J 
 
 ~' J / 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM*'. 
 
 the History Department 
 
arV15932 COme " Universl,y Ubrar Y 
 M S™l?i r ,,.2L , 3f v - E «lward Mott Woollev 
 
 ., 3 1924 031 433 752 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031433752 
 
r- 
 
 £/o 
 
 £v*-- 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 REV. EDWARD I0TT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ET HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 MRS. FIDELIA WOOLLEY GILLETT, 
 
 \ 
 
 ASSISTED BY V 
 
 REV. A. B. GROSH. 
 
 WITH AN APPENDIX, 
 
 CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM HIS SERMONS. 
 
 " He was a man of steady faith, rejoicing in the ministry which he had received of 
 the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God." 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PUBLISHED BY ABEL TOMPKINS, 
 
 38 AND 40 CORNHILL- 
 
 1855. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 A. TOMPKINS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 
 HOEART A BOBBINS, 
 
 New England Tjpo and Stereotype Foundcry, 
 
 BOBTOM. 
 
MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS 
 
 ZT i) i s ¥ o l u in £ 
 
 IS AFEECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 
 BT 
 
 F. W. GILLETT. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I have been requested by many of my father's sincere 
 friends, as well as by many of those to whom he minis- 
 tered from time to time, to prepare a sketch of his earthly 
 labors. It is a work to which my heart joyously assents ; 
 and yet one from which I timidly shrink. There are 
 those, wiser and better, who would arrange it with greater 
 skill ; but none, I think, knew my father's spiritual na- 
 ture more intimately than myself. Naturally slight and 
 fragile, I preferred, even in childhood, a seat by his side, 
 in his shop, listening to the sound of his hammer, or the 
 sweet, cheerful tones of his voice in song, to the sports 
 of my little companions. And a few years later, when 
 he exchanged the labor of the hands for the toil of the 
 study, I was always on my low seat at his feet when I 
 could be relieved from the care of my young brothers 
 and sisters, and he would explain to my childish mind 
 the sentences he read or wrote, and teach me, in his own 
 1* 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 glowing words, those great and beautiful truths that must 
 yet redeem the world. 
 
 And yet, with all my beautiful remembrances, I do 
 not hope to give a perfect expression to my conceptions 
 of his nature. This soul-painting is a work so difficult to 
 perform that it cannot be successfully accomplished by 
 any mortal hand. And to daguerreotype the features of 
 the spirit were a work to which only the infinite Artist 
 could be wholly equal. But I will do as well as I can ; 
 and if to any one who may read this it seems not as he 
 was, may they remember that God has not made us all 
 to see alike, and what to one is plain as the bright beams 
 of the morning sun, to another may be a sealed book. 
 
 It has been said, by those wiser and older than myself, 
 that we should never write too much from the heart ; 
 and, true as it may be, it is advice to which, in this 
 instance, I shall not adhere. I do not expect to exhibit 
 the character of my sainted father as I would that of a 
 stranger. I do not desire or hope to give to the world 
 a critical analysis of his intellect,, as I would were I a 
 philosopher or a divine. But I shall write of him freely 
 and truly ; out of my affection I shall undoubtedly speak. 
 For only those who love us most koow us best ; the 
 spirit, beautiful as it may be, will not reveal itself to 
 dark frowns or harsh words; and even the holy shep- 
 
PREPACK. VU 
 
 herd of Galilee did not expect to be wholly known, Save 
 to Him who loves us all with a love surpassing any that 
 may be known on earth. 
 
 There are, I know, many whom my father loved anx- 
 iously waiting for this biography of their cherished pastor 
 and friend ; there are many hearts to whom it will come 
 as a sacred gift of love, making brighter the delicate 
 chain of tenderness and affection that reaches back through 
 the holy long-ago, whieh no change — not even death — 
 can break, but which will wind onward and upward, till 
 the last link is clasped by the hand of the Father in 
 heaven. 
 
 If there be any to whom my gift seems as nothing, or 
 worse than nothing, I only ask that they will lay it aside, 
 remembering that they, too, have their treasures. And, 
 by and by, when one they have loved and cherished shall 
 have gone to a greater love and a tenderer care, God 
 will give them, in memory, if not in words, a precious 
 record of the life that hung a halo around their way 
 below. 
 
 I have, therefore, arranged this volume, not only in 
 compliance with the wishes of numerous personal friends 
 of my father, and in accordance with my own feelings, 
 but also because it has been widely called for by the 
 religious denomination of which- he was a member. 
 
VIII PREFACE. 
 
 It may be considered a great work for a young 
 daughter to attempt the biography of a father — and 
 that father, by common consent, a talented and highly- 
 esteemed minister of a respectable and influential Chris- 
 tian sect. But, as far as possible, I have allowed him to 
 tell his own story, and have illustrated his character by 
 incidents and letters recorded by himself, and by extracts 
 from his sermons. 
 
 In my labor I have met with great kindness and 
 encouragement; and I would only ask that those for whom 
 I have written this work may receive it with a kindness 
 which will overlook the many deficiencies which I fear 
 abound in it. 
 
 F. W. G. 
 
 Cottage Hill, Biemingham, Mich., i 
 May 15, 1854. \ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 BY KBV. A. B. GEOSH. 
 
 Univebsalism was introduced into the city of New York, 
 about the year 1770, by Rev. John Murray, who occasionally 
 preached there in his journeyings to and fro. But it was not 
 proclaimed in central New York until in 1802, when Rev. 
 Edwin Ferris settled in Otsego County, and preached it in the 
 region round about. He was followed, in 1805, by Rev. Na- 
 thaniel Stacy, who settled in Oneida County, and preached to 
 those that were nigh and to them that were afar off. Others 
 followed ; and thus the glad tidings spread from settlement to 
 settlement in that new region, until in about a quarter of a 
 century believers were multiplied, societies gathered, associa- 
 tions formed, and churches erected in considerable numbers. 
 The strongest prejudices of " the common people " melted 
 away before the truthful eloquence of these early advocates; 
 and the manifest virtues of the believers of " the new doctrine " 
 won the respect of not a few of even the most strenuous 
 opposers among "the Orthodox." 
 
 But the new and increasing denomination was now to pass 
 through another and more fiery ordeal, About the year 1827, 
 the dominant Calvinistic sects began to adopt the measures of 
 the Arminians in " getting up revivals of religion," called 
 " new measures." Continuous meetings were held, a^ first 
 called " two-days' meetings ; " then, from their extension, 
 " three-days' meetings " and " four-days' meetings ; " and, at 
 last, aB they were held for weeks together, " protracted meet- 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ings." Under this latter name they were held for ten, twenty, 
 forty, sixty ,_ ninety, and even upwards of one hundred suc- 
 cessive days and nights. These meetings were managed and 
 conducted by itinerant preachers, called " revivalists," — em- 
 ployed by the churches for the purpose, — who were distin- 
 guished for their extravagance of language and gesture, and 
 their frantic impudence of manner. They stirred up the fires 
 of hell, uncapped its mouth, picked out and held up its sup- 
 posed . inmates, — including Washington, Franklin, and other 
 worthies, — invoked a wrathful 'Omnipotence, and enacted the 
 supposed day of judgment, until fear-paralyzed hearers sunk 
 into passive obedience to the blasphemous preacher ; or, driven 
 to despair, howled and shrieked in the agonies of insanity ! 
 And thus, "from early morn to dewy eve," — yea, in some 
 cases, from four o'clock of a cold wintry morning until past the 
 freezing midnight hour, — all the means of horrible agitation 
 were brought to bear upon densely-crowded audiences of men, 
 women, youths and children, amid the sighs and screams of 
 " the convicted," the groaning and " agonizing prayers " of 
 " the saints," and the scoffs and merriment of " the sinners," 
 who congregated to " see the fun," and gloat over the " comic 
 blasphemies " of the principal performers ! 
 
 With very few exceptions, the partialist churches, both 
 " Orthodox " and " Heterodox," were gradually drawn into 
 this maddening whirl of religious frenzy and policy, — for 
 policy it mainly was, with the majority of the leaders and man- 
 agers. And, with as few exceptions, the Universalist was the 
 only denomination that openly and steadily resisted the furious 
 tide, and fearlessly rebuked the impious leaders of this general 
 crusade against rational religion, and moral order and decency. 
 Against Universalism and Universalists, therefore, were the 
 bitterest denunciations and vilest slanders and misrepresenta- 
 tions hurled by the Finneys, Burchards, Swans, Littlejohns, 
 and other revivalists. And against them were thus excited 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 the most unchristian prejudices and animosities of the religious 
 world generally. Falsehoods which had been so clearly 
 proved untrue that even their originators admitted them to be 
 false were again and" again repeated from the pulpit, and cir- 
 culated by leading members of the churches, in defiance of 
 those previous admissions. Prayers — if curses were not the 
 proper name — were also offered to God, by the leaders of these 
 mad excitements, to convert some prominent Universalist 
 (naming him) within a given period, " or remove him to the 
 grave-yard," — to stop some specified Universalist preacher's 
 mouth, " even if it had to be done by striking him dead," 
 with other equally murderous and blasphemous petitions. 
 
 This wild-fire of fanatical frenzy continued, with various 
 degrees of fury and but little intermission of wrath, for about 
 ten years, when the fires gradually subsided, leaving, in too 
 many cases, the blackened leaders and charred subjects of its 
 many desolations frozen up in an arctic winter of indifference 
 and infidelity, if not utterly lost in a midnight darkness of 
 general vice and licentiousness. For very few of these flaming 
 heralds of hell-torments but sunk into gross immoralities, and 
 were quenched in " the blackness of darkness forever." 
 
 These results showed the folly and tendency of these " new 
 measures," and the wisdom of their steadfast and consistent 
 opposers. Universalists, instead of being driven off the plat- 
 form of common Christianity occupied by all sects, or from 
 their position in public estimation, were confirmed in both by 
 the inevitable reaction. But the trial was a severe and diffi- 
 cult one. For the weapons used against us were calculated 
 to excite a resentful feeling, if not a vindictive spirit, against 
 such unprincipled opponents ; and any manifestation of this 
 encouraged the non-professing hangers-on of our denomination 
 to use words of scoffing and deeds of retaliation against " the 
 common enemy," all of which were promptly " laid at our 
 door." Then, it was difficult, in such a heated contest, to be 
 
XII ■ INTRODUCTION. 
 
 prudent in exposing the excesses of pretended " saints," and 
 yet not countenance the irreligion of acknowledged " sinners," 
 — to strip false piety of its covering, and yet exhibit the true 
 in an attractive manner to minds unaccustomed to distinguish 
 between them. Multitudes, who had been driven from the 
 popular temples and altars by the fury of the storm, took 
 shelter in our churches and under our pulpits ; not to embrace 
 the better faith and practice in the love thereof, but to hear 
 the intolerant creed refuted, and exult in the exposures of the 
 frauds, and falsehoods, and hypocrisy, of their former religious 
 teachers and associates. And as these fed their newly-aroused 
 indignation against creeds and teachers, and confirmed their 
 growing doubts of the truth of the one and the sincerity of the 
 other, it required no little labor and circumspection to draw 
 their attention to the evidences that Christianity was, never- 
 theless, a truth ; and that religious piety, devotion, charity 
 and goodness, were realities. 
 
 It was a very difficult task, and was not always well and 
 wisely performed ; but it was so discharged that Universal- 
 ists and Universalism gained more respect and influence in the 
 public mind and feeling than they had at the commencement. 
 They had shown a most commendable fearlessness in opposing 
 a very popular but erroneous system of measures ; and they 
 had proved, in most .cases, their practice, under the severest 
 trials, to be consistent with their faith in God's goodness. 
 They lived through and lived down the potent storm of being 
 called " enemies of religion," " opposers of the salvation of 
 souls,'' " haters of prayer and godliness," " irreligious men," 
 and " infidels," and proved themselves truly worthy of a 
 place in the family of Christian sects, as a moral and religious 
 people. 
 
 Among the preachers of a world's salvation who arose dur- 
 ing this stormy period in central New York, none created more 
 surprise at the contrast between his appearance, from feeble 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIII 
 
 health and defective education, and his influence, from the 
 power, beauty and resistless persuasion of his sermons, than 
 the Rev. John Freeman. His solemn yet sweet earnestness 
 of manner, his fervid yet rational enthusiasm, his simple 
 and sublime piety, seemed to awe even slanderous bigotry into 
 silence, and disarm superstitious enmity of its prejudice. 
 Brief and entrancing as one of his own sermons was the career 
 of this excellent man ; and when he sank into an early grave, 
 lamented by his own denomination, and by not a few of other 
 sects, the general inquiry seemed to be, Who shall fill his 
 place ? Near home — especially among the most discerning 
 — many eyes were turned toward one man ; and subsequent 
 observation showed how truly, — for that place was well filled 
 by Rev. E. M. Woolley. 
 
 He was like, but not the same, in his talents and gifts. 
 Similar in his fervor, his zeal, his intuition in finding a way to 
 the better feelings of his hearers, and in the ease and warmth 
 of his devotional exercises ; but different in being stronger, 
 perhaps sterner and more abrupt, in his address, — having 
 either more excitability, or less command of his feelings when 
 aroused to indignation by injustice and oppression ; more im- 
 petuous and fierce, therefore, in his rebukes. Of more com- 
 manding presence, also, he awaked greater expectations than 
 did Mr. Freeman ; and, consequently,' hffcook not his hearers 
 so much by surprise, nor excited so much wonder. Appearing 
 also in better health, even when unwell, because possessing a 
 less delicate exterior, he excited not so much sympathy with 
 which to wing his appeals to the hearts of his auditors. In 
 his eloquence he was less fluent and persuasive, more terse 
 and forcible, than his predecessor. Indeed, many supposed 
 that he had studied with, and aimed to acquire the style and 
 manner of, Rev. Stephen R. Smith, so evident was the resem- 
 blance at times. But it was Br. Woolley's ordinary style and 
 manner in every»day conversation, as well as in the pulpit. It 
 2 
 
XTV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 was like Br. Smith's because, and only so far as, Ms mental 
 and physical organization partook of the same character. 
 
 Both Br. Smith and Br. Woolley preferred the strongest 
 terms in which to clothe the feeling or idea to be expressed, 
 so that many deemed their style exaggerating. But the 
 thought glowed with the inner heat which gave it birth ; and 
 the energy that sent it forth clothed it in words that literally 
 burned their way to the hearer's mind, and branded their im- 
 press on the memory. The rapid accumulation of thought and 
 feeling in both prevented the minute elaboration into minor 
 details that enables many to fill a sermon with the frequent 
 changes which may be rung on the tithe of a very small idea ; 
 but, gathering up great masses of idea-ore, freshly glowing 
 from the thought-furnace, both flung them into the minds and 
 hearts before them, leaving their hearers to elaborate the 
 abundantly suggestive material for themselves, at their leisure. 
 Both, also, were unable to write as well, or as forcibly, as they 
 preached. No written sermon of either, that I have ever seen, 
 will compare in living, soul-stirring power with even the same 
 discourse when its strong words and compact thoughts were 
 flung from the speaker's tongue. 
 
 There were differences, however, between Mr. Woolley and 
 Mr. Smith ; for I wish to give a clear idea of the character- 
 istics of the formed as a speaker to those who never heard 
 him, that they may do justice to him and the few sermons 
 contained in this volume. S. B. Smith was the profound 
 philosophical thinker, with mind stored with many treasures 
 of rare knowledge in theology, history, and general literature. 
 E. M. Woolley thought much and earnestly, but not as deeply, 
 nor, perhaps, as broadly ; and, having entered the ministry 
 later in life, and with a family to provide for, he was unable 
 to store his mind to anything like the same extent with such 
 ample materials for thought and instruction. Mr. Smith's do- 
 mestic life was made peculiarly happy and free from annoying 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 cares by his wife; and thus his mind and feelings were disposed 
 to study, and enabled him to use his leisure therein to the 
 greatest advantage. Unhappily, Mr. Woolley's wife was of 
 a different religious faith, and (though exemplary in most 
 respects), aside from her faith and its influences, she was not 
 well suited by temper and disposition to be the help-meet of 
 a clergyman, to furnish opportunity and aid inclination for that 
 absorption of the whole mind in the acquisition and employ- 
 ment of knowledge necessary to the mind-tasking labor of 
 preparing two or more acceptable sermons every week. It is 
 not to be wondered at, therefore, that he fell short of the many 
 and great qualifications which he so much admired in. his 
 friend S. K. Smith. The wonder rather is, that with so late 
 a starting, and impeded by so many more obstacles, Mr. Wool- 
 ley accomplished so much. For to the mass of hearers he 
 seemed second to Mr. Smith merely because of a difference in 
 years ; it was only to the well-educated or profoundly-thinking 
 few that his inferiority seemed to arise from any other cause. 
 
 For further and fuller details of the man, — his life, his man- 
 ners, his labors, — the reader is referred to the Memoir itself. 
 It is written by one who knew him well throughout their joint 
 lives; whom he himself carefully educated in the principles 
 and knowledge that actuated his life and lighted its pathway ; 
 and who, with a daughter's love, has endeavored to be just 
 and truthful to a father's memory. It will speak for itself, 
 with interest and power, to the reader's heart. It only re- 
 mains, therefore, for me to draw this introduction to a close, 
 by relating my share of this work, and how I came to be 
 associated with it 
 
 About two or three years before his decease, Mr. Woolley 
 said to the author of the Memoir, " Fidelia, if I live long 
 enough, I shall write my own biography. If I do not do it, you 
 may do it for me. But, if you write it, and Brother Grosh is 
 alive, let him oversee it — he is older and wiser than you." 
 
XVI IOTBODUCTION, 
 
 After his departure, these words were remembered, and, in 
 the hope of thus educating her youngest brother and sister, 
 Mrs. Gillett consulted me about the preparation of the Memoir. 
 She urged me not only to revise it, but aid in its production. 
 The- publisher added his request ; and, after the Memoir had 
 been once prepared for the press, the united family sent numer- 
 ous letters and sermons of the deceased for examination and 
 incorporation with the work, thus rendering a second thorough 
 revisal and alteration of the Memoir necessary. Deeming it 
 probable that I might render it more acceptable to the reader, 
 more useful to the cause, and more profitable to the family, I 
 consented, though the task was difficult and delicate beyond 
 the reader's ken. 
 
 The relation of Mrs. Gillett to the subject of her Memoir 
 rendered it morally impossible to narrate, however briefly, an 
 important event which occurred a few years before his death. 
 She could not properly even allude to the long train of influ- 
 ences which produced it, impeding the usefulness and embitter- 
 ing the felicity of his wedded life. She therefore left it blank. 
 And it is left for me to say — and I am permitted to say it 
 merely to prevent the suspicious and uncharitable from 
 unjustly filling that blank to the prejudice of the dead and the 
 living — that she omitted a long train of domestic grievances, 
 ending in a divorce from the mother of his children, — not for 
 any criminality other than her unkindness and desertion, — in 
 all of which Mr. Woolley was sustained, and his course fully 
 approved, by all the children. This was followed, after a 
 proper interval (at the very close of his life), by a second 
 marriage, which his family also generally approved. These 
 events, particularly the divorce, had Mrs. Gillett's feelings 
 allowed her fully to narrate and explain them, would have cast 
 no discredit whatever on the domestic, moral, or religious char- 
 acter of the departed ; but what child would be willing to name 
 them? — what heart ask her to dwell upon them? la this 
 
INTKODUCTION. XVII 
 
 section, where he had lived long and was best understood, that 
 divorce created no doubts of his integrity. And these events 
 lost him no confidence in the minds and hearts of those who 
 knew all the parties and circumstances, and especially of those 
 who best knew Mr. Woolley's character. 
 
 Mrs. Grillett's want of intimate acquaintance with the state 
 of the religious world prior to her father's entrance into the 
 ministry of reconciliation rendered it desirable that some other 
 pen should present a general view of the trials to which it sub- 
 jected our cause about that period. I have endeavored to do 
 it, briefly and plainly, yet, I trust, fairly and truly. Of the 
 many sermons furnished and examined, I have added a few 
 only. There was not room for more, without omitting too much 
 from the Memoir, or unduly increasing the size and price of the 
 book. They embrace the most important portions of one of 
 each class, and furnish fair samples of his written style. Yet 
 those who heard them would probably miss the impromptu 
 illustrations and arguments, the pertinent anecdotes and pun- 
 gent applications, by which they were enlivened in public 
 delivery; for he seldom confined himself closely to his 
 manuscript, but enforced the written thought by reference to 
 seasons, circumstances or local associations, which the occasion 
 inspired. These, of course, passed away with the sounds of 
 the voice now hushed in death, or are written only on the 
 loving hearts which treasure them up with other memories of 
 the loved and departed. 
 2* 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BIRTH — ANCESTRY — QUAKER PARENTS — COLT-BREAKING — LOVE OF 
 FLO WEES — SISTER EUNICE SCHOOL LOVE OF PETS — QUAKERESS 
 
 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HIS FATHER'S MISFORTUNES — HE STUDIES SHOEMAKTNG, INSTEAD OF 
 
 LATIN AND LAW HIS BROTHER'S FAMILY EARLY POETRY 
 
 BREAKING INTO THE FAITH PRIVATE STUDIES SELF-CONQUEST, 41 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ENTERS A COUNTRY LYCEUM — HIS FIRST, SPEECH BOOKS AND STUDIES 
 
 — JOINS THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH GOES TO POUGHKEEPSIE 
 
 FIRST UNIVERSALIST FRIEND — ANOTHER FEMALE FRIEND — PREJUDICE 
 AGAINST UNIVERSALISM MORE POETRY, 53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JOURNEYS TO CENTRAL NEW YORK — WORKS AT SHOEMAKING IN NEL- 
 SON — BETTER BE " BABY " THAN "GAMBLER" SPIRIT INFLU- 
 ENCES STUDIES POETRY HOME, AND AT SCHOOL AGAIN VENER- 
 ABLE TEACHER AND UNIVERSALIST — FINAL- LEAVE OF SCHOOL AND 
 HOME — RETURN TO NELSON, NEW YORK, . *69 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RESUMES JOURNEY-WORK — BUYS A HOME FOR PARENTS — RELIGIOUS 
 EXER0ISE3 FATHER STACY AND HIS PROPHECY CONVERSION — MAR- 
 RIAGE AND HOUSEKEEPING — REMOVAL TO FATHER'S FARM — AGAIN IN 
 NELSOIT — ILLNESS AND REPORTED RENUNCIATION — REV. JOHN FREE- 
 MAN — REMOVAL TO MUNNSVTLLE' — COMPELLED TO FINISH MR. FREE- 
 MAN'S SERMON — " NED OAN PREACH ' ' — DEATH OF MR. FREEMAN, 85 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COMMENCES PREACHING IN HAMILTON AND LEBANON — REMOVES HIS 
 
 PAMTT.T — MR FREEMAN'S FAMILY SUCCESSES OPPOSITION MBS. 
 
 FORD'S CONVERSION ORDINATION AND INSTALLATION HIS INSTRUC- 
 TIONS REV. D. SKINNER'S ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND LABORS, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DEATH OF HIS FATHER DEBATE WITH THEOLOGICAL STUDENT — " OLD 
 
 WOOLLET " INCOO. SUICIDE'S FUNERAL — SICKNESS AND DEATH IN HIS 
 
 FAMILY POETRY DISCUSSION IN POOLVILLE SICKNESS AOAIN 
 
 PRAYER TO A METHODIST FUNERAL SERMON 127 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HIS PRESENCE IN THE SICK ROOM MIDNIGHT VISIT TO EROOKFIELD 
 
 BITTERNESS OF THE OPPOSITION LOSSES BY A FRIEND'S FAILURE 
 
 THE SPOILED SERMON TIC-DOULOUREUX, DYSPEPSIA AND BRONCHITIS 
 
 EXHAUSTING EFFORTS TO PAY DEBTS A SONG OF PRAISE FARE- 
 WELL TO HAMILTON AND LEBANON, 146 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ARDUOUS LABORS HOME AND MOTHER A RATTLESNAKE NURSE A 
 
 NARROW ESCAPE A MISTAKE AND INHOSPITALITY AN ALMOST DIS- 
 CUSSION A BIGOT CONVERTED — HER TRIUMPHANT DEATH, . . 162 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DEATH OF A FRIEND CONVERTED METHODIST CONVERTED PRESBYTE- 
 RIAN ANOTHER HAPPY DEATH HOWLET HILL ALBUM TRIBUTE 
 
 — THE REFORMED INEBRIATE WORD SOWN IN THE DARK ITS 
 
 FRUITS, 182 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SELLS HIS HOME TO PAY THE DEBT LINES TO HIS MOTHER — PROFANITY 
 
 REBUKED LEBANON AGAIN NORTH NORWICH STATE CONVEN- 
 TION AT FORT PLAIN — INCREASING ILL HEALTH SARATOGA IN 
 
 VAIN DECLARATION IN VIEW OF DEATH ALBUM LINES, . . 200 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DEATH OF HIS MOTHER — U. S. CONVENTION AT AUBURN — CHARITY AMID 
 PROVOCATIONS — DEATH OF FRIENDS — NOT A " WEIGHTY " PREACHER 
 — EXTRACT FROM A SERMON, 218 
 
CONTENTS. XXI 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 REMOVAL TO BRIDGEWATER — INCREASE OF ILLNESS — SONG-SINGING 
 CHRISTMAS EVE — DEATH OP A SISTER PLAYFULNESS WITH CHIL- 
 DREN ALBUM TRIBUTE CEDARTILLE VISITS THE WEST LETTER 
 
 TO HIS SON — DISCUSSION IN WINFIELD ACCIDENT AND ILLNESS 
 
 FATHER STACY TRIBUTES TO HIS CHARACTER 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 VISITS PONTIAO, MICHIGAN LETTERS TO FRIENDS AND FAMILY 
 
 RETURN HOME PONTIAC AGAIN — LETTERS TO HIS YOUNGEST DAUGH- 
 TERS; TO HIS SON; TO A FRIEND; TO HIS FAMILY; TO FRIENDS HOME 
 
 AGAIN, 256 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 REMOVAL TO MICHIGAN — WAYSIDE RAMBLES — SAVES PADDY FROM A 
 DUCKING — HIS CHILD SAVED FROM DROWNING — VISITS S. R. SMITB: 
 
 SINGING AND SERVICES ON A STEAMER THUNDER-STORM ON 
 
 LAKE ERIE THE NEW HOME — STARVING A HERETIC — ILLNESS 
 
 AGAIN — LETTER TO "GENIE," 272 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FARMINGTON, LIVONIA, WATERFORD — MARRIAGE OF EUNICE LABORS 
 
 DISCUSSION WITH MR. FOOTE POETRY, " THE BIBLE " LETTERS 
 
 MARRIAGE OF FIDELIA — LETTER TO A SISTER POETRY, " LIFE, WHAT 
 
 IS IT? " DEATH OF HIS BROTHER JAMES — PREPARATION FOR HIS 
 
 OWN DEATH — MARRIAGE OF LAURA ANN — INCREASED ILLNESS, SUF- 
 FERINGS, AND RESIGNATION • — HIS DEATH AND FUNERAL, .... 293 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. * 
 
 PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER HIS STUDIES — HIS FAITH 
 
 AND TEACHINGS PREPARATION FOR PREACHING HIS PREACHING 
 
 CHEERFUL VIEWS OF DEATH CONCLUSION, 806 
 
 SERMONS. 
 
 Sermon I ■ 313 
 
 H. 821 
 
 III. 829 
 
 IV. 337 
 
 V. — Extracts, 347 
 
 VL " ■ 855 
 
FATHER. 
 
 *< If be had suffered in the mournful past, 
 If withered hopes were on his spirit laid, — 
 If love, the beautiful, the bright, were cast 
 
 Along his pathway but to droop and fade, — 
 If the chill shadows of the grave were hung, 
 
 In life's young morning, o'er his sunny way, 
 He thanked thee, our God, that he had clung 
 To those eternal truths that ne'er decay, 
 
 E'en to thy love and truth." 
 
 Mrs. S. C. Edgabton Mato. 
 
 There was a sound of weeping on the air, 
 
 And broad-browed manhood came with downcast eye ; 
 And pale-faced woman, with a look of care, 
 
 And heaving breast, and wild and heart-wrung sigh ; 
 And little children, with a noiseless tread, 
 
 And laughter hushed, and whispers low, 
 With flower-filled hands, and fair, uncovered heads, 
 
 And timid look, as though afraid to go ; — 
 
 All these had come and looked where, still, our father lay 
 
 On snowy pillows, with a brow as white 
 As the great snow-piles where the north winds play, 
 
 Or the pure swan's-down floating in the light ; 
 They came and looked — and some had lightly wept, 
 
 And some fast burning tears had shed ; 
 And others said — how sweetly there he slept ; 
 
 And others too had told us he was dead. 
 
XXIV FATHER. 
 
 That he was dead — we had no father, now ; 
 
 That was not he, within the flower-strewn robe , 
 Old age might come unto his yqung hoy's brow, 
 
 And we might tread the far way round the trackless globe ; 
 Might go where sea-waves dash, and rivers glide, 
 
 Might search the crowded street, each lonely spot, 
 Might journey till the sweet young stars had died, 
 
 Through town and dell, and yet would find him not. 
 
 We had no father — he had gone, at last, 
 
 To that strange country whene the dead must dwell ; 
 Had gone forever from the treasured past, 
 
 From the bright world he loved so long and well ; 
 He had forgot the friends — the old, the tried, 
 
 The cherished faith, grown firmer every day, 
 The childish forms that gambolled at his side, 
 
 And the red lips he early taught to pray ! 
 
 We have no father ! — ah ! as well go say 
 
 That never more will smile the meek-eyed flowers, 
 Or with a light step o'er our winding way 
 
 Will tread the joyous April showers. 
 For, by our love, that yet will firmly cling 
 
 To the warm heart that cherished it so long, 
 By the great hope, as fresh-lived as the spring, 
 
 We know he loves us — therefore are we strong ! 
 
 f. w. a. 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 BIRTH ANCESTRY QUAKER PARENTS COLT-BREAKING LOVE OP 
 
 FLOWERS — SISTER EUNICE — SCHOOL — LOVE OF PETS QUAKERESS 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 Edwakd Mott Woolley was born in the pleasant 
 town of Dover, Duchess County, N. Y., Oct. 31st, 1803. 
 He was the youngest of a family of seven children. A 
 bright, happy Edwin, the pet and playmate of the house- 
 hold, had been buried two years before; and little Edward 
 was welcomed, not only as a gift of love, but as a price- 
 less treasure to fill the void made by the departure of the 
 sweet cherub they had lost. Upon the day of his birth, 
 his father said jocosely to his mother, as he gave him his 
 name combined with hers, " I hope he will make a man 
 just like myself; then he will not be much like thee, 
 Lizzie ! " And years after, when my good grandmother's 
 soft hair was as white and almost as lustrous as the winter 
 frost-spangles, I have heard her say, as her son addressed 
 to her some witty remark, " Thy father's wish is granted, 
 Edward. Thee is just like him." But in this remark 
 she was not wholly correct ; for he had also inherited 
 many of her sweet and saintly virtues. 
 
 Edward traced his ancestry upon the father's side 
 through a long line of English families, of whom to say 
 the least would be that they were not known to have dis- 
 3 
 
26 MEMOIR OF EDWABD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 graced their lineage. Before our Revolutionary war, three 
 brothers left a beautiful part of North Wales, and came 
 together to Boston. They then separated ; one located 
 in New Jersey, another went to the isle of Cuba, and 
 the third became a wanderer. Of the last-named we 
 can merely add, 
 
 " When or where he drooped and died, 
 Only Heaven could tell." 
 
 The clear, blue wave of ocean might roll over his pulse- 
 less form, or, 
 
 " Haply thistles, blue and red, 
 Might bloom about his lonesome bed." 
 
 From the brother who made a home in New Jersey 
 Edward traced his paternal descent. The grandfather of 
 Edward was a man of wealth and influence ; but, even 
 while subject to royalty, he became a thorough republi- 
 can. Many a foot-worn, weary messenger did he secrete 
 in his own house, and of all he possessed he gave freely 
 in the cause of freedom. Frequently, as the flying 
 soldiers were hastening by, did his wife spread quickly 
 her table, and joyfully give of her store to the needy and 
 the brave. The good old man lived long to enjoy the 
 government he coveted, and left impressed on the heart 
 of his little grandson the life-lasting image of a cheerful, 
 smiling face, shaded by long, silver, curling hair, — a face 
 over which the sunshine of the heart always played, 
 beautiful as a pictured, divinity. Yet the aged man never 
 forgot ihe land of his ancestors, or ceased to look with 
 pride upon " Merrie England." 
 
 Edward's father was a man of brilliant, showy intel- 
 lect, always well-informed upon the political topics of 
 the times, with a great fund of good humor and strong 
 affections, and from his heart flowed streams of love 
 toward all the human family. If he had possessed only 
 one dollar in the world, the needy would have been wel- 
 come to share it as far as it could be made to go ; and 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 27 
 
 especially would he have shared with his children and 
 children's children everything he possessed. 
 
 In his family he exercised but little authority. His 
 maxim was, " That government is the best which governs 
 the least." He had no disposition to deny the wishes of 
 his children ; and if one and all were happy, it was 
 enough. He loved them too much to do them unkind- 
 ness or wrong ; and he could not easily bring himself to 
 command or chastise. But he liked a merry gathering, 
 a conversation with political friends, " a feast of reason 
 and a flow of soul," too well to throw himself into the 
 harness of business, and labor faithfully for family wealth 
 or independence. He was the one good man in the 
 community where he resided. He had always a smile 
 and a good word for every one he met, and little children 
 claimed a peculiar part of his attention. By the young 
 and the old he was ever kindly spoken of as " IJncle 
 Edward." In his old age he met with that devotion and 
 care which he had bestowed upon the children of his 
 heart. But, with all his tenderness, he had inherited 
 the quick impulses and the almost indomitable pride 
 which sometimes flow in English veins. 
 
 Mr. Mott, the father of Elizabeth Mott Woolley (who 
 was the mother of Edward), was a resident of Long Island. 
 He was a stanch defender of George III., and, though he 
 took no part in the war, his sympathies were all with his 
 king. Before the close of the war the most of his prop- 
 erty was exchanged for continental money ; and when, 
 after the war was over, the government oifered him fifty 
 per cent., he would not receive it. With him it was 
 " all or nothing." The continental bills were given to 
 Elizabeth, and, after lying for years in her writing-desk, 
 were drawn forth, and made quite a display in my child- 
 ish play-house. 
 
 Elizabeth Mott was carefully and religiously educated, 
 and well-informed for the time in which she lived ; and 
 when she took her place in society as the wife of Edward 
 Woolley, it was as an intelligent, conscientious woman, 
 
28 MBMOIK OS EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 anxious, above all things, to be a faithful wife and de- 
 voted mother. In person she was of slight but full 
 form ; her features rather small, yet round ; her complex- 
 ion fresh and fair, with eyes of a dark, starry blue, and 
 heavy, soft, auburn hair. She had a profound but 
 extremely sensitive mind, and an uncommon amount of 
 good sense. She possessed great quietness and placidity, 
 combined with a gentle dignity of demeanor. And, like 
 all the Motts I have ever seen, she had great self-posses- 
 sion, which she seldom, if ever, lost. She had that nat- 
 ural purity of heart, and innate holiness of thought, 
 which was a perfect shield against all temptation. For her 
 there was a higher than man's law; and though her 
 family were dearer to her than her own heart's blood, 
 she would prefer that they all should perish with her, if 
 need be, than to sacrifice that which was true and right 
 to policy or passion. Under her calmness of demeanor 
 lay a decision of character, and a strength of will, that 
 no trial of life could subdue. She was equal to any 
 emergency, and would walk through a sea of fire to 
 the accomplishment of her duty. Sincere in her reli- 
 gious views, she strove to impress the same upon the 
 minds of her sons and daughters. The elder sons, as 
 they grew to youth, were gladly welcomed in society, 
 and were very fond of merry-making and the dance. 
 Their great love of frolic and amusement sometimes 
 troubled the heart of the conscientious mother ; and then 
 she would lay her hand tenderly on the head of her lit- 
 tle Edward, and, as she smoothed the soft, flaxen hair 
 from the broad, deep forehead, then so like her own, she 
 would say, in tones he never could forget, "I hope thee 
 will make a good man, a very good man, Edward." 
 
 She was so rigidly true to her own thought that she 
 was frequently called a stern, cold woman. But beneath 
 that placid manner beat a heart as great and warm as 
 ever throbbed in human breast. Her children some- 
 times thought her unnecessarily severe in her chastise- 
 ments. Yet it is not always those who approve of our 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 29 
 
 follies, or uphold our frailties, that love us most ; if it 
 were, why has God, whose love for us is infinite, so 
 arranged his laws that we must suffer for our sins ? 
 
 As the character of Edward is developed in our nar- 
 rative, it will be seen that he inherited much of the mind 
 of both of his .parents. That he combined his father's 
 shrewdness and impulsiveness with his mother's calmness 
 and decision, will be seen by a little anecdote, said to have 
 occurred when he was but ten years of age. When he was 
 about seven years old his father gave him a. young colt, 
 with the promise that it should be his to dispose of as he 
 pleased when it grew up ; for, young as the boy was, 
 he was shrewd enough to suspect that the pet might be 
 his colt, but his father's horse. When the colt was 
 between three and four years old he was said to be ready 
 for breaking. One of the brothers could ride him, but 
 he had never been harnessed. Alfred, the brother who 
 was called the horseman, had promised, time and again, 
 to accomplish this, to the child's* mind, wonderful feat. 
 But, considering it needless to be in haste, and, undoubt- 
 edly, thinking little or nothing of his brother's anx- 
 iety, he always forgot it, in attending to his business, 
 until the boy mentioned it to him again. The night 
 before the trifling event took place, Alfred rode the colt 
 home from the " valley," and, after he retired to rest, 
 Edward sat upon his father's knee, and mother's urging 
 combined with his prevailed upon the father to say, 
 " Alfred will break the colt to-morrow." " Remember, 
 to-morrow, father ! " said the happy child, as he tripped 
 across the room toward his own chamber. The' little 
 fellow must needs open his brother's door, and rouse him 
 from his slumbers with, "Father says you'll break 
 Gray to-mfrrow." " Yes," was the response ; and away 
 flew the light feet, while the red lips retained their smiles 
 in happy dreamings. 
 
 The sunbeams were not up, with their golden bright- 
 ness, before Edward came from his pillow, wide awake 
 for the proceeding of the day. But what was his sur- 
 3* 
 
80 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 prise and disappointment, after breakfast was over, to 
 see his brother ride off towards the "valley"! The 
 child's heart was full to overflowing. He laid his head 
 upon his mother's lap, and declared, amid his sobs, "that 
 it was not right. Is it right, mother?" And softly 
 and soothingly from her lips came the words, " Thee 
 knows it is wrong, my little son; but, perhaps, thy 
 brother has forgotten. Be not too displeased with him ; 
 he will do it for thee some other time." " He never 
 will ! " replied little Edward ; and his mother afterward 
 remembered that he said it with peculiar earnestness. 
 Suddenly the boy raised his head and asked, " Where is 
 father?" 
 
 " Away on business." 
 
 " Will he come home to dinner? " 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 Quick as thought the boy's feet flitted across the floor, 
 and out into the field where Gray was grazing. His 
 mother saw him with his colt, and went about her 
 household duties. It was not far to a neighbor's, and 
 Edward claimed the assistance of a boy fourteen years 
 old, to have a frolic with him, in breaking the colt. They 
 went together to the pasture, and Edward himself put a 
 halter around Gray's neck, and the other boy caught the 
 other two horses. " What do you want with both of 
 these horses?" asked the larger boy, as he led them 
 into the stable. " Why, you see, we never ca$ drive 
 Gray down that great, long hill, and so we must drive 
 these, or how can we get the wagon down ? Now, you 
 drive the horses down to the foot of the hill, and I will 
 ride Gray ; then we can hitch them to the, trees, and you 
 bring back one, while I stay with the otMjra^ In accord- 
 ance with his calculation, the boy put the twb old horses 
 before the wagon, and drove them down the hill, while Ed- 
 ward rode the colt. There they fastened old Poll to a tree, 
 and Edward kept watch while his young friend returned 
 the mate to the field. He soon came back, and Edward 
 led his colt to the side of steady old Poll, and then tied 
 
•MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTI WOOLLEY. 31 
 
 her to a tree, for lie was not strong enough to hold her, 
 while the boy put on the harness. After they were har- 
 nessed, Edward jumped into the wagon, and, taking up 
 'the lines, told the boy to untie the halter. The halter 
 was untied, and the word given to go. Old Poll started 
 as usual, but Gray went up in the air ; and, though the 
 wagon was still, the neighbor b"oy could not be prevailed 
 upon to get in. He was afraid of being hurt, and pre- 
 sented to Edward the danger of his situation ; and when 
 he found he would not relinquish his purpose, he ran off 
 for home. " Don't tell mother," cried Edward after 
 him, as he stood upright in the wagon, talking to Poll, 
 and coaxing Gray. "I guess, now, I might as well sit 
 down," he said to himself " for when they do go they '11 
 throw me overboard." He sat down on the board across 
 the lumber-box, and by that time Gray had concluded 
 to try his feet upon the earth, and good, faithful old 
 Poll was ready to keep him in the "narrow way." 
 Away they went, the halter flying in the air, and the 
 wagon rattling and rumbling behind the dancing heels 
 of beautiful Gray. There was but one sudden turn in 
 the road, and then little Edward knew he should be safe. 
 Around that they bounded on into the smooth, green- 
 fringed road beyond, and, after a few hours, Gray 
 became so patient and docile that Edward got out of the 
 wagon, and tied up the halter; and, after giving old 
 Poll a few words of encouragement for her dutiful 
 behavior, and telling Gray that he was a good fellow, 
 he sprang to his seat and rode on. It was a beautiful 
 day in the early part of autumn ; the child had lost his 
 hat, and the clear, cool breeze that blew the hair from 
 his forehead, and fanned his cheek, was as gentle as the 
 touch of his mother's hand, and to him then seemed as 
 full of blessings. The flowers had not all faded, and 
 the grass by the roadside wore the rich, heavy hue, 
 between a green and a brown, that ushers in the autumn 
 of the year. As the little boy rode up and down the 
 road, the quietness and beauty of the day, together with 
 
32 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 the excitement of the morning, left an impress upon his 
 young mind that he could never forget. 
 
 It was towards nightfall when he drove up the hill 
 past his home. His father and brother had returned, 
 and were looking anxiously for him. As his feet touched 
 the 'ground, his mother took him by the arm and asked, 
 " Edward, is thee hurt in any way ? " 
 
 " No, mother, I am sound as a brick ! " 
 
 The horses were taken away by the father and brother, 
 and his mother led him into the house. As they gath- 
 ered around the supper-table, his mother said, " We are 
 all glad to see thee back safe, Edward ; but I fear thee 
 must be punished in some way." 
 
 " I should say the boy's labor and fatigue would 
 answer for to-night, Lizzie," uttered the father, while 
 ^ears of joy filled his eyes; and he continued, "Now, 
 boy, let 's see thee eat a hearty supper ! Was thee not 
 fearful Gray would dash thy brains out for thee, Ned?" 
 
 ' ' Why, no ; not if I could get down the hill, and 
 harness him by the side of Poll." 
 
 Edward then related his management, and concluded 
 with, "And, father, I would not get him" (pointing to 
 his brother) "to break horses any more. I know of 
 some one that can do it better." 
 
 "I'll give in to you, Ned," answered the brother; 
 and the little fellow went to his slumbers without any 
 punishment, save a caution to be wiser in future. 
 
