 
 ever unhappy. In the porch she found awaiting 
 her Miss R., who, apparently with a heart too full to 
 speak, led her to her own slip and sat beside her. 
 
 Prayer was offered, but though she bowed low 
 her head, her soul knew not how to engage in it. 
 Every word added new weight to her burden. 
 When the clergyman read the passage selected as 
 the theme of his discourse, " I, evefti I, am He that 
 blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and 
 will not remember thy sins," and dwelt long upon 
 the love and compassion of our Lord, and at length 
 ended with his invitation and promises, " Come unto 
 me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest ;" " Whosoever will, let him take the water of 
 life freely ;" her thoughts had found a new channel. 
 God was merciful as well as just ! 
 
 Miss R. accompanied her nearly home, expressed 
 her joy at meeting her in God's house, and bade her 
 "pray without ceasing" until she could feel that
 
 222 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Jesus had become her own Saviour. " The way has 
 been clearly pointed out, and all you have to do is to 
 search your Bible, follow its directions, and pray : 
 do this, and you will feel the blessedness of sins for- 
 given," said her companion as she left her side, with 
 an earnest pressure of the hand. 
 
 " Pray !" thought Annie, as she locked the door of 
 her room ; " I know not how to pray ; and where is 
 my Bible? I used to have one when a child." The 
 Bible was found, and tearfully she perused its sacred 
 pages; it was like a new book to her, and upon 
 nearly every leaf she found the command to pray, 
 with promises attached or an example on record. 
 Jesus prayed, the disciples prayed ; all who desired 
 asked before they received ; and the publican smote 
 his breast with a sense of his guilt, and cried, " God 
 be merciful to me a sinner !" " I can say that, if 
 nothing more," she exclaimed ; and falling upon her 
 knees, she repeated it again and again with sincerity 
 of heart, while tears streamed from her eyes. The 
 prayer of the penitent was heard, and we believe that 
 hour the glad tidings resounded throughout the new 
 Jerusalem, while all the angelic host united in a new 
 anthem of praise and rejoicing, for another soul had 
 been new-born. 
 
 Did Annie rise from her knees filled with raptu- 
 rous joy ? O no I She felt little of forgiveness and 
 acceptance, but she had consecrated her heart, her
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 228 
 
 all, to Jesus, and resolved to live and labor for his 
 cause, with a firm belief in his promises that he 
 would never leave nor forsake her. 
 
 And what was the result of this consecration? 
 A calm, peaceful trust, submission to God's will un- 
 known to all, save those who, like her, have felt their 
 need of a Saviour, and determined with full purpose 
 of heart to devote their lives and talents to his service, 
 depending alone upon his merits for salvation ! 
 
 As this was but the beginning of true joy and 
 love to Annie, so it was the dawn of a new life of 
 trial. It was no easy matter for her to relinquish 
 the society of her gay associates, leave those circles 
 in which she had shone a star, and been universally 
 caressed and flattered 5 and she saw only two open 
 paths before her, the broad and the narrow way, and 
 the latter she unhesitatingly chose. 
 
 Blessed with an unusual decision of character and 
 knowing the impossibility of serving both God and 
 mammon, she sought a knowledge of, and prayed 
 for strength to perform every duty, resist temptation, 
 and conquer besetting sins. 
 
 The first cross which duty compelled her to take 
 up, was that of acquainting her own family friends 
 with her change of feelings. Painful indeed was 
 the task, but prayer enabled her to perform it. O, 
 the sneers, rebukes, and cruel jestings that followed! 
 Dearly as those parents loved their daughter, their
 
 224 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 indignation knew no bounds, and was wholly uncon- 
 trolled, while she tearfully confessed that she had 
 tried to give her heart to Christ, and should endeavor 
 to live for him. Bitter reproaches were their only 
 replies, but this act strengthened her, and new joy 
 took the place of doubt, as she returned to her room 
 to unburden her soul to the ear^ of Him whose love 
 was becoming daily more precious. 
 
 And now a partition wall had arisen between 
 herself and sister Maria. Their sympathies, aims, 
 and purposes being no longer one, a grievous 
 estrangement existed, instead of that tie which 
 should unite the members of one family. She loved 
 her sister still, and could not refrain from expressing 
 the hope occasionally, that her mind would likewise 
 be drawn from worldly pleasure to something more 
 satisfactory and abiding ; but every word appeared to 
 widen the breach, and she felt that a proper Chris- 
 tian example and prayer could alone avail. Months 
 rolled on; her friends' opposition not decreasing, 
 her own faith strengthening, her hope brightening, 
 her love for the sanctuary and religious ordinances 
 becoming stronger, and, above all, the Bible growing 
 more precious every day. Every repeated trial 
 taught her to rely upon the " strong arm," which was 
 able and ready to support her, and the loss of friends 
 only served to bring her into nearer relations with 
 her Saviour, who was her dearest friend.
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 225 
 
 *. 
 
 In Miss R. she found true Christian sympathy 
 and warmth of affection ; and to her she opened fully 
 and freely her heart. Often side by side they knelt 
 and prayed for spiritual blessings upon her friends; 
 but as yet no evidence of answered prayer was 
 manifested. The summer following the time of her 
 conversion, she, with the partial consent of her 
 parents, united herself with Christ's earthly Church, 
 and with the professed disciples of the Lord partook 
 of the body and blood offered a sacrifice for sin. 
 She was also a member of the Sabbath school, a 
 faithful tract distributer, and endeared herself greatly 
 by her consistent deportment to the Church where 
 she was first awakened and enlightened, and which 
 she had now joined. 
 
 The second anniversary of the evening when 
 Annie last visited the theater, and saw enacted the 
 death scene, was drawing near. " O," said she to 
 me that Saturday morn, "if my dear parents, 
 brothers and sisters, and especially Maria, were 
 only as happy as I am now, I could ask little more ; 
 but she is going to a ball to-night, just as I did to the 
 theater two years ago." 
 
 Evening came. Maria was gayly attired foi the 
 brilliant occasion, and full of bright anticipation. 
 Annie was in her own room ; for since the change in 
 her, her elder sister refused to share the same 
 sleeping apartment, deeply absorbed in thought.
 
 226 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 * 
 
 Suddenly, as from a fresh impulse of feeling, she 
 arose and stepped to her sister's side, and tenderly 
 said, "Dear Maria, I can't let you go without 
 reminding you, that just two years to-night, on the 
 eve of the Sabbath, I, too, wentyou know where 
 and may this be your last time." 
 
 So affectionate and earnest were her words, that 
 her sister could not reply, and Annie left her, saying, 
 "I shall pray for you all the time you are away." 
 "I don't wish it!" she exclaimed, but the door 
 had separated them. 
 
 Faithfully was the promise kept, for not an hour 
 had elapsed ere her return. Hearing her steps upon 
 the stairs, and fearing some misfortune had occurred, 
 she rushed to the door to. meet her. "You have 
 prayed me home" exclaimed Maria, and buried her 
 face in her sister's bosom. Annie was speechless, 
 but not tearless. Her sister followed her to her own 
 room, and throwing herself upon the bed, told her 
 how her parting words affected her ; how she had 
 striven to banish them from her mind, but finding it 
 impossible, had induced her companion to take her 
 home ; " for," she added, " I could not dance with 
 you praying for me." Little did those sisters rest 
 that night, each in her own room. Yaried were the 
 emotions of Annie, as her mind was carried back, con- 
 trasting the past with the present, and wondering and 
 rejoicing at the new conduct and words of her sister.
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 227 
 
 % Maria knew full well the cause of her distress, 
 and struggled hard against the Spirit's influence; 
 but conscience was aroused, and not easily quieted. 
 
 How gladdened was my heart, on entering 
 church next morning, to notice by Annie's side 
 Maria! And still more so, to behold in the pulpit 
 the well-remembered countenance and form of 
 Dr. B., who, since, that eventful Sabbath to my 
 friend, had not preached in that church. Ah! I 
 understood then what meant those streaming eyes, 
 and that flushed countenance. Dear Annie ! It 
 was almost too much, on that anniversary Sabbath, 
 to have not only her sister beside her, but that 
 pastor before her. 
 
 Again the good doctor earnestly entreated sin- 
 ners to listen to, and accept the invitations of 
 Christ, choosing for his text Rev. iii, 20 : " Behold, I 
 stand at the door and knock," etc. Maria's tears 
 were not the only ones called forth by his touching 
 appeals. No wonder Annie's heart was filled to 
 overflowing with thankfulness for that day's mer- 
 cies. The afternoon service found them again 
 there, seated; Annie on her sister's right hand, 
 Miss R. on her left. I felt that she wag, in- 
 deed, borne on wings of prayer up to the throne of 
 God. 
 
 "Quench not the Spirit," solemnly read and re- 
 peated the venerable clergyman. Every eye was 
 
 15
 
 228 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 riveted upon him during the whole discourse, and =* 
 seemingly every heart deeply moved. Pale and 
 motionless sat Maria, but it was apparent that her 
 mind was active. 
 
 The following day I sought an interview' with 
 Annie, and learned that her sister said little, but 
 was evidently very anxious. Again, the next 
 morning, no hope had been expressed. She 
 seemed in agony, wished to be alone, and desired 
 no conversation of any kind. Her parents judged 
 the cause, and what might be the result, and 
 harshly upbraided Annie for her influence. 
 
 The week had nearly passed ; and still no pleas- 
 ing news had reached my ears. I knew her 
 friends feared insanity, and Annie seemed alarm- 
 ed. Her minister was summoned, but his words 
 produced but little effect. Friday night, the sym- 
 pathizing, loving sister passed entirely in prayer. 
 Through the long hours of darkness she heard 
 Maria's step on her carpet, but no word, no sob. 
 Earnestly as she sought her own soul's salvation, 
 pleaded she for that agonized sister. As daylight 
 dawned she entered her room, trembling lest she 
 should find her bewildered. The instant she saw 
 her, she exclaimed, " O, Annie, had I not so treated 
 you, I might long since have hoped ; but now " 
 
 "My sister, I forgave, and most assuredly a mer- 
 ciful Father will. Are you ready to give up all for
 
 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 229 
 
 Christ?" "All! yes: I have done it; I care not 
 for the world's opinion; it has nearly destroyed my 
 soul. If I can only be forgiven, I will do anything, 
 be anything for God's sake." "Have you prayed, 
 Maria?" "No; I can't. He will not hear rne." 
 " Have you opened that Bible ?" " No, it is of no 
 use !" Annie took the sacred volume, drew her 
 sister beside her, and read aloud the fifty-fourth 
 Psalm; then, with her arm aborit her, induced 
 her to kneel with her, and audibly commended 
 her to the mercy and compassion of a sin-forgiving 
 God. Tears flowed profusely, as they had not 
 done since the Sabbath, and, when Annie arose, 
 Maria still remained kneeling. "Have mercy upon 
 me, O God, according to thy loving-kindness; ac- 
 cording to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot 
 out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from 
 mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin; for I 
 acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever 
 before me ;" all she could remember of that beau- 
 tiful penitential Psalm, she adopted as the language 
 of her own petition ; and she, too, was accepted. 
 
 "I think, I believe, God hears," said she; "can 
 it be? Am I owned a child, so sinful?" "My 
 own, precious sister!" cried Annie, and the tears 
 they mingled were of joy. We believe saints 
 above, as well as saints below, rejoiced over thjis 
 new birth.
 
 280 THE SEA CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, the parents continued 
 to manifest their displeasure, though they no longer 
 openly opposed. The sisters were wholly united 
 in heart, and the following night, when they together 
 retired, Maria requested, "Wake me early in the 
 morning, for I have no time to lose." 
 
 On the second anniversary of the time when 
 Annie publicly professed her faith, and determina- 
 tion to lead the Christian life, Maria presented 
 herself for admission to the Church. Her expres- 
 sion was that of subdued pride ; and, as I saw the 
 tear-drops fast rolling down her cheeks, I felt as 
 never before the power of religion in changing the 
 human heart. 
 
 Where now were those hardened parents, and 
 others, sisters and brothers ? Not there, and not yet 
 numbered, we fear, among God's redeemed people ; 
 but we hope that in answer to the united prayers 
 of those faithful Christian sisters, every member of 
 that household will become a member of the family 
 of Christ.
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY.
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 THE sun had gone down ; the evening was cloudy, 
 aid the narrow road lying through a dense forest of 
 pines, night dropped upon me of a sudden, and dark- 
 ness seemed almost tangible. It was winter, how- 
 ever, and here and there a few patches of snow 
 looked like fragments of dimmed daylight which the 
 power of night had not been enabled wholly to ex- 
 tinguish. The December wind of a southern winter 
 had blown through the day in chill and fitful gusts, 
 accompanied by hail and snow, alternately succeed- 
 ing each other. It had lulled with nightfall, and 
 the darkness and silence of the wilderness were august 
 and awful. The click of my horses hoof against a 
 stone, the distant hooting of the night-tfwl, or the 
 moaning of the soothed, but sleepless winds, through 
 the evergreen foliage, only seemed to add terror and 
 loneliness to the profoundness of solitude. The snow,
 
 284 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 dampened by the rain and sheltered from the wind, 
 would here and there* mantle some shrub or gapling, 
 which., by a little assistance of fear-distorted fancy, 
 looked like the shrouded dead starting from the 
 tombs; and the sighing of the night-winds, which 
 rose and fell through the tops of the stately pines, 
 made one feel as if he was trespassing upon the 
 haunts of spirits. 
 
 The distance from one appointment to another on 
 this mission circuit, in this early day, was from forty 
 to sixty miles. I generally passed from one " settle- 
 ment" to another, seldom meeting with any inter- 
 mediate inhabitants ; the road was seldom more than 
 a " bridle path" or an " old Indian trail." The trees 
 among which it would wind, were often " blazed," to 
 guide the unwary traveler. On this occasion, I had 
 been induced to take a new and strange route ; had 
 lost my way through the day, and became benight- 
 ed. It was no less new and strange to my horse 
 than to myself. Had it been otherwise, the sagacity 
 of my faithful animal would put me at ease. "Weary, 
 wet, hungry, and cold, not having tasted food or seen 
 fire since early dawn, I spurred him forward for 
 several long, most tedious hours, every step only 
 seeming to bear me further and further into the laud 
 of loneliness. Weariness induced drowsiness, and I 
 reeled in my saddle like one intoxicated. In my 
 somnambulistic state, my fancy exaggerated and dis
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 235 
 
 torted the shape of every object, and created objects 
 where jthere were none. 
 
 In the dim and dusky light that forced itself down 
 upon me through rents in the leaden clouds and 
 openings in the tall forests, a clump of undergrowth 
 would swell into a mountain ; and at times I seemed 
 among the Alps, threading the brink of a fearful 
 precipice, amid yawning gorges and inaccessible 
 heights. Often did a fire-blackened stub, or a bush, 
 assume the shape of a huge bear or panther, or the 
 still more startling form of the midnight assassin. I 
 suppose it was near midnight when my weary horse 
 stopped of his own accord, as if for consultation. 
 As if -'to enjoy his society, I leaned forward and 
 caressed him by patting him on the neck. To the 
 attachment which the itinerant feels for the faithful 
 creature that has borne him so many miles, and 
 shared so largely in his perils and privations, I can 
 give no name. This was my first circuit. I was a 
 youth, fresh from school, "green and tender," with 
 the ways of the world to learn, unacquainted with 
 forest life. I believed, without abatement, all the 
 exaggerated accounts of forest dangers. Memory, 
 unbidden, would intrude upon me the unwelcome 
 accounts of persons being devoured by panthers 
 springing suddenly upon them from trees, and of the 
 hair-breadth escapes of persons being chased by 
 wolves, etc. And it was no small addition to the
 
 236 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 V* 
 
 unpleasantness of such recollections, that just while 
 they were crowding into my mind, an enormous 
 "screech-owl," just over my head, gave a scream 
 that might have terrified old Terror himself. Such 
 a scream ! I have heard nothing like it since, though 
 I have spent ten years in the "Western woods; why, 
 it caused the hair upon my head to stand up like 
 the quills of a porcupine. I thought of home, four 
 hundred miles distant ; of its safety and its quiet ; of 
 the sweet and smiling companionship of brothers and 
 sisters, and of him and her who were the guardian 
 angels of that happy group. Bewildered until all 
 effort to locate the cardinal points was mere guess- 
 work the night starless and moonless I stood 
 straining my ears to catch, if possible, the tink- 
 ling of some cow-bell, or the bark of some settler's 
 dog. All was as silent as if nature stood still and 
 held her breath. All at once, however, this silence 
 was broken by a prolonged, lugubrious noise, alternat- 
 ing between a howl and a yell, but a short distance 
 from me. This was succeeded by another, another, 
 another, and another, until all, as if by way of 
 chorus, blended their horrific howl into one continu-' 
 ous babel. The forest seemed full of furies just let 
 loose. My horse seemed startled, and made a turn 
 at right-angles from the narrow trail, though I knew 
 it not at the time. I found myself plunging and 
 tearing through thickets of undergrowth, the howling
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 237 
 
 savages following close in the rear. For a moment, 
 the howling would cease altogether ; and then, after 
 a long and introductory howl from one which seemed 
 
 i 
 
 the leader, from twenty to forty others appeared to 
 chime in most hideously. When there was a pause 
 in the howling it alarmed me, if possible, the most, 
 as I could not tell where my enemy was. At every 
 successive howl, I perceived that they were ap- 
 proaching me nearer and nearer, and fast surround- 
 ing me. I now perceived that I was out of the road, 
 surrounded by a compound of undergrowth, so thick, 
 and scragged, that it seemed impossible to penetrate 
 it. Losing all sympathy for my horse in the desire 
 of self-preservation, I clapped my spurs to his sides 
 most unmercifully, and jerked at the bridle until I 
 broke one rein. My "leggins" had been torn off 
 in the bushes already ; the skirt of my .overcoat was 
 nearly gone ; my whip, in attempts to use it, was en- 
 tangled in the bushes and lost ; and as a " broad- 
 brimmefl hat" and a " round-breasted coat" were 
 considered in those days indispensable badges of a 
 Methodist preacher's calling, if not of his sanctity, 
 mine had been prepared " expressly" for the travel- 
 ing connection. My hat had gone after my whip, 
 and my coat was " seeing some service" that night. 
 On, on through the thicket, tore my horse ; nearer 
 and nearer approached my prowling tormentors, 
 when an impertinent grape-vine tore away one of
 
 238 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 my stirrups, carrying with it my " saddle-bags" and 
 nearly unhorsing me. Thus was I strewing my path 
 with the wreck of my itinerant outfit. 
 
 My howling foe now seemed within a few yards 
 of me, and all around me ; for, by pulling away at 
 one rein, in the desperation of my flight, I found 
 that I had been traveling, as logicians say we 
 sometimes argue, " in a circle." I thought of leav- 
 ing my saddle and taking to a tree, but this seemed 
 impracticable ; besides, to accomplish it, I must 
 leave my horse and get on the ground, which 
 seemed like descending into a den of hungry lions. 
 I resolved on one desperate effort for life ; so abandon- 
 ing my horse to his own course, I drew up my feet 
 and leaned forward in my saddle like a Camanche 
 Indian in the chase, clinching his mane with both 
 hands, and applying my well-spurred heels to his 
 sides, with much of the force and something of the 
 rapidity of trip-hammers. He snorted and plunged 
 forward, at a leap, through the matted, thorny 
 thicket, bush and brier, making free to batter and 
 saw my face, as if this had been their " manifest 
 destiny." 
 
 On my provoked beast tore, and to him I clung 
 as if I had been bound there like Mazeppa in 
 the poem. Hope was reviving a little as I 
 found I left the howling behind, when suddenly 
 my horse emerged into an open space. At the
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 239 
 
 same moment the sharp report of a gun, followed 
 by the barking of a great dog, turned my furious 
 horse around, which was followed again by a fa- 
 miliar voice: 
 
 " Who come dare ? Who dat ?" 
 
 " It is I," I replied in my confusion ; and as the 
 loquacious " darkey " approached, (my hungry horse 
 putting down his head to graze,) he commenced : 
 "Did you hear dem wolves? dey comes here 'most 
 ebbery night an' howls out in dat ticket ; dey atter 
 massa's sheep, an' me been waching to see if dey 
 come out, to shoot um, but de bush crack so in 
 dare," (pointing just where I had issued from the 
 bushes,) " dat I bang away anyhow." 
 
 The lyaHl had actually passed within a few inches 
 of me. Suddenly recognizing my whereabouts, and 
 finding myself safe within almost a stone's throw of 
 a " Methodist preacher's home," I dismounted from 
 my horse, and felt, in my gratitude, like embracing 
 the swarthy, thick-lipped masculine before me. 
 But I found myself, at first, unable to stand ; and 
 Brother Peter, (for Peter was his name a very pious 
 negro,) who had been " waching " for " de preacher 
 as well as de wolves," recognizing me, and construing 
 my physical inability, accompanied as it was by 
 some religious ejaculations, into a proof that I had 
 the "powers," commenced shouting, "Bless de Lord!" 
 " Why, halleluya !" loud enough to have frightened
 
 240 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 half the wolves in Missouri. The first burst of his 
 ecstasy over, he inquired: 
 
 "Massa, whar's yer hat? Whar?" 
 
 But my answer to pious Peter I must reserve for 
 another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 WITH the feelings of a stranger, with a heart 
 yearning toward the shrine of "sweet home," far 
 away, how cheering to the weary itinerant the hearty 
 welcome with which he is wont to meet at a "house- 
 hold of faith !" In the bosom of that family, where 
 the peculiarly fraternal spirit of Methodism reigns in 
 all its ardor, its freshness, frankness, simplicity, con- 
 fidence, and hospitality, he finds a balm for his dis- 
 consolation ; a rest that relieves fatigue ; goes far to 
 reward his toils and compensate for his privations. 
 Hospitality, always one of the richest graces of the 
 hearth-stone, is sweetened into a feast of heaven 
 when it flows in Christian sympathy and commingles 
 with the communion of saints. How fruitfully sug- 
 gestive in blessings to the self-sacrificing itinerant is 
 the phrase, " a good home for Methodist preachers ?" 
 
 "When- 1 told Peter how I had been frightened, 
 the noble fellow sobbed with sorrow, and lifting me
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 241 
 
 into the saddle, as if I had been a child, he led my 
 horse to his master's door with as much solicitude 
 as if in charge of " Caesar and his fortunes." As I 
 was announced, the retired family of Brother B. 
 were soon in motion, and I was received as if I had 
 been a long-absent member, just returned. Under 
 the influence of friendship, fire, food, and sleep, I 
 was, by morning, " myself again," mauger the 
 doubts of my identity, which the glass would seem 
 to justify. Looking about me, as I made my' toilet, 
 I was surprised to find my portmanteau, hat, whip, 
 etc., lost in my flight, all restored. The faithful 
 Peter had early retraced my steps in the thicket, 
 and found these scattered conveniences but a short 
 distance from the house. Seated at the breakfast 
 table, the affair of the preceding night had to be 
 related to the whole family, who seemed to listen 
 with a spirit of sympathy and laughter alternately 
 in the ascendant. Sister B. especially, though not 
 wanting in pity, rather twitted me, I thought, on 
 my want of courage. She was a lady of sound 
 piety and cultivated intellect, but rather masculine 
 in her constitution, both physically and mentally. 
 The perils and privations of a backwoods life had 
 strengthened this character. She was infinitely re- 
 moved from the mere thing of ribbon and rouge, 
 curls and cosmetics, band-boxes and bustles; and 
 in her denunciation of that prudery ; and soft, swoon-
 
 242 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 ing effeminacy, that considers it a grace to scream 
 hysterically at a clap of thunder, and faint at the 
 sight of a snake or snail, her tender mercies were 
 cruel. The daughter of a man who had eminently 
 distinguished himself in the Indian fights of the 
 West, in those " times that tried men's souls," and 
 the wife of a man who claimed affinity with Daniel 
 Boone, the Nimrod of Kentucky, Sister B. could, at 
 least, defend her own poultry from the opossum and 
 the catamount ; and, if necessary, could level her 
 husband's rifle at the bold buck or bear that might 
 leap into the adjacent field. Wit, too, was a sharp 
 weapon in her hands, and with difficulty she resisted 
 the temptation to use it, even at the expense of the 
 feelings of a friend. With her, as with old pioneers 
 generally, the* forest had but few terrors. Indeed, 
 all seemed to think, that my fears were very dispro- 
 portionate to the actual danger. Wolves were very 
 common, but instances of their attacking a man on 
 horseback were considered exceedingly apocryphal. 
 The sheepfold of Brother B., it was believed, at- 
 tracted them around his farm, and my position 
 between them and their fleecy victims, it was con- 
 sidered, was the chief cause of their howling, and 
 but for my circuitous movement in the bushes, I 
 might have reached the house nearly an hour before 
 I did. I had myself, in my alarm, urged my horse 
 from the direct path, and thus was my danger con-
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 243 
 
 sidered mostly imaginary, and my troubles imputed 
 to timidity. I looked out of the door, and the sun 
 of a most lovely and mellow morning was flooding 
 creation with an ocean of silvery and golden light. 
 Daylight seenjed to make a hero of me. I turned 
 again to the glass, and resolved that just as soon as 
 the scratches upon my beardless phiz no longer re- 
 quired explanation, to give no prominence to the 
 story of having been " chased by a gang of hungry 
 wolves ;" at least while it appeared so problematical 
 that I had, myself, been for some time ^frightening 
 the wolves, though not quite as bad as they had 
 frightened me. For the sake, however, of the fol- 
 lowing finale, I have violated my resolve, and now 
 pen the whole story somewhat at my own expense. 
 
 Like illuminated spots in the sun, eccentricities 
 become relieving graces when they are seen in the 
 effulgence of genius ; and even when they verge to 
 extremes and become the defects of genius, in her 
 magic light they wear the hues of an attractive en- 
 chantment. Hence those that admire, but possess 
 but little genius, are always tempted to mimicry, and 
 as the defects of genius are most easily imitated, 
 these are the first attempted, even at the expense 
 of rendering themselves ridiculous. I had heard 
 much talk of a preacher whose praise was in all the 
 Churches, with whom it was a striking peculiarity 
 that he took most singularly odd texts. The follow- 
 16
 
 244 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 ing had been repeated to me as fair specimens of his 
 taste in that particular : " Shern, Ham, and Japhet ;" 
 " There are six steps to the throne ;" " I have put 
 off my coat ; how shall I put it on ?" " Woe to the 
 women that sew pillows to all armholes ;" " Ephraim 
 is a cake not turned," etc. Resolved to vie with my 
 popular predecessor in quaint and ear-catching text- 
 ualities, I had already preached from the single 
 words " Sin," " Religion," and from the interjection 
 " Alleluia," and on my last round in this region of 
 backwoods, bear meat, and buckskin, I had enlight- 
 ened the 'brawny, staring tenantry of log cabins from 
 this" : " I am the voice of one crying in the wilder- 
 ness." On this occasion of officiating at Brother 
 B.'s, I had fixed upon Genesis 22, first clause of 
 the 13th verse. My congregation, pedestrian and 
 mounted, emerging in "Indian file" from the sur- 
 rounding forest, began to assemble from all quarters 
 of the " settlement," as was quite common, from two 
 
 to three hours before the time of service. It consist- 
 
 
 
 ed of ten or fifteen men, several of whom carried 
 guns, and nearly all accompanied by a dog, [it was 
 not the Sabbath, and the chance of surprising a deer 
 was not to be lost,] and from ten to twenty smoke- 
 sallowed matrons, [woman always makes the major- 
 ity in approaches to her Maker,] generally happy 
 specimens of haleness and obesity, on horseback, 
 with a larger child behind and a lesser before, to
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 245 
 
 which may be added several well-grown daughters 
 and a proportionate number of the youthful lordly 
 sex. Also, an occasional sorrow-stricken widow, 
 whose companion, perhaps, had but just cleared 
 enough of his new farm for his cabin yard and early 
 grave; one or two patriarchal "grand-pas," several 
 negroes, and now and then an Indian who had lin- 
 gered behind his exiled tribe, to die on the dese- 
 crated ashes of his ancestors. The greeting of those 
 rustic neighbors on"meetin'" days was most cordial, 
 and it used to refresh my heart to see it. The elder- 
 ly sisters formed a chatting semicircle around the 
 mammoth fire-place, and regaled themselves with 
 pipes. The men and brethren chatted, in the yard, or 
 lounged on the benches and the fence. The young 
 folks were silent in their bashfulness, occasionally 
 summing up sufficient courage to whisper, and in the 
 general, looking a very intelligible language. Now 
 and then a young man, with a club that would have 
 served the purpose of Hercules, acted as a special 
 peace messenger between two quarrelsome curs, 
 who, like some nations, seemed to fight for scarcely 
 any other reason than to indulge their love of it. 
 All treated the minister with profound respect, and 
 waited patiently the hour of worship. Our sanctuary 
 was a large, oblong log-house ; two curtainless beds 
 stood foot to foot across one end of the room, and a 
 little two- feet square window, with oiled paper for
 
 246 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 glass, aided by the chimney, sundry crevices and the 
 " cat hole" in the door, served to light it. Under 
 the window, by the side of a rickety stand, cover- 
 ed with a snow white cloth, mounted by the old 
 family Bible, a hymn book, and the class book, sat 
 the preacher, gravely conning over his sermon, and 
 watching a switch-pendulumed Yankee clock for the 
 hour to commence. Believe me, dear reader, often 
 has the writer in preaching " Jesus and the resurrec- 
 tion" to such groups of sturdy yeomanry, who have 
 occupied civilization's outposts, communed with 
 transport with "HiM who dwelt in the bush," and 
 felt that he trod on holy ground. Here was none of 
 the starch, the stiffness, the formalities* the conven- 
 tionalities of a fashionable sanctuary to interpose 
 between the worshiper and "the throne of the 
 heavenly grace." Though rude, all was simple and 
 artless. In such reminiscences, we could almost 
 wish to recall the realities ; they are spots green and 
 sunny in the retrospect of memory. Primitive, pio- 
 neering Methodism, will long be fragrant in the 
 memory of the Church. 
 
 Precisely at the time all seated themselves in the 
 house, but the " brethren of color," who stood jam- 
 med in the corners and wedged in the door, reveal- 
 ing their ivory in their delight. The intelligence of 
 Sister B. in this motley congregation, made her as 
 a philosopher among the " plebeians." She was a
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 247 
 
 ruling spirit. Disposed to criticise my faults with a 
 most unmerciful silence on the subject of my merits, 
 she was no small terror to me, being not yet three 
 months old in the ministry, on my first circuit, and 
 at the age of seventeen. Certainly her look of ap- 
 probation, or real, or fancied disapprobation, had not 
 a little to do in assuring or disconcerting me. . With 
 a repetition and due emphasis, I arose and read 
 for my text, " Behold a ram caught in a thicket by 
 his horns." Sister B. dropped her head, and I 
 thought others did the same, i blushed and put 
 my hand up to my marred face, the bright furrows 
 on which, the looking-glass in the clock just in front 
 of me that moment, revealed the fact of myself hav- 
 ing been " caught in the thicket" the night previous, 
 filled my mind with ideas of the ridiculous. All 
 thoughts that I would have uttered fled to oblivion. 
 The genius of "confusion more confounded" took 
 possession of my sensitive frame. It grew dark 
 before me, and the perspiration stood in large drops 
 upon my brow. There are but few preachers but 
 know something of the unwelcome feelings that suc- 
 ceed a pulpit failure. I stammered through my dis- 
 course, and was glad when the people dispersed, as I 
 wished to get out of sight. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, accompanying 
 the charitable Peter to the barn to see my horse, as 
 a small relief to my mortified feelings, J thought I
 
 248 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 would "pump him" a little on the subject of the 
 sermon. " How did you like the sermon," says I, 
 "Peter?" "O, berry well, berry well, massa, -but 
 missus says as how your text and scratched face 
 make her tink all de time of Abraham's big sheep 
 in de bushes." I learned from that time that sensi- 
 ble people will judge something of the taste anc* 
 common sense of a preacher by the texts he takes 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 To the lonely, benighted, and bewildered traveler, 
 a distant home-light streaming out into the gloom, as 
 if to meet him, is gratefully welcome ; precious, at 
 times, as the star of hope dawning on the darkness 
 of destiny. Sparks ascending in flocks from the 
 spacious mouth of the "stick chimney," glowing, hurry- 
 ing, fading, gone ; fit emblem of life, so soon lost in 
 eternity, whither faith, but not sight, may follow 
 them ; a lamp flickering through the cabin window, 
 or the cheerful hearth-fire shining through the half 
 " chinked " walls of rough logs ; the fierce bark from 
 a troop of faithful watch-dogs, with a loud shout 
 of " Get out !" from the hospitable inmates, as the 
 house is approached are all to the backwoodsman
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 249 
 
 fraught with the " spell of home." A word that 
 has but two others Mother, Heaven to vie with 
 it in sweetness, and they are of kindred meaning. 
 After a hard day's travel through the Cypress 
 Swamps that constitute much of the " Big Bottoms " 
 that stretch along the western bank of the Missis- 
 sippi in Eastern Missouri, I was minded of my 
 approach to a small settlement of "Squatters" 
 embosomed in this Paradise of frogs, Elysium of 
 
 snakes, and Gibraltar of wild " varmints " by the 
 
 i 
 
 distant twinkling of fire-lights. The day, for night 
 had overtaken me, had been dark and rainy, and 
 the damp, chill winds (it was late in autumn) had 
 moaned through the yew-like foliage, like lost 
 spirits " seeking rest, and finding none." A spirit of 
 melancholy, too deep for the tender, sweet, and weep- 
 ing inspirations of poetry, had been inspired. The 
 fact was, it bordered on the " blues." It had not 
 rained very hard, but the low, sluggish clouds seemed 
 to have caught and hung in the tops of the tall 
 cypress-trees, keeping up an incessant mildew-like 
 drizzling. A luxuriant undergrowth, top-heavy with 
 wet, bent inward over the narrow " trail," forming at 
 places a dark, dripping arcade, and at others droop- 
 ing so low as to compel my horse to creep under it 
 like a "gopher" in prairie grass, leaving one to 
 tear through, or to be torn off, according to the 
 "force of circumstances." Eve"ry now and then
 
 250 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 a muddy, creeping stream or bayou, crossed my 
 track, through which .1 must swim my pony; or, 
 as they were generally narrow, the trunk of a 
 fallen tree often served me as a bridge, by the side 
 of which I could swim my snorting, plunging pony. 
 I scarcely need tell the reader that I had been the 
 " live long day " wet as a soaked sponge. My 
 woolen garments, weighty with wet, seemed to have 
 lost the power of resisting cold, and felt like sheets 
 of ice. In short, the best image of the idea I had 
 of myself, was that of a stone statue in a wet cave. 
 I resolved, therefore, on sharing the first shelter, 
 and spreading my bearskin and blanket before the 
 first fire where I could meet with a welcome that 
 did not amount to a prohibition. Reining up my 
 horse in a volume of oblong light that was flung out 
 from a huge fire through a rude, half-closed cabin 
 door, into the vapory gloom, I hailed the happy 
 inmates that were seated in a semicircle around it, 
 enjoying themselves with mirth most uproarious. 
 The dogs were absent " on duty " as well as their 
 master, with the exception of a wee cur, about the 
 size of grimalkin, which barked a scream, and with 
 disclosed tusks threatened myself and horse with 
 immediate annihilation. Little dogs, like little men, 
 seldom seem to know they are little. A lady [ you 
 are to understand this word, not in its modern, but in 
 its original sense, 'which was bread-giver'] a lady
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 261 
 
 I 
 came to the door and inquired, "Whose thar?" I 
 
 told her I was, unworthily, a preacher of the Gospel ; 
 a missionary visiting the neighborhood for the first 
 time, and that I had been directed to stop at Mr. F.'s. 
 She "had heern of me" "Mr. F. lived five mile 
 further up the creek; I couldn't get there to-night, 
 no how ;" she " guessed as how I better stop thar 
 all night," though her " husband and Cuba was off 
 bear huntin'," but she " spected one or tother would 
 be home certain that night" that there was "a 
 mighty good place right by where I could hobble 
 out my horse, or I could tie him to a tree and give 
 him some blades." During this kind colloquy, the 
 little dog, with bristles erect, growled on guard, and 
 some half a dozen children, " with just a year 
 twixt um," gaping with curiosity and shrinking 
 with fear, the smaller ones clinging to "mamma," 
 and the least ssbbing and stifling a scream in his 
 fright, stood huddled in the door. Perhaps some 
 will call it a whim of mine, or a want of charity; 
 but to confess the truth, great talkativeness in a 
 woman always excites in me caution, and at least 
 a tacit suspicion of mischief. My thoughts will 
 recur, in spite of me, to that most innocent and 
 persecuted of all creatures, according to her own 
 most eloquent showing, the tattler. But the loqua- 
 city of our landlady, on this occasion, seemed but to 
 assure me of a hearty welcome to her frugal home in
 
 252 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 the wild woods. Continuing, she remarked, " that 
 thar had been a right smart chance of bears about 
 that season," and " that Billy here," pointing to a 
 little flaxen-haired, fire-frizzled, barefooted son of 
 about ten years, whose face, which was brunetted 
 with a fine coat of smoke and bear's oil, was lighted 
 up, the meantime, with a self-sufficient smile of 
 triumph that would have graced a hero "Billy 
 here," says she, " killed a CUB tother day, his lone 
 self, so he did!" "With this maternal eulogy the 
 young Nimrod advanced and took the reins of my 
 horse, while I dismounted and walked into the 
 house, "Trip" disputing my entrance inch by inch, 
 the children retreating before me like young par- 
 tridges, the mother bidding me welcome, with a 
 sharp " get out " to the poodle, a " hush up " to the 
 alarmed responsibilities, and with an emphatic com- 
 mand to "Ginny" to "sweep up a little." This 
 mandate was executed forthwith, to the great annoy- 
 ance of my asthmatic breathing organs, by the 
 stirring, most lustily, of some half an inch of ashes 
 and dust on a dirt hearth and "puncheon" floor, 
 with a bunch of broom corn bound up with a tow 
 string. 
 