 Through Edward's childhood he was especially the 
 companion of his mother. Her other children were old 
 enough to dispense with her immediate presence and 
 care ; but Edward was always with her. He followed 
 her from garret to cellar, from kitchen to parlor, to 
 the poultry-yard and the milk-room ; and his constant 
 prattle, with the pattering sound of his little feet, were 
 as sweet music to the mother's heart. When amid her 
 household duties she delighted to relate to him simple sto- 
 ries that started reflection in his infantile mind, although 
 she was often heard to say that his queries sometimes 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 33 
 
 proved too much for her wisdom. She was fond of read- 
 ing, though it seems that opportunities for obtaining 
 books and papers were quite limited. Delicate and 
 refined in her own nature, she could very well compre- 
 hend and develop the mind of her child. ' He was so 
 sensitive that a frown cut him to the heart, and so 
 timid that a laugh or a look from a stranger drove him 
 entirely within himself. One day his mother discovered 
 him, with pencil and paper, seated under the chestnut- 
 tree that was near their dwelling ; she had a curiosity to 
 know what he was doing,, but he blushed as though 
 caught in the commission of some crime, as she asked 
 him for the paper; and she rallied him with, " I '11 bet 
 an. apple-pie thee has been writing a letter." 
 
 " no, mother! " 
 
 " Well, thee had better give it to thy mother, and get 
 the pie." 
 
 The paper was • given up, and it proved to be a scrap 
 of rhyme to his treasure of a colt. These lines, as well 
 as many other of his boyhood's pencillings, were kept 
 for many years by his mother, but were lost amid the 
 changes of a long, eventful life. 
 
 Mrs. Woolley was a very industrious woman, but 
 whenever she could obtain a few moments' leisure she 
 led her young son through the meadows and over the 
 hills about their home, pausing to gather the buds and 
 blossoms at their feet, or listening to the bird-music in 
 the air. These rambles undoubtedly gave him that un- 
 common admiration of natural scenery, and that love of 
 flowers, which lingered with him through the joys and 
 sorrows of fifty years. lor the sweet children of the 
 garden and the wild he cherished a tenderness as great 
 and as sincere as ever dwelt in the heart of woman. He 
 always carried them with him, if they could be obtained, 
 to the sick chamber ; and they formed the only badge 
 of mourning he ever wore for the dead. He frequently 
 fastened his horse to a tree by the roadside, as he was 
 journeying, and walked several rods to pluck what to 
 
34 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 his eye looked like a newly-discovered blossom. We 
 have now in our yard a treasured thornless rose, which 
 he brought twenty miles in his own hands. After he 
 commenced the ministry of his Master, he changed his 
 residence several times ; and I do not know that he ever 
 made a new home, that some new shrub or tree was not 
 carried to it, and nursed and watered by his own hands. 
 I remember one instance in particular. We had moved 
 into a strange parsonage, some time in the month of 
 March. In the front yard there was not a shrub of any 
 kind, with the exception of a June rose-bush. In the 
 latter part of the following April, as I returned at night 
 from school, my father was settling the earth about the 
 roots of a large snowball-bush. In childish simplicity I 
 asked, " How long shall we, live here, father? " " I do 
 not know," was the answer. And then I asked, " What 
 makes you take the pains to plant this, then? " " One 
 season of blossoms will repay us for my care and atten- 
 tion ; and, when we are gone, it will remain for others to 
 cherish. Always, my child, strive to leave something 
 which those who come after you may love." He was 
 wont to say that "flowers were like little children, — the 
 smiles of God upon the earth." 
 
 Another companion of Edward's childhood was his sis- 
 ter Eunice. She was the oldest of the children, and, 
 although so many years his senior, she was the only one 
 of the brothers or sisters with whom he could be very 
 familiar. In many respects their characters were similar, 
 and this similarity was seen in his childhood. To her 
 his spirit revealed itself more fearlessly, perhaps, than to 
 his mother ; she was more at home than the sister Mary, 
 and had great sympathy in his childish sports. In her 
 girlhood she was confined to her room from spring till 
 winter with a slow, wasting disease, supposed to be, and 
 which undoubtedly was, bronchitis. Through this sick- 
 ness, as her little brother brought her the flowers fresh 
 with the morning dew, or sat with her through the short 
 summer twilight, or cheered her with his innocent, merry 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 85 
 
 singing through the lengthening evenings of autumn, 
 she grew to think him almost a cherub from the spirit- 
 world ; and the love that had its birth with life gained a 
 strength, throug*h this season of happiness and trial, that 
 future weal or woe could not in any way diminish. For 
 this sister Edward cherished a tenderness he seldom knew 
 for any human being;- — an affection deeper and warmer 
 than his heart owed toward any, save the wife and chit| 
 dren that gathered about his own household altar. Jj 
 
 It was not thought possible that Eunice could recover, 
 and every whim and superstition was made use of, and 
 talked about carelessly, without thought of its effect upon 
 the mind of as young a child as Edward. Among the 
 other "signs of the times," was a whip-poor-will, that 
 came, every evening of the. summer time, and sung be- 
 neath her window. It came unmolested at first; but 
 soon Eunice noticed that the sweet bird could hardly be- 
 gin his song, before Edward would drive him away. One 
 day she asked him why he did so, and he answered, "Why, 
 they say you'll die if he comes here." His sister told 
 him it was all folly ; that she should live as long, perhaps 
 longer, if the whip-poor-will came ; she enjoyed his sing- 
 ing so much. ' ' Will you get well, then ? " he exclaimed. 
 " I '11 go and get him for you every night." 
 
 He soon learned not to associate any sad or melancholy 
 thoughts with the visit of the night-bird ; but, one even- 
 ing, after he had been sitting at his sister's feet, he 
 went to his mother, who was by an open window, and, 
 crossing his hands over her knees, looked steadily in her 
 face, and asked, 
 
 " Mother, will Eunice die ? " 
 
 It struck a tender chord in the good mother's heart, 
 and she answered, sadly, 
 
 " I cannot tell thee, child." 
 
 " Mother," he continued, " if she dies, shall I see her 
 again?" 
 
 " I think thy sister will go to heaven, Edward." 
 
 "Won't I go there too, mother ? I want to go with her." 
 
36 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 "Is thee a good boy, Edward? Doea thee always do 
 right?" 
 
 " I try to do fight. I shall go with Eunice. Could n't 
 God let me go, mother ? You say he ca*h do anything." 
 
 She evaded his question, but told him, if he would go 
 to heWen with his sister, he must do thus and so. Among 
 her other remarks, she said that everything was God's, for 
 God bad made everything. In the simplicity of his 
 nature, he asked, • 
 
 "If God made everything, what did he make it out 
 of? " 
 
 According to her faith, she answered, " Out of 
 nothing." 
 
 This was too much for his wisdom to comprehend ; and, 
 bursting into a laugh, he said, "0, mother, you don't 
 mean it ! Ged never made everything out of nothing." 
 
 He received a rebuke then for his wicked incredulity , 
 but the writer of this remembers hearing his mother say 
 to him, in his manhood, while a smile broke over her 
 wrinkled face, "Well, Edward, has thee learned yet 
 how God made everything out of nothing? " 
 
 The sister above alluded to recovered her health, and 
 is yet living in Onondaga County, New York. But it 
 cannot be long before she, too, will be called to join those 
 she loves in the home above ; for the snows of nearly 
 seventy winters have fallen over her deep forehead, and 
 her step is feeble upon the threshold of time. Should 
 she live to read this poor record of her brother's life, she 
 will find in it many a trifling event over which she 
 laughed or wept in the buried long-ago. May it be to 
 her a treasured gift, bringing her nearer the loved and 
 blest ! 
 
 When Edward was six years old, he was sent to school, 
 a distance of two and a half miles. In the summer he 
 could- shorten this distance by going across the fields ; 
 and in fall and winter, when his father had leisure, he 
 frequently carried him to and fro. But often, through 
 the deep mud of a New York November, and the cold 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTX WOOLLEY. 87 
 
 snow-piles of a chilling winter, the little fellow made his 
 way alone, with his books over the dinner in the basket 
 hanging on his arm, his chubby hands covered with the 
 thick, mother-knit mittens, and his feet protected by 
 warm socks and heavy brogans. Wind and storm never 
 kept him from school ; and until he became old enough to 
 assist his father, or it was thought best to send him from 
 his early home, he was a constant attendant at school. 
 He had learned to read well, and could spell some words, 
 at home ; though in the latter study he was never profi- 
 cient. He would apply himself very closely to his les- 
 son, after the teacher had given it out, and he learned 
 easily; yet, after he had so mastered it that he could 
 spell every word when pronounced by the little chum at 
 his side, if he went into a class his face would be suf- 
 fused with crimson blushes, his eyes would fill with tears, 
 and all the letters of the alphabet were combined to spell 
 one word. 
 
 In Geography he succeeded better; being a descrip- 
 tion of the earth's beauties, it came nearer his heart, 
 and was his favorite study. He mastered it readily, and 
 retained it in his memory. Arithmetic was a favorite 
 study with him also, although he found it like hard labor. 
 He was very fond of mathematics, and could equal any 
 scholar in his class, by steady application. But it did not 
 seem that nature had given him any remarkable " bump " 
 for the science ; for, though he could learn rules, he found 
 difficulty in applying them. This was always so with 
 him. It was a trait he never overcame. Through his 
 whole life his mind was of that peculiar nature that he 
 could not square it by the plummet and line ; it would not 
 be governed by rules, or be fettered long with creeds. 
 
 In his early school-days Grammar was taught but 
 
 little. -He did obtain, in his thirteenth year, a copy of 
 
 • " Murray ; " but it was found that the scholars knew as 
 
 much about it as the teacher, and consequently it was 
 
 not very thoroughly studied. 
 
 In school Edward was not always quiet and obedient. 
 4 
 
88 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 Not wilfully perverse, but a great fund of good humor 
 could not be stifled all day, by threats or frowns ; and if 
 his feet could not dance over the floor, his merry thoughts 
 would dance through his brain, and occasionally his 
 hands kept time, to the great annoyance of his com- 
 panions, in the way of fastening split goose-quills upon 
 ears, or pinning some comical-looking picture upon the" 
 back of a boy's coat. But in all his roguishness he 
 so -managed that he was not severely punished ; a 
 " dunce-block " in the middle of the floor in winter, or a 
 seat upon the stove in summer, or a slight feruling of 
 the hand, was the severest infliction. His disposition 
 was such, that if he became angry with a schoolfellow, 
 chastisement was worse than useless ; it only added fuel 
 to the fire. But kindness, with time to overcome his 
 impulses, always subdued him, and his genial good 
 humor was again in all his conduct. 
 
 In the school above mentioned Edward remained 
 through nearly all the winters, and many of the sum- 
 mer!, from his sixth to his sixteenth year. 
 
 Another trait which early developed itself in Edward's 
 character was a fondness for pets. He loved his dog, 
 his dolt, his cat, his flowers, with as deep a tenderness 
 as many a human heart cherishes for its nearest friends ; 
 and when they were taken from him, he mourned for 
 them with a grief that would not be comforted. Cir- 
 cumstances were such with his father that it was neces- 
 sary for him to dispose of the cherished colt, when 
 Edward was near fourteen. When it was first proposed 
 to him, he would not hear a word" of it ; Gray was his, 
 and he must not, no, he should not go. Upon further 
 explanation of the necessity, he gave up opposition, but 
 never consented to the sale ; and when his father said, 
 " Maybe I can get thee another one, some time, Ed- 
 ward," he replied, "Don't say that, father; it wouldn't 
 be Gray." The colt, the darling pet, was sold from the 
 green pastures and the warm stables, but he never left 
 the heart of his young master. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 39 
 
 This tenderness and attachment to pets strengthened 
 through the whole of his life ; it was not a mere fancy 
 for his own gratification, but led him to render every- 
 thing about him comfortable. He was as careful to 
 make a bed for his dog as he was to go to his own 
 pillow, even in his manhood; and when his daughter 
 Laura Ann (when a " wee bit" of a child) owned a pet 
 chicken that was in danger of freezing in the cold of a 
 winter night (having escaped from its basket of flannels), 
 he took it to his own pillow, and greeted her in the 
 morning with, " Where do you think Tom is, this Lap- 
 land morning, my little girl?" And as she answered 
 " freezed to deaf," he turned back the blanket, and 
 revealed her " biddy-pet," nicely done up in flannels. 
 
 In Edward's childhood he exhibited traits of character 
 so different from his brothers, that, though they loved 
 him dearly as the youngling of the flock, they were 
 sometimes inclined to consider him not quite as bright as 
 themselves. His extreme sensitiveness they were wont 
 to call folly ; and his childish views of right and wrong • 
 they ridiculed. These remarks settled down heavily 
 upon the heart of the boy ; so heavily, that he believed 
 himself a dunce, and had come to think the beautiful 
 thoughts. of his young mind were downright follies, to 
 which other little boys were not addicted. About this 
 time, a beautiful and intelligent Quakeress was visiting 
 Mrs. Woolley ; and at the dinner-table Edward had again 
 been called very foolish. The lady was a great discerner 
 of nature, particularly of children's natures, and she 
 saw that the remark cut the heart of her little friend 
 like a two-edged sword. After dinner, Mrs. Woolley 
 said to her friend, " My little Edward is a very good 
 boy, but he ha* such strange ways that I sometimes fear 
 he will not make a very bright man." 
 
 Her frienl looked earnestly at her, as she replied, 
 " Lizzie, I am very sorry to hear thee say this, for 
 Edward is the brightest and best of all thy children ; if 
 
40 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 thee lives to see him a man, thee will discover thy mis- 
 take." 
 
 This Friend was undoubtedly more lavish in her 
 praise, for the purpose of encouraging the sensitive 
 child, for Edward never considered himself superior to 
 his brothers and sisters ; but»the effect of her words may 
 be known from his own language, He says : " When I 
 heard the reply of my mother's friend, I could not 
 believe my own senses, and I looked up in amazement, 
 for I thought she was ridiculing uie ; but her face was 
 so calm and tender in expression, and she smiled so 
 sweetly upon me, that I knew she must be in earnest. I 
 ran out to my play, contented and happy ; for I knew 
 there was one being on the earth who could understand 
 and sympathize with the high aspirations of my young 
 but fettered spirit. I thought about it all the afternoon, 
 and would ask myself if it were possible that this woman, 
 whom my good mother thought almost an angel, could 
 believe that I was not a 'dunce.' Why, I felt like 
 going down upon my knees, and thanking God that he 
 had given me so good a friend. Her words were, to my 
 heart, like manna to fainting Israel ; they were the ' good 
 seed,' sown in the right season, which was to bring forth 
 fruit an hundred-fold. And ever after I clung to her 
 friendship, as a poor, trembling sinner might cling to a 
 Saviour. I went often to her home, where she read, 
 and talked, and sung to me ; and from her lips I learned 
 lessons of wisdom that enriched all my after jife." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 HIS FATHER'S MISFORTUNES — HE STUDIES SHOEMAKINO, INSTEAD OF 
 
 LATIN AND LAW — HIS BROTHER'S FAMILY EARLY POETRY 
 
 BREAKING INTO THE FAITH PRIVATE STUDIES — SELF-CONQUEST. 
 
 During Edward's childhood his father met with 
 adverse circumstances; and his great willingness to 
 assist all who called for help, combined with other events, 
 rendered his situation, as far as pecuniary matters were 
 concerned, somewhat unpleasant. His second son, who 
 had been extensively engaged in the droving business, 
 was deprived of nearly all he possessed by a runaway 
 partner, and came home to his father's house broken in 
 purpose, and saddened in heart, bringing with him a 
 wife, and several small children. 
 
 Mrs. Woolley had been very anxious to gratify Ed- 
 ward's desire for a more extensive education, and both 
 herself and his father had hoped to obtain the money by 
 which to accomplish it; but when he reached his six- 
 teenth year the hope died out of the heart of his parents, 
 and after a long consultation, and many days, and even 
 weeks, of trial, they concluded it would be best for him 
 to "go to a trade." The other two sons had done so, 
 and were doing well ; made respectable and influential 
 men, and were satisfied with their business. " Why will 
 not Edward do the same ? " they asked each other. 
 Alas ! they did not know then "that one star differeth 
 from another star in glory ; " and that one heart may be 
 filled to overflowing with joy by that which to another 
 brings the deepest of sorrow, and bends into a wrong 
 channel, or crushes completely, the energies which, if 
 4* 
 
42 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 rightly directed, might have built up joy and gladness in 
 the earth. Edward's mother at first opposed the matter ; 
 " It will be such a disappointment to him ! " she said. 
 
 " But it will be for his good, Lizzie," said the father. 
 " Don't encourage him in foolish fancies, that never can 
 be realized ; thee upholds him too much in castle-build- 
 ing, Lizzie." 
 
 "Well, maybe I do; but, if I do, thee knows it is 
 because I understand him better than thee does ; and I 
 do not know what is best for him to do ; only I wish he 
 could have his own way in the matter." 
 
 It was finally arranged that Edward should go with 
 his brother Gideon, who for four years had been married, 
 . and extensively engaged in the shoe and finishing busi- 
 ness, in Pleasant Valley. When the matter was made 
 known to Edward, he was very much excited, and de- 
 clared that " he could not, and, more than all that, 
 he would not go. I mean to be a lawyer, father, if I 
 can ever learn enough ; and I can't go to the Valley ! " 
 
 His father called his vehemence foolish, and laughed 
 at his desire to study law. " Thy brother will do well 
 by thee, and thee had better go," he said. But his per- 
 suasions were then of no avail ; and Edward went to his 
 mother for consolation and advice. She told him of the 
 many conversations she had held with his father upon 
 the subject, and how sorry she was to have it so. " But 
 we cannot help thee much, Edward," she would say; 
 " we are getting old, for thee is our youngest child, and 
 now thee is almost a young man. Don't feel hard* 
 towards thy father and mother, for by and by thee will 
 not have any to trouble thee ; and then, Edward, thou 
 will feel *worse than thee does now. Do as we wish, 
 and, perhaps, after thee has learned thy trade, thee can 
 help thyself to more knowledge. Thy brofher will be 
 good to thee, and thee had better go." 
 
 Edward was subdued, but was not willing ; great piles 
 of law-books were before his eyes, and the wisdom he 
 was to gather from the past waa constantly in his mind. 
 
MEMOIR OF EfiWAKD MOM WOOLLEY. 43 
 
 Arrangements were made, however, with his brother, to 
 school and clothe him, and they settled the matter by 
 telling him that he did not know enough to do anything 
 but make shoes; and he at last consented, saying to 
 himself, " I must be a fool. I guess I may as well 
 go." 
 
 After his willingness was made known, his clothes and 
 his few books were packed, and all things made ready 
 for his departure. His father was to take him in the 
 morning, and that night there was but little sleep for 
 Edward or his mother ; they sat up until a late hour, 
 and when they separated it was to dream waking dreams. 
 The mother gave her son a world of advice, that was 
 always treasured, and one of her most earnest requests 
 he reduced to practice. It was this : "If thee would be 
 a happy man, my boy, thee must not play cards." 
 
 The morning came ; the wagon was before the door, 
 the trunk deposited, and Edward ready for departure. 
 Of this morning he says: "My feelings,* upon leaving 
 home, were indescribable ; I was vexed at father, and 
 did not feel right towards mother, for I thought she 
 could have prevented my going, and I had determined to 
 go away without bidding her good-by. After I got out 
 of doors, however, my heart failed me, and I ran back ; 
 but before I could say good-by I burst into tears. As I 
 was getting into the wagon, I looked up to see if father 
 was not laughing at me ; but hbs eyes were filled with 
 tears too, and we rode to the V alley without a word. 
 When we got to Gideon's I could not eat any dinner, 
 and did not feel like talking. I carried my trunk up 
 stairs, and then went to the shop. Before father left, he 
 came and shook hands with me, and tried to say good- 
 by ; but his lips quivered, and (good old man !) his voice 
 tailed him. The next day I went to work ; but I could 
 not get much sleep for weeks, and mother and home 
 haunted me continually: Somehow, it seemed as though 
 I had just commenced the battle of life, and that for me 
 
44 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBY. 
 
 there was henceforth no home, and no more shelter from 
 the storm." 
 
 When Mr. Woolley left Edward for his four years' 
 apprenticeship, he supposed he had given him to a faith- 
 ful guardian and a good home; and in many respects 
 Edward's situation in his brother's family was very 
 agreeable. His brother's wife was an estimable woman, 
 and to her he became tenderly attached ; for she bestowed 
 upon him the same kindness and care that she gave her 
 own children. The quiet and somewhat melancholy hue 
 of her mind was a fine balance for his joyous, gleeful 
 nature ; and he found her a wise and instructive friend. 
 He always rejjaembered her affectionately and gratefully, 
 and spoke of her as reverentially as he did of his own 
 mother. 
 
 His little nephew and nieces were special objects of 
 his regard, and one of the little girls became his constant 
 companion. She was a timid, sensitive, but affectionate 
 child, of about three years ; and her love for her uncle 
 Edward became the governing principle of her little 
 being. If he was busy in the house, or about the yard, 
 she was, ever at his side ; and when he went to the shop 
 her little feet were pattering behind him. She would 
 remain in the work-room all day, like a cherub sent 
 from God to brighten the weary hearts of the workers ; 
 and when she grew sleepy Edward made her a bed of 
 coats, and the voices of the busy youths were hushed 
 while she slept. At meal-time she was carried in her 
 uncle's arms, and at night she would leave her crib, and 
 creep up stairs, through the dark, to his bedside, and, 
 putting her hand on his face, wake him from his slumber 
 with, " Untie Edard, Untie Edard, Lolly 's turn ! " To 
 the heart of the homesick youth, the sweet, joyous 
 spirit, and clinging affection, of this beautiful child, were 
 like a clear, bright burst of sunshine, or the free, sudden 
 gush of bird-music, to the benighted wanderer in a dark- 
 ened wilderness ; making greater his hope, and lighter 
 his feet, in the pebble-strewn path he was treading. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOtLET. 45 
 
 In an old Place-Book, his companion in the work-shop, 
 1 find the following lines addressed to this little niece. 
 They bear the date of "Pleasant Valley, September 
 28th, 1820," and are crude and unfinished; but, as I 
 wish to give as clear an impression of his mind as is 
 possible, I will transcribe them. 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO LITTLE LAURA ANN. 
 
 Lightly upon the broad old earth the shades of evening lie, 
 And brighter than a monarch's gold the clear stars gem the sky ; 
 The fresh, young winds of autumn time with the falling brown leaves 
 
 play. m 
 
 And for me, in her distant home, my gentle mother prays ; 
 While, like that mother's blessing, steals a calm joy through my 
 
 breast. 
 Upon the pleasant, quiet eve of this preciolis day of rest. 
 
 But often, in my weary toil, dark, saddened hours I know ; 
 
 And life seems all too long and drear, Time's sands fall out so slow. 
 
 And yet, I have one blessing here, that never can depart, 
 
 That like a rich, pressed flow'ret, lies in the deep folds of my heart ; 
 
 White cherub arms are round my neck — bright cherub smiles I see, 
 
 And childish tones of tenderness are daily breathed to me. 
 
 God's richest blessings, little niece, be on thy sinless head, 
 And green and bright the untried paths thy feet have yet to tread ! 
 But if upon thy earthly way rude blasts must coldly blow, 
 And careless fingers pluck the buds that in Hope's garden grow, 
 Then may some cherub's tenderness be to that heart of thine 
 What thou, in thy sweet innocence, hast ever been to mine ! 
 
 Edward's loneliness was cheered by frequent visits 
 from his father, and sometimes his mother's quiet, happy 
 face would peep in at the shop-door when least expected j ■ 
 and, if she oould not accompany the father, she always 
 sent by him some token of her affection. There were; 
 also, Saturday afternoons, when his labor could be dis- 
 pensed with towards night-fall, and he was allowed to go 
 home and stay until Sunday night. These visits home 
 were precious holidays to him, — his only rest from 
 weariness and toil. Upon his return, he always bore 
 
46 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ■with him new socks, mittens, shirts, pocket-handkerchiefs, 
 neck-cloths, or some needed article of clothing, his 
 mother's busy hands had made. These trifling articles 
 were, however, never worn, unless absolutely necessary ; 
 but were laid away, as cherished memorials of the kind- 
 ness that prepared them. 
 
 Edward seems to have had what phrenologists term 
 very large adhesiveness and inhabitiveness ; for, amid the 
 ceaseless din of his working-room, the home where his 
 young years passed haunted his thoughts continually. 
 The precious flowers, so seldom seen, were always before 
 his eyes ; and the clear music of the gliding streams for- 
 ever in his ears. As Scott loved the bleak and barren 
 highlands, so had his heart grown to the green hills and 
 grass-clad valleys hard by the cot where his mother sang 
 his lullaby. 
 
 I find this feeling very well expressed, for one of his 
 early years and meagre opportunities, in a little poem, 
 written some months after the one before introduced, and 
 entitled 
 
 THE GREEN HILLS OF MT HOME. 
 
 A shade comes now o'er my youthful brow, 
 
 To think of the grass-clad hills, 
 Where the wild birds sing, and the young flowers spring, 
 
 By the side of the gushing rills. , 
 
 0, often there, with no thought of care, 
 
 Did my young feet swiftly roam ; 
 But never more may those feet tread o'er 
 
 The green hills of my home. 
 
 And yet at last, when life is past, 
 
 On those grassy hills I 'd lie ; 
 Still they '11 make a bed for my weary head, 
 
 Far under a foreign sky. 
 But, though strange hands may till the lands 
 
 Where a wild, free boy I roamed, 
 Yet never may a rude foot stray 
 
 O'er the green hills of my home ! 
 
 Edward's brother was not the wisest or gentlest of 
 guardians ; being so many years Edward's senior, and of 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WGOLLEY. 47 
 
 temperament and disposition so different, it is to be pre- 
 sumed that they could not perfectly understand each 
 other. Gideon possessed great business talent ; was easy 
 in pecuniary circumstances ; of gentlemanly and pleasing 
 address ; with pride enough for a nation of aristocrats. 
 He possessed an unblemished moral character ; was an 
 influential member of a flourishing Presbyterian church, 
 and, with something of the kingly in his manner and 
 feelings, it was not surprising that he thought his young 
 brother was making a man of himself quite too fast. 
 
 Edward, though devotional in his feelings, was gleeful 
 and full of frolic ; fond of song-singing and social gath- 
 erings (as his brother had been before he met with a 
 " change of heart ") ; and Gideon considered it his duty 
 to bend or break him to the faith. 
 
 Edward cherished a feeling of hardness towards this 
 brother, through his youth ; but in after life he would 
 say, " I have now learned that God's ways are better 
 than our ways, and I believe the treatment I received in 
 Gideon's family was the best that could have been given 
 me." 
 
 . Edward's time was so constantly employed, — he was 
 so' ready at his work, so willing to wait upon the wife 
 and children, so handy to run on errands, and, withal, 
 he was such a necessary appendage to the house and 
 shop, — that he found no time for school. And after he 
 entered his brother's family, until the day he left, he did 
 not pass a day in school. 
 
 His only time for study or reading was after nine 
 o'clock at night ; and he was always up at four in the 
 morning. Thus, if he studied at all, it must be in those 
 hours which he really needed for bodily rest. 
 
 But a mind so eager .for improvement, a spirit so 
 craving for knowledge, could not be idle, or sink into rest. 
 Fetters and chains could not bind his power of invention ; 
 and nothing but deafness could prevent his gathering 
 wisdom from the lips of those older and wiser than him- 
 self; only utter blindness could keep him from gleaning 
 
48 MEMOIR OE EDWABD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 knowledge from tlie printed page. And many nights, 
 after " the boys " (as the apprentices were termed) had 
 retired to rest, and the clock had told the hour of nine, 
 he would put away his work, sweep up the dust and 
 leather scattered about the room, and then bring out his 
 books or papers, and devote one, two, or three hours to 
 study or reading ; while his friends or co-laborers, being 
 more fortunate, or less desirous for information, were 
 revelling in pleasant dreams. Edward had no money 
 with which to purchase lights, and no means of earning 
 them, unless he could mend a boot or a shoe for a friend, 
 after the usual hours of labor had been given to his 
 master ; and his suggestive mind was sometimes nearly 
 at a loss to see the way by which he might procure a 
 light. 
 
 But necessity is the mother of invention. When the 
 candles his mother sent him (which she always did after 
 he had made known to her his wants, if opportunity pre- 
 sented) were gone, and he ha"d no coppers with which to 
 buy more, he burned a pine-knot, if he could procure it. 
 At times, when the pine was not at hand, he would put 
 some of the tallow or lard used about the shop into an 
 old basin, and, after melting it, some of the cotton chth 
 that had been brought for the purpose of lining the fine 
 shoes was cut into a small, square piece, and the centre 
 tied around a large button ; the covered button was then 
 placed in the tallow, or whatever material he could find 
 of that nature, and the four pointed ends, coming a little 
 above the top of the basin, were lighted. The basin was 
 then set upon a rude stand, that he had prepared out of 
 rough boards ; and behind that low stand, upholding that 
 miserable light, sat the poor young night-student upon 
 his shoe-bench, seeking as eagerly* for knowledge as ever 
 did the favored youth of fortune. 
 
 If he could not procure the knot or the materials for 
 the basin-light in winter, there was another resource ; — 
 to make a glowing fire, and seat himself before it, at the 
 expense of burning eyes and scarlet cheeks. 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 49 
 
 In this way he reviewed his early school studies, and 
 obtained a very good knowledge of grammar. The 
 newspapers his brother received were carried to the shop, 
 and retained for night-reading, so that he kept himself 
 well informed as to the general events of the day. 
 
 But his library was so small that many would consider 
 it almost useless ; not numbering over eight volumes, 
 and these consisted of school-books, a copy of Burns' 
 poems, translations from Seneca, and a small Bible. Of 
 these few friends Edward thought, as the poor always 
 do, tenderly and sacredly. The sometimes pensive, 
 sometimes joyous verse of Burns, wore a peculiar charm 
 to his young mind ; and he turned to his pages as he 
 would to the dearly-loved face of a oherished friend. 
 He read him in all times and all seasons ; but most 
 when the sweet, young Spring came, with her flower- 
 sandalled feet and softly-tinted skies. Dearly as he loved 
 Burns, however, he loved Seneca more. His heart grew 
 to him as naturally as the meandering stream winds its 
 way to the outstretched arms of the ocean. He always 
 carried the little book in his coat-pocket ; and when he 
 had worn off the lids he put on a leather cover, and thus 
 prdftrved it till he was able to get it newly bound. 
 This precious volume, with its old, worn-out second bind- 
 ing, now remains in my possession. 
 
 The Quakeress friend before mentioned, who gave the 
 copy of Seneca to Edward, was undoubtedly wise enough 
 to see that the cheerful, serene spirit of the great philos- 
 opher was what the young, ambitious boy required to 
 lift his extremely sensitive spirit into an atmosphere 
 where it would not so keenly feel the praises or re- 
 proaches of the world. And this it did for him. Here 
 he learned that " what Providence has made necessary, 
 human prudence should comply with cheerfully." And 
 when his impulses were stirred, and he was ready to 
 reply to an insult with a burst of indignation, Seneca 
 taught him that "he is the great man that masters hia 
 
50 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 passion when he is stung himself, and pardons when he 
 might destroy." 
 
 It made him no stoic ; this little book gave him no 
 cold, sceptical belief in " the gods," cultivated no feeling 
 of selfishness or indifference, but told him beautifully and 
 impressively how to make " a short life a long one" 
 and called forth the trusting, patient greatness of his own 
 nature. He never lost his interest in this philosopher, 
 but always said of him, with Lactantius, " He that would 
 know everything, let him read Seneca ; the most lively 
 describer of vices and manners, and the smartest repre- 
 hender of them." 
 
 The Bible Edward had been taught to read at his 
 mother's knee, not as the book of all books, — the inter- 
 preter of nature, and a beautiful revelation of the never- 
 failing love of the "All Father," — ah, no ! the precious 
 world-worth faith which he taught his own little ones 
 was not told to him as Bible truth, but it was another 
 tale, with its bright and its shady side. Therefore, 
 after he left home, he turned to the book, at first, more 
 from home association than aught else ; for it always 
 brought to his mind the form of worshipping parents, 
 and the sound of mother's fireside blessing. Burfi he 
 found in it more than he expected ; the songs of David, 
 and the poetry of Job, exceeded, in his opinion, anything 
 of the same nature the world could produce ; and to 
 him, though not a professed religionist, the "New Tes- 
 tament" was alive with beauties as numerous and as 
 lustrous as the myriads of stars that glistened in the 
 night heavens above him. 
 
 But as yet he had never worked in the harness of 
 creeds, or decided between different religious opinions ; 
 and the Bible taught him no theology, nothing but the 
 child's faith of love and joyousness. It needed the trial 
 of darker theories, and the tempest and sunshine of life, 
 to deepen it into the Christian's faith, against which the 
 winds might blow, and the floods vainly beat. 
 
 In point of industry Edward could not be excelled; 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 51 
 
 even his exacting guardian could not but admit this. 
 Though he was eminently social in his feelings, and hap- 
 piest in the presence of his friends, — though he was 
 capable of appreciating the worth of intelligent society, 
 and delighted in merry conversations, — yet he never 
 idled away his master's time. What if his eyes dimmed, 
 and his cheeks paled, from want of sleep, and God's free 
 air? What if his iron constitution was breaking, and 
 his nerves, that were like wires of steel, were quivering 
 beneath excessive labor ? He knew his post of duty, and 
 would stand manfully to it while he remained. If he 
 employed a moment's time, with the results of which to 
 supply his own wants, it was taken from his night-hours 
 of study. A little "job" he had done one night, for 
 which he had been paid two shillings ; with this he had 
 purchased an inkstand. To him it was a choice treasure, 
 for he had long felt the need of it ; and he rejoiced over 
 it as a little boy laughs over a newly-purchased toy. 
 Now he could commit his thoughts to paper, and endeavor 
 to improve his poor penmanship. He always kept it in 
 the bench-drawer, which was generally locked ; but one 
 day, as the drawer was open, little "Jake," a wild, 
 impetuous nephew, came into the shop, and, espying 
 the inkstand, it was in his hands in an instant* His 
 uncle told him to put it down, and essayed to take it 
 from his hands ; but the rogue ran for the door, when his 
 uncle told him to come back, or he should punish him. 
 The boy turned, and threw the inkstand upon the floor, 
 and broke it. The hot blood of anger mounted to 
 Edward's forehead, and hard words were upon his lips, 
 and hard blows about to follow them, when "he that 
 governeth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a 
 city " came to his mind, and he allowed the offender to 
 depart without chastisement. The warm blood flowed 
 back from his temples, and coursed cooler through its 
 natural channels ; his heart beat less wildly, but a tear 
 sprang to his eyes as he looked where lay the treasured 
 inkstand, broken into fragments, and the black fluid 
 
52 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 straying over the floor. At that moment his brother 
 came in, and, with no chiding for the roguish boy, com- 
 manded Edward to wash up the ink. This was a word 
 too much ; Edward rose slowly from his seat, put his 
 hat on his head, and, without a word to his brother, went 
 into the open air. It was a trifle, the breaking of an 
 inkstand ; a trifle that need to have worried only a poor, 
 young boy; but it stirred the feelings of Edward so 
 much, that it required a great effort to control himself. 
 But it was an effort that paid well — an era in his young 
 life. When reverting to it, he would say, " None but 
 God and myself can know how I rejoiced that I kept the 
 fire in my own heart, and did not allow it to scorch and 
 burn those who were near to me. Since then I have not 
 found it difficult to restrain my anger ; and many times, 
 when I have burned like glowing lava within, beneath 
 a gross, bitter insult, I have been able to wear a cheer- 
 ful face and quiet air, till the flame smouldered to ashes 
 in my heart." 
 
 After all, it is folly, this returning frown with frown, 
 and hard words with the same artillery; for those we 
 love, and who love us, do not mean to injure us half as 
 much as we helieve, or they would have us think. It is 
 better always to remember that " a soft answer turneth 
 away wrath." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 ENTERS A COUNTRY LYCEUM HIS FIRST SPEECH BOOKS AND STUDIES 
 
 JOINS THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH GOES TO POUQHKEEP8IE 
 
 FIRST UNIVERSALIS! FRIEND — ANOTHER FEMALE FRIEND PREJUDICE 
 
 AGAINST UNIVEESALISM — MORE POETRY. 
 
 During the winter of Edward's eighteenth year, a 
 lyceum was formed in the valley where he labored. His 
 brother was one of the most eloquent speakers ; and the 
 pastor, trustees and deacons, of the Presbyterian church, 
 were also among the members. 
 
 The older speakers made very commendable efforts to 
 call forth and encourage the talent of the young men in 
 the surrounding society ; and in particular did they solicit 
 the membership of the sensitive and diffident. 
 
 Edward had been very strongly urged, one evening, to 
 take the floor, and had partially consented to do so when 
 the speaker who was then up should be seated; but a 
 trifling circumstance caused him to change his mind. 
 The speaker tried to remember the situation of a particu- 
 lar country in Asia, and appealed to the hearers to assist 
 him ; and a vain, superficial youth, who boasted consider- 
 ably of scholarship and " great advantages," answered 
 that he thought " it was somewhere in Europe." This 
 excited the mirth of another member so much that he re- 
 plied, "It was not in Europe, but it might be straying 
 around Africa somewhere." It was all in vain that they 
 tried to get a word from Edward's lips that night. "I 
 will keep still," he said to himself, " before I render my- 
 eelf as ridiculous as my young friend has." 
 
 The members, however, many of them, had concluded 
 5* 
 
54 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 "there was something in the great head of that tall, 
 bashful boy," and were determined to get it out. After 
 Edward left the house that night, they formed a conclave, 
 and requested Elder Clark, the cherished and faithful 
 friend of' Edward, to go to him and persuade him not to 
 hide his light under a bushel. The old pastor joyously 
 consented to the proposal ; and the next day, while Edward 
 was alone at his work, who should appear, with his ever- 
 welcome smile, but "good Father Clark," as Edward 
 tenderly called him. 
 
 Without much ceremony the pastor related his mission, 
 and said, "They sent me, Edward, because we were on 
 terms of friendship, and they thought I could not fail to 
 win your consent to speak at our next meeting. You 
 should not be foolish, my young friend. It is for your 
 good that I urge you ; and, if you neglect this opportu- 
 nity, you will certainly regret it ; for you will not always 
 make shoes. Come, make an effort now, while you have 
 help." 
 
 Edward's heart was filled with thankfulness for such 
 sincere friendship ; for he well knew the good clergyman 
 could have no motive but that of his benefit. But it did 
 not quite satisfy him that it was best for him to expose 
 his young thoughts to public criticism ; and he answered, 
 in a doubting tone, " I cannot but believe in your sincer- 
 ity, Father Clark ; for I have tried your kindness in too 
 many ways. But it does not follow that I must render 
 myself ridiculous, because you urge me to speak. Such 
 a remark as that fellow made in the presence of you all 
 last night I would not be guilty of for any sum." 
 
 " It had been better for him if he had been quiet; but 
 it were better for you to speak. Don't pretend to think 
 yourself a fool, Edward ; you know it would be false in, me 
 to call you so." 
 
 "I make no such pretension. But, really, I do not 
 see how one of my youth and opportunities can say any- 
 thing to interest old men, who have read, and though!;, 
 and wrote, years before I was born." 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWAED MOTT WOOLLBT. 55 
 
 " We do not expect much that is new from you. OH 
 men — good old men — are always interested in seeing 
 the young improve. In this way you will interest us. 
 And you must have some thoughts beside your own ; or 
 of what service have been the numerous books you have 
 taken from my library for months past ? And why is a 
 light seen burning in this room, for weeks and months, 
 long after midnight? " 
 
 "It is true, I have thoughts, — many thoughts, per- 
 haps, — who has not ? Yet, if I were, to arise in your 
 meeting, the self-possession I have would give way to my 
 natural diffidence, and I should make a total failure. I 
 might stand on my feet long enough to say ' Mr. Chair- 
 man.' Would that answer, Father Clark ? " 
 
 "Far better than nothing. Yes, ' Mr. Chairman ' will 
 make a very good beginning. Many a youth has first 
 stopped there in the beginning of speech-making, and 
 afterwards controlled large audiences. If you fail, you 
 have only to try again. It will start your courage, too, 
 and then the great obstacle is removed. You should not 
 be so afraid of a laugh, Edward. A good share of tim- 
 idity is becoming in the young ; but too much is worse 
 than none. Let me hear you say 'yes,' and I will go 
 home satisfied." 
 
 " Here it is, Father Clark. I '11 try ; and if I make a 
 failure, put me down a great man after that." 
 
 Edward remembered his promise, and made all the pre- 
 paration he could over his hammer and shoes ; and though 
 he did wish sincerely for his brother's help, he was too 
 diffident to ask for it, and it was not offered. His sleep 
 was haunted with lyceum-rooms, speakers, hearers, and 
 all the unpleasantness of his imagined situation. At 
 length the fearful evening came; and, just before proceed- 
 ing to the place of meeting, Edward was asked, "You 
 are going to try your luck to-night, Ned?" "I gave 
 Father Clark a promise to that effect," was the answer, 
 " and I think Gideon had better stay at home." 
 
56 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 " 0, that were too much, for him to lose your maiden 
 speech ! " 
 
 Edward felt the sarcasm keenly ; and somehow there 
 was a choking sensation in his throat, and the brown 
 fringe of his eyelids was damp with something like tear- 
 drops. He was called a girl for this exhibition of feeling, 
 and laughed at for being so unmanly. This pun was 
 frequently given him. Even in -his manhood, his friends 
 would rally him with, " Ah, brother Woolley, you are a 
 woman ! " And " he sheds tears as easily as a woman," 
 was always true of him. The delicate, ethereal fancies ; 
 the refinement and purity of feeling; the holiness and 
 exaltation of thought ; the depth and sacredness of affec- 
 tion ; the love of flowers, and great attachment to home 
 and household, that constitute the truly feminine nature, 
 were conspicuous and governing traits in his character, 
 and fitted him better for the quiet, heavenly beauties that 
 cluster around the home and fireside, than for the rough 
 and jostle of a man's life. To be called a woman was as 
 high a compliment as he could receive ; and as such he 
 learned to feel it, although in youth he might have 
 blushed at it, as boys sometimes do. 
 
 The members of the lyceum gathered in their respect- 
 ive places, and the kind, fatherly-toned voice of good 
 Parson Clark called Edward to the floor. There was a 
 moment's pause, and then the tall, slender youth rose in 
 his seat, and, clasping his hands, made a slow movement 
 forward of the head, and said, in tones just above a 
 whisper, "Mr. Chairman." Then he cleared his throat, 
 clasped his hands tighter together, looked about the room 
 till the faces were all one confused mass, and then sat 
 down, with the faintness of death over his soul. 
 
 But he lived through and after it ; and would say of it, 
 " It was a wonderful effort, and a wonderful result, too ! 
 For, the next evening, I tried again, and spoke about five 
 minutes ; and they said I did very well. It did not hurt 
 me much, either ! And the third evening I made another 
 trial, when they cheered me with ' bravo ! ' And so I 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 57 
 
 kept on. And Father Clark looked as delighted as a little 
 boy with a new top." 
 
 The trial was over, — the Rubicon safely passed, — and 
 probably Edward's diffidence was never put to another so 
 severe a test, except in preaching his first sermon ; an 
 account of which we shall give, by and by. 
 
 It would be inferred, from Edward's description of the 
 Rev. Mr. Clark, that he was a most excellent man, a 
 faithful and sincere follower of his Master. A man who 
 could call forth so strong and lasting an attachment in 
 the hearts of the young was undoubtedly capable of deep, 
 devoted and wise friendships. Edward's industry, com- 
 bined with his close application to books, and eager desire 
 for knowledge, first won the pastor's attention ; and after 
 their acquaintance began the young boy's facilities for 
 improvement were much increased. Mr. Clark had an 
 extensive and valuable library, which was at the service 
 of his young friend; and he was always ready with a 
 word of explanation, or a little good advice, if he thought 
 necessary. Withal, he was not very puritanical; not 
 as much so as many of his hearers. A novel did not 
 frighten him, and Shakspeare he did not consider quite a 
 monster. 
 
 Edward had borrowed a copy of the " Scottish Chiefs," 
 and having taken it one night to his chamber, had care- 
 lessly left it where his brother's wife found it as she was 
 arranging the room. She considered it her duty to rep- 
 rimand him for his wickedness, and that, too, in the 
 presence of their minister, who was with them at tea. 
 As they were seated at the table, she asked Edward 
 where he obtained the work referred to; and when he 
 answered, she replied that she thought he might pass his 
 time more usefully, and appealed to the pastor to sustain 
 her opinion. 
 
 " I would not give a book like that to every youth," he 
 replied; "but there is not much danger of injuring Edward 
 in this way, if he will use his natural sense. I believe 
 some light reading is many times an advantage tome.- 
 
58 MEMOIR OF BDWAED MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 It is to the mind of the hard thinker what light sewing 
 i3 to your fingers after tiresome labor ; I would not 
 approve of it always, but in this instance I do not deem it 
 very bad." 
 
 Edward never received another reprimand from the 
 lips of his good sister for novel-reading ; for he had the 
 authority and countenance of the presiding minister, — was 
 not that sufficient ? 
 
 Situated as Edward was, with no one to select his 
 reading matter, and no wise friend to give him that 
 which was best adapted to his peculiar nature, it is to be 
 supposed that he was not over careful, at all times, in the 
 selections he made. He had such an intense desire for 
 reading, that all the books and papers which fell in his 
 way were eagerly devoured. Yet, on the whole, he 
 never regretted it. Sometimes, when speaking of this 
 period of his life, he would say, "If I could have had 
 this book then, it might have been a great advantage to 
 me, but it is all right as it is ; the books I read were no 
 injury to me, for they cultivated my taste for reading, 
 so that when I found those which were really beneficial, 
 and knew enough to appreciate them, they were not dry 
 or dull to me. I would have the young read. If they 
 can get good books, it is better ; but many a good word 
 is sometimes found amid evil surroundings, and a work 
 that is light and trifling will not harm, more than it does 
 good, one who has common sense. If a child has not 
 this ingredient in its composition, it will find harm some- 
 where, even though all the good books in Christendom, 
 were given it. Give books to the young, in order to 
 cultivate a love of reading; and then, when the dark 
 days come, — when there is no pleasure-making or party- 
 going, — when there is no scene of festivity for the 
 youth, and no ball-dress to be worn by the maiden, but 
 for one remains the toil and fever of life, and for the 
 other the loneliness of the sick chamber, or the multi- 
 plied cares and duties that gather in the charge of the 
 household, — there will come, in place of the pleasures 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 59 
 
 that are gone, a happiness that never cloys, and a joy 
 like the brightness of the morning to gild the pathway 
 to the tomb." 
 
 It has before been seen that Edward's parents were 
 orthodox Quakers ; the mother, in particular, a zealous, 
 devoted believer in the religion she professed, and con- 
 stantly striving to produce the same heartfelt belief in 
 the minds of her children. I am not aware, however, 
 that any of the family in early life became professed 
 religionists, except the elder sister, the brother with 
 whom Edward labored, and Edward himself. 
 
 Although Edward supposed the principles his mother 
 taught him must be true, his mind was not sufficiently 
 exercised upon the subject, previous to leaving home, to 
 form any definite opinion ; and after he entered his 
 brother's family he listened, with the rest, to family 
 prayers, and attended church services upon the Sabbath. 
 But religion, as a subject by itself, did not trouble him 
 much ; his mind was not intent upon theological tenets, 
 and his heart rested easy in its loves and its hopes, until 
 the winter after his eighteenth birthday, when there was 
 a thorough "revival" in the Presbyterian church, con- 
 ducted by the good Father Qlark (as his young friends 
 called him), who was aided by ministering brethren from 
 abroad. As Edward was upon such friendly terms with 
 the pastor, it was natural that the good man should feel 
 a sincere interest in his spiritual welfare. Edward was 
 also an influential companion among the young, and it 
 was thought by ihe zealous members that if his -heart 
 could be secured in the excitement, there would be little 
 difficulty with the others. No effort was spared to render 
 his conversion sure ; the Bible was read and explained 
 to him, and warm, thrilling prayers were breathed for 
 him in the church, by the firesides, and in his work- 
 room. At last he was thoroughly roused, and went, heart 
 and soul, into the work; he became a conscientious 
 believer in the Presbyterian catechism and creed, and 
 was himself as zealous in the work of saving men's souls 
 
60 SfEMOIE OS 1 EDWARD MOTT WOOIIEY. 
 
 as the most enthusiastic divine. He never did things by 
 halves; and after he became excited upon the subject of 
 religion, and united with the church, he would admit no 
 doubts, and no queries. After a while this intense inter- 
 est wore away, and, unless in times of religious excite- 
 ment, he said but little about his belief, and seldom 
 intruded upon the opinions of others. He always took it 
 for granted, however, that the friends he was with were 
 of the faith, unless something was said to the contrary. 
 
 From this church Edward was never excluded, to his 
 knowledge; and he would frequently remark that "he 
 was a member, in good standing, of as worthy a Presby- 
 terian church as the land could boast." 
 
 He always remembered with pleasure his early friend 
 and pastor, and the members who gathered with him 
 around the table of communion. 
 
 Of his conversion he remarks : " Our good mother 
 always taught us to do right, and her own example was 
 sufficient teaching, without any precept ; for in my life 
 I never knew her to sacrifice principle to feeling ; no 
 matter how earnest her desires, they always yielded to 
 duty. But she never taught us that doing right would 
 save us from the eternal wrath of God, unless we re- 
 pented, and put on the cloak of religion. Night and 
 day did she beseech her heavenly Father to lead me, her 
 youngest child, through the green pastures and by the 
 still waters of his saving grace ; and no words can de- 
 scribe the abundance of her joy when she found that I 
 had forsaken the evil ways of the world, and become one 
 of the' fold of the great Shepherd." 
 
 Soon after Edward's conversion, he removed, with his 
 brother, to Poughkeepsie. It was a great change from the 
 quiet, beautiful valley where he had so long resided, to 
 the flourishing business town on the banks of the de.ep- 
 rolling Hudson. But the change brought with it many 
 important and desirable advantages. Here his love for 
 the grand and sublime in natural scenery was more ex- 
 tensively gratified ; he saw more of the hurry and jostle 
 
MEMOIE OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 61 
 
 of business life, and learned much of the maimers and 
 customs of promiscuous society. Although he had but 
 few hours of leisure, yet he formed a large circle of 
 acquaintances, and gained many -wisely-chosen and long- 
 remembered friends. 
 
 The military from West Point were frequently there 
 on parade, and Edward thought some of the finest speci- 
 mens of manliness he had ever seen were among the 
 West Point cadets. They were always accompanied 
 with an excellent band of music ; and to one so enthusias- 
 tically fond of the soul-science, and possessing so much 
 talent for it, as Edward, this was an appreciated blessing. 
 " Many a time," he says, "has a clear, shrill note of 
 music started me from my slumber at midnight, and I 
 have sprung from my bed, exclaiming, in tones of glad- 
 ness, ' The band from West Point ! ' and, without fear of 
 cold, have sat for hours at the open window, entranced 
 with the bugle strains that floated through the clear, 
 frosty, winter night-air." 
 
 The leader of the band at that time was an exquisite 
 singer, and often, when the sounds of the many instru- 
 ments were hushed, before the window of some dwelling 
 he breathed a rich, plaintive strain, that would stir the 
 hearts of those who listened. With him Edward became 
 somewhat acquainted, and learned of him some beautiful 
 military airs, and one sweet song, that he never forgot. 
 Those who have heard him sing it will better love now 
 to remember how melodious were the tones of his soul- 
 stirring voice, as he repeated the chorus, — 
 
 " And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away." 
 
 This winter a Mr. Little came from Philadelphia to 
 Poughkeepsie, to teach the art of penmanship. Edward 
 was very anxious to attend his schools, but could devote 
 only an hour for instruction in the latter part of each 
 evening. He was so ready with the pen, however, that 
 he soon learned to proficiency the most difficult style 
 
62 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 of writing taught by Mr. Little. Edward's frank, cor- 
 dial manner, and uprightness of character, completely won 
 the heart of Mr. Little ; and, after a few weeks of ac- 
 quaintance, so strong an intimacy grew up between them 
 that the teacher made of the pupil a trusted heart- 
 friend. 
 
 When his schools in Poughkeepsie closed, Mr. Little 
 considered Edward every way qualified for a successful 
 teacher, and proposed to him that they should journey 
 together through the winter, dividing the results of their 
 labor equally between them. To Edward this seemed 
 something like escaping from servitude ; but how to 
 break the chains that bound him, without too much con- 
 fusion in the unlinking, was not very plain to him. He 
 had inherited much of his father's love of peace, and 
 even in his youth dreaded the frown, or the harsh word. 
 He returned to his father's house for counsel. The 
 father said, " Thee owes Gideon but one year more ; 
 methinks thee had better go back and serve it, and then 
 thee can leave without trouble. Still, if thee goes, thee 
 shall take with thee thy old father's blessing, Edward." 
 
 The mother gave no advice, but said, "What is jus- 
 tice to one can never be harm to another. Do that which 
 thee thinks is right, my son, and when God is with thee 
 who can be against thee ? " • 
 
 "I think I shall go with Mr. Little," answered Ed- 
 ward, as he left the paternal hearth. He returned to 
 Poughkeepsie, arranged matters with his brother, packed 
 his small wardrobe and few books (somewhat increased 
 in numbers since we last saw them), and, with a softly- 
 breathed .farewell to the family circle, left, with a wildly- 
 beating heart, the three years' home. And, however 
 much in opinion he and his brother might have differed, 
 yet around that brother and his household treasures 
 clustered the evergreen tendrils of an affection no time 
 nor distance could undo ; and nothing in life gladdened 
 his warm, true heart more than to hear of the well-doing 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 63 
 
 of every being who sat with him by the bright light of 
 that far-away fireside. 
 
 With his newly-found friend he departed from Pough- 
 keepsie, and, happy in each other's society, and as suc- 
 cessful as they could wish in teaching, they journeyed 
 together through many counties of eastern New York. 
 They engaged an assistant, and towards spring the three 
 tarried for a few days in a secluded, beautiful inland 
 village. Mr. Little had formed a class in the eastern 
 extremity of the village. Edward and the young assist- 
 ant remained in charge of pupils in the central part, but 
 they all gathered for the night in the hospitable mansion 
 of Mr. Wood, under whose roof Edward and the young 
 friend received their scholars! 
 
 Residing with Mr. Wood was his sister, a maiden lady 
 of nearly fifty years. But, though thus far on the down- 
 hill of life, she retained a fair, unwrinkled brow, a soft 
 tinge of brown upon her hair, and the rose-hue of health 
 upon her cheek ; while about her manner was the fresh- 
 ness and grace of youth. " It was the warm, pure heart, 
 and unsullied soul,"* said Edward, years after, " that 
 kept her young." A woman of superior natural abilities, 
 and possessing great information, she, nevertheless, had a 
 desire to beeorae one of the writing scholars. 
 
 But the assistant, though of good scholarship, — wear- 
 ing the finest of cloth, sporting a gold-headed cane, and 
 boasting an abundance of sweetly perfumed curls, — found 
 no favor in her opinion. The timid, beardless Edward, 
 in his threadbare garb, was, in her estimation, far more 
 worthy of her companionship ; and she insisted that he 
 should teach her. Edward, to use his own words, " was 
 afraid of her ; she knew too much ; " and he begged her 
 to go to his friend. 
 
 "It were useless to throw pearls in his way," she 
 would reply. " But your face tells no falsehood. You 
 can understand and reduce to practice all the truth you' 
 can hear; and I intend to teach you much. You are 
 just upon the threshold of life : its bright and shady ways 
 
64 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBT. 
 
 lie before you all untried. I have trodden the paths all 
 along, and know where the flowers grow and where the 
 thistles are. Your mother and sisters, if you have any, 
 are far away ; and what these have been to you, I shall 
 be. Be my teacher now ; before this school is over, you 
 will learn from my lips truths that you will never regret. 
 I know you will ; for you will understand that my friend- 
 ship for you is a healthy, happy feeling, that seeks to do 
 you good. I see your weak points of character plainer 
 than your own mother could-; for I look with stranger 
 eyes. I see, too, that you will pay back three-fold what 
 I. teach you to a needy world." 
 
 Edward consented to take her in his class ; but he 
 always felt like an awkward boy in her presence, not- 
 withstanding he felt for her an attachment nearly equal 
 to that he cherished for his elder sister or mother. She 
 was of the same religious belief, and very anxious to 
 obey, as far as she could, the principles of her faith; 
 scrupulous in the extreme about Sabbath church-going, 
 and very frank to correct whatever fault . she discovered 
 in the character of her young friend. 
 
 One fault, in particular, she chid him for. He occa- 
 sionally uttered, not a profane, but a rough word ; and 
 as she heard him, she said, very pleasantly, " Some other 
 word would sound more gentlemanly. No apologies, my 
 friend, but never allow yourself to descend to that de- 
 grading habit of rough conversation. You may be satis- 
 fied that ' out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
 speaketh.' Yet it may be well for you, as you mingle 
 with various classes of society, to watch your lips well, 
 lest you gather a roughness to your words of which you 
 would be ashamed in the presence of the good and wise." 
 
 It was, undoubtedly, the monitions of this early and 
 wise friend which first led Edward to that notice of, and 
 regard for, the grace and beauty of language, which 
 always characterized his conversation. Her instructions 
 he remembered sacredly ; and remembered' her as a high, 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 65 
 
 pure star seen in his youthful sky, the refulgence of 
 which ever glistened along his earthly pathway. 
 
 This friend lived long enough to rejoice in Edward's 
 happiness as a husband and father ; but she was gathered 
 with the sleepers in the beautiful village cemetery before 
 she learned that he had changed his religious opinions, or 
 become a messenger of the " Gospel of glad tidings." 
 
 After their winter's labor was over, Mr. Little proposed 
 to Edward that he accompany him to Philadelphia. 
 " There," he said, " I have a pleasant home, affectionate 
 and happy children, and a wife who will bestow upon 
 you a mother's kindness. You have superior talent, but 
 you need development. Without assistance, your life 
 will be one complete scene of toil and privation. With 
 us, you shall receive all that you require, and need feel 
 no dependence ; for I shall require your services in such 
 ways as will give us a very good remuneration, until you 
 are able to recompense us more thoroughly." 
 
 This proposal was joyously consented to by Edward ; 
 and to his young, happy heart it seemed as though God 
 could give him nothing more. Everything was in readi- 
 ness for their departure, and as they sat by the bright 
 fire-light on the evening before the morning on which 
 they were to commence their journey, Mr. Little made a 
 remark that conveyed some new ideas to Edward ; and he 
 asked him for an explanation. The explanation was more 
 strange than all, and, while his .blood grew still, Edward 
 asked, " Are you a Universalist ? " As the answer,, " I 
 am," came in clear, distinct tones, Edward started from 
 his seat as though stung by a viper. His mother by the 
 old home hearth-stone, his religion, his church, his friends, 
 everything, everybody, had taught him that TJniversalism 
 was the doctrine of the Prince of Evil, — the one great 
 " wolf in sheep's clothing," seeking whom he might destroy. 
 Like flashing lightning flew the dark thoughts through 
 his mind. His dearly-loved friend, his benefactor, stood 
 before him robbed of all his beauty, stripped of all his 
 greatness,— a wary, artful deceiver, striving to lead him 
 6* 
 
66 MEMOIR OF EDWAED MOTT WOOLLBT. 
 
 along that fearful path from which there might be no 
 returning. His heart was too full for utterance ; and, in 
 a faint voice, he said, " I cannot go to Philadelphia with 
 you." In vain his friend appealed to his better feelings, 
 — in vain he attempted to explain to him the "holy 
 word." He could not, he dare not, listen. Mr. Little 
 was much grieved at his resolution, and he said to 
 Edward, "If you live thirty years, you will believe the 
 truth I now advocate." 
 
 "May God in mercy prevent it, and save us both ! " 
 was the response. Tears, fresh from saddened hearts, 
 filled the eyes of both, as they shook each other warmly 
 by the hand, and their lips quivered with "the fond good- 
 by." It was their last parting. May we not believe 
 they have greeted each other with happy rejoicings in 
 that eternal home, where there are no separations, and no 
 tears ? 
 
 Edward's description of Mr. Little was beautiful in the 
 extreme. I will give it in his own words. "He was 
 between forty-five and fifty years of age, and not very 
 robust. He had a heavy forehead, shaded by thick 
 masses of hair, as black and glistening as the raven's 
 wing; a large, soft, soul-full, black eye, and an angel's' 
 smile hovered around his lips. His whole air and man- 
 ner bespoke the good man and the pplished gentleman. 
 He was one of the few whom God gives us upon the 
 earth to do good and to njake others happy. And, had I 
 not been purblind by bigoTry and ignorance, I could not 
 but have seen the sweet, heavenly spirit that shone 
 through all his eonduct. But so it is.- Those nearest us 
 know, little of our most sacred feelings, or holiest 
 resolves. Summer and winter may we dwell with a 
 friend, — ay, for thirty»years may we go out and come in 
 over the same threshold, — and yet, what do we know of 
 each other ? So has it always been ; and so, perchance, 
 it always will be. For 
 
 " The page that to a child 
 Were written legibly, is by the wise 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 6T 
 
 Mistaken ; and they will read it like an 
 Over-blotted leaf, and break the heart that 
 Wrote it." 
 
 Before this, however, Edward's sister Eunice had 
 married, and removed to the town of Cazenovia, Madison 
 County, in central New York. His brother James was 
 also married, and doing a profitable business in Nelson 
 Flats, a few miles east of Cazenovia. They had both 
 frequently urged Edward to come "West," as it was then 
 called; and, after he concluded not to accompany Mr. 
 Little, he resolved to visit them, and, if the country and 
 life pleased him, to return no more to the land of his 
 fathers. 
 
 In the old time-worn Place-Book before mentioned I 
 find a poem dedicated to a friend, and written a few days 
 before his departure from the home where his parents 
 dwelt. It breathes the same deep affectionateness of the 
 two little poems already introduced, but has a darker, 
 sadder vein breaking through it. He had grown a few 
 years older, — had tried the harder ways of the world, — 
 and the heavy cloud of his religious belief cast its 
 shadows over the brightest prospects of life, and deepened 
 to a midnight blackness its hours of sorrow and trial. I 
 give the verses insertion to show more fully than I other- 
 wise could his state of mind at the time when they were 
 written. 
 
 *<* 
 BY-GONE DATS. 
 
 TO A FKIEND. 
 
 In days that now are past and gone, 
 
 And will come back no more, 
 We mingled oft, in harmless play, 
 
 Beside my father's dodr. 
 
 Then we could langh, and be as gay 
 
 As birds upon the wing ; 
 As brisk and harmless, too, as they, 
 
 When welcoming the spring. 
 
MEMOIR OT EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 Our boyish hearts knew not the snares 
 
 With which this life abounds ; 
 Each prospect then looked bright and fair, 
 
 The spacious world around. 
 
 We mingled with the giddy throng, 
 
 We joined the merry dance ; 
 But, ah ! how soon it fled along, 
 
 To claim fond memory's glance ! 
 
 For days and weeks too quickly passed, 
 
 As we to stature grew ; 
 And coming years taught us, at last, 
 
 That life brought crosses too ! 
 
 And now how on my spirit falls 
 
 A cloud of darkest woe ! 
 In Tain for peace my sad heart calls, — 
 , There is no peace below. 
 
 But may God give us, in that day 
 
 When from the dust we rise, 
 A peace no grief shall take away, 
 
 Beyond the starry skies ! 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JOURNEYS TO CENTRAL NEW YORK — WOKES AT SHOEMAKING IN NEL- 
 SON — BETTER BE " BABY " THAN " OAMBLER " SPIRIT INFLU- 
 ENCES STUDIES POETRY HOME, AND AT SCHOOL AGAIN — VENER- 
 ABLE TEACHER AND UNIVERSALIST — FINAL LEAVE OF SCHOOL AMD 
 HOME RETURN TO NELSON, NEW YORK. 
 
 In the spring of 1823 Edward left the "green hills 
 of his home, " and all the fond associations of childhood 
 and youth, and journeyed to Madison County, New York. 
 The mode of travel was not then by canal or railroad ; 
 and a night-ride in early spring (one of New York's* 
 early springs !) over a muddy road, in an open box- wag- 
 on, drawn by only two horses, was not as agreealble, one 
 might well suppose, as a swift ride in a steam-drawn, 
 flying car, or a smooth glide-along over clear canal 
 water, winding by shady nooks or vine-covered cottages. 
 Soon tiring of this way of journeying, the strong-hearted 
 youth concluded to try his ability for walking. Find- 
 ing that it did not injure him, he performed most of this 
 (then considered great) journey on foot. In his way, 
 although thus early in the year, he found much natural 
 scenery to delight him, and also in the strange conversa- 
 tion and manners of those whom he encountered much 
 that started profound reflection. Believing in a great 
 First Cause, as his views of life and nature enlarged by 
 more extensive observation, his thought of his Creator 
 obtained scope ; and man, the created, shrivelled into an 
 atom too minute to receive attention. Frequently would 
 the question arise in his mind, "What is man, that thou art 
 mindful of him ? " Speaking of this journey, he says : 
 
70 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 "I well remember, one day, that had been warmer and 
 sunnier than any we had yet seen that spring, I had 
 grown uncommonly tired towards night ; and, as I came 
 to a bridge across the road, under which a small stream 
 ran, I bethought me to sit down and rest. I crossed the 
 bridge, went around under one corner, and seated myself 
 upon a large stone. I was not only tired, but hungry 
 .and thirsty; so I took my crackers from my pocket, 
 dipped my hand in the stream for a draught of the clear 
 liquid, and made out quite a refreshing supper. As I 
 sat there, and the brook flowed by me, with its mellow 
 murmur, I took a pebble in my hand, and, turning it 
 over and over, queried in my mind as to how and why it 
 was made : What power, what law, had gathered the 
 various elements together, and formed that little pebble, 
 with such cohesive force that it could not be destroyed ? 
 The answer would be, with many, 'Nature's Laws.' 
 But who or what created ' Nature's Laws'? Were they 
 self-created ? — themselves creating all things ? Or was 
 their 'Maker and Builder' God? No other answer 
 would satisfy me. And then came the query, Why had 
 he made it? It was a trifle, to be sure ; but life is made 
 up of trifles. There it was when I came, there it would 
 be when I departed, — enough, in and^of itself, to puzzle 
 the mind of the greatest philosopher the world would 
 ever see. Close upon this thought followed another. 
 The same power that formed that (to many) worthless 
 pebble had also created the somewhat strange being 
 known as E. M. Woolley ; — had arranged the curious 
 organization of nerve and muscle, of bone and sinew, of 
 flesh and blood, and gave it the help of a living soul. 
 And why, I asked, was it done ? Why was this aspiring, 
 unsatisfied spirit placed amid surrounding beauty, with 
 the capacity of love, and hope, and happiness ? Was it 
 that, after the few short years of life were past, I might 
 bask forever in the undying joys of a never-ending para- 
 dise, or that I should sink away to that fearful abyss 
 from which there is no rescue? Then followed still 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. fl 
 
 another query : If God had elected me, from the 
 beginning, to salvation, what power could prevent it? 
 If I was not thus chosen, would all my efforts change the 
 decree of the Almighty ? 
 
 "It was after sundown when I went out into the road 
 again ; but that little brook sung a song tb my heart, and 
 that wayside pebble taught a lesson to my mind, which 
 remain with me to-day in all their pristine beauty." 
 
 The sincere friend whose presence he had lost was 
 much in his mind through this journey. He had loved 
 him with such strength and tenderness, had looked upon 
 him as something so exalted and truthful, and his hopes 
 and high aims had been so suddenly broken, that 
 he could hardly make it a reality. And, ere he was 
 aware of it, Mr. Little filled the old place of affection in 
 his heart, and the last bitter parting was for the moment 
 forgotten. And when it returned to his mind, he could 
 not bring himself to think of his treasured instructor as 
 a bad man, upon the brink of destruction. Why it must 
 be so, he could not satisfactorily decide; and this un- 
 doubtedly led his mind to the reflections above mentioned. 
 It was the first stepping-stone to a holier faith. 
 
 Edward accomplished his journey in good health, and 
 was welcomed by his brother and sister with the heart- 
 greetings which only those who have loved and parted can 
 ever receive. After he had passed some weeks with his 
 sister, he concluded to labor a while in the shop of his 
 brother. This brother, James, had been some time in 
 the new town of Nelson ; was not long married, was 
 pleasantly situated, with a prosperous business, and be- 
 coming quite popular in the town where he resided. 
 Edward boarded in his family, and for his wife and chil- 
 dren he formed an attachment that was fresh and green 
 at the day of his death. 
 
 Once more upon his shoe-bench, with strap upon his 
 knee and hammer in his hand, the youth, even in a 
 strange land, was at home. And the happy joyousness 
 of his sunny nature often burst the fetters of his creed, 
 
72 MEMOIR OP EDWABD MOTT WOOLLBT. 
 
 and the gay, ringing songs of other days trembled on 
 his lips. 
 
 Edward's time was now his own, and he had more 
 opportunity for reading and conversation, and frequently 
 an evening for the merry gatherings of those of his own 
 age. He found his brother an intelligent and pleasant 
 companion, — one always willing, as far as he himself 
 was informed, to give him any instruction he might 
 require. 
 
 He was now about twenty-one years old, of great 
 manly beauty, and very winning in his manners, and also 
 possessing charming conversational powers. This reminds 
 me of the remarks of Rev. S. P. Skinner, editor of the 
 New Covenant. A portion of them were applicable at 
 this time. In his obituary of the subject of this biogra- 
 phy Mr. Skinner says : " We were personally acquainted 
 with brother Woolley, but his praise has long been in 
 all our churches; and we have frequently heard him 
 spoken of as uncommonly winning in his address, both in 
 and out of the pulpit. Our ministry in Michigan has 
 lost one of its most efficient members." 
 
 Edward won for himself, as he always did, many warm 
 and enthusiastic friends, among both the old and young 
 in the vicinity of this new home. The aged liked him 
 for his attentive, respectful conduct towards them, while 
 the sunlight of his own young heart cast gleams of bright- 
 ness far away into the dimmest recesses of their own. 
 With the young, his readiness to constitute another's 
 happiness, and his great love of wit, made him a 
 great and especial favorite. Social parties, dances, 
 sleigh-rides — none of them were complete without 
 his presence. And he also enjoyed all these exceed- 
 ingly; though it was against the established rules 
 of his church that he should attend some, if not all 
 of them. 
 
 The young society in Nelson was at that time very 
 gay, and many of the young people were fond of the 
 wine-cup and the card-table. In truth, these two amuse- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 73 
 
 ments constituted their great sources of pleasure. A 
 party could not be conducted properly -without them ; for 
 those were not the days of Washingtonianism or temper- 
 ance laws., 
 
 Edward had been invited to join a social party, one 
 evening, and as he opened the door of the parlor yfhere 
 the company were gathered, a large table, covered with 
 packs of cards, numerous decanters of wine, and several 
 glass goblets filled with the sparkling liquid, met his 
 gaze. Immediately a chair was placed for him; white 
 hands held a pack of cards for him to cut, and soft voices 
 and bright eyes urged him to join their game. But he 
 drew back, with, " This is, undoubtedly, all very pleas- 
 ant for you ; but for me it would be very disagreeable. 
 My mother taught me, in my boyhood, that, if I would be 
 a happy and a respectable man, I must not play cards. 
 Thus far I have obeyed her instructions. I have never 
 yet played a game of cards ; and, God helping me, / 
 never will ! " 
 
 There was silence throughout the room ; frowns were 
 upon the faces' of the fair, and from the lips of the gen- 
 tlemen came a low hiss, and the words " A baby ! — 
 Tied to his mother's apron-strings!" — with the usual 
 taunts uttered to laugh down such " nice ideas." But 
 Edward had grown old enough and strong enough to 
 hear them without the least feeling of indignation. With 
 a laugh, he replied, "Yes, ' baby,' if you will. Better 
 ' baby ' than gambler. And if my good ' mother's apron- 
 strings ' are strong enough to hold me from such evil ways, 
 God grant they may never break ! Good-evening friends." 
 — A n d he was gone. 
 
 In relating this incident, he would say : " I could not 
 then determine what gave me such strength to bear the 
 jeers of my companions. I could not have explained it 
 to any one satisfactorily. And had I said that it was 
 my mother, my most intimate friends would have laughed 
 me to scorn, or considered me leagued with the Prince of 
 Evil; so I hid the thought in my own breast. But, at all 
 7 
 
74 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTX WOOLLEY. 
 
 events, it was to me a reality ; for, the moment I saw that 
 table, with its weight of cards and wine, my mothe/s 
 hand was upon my head, her voice in my ear, and her 
 calm, beautiful face as vividly before me as when we 
 were together, mother and child, in the home of my boy- 
 hood. And I could as soon have taken my own Rfe as 
 to have complied with the request of my friends, and sat 
 down with them to a game of cards ! " 
 
 When he grew older, this partial belief in spiritual in- 
 fluences deepened into a beautiful and holy reality. He 
 experienced, in his manhood, a firm, controlling faith in 
 the influence of spirit over spirit, whether separated by 
 the landmarks of earth, or the narrow barrier of the 
 grass-grown grave. This faith with him descended into 
 no foolish vagaries, but the loved who had gone before 
 him brought to his sometimes burthened heart messages 
 worthy of the angels, and ministrations "grand and silent 
 as the stars." To him the sky, the air, the whole universe, 
 were filled with the pure, sinless spirits of those who had 
 gone away from the joys and sorrows of a lower life, to 
 an "inheritance undefiled, full of glory, and which 
 fadeth not away." And he was wont to attribute many 
 of the beautiful ideas and sweetly-expressed thoughts of 
 his own mind to the inspiration of the departed. Many 
 times, when he would go into the pulpit but a mere 
 shadow, compelled to lean upon the desk for support, he 
 would preach the most masterly sermons — sermons which 
 would hold the whole audience in breathless silence ; and 
 when the Amen was uttered, almost every hearer was 
 ready to exclaim, with surprise, " Not yet ! " Then he 
 would enter his own home, and say, "I never preached 
 to my people better than I did to-day. It seemed to me 
 as though my inspiration came from above ! " 
 
 Without the least superstition in nature, — not easily 
 given to receiving new theories, but holding with a vice- 
 like grasp to established opinions, — these things were 
 nevertheless true and real to him. An idea of his views 
 may be gathered more correctly, perhaps, from a letter 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 75 
 
 written by himself to a sincere friend in Herkimer County, 
 New York, after our removal to Michigan. He writes : 
 
 " Fondly-remembered Friend: Your kind and 
 very welcome letter came to hand soon after date ; and, 
 as I /bad, no less than three heads were peeping over my 
 shoulders, and each striving to out-do the other in read- 
 ing the news from over Lake Erie. I need not say we 
 gave it a cordial welcome, for of that fact you are all of 
 you well aware. 
 
 " I don't know why it is, butr there is that about a 
 letter from an old friend which always warms my heart, 
 and calls up thoughts and feelings that make me a hap- 
 pier and better man. It gives me the assurance that 
 absence and distance cannot obliterate friendship ; that, 
 like the love of God (in some souls, at least), it 
 
 ' Lives through all space, extends through all extent, 
 Spreads undivided, operates unspent.' 
 
 " And yet, in almost every letter I receive from the 
 'father-land,' there is something which saddens, and, 
 were it not for the God-given hope that looks beyond the 
 coffin and the grave, would chill the heart within me. 
 The living say to me, ' At such a time such an one 
 died.' That one was my friend, and I loved him as one 
 should ever iove who dares wear the sacred name. He 
 is dead ! yes, he is dead ! So says the letter. 'And 
 where was I when his lips moved no more, and his spirit 
 went home to its father, God ? Alas ! far, far away. 
 Other ears than mine heard the last good-by, other eyes 
 dimmed with tears to look upon the pallid face, and other', 
 hands pressed down the heavy eyelids, and arranged the 
 winding-sheet. Still, methinks that death, instead of 
 taking our friends from us, only gives them to ua, with a 
 better and dearer bond. Who can say that the disem- 
 bodied spirits of the dead may not and do not come to 
 us, and pour into our souls the flood-tide of consolation, 
 
76 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 or lead the erring, blind mind of mortals frQm darkness 
 into the noontide blaze of newly-discovered truths;? 
 Who, I ask, can say but that thought after thought drops 
 from immortal lips into our minds, as naturally as rain- 
 drops fall from the clouds upon the sunburnt earth? 
 
 " Whence come those pure, those lofty emotions, 
 that thrill and pervade the whole soul of man ? Whence 
 come those beautiful and holy aspirations, those high 
 and heavenly desires, that carry the spirit as on angels' 
 wings to the Elysian fields of unfading glory? They 
 come, and they come not without cause ; and most sin- 
 cerely do I believe that' cause to be the better-instructed, 
 mind of our loved ones gone from earth." 
 
 Edward devoted many hours of this summer to the 
 reading of Ancient History. He paid considerable atten- 
 tion to Grammar, and also became very much interested 
 in Natural Philosophy. After he once commenced the 
 latter study, it had for him a peculiar charm ; and those 
 who had heard him preach many times would discover 
 his fondness for it in his manner of sermonizing. 
 
 Notwithstanding his strong attachment "to his friends, 
 and his enjoyment in merry society, he would turn from 
 it all to , the solitude of his work-room, and the compan- 
 ionship of his books and papers. He frequently carried 
 a memorandum-book and pencil in his pocket, and as 
 opportunity offered he noted down his thoughts. It was 
 a common remark of his, "Always secure a good thought 
 before it is on the wing ; or otherwise you may lose a 
 treasure forever." A pocket-dictionary was also his 
 companion for years; and in this way he obtained a 
 correct knowledge of words. He always kept ink, pens, 
 scrap-book and paper, in his bench-drawer ; and to him 
 all the laurel-wreaths ever woven for mortal brows, all 
 the gold-dust of the whole earth, bore no comparison to 
 the worth of a well-cultivated and well-disciplined mind. 
 I find a couple of little verses expressive of this senti- 
 ment, written this summer. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 77 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 How vain the thought, how vain the hope, of happiness below ! 
 Delusive dream ! This world cannot true happiness bestow. 
 The gilded hall, the towering dome, may charm the youthful eye, 
 But yet the mind by wisdom taught for other charms will sigh. 
 
 I pity those that for gold-dust will barter health and ease, 
 And lose the truthfulness of man their avarice to please ; 
 Then be it mine, through coming years, to cultivate the mind, 
 For it will bring my heart a joy that leaves no sting behind ! 
 
 When Edward went to Nelson, he was received as a 
 member of a large Presbyterian church in that place. 
 He sat with them at the table of communion, was leader 
 of their choir, and a most zealous defender of their doc- 
 trines, and they looked upon him as a strong support in 
 theological argument. 
 
 As fall approached, Edward began to be discontented 
 with his labor. His desire for knowledge had become so 
 intense, that he could not endure the thought of confining 
 himself within the shop the coming winter. He was 
 anxious to make some arrangement for attending school. 
 He could now provide himself with comfortable clothes, 
 plenty of books, and could pay his tuition, if he could 
 find a place to labor, night and morning, for his board. 
 There was no opportunity to do this in Nelson, and he 
 returned to Poughkeepsie, to try and make some arrange- 
 ment with his brother. In this he failed ; and, aa there 
 was an excellent school in the old district near his home, 
 he yielded to his parents' wishes, and went back to sit 
 by the old fireside through the winter evenings. 
 
 With his feet once more upon his native hills, — with 
 his faithful mother to attend to washing, ironing, mend- 
 ing and making, — with his father's joyful companion- 
 ship, and the privilege of attending a good school, — it 
 was not very wonderful that heaven came down to his 
 youthful spirit. In speaking of his return, he says : 
 
 " Father was younger than I was, by several years, 
 when I went home. He was so delighted, that I thought 
 it would do him good to have a dance, and offered to call 
 7* 
 
78 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 in the fiddler ! But lie would only tell his stories faster, 
 laugh the merrier, and say, ' Out upon thee, boy ! Is 
 thee not ashamed to make fun of thy old father ? ' It 
 did him so much good to call me ' boy' ! I verily believe 
 he thought it made him younger ! 
 
 "„Mother went about in her old way ; but I could see 
 a gleam of joy in her quiet eye, and once in a while 
 her thin lips would part into a smile, in spite of herself. 
 And as she was at her work, I could hear a broken sen- 
 tence, like ' Come back — good boy — how glad I am ! ' 
 The night before I was to go to school, she was up half 
 the night, getting me a nice dinner ; but in the morning 
 breakfast was bright and early, and I off to school, with 
 good things enough for my dinner to feed three or four 
 boys!" 
 
 This was a happy season for Edward, not only in 
 attending school, but also in the society and friendship 
 of his teacher, a man over sixty years of age, who by 
 some domestic trial had become separated from his fam- 
 ily, and in the last days of his life roamed hither and 
 thither as an itinerant school-teacher. He is worthy of 
 notice here, if for nothing more than that he gave Ed- 
 ward's mind a more powerful bending towards the new 
 faith he was so soon to embrace. But this was not all. 
 Edward would say of him, "What he might have been 
 once I could not tell, and it mattered not with me ; he 
 might have lived down follies, vices, even crimes. In 
 truth, I think he had. It was so strange to my young 
 views to see this white-haired old patriarch about the 
 world, training the young idea, when he should have 
 been in his arm-chair at home, tended by his children, 
 and chatting with his ' old wife.' — it was a sight so 
 strange, I say, that I watched him closely as my oppor- 
 tunity would allow, which was close indeed. And some- 
 times there was in his manner a loop-hole, through which 
 I supposed I saw the hidden secret beyond. And, as I - 
 said before, I sometimes thought he had come up on to 
 this broad platform of goodness and charity (for good he 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 79 
 
 was, and charitable too) through a way that was choked 
 with weeds of vice and briers of sin. But what mattered 
 it then ? Paul was once Saul. I knew nothing then of 
 the faith which looks for sure retribution ; but I knew 
 that this man, if he had been wicked before, was good 
 now. A thousand times I was ready to ask the history 
 of his life ; but a mere allusion to it would send the blood 
 from his face, till it was white as snow, and he would only 
 answer, ' As you hope for happiness, Edward, never yield 
 to a desire to do wrong ! Take an old man's word for 
 it, — without purity of heart, and honesty of purpose, there 
 is no such thing as happiness in life. As sure as thunder 
 follows lightning, so does punishment follow sin, to scathe 
 and destroy ! Believe me, for I speak that which I do 
 know.' 
 
 " He often spoke tenderly of his wife and children, 
 but never told me where they were. Of one thing I am 
 satisfied, however, — if he hated and troubled them once, 
 he loved them with all a father's deep, undying affection, 
 then." 
 
 This teacher, though having numbered nearly his 
 three-score and ten years, was young in heart and man- 
 ner. He was as much a companion for the youthful and 
 gay as for the old and sorrow-tried. As was customary, 
 he " boarded around " with his scholars, and was often- 
 times invited to their social parties, for his merry joke3 
 and happy song-singing. 
 
 While boarding at Edward's father's, he, with his young 
 friend, attended a party, one evening, where there was 
 music and dancing. Among the dancers was a young 
 
 Mr. E , whose every movement was the impersonation 
 
 of grace. Edward, who, though of fine form and pleasing 
 
 address, was not a dancer, very much admired Mr. E 's 
 
 elegance of air and poetry of motion. Going home, he 
 said to his teacher, " I wish I could dance as well as 
 Mr. E ." 
 
 " While I am glad you cannot," was the somewhat 
 rough response. 
 
80 ■'■ MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 " Why are you so very sympathetic to-night ? " asked 
 Edward. 
 
 " Why am I ? Because I am glad your brains are in 
 your head, not in your heels. If you could dance as 
 
 well as young Mr. E , you would know nothing else. 
 
 He^has devoted his whole time to the art of dancing, and 
 I'll wager a 'twopenny bit' that he can't tell how a 
 passive verb is formed, or give the boundary of his native 
 state, even if he knows where that state is ! " 
 
 " With his polished manner, I could not think him so 
 ignorant as that," replied Edward. 
 
 " Ah, I see ! It 's the shine that attracts your fancy, 
 my young friend ! Be careful that that is not the very 
 rock upon which you wreck your bark of life." 
 
 "I hope there may be no danger, but I do confess to 
 a love of ease and grace of manner in the old and in the 
 young. There is much in the way of doing things ; and 
 certainly the diamond is of more worth after it receives 
 its polish." 
 
 " All very true; but you had better take the utilita- 
 rian view of things a while ; at least, until you have laid 
 a sure foundation, a scaffolding that cannot break away. 
 Then you will answer for the ornamental. Life has its 
 rough edges, and you must prepare your hands and heart 
 to handle them." 
 
 " I will try to encase my hands with steel, and my 
 heart with a breast-plate that nothing can destroy ; but 
 I would like to twine the rugged thought with the green 
 leaves and opening buds of imagination." 
 
 " This is a hard world for such resolutions; but keep 
 them, — keep them as long as you can. May you keep 
 them through all life ; for there is a heaven where you 
 may take them by and by, and where all our most 
 precious thoughts of loveliness may be gratified." 
 
 It was a clear, moonlit winter's night; and, as they 
 walked slowly up the well-beaten hill-path, the moon- 
 beams lay in a golden net-work over the glistening snow- 
 crust. The old gentleman, after a few moments of 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 81 
 
 silence, suddenly exclaimed, " It is almost a sin to tread 
 upon these moonbeams at our feet. See how lovingly 
 they creep around our way ! Not around our footsteps 
 alone, but, like the love of God, they are scattered, broad- 
 cast, as far as eye can see ! " 
 
 " Yes, but, like the mercy of God, they will pass 
 away," sadly replied Edward; "and I could never 
 forget," he continued, " how steadily he looked at me as 
 he answered, 
 
 " ' God's mercy pass away ! How ? In what manner ? 
 Let me ask, Can he be love, and not be merciful ? ' 
 
 " ' If he is merciful will he be just? ' I inquired. He 
 still kept his arms folded upon his breast, and, looking 
 earnestly, even sadly, at me, said, 
 
 " ' Can he be love, and not be just? ' Then he put 
 his hand on my shoulder, and, giving me a hearty shake, 
 laughed, as he said, ' Ah, Edward ! the great trouble 
 with you is, you are so much better and wiser than your 
 God is ! ' 
 
 " Before we entered the gate he took off his hat, and, 
 when the moonlight enveloped his broad brow and silver 
 hair with a flood of glory, I thought he looked like an 
 embodied divinity. I did not get much sleep that night, 
 for the words ' Can he be love, and not be merciful ? 
 Can he be love, and not be just? ' rung in my ears. 
 
 " The next morning, as we were on our way to school, 
 I asked him what the word hell meant in the Bible. 
 He replied, very indifferently, ' Sometimes it means the 
 grave, sometimes a place of fire. Englishmen sometimes 
 say they are hellying over a house, when they are roof- 
 ing it.' 
 
 "I think he was thus indifferent because he knew I 
 would not take it in such high dudgeon ; and he wished 
 to call forth my cool, deliberate reason, and my quiet, 
 better nature. And he succeeded admirably. I knew, 
 or thought I knew, the night of our moonlit walk, that 
 he was a Uhiversalist ; but I dare not ask the question. 
 That question, and its answer, had once cost me the 
 
82 MEMOIR OV EDWARD MOTT WOOLL^Y. 
 
 wisest friend I had ever known, and for the mines of 
 Goleonda I would not ask it again. I determined not to 
 be frightened; this time, till I felt the serpent's sting. 
 
 " Time sped on, and we were much together evenings, 
 until the last day came. The scholars, and in particular 
 the little urchins, were much attached to him. As they 
 came to bid him good-by, each one had brought some 
 token of remembrance. One brought a lock of hair, 
 another a card, &c. ; and a wee bitbf a girl, not more 
 than three years old, gave him her baby play-string of 
 ivory rings. The old man took the givers, one by one, in 
 his arms, and blessed them, and when he put them down 
 his wrinkled cheek was wet with their tears. There was 
 not a dry eye in our school-house but his, as he said, 
 ' You think this a sorry day, my young and my little 
 friends ; but, if you live long, you will look back, and that 
 perhaps with a smile, to this hour, that you should have 
 wept over so slight a grief. To me you have been good 
 scholars; to you I have striven to be a good teacher. 
 Remember and obey the instructions I have given you, 
 and you can bear all of life's joys quietly, all of its 
 griefs patiently. And it only remains for me to say 
 farewell, my children, till we all meet where there shall 
 be no more parting.' 
 