 It is a fact as common as it is unfortunate that 
 from the highest to the lowest state of civilization, 
 unexpected visitors are always sure to drop in just 
 when the house is most out of order and needs
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 253 
 
 sweeping the most, not to name the fact that the 
 children on such occasions are sure to be not only 
 in their worst fix, but more troublesome than on 
 any other occasions. At least my aid mother 
 green be the turf above her tear-dewed grave! 
 my mother, and her testimony is corroborated by 
 the ladies generally my mother, I say, used to 
 say so apologetically, to such droppers in, as she 
 would call me to her, on such occasions, and stroke 
 back my tangled, floating locks, and rebuke me 
 for carelessly soiling and tearing my clothes so 
 much, and making such a "litter." Then taking 
 my age for a text, which the visitor in compliment 
 had asked, she was wont to wind up by treating 
 him to a dissertation on my precocious genius. 
 Reader, even now I feel, in fancy, the impress oi 
 that soft hand upon my throbbing brow. Such 
 events are associated with the proudly joyous mo- 
 ments of our early existence the balmy memories 
 of other days, forever fled, which we fondly sum- 
 mon from the past, to come and fold their soft 
 wings about our saddened hearts, burdened with 
 the stern, cold realities of riper years. 
 
 After a sumptuous supper of " corn-dodger," 
 bear-beef, butter-milk, and wild honey, I had time 
 to look around me, address myself to such specific 
 duty of my " high calling" as the occasion required, 
 and retire to rest. I had so far tamed the children,
 
 254 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 that several of them stood kissing (their faces had 
 undergone, ablution while I was at supper a rare 
 circumstance, I should think,) without crying. 
 Soon two o the little neglected triflers consented 
 to sit on my knee, a bold step, which I was very 
 careful to reward. The mother seemed much de- 
 lighted. Having secured the confidence of all, I 
 introduced the subject of religion. And here, in 
 its simplest elements, I was at once beyond the 
 depth of my household auditory. The boys had 
 never been to school "had no larnin'" "never 
 hearn anybody pray but 'once, and that was at a 
 buryin' when Mrs. W. died with the ager and fever" 
 "they never seed a Bible, and never knowed it 
 was wrong to go coonin' on Sunday" " they never 
 had goed to meetin', but would like to." Reader, 
 my heart seemed to break over this little semi-civ- 
 ilized, benighted group, as I spoke to them of sin 
 and a Saviour. But how was I shocked on turning 
 to a mother and asking her if she knew of the death 
 of Jesus, when she exclaimed, "Is he dead?" "Well 
 we had hearn out here of the death of Franklin, and 
 "Washin'ton, and all the great Injun fighters, but 
 never knowed afpre that Jesus was dead!"
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 255 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 THOUGH sorrowful of heart, I was much refreshed 
 in my weariness from the amj>le bounty of the rude 
 board, the warmth of the huge fire, blazing in a 
 chimney which occupied nearly one end of the 
 house, and before which I lingered long, for the 
 twofold purpose of drying my clothing and of 
 being up when my huntjng host or his hopeful son 
 should return. Child after child nodded around me, 
 obstinately refusing to go to bed, while stories of 
 rare adventure in fishing, bee and bear hunting, 
 snake-killing, and dangers from "Injuns" in early 
 times, were related to me with a rare fluency and 
 naturalism, and in the patois of the squatter, by 
 mine lady of the manor. I finally proposed prayer 
 and retirement, as the latter had become a necessity, 
 for .sleep had overpowered me. Kneeling amid 
 the little group, but one or two of whom followed 
 my example, I commended the household to God. 
 Opening my eyes in the devotion, a most singular 
 spectacle presented itself. The hospitable but illit- 
 erate mother, with her children, who were pagans 
 in all that pertained to prayer, sat or stood looking 
 at me in an attitude of mute surprise, that suggested,
 
 256 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 in spite of myself, the commingled emotions of pity 
 and of ridiculousness. Such, reader, are some of 
 the positions in which the backwoods missionary, a 
 quarter of a century ago, found himself placed in 
 the wilds of Missouri and Arkansas. He was the 
 first teacher and civilizer who reached this class; 
 a class occupying a position between civilization 
 and barbarism, so doubtful, that one was often in 
 difficulty on which side of the line to classify them. 
 A class, however, we are happy to say, who gave 
 the missionary a cordial welcome, and who were 
 readily susceptible to religious impressions. 
 
 I was kindly pointed to the resemblance of a 
 bed in the corner of the room, on to which I threw 
 myself, with my dried overcoat for a covering, and 
 was soon lost in sleep so profound, that on awaken- 
 ing at a late hour in the morning, it seemed as if a 
 few hours of my conscious existence had been blotted 
 out. Not even a fragment of a half-remembered 
 dream could I recall. I was, however, completely 
 refreshed, and as I looked from my humble cot, the 
 warm breakfast smoked upon the rude table, and the 
 kind mother was busily engaged in preserving a 
 strict silence for my benefit. For the last two hours 
 she had probabljf guarded my slumbers. Every- 
 thing about the cabin partook of an air of increased 
 neatness over the preceding evening. Golden sun- 
 light was streaming through places in its side, where
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 257 
 
 the chinking had escaped. The door was open, and 
 the yard had received a scavenger's services. The 
 feet of deer, bones, and other fragments of a hunter's 
 victory, were all removed to an appropriate distance. 
 Even the little dog seemed reconciled to my visit, 
 and, curled up like a caterpillar, laid close by the 
 side of my bed. I at once felt at home. The scene, 
 too, was fruitfully suggestive. Wherever the mis- 
 sionary goes domestic cleanliness whitens on his 
 pathway. Religion is a great face washer. Give a 
 squalid people the Bible, and favor them with a 
 pastor's presence, and the use of soap and sand will 
 commence at once greatly to increase. The man 
 physical is as suddenly elevated by the presence of 
 Christianity, as was St. Peter aroused by the touch 
 of an angel. In these ruder strata of society, it is 
 not to be ranked among the least blessings which the 
 itinerant evangelist dispenses in his career, that 
 whenever and wherever the preacher is expected, 
 increased attention is paid to personal and household 
 neatness. The preacher, therefore, who should be a 
 boor or a sloven, whatever his other excellences 
 might be, would so far fail in the requisite qualifica- 
 tions of his office. 
 
 I arose at once, and as to my toilef, it only needed 
 a little adjustment, and after walking to the stream 
 near by, and taking a thorough ablution, I felt again 
 those pulsations of being, that enabled me for once
 
 268 INCIDENTS "IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 to do as Combe has suggested a healthy, grateful, 
 feeling man should always do : set my foot upon the 
 firm earth, and " thank the great I AM that / am 
 too." The sky over me was cloudless and deeply 
 blue, the sun seemed rejoicing on his journey, and 
 though the autumnal winds sighed through the 
 forest and scattered the foliage of the deciduous 
 trees, I was as buoyant as children about a May-pole 
 on that gala day. I was ready to resume my journey 
 " five miles further up the creek." The larger boy, 
 who had killed the cub his " lone self," had faithfully 
 groomed my horse, and adventured to accompany 
 me from the house, while the other children peeped 
 at me from around the log corners and through the 
 crevices. I was minded by my little hero that break- 
 fast was in waiting. Just at this moment, however, 
 two or three large curs, as if acting as heralds, came 
 leaping into the door yard, barking a good morning, 
 and shaking their great tails and throwing their 
 huge paws upon the shoulders of the children, who, 
 understanding the whole, exclaimed with delight, 
 " Dad and Cuba is come." The good wife immedi- 
 ately left the house to meet her returning husband, 
 while our little hero above mentioned kept me com- 
 pany, and reconciled me to the dogs, or, rather, the 
 does to me. " Dad" and Cuba were both mounted, 
 
 O ' 
 
 and were now at hand, and though they brought no 
 " bar" as a trophy of their success, the horse of the
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 259 
 
 former was burdened with a fine buck, and Cuba had 
 strung over the back of his some fine wild turkeys. 
 As the wife met her husband, a pause ensued, and it 
 was by no means difficult to divine the topic of con- 
 versation. In a few moments, all came up to the 
 door, to which with every child I repaired like one 
 of the family. The introduction of mine hostess con- 
 sisted simply in pointing me to the man on horse- 
 back, and telling me that he was her husband. I 
 approached him with the readiest familiarity, and 
 was received with a cordiality which seemed to say, 
 " I am not sorry to find you here." This was grate- 
 ful. In a very brief space of time, son and father 
 had disposed of their game and horses, had washed 
 the blood from their hands, and joined us at break- 
 fast. They had been unsuccessful in a bear chase, 
 became belated, stayed all night at a neighbor's, and 
 had taken those fine spoils of Nimrod, above men- 
 tioned, on their return home, on that morning. If 
 our good friend had seemed pleased out of doors, he 
 actually seemed more so when he came in, a state of 
 feeling which we have reason to believe the unusu- 
 ally neat adjustment in which he found his home, 
 contributed not a little. Like his spouse, he had 
 " heern" of me, " knowed little about preachers," but 
 " if they had come to his cabin, he had kind o' liked 
 to see 'em." He had " heern from neighbor S., five 
 
 miles further up the crick, that I was mighty smart; 
 
 17
 
 260 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 thought he'd go to ineetin' some day ; I musn't leave 
 thar that day any how ; that he had gone off, leavin' 
 his wife with nothin' to eat; that I must stop and 
 have some turkey and venison." To all these ex- 
 pressions of kindness and hospitality, I made appro- 
 priate responses, informing my kind retainer that I 
 must pursue my journey that morning, as I was ex- 
 pected at Mr. S.'s, where I was to hold meeting 
 twice on the following day, which was the Sabbath. 
 I also urged the attendance of himself and wife, on 
 which request she looked at her namelessly colored 
 dress, and he at his hunting-shirt, but said nothing. 
 I repeated my request with a promise, if they would 
 do so, I would try 'and visit them again in some six 
 weeks. Finally, he exclaimed, " Old woman, if we 
 are poor, we are as well off as our neighbors. I 
 guess as how we'll go up to Squire S.'s to-morrow." 
 Assuring them that I should be much disappointed 
 if I did not see them, and bidding them a cordial 
 good-by, with many thanks for their kindness, I re- 
 sumed my journey up the creek. When at some dis- 
 tance from the house, glancing behind, I still saw 
 the whole family in the yard looking after me. 
 Reader, such is one of the hopes of the missionary. 
 I felt that an open door was there set before me, and 
 murmuring one of the only two tunes I could ever 
 sing perfectly, Old Hundred, rode joyfully on my 
 journey. I ought to have said, that my mind was
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 261 
 
 much relieved in reference to the stolid ignorance of 
 the poor woman, when on the morning I again ad- 
 verted to our Saviour as dying for sinners, she sud- 
 denly exclaimed, as if mortified at her own mistake 
 of the evening before, " O, you mean Christ of the 
 Bible, don't ye ?" " Certainly I do," said I. " O, she 
 had heern about that, and knowed a heap once, but 
 she believed they never would know anythin' if they 
 didn't go to meetin'." 
 
 Yes, thought I, "goin' to meetin'" at the call of 
 the devoted itinerant, has always been the beginning 
 of wisdom and germ of civilization to the denizens of 
 the first cabins that thinly dotted the "West ; the men 
 of the hunting-shirt, ax, and rifle. When the agen- 
 cies that constructed society in the "great West" 
 that was, shall be truthfully symbolized on an appro- 
 priate monument, the Methodist Hymn Book, Dis- 
 cipline, and the Bible, will appear first in the design, 
 in juxtaposition with the SADDLE-BAGS, AX, AND THE 
 
 RIFLE.
 
 262 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 I BOON arrived at the cabin of Brother S., "five 
 miles further up the creek," a phrase, by the way, 
 which must be only understood to mean the follow- 
 ing along the banks of a sluggish, muddy stream, 
 constituting the connecting link between one swamp 
 or morass sometimes called lakes and another. 
 By the earthquake, of 1811-'12, a large portion of 
 this part of Missouri, including a million and a half 
 of acres, was sunk from one to six feet lower than 
 the rest of the world. Immense forests of moss- 
 bearded cypress, .ash, and sugar-maple, descended 
 with the surface, and still stand, the most of the trees 
 dead, and dropping down piecemeal, like the limbs 
 of the doomed victims of the gibbet, into the turbid 
 waters beneath; the whole surface being covered 
 with an immense web of rotting timber. The spec- 
 tacle is a peculiar and melancholy one, and looks as 
 if nature here had resorted to an execution. All 
 over this region under which the earthquake slum- 
 bers, are to be found small districto of country which 
 were not submerged, and at this early day, had been 
 returned, as not worth the price of surveying. The 
 land, however, is fertile, abounds in mast and wild
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 263 
 
 game, and hence, the class of squatters described 
 sought these spots to live free from the tax-gatherer, 
 to take possession of the soil upon the principles that 
 Adam did, and engage in the pleasures and emolu- 
 ments of the chase with very little danger of that 
 annoyance which Daniel Boone always feared, "of 
 having neighbors settle too near to him." Why the 
 miasma of these interminable marshes did not sweep 
 away these adventurers like the sirocco of the desert, 
 I was never able satisfactorily to determine. I no- 
 ticed, however, that the waters were highly colored 
 and thoroughly impregnated with the terebinthine 
 principle of the cypress everywhere abounding. 
 Thus may nature have provided its own catholicon. 
 The inhabitants are generally healthy. 
 
 The house of Brother S. stood upon the side of a 
 gentle ascent, facing an extended view of this Golgo- 
 tha of dying and rotting forests. It was a double 
 cabin of logs, with porch and hall, and he being one 
 of the oldest inhabitants, it was regarded as rather 
 an aristocratic residence. Cattle and swine, however, 
 had free access to the very door, and as the soil was 
 soft just after the rain, there was much adhesiveness 
 just where the thrifty New-Englander takes care 
 that there shall be none. On the ends and sides of 
 the house were stretched deer, raccoon, and other 
 ekins, drying for use. A huge stick chimney graced 
 each end of the building, and just in the rear and a
 
 264 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 little further up the ascent, stood a comical nonde- 
 script little cabin, not far from which, a spring of ap- 
 parently pure water bubbled up, and after being 
 guided for some distance by the trunk of a hollow 
 tree, it leaped out and went laughing away to the 
 lake. I was looked for, and the porch was occupied 
 with our good friend and one or two of his sturdy 
 sons, with several watch-dogs ; a face as black as 
 Egypt, the meanwhile, peering out the little cabin 
 behind and looking for my arrival. The moment ] 
 hove in sight, every dog leaped toward me with an 
 uproarious bark, all arose, and with shouts of " Get 
 out," I was cordially welcomed to this, one of the 
 oldest preaching-places in the region, known in that 
 day as " Below the swamp." " Come, light," was 
 the cheering greeting, and I was soon seated in the 
 porch, my horse cared for, in the enjoyment of all 
 those pleasures which a whole-hearted welcome, 
 given to one on the pathway of duty, imparts. I 
 was quickly told that I was to be met there by a fel- 
 low-itinerant, (and it was a rare thing in those days 
 and regions for one Methodist preacher to be favored 
 with the society and assistance of another ;) that they 
 had made arrangements for services that afternoon 
 and in the evening ; that my coming had been care- 
 fully made known for a distance of many miles, and 
 that to-morrow we must have a love-feast, and as 
 many more sermons as we were able to preach,
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 265 
 
 Sister S. exclaiming at the same time, that " as I was 
 to come to see them so mighty few times, and as that 
 was the first time, they were a-going to try and have 
 a good time." In the meantime, I looked about me, 
 and saw that the action had been suited to the words, 
 and that ample preparation had been made for this 
 spiritual festival in the way of mending superannua- 
 ted benches, and also the making of several new ones. 
 I also noticed, that in addition to the home-made 
 bedsteads, generally constructed from fence-rails, two 
 additional ones had been put up by the insertion of 
 poles in the cracks of the cabin, supported at the op- 
 posite end with dogwood forks, the whole done in the 
 highest style of the art, and wearing an air of invit- 
 ing neatness. For be it known here, to you people 
 of parlors and pianos, of sitting-rooms, dormitories, 
 carpeted and upholstered churches, that all this para- 
 phernalia of civilization would have been as much of 
 a mystery to the audience that assembled at Brother 
 S's. as the furniture of Solomon's Temple, or the re- 
 cently exhumed wonders of old Nineveh ; and that 
 the presence of beds, such as described, were but lit- 
 tle in the way in a log-cabm audienoe-room, as the 
 ladies generally, most economically, in the case of a 
 crowd, occupied every inch of their surface. Know- 
 ing this to be the case, I looked to the newly-con- 
 structed bedsteads with some apprehension, but said 
 nothing.
 
 266 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 By this time the audience had* commenced to 
 assemble. In Indian file, rudely mounted, with 
 hunting-shirt, coon-skin caps, and often with rifle 
 on the shoulder, wife behind and child before, they 
 came like doves to the windows. Sister S. smiled 
 in delight. Brother S. was all politeness by shout- 
 ing as loud as a sea captain, " Gome, light, neighbor 
 B." " "What do you sit there for, Brother C. ? ride 
 up to the porch here ;" when all at once, two braces 
 of ivory set in ebony, appeared in the person of 
 Aunt Susan and Uncle Billy from the Liliputian 
 cabin in the rear of the house, a sufficient explana- 
 tion of its use. Bench after bench was stowed in 
 the receiving room, hall, and porch. Strange steeds 
 meeting from afar, neighed either defiance or wel- 
 come. Dogs, of which there were nearly as many 
 as people, barked or growled. Now and then a 
 child would cry, and now a loud, jovial laugh 
 from a rotund matron, as she met a sister spirit, 
 and they both drew out cob-pipes with cane tubes, 
 for a friendly smoke, and thus all was activity; 
 joy and expectation ruled the hour. The preacher 
 was looked t& by many .as a rara avis. Few ven- 
 tured to obtrude their acquaintance upon him, 
 but assisted by Brother S. and Sister S., he took 
 all by the hand, and kissed all the babies whom 
 he presumed it would not frighten into a scream; 
 but in exercising his caution in this direction, con-
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 267 
 
 
 
 fesses to the weakness of being govjerned much by 
 appearances. The audience increases, and my col- 
 league has arrived. The time of service has arrived 
 also. Order is restored in Warsaw, and the voice of 
 praise rings out from this extemporized temple in 
 this vast wilderness, hallowing the Gothic forest 
 aisles. It is something to sing or hear sung for the 
 first time, at these outposts of civilization, some of 
 those good old hymns embalmed in immortality, 
 such as, 
 
 "Come, thou Fount of every blessing;" 
 
 " Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone ;" 
 
 " O for a thousand tongues to sing," etc. 
 
 It has since fallen to my lot to stand in the pulpits 
 of sundry "of our city edifices, sacred to eternity, 
 appropriately ornamented with every mechanical 
 beauty that might gratify the taste and quicken 
 the esthetics of a people, and to hear the voice 
 of the congregation blend with the solemn discourse 
 of the organ, and I have felt at home. But believe 
 me, dear reader, when I say that I never felt to 
 tread holier ground, never felt more magnified by 
 my holy office, than did I feel that day at Brother 
 S.'s. Nor was that the only time that a gush of 
 gladness spouting from my heart, blended with a 
 sense of un worthiness to enjoy the privilege of 
 seeking after just such lost sheep in the wilderness
 
 268 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 
 
 as these. In preaching, I had great liberty and 
 profound attention, accompanied by an occasional 
 sob and groan, and emphatic amens from my assist- 
 ants and the members of the small class there organ- 
 ized. It would seem, however, that I was too didac- 
 tic and wanting in the powers of exhortation, for 
 when my brother, an employe* under the elder, 
 and so limited in a knowledge of letters that he 
 could not read an unfamiliar hymn correctly, arose, 
 he soon distanced me, quite, in his power over the 
 audience. And though he exhorted nearly as long 
 as I preached, he never seemed to leave the theme 
 of "dying a shouting," "going to Jesus," and "meet- 
 ing our relatives in glory." The policy of Provi- 
 dence in preacher-making in the history of Method- 
 ism has always been, to choose some men on a 
 perfect level with the people with whom they 
 were to labor, in intellectual resources and power. 
 Such men have had their mission, and been the 
 primum mobile of a pioneering Methodism. I will 
 here fling a green wreath to their memories, as they 
 have beat me in preaching very often, if discourses 
 are to be judged of by present effects upon the 
 audience. Brother Neal was one of these, and the 
 road to his heart, was that which led to the hearts 
 of his neighbors. Though the most contented peo- 
 ple with this earth that we ever saw, the idea of 
 getting to such a heaven, in such a way, seemed
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 269 
 
 absolutely irresistible in its fascinations. His word 
 was with power. Some screamed, another hooted, 
 a third fell, a few seemed affrighted, while a few 
 others, initiated into such scenes, shouted in true 
 orthodox style. And no one did this matter up 
 better than did Aunt Susa, who had taken her 
 place in the back end of the hall. She flew up 
 and down, straight and steady as a shuttle in a 
 weaver's loom, with the word "Glory" warbling 
 from her lips, while Uncle Billy sat shaking and 
 grinning in inexpressible delight through his tears. 
 Among the extemporized bedsteads, things did not 
 fare so well. My anticipated fears were fully real- 
 ized. Those upon them leaping to their feet, and 
 some of them shouting for joy in a manner that 
 would have minded Peter at Pentecost of the opulent 
 announcements of prophecy,, first one came down 
 with a crash, which causing the occupants of the oth- 
 er simultaneously to make a move toward evacua- 
 tion, it also gave way, and fat women and babies 
 there were no lean ones there tumbled flat upon the 
 puncheon floor with a rattle and a crash. The tide 
 of devotion, however, ebbed not for a moment, and 
 my good brother continued to expatiate upon his 
 theme, always so welcome to the heart, .here, con- 
 scious of its absence from home, and which has been 
 so beautifully described by the rainbow-tinted pen of 
 the poet:
 
 270 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 " O, the joys that are there, mortal eye hath not seen ! 
 O, the songs they sing there, with hosannas between! 
 O, the thrice-blessed song of the Lamb and of Moses ! 
 O, brightness on brightness, the pearl-gate uncloses! 
 O, white wings of angels! O, fields white with roses! 
 0, white teats of peace, where the rapt soul reposes ! 
 O, the waters so still, and the pastures so green!" 
 
 He sat down exhausted. The audience sung, and I 
 waited for a lull in the extravagant height of feeling 
 to which they had been carried, to announce the 
 future order of the day, and to bring on the benedic- 
 tion. By suffering everything to abide its time, all 
 came around right, and after ascertaining that one' 
 poor backslider had been reclaimed, two or three 
 sinners pricked in the heart, we paused for bodily re- 
 freshment, and for the resumption of services in the 
 evening. 
 
 Some thirty of the -audience, which consisted of 
 about forty, tarried in response to the urgent and 
 hospitable invitation of Brother S. Backwoods din- 
 ners I have already described, and as to the service 
 of the evening and those of the following day, they 
 were as the one just described, only more abundant. 
 I rejoiced exceedingly on Sabbath morning, to see in 
 the audience my kind host and hostess, introduced to 
 the reader in the foregoing chapter. But my joy 
 was heightened into ecstasy, when, under the sermon, 
 I saw both bend their heads like a willow bough and 
 weep like whipped children. Prevailing upon the
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 271 
 
 husband to suffer his wife to stay on Sabbath even- 
 ing, I saw her happily converted at the anxious-seat, 
 and her first shout was, " Glory to the Christ of the 
 Bible !" 
 
 Monday morning came, and in counting up the 
 results of the meeting, we found that about one 
 third of our audience had been converted, doubling 
 the number of the small class at this point. All 
 passed to their homes, apparently delighted and 
 solemnized by the occasion, and I was alone with 
 our kind brother and sister and family, and though 
 wearied, great peace was my portion, wondering at 
 the great things the Lord had done for us. The sky 
 was cloudless, and the autumnal sunlight seemed 
 greatly increased in mellowness, and nature's breath 
 seemed ambrosial with odors from the better land. 
 My ears still seemed to retain the untaught war- 
 blings of the notes of revival song, and while, as I 
 walked out in the forest shade, the loosened leaf 
 came slowly eddying down at my feet, reminding 
 me of man's autumn and destiny, the winds the 
 meanwhile gently moaning through ^e tops of 
 the cypress, I seemed in rapt communion with two 
 worlds, and patiently resigned to live at once in 
 either, when suddenly I was reminded of the snake 
 in Eden, by a most hideous and deadly-fanged one 
 at my feet. I started suddenly back, and armed 
 myself for the duty of bruising his head. ID
 
 272 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 returning to the house, I related my adventure to 
 Brother and Sister S., with blank cheek and trem- 
 bling nerve, Uncle Billy peeping in at the door at 
 the same time, the impertinent fellow, chuckling over 
 my fears. " Why," said I, "Uncle Billy, what do 
 you laugh for?" Assured by my familiarity, he 
 snatched the fragment of what had once been a hat 
 from his woolly pate, and exclaimed, " Why, Massa 
 Watson, I laughs at you bein' so 'stonished of killin' 
 one snake of a mornin', when sometimes I has to kill 
 a half a dozen." I shuddered from top to toe, ex- 
 claiming, " Snaky country this, Uncle Billy." "Wall, 
 Brudder W., dat is, Massa Watson," advancing two 
 steps further into the room, " if you and massa dare, 
 will take a ride wid me in my perogue, on de lake 
 down dar, to-morrow, de way I show you snakes be a 
 caution ; dat sartin." I immediately struck with Uncle 
 Billy for a ride with him into snakedom on the fol- 
 lowing morning, the incidents of which journey, con- 
 stituting, as they do, emphatically, a " snake" story, 
 with the rare quality of being a true one, I must 
 reserve for sgiother brief chapter.
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 278 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN the foregoing chapter, the reader has had a 
 glance at the features of an old-fashioned " two-days' 
 meeting," in this early day, at these out-posts. Two 
 days' rest to the preacher were generally found 
 necessary following such an effort. Tuesday morning 
 had arrived, my weariness was relieved, and I was 
 prepared to join " Uncle Billy " on an adventure into 
 the swamp to see its "lions," and especially its snakes. 
 It is yet early in the morning, however, and the cold 
 rain of a few nights since renders it necessary that we 
 wait until the hot hours of the forenoon. I will seek 
 a brief interview with Aunt Susa, in her little cabin. 
 
 " Good morning, Aunt Susa," said I, as I stepped 
 into her quarters. 
 
 t "Why, good mornin', Massa "Watson: laws o* 
 marcy, dis no place for de likes o' you.'" 
 
 " Why," said I, " Aunt Susa, haveo you some 
 places here too good for me ?" and saying this, I 
 advanced toward a little mantle-shelf and seized 
 Susa's pipe, together with some nice tobacco leaves 
 of her own raising, and was preparing to regale my- 
 self a little, when she flew toward me, exclaiming : 
 
 " Massa, you no shall smoke wid dat pipe ; it no
 
 274 . INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 go in your mouf arter havin' been in dis chi.d'a 
 dirty mouf, dat sarjtin. Here be a new pipe, an' a 
 mighty good un, too ; an' like to the colt, de foal ob 
 an ass, we read ob, massa, which no one neber ride 
 afore, no one has eber smoked in it." And here she 
 commenced filling it up as I threw myself into the 
 rude resemblance of a chair. 
 
 " Susa," said I, " where did you learn to quote 
 Scripture ?" 
 
 " Why, massa, blessed be your lips, I larn much 
 from de preachers ; but dar, massa, look dar, by 
 de side ob ye !" when, turning around, my delighted 
 eyes rested upon a well-soiled, well-thumbed, old- 
 fashioned Bible, that had recently received an addi- 
 tional covering of buckskin. 
 
 " Susa," said I, " where did you get this ?" 
 
 "I brings it from old Tennessee," said she, "twenty 
 years ago ;" saying which, she handed me the new 
 pipe, on the top of which she had balanced a coal 
 from the hearth. Inhaling a whiff or two, said I : 
 
 " Susa, can you read ?" 
 
 " Yes, massa, blessed be'God, I reads mighty well 
 for de likes ob me ; do de hard words are a great 
 bother some ob which I skips ; but I hab read dat 
 Bible dar a mighty heap ; read it from de apostle 
 Solomon all de way to the prophet Saul ; , but reads 
 de most in dat part whar Jesus be on de earth, it 
 beiii' de most easy."
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 276 
 
 " Can Uncle Billy read?"! asked. 
 
 " No ; he say he too old to larn, now ; But he set 
 here an' smoke ob nights, an' listen mighty close to 
 what I reads. He tinks it be enough for I to know 
 how to read." 
 
 " Who learned you to read, Susa ?" 
 
 " Well, now, dat be a funny question, kase if I tell 
 you, I fear you won't believe me, nohow." 
 
 " Why, yes," said I, " Susa, I will believe you." 
 
 " Well, den, I tell ye it was de angels. I no know 
 how to read, an' I lays an' cries an' prays about it ob 
 nights ; I den goes to sleep an' dreams about it, an' 
 most ebery night for a year I prays an' cries an' 
 takes up my Bible, when one night it seem as if an 
 angel come down, an' I don't know whether I 'wake 
 or 'sleep, I sees all de letters in de book, an' it say to 
 me, ' Dis be a, an' dat b, an' dat c,' an' so on ; an' 
 arter a little while I gits up, I opens my Bible, when 
 I knows most ebery letter. Next morning, young 
 Massa Tom, who know'd how to read, come in here 
 to run bullets, when I axed him, says I, 'Tom, does 
 you call dese letters dis ?' " ' Why, yes,' says he, ' you 
 old fool, you.' * Now,' says I, ' Tom, you'll want 
 some ob my good bacca soon, an' if you 'buse me 
 dat way you no get it.' ' Well,' says he, ' Aunt Sue, 
 if you'll run my bullets for me dis mornin', I'll 
 come in here to-night an' show you a heap about 
 
 readin'.' So I run Tom's bullets, and he comes at 
 
 18
 
 276 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 night, an' I larns mightily. But Tom wouldn't larn 
 me long, anyhow. So I told him dat I find him in 
 bacca an' run his bullets always, if he larn me a 
 little now an' den. ,"Well, Tom did ; an' you see dat 
 it was de angel fust, an' Tom next, dat start me on in 
 readin'. An' O ! what a blessed ting it is ; I would 
 rather die dan gib up my Bible; an' I'se been a 
 readin' dis mornin' ; but before I say dat, I tell you 
 again I neber should read a hooter but for dat 
 angel." 
 
 Here I was for a moment profoundly grave at the 
 mysteries of the imagination; and then smiling at" 
 the garrulous old saint's credulity, said I : 
 
 " Susa, what is that you have been reading this 
 morning ?" 
 
 " Why, as I was sayin', I was readin' in Ge-nee-sis 
 about dat sarpint dat was more sutty dan de oder 
 cattle ob de field, which I spose mean dat he be 
 brack, kase he came from dat place whar de wicked 
 go dat burn all de while wid fire an' brimstone." 
 
 Here I smiled again, over this new exegesis, and 
 said : 
 
 " Aunt, what did you read about the old serpent 
 for this morning ?" 
 
 " O, I hardly knows ; I guess kase Uncle Billy tell 
 me you gwine snake huntin' to-day, an' kase as how 
 it say de sons ob de woman shall bruise dar heads." 
 
 Here I paused to simplify the theology of this
 
 , INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 277 
 
 blessed passage, which I feared this simple saint had 
 understood too literally, when she exclaimed that she 
 " had often kind ob thought dat !" and that Jesus to 
 her " was de sweetest name under de sun ;" and that 
 she loved to sing, 
 
 " Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone." 
 
 A stave of which, with dampened eyes, she had 
 already struck up, when Uncle Billy's arrival an- 
 nounced all things in readiness for our tour in the 
 swamp. 
 
 1 Accompanied by young Massa Tom, and the cam- 
 paign headed by Uncle Billy, each with a rifle on 
 the shoulder, we were soon at the edge of the lake, 
 or morass, to which reference has been made. Fol- 
 lowing along its low shore some half a mile, my 
 nerves were gradually schooled to the test to which 
 they were to be subjected by frequently meeting 
 with his snakeship, that literally swarm in some 
 parts of these morasses. It is not the ordinaiy water 
 snake, but a lazy, sluggish, and arrow-mouthed, 
 poisonous reptile, called fry the swampers the " moc- 
 casin-mouthed snake." He executes his bite but 
 clumsily, which greatly lessens the danger of his 
 presence, and he seldom leaves the shores of these 
 unsightly marshes but a few yards ; another most 
 fortunate circumstance ; and in the season of the 
 year already referred to, they seem to be congrega-
 
 278 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 ting for winter-quarters, which may account some- 
 what for what we shall in a moment detail. The 
 bite of this reptile is deadly, quite as much so as that 
 of the rattlesnake or copperhead. I was informed 
 that swine very readily devour them, which item of 
 information I should have felt quite as well not to 
 have received, as I had been enjoying at Brother 
 S.'s the luxury of some, well-smoked side bacon, 
 along with some krout and corn dodger. At the 
 next meal I felt my preference for venison' very 
 much to predominate. "We soon arrived at Billy's 
 canoe, and in the center of the rocking thing I was 
 seated, with Uncle Billy and Massa Tom in either 
 end. Two paddles soon sent us some distance out 
 into the muddy and shallow waters, and amid the 
 huge trunks of fallen trees and conical tussocks 
 which constitute the musk-rat's home. Snake after 
 snake soon began to make its appearance coiled 
 upon almost every square inch of surface. On a 
 single log I counted ten, ourselves not more than 
 ten feet from them. I shuddered, and armed with a 
 big club, was constantly assuming attitudes of defense, 
 while Uncle Billy shook his burly sides in imperti- 
 nent laughter, and Massa Tom amused himself by 
 seeing how many decapitations he could make by a 
 given number of shots. On we paddled, and more 
 numerous became the snakes. Occasionally they 
 splashed about the sides of our bobbing nautilus;
 
 INCIDENTS IN .ITINERANCY.. 279 
 
 and now, as we passed under the low limb of a tree, 
 Billy would knock them off with his paddle almost 
 into the canoe. I remonstrated, pleaded, hallooed, 
 but could procure no retreat. Tom went on with his 
 snake shooting; Uncle Billy paddled us further and 
 further into this pandemonium, when the horrible 
 idea took possession of my mind that should we tip 
 over, (an event by no means improbable,) what posi- 
 tion could be conceived of more horrible than thus to 
 be tumbled into the very toils of a thousand detesta- 
 ble reptiles, amid mud and quicksands ! From en- 
 " treating I became peremptory, and Uncle Billy 
 paused. When at a safe distance from the detesta- 
 ble " varmints," we counted all that were visible. J 
 counted one hundred and fifty snakes, the furthest of 
 which was not fifty feet from me. When thoroughly 
 satisfied that what Uncle Billy had said about " de 
 way he would show me snakes was a caution, dat 
 sartin," was no exaggeration, we returned to the 
 shore and to our home. 
 
 With Tom and Uncle Billy the sight was common- 
 place. Upon my mind it had a far different effect. 
 It was the reality of more than I had ever read or 
 dreamed about horrible dens of serpents, whole regions 
 now and then strewed with rattlesnakes, etc. I said 
 little more than to remark that "it was a mighty 
 snaky country there," at which Uncle Billy laughed. 
 I spent the rest of the day in reading my Bible. But
 
 280 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 with me, as with Aunt Susan, the subject of 
 "sarpints" became rather obtrusive. But if my 
 waking thoughts were of snakes, my dreaming ones 
 
 
 
 that night greatly exaggerated the whole matter. 
 My sleep was as much interrupted as if I had been 
 the doomed Medusa. The want of sleep steadied my 
 nerves toward morning, so that sweet sleep, oblivious, 
 triumphed for a refreshing season. I awoke at an 
 hour rather late, and if my first thoughts were not 
 of "sarpints," my earliest ones, nolens volens, cer- 
 tainly were. Opening my eyes, what should I see 
 directly over my bed, protruding from a knot-hole in 
 one of the rough logs, but the head of a detestable 
 snake. At first I thought I dreamed, and it could 
 not be a reality, when, watching my loathsome 
 visitor for an instant, I saw the head turn, and 
 the forked tongue protrude, but I saw no more. 
 In an instant I was on the floor, and seizing the 
 most indispensable of my wardrobe, I retreated to 
 the hall with a scrpam, that secured the anxious 
 presence of Susa in a trice. I told her what I had 
 witnessed, and pointed to the knot-hole over my bed, 
 not doubting but there were one or two others in my 
 bed, if she would but look. At that moment the 
 head of a little harmless reptile, with a white ring 
 about its neck, again made free ^ to take observ- 
 ation from the knot-hole. As we were joined by 
 one and another of the members of the family, old
 
 INCIDENTS IN" ITINERANCY. 281 
 
 
 
 Aunt Susa's laugh, which had Commenced with 
 the fiist sight of the cause of my fears, became per- 
 fectly obstreperous. * 
 
 " Why, massa, dat no more'n a little bit ob a milk 
 snake, an' he no more bite dan a worm. Dey come 
 back ob de house here to de spring-house to steal my 
 milk, an' I kills one ebery now an' den, an' dey does 
 climb up de corners ob de house, for I seed one 
 dar toder day, an' struck it wid my broom. I spose 
 dat log hollow, an' he creep in dar. But if it war 
 full ob such snakes dar be no danger, dat sartin." 
 Taking it thus coolly, and with such provoking 
 sympathy for my fears, Aunt Susa retired to com- 
 plete her breakfast, when, as she retired, I sent this 
 rebuke after her : said I, " Aunt Susan, I hope that 
 snake will get into your bed to-night, that we 
 may see how easily you will be frightened," when, 
 remembering my lecture in the morning, she wittily 
 retorted : 
 
 " Preachers dat come into dese woods to bruise de 
 
 
 
 head ob dat old sarpint, de debil, musn't be fright- 
 ened into a fit at de sight ob a milk snake." 
 
 There was much more in Aunt Susa's retort than 
 she herself comprehended. It was. fruitfully sugges- 
 tive. Yes, thought I, the missionary of these woods 
 must not be a man of starch and buckram, of taper 
 fingers and tender stomach, kid gloves and broad- 
 cloth, velvet slippers and spotless linen. Here, the
 
 282 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 
 
 stalwart form, the brawny fist, the hunting-shirt, 
 with Bible and Discipline under one arm, and rifle 
 on the other, are the best representatives of the 
 missionary. Like John in the wilderness, he must 
 wear what the people wear, and eat what the people 
 eat, asking no questions. Yes, Aunt Susan, he must 
 not be afraid of snakes. If gifted in the tact of 
 his holy calling, his education and refinement will 
 only aid him to adapt himself to these ruder paths of 
 life, and cause him to be a guide, light, and example 
 upon them. But if wanting in this tact, his timidity, 
 and, in some respects, his manifested superiority, will 
 not be appreciated. "What would be natural in 
 another latitude would here be prudery. What 
 would be becoming in another place, would here be 
 ridiculous ; and more than one would exclaim, with 
 Aunt Susan, "Preachers dot come into dese woods to 
 Jyruise de head ob dot old sarpint, de debil, musn't be 
 frightened into a Jit at de sight ob a milk snake /"
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 288 
 
 CHAPTEK VH. 
 
 ONE delinquency has occurred in my ministerial 
 life, so sad and touching, that the remembrance 
 thereof is always painful and humiliating. For the 
 sake of the example, I cannot forbear to record ft. 
 God has forgiven me, but I never have forgiven 
 myself. Whenever busy memory, in retracing my 
 past steps, comes to this event, I have always felt an 
 involuntary shudder, and rush to forgetfulness for 
 relief, or to the retrospection of events more pleas- 
 ing. Reader, did you ever unwittingly do a. thing 
 that so hurt your conscience, as to leave ever after a 
 wound in the heart, which, like the poor woman's 
 issue, was incurable, but by the merciful touch of 
 Omnipotence ? How much like the worm that dieth 
 not, is this. I have called my sin, which I cannot 
 forgive, a delinquency. In moral turpitude, and in 
 justice to. myself, I know not that I have a right to 
 use a harsher epithet. 
 
 I intended no harm, but touching injury ensued. 
 I had been pledged to guard against that injury. 
 The time was fixed, but under a slight temptation, I 
 concluded to choose my own time. I failed to be 
 " instant in season." I was junior preacher on Yeva
 
 284 INCIDENTS IN IT INEKANC Y. 
 
 Circuit, Southeast Indiana. It was a four weeks' cir- 
 cuit, and I alternated with my venerable colleague, 
 the Rev. James Jones, in preaching every two weeks, 
 in the pretty little village of Rising Sun, on the 
 banks of the Ohio River. It was a village of some 
 six hundred inhabitants, and though so inconsidera- 
 ble in size, was our metropolitan appointment. To 
 me it was a terror. In my extreme youth and 
 gtnooth-facedness, the idea of preaching where I 
 might have lawyers and doctors, and "the village 
 elite, whom I knew, or, at least, I fancied that they 
 knew so much more than myself, was an unconquer- 
 able source of embarrassment, which often became 
 absolutely suffocating. I would say to myself in 
 weeping and mortification, I can never preach in 
 Rising Sun. I knew I knew but little. A most 
 profitable lesson which I had just learned, and which 
 some of the youthful cloth learn but quite too late. 
 How stultifying to genius is embarrassment. There 
 are many who will read these lines with a smile, to 
 think how they have struggled with it as with the 
 nightmare. They will remember the pulpits and 
 places in which they could never be themselves. In 
 the interior, ar-d among the log-cabins, where my 
 whole itinerant career had been spent, and where all 
 was confidence in the boy-preacher, by a simple- 
 hearted peasantry, I was always waxing eloquent, 
 that is magniloquent, at least, to the satisfaction of
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 285 
 
 myself, and a few communicative admirers. In deep 
 mortification, have I often left the village pulpit in 
 the little oblong brick church that stood west of the 
 rillage, on the slope of the hill, knowing that I had 
 treated the people who had assembled to hear, with 
 a mere bundle of words poorly chosen, and confused- 
 ly compounded, and whose ideas were in proportion 
 to them, as three grains of wheat to as many bushels 
 of chaff. The failures in Rising Sun saddened m, 
 and made *me sigh for the ruder interior ; and I 
 was wont to keep out of the place, the genius 
 of which was so unpropitious, as long as I could. 
 Six miles west, at "Wood's school-house, so called 
 from the excellent brother residing in its immediate 
 vicinity, and who kept a Methodist preacher's honffc 
 indeed, I had a most favorite appointment. Here I 
 always had great liberty, as was flatteringly attested 
 by the frequent reference made to the sermon in the 
 class-meeting that followed. The preacher preached 
 and met class in those days. I have said the little 
 chapel at Rising Sun stood upon the hill-side, and 
 this shall lead me to mention some physical features 
 of the banks of the lovely Ohio, quite peculiar. On 
 one side its waters generally lave the spurs of hills, 
 while on the opposite side the land is generally 
 level, called " bottom-land." The two sides of the 
 river rarely present the same scene. 
 
 The spirit of beauty 4ias its laws, and one is, it ever
 
 286 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 seeks variety. Cut as it were into promontories by 
 wild and eccentric creeks, which drain the interior, 
 the appearance of these hills is wild and picturesque, 
 and they often rise into the respectability of mount- 
 ains. Granite cliffs sometimes crop out with their 
 sides shaggy with the gray moss of ages, filling the 
 mind with the idea of Alpine sublimity, of mysteri- 
 ous caverns, hermitage, and the like. What a mys- 
 terious inspiration always hangs like a Tabor vision 
 around the magnificence of mountain* scenery. 1 
 cannot analyze it, but I feel it, and feel that it is a 
 living entity, the soul of poetry. So have I often 
 mused on the hill and mountain scenery of the Ohio. 
 Mountains, however, are scarce, and while the hills 
 ^ush themselves out in every conceivable shape, 
 they are covered from the water's edge to their 
 summits with a luxuriant growth of vegetation. Of 
 trees, the variety is great. Here, the sugar-maple 
 grows as it grows nowhere else, whose leaves in the 
 autumn so beautify our Western forests. Here, the 
 white ash peers up in its grace; the butter-nut, black 
 walnut, and buckeye, bespeak the great fertility of 
 the soil, and the grape-vine spreads like a net-work 
 over the tops of trees of different species, binding 
 them into fraternal harmony. Thus, in the society 
 of the vegetable kingdom, even this parasite liveth 
 not to itself; it receives from society, but returns to 
 it an equivalent. The limbs which it burdens, it
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 287 
 
 purples with its clusters, which it bears for all. Na- 
 ture abhors a loafer, as much as she does a vacuum. 
 
 "We became attached to the hills of Ohio, its cabin 
 homes nestling on the sides, and its little corn-fields 
 turned up at an angle of forty-five degrees, and yet 
 yielding with an Egyptian luxuriance. In this early 
 day, when railroads were not thought of, man had no 
 motive to produce a surplus, as markets were too 
 remote. His highest aim was to bring the year 
 AROUND, which simply meant, that he raised enough 
 to eat and drink. "I must raise corn enough to do 
 me, and pork enough," said the farmer, "and then, 
 when the wintery blasts sweep over my cabin, and 
 the soft and feathery snow steals silently down from 
 the leaden heavens, I can sit before my big back- 
 log, and watch my friendly fire, and feel that the 
 wintery blast has no terror nor rebuke for me." But 
 let no one suppose that this type of unprogressive life 
 was doomed to scanty or unsavory meals. I doubt 
 whether the highest culinary art of more modern 
 phases of society, has added any to the luxuries of 
 the living. Here was the yellow butter, fresh from 
 the churn, and butter-milk far surpassing in richness 
 the diluted milk of our city market. Here the 
 warm Johnny-cake and generous, smoking dodger 
 just from the skillet, bacon fattened on yellow corn, 
 dried pumpkins, and a densely-populated poultry- 
 yard, the sides of whose denizens shook with fat, as
 
 288 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 they always had free access to the corn-crib. In 
 writing these lines, my gastronomical nerves become 
 a little watery and clamorous. I have said I loved 
 these hills. Perhaps it is the mode of life I have 
 described, which made me love them, as I am now 
 sighing for a quiet obscurity in which to die. But 
 perhaps there is a deeper reason why I love it. He 
 whose counsels have been the cynosure of my life, 
 and she who watched over my childhood, once so 
 lived. Such was the home of my boyhood, and 
 it has been the home of my heart ever since. The 
 tiny corn-crib, and the rude, and, when compared 
 with Northwestern farming, the Liliputian tenements, 
 have magic charms for me. In my fevered dreams 
 and prospective helplessness, imagination dwells 
 upon such a quiet retreat, and at times I fancy 
 myself the happy inmate of such a lowly home, 
 where, unremembered by few, besides Him who has 
 already written my name in the book of life, I 
 may die in quiet. I have been richly favored with 
 all the domestic comforts of modern progress, and 
 yet on the well-swept hearthstone and carpetless 
 floor of such a home, the sun of my earthly bliss has 
 shed its loveliest golden light, and sweetest violet 
 hues. Home is* a thing of the heart, and there is 
 no place like it. Our sweetest conceptions of heaven 
 are brought down to us under the idea of home. On 
 earth, I never had but one home, and that waa
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 289 
 
 my cabin-home with its little corn-field in the wild- 
 wood away. 
 
 But I lengthily digress. In Kising Sun, three 
 of our rest days were to be spent. After a Sabbath 
 of my usual failures, I resolved to atone for the 
 meagerness of my pulpit ministrations, by an increase 
 of pastoral faithfulness. I commenced on Monday 
 morning visiting in good earnest. My attention was 
 called by a brother to an interesting case. An 
 emigrant family, just from England, in straitened 
 circumstances, (they had evidently known better,) 
 on their way down the river, had been compelled to 
 abandon their journey, in consequence of the increas- 
 ing illness of their oldest and favorite son, in whose 
 behalf the distant, transatlantic voyage had been 
 undertaken. His mother was reputed pious, but 
 the dying boy was reputed taciturn on subjects 
 pertaining to eternity, much to the anguish of his 
 mother. To this family of strangers, and house 
 of affliction, I hastily hied. I delicately introduced 
 myself in my true character, and met from the 
 mother (the husband was absent) a most cordial 
 reception. After various and natural inquiries, I 
 introduced the great suoject of my mission. A tear 
 at once bubbled up in the eye of the mother, but I 
 noticed in the son no emotion. I thought that dis- 
 dain mingled with the fever of his cheek. He 
 was consumptive, and in its last stages. I thought
 
 290 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 not fit to address him directly at that time, but 
 learned from his mother the fearful condition of 
 uncertainty in which his soul was placed. She 
 sobbed aloud, and still his emaciated countenance 
 seemed as emotionless as marble. He had only 
 spoken to me in monosyllables, and hardly deigned 
 to look directly at me. Believing that there is a 
 road to all hearts, I changed the theme, spoke to him 
 of the perils of coming to America, of the affliction 
 of exhausted means, and closed by stating that I 
 could speak from experience. .1, myself, was an 
 English boy, and born near where your son here was 
 born, and it would seem that the disparity between 
 our ages was not rery great. Pending the utterance 
 of these words, the young man scanned me closely, 
 his eyes of glass and silver flashing out from their 
 bony sockets. " So you are an Englishman," he at 
 last said, to which I replied with honest and affec- 
 tionate pride, and his .whole countenance and 
 demeanor seemed changed toward me. I had 
 touched his heart, where there lay a spell of home- 
 sickness fatal to him in his emaciated condition. 
 Seduced by the flattering whispers of his insidious 
 disease, he seemed unwilling to believe that he 
 would not yet live to retrace the weary miles that 
 lay between him and the rural home of his heart's 
 devotion. I did not thwart him in his hopes, but 
 gently hinted to him of a better home in heaven.
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 291 
 
 His lip quivered, and relapsed in silence for some 
 moments, when again he said, " If I could believe 
 your religion, I should, doubtless, be happier. My 
 pungent afflictions here make me misanthropic, the 
 future is a cold vacuity, annihilation a terrible 
 thought, nonconsciousness scarcely less to be dreaded 
 than your orthodox hell." The seal was broken, the 
 mother sobbed, tears boiled up in the eyes of the wan 
 consumptive, a fact was revealed. The young man 
 was an infidel; he had received a good education, and 
 had been poisoned by the infidel clubs and infidel 
 books of the day ; he had even brought Thomas Paine 
 to America. I met his arguments, or rather those 
 which I knew he employed, as best I could, and 
 whatever were my other deficiencies, he found me 
 at least so read up in this department, that he seemed 
 to respect my opinions. After referring him to 
 the gloomy conclusions of his own creed, I proposed 
 prayer. I left him with tears in his eyes, he giving 
 my hand, at parting, a feverish pressure, and uniting 
 with his mother in a request that I should call 
 again. 
 
 After a delicate inquiry into the temporal wants 
 of the family, I retired. I repeated my call in the 
 afternoon, and twice every day during my stay in 
 the village. Each successive call was favored by 
 encouraging results. Myself and spiritual patient 
 
 became friends and favorites. I had battered away 
 
 19
 
 292 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 the strong pillars of his opposition to Christ. I 
 had read to him beautiful passages from the Gos- 
 pel, commenting thereon. Aided by the Divine 
 Spirit, I indulged the hope that a mental and 
 moral revolution was effected. He would not permit 
 me to leave him, however, until I had pledged my- 
 self that in the week from the Saturday following 
 the time that we parted, at which time I was to be 
 there, according to arrangements, I would give him 
 my earliest attention, after my arrival; Iwt alas! I 
 again made my circuit round, arrived on Saturday 
 morning at my favorite appointment, at Brother 
 "Wood's, already mentioned, fully intending by two 
 or three o'clock \o be by the bedside of my dying 
 consumptive. 
 
 The religious services of the day passed, as 
 usual, delightfully away, when, repairing to the 
 stable for my horse, with a sense of tremulous 
 obligation upon my heart, I was met by a large 
 circle of youth, about my age. They were going to 
 organize a singing-school in the neighborhood on 
 that evening. It was very desirable that the 
 preacher should be present. . All of the " Missouri 
 Harmonist" of the neighborhood, far and near, were 
 detailed for the occasion, and an honest-hearted, good 
 time was expected. I resisted their importunities, 
 firmly pleading a previous obligation, and naming 
 ne particulars. They seemed to appreciate it. A-t
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 293 
 
 this moment brighter eyes than had beamed upon 
 me before, in the argument, set up their plea. 
 " Converse sparingly with woman." A fatal sugges- 
 tion occurred that I could spend Sabbatfy afternoon 
 with my penitent inquirer, and restore myself to his 
 confidence by an apology that must be accepted. I 
 returned to my home, spent the afternoon and even- 
 ing in appropriate hilarity, without a whisper of a 
 reproving conscience, but my meditations in the 
 night season were replete with self-reproach and 
 ominous forebodings. 
 
 The next morning, long before the usual time, I 
 was on my way to my village appointment, but 
 either because my heart was heavy, or some other 
 cause, I did not arrive there until the congregation 
 was assembled. As I ascended the pulpit I saw it 
 was somewhat thin. A gloom, too, seemed to rest 
 upon it. After the preliminary exercises, a brother 
 approached the pulpit, informing me that a young 
 man had died with the consumption the Saturday 
 evening previous, and that the funeral was desired 
 the Monday morning following. The announcement 
 \vas to me as a voice from eternity ; and'I trembled 
 and stumbled more than usual through the subse- 
 quent services. 
 
 Repairing at once to the house of bereavement 
 and bed of death, I was still received by his 
 mother, whose eyes were red with weeping, with
 
 294 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 
 
 the greatest confidence and cordiality. I felt that 
 did she but know the facts in the case, she ought 
 to reproach me for my unfaithfulness ; but O, merci- 
 ful God, conscience had needed no help. She told 
 me that her son sank rapidly after I left ; that he 
 had occasionally read the Bible, a thing he had 
 never done before, on his* dying bed. He was yet 
 painfully uncommunicative in reference to his true 
 state. He sr>oke often of me, and longed for the 
 day to come when I would revisit him. On the Sat- 
 urday on which I was expected he had watched 
 every hour anxiously as it was measured off by an 
 old English clock, which he insisted on having placed 
 before him. At two his mother was to go to the 
 door to see if she could not see me riding down the 
 slope of the distant hill. At three, he knew I would 
 be there soon. A few minutes before four he ex- 
 claimed, "Mr. W., O my young friend Jesus 
 Christ" -coughed, and sunk away in insensibility. 
 At five he asked if I had come yet. The words 
 were his last. At eight he was in eternity. 
 
 Reader, twenty-two years have fled since this sad 
 rehearsal, and yet is it as fresh in my memory to-day 
 as if it occurred but yesterday. I never think of it 
 without its suggesting some rebuking scripture. 
 He that is " faithful over a few things I will make 
 ruler over many things." And when on the next 
 day I took the last look of him in the coffin, and his
 
 INCIDENTS IN ITINERANCY. 295 
 
 aallow, skeletonized, purple and cream-colored hand 
 which lay upon his breast, caught my eye, one of the 
 fingers, which had been slightly misplaced, seemed 
 to point up to me in rebuke, I turned away with a 
 Peter's heart, as at the crucifixion, remembering that 
 Christ has said, to visit and administer to the sick is 
 to do these things unto him. Weeping, I uttered, 
 " Wicked and slothful servant." And now the hand 
 that pens these lines resembles most strikingly the 
 hand of our friend with whom the professed man of 
 God kept such truant faith. An opportunity lost, is 
 lostforever.
 
 THE 
 
 TEXAS CAMP-MEETIWG. 
 
 BY CHARLES SUMMERFIELD.
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 DTJBING the last week in September, 1836, the first 
 successful camp-meeting was held in Eastern Texas. 
 I employ the epithet " successful," because several 
 previous failures had apparently rendered efforts of a 
 like kind perfectly hopeless. Indeed, the meridian, 
 at this period, was most uncongenial to the religious 
 and moral enterprise. The country bordering on the 
 Sabine had been occupied rather than settled by a 
 class of adventurers almost as wild as the savages 
 whom they had scarcely expelled, and the beast of 
 prey, which still disputed their domains of primeval 
 forests. Professional gamblers, refugees from every 
 land, forgers of false coin, thieves, robbers and mur- 
 derers, interspersed among the race of uneducated 
 hunters and herdsmen, made up the strange social 
 miscellany, without courts, or prisons, or churches, 
 or schools, or even the shadow of civil authority, or 
 subordination ; a sort of unprincipled pandemonium,
 
 300 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 where fierce passion sat enthroned, waving its bloody 
 scepter, the bowie knife ! Let no one accuse me of 
 exaggeration for the sake of dramatic effect ; I am 
 speaking now of Shelby County, the home of the 
 Lynchers, the terrible locale, where, ten years later, 
 forty persons were poisoned to death at a marriage 
 supper. 
 
 It will be obvious, that in such a community, very 
 few would be disposed to patronize camp-meetings ; 
 and, accordingly, a dozen different trials at various 
 times had never collected a hundred hearers on any 
 single occasion. But even these were not allowed to 
 worship in peace ; uniformly, the first day or night> 
 a band of armed desperadoes, headed by the notori 
 ous "Watt Foeman, chief judge and executioner of 
 the Shelby Lynchers, broke in the altar and scattered 
 the mourners, or ascended the pulpit and threatened 
 the preachers to a gratuitous robe of tar and feathers 
 Hence all prudent evangelists soon learned to shun 
 the left bank of the Sabine, as if it had been infested 
 by a cohort of demons ; and two whole years elapsed 
 without any new attempt to erect the cross in so per- 
 ilous a field. 
 
 At length, however, an advertisement appeared, 
 promising another effort in behalf of the Gospel. 
 The notice was wfiigue^ a perfect backwoods curiosi- 
 ty, both as to its tenor and mode of publication. Let 
 me give it verbatim et literatim :
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 301 
 
 "BARBECUE CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 " There will be a camp-meeting, to commence the 
 last Monday of this month, at the Double Spring 
 Grove, near Peter Brinson's, in the County of Shelby. 
 
 "The exercises will open with a splendid barbecue. 
 The preparations are being made to suit all tastes: 
 there will be a good barbecue, better liquors, and 
 the best of Gospel. PAUL DENTON, 
 
 " Sept. 1, 1836. Missionary, M. E. 0." 
 
 This singular document was nailed to the door of 
 every public house and grocery ; it was attached to 
 the largest trees at the intersections of all cross roads 
 and principal trails ; and even the wandering hunters 
 themselves found it in remote dells of the mountains, 
 miles away from the smoke of a human habitation. 
 
 At first many regarded the matter as a hoax, 
 played off by some wicked wag, in ridicule of popu- 
 lar credulity. But this hypothesis was negatived by 
 the statements of Peter Brinson, proprietor of the 
 " Double Spring Grove," who informed all inquirers, 
 that " he had been employed and paid by a stranger, 
 calling himself a Methodist missionary, to provide an 
 ample barbecue, at the period and place advertised. 
 
 " But the liquor, the better liquor ; are you to fur- 
 nish the liquor too ?" was the invariable question of 
 each visitor.
 
 302 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 " The missionary said he would attend to that him- 
 self," said Brinson. 
 
 " He must be a precious original," was the general 
 rejoinder; a proposition which most of them after- 
 ward had an opportunity to verify experimentally. * 
 
 I need hardly add. that an intense excitement re- 
 sulted. The rumor took wings and flew on the wind, 
 turned to a storm, a storm of exaggeration, every 
 echo increased in its sound, till nothing else could be 
 heard but the "Barbecue Camp-meeting." It be- 
 came the focus of thought, the staple of dreams. 
 And thus the unknown preacher had insured one 
 thing in advance; a congregation embracing the 
 entire population of the country, which was likely 
 the sole purpose of his stratagem. 
 
 I was traveling in that part of Texas at the time, 
 and my imagination being inflamed by the common 
 curiosity, I took some trouble and attended. But 
 although my eyes witnessed the extraordinary scene, 
 I may well despair of the undertaking to paint it; 
 the pen of Homer or the pencil of Hogarth were 
 alone adequate to the sublimity and burlesque of 
 such a complicated task. I may only sketch the 
 angular outlines. 
 
 A space had been cleared away immediately 
 around the magnificent "Double Spring," which 
 boiled up with sufiicient force to turn a mill-wheel, 
 in the very center of the evergreen grove. Here a
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 303 
 
 pulpit had been raised, and before it was the insepar- 
 able altar for mourners. Beyond these, at the dis- 
 tance of fifty paces, a succession of plank tables 
 extended in the form of a great circle, or the perime- 
 fer of a polygon, completely inclosing the area about 
 the spring. An odoriferous stream of the most deli- 
 cious savor diffused itself through the air. This was 
 from the pits of the adjacent prairie, where the fifty 
 slaves of Peter Brinson were engaged in cooking the 
 promised barbecue. 
 
 The grove itself was literally alive, teeming, 
 swarming, running over with strange figures in 
 human shape, men, women, and children. All 
 Shelby County was there. The hunters had come, 
 rifles in hand, and dogs barking at their heels ; the 
 rogues, refugees, and gamblers, with pistols in their 
 belts, and big knives peeping from their shirt 
 bosoms, while here and there might be seen a sprink- 
 ling of well-dressed planters with their wives and 
 daughters. 
 
 The tumult was deafening, a tornado of babbling 
 tongues, talking, shouting, quarreling, betting, and 
 cursing for amusement. Suddenly a cry arose, 
 " Colonel Watt Foeman ! Hurrah for Colonel Watt 
 Foeman 1" and the crowd parted right and left, to let 
 the lion Lyncher pass. 
 
 I turned to the advancing load-star of all eyes, and 
 shuddered involuntarily at the satanic countenance
 
 304 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 that met my glance, and yet the features were not 
 only youthful, but eminently handsome ; the hideous- 
 ness lay in the look of savage fire ; ferocious, mur- 
 derous. It was in the reddish-yellow eye-balls, with 
 arrowy pupils that seemed to flash jets of lurid 
 flame ; in the thin sneering lips with their everlasting 
 icy smile. As to the rest, he was a tall, athletic, 
 very powerful man. His train, a dozen armed des- 
 peradoes, followed him. 
 
 Foeman spoke in a voice, sharp, piercing as the 
 point of a dagger : " Eh, Brinson, where is the new 
 missionary ? We want to give him a plumed coat." 
 
 " He has not yet arrived," replied the planter. 
 
 " Well, I suppose we must wait for him ; but 
 put the barbecue on the boards; I am as hungry 
 as a starved wolf." 
 
 " I cannot till the missionary comes ; the barbecue 
 is his property." 
 
 A fearful light blazed in Foeman's eyes, as he took 
 three steps toward Brinson, and fairly shouted, 
 " Fetch me the meat instantly, or I'll fill your own 
 stomach with a dinner of lead and steel!" 
 
 This was the ultimatum of one whose authority 
 was the only law, and the planter obeyed without 
 a murmur. The smoking viands were arranged 
 on the table by a score of slaves, and the throng 
 prepared to commence the sumptuous meal, when 
 a voice pealed from the pulpit, loud as the blast of a
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 306 
 
 trumpet in battle, "Stay, gentlemen and ladies, till 
 the giver of the barbecue asks God's blessing !" 
 
 Every ear started, every eye was directed to 
 the speaker, and a whisperless silence ensued, for all 
 alike were struck by his remarkable appearance. 
 He was almost a giant in stature, though scarcely 
 twenty years of age ; his hair, dark as the raven's 
 wing, flowed down his immense shoulders in masses 
 of natural ringlets more beautiful than any ever 
 wreathed around the jeweled brow of a queen 
 by the labored achievements of human art ; his eyes, 
 black as midnight, beamed like stars over a face 
 as pale as Parian marble, calm, passionless, spiritual, 
 and wearing a singular, indefinable expression, such 
 as might have been shed by the light of a dream 
 from paradise, or the luminous shadow of an angel's 
 wing. The heterogeneous crowd, hunters, gamblers, 
 homicides, gazed in mute astonishment. 
 
 The missionary prayed, but it sounded like no 
 other prayer ever addressed to the throne of the 
 Almighty. It contained no encomiums on the splen- 
 dor of the Divine attributes ; no petitions in the tone 
 of commands ; no orisons for distant places, times, or 
 objects ; no implied instruction as to the administra- 
 tion of the government of the universe. It related 
 exclusively to the present people and the present 
 hour ; it was the cry of the naked soul, and that soul 
 was a beggar for the bread and water of heavenly life.
 
 306 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 He ceased, and not till then did I become con- 
 scious of weeping. I looked around through my 
 tears, and saw a hundred faces wet as with rain. 
 
 "Now, my friends, partake of God's gifts at the 
 table, and then come and sit down and listen to his 
 Gospel." 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the sweet tone 
 of kindness in which these simple words were uttered, 
 that made him on the instant five hundred friends. 
 One heart, however, in the assembly, was maddened 
 by the evidences of the preacher's wonderful powers. 
 Colonel "Watt Foeman exclaimed in a sneering voice : 
 " Mr. Paul Denton, your reverence has lied. You 
 promised us not only a good barbecue, but better 
 liquor. Where is your liquor?" 
 
 "There!" answered the missionary in tones of 
 thunder, and pointing his motionless finger at the 
 Double Spring, gushing up in two strong columns, 
 with a sound like a shout of joy from the bosom 
 of the earth. "There!" he repeated, with a look 
 terrible as lightning, while his enemy actually trem- 
 bled at his feet ; " there is the liquor, which God, the 
 Eternal, brews for all his children ! 
 
 "Not in the simmering still, over smoking fires, 
 choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded with 
 the stench of sickening odors and rank corruption, 
 doth your Father in heaven prepare the precious 
 essence of life, pure cold water. But in the green
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 307 
 
 glade and grassy dell, where the red deer wanders 
 and the child loves to play, there God himself brews 
 it; and down, low down in the deepest valleys, 
 where the fountains murmur and the rills sing ; and 
 high upon the mountain-tops, where the naked gran- 
 ite glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm- 
 cloud broods, and the thunder-storms crash ; and away, 
 far out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricane 
 howls music, and big waves roar the chorus, ' sweep- 
 ing the march of God' there he brews it, that 
 beverage of life, health-giving water." 
 
 " And everywhere it is a thing of beauty : gleam- 
 ing in the dew-drop ; singing in the summer rain ; 
 shining in the ice-gem, till the trees seem turned 
 to living jewels; spreading a golden vail over the 
 setting sun, or a white gauze around the midnight 
 moon; sporting in the cataract; sleeping in the 
 glacier ; dancing in the hail shower ; folding bright 
 snow curtains softly above the wintery world, and 
 weaving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone 
 of the sky, whose warp is the rain of earth, whose 
 woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered o'er 
 with celestial flowers, by the mystic hand of rarefac- 
 tion, still always it is beautiful, that blessed cold 
 water. No poison bubbles on its brink ; its foam 
 brings not madness and murder ; no blood stains its 
 liquid glass ; pale widows and starving orphans 
 
 weep not burning tears in its clear depths; no 
 
 20
 
 308 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it 
 in words of despair ! Speak out, my friends, would 
 you exchange it for the demon's drink, alcohol ?" 
 
 A shout like the roar of the tempest answered, 
 "No!" -"No!" 
 
 Critics need never tell me again that backwoods- 
 men are deaf to the Divine voice of eloquence ; for 
 I saw, at that moment, the missionary held the 
 hearts of the multitude, as it were, in the hollow of 
 his hand; and the popular feeling ran in a current 
 so irresistible, that even the duelist, "Watt Foeman, 
 dared not venture another interruption during the 
 meeting. 
 