 "He went home with me that, night, and the circle, 
 small though it was, that sat by my father's fireside, 
 enjoyed an evening of happiness that was to be remem- 
 bered sacredly. Mother charged me always to think of 
 his teachings. How her good thoughts of him would 
 have vanished, had she known his religion, though ! The 
 next morning I walked down to the foot of the hill with 
 him, and there we parted. When he held my hand he 
 said, ' This were, indeed, a sad parting, were it not for 
 the hope of meeting there,' pointing to the sky. ' I 
 have no thought of meeting you again on earth; for 
 when my white hairs are beneath the valley dust you 
 will be treading bravely in the march of life. But you 
 will come to me at last (after a long and weary struggle, 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT TVOOLLEY. 83 
 
 perchance), in that heaven where God will gather a ran- 
 somed world.' 
 
 "His voice did not tremble, and his manner was not 
 sorrowful, as he bade me good-by ; and to my young and 
 ardent feelings it seemed as though he was rather indif- 
 ferent. But I know now that he had lived down joy and 
 grief, and his soul was upon a plane so far above mine, 
 that he could almost see the heaven he was so soon to 
 enter. 
 
 " I have withheld the name of this revered friend and 
 instructor, out of respect to the living. He did not go 
 home to die, but was laid to rest in the valley church- 
 yard, and one or more of his sons are now ministers of 
 the gospel of universal salvation." ' 
 
 It was a peculiar trait in Edward's character, that he 
 always became much attached to the. aged. All his 
 choicest heart-friends, all his most intimate companions, 
 were chosen from a class many years older than himself. 
 Prom them 'he gathered wisdom, to them he confided his 
 thoughts and sincere opinions, with them he earnestly 
 opposed what he believed erroneous in opinion, . and 
 from their lives and experience he strove to learn that 
 which might save him from the rocks and quicksands 
 scattered along his own life-journey. With all his great 
 love of humor, and activity of temperament, he much 
 preferred a conversation with an aged man or woman, 
 who had " grown old' gracefully," to an evening with the 
 young and the gay. Speaking of this peculiarity, he 
 would say, " I always felt thankful for the inclination I 
 had to associate with those older than myself. My labor 
 was such that I could give but little time to pleasure, 
 and if I had spent it in the ball-room, the tavern, or 
 the grocery, it would have probably given me habits of 
 debauchery. As it was, if I had an hour to spare, I gave 
 it to those of whom I could learn something, and then 
 went to my books or my bed, and arose the next morning 
 with brains right side up, and limbs that could carry me 
 firmly to the work-shop. Many times I have thought 
 
84 MEMOIK OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 this very disposition might have saved me from the ruin 
 which fell upon my young companions. Many of them, 
 possessing far more brilliancy of talent and greater oppor- 
 tunity than myself, are now leading wretched lives, or 
 filling unknown and unwept-over graves, far from the 
 haunts of their early days." 
 
 This was Edward's last season in school ; and, though 
 he did not know it then, it proved to be his farewell visit 
 to his native town. When the snow-mounds melted 
 away, and the sky began to wear the look of approaching 
 sjiring, he turned from the footpaths that wound across 
 the valleys and the hill-sides, and his eyes rested, for the 
 last time on earth, ^upon the playgrounds of his boyhood. 
 
 He returned to Nelson Plats, reentered the shop of his 
 brother, and became again an inmate of his brother's 
 family. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 RESUMES JOURNEY-WORK — BUYS A HOME TOR PARENTS — RELIGIONS 
 EXERCISES FATHER STACY AND HIS PROPHECY CONVERSION — MAR- 
 RIAGE AND HOUSEKEEPING — REMOVAL TO FATHER'S FARM — AGAIN IN 
 NELSON ILLNESS AND REPORTED RENUNCIATION — REV. JOHN FREE- 
 MAN REMOVAL TO MUNNSVILLE — COMPELLED TO FINISH MR. FREE- 
 MAN'S SERMON " NED CAN PREACH ' ' DEATH OF MR. FREEMAN. 
 
 Aetek, his return to his labor, he was uncommonly 
 industrious, and so saving that his young companions 
 thought him almost penurious, and his older friends said, 
 "He is certainly very saving, for a young man." 
 Edward knew this did not tell well for his generous- 
 heartedness ; but he could bear it heroically, for he had a 
 motive in doing thus, — a motive that was an honor to his 
 head, and would yet give, when it was accomplished, a 
 beautiful expression to the warm, ardent affection of his 
 young heart. He was anxious to save the means, from the 
 results of his labor, to purchase, in company "with his 
 brother-in-law, James Benedict, an excellent farm near 
 the village of Cazenovia. And when he had accomplished 
 it, his happiness may be known from the purpose for 
 which he wanted it. 
 
 His parents were then on a lease farm in Duchess 
 County, and how long they might remain there could not 
 be told. They would, perhaps, live and die under the 
 roof that then sheltered them; or in a few days or 
 months they might be, with no home they could call 
 theirs, sent to the domicils of their children. This newly- 
 purchased farm was to be their ' home, their own home, 
 till God should call them to the broader and better one in 
 8 
 
86 MBMOIK OF EDWARD MOTT WOOIXEY. 
 
 that country where there are no leases given and no i 
 exacted, for it is an inheritance. 
 
 After the farm was paid for, and a good dwelling-h 
 and barn built, the father and mother were remo 
 The old lady was yet able to do her own little ho 
 work, and the father could see to many things ou 
 doors. The joy they felt in being able to sit once i 
 by their own hearth-stone,— one that would be tl 
 while they needed it, — can be better felt than expres 
 The old gentleman was very much delighted. It pie 
 him; he said, "Yes, he liked it far better than he 
 did his old home in Duchess." He liked it, gooc 
 man ! Had it been in a wilderness, and not in 
 pleasant place it was, he would have thought it 
 pleasantest place in the great world ; for had not the 
 and labor of his children provided it for them? 
 
 And. Edward — what mattered it to him then that 
 pants had been worn thread-bare, — that his old coat 
 carefully brushed and hung away, only to be worn or 
 next Sabbath, because he could not, just then, affo 
 better one ? -What mattered it to him then that he 
 considered penurious, and, maybe, selfish ? Were 
 his aged father and mother happy? Were they 
 beyond fear of want when their steps should grow 
 and their limbs palsied with years ? Ah ! he had " 
 his bread upon the waters, to find it again after n 
 days." The love he had given his own father 
 mother was to be returned to him four-fold. 
 
 During the two years after his return to Nelsoi 
 mind was much engrossed with the subject of reli< 
 His two most worthy friends had not been believers ii 
 own faith : and, if this had not shaken his opinions, it 
 rendered him very thoughtful, and given him a st 
 ' desire for something more satisfying to his better nai 
 He thought of it by day, and pondered over it at n 
 His religion had become a frightful creature, that hau 
 his waking hours, and sat frowning by his pillow a 
 dreamed. And yet, how could he give it up? " W 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBY. 87 
 
 not a truth?" He was one of those who could never 
 believe a theory because he wished to. Before he em- 
 braced an opinion, he sifted and sounded it ; he was sure 
 there was around it a wall thick and firm as adamant, 
 that could not be pierced by the arrows of his opponents. 
 If he had been deceived once, he would try and not be so 
 foolish again. 
 
 Soon after his return to Nelson, it was rumored that a 
 Universalist clergyman, by the name of Goodwin, was to 
 preach in the village. Notwithstanding his prejudices, 
 Edward concluded to go and hear what could be said in 
 favor of the strange doctrine. Of Mr. Goodwin he said, 
 "Without possessing superior natural ability, and with 
 little or no information, he yet. interested me. I was 
 pleased to see how ingeniously an illiterate man could 
 argue. His ideas were all new to me, and he disturbed 
 my faith considerably, but did not ' lay the axe at the 
 root of the tree.' Nevertheless, I had plenty to think 
 about* and I went home determined to go again, the next 
 opportunity." 
 
 It was not long before this opportunity presented itself. 
 The Rev. Nathaniel Stacy came occasionally to the Flats 
 to preach, and I think he had done so while Edward was 
 East. The first time Mr. Stacy preached in the village, 
 after his return, in company with his brother he attended 
 Mr. Stacy's meeting. Perhaps his remarks about this 
 time may not be out of place here. He says: "Mr. 
 Stacy was called a great man. My brother thought him 
 the most talented preacher he had ever heard, and all the 
 Orthodox who had heard him expressed the same opinion. 
 I had, of course, made up my mind for a wonder ; and I 
 expected to see a giant of a man in the desk. Judge of 
 my surprise, when a little, boy-looking man arose before 
 me. Was that the great Mr. Stacy ? To be honest, I 
 thought he looked rather young ; and I turned to James 
 with a smile and a nod, that said, If that is your big 
 man, where, pray, are your small ones? When he got 
 up and commenced talking, he was the smallest man I 
 
88 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ever saw ; when he finished and sat down, I never thought 
 to see another so great." 
 
 After this, he always attended Mr. Stacy's meetings ; 
 and, though a zealous opponent, yet a strong intimacy 
 soon existed between them. James Woolley. the brother 
 for whom he then labored, was at least liberal in his re- 
 ligious views, and Universalist clergymen were always 
 welcome in his home. His wife, too, though a member 
 of a Presbyterian church, treated those of other denomi- 
 nations with Christian politeness, and a> seat at her table 
 or her fireside was not rendered unpleasant, even to those 
 then "everywhere spoken against." Here, then, he 
 frequently saw Mr. Stacy, and always "gave him battle 
 in good earnest." One Sabbath afternoon, while Mr. 
 Stacy was at tea at James Woolley's, Edward was unusu- 
 ally excited ; and, as Mr. Stacy rose to go, he rose also, 
 and followed him to the gate. Mr. Stacy said, " Brother 
 Woolley, I can spare you no more time to-day; but jump 
 into my wagon and ride a few miles." He got into Mr. 
 Stacy's wagon, and they rode on towards Morrisville. It 
 was at this time, I think, that Mr. Stacy made the re- 
 mark following, which I copy from page 340 of his 
 memoirs. I will give in connection Mr. Stacy's descrip- 
 tion of my father, and of the society in Nelson at this 
 period, entire. 
 
 "During the year 1826 the inhabitants of Nelson 
 Flats, town of Nelson, Madison County, without distinc- 
 tion of sect, unite'd and built a meeting-house, and finished 
 it oflT in good style, which they mutually agreed should 
 be free for all denominations, without any other restric- 
 tion than that no denomination should make appoint- 
 ments in it to interfere with the regular appointments of . 
 another. They got their house completed and ready for 
 occupancy early in the spring of 1827, and in April of 
 that year applied to me to hold a meeting in it. I com- 
 plied with the request, and entered into an engagement to 
 preach with them once a month for a year. This was the 
 first engagement for regular preaching in the house. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD ^IOTT WOOLLEY. 89 
 
 " A spirit of universal liberality seemed to prevail ; 
 and the inhabitants, without distinction of sectarian 
 opinion, generally turned out to meeting and filled the 
 house; and a spirit of inquiry was soon awakened. 
 Among those who seemed to take deep interest was a 
 young man by the name of E. M. Woolley, a resident of 
 the village, — a young man of superior talents, but a 
 zealous opposer of the doctrine ; and, as I desired, he was 
 very eager to oppose it, and seize every opportunity to 
 battle with me. He was very constant at meeting, affable 
 and polite in his manner, and, notwithstanding our differ- 
 ence of opinion, we soon contracted a strong friendship. 
 One day, when he was battling me with all his might, I 
 said to him, ' Brother Woolley, you may now fight this 
 doctrine hard as you please ; but I now tell you, and 
 I wish you to remember it, that, strong as your prejudices 
 now are against it, you have got yet to believe it, and to 
 preach it to the world.' And I now feel quite willing 
 to let the world decide upon the evidences of my being a 
 true prophet ; for, before the year of my engagement 
 closed, he became a happy believer in the truth of the 
 doctrine, and a few years after commenced its promulga- 
 tion, to which he has zealously, faithfully and success- 
 fully, devoted his time and talents, up to the present time; 
 and he stands now among the most able advocates of the 
 blessed truth." 
 
 When Mr. Stacy told him that he was yet to believe 
 the new doctrine he so zealously opposed, he received it 
 with a smile of doubt ; but when Mr. S. went still further, 
 and told him he would preach it successfully to humanity, 
 he thought it the extreme of enthusiasm. But the newly- 
 heard truths worked steadily in his mind, until the fabric 
 of his religious faith was entirely destroyed, and in its 
 stead was reared a beautiful temple, the foundation of 
 which was built upon the great love of God, and its spires, 
 glistening with the brightness of never-fading hope, 
 point forever to the skies. In his scrap-book I find a 
 little poem, written soon after he embraced the new faith. 
 8* 
 
90 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 It is all a-glow with the happiness that crowned his<spirit ; 
 and, though upon a theme the praises of which have be- 
 come as common as a thrice-told tale, it will express, far 
 better than the words of another, the joyous contentment 
 that pervaded his hours of life. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 To thee my song I '11 dedicate, 
 
 Of thee my muse shall sing ; 
 Thy presence makes my heart elate, 
 
 Thou ever-welcome Spring. 
 
 For on my heart rich blessings fall 
 
 Through all thy sunny days ; 
 God's love and mercy loudly call 
 
 For songs of joy and praise. 
 
 Like youth, sweet Spring, thou 'It bring delight, — 
 
 Like youth, thou 'It pass away ; 
 Yet one truth learn we from thy flight - — 
 
 Life's dearest pleasures stay. 
 
 And well I know thou wilt return, 
 
 As charming as before.; 
 And youth's bright lamp again shall" burn, 
 
 And be eclipsed no more. 
 
 For like the Spring our days will pass, 
 
 Then we no grief- shall see ; 
 Sweet Death 's the friend that comes, at last, 
 
 To set each prisoner free. 
 
 For God shall wipe away all tears, 
 
 And sin will have an end ; 
 Then shall mankind discard their fears, 
 
 And enemies be friends, — 
 
 Where all God's children shall be found, 
 
 And loud hosannas sing ; 
 Where love and happiness abound, 
 
 In one eternal Spring. 
 
 After this change in his religious views, he was as sin- 
 cere and earnest in advocating the new truth as he had 
 been in defending the old theory. The delicious joy he 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOlT WOOLLEY. 91 
 
 experienced, upon conversion, soon deepened into a calm, 
 never-failing enthusiasm, . which lasted through his life. 
 And, as jear after year came to him, his desire to pro- 
 mulgate the truth constantly increased. The earnestness 
 and success of his labors could not be better given than 
 in. a few extracts from the pen of his friend and co- 
 laborer in the West, Rev. J. Stebbins. Mr. Stebbins, in 
 his slight sketch of the life of the subject of this work, 
 which was published in the New Covenant, says : 
 
 "When convinced of the truth of Universalism, Mr. 
 Woolley espoused it ' with all his might, mind, and 
 strength.' He was as determined, as frank, as conscien- 
 tious, in defending, as he had been in opposing it. If 
 anything can be said to have commanded his unmitigated 
 hatred, all through his subsequent life, it was that theory 
 that could invade the sanctuary of the mother's heart, 
 where innocent childhood lived and worshipped, and, in the 
 name of the Holy One, teach at the mother's knee that 
 God's great truth was the snare of the devil. I have 
 heard him say, ' Nothing can be worse than this system 
 called Orthodoxy.' Hence he was never beset with 
 fears that he might demolish it and leave nothing bet- 
 ter in its place. If he failed to establish the truth, he 
 was sure he could make no change for the worse. He 
 was preaching incessantly, almost regardless of health or 
 weather. If able to go, he never refused a call to preach ; 
 and when no other man would think of preaching, with 
 his health, he would put on the appearance of health, 
 and perform herculean labors with apparent ease. Near 
 the close of his active life, this extraordinary trait of 
 character gave him a singular energy; he seemed wrought 
 upon by a superhuman spirit, to those who were watch- 
 ing the sure work of disease an evidence of approaching 
 death. 
 
 " His earnestness could not but command success. 
 After he came among us, at the West, without church, 
 society, association or convention, to lean upon, his talent 
 gathered the people together, and his wisdom instructed 
 
92 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 them. If he did not build up distinctive Universalism, 
 it was because he saw the elements of certain dissolution 
 in the old forms, and believed it his duty to cultivate the 
 spirit of Christ. In the prevalence of that spirit we are 
 to find his success ; and if the general love of the people 
 for whom he labored be taken as an evidence, he was 
 certainly a successful preacher. 
 
 " During the period of my residence in Michigan, I 
 have held with Mr. Woolley most intimate relations, 
 under remarkably diverse circumstances. From this ac- 
 quaintance I would give a tribute to the worth of his char- 
 acter as a man. He was possessed of strong, deep feel- 
 ing, and his likes and dislikes were of no ordinary power. 
 But these strong feelings were based upon principle. 
 No personal predilection for or against another could stay 
 the stern rebuke for a friend if he saw a fault, nor with- 
 hold a kindness from an enemy if he saw one in need. 
 Faults he had, in common with his race. If he had trials, 
 he also knew the ' Comforter ; ' and amid the vicissi- 
 tudes of fifty years was enabled to wear a serene, trust- 
 ful countenance, as he performed the labors of love which 
 God and duty directed. His virtues are enshrined in 
 many devoted hearts outside the family circle, and affec- 
 tionately cherished within it. ' His children rise up and 
 call him blessed.' While a true love for our departed 
 brother kindles anew, as we contemplate him reaping 
 the rich fruition of his hopes, with the blood-washed 
 throng, in the more immediate presence of God." 
 
 During his first sojourn in Nelson, among the young 
 and gay society in which he moved was Miss Laura 
 Smith, a great favorite with her young companions — 
 extremely fond of social parties, and, to use his own 
 words, " graceful as a fawn in dancing." Their acquaint- 
 ance was interrupted when he went East, but renewed 
 again after his return ; and on the cold, snowy Christmas 
 of 1825 they were united in marriage. She was the 
 daughter of Luther and Chloe Smith, and the eldest 
 child of a family of four children. She was of quick, 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY- 93 
 
 active temperament, though with a slender constitution 
 and feeble health ; but she possessed fine talents, great 
 personal beauty, and an education far superior to her 
 husband's. Of religion she had never made any public 
 profession, though her opinions inclined to the popular 
 faith ; and after her husband became a clergyman she 
 frequently attended his services, but upon religious sub- 
 jects they were never able to sympathize. 
 
 After their marriage they immediately commenced 
 housekeeping. Nelson Flats was a beautiful little rural 
 village, lying on the Cherry Valley turnpike, four miles 
 east of Citzenovia, and seven miles west of the thriving 
 village of Morrisville. A north and south road runs up 
 and down to meet the main street lying east and west 
 through the village ; and upon, a little eminence beside 
 this street, in the eastern extremity of the village, was 
 the new home to which he took his wife. The dwelling 
 was newly built, and far enough from, the road-side to 
 leave a pleasant flower-yard. A few steps from the 
 bridal home, just down across the road, stood the " tan- 
 nery," where he then labored; and a little further on, 
 towards the centre of the village, was the dwelling-place 
 of his brother and family. The old tannery has gone to. 
 decay now, — -the vats are filled with long-accumulating 
 earth, and the yards where the bark dried are thrown 
 open for sheep or cattle. The dwelling-house near it is 
 filled with strange faces, for the brother that governed 
 and guided has gone to a better labor, and his household 
 treasures are in far-off homes. For. something over a 
 year my parents resided in this new house; but soon 
 after the birth of a little daughter they removed to the 
 farmhouse near Cazenovia. My father's parents were 
 much grieved to hear of their son's change in religious 
 opinions, but the old gentleman said, when told of it, 
 " Edward may be wrong, but he thinks he is right." 
 And the mother replied. " I don't know why God should 
 send Edward to hell for being a Universalist, for he 
 always was a. good boy." Consequently his new views 
 
94 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 of his Creator made no difference in their welcome 
 home. 
 
 After we were settled with these parents, a room was 
 fitted up in the chamber of the house for my father's 
 work-shop, and here the labor of many a long winter 
 evening was cheered by the presence of the aged grand- 
 father, in playful, happy sport with his little grand- 
 daughter. While they were in this home a little son 
 was given them, who, to gratify the wishes of the good 
 old grandfather, was named Edward Jackson. This 
 baby-boy was a great darling with his white-haired 
 relative. The old man would carry him in his arms all 
 day in. the pleasant out-of-door air of summer-time, and 
 as he grew a little older he would seat him on his 
 shoulder, and give him a ride to the barn, or the woods. 
 
 During the second year of our stay on the farm, the 
 brother who had been left in Duchess County came up 
 with his family, and my father concluded to change his 
 residence, and leave his brother and family with their 
 father and mother. 
 
 He had purchased a village lot in Nelson Flats, and 
 after a dwelling-house was nearly completed upon it he 
 removed his small family thither, and once more became 
 a laborer in his brother's shop. 
 
 I have now brought the subject of this Memoir up to 
 the reach of my own memory, and henceforth I shall 
 have a stand-point in my own mind from which to view 
 the principal events of his existence. 
 
 This newly-purchased house, of which I have just 
 spoken, was very pleasantly situated. It was in the 
 western part of the little village, and within sound of the 
 rich, mellow music of the wide-flowing stream that lay 
 upon the western boundary of the town. And from the 
 door of this little dwelling, for several winters, my father 
 carried my little brother and myself (one on his shoul- 
 ders and the other in his arms) through the snow, and 
 the untrodden paths of several winters, to the low red 
 Bchool-house not far from our door-step. The first mem- 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTI WOOLLBT. 95 
 
 ories of him, which linger fresh and beautiful in the 
 hearts of his children, are those of his kindly nature. 
 'Among the poor, needy mendicants who frequently 
 passed our door, was crazy Lucy, — Grace Greenwood's 
 Lucy Dutton. No matter how hungry and cold she 
 might be, she would never enter our dwelling if father 
 was there, for she possessed a wonderful fear of men ; 
 but she would draw her little bundles of patches closer 
 to her side, pin her shawl again about her neck, pull 
 her old rag-covered bonnet over her face, and turn her 
 tired feet again to the filling snow-path, rather than sit 
 at table or fireside with the pleasantest of hosts. Many 
 a time has my father taken his hat and left the supper- 
 table till this weary old creature could eat and go to 
 her slumber; or, if she would journey on, sent his little 
 boy and girl with their aprons full of cookies and dough- 
 nuts (from my mother's well-filled table) for the poor 
 wanderer to carry on her way. 
 
 The winter after the removal of his family to Nelson, 
 my father was very sick with inflammation of the lungs, 
 caused by excessive labor and a heavy cold. He had not 
 been ill long when a very aged lady came and told my 
 mother of a "Certain medicine that always cured." My 
 father mentioned it to his physician, who said he was 
 doing well enough, and it was given up. A few days 
 after, my father overheard the doctor telling his mother, 
 in another room, that he could not possibly live but a 
 few days. After the doctor left, he called his mother to 
 him, and requested her to make the "tamarack syrup " 
 the aged friend proposed. It was prepared ; and, if it 
 did not cure him, he at least eventually recovered. 
 
 As soon as it was known that ray father was near 
 death, a wonder arose in the minds of religious opponents 
 as to how he would die ; and he would say, " They were 
 all determined that I should die ; and, more than all, 
 that I should die renouncing my faith. One day a very 
 good woman, a zealous member of the Methodist church, 
 came into my room, and, sitting by my bed, said, ' I am 
 
96 MKMOJB 9t EPWAEU MOTT WD.OM-BT. 
 
 very glad to hear that, in view of death and the judg- 
 ment, you have renounced your heresy, Mr. Woolley.' 
 
 '"Have you heard that?' I asked, with as mucF 
 composure as I could, command, 
 
 " ' 0, yes ! Everybody knows it now. I could not 
 keep it to myself a minute, and went clear down into the 
 field to tell my husband ; and as I was coming down I 
 
 stopped to Elder -'s, to tell them. We are all so 
 
 glad ! We knew you could not die with that curse upon 
 your soul. Nobody ever did. They always give it up 
 when death comes. It 's a fearful thing to go to judg- 
 ment without a hope in Jesus ! ' 
 
 "I turned my head enough to look directly in her 
 face, for I was very weak, and my lungs so sore I could 
 hardly speak above a whisper : and this time I only 
 asked, ' You are all very glad to hear that I have re- 
 nounced my heresy ? ' 
 
 '"0, yes, poor Mr. Woolley ! indeed we are. The 
 Lord is merciful ! ' 
 
 " The third time I asked, with rather more emphasis, 
 'You have ail heard that I have renounced my faith, 
 have you ? And what, I beg to ask, have you heard, 
 that I embraced in its place ? ' She kbegan to look 
 a little nervous ; moved rather uneasily in her chair ; 
 turned her eyes from mine, and answered, timidly, 
 'Why, a hope in Jesus, to be sure.' 
 
 " I laughed a low laugh, — in my situation even that 
 were impossible without a retribution, — and repeated, 
 after her, ' A hope in Jesus ! ' It was an ingenious get-off, 
 certainly. She dare not say I had embraced old-fash- 
 ioned Orthodoxy; but this ' hope in Jesus,' if I would 
 assent to it, were enough to ring with thousand trumpets 
 through the whole land. I think she did not believe 
 what she said she heard, but came in during my weak 
 state to try me. I gathered up all of my little strength, 
 and replied to her, ' You have heard that I have re- 
 nounced Universalism, and you say you have reported it. 
 Now, my good woman, when you go home, call at your 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 97 
 
 minister's, and correct your mistake ; and be kind enough 
 to tell your husband, -and your children, and everybody, 
 that E. M.-Woolley has not renounced, but has gained a 
 greater faith in Univeraalism. Tell them, too, that he 
 has a great, a glorious hope in Jesus ; not in your 
 poor, weak, inefficient Jesus, but in the Jesus Christ sent 
 by Almighty God to be the " Saviour of all. men, espe- 
 cially of those that believe." And if " nobody " ever 
 died so, then somebody will, and there will be "a 
 new thing under the sun." For, as sure as God is God, 
 the Fountain of all love, the Father of all spirits, 
 so sure do I believe that he will gather you and me, 
 together with a ransomed universe, redeemed from sorrow, 
 purified from sin, to sing his praises for ever and ever, 
 in the "mansion not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens." ' 
 
 " I did feel a little sorry for her, when she promised 
 she would correct her mistake. When she left the room 
 she said, ' Mr. Woolley, I shall pray for you.' 
 
 " ' No doubt you will,' I replied; 'but I am afraid, 
 my good woman, that your prayers, if not like the prayers 
 of the wicked, will, to say the least, avail but little.' " 
 
 My mother's health was always feeble, and when we 
 had been a few years in this valley home she was brought 
 down to her bed with a long, distressing illness. A little 
 daughter Eunice, a blue-eyed child of three summers, 
 was also taken with an acute sickness about the same 
 time, which terminated in a chronic disease. My father 
 was compelled to labor through the day, to provide help, 
 pay the doctor, and furnish provision for his family ; but 
 when the twilight came, then he was ready, till the morn- 
 ing came, to go from cradle to bed, and from bed to 
 cradle, cheerjng and watching his sick ones. And for 
 three months he hardly hadtime to change his clothing ; 
 and all the rest he obtained was on a couch in the sitting- 
 room, by the cradle-crib of his moaning child, or on a 
 buffalo-skin on the floor, in the bed-room where lay his 
 suffering wife. 
 
 9 
 
98 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOM WOOLLEY. 
 
 At last a very kind friend in the village, who saw that 
 little Eunice could never have sufficient attention to 
 recover amid so much sickness, came and took the child 
 to her own home, where, by faithful nursing, she. recov- 
 ered, to gladden once more the hearts of her parents, and 
 to remain a link of affection between them and the faith- 
 ful friend who had bestowed upon them such well-timed 
 kindness. 
 
 Not many months after my father's return to Nelson 
 Flats with his family, word was sent to the village that 
 Rev. John Freeman was to preach in the Court-house, in 
 Morrisville, on the next Sabbath. My father and a 
 young friend were anxious to go, if they could obtain a 
 horse and buggy ; but when the day came such accom- 
 modation could not be found. They were, however, too 
 anxious to hear "the great man" to give it up; as it 
 was a beautiful morning in early summer, they deter- 
 mined to walk. They started in good season, and entered 
 the Court-house just as Mr. Freeman rose to speak. The 
 building was crowded, but they were fortunate enough 
 to obtain seats. Of this meeting my father gives this 
 description : 
 
 " It was the first time either of us had seen Mr. Free- 
 man ; and as we entered the house he rose to read the 
 hymn. He commenced reading as we sat down, and, 
 upon my word, I thought then, and I think now, no other 
 man ever so read a hymn. Then followed his prayer ; 
 and, when he had finished, I said to myself, That 
 prayer — it never. came from mortal lips ! He took for 
 his text, ' I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to ' 
 repentance.' And how he handled it no living being 
 could tell ; he himself could not have told us, five min- 
 utes after. When he commenced speaking, he brushed 
 back his hair, as though it *hung heavy on his temples, 
 and in a few moments his large blue eyes sparkled with 
 the fire of his soul, and around his mouth hovered the 
 most beautiful smile I ever saw upon a mortal's lips, and 
 his whole countenance was radiant with a light from 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 99 
 
 heaven. He held us in such breathless attention that 
 you might have heard a pin drop ; and when the Amen 
 came, audible and clear, I unconsciously sprang to my 
 feet. 
 
 " After services, numerous persons gathered around 
 Mr. Freeman, for a grasp of the hand ; we walked lei- 
 surely along till the crowd dispersed, and I then stepped 
 beside him, and, offering my hand, gave him my name, 
 and that of my friend. He received us cordially ; and said, 
 while that smile which no other man ever wore lingered 
 and played around his lips, ' I am glad of this ; ice do not 
 need an introduction, — our religion makes us acquainted.' 
 I knew, by the grasp of his hand, aifl the sound of his 
 voice, that I had found a friend, — ode who would never 
 fail me; and, thank God ! I was not/disappointed." 
 
 The acquaintance formed at this first meeting grew to 
 an abiding and all-controlling affeejion, with both Mr. 
 Freeman and my father. To no other friend did my 
 father ever become so deeply attached ; with no other 
 person did he ever hold, such intimate spiritual com- 
 munion. They were alike in enthusiasm of nature, in 
 nervousness and activity of temperament, in depth and 
 fineness of feeling, and in the same all-glorious and life- 
 happifying faith. 
 
 A^ter his family regained their health, and the sun- 
 shine of joy again pervaded the social circle, my father 
 -ftegani'to think of a business which should task his own 
 capacitjAfor management. In- company with a friend by 
 the wmk of Clarke Buck, he purchased a beautiful 
 ^>roperty%n the romantic village of Munnsville, and 
 started the shoe and leather trade. He removed his 
 family to this place in the winter of 1831 ; and when he 
 made this cbj^ge of residence he intended it should be 
 a permanent one. His situation of property was all that 
 heart could wish. Here were society and companions with 
 whom he would like to pass his life ; here was a large, 
 flourishing academy, where his children might be well 
 educated. His business was such as would allow him to 
 
100 MEMOIB OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 support his family comfortably, and add something to 
 the fund he had laid aside for old age ; and the grow- 
 ing little village was delightfully situated to gratify the 
 lover of rural beauty. It was almost environedby hills, 
 and partially encircled by a broad, wild" strain, that 
 came dancing and sparkling down from its hiding-places 
 amid the western hills; or, when the spring rains had 
 swollen its waters, dashed its rumbling, foaming waves 
 upon the shore, as though its waters chafed against the 
 heavy boundary. A broad, sandy road descended from 
 Knox's Corners (a little village about a mile north) down 
 through the Hollow, and led on to a small settlement a 
 few miles south. The stage-road from Morrisville swept 
 down a long, high, wood-dotted hill on the west, and 
 divided the village in the centre into four corners. On 
 the north-west of these four corners was the store, shaded 
 by a century-old elm, and on the opposite point south 
 was the low, white, vine-covered parsonage of good old 
 " Minister Clarke," the pastor of 4he Presbyterian church. 
 On both the east -and west side of the north street were 
 beautiful residences, with flower-filled yards and heavy 
 shade-trees ; and on to the south were a few dwellings, 
 a great, almost never-quiet saw-mill, and a grist-mill. 
 Upon the north-east corner stood the village tavern, and 
 across the way, a few steps further down the road-side, 
 was my father's home. In a yard further back was the 
 shop, and on the bank of the creek the " finishing house." 
 The ground in the rear of the dwelling sloped gradually 
 to the creek-side, and in spring, summer and ^autumn, 
 formed a beautiful grass-plat for children's pipy. The* 
 creek wound north of east behind the house, but a few 
 yards below it turned a point to the north, bounded under 
 a high, firm bridge, and rolled away to give motion to 
 the wheels of a large carding and cloth- dressing mill. 
 Just over the bridge, around to the south-east corner, 
 was a large yellow school-house, where Revs. J. Free- 
 man and S. R. Smith sometimes preached. There are 
 many incidents connected with this wild, deep stream of 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 101 
 
 the hills, that, aside from its beauty, would fasten the 
 memory of the time they resided on its borders firmly in 
 the mind of my father's family. But I will only men- 
 tion one, which, from its terrible character and joyous 
 result, made a deep impression on all our minds. 
 
 On a washing-day, when my father came in at noon, 
 his niece, then residing in our family, requested him to 
 bring-some creek-water, for rinsing clothes, after he had 
 eaten '^is dinner. . This was overheard by my little 
 brother, then in his fifth year ; and, stealing out of doors 
 with his pail and dipper, he hastened to the stream. It 
 was but a moment, for he had not been gone long enough 
 to be missed from his seat at table, when an apprentice 
 ran to the door, and exclaimed, " Mr. Woolley, Eddie is 
 in the creek ! " My mother was in poor health, hardly 
 able to leave the room ; but in an instant she was 
 through the door, in great terror. My father sprang 
 past her, lifted her into the house with the quickness of 
 thought, told her to keep quiet, and ran on with all 
 speed for his child, followed by the springing feet of 
 little ones behind him. It was in early spring, and the 
 heavy rains had swollen the creek to its highest bound- 
 ary ; and there, in the midst of the mad, ungovernable 
 waters, was the child of his affection. Rolling and 
 tumbling before the boy were the heavy, foaming waters, 
 rolling and tumbling they came on behind him, and 
 enveloped him with those through which he had once 
 been thrown. He lay upon his back, and kept his head 
 mostly above water ; but he floated down around the 
 house, went under the bridge, and was within a few rods 
 of the woollen factory. My father, and his friends with 
 him, had given up all hope of taking the child alive, 
 when he twined his tiny hand around a few cedar-bushes 
 that were nearly in mid-stream ; but the rains and waves 
 had so beaten them that they gave way just as Mr. 
 Buck (my father's partner and friend, who had thrown 
 himself into the stream) clasped him in his strong arms. 
 He bore him to the shore, and gave him to his father,- 
 
102 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 whose heart overflowed with joy, as he exclaimed, " God 
 in heaven bless you, Buck ! " Then he folded the boy- 
 close to his heart, as he said, " God is merciful ! " The 
 little fellow was not much frightened, and his reply to 
 his father's caution beautifully expresses the confidence 
 his children always reposed in him. " What made you 
 go to the creek, my little son? " asked my father. 
 
 " Why, cause, fader, Cousin Hannah wanted some 
 water, and you wanted some dinner: I lost my dipper, 
 and reached for it ; and then I put my arm out furder, 
 and fell in." 
 
 " Was you not afraid of being drowned, my child? '" 
 " 'Fraid ! No ! I knew good fader 'd get me out." 
 "But if those bushes had broken before Mr. Buck 
 got to you, you would have gone under the carding- 
 wheels, in spite of all I could have done. I can't save 
 you, if you do wrong." 
 
 " I fought the sticks would pull up before you got 
 there ; but I knew God would take Eddie. I 'm glad 
 you come, it 's so wet and cold in there ! " And the 
 child shook his wet black hair in his happy father's 
 face, and twined his wet arms about his neck, crowing 
 with delight, because the "good man had got him out." 
 One winter's evening, as my father was in conversa- 
 tion with my mother and her sister, who were quilting 
 in the parlor, while we urchins were dancing about, a 
 rap was heard upon the front door, and when it was 
 opened who should enter but my father's brother and his 
 wife, from Nelson Flats. Everything was laid aside to 
 welcome the relatives ; and, although they were happy to 
 see the friends in Munnsville, my father knew something 
 was wrong with his brother. When they were in the 
 other room at supper, my father came back and said to 
 mother, who was arranging the fire, " Something is 
 wrong with James." " I hope not," she replied. The 
 next morning, however, his face was sunnier; and if 
 his heart was heavy when he came, it was lighter when 
 he went away, for it had been lifted by my father with 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOtLEY. 103 
 
 a loan of money, which was absolutely necessary then to 
 his brother, even though he was doing a thriving business. 
 It was a loan without any security ; for these brothers 
 Would have trusted each other with uncounted gold, and 
 it was seldom that they gave or received notes one from 
 the other. 
 
 After our removal to Munnsville, my father became 
 acquainted with Rev. S. R. Smith, and on further 
 acquaintance became most devotedly attached to him. Mr. 
 Smith came to Munnsville frequently to preach, as did 
 Mr. Freeman and Mr. David Biddlecom. There was 
 much and bitter opposition to the new doctrine in and 
 around the village, — so much, that it was considered 
 disgraceful for a lady to attend a Universalist meeting. 
 One evening, when Mr. Freeman and my father were 
 making ready to go over to the yellow school-house to 
 meeting, my mother made known her intention to accom- 
 pany them. 
 
 "Have you the courage to do anything so unpopular?" 
 asked Mr. Freeman, jocosely. 
 
 " I shall try to go to-night," she answered; and accord- 
 ingly accompanied them. 
 
 The house was soon filled with men, but no ladies came. 
 After Mr. F. commenced services, a whisper was heard 
 at the door, and a little boy, eight or ten years old, came 
 in and reconnoitred. Then he went out, and six or seven 
 ladies from the village entered. "Mrs. Woolley," said 
 Mr. FreeiMan, upon their return, "Mrs. Woolley has 
 braved the danger, and now we shall be favored with the 
 presence of the?fej)ortion of creation." 
 
 He was a trueptophet; for ever after the ladies of 
 Munnsville were not afraid to hear a Universalist preach, 
 and many of them bec\me sincere believers in the religion 
 Mr. Freeman so exultragly and beautifully taught. 
 
 Of Mr. Freeman's appearance it would be folly for me 
 to speak. That has been so well done by his warm friend 
 and faithful biographer, Rev. S. R. Smith, that I should 
 fear to attempt it. But his treatment of us " little folks " 
 
104 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 I. may, perhaps, express. He was the companion and 
 friend of children ; and when he entered our dwelling 
 he claimed a kiss and an affectionate greeting, in particu- 
 lar, from all "the babies." And when he swung his 
 long black broadcloth cloak around his shoulders, and 
 took the family Bible under his arm, we followed him to 
 the door, and listened for the last sound of his footstep 
 upon the walk ; then we turned and looked sadly into 
 each other's faces, and went silently back to the fireside. 
 For to us it seemed as though one of the angels, of which 
 our parents told us,, had gone out from oirr home. 
 
 Mr. Freeman and his friend Mr. Smith were both 
 not only anxious, but quite determined, that my father 
 should enter the ministry. And he, himself, was quite 
 as desirous to do so ; but his old diffidence came in the 
 way. " If I knew enough, Brother Freeman," he would 
 say, " I should be as happy as yourself to put on the 
 harness, and work faithfully in it, too." And to Mr. 
 Smith, who, in his earnestness to convince him that he 
 was fitted for his Master's labor, would sometimes, per- 
 haps, laud him a little too highly, he would reply, "If 
 nature did not make a fool of me, Brother Smith, don't 
 try to finish her work, by causing me to believe that I 
 am a great man. I know my own strength better than 
 do you or Brother Freeman." At this, Mr. Smith would 
 spring to his feet, lay his long, thin hand upon my father's 
 shoulder, and laugh as he said, "I declare, Brother 
 Woolley, you don't mean to know anything ! " 
 
 In the midst of this dilemma Mr. Freeman found out 
 a way. In the winter of 1833 he was preaching in the 
 little village of Siloam, a few miles from Munnsville. 
 When he left our home on the Sabbath morning with; my 
 father, he said, "Brother Woolley, you '11 preach to-day? " 
 " If you will do the singiDg," was the answer. Mr. 
 Freeman commenced his services, and my father led 
 the choir. When Mr. F. was about half through the 
 preaching he said " Mr. Woolley will finish the sermon," 
 and sat down. Every eye in the house was turned to my 
 
MEMOIR OB EDWARD MOTT WOOL&EY. 105 
 
 father's face, and every ear waited to hear how one man 
 would finish another man's sermon. My father went 
 into the desk, took up the subjeet where Mr. 'Freeman 
 left it, and finished as well as he could under existing 
 circumstances ; and remarked that if Mr. Freeman 
 considered the sermon finished, it were well, — if not, he 
 could finish it himself. Mr. Freeman rose and told the 
 audience he thought the sermon well closed, and pro- 
 nounced th« benediction. As Mr" Freeman turned round, 
 my father opened his lips to speak ; but Mr. F. said, 
 "Hush! hush! Brother Woolley, you'll thank me for 
 this before I die. For I shall die soon ; and you must 
 take charge of my societies." 
 
 It was thus that my father preaehed his first sermon. 
 And in the vickity of his own home, among his- old 
 acquaintances and long-cherished friends, he began the 
 ministry of his Master. 
 
 His brother and parents had, as far as possible, dis- 
 couraged him from entering the ministry. Perhaps they 
 thought him incompetent to so great a work. After he 
 had beea preaching a few months, his brother James went 
 to Siloam, one Sabbath, to attend his meeting. He was 
 very attentive through the sermon ; and as he went out 
 of doors at noon, he exclaimed to a friend of my father's 
 who was with him, "I'll give it up, now; Ned can 
 preach ! " 
 
 My Other's friends and acquaintances, generally, rallied 
 around him to sustain and encourage him in his new 
 labor. But among them was one, — an intelligent and 
 Worthy man, and of great influence in society, — one, too, 
 with whom my father had been very intimate. This 
 friend always kept aloof from his meetings ; and it was a 
 matter of great surprise with many.'*' They had supposed 
 that Mr. Pratt would be the first man to hail with joy 
 my father's entrance into the ministry. And they would 
 ask, "Mr. Woolley, why is it that Mr. Pratt does not 
 come to hear you preach? " 
 
 "I cannot tell," he would say. "Perhaps he thinks his 
 
106 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 presence would frighten me. He has some good reason, 
 certainly, for staying away." 
 
 The reason soon came to light why this faithful friend 
 was so distant. Some few months after my father com- 
 menced preaching, Mr. Pratt went to Siloam, and listened 
 to him through the morning and afternoon sermons. 
 Visiting him soon after, he said, " You, as well as many 
 of our mutual friends, probably consider it very strange 
 that I have not been to hear you preach before, nor even 
 spoken to you upon the subject of your new labor. But, 
 notwithstanding Brothers Smith and Freeman urged you 
 to assume the sacred office, it was a matter of seriou3 
 consideration with me. I knew you had talent, and a 
 conscientious desire to fulfil sacredly the duties you had 
 taken upon yourself; but, knowing, also, your sensitive- 
 ness to the least unkind suspicion, I feared you were not 
 hard enough to bear the rebuffs and unkindness with 
 which you must certainly meet. You know something 
 of political hatred ; but party spirit, my friend, bitter as 
 it may be, never ran half so high as religious animosity. 
 I knew that you would find religious enemies, sometimes, 
 almost bitter enough to draw your life-blood ; and I asked,- 
 Can he stand it? But I ventured to hear you; and now 
 I know that you have weighed well the sorrows and joys 
 of your new calling, and that the God who gave you this 
 great labor will also give you strength to fulfil it faith- 
 fully and successfully." 
 
 These were encouraging words to my father's heart, 
 for he knew that the friend in whose judgment he con- 
 fided from pool,, deliberate reason pronounced him capable 
 of a teacher's duty. He had not suffered a moment with 
 the thought that his friend loved him the less. 0, no ! 
 he* never allowed a suspicion to mar the'beauty of friendly 
 affection and trust, after the league was formed. Before 
 they had become one in confidence, he was cautious ; but 
 afterward, never. He loved his friends with a strength 
 and devotion that nothing could overcome, and he always 
 received the same tenderness in return. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 107 
 
 His aged father had never heard him preach, and he 
 came alone, on horseback, to Munnsville, not only to see 
 us, but for the purpose of listening to " Edward's 
 sermon." They went together to the place of meeting 
 on Sabbath morning, and when his son entered the desk 
 the white-haired father put his Quaker hat upon the table, 
 and seated himself before the pulpit. " I did not know," 
 he said afterward, " but I might disconcert thee, Edward ; 
 but I wanted to see thy face." 
 
 The old gentleman was all attention through the 
 service. He did not lose a word ; and his face was all 
 sunshine, from the joy of his soul. His great, good heart 
 was fast losing its bigotry, and growing warm and happy 
 in the eternal love of God. There they were, father 
 and child, the first and last time they were to meet 
 thus in the world below ! The child in the spring strength 
 of manhood, wearing the panoply of righteousness, with 
 which to breast the tempest of life; the father journey- 
 ing with his trembling feet down to the Jordan of death, 
 yet gleaning from the words of his youngest son a beacon- 
 light of faith, to lead him joyously to the heaven beyond. 
 After services were over, the old, happy father said, 
 " I am an old man now, and I have heard many sermons ; 
 but never, in my whole life, did a man talk to my heart 
 as thee did to-day, Edward." How sweetly these words 
 fell upon my father's heart ! He who spake them was 
 indeed an old man, being at that time over seventy 
 years of age ; and yet, he had come all that way alone 
 to hear "his boy" preach. 
 
 About this time Mr. Smith concluded to leave Clinton, 
 and was anxious that my father should minister to his 
 societies. He came to Munnsville, and said, "Brother. 
 Woollcy, I leave Clinton, and you must go there." This 
 received no other answer than a smile from my father, 
 for he did not suppose his friend in earnest. 
 
 "Do you hear, Brother Woolley? " asked Mr. Smith. 
 " I leave Clinton, and you must go there." 
 
 " Allow me to answer your question by asking another 
 
108 MEMOIR OP EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 one," replied my father. "Do you think I will go, 
 Brother Smith?" 
 
 " Do I think you will ? I know you will." 
 
 " Well, then, Brother Smith, all the gold of all the 
 Indies could not hire me to go to Clinton. I know too 
 much to try to follow you as a preacher." 
 
 "0," he said, laughing, "you can't preach as big 
 sermons as I do ; but you will do quite as much good 
 among my people." 
 
 It was all useless. My father's diffidence would not 
 allow him to think of going to Clinton; and as Mr. 
 Smith shook hands with him upon departure he said, in 
 his own jocose manner, " I fear I never shall make any- 
 thing of you, Brother Woolley ! " 
 
 After my father entered the ministry, he wished to 
 devote to it his whole time : and he disposed of his 
 property in Munnsville, and removed his family to a hired 
 house upon the hill west of the village. When the grass 
 was green and the flowers in blossom, when the tree- 
 leaves waved in the summer breeze and the bird- music 
 floated upon the air, it was a beautiful situation. But 
 when the frost had been over the hills and through the 
 meadows ; when the autumn winds had scattered the forest 
 leaves, and the snow lay white and deep upon the earth ; 
 when no sound was heard but the cold, chill, driving 
 sleet, or the shrill blast of the stage-horn on the winter 
 air, — it was a solitude for my mother and her children, 
 though she was seldom left without her sister or some 
 companion to help her. 
 
 My father was called almost constantly to preach, but 
 would never leave his family unless it was for his Master's 
 business. He gave no time to his own amusement or 
 recreation, unless accompanied by his wife or children. 
 
 When my father commenced preaching, Mr. Freeman 
 was in very feeble health, and through the spring and 
 summer he grew much emaciated. The last time he was 
 in Munnsville, my father stood at the gate and watched 
 him out of sight; then, coming into the house, he said, 
 
MEMOIB OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 109 
 
 " He has gone home to die. We shall never see him 
 in life again." This proved correct ; but Mr. Free- 
 man did not depart until the 19th of October following. 
 I shall never forget the morning when we were told of 
 his death. My father sat by the fire as we came down 
 stairs. He was very pale, and his eyes were dim with 
 tears, and he said, "My children, good Brother Freeman 
 is dead ! " What a burst of grief it called from our little 
 hearts ! I do not now remember that I ever heard my father 
 speak again of the death of Mr. Freeman. But that he 
 felt his loss deeply I cannot doubt. For there came a 
 quietness to his manner and a tenderness to his voice that 
 only a heavy grief can bring. But it settled down into 
 his heart — the death of this friend — like the presence 
 of the holy dove. And ever after the white wing of 
 peace was folded nearer his spirit, better fitting him to 
 look bravely and hopefully through the dark clouds that 
 were yet to burst over his way. A poem, written upon 
 the death of Mr. Freeman, first published in the Magazine 
 and Advocate, and which will be found in Mr. Smith's 
 beautiful Memoir, was written at this period. 
 10 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COMMENCES PREACHING IN HAMILTON AND LEBANON REMOVES HIS 
 
 FAMILY — MR. FREEMAN'S FAMILY SUCCESSES OPPOSITION MRS. 
 
 FORD'S CONVERSION ORDINATION AND INSTALLATION HIS INSTRUC- 
 TIONS — REV. D. SKINNER'S ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND LABORS. 
 
 When Mr. Freeman's health began to fail, he became 
 still more interested in the people to whom he ministered. 
 The society in Hamilton had already erected a small but 
 commodious house of worship ; and the friends in Lebanon 
 were gathering materials together for the same purpose, 
 and expected to have their church ready for dedication 
 some time in the fall of 1833. But, before this time 
 arrived, Mr. Freeman became satisfied that he could not 
 live to see the work completed, and he could not die con- 
 tented if dying he would leave his flock without a shep- 
 herd. He said to his friends, " Settle Brother Woolley 
 among you, when I am gone." Accordingly, after his 
 burial, the society in Hamilton requested my father to 
 labor with them ; a request which was immediately and 
 joyously responded to by him, and in November of 1833 
 he commenced preaching to them. 
 
 Early in the following winter he was invited to go to 
 Lebanon, one Sabbath, to preach, and, it was supposed, to 
 make arrangements for a settlement ; as it had been his 
 expectation to divide his time between the Lebanon and 
 Hamilton societies, as Mr. Freeman would have done had 
 he lived. 
 
 Of this appointment in Lebanon he says: "At the 
 time appointed, I went to Lebanon ; but they received me 
 so coldly that I was entirely discouraged. The members 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. Ill 
 
 of the society were as cold and frigid as icebergs, and 
 they fairly froze the heart within me. I saw, at once, 
 that they were a lukewarm set of Christians ; or, that 
 there was something wrong with me. They did not care 
 to make any arrangement that day, but wanted me to 
 come again in two weeks. As I went into the desk, my 
 spirit of pride was not only aroused, but my manly inde- 
 pendence was considerably started. ' If this is the way 
 they welcome a. pastor,' I said to myself, ' they must 
 settle another than me ; for I am a man, with a man's 
 feeling, and a man's sense of independence ; and as such 
 they must receive me, or not at all.' I had made up my 
 mind, as the congregation gathered together, not to come 
 again in two weeks ; when the voice of Brother Freeman said 
 to me, as distinctly as it ever did in life, ' Hush ! hush ! 
 Brother Woolley, what did you enter the ministry for ? 
 Was it that you expected always to be welcomed cordially, 
 and treated affectionately ? Or, was it to do good, like 
 your Master, and, like him, to walk in byways and thorny 
 paths?' 
 
 " I smiled as I felt this, but it scattered my indigna- 
 tion to the winds, and I concluded to come again. In 
 two weeks from that day I went over again ; and what 
 a change ! The cold, bleak winter air was gone, and in 
 its place a warmth like a summer's noon-day. The cold, 
 frigid words had died upon the lips, and thereon were 
 expressions of cordiality and kindness ; and they shook 
 my hand with a heartiness that did my soul good. An 
 arrangement was immediately made for me to labor among 
 them once in two weeks, without my even having a 
 thought as to the why of their former coldness, or their 
 present warmth. After services were over, Mr. "James 
 McConnell, a talented and very excellent man, and after- 
 ward my choice friend, came to me and said, ' Brother 
 Woolley, you were not only surprised, but a little 
 chagrined, at your former reception among us; but a 
 rumor had been circulated among our people that in 
 former life, or in your youth, you had been a profligate 
 
112 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 and a Trine-bibber. And the commencement of your 
 ministry was said to be in this wise : You were out, one 
 evening, at a bacchanalian revel, with many of your wine- 
 loving companions, when one of them, who had heard 
 Brother Freeman preach, asked, "Woolley, why don't 
 you preach? You could make it go as well as that 
 jackanapes Freeman. If there's no hell and no fu- 
 ture, what difference does it make what a man does? 
 And preaching would pay well, and be far easier than 
 sitting on a shoe-bench and holding a lap-stone. You'd 
 better go at it, Woolley ! " You replied, "Well, give me 
 a bottle of wine, and I'll try it." A decanter was 
 handed you, you poured out a glass, drank, passed it to 
 your friends, and, with the bottle in your hands, preached 
 your first Universalist sermon. You succeeded so well, 
 and met with so much encouragement from your drunken 
 companions, that you had continued the business. And, 
 strange- as it may seem, notwithstanding your known 
 intimacy with Brother Freeman, and his request that we 
 should settle you as a pastor, there were among us those 
 who thought it best to be cautious. Last week I went 
 to Morrisf|ille, and saw Esquire Morey; and when I told 
 him these 'things, he laughed, and said, "And is it possible 
 that you Lebanon people believe these things ? I have 
 known Mr. Woolley for years, and there is not a stain 
 upon his character as big as a pin-head." I came home 
 and reported, and this is the cause of the warm reception, 
 you have received to-day.' 
 
 "As he finished the last sentence, I laughed, and 
 replied, 'Pretty well told! upon my word. I do not 
 think you or I could have bettered it.' But, to confess 
 '^.the truth, I did feel indignant that Universalists — Uni- 
 versalists, too. who had listened to Brother John Freeman's 
 preaching, and knew what he required of Universalists — I 
 say, I did feel indignant that these people should have 
 given credence to so vile a slander about a successor 
 chosen by himself. But I was young in my great labor 
 then, and did not know that a minister — a faithful, pure- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 113 
 
 hearted Ghristian minister — can know little of right- 
 eous indignation, or of the so-called proper way of 
 returning injury and insult. I have since learned that 
 the best way of receiving cold civility, and even meant 
 unkindness, is with Christian courtesy and a kindly 
 manner, if one can successfully cultivate (and one can) 
 an affectionate feeling for the most bitter enemy. And 
 the only way to kill a slander is to let it alone and live 
 it down." 
 
 After the arrangement was made for his services in 
 Lebanon, he labored among them once in two weeks for 
 several years ; and he had not only an opportunity of 
 living down the foolish rumor above mentioned, and 
 many others of the same nature, often reported, not only 
 about himself, but of all the disciples of the new and 
 unpopular faith, but he left upon their minds, as a 
 society, . and as his firm, well-loved friends, a precious 
 impress of his manly dignity and friendship of spirit, 
 and his faithfulness and success as a pastor. The high 
 respect and affection with which he was remembered by 
 this society is beautifully exhibited in the following 
 letter, written to the author, soon after her father's de- 
 parture, by a worthy friend and early member of his old 
 society in Lebanon. Although not intended for the pub- 
 lic, I do not hesitate to give a few beautiful extracts, for 
 which, I trust, I may be pardoned. 
 
 "Your father was the pastor chosen for us by our 
 good Brother Freeman in his last sickness, and the 
 worthy successor spoken of by Rev. S. R. Smith in his 
 truthful Memoir of Brother F. When he came among 
 us, we were deeply sorrowful for the loss, by death, of 
 our revered pastor ; and your father was aware that he 
 had a difficult task to perform. For I have often heard 
 him say, ' No living man can follow John Freeman as 
 a preacher.' But he proved himself equal to the task, 
 and soon held the same place in our pulpit, our hearts! 
 and our homes, that his and our friend had occupied 
 before him. 
 
 10* 
 
114 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTX WOOLLEY. 
 
 " He also had to encounter great opposition ; for the 
 Tar waged against TJniversalism, Universalists, and, cer- 
 tainly, Universalist preachers, was fierce in the extreme. 
 But he was a vigilant sentinel ; one that was never 
 caught napping upon the walls of our temple of faith. 
 
 " He did not fear to meet the oldest or wisest oppo- 
 nent, and always studiously prepared himself as a ser- 
 monizer. His good, warm heart was preparation enough 
 to fit him for a pastor's duty, although he was not as 
 much with us in our homes as he would have been had 
 he not suffered from ill-health. 
 
 "For several years he ministered in our pulpit, 
 rejoiced at our bridals, wept over our dead, and told 
 us of the broad, holy home above." 
 
 My father did, indeed, feel that " he had a difficult 
 task to perform." And, although he was happy to 
 accept it, he yet shrank from it with a sensitive timidity. 
 Of his settlement he says : " About my labors in Le- 
 banon I was not at rest. I knew very well whom I was 
 to follow, and I feared that I was not the man for the 
 society. I searched my character through and through ; 
 I tried to lose my own identity, and to look at my mind 
 and ability as I would at another man's ; but it would not 
 all do. Though I felt a sincere desire to prove a faithful 
 servant, and knew I should spare neither health nor 
 strength in the fulfilment of my duty, yet I still had fears 
 that I was not suited to the wants of my people. Would 
 not some other man (I asked myself) be better adapted 
 to their necessities ? 
 
 "My trials of thought, although uncalled for, were 
 not useless, for they rendered me more active and 
 cautious. I never had the first reason to regret my set- 
 tlement with the society in Lebanon ; but, on the other 
 hand, every reason to rejoice. Never had a pastor a 
 more faithful and worthy society or church. And if 
 I did not do for them as well as some other man could 
 have done, I, nevertheless, gave them my time and talent 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWAKD MOTI WOOLLEY. 115 
 
 heartily, and with a free good-will, towards the up- 
 building of our beautiful Zion within their borders." 
 
 In the spring of 1834 my father removed his family 
 to East Hamilton — so called because it is situated five 
 miles east of the beautiful village of the same name. 
 The day of our removal was as early as the third of 
 April; but the snow was all gone, the grass was get- 
 ting green, the trees were putting forth their leaf-buds, 
 the roads were quite dusty, and, strange as it may 
 seem for central New York, the sun's rays were so 
 burning as to scorch one's face to a blister. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when we reached our new 
 residence. It was in the wing of a dwelling owned and 
 inhabited by Mr. Robert Usher, his wife, and two 
 youngest children — a son and daughter, already grown 
 to youth. They received their pastor and his family With 
 pleasant smiles and kind words, and, what they needed 
 just then quite as much, a hearty, refreshing supper. 
 
 My father was a "great help in-doors; " and while 
 the wife and baby (a little girl of three years) were 
 comfortably at rest in " Aunt Lucy's" pleasant parlor, 
 he was assisting my aunt in "getting settled." He 
 unloaded and laid away ; unpacked and put down ; 
 and kept all in good heart by his good-nature, and enliv- 
 ened his own labor with snatches of sweet, merry songs. 
 
 As he was busily engaged, a little flaxen-haired girl, 
 with great antelope eyes, put her face through the door, 
 and looked about until she saw him ; and then she ran up 
 to the spot where he was, and said, " How do you do, 
 Mr. Woolley ? " My father caught her in his arms and 
 kissed her, while we three urchins put our heads together 
 and asked, "Who is she?" We did not wonder long; 
 for our father led her towards us, and said, ' ' My chil- 
 dren, this is Brother Freeman's daughter." Then the 
 mystery was all explained. The children of his departed 
 friend were almost as near to him as his own. We took 
 her by the hand, and were dancing out of doofs, when 
 little John (whom my father called a " a perfect likeness 
 
116 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOL1BT. 
 
 of Brother Freeman") glided shyly hy us, and, going to 
 my father, watched his labor a few moments, as though 
 he did not know what to make of it. At last he asked, 
 
 " Mr. Woolley, are you going to live here? " 
 
 "I am going to live here a while, if nothing happens 
 to prevent it, Johnny." 
 
 The little fellow looked disappointed, and, after a few 
 minutes, asked again, "Then you're going to live here, 
 be you?" 
 
 " Certainly. Have you any objections, my little 
 friend?" 
 
 " Yes — no — but I heard 'em say you was coming here, 
 and I thought they meant you was coming to our house. 
 0, Mr. Woolley, I wish you 'd come there and live ! 
 It 's so lonesome, since my pa died ! Did you know my 
 pa was dead, Mr. Woolley ? " 
 
 " Is your father dead, Johnny ? " asked my father, in 
 trembling tones, as he laid his hand upon the child's soft, 
 light hair. 
 
 " Yes — yes — he 's dead ! And they put him in the 
 ground, away off ; and yesterday Fanny was going to get 
 him up with the shovel. But mother would n't let her 
 go ; she said she could n't do it. Do you think she could, 
 Mr. Woolley? " and he crept nearer to him, as though 
 he thought he might get help. And he did get help — 
 the help which his little throbbing heart needed to cure 
 its sorrow. My father's feelings were sorely touched, and 
 his voice was very tender as he answered his young 
 friend. 
 
 " It was only your father's body they put in the 
 ground, Johnny. Let it lie there ; you could not stir it ; 
 it is down too deep. And it could not speak to you, my 
 little boy, if you were to get it out. It would not know 
 you. But your father, Johnny, your good, smiling, 
 loving father, is not there. He is with God, in heaven. 
 1 And he will some time receive you, and talk to you, and 
 love you, as much as he did when he lived in your house. 
 You will go to him, by and by. You have not lost him. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWABD MOTT WOOLLEY. 117 
 
 Look up to heaven for your father ; not in the grave, for he 
 is not there. He sees you every day, and loves you, too." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked the child, as he raised 
 his great blue eyes, enveloped in mist, to my father's 
 face. " Do you think so, Mr. Woolley ? " 
 
 "I know so, Johnny," was the comforting reply; and 
 a bright, hopeful smile broke over his young face as he 
 continued, "Won't you come over to our house, Mr. 
 Woolley? It 's so lonesome there ! " 
 
 " 0, yes ; I shall be over every day, perhaps. And 
 you must come and see me, Bub ; we : 11 have some fine 
 plays together." 
 
 The boy hung around my father until he grew tired, 
 and then passed out without a word to any of us, and 
 returned to his lonely home. Not long after came the 
 widow and her youngest charge. And how glad we were 
 to see her ! And how like an angel she seemed to us, 
 because she was his wife, and the mother of his children ! 
 
 The next Sabbath my father took his family, for the 
 first time, to the new church in Hamilton. It was about 
 three miles east of the beautiful village of Hamilton, and 
 a few miles from the pleasant little settlements of Eariville 
 and Poolville. It was built upon a little eminence in the 
 centre of a green grass-plot, which was surrounded by a 
 plain, neat board-fence. Upon the east and west of the 
 yard were fruit and shade trees. 
 
 Of this Sabbath my father said : " We were early at 
 church; yet it was not long before the horses, full of 
 life and speed, came prancing in both directions up the 
 hill, and soon our yard was filled with carriages, and a 
 horse was tied to nearly every fence-post, both in and out 
 of the yard. It was a beautiful morning ; my family 
 were in comfortable health ; I was as well as usual ; and 
 the faces of the congregation were lighted up with smiles. 
 On the whole, I think it was as happy a morning as I 
 ever experienced. I accepted it as an omen of my 
 ministry to that people." 
 
 That night he wrote in his Place-Book : " At intermis- 
 
118 MEMOIR OF .EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 sion, I went to Brother Freeman's grave. It was fresh 
 and green, and the spring sunbeams lay brightly upon it. 
 His little girl was with us, and my religion could not 
 comfort her, nor my kindness assuage ber grief. It may 
 be that I, too, shall go to rest in that grave-yard ; and 
 there, perchance, my little ones will come to weep over 
 the dust of their father. 0, God ! how bitter are these 
 partings ! Fearful even to us, who have the strength of 
 manhood, and look with unshaken faith and unwavering 
 hope to a happy reunion with our friends beyond the 
 borders of the grave ! What, then, must it be Jx> the 
 child groping its way lonely and fearingly, pleading 
 vainly for the faithful hand that led it safely along the 
 rugged pathway ? There is not on earth a grief so hope- 
 less as that of a little child mourning for its departed 
 parent ! Grant, God, if thus it seemeth good in thy 
 sight, that my years continue till the children of my 
 heart have the ability to guard and protect themselves 
 and each other ! Yet, not my will, but thine, Father ! 
 When I left that grave-yard and went back to the 
 church, I was better fitted for life's duties ; and I felt 
 as though I wore upon my heart an amulet against every 
 ill." 
 
 My father met with great encouragement in his labors 
 with both societies. The church in Lebanon was com- 
 pleted, and was a beautiful white edifice, somewhat, 
 larger than the Hamilton house; and the hearers 
 gathered from the hills and valleys, and filled it nearly to 
 overflowing, every Sabbath of worship. The society, too, 
 were faithful and energetic beyond a hope. They did 
 not leave the whole work for their minister ; but zeal- 
 ously, and in a Christian manner, accomplished all that 
 was possible for them to do. Among them were men of 
 talent and influence, and women of intelligence and 
 worth. And it was not strange that, with the united 
 labors of both pastor and people, their numbers rapidly 
 increased. 
 
 The choir, at that time, "could not be excelled" (said 
 
MEMOIB OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 119 
 
 • 
 
 my father) "by any country choir in existence." In it 
 was a high order of musical talent, exquisite taste, and 
 warmth and enthusiasm of soul. Many of these young 
 peopUvtoo, would leave their seats after singing and go 
 down to the table of communion with the older members. 
 "It did my soul good," wrote their pastor, "to see them 
 come. Young men, fresh for the battle of life ; young 
 maidens, with their hearts untried with grief, and their 
 rainbow-dreams of life undimmed, learning, in the spring- 
 time of youth, of him who said, ' My yoke is easy, and 
 my burden light.' Why should they fear to come and 
 sit with us ? Our religion was not a bugbear to frighten 
 them from life's true pleasures, but it made them good, 
 happy and contented, and showed them a beautiful chain 
 of love that encircled all the world." 
 
 He was very much interested in the young. He 
 always called youth the seed-time of life, and many of 
 his best sermons were addressed to the young members of 
 his society. The young people who then attended his 
 church in Lebanon were exceedingly interested in his 
 preaching, and became much attached to him. They 
 were generally well educated, and possessed high moral 
 worth ; and consequently had great influence among their 
 young companions who were members of other churches, 
 and also with the happy and mirth-loving who were not 
 religionists. Frequently some of these friends would 
 attend meeting with them, and when they had been there 
 once they were certain to come again. One of these 
 acquaintances, a young man of great musical talent, and 
 who had been in the habit of singing in the Baptist 
 church, was one day accosted by an old Baptist friend with, 
 "Why do you go to that white church, up there^ so often ? " 
 
 " Why do I? Why do you go to the house on the 
 hill beyond?" 
 
 • " You know I always was a professed Baptist. Have 
 you got to be a Universalist, friend ? " 
 
 " No — no ! I wish the stuff was in me to make one, 
 though ; but it is not. I never can be good enough. 
 
120 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOM WOOIXET. 
 
 t 
 
 But I go to hear Mr. Woolley preach because lie talks 
 to my reason and my good feelings* and he never says 
 anything to me that makes me hate God or humanity; 
 but he tells me that which draws me nearer to both,, and 
 sends me away better than I go." 
 
 " Ah ! it does very well to live by, but I 'm afraid it 
 will prove a snare to your feet." 
 
 " Well, I am willing to risk it. Suppose you go with 
 me once to hear him ? You '11 come away the better 
 for it." 
 
 So zealous was my father in his labors in this place, 
 and so earnestly and with so much interest did he speak 
 of the congregation and choir, that a good friend, who 
 lived in Hamilton village, and was in the habit of attend- 
 ing meeting at Hamilton Centre, and who thought that 
 nothing could excel their singing, their audience, and 
 their preaching, often bantered him about his enthusiasm. 
 One cold, stormy winter's day, as my father was on his 
 way to Lebanon, he called at the house of this friend, 
 and, as he drew near the glowing fire in the beautiful 
 parlor, his friend exclaimed, " You are a hero, Brother 
 Woolley, to be out to-day. Do you expect an audience 
 to-morrow? " 
 
 "Certainly — most certainly ; we shall have a meet- 
 ing, if any of them are alive." 
 
 " Brother Woolley, why is it you are so interested in 
 your meetings over there ? And do tell me what in the 
 world you have found in old Lebanon that makes your 
 face' light up so when you speak of them ! " 
 
 " Why and what ? Why, friend L., you must go over 
 and see. Then you will know as well as I do." 
 
 " Yes, I will go and see. But allow me to say; 
 Brother Woolley, that I think you are rather partial in 
 your feelings." 
 
 "No — 0, no ! Or, if I am (and I sometimes fear 
 it is true), it is for the Hamilton society. They were 
 my first charge, and are to me as no other people ever 
 can be. God's richest blessing rest upon every one of 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. l2t 
 
 them ! But I am disappointed, happily disappointed, in 
 the Lebanon society, and they are- equally disappointed 
 in me. When I first went there, they were as cold as a 
 mountain of snow ; they had but little confidence in me, 
 and I doubted as to the success of my ministry among' 
 them. But we are really doing a fine business there. 
 Come over and help us." 
 
 One beautiful Sabbath, in the following summer, his 1 
 friend rode over to Lebanon? " The church was well filled, 
 the choir in good cheer, and all there, and we were just 
 ready to commence services as L. came in. He looked 
 about in wonder at so large and respectable a congrega- 
 tion, and viewed our house closely. I almost imagined 
 he looked quizzingly at me as I read the hymn, for my 
 former conversation with him was fresh in my mind. 
 The choir commenced singing, and it seemed as though 
 they were determined to outdo themselves that morning. 
 I could not see my friend's face until he sat down, and 
 then I felt inclined to return the laughs he had given me. 
 His face was as bright with happy thoughts as he had 
 ever seen mine. My own soul, too, was all awake, and 
 I never preached more earnestly than I did that morning. 
 Somehow, I always could preach better after hearing 
 good singing. It seemed to rouse my every energy. 
 After the sermon the singers closed with a voluntary of 
 their own choosing, and they sang most gloriously. I 
 was here and there greeting my congregation, and 
 waiting for my friend to come within speaking distance ; 
 and as he came towards me he reached out his hand and 
 grasped mine with an earnestness that expressed better 
 than words how well he was pleased. I waited for him 
 to speak, but as I did not see much prospect of it, I 
 asked, ' Well, friend L., how do you think now ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't think. Brother Woolley ; I only feel.' 
 
 " ' Well, how do you feel; then ? ' 
 
 " ' I feel as though they might sing like that in heaven. 
 And I will come over here every two weeks, if you will 
 preach as well as you did to-day.' " 
 11 
 
122 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 This friend was one of my father's earliest acquaint- 
 ances in Hamilton ; and he proved a faithful supporter 
 ' of the doctrine he believed, as well as a wise and devoted 
 companion and friend. "I know he is the truest of 
 friends," my father would say, " for he corrects my faults 
 whenever he sees them. And be sure only he who loves 
 you well will tell you you are wrong, for he desires your 
 happiness and prosperity." 
 
 In this way my father judged of those who professed 
 an interest in his well-being. It was not the man or 
 woman who always praised him, who saw nothing in his 
 manners or his sermons to criticize or with which to find- 
 fault, that he esteemed the most highly, or took the 
 closest to his heart ; but the one who met him with a 
 kindly welcome, and, in a friendly voice, told him that 
 " this was not as well," or, " that would do better." It 
 was this oroe whose companionship he sought, whose affec- 
 tion he cherished sacredly, and whose memory lingered, 
 like the perfume of his native wild-flowers, forever in his 
 heart. Sincerely attached to his friends himself, he yet 
 never hesitated to give a rebuke if it was needed, or to 
 correct a fault if he saw one ; and he condemned a vice 
 wherever he saw one. From this manner of treatment 
 he undoubtedly lost the good-will of many who would 
 otherwise have called themselves his friends; but he 
 always asked and expected to be dealt by in the same 
 way. 
 
 Among the many evidences of success while he labored 
 in Lebanon was the conversion of a Mrs. Ford. She 
 was an aged woman, and sincerely and' bitterly opposed 
 to the " new religion." She could not bear the thought 
 that her children or husband should attend a Universalist 
 meeting, and it was misery to her if my father entered 
 the house. She did not greet him with " a jar of yeast, 
 or a skillet of boiling water," for she was too sensible 
 for that ; but she would have kept him and his theory 
 far from herself and family, if she could. The Uni- 
 versalist preacher — " worse than infidel," as she deemed 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTX WOOLLEY. 
 
 12& 
 
 him — knew how to sympathize with her, for he had 
 been tried in the same way. I give the following ac- 
 count of her experience, written by her pastor and friend 
 some years after, which I find in the Universalist Union. 
 In introducing them the editor remarks: " Brother B. 
 M. Woolley, in communicating the following obituary of 
 Mrs. Anne Ford, gives the following interesting par- 
 ticulars." 
 
 "When Universalism was first preached in Lebanon, 
 Mrs. F. was a firm and zealous opponent of the resti- 
 tution. Her son, Brother Joseph Ford, and his wife, 
 soon found joy and consolation in the cordial embrace of 
 the doctrine. 
 
 " By the request of Brother Ford, I made an appoint- 
 ment in the school-house in his district for an evening 
 meeting. I called at his house in the afternoon, and 
 had a little conversation with the old lady. When the 
 time for meeting arrived, she requested her husband to 
 harness the horse, that she might go and listen to Mr. 
 Woolley once, and then she should be better prepared to 
 judge of the doctrine he preached. The request was 
 cheerfully complied with, and, thank God, she did listen. 
 
 "After meeting I immediately returned to Brother 
 Ford's, and was the first at the house; the old lady 
 came next. The moment she entered the room, she ad- 
 dressed me thus : ' Well, Mr. Woolley, Felix said to 
 Paul, " I am almost persuaded to be a Christian ; " and I 
 am almost persuaded to be a Universalist. I have said, 
 many times, that I would rather my children would at- 
 tend a ball on a Sabbath than a Universalist meeting. 
 But, may God forgive me, it was through ignorance I did 
 it, and I shall never say it again ; for, if that is Uni- 
 versalism, may we have more of it in the world ! ' 
 
 " She lived to a good old age, and died in peace." 
 
 Among others who embraced the religion he taught, 
 was the young wife of Mr. W. Sheldon, well educated, 
 accomplished, and beautiful. At the time of her mar- 
 riage with Mr. S. she knew little of his cherished faith, 
 
124 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 and arrangement was made that they should attend each 
 the. other's meeting on succeeding Sabbaths. This, how- 
 ever, did not last many months. Mrs. S. soon began to 
 prefer her husband's meeting to her own, and, to his 
 great joy, became, under my father's ministry, a joyous 
 believer in the holy faith. Her husband has, we most 
 conscientiously believe, gone to rejoice with his much- 
 loved pastor and friend where error can never come, and 
 she is left to try the sustaining power of her religion. 
 
 My father was ordained to the work of the ministry at 
 Hamilton Centre on the 21st of August, 1834. I find 
 a simple and interesting description of this event in a 
 letter written to myself, last summer, by one who was 
 present at the services. I am happy to give it place here, 
 for there are others beside myself by whom it will be 
 read with deep interest. 
 
 "Among the many interesting events which I re- 
 member during your dear father's ministry among us, is 
 his ordination. I can never forget it. It was on a still 
 summer's day ; there were no clouds in the sky, and the 
 wind moved hardly enough to stir the leaves of the trees. 
 Our society were much interested in the circumstance, 
 and our little church was soon filled with an anxious and 
 expectant audience. 
 
 " Rev. S. R. Smith preached the sermon, and delivered 
 the Scriptures and charge. As he placed his long, thin 
 hand upon your father's head, he bent a little towards 
 him, and his clear blue eye was bright with a fire that 
 burned in the centre of his soul ; and the words came 
 from his lips sharp and distinct upon the ears of the 
 hearers. ' And now, my young brother, I beseech of 
 you to give your health and your strength, your time 
 and your talent, your very life even, to the promulgation 
 of those truths which you and I believe were taught by 
 the Saviour of the world. May your labors be beneficial 
 to humanity, and thereby gratifying to yourself and ac- 
 ceptable in the sight of Almighty God ! ' These were 
 his last or nearly his last words, and an almost heavenly 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWABD MOTT WOOLLEY. 125 
 
 beauty hung around your father's broad brow as he 
 heard them. And there was an expression upon his face 
 which told his people that he knew his duty, and was 
 willing to accomplish it. 
 
 " I have attended many ordinations since then, but 
 never one that interested me so much." 
 
 That my father felt deeply the important duties resting 
 upon him, may be known by a memorandum he made 
 this day : 
 
 " How have I longed for, and yet, at the same time, 
 how sensitively have I shrunk from, the approach of this 
 day. It was the day that was to see me dedicated, soul 
 and body, to the defence of the Christian religion among 
 men. But when the hour of services came, I felt no 
 shrinking, — only a gladness that the hour had come ; 
 and, with Brother Smith beside me, I felt as though I 
 could withstand the united opposition of the whole world. 
 With such confidence does he inspire one. He was in 
 his happiest mood to-day, and, God bless him, how he 
 talked to me ! It shall be the aim of my life to remem- 
 ber his words, and reduce them to practice. And now, 
 may the God of all grace, and the Father of all spirits, 
 so influence me that I may fulfil all life's duties sacredly 
 and cheerfully, and prove a zealous and faithful preacher 
 of the Gospel ! " 
 
 He was also well aware that he had entered a toilsome 
 field, and exceedingly anxious not to prove a laggard in 
 its labors. He had never lost his habits of study, and 
 was now more desirous than ever for an opportunity of 
 reading and reflection. And he succeeded very well, 
 although sad inroads were made upon his time by calls 
 to attend marriages, funerals, and lectures. He never 
 refused a call to go if he could possibly ride or walk, for 
 he considered that his opportunity of doing good was 
 thus increased, though it took him so often from the 
 pleasant retirement of his study. 
 
 He was always willing and happy to instruct those of 
 the weakest capacity, and the most illiterate; and he 
 11* 
 
126 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 was fortunate in so simplifying his manner that a child 
 could understand him. But he was also desirous to 
 render himself a pleasing companion for the good and 
 intelligent, many of whom were embraced in both his 
 societies, and to become an acceptable associate for his 
 brethren in the ministry, among whom were those to 
 whom he looked with a feeling of great affection and 
 veneration. Of the latter number was Rev. D. Skinner, 
 then editor and publisher of the Evangelical Magazine 
 and Advocate, published in Utica. Mr. Skinner's opinion 
 of him is beautifully expressed in the following extract 
 from the Christian Ambassador of May 28th, 1853 : 
 
 " In the death of Rev. E. M. Woolley our Universalist 
 brethren of Michigan, and the denomination at large, 
 'have lost one of the ablest, most earnest, and clear- 
 headed, of our ministry ; one who honored his profession 
 by a pure and upright life, and a conversation such as 
 became the Gospel of Christ. 
 
 "From the very commencement his labors were ac- 
 ceptable to the public, and useful to the cause of truth. 
 In his style of preaching he was terse and sententious, 
 yet earnest, warm-hearted, and faithful, — apt to teach, 
 adapting both his subject and manner to the time, place, 
 and circumstances attending. On the whole, he was de- 
 cidedly a successful and popular preacher, endeared to 
 thousands of hearts in central New York, and wherever 
 he was known. 
 
 " During several years of his labors he was severely 
 afflicted with bronchitis, insomuch that he was obliged to 
 suspend his public labors. Temporarily and partially 
 recovering from this severe affliction, he removed to 
 Michigan about six years since ; and, though in feeble 
 health, he continued, as, long as his strength lasted, to 
 proclaim the great salvation and preach the unsearchable 
 riches of Christ in that new state, making many of its 
 hardy pioneers rich in the possession of that glorious 
 faith which embraces an inheritance incorruptible, unde- 
 filed, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for a 
 ransomed world." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DEATH OP HIS FATHER DEBATE WITH THEOLOGICAL STUDENT ■ — " OLD 
 
 WOOLLET " INCOG. SUICIDE'S FUNERAL — SICKNESS AND DEATH IN HIS 
 
 FAMILY POETRY DISCUSSION IN POOLTILLE SICKNESS AGAIN 
 
 PRAYER TO A METHODIST FUNERAL SERMON. 
 
 The second winter of my father's labor in Hamilton, 
 his aged father was attacked with a short but fatal ill- 
 ness. My father had been out to see him, and was again 
 on his way to Cazenovia, when a messenger was sent to 
 Hamilton with word of the immediately expected depart- 
 ure of the sick parent. My father had preached on the 
 Sunday, at five o'clock, in Hamilton village,' and, remain- 
 ing there all night, started early the next morning for 
 Cazenovia. In this way he missed the messenger, 
 and arrived at his father-in-law's, in Nelson Flats, before 
 he received any intimation that the cheerful voice that 
 had always gladly welcomed him would not be in the 
 earthly home to greet him when he came. 
 
 He was fastening his horse in the stable, when his 
 little daughter ran out, and said to him, "Father, 
 grandfather 's dead." He looked up to his father-in-law, 
 and asked, " Is father dead? " 
 
 " Yes, he died last night." 
 
 " Has word been sent to Hamilton? " 
 
 " George went for you yesterday morning. We hoped 
 to get you there in time to see him die." 
 
 He gave no expression of sorrow, but covered " Dolly " 
 warmly, gave her a plenty of oats and hay, and when 
 he entered the house he greeted them all cheerfully, 
 and then went to his chamber. We heard him walk the 
 
128 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 floor of his room for several hours ; but -when he came 
 down to the supper-table, his face, though very pale, was 
 calm, and we never knew what a struggle it cost him to 
 let his good old father go to the better land. 
 
 After tea, he rode out to Cazenovia. His aged, feeble 
 mother met him at the door, and, as she gave him her 
 wasted hand, the tears rolled thick and fast over her 
 wrinkled cheeks, and she asked, " Did thee know thy fa- 
 ther was dead, Edward ? " He put his strong arm around 
 her tottering form, and led her back to a seat, and his 
 voice was steady as he said, " No, mother, ' he is not dead, 
 but sleepeth.'" She looked up into his face, and a 
 smile broke over her before saddened countenance, and 
 she exclaimed, "God bless thee, Edward!" After he 
 had become warm, his mother opened the door of a little 
 back parlor, and called, " Edward, will thee come here?" 
 He took his little daughter by the hand and entered the 
 room; and there, in the same place in the room, and 
 arrayed in the same manner as his own children after- 
 wards saw him, lay his sleeping father. He was dressed 
 in a brown vest, dark pants, and soft knit stockings, and 
 the points of the brown silk neck-cloth lay smoothly upon 
 the white linen that glistened over his silent breast. The 
 silver hair hung thinly about his hollow temples, and 
 the placid, happy expression of his face was like that of 
 a patriarch gone to his pleasant slumber. My father cut 
 a lock from the white hair, and put in his pocket-book 
 (and, years after, this lock of hair was found, during a 
 dangerous illness of his own, safely folded in papers, in a 
 wallet of his pocket); then he asked, "Is this your 
 grandfather, my child ? " She answered by looking into 
 his face, and asking, " Is it he, father? " 
 
 " No. It is only his body you see here. His warm, 
 kind heart is not here, any more than it is in your wax 
 doll, but is with God, in a better world. Your grand- 
 father will know you and all of us there. He does know 
 and love us all now. Never think of him as dead, my 
 little girl ; but as good and happy in heaven." 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 129 
 
 There had been no arrangements made for a clergy- 
 man, although the aged man had died a happy and 
 exulting Universalist. But the children wished in all 
 that was possible to consult the wishes of their mother, 
 for she had been his companion nearly fifty years. It 
 was arranged between them that my father should ask 
 her who she wished to have called. Accordingly, he 
 said, "Mother, they have put it upon me to ask you 
 whom you wish to preach father's funeral sermon." 
 She answered, "Why does thee ask me, Edward? I 
 want Mr. Biddlecom. Thee knows he would be thy 
 father's choice." My father smiled at this answer, for it 
 was the first intimation he had had that she had changed 
 her views. And the contentment of her manner, as she. 
 answered him, told him that she had. 
 
 The next day was the burial. A path had been shov- 
 elled from the door-yard, across the meadow, up over the 
 low hill-side ; and while a few snow-flakes fell around their 
 passing feet, the bereaved ones followed the father and 
 friend to the resting-place he had chosen. It was on the 
 home farm, but a few rods from the house ; and the aged 
 mother and widow stood by the window in her home, and 
 saw the husband of her youth lowered to his silent cham- 
 ber. A few years later, and another grassy door was 
 opened, when her form went down to slumber sweetly 
 by his side. 
 
 My father always spoke cheerfully of his departed 
 parent, and an extract from a letter written the next 
 summer to an early friend in Duchess County shows 
 that he had not studied the precepts of his religion in 
 vain ; but that he who had ministered so successfully to 
 hearts bereaved knew where to go for strength and con- 
 solation in his own hour of trial. 
 
 " Well, here I am, seated by my desk, in our little 
 home in Hamilton, on this sunny morning, with pen in 
 hand, writing to my friend of 'Auld Lang Syne.' ' Auld 
 Lang Syne ! ' — how that word makes my heart tremble, 
 and brings me back, fresh and green, the joys of life's 
 
130 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 young existence ! How it carries my feet away^ to tread 
 my native hills, or wander by the silver brooks that 
 meander through" the meadows around my boyhood's 
 home ! 'Auld Lang Syne ! ' God bless the man that 
 Wrote it ! for it gives me again the quiet beauty of 
 Pleasant Valley, all the noise and jostle of Poughkeep- 
 sie, the grandeur of the rock-girded Hudson, the music 
 of the West Point band, and, dearer than all, the friends 
 of my boyhood and youth. 
 
 "Friends of my boyhood — friends of my youth — 
 friends of my manhood — where are they ? Some are 
 fighting courageously the tiresome battle of life, and 
 others 
 
 ' Sleep the sleep that knows no waking, 
 Morn of toil, or night of breaking.' 
 
 "My cherished old father — yes, my friend — good- 
 humored ' Uncle Edward,' lies asleep, this glorious sum- 
 mer morning, on a low hill, upon my own little farm in 
 Cazenovia. Lies asleep, did I say? Yes — and why 
 did I say it ? Because that is the way we mortals talk. 
 They wanted me to dress in mourning when he went ; 
 but I said to them, Nay. What ! — clothe myself in a 
 black robe, when the father I loved and venerated had 
 put on the white garment and the angel's crown! 
 Sooner would I array my body in weeds when a new- 
 born spirit tries its unfledged wings in the heavy air of 
 this lower world. Yet not even then would I mourn. 
 No — not for anything God has done, or will do. There 
 is much, perhaps, that I would like to have different, 
 much in this life I would strive to change. But, if I 
 should not succeed, then let me say, with Paul, 'I 
 have learned in whatever state I am, therewith to be 
 Content.' For God 'is God, and there is none else.' 
 Rejoice, my soul ! — for he hath done all things well." 
 