 I have just reviewed my report of that singular 
 speech in the foregoing sketch ; but, alas ! I discov- 
 er that I have utterly failed to convey the full im- 
 pression, as my reason and imagination received it. 
 The language, to be sure, is there ; that I never could 
 forget ; but it lacks the spirit, the tones of unuttera- 
 ble pathos, the cadence of mournful music alternat- 
 ing with the crashes of terrible power; it lacks the 
 gesticulation, now graceful as the play of a golden 
 willow in the wind, and anon, violent as the motion 
 of a mountain pine in the hurricane ; it lacks that 
 pale face, wrapped in its dreams of the spirit-land, 
 and those unfathomable eyes flashing a light such as 
 never beamed from sun or stars, and more than all, 
 it lacks the magnetism of the mighty soul that
 
 THE TEXAS CAMP-MEETING. 309 
 
 seemed to diffuse itself among the hearers as a view- 
 less stream of electricity, penetrating the brain like 
 some secret fire, melting all hearts, mastering evolu- 
 tions. 
 
 The camp-meeting continued, and a revival attend- 
 ed it, such as never before, or since, was witnessed in 
 the forests of Texas. But, unfortunately, on the last 
 day of the exercises, news arrived on the ground, 
 that a neighboring farmer had been murdered, and 
 his wife and children carried away prisoners by the 
 Indians. 
 
 The young missionary sprang into the pulpit, and 
 proposed the immediate organization of a company 
 to pursue the savages. The suggestion being adopt- 
 ed, the mover himself was elected to lead the party. 
 After several days of hard riding, they overtook the 
 barbarous enemy in the grand prairie. The mis- 
 sionary charged foremost to his troops, and having 
 performed prodigies of bravery, fell, not by the hand 
 of an Indian, but by a shot from one of his own 
 horsemen ! 
 
 I need scarcely name the assassin, the reader will 
 have anticipated me, the incarnate fiend, Colonel 
 Watt Foeman, chief hangman of the Shelby Lynch- 
 ers, and ten years later, a master cook at the pois- 
 oned wedding. 
 
 Such is the only fragment of the biography of a 
 wounded genius, the sole twinkling ray of a dazzling
 
 310 THE TEXAS CAMP - MEETING. 
 
 luminary, that rose and set in the wilderness, a torn 
 leaf from Paul Denton's book of life. Peace to his 
 ,shes. He sleeps well, in that lone isle of ever- 
 greens, surrounded by the evergreen sea of the 
 prairie. Nature's beloved son inherits her consist- 
 ent tomb, that last possession, the inalienable fee 
 simple of all time.
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT 
 
 HIS SAD BSD ASD CHRISTIAN CHARACTER.
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 THE name of Maffitt, for nearly a quarter of a cen- 
 tury, has been excitingly familiar to the American 
 public. And yet it is difficult to say why. There is 
 a mysterious magic about his name. As a pulpit 
 orator he is sui generis. Mentally and morally he is 
 a problem for solution. If, in the latter sense, he is 
 considered by some equivocal, in the former he has 
 been considered by more inexplicable. 
 
 What are the elements of power he so skillfully 
 combines in his profession ? A question, this, we do 
 not recollect ever to have seen satisfactorily answered. 
 Compared with master minds, his, like his person, is 
 below even the medium size, in all the commonly- 
 enumerated essentials of intellectual might. He can- 
 not be called learned. His reading for the most part 
 is of the lighter class. He seems to have paid his 
 respects to the profound, the text-books of theology 
 and philosophy, but in patches. In science, except 
 perhaps it be in mere common-school English ele-
 
 314 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 mentaries, he is still more superficial. Nor is there 
 aught about him physically which a stranger would 
 be ready to attribute to his advantage. "We are, per- 
 haps, less inclined to award to him the highest gift of 
 Apollo, for being a Zaccheus in stature. But with 
 these, and other factitious disadvantages more serious, 
 Maffitt never fails of an audience. The announcement 
 of his name as the speaker has long been a stereotyped 
 signal for a jam. Men of all professions, minds of all 
 molds and of every degree of mental wealth, have 
 confessed the spell-like power of his eloquence. And 
 those who, on a first hearing, loudest confess their dis- 
 appointment at his " theatrical manner," and the com- 
 mon-placeness of his matter, are generally among the 
 first to hear him again, and the last to stay away. 
 As an author, his pen is powerless ; as an orator, he 
 is omnipotent. 
 
 Wherein, then, lieth his great strength ? To this 
 question, at the risk of a failure, we shall attempt an 
 answer. It consists not in his learning, nor in his 
 logic, nor in originality of thought, nor in its combi- 
 nation. Nor does it consist, as some have supposed, 
 in his imagination. In all these respects he is excel- 
 led by thousands in the same profession, and yet we 
 iiave but one Maffitt. Nor does it consist, certainly, 
 in unchallenged sanctity of life, nor always in the in- 
 spiration of the true spirit of his holy calling. Nor 
 can we claim for him association with some fortunate
 
 BEV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFPITT. 315 
 
 event that has exalted him to fame, and placed him, 
 by the deceptive power of association in such cases, 
 in the eye and ear of the world. 
 
 As an orator, we humbly apprehend that Maffitt 
 excels in manner, in fancy, the ardor of his natural 
 affections, and strength of his self-reliance. In these 
 elements of power, as we shall explain them, the sub- 
 ject of these remarks will be found so far to excel, as 
 to enable him, despite his deficiency in others, to take 
 rank among the most effective of living speakers. We 
 would employ the word " manner," as implying all 
 the physical attributes of the orator, such as appropri- 
 ate gestures, natural intonations, distinct enunciation, 
 proper emphasis, etc. This art has ever been consid- 
 ered of the first moment to the orator. The world 
 abounds with volumes in its praise. And yet, striking 
 excellence in this art is but rarely attained. This has 
 been attributed more to a neglect of its study, than to 
 the difficulties in the way of its acquirement. An 
 error, we verily believe. To attain, to a striking 
 model of manner requires a peculiar tinge of genius, 
 an idiosyncrasy of constitution, which, like poetry, is 
 more a gift than the fruit of the most elaborate culti- 
 vation. There are but few speakers whose manner, in 
 some of its parts, may not be much improved by 
 study ; but that perfect whole, that symmetrical mod- 
 el, which well-nigh defies criticism by being too subtle 
 for description, it belongs to the favored few alone to
 
 316 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 attain. Like the smile of dreaming infancy, like the 
 mantling blushes of artless innocence, or like the look 
 of a child's want in the bitterness of its woe, or the 
 last look of a mother and widow into the grave of her 
 last earthly hope, this climax of excellence in manner 
 must be witnessed to be understood and felt in all its 
 enchanting potency. It is embodied beauty, and fit- 
 ness, and passion, and power, speaking to the heart 
 through the eye, the ear, the taste, addressing itself to 
 our instinctive love of the purely natural, chastened 
 by art, with a voice of sweet authority which it re- 
 quires violence to our nature to resist. But the feel- 
 ings which such a manner inspires are its only ade- 
 quate description. 
 
 " There's a power in delivery, a magical art, 
 That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the heart." 
 
 If Maffitt's manner be not always faultless, manner- 
 ism forms no part of it. There is no muscular move- 
 ment, no habit-fixed peculiarity, which wearies and 
 disgusts by its habitual occurrence. All the muscular 
 accompaniments, and manifestations of thought, 
 feeling, and passion, are as endlessly diversified as are 
 thought, feeling, and passion. His manner is kaleido- 
 scopic. He conforms his pronunciation to the 
 most approved authority with the tenacity of the 
 eccentric Randolph. His enunciation is clear and 
 distinct, touching, rounding, sharpening, trilling, or
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 317 
 
 aspirating, each primitive element that compounds in 
 a word, often giving such distinctness to the alpha- 
 betical powers that he seems to have spelled the 
 word in its pronunciation. And difficult as it is, in 
 this he succeeds, as, indeed, he generally does in all 
 the branches of his elocution, without affectation, or 
 seeming effort. His voice, though not strong, is 
 under masterly control, and passes up through the 
 musical scale with as much ease as flows the stream 
 of song from the throat of the mocking-bird. His 
 tones, like his gestures, are ever varying with the 
 sense and the emotion. Possessing great sweetness 
 and compass of voice, as if with whispers aerial, and 
 music ventriloquial, he breathes his chastened senten- 
 ces into the ear of his remotest auditor. His voice in 
 its swell fills a large space, and to hear him is always 
 to understand him. His manner effects more than 
 his matter. The latter may consist of familiar surface 
 truths, and generally does, but invested with the 
 charm of his manner common-placeisms assume a 
 new interest and freshen into beauty. In suiting the 
 look to the passion and the action to the word, 
 Maffitt has rarely had his equal, whether on the stage, 
 at the bar, or in the pulpit. When putting forth his 
 full powers, he is an incarnation of the mystic divinity 
 of eloquence. His oratory is wanting, perhaps, in the 
 strong, the classical, the masculine element. It is 
 delicate, winning, beautiful, popular, electrical,
 
 318 EEV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 without being effeminate. In these respects it 
 corresponds with the happy accidents of physical 
 delicacy and Adonis-like features in the person of 
 the orator. The curls of a Cupid, a little foot, 
 exquisite hand, and a form molded to the sculptor's 
 fancy, are no mean considerations in the measure- 
 ment of Maffitt's power. All concur and combine in 
 that symmetrical whole gesture, voice, style, and 
 attributes of person, to make him the exponent 
 of all that is fascinating in the manner of the orator. 
 
 "His words they have so rich a flow, 
 
 And speak the truth so sweet to all, 
 They drop like Heaven's serenest snow, 
 And all is brightness where they fall." 
 
 His fa/ncy is another hiding-place of his power. 
 We do not mean his imagination. Fancy and 
 imagination are commonly confounded in judging 
 the speaker. This is an error. Imagination is the 
 creative energy, the life-breath of an original mind. 
 Such a mind Maffitt does not possess. Fancy is 
 the descriptive faculty, the photogenic power of 
 mind, and this he does possess in a high degree. 
 Imagination is the powder blast in the quarry of 
 thought ; fancy the sculptor at the touch of whose 
 chisel the marble blocks breathe in beauty. Imagi- 
 nation is the ground swell of mind that upheaves the 
 treasures from hidden depths; fancy the lapidary 
 that sets the brilliants in a diadem of beauty. Imagi-
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 319 
 
 nation indicates strength of mind ; fancy sensibility. 
 Imagination and fancy are related in mind like heat 
 and color in the solar ray. The former warms the 
 lily into life, the latter adorns it with the hues of the 
 rainbow. These two powers are seldom balanced in 
 a single mind. If one be remarkably, active, the other 
 will be weak. In Maffitt's mind fancy predominates. 
 Not that his descriptive powers are really so very 
 extraordinary. But his propensity for description is. 
 With him, the love of the descriptive in oratory 
 amounts to a passion ; a passion slightly morbid per- 
 haps, and insatiately craving indulgence. With him 
 the life-sketch, the narrative, the picturesque, abound 
 in every discourse. And in the fire, the fervor, the 
 pathos of extempore utterance, his imagery is most 
 gorgeous, often extravagant ; a cataract of flowers. 
 His sermons are panoramic ; a succession of pictures. 
 And though they may at times fail of being light to 
 the mind and fire to the heart, they rarely, if ever, 
 fail of being beauty to the eye, and music to the ear; 
 and as we shall more fully see, with "so many strings 
 to his bow," Maffitt never makes "a total failure," 
 though his eiforts differ as widely in excellence 
 as those of any other man. Even on occasions the 
 most ordinary, his hearers are made to feel the subtle 
 charm of his eloquence sufficiently to secure their 
 re-attendance. 
 
 The third element in this imperfect analysis of
 
 320 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 Maffitt's oratorical powers we have denominated 
 the ardor of his natural affections. The human 
 heart is a harp of many strings. The loves of the 
 sex and of relationship constitute the most sensitive 
 class. These, Maffitt sweeps with the hand of a mas- 
 ter. He is constantly dwelling upon the domesticity 
 of our nature. His discourses are constantly abound- 
 ing with portraits and incidents tending to arouse 
 these tenderest sensibilities into a tempest of passion. 
 He knows well that there is in this direction an easy 
 road to all hearts. The tears of a philosopher lie as 
 shallow as those of a peasant at the grave of buried 
 love. The blood-stained freebooter hears with wet 
 eyes, stories of "wife, children, and home." Maffitt's 
 auditors must weep from sympathy, if not for theii 
 sins. And better would it be for genuine religion if 
 such feelings in his revivals were less often substitu- 
 ted for it. That his sensibilities and sympathies in 
 this direction are less wholesome than morbid, verg- 
 ing far to the romantic and sentimental, we cannot 
 doubt. In this, we apprehend, a deadly mischief 
 lurks, one which throws over his moral character all 
 that ambiguity of which it is painful to think, and of 
 which the public gossip. Charity, however, should 
 compel the inference that it does not necessarily 
 involve crime. But after generations will alone 
 draw that inference. In their neutralizing effects, 
 long-repeated imprudences in a minister are worse
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 321 
 
 than an overt act of guilt. But these tender passions 
 of our nature are wont to feel no satiety even when 
 feasted to gluttony. The novel charms us, though 
 its love plots be too overwrought to be truthful to 
 nature. And this very reason is an additional 
 reason why the public have so long confessed to an 
 omnipotent enchantment in Rev. John N". Maffitt's 
 eloquence. He will be heard even by those who 
 hate him. The fiction is read and wept over because 
 it fires the passions, though its falseness is acknowl- 
 edged. A doubting confidence in the piety of such 
 a preacher cannot deprive him of an audience. 
 Hence Maflitt, though under the ban of excommuni- 
 cation in the North, and denounced by the public 
 press for breaking the heart of a young and beautiful 
 wife in the city of Brooklyn, yet is seen a short 
 time after, with the world at his heels, figuring in a 
 'great revival" at Little Rock, Arkansas. And 
 at this time, upon newspaper authority, we under- 
 stand that his admirers are about to build him a 
 church in New Orleans. 
 
 But we are making allusions here that form no part 
 of the purpose of the present article. We have to do 
 only with Maffi tt as an orator. We are attempting to 
 throw some light upon the cardinal causes of his 
 success tne world-wide celebrity of this celebrated 
 Methodist preacher, whom no power seems able to si- 
 lence, because the public will hear him. With regard 
 
 A O
 
 322 EEV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 to his self-relicmce f he knows his forte too well ever to 
 lose his self-possession, or to suffer from that choke- 
 damp of genius, embarrassment. He is not wanting in 
 the fullest confidence in his own powers, and has the 
 comfortable vanity to believe that the public are not. 
 The world was made for him, and he never presumes 
 for a moment that he was made to be any less than 
 one of its most notable lions. He has faith in 
 himself that removes mountains. His manner helps 
 to get out his matter, and, with the rich and exhaust- 
 less hues of his fine fancy, often more than atones for 
 the lack of it. 
 
 What must be the responsibility of such a man ! 
 Had his piety and devotedness always been equal to 
 his powers, who could calculate the measure of his 
 usefulness ? His eulogy while living would have 
 been, " The delightful wonder and admiration of 
 weeping thousands," and when -dead his memory 
 would have taken rank with the sainted Summerfield 
 and immortal Whitefield, as not the least fragrant of 
 the trio. His example may furnish many a useful 
 hint to the occupant of the sacred desk. 
 
 Alas ! since the above was written, our friend Mat- 
 fitt is no more. He was our friend, and intimate, as 
 far as he was wont to have clerical intimates. But 
 from characteristics already developed, these intima- 
 cies with him were not as with other men. The 
 price of them always was that his superiority be
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 328 
 
 acknowledged. It was this that turned him away 
 to seek less the company of the clergy than the 
 foolish clown who would flatter him. But we would 
 here restrain further criticism, and throw a tear- 
 dampened evergreen upon his grave. Farewell, 
 then, paradox of goodness, greatness, and weakness I 
 He died at Mobile, Alabama, and a leading journal 
 of that city made the following note of the event: 
 
 "Hunted down with faded reputation, stricken and 
 ill, but with unblenching spirit and unabated fire, 
 the orator of a quarter of a century lay down to die ! 
 The malaria of death was in his nostrils, and the last 
 inevitable hour had come. But with his dying 
 breath he declared himself a calumniated man. He 
 said that during his ministerial life he had been 
 guilty of many frivolous, but no criminal acts; for- 
 gave his enemies, expressed an unalterable trust in 
 the merits of Jesus Christ his Saviour, and did not 
 doubt but that all would be well. Thus passed away 
 John Newlaixd Maffitt ; and if the reader will visit 
 Toulminville, from whence can be seen the spires of 
 Mobile, in an unobtrusive grave in that tranquil vil- 
 lage, his eyes will rest upon the spot where sleeps the 
 most splendid pulpit orator likely to be seen in a half 
 century to come ! The star which arose in the East, 
 over the bright waters of the deep and silent Shan- 
 non, culminated in the American heavens, and went 
 
 down in the West !" 
 
 21
 
 324 BEV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 A post mortem examination is said to have been 
 instituted, when the fact was elicited, that he died 
 literally of a broken heart. We had hoped ere this 
 to have seen a memoir of this remarkable man. Time 
 has passed away, and we have been sadly disappoint- 
 ed. As we have already intimated, we trust that an 
 impartial memoir would make the world think better 
 of Maffitt than it has. We know not that material 
 for the work could now be obtained, and in the mean 
 time oblivion is fast gathering over his extensive and 
 mixed reputation. The following from a responsible 
 correspondent of the St. Louis Christian Advocate 
 we insert here no less from its intrinsic interest of 
 detail than as an act of justice to the deceased: 
 
 "I was forcibly reminded of an incident that once 
 occurred in my own intercourse with him, when he 
 visited St. Louis in the spring and summer of 1840. 
 I first heard him from the pulpit in the city of Balti- 
 more, when, in 1829, '30, his eloquence had attracted 
 the attention of such vast crowds as constantly pressed 
 their way into the churches where he was expected 
 to preach ; and, like many others, with no better 
 means of forming an opinion, became prejudiced in 
 mind, and entertained opinions unfavorable to his 
 genuine piety. Tears passed away before I again 
 met him, and then it was upon his visit to St. Louis. 
 Circumstances seemed to direct that, during that visit, 
 his residence should be with my family. We were
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 325 
 
 glad to entertain the man whose career of usefulness 
 had marked his way in every city and town he had 
 visited, and who came now to St. Louis, to use his 
 own emphatic language, 'to battle for the Lord.' 
 And yet I found in my own mind a lurking of for- 
 mer prejudices, which, notwithstanding the charm 
 his presence threw around the social circle, still had 
 an influence upon my feelings, until at last an inci- 
 dent occurred which satisfied me of the genuine piety 
 of Maffitt, and unfolded to my view, to some extent 
 at least, the source from whence came his power in 
 the sacred desk. 
 
 " He was asked by several friends to preach a ser- 
 mon upon the 'Divinity of Je$us Christ.' In ac- 
 cordance with that request, he announced from the 
 pulpit of the old Fourth-street Church, that, on the 
 next Sabbath morning, (which, if my memory is not 
 at fault, was the first Sabbath in May, 1840,) he 
 would deliver a discourse upon that subject. As 
 was usual with him, he had appointments for Tues- 
 day and Thursday evenings of the week, at which 
 he did not, as was usual with him, exhibit that bril- 
 liancy of thought and power of oratory for which he 
 was so preeminent. On Friday and Saturday, he 
 kept his room closely. Occasionally I called on him, 
 and found him pacing the floor or surrounded with 
 papers strewn in every direction. I thought I could 
 observe something unusual in his appearance, so
 
 326 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 
 
 much so as to produce some uneasiness in my own 
 mind. I therefore approached him on Saturday 
 evening, and said, ' Brother Maffitt, something 
 seems to be the matter with you ; can I render you 
 any assistance ?' His reply was, ' Brother, my 
 mental anguish is almost beyond endurance ; my 
 heart is hard as a rock ; God seems to have left me 
 in total darkness ; not the first ray of light has yet 
 flashed upon me for the work of to-morrow. And 
 such is the agony of my mind that my body has 
 broken out in red spots.' Then opening his bosom, 
 I was astonished to see the appearance which pre- 
 sented itself: the entire chest was covered with 
 splotches as if scorched by the fire. Said he : 'If I 
 could find relief to my mind, this would pass away. 
 But,' he continued, ' leave me, brother ; I must 
 seek relief at the cross.' I left him and retired to 
 my room, and then to rest. Late at night, a low 
 murmur from his room awoke me. Fearing he was 
 sick, I arose, and passing through the hall to his 
 door, gently opened it, and, upon looking in, I found 
 his bed yet untouched. Upon the opposite side of 
 the room I beheld him upon his knees, with the 
 Bible open before him resting upon a chair, his face 
 upturned toward heaven ; and in deepest agony, I 
 heard him plead with God to assist him this once, if 
 never again, to present to the people their hope of 
 salvation. While I thus stood gazing, as I thought,
 
 REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT. 327 
 
 upon the most sublime spectacle I ever beheld, the 
 
 clock in the hall struck three : it was three o'clock 
 
 I 
 
 Sunday morning, and yet his bed was not tumbled, 
 nor was his agony at the foot of the cross subdued. 
 I turned away subdued in feeling, with every vestige 
 of former prejudice gone, and with a determination 
 in future to be charitable to all mankind. 
 
 "When the morning came, and the bright sun ush- 
 ered in the Sabbath day, I again entered his room, 
 and found him sleeping sweetly and soundly as if 
 nothing was to engage his attention for the day. 
 The hour for preaching had nearly arrived, and I 
 awoke him. Then he was himself again ; bright and 
 elastic as a bird. He had wrestled at the cross in 
 the silence of night until God had heard his cry, and 
 granted him relief. And that sermon preached -by 
 Kev. John Newland Maffitt, on that first Sabbath in 
 May, 1840, in St. Louis, upon the 'Divinity of 
 Christ,' is still fresh in the memory of such men as 
 Wesley Browning and others, still remaining to bear 
 record of its power."
 
 DEMIS AND THE PEIEST. 
 
 A DIALOGUE.
 
 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 " GOOD morning, Dennis." 
 " Good morning, your reverence." 
 " What is this they say of you, Dennis ? I am told 
 you have been to hear the preaching of the soupers." 
 " You have been told the truth, your reverence." 
 " And how could you dare to listen to heretics ?" 
 " Please your reverence, God is not a heretic ; and 
 it is the word of God, the Bible, that they read." 
 " Ay, the Bible explained by a minister." 
 "No, your reverence; the Bible explained by 
 itself; for when it is allowed to speak, it explains 
 itself without assistance from any other quarter; 
 and in the very act of reading it, we allow it to 
 speak." 
 
 " But, after all, the minister preaches ; and he in- 
 sists on your believing what he preaches."
 
 332 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 " No, your reverence ; the preacher tells us not to 
 believe on his word, but when we go home, to ex- 
 amine whether it contradicts or confirms what he has 
 delivered from the pulpit." 
 
 " But, don't you see that this is a mere sham ; and 
 that you, the common people, cannot examine the 
 Holy Scriptures, so as to judge whether they confirm 
 or contradict what the preacher says ?" 
 
 " At that rate, your reverence, St. Luke made fools 
 of the common people ; for the preacher pointed out 
 to us a passage in the Bible which mentions that the 
 Bereans compared the preaching of the Apostle Paul 
 with the Holy Scriptures; and more than that, St. 
 Luke commends them for doing so." Acts xvii, 11. 
 
 " Admirable, Master Dennis ! you are quite a doc- 
 tor in divinity! You know as much as a whole 
 synod of bishops ! Your decisions will be equal to 
 those of a general council !" 
 
 "No, your reverence; I make no pretensions to 
 judge for other persons ; but I take the liberty of 
 judging for myself. God inspired the Bible : I read 
 his inspired word, and that is all." 
 
 " But you are not able to understand it." 
 
 " The proof that I can is, that I really do under- 
 stand it. I understand very well an almanac made 
 by an ordinary man. Why should I not understand 
 the Bible, which has God for its author? Cannot 
 God express what he means as well as a mere mor-
 
 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 338 
 
 tal? Besides, the Bible, speaking of itself, says that 
 it is ' a light.' " Ps. cxix, 105. 
 
 " Dennis, you are obstinate and conceited." 
 
 " Your reverence, if he is an obstinate man who 
 never changes his opinion, it is you who are obsti- 
 nate ; but as for me, I found myself in a bad road, 
 and changed for a better, that is all. I have never 
 pretended to be infallible." 
 
 " You are very conceited to think that you know 
 so much more than others." 
 
 "Others are not very humble in thinking that 
 they know more than God ; but it is to God, and not 
 to my fellow-men, that I hold myself responsible." 
 
 "I must tell you that if you go on reasoning in this 
 way, I shall not admit you to confession." 
 
 " I confess myself." 
 
 " Not to me, at all events I" 
 
 "No; but to God." 
 
 "To God!" 
 
 " Yes ; to God, who declares in the Bible that ' if 
 we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive 
 us our sins.' '* 1 John i, 9. 
 
 " The Church will not marry you." 
 
 " I will get married elsewhere." 
 
 "The Church will not bury you." 
 
 " I shall not trouble myself about my dead body, 
 if I save my soul." 
 
 "You will be excommunicated 1"
 
 334 DENNIS AND THE PEIEST. 
 
 " No matter, if I am received by God." 
 
 " No prayers shall be offered for you !" 
 
 "I shall pray for myself." 
 
 "No masses will be said for you to release you 
 from purgatory !" 
 
 " They would be of no use ; for I reckon on going 
 to paradise." 
 
 " To paradise, do you?" 
 
 " Yes ; to paradise." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Why thus: I read in the Bible that the thief, 
 when hanging on the cross at the right hand of Jesus, 
 after having confessed his sins to Jesus Christ, who 
 is God, said to him, 'Lord, remember me!' 'and Jesus 
 said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, to-day shalt 
 thou be with me in paradise.' Luke xxiii, 41-43. 
 If, then, a penitent malefactor could be pardoned by 
 believing on Jesus Christ, I cannot see why, if I 
 repent, and trust in the same Saviour, I may not 
 equally obtain salvation ; and the truth that my hope 
 is well founded lies in what I have read in the same 
 blessed book, that 'God so loved the world that he 
 gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth 
 in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' 
 John iii, 16. But as I make a part of the world 
 here spoken of, it follows, that if I believe, I shall be 
 saved." 
 
 "But while you are waiting to go to paradise,
 
 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 835 
 
 yon must live in this world, and I tell you plainly, 
 that you will lose your livelihood by joining these 
 heretics. No one will have anything to do with 
 
 you." 
 
 " I trust in Him who gives us, * day by day, our 
 dayly bread ;' and if God be for me, what can all 
 those do who are against me ?" 
 
 " You will be a laughing-stock to everybody." 
 
 "And what will that signify? Was not Jesus 
 Christ mocked and set at naught ?" 
 
 " Everybody will shut their doors against you." 
 
 " Jesus Christ had not where to lay his head." 
 
 " You will be called an apostate !" 
 
 " Was not St. Paul the greatest of apostates at his 
 conversion ?" 
 
 "Everybody will take pleasure in refusing to do 
 you a kindness !" 
 
 " The world persecuted the Master, and, therefore, 
 may well persecute his disciples ; and the more I am 
 persecuted for my faith, the more I shall feel that I 
 am truly a disciple of Christ." 
 
 " Well ! we shall see how long you will hold out I 
 'First of all, no one will give you any work." 
 
 " And what next ?" 
 
 " "No one will admit you under his roof." 
 
 "And what next?" 
 
 " No one will have anything to do with you, either 
 in buying or selling."
 
 336 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 " And what next ?" 
 
 " No one will receive you into his society." 
 
 "So then the whole world will conspire against 
 me?" 
 
 " Certainly !" 
 
 "And who will be at the head of the conspira- 
 tors?" 
 
 " Who ! who ! what does that signify ?" 
 
 " At all events, whosoever he may be, you may tell 
 him that he is not a Christian, for Christ commands 
 us to forgive offenses, while this man indulges 
 revenge. Jesus commands men to love one another, 
 and this man appears quite disposed to hate me. 
 Should he happen to be a priest, you may tell him 
 that his prototypes were the members of the Sanhe- 
 drim, who, through hatred, condemned Jesus to death. 
 Should he be an Ultramontane, you may tell him 
 that I am astonished at nothing done by him, and by 
 those who invented v the Inquisition. Lastly, should 
 it be yourself, be assured that your vengeful spirit 
 is to me the best proof that you are not in the truth. 
 Christ said, 'Forgive,' and you take vengeance. 
 Christ said, 'Teach all nations,' and you refuse 
 even to let them read the Bible. 'Freely ye have 
 received, freely give,' (Matt, x, 8,) and you sell, 
 not, indeed, the Gospel, for that you conceal, but 
 you sell your masses, your prayers, your dispensa- 
 tions, your rosaries, your tapers, your indulgences,
 
 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 387 
 
 your baptisms, your interments; but as for me, 
 I can make shift to do without any of your wares, 
 while I apply to that God who gives heaven gra- 
 tuitously." 
 
 " Gratuitously 1" 
 
 " Yes, gratuitously ! and this it is that vexes you 1 
 For when a blessing is bestowed gratuitously, the 
 concurrence of those who sell is not wanted. Yes, 
 gratuitously! this one word is ruinous to all your 
 schemes. God gives and you sell. God pardons and 
 you punish. God loves and you hate. How can you 
 expect that we should not go to God, or wonder that 
 we do not come to you ? But act toward me just as 
 you please ; I have learned not to fear those who can 
 kill the body ; but only to fear those who can destroy 
 the soul ; in other words, I stand in no awe of you." 
 
 " You are an insolent fellow." 
 
 " I am not ; but I have the courage to speak 
 the truth." 
 
 " You are impious !" 
 
 " I have been so, while bending the knee before 
 images of wood or stone ; but I have ceased to be so, 
 since I have believed in the living God, and trusted 
 only in my Saviour." 
 
 " You are a miserable wretch." 
 
 "Yes, a miserable sinner; but a penitent and 
 humble sinner, I trust, whom God has pardoned." 
 
 " You will always be a "
 
 338 DENNIS AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 " What I shall be I do not know, but I know what 
 I wish to be. I wish for the future to live in purity, 
 because it was precisely my sins that crucified the 
 Saviour. I wish to be sincere, just, and charitable, 
 because Jesus has been so good as to give me every- 
 thing. Allow me to tell you what kind of person 1 
 am. When persons love me I love them in return ; 
 when they do me a favor I wish to return it twofold .; 
 the more generous others are toward me, the more 
 grateful I feel. Well ! and has not God been gener- 
 ous to me more than I have words to express ? He 
 has granted me pardon, and heaven, and eternity. 
 Thus my heart bounds with joy, and I am ready to 
 do all God requires of me ; but what he requires of 
 me is most delightful. It is to love him and love my 
 brethren, to love even you, reverend sir." 
 
 " I do not want your love." 
 
 " I shall not the less pray for you." 
 
 " I do not want your prayers." 
 
 " See the difference between us, your reverence. 
 I love you, and you hate me. I offer you my 
 prayers, and you refuse me yours. But Jesus Christ 
 has said, ' By their fruits ye shall know them ; do 
 men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles ?' 
 Matt, vii, 16. Judge now, reverend sir, which of us, 
 you or I, is the disciple of Jesus Christ."
 
 THE 
 
 HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED, 
 
 A PLEA FOR SABBATH SCHOOLS. 
 
 22
 
 THE 
 
 HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 GEEAT cities are always greatly wicked. There is 
 not a great city on earth at this day, nor did one 
 ever exist, from Sodom to St. Louis, from Nineveh to 
 New- York, from Babylon to Baltimore, from Persep- 
 olis to Paris, that does not exemplify the truth of 
 this remark. "When we say greatly wicked, we 
 would not be understood as overlooking the fact, 
 that the world everywhere lieth in wickedness. But 
 a rural population, remote from cities, is much less 
 given to crime, corruption, and degradation, than the 
 same number of persons in a city relation. Nor 
 would we intimate that many pious Lots are not to 
 be found in large cities. But Lot and his family 
 in Sodom, scarcely unappropriately represent how 
 far these persons are in the minority. There is 
 scarcely a city on this continent, of any notable 
 magnitude, in which the house of her " whose steps 
 take hold on hell," the gambling saloon, the pestifer- 
 ous dram-shop, and the theater, do not receive from
 
 342 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 five to fifty visitors every Sabbath-day, for one who 
 attends an evangelical church. Hence it is, that 
 Christian churches in cities, of all denominations, by 
 recent investigations, are found to be doing little 
 more than holding their own ; exerting a feebly con- 
 servative, rather than an aggressive influence. Who 
 can contemplate these facts without profound feel- 
 ing? especially, as great cities are the natural 
 product of social laws. We cannot do without them. 
 Their existence cannot be hindered, and the more 
 rapid their growth, generally, the greater the profli- 
 gacy of their infancy; and how rapid the growth 
 of cities in this nation needs no mention. But 
 especially does one tremble at the corruption of large 
 cities, in view of their corrupting influence upon the 
 country, recently enhanced a hundredfold by reason 
 of railroads and other increased facilities for travel. 
 The theater bill is sent many miles into the coun- 
 try in the morning, and, responsive to its call, the 
 recipients the newly seduced votaries of wanton- 
 ness and wine are found in the evening where mer- 
 cenary destruction can place its hand in their pockets 
 and look its infernal charms into their hearts. 
 
 The city is full of the hopelessly abandoned. Per- 
 haps it is wrong to say any should be considered 
 hopelessly abandoned. Well, we will not discuss 
 the doctrine in the abstract. We would not have 
 Christian zeal cease effort in any direction as hope-
 
 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 343 
 
 less. But it is enough to say, that facts occur in cities 
 dayly to justify our assertion, and for ourself we 
 must say, that if a line anywhere is to. be found this 
 side of the prison-walls of lost souls, beyond which 
 humanity seems to have reached a point in the de- 
 scending scale of degradation, that hope cannot get 
 down to, it is to be found in great cities. Here, sen- 
 suality riots, and rots in its excesses. Here, despera- 
 tion seeks death, and it is not long in finding it. 
 Here bevies of seductionists, like the web of the 
 spider in every nook and corner of a deserted dwell- 
 ing, spread out their seen and unseen meshes. Here, 
 the burglar and the robber, under a hundred types 
 of character, watch for their unsuspecting victim and 
 the spoils. Here, the place of drunken revels boils 
 like a pot of fire and brimstone. Here, mendicancy 
 and pauperism come to perfection, and drag along 
 their lank forms, or stretch out their skeleton hands 
 in want, dripping from the rakings of the gutter or 
 black with the late incendiary brands, all along the 
 alleys and purlieus of filth and wretchedness. Before 
 the wine-glass, authority lays down its mace, and the 
 police are often found the patrons and protectors, not 
 of those who should be protected, but of the very 
 nuisances they are commissioned to abate. In 
 municipal liquor licenses, generic sinning is provided 
 for by law. Regulated sin is systematized damna- 
 tion. It doubles and twists, multiplies and directs its
 
 344 THE HOPE OP CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 power like powder in the cannon's throat or steam in 
 the engine. 
 