 The students from the Baptist Theological Seminary 
 in Hamilton village were often at the Centre to attend 
 meeting ; and, as my father always gave liberty at the 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 181 
 
 close of his services for any one to speak, they held nu- 
 merous and interesting discussions. Among them was a 
 young man by the name of Dick, in whom my father 
 was much interested. One Sabbath afternoon, as they 
 were earnestly discussing the salvation of the world, Mr. 
 Dick asked, with a smile upon his lips, as though he 
 thought it the most absurd thing in the world, 
 
 " Mr. Woolley, can it be possible that a man of your 
 wisdom believes that God will save people in their sins ? " 
 
 "Allow me," replied his disputant, "to answer your 
 question upon the Yankee plan of asking another. Did 
 my young brother ever see an inebriate reeling through 
 the streets, — his face bloated, his eyes bloodshot, curses 
 failing from his livid lips, himself a curse to his family 
 and to society, — did my young brother ever see this ? " 
 
 " He has, many times," was the answer. 
 
 " Did he afterward see this man redeemed from his 
 wine-cup, reformed from his great evil, walking God's 
 broad earth proud and happy, a blessing to his wife and 
 children, a good neighbor, and a respectable citizen, — 
 did my young brother ever see this ? " 
 
 "Yes," was again the answer. 
 
 " Was that man reformed in his drunkenness, or from 
 his drunkenness ? " 
 
 " From his drunkenness, certainly." 
 
 " Well, then, does God save people in their sins, or 
 from their sins ? You can answer your own question, 
 now." 
 
 "But, Mr. Woolley, how are you, with your great 
 determination that everybody shall be saved, — how are 
 you, I ask, — how is God going to get every one to 
 heaven ? Many people have no care whether there is a 
 heaven or a hell. They riot and delight in all kinds of 
 wickedness, and are only happy when abusing others. 
 The idea of a heaven, unless it were a heaven filled with 
 trouble and discord, would be worse- than the sting of 
 death to them. Will God drive these people to heaven, 
 when they have no desire to go there? " 
 
132 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOlLEtf. 
 
 "Let us take for granted, a moment, my brother (in 
 order to bring the thought nearer home), that you are the 
 worst man the world ever saw. You are so bad that Nero 
 could not begin to reach you in wickedness ; you not only 
 commit great crimes, but you have also the disposition 
 that delights in wrangling, in originating and repeat- 
 ing all the petty, vile slanders in existence, and exult, 
 heartily rejoice, in all the little bickerings and animosi- 
 ties you can create, either in home circles, neighbor- 
 hoods, or communities. These iniquities seein to consti- 
 tute your entire happiness, the only happiness you are 
 supposed capable of enjoying. You have tried this way 
 a long time, and you honestly believe there is no way to 
 enjoyment except in sin. By and by, God, in his wis- 
 dom, sends some one to you, who, finally, after a long time 
 perhaps, succeeds in convincing you somehow — no 
 matter how — that you have been all your life long de- 
 luded, — following an 'ignus fatuus,' that leads but to 
 destroy. He shows you that the little joy you have 
 experienced in your evil way is but as a drop of water 
 to the boundless ocean, compared to the happiness you 
 would receive by doing good. He finds for you the inlet, 
 in even your dark character, through which the waves of 
 peace and purity may flow, to wash the sin-stained heart 
 within ; he discovers the Jacob's ladder by which you 
 may. ascend to heaven, and he has the ability and the 
 power to make this as plain to you as the letters of your 
 alphabet ; and really awakens in your heart a sincere de- 
 sire to Teceive this greater happiness. How long would 
 it be before you would enter upon the better way ? " 
 
 " Why, I should not be the same creature. I should 
 be another man." 
 
 "And, as another man, how long would it be before 
 you 'ceased to do evil and learned to do well ' ? " 
 
 "Not long, I think. The very necessity of my na- 
 ture would make me good. Who could do anything but 
 right, with a wish to do good, and knowing how to be so ?" 
 
 " Well, my young brother, do you beGeve God is infi- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWABD MOTT WOOLLEY. 183 
 
 nite in power ? In one word, do you believe that he is 
 almighty?" 
 
 " Most certainly I do." 
 
 " Then he can, in his own best way, convince and reform 
 the vilest sinner ; and if God ever drives any one into 
 heaven, my young brother, it will be by making that one 
 better." 
 
 The following anecdote will show the reader the some- 
 what ludicrous manner in which he was frequently 
 treated in his journeyings among men. He had preached 
 in the village of Cazenovia one Sunday evening, and 
 having rode the next morning as far as Morrisville, he 
 entered the sitting-room of a tavern, and sat down by 
 the fire. He was enveloped comfortably in furs, and a 
 large muffler, with his cap, nearly covered his face. As 
 he entered, two ladies, who were .journeying, and had 
 evidently come from different ways, were very busily en- 
 gaged in conversation. The elder woman was middle- 
 aged, with sharp features, and a sharper voice. She did 
 not discontinue her conversation, as my father sat down, 
 and greeted them very kindly with "A very cold day, 
 ladies." — But she kept on in this wise : " Yes, and they 
 say he has a full house, and makes converts fast. Even 
 
 Sister M went to hear him. I 'd as soon cut my 
 
 own throat as to go and hear him ! But sister's husband 
 told me that the people run in all directions to hear 
 him. They must have him at every wedding, and all 
 the funerals. He's leading the poor people down to 
 hell faster than anything else. He ought to be shot ! 
 Hanging would be too good for him ! " 
 
 " Hut ! hush, my good woman ! Who can this bad 
 man be, you think should be treated so severely ? " said 
 my father. 
 
 " Who ? —Why, Woolley,— old Woolley ! He 's all 
 over the country, making converts to his dreadful doc- 
 trine, and sending souls to ruin. I 'm glad hell is wait- 
 ing for him, yet ! " 
 
 12 
 
134 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 "He may be a very bad fellow, this old Woolley; 
 but I should think, now, you might give him a very 
 good caning, if he ever comes in your way, and let that 
 answer. It does seem to me to be almost too bad to 
 shoot the old sinner, and then send him to hell too ! " 
 
 At this moment the landlady, who, with her husband 
 and children, was a friend of my father's, entered the 
 room, and, giving him her hand, said, " Brother Woolley, 
 Mr. L. has put out your horse, and you must stay to a 
 family dinner with us." 
 
 " I shall be happy to do so," he replied, " but I hardly 
 think I shall be safe with so bitter an enemy as this good 
 woman in the house." 
 
 As be threw aside his coat and furs, the woman looked 
 sharply at him ; and, though she was a little abashed, she 
 could not remain quiet. She asked, " Be you the Uni- 
 versalist minister that preached in Cazenovia last night?" 
 
 "I am, madam," he answered. 
 
 " Why, you don't look very old, man ! I thought 
 they called you old Woolley ! " 
 
 " I am thirty-one years old, madam, — only thirty-one. 
 Tou have seen more years than that, I think." 
 
 "You don't believe in a devil, Mr. Woolley! What 
 do you go round the country for, telling the people 
 there 's no devil ? " 
 
 " You are mistaken, my good woman ; I believe in 
 devils, — yes, in legions of them. They trouble human- 
 ity very much. If I mistake not, one of them vexes you 
 a little to-day." 
 
 " You don't believe in any hell, and you don't tell 
 your hearers there is any ! " 
 
 " Mistaken again ! I tell my hearers of hell ; I 
 believe in even the lowest hell, in which David said he 
 was." 
 
 "You're very cunning! But, if you believe in a 
 hell, do you tell the thieves and robbers, and murderers 
 and drunkards, that they must go there? " 
 
 "I never preach to such people, madam." 
 
 "You don't?" 
 
MEM OIK OF ED WARD MOTX WOOLLEY. 135 
 
 " No, madam ; such people never come to my meet- 
 ing. They would not like to hear ' old Woolley ' 
 preach ! " 
 
 This winter my father preached three times every 
 Sunday, and once, twice or thrice, on week-day evenings. 
 He was called almost constantly to deliver lectures on 
 doctrinal subjects during the long evenings. The next 
 spring and summer he was as busily employed. Warm 
 weather was accompanied with a great deal of sickness in 
 the vicinity of his home, and he was frequently called 
 twenty, thirty, and even forty miles, to attend funerals. 
 He could hardly administer consolation to one circle of 
 mourners, before he was called to the open graye with 
 another band of bereaved ones. For two weeks of this 
 summer he not only preached three sermons upon the 
 Sabbath, but he also attended one or two funerals every 
 day. He was often called to give comfort to those who 
 differed with him in faith, and that, too, under circum- 
 stances peculiar and embarrassing, as a little incident 
 may illustrate. 
 
 The son of very worthy parents, living not far from 
 the town where my father resided, had been wild and 
 profligate, and finally terminated his career by commit- 
 ting suicide. The father of the young man went, in 
 person, to see a Presbyterian clergyman, and asked him 
 if he would come and comfort his suffering family. This 
 clergyman was an honest and good man, and he replied 
 to his friend thus : 
 
 " I have no source of consolation for you ; your son 
 has been very wicked, and has, with his own hand, put 
 an end to his existence ; and, according to my belief, he 
 is suffering the just punishment for his sins. I don't 
 like to say this to you ; I should not like to say it to 
 your heart-broken wife or suffering children." He 
 paused a moment, and then continued, "You had better 
 send for Mr. Woolley ; I don't believe his faith, but, if 
 there is a man on earth that can comfort you, it 's he." 
 
136 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 My father was sent for, and he thus describes this 
 scene of mourning : " The home to which I was called 
 was one of wealth and splendor ; and as I walked up the 
 broad flag-stone walk, underneath the drooping branches 
 of the heavy elms, I could see distinctly, in the centre 
 of the broad hall, the black pall that fell over the 
 mahogany coffin, and swept the soft carpet with its heavy 
 fringe. The father met me at the door, looking more 
 like a ghost than a living man ; and, as we were walking 
 past the- coffin, he pointed to the uncovered face, and, 
 exclaiming ' 0, my God ! ' bowed his broad chest over 
 the pall. The features upon which I gazed were finely 
 cut, and with an aristocratic stamp upon them, and had 
 there been a holy expression there that face would have 
 been divinely beautiful. It was the face, I should say, 
 of a youth of fine talent, acute sympathies, and deep 
 feeling, without restraining or balancing power. The 
 complexion in life, I think, must have been a clear olive, 
 and the eyes very dark. Around his forehead hung 
 heavy masses of the blackest hair I ever saw, and it was 
 thoroughly damp with the scalding tears of those who 
 loved him. 
 
 " We passed along to the foot of the hall, and entered 
 the luxuriantly-furnished parlor. As we stepped through 
 the open door, the father summoned strength of voice 
 enough to introduce me, and then he leaned his elbow 
 upon a piano near the door, and rested his forehead upon 
 his hand. The two young sisters leaned their heads 
 against the back of the sofa where they were sitting, 
 and sobbed like little children. The brother, a youth 
 perhaps of twenty years, folded his arms across his 
 chest, and walked the room ; but, in spite of his effort 
 at self-control, tbe tears would fill his black eyes, and 
 fall over his cheeks. The mother (who, in defiance of 
 her weeping eyes and sable weeds, was an uncommonly 
 beautiful woman) sprang towards me, grasped my hand, 
 and exclaimed, ' 0, sir ! Our boy, — our poor, self- 
 murdered boy, — is there any hope for him? Or must, — 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBT. 137 
 
 O, God ! must — ' She could not finish the sentence. 
 I held her hand gently, and said, ' Who is there among 
 you, if his son ask of him bread, would give him a 
 stone ? If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts 
 unto your children, how much more shall your Father 
 which is in heaven know how to give good gifts unto his 
 children ? ' She understood my meaning, and said, ' 0, 
 if it can be so ! ' 
 
 "I saw at once they were a superior family, and so 
 deeply attached to each other that they would ' let go 
 heaven ' unless one and all were there. 
 
 "I talked to them the few moments that intervened 
 before services, and I chose for my text that beautiful 
 and expressive passage, ' But go, rather, to the lost sheep 
 of the house of Israel.' They were very attentive, and 
 a good deal comforted ; and I never thanked God so 
 sincerely for any one gift as for this blessed truth, that 
 lifts up and sustains breaking hearts. Never before had 
 I so rejoiced in my ministry as when I saw that family 
 of mourners come back from the grave of that son and 
 brother, and gather around the supper-table, while upon 
 their faces the smiles of hope broke through the tears of 
 sorrow." 
 
 It were well, perhaps, to say that this family became 
 the cherished friends of the strange clergyman who com- 
 forted them in their hour of woe, and also firm believers 
 in the religion he that day taught them. 
 
 The sickness, this season, did not spare his own fam- 
 ily ; and while he was from home to attend a funeral, 
 the spirit of a little blue-eyed babe went away from its 
 earthly home, to join the cherub band above. My mother 
 had been in feeble health for a long time, and was then 
 confined to her bed. My father came home in season for 
 the burial - and after a beautiful and consolatory prayer 
 by Rev. L. C. Browne, the little coffin was passed to 
 the bed for the bereaved mother to look at the cold form 
 of the babe, and then it was carried away to the grave- 
 yard. And those who were left have since realized that 
 12* 
 
138 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 the household which gives a little child to the care of 
 the great Shepherd keeps always a cherub's happy face, 
 a cherub's precious form. 
 
 Amid all this hard labor, and the weariness resulting 
 therefrom, — amid sickness, and death, and the grave, — 
 he could still write, — 
 
 " HE IS GOOD UNTO ALL, AND HIS TENDER MERCIES ARE 
 OVER ALL HIS WORKS." 
 
 Amid all change one truth endures, 
 
 Amid all grief, one joy ; 
 One promise stands forever sure, 
 
 That time cannot destroy, — 
 
 The promise that Jehovah gave, 
 
 To prophets in old time, 
 To save from " hades " and the grave 
 
 All nations and all climes. 
 
 For he js merciful to all, 
 
 His goodness all must know, 
 His blessings on the good will fall, 
 
 And even on each foe ; 
 
 Until "he calls us all around 
 
 His sacred throne above, 
 Where no dark sorrow shall be found, 
 
 Naught but a world of love. 
 
 There Jew and Gentile shall agree, 
 
 And sin shall come no more ; 
 There Christ the ransomed world shall see, 
 
 There shall the world adore ! 
 
 Health was once more restored to his family, and 
 through the fall arid winter he was again very much 
 engaged in labor. He devoted all the time he could to 
 study, and enjlyed very good opportunity for reading. 
 Many useful and interesting volumes were also added to 
 his little but well-chosen library. Yet his Concordance 
 and Bible were the principal books which he studied. 
 About him, then, it was Bible-faith and Bible-theory he 
 was called upon to defend and preach. " The people 
 around us," he says, " were most of them zealous 
 religionists, and could not be influenced by any mode of 
 reasoning except a ' thus saith the Lord.' " 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 139 
 
 Early in the winter of 1835 — 36 my father held a 
 discussion with a Methodist clergyman, in the little vil- 
 lage of Poolville. Although this disputation was short, 
 extending only through one or two evenings, yet, from 
 the few rough notes taken of it, and from the descrip- 
 tion of those who were present, it seems to have heen, 
 not only interesting, but of good effect. Mr. H. was 
 a manly opponent, and resorted to argument rather than 
 the swaggering and boasting which so many disputants 
 are pleased to use. 
 
 "The house," said my father, "was well filled, and 
 every hearer knew what he was there for. I don't think 
 there was one person in the house that lost a word." 
 
 When the discussion was nearly through, Mr. H., 
 who had been a zealous opponent, said, "Mr. Woolley, I 
 do not consider your doctrine a safe one to preach. It 
 gives the wicked too. much license. There is no way that 
 man can be made to repent, or kept in the narrow way, 
 except by fear." 
 
 "Very well," replied my father, '" you undoubtedly 
 think so ; but let us see. We will suppose that two young 
 sons, after they arrive at the age of twenty and twenty- 
 two, grow dissatisfied with their situation in their father's 
 family. It is true that they are provided with «good 
 clothing, plenty to eat, and are greeted morning and 
 evening with kindly voices. They work when they like, 
 and play when they please. But this is not enough. 
 The father still keeps the reins in his own hands, for he 
 thinks rightly that young H and B are not quite capa- 
 ble of managing all things yet. This, however, does not 
 suit the sons, and they talk of different arrangements. 
 H says to B, ' I don't think father does quite right with 
 us. I believe I could manage better. He don't give us 
 enough. We don't work very hard, but then we have 
 but little spending-money. I have been in hopes he 
 would be more liberal ; but, instead of better, things grow 
 worse with us.' 
 
 " 'I know it,' replies B, ' I 've thought so a long time. 
 
140 MEMOIR. OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 1 don*t like this way of dragging. If he can't do any 
 better for us, we '11 do better for ourselves. We '11 leave 
 him, — then see what he '11 do.' 
 
 " ' What ! go from home, B ? ' 
 
 " ' Go from home — yes ! What 's home or life without 
 liberty ? Freedom 's what I want, and I can't be free 
 here. Neither can you. Just go away a few months, 
 and he '11 be glad enough to call us back.' 
 
 " 'I guess it would be better,' replies H ; and off they 
 go. But, as strange as it may seem, the home business 
 goes on as usual. Things do not all run to rack and 
 ruin, and the old, wise father seems to be capable of 
 managing his own affairs, without calling upon his run- 
 away boys. 
 
 "Time passes on. Months and years go by, and yet 
 the sons are wanderers. They journey through many 
 lands, and sit as exiles by the hearth-stones of strangers. 
 As they see, at their resting-places on the way, children 
 climbing their father's knee, or hear the tones of family 
 affection, their own hearts are stirred, and memory, 
 winged for flight, goes swiftly back to the father's home. 
 Many times are they just ready to return ; but the tempter 
 rises in this way : ' We have been wicked. He will 
 taunt us with our sins, -and will not take us to his heart.' 
 There is no good angel by to drive the doubt away, and 
 they harden their hearts and go on. 
 
 " The father, notwithstanding the truants have for- 
 saken him, makes an arrangement by which they can be 
 supplied with necessary funds of money, and in this way 
 does all that he can to render them comfortable. They 
 know not where these gifts come from, and are surprised 
 to find that they never need a coin but it comes to them. 
 
 ' ' One day B> says to H, ' What does this mean, our 
 being so well supplied with money ? We have a good 
 angel somewhere, who means that we shall be well pro- 
 vided for.' 
 
 " ' That we have,' replies H ; ' but who he is, is more 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 141 
 
 than I can tell- I wish I knew who he was. I 'd go 
 over all the earth to thank him.' 
 
 '"So would I. But I can't think, for the life of me, 
 who has interest enough in us to do so much for us.' 
 
 " ' Do you think it can be father, B ? ' 
 
 " ' Whew, no ! What does he care for us ? ' 
 
 " ' O, just nothing, I suppose. But, B, after all, 
 though we thought it would suit us so well, this roving, 
 rambling life is not the pleasantest tiling in the world. 
 No one to love us, no one to love. I tell you, B, my 
 heart does go back to father's house, in spite of me.' 
 
 "'Well, mine don't; though, I confess, I'd like to 
 know who our benefactor is. I think I should like him. 
 But, father, — he don't care for us. We are men now, 
 and he would n't own us as his children. There are others 
 there he loves far better.' 
 
 " 'I know it, B, but I can't think the old man was 
 so much to blame, after all. We are far worse than he is.' 
 
 " ' yes, — worse, — worse ! I know it, and that's it. 
 He won't take us back, I tell you.' 
 
 " By and by a man goes to these two sons, and he goes 
 with the thunders of their father's vengeance. He tells 
 them of their great transgressions, and says, ' Stay from 
 your father's house as long as you will ; but he has the 
 power to bring you there at last, and he is preparing 
 himself with all the vengeance of an angry father for 
 your punishment when you go. The longer you defer it, 
 the worse it will be for you ; and you had better go now.' 
 
 " ' No ! no ! ' they both exclaim ; ' we thought father 
 was bad enough, but this makes him far worse than we 
 supposed him. We '11 never go, if we can prevent it.' 
 
 " They journey on a few years longer, when, one day, 
 after they have become tired with travelling, and sick 
 with thought, a stranger comes to them, — a stranger 
 with mild eye and gentle mien, — and he says, ' I have 
 come for such as you.' 
 
 " ' For such as us ! ' they exclaim. 
 
142 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 " ' Yes, for are you not weary, and do ye not need rest 
 in a father's house ? ' 
 
 " ' Alas ! ' they answer, ' we have no father's house.' 
 
 " ' No father's house ! You have a father's house, and 
 a father too ! ' 
 
 " ' He cares not for us, though. His house is filled 
 with others, whom he loves.'. 
 
 " ' No better than he loves you. If he did not love 
 you, would he have provided a means by which money 
 could be furnished you so many years, to relieve your 
 wants ? ' 
 
 '"He never did this ? ' 
 
 "'I know that he did thus for you, for I was the 
 agent that held it, and I have followed you over the 
 world that you might receive it.' 
 
 " 'Then have we been wrongly informed. Not long 
 since a man told us that our father was angry with us, 
 and preparing every means to bring us to judgment.' 
 
 " ' I tell you that he is not angry at you, — that he 
 loves you as he loved you when you were little children ; 
 and that his heart would rejoice more exultingly over 
 your return, than it does over the whole family around 
 him.' 
 
 '■' '«I can hardly believe,' says B. ' We have been years 
 from his sight. We came away young, now we are men. 
 Could he know us ? ' 
 
 " ' Could he receive us as his children ? ' asks H. 
 
 " 'He sent me for you, to seek and to save his chil- 
 dren, and restore them, purified and happy, unto his 
 pleasant home. Put far away every evil thought from 
 your hearts ; turn your weary, toil-worn feet into the 
 green and beautiful paths that lead to your long-deserted 
 home. Let your eyes rest once more upon the gold- 
 crowned mountains' of your native land, and your ears 
 hear again the sweet music of your flower-rimmed streams, m 
 that sing through your father's fields. Go with me upon 
 the old door-stone, and knock upon his door, and it shall 
 be opened for. you. The fatted calf shall be killed; 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 143 
 
 there shall be music and gladness in your father's man- 
 sion ; and that father will receive you with open arms, 
 and tears of joy.' 
 
 " They are convinced. They look at each other and 
 say, while tears roll over their faces, ' How foolish we 
 have been ! seeking pleasure when we had left her far 
 behind. How wicked, too ! Let us arise and go to our 
 good old father, who waits to welcome us.' 
 
 " And now, my brother, do you not think this would 
 be the way with the sinner ? " 
 
 " It is a very good illustration," replied Mr. H, " but 
 I am afraid there are hearts so hard that the latter part 
 of your remarks, even if applied, would not subdue 
 them." 
 
 " But cannot God, in his wisdom, find means to sub- 
 due the heart of the most stubborn sinner? " 
 
 " He may, but it must be in season." 
 
 "He may! My brother, that implies a doubt. He 
 will is stronger. He will do this ; for he has said 
 it. ' The word has gone out of his mouth, and shall 
 not return unto him void, — that unto him every knee 
 shall bow, and every tongue shall swear, — surely shall 
 say, — In the Lord have I righteousness and strength ! ' 
 God has all seasons for his own, my brother." 
 
 The next summer he was called upon to endure another 
 affliction, in the serious illness of my mother, caused by 
 a fall from a carriage. She had been out, one afternoon, 
 with my father and good Mrs. W., upon a social visit, 
 and when returning in the evening the horse became 
 frightened by the glow of moonlight upon water. My 
 mother was thrown from the oarriage* ; »nd brought home 
 insensible ; and her long and serious sickness prevented 
 attention to ministerial duties, except upon the Sabbath. 
 
 If it were possible, my father always visited, as a friend, 
 all who were sick in his neighborhood, and made a prac- 
 tice of attending funerals near him; for no sectarian 
 
144 MEMOIR OB 1 EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 prejudice, no religious or petty animosities, could pre- 
 vent his sympathizing with the mourner or the suffering. 
 Whenever he attended a funeral in his own vicinity, 
 he was generally invited hy the clergyman officiating to 
 pray after the sermon was finished. And he always made 
 the occasion one in which to present the strongest points of 
 his faith ; particularly if his sympathies had been much 
 aroused during services. An incident of this kind occurred 
 during the last summer, before mentioned. A man of 
 not very good moral character, living near my father's, 
 was one day thrown from a load, in a fit of intoxication, 
 and seriously injured. Hp was borne home in a sense- 
 less condition, and died without a moment of returning 
 reason. His young wife, who was a religious woman, 
 and member of a Methodist church, was almost distracted, 
 and her shrieks and screams rent the air when she was 
 told that her husband was dead, for he had died without 
 giving the slightest hope of repentance. The funeral 
 was held in the pretty little settlement of Colchester, and 
 a Methodist clergyman was in attendance. He had no 
 word of consolation for the mourners, and the moans of 
 the bereaved widow drew tears from the eyes of every 
 hearer, as Mr. G. pictured the never-ending sufferings of 
 the lost. After the sermon was finished, Mr. Gr. very 
 politely invited my father to close the services with 
 prayer. My father's feelings had been very much aroused 
 during the sermon, and he was anxious to give the sor- 
 row-stricken ones in that old school-house refreshing 
 consolation from the great fountain of joy he had for 
 them. He rose slowly from his seat, and folded his arm8 
 deliberately across his broad chest, and, raising his starry 
 blue eyes to heaven, earnestly thanked his heavenly 
 Father for the better faith that had been unfolded to him. 
 His prayer was very long, and when he concluded he had 
 successfully refuted every argument of Mr. G. which would 
 take the deceased forever from those he loved, and which 
 would prevent the mourners from viewing him, redeemed 
 and purified from sin, before the feet of the Father. It 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 145 
 
 was one of his happiest efforts ; the widow forgot, for the 
 .while, her grief, in the thought of the last happy reunion. 
 Smiles of joy were on the faces where a moment before 
 tears glistened ; and all within the sound of his voice 
 felt to thank God for that great ocean of love where the 
 sinner may wash and be cleansed, while they saw the bet- 
 ter way, wherein one may walk with unstained feet to the 
 heaven and home above. 
 
 After services, as the congregation dispersed, a very 
 good-hearted but rather rough-spoken man stood in the 
 entry, looking at the mourners. Turning to a neighbor, 
 he said, " I feel better than I did an hour ago." 
 
 " Why so, friend?" was the response. 
 
 " Because my blood fairly boiled when I listened to 
 that sermon ; but now I am willing to see the dead laid 
 away, for if G. preached him into hell, Woolley prayed 
 fiim out ; and if that prayer can have any effect, he '11 
 ' keep out.' " 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HIS PRESENCE IN TEE SICK ROOM MIDNIGHT VISIT TO BROOKFIELD 
 
 BITTERNESS OF THE OPPOSITION LOSSES BY A FRIEND'S - FAILURE 
 
 THE SPOILED SERMON — TIC-DOULOUREUX, DYSPEPSIA AND BRONCHITIS 
 ■ — EXHAUSTING EFFORTS TO PAY DEBTS A SONG OF PRAISE FARE- 
 WELL TO HAMILTON AND LEBANON. 
 
 My father was often called, not only in his own 
 neighborhood, but several miles from home, to pray by 
 the bed of the dying ; and, if it were possible for him 
 to go, he never refused. His presence in the sick room 
 was a charm against all sorrow or unrest. Death was to 
 him so much God's great, best messenger, and he had 
 such perfect trust in his heavenly Father, and his face 
 wore such an expression of quiet happiness when he 
 stood with some departing spirit upon the beautiful shores 
 of the promised land, that the dying one, if he had 'been 
 restless and fearful before he came, was lulled into repose 
 and hope as he entered. And the great hope that filled 
 his own spirit fell from his lips in no set phrase or 
 studied words, but in language simple and expressive, 
 in those precious words which heart utters to heart ; and 
 while it bore the passing spirit to the untried realities of 
 the better world, fell, also, like a healing balm, upon the 
 hearts bereft of the mortal presence of the loved, till 
 they could say, without fear or doubt, " Of immortality, 
 if I had before doubted, I could doubt no longer; for 
 I have seen one enter upon its joys, and with an angel's 
 smile and a gentle wave of the hand pass on to her 
 eternal home." 
 
 In his own family he was the all-in-all in the hour of 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 147 
 
 sickness or trial. If he was in the sick room, as the 
 soothing tones of his voice fell upon the sick one's ear 
 there was no fear or trembling, though the valley of shad- 
 ows was open before them. Even his little child would 
 lie quietly upon its pillow and strive to hush its moahs'as 
 he sat beside the crib, with no fear of death hovering 
 over its little spirit, only the happy thought that the 
 Father in heaven would take it home. 
 
 Incidents enough to fill a volume might be gathered to 
 illustrate this happy peculiarity of his character; but 
 I will only give one, which not only shows his soul- 
 cheering influence in the room of the dying, but also 
 exhibits his willingness to embrace every opportunity to 
 administer consolation. 
 
 Upon a cold, stormy midnight, in the winter after the 
 summer of which I have been writing, he was called to 
 go upon the high, bleak hills of Brookfield, to the bedside 
 of a man who was supposedto be dying. My father was 
 in a sound slumber when a rap on the door announced 
 the arrival of the messenger. When the door was 
 opened and he entered the house, he was so chilled he 
 could hardly speak ; for the wind blew furiously, the snow 
 was piled from five to ten feet in the road, and the man 
 had been from four o'clock the afternoon before digging 
 his way through the snow. While my father made a fire 
 the stranger told his errand : " Mr. Woolley, Mr. Richard 
 B., of our neighborhood, is supposed to be dying, and he 
 has sent me to see if you will come and talk with- him." 
 
 " Where do you live, my dear sir ; and why come you 
 at so late an hour ? " asked my father. 
 
 " I live in the northern part of Brookfield ; and I left 
 Mr. B.'s at four this afternoon. He had not given up 
 all hope of getting well till that hour, when his physician 
 told him that he could not live twenty-four hours. Mr. 
 B. then requested me to come immediately for you;. 'for 
 his whole family were so bitterly opposed to Universalism 
 that none of them would come. He has heard you preach 
 once, and has something upon his mind that he wishes to 
 
148 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 say to you. The roads are terrible, and the wind freez- 
 ing cold ; but Mr. B. hopes to see you before he dies." 
 
 At this moment good Mrs. U., who had heard the 
 noise and supposed some one was sick, came in from her 
 p v art of the house, and asked, in her motherly voice, 
 " Mr. Woolley, what 's the matter ? are you sick here ? " 
 
 " Nt», Aunt Lucy, not sick, but here is a man wants 
 me to go all the way to Brookfield, this Lapland night, 
 to see a man that* is supposed to be dying. What do you 
 think about it, Aunt Lucy ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Mr. Woolley. It 's very late, and a 
 cold night. Don't go, any way, till Mr. TJ. comes; " and 
 she hurried back to consult her husband. As she 
 went out, the messenger asked, " Can you go, Mr. 
 Woolley?" 
 
 " Yes ; I will endeavor to get there between now and 
 morning." 
 
 The stranger buttoned up his coat, and said he must 
 be going; and to my father's query of "Why not wait 
 until I am ready ? " he replied, " I «an't wait ; I must 
 go now, and I will tell them you are coming." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. U. came in and asked, " Are you going, 
 Mr. Woolley?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 " I don't consider it safe, Mr. Woolley," said Mr. 
 U., in his thoughtful way. "I should not be surprised 
 if this man had been sent to lead you into a snare. 
 Opposition is so strong now that I sometimes think the 
 good, pious people would delight to shed the blood of 
 a Universalist minister. It is very strange that this man 
 could not wait for you ! How are you to find your way 
 alone through these snow-banks, at midnight, to the 
 house of this stranger ? It looks dark to me." 
 
 "I have preached in that neighborhood once, and 
 think I can find the house. And, as for my religious 
 enemies, if they get the better of me, I shall never die 
 in a better cause." 
 
 " At all events, don't go till morning," said my 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 149 
 
 mother and Mrs. TJ., whose fears were considerably 
 aroused. 
 
 " The man may be dead then. If I would do good, 
 I must go now. My Master went safely through greater 
 dangers." 
 
 Young "Eobert" saddled and bridled "Dolly," and 
 brought her to the door ; and as my father sprang upon 
 her back, good white-haired Mr. U. said, "Brother 
 Woolley, if you do not get back by to-morrow at three 
 o'clock, we shall come after you." 
 
 He rode away, and, after digging eight or ten miles in 
 the snow-drifts, reached the house about nine o'clock the 
 next morning. Mr. B., whom he was called to see, was 
 yet alive, and could talk, although in a low voice. As 
 my father sat down by the bedside, Mr. B. said, " I have 
 sent a great distance for you, Mr. "Woolley, over these 
 bad roads, and in this stormy night. But I could not 
 die without seeing you, for I have something to say to 
 you, and through you to the world. I heard you preach 
 one sermon last summer, and that sermon not only gave 
 me new religious views, but it made me a better neighbor, 
 a better son, and better husband and father. And the 
 only reason that I have sent for you now is, to tell you 
 that I die a Universalist, and to have you comfort my 
 family. Out of regard to the feelings of my wife and 
 mother, I have not mentioned it to them ; but they must 
 know it now. I have been anxious to wait for this hour, — 
 for I knew it would come before many years, at least, — 
 before I disclosed my new opinions — that I might try it. 
 Now I have done so, and I am ready and willing to go." 
 
 At the announcement of his religious views the wife 
 groaned, the mother walked the house in agony of heart, 
 and one or two brothers exclaimed, "Is it possible?" 
 To quiet the storm, the sick man asked my father to 
 pray. In a clear, calm voice my father prayed earnestly 
 and sincerely (as he always did) that the holy peace 
 which lay upon the spirit of his departing brother might 
 rest upon the stricken hearts of his family. "And it 
 
150 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 seemed," said he, "as though my petition was granted; 
 for, when the last words sounded in the room, every sob 
 had died away, and a glory like the very light of heaven 
 hung around the face of the dying. As I rose to leave 
 (my engagements being such that I could not stay longer )} 
 Mr. B. pressed my hand, and said, ' Mr. Woolley, when 
 I die you will not be sent for to preach my funeral 
 sermon, the opposition of my whole family is so strong ; 
 but, whenever you hear of my death, I want you to 
 preach my funeral sermon, even if one has been preached 
 before. Promise me that you will.' " 
 
 "I will, if God lets me live," father replied. And 
 then the dying man said, "May God send you with the 
 light of the Gospel to other hearts as benighted as mine 
 was before you brought me the glad tidings which shall 
 be to all people ! " 
 
 Father's narrative of the result I will give in his own 
 words: "I went home, and soon after Mr. B. died; 
 and, sure enough, as he told me, I was not sent for to 
 attend his funeral. It was not till the next summer that 
 I heard of his death, and then I was in that neighbor- 
 hood to preach. I gave notice, all through the neighbor- 
 hood, of the promise I had made to Mr. B. when he was 
 on his death-bed; and, said I, I intend to fulfil it. 
 I shall preach his funeral sermon next Sabbath, in the 
 Universalist church at Hamilton Centre. The Sunday 
 came, and what a crowd our church saw ! It was literally 
 jammed full, — gallery, stairs, entry and steps, — and the 
 windows outside were darkened with hearers. I took for 
 my text the golden rule, ' As ye would that others,' &c. ; 
 and if the wife, mother and brothers, of Mr. B., would 
 not gratify the last wish of the departed, I had the satis- 
 faction of knowing that God had let one man live long 
 enough to do it." 
 
 To the great delight of his friends, my father returned 
 safe. But their fears were not unreasonable ; for it was a 
 general time of "revivals," and my father was prayed 
 for in the. corners of the streets and in the churches. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 151 
 
 And the petitions that ascended for him were not of the 
 mildest kind. Some prayed that his mouth might be 
 shut quick ; and one good Christian brother came beneath 
 his window and prayed that God would shake his bed- 
 stead, so that he could not sleep ! 
 
 The white robes of Winter vanished slowly from the 
 valleys, and his glistening feet lingered a while on the 
 hill-tops and in the woodlands, and then the smiling face 
 of bonny Spring was greeted with answering smiles upon 
 the faces of my father and his family. But trial and 
 misfortune came with the rustling of the green garments 
 of Summer time. 
 
 My father had loaned money to a friend residing not 
 many miles from the town of Hamilton, and also given 
 with him his name as security upon a heavy note. This 
 friend failed early in the summer of 1836 ; and the failure 
 was one that ruined not only the man himself, but most of 
 his business connections. News of his failure reached my 
 father in Hamilton, but he could not believe it. As he 
 was making arrangements to go and see, he would say, 
 " I can't believe it. Upon my word, I cannot believe it. 
 He is the very soul of honor, my friend ; and it must be 
 that he has provided some way to pay the company debt, 
 if no more." But when he reached the place of his 
 destination, he found it to be too true. The great 
 amount of property had been given over to two creditors, 
 who were requested to first pay the company debt, which 
 would come upon my father, and also the money he had 
 loaned. But when the business was settled there was 
 nothing left for this friend and his family ; and less, if 
 possible, for my father. 
 
 It was a mid afternoon in the early part of the leafy 
 month of June that my father reached the little village 
 of B., and he says : " When I found that the truth had 
 been told me, — that my friend had lost all, and there was 
 no hope, — I left the house where he had resided, and went 
 up the hill-side and sat down in the shadow of the old 
 
152 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ■weather-worn church. The lambs and cattle were graz- 
 ing opposite me, and the din of business life was dying 
 away in the streets below. 
 
 " But I was in no mood to see or hear; for, do the 
 best I could, I could not master the spirit of indignation 
 that stirred my breast. The labor of years was gone at 
 once ; and, though, to many it would be nothing, to me it 
 was much ; for I had earned it to bless my children with 
 education and intelligence. And I had given it, foolish 
 man that I was, to help, where I might have seen there was 
 no help. I had robbed those depending upon me, and 
 had really benefited no one. But, bad as it was, that 
 was not all ; the implicit confidence, the unshaken trust, 
 which had blest my heart, I feared would come back no 
 more, forever. I had no thought that I could ever pos- 
 sess it again, for any living being. And in that hour I 
 could believe anything evil of him who had so fearfully 
 wronged me. I thought he had done it knowingly, 
 maliciously ; and none but God can know, for none but 
 God saw, the agony I then endured. If ever a human 
 being sincerely prayed for strength in an hour of woe, it 
 was I ; and if ever petition from human heart was granted, 
 mine was ; for a rest crept into my heart, a strength 
 came to my spirit. I watched the slant sunbeams as 
 they crept around the white feet of the little lambs at 
 play in the pasture, and, as they faded across the old 
 gray church, and day deepened into twilight, I arose 
 from my low seat and walked down into the village, feel- 
 ing that through it all God would be with me, and I 
 need not despair. I had lost much, but had I not also 
 much left ? Was there not much to make me happy, — 
 many blessings for which I should be thankful ? And 
 those beautiful because truthful words of Eliza Cook 
 came to my mind, — 
 
 ' Then say not the world is a desert of thrall ! 
 There Is bloom, there is light, on the waste ; 
 Though the chalice of life hath its acid and gall 
 There are honey-drops, too, for the taste. 1 " 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 153 
 
 When my father returned his manner might have 
 been somewhat sorrowful, but he was very calm. He 
 had met with a great trial. He had hoped to make use 
 of the money he had lost, to educate his children ; for 
 he could not endure the thought that they should struggle 
 through life as he had done. His time was entirely 
 occupied by his professional labors; and although he 
 delighted in his ministry, yet a minister's salary in that 
 day would not support four children and a sick wife, and 
 pay a heavy debt. But, though a heavy cloud hung 
 over him, his Father's face was behind it, and he had not 
 only hope for himself, but for those about him. The 
 night after his return his little daughter sat upon his 
 knee, and asked, " Father, is it true that you have lost 
 so much money? " 
 
 " Yes, my child." 
 
 " And have you got that debt to pay you was talking 
 about?" 
 
 " I must try to pay it." 
 
 " Then can we all go to school, and have those new 
 books you told us about the other morning? " 
 
 " I don't know, my child. But God knows ; he will 
 provide the best way for all of us." 
 
 The following anecdote, trifling as it is, will show the 
 patience and playfulness of my father's nature. He had 
 written very busily, one Saturday, and had nearly fin- 
 ished the last manuscript sermon for the- morrow (and it 
 was a sermon upon which he had devoted much thought), 
 when a pet chicken flew upon the desk, and upset the 
 inkstand upon his manuscript. The black fluid went 
 bubbling through the leaves, and there was no saving 
 the written thought. He undoubtedly regretted the 
 accident; for, if the manuscript was not of more value 
 than gold to him, it was a hard labor lost. But he put 
 the bird upon the floor, with, " There, Tom, you dunce 
 you, you've spoilt my sermon! Now, Tom, you must 
 preach to-morrow." 
 
154 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 Constant and excessive labor in hi3 profession, with 
 the care of and sickness in his family, together with the 
 trial he had met, wore heavily upon his health. While 
 in Munnsville he had suffered untold misery, unthought 
 of by those who have not experienced it, by that most 
 agonizing of all diseases, tic-douloureux. This summer he 
 was again troubled with it, and with this was combined 
 the worst form of dyspepsia, and a severe attack of 
 bronchitis. But he could not find time for a moment's 
 rest. If he could sit in his buggy a half-hour, he went 
 to his appointments, although he was compelled to give 
 up lecturing upon week-day evenings. He lost flesh so 
 fast that he looked like a skeleton ; and his only food 
 was corn-meal pudding and molasses, though his appetite 
 was voracious. 
 
 He was not able to drive his horse, or to be trusted 
 alone, this summer ; and, though I was a child of but ten 
 years, I became his companion, while my brother Edward 
 was left at home to bring the cow, and get the wood, and 
 do the out-of-door " chores" for my mother. When the 
 Sabbath for the appointment in Lebanon drew near, my 
 father would get into his buggy, and, while he clasped 
 both hands around his cane, and leaned his heVd upon it 
 to support himself, I sat by his side, and held the lines 
 in one hand, while with the other I carried an umbrella, 
 to shield him from the summer's sun. It would not be 
 expected that I could manage a horse very expertly; 
 but I could give the alarm if my father fainted, or fell 
 from the wagon; and good old "Dolly" was as gentle 
 as a lamb, and she knew every step of the way, from the 
 gate before my father's dwelling to the door of the white 
 church, ten miles distant She was a very friendly 
 creature, too ; for she had a desire to call and see every 
 friend my father had upon the way. In this manner we 
 journeyed nearly all summer ; and though my child's 
 heart was sometimes wrung with the fear that my father 
 would die before we could reach any dwelling, yet the 
 memory of that summer stands out in my mind like the 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 155 
 
 picture of a beautiful landscape, never to be forgotten. 
 It was the fair meadow of early life, where the flowers 
 grew and the birds sang, but where the snow had never 
 fallen, and over which the chilling wind had never 
 blown. It was the violet-strewn footpath, leading through 
 green and fertile valleys, to the bleak, ice-crowned moun- 
 tains beyond. I was of that tender age when the mind 
 receives impressions easily, and when they generally 
 become lasting. My father sometimes thought it a trial 
 for me to be. taken so much from the society of my 
 mother, and my little brother and sisters ; and he strove, 
 as far as possible, to bring his conversation to my under- 
 standing. He was no moody companion, brooding over 
 his sickness and sorrowing over his trials ; but he forgot 
 his own ills, to comfort and make happy . those about 
 him ; and he always had a pleasant smile and a word of 
 cheer for his friends, whenever they expressed a regret 
 at his failing health. If I became alarmed as a pallor 
 overspread his face, when I was driving for him, he 
 would laugh, and say, 
 
 "Don't be frightened, my little girl! What if I do 
 faint away ? it is not the worst thing in the world. You 
 must try Jo keep me in the wagon, and drive on, until 
 you come to some house ; but don't be frightened. I 
 shall probably get over it ; but, if I do not, you must 
 think that it is the best time for me to go." 
 
 He talked to me much about death, and a great deal 
 of his own departure, which he seemed to think was very 
 near. "You are a little girl, I know,?' he would say; 
 ' ' but you are old enough to understand, for you have 
 always been taught, that death is nothing to be feared ; 
 certainly, not to be feared by the good. The good 
 always die happy, my child ; and I want you to remem- 
 ber, now and always, to do right. Study hard to know 
 what right is, and when you have had an opportunity to 
 form an opinion of right and wrong without ignorance 
 of prejudice, then do that which you intelligently and 
 honestly believe is right. Many persons, perhaps, will 
 
156 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 not like you as well ; but you will have a friend in your 
 own soul that will sustain you, and you will know that 
 God, who sees you, approves your conduct. And when 
 people understand your motives, — when they see that 
 you act because you must act from a sense of duty, — 
 they will respect and love you, for every human heart 
 has something in it that likes goodness. And above 
 everything else, my little girl, be honest ; never, on any 
 account, not even if the money of the whole world were 
 offered you, tell a falsehood, or deceive in any manner. 
 Tou need not always tell what you think ; but, when you 
 do speak, tell the truth. Never take anything, not even 
 a penny, that does not belong to you ; for stolen or pil- 
 fered property — whether you get it by open robbery, 
 or sly cunning — brings a curse with it. Keep your 
 heart pure as it is now, and use your judgment and your 
 conscience, and nothing, no one on earth, can really harm 
 you. I want you to remember this one thing, to prefer 
 death, rather than to do wrong. Then you will not fear 
 to die ; and if you remember the religion I have taught 
 you, you will, if you live to be a woman, be willing and ' 
 glad, perhaps, to see those you love best go home to 
 God. If I should die while you are little, remember 
 that I shall always love you all, and always be near you ; 
 and that I shall see you if you ever do wrong. You 
 must remember, now, all that I have told you, and talk 
 about it to your little brother and sisters." 
 
 He would always wait for me to get out of the wagon 
 and gather any flowers we might see by the road-side ; 
 and, if the air was very warm, he would fasten old 
 " Dolly " to a tree in the edge of a little wood, and lie 
 down to rest in the dappled shadows close by some clear- 
 flowing woodland spring. Then, when the scorching 
 sun-heat was gone, and the twilight came on, he would 
 ride on to the residence of some friend and stay over 
 night, when everything was done for his comfort. 
 
 My father was frequently cautioned by his friends for 
 riding in this way, with no one but a little girl to watch 
 
MEMOIR OJ EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 157 
 
 him. But he would cheerfully reply, " It is the best I 
 can do now. My boy must stay at home to do for his 
 mother what this child cannot do ; and she can drive 
 very well, for Dolly will mind her every time. On the 
 whole, my friend, I believe I ought to thank God that 
 he kept this sickness from me till my boy was old enough 
 to wait upon his mother and sisters, and this girl could 
 drive Dolly out to old Lebanon for her father." 
 
 " But you must stay at home, Mr. Woolley, and get 
 well. We can lose you better a few Sabbaths now, than 
 always at last ; which we must do, if you keep on." 
 
 " That undoubtedly is good advice ; and three months 
 ago I should have abided by it. But now I not only 
 labor to spread the Gospel among men, but I must work 
 while life lasts to pay my debts. If I die with this heavy 
 debt upon my shoulders, my wife and children will be 
 beggars ! " 
 
 One day, as he was riding over a level road, a friend 
 stepped to the side of the wagon and asked, " Brother 
 Woolley, are you not presumptuous in riding in this 
 manner ? Supposing your horse should get frightened, or 
 you faint away, — what could your little girl do for you ? ' ' 
 
 " Well, my friend, I am not presumptuous; for I am 
 doing my duty. And, if I am to die by falling from a 
 wagon, then that will be the best way for me to go. You 
 forget that God can always do the best for us." 
 
 One Saturday, late in the month of August, as we 
 were riding to Lebanon, he told me to drive slow, for he 
 could not bear the jar of the wagon, easy as it was. 
 That night he staid at Mr. James McConnell's. At 
 early dawn, the next morning, one of the daughters ran 
 into my room and exclaimed, "Your father's dead!" 
 It proved, however, to be a swoon. He had risen early, 
 and gone into the open air ; and Miss McConnell, stand- 
 ing in the door, saw him fall, and, in her alarm, supposed 
 he was dead. He preached only one sermon that day, 
 and then rode part of the way home. 
 
 The next day we had passed through the village of 
 14 
 
158 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 Hamilton, and were upon the edge of a high, long bridge, 
 built up quite steep both ways from where it met the 
 road ; and this bridge was at the foot of a steep, stony 
 hill. We had just reached the edge of this bridge, when 
 my father said : "lam going to faint away before many 
 minutes ; you had better hurry Dolly up the hill as 
 fast as you can, and call to the people who live in the 
 house on the other side. But you must not be fright* 
 ened." I stood up in the wagon until he could lay him- 
 self across the seat, and then I sat down against him to 
 prevent his falling. When I turned around to drive up 
 the hill, his face was as colorless as the snow. I dared 
 not look at him, for I was afraid Dolly would not go 
 straight if I did not watch her ; but I spoke to him, and 
 he did not answer. I called "father" as loud as I 
 could, and yet he did not make any effort to reply. I 
 thought he was dead ; and the way up that hill seemed 
 like the way around the world. The people came out 
 from the house before mentioned, and carried my father 
 in, and laid him upon a bed. The motion seemed to 
 arouse him, and he soon recovered from his swoon ; and, 
 towards night, we reached home. A friend of my 
 father's, from Munnsville, was there ; and as we drove 
 up he saw us, and told mother that we had come. She 
 was aeross the room, but she could see my father's face 
 through the open door, and it startled her. " He 's 
 very sick ! " she exclaimed, and came out to help take 
 him into the house. My father got out of his wagon, 
 and, with the help of his cane and the arm of his friend, 
 he entered the house. After he laid down upon the bed, 
 Mr. T. said : " Brother Woolley, you need rest, and 
 something that will strengthen you. You say you have 
 tried the doctors long enough, now let me try my skill." 
 " Very well, go to work ! " said my father. Mr. T. 
 drove Dolly back to Colchester, and soon returned 
 with a quart of rum and three pounds of loaf-sugar, 
 which were to be placed in a glass jar, and kept in a 
 kettle of boiling water for three hours. It was bed-time 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT "WOOLLEY. 159 
 
 before the medicine was ready, but the children begged 
 to sit up " till father took a dose ; " and when it was 
 done, and he had taken a table-spoonful, his little boy 
 (who had heard every word about the medicine, and had 
 obtained the impression that it was to cure at once) 
 stood by the bed a few moments, and then asked, " Are 
 you well now, father ? " 
 
 " Not quite well yet, my boy." 
 
 " I thought a spoonful could n't cure you. Why 
 don't you take more? " 
 
 "That'll answer for to-night. I shall be better to- 
 morrow, and you may go to bed now." 
 
 " I shall be better to-morrow ! " — how it made our feet 
 dance out of the room, and sent us joyous and contented 
 to our little beds ! As we were going up stairs, our 
 little brother, to comfort us, said, " Don't cry now, 
 girls; father '11 be better to-morrow ; for he never tells 
 us wrong stories." 
 
 Ah ! we were children then, and we talked as children 
 do. We did not know that a disease had fastened upon 
 our father that must destroy him. The next day, how- 
 ever, he was better, and I think he preached upon the 
 following Sabbath, though his health was such as would 
 have kept most of people in bed, and in charge of a phy- 
 sician. But I find a beautiful poem which he wrote this 
 fill, expressive of his Christian strength and joy. 
 
 A SONG OF PRAISE. 
 
 The Lord has provided a rest for his people, 
 
 And given them promise that never shall feil ; 
 Our souls shall be glad, and our hearts shall be willing, 
 
 When light and the Gospel shall wholly prevail. 
 Then strike the loud timbrel, and give God the glory ! 
 
 His children are ransomed, — the enemy slain ; 
 With songs and thanksgiving we '11 tell the glad story, 
 
 For Satan is ■vanquished, — the victory gained ! 
 
 Now thinks for his goodness, that saved all the nations ! 
 
 We 'it not be ungrateful, but praise him again ; 
 We '11 shout hallelujah, and publish salvation, 
 
 Till all shall believe that Messiah will reign. 
 
160 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 P6r the Lord he will help us, and always be with us, — 
 Let our watchword in battle be ever his name ; 
 
 While we trust him for wisdom, for strength and salvation, 
 Who died to redeem us, and rose for the same. 
 
 When fall came on my father's health improved con- 
 siderably, but he could not discover any way to relieve 
 himself of debt, unless he accepted invitations to preach 
 in new societies, and labored upon his farm. He had 
 thought of this ever since the failure of his friend, but 
 he could not bring himself to it. At last he concluded 
 it would be for the best, and made arrangements accord- 
 ingly. He had long known how many heart-throbs it 
 would cost him, and he had counted well the, strength he 
 had to endure it. 
 
 In the month of February, 1837, he removed his 
 family to the farm in Cazenovia, and preached his fare- 
 well sermons in the white churches of Lebanon and 
 Hamilton. I should like to give the reader extracts 
 from these sermons, but, like many of his best efforts, 
 they were extempore. I find among his papers a rough 
 note of these Sabbaths, which reads as follows : "Well, 
 it is all over, at last ! I have preached my last sermons 
 to my first and long-loved societies. Once I had thought 
 to live and die among them, but God in his wisdom has 
 ordered it otherwise. But the world will look darker, 
 in spite of myself, when I go to a strange people, and 
 labor in a new vineyard ; and, were it not for the great, 
 the glorious hope that gives a home where there shall be 
 a universal gathering of the loved and parted, my heart 
 would faint within me. 
 
 " They came around me last Sabbath and to-day, — 
 the good old friends I have met upon each succeeding 
 Sunday for the last three years, — they came around 
 me, as they always did, with a warm greeting and a clasp 
 of the hand. But, alas ! the clasp was a parting one, 
 and the greeting the last for years, if not forever ! 
 
 " May they find a pastor who will love them as deeply, 
 and labor for them as faithfully ; and, finally, upon every 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 161 
 
 home and upon every heart fall the richest blessings of 
 Almighty God ! " 
 
 This separation was not only painful to himself, but 
 equally so to his societies ; and they would not consent 
 to his leaving them except upon the condition that if he 
 ever left his farm he would return to them. 
 14* 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ARDUOUS LABORS HOME AND MOTHER — A RATTLESNAKE NURSE — A 
 
 NARROW ESCAPE A MISTAKE AND INHOSPITALITY AN ALMOST DIS- 
 CUSSION A BIGOT CONVERTED - — HER TRIUMPHANT DEATH. 
 
 After my father removed to Cazenovia, his societies 
 were from eight to twenty-five miles away from his home. 
 There was no Universalist society or church in the village 
 of Cazenovia, and most of the believers in the faith 
 which my father preached generally went, of a Sabbath 
 morning, from that village to the little settlement of Oran, 
 some six miles distant. My father preached in Oran once 
 in two weeks, and upon these Sundays he went to Water- 
 vale (a ride of five miles) at five o'clock. The other 
 two Sabbaths of the month were given to the society at 
 Howlet Hill, in Onondaga County. 
 
 His home was situated two miles south of the beauti- 
 ful village of Cazenovia, and, like many farm residences 
 in inland towns, was as secluded as a monastery. The 
 road from the south, leading to the village, bounded the 
 farm upon the west, and the carriage-road turned away 
 from it, and swept around the hill, and led down through 
 a green yard in front of the house. The dwelling was 
 a large, old-fashioned, two-story house, with a basement 
 under the front part. The front chamber windows over- 
 looked the broad yard, the green , meadow and the hill, 
 with the white stone at the head of my grandfather's 
 grave ; the green pastures, skirted with the light wood- 
 land, and the white or brown dwellings of the neighbors. 
 In the rear of the house were fields of maize or wheat in 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 163 
 
 Bummer time ; and on the outer edge of these fields was 
 a small cluster of elms and maples ; while down at the 
 grassy base of the little hill warbled a clear, silver-lipped 
 stream. Here, in the shadow of these heavy trees, in 
 the heat of midsummer, if he could get leisure from 
 physical exertion, my father would sit, hour after hour, 
 with his pen, ink and manuscript, preparing his sermons ; 
 and this little spot was to him the charm of the home 
 he had chosen for his old age. " Here," he would say, 
 " I may come to repose in the warm summer days, or in 
 their solitude arrange my manuscripts, or prepare my 
 mind for its many labors. Here I may bring my chil- 
 dren, and, as they listen to the babbling of this little 
 brook, and watch the waning shadows cast by these an- 
 cient trees, I may teach them, as best I can, those high 
 principles of honor which are absolutely necessary to con- 
 stitute a holy, and, consequently, a happy life." 
 
 His mother was a resident in his family, and, though 
 very aged, she was extremely patient and cheerful. She 
 rested contented in her religious, views, and while no 
 darkness enveloped her future, she quietly waited for the 
 coming of the good time when God should call her to 
 join her husband and child in the eternal home above. 
 She had suffered, for years, with bronchial consumption, 
 and could hardly walk out of doors without a strong arm 
 to support her ; and the tenderness my father expressed 
 in his care of her could not be surpassed. No lover was 
 ever more careful of his cherished bride than was this 
 son of his kind old mother. It seemed to him that she 
 must be lonely in the solitude of her little room, for he 
 could riot forget the years when she was the joy of his 
 father's household ; and he would say to those of his 
 children who were old enough to amuse her, " Go up and 
 stay with grandma a while ; she 's lonesome ; and, though 
 she is old and sick now, she was once little and well, like 
 you." Sometimes, when the family meal was ready, if 
 she did not come down, he would go up to her room and 
 ask, " Come, mother, and have dinner with us." Then 
 
164 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 he would take her in his arms as daintily as he handled his 
 own baby, and, if she laughed and called him foolish, he 
 would say, " You know the old saying, mother, — ' turn- 
 about 's fair play.' You carried me so once ; and as you 
 do to others, so shall it be returned to you. Do you know 
 that, too, mother ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know that, Edward. But I'm afraid 
 thee gives me better than thee ever received." , 
 
 " Well, I don't like to be too much in debt, — suppose 
 we settle up accounts. Let 's see, — there 's three years, 
 at least, I kept you running after me days, and waking 
 for me nights ; then there 's thirteen more years you was 
 my washer-woman, seamstress, cook, nurse and doctor. 
 Now, come to pile on three or four years more of good 
 deeds, and how does it look ? — Rather dubious to me, I 
 declare ! Don't it, mother ? " 
 
 " Rather dubious, I think, " the old lady would reply, 
 as she tucked up the white muslin tabs of her Quaker- 
 cap, lest they should be soiled by a drop of tea, or a 
 crumb of potato, "rather dubious. Thee has a heavy 
 debt to balance, but thee has plenty of little ones here to 
 pay it back to thee." 
 
 " Yes, mother ; and if I do my duty with them, I have 
 no fear of the settlement." 
 
 This aged mother required great care, although she 
 was very fearful of making trouble. ; and my father was 
 always ready to leave his work and give up his sleep to 
 attend to her wants. She would, at times, chide him for 
 his over- watchfulness, and say, " Don't let me trouble 
 thee so much, child. Thee '11 need thy strength for thine 
 own trials." 
 
 This beautiful spirit of consideration for the feelings 
 of others he himself possessed in an uncommon degree. 
 And it was almost impossible to prevail upon him to 
 allow any one to watch with him, were he ever so sick. 
 When bedtime came, he would say to his family, " Place 
 my medicine on the stand, and I will manage to take it, 
 if you '11 set it here, close by my bed. There — that 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 165 
 
 will do. Now go to bed, and try to sleep." When told 
 that one or more of the family was to stay with him, he 
 would reply, earnestly, " No, no ! go and sleep while you 
 can. Suffering will take your rest away soon enough. 
 I shall rest better alone than to know you are wearing 
 yourselves out for me." And the only way to satisfy 
 him was to go into another room and watch every move- 
 ment carefully until the hour came round to give his 
 medicine; and then he would say, "Foolish child, to 
 trouble yourself so ! " 
 
 In the neighborhood around my father's home I think 
 there was not one Universalist. The neighbors were all 
 Baptists or Methodists; but they were good people — 
 kinder hearts never beat in human bosoms. And though 
 they thought Universalism was the heresy of all heresies, 
 yet they thought Mr. Woolley, aside from his religious 
 opinion, was a good man. And one old gentleman, a 
 near neighbor and a Christian, would often say, " I can't 
 tell you anything about what Mr. Woolley believes, but 
 I do know that he is a good man, and I don't believe God 
 will ever send him to hell. Any way, I 'd rather stand 
 his chance than ours, my friends." This neighbor had 
 a brother not far distant, who was very sick, and 
 required the most faithful of watchers. The neighbor, 
 being in his brother's room, told him " he should bring 
 Mr. Woolley to watch that night." 
 
 " Bring Mr. Woolley ! " exclaimed the sick man ; " do 
 you suppose I would have a Universalist minister to 
 watch with me in sickness ? I would as soon trust my- 
 self with a rattlesnake ! " 
 
 " I '11 come with him ; but he must come, for he is the 
 best nurse we can get." 
 
 " Don't you bring him, I tell you ! I won't have him 
 near me ! " 
 
 " Did you ever see Mr. Woolley ? " 
 
 " See him ! Did I ever see him ! No, and I never will 
 see him, if I can help it. You 're g'etting wonderful fond 
 of this Mr. Woolley ! He '11 be teaching you his cursed 
 
166 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 faith next. Don't you bring him here, I say ! I 'd rather 
 you 'd throw firebrands among us ! " 
 
 " Very well; keep quiet, and I '11 try to get some one 
 else." 
 
 The brother went out to see the family, who were more 
 considerate ; and it was arranged that Mr. Woolley should 
 come, and the sick man not know his name. Mr. W. came 
 to see my father, and, after relating the above conversa- 
 tion, said, " You must go." 
 
 " I '11 be in readiness to accompany you," replied my 
 father; " and, if the man likes my nursing, how I '11 ' poke 
 fun ' at him ! " 
 
 When evening came, my father and Mr. W. proceeded 
 to the house of the sick man. Mr. W. went into his 
 brother's room first, and, in reply to the question, " Who 
 have you brought with you ? " answered, " A friend who 
 called upon us to-day." 
 
 " Very well," replied the sick man ; " I am glad you 
 did n't bring that Woolley." 
 
 About nine in the evening my father entered the room, 
 but the sick man was so weary that he did not notice the 
 intruder much. As the hours wore on, Mr. W., who was 
 up all the night previous, laid down upon the lounge, 
 and my father took charge of the suffering man, who 
 seemed to be pleased with his care. In the morning, as 
 they were to leave the room, the gratified patient asked 
 of my father, " Are you to be near my brother's long? " 
 
 " Some days, I presume, if not longer," was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 " When will you watch with me again ? " 
 
 "I could hardly keep my risibles down," said my 
 father ; " but 1 told him I would come any time when he 
 wanted me, if he would send word to his brother." 
 
 It was hardly sundown when Mr. W. came over and 
 
 said, " Brother E had sent down to have that good 
 
 man come and watch with him again. I do not suppose 
 you can go, but I thought I would run over and tell you, 
 and see if you can go to-morrow night." 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 167 
 
 " I am not very tired, neighbor W, and I believe I'll 
 go again to-night." 
 
 The week wore on, and, with the inconsiderateness of 
 many sick persons, the siok man sent for his " good 
 watcher" every night. And nearly every night the 
 "good watcher" went. At last, after some weeks, the 
 invalid recovered enough to be convalescent ; and, as his 
 brother and my father sat one evening in his room, he 
 turned to my father and said, " Confound the doctor's 
 stuff! It never did any good, any way. I should have 
 died, I know I should, in spite on 't, if it had n't been 
 for you, sir. And now I 'd like to know your name, 
 
 sir 
 
 t » 
 
 " My name ! Well, you must ask your brother; he can 
 tell you." 
 
 " Come, Joe, what is his name? Let 's know? " 
 
 " What do you think his name ought to be? Some- 
 thing like 'rattlesnake,' 'firebrand,' etc. ? Will that do, 
 E ?" 
 
 The truth darted through his mind, and he asked, " la 
 it — no, it can't be, Mr. Woolley? " 
 
 " That 's what we call him, E . What do you 
 
 think now about watchers, eh ! " 
 
 " Think ! — I think I was a confounded old fool, and 
 ought to be punished for my ignorance ! " 
 
 As they were about to leave the room, he asked my 
 father to come up and see him often ; and received for 
 reply, " I don't know, my dear sir, — perhaps you had 
 better be a little careful of Universalist ministers ! " 
 
 " No, no ; come and see me. If Universalist ministers 
 are all like you, I '11 risk them ! " 
 
 My father was compelled to be very industrious while 
 he lived on his farm ; and he frequently arranged hia 
 sermons while he made hay and tilled the ground. He 
 hoped by doing this to be able, in a few years, to devote 
 himself again entirely to the ministerial duties. He rode 
 to his appointments, generally, on Sunday morning, and 
 returned either late on Sunday night, or early on Mon- 
 
168 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 day morning ; and he was often sent for to attend a fune- 
 ral or a wedding, and found by the messenger holding the 
 plough or wielding the scythe. The opinions people some- 
 times formed of him, who saw him thus engaged, were 
 rather ludicrous when expressed. He was one day in 
 the field ploughing, when he heard a voice ask, " Can you 
 tell me where Mr. Woolley is ? " He looked up and saw 
 before him a very fine-looking man, in the richest of 
 satin and broadcloth, and the softest of silk beavers ; and 
 the gentleman asked, " Can you tell me where I can find 
 Mr. Woolley ? " 
 
 "My name is Woolley, sir." 
 
 " But you are not Rev. E. M. Woolley, the Univer- 
 salist preacher?" 
 
 "lama Universalist, sir, and I preach sometimes." 
 
 " I was sent from the village of Cazenovia to request 
 Rev. E. M. Woolley to attend a funeral there, to-morrow, 
 at ten o'clock." 
 
 " Very well, sir; you may tell them he will be there, 
 God willing." 
 
 The gentleman looked as though he was doubtful 
 whether he had found the right man ; but, after asking, 
 " I may say that you will come? " and receiving his an- 
 swer, he made a polite bow, and stepped daintily across 
 the ploughed field. The next day my father repaired to 
 the house of mourning, and as he entered he saw the 
 gentleman who came for him very busy in making ar- 
 rangements for the funeral. The gentleman, however, 
 did not remember him ; but after the sermon he came to 
 his side and grasped his hand, saying, as he did so, "I 
 saw you enter the house, Mr. Woolley, but I did not 
 suppose you to be our minister until you entered the 
 
 "Perhaps you expected to see the broad -brimmed hat 
 and brown frock ! " 
 
 " Not that, exactly ; but I did not recognize you, that 
 is certain." 
 
 "Ah! a person's garb does make quite a difference 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 169 
 
 in his looks, and ' fine feathers make fine birds,' you 
 know." 
 
 " Sometimes, Mr. Woolley, and with some men ; but 
 if we get better acquainted, which we shall, you will find, 
 I trust, that I do not claim affinity with that class." 
 
 " Undoubtedly a respectable share of attention should 
 be given to every one's dress ; hut I suspect, my dear 
 sir, that our Master knew but little of glittering gar- 
 ments." 
 
 My father sometimes went a great distance to exchange 
 with a ministering brother ; and late in the fall of 1837 
 he went to a small village upon the shore of Oneida 
 Lake, to exchange with a clergyman in that place. It 
 was late on Saturday afternoon when he left home, and 
 in (he night a terrible wind arose. His family were 
 always uneasy about him if he was out in the storm, not- 
 withstanding he had so long buffetted the tempests ; and 
 this night, the gale being unusually severe, they were 
 more troubled than they had often been. About four 
 o'clock on Sunday morning his little boy came down to 
 his mother's room, and began to make a fire. " Why are 
 you up so early? " she asked. 
 
 " 0, I'm tired lying in bed." 
 
 " Why, my child, you did not go to bed till mid- 
 night." 
 
 " Well, I can't sleep. I 'm afraid father 's drowned. 
 I saw him and Dolly go down in a lake. Did he have 
 to go on a lake before he got there, mother? " 
 
 "I guess not. He probably staid with some good 
 friend all night. You had better go to sleep." 
 
 "No, mother, I shan't sleep any more till father 
 comes home, my dream made me feel so." 
 
 The little fellow made a fire, and sat quietly by it un- 
 til morning ; then he attended to the " chores " that were 
 left for him, and returned to the fireside. But he could 
 not throw the weight from his heart ; the horrid sight of 
 his revered father going down beneath the cold boiling 
 waters haunted his little mind, and took the smile from 
 15 
 
170 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBY. 
 
 his lips, and the merriness from his voice. Near sun- 
 down his grandmother looked out of the window and said, 
 " Thy father 's coming, child." Away flew the young 
 feet, up the hill bounded the boy, and he was on the seat 
 by his father's side ere his father had time to speak to 
 him. " What ails Edward ? " asked my father, as he came 
 in; "he 's half crazed with joy." 
 
 " He has had the impression that you were drowned." 
 
 "I saw you go down under the water, — you, and 
 Dolly too. Have you been on a lake, father ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I went down under the waves and took a 
 thorough drenching; and we concluded to give .up the 
 meeting, and not try to go over ; for the waves dashed our 
 little boat about like a feather in the wind. We returned 
 to Mr. D.'s, where my clothing was dried, and, in defi- 
 ance of the storm, I concluded to try my way home ; 
 though, to tell the truth, I thought it doubtful whether 
 we came out from those cold, foaming waters with life." 
 
 Like all other preachers of Universalism in that sec- 
 tion, my father was sometimes treated in the rudest and 
 most impolite manner ; and the following incident will 
 show how well his happy disposition constituted him to 
 bear it. He had been requested to attend a dedication 
 and association in North Norwich, in the' winter of 1837, 
 
 and was told to call upon a Mr. T , of that place. 
 
 His account of this short journey runs in this way : "It 
 was late in the afternoon of a cold, cheerless winter day 
 when I arrived at the village of North Norwich, and I 
 had travelled a long way, and was cold and very tired. I 
 
 inquired at the hotel for the Mr. T to whom I was 
 
 directed, and his residence was pointed out to me. I rode 
 over, tied Dolly to the fence, and rapped at the door. 
 It was opened by a young lady with a very pretty face 
 and soft curls, and I could see a whiskered and fine- 
 booted young gentleman by the fire. I entered the door 
 and introduced myself; but a blank stare, that said 'I 
 donH know what you are here for,' was all the answer I 
 received. I then told them why I had come, and that Mr. 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTI WOOLLEY. 171 
 
 T , who "wrote to me, requested me to call at his house, 
 
 and I had been told at the hotel across the way that he 
 lived there. But they made no reply. I knew that some- 
 thing was wrong, and thought I saw where the trouble 
 lay. I walked to the fire ; the young lady shut the door, 
 but the young gentleman did not stir. I found that I 
 must wait upon myself, and accordingly w«nt to work. I 
 took off my overcoat, folded it and laid it on a chair, put 
 my cap on top of it, and my muffler and mittens on top 
 of that. I then helped myself to a chair, and sat down 
 by the young exquisite. He had a volume of the ' Pleas- 
 ures of Hope ' in his hand, and said ' he did not see 
 how Mr. Skinner thought of competing with such a man 
 as Mr. Campbell.' 
 
 " 'Did you suppose,' I asked, ' that the Campbell of 
 the Campbell and Skinner discussion was the same as the 
 author of the " Pleasures of Hope " ?' 
 
 '"Yes, sir.' 
 
 " ' Well, then, allow me to tell you that you are entirely 
 mistaken. They are no more the same man than are 
 you and I.' 
 
 " Soon another daughter came in, and then the mother. 
 The former was very quiet ; the latter had a proud toss of 
 the head, and she gave the poor heretic a most withering 
 look. Supper was soon ready, and the mother, son and 
 daughters, gathered around the table. I found a seat 
 without an invitation ; but they had politeness enough to 
 help me to something to eat. 
 
 " After supper I strolled over to church, where I found 
 a few strangers, and among them Brother T. J. Smith. 
 ' Where do you stop, Brother Woolley ? ' he asked. 
 
 " ' A few steps over the way.' 
 
 " ' Have you room for another ? ' 
 
 " ' Would you like to go along ? You Can share half 
 the room I get.' 
 
 "'I think I'll go, then,' he replied, and we went 
 
 back. Soon after we returned, Mr. T came in, and 
 
 the evening passed very agreeably. After we retired to 
 
172 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 rest, Brother Smith asked, ' Brother Woolley, have you 
 had any supper ? ' 
 
 " ' I have — have you? ' 
 
 " ' No — and, what is worse, lam completely chilled 
 through with my long ride, and was sick to begin with.' 
 
 " 'Well, upon my word, my good fellow, yours is a 
 hard lot ; but I fear I can't, hebp you. It was a hard 
 matter to get my own.' I then related to him the man- 
 ner of my reception He looked like a starved, frozen 
 
 chicken when he replied, ' Why, Brother Woolley ! why 
 did you not tell me of/this ? I would not have come 
 here, on any account, if I had known it. How came you. 
 in such a fix ? ' / J* 
 
 " ' That 's just what I should like to know, though I 
 can't find out yet. I suspect there 's a mistake about it.' 
 
 " The next day a Mr. B came to me and requested 
 
 me to go home with him. Before I gave him an 
 answer I asked, ' Is your wife a Universalist, sir 2 ' ' Yes< 
 yes,' he answered, ' a far better Universalist than I am.' 
 
 " ' Very well, then, I '11 go with you.' Brother Smith 
 put his hand on my arm and said, ' Brother Woolley, if 
 you go, I shall.' 
 
 " ' Here, friend B ,' said I, ' have you room for 
 
 another Universalist minister ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, for as many as have a mind to come.' 
 
 " We went home with him, and, although he was a 
 good Universalist, we thought he told the truth when he 
 said his wife was a better one. I told Brother Smith he 
 was a little bit crazy ; but he declared he was not, and 
 said he had only come out of the frozen wilds of Siberia 
 into the warm glow of an Italian summer. ' Why, Brother 
 Woolley, that woman and iier children would have chilled 
 me to death in one day more ! ' " 
 
 It is well to say that my father had been directed to a 
 brother of the Mr. T who wrote to him. This gen- 
 tleman was the only one in the family who was a Uni- 
 versalist, and, as far as he could, he rendered his short 
 stay agreeable. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 173 
 
 This winter my father preached once in two weeks, on 
 Sabbath evenings, in the village of Watervale. One 
 evening, after his discourse was finished, a Baptist clergy- 
 man rose and wished to address the meeting. Liberty 
 was of course given, and he made many remarks con- 
 cerning the sermon, and proceeded to say that ' ' He 
 should be very much pleased to have an opportunity of 
 discussing the truths of these different religions with any 
 Universalist minister. He had," he said, " long been 
 very anxious to have a chance of this kind, but among 
 their most talented speakers he had never found one 
 willing to meet him ; and he doubted if a man of a 
 good share of common sense would dare to place himself 
 in so unpleasant a situation." My father replied: "I 
 am really sorry for my brother that he has struggled so 
 long to find an opportunity to bring a Universalist 
 preacher into the struggle of argument ; and, from his 
 description, our talented clergymen must be in truth 
 faint-hearted. I presume he never met with one of our 
 denominational leaders so weak as myself; but I wish 
 him to understand distinctly that, if I have no ' common 
 sense,' I have good sense enough not to fear an antag- 
 onism with him, or any other friend he may please to 
 bring. I will meet him to-morrow, if he likes." 
 
 " I could not meet you to-morrow," replied the Bap- 
 tist brother, " as I am engaged." 
 
 " Very well ; let it be next week, then." 
 
 "Next week I cannot give the time ; for my labor is 
 promised, and this village is so far from my home." 
 
 "No matter; it may be next month, or next year, 
 when or where you please, and last as long as you like ; 
 only let us make some arrangement satisfactory to your- 
 self before we separate. It is too hard, my brother, that 
 you have been compelled thus long to waste your breath 
 upon the desert air. You have found one Universalist 
 clergyman who has compassion for you." 
 
 No arrangement could be made to satisfy the strange 
 15* 
 
174 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLBY. 
 
 clergyman, and the matter was never brought to a dis- 
 cussion between them. 
 
 That night the snow fell very deep, and the next 
 morning the wind blew tremendously. My father had 
 an appointment that evening in the village of Cazenovia, 
 and, as the storm did not subside, he put one of his little 
 girls, who was -with him, in the cutter,* under the buf- 
 falo-skin, and, with a spade to dig his way, started for 
 Cazenovia. When he came to the foot of the long hill 
 between Watervale and Oran, the valley was completely 
 filled, and not a track to be seen. With walking, and 
 digging through snow-banks, and leading his horse, he 
 pushed through to Mr. B.'s, in Oran, where they gave 
 him a kind reception, and the needed welcome dinner. 
 It was useless trying to persuade him to stay, for he 
 never disappointed a congregation on account of a storm. 
 When the time for meeting came, the wind had gone 
 down, and a goodly number assembled for services. 
 
 Of this determination not to disappoint his congre- 
 gations, I find an extract in the Christian Ambassador, 
 from a letter to Rev. D. Skinner. The author of it is a 
 friend of my father's, residing in Herkimer County, New 
 York. He says : " Very few have performed so much 
 mental labor and preached so many sermons in the same 
 time. Always punctual to his appointments, regardless 
 alike of poor health, or rain, or snow, he once remarked 
 to me, after wallowing ten miles through the snow-drifts, 
 that he ' never failed but in one engagement to 
 preach.' " 
 
 It was this never making appointments unless he 
 thought he could fulfil them, and never failing to fulfil 
 them if he could possibly go, that caused in a great de- 
 gree his success. It was this strict adherence to his 
 promises that rebuilt for him, or helped rebuild, old so- 
 cieties, and did much to sustain theSi for him. A society 
 seldom, if ever, grew dull under his ministry. An old 
 
 * The New Yor"k name for a " sledge," or one-horse sleigh. — A. B. G. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 175 
 
 Society, that had been dead when he went among them, 
 might, after reviving, go back into some of its indolent 
 ways, but never went down while he remained. And 
 the call came to him from all quarters : " Come and 
 settle with us. We are lukewarm ; come you and build 
 us up." 
 
 In the following spring my father went out to Howlet 
 Hill on Saturday, and stopped with a friend, with whom 
 he was somewhat acquainted, living about eighty rods 
 from the village. I am very happy to give this .little 
 sketch in his own words : 
 
 " I was received by my friend with that warm greeting 
 which the herald of universal salvation is sure to meet 
 from those of like precious faith. Everything that kind 
 hearts and willing hands could do to make the weary 
 pilgrim comfortable was done. An old lady sat by a 
 little wheel, spinning flax. From the conversation be- 
 tween my kind host and hostess and myself, she learned 
 that a Universalist preacher was in her presence. This 
 was too much for her nature to endure in silence. The. 
 wheel stopped, the stick to which the flax was fastened 
 was put in its place, and all necessary preparations 
 made to attack the ' Heaven-daring infidel.' She turned 
 round from her wheel, put her right hand upon her 
 glasses and lifted them to her forehead, looked me 
 ■steadily in the face a minute, and then commenced her 
 tirade thus : 
 
 " 'You are one of them fellers that go round the 
 world telling people that there 's no hell, no devil, and 
 no punishment for the wicked. An't you ? ' 
 
 " The attack was so unlooked for, and the appearance 
 of the old lady so demon-like, from the excitement of 
 her mind, that for a moment I was thrown all aback. 
 However, I soon gathered up my scattered senses, and 
 replied to her as follows : 
 
 " 'No, madam, I am not one of "them fellers." I 
 never denied the existence of a hell ; and, as for devils, 
 I believe in any quantity of them.' 
 
176 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 " ' Ah,' said the old lady, ' don't lie, now ! — You don't 
 believe in hell or devils ; I know you don't. You tell 
 the wicked that they will all go right to heaven in their 
 sins. I know how you preach.' 
 
 " ' Did you ever hear me preach, madam ? ' 
 
 " ' No, I never did ; and that an't all, — I never will ! ' 
 
 " ' How do you know what I preach, if you have never 
 heard me ? ' 
 
 " ' Don't I know what Universalis™, is? I guess I 
 know all about it ; and I know how you preach. You 
 can't make a fool of me ! ' 
 
 " 'True, mother, I cannot make a fool of you; per- 
 haps the Almighty has been too quick for me ! ' 
 
 "'That's just' like you Universalists ! Call me a 
 fool ! An't I old enough to be your mother ? Did n't 
 I know all about Universalism before you was born ? ' 
 
 "'You are old enough to be my mother; but you 
 may remember that the old are not always wise, nor the 
 young always foolish. And, old as you are, mother, 
 you know nothing of Universalism. We do believe that 
 the wicked will be punished in hell, and, if you can prove 
 an endless hell in time or eternity, we will believe that 
 also.' 
 
 " ' Prove ! — what good will it do to prove anything 
 to a TJniversalist ? Don't I know all about them? 
 They don't believe the doctrine they profess, unless they 
 are bigger fools than I am. If I believed in Universalism, 
 I would leave this troublesome world, and go to heaven, 
 just as quick as a good razor would send me there ; and 
 so would you. Don't tell me no, for I shan't believe 
 you ! If you believe what you preach, you would find 
 means to rid yourself of the world, and get home to 
 heaven, pretty quick.' 
 
 " 'Why, mother, would you kill yourself? Would 
 you commit murder if you were a Universalist ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I would ! What difference is there between 
 virtue and vice, ^between murder and no murder, if 
 Universalism is true ? ' 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 177 
 
 " ' But, mother, vice is vice, and virtue is virtue, 
 whether Universalism be true or false ; and Universalism 
 teaches us that, "though hand join in hand, the wicked 
 shall not go unpunished." At the same time, it tells us 
 that punishment, in the economy of God, is not an end, 
 but a means to obtain an end ; and the end is, the re- 
 formation of the transgressor. Moreover, it gives us 
 positive assurance that the end will be obtained, and the 
 whole world be saved from sin and suffering.' 
 
 " ' Don't talk to me about what Universalism teaches ! 
 I know what the Bible teaches, and that's enough for me.' 
 
 " During our laughable dispute the old family cloek, 
 true to its duty, told the hour of nine. As I rose to 
 retire, I asked the old lady, ' Do you intend to stay over 
 night, madam ? ' 
 
 " ' What do you want to know that for ? ' 
 
 " 'Because you have affirmed, again and again, that 
 if you were a Universalist you would kill yourself im- 
 mediately in order to go to heaven. Now, for aught I 
 know, you may take it into your head to send a Univer- 
 salist minister off to heaven between this and morning.' 
 
 " ' Do you think that I '11 kill you ? I was only — — .' 
 I shut the door, and hastened to my room. 
 
 " In the morning the old lady was moving long before 
 I was, and I learned from her tongue, which was going 
 ' as if under whip and spur, that she was in high glee 
 about something. The first words she uttered when we 
 met were : ' Well, Mr. Woolley, where will you preach 
 to-day ? You can't have the meeting-house, for we 've 
 got a preacher. He came about sundown last night, 
 and notice has been sent far and wide. Where will you 
 preach ? ' 
 
 " ' I can answer your question, good woman, by say- 
 ing, I shall preach in the village.' 
 
 " ' Shall you go to the meeting-house, sir ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I shall go to the meeting-house ; and if I can- 
 not preach there, I can preach out of doors.' 
 
 " The time for meeting arrived, and we all started for 
 
178 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 the church. Mr. L. and his wife took the lead, and the 
 •".old lady and myself brought up the rear. We reached 
 the church, and found, as we expected, a large congre- 
 gation of ' sheep and goats,' collected from almost every 
 point of the compass, and so shockingly mixed up that 
 you could not separate them. After a long talk, and a 
 loud talk, it was arranged that the Universalists should 
 occupy the house in the forenoon, and the Presbyterians 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 " I have said it was spring-time, and the roads, any- 
 thing but good in the morning, soon became intolerable, 
 in consequence of the rain that began to fall in unbroken 
 torrents a little before it was determined who should 
 occupy the house in the forenoon. 
 
 "Well, here was a fix, sure enough! To go away 
 was to take a shower-bath that even the most zealous 
 hydropathist would not like. To stay was little better, 
 for a sermon withoutjj an endless hell and an almighty 
 devil might do more harm than a thorough drenching 
 with cold water ! The old lady, too, had determined 
 never to hear a Universalist preach while she lived ! 
 'But,' with the other poor souls, she was caught. They 
 must stand it as well as they could ; and they undoubt- 
 edly thought they could keep Universalism away from 
 their hearts in the house better than they could keep 
 cold water from their bodies out of it. Services com- 
 menced, — the congregation was seated, — and there sat 
 the old lady in all the dignity of one who cares for no- 
 body. She did not look upward to heaven, nor down- 
 ward toward hell ; she did not turn to the right nor the 
 left; but there she sat, bolt upright, with a look that 
 said, ' Do your worst, — I can stand it ! ' 
 
 "I took for my subject, 'Let this mind be in you 
 which was also in Christ.' For ten or fifteen minutes 
 the old lady remained perfectly quiet, — as still as a 
 marble statue. Then her head came gradually up, and 
 she looked me steadily in the face. Never in my life 
 have I seen astonishment written in more legible char- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 179 
 
 actera than upon her countenance. How a Universalis^ 
 minister could take such a text, — how he could, or whyi 
 he should, recommend Christ to his brethren as an ex- 
 ample to copy, — was undoubtedly more than she could 
 comprehend. When she learned that in order to become 
 Universalists we must imitate Jesus, and obey his holy 
 rules, her prejudice began to yield, and she was all 
 attention.. As the subject progressed her attention in- 
 creased, until everything in the wide world was forgotten 
 save the text and the explanation. The deep and ardent 
 feelings of her nature were aroused, and, for once, fast- 
 ened upon the illimitable goodness of Mary's Son, and 
 she could not resist the conviction that he was indeed 
 the Saviour of the world. Tears came up from a heart 
 just touched with ' love divine,' and spoke a language 
 tongue can never utter. And still they came ; until, 
 like mountain brooks enlarged by recent showers, they 
 leaped the boundary nature set, and fell over her cheeks, 
 unheeded by her who let them fall. 
 
 "At the close of the morning" "service, appointment 
 was made for a meeting in the school-house in the after- 
 noon. The rain was yet falling, and the roads as bad as 
 bad could be. The hour arrived, and those who worship 
 God after the manner some call heresy were gathered in 
 the school-house. The house was large, and full in 
 every part. After much effort, I succeeded in reaching 
 the table which was to serve me as a desk, and directly 
 in front of me sat that same old lady, pleasant as a May- 
 day morning, and nearer heaven, no doubt, than she ever 
 had been before. She had left the church, the people, 
 and her minister, and journeyed through mud and storm 
 to listen to the man who, the night before, she declared 
 she would never hear preach. She did hear, and for the 
 time she was happy as mortal could be. For once new 
 wine was put into an old bottle with good' effect. At 
 times she would weep like a child ; anon, she would 
 laugh as though her very heart was bursting with joy. 
 At the close of the service she approached me and gave 
 
180 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLIE*. 
 
 me her hand, with the emphatic remark, ' If that is 
 Universalism, it won't harm nobody ! It is just what we 
 need, just what everybody needs, and just what every- 
 body must have before the world is as it should be.' 
 
 " ' But, mother, did you, not call it a lie, this morning ? 
 Did you not say you would never hear it preached ? ' 
 
 " ' Hush ! hush ! I knew nothing about the doctrine. 
 I knew not what manner of spirit I was of. Go on, my 
 dear sir ! preach it while you live, and God Almighty 
 •must and will bless you and all who listen.' 
 
 " Many years after, while residing in the town of 
 Bridgewater, Oneida County, I was sent for to see this 
 old lady die. She was in the same home where I first 
 saw her, and cared for by my old host and hostess, Mr. 
 and Mrs. L. She was very aged, and, as I entered her 
 room, she gave me her hand, and smiled as she said, 
 'Brother Wooliey, this is rather a more civil greeting 
 than I gave you when we first met' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, true it is, mother ; but you are of a differ- 
 ent spirit now.' 
 
 " ' I am of a different spirit, and you made me so. You 
 taught me who my Father was — who my Saviour was 
 — who my brothers and sisters were. You told me the 
 way of life, and gave me bread instead of a stone. You 
 showed me the good way, and my last days have been my 
 best days. I have done more good since I became a 
 TJniversalist than I ever did in all my life before. I 
 could not talk to any human being now as I talked to 
 you the first evening I saw you. I have sent for you to 
 have you. attend my funeral, and to give you my dying 
 blessing.' 
 
 "'Well, mother, the journey's not a dark one; for 
 Christ, our elder brother, went before you.' 
 