 Against this Gibraltar of Satanic power, a few pul- 
 pits weekly raise their scathing remonstrance. But 
 still the great fastnesses of evil remain unshaken. 
 Those most needy of the expostulations of the pulpit, 
 are most certain to be found beyond its reach. The 
 truth is, there always will be found in cities, so far as 
 mere logic can come to conclusions, large masses of 
 adults who never can be gotten within the embrace 
 of the Church. "We might offer many reasons for 
 this sad conclusion, but have only space now to name 
 it, and will mention but one, namely : The pulpit has 
 ceased to elicit attendance on the mere ground of 
 novelty or curiosity. It was not always so. When 
 the lost institution of preaching was restored to the 
 Church by the reformers, when Protestantism first 
 commenced to talk, and talk with a tongue of fire, 
 the pulpit had an influence over the mass, ridiculed 
 and persecuted as it was, that it has not now. These 
 were times, also, when, if the mass heard anything 
 new, they must look to oral sources for it. The pop- 
 ular press was not then, as now, omnipresent. That 
 the Sunday-morning newspaper is a mighty anti- 
 church-attendance institution, it would be quite easy 
 to show. As to the gratuitous distribution of the relig- 
 ious book or tract among the class we are now speak- 
 ing of, though they have not lost their power, yet
 
 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTBATED. 345 
 
 their power is waning, and their very presence begins 
 to excite suspicion. What, then, we ask, can be done 
 for this heaving mass of the population of great cities 
 which the voice of the holy altar cannot reach ; this 
 territory of paganism lying under the very shadow of 
 our church steeples ? Well, what if we should sup- 
 pose that we could do very little for many of them, 
 the inference, painful as it is, is no new one. The 
 Church cannot save everybody, and when it is said 
 to the faithful, "Be of good cheer, for it is your 
 Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom," we 
 will not shroud our pulpit in sackcloth and seek to 
 go to heaven in crape because everybody will not go 
 with us. "Fret not thyself because of evil doers." 
 
 But we have one ground of hope left us in refer- 
 ence to reaching the church-neglecting families of 
 the city. Ay, we have just planted our foot on this 
 ground. The family ! yes, the family ! Wherever 
 the family exists, the Church can reach the lost. 
 Not that she will always be successful with the 
 parents, but she need seldom be unsuccessful with 
 the children. Not that she need entertain sanguine 
 hopes of this generation, but she may of the next. It 
 would seem that the Sabbath school was invented 
 and inaugurated just at the proper time to aid the 
 Church in this great emergence. If the preacher 
 cannot get at the parents, the Sabbath-school teacher 
 can at the children. With proper diplomacy, he
 
 346 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 1 seldom be denied access, and this, perhaps, is 
 the only way of access to the parents' heart. In our 
 experience, we have found it the Appian Way to 
 that citadel. We regard the faithful Sabbath-school 
 teacher, the company of laymen who organize and 
 successfully prosecute a Sabbath-school enterprise in 
 our cities, as being the first of philanthropists, as ex- 
 emplifying the ripest of moral and religious senti- 
 ments, and as doing a work in which the pastor may 
 aid, but a work that can only be done by them. We 
 consider the Sabbath school as the only hope for city 
 heathenism. The Church has no other means by 
 which she can enlighten its darkness, or penetrate 
 its interior. And yet, alas ! the lay power of the 
 Church is comparatively asleep over this great sub- 
 ject. It is a department of usefulness, in which a 
 goodly degree of success is never doubtful. How 
 pleasing to labor when one is always certain of reap- 
 ing what he sows, and that his harvest will be pro 
 portionate to his efforts ; and that this is true con- 
 cerning Sabbath schools, reference need only be 
 made to their history. Churches may be established, 
 seemingly prosperous and permanent, and yet they 
 may wane and die out as one of the seven Churches 
 of the Apocalypse. But no vigorous Sabbath school 
 ever existed long whose fruits could not be traced, 
 not only many days, but many years hence. The 
 impress of the hand of the evangelist upon the
 
 THE HOPE OP CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 347 
 
 childish heart is ineffaceable. Like the first foot- 
 prints of animal life in the strata of geology, they are 
 more vivid than the impressions of comparative yes- 
 terday. The impressions are made in soft clay, but 
 preserved in imperishable marble. 
 
 These reflections were induced by reading recently, 
 in the New- York Independent, an account of the re- 
 markable success of a Sabbath school, organized in 
 Brooklyn, on Lee Avenue, by sundry zealous laymen 
 of the Reformed Dutch Church. It was organized 
 in May, 1853, but little over three years ago, the 
 school being opened in a little out-house, with eight 
 scholars and three teachers. In less than a year from 
 that time, the school numbered forty scholars and 
 nine teachers. An effort was then made to raise 
 means to build a suitable house for the school, and 
 also one that should answer for a place of worship, 
 when twelve thousand dollars were raised, and a 
 commodious building was erected. Under these 
 auspices, by the beginning of the year 1855, the 
 roll-book of this city suburban school contained the 
 names of twenty-five teachers, and one hundred and 
 fifty scholars. The tide having thus commenced to 
 swell, it rolled on with accelerated force, until we 
 have the following account of its marvelous success, 
 which we here quote from the pen of a participant 
 in this great work, together, also, with some account 
 of the mode of conducting the school :
 
 348 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 "The number of scholars whose names are now 
 (July, 1856) on the register is 919 ; and the number 
 actually in attendance at a session of the school, in the 
 warm month of July, when Sunday schools show their 
 lowest figures, was as great as 632 ! The present list 
 of teachers numbers precisely 100, while the average 
 attendance is 77. About 400 of the scholars regu- 
 larly attend the services of the church, and form no 
 inconsiderable part of the congregation. The library 
 contains 1,600 volumes, a part of which are set aside 
 as the ' Congregational Library,' for the use of the 
 Sunday-school teachers, and of members of the con- 
 gregation. The contributions by the children, for the 
 last year, amounted to $500. During the last four- 
 teen months the scholars have recited, in the New 
 Testament, 56,604 verses; in the Sunday-school 
 Hymn Book, 40,779 ; and Scripture Proofs, 4,268 
 making a total of 101,651. Such results in a school, 
 which is now only three years old, and which at first 
 contained hardly a single element that gave promise 
 of success, are truly gratifying and wonderful, and 
 call for devout gratitude to God for his prospering 
 providence. 
 
 "The modes of carrying on the operations of the 
 school seemed to be as complete as possible. Nothing 
 which promises to make the Sunday school more 
 attractive or efficient is left untried. A printed con 
 stitution is put into the hands of every one connected
 
 THE HOPE OP CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 349 
 
 with the management of the school, in which his 
 specific duties are clearly defined. Every teacher is 
 famished with a manual, prepared by the superin- 
 tendent, containing valuable suggestions and friendly 
 counsel. New scholars, as they are enrolled on the 
 register, are presented with an ornamental certificate, 
 which contains a schedule of the duties which they 
 are expected to perform. When a teacher is not 
 present in his seat, a printed note is sent to him by 
 the superintendent, requesting an immediate answer 
 to the cause of absence, that it may be directly 
 entered in the { absentee register.' When a scholar 
 is absent, he is visited by the teacher during the 
 week, 'without fail, and the result of the visit is re- 
 ported to the superintendent. Such arrangements, 
 thoroughly carried out as they are, tend greatly to 
 increase the interest of scholars and teachers in each 
 other, and in the school. As a natural result, the 
 attendance is regular and large. The superintendent, 
 in a recent annual report, says : 
 
 " ' The children are very much devoted and attach- 
 ed to the school. They like to come, and do come 
 through almost all kinds of weather. On the Sab- 
 bath after the great snow-storm, January 5, the 
 attendance numbered upward of 200. Hardly a 
 shoveled path in the neighborhood was to be found, 
 and yet many waded through the snow, over a mile, 
 to be at school. Sometimes they might be seen on
 
 350 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 the tops of the fences, and sometimes trying to force 
 their way through the almost mountains of snow- 
 drifts on every side.' " 
 
 The superintendent of this great vitally 'reform 
 school is Jeremiah Johnson, Esq., one of the three 
 teachers who made the first "beginning. He has pur 
 posely erected his dwelling in the neighborhood of 
 the Sabbath school, and devotes nearly his whole 
 time to the enterprise, together with the proceeds of 
 a liberal fortune with which Providence has favored 
 him. Is not this an example worthy to be remem- 
 bered and followed? A recent visitor to this school 
 concludes a communication concerning it in these 
 words : 
 
 " The Lee Avenue Sunday School is the greatest 
 marvel to its best friends. No adequate idea can be 
 given of the extent and character of its operations by 
 a simple presentation of statistics. A well-known 
 Sunday-school visitor exclaimed on seeing it, that he 
 had never seen a Sunday school before. Every 
 stranger who visits it is astonished. It is a growing 
 light, kindled by the good providence of God in a 
 dark place ; and we hope that it may not be confined 
 within its own special circle, but shine as a benefi- 
 cent example over the whole land." 
 
 As, in military operations, a walled city can rarely 
 be successfully sacked but by undermining its foun- 
 dations, so the moral Sebastopols of evil that wax so
 
 THE HOPE OF CITIES ILLUSTRATED. 351 
 
 huge and formidable in our very midst will only 
 yield by sapping their foundations. The prattler of 
 the cradle, and the one, but a little larger, who would 
 venture to dispute the right of place with him, con- 
 stitute the foundation stones of these strongholds of 
 iniquity and their festering fruits. The Sabbath 
 school here sustains the relation of sapper and miner 
 to the Church militant, and is, we believe, the HOPE 
 
 OF GREAT CITIES.
 
 THE 
 
 POOR WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 BY MRS. CAROLINE A. SOULE.
 
 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 "I DECLABE, I have half a mind to put this bed- 
 quilt into the wash to-day ; it don't really need to 
 go, either, but I believe that I'll send it down." . 
 
 " Why will you put it in, Mary, if it does not need 
 to go?" asked her good old Aunt Hannah, in her 
 quiet and expressive way. 
 
 "Why, you see, aunt, we have but a small wash 
 to-day ; so small that Susan will get through by one 
 o'clock at the latest, and I shall have to pay her the 
 same as though she worked till night, so " 
 
 "Stop a moment, dear," said the old lady, gently, 
 " stop a moment and think. Suppose you were in 
 the situation poor Susan is, obliged, you tell me, to 
 toil over the wash-tub six days out of the seven, for 
 the bare necessaries of life, would you not be glad, 
 once in a while, to get through before night, to have 
 a few hours of daylight to labor for yourself and 
 family, or, better still, a few hours to rest? Mary, 
 
 dear, it is a hard, hard way for a woman to earn a 
 
 23
 
 356 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 living; begrudge not the poor creature the half dol- 
 lar. This is the fourth day in succession she has 
 risen by candle-light and plodded through the cold 
 here and there to her customers' houses, and toiled 
 away existence. Let her go at noon if she get 
 through ; who knows but that she may have come 
 from the sick couch of some loved one, and that she 
 counts the hours, yes, the minutes, till she can return, 
 fearing even she may come one too late. Put it back 
 on the bed, and sit down here while I tell you what 
 one poor washerwoman endured, because her em- 
 ployer did as you would to make out the wash." 
 And the old woman took off her glasses and wiped 
 away the tear drops, that, from some cause, had gath- 
 ered in her aged eyes, and then with a tremulous 
 voice related the promised story : 
 
 " There was never a more blithesome bridal than 
 that of Adeline Raleigh's. There was never a maid- 
 en who went to the marriage altar with higher 
 hopes, more blissful anticipations. Wedding the 
 man of her choice, he whose love-tones had ever 
 thrilled her heart like a music gush from the land of 
 light, he who was dearer to her than her own exist- 
 ence, a young, talented, noble fellow, one of whom 
 any woman might be proud, it was no wonder that 
 morn seemed a golden waif from Eden. Few, in- 
 deed, have a sunnier life in prospect than had she. 
 
 "And for ten years there fell no shadow on her
 
 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 357 
 
 path. Her home was one of beauty and rare luxury, 
 her husband the same kind, gentle, loving man, as 
 in the days of courtship, winning laurels every year, 
 in his profession, adding new comforts to his home 
 and new joys to his fireside; and besides these bless- 
 ings, God had given another; a little crib stood by 
 her bedside, its tenant, a golden-haired baby-boy, the 
 image of its noble father, and dearer to those wedded 
 lovers, than aught else earth could offer. 
 
 " But I must not dwell on those happy days ; my 
 story has to do with other ones. It was with them 
 as oft it is with others; just when the cup is sweetest, 
 it is dashed away ; just when the beam is brightest, 
 the clouds gather. A series of misfortunes and re- 
 verses occurred with startling rapidity, and swept 
 away from them everything but love and their baby- 
 boy. Spared to one another and to that, they bore 
 a brave heart, and in a distant city began a new for- 
 tune. Well and strongly did they struggle, and at 
 length began once more to see the sunlight of pros- 
 perity shine upon their home. But a little while it 
 stayed, and then the shadows fell. The husband sick- 
 ened and lay for many a month upon a weary couch, 
 languishing not only with mental and bodily pain, 
 but oftentimes for food and medicines. All that she 
 could do, the wife performed with a faithful hand. 
 She went from one thing to another, till, at length, 
 she who had worn a satin garb and pearls upon her
 
 358 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 bridal day, toiled at the wash-tub for the scantiest 
 living. Long before light she would rise every morn- 
 ing, and labor for the dear ones of her lowly home, 
 and then, with many a kiss upon the lips of her pale 
 companion and sleeping boy, start out through the 
 cold, deep snow, and grope her way to the too often 
 smoky, gloomy kitchen, and toil there at rubbing, 
 pounding, rinsing, starching, not unfrequently wading 
 knee deep in the drifts, to hang out the clothes thai 
 froze even ere she had fastened them to the line. 
 And when night came, with her half dollar, she 
 would again grope through the cold and snow to her 
 ofttimes lightless and fireless home, for her husband 
 was too sick much of the time, to tend even the fire 
 or strike a light. And O, with what a shivering 
 .heart she would draw near them, fearing ever she 
 would be too late. It is a fact, that for six weeks, at 
 one time, she never saw the face of her husband or 
 her child, save by lamplight, except only on the Sab- 
 bath. How glad she would have been to have once 
 in a while a small washing gathered for her ! 
 
 " One dark winter morning, as she was busy pre- 
 paring the frugal breakfast and getting everything 
 ready ere she left, her husband called her to the bed- 
 side. 
 
 " ' Ada,' said he, in almost a whisper, ' I want you 
 should try and get home early to-night ; be home be- 
 fore sundown, do, Ada.'
 
 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN". 359 
 
 " ' I'll try,' answered she with a choked utterance. 
 
 " 'Do try, Ada. I have a strange desire to see your 
 face by sunlight ; to-day is Friday ; I have not seen 
 it since Sunday ; I must look upon it once again.' 
 
 " ' Do you feel worse, Edward V asked she anxious- 
 ly, feeling his pulse as she spoke. 
 
 " * No, no, I think not ; but I do want to see your 
 face once more by sunlight. I cannot wait till Sun 
 day.' 
 
 . "Gladly would she tarry by his bedside till the sun- 
 light should have stolen through their little window, 
 but it might not be. She was penniless, and in the 
 dusk of morning must go forth to labor. She left 
 him, sweet kisses were given and taken, and sweet 
 words whispered in the sweetest love-tones. She 
 reached the kitchen of her employer, and with a 
 troubled face waited for the basket to be brought. 
 A beautiful smile played over her wan face as she 
 assorted its contents. She could get through easily 
 by two o'clock, yes, and if she hurried, perhaps by 
 one. Love and anxiety lent new strength to her 
 weary arms ; and five minutes after the clock struck 
 one, she hangs the last garment on the line, and was 
 just about emptying her tubs, when the mistress 
 came in with a couple of bed-quilts, and saying, 
 
 " l As you have so small a wash to-day, Adeline, 
 I think you may do these yet,' left the room 
 again. A wail of agony, wrung from the deepest
 
 860 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 fountain of her heart, gushed to her lips. Smother- 
 ing it as best she could, she again took up the board 
 and rubbed, rinsed, and hung out. It was half past 
 three, when again she started for home, an hour to6 
 late /" and the aged narrator sobbed. 
 
 "An hour too late," continued she, after a long 
 pause. " Her husband was dying, yes, almost gone ! 
 He had strength given him to whisper a few words 
 to the half-frantic wife, to tell her how he had longed 
 to look upon her face, and that till the clock struck 
 two, he could see, but after that, though he strained 
 every nerve, he lay in the shadow of death; one 
 hour she pillowed his head upon her suffering heart, 
 and then he was at rest ! 
 
 " But for the thoughtless or grudging exaction of 
 her mistress, she had once more seen the love-light 
 flash in her husband's eyes, and he have looked upon 
 her who was so dear. 
 
 "Mary, Mary dear," and there was a soul-touch- 
 ing emphasis in the aged woman's words, " be kind 
 to your washerwoman ; instead of striving to make 
 her day's work as long as may be, shorten it, light- 
 en it. 
 
 " Few women will go out to dayly washing unless 
 their needs are terrible. No woman on her bridal 
 day expects to labor in that way ; and be sure, my 
 niece, if constrained to do so, it is the last resort 
 That poor woman laboring now so hard for you, has
 
 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 361 
 
 not always been a washerwoman. She has seen 
 bright, gladsome hours. She has seen awfiil trials, 
 too. I can read her story in her pale, sad face. Be 
 kind to her, pay her all she asks, and let her go home 
 as early as she can." 
 
 # # * # * # 
 
 " You have finished in good season to-day, Susan," 
 said Mi's. Merton, as the washerwoman, with her old 
 cloak and hood on, entered the pleasant chamber to 
 ask her pay. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, that I have, and my heart, ma'am, 
 is relieved of a heavy load, too. I was so afraid I 
 should be kept till night, and I am needed so at 
 home." 
 
 "Is there sickness there?" said Aunt Hannah, 
 kindly. 
 
 Tears gushed to the woman's eyes as she answered, 
 " Ah, ma'am, I left my baby most dead this morn- 
 ing; he will be quite so to-morrow; I know it, I 
 have seen it too many times, and none but a child of 
 nine years to attend it. O, I must go, and quickly." 
 And grasping the money, the hard-earned money 
 that she had toiled for, while her baby was dying, 
 that when dead it might have a decent shroud, she 
 hurried to her dreary home. 
 
 They followed her ; the young wife who had never 
 known a sorrow, and the aged matron whose hair 
 was white with trouble, followed her to her home,
 
 362 THE POOR WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 the home of the drunkard's wife, the drunkard 3 
 babes. She was not too late. The wee dying boy 
 knew its mother, yet craved a draught from her loving 
 breast. Until midnight she pillowed him there, and 
 then kind hands took from her the breathless form, 
 closed the bright eyes, straightened the tiny limbs, 
 bathed the cold clay, and folded about it the pure 
 white shroud, yes, and did more. They gave, what 
 the poor so seldom have, time to weep. 
 
 " O, aunt," said Mrs. Merton, with tears in her 
 eyes, as, having seen the little coffined babe borne to 
 its last home, they returned to their own happy one ; 
 " if my heart blesses you, how much more must poor 
 Susan's ! Had it not been for you, she would have 
 been too late, the baby would not have known its 
 mother. It has been a sad, yet holy lesson ; I shall 
 always now be kind to the poor washerwoman. But, 
 aunt, was the story you told me a true one all true, 
 I mean?" 
 
 "The reality of that story whitened this head, 
 when it had seen but thirty summers, and the mem- 
 ory of it has been one of my keenest sorrows. It is 
 not strange that I should pity the poor washerwo- 
 man; Adeline and Aunt Hannah are one and the 
 same."
 
 QUARTERLY MEETING OF OLDEN TIME,
 
 QUARTERLY MEETING OF OLDEN TIME, 
 
 SOME memorials of these gatherings and spiritual 
 pentecosts have not yet faded from our mind before 
 the changes of later years. They are enfolded there 
 in fragrance, like flowers within the leaves of a book. 
 Let us see. We remember a quarterly meeting 
 of the image and superscription we would like to 
 sketch. The church was of logs, long, hewed logs, 
 from tall forests, covered with clapboards, or a rude 
 species of shingle riven from the oak. It was oblong, 
 and the door about midway of the side, directly 
 facing the pulpit on the opposite side. The flooring 
 and pulpit were of ash, and hailed from a distant 
 saw-mill, and were considered evidence of architect- 
 ural skill and an advanced state of civilization. The 
 pulpit was a little oblong box, with a breastwork 
 reaching nearly to the armpits of the tallest preach- 
 ers, and as destitute of all trimming and ornament 
 as if, studiously, it was designed to be a standing 
 memento of that adage descriptive of the religion to
 
 366 A QUARTERLY MEETING 
 
 u 
 which it w-as devoted, " when unadorned adorned the 
 
 most." A small six-light window was just in the 
 rear of it, with corresponding ones at each end, and 
 at the right and left of the door. The seats consisted 
 of rude, backless benches, and a little poplar table, 
 never defiled with a varnish brush, stood just in 
 front of the pulpit. This was considered, for those 
 days, not only a convenient, but a rather tasty 
 church, and was dignified, par excellence, by the 
 title, and extensively known thereby, of Mount 
 Tabor Meeting-House. It was a prominent appoint- 
 ment, in a thickly-populated rural district, a neigh- 
 borhood which was honored by one of the circuit 
 preachers, spending his two weekly " rest days " 
 therein. Quarterly meetings then drew together the 
 brethren from all parts of an extensive circuit, and 
 they were looked to as quadrennial festivals, in 
 which faith was certain to have a feast of fat things, 
 and the social ties of Methodism be again brightened, 
 strengthened, and extended. The preacher gave out 
 from appointment to appointment the time and place 
 of the " next quarterly meeting," seldom urging an 
 attendance, as this was unnecessary. The Friday 
 previous to the meeting, especially in the neighbor- 
 hood where it was to occur, was, emphatically, a 
 day of "preparing to eat the passover." The 
 quarterly fast was generally observed for the good 
 of the man spiritual, and very liberal preparations
 
 OP OLDEN TIME. 867 
 
 were made for the benefit of the man physical, 
 for those numerous guests with which every farm- 
 house adjacent to the church was expected to be 
 crowded. It was a delightful expectation. Hospi- 
 tality of this sort was a thing of the heart, a family 
 affair, a reciprocal service. Yes, Friday before 
 quarterly meeting! what a day of hope, and of 
 expectation, of anticipated friendship, and of ecstasy, 
 did we all feel it to be. The wood pile in the yard 
 is growing high under loads that are being rapidly 
 " snaked" or sledded there. In the kitchen the large 
 fire blazes on the hearth ; cook stoves did not belong 
 to that era and latitude ; and the Dutch oven is filled 
 to its utmost capacity with the great " pone," and it 
 may be that a few wheaten loaves have been 
 secured by way of special luxury, should the family 
 be honored by any of the preachers or their 
 staff, in the way of local preachers, exhorters, 
 class-leaders, or stewards, men who were alive in 
 those days; "for there were giants in those days." 
 On a rickety table that quivered to the pressure, the 
 flat-iron was being faithfully applied to new check 
 aprons, to flaxen or home-made linen with cotton 
 collars, to sun-bonnets recently washed and newly 
 "done up," etc., etc. The cabin yard is being swept 
 by Jane, and the chips and dust removed just three 
 yards further from the door, than had been the case 
 a long time before. The old lady, mother of a large
 
 368 A QUARTERLY MEETING 
 
 group, having inspected her beds for the twentieth 
 time, to see that all was aufait, sits knitting with a 
 corn-cob pipe in her month in the best room in the 
 house, watching the boiling of a .pot of pumpkin, 
 laying her pipe down occasionally and singing, 
 
 "How tedious and tasteless the hours 
 
 When Jesus no longer I see ! 
 Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flowers, 
 
 Have all lost their sweetness to me : 
 The midsummer sun shines but dim, 
 
 The fields strive in vain to look gay ; 
 But when I am happy in Him, 
 
 December's as pleasant as May." 
 
 At that moment she advances toward the little 
 cupboard at the right of the chimney, to re-inspect 
 her pound of " boughten coffee," and that " quarter- 
 ing " of tea, which had cost one bushel of corn and 
 six dozen of eggs at the village store, and which 
 were to be brought on to the table for the expected 
 guests as luxuries as rare as they were regaling. 
 
 The old gentleman is inspecting his stacks and his 
 stalls, knowing that his neighbor from " Big River," 
 or "Crooked Creek," will have need of them. A suc- 
 cessful visit to the poultry-yard is expected to be made 
 in the evening ; and thus the day, in pleasant duties 
 and sweet expectancy, passes away. The pious, art- 
 less, and hospitable family that we have looked in 
 upon, only constitutes one of a quarter of a hundred,
 
 OP OLDEN TIME. 369 
 
 filling a large area around this rural church of loved 
 resort. 
 
 Saturday morning arrives, and bright and early all 
 is astir. By ten o'clock, a large number have assem- 
 bled in and about the meeting-house, dressed in their 
 best homespuns, (this, however, is only especially true 
 of the young people,) giving but little evidence that 
 the village merchant was very extensively patronized. 
 All the roads and paths leading to the church were 
 being watched by a hundred anxious eyes. Brothers 
 and sisters in the Lord and in the flesh, uncles, aunts, 
 and cousins, grandpas and grandmas with their heads 
 of snow, are to meet that day. At first, equestrian 
 after equestrian comes in, as if by way of herald. But 
 soon the main army follows. A long string of horse- 
 men and horsewomen (wagons are rarities and car- 
 riages unknown ) come trotting and pacing on their 
 winding way. A mother is on a side-saddle, with 
 her little son behind and lesser son in her lap. The 
 husband rides by her side, or oftener before, carrying, 
 perhaps, the rest of the family. A newly-married 
 couple, or those who intend to be, occupy only the 
 back of one favorite nag. Single riders are rare. The 
 territory of a horse's back is appropriated on princi 
 pies of the highest utilitarianism. Here and there, a 
 farm-wagon with a fine span, indicating the inception 
 of rural aristocracy, may roll up with its smiling 
 burden. The work of dismounting is but one of a
 
 370 A QUARTERLY MEETING 
 
 moment, when fence corners, limbs of trees, etc., are. 
 readily appropriated for hitching posts. The gather- 
 ing continues, and greetings are exchanged, and the 
 words, " You must go home with me after meeting," 
 and "You with me," and "With me," passes rapidly 
 from lip to lip. Brethren in the church have com 
 menced singing. 
 
 " Oome, thou Fount of every blessing," 
 
 rings, for the thousandth time, from tuneful lips, in 
 rude but spiritual music. But the preacher has not 
 come yet. Several local brethren, with their broad 
 brimmed hats and circular coats, are indeed there. 
 The time has nearly arrived for the sermon ; and with 
 no small solicitude is the inquiry circulated, Is the 
 presiding elder, and are our preachers, in the neigh- 
 borhood ? In a few moments it is discovered that the 
 family with whom they generally tarry have not yet 
 arrived. All solicitude is gone ; the preachers will be 
 here in a moment. That good old song, 
 
 " O how happy are they, 
 Who their Saviour obey," 
 
 is struck up. The church is nearly filled to its utmost 
 capacity. The old fathers, a little hard of hearing, 
 take their seats directly under the pulpit. The local 
 preachers cluster about it, but no one presumes to 
 enter it. But yonder comes the elder, with the senior 
 and junior preachers in his train. He is well mount-
 
 OF OLDEN TIME. 371 
 
 e<J,with his saddle-bags pressing out on each side like 
 panniers on the back of a camel. He wears a large 
 white hat, with a six-inch brim, containing material 
 enough to make half a dozen of your modern wafer 
 ones. With the exception of his coat, he is dressed 
 in jeans, which have been a little too long from the 
 loom, and look somewhat seedy. For the cut of his 
 coat, we must refer you to a Quaker of the strictest 
 sect. His neck is muffled with no kerchief, as he 
 maintains staunchly that neckerchiefs are the cause 
 of all throat diseases. His countenance is sallow, 
 morally good, with a gravity which seems to border a 
 little on sadness. Underlying all, however, is that 
 boldness of the lion, which belongs to the righteous. 
 His eyes are deep set and wide apart, nose very long, 
 mouth nearly dividing his whole face ; and grasping 
 in, his gloveless hand a huge whip, he raises himself 
 up in his cowhide boots as he comes in sight of the 
 meeting-house, and nearly forms the perpendicular of 
 a six-footer. He heaves a pious sigh by way of ejac- 
 ulatory prayer, which is followed by the increased 
 gravity of countenance of his accompanying preach- 
 ers, with whom, with saddle-bags on their arms, he 
 soon enters the church under the affectionate scrutiny 
 of every eye, followed by the family whose guests 
 they had been through the night. If a few special 
 airs should be put on by some members of this family, 
 
 consequent upon the dignity which their beloved 
 
 24
 
 372 A QUARTERLY MEETING 
 
 guests had bestowed upon them, if a little special, 
 not wholly enviless, attention should be shown them, 
 it should surprise none acquainted with that singular 
 institution called human nature. 
 
 Of the sermon and the services of this hour, we 
 have not space to speak. Suffice it to say, that it was 
 primitively simple, followed by an exhortation by 
 some exhorter or local preacher, that filled the house 
 with amens, sobs, and shouts. Then follows a slight 
 inspection of the audience by the preacher, who sees 
 representatives there from all parts of his circuit, the 
 commingling of a diversity of neighborhoods in one 
 spirit ; and he feels, and all feel, that the social ele- 
 ment of such a gathering is specially subservient to 
 the cause of religion. He announces the appointments 
 for the subsequent part of the day, especially the love- 
 feast, which is to follow on Sabbath morning, when 
 the door is to be guarded after a certain hour with a 
 stringency that would exclude a bishop. 
 
 The congregation is now dismissed, and after a little 
 mounting and remounting, amid gushings of hearty 
 greetings, a little marching and countermarching, all 
 slowly retire to their homes from this rural altar, mak- 
 ing the highways and hedges, the hidden paths and 
 mountain passes, vocal with the voice of gladness and 
 with songs of praise ; each family bearing away its por- 
 tion of guests, who " came to stay through the meet- 
 ing," as prizes which they had lawfully appropriated.
 
 OP OLDEN TIME. 878 
 
 The pious are not expecting a revival at that quar- 
 terly meeting, for " that which a man hath, why doth 
 he yet hope for ?" They come in the spirit of revival, 
 and go directly to work in a revival spirit. At their 
 houses, while some, like Martha, are engaged in serv- 
 ing, others are found at the feet of Jesus ; and the 
 voice of rejoicing is heard in the tabernacles of the 
 righteous. There is found use for the mourner's bench 
 in the evening ; and the sighs of the penitent, praises 
 of the delivered, and gratulations of the saints, con- 
 tinue until a late hour. The love-feast on the Sabbath 
 morning was like the first morning to the old hungry 
 Israelites, when the ground was covered with manna, 
 and the heavens seemed honey-combed over them. 
 It was a season of sweetness, of sanctifying power and 
 holy rapture. The slain of the Lord were many. 
 
 Scenes of rural artlessness, when man had but little 
 and wanted less, why are ye fled ? Scenes of prim- 
 itive simplicity, when ostentation and pride, the mach- 
 inations and arts of a more artificial society, were 
 comparatively unknown, will ye ever return again ? 
 Alas ! the old-fashioned quarterly meeting is hence- 
 forth to be but a thing of history. Buffif we cannot 
 restore it, can we- not substitute something equally 
 good and useful ?
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADES IN ITINERANCY,
 
 .
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADES IN ITINERANCY 
 
 THIS phrase has become stereotyped. It has be- 
 come the title of books upon the subject, and litera- 
 ture of this species is on the increase. Having been 
 twenty-five years in the itinerancy, and labored in an 
 early day, from the wilds of Arkansas to the peninsula 
 of Michigan; having engaged in nearly all the possible 
 forms of itinerancy, and lived after every conceivable 
 fashion, without a shelter, and with one ; without mon- 
 ey, and with it ; in tents, and in ceiled houses, we may 
 be supposed to know a little of the " lights and shades" 
 in itinerancy, and would, therefore, show our opinion. 
 "We believe there is a great error in treating this sub- 
 ject. It is treated exparte. The "shades" are exag- 
 gerated, and the " lights" undervalued. The thing is 
 treated as if the people were always in fault, and the 
 preachers always feultless. We are not among those 
 who would conceal the real difficulties and embarrass- 
 ments of an itinerant's life even under the most favor- > 
 able circumstances. But there* are many who have
 
 378 ,. LIGHTS AND SHADES 
 
 been as long in the itinerancy as we, who, had they 
 their lives to re-spend, would engage again at once in 
 this career of so much trial and responsibility. They 
 feel that if there were dark days, there were also 
 many days mellow with the richest sunlight of joy. 
 Indeed, start a man's heart once to itinerating, he is 
 seldom fit for anything else, and if compelled, by 
 any means, to stop in his orbit, he becomes like a 
 caged lion, restless to move forward again in this 
 homeless mode of life. There is a lure here, a spe- 
 .cies, we had nearly said, of holy magic, the existence 
 of which is less easily to be accounted for, than one 
 might at first suppose. But it is a fact, nevertheless. 
 The preacher who has been once active in the itin- 
 erant field, is always panting, even under the great- 
 est embarrassments, superannuation, or what not, to 
 shoulder his crutch, and fight his battles over again. 
 Perhaps we have an indication here of the divinity 
 of the system. 
 
 We apprehend that these "shades" occasionally 
 originate, in part, with the preacher. Our system of 
 supplying our extended work, especially in an early 
 day, was operated with but a very slight regard 
 to a severe eclecticism in the matter of multiplying 
 our preachers. Inadequacy, inexperience, abounded 
 largely, and that, too, of necessity. Among many of 
 our itinerants, some were constitutionally defective, 
 wholly unimpowered in the art of persuading men,
 
 IN ITINERANCY. 379 
 
 or socially interesting them. To all these men is to 
 be awarded sincerity, though many have entered 
 upon their calling prematurely, while with others, 
 again, it had never been their calling. They con- 
 ceived of the itinerant work, as a kind of stroll 
 through Elysian fields, in which they were not ex- 
 actly in heaven, and yet very far removed from the 
 prose and common things of earth. They were to 
 preach, and the Church was to see that they wanted 
 nothing. Now, true views of duty, of what is re- 
 quired of the itinerant, could scarcely be expected to 
 obtain in such a mind. When they begin to want, 
 they begin to grumble. Grumbling is a very un- 
 sightly virtue. It is of rank growth, and its habit 
 soon fixed, and from a grumbler before the Lord and 
 the Church, may we ever be delivered. From this 
 character, and others that might be mentioned, the 
 people often feel that they are not receiving all they 
 have a right to expect. The discouragement be- 
 comes mutual, but the people come in for all the 
 blame. Have not such scenes as these ever oc- 
 curred? Men have been put in, and kept in the 
 ministry, because of their age and talents, for of this 
 class, there are able preachers, who never passed a 
 year in peace, in any society, though in some por- 
 tions of the year, they might have had great prosper- 
 ity. There is about such men a Constitutional impru- 
 dence, a rashness, a want of patience, to abide the
 
 380 LIGHTS AND SHADES 
 
 time of things, and it is a kind of physiological ne- 
 cessity for such to have an annual altercation, in 
 some way, with some person, to work off this ultra- 
 biliousness. Are the " shades" all on one side here ? 
 Another example. A young man of twenty is con- 
 verted at a camp-meeting. He is of Methodist 
 parentage, and the child of many prayers. His 
 conversion is thorough. He is soon licensed to ex- 
 hort. This is followed by a license to preach, and a 
 recommendation to the traveling connection. Last 
 year he plowed, this year he is junior preacher on 
 
 circuit, or, it may be, he is the sole preacher of 
 
 the circuit. The only merit as a preacher he pos- 
 sesses, or could expect to possess, is the fervor of his 
 first love, and his zeal in the good cause. In propor- 
 tion as these wane, and wane they will and must, to 
 some extent, he is shorn of his power. He has noth- 
 ing to fall back upon. In all the matter of theologi- 
 cal acquisition, he has only come to the beginning 
 point. The brethren respect him. Some, we are 
 sorry to say, pity him, for he, perhaps, will not con- 
 sider it a compliment'. "With him, no habits of study 
 are fixed. It is too late in life for him to submit to 
 much sedentary habit. He has no one to learn him 
 how to begin to learn. His appointments are mostly 
 confined to the four Sabbaths of his circuit, and hav- 
 ing begun to feel some native diffidence, he has little 
 disposition to extemporize any. During the secular
 
 IN ITINEEANCY. 381 
 
 days, on which he is not engaged, he reads a little by 
 patches, joins a fishing excursion, or rides home, fifty 
 miles, to see his mother, returns to some favorite 
 preacher's home, which he seems little disposed to 
 exchange for others, eats heartily, and often has to be 
 called np to breakfast and prayers, and then visits 
 his people on Sabbath, not only without beaten oil, 
 but with no oil. Now, if in the matter of collecting 
 quarterage for such preachers, paying the debts they 
 incur, etc., there be some, and, at times, much friction, 
 is it a matter of much surprise ? The " shades" are 
 not all on one side here, we are thinking. Examples 
 of other classes might be multiplied, but we forbear. 
 The truth is in this matter, as in all others, the peo- 
 ple are looking for a kind of qmd pro quo, and 
 though it is not exactly and always, " poor preach, 
 poor pay," yet the principle points with a sharp angle 
 in this direction. The preacher who gets into the 
 people's hearts, will generally share the liberty of 
 their pockets, and he whose reputation on his circuit 
 and station has been irreproachable, and who leaves 
 a balmy memory in his career, will have but few 
 enemies, as it would be unpopular to be such, and 
 those whom he has, will only fall out to his good, by 
 acting as a spur to the vigilance of his friends, in the 
 protection of his reputation. Such an itinerant will 
 suffer little from that small-souled sort of people 
 found everywhere, the croaker, and that still more
 
 382 LIGHTS AND SHADES 
 
 despicable character, the Church member who must al- 
 ways be criticising even the domestic habits of the min- 
 ister, having an eye to peep in the kitchen, the ward- 
 robe, and especially to keep posted up in reference 
 to the dress and bonnet worn by the itinerant's wife. 
 Now, of all we have further to say on this subject, 
 the following is the sum from our experience : "We 
 have passed through the very rough and tumble of 
 itinerant life, if any man ever did. If we have not 
 fought with beasts at Ephesus, we have with black- 
 jack, brushwood, and bears, as we have ascended the 
 Gasconade River, on our way to seek the " lost sheep 
 of the house of Israel," and it certainly required 
 some search. For if "rocks and mountains" 
 could hide from the Almighty, this part of Missouri 
 would be the very place for the miserable refugee. 
 Nature, here, seems, back in the dateless ages, in 
 some volcanic eruption, to have thrown to the surface 
 of the earth, what belonged to its center. Indeed, as 
 if in anticipation of Missouri ruffianism itself, the 
 agencies of nature seem here to have turned prophet, 
 and to have fitly characterized portions of Missouri 
 as the Judas of states : and " falling down, his 
 bowels gushed out." Again, we have enjoyed 
 the well-regulated circuit, the station of the beautiful 
 rural village, the more responsible one of the city, 
 and for our part, amid all our toils and trials, 
 occasionally some real suffering, the "lights" with
 
 IN ITINERANCY. 883 
 
 us have folly equaled the "shades," ay, surpassed 
 them, as much as the brightness of the day does 
 the ordinary darkness of the night. "We have found 
 that where we have succeeded in getting the people 
 to love us, and to appreciate our labors, they 
 manifested anything else than a disposition to starve 
 us, or even suffer us knowingly to want a compe- 
 tency. "We have found that it is not foolish preach- 
 ing, though it might be the foolishness of preaching, 
 that the people "wanted; that if the former had 
 been in demand, the world had been converted long 
 ere this. We bless God for the itinerancy, and 
 had we a thousand lives, they should be spent in this 
 sweet but checkered mode of seeking to win the 
 world to Christ. Halleluiah ! our heart wakes up at 
 many joyful retrospects of glorious revival seasons, 
 the quarterly meetings, and camp-meetings, where 
 one seems for a season abstracted from the earth, and 
 by a sweet and mysterious spiritual chemistry, 
 becomes assimilated with the skies ! Nature has put 
 on new garments of beauty. The word of God 
 sweeter than honey and the honey-comb. Every 
 Christian, a John for your bosom, and a Jonathan 
 for your confidence, while your love for sinners has 
 possessed a winning power which no one has been 
 able to gainsay or resist. Glory to God for the 
 " lights " of the itinerancy, and let the " shades," say 
 we, take care of themselves.
 
 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS.
 
 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 REV. JOHN DEMPSTER, D.D., 
 
 PRESIDENT OF GARRETT BIBLICAL INSTITUTE. 
 
 " And well his words became him. "Was he not 
 A full-celled honeycomb of eloquence 
 Stored from all flowers ? Poet like he spoke." 
 
 DR. DEMPSTER has just obtained the floor from us, 
 at first, much to our regret, but subsequently, much 
 to our gratification. He has made one of ike speech- 
 es of the session, on the compatibility of the insertion 
 of a rule prohibiting any further slaveholding in the 
 Church, in the seventh chapter, with the General 
 Rule. He has shown clearly that the spirit of the 
 latter requires the former statute, and that it is not, 
 therefore, unconstitutional. His speech is senten- 
 tious, resistless in its logic, and mainly lucid. It is 
 just concluded, and has been received with great 
 favor. The occasion has prompted this imperfect 
 
 sketch. Of the parentage, early history, and educa- 
 
 25
 
 388 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 tion of this venerable man, we know just nothing. 
 Of his labors since his name was associated with bur 
 itinerancy, as a pastor, foreign missionary, and educa- 
 tionalist, we can give at present no consecutive view. 
 ."We can only say, that for the last twenty years we 
 have associated the name of Dempster with much 
 that is eloquent as a writer, and more that is elo- 
 quent as a preacher, and with all that is guileless 
 and commendable as a devoted, self-sacrificing Chris- 
 tian. Our personal acquaintance with him has been 
 of recent occurrence, but his name has long been to 
 us a source of inspiration, as being the name of one 
 who had reached a very high point in his profession, 
 and who possessed the power to move men. In look- 
 ing to-day upon the good old disciple, whose health, 
 though generally good for one of his ripe age, has re- 
 cently been much impaired by severe attacks of the 
 ague; in gazing upon his thin, sallow, flabby cheeks; 
 his mouth, which shows the marks of time, and out of 
 which words have so often gone on so magic a mis- 
 sion; his only skin-covered brow, which projects over 
 piercing, restless eyes, like a promontory, and listen 
 ing to the enfeebled tones of his voice, once so rich, 
 musical, and of so wide a compass; on seeing his 
 whole frame toddle under the weight of his efforts 
 like an old man-of-war, trembling in every joint from 
 the reaction of a broadside, we are induced, at least, 
 after saying, Well done, brother; your day and gener-
 
 REV. JOHN DEMPSTER. 889 
 
 ation have thus far been faithfully served by you, to 
 attempt a charcoal sketch of some of his mental, pro- 
 fessional, and social characteristics, as they have from 
 time to time impressed us. 
 
 All true poets, it is said, are metaphysicians, but 
 the converse of the proposition is not true. All met- 
 aphysicians are not poets. Brother Dempster is a 
 metaphysician, and though he be not a poet, the 
 style of some of his compositions would seem to indi- 
 cate that nature had at first intended to blend the 
 two characters in one, but abandoned her design 
 when the poet was but half made. The rhetoric of 
 the poet belongs to Dr. D. His prose sentences are 
 often as regularly measured as the lines of Homer. 
 His taste for the music of words, when they treasure 
 within themselves great thoughts and are only sing- 
 ing to their burden, is strongly marked. This sheds 
 a marked individualism over his style, nearly allied 
 to fancy, but a little too masculine for it. Indeed, 
 Dr. D.'s poetic conceptions seem to have been form- 
 ed more from the beauty of the relations of truth, 
 than from the breathings of living nature about him. 
 He looks upon a principle with the eye of a poet, 
 more than on prairies gorgeous in carpets of green. 
 He dwells more among the forest of abstract truths, 
 than among the forest of leafy green ; hence, that 
 quiet glow of fancy and rich rhetorical rhythm in his 
 productions, which, while they are felt to be natural
 
 390 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 to him, and are not wanting in power to impart 
 pleasure to the reader or hearer, yet one drawback 
 in this pleasure is felt to consist in the fact that they 
 are too artificial. Like Grecian statuary, beautiful 
 but cold. The flower is artificial rather than fresh 
 from gathering. In early life, the animus of the 
 orator, now sacrificed to infirmity, supplied this lack, 
 and justified the very high reputation which Dr. D. 
 has left behind him as an eloquent and impassioned 
 preacher. , ; 
 
 We have said he was a metaphysician. He is 
 always dwelling among primitive principles, com- 
 mences no subject without announcing his category, 
 and, as a general thing, builds a wall-work of logic 
 around the truth he would defend, as immovable as 
 Gibraltar. Perhaps it is to be regretted, that now 
 and then the crystal-like perspicuity of the thorough 
 logician is lost sight of in a metaphysical haze, and 
 though you are prepared to admit his conclusions, 
 and generally feel that you cannot do otherwise, yet, 
 every ^tep by which the reasoner reached them is 
 not so clearly seen by you. Dr. D. (and it is but too 
 often the error of the greatest of minds, and few ever 
 possessed a greater than he) lives too much in the 
 subjective, and too little in the objective. This ten- 
 dency of his mind, we fully believe, has grown with 
 his growth and strengthened with his strength, until 
 it has become a fixed habit of years. Brother Demp-
 
 REV. JOHN DEMPSTER. 891 
 
 ster, though always popular in his public ministra- 
 tions, in a good sense, can never be popular and 
 effective equal to his real powers. This communion 
 of the mind with things internal and abstract, so dis- 
 proportionately with the communion of the mind 
 with things external and concrete, is too apt to pro- 
 duce this sense of inexplicableness. The author 
 makes discoveries and distinctions that are so wholly 
 new and unconfirmed by experience that we cannot 
 feel their force. The first school-teacher of mankind 
 is experience ; the philosophy of those who are to be 
 taught, is always one of fact, and not of abstraction. 
 And whenever we deal in abstract truths so profound 
 that they are not found to be verified in ordinary 
 experience, we speak to the mass in an unknown 
 tongue. * 
 
 Indomitable energy, with always an object in view, 
 seems always to have been a characteristic of Dr. 
 Dempster. And now that his face is deeply fur- 
 rowed by time, and he must inevitably feel the press- 
 ure of years, yet he seems resolved never to grow 
 old. The will may add as many years to the life, as 
 were mercifully vouchsafed to the penitent Hezekiah. 
 Greatheart is a great character. There is such a thing 
 as realizing the fabled elixir of perpetual youth. Dr. 
 D. comes as near to it as any man we ever knew. He 
 is a young old man, mentally and morally, or rather 
 an old man who has learned how to become old. He
 
 392 GENEEAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 seems, by anticipation, to have thoroughly studied the 
 infirmities of age and its concomitant weaknesses, and 
 when the time arrived that he should be swayed by 
 their influence, he governs himself by the conclusions 
 of former years. It is a hard lesson to learn, especially 
 among clergymen, this thing of learning how to be- 
 come old. In our experience, we have found vanity 
 as strongly manifested in gray hairs as we have in the 
 inexperienced youth of twenty. Old age, too, is sel- 
 dom studious, but lives wholly upon past resources. 
 This indulgence, perhaps, should be readily granted 
 to it. But in the case of Dr. D. it is quite different. 
 He pursues his studies with all the energy and regu- 
 larity of one who has only heard the clock of life's 
 day strike ten. A freshness, currency, and adapted- 
 ness are thus generally imparted to his conversation 
 and public ministrations. He does not make the 
 mistake of sexagenarians generally, and live in the 
 past rather than the present. 
 
 His social intercourse is marked by a model eti- 
 quette. Deference, simplicity, courtesy, and kindness, 
 characterize all his intercourse with his brethren. In 
 conversation he is highly gifted. He makes no waste 
 of words, but his utterances are epigrammatic. He 
 seems as much at home among that class of authors 
 which we denominate rare, as in the circle of his own 
 familiar friends. Socially, however, we sometimes feai 
 that Dr. D. is falling too much in love with the dead
 
 REV. JOHN DEMPSTER. 398 
 
 for the good of the living. Society is compelled to 
 seek him rather than he seek society. 
 
 Our readers need not be informed that Dr. Demp- 
 ster, the founder of the flourishing Biblical Institute 
 at Concord, N. H., is now the president of the Garrett 
 Biblical Institute, located at Evanston, eleven miles 
 north of Chicago. Though this institution is yet in 
 embryo, and it doth not yet appear what it shall be, 
 yet under his wise supervision and tutorship, fruits 
 have already resulted from it that have widely in 
 spired public confidence, and justify the most sanguine 
 hopes for the future. Dr. D. emigrated west some two 
 years since, and notwithstanding the engrossing duties 
 of his professional chair, he has often filled our pulpits 
 in this city, and complied with calls from abroad for 
 dedications and other special occasions, never failing 
 to give the highest satisfaction. He is a member of 
 the Rock River Conference, which he now represents 
 on this floor. We know little of the preparations 
 he makes for the pulpit, but his sermons are always 
 found highly finished, pregnant with thought, and 
 warm with the unmixed blood of evangelism. We 
 hear him with mingled emotions of paiu and pleasure: 
 of pleasure, that we are permitted to feast our ears 
 and heart upon such messages; of. pain, to think that 
 the man physical has lost its wonted strength, while 
 the man mental is still the same in force and fire. 
 A weak voice and age-withered frame command pro-
 
 394 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 found veneration, but still greatly diminish the powers 
 of delivery. We sigh, too, to think that that voice, 
 growing fainter and fainter, must soon be silent for- 
 ever, and -the light, if not of genius, the steadier shin- 
 ing of a noble and rare talent, go out in the darkness 
 of the grave. May the day be distant ! 
 
 In what we have said about the occasional abstract- 
 edness and obscurity of passages in Dr. D.'s ministra- 
 tions, we would not have it understood that they occur 
 frequently, especially in his ordinary and more popu- 
 lar discourses. 
 
 A striking trait in Dr. Dempster's social and profes- 
 sional character is, his generosity and disinterestedness. 
 He is as enviless as an infant, and prone rather to 
 overestimate the talents of his brethren than the con- 
 trary, and, certainly, prone always to undervalue his 
 own. An atmosphere of generosity and magnanimous 
 impulse surrounds him, like the robe of a prophet. 
 He is a lovable man, and a single interview with a 
 family endears every member of it to him. 
 
 Though as economical as Luther, who would not 
 waste a straw, as it might serve to thicken the thatch 
 of a poor man's cottage, yet he attaches no value to 
 money or possessions, further than they can be made 
 to serve the great purpose of perfecting some pending 
 enterprise, and glorifying God. And as to office or 
 official position, these must always seek him, and not 
 he them ; and whether called to fill the humblest or
 
 BEV. WM. F. FARRINGTON. 395 
 
 the highest place, it is equally a matter of indifference ; 
 only so that the work stop not. This total abandon- 
 ment, this absorption into the work of the ministry 
 and its concomitant auxiliaries, is quite too rare. 
 May examples be multiplied ! 
 
 REV. WILLIAM F. FARRINGTON, 
 
 OF MAINE CONFERENCE. 
 
 "Love and meekness, lord, 
 Become a Churchman better than ambition ; 
 Win straying souls, and with modesty again, 
 Cast none away." 
 
 IN person, there is a disproportion between bone 
 and muscle in Brother F., the latter being inordin- 
 ately large. He is a large man, slightly stoop- 
 shouldered, with a small tendency toward abdominal 
 orbicularity. His hair is silken, and complexion fair, 
 cheek-bones high, mouth large, brow well developed, 
 but not remarkable for its intellectual manifestations. 
 The moral and mental lineaments of his features may 
 be generally expressed thus: kindness, candor, gen- 
 erosity, and good sense. We might be more minute, 
 but we never had the pleasure of meeting our broth- 
 er from away down East (he is a member of the 
 General Conference from Maine) until we met him
 
 396 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 here. Practically, we pronounce him a safe, availa- 
 ble, and reliable brother, equally free from rashness 
 and vacillation. It is the steady dropping that 
 wears away the stone. The sudden blow may only 
 break, not remove the obstacle. Though like the 
 hand of a clock, too slow for its movements to be 
 seen, though those movements are just as they should 
 be, so Brother Farrington belongs to that class of 
 men and ministers who are constantly making the 
 world better around them, though the fact is not 
 always perceptible. We should deem him not 
 especially gifted in the brilliancies of speech, the 
 flowers of rhetoric, the discoveries of originality, or 
 the profundities of logic, and least of all, the decep- 
 tive forms of sophistry. His sermons are sensible and 
 practical ; tear-soaked and tear-begetting. He ad- 
 dresses himself more to the affections than to the 
 intellect ; hence he will make no very striking impres- 
 sion favorable to intellectual strength; at first, upon 
 an audience of strangers; but as all love to feel more 
 than they love to think, and the latter being no less 
 important than the former in the work of reform, 
 Brother F. will wear well, and the good seed which 
 he sows will generally grow. If he does not turn up 
 the subsoil of the heart with a plow of great intellect- 
 ual power, he saturates it into mellowness. In his pas- 
 toral intercourse he is always a lovable man, and will 
 be welcomed by sorrow as a son of consolation, and
 
 REV WM. F. FARRINGTOHT. 397 
 
 by misfortune as the good Samaritan. If the back- 
 slider do not commence to retrace his steps at once, 
 when pursued by him, he stops when he finds himself 
 pursued, for Brother F. to come up with him. The 
 Church will have peace, if not always prosperity, 
 under his spiritual nurture. He, perhaps, is more 
 gifted in training young converts than in making 
 them. Like light, which falls as noiselessly upon the 
 city as into the silent mountain pass, revealing what it 
 touches, and beautifying the flower, born to blush 
 unseen, so Brother F. seeks to make no noise in order 
 to be known, but he is sought for because he is just 
 the man to meet one of the Church's necessities. 
 Without the advantages of acquiring a ripe educa- 
 tion, he, nevertheless, is at home in the common, the 
 utilitarian branches, and, we believe, possesses a 
 smattering of the dead languages. Consecrated to 
 God for the work of the ministry in holy baptism, in 
 early infancy, 'by a pious mother, the offering seems 
 always to have been accepted; and its subject, from 
 receiving a conscious visitation of God at the early 
 age of seven years, while his tiny hands were gather- 
 ing the flowers of the wilderness, seems always to 
 have been upon the altar. At the age of fifteen, 
 conversion and a call to the ministry were expe- 
 rienced and understood, and a hesitating vow to com- 
 ply with the latter was made to Him, who alone 
 calleth men to this honor, for no man taketh it to
 
 398 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 himself unless he is called of God, as was Aaron. 
 The call, however, was at first resisted, which, as 
 often happens, was followed by a loss of religious 
 enjoyment. This was restored when Brother F. sum- 
 moned up the resolution to say, " Here I am, Lord, 
 send me." In 1829 we see his name as a probationer 
 in the Maine Conference, of which conference he 
 subsequently became a member, and so continues 
 until this day. Of his standing in his conference 
 something may be inferred from the following facts. 
 During the twenty-seven years of his ministry he has 
 had but fourteen charges, thus nearly always being 
 returned the second year. He has twice been presid- 
 ing elder, and six years stationed in Portland, his 
 present field of labor. He has never left a charge 
 without leaving some fruit of his labors. Though 
 disclaiming all special ability to preach set sermons 
 for set occasions, yet his brethren have called upon 
 him, during his itinerant career, to consecrate some 
 twenty-one of their churches. A diffidence, com- 
 pounded of that quality and modesty, constitutes a 
 marked trait of his clerical intercourse with his 
 brethren. This, however, is not so excessive as to 
 enervate his self-reliance. He is a man, therefore, 
 who will be in nobody's way, while it will be every- 
 one's delight to stand out of his, do his merits justice, 
 admire him highly, and love him more. Homely as 
 ourself, no one seems to lay this to his charge ; in
 
 REV F. C. HOLLIDAY. 399 
 
 fact, we believe the belief is general that he could 
 not help it. "Well, notwithstanding this last compli- 
 ment we have paid him, we shall not only not fear 
 to meet our excellent brother again, but shall do all 
 we can to bring so pleasing an event about. But if 
 unsuccessful on earth, there is a world where we do 
 not expect to be. 
 
 REV. FERNANDO C. HOLLIDAY, A.M., 
 
 OF THE SOUTHEASTERN INDIANA CONFERENCE. 
 
 AMONG those who are first and latest in their seats, 
 during the session of the Conference, may be men- 
 tioned Fernando Cortes Holliday, the whilom chum 
 and classmate of our boyhood, and one of our 
 cherished friends. He sits now in an advanced 
 position of the semicircles that are arranged in front 
 of the speaker's desk, watching the speaker's eye 
 with the carefulness of a kingfisher, and seldom fails 
 to get the floor in a contest with the oldest parlia- 
 mentarian. Albeit, the charge we hear brought 
 against some, lies not at his door. He does not deem 
 it necessary to make a speech on every subject that 
 comes before the body. Indeed, he speaks but 
 rarely, and then briefly, and generally to the point ; 
 a quality this, we have always thought, indicative of
 
 400 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 men of the greatest influence, either in ecclesiastical 
 or civil assemblies. A man that is always on his 
 feet, becomes a monopolist of the time of his 
 brethren, and it will not be surprising if he be 
 charged with a less welcome virtue than that of 
 rudeness egotism. 
 
 Physically, Brother Holliday tends to corpulence, 
 a little below the medium in stature, and made to 
 limp by a most severe affliction of erysipelas about, 
 sixteen years ago, which terminated in an obstinate 
 suppuration of the knee-joint. His lameness, how- 
 ever, scarcely stamps him an invalid, and he walks 
 with much erectness and rapidity. His etiquettica? 
 air is naturally urbane, the law of kindness lights up 
 his whole demeanor, and we have seldom met him 
 without being greeted with a smile, while he seems to 
 enjoy, as much as any one we ever knew, a good, 
 hearty, anti-dyspeptic, but not obstreperous laugh. 
 
 Genius, with her saddened hues and deepened 
 lines, has not placed her signet upon him. Imagina- 
 tion he has none, but he delights in its creative 
 potency in others. Fancy has been more liberal -to 
 him, and the mild, the gentle, the lovely, and the 
 placid, often mingle prominently with the furniture 
 of his mind. He would gaze in -rapture on simple 
 beauty, but go to sleep on a sunny day to the music 
 of Niagara. He is a sound, though not profound 
 logician, and is much oftener right in his conclusions
 
 REV. F. C. HOLLIDAY. 401 
 
 than those who pass as being much more profound. 
 When nature made him, she seems to have said, I 
 will try my hand on making one purely sensible 
 man. As a preacher, his sermons are always 
 eminently marked with a chasteness and great intel- 
 ligibility of language, constructed upon some great 
 principle, with all the mechanical regularity of a 
 Yankee cottage, smiling in snowy whiteness from its 
 nestling-place, amid grass and evergreens. Flowers 
 are not numerous, if we except to drop the figure 
 now and then an exotic in the form of poetry. His 
 sermons are evidently well-studied, and to hear him 
 from the same text the se6ond time, one would be 
 ready to conclude that he is, to a large extent, a 
 memoriter preacher. But let no one suppose that 
 his sermons are delivered in any sense as a school- 
 boy parrots his piece. The fact is, this is the man- 
 ner of preparation adapted to the very constitution 
 of Brother H.'s mind. Being, therefore, perfectly 
 natural, everything appears so to his audience, and 
 for years he has stood at the head of his conference, 
 as one of its first preachers. For instructiveness, and 
 what we will call winningness and lasting impressive- 
 ness, there are but few sermons preached that equal 
 Brother Holliday's,- take him, as we will say, upon 
 the average. His early advantages were limited, but 
 he had a care to triumph over the rigor of fortune, 
 planned his own curriculum of study with such aids
 
 402 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 as he had at hand, pursued a regular course, and 
 became self-graduated. "Whether he ever had resort 
 to the conferring of a degree upon himself, which he 
 certainly merited, and which, perhaps, would have 
 done just as well, we never inquired, but we do re- 
 member that, in 1850, he received the degree of 
 A.M. from the M'Kendree College, in Illinois. If 
 not extensively accurate in science, as few men thus 
 educated are, it is richly atoned for by that extended 
 information to which, contradistinguishingly, we may 
 give the name of learning. He commenced the 
 ministry, as too many have, too early, probably. We 
 heard him exhort in his sixteenth year, he was 
 licensed to preach in his seventeenth, and in his 
 eighteenth we find him bobbing along on horse- 
 back, around one of those extensive circuits that 
 were then to be found in Southern and Middle 
 Indiana. He has been in the traveling connection 
 ever since, being now about forty-one years of age, 
 and has filled all the offices in his Church, (and also 
 many of the stations of the first class,) from class- 
 leader to presiding elder, and is now, we believe, for 
 the first time, a delegate to the General Conference, 
 where every one believes that he fills well his seat. 
 His ministry and administration have always been 
 successful and satisfactory to his brethren, by whom 
 he is now esteemed for his works' sake. His influ- 
 ence has often been more like the brook that mean-
 
 REV. JOHN HANNAH. 403 
 
 ders noiselessly through the grass-field, watering un- 
 told thousands of roots, than the cascade leaping in 
 silvery sheen, with a song of wildness, from the 
 mountain side. He is one of those men to whom 
 critics must hesitate to give the title of greatness, 
 and yet there is so much of the truly great about 
 him, that, as a Methodist preacher, he would be be- 
 loved and useful in any part of our work, from the 
 metropolitan church to the log-cabin on the frontier. 
 He writes occasionally, and is not unknown as an 
 author. He is the author of the " Life and Times of 
 Rev. A. Wiley ;" also, of the Anniversary Book for 
 the use of Sunday schools, besides several tracts and 
 fugitive sermons. 
 
 REV. JOHN HANNAH, D.D., 
 
 DELEGATE FROM THE BRITISH CONFERENCE. 
 
 YESTERDAY (Sabbath) we went to hear Dr. Hannah 
 in the morning, in "Wesley Chapel, which was 
 crowded at an early hour. The sermon was founded 
 on Ephesians i, 13, 14, and might be fittingly enough 
 denominated the gifts, offices, and fruits of the 
 Holy Spirit. The whole sermon was threaded with 
 unity, while the happiest of digressions, and most 
 
 appropriate variety, filled up the amplifications. It 
 
 26
 
 404 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 was a beautiful landscape slumbering in mellow 
 sunlight, divided by a mountain ridge, inviting 
 rather than precipitous, and sloping on either hand 
 into wide and fruitful vales. In the sermon we were 
 not disappointed, but in the manner of the preacher 
 we were most seriously. He is the victim of a 
 chronic mannerism, most probably the result of a 
 false education in his youthful days, and which has 
 now fixed itself upon him; and while it has thus 
 become to him second nature, to everybody else, as it 
 seems to us, it must appear very unnatural. He 
 reads his hymn in a sing-song tone, so dovetailing 
 one word into another that it is difficult to understand 
 him. He stands in the pulpit with his left foot 
 advanced and a-kimboed, giving one the impression 
 that his position is one of pain. His arms are 
 tolerably well provided for, as they are both used 
 about equally, while the prominent gesture is that of 
 extending them as if to embrace you. As he warms 
 up in preaching, his voice becomes less unnatural, 
 and sometimes, when he seems to get into the region 
 of self-unconsciousness, one feels momentarily re- 
 lieved. But, notwithstanding these external defects, 
 Dr. Hannah is a workman that needeth not to 
 be ashamed, a messenger of the everlasting Gospel 
 full of holy unction; and to sit under one of his 
 sermons, is to inhale a spiritual atmosphere, the 
 refreshing and strengthening power of which is of no
 
 REV. JOHN HANNAH. 405 
 
 transient continuance. Occasionally we broke the 
 fixed spell that the speaker exerted over us, and 
 glanced over his audience, during the rendering 
 of some of his most startling passages. We shall 
 never forget the tout ensemble that met our gaze. 
 Every face was upturned, and as still as if petrified, 
 while lips quivered and tears coursed down the 
 cheeks, reminding one of a flower garden in a spring 
 morning trembling in the zephyr's early breath, and 
 bespangled with countless drops of dew. May the 
 Lord raise up thousands upon thousands of such 
 preachers to bless our Israel, both on this and the 
 other side of the Atlantic. Dr. Hannah's defect in 
 manner alluded to, is but another illustration of 
 the fact, that human greatness in this world is always 
 in the ore, and never in the unmixed or smelted 
 state. This is right. A perfection that would forbid 
 further progress would be one of the greatest of 
 misfortunes that could befall man.
 
 406 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS 
 
 REV. HIRAM MATTISON, A.M., 
 
 OF THE BLACK RIVER CONFERENCE. 
 
 As yet, our " takings" of men have been few and 
 meager. Delicate as is this department, one in which 
 caution should be the cardinal virtue, or else the pen 
 may become a thorn to the heart of friendship, or a 
 fountain of disgust; yet to redeem our promise to 
 our readers, we have determined to adventure into 
 this region, and throw off some charcoal sketches. 
 We are tempted to commence at this moment with 
 Professor Mattison, a man well known in the Church, 
 and whose fame is much more enviable than that of 
 notoriety. He sits now directly before -us, in total 
 ignorance of our intended onslaught upon him, with 
 pencil and papers in one hand, (he is never without 
 them,) leaning a little forward, and watching with 
 intense interest the tide of debate as it flows and 
 foams (pardon this frothy figure !) in counter-currents 
 along. In person, the professor is slender, lithy, and 
 wiry, indicating great activity and powers of endu- 
 rance. He is as straight as an Indian, with neck a 
 little too attenuated, and which he always seems to 
 like to bind up with a challengeless white cravat, ad- 
 justed in a style the most cm fait. The entire con-
 
 REV. HIRAM MATTISON. 407 
 
 tour of his face and head does not indicate genius as 
 much as generosity, talent as much as indomitable 
 energy: in other words, the moral sentiments, sweet 
 and bland in essence, with a little angularity of ex- 
 hibition, are more prominent than the intellectual. 
 Upon a closer inspection, versatility of intellect be- 
 comes a prominent impression. He will succeed in 
 whatever he undertakes, and he may safely under- 
 take more things than most men. Energy in him is 
 much more than a substitute for genius in some. A 
 kind of a bloodhound power to hang on, is a talent 
 in him, before which Malakoffs would crumble. Not 
 that he is destitute of either talent or genius, but 
 possesses both in a high degree about equally com- 
 bined, and compounded with the qualities which we 
 have just described. He is one of that numerous 
 host of marked men, whose early advantages were 
 few. Theology, with the natural sciences as a com- 
 mentary, is his favorite study. The Author of nature 
 is the Author of the Bible. Mr. M. is author of sev- 
 eral highly approved works on philosophy and as- 
 tronomy. He also published, if we remember right, 
 in 1840, an able little work on the Trinity, which is 
 now on our tract list, and has passed through some 
 six or seven editions. Like all authors, he feels the 
 truth of the sentiment, that of the making of books 
 there is no end, and we have somewhere stolen the 
 secret that a work has been growing on his hands, for
 
 408 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 a number of years, on the life and immortality of the 
 soul, and the resurrection of the body. As there is 
 about the man, what is true, we believe, of all planets, 
 some eccentricities, so the means of his conversion 
 were somewhat peculiar. He was converted through 
 the instrumentality of Pollok's Course of Time. "We 
 hope the poor, consumptive-smitten poet, who actu 
 ally has been more read than Milton, though in 
 finitely less praised, knows this fact in heaven. Pro 
 fessor Mattison is about forty-five years of age, 
 though one, in guessing at his age, would be just as 
 apt to put the figures at thirty-five. He joined the 
 Black River Conference in 1836, of which he is still 
 a member, and from which he is an able and reliable 
 delegate to this body. His health, we believe, has 
 several times failed him, owing, doubtless, to the fact 
 of his studious and hard-working habits. In fifty- 
 two, both from sanitary considerations and because he 
 was needed, by the authority of Bishop "Waugh he 
 was appointed pastor of the famous old John-street 
 Church, in New- York. From thence he was called 
 to take charge of a new church enterprise " up town," 
 where he has remained to this present. By the aid 
 of a few energetic and liberal brethren, whose efforts 
 have been wisely stimulated by his own enterprise 
 and diplomacy, a church, said to equal, in architect- 
 ural convenience and befittingness, anything of the 
 sort in America, has been erected. Professor Matti-
 
 REV. ISAAC M. LEIHY. 409 
 
 eon is an able preacher, a versatile but generally 
 over-pungent writer, sincerely devoted to every inter? 
 est of the Church ; a Christian not by profession, but 
 experience ; a preacher not professionally, but one 
 moved from within rather than without; a fast and 
 generous friend, and firm, tenacious, and successful 
 defender of the faith. The Church and the world 
 have need of him, and thousands more like him. 
 
 REV. ISAAC M. LEIHY, 
 
 OF THE WISCONSIN CONFERENCE. 
 
 THE valueless often glitters upon the surface, and 
 obtrudes upon the gaze. Treasures are generally 
 hidden, and are to be sought for. The world's best 
 men, if not the greatest, compose a majority the least 
 known. Unobtrusive modesty is preeminently a promi- 
 nent characteristic of the subject of this sketch. He 
 has never sought to be known, and the reputation he 
 has, is like his shadow, what he could not prevent. 
 Goodness, firmness, sound judgment, and force 
 of character, being always in demand, Brother Leihy 
 is one whom his Conference delighteth to honor ; and 
 while he stands in its van, they have wisely com- 
 mitted to him the task of representing its interests in
 
 410 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 the General Conference. Though not one of the 
 speaking members of that body, for he speaks but 
 seldom, which is to be regretted, yet he exerts 
 an influence upon that undercurrent of power which 
 does more to control the action of the body than if 
 he made, as some are said to have done, .^a dozen 
 speeches a day. He is medium in stature, firm, 
 square, straight, and symmetrically built, sallow in 
 countenance, studiously neat in attire, with his 
 general features sharpened, indicating taste in 
 manners, with a firmness of determination that 
 would be quite as apt to lean toward the stubbornness 
 of the martyr, as to yield in the day of temptation. 
 As the Irishman's farm-house covered the most of his 
 domain, so his mouth when opened (the editor 
 should have a care how he talks of such things) 
 covers a veiy large portion of his face. His eye and 
 brow indicate strong sense blended with great 
 earnestness. His temperament, though of the san- 
 guine bilious, is so ballasted with the phlegmatic, 
 that he furnishes an example of coolness and self- 
 possession, which many who might justly set up 
 higher claims to mental potency, are seldom found to 
 exemplify. He would have made a good admiral, 
 and scarcely have taken the glass from his eye in a 
 critical moment, even should the leaden messenger 
 of destruction carry away a limb. To be cool and 
 collected while opponents are inordinately excited is
 
 EEV. ISAAC M. LEIHT. 411 
 
 a vantage-ground which a polemic knows well how 
 to appreciate. In argument he is terse, transparent, 
 and syllogistic, and rests often even with an over- 
 weening confidence in his conclusions. His is not 
 an egotistic confidence, but that which a truth-loving 
 mind feels when he believes himself planted on that 
 everlasting rock. Great earnestness is the promi- 
 nent quality of his preaching. This, like a shower 
 upon the thirsty land, always imparts to his sermons 
 the power to refresh, even where one is not con- 
 scious of receiving much additional instruction. But 
 his preaching seldom wants this quality instruction. 
 It is generally rich in Methodist theology, not 
 delivered in the mere hackneyed terms of the text- 
 books and the skeleton form of first, secondly, and 
 thirdly, but a principle of truth is announced, and 
 then amplified by copious and pertinent quotations 
 of Scripture. And as to accuracy ( one of the great 
 beauties in preaching) of his Scriptural quotations, 
 this is a marked peculiarity in Brother Leihy's 
 sermonizing. He is about forty-six years of age, and 
 as to education, his early advantages were such as an 
 imperfect system of common schools could confer. 
 He studied subsequently in Cazenovia Seminary, and 
 is not without highly respectable attainments in 
 letters. He joined the Rock River Conference in 
 1843, and is now a member of the Wisconsin Con- 
 ference, and presiding elder on Fond du Lac District.
 
 412 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 Many of the circuits and districts on which he has 
 traveled in the West, have been emphatically in the 
 backwoods, and were he disposed, he could reveal 
 many incidents of toil and triumph, of the ludicrous 
 and the chivalrous, peculiar to such a rude and 
 inceptive state of society. Like most other frontier 
 preachers, these memories of pleasure, greatly 
 mixed, are, after all, cherished as among the purest 
 of our life. Originally a New-Yorker, he is now 
 identified with the great and growing "West, where 
 long may he stand a pillar in the Church of our 
 God. 
 
 REV. P. J. JOBSON, A.M., 
 
 DELEGATE FROM THE BRITISH CONFERENCE. 
 
 REV. MK. JOBSON, assistant delegate from the Brit- 
 ish Conference, preached to a very large audience in 
 Roberts Chapel, on Sunday night. Though we did 
 not hear him, and, therefore, cannot delineate his 
 manner in the pulpit, nor even announce the gist of 
 his sermon, yet we have heard the effort spoken of as 
 one of mental magnificence and supreme unction, not 
 at all inferior to that of his colleague in the morning, 
 while many give preference to his manner. The 
 physique of Mr. Jobson may be described in general
 
 REV. F. J. JOBSON. 413 
 
 terms as that of a short, fat, burly, homely man. His 
 feet are as short as those of a Chinese, his hands and 
 fingers are short, his legs are short, his nose is short, 
 his neck and ears are short, the latter looking like 
 the half of a plump blue peach stuck flat on to jowls 
 as round and plump as a Yankee pumpkin ; his brow 
 is short, his eyes are small and piercing, but as good 
 fortune would have it in view of our favorite theory, 
 his mouth is not short, it is not round and puckering, 
 it is just such an opening in a man's face as we gen- 
 erally find in the orator. He is full of emotion, and 
 never seems to be getting up steam* as we Americans 
 say, but is always letting it off, and, seemingly, it 
 sometimes lifts the heavy valve in spite of himself, 
 and momentarily carries him up as in a whirlwind of 
 fire. He occasionally startles you with paradoxes, sud- 
 denly drops in a most brilliant parenthesis, thrilling his 
 audience with surprise, as when an omnibus driver, 
 under a sweeping trot, instantly stops his team quite 
 near the bottom of a hill. He is emphatically a ty- 
 rant of an orator, and determined that his audience 
 shall not control him, but that he will control them, 
 and sweet and luxurious was the control which he 
 exerted over the hundreds that hung upon his lips on 
 Sunday night last. We have called him a homely 
 man ; it would, certainly, be very erroneous to call 
 him a handsome one, and yet is there a moral beauty 
 that comes out upon his short features, like the sun,
 
 414 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 which on the other side of the jagged cloud, still 
 sends its rays through the ruggedness of nature, at- 
 tracting the eye with the commingled hues of the 
 vermilion, the violet, and the rose-bud. A mind and 
 soul on which the beauty of the Lord our God has 
 long shone, render attractive, we have often thought, 
 the roughest of tenements. Mr. Jobson is, evidently, 
 a man of high mental attainments, and of great re- 
 finement of manners. He is, manifestly, less cautious 
 and more progressive and outspoken than is his able 
 colleague. We should think, withal, that his diges- 
 tion has always been good, and in view of the fact 
 that English roast beef is the best in the world, that 
 had he not possessed great symmetrical force of char- 
 acter had not his mental appetite always been as 
 good as his physical, the world would never have 
 witnessed so long-headed a man, intellectually, on so 
 short and fat a man, physically. And here we must 
 pen a thought that struck us as we saw him for the 
 first time, when introduced to the Conference, and 
 from which almost momentary impression we have 
 made up this sketch. The thought was this: How 
 must a man feel whose conscience is clear, whoso 
 honors are more than princely, whose sphere of use- 
 fulness might tempt an angel, and who, at the same 
 time, should feel almost continuously, as Mr. Jobson 
 must feel, the sensations of perfect health. "We lifted 
 our own skeleton and fevered hand to our brow, and
 
 REV. F. J. JOB SON. 415 
 
 remembering that we had no recollection of an hour's 
 ease from pain during nearly half of our life, we in- 
 voluntarily uttered, it never entered into our heart to 
 conceive of the felicity which it falls to the lot of 
 such a one to enjoy, even out of heaven. But, after 
 all, human happiness is mixed; appearances often 
 deceive us; factitious circumstances are vastly over- 
 rated; every ^eart knows its own grief; and, as the 
 old Egyptians used to say, there is a skeleton in every 
 house, whether it be the palace of the monarch, or 
 the hovel of the mendicant. The differences in the 
 various allotments of life, though undoubtedly wide 
 and real, yet, as its regards the well-spring of joy 
 which bubbles up in every heart, the refreshment it 
 imparts to its possessor, as it respects its degree, ca- 
 pacity considered, are vastly over-estimated. And 
 as to the true source of joy, like the ocean to all 
 streams, God alone can supply this to the soul. 
 These are reflections that should reconcile man to his 
 lot. Temporal and external inequalities need not 
 render our privileges to drink to our fill unequal. 
 And O, blessed Saviour ! when thou art near, even 
 pain is sweet, toil is rest, and death but a call into 
 the regions of life, where neither pain, toil, nor death 
 can distract, waste, or alarm. 
 
 Mr. Jobson, in his address before the British "Wes- 
 leyan Conference, after his return home, gave, among 
 other matters of interest, an account of his preaching
 
 416 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 in the Sharpe-street Colored Methodist Church, Bal- 
 timore. We subjoin his description of the occasion : 
 "The church was crowded in all parts, and many went 
 away, unable to gain admission. There were pews 
 and sittings, but these were not made of much ac- 
 count the people seemed literally jammed together. 
 And O ! the sight of those black beaming faces, those 
 thousands of upturned negro imploring eyes ; for, as 
 my brethren, the returned missionaries, will bear wit- 
 ness, there is a peculiar devotional look in the eye oi 
 a worshiping negro that cannot be described. When 
 I looked upon them I fully realized the meaning of 
 old Thomas Fuller's saying concerning the dark-col- 
 ored race, 'God's children carved in ebony.' Their 
 singing was most fervent and harmonious; such as 
 belong only to African voices and their prayers 
 were devout and earnest. I preached to them on the 
 freeness and fullness of Gospel salvation, sounding 
 forth to them the good news of the great Gospel sup- 
 per provided for the poor, the maimed, the halt, the 
 blind, and for the unsheltered outcasts of men in the 
 highways and hedges of human society. And if I 
 must speak of myself, as I am forced to do in this 
 case, then I would say, I preached with all my heart 
 and life, and till nature was wrung to its very withers 
 with intensity of feeling. The scene, as it spread 
 itself before me, was, in a mere picturesque aspect, 
 most exciting and. inspiring. There were some him-
 
 REV. F. J. JOBSON. 417 
 
 dreds of slaves there, and many who were free. 
 Some of the freemen wore clothed in superfine broad 
 black cloth, and with an excess of white collar and 
 wristband. Within the communion rails sat some 
 twenty black, woolly-headed local preachers and 
 deacons, well-dressed, and white neckerchiefs of the 
 old Methodist form. Some of the females had on the 
 African turban, in colors of red, blue, and yellow; 
 others, of the free class, had on the European bonnet, 
 and were clothed in rich white muslins and silks. 
 But beyond the general aspect of the congregation, 
 the presence and power of God were there, and the 
 effects were most striking. For a time the people 
 kept silent, except that now and then arose in differ- 
 ent parts of the church an exclamation, such as, 
 * Blessed be de name of Jesus !' ' Halleluiah to de 
 Lamb !' and their black faces beamed and shone 
 again with religious rapture. At length they began 
 to move and heave like waves of the sea. Then 
 the floods lifted up their voice and clapped their 
 hands ; then their mouth was filled with laughter and 
 their tongue with singing; and at length, clearing 
 spaces around them, they literally leaped up from 
 the ground as high as this platform table, and danced 
 for joy. But in all this, there was nothing irreverent 
 or un devout, and nothing to confuse or confound the 
 preacher. They made two collections in that service, 
 for our colored brethren have no idea of appearing
 
 418 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 before the Lord empty ; and, after the second collec- 
 tion, we tried to dismiss the congregation, but they 
 would not depart. They would still sing and praise 
 God. And I, too, had difficulty in getting out of the 
 church. Black hands were thrust forth to me in all 
 directions, accompanied with expressions such as, 
 'Bless you, English massa! and bless the great 
 Massa in heben for the word which you bring !' It 
 was, indeed, a memorable service, my most memor- 
 able service in the work of Christ, such as verbal 
 description can never make known." 
 
 REV. W. L. HARRIS, D.D., 
 
 SECRETARY OF THE LAST GENERAL CONFERENCE. 
 
 Press on ! for it is God-like to unloose 
 The spirit, and forget yourself in thought ; 
 Bending a pinion for the deeper sky, 
 And, in the very fetters of your flesh, 
 Mating with the pure essences of heaven ! 
 Press on ! " for in the grave there is no work, 
 
 And no device." Press on, while yet you may. 
 
 
 
 THE subject of this sketch is Secretary of the Gen- 
 eral Conference ; an office of great labor, delicacy, 
 and responsibility. A good secretary must have the 
 pen of a ready writer, be a Regulus in integrity, and 
 possess the politeness of a Chesterfield without its ridic-
 
 BE V. W. L. HARRIS. 419 
 
 ulousness and hypocrisy. The promotion of Brother 
 H. to this office was not a little flattering, in view of 
 the very high standing of his opponents. He was a 
 young man, and untried. The satisfaction which he 
 gave to the last was universal. He writes rapidly, 
 reads readily, and loud enough for all to hear him. 
 The last named, in our estimation, is a merit second 
 to none. He seldom makes mistakes, gets things tan- 
 gled, or takes them by the wrong handle ; but when 
 he does, he repairs the faux pas so ingeniously and 
 ingenuously, that the blunder becomes a thing of 
 merriment. At this writing, he has completed his 
 secretarial duties by completing the editorship of the 
 Journal of the General Conference, which has just 
 been issued from the press of Carlton & Porter. It is 
 every way one of the most complete documents of the 
 kind with which the Church has ever been favored. 
 
 Commencing life with an object, the indefatigable 
 and single pursuit of that object, though the skies rain 
 down opposition, constitutes the generics of Professor 
 Harris's economic character. A generosity which is 
 superabundant, impulses too strong for safety without 
 great watchfulness, the ardent love of friends, with a 
 disposition to forget enemies just a little stronger than 
 his disposition to forgive them, constitute the cardinal 
 points of his social character. As a Christian, his 
 creed is settled, and he troubles no one with visionary 
 speculations, nor weakens the force of his piety by 
 27
 
 420 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 vacillation. It would be a solecism to make Jeremiah 
 the religious type of his character, as it regards its 
 spirit. He will laugh through life, and be constitu- 
 tionally an exemplification of the poet's line, 
 
 " Smile above a burning world." 
 
 "We wouiQ not intimate by this, that he keeps no 
 mantle of dignity among the provisions of his moral 
 wardrobe. It is probable, however, the one he has 
 will wear a long time. He has almost inexhaustible 
 powers of endurance, which, when flagging, he feels 
 to be speedily restored by what the writer of these 
 lines never felt in the same way, a blessing not even 
 denied the sober Young among graves, that " balmy 
 sleep" is really a "sweet restorer." His health is 
 perfect. He is neither lank nor obese. To this, his 
 facial developments are somewhat of an exception. 
 He is, emphatically, round-faced. If it were not for 
 those huge appendages, of which we have no right to 
 complain, the nose and the mouth, his face reminds 
 one of a half of a well and evenly developed autumn 
 apple, flattened, as astronomers say of the earth, a 
 little at the poles. He is good-looking, because his 
 soul shines through him, and for no other reason. 
 
 As a preacher, he is a little too logical ; a little 
 wanting in the popular element of perspicuity, fringed 
 by those beauties of rhetoric, like the rose and violet 
 on the summer cloud, which come not out of the cloud,
 
 REV. W. L. HARRIS. 421 
 
 but drop down upon it, because it couldn't help it. 
 The cloud is fitting in its nature to reflect these beau- 
 ties, but seeks not to do it. A figure this which we 
 hope illustrates the true relation of the preacher to 
 ornament in preaching. Professor Harris, however, 
 sets his logic on fire; and though he occasionally 
 give to the people that ask bread, a stone, it is a hot 
 one, and heat is as necessary to life as bread. But 
 this fault is fast becoming the exception, rather than 
 the rule, in his pulpit performances. Hot bread, 
 rather than hot stones, is fast becoming the staple 
 commodity. We pause here, as we never heard him 
 preach, but we know by a species of clairvoyance 
 just how he does it. We will only further remark, 
 that he occasionally startles his audience by his rapid 
 and emphatic utterances, like a certain engineer we 
 wot of, who puts the train at a speed of forty miles 
 an hour, if danger threatens. 
 
 Professor Harris now fills the chair of Chemistry 
 and Natural History in the Wesleyan University at 
 Delaware, Ohio. In the meantime, he has instructed 
 the classes in the Hebrew language and literature. 
 He is a successful example of a self-made man. 
 Neither fortune nor fair science smiled upon his 
 humble birth ; but despite the rigors of the one, he 
 has successfully wooed the most lovely of the other. 
 The first we can hear of him as being at school, was 
 a six months' term which he spent at Norwalk Sena-
 
 422 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 inary, then under the principalship of Rer. J. E. Chap- 
 lin, of precious memory, and whose dust now sleeps 
 in one of the most beautiful prairies of Michigan: 
 "White Pigeon. During this time, like Lacon, though 
 without his diamonds, he was often compelled, if not 
 literally, metaphorically, to dine upon a herring, and 
 make his breakfast by meditating upon the future 
 meal, and his supper by reflecting upon the past. His 
 education has been mostly obtained in the active dis- 
 charge of a pastor's duties. He has been nineteen 
 years a licensed preacher, ten years of which he has 
 spent in the itinerancy, and nine in connection with 
 literary institutions. He was three years principal 
 of Baldwin Institute, near Cleveland, Ohio ; and for 
 six years he has been connected with the Ohio "Wes- 
 ley an University. He was converted in 1834, and in 
 1837 received into the Michigan Conference, which 
 then included Northern Ohio. He is, as the books 
 of Samuel and the Chronicles so often say, "about 
 forty years of age," and has made a noble beginning 
 in his career of usefulness. May he live forty more, 
 and the fruits of his labors, like the prophetic handful 
 of corn upon the top of the mountains, " shake like 
 Lebanon."
 
 REV. ROBINSON SCOTT. 428 
 
 REV. ROBINSON SCOTT, 
 
 OF THE IRISH DEPUTATION. 
 
 YESTEEDAT was the Sabbath, and, naturally, it was 
 a day of peculiar loveliness, even for this latitude, 
 where they boast of their May sunshine, vernal 
 bloom, and balmy air. 
 
 Such air had been a stranger to our lungs for years, 
 and as we inhaled it, our long-diseased pulsations 
 seemed to yield as captives, and promised hereafter 
 better behavior. "We worshiped in Roberts Chapel, 
 and heard Rev. Mr. Scott, of the Irish deputation. 
 As the house was crowded at an early hour, and we 
 failed to arrive early, and as the science of ventila- 
 tion is about as far behind the times down here as 
 we have generally found it everywhere 'else, we 
 could do no better than take a back seat near the 
 door, and obtain a little oxygen by turning our head 
 in that direction at every third breath. We heard 
 Mr. Scott, therefore, as many have pursued knowl- 
 edge, " under difficulties." As to the man physically, 
 he is a "tall six-footer;" his temperament, though 
 apparently originally designed by nature, as would 
 seem indicated by the contour of his physique, to be 
 of the sanguine bilious, is of the nervous phlegmatic ;
 
 424 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 
 
 little fire, no flights of fancy, no comet birthlings of 
 imagination are to be found there, said we, at the 
 first sight. His brow is lofty and amply projecting, 
 eyes sunken, but tame, cheek-bones high, mouth 
 large, but too straight, neck a little disproportion- 
 ately small, and his whole bust that which would 
 make the eye of a general flash, were he dressed iii 
 martial attire and deploying on the field. Sound 
 sense, and sound and useful, though not profound 
 and original, thought, with undoubtedly a good 
 education, constitute the staple of his mental wealth. 
 As a preacher, he is simple and self-forgetting, 
 expositorial without being critical, instructive, but 
 not forcible. Every one must be struck with his 
 candor, and can but be impressed with the wakeful- 
 ness and unction of his pious emotions. His sermon 
 abounded with anecdotes and happy illustrations, and 
 every one came away feeling that he had heard 
 many good things, if not new things, spoken in the 
 true spirit of goodness by a truly good and useful, if 
 not great man. Mi*. Scott, in the discharge of the 
 duties of his mission, will probably visit our brethren 
 somewhat extensively in the West.
 
 REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 426 
 
 KEV. EDWARD THOMSON, D.D., LL.D., 
 
 PRESIDENT OF OHIO WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY. 
 
 " A leading captain of his time, 
 Rich in saving common sense, 
 And, as the greatest only are, 
 In his simplicity, sublime." 
 
 WHEN a name ascends beyond common fame and 
 becomes distinguished, nothing is more natural than 
 a desire to know something of the nativity, early his- 
 tory, individualisms, or personal characteristics of its 
 possessor. This curiosity is much heightened where 
 special pleasure has been conferred by reading or 
 hearing the products of the pen or tongue of the con- 
 genial, though abler spirit. We believe this to be 
 especially true of the subject of this sketch, the Presi- 
 dent of the Ohio Wesleyan University. Owing to a 
 modesty which has always shrunk from publicity, 
 though never from responsibility, as naturally as does 
 the violet bow its head to conceal its beauties, little 
 is generally known of Dr. Thomson, only that which 
 could but be known, his public character in the serv- 
 ice of the Church and the world. ' In person, the 
 doctor is a Zaccheus, and when one reflects upon the 
 continuous tax which he lays upon his brain, the 
 continued creation of new and beautiful thoughts
 
 426 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS,, 
 
 which rise up in his mind like beautiful worlds bora 
 out of chaos, and surveys his frail and slender frame, 
 he will be induced to tremble for the consequences, 
 to wonder why the sword does not cut through the 
 flimsy scabbard. And yet, we believe, the doctor is 
 generally blessed with good health, owing, probably, 
 to a studious abstemiousness, and, still more, owing 
 to moral causes. He possesses great equanimity of 
 temperament. The passions that so often blow a 
 hurricane in the breast of talent and genius, have 
 never blown very hard in his. Advantaged with 
 favorable idiosyncrasies of constitution, they seem to 
 have been taught submission in very early life, and 
 it is too late now for them ever to assume the control. 
 The doctor's patience is .positively profound. O, di- 
 vine patience, thou panacea for so many of the ills of 
 life ! His benevolence is exuberant, though discrimi- 
 nating; his philanthropy broad as the race; his 
 friendship a grateful balm, the odors of which in- 
 crease with time ; his spirit of resentment, dignified 
 and forbearing; of forgiveness, sweet and Saviour- 
 like. A happier moral and intellectual symmetry 
 is seldom to be met with. As we have intimated, 
 there is nothing remarkably impressive in the phys- 
 ique of the president. Phrenology fingering his 
 cranium in the dark, would be very apt to do what 
 it often does, make a sad revelation of its falsity, ere 
 dulity, and folly. Not that he is wanting in a highly
 
 REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 427 
 
 intellectual phiz, in a well-developed brow, but all 
 his features in repose are so lit up by a spirit of mild 
 kindness and sweet and active affection, that one 
 would never dream of the giant intellect which they 
 adorn. 
 
 As a scholar, there is an unpretending ripeness in 
 his attainments. He makes no show of them, and 
 yet, they so show themselves just where they are 
 needed, as to impart to the mind the highest degree 
 of pleasure. His general reading is extensive, and 
 the matter thereof so classified, as it would seem, by 
 a system of mnemotechny, as to make him at home at 
 will in any age of the world, or among any of its na- 
 tions. Great versatility of knowledge will impress 
 any one on hearing him deliver one of his elaborated 
 discourses. And yet, this knowledge is made to 
 flow like a perennial jet from the mountain's breast, 
 suggesting to one the presence of an unseen and ex- 
 haustless reservoir behind. As a belles-lettres schol- 
 ar, he stands, perhaps, first in our connection. In 
 some of his communications to the Ladies' Reposi- 
 tory, and in some of the paragraphs in late volumes 
 of his published works, there are literary beauties 
 which a Bryant, an Irving, or a Montgomery would, 
 and may have paused to admire. Beneath this sky 
 of serenest blue, and silvery and rosette clouds, lin- 
 gering in repose, and only changing from beauty to 
 beauty, there is a stern world of principle. The
 
 428 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 doctor is no declaimer, either with the pen, or as a 
 preacher. He quarries primitive truths from the 
 deeply-excavated mine, and taking hold of a great 
 principle, he hastens to reduce it to the concrete to 
 make it practically useful, while, by its own intrinsic 
 merits, it impresses the mind of the reader or hearer 
 with all the authority of demonstration. Indeed, the 
 doctor's logic mostly consists of a straightforward 
 statement of the truth in the case. 
 
 As a preacher, his principal intellectual character- 
 istics consist of basing a proposition, or propositions, 
 upon a text of Scripture, expounded in the exordium, 
 when he proceeds to illustrate and apply the princi- 
 ples of those propositions. So far as popular effect 
 is concerned, illustration and anecdote seem the 
 doctor's peculiar forte, and, like Apollo's quiver, his 
 treasury of these seems exhaustless. Illustrations are 
 readily drawn from the simplest and sublimest 
 sources ; from the bud, the busy bee, or toiling ant, 
 up to the great globe on its obedient march. In 
 supplying these resources, nothing seems to have 
 escaped him. In all his miscellaneous and other 
 reading, from the village newspaper to the tome 
 musty with centuries, he seems to have his mental 
 eye fixed upon the use to which he can apply every 
 fact or incident with which he meets, and thus, as a 
 student, he is always preparing for public exhibition 
 and usefulness. This mode of studying in the closet
 
 REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 429 
 
 with his heart in the lecture-room, or pulpit, keeps it 
 ever wakeful to the great mission of life, and 
 hence it is, that a moral characteristic of the doctor 
 as a preacher, lecturer, or platform speaker, is that 
 of continued earnestness. There is a spirit of 
 genuine honest conviction and mellow earnestness in 
 the doctor's public ministrations, which compels the 
 hearer to admit at once, that he believes and feels 
 what he would have others believe and feel. We 
 need not say, that such a speaker will always have 
 plenty of hearers, and satisfied ones. Superadded 
 to the fact just named, we name another subsidiary 
 to it. It is the doctor's great simplicity. By simpli- 
 city you are not to understand superficiality, or the 
 mere chaste and dignified delivery of trite truths, 
 which has often been made to pass for simplicity 
 in the pulpit, when, in fact, it is the mere platitude 
 of scholarship, and the essence of learned dullness, 
 though the speaker may seem to take fire over 
 burning oil, which lie has never beaten out for the 
 sanctuary. The doctor's simplicity consists in making 
 every one perfectly understand him, so that spurious 
 critics will never be found measuring his depth by 
 his darkness. He is not found dealing in words 
 of thundering sound and learned length, but is 
 peculiarly and chastely colloquial, interesting his 
 hearers as if they were actually in conversation with 
 him, and expected to take a part. We have some-
 
 430 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 what against the doctor, however, as a preacher 
 While he is wanting neither in matter nor manner, we 
 think we have often heard him make a point, where 
 a little additional intensification would seemingly 
 have rendered the effect irresistible. He seems at 
 times to check his thunder mid volley, when one 
 pants to see its whole force expended upon the 
 audience. We know not but what just here the 
 doctor's exquisite taste chills the fire of his oratory. 
 
 The doctor is an Englishman, of highly, respectable 
 parentage, and was born at Portsea, in 1810, making 
 him as yet but in the prime and vigor of life. His 
 mother was a member of the Established Church, 
 and his father a Dissenter, but both, subsequently, 
 became communicants in the Baptist Church. In 
 1818, they emigrated, with young Edward, to 
 America, by way of Havre de Grace, France, 
 arriving in New- York after a protracted and most 
 perilous voyage, in the good ship Alexandria, having 
 been overhauled by pirates in its course. A princi- 
 pal object of the emigration was to improve the 
 fortunes of the family, impaired by the too great 
 generosity of its head. An aspiration after that 
 higher civil liberty and purer form of Protestantism, 
 had much to do, also, in determining the choice 
 between the two shores. The emigrants, however, as 
 often happens, were ill prepared to take advantage 
 of those circumstances in the New World so favorable
 
 BEV. EDWARD THOMSON. 431 
 
 to the acquisition of wealth. After spending much 
 time in prospecting, first in New- York, then in 
 Philadelphia, and again in Pittsburgh, the father 
 of Dr. Thomson finally settled with his family 
 in Wooster, Ohio, in the spring of 1819. Here Mr. 
 Thomson fitted up a comfortable house, entered a 
 living, if not lucrative business, and spent the rest 
 of his life in tranquillity and devotion, deriving his 
 chief pleasure from his study, garden, and family. 
 The father of the subject of this sketch was reniark- 
 able for the agreeableness of his manners, exuberant 
 kindness, and retiring and unambitious habits. He 
 possessed a fine taste, a large acquaintance with 
 books, a grateful heart, and a cheerful and social 
 disposition. He died in the hope of the Gospel, 
 in the fall of 1844, leaving a widow now living in 
 Illinois, and a large family, the members of which 
 are scattered in different parts of the continent. 
 Under parental auspices, the subject of this sketch 
 received a good common-school and academical 
 education, and would have received a collegiate 
 training, had there been a college accessible to him 
 in his Western home. 
 
 At an early age he commenced the study of medi- 
 cine, which he completed after attending his first 
 course of lectures at Philadelphia, and his second at 
 Cincinnati, receiving the degree of M.D. with ecl&t. 
 While yet a youth, he was distinguished by his fond-
 
 432 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 ness for reading and solitude, and early became a 
 subject of converting grace. Failing, however, to 
 make the reception of this latter blessing known, he 
 measurably lost his spirituality. Reasoning himself 
 into fatalism from the Calvinistic creed, which he 
 was early taught, and meeting with some skeptical 
 books while a medical student, he became quite 
 skeptical. He always, however, treated religion and 
 its advocates with courtesy, and never wandered 
 from the paths of morality. He was brought again 
 to the themes of grace by repeated attacks of severe 
 illness, while the prayerful reading of the Epistle of 
 St. James fully corrected his theological views. The 
 grace of God was reapplied to his heart, and the 
 Spirit that called him to repentance, called him also 
 to preach the Gospel. Abandoning his profession, 
 he entered the Ohio Conference, and was appoint- 
 ed successively to Norwalk, Sandusky, Cincinnati, 
 "Wooster, and Detroit He was then appointed prin- 
 cipal of Norwalk Seminary, a post which he occu- 
 pied for six years. During this time he declined a 
 professorship in Transylvania University, Kentucky, 
 and accepted the chair of philosophy of the human 
 mind, in the University of Michigan. He, however, 
 never entered upon his duties there, as at the time 
 he expected to do so he was elected editor of the 
 Ladies' Repository. He has been nominally Presi- 
 dent of the Ohio "Wesleyan University ever since it
 
 REV. EDWARD THOMSON. 433 
 
 was organized, although he has acted as president 
 but for the eleven years last past. He did not desire 
 to leave the editorship of the Repository for his pres- 
 ent post, and was only induced to do so by the urgent 
 request of the Ohio and North Ohio Conferences, the 
 patrons of the university. He has filled every grade 
 of office except that of bishop, filling at times two or 
 three at the same time, and has been a member of 
 every General Conference, we believe, since 1840. 
 Besides writing largely for the periodical press, on 
 subjects political, religious, and scientific, he has al- 
 ways been a close student, pursuing a regular course 
 marked out for himself. Since taking charge of the 
 university, over which he presides with an accepta- 
 bility that will not listen to a suggestion for a substi- 
 tute, he has given close attention to the classics as 
 well as theology. His health undoubtedly has been 
 not a little impaired by too close application. He 
 belongs to the progressive school, ecclesiastically and 
 politically ; is an ardent advocate for the Maine-law 
 reform, general education, and universal emancipa- 
 tion. For these reforms he has always been ready to 
 lift his voice, though to do so was to encounter oppo- 
 sition and opprobrium. Naturally timid and averse 
 to strife, his agency is not always the most ostensible, 
 even when it is the most effectual ; he sets others in 
 motion when he seems not to move himself. Desir- 
 ous of preserving what is valuable in existing institu-
 
 434 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 tions, and disposed to take favorable views of things, 
 his progressive movements are regulated with moder- 
 ation, and his denunciations attempered with charity. 
 His anti-slavery speech before the last General Con- 
 ference will not soon be forgotten, while the strong- 
 hold which it had upon the respect of the body, was 
 indicated in the speech of Rev. J. A. Collins, of Bal- 
 timore, who, in alluding to some complimentary allu- 
 sions made to himself by Dr. Thomson, declared that 
 he regarded a compliment from that source as confer- 
 ring upon him one of the proudest hours of his exist- 
 ence. The doctor has been talked of for bishop, and 
 would make an excellent one. Ephemeral-lived as 
 the writer of this sketch seems doomed to be, we 
 shall never live to see him installed into that sublime 
 office. But two hundred of our brethren here pres- 
 ent may, and we hope will, live to witness that 
 event. At this moment the doctor, with that peculiar 
 sparkle of his eye, and slight pucker of his classical 
 mouth, which indicates some sudden solicitude, is 
 just rising to leave the conference room, in company 
 with some friend, and we will leave it and him too.
 
 REV. DANIEL WISE. 485 
 
 REV. DANIEL WISE, D.D. 
 
 THIS brother, the versatile and popular editor of 
 Zion's Her did and Journal, is also here as a 
 delegate. He is a man of medium size, a wiry, 
 lithe, and agile build. His features tend to sharp- 
 ness, but have gone none too far in that direction. 
 Amiableness and sweetness of temper, with great 
 urbanity of manners, are the language of his phiz. 
 Let no one presume, however, too long upon his 
 forbearance, when truth and Methodism are made 
 the object of attack. Though gentle as a lamb, he 
 is as bold as a lion. And though his writings in 
 general are smooth as oil, yet, when the occasion 
 demands, he can apply -as many vials of sulphuric 
 acid to spurious coin as any writer in the Church. 
 He can, also, write more (he has our fault, and 
 writes too much) than most writers that we ever 
 knew. But in writing for different classes of per- 
 sons, he excels. He can write for the philosopher, 
 the peasant, and the little child. As a writer for 
 children, perhaps, he is rarely equaled in our 
 country. He will, doubtless, return to his post, 
 unless called upon to fill one equally responsible, 
 and for which his brethren may deem him as possess- 
 ing special qualifications. 
 
 28
 
 436 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 REV. RESIN SAPP, 
 
 OF THE MICHIGAN CONFER-ENCE. 
 
 " Whate'er I may have been doth rest between 
 Heaven and myself I shall not choose a mortal 
 To be my mediator." 
 
 THIS brother answers to the usual height of men, 
 stands almost perfectly straight, is not slender, and 
 yet is there no tendency to corpulence. His san- 
 guine-bilious temperament will ever prevent the 
 latter, while it is not sufficiently ardent to make him 
 lean like Cassius. His skin is of a sallow hue, his 
 hair is dark, and his eyes (we would just say, that 
 we always forget the color of men's eyes) are re- 
 markable for their active and somewhat piercing, 
 and by no means disagreeable roll in their sockets, 
 when he is animated. His mouth is large, but a 
 little too straight for fluency. His nose is decidedly 
 conservative constructed upon an old-fashioned 
 model. It is neither too large nor too small, does 
 not turn up at the nasal apex, nor down, nor is it 
 aquiline. It is emphatically a commonplace nose, 
 and so distinguished for nothing remarkable, that 
 few persons would think of noticing it. But as the 
 eye ascends up its straight ridge you soon approach
 
 9 REV. RESIN SAPP. 437 
 
 a territory, the conformation of which would delight 
 a Lavater. The brow of Brother S. is decidedly 
 intellectual, though, as a whole, it is a little wanting 
 in symmetry. Talent, but not imagination, the 
 actual, and not the ideal, are indicated. The subject 
 of this sketch is never less at home than when he 
 attempts to. deal in the abstract, the metaphysical, or 
 the descriptive, and yet he is emphatically at home 
 among first principles, and can no more construct a 
 sermon or an argument without thus basing it, than 
 can a mariner pursue his voyage without the point- 
 ings of the compass. These first principles, however, 
 are studied by him in the concrete rather than in the 
 abstract. He judges of causes from their effects, 
 rather than of effects from causes. This makes him 
 eminently a practical thinker; one of the men who 
 never build castles in the air. This trait will strike 
 any one in a very few minutes' conversation with 
 him. In conversation he excels. This rich ' and 
 ready attribute of the thinking circle is possessed by 
 him to an enviable degree ; but the form which his 
 conversation generally assumes amounts to this : he 
 is attempting to prove some fact, by bringing forth 
 an array of corroborating facts. This trait of our 
 brother's mind makes him less at home in mere 
 theory, and as facts are stubborn things, and make 
 the positive man, Brother S., in mere matters of 
 theory and speculation, is apt, as is thought by some
 
 438 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 of his friends, to be too positive at times. His defer* 
 ence for authority is, certainly, not excessive ; hence 
 has he, occasionally, incurred the title of ultraist ; a 
 title, by the way, of very indefinite application, and 
 often meaning no more than this : the man does not 
 agree with me in opinion, and, therefore, must be 
 wrong. There is a sense, however, in which the title 
 but confers honor. It is when, in the process of the 
 advancement of society, reformers are found making 
 a new application of old and immutable principles to 
 society's long-tolerated vices. In this sense, Brother 
 S. is emphatically ' an "ultraist." 
 
 As a preacher, Brother S. rises considerably above 
 the usual compliment, "he is a good preacher." 
 And yet he is difficult to classify ; in fact, he is some- 
 what sui generis. His sermons contrast very greatly 
 at different times, and at times may be pronounced 
 able. But he seldom meets in the pulpit that expect- 
 ation' which his conversation will raise out of it. We 
 attribute much of this to a bad manner of delivery, 
 into which he seems to have fallen in early life, and 
 to have neglected the correction of (a sadly-solemn 
 common fault) in later years. A good manner will 
 always aid one to get out good matter. No man can 
 do justice to his mind, as a public speaker, whose 
 manner is decidedly defective. But, with these facts 
 before us, Brother Sapp may be classed, averaging 
 his pulpit performances, as first among that large
 
 REV. RESIN SAPP. 489 
 
 class of preachers in the Northwest, which constitute 
 the hope of the Church ; while, as a pastor, he is 
 always popular and beloved by his people, and rarely 
 preaches in a church that presents a beggarly show 
 of empty benches. When we have known him on 
 stations, his congregations and influence have gen- 
 erally increased to the last. As a friend he is gen- 
 erous and frank, not fastidiously fearful of giving 
 offense, nor over sensitive in receiving it. He is about 
 forty years of age, and has been seventeen years in 
 the itinerancy, all of which have been spent in the 
 Michigan Conference. He availed himself of some 
 early advantages, and having subsequently been a 
 most earnest and indefatigable student, he may justly 
 lay claim to highly-respectable scholastic attainments. 
 At the age of twenty he was a student of law in 
 Ohio, but, having been converted, and obtained 
 help from God, he at once felt it his duty to lay 
 down Blackstone for the Bible, to exchange Chitty 
 for the Methodist Discipline, and enter the itinerant 
 ranljs. His conference has twice intrusted him with 
 the responsibilties of a delegate to the General Con- 
 ference, and in both cases he has acquitted himself 
 with marked acceptability. At the moment we are 
 sketching him, he has arisen in his seat, on the west 
 side of the assembly-room, with a small slip of paper 
 in his hand, on which, even at this distance, we can 
 detect his unique chirography, the letters of which
 
 440 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 lean back when they ought to lean forward, while, 
 with a pencil in the other hand, in which he is 
 incessantly tapping his notes, he proceeds to ask 
 Brother Slicer, of Baltimore, who has the floor, a trio 
 of questions, which, as it respects the position taken 
 by that old and ingenious polemic, rather leave him 
 hors de comhat. Brother Slicer, however, sets all 
 aside by one of his ingenious sallies of wit, and 
 passes on. Brother Sapp sits down, and feels, as do 
 his friends, that the argument implied in his interro- 
 gations still stands. 
 
 REV. LUKE HITCHCOCK, 
 
 OP THE ROCK RIVER CONFERENCE. 
 
 ROCHEFOTJCATJI/T once said, " Of all objects of 
 thought, one of the most pleasant is to meditate 
 upon a true man." Inspiration says, " Mark the 
 perfect man, and behold the upright." With the 
 subject of this sketch, personally, our acquaintance, 
 to the diminution of our pleasure, has been very 
 brief. We must sketch him running; in other words, 
 say what we have to say of him, from that "grand 
 total" which is the sum of what we have always 
 heard of him. We shall not, however, chalk in the
 
 REV. LUKE HITCHCOCK. 
 
 dark. "What we say, we feel and know to be true. 
 In person, he is slender ; and constitutionally, some- 
 what frail. The color of his skin would indicate 
 some severe but successful battles with inceptive 
 chronic disease. His health, though perfect now, 
 seems not always to have been a boon which he has 
 enjoyed. It is new and morning-like, rather than 
 the noon of vigor. With due attention to the laws 
 of hygiene, lessons in which, probably, he has been 
 prompted to take by necessity, he may live to old 
 age, and be amdMg the Church's most active workers. 
 From disposition, while health permitted, he could 
 not do otherwise. His phiz does not do justice to 
 his mind. He is, evidently, a good-looking man, and 
 does not impress you with any marked mental char- 
 acteristic, unless it be that of great modesty. He is 
 one of the few men who seem sufficiently always to 
 feel the force of the apostolic injunction, " In honor 
 . preferring one another." We should think that dif- 
 fidence had been the only ghost that ever haunted 
 hinij and that the people have often lost a good ser- 
 mon, because he has been afraid of some brother in 
 the audience, whose efforts would compare with his 
 to his own great disadvantage. His modesty, how- 
 ever, never shakes his firmness. When he is sure he 
 is right, he goes ahead. Amiability, the handmaid 
 of modesty, constitutes his prominent social quality. 
 To see him and converse with him, is to wish to do
 
 442 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 so again, and if good manners consist in the art of 
 pleasing, he is, emphatically, an agreeable gentleman. 
 .As a Church officer he excels in the financial and ad- 
 ministrative. As a presiding elder, he magnifies his 
 office, and were the office always magnified with 
 such men, we should hear much fewer calls for its 
 abolishment or modification. As a financier, he is 
 said to stand first in his conference, and to have de- 
 monstrated his claims in some trying positions and 
 agencies in which he has been placed. As a preach- 
 er, added to a good academic education, received in 
 one of our most popular institutions, he gives evi- 
 dence of an acute understanding of the theology of 
 Methodism. Sound sense, great but chaste plainness, 
 with a spirit which seems to be perfectly self-forget- 
 ting, are the chief characteristics of his sermons. His 
 only object seems to be to do the people good, rather 
 than make them think that he is preaching a great 
 sermon. Take him for all in all, he is a preacher 
 that everybody will always love to hear, and may 
 always hear to profit. He is about forty-three years 
 of age, and has been twenty-two years in the minis- 
 try. He belonged originally to the Oneida Confer- 
 ence, the members of which, many of whom are here 
 on the conference floor, highly prize his character 
 and greet him with the warmest cordiality. He 
 came to Illinois, health-seeking, in 1839. He imme- 
 diately entered upon the duties of the ministry, and
 
 EEV. LUKE HITCHCOCK. 443 
 
 finding the climate to agree with him, he has re- 
 mained in that state of magnificent prairies and pure 
 air ever since. He has filled the most prominent ap- 
 pointments of his conference, and his present field of 
 labor is Mount Morris District. He stands in the van 
 with his brethren, and leads deservedly his delega- 
 tion at this General Conference, which is the second 
 time his brethren have honored him with that high 
 ofiice. He sits directly before us at this moment, 
 with his hair " tinged a little with the iron gray," 
 leaning forward upon his left hand, and giving, as is 
 his wont when a little excited, a nondescript, nervous 
 snap of his eyes. Some inquiry, eminently practica- 
 ble, and involving the interests of the Church, more 
 dear to him than all other interests, is evidently 
 being reyolved in his mind. I fancy that Mr. 
 Thought, whose given name is utilitarian, has just 
 approached his judgment with the inquiry : Sir, it is 
 not exactly what we ought to do, but what can we 
 do for the best under the present circumstances ?
 
 444 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 REV. . P. STRICKLAND, D.D., 
 
 REPORTER. 
 
 " 'Tis not in mortals to command success ; 
 But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it." 
 
 DK. STRICKLAND was not a member of the General 
 Conference, but served that body as reporter for the 
 Daily Western Christian Advocate. Services in this 
 department have been rendered to a greater or less 
 extent by him, on public occasions, for the last twenty 
 years. He has become an adept in the art, and is 
 always in demand when any of this sort of hard work 
 is to be done, and well done. His services at the 
 late General Conference were of the first moment, 
 gave general satisfaction, and we hope were well 
 rewarded by something more than the mere custom- 
 ary vote of thanks. The arduous task that he per- 
 formed was not, perhaps, at all times, duly apprecia- 
 ted by the uninitiated. But for over a month, Brother 
 Strickland toiled incessantly for the Church, from 
 fifteen to eighteen hours a day. Nor did he once 
 complain of weariness. In fact, though not a plodder 
 as a literary man, but rather inclined to work by 
 spasms, and as occasions demand, yet is there in our
 
 REV. W. P. STRICKLAND. 445 
 
 friend Strickland a penchant for hard work, and 
 where anything of that sort is to be done, which falls 
 within the purview of the doctor's vein, he is sure to 
 be called upon by his brethren to perform the task. 
 And yet it will be asked, why some of the literary 
 and working posts of the Church have not been as- 
 signed him ; why he has not been made editor of 
 some of our periodicals, for example. Perhaps the 
 true answer to this question is y the doctor, touching 
 some points of our publishing policy, has long since 
 been considered somewhat radical, while as regards 
 his caution, in this case, it does not assume a circular, 
 but a right-angled configuration. In body, as in 
 mind, he possesses almost unequaled powers of endur- 
 ance. Tall, straight, and wiry-nerved, with all the 
 great functions of life in a healthy condition, with not 
 a superfluous pound of flesh about him, and with 
 dietetfcal habits conformed to no laws of hygiene, it 
 is wonderful how nature bears up under the heavy 
 draft of toil laid upon it, and recovers her exhausted 
 strength with such a readiness and rapidity as are 
 exemplified in his case. The doctor eats very little, 
 and thus rests the stomach. As an author and re- 
 porter, he has been more of an editor and compiler 
 than an originator; hence the severer work of the 
 brain, a work which he is by no means unable to 
 perform, has been resorted to but comparatively sel- 
 dom. The stomach and brain seem never to have
 
 446 GENEKAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 been on any other than that of friendly relations, a 
 state of things, in the life of a literary man, most rare. 
 Though now forty-seven years of age, the doctor was 
 never ill of any disease but the ague. Of this dread- 
 ed denizen of the "West he thinks he has received 
 more than his full share of favors. And, indeed, to 
 see him walk, one would suppose that he has never 
 properly recovered from the shakings of this giant 
 monopolist of Western sickness, in so many parts. 
 Though lank and lean as the writer of this article, 
 but five times stronger, and straight as an Indian, yet 
 with head, or, perhaps, his hat inverted toward the 
 right or left shoulder, for it seems to be perfectly 
 accidental, he has an ambling, shuffling walk ; his long, 
 attenuated extremities, particularly the one on the 
 left, is turned out at the toes at an angle of nearly 
 forty-five. He never seems to loiter or be in a spe- 
 cial hurry, and least of all does his head hang down 
 as if he had done something to be ashamed of; nor 
 does he hold up his head as if putting on airs ; nor is 
 there any particular look of abstraction in his coun- 
 tenance, as if he could not live in the outward world 
 of common things, and the inner world of thought 
 and analysis, at the same time. His whole air is that 
 of a kind citizen of this world, who is constantly 
 trying and hoping to make it better before he goes 
 out of it. "With brow decidedly intellectual and 
 countenance deep-hued with benevolence, a most legi-
 
 REV. W. P. STRICKLAND. 447 
 
 ble index of generous emotions, and we had almost 
 said of reckless liberality, with mouth as big as 
 Henry Clay's, always ready to part in smiles, every 
 one feels at once the prepossessing power of Dr. 
 Strickland's presence. One at once desires him for a 
 friend, and it is easy to make and keep him such, 
 while those who incur his enmity are generally to be 
 found wanting in that forbearance which is always 
 mutually necessary between friend and friend. His 
 disposition, probably, is a little too volatile; his con- 
 versation, in the frankness of unrestrained confidence, 
 often bordering on the light, though never on the 
 trifling. But were he grave and given to a sad coun- 
 tenance, while, perhaps, it would not improve his 
 religion, it certainly would, long since, have ruined 
 his stomach, and the General Conference would not 
 have had a reporter in Dr. Strickland, who could 
 have written twelve hours a day without languor or 
 fatigue. 
 
 As a preacher, Brother Strickland possesses much 
 versatility of talent, and a strongly-marked individu- 
 ality. He is learned, logical, or eloquent, or all togeth- 
 er, seemingly to suit occasions. His gestures are 
 graceful, though his voice is often very badly man- 
 aged. Had he, as perhaps he ought to have done, 
 concentrated his undivided powers upon the pulpit, 
 history might have been found repeating herself, (she 
 has not yet done so,) in returning to our pulpit a sec-
 
 448 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 ond Strange in Strickland. As an author, Dr. Strick- 
 land has become quite voluminous, if he has not 
 famous. We remember the following volumes as the 
 product of his pen, which have appeared, we believe, 
 somewhat in the order in which we here name them: 
 History of the American Bible Society; History of 
 Methodist Missions ; Biblical Literature ; Christianity 
 Demonstrated ; Genius and Mission of Methodism ; 
 Light of the Temple ; Astrologer of Chaldea ; and 
 Pioneers of the West. Besides these, he has just 
 edited and issued, Arthur in America, and has here- 
 tofore edited for different persons several very popu- 
 lar works, among which may be named, Finley's, or 
 the " Old Chiefs." Finley's Autobiography, in our 
 estimation, is Dr. Strickland's masterpiece in au- 
 thorship. 
 
 Brother Strickland was born in the West ; born in 
 the "Iron City," Pittsburgh, and raised and educated 
 a Buckeye. Owing to the failure of his father in 
 business, he was thrown poor upon the world, and 
 was compelled to make his way in it without any 
 further help from parents than their pious advice and 
 prayers, and has never had a tender of help from any 
 other source until it was too late to be needed. He 
 entered Athens, the seat of the Ohio University, on 
 foot, and almost barefoot at that ; and by the most 
 rigid self-denial and economy, succeeded in obtaining 
 an education. Realizing that -God had called him to
 
 REV. W. P. STRICKLAND. 449 
 
 the work of the ministry, while his fellow-chums were 
 playing on the green, he busied himself reading the 
 Bible in his room, or, perhaps, praying in secret ill 
 the college cupola. He ultimately obtained from this, 
 his alma mater, the degree of Doctor of Divinity. 
 
 He entered the traveling connection in Ohio, in 
 1.832, and traveled his first circuit as a colleague of 
 L. L. (now ex-bishop) Hamline. In addition to cir- 
 cuits which he traveled, he was stationed ten years, 
 was agent of the American Bible Society five years, 
 for the past year and a half has served as colonization 
 agent, and has recently been transferred to the New- 
 York Conference. While preparing this meager 
 sketch, he sits before us doubled over the reporter's 
 table, something like the shutting up of a twelve-inch 
 rule which is all of a size, and is making to us unin- 
 telligible characters upon paper nearly as fast as rain 
 drops would fall upon it in a shower. At this mo- 
 ment he has cast a furtive glance at us, as if in sus- 
 picion for the obtrusive, scrutinizing stare we have 
 once more given our old friend. We pocket our pen- 
 cil, and retire.
 
 460 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 REV. JACOB G. DIMMITT, 
 
 OF THE IOWA CONFERENCE. 
 
 THE class of temperament and social character to 
 which the subject of this sketch belongs, was repre- 
 sented in the Apostle John. The prominent language 
 of his countenance is that of benevolence ; and the 
 particular relations of his nose and forehead, the 
 spirit thus indicated physiognomically, would have 
 thrown the usually composed Howard into a paroxysm 
 of delight. We will venture to say that Brother Dim- 
 mitt's enemies have always been so few, that it would 
 have been a kind of North Pole exploring expedition 
 to find one, at least an inveterate one. His brow 
 recedes from the radix of his nose, which is long ; 
 and hair scarce upon the apex of his forehead, where 
 more hair ought to be. His eyebrows are heavy and 
 intellectual, mouth large, and chin and corporeal 
 proportions obeying the same general law of projec- 
 tion that marks his whole physical contour. He is 
 stout built ; and when a boy, if told to walk light by 
 throwing himself forward upon his toes, we think there 
 can be but little doubt that he failed to execute the 
 maneuver to perfection. The center of his perpen- 
 dicular is certainly as far back as his heels ; and he 
 has a straight, strong " backbone," both literally and
 
 EEV. J. G. DIMMITT. 451 
 
 figuratively. His kindness would not betray his 
 firmness in a matter of right ; it would, however, and 
 doubtless often has, in a mere matter of benevolence. 
 We should expect to find him discommoding himself 
 to accommodate others, occasionally, even to a fault. 
 He is modest, almost to sensitiveness, and yet the 
 proper appreciation by his friends of felt merit by no 
 means fails to give him pleasure. We should be sorry 
 if it did. For not so far to respect human nature an 
 to ordinately gratulate in its approval, is the very 
 point where modesty degenerates into affectation, the 
 lowest form of egotism. 
 
 Brother D. was a member of the General Con- 
 ference at Boston, four years ago. He is wise in 
 counsel, reliable, and industrious, though we believe 
 he does not make many speeches. This he could 
 do, however, as well as the best, were he not a lit- 
 tle too hard proof against the contagion of speech- 
 making. In argument he is said to be somewhat 
 original, and to indicate some marked individu- 
 alisms. His education, though limited for the want 
 of early opportunities, like a frugal merchant who 
 operates most successfully on a small capital, he makes 
 to go a great way. In addition to a respectable En- 
 glish education, he has slightly pushed his studies into 
 the classics, and can do something respectable in the 
 way of reading the New Testament in its vernacular. 
 
 His age is about fifty ; and being blessed with a pray- 
 
 29
 
 452 GENERAL CONFEEENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 ing mother, he was also 'blessed with an early con- 
 version. He entered the itinerancy, in the Ohio 
 Conference, in 1839, arid was transferred to the great 
 "West in 1850. He received his first appointment in 
 the Iowa Conference, of which he is a member, to the 
 Centenary Church, in the city of Dubuque, and is 
 now presiding elder on the district of that name. He 
 writes occasionally for our Church periodicals, and 
 has delivered sundry sermons, speeches, and addresses, 
 the publication of which has been called for by those 
 who heard them. As a preacher, he is both popular 
 and useful, and the surface elements in his popularity, 
 that enter largely into his sermons, consist in a good 
 style, a pleasant- voice, and a winning spirit. Intrin- 
 sically, his sermons are occasionally somewhat declam- 
 atory, but this is rather the exception than the rule. 
 He generally takes hold of some great pillars of 
 thought in the temple of truth, so that the people 
 feel that they have no less a mental feast than a feast 
 of feeling. Ignorant at this moment of the thoughts 
 we are perpetrating upon him, and as it is a moment- 
 ary stormy period in the Conference, some half a 
 dozen trying to get the floor at once, he is looking 
 directly at the little hammer in the hands of the 
 bishop, seeming to wish that it might fall down with 
 greater momentum, and glancing alternately to the 
 right and the left, and, we doubt not, conning the text, 
 " Brethren, let your moderation be known to all men."
 
 EEV. J. L. THOMPSON. 458 
 
 REV. J. L. THOMPSON, 
 
 OF THE NORTHWESTERN INDIANA CONFERENCE. 
 
 " The king is great upon his throne, 
 
 The canon in his stall ; 
 But a right, good man, 
 
 Is greater than they all." 
 
 THIS venerable brother has been a sexagenarian 
 for five years, " and yet his eye is scarcely dimmed, 
 or his natural force abated." He wears not that 
 bright grayness of age always the result of the turbu- 
 lence of the workings of the more inferior and secu- 
 lar passions of the mind, but his locks are of somber 
 whiteness, resembling the mistletoe, the "beard of 
 the cypress," reminding one of the long past, and in- 
 spiring solemn feelings of reverence, and of the near- 
 ness of the more solemn future. He is fleshy, but 
 can scarcely be called corpulent, as his entire build, 
 by the law of symmetry, calls for the physical pro- 
 portions developed. While he bears the marks of 
 time, and long and sturdy conflict in the battle of 
 life, he does not of disease. We should think that a 
 large measure of good health had fallen to his lot. 
 This was necessary in view of the labor he had to 
 perform, and the trials he was destined to endure. 
 An air of cheerfulness and equanimity of tempera
 
 454 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 ment hang on his face, like lingering sunbeams of 
 evening in the top of the great oak, while the shad- 
 ows of night are gathering around him. He is not at 
 all given to rapture or ecstasies, which are sweet but 
 evanescent, so much as he is to habitual patience and 
 joy. He sternly eschews fretfulness and desponden- 
 cy, but reflects bitterly, and, as we think, justly, upon 
 some of the mistakes of his protracted itinerant life. 
 Though in the course of nature he and his aged com- 
 panion must soon be in a condition of dependence, 
 yet has he failed, under the teachings of a false zeal> 
 and for fear of secularizing his holy calling, to makt/ 
 the least provision for that day of stern necessity 
 We hope and believe that Brother Thompson will 
 never be suffered to want, and yet, when he ex- 
 pressed to us his decided disapprobation of his course 
 in this respect, we could but sympathize with his 
 views. 
 
 As a preacher, he belongs to the solid men of 
 Zion, rather than the showy. Strong sense, practical 
 views, stanchly nailed with the Scriptures, accompa- 
 nied with an emphatic unction that at times assumes 
 the parentally persuasive, when it is touchingly im- 
 pressive, are the characteristics of his sermons. To 
 literature, in a belles-lettres or classical sense, we be- 
 lieve he makes no pretensions, but to highly respect- 
 able attainments in theological reading, Biblical exe- 
 gesis, and general intelligence, he might justly put
 
 REV. J. L. THOMPSON. 455 
 
 in high claims. A native of frontier Kentucky, a 
 spiritual child of a mother's prayers, he was early, 
 like Samuel, called to the work of God, and, after re- 
 sisting this call for a number of years, from a sense 
 of incompetency, he, with the wife of his youth, 
 sought the wilds of Indiana to labor in the itinerant 
 field. This he did not do without a struggle with 
 the heart's finest feelings, and making what to many 
 would be a tempting sacrifice. His father-in-law 
 
 was bitterly opposed to the great purpose of his life, 
 
 
 
 and tempted him to abandon it by offering to donate 
 him a fine farm, negroes not excepted. Said Brother 
 Thompson : " As to the farm, it is a fine present, and I 
 should like to have it and retain it, but cannot bribe 
 my conscience with any such price ; and as to the 
 negroes, I would accept them only for purposes of 
 emancipation." Brother Thompson was one of those 
 stanch anti-slavery men who, a quarter of a century 
 ago, could .be found among Methodist preachers in, 
 as well as out of, slave territory. He has not depart- 
 ed a whit from the faith, but belongs to the progress- 
 ives on that subject, of this General Conference, by 
 every vote, word, act, and animus which he is capa- 
 ble of manifesting. Arriving in Indiana, he com- 
 menced at once a circuit work, and without enumer- 
 ating the many circuits and stations on which he has 
 laborefl, it is enough to say that he has left the 
 fragrance of his pastoral faithfulness, some mark of
 
 456 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 his presence, and fond reminiscences of his memory, 
 over the entire southern and central part of that great 
 state. His name has been woven in the history of 
 Methodism in the State of Indiana. Meeting with a 
 failure of his health, after many years of itinerant 
 labor, he concluded to follow further the westward 
 march of our frontier civilization, and sought in the 
 then sparsely-settled regions of Iowa a change of 
 climate for sanitary purposes. Passing ten years in 
 that territory, afterward state, in many of. which he 
 was in labors, and even perils, abundant, he was 
 favored with a complete recovery of his health. It 
 was then that his heart yearned again for his Hoosier 
 home, and he returned to Indiana, where he is now a 
 leading member of the Northwestern Indiana Confer- 
 ence, which has appropriately honored him with a 
 seat on this floor ; the second time, we believe, the 
 Church has conferred upon him this honor. Licensed 
 to preach by Rev. Peter Cartwright, Brother Thomp- 
 son might vie with him in perils upon the prairies ; 
 in perils among robbers, when lost in the woods ; in 
 perils from winter's cold and summer's heat, with ex- 
 ceedingly scanty supplies. Hominy, parched corn, 
 jerked venison, and bear bacon, have all been famil- 
 iar dishes to Brother Thompson; and even when- 
 these were the only dishes, they were not always as 
 familiar as an appetite made keen from long Fasting 
 could have desired them to have been. The march
 
 REV. J. L. THOMPSON. 457 
 
 westward of a rude civilization, under the reign and 
 auspices of the " ax, the rifle, and the saddle-bags," 
 with Methodism leading a camp, log-cabin, and camp- 
 meeting life alongside of it, to imbue it with the holy 
 leaven of heaven, have been witnessed by Brother 
 Thompson for half a century. In fact, he has been a 
 part of the social condition of the "West. 
 
 For steady, unenthusiastic, and yet indomitable 
 energy, Brother Thompson has few equals. In kind- 
 ness of disposition, in truthfulness to the great laws 
 of friendship, in candor and simplicity, in manly, un- 
 affected, and unobtrusive etiquette, he has no superi- 
 ors. In one respect, he is a model of an old man, 
 and an old Methodist preacher. He is free from 
 what is technically understood by the term " fogy- 
 ism." He is not always minding those about him 
 that his head is white, and of the many years of long 
 service which he has bestowed upon the Church. 
 He attaches no merit to age, for its sake alone, and 
 is never found acting the Japanese, who attempts to 
 command respect and recommend his virtues by the 
 length of 'his beard. May he live half as long as he 
 has, and should Providence duplicate the time in our 
 wish, we are quite certain he will never be loved 
 less, and his friends, as they always have, will ever 
 be on the increase, while his enemies will continue 
 what they are, an extinct race 
 
 Our venerable friend must pardon this meager
 
 458 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 effusion of respect, and still more meager sketch. 
 "We write amid the exciting scenes of the General 
 Conference room, and have been induced to do so 
 by the sight of Brother Thompson, now before us, 
 who sits leaning, patriarch-like, thoughtfully forward 
 upon his staff, and whose presence reminds us of the 
 time when we sat spell-bound under his ministry, 
 though full of the thoughtlessness and exuberant 
 restlessness of childhood. Time's hand has touched 
 us both, and changed our persons, circumstances, and 
 relations. 
 
 REV. B. E. CRARY, A.M., 
 
 OP THE INDIANA CONFERENCE. 
 
 . " Perseverance is a Roman virttte, 
 
 That wins each god-like act, and plucks success 
 E'en from the spear-proof crest of rugged danger." 
 
 BROTHER CRART is a marked man, and has already 
 made his mark. His career, like that of self-made 
 men generally, is of itself remarkable. Born in an 
 obscure part of Indiana, of respectable though poor 
 parentage, he has worked himself up to his present 
 position, by that indomitable perseverance which 
 always characterizes a man of energy. The facilities 
 of education being small, he availed himself of the
 
 REV. B. F. CRARY. 459 
 
 best in his power, until he became proficient, not 
 only in tbe elementary branches, of absolute neces- 
 sity to all, but succeeded in making proficiency in the 
 classics and French language. His success in self- 
 education is attested by the judgment of the Indiana 
 Asbury University, of which he is trustee, in confer- 
 ring upon him the title which his name so worthily 
 bears. When called to preach, he reluctantly yield- 
 ed, and was urged into the work by the solicitude of 
 his brethren. His heart was upon another profession, 
 the study of the law, in which he had made pro- 
 ficiency, and commenced business. He became a 
 member of the Indiana Conference in 1845, in those 
 days when those giants of power flourished within its 
 bounds, Simpson, Ames, Berry, the Woods, James, 
 Havens, Cooper, and others. As a preacher, he oc- 
 cupies a high position among his brethren. He is 
 logical, pungent, positive, earnest. He never preach- 
 es a sermon that indicates any of that theological su- 
 perficiality, often less the result of natural ability, 
 than the want of early mental discipline. Like 
 Shakspea/e's tide, which must be taken at its flood 
 to lead on to fortune, there is a period in most men's 
 lives, in which, if a little hard study be not done, 
 there can be no substitute for it ever after. 
 
 He is yet but thirty-four years of age, and may be 
 considered, therefore, in the morning of life ; and if 
 there be any weakness incorporated in his energy,
 
 460 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 it is the usual weakness of impulsive minds, impa- 
 tient of success. He has moved, as yet, within a 
 narrow, though important circle. After filling the 
 principal stations in central Indiana, he served one 
 year on the Bloomington District, which he left for 
 Indianapolis District, which district he still occupies, 
 and from which he was elected member of the late 
 General Conference, leading his delegation. For so 
 young a man, he did himself enviable credit by his 
 services in that body. His speech on the slavery 
 question was made under circumstances very unfa- 
 vorable, though it was well received, the anti-slavery 
 cause ably supported, and Brother Crary lost nothing 
 in reputation as an able polemic. Crary's name is 
 somewhat widely circulated as a correspondent of the 
 Western Christian Advocate, and now and then of 
 the Northwestern Christian Advocate. His letters 
 are strongly marked by mental individualism. They 
 abound in quaint, abrupt, angular, and forcible ex- 
 pressions. One sometimes trembles for the writer, 
 to see what is coming next. In reading some of his 
 letters, one would be ready to infer that Satan had 
 provoked him to madness, and that the duty of min- 
 isters now in warring against sin, was that of Milton's 
 angels, to make bona fide war .with him, and unseat 
 the mountains and hills, with all their shaggy tops, 
 and employ them as missiles. Others would infer the 
 presence of too great a degree of biliousness, and would
 
 REV. B. F. CRARY. 461 
 
 attribute to the writer a constitutional acerbity. 
 Nothing, however, is farther from the truth than all 
 this. Paradoxical as it may seem, an apparently 
 imprudent author is found to be one of the most pru- 
 dent of men. What he has yet written, therefore, is 
 to be considered rather the scintillations of a power 
 that would soon grow sufficiently grave and cautious 
 with the proper responsibility. His name was asso- 
 ciated, at the last General Conference, as editor for 
 one or two of our principal Church papers. We do 
 not believe that he -would have disappointed his 
 friends, and as he has a long career before him, 
 should a merciful Providence spare his life and 
 health, (his health, we believe, is very near perfect,) 
 he may yet be needed for these posts of weighty re- 
 sponsibility. If he demean himself aright, and de- 
 light in such a calling, he may well afford to bide 
 his time without any dangerous risk.- 
 
 In that great cause of reform, the temperance 
 cause, Crary has labored long, with a steady and un- 
 compromising zeal, and the distiller and vender both 
 hate and have learned to fear him. They would 
 respect him if this type of human nature did not gen- 
 erally degenerate so rapidly as to become incapable 
 of respecting merit and worth.* In sociability of 
 habit, Brother Crary is ardent, warm, communica- 
 tive, unsuspecting. He speaks plainly, without 
 dreaming of giving offense, and receives the same in
 
 462 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 return even with interest, without taking offense 
 Nor is he wanting, in any sense, in the manners of 
 the true gentleman, especially the true, whole-heart- 
 ed Hoosier gentleman, the best type of a man purely 
 Western that ever lived. As a friend, he is confid- 
 ing, generous, and true as a mathematical problem. 
 He finds it not in his heart to forget you, because he 
 does not frequently see you, and you lose not his 
 sympathies by absence. While the name of no 
 brother is allowed to suffer reproach knowingly, in 
 his presence, the name of his friend he wears upon 
 his heart, which, like the jewel upon the bosom of 
 beauty, must be kept bright. 
 
 REV. R. S. RUST, A.M., 
 
 OF THE N E W-H AMPSHIRE CONFERENCE. 
 
 " No enthusiast ever yet could rest, 
 Till those about him were like himself possess'd." 
 
 THIS brother is marked physically among his breth- 
 ren on the floor of the General Conference, while he 
 makes his mark morally about as certain and deep 
 as any other man. His height is below the ordinary, 
 and yet he is not a little man. His head is covered 
 with a large, bushy mass of gray hair, obstinately
 
 - v? REV. K. S. RUST. 468 
 
 inclined to stand up, and it does bristle and bob in 
 every direction. He is a man who never wearies, 
 and it seems as unnatural for him to keep still as it 
 is for bruin in his native forest. You may always 
 see him in the conference room, as he is one of those 
 appearing men that no one can help seeing. At this 
 moment he is struggling for the floor; and though, as 
 respects alertness in diplomacy, Brother Rust need 
 yield to but few, yet he is unsuccessful this time. 
 His whole system seems to pulsate under the disap- 
 pointment. He wishes to speak for his conference, 
 the New-Hampshire, the delegation from which he 
 leads. We are at this moment watching his gray 
 and well-formed head, and his really intellectual 
 countenance, as the one is drooped in despair, while 
 the other burns with indignation. It is really amus- 
 ing to watch these unconcealed demonstrations of 
 iisappointment. It is but characteristic of the man. 
 Eis heart is always upon his lips. His frankness 
 jonverts him into a transparency. But if disap- 
 pointed, as he was, in the privilege of making one of 
 die speeches, (and had he been thus privileged, his 
 speech would have been one of tfem,) he is found 
 availing himself of all social opportunities, of all op- 
 Dortunities in caucus, to carry his favorite measures. 
 Indeed, we never saw one better adapted to the duties 
 .>f those kind of meetings called caucuses than did 
 Brother Rust seem to be. If the meeting at times
 
 464 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 became tumultuous, he was cool and collected, seek- 
 ing to bring order out of confusion, while at all times 
 his remarks would be characterized by good sense 
 hugely strong, and his address dignified by urbanity 
 and all the graces of the gentlemanly polemic. 
 
 Brother Rust's age is about forty, and though his 
 hair is far too gray for his years, yet he obstinately 
 refuses to be classed among the "fathers." He gradu- 
 ated at the Middletown University in 1841, and im- 
 mediately engaged in teaching, first as principal of 
 Ellington Seminary, and afterward as principal of 
 the High School at Middletown. In 1844 he joined 
 the New-England Conference, and was stationed at 
 Springfield. He was soon transferred to the confer- 
 ence of which he is now a member, and appointed 
 principal of the New-Hampshire Conference Sem- 
 inary, where he remained five years, giving almost 
 universal satisfaction. As an educator, Brother Rust 
 has won a most enviable distinction in the State of 
 New-Hampshire. He received the appointment of 
 State School Commissioner for three successive years, 
 in which responsible post he rendered very high satis- 
 faction, his reports being reputed superior to anything 
 with which the state had been" furnished on that sub- 
 ject, the secular papers speaking of them as being ably 
 and elegantly written, and including in their embrace 
 many matters overlooked by his predecessors. At 
 the close of the five years during which he was de-
 
 REV. R. S. RUST. 465 
 
 voted to the work of education, Brother Rust returned 
 to the regular work of the ministry, and has since 
 filled some of the most responsible stations of his 
 conference. As a preacher, he is forcible, earnest, 
 sensible, and always evangelical. He does not startle 
 by his brilliancy nor lose one in his profoundness, but 
 he talks with such sweet good sense, discourses with 
 such a lovely simplicity on the incomparable themes 
 of the pulpit, that he will never want hearers, always 
 have his full share of admirers, and stand out as a 
 model of the class of preachers to which he belongs. 
 He preached last Sabbath in this city; and though it 
 was not our pleasure to hear him, conversing with a 
 friend who did, he spoke of the effort as being quite 
 equal to the best he had heard at the General Con- 
 ference. We regret, however, to learn that he has 
 fallen into the habit, owing to his very ready facility 
 as a writer, of often reading his sermons. We must 
 ever regard the pulpit, and especially the Methodist 
 pulpit, as surrendering her highest powers when a 
 manuscript comes between it and the people. The 
 preaching of a sermon is not a literary performance, 
 a literary entertainment. It is conversation with the 
 people about that which pertaineth to eternal salva- 
 tion. 
 
 We scarcely know why we have thus extended 
 this sketch. It is, perhaps, because the man of 
 steady, hard work is always, to our mind, a specimen
 
 466 GENERAL CONFERENCE TAKINGS. 
 
 of moral beauty. We always love to work in causes 
 good and noble, and the working man was always, 
 to us, a congenial spirit. It is not the flashes of 
 genius, nor any special gift of talent, that has ele- 
 vated the subject of this sketch to the enviable posi- 
 tion he occupies in the Church and in the world, as 
 a preacher, ecclesiastic, and educator. It cannot be 
 said of him he is a man of genius or profound talent. 
 He possesses enough of both, which, by the aid of 
 another quality we shall mention, have made the 
 man: enthusiasm^ a warm, gushing, restless enthu- 
 siasm, one that works in self-defense, toils in self- 
 indulgence, and inspires those around him with a 
 similar spirit. There have always remained for 
 Brother Rust talent, genius, enthusiasm, but the 
 greatest of these is enthusiasm. 
 
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