 " ' 0, no! not dark, but bright as the rainbow that 
 spans the clouds ! Good-by, my children ! good-by, 
 Brother Wooliey ! ' 
 
 " The fingers, thin and wrinkled, stiffened in my grasp, 
 and the spirit of the happy old lady was at rest with God. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 181 
 
 I had blessed her in life, — she had blessed me in her 
 death ! Such glorious deaths — so free from doubt or 
 sorrow — do they not repay the minister of the restitu- 
 tion a thousand-fold for all his labors, all his woes? " 
 
 The above truthful incident brings to my mind the 
 beautiful words of Rev. J. M. Austin, in his remarks 
 upon my father's departure : " We know it will carry 
 sadness to many a heart when we announce the departure 
 of another herald of the cross, our beloved brother in 
 Christ, Rev. E. M. Woolley. He died at Birmingham, 
 Michigan, on the 4th instant. As the sun was sinking 
 behind the horizon his wearied spirit left its frail tene- 
 ment of clay, and went up to its endless rest, and its 
 crown in heaven. Brother Woolley was well known in 
 this state, where he labored most of his ministerial life ; 
 and none knew him but to love him. We are confident 
 we express the feelings of the entire ciycle of his acquaint- 
 ance when we say, that for kindness of heart, purity of 
 life, devotion to the duties of his calling, and all the 
 graces which adorn the true Christian, there were few 
 who excelled him. He was an able and successful 
 preacher, and many souls now enjoying the rich hopes 
 and consolations of the Gospel of the world's redemp- 
 tion owe their conversion, under God, to his faithful and 
 eloquent ministrations. His decease is a loss to the de- 
 nomination which will not easily be repaired." 
 16 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 DEATH OF A FRIEND CONVERTED METHODIST CONVERTED PRESBYTE- 
 RIAN ANOTHER HAPPY DEATH HOWLET HILL ALBUM TRIBUTE 
 
 THE REFORMED INEBRIATE WORD SOWN IN THE DARE ITS 
 
 FRUITS. 
 
 Am org the various funerals my father was called to 
 attend were those of his chosen friends. He formed but 
 few intimate friendships (for every good man could not 
 be his intimate friend ; he required uncommon frankness 
 and honesty in friendship), and those to whom he gave 
 the name of friends were very dear to him. There was no 
 policy, no thought of being benefited by these com- 
 panionships;' but when he found one who came up to 
 his great idea of a Christian, — who lived rather than 
 talked the holy principles of a pure and good religion, — 
 he gave this one his confidence freely, from the depths of 
 his own great heart ; and always received the highest con- 
 fidence in return. Of these, so loved and worthy, was 
 Mr. James Chamberlin, of Pratt's Hollow. 
 
 My father had been away to preach, and when he re- 
 turned a messenger awaited him with word of Mr. Cham- 
 berlin' s death. " I find it a great struggle to attend 
 Brother Chamberlin's funeral services," he said. " What 
 can I say to the family that they do not know — that the 
 husband and father has not already taught them ? I can- 
 not, of course, refuse to go ; for I would not deny the 
 request of his family. But I feel that I, too, need sym- 
 pathy. One upon whom I leaned trustingly has de- 
 parted. One in whom I confided has entered upon the 
 life that lies beyond the Jordan of death. And I would 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 183 
 
 rather not look upon my brother in his winding-sheet. 
 Then I should have only the memory of his manly face 
 and cheerful smile. But God will be with us as we lay 
 away the cold form of the man we loved ; and ( the cup 
 he hath given us, shall we not drink it ? ' " 
 
 I find a few lines in his book of poems commemorative 
 of the above event. They exhibit the strength and ten- 
 derness of his attachments, and also the never-failing 
 trust in the religion he taught to others. Though he 
 keenly felt the trials that fell upon him, he had within 
 him a consolation no grief could destroy. The lines above 
 alluded to are entitled 
 
 THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 
 
 O, God ! how from us go the beings we 
 
 Have loved ! How miss we, on our weary way, 
 
 The sound of footsteps we have pined to hear, 
 
 And the clear tones of voices, falling once 
 
 Upon our ears like the rich ringing of 
 
 Our old church-bell ! How feel we that we need, 
 
 In the wild jostle of this lower life, 
 
 The cheering light of quiet faces, white 
 
 Beneath the coffin-lid ! and the great strength 
 
 And hope we gained from hearts made warm with the 
 
 Deep blessing of the Saviour's love ! 
 
 Gone from us 
 Are they — in our wild-wood walks, and in" our 
 Rambles by the singing streams. Some from the 
 Circle round the broad home-hearth, and from the 
 Altar in our house of prayer. 
 
 And yet 
 This is not all ; for o'er their path there lies 
 A glory born of love — a light, soft shining 
 From the bright stars just o'er the new-made graves. 
 And thou, Friend ! not lost, but journeying 
 In the better world, may'st come with thy new 
 Truth to teach me holier deeds, and lead 
 My wandering spirit up to God and thee. 
 
 While my father was pastor of the society in Oran, a 
 middle-aged lady, who was a Methodist, became inter- 
 ested in the Universalist meeting ; and she would fre- 
 
184 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 quently leave her Methodist friends in the village and go 
 to hear my father preach. Her husband had become a 
 Universalist under my father's preaching ; but his wife was 
 a very quiet woman, and seldom expressed her opinions. 
 One evening she went with her husband to a Methodist 
 prayer-meeting, and, after many of the members had 
 spoken, she rose and said : " My friends, it is long since 
 I saw you here, and it may be longer ere I see you here 
 again. For, my friends, near, as you are to me, happy as 
 I have been with you, I have at length found a broader 
 table of communion, where all of earth's children may 
 sit and partake. I have found a more bountiful love, that 
 is to all people ; and I rejoice that it is so. I believe that. 
 God is better than we have believed him ; and if he will 
 save me — so weak, so faulty — I see not why he will not 
 stoop a little lower, and save the vilest sinner. You 
 will be surprised to hear me, but listen — I am a Uni- 
 versalist ! " 
 
 The silence of death was over the house when she sat 
 down. But one of the members, who knew her well, 
 and thought, if she had made up her mind to a new faith, 
 there was no use in opposing her, said : "No matter, no 
 matter, Mrs. S. ; we don't care what you believe, if you 
 don't say anything about it. We want you here. We 
 don't want to lose your influence." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the good woman ; " you should not 
 try to teach me hypocrisy ! I should dislike to leave you 
 in anger or dissatisfaction ; but I think I shall go to the 
 house on the hill, and listen to Mr. Woolley, after this." 
 
 Among my father's manuscripts I find the following 
 papers : " During my ministry in Oran I became ac- 
 quainted with Mr. W. W. He was not only a good 
 man, in every sense of the word, but what gave him more 
 influence with many people was the fact that he was 
 very wealthy. He was an intelligent and active Uni- 
 versalist, and the good Christians about him were un- 
 commonly anxious to save him from the endless hell to 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 185 
 
 which he was hastening. They made long prayers and 
 loud prayers ; they talked to him in his house and in his 
 corn-field, on the highway and in the mill or the store. 
 Anywhere, everywhere, they were at him, one and all of 
 his good religious friends, to convert him from the evil 
 of his way. 'It was such a pity,' said one good man, 
 ' that Mr. W. shoulJ give his money to support heresy, 
 when he might do so much good with it in our cause ! 
 He is so rich, too ! Not a man among us could do so 
 much to further the prosperity of our society, if he could 
 only be saved from his dreadful faith.' 
 
 " Yes, yes ; he was all they said he was, and well 
 worth saving. But the more they prayed, and talked, 
 and scolded, the more zealous he became in the great 
 work of the world's redemption. He was always at meet- 
 ing, let the weather be brown or light ; let the roads be 
 smooth, rough or muddy ; let the snow-banks lie ever so 
 high or white before him, it made no difference. To 
 meeting he went as steady as his minister ; and how thank- 
 ful that minister was for his assistance in pushing for- 
 ward the good cause, none but God and his own soul 
 knew. 
 
 , " The beautiful, thrice beautiful home of this friend, was 
 at the base of a long hill, between the villages of Caze- 
 novia and Oran ; and I often called there on my way to 
 Oran, or returned with him from meeting. His wife was 
 a woman in the highest meaning of that word. To a 
 high order of natural talent she added the attraction of 
 an excellent education ; for she had been an only child, 
 and all that love or money could bestow had been lavished 
 upon her. With these she combined beauty of person, and" 
 grace and ease of manner. She had been brought up a 
 Presbyterian, and when I became acquainted with her 
 she was a conscientious believer in that faith. But it did 
 not give her rest. Her husband was a TJniversalist ; her 
 children she feared would be ; and the religion that sepa- 
 rated her forever from these nearest and dearest to her 
 planted a thorn in her breast, that pierced deeper and 
 16* 
 
186 MEMOIB OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 deeper every day. She said but little about it; and 
 even her husband did not know how much the thought 
 troubled her. One Sabbath morning, as her husband 
 was getting ready for meeting, she said, ' I believe I will 
 go with you to-day ; and you must invite Mr. Woolley 
 home with you, for I wish to talk with him.' 
 
 " fc I am very glad you are going; and we will bring 
 Mr. Woolley home with us. But you must be careful, 
 
 E ■, very careful, or he will convert you. Don't 
 
 you know Mr. 0. told you, the other day, that Mr. 
 "Woolley was sending more souls to hell than any twenty ] 
 other men ? ' 
 
 ' ' ' Yes, I know. But I am going to hear Mr. Woolley ; 
 and I am going to talk with him. And I hope — I do 
 hope — he may convert me. For it 's as well to die one 
 way as another; and I am literally dying of my old 
 faith.' 
 
 "Mrs. W. came to meeting with her husband, and I 
 returned with them, to tarry over night. After tea, as 
 we were gathered in the parlor, Mrs. W; asked, ' Mr. 
 Woolley, what does the passage mean which says, The 
 wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that 
 forget God?' 
 
 " I explained it to the best of my ability, and she went 
 x>n. Every passage between the lids of the Bible that 
 had a doubtful meaning was talked of, and the meaning 
 made as plain as we could make it; plain enough, at 
 least, to satisfy us. We sat up until nearly morning, 
 conversing upon the truth of Universalism ; and when 
 Mr. W. or myself urged her to desist until to-morrow, 
 "she would say, ' No, no ; let me talk now, for to-morrow 
 I must go and see father.' 
 
 " The next morning, as soon as we had taken break- 
 fast, she said to her -husband, 'Come, W., get up the 
 team now, and take me to see father.' 
 
 "'I think you had better wait, E , till you get 
 
 over being excited ; and it 's a rainy morning. But I '11 
 get the horses, if you think best.' 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 187 
 
 di- 
 
 1 1 know I am excited ; but I must go. Father will 
 hear that I have got to be a Universalist, and it will 
 nearly make him crazy. I must tell him of it first. Get 
 the horses and carriage, and let 's go.' 
 
 "I went up the hill towards my home, and Mr. and 
 Mrs. W. rode to the top of the hill with me, and stopped 
 at the residence of Mrs. W.'s father. When they 
 reached the gate, Mrs. W. laughed and said, ' Now, W., 
 you must go back. I want to stay all day, and I 'm 
 going to see father alone. Come to-night, and, believe 
 me, I will go home sane." 
 
 "'I don't know,' replied her husband, jocosely; 
 ' I doubt it some. Your father '11 call you crazy in less 
 than five minutes.' 
 
 "She went into the house, threw off her bonnet and 
 cloak, and sat down by her father's bed. The old gen- 
 tleman was surprised to see her, and exclaimed, ' Why, 
 
 E , what on earth has sent you out, this drizzly 
 
 morning ? ' 
 
 ' ' ' What on earth, father ? Why, I ' ve something to say 
 to you; and you must promise me not to say a word till 
 I am done talking. Promise me, father, will you ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I promise. Now begin, crazy-head ! ' 
 
 "Mrs. W. told me she could not remember one half 
 she said to her father ; but, said she, ' I commenced in 
 this way : " I went to hear Mr. Woolley preach yesterday, 
 father ; and he came home with us last night, and I made 
 him and W. sit up and talk with me all night ; and the 
 result is, I came up here this morning to tell you — bend 
 your ear a little nearer, father — that I am as sincere a 
 Universalist as W. is." He looked blank enough at this, 1 
 said Mrs. W., ' and tried to speak ; but I put my hand 
 on his lips, and told him to keep quiet, and I continued, 
 " I came to tell you, father, before- any one else could have 
 an opportunity. And, more than all, I am going to 
 make a Universalist of you before I go home. Don't 
 make up your mind that I am irretrievably lost, father, 
 and mourn over me as I have mourned over my husband 
 
188 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 and children. 0, father! what misery can the world 
 produce like the awful thought of eternal separation from 
 those we love ? What misery can come to a wife and 
 mother like the one never-ending grief which springs 
 from the faith that gives the husband of her heart and 
 the children of her affection to an undying misery, from 
 which she cannot save them? What agony so intense 
 can be brought upon the strong, loving heart of the hus- 
 band and father, when he sincerely believes that the bride 
 of his youth and the mother of his children is to go 
 away with the little, happy creatures he has fondled in 
 infancy to that ceaseless wretchedness from which there 
 is no returning? One year ago, everything I had in 
 life, all the blessings lavished upon me, could not satisfy 
 me. And if my husband, or one of our children, had ^ 
 died, I should have been a maniac. Do you ask why ? 
 I should have feared they were in hell. But, now, rob 
 me of all I possess, separate me from those I love by 
 distance or death, break up our family circle, and I can 
 patiently bear it all ; for we shall be gathered together 
 again, sooner or later, in the mansion not made with 
 hands, eternal in the heavens. 0, father ! I shall always 
 thank God now ! " ' 
 
 " Mrs. W. staid all day; and when her husband went 
 for her she said to old Mr. S., ' Don't say a word now, 
 father. But next time I come you'll think just as 
 I do ! ' 
 
 " 'Mr. Woolley,' said Mr. S. to me when I went to 
 
 see him, ' E was crazy that day. Why, her tongue 
 
 ran like a steam-mill all day ; and when she went home 
 she ran out of the room like a child, and bounded into 
 the carriage as quick as she ever did at sixteen. I told 
 her she was crazy ; but she would have it that she was 
 only happy.' 
 
 "If Mrs. W- did not tell her father the truth when 
 she said, ' You will think as I do when I see you again,' 
 she was nearly correct ; for before spring came (this 
 was in the fall) he became a conscientious believer in 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 189 
 
 he religion she had embraced, and was as happy as his 
 laughter was when he told her she was crazy. 
 
 " The news that Mr. S. had embraced Universalism 
 rent like wild-fire through the country, and his old 
 riends came from all parts of the country to labor with 
 lim ; for he was one of the firm pillars of the Presby- 
 erian church, and they could not afford to lose him. 
 )ne Mrs. H. said to him, ' Mr. S., you think you' are 
 i Universalist ; but when you die you will give it up, 
 nd return to your own faith.' 
 
 " ' It may be,' he replied ; ' but we shall know before 
 ong. Shall I send for you to see me die ? ' 
 
 "'Yes — send for me. I know you can't die a 
 Jniversalist.' 
 
 " ' If you can be brought here, you shall come ! ' 
 
 " One night, in early spring, Mr. S. said to his 
 aughter, Mrs. W., 'I shall not live till morning. I 
 Tomised to send for Mrs. H. to see me die. Tell W. to 
 ;o for her quick.' 
 
 " The night was as dark as a secret vault, the roads 
 auddy, and the rain came down in torrents ; but, with 
 be aid of a lantern, Mr. W. reached the house of Mrs. 
 I., and returned with her before morning. As she 
 ntered his room, Mr. S. said, ' Mrs. H., I have sent for 
 ou to see me die. You told me that I could not die 
 
 Universalist. Now the hour has come; and my faith 
 
 oes not waver, but grows stronger and stronger unto the 
 
 erfect day. And I want you to tell my old friends that 
 
 die rejoicing in the faith that sees a world saved from 
 
 in and suffering.' 
 
 " At early sunrise the spirit of the aged man fluttered 
 way from its mortal tenement, and went on to its 
 ternal joy and rest. I had been requested to preach his 
 ineral sermon ; and a procession nearly a mile long 
 sft his old residence for the church on the hill, in Oran. 
 Ir. S. had been universally respected, and people flocked 
 jgether from the east and the west, the north and the 
 juth, to see him buried. ' The church was crowded full, 
 
190 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 and there was joy as well as mourning on the faces of 
 the bereaved. How the light of a glorious hope silvered 
 over the tears of Mrs. W., as she leaned upon her hus- 
 band's arm, when he led their children to the coffin of 
 her father ! and how tenderly she soothed their sorrow, 
 and told them (as she could not have done one year 
 before) of the happy home prepared for us all above ! " 
 
 Incidents like these gladdened the heart of my father, 
 and sweetened the toils and privations of his ministerial 
 life. If his spirit fainted by the wayside and his body 
 became too weak to endure his labor, the thought of some 
 new soul freed from the thraldom of sin, of another 
 heart rejoicing in the sunlight of truth, gave strength to 
 his weary body, and hung an atmosphere of joy around 
 his troubled soul. 
 
 In the summer of 1838, while he was at Howlet Hill, 
 a young member of his society gave him her album, and 
 requested him to write in it. He took his pencil and 
 wrote : 
 
 TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 And thou dost ask a gift, young friend, from me — 
 What, pray thee, fair one, shall the offering be ? 
 
 It were all folly that I wish thy life 
 
 Free from the toil, the jostle, and the strife. 
 
 God has so made us that we all must know 
 One moment joy, another moment woe ; 
 
 The world we live in is no glistening wave, 
 
 O'er which thy bark may glide and see no grave. 
 
 Then may some angel o'er thy life preside — 
 
 To peace and virtue be that life allied ! 
 Unfailing hope forever be thy guest — 
 
 Boon of kind Heaven, given to the blest ! 
 Sweet bliss, reserved for those that live 
 
 In love with all, and to the needy give. 
 No blessing can bring to thee peace of mind, 
 Save truth and virtue in thy heart enshrined. 
 
 When my father first went to Oran to preach, he .saw 
 before him, one Sabbath morning, a man who bore Upon 
 his face and person marks of inebriety. He did not like 
 
MBMOIB OP EDWARD MOM WOOlLEY. 191 
 
 to have such hearers, unless they reformed ; and he 
 generally gave utterance to some strong condemning 
 expression, that kept them away, or caused them to do 
 better. But he stayed the rebuke that rose to his lips 
 this morning; for he thought, "His face bespeaks the 
 man ; possibly I may do him good." As he was sitting 
 with Mr. B. at dinner, he asked, " Who was the man 
 in that threadbare coat, directly in front of me, this 
 morning?" 
 
 " Mr. A.," was the reply. 
 
 "He is almost too fond of the wine-cup, I fear," 
 replied my father. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; too fond of the wine-cup. It is bis ruin." 
 
 " His face shows that he has the natural good man in 
 him." 
 
 " He is one of the best of men when he has not been 
 drinking liquor. He is capable of doing any business ; 
 is gentlemanly in his manner, and kind in his disposition. 
 But when he gets liquor it 's all gone ; he can't do any- 
 thing, for he don't know anything." 
 
 " What a pity ! Can't he be saved ? " 
 
 " I fear not. We have tried every way ; for every 
 one likes him, and every one is anxious to do him good. 
 But it seems as though it was his destiny." 
 
 " Destiny ! Do you remember the expression, ' The 
 good own no destiny'? I hope it is not this man's 
 destiny to live and die so. Do not let us give him up. 
 Has he a wife ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and she is a very estimable woman. Here she 
 comes." 
 
 The door opened, and Mrs. A. entered. She was 
 introduced to my father, and before she left asked him to 
 call and see them. He promised to go down the next time 
 he came to Oran. 
 
 In two weeks my father went out to Oran again ; and 
 on Saturday afternoon he called at Mr. A.'s. He found 
 Mr. A. at home ; and, though he seemed to know that the 
 mark of the serpent was on him, he was sociable, and 
 
192 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 invited my father to call again. "Mrs. A. looks like a 
 heart-broken -woman ; but we hope to save her' husband 
 for her," said my father when he came home. 
 
 When my father preached in Oran again, Mr. A. was 
 at meeting, and seemed to be free from the effect of ■wine. 
 He became quite regular in his attendance at church, 
 and lost his bloated, inebriated look. He was also be- 
 coming able to attend to business, and his wife, with my 
 father and their friends, began to hope that the enemy 
 was destroyed. But, one Sabbath of the next fall, my 
 father saw Mrs. A. at church alone. Going to her, he 
 asked, ""Where is Mr. A. ? " 
 
 " At home. He was not able to come." 
 
 " I will go home with you to-night." 
 
 " Not to-night, Brother Woolley." 
 
 " Very well," replied my father; for he respected her 
 feelings, and she did not wish to have him see her hus- 
 band intoxicated. 
 
 But the next Sabbath Mrs. A. was again at church 
 alone. After services my father went to her, and asked, 
 " Is Mr. A. here ? " 
 
 " He is at home," was her reply. 
 
 " I shall go with you to-night," said my father. " It 
 is of no use, to tell me no, for I must go." 
 
 " You are welcome to go, Brother Woolley; but you 
 can do no good." 
 
 " Hush, hush, woman ! Who but God knows whether 
 I can do good ? I believe that you, and I, and all of 
 us, can do good. We must not give up in despair." 
 
 They found Mr. A. recovering from the effects of his 
 debauchery ; but he presented a bloated, loathsome ap- 
 pearance, and my father's presence seemed to intimidate 
 him. As they entered the house, my father asked : 
 " You are not well, Brother A. ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am well." 
 
 " Why were you not at meeting, then ? " 
 
 " You know why I was not there." 
 
 " If I had known, I should not have asked you." 
 
MEMOIB OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 193 
 
 " Everybody does know, Mr. Woolley." 
 
 " I don't belong to that class called everybody." 
 
 " If you did n't know before, you know now that I 
 am a poor, miserable, ruined man ! You know it, Mr. 
 Woolley." 
 
 " No, no, Brother A. ; I don't know any such thing. 
 Tou are a miserable, but not a ruined man." 
 
 " That does very well to talk, but it does no good. 
 People have told me they thought I could do better, and 
 they would say, ' Try, Mr. A., do try and rid yourself 
 of this dreadful habit. And I have tried, again and 
 again, but in a few months it 's all over. Mr. Woolley, 
 it's of no use." 
 
 " Don't give up so, Brother A. People tell you you 
 can do better, they think ; I tell you I know you can 
 do better, and I 'm going to help you." 
 
 After supper my father said, " Brother A., we have a 
 meeting to-night. Will you ride up with me ? " 
 
 "Mr. Woolley," asked Mr. A., "Mr. Woolley, would 
 you ride through the streets with such a ragged, wretched- 
 looking creature as I am ? " 
 
 " I am about my Master's business, Brother A., and 
 he saw a brother in worse-looking men than you are. I 
 should be glad to ride with you. Will you go ? " 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Woolley, I will go." 
 
 " Will you go along, Mrs. A. ? " 
 
 "Don't ask her to go," interposed Mr. A., "for I 
 know she 's ashamed to go with me." 
 
 "No, I am not ashamed to go with you," responded 
 the faithful wife : " I shall be glad to go, Mr. Woolley." 
 
 They rode up to the church ; my father went in first, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. A. followed him. He seated them, 
 and went into the desk. " Your father, so it seemed to 
 me, never preached so well as he did that evening," so 
 writes a friend from Oran. " Every heart in the house 
 was touched with a living spark from the altar of God, as 
 your father portrayed to us the all-powerful, never-failing 
 love of the ' Father.' Mr. A. wept like a little boy, and 
 17 
 
194 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOM WOOLLEV. 
 
 it did seem as though your father was sent of God to 
 save him." 
 
 The next morning, before my father left Mr. A., he 
 said to him : " My friend, don't give up to this ' I can't.' 
 You must, you can, and you WILL, break from this 
 thraldom that binds you, and become a happy and re- 
 spectable man." 
 
 "You talk as though you knew, Mr. Woolley. Per- 
 haps you do. If it could be so, it would gladden other 
 hearts than yours and mine." 
 
 "It will be so, my friend ; believe me." 
 
 My father had left a little business for Mr. A. to 
 transact, and in a few weeks it was correctly finished. 
 Then another friend gave him something more to do, and 
 in this way they kept him busy. Every time my father 
 was in Oran he called to see him, .and "always," says 
 Mr. A., " did he give me words of encouragement that 
 seemed like a real God-send." 
 
 In a few months this man passed through a great 
 change. The purple, livid hue of his countenance had 
 gone, and in its place came the more natural hue of tem- 
 perance and health. He could stand erect, and walk 
 steadily about his business. He was able to clothe him- 
 self and family comfortably, and was a firm supporter of 
 the Universalist society. In a few years he had won 
 the confidence and love of community, was in the posses- 
 sion of a beautiful home, and his wife and children were 
 contented and happy as any man's wife and children 
 need be. His love for and devotion to my father were 
 boundless. When speaking of him, he would say : "He 
 told me to love the Saviour, but he was my saviour. He 
 took me, ragged and dying, out of the ditch, lifted me 
 up, encouraged, and strengthened, and made a man of 
 me. Others tried and failed ; but he said he could do 
 it, and he did, because God sent him to save me. 
 
 "Where was I — what was I — when he first saw 
 me? — A curse to the world! What am I now? — A 
 blessing to myself and my family, and, I hope, to society. 
 
MEMOIR OB EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 195 
 
 Life is worth possessing now, as he told me it would be. 
 But it was all him that did it." 
 
 This veneration he yet carries in his heart ; and when 
 a relative of my father saw him in Syracuse, two years 
 ago, he said to her, "That Brother Woolley, — the 
 world has few like him ! " 
 
 It was this aflection that embraced the whole human 
 family, and caused him to bend down and lift up, and 
 encourage, and hve the lowest, the vilest, the most de- 
 graded of God's creatures, that won for my father, 
 wherever he was known, so many ardent and devoted 
 friends, ffis heart was upon the level with the great 
 heart of humanity, and had an answering beat for every 
 throb of a human breast. It was the business of his life 
 to make people happy, by making them good ; and he 
 prized this ability above all his intellectual gifts. When- 
 ever he saw sadness or misery, he was anxious to leave 
 happiness in its stead ; and he always had a good word 
 for the troubled or sorrow-stricken, in whatever situation 
 he found them. These words were sometimes " like 
 good seed sowed upon good soil, producing sometimes a 
 hundred, sometimes a thousand-fold." 
 
 I give the following little life-incident, not because it 
 is much of itself, but it shows the good he sometimes did 
 in secret by the utterance of the love and hope within 
 him. 
 
 In the fulfilment of his ministerial duties he journeyed 
 in all directions, at all times, and in all seasons. He 
 rode to respand to calls in the morning, at noon, in the 
 evening, and at midnight. 
 
 He was once called to attend a funeral in the western 
 part of Onondaga County, and, to be there in season, he 
 was compelled to leave home about sundown, and ride 
 all night. He was alone, on horseback, and as he rode 
 along past the hotel in Oran, a horseman came out from 
 under the shed and rode near him. " He kept several 
 paces behind me," said my father ; " and it was near 
 
196 MEMOIR OF BDWAED MOTX WOOLLBT- 
 
 midnight, I should judge, when he rode up by my side, 
 and greeted me with 
 
 " ' Rather a dark night, sir.' 
 
 "'Somewhat dark, friend; yet one can readily find 
 one's way.' 
 
 "After a short silence, he said: 'You and I are 
 strangers, sir, yet our paths seem to lie in the same 
 way.' 
 
 " 'The same way at present,' I replied; 'but they 
 will undoubtedly diverge again for a while before we have 
 rode many miles.' 
 
 " ' Ah*, yes, that 's it ! — the way with us all ; a short 
 journey together, and then a separation. And, for me, 
 it makes but little difference which way I journey or 
 where I go. But, sir, I did not understand you. What 
 did you mean when you said, " They will probably 
 diverge again for a while"?' 
 
 " ' Friend, allow me to notice your other remarks 
 first. Did you tell the truth when you said to me that 
 it made no difference to you which way you journeyed, or 
 where you went ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir ; I meant it all, — every word of it.' 
 
 " ' Then, indeed, you are a miserable creature ! A 
 man in life without an aim, without a hope, without a 
 love, is the most wretched of human beings ; and you 
 must be without all of these, or you could not truthfully 
 make such an expression. With me it is far different. 
 It does make a difference, and a great difference, in my 
 feelings, where I go and who I am with.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps you have never been weighed down with 
 trouble, and broken in energy with failure and disap- 
 pointment ? ' 
 
 " ' No, I have not yet' been broken in energy by dis- 
 appointment ; and, though I would not insinuate that 
 your griefs are not the heaviest of all griefs, yet I have 
 generally found that he who complains the most suffers 
 the least. The grief that comes up to the surface, and 
 tells itself in words, and groans, and sighs, — there is a 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTX WOOLLEY. 197 
 
 relief for that. It will die away in time, and the sunlight 
 of joy will glisten and the flowers of hope blossom in its 
 place. It is only the grief that turns away and hides 
 itself in the stricken heart, as the bleeding dove hides 
 her wound — it is only this sorrow that kills. And I 
 should think, friend, that there might be some happiness 
 in store for you. 
 
 " ' Now,' added I, ' I will tell you what I meant by 
 those few words, — we journey together a few miles, and 
 then we separate. Your path lies one way across the 
 earth, mine another ; but they both stop at last some- 
 where upon the boundary of that happy country which 
 lies over beyond the valley of the shadow of death. Who 
 can say that there they will not wind together again ? ' 
 
 " 'You must be a very happy man,' he replied, 'if 
 you have this view of life.' 
 
 " ' I am a happy man, my friend. If all the trials 
 of this world were heaped upon me, they could not 
 render me as unhappy as you told me you were. For 
 the love of my " Father in heaven " would be with me, 
 his boundless mercy would be around me, his almighty 
 arm would support me.' 
 
 " ' We cannot all feel alike. I sometimes think that 
 there is no joy for me.' 
 
 " ' The good man — the man who means to be good — 
 is never very unhappy. He must have a source of joy 
 within him. And I hope, and I think, that life must 
 have some blessings for you yet. Don't give way to 
 sorrow. Bear it like a man, and you will come out of 
 the trial like the sun from the mist of the morning.' 
 
 "We had now reached the Corners, in Manlius, and 
 here we were to separate. It was yet too dark for us to 
 see each other's faces distinctly, and he rode closer to 
 my side, and gave me his hand, saying, as he did so : 
 ' Now, sir, we part. I have not asked your name ; I do 
 not care to know it. But there is a providence in this, 
 that I should find just the friend I needed, and just at 
 17* 
 
198 MEMOIR OB EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 the time I wanted him. Good-by, sir ; and if there is a 
 God he will reward you.' 
 
 "I shook his hand, and said: 'Don't despair, my 
 friend. Many a good day you '11 see yet' 
 
 " And thus we parted. 
 
 " Many years after, I was riding, one fine summer's 
 day, through a beautiful village in Monroe County. As 
 I stopped before the door of the hotel, a noble-looking 
 man stood upon the steps. I asked the landlord if he 
 had room and feed for my horse. He had not time to 
 reply before the stranger upon the steps came to me, 
 and, with as joyous a look upon his face as if he had 
 found an old friend, gave me his hand, exclaiming, 
 ' Thank God, sir, you have come ! ' I was amazed, but 
 he had recognized the first sound of my voice, while his 
 voice was so changed I could not tell that I had ever 
 heard it. 
 
 "'Do you remember, sir,' he asked, 'a midnight 
 ride, years ago, with a stranger who came out from under 
 the shed of the tavern in Oran, Onondaga County, and 
 kept you company to Manlius ? ' 
 
 '"I do, sir.' 
 
 " ' Well, I am that man.' 
 
 ' ' All this time he had stood with his arm over the 
 neck of my horse, to prevent hia being taken away ; and 
 now he jumped into my buggy, and said : ' You must 
 come with me. I can't, I won't take no for an answer.' 
 
 " He took the reins in his hand, and drove across the 
 road, a few rods to the east of the village, and stopped 
 before a beautiful country residence. A young boy 
 came out, to whom he gave the horse ; and he entered a 
 long hall, and opened a side-door into a sitting-room. 
 There, upon the softest of carpets, was a beautiful boy 
 of three or four years, rolling marbles ; and by an open 
 window, wreathed with a rose-vine, sat a woman engaged 
 in pencilling. As the stranger threw open the door, he 
 said to the woman, ' Here, wife, this is our good angel ! 
 I can't tell you his name.' 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWAED MOTT WOOLLEY. 199 
 
 " I gave them my name, and, while his wife attended 
 to our dinner, he said : ' You remember how discouraged 
 I was when I saw you. We had then just lost a sweet 
 little girl ; I had failed in business ; my wife was very 
 sick ; and I was then returning home from the burial of 
 my mother. My friends were all in affliction, and no 
 one had a word of encouragement for me, till I met 
 you. After we parted I rode on thinking over what 
 you had said, and by the time I reached home I was 
 quite reconciled to life. I told my wife that I had seen 
 our good angel, and so you have proved to be ; for when- 
 ever I was ready to despond, your words, "There are 
 good days for you yet," came to my mind ; and " the 
 good man is not always unhappy" worked like magic 
 with me.' 
 
 " They urged trie to tarry all night ; but my business 
 led me on, and we parted." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SELLS HIS HOME TO PAT THE DEBT — LIKES TO HIS MOTHER — PROFANITY 
 REBUKED LEBANON AGAIN NORTH NORWICH STATE CONVEN- 
 TION AT FORT PLAIN INCREASING ILL HEALTH SARATOGA IN 
 
 VAIN DECLARATION IN VIEW OP DEATH ALBUM LINES. 
 
 My father's health failed constantly, and he found that 
 he must either relinquish the farm labor, or give up his 
 ministerial duties. He saw, also, that he could not bal- 
 ance the debts against him without disposing of his little 
 property ; and although it cost him a heart-struggle, 
 which only those can know who have been, or may be, 
 similarly situated, yet he nevertheless concluded that it 
 must be done ; for he was scrupulously honest, and never 
 could endure the thought that another should wait longer 
 than the appointed time for the settlement of a debt 
 with him. And, though this money difficulty had not 
 come upon him by any extravagance of himself or family, 
 he nevertheless considered himself bound morally, as he 
 was legally, to pay it. Consequently, in the fall of 1838 
 he sold his farm, and made arrangements to leave the 
 home of the parents, which he had purchased with his 
 own hard toil and much self-denial. His mother was so 
 aged and feeble that she could not go with him to his new 
 home ; and arrangements were made for her stay with her 
 son Alfred, who had formerly resided in the same house 
 with his parents. I shall never forget the morning of 
 her departure. The furniture of the little room she had 
 inhabited for years was packed for her to take with her ; 
 and she was so fearful of leaving some old relic of the 
 treasured past, that she sent one of her little grand- 
 
MEMOIR, OF EDWA&D MOTT WOOLLfit. 201 
 
 daughters to look in every nook and corner, to see if she 
 could find any article she had missed. In one corner of 
 the closet opening out of grandmother's room, where her 
 clothing had been kept, this little girl found a pair of old 
 steel-bowed spectacles, and a worn-out vest. She carried 
 them to the old lady, who rolled them up very carefully, 
 and, as she put them in her satchel, said, " Thee thinks 
 thy grandmother is a foolish old woman, don't thee? 
 but these were thy grandfather's, child. All I have had 
 in this little room, we had together — he and I — .when 
 we sat by this very fireplace, before you was born. I 
 could not live without them." My father brought 
 his covered carriage to the door, and went up into her 
 room to carry her out. She had on her bonnet and cloak, 
 and started to go to the door ;* then she turned back and 
 tottered across the floor to the window that looked out 
 upon the hill where was her husband's grave ; and as she 
 leaned her wasted hand upon the sill, it quivered and 
 trembled like an aspen-leaf in the summer breeze. She 
 did not weep, for in her old age she had not lost her won- 
 derful self-control ; but when my father took her in hia 
 arms and sat upon the seat in the carriage, I saw the 
 tear sparkle upon his cheeks. And he told me, years 
 after, that he did not speak to her during their ride, or 
 even when he left her to go home. " She knew," he 
 said, " that I had not lost my respect and tenderness for 
 her, but that it strengthened with every year of my life. 
 And much as she felt her own grief, she tried to forget 
 it all to comfort me. ' Don't despair, Edward,' she said. 
 ' God will help thee, though thy old mother cannot." 
 But, in return, I did not speak to her. I could not 
 then, if it had been to save the whole universe from" 
 destruction." 
 
 This was the greatest trial that had yet come upon 
 him. Not for his own sake, or that of his family ; for 
 he could gather them all around another hearth-stone, 
 and the associations that kept them here, though pleasant 
 to retain, were few. But with his mother he knew that 
 
2Q2 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 it was far different. She had come there years before, 
 and had settled quietly down in the rural little West, with 
 the pleasing expectation that to her there should come no 
 more change of homes till she was ready to " shuffle off 
 her mortal coil" beneath the shadow of the heavy cherry- 
 tree, whose branches overhung the roof. Here the lover 
 of her girlhood, the companion of her maturer years, 
 and the friend of her old age, had gone away to his eter- 
 nal rest ; and here she, too, wished to await the coming 
 of the white-robed messenger. Her husband had select- 
 ed a burial-place for both of them ; and when she con- 
 sented to go to her son Alfred's, if my father must 
 remove, she said, "I. must go, and I will go willingly. 
 But, Edward, thee must see that I am buried by thy 
 father, on the hill yonder. "- 
 
 "If I outlive you, mother, you shall be buried there. 
 If I die first, I will make such arrangements that your 
 wishes shall be sacredly remembered. Be sure, mother, 
 that your dust shall repose by the side of father's." 
 
 How sacredly this promise was fulfilled remains yet to 
 be seen. It. was this knowledge of his mother's feelings 
 that so tried the heart of my father. From his own attach- 
 ment to place and home, he was prepared to sympathize 
 and sorrow with her ; and though he expected to miss the 
 sweet sound of her calm voice, and the loving light of 
 her quiet eye, around the new fireside, yet he felt how 
 far more her aged but warm heart was wrung with sor- 
 row to leave, just as her trembling feet were treading the 
 sloping borders of the grave; the home which had been 
 the gift of love, and endeared to her by an affection 
 winding, like a jewelled chain, through fifty years of 
 her life. In his Place-Book, made in Pleasant Valley 
 soon after his departure from his boyhood's home, is a 
 little poem, written the night after his mother was car- 
 ried by himself to his brother Alfred's, and affectionately 
 dedicated to this aged parent. I do not know that she 
 ever saw it, for his poems were the instantaneous exprea- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 203 
 
 Bion of his feelings, and always embodied a good thought, 
 and pointed a moral. 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO MY AGED MOTHMt. 
 
 Upon thy earthly way, mother, 
 
 What changes thou hast known ! 
 What joys have gathered round thy heart) 
 
 What precious hopes have flown ! 
 What sunlight round thy footsteps played, 
 
 What clouds o'erhung thy head ! 
 What blessings with thy heavy griefs 
 
 ' Our Father,' God, hath shed ! 
 
 On green Long Island's shore, mother, 
 
 Where sea-waves dash their spray, 
 Dwelt those who heard thy childhood's laugh, 
 
 And watched thy childhood's play ; 
 And they who loved thee went to rest 
 
 In sound of ocean waves, 
 And now the willow-leaves are brown 
 
 Above their sunken graves. 
 
 Then came the bridal hour, mother, ' 
 
 Where thy young feet would tread ; 
 And years, so winged with hope, go by, 
 
 Unheeded as they sped ; 
 Thy children's home — ■ — but now, alas ! 
 
 Strange hands must tend thy flowers ; 
 Loved as it was, thy trembling voice 
 
 No more may call it *' ours ! " 
 
 And this, this hearth-stone, too, mother, 
 
 By which thou 'st dwelt so long ; 
 Cheered by the love of that great heart, 
 
 So happy and so strong — 
 This home, round which thy trusting soul 
 
 Let its green tendrils twine, 
 ! never more, in this broad world, 
 
 Will it be mine or thine ! 
 
 But what, ah ! what of that, mother ? 
 
 'T is but a little way — 
 It may be one dark, troubled year, 
 
 Or one short, sunny day, 
 When we, who miss the homes below, 
 
 And grieve and mourn to-night, 
 Shall gather in the home of love, 
 
 Up in the land of light ! 
 
204 MEMOIR OB EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 The man who purchased this home was anxious to 
 enter the house as soon as possible, and immediately after 
 his mother's departure my father removed his family to 
 the town of Nelson, where they were to remain until his 
 appointments were fulfilled in Howlet Hill and Oran, 
 when he was to return, according to the old arrangement, 
 to Iris society in Lebanon. 
 
 We have already seen how the society in Oran in- 
 creased, and the friends at Howlet Hill had the same 
 reason to be encouraged. Their meetings gradually grew 
 to a large audience, and the society members were becom- 
 ing more numerous. Their congregations were composed, 
 to say the least, of those who bore good moral and reli 1 
 gious characters, and were highly respected even by those 
 holding a different faith. My father always took partic- 
 ular notice of his hearers, and if he saw among them one 
 who bore the impress of wine-drinking, or heard from 
 one's lips who listened to him profane language, he was 
 sure to rebuke it in no measured terms ; and the guilty 
 one must either reform or stay away, by becoming dissat- 
 isfied with such pointed condemnation. 
 
 One Sabbath morning, before services commenced in 
 the place of gathering on Howlet Hill, he overheard a 
 man outside of the door give utterance to several terrible 
 oaths. He stepped forward far enough to notice the 
 speaker, and when the people came in he saw this man 
 enter. In the course of his sermon he looked the man 
 steadily in the face, and so arranged his remarks that the 
 words " Swear not at all" came appropriately from his 
 lips. His invective was earnest, severe, and truthful. It 
 went home with such force that the hearer was not seen 
 in his meeting again. In speaking to a friend, who 
 remarked that he had lost one hearer, he said, '" Would 
 to God I might lose all such hearers ! We do not 
 want such people among us. They do us no good, but 
 rather injure us. We can never do anything, my friend, 
 with such men among us. When other societies look 
 upon us and see that we number such hearers. Sabbath 
 
MEMOIR OF EBWARD MOTT WOOLLE7. 205 
 
 after Sabbath, they have reason, great reason, to say that 
 we countenance immorality. Universalism will not own 
 such children ; but she claims the contrite in spirit, and 
 'the pure in heart.' Let such men and such women go 
 from us. We do not want them." 
 
 There were many persons in the country through 
 which my father journeyed who were anxious to see 
 him, if from no other motive than mere idle curiosity. 
 Those who learned to respect him by hearing him well 
 spoken of, and who were not strongly prejudiced from 
 differing religious opinions, expected to see something 
 very superior in his looks and manners ; while others, 
 who were his religious opponents, and possessed some- 
 thing of the vindictive spirit, looked for as much as one 
 cloven foot, and a face representative of the satanic 
 majesty they feared so much. An incident illustrative 
 of this feeling once happened in the pleasant little village 
 of Jamesville. He was riding to his appointment on 
 Saturday, and had one of his little daughters with him. 
 It was a bitter cold winter's day, and he stopped at a 
 hotel to warm, and went into the sitting-room and sat 
 down by the fire with his child. Two ladie3 sat in the 
 room, sewing. They did not notice the entrance of strang- 
 ers, and neither of them had ever seen my father. They 
 kept on with their conversation, and one asked of the 
 other, " Then you never saw Mr. Woolley ? " 
 
 " No," was the reply ; "I never saw him. Some of 
 my friends have heard him preach, and I am very anxious 
 to. If I can ever have an opportunity, I shall certainly 
 
 g°-" 
 
 " I advise you to keep away. Such meetings never do 
 
 any good, and they sometimes do harm." 
 
 "0, it 's not to hear how he preaches that I want to 
 go, but to see how he looks. W. says he 's the hand- 
 somest man he ever saw." 
 
 "Fie ! don't you believe him. I'd as soon expect to 
 see a handsome man from the abyss below." 
 18. 
 
206 MEMOIR Of EDWAItD MOM WOOtAEY. 
 
 " Tell me, now, if you imagine lie looks so very bad, 
 how you think he would seem to a human being ? " 
 
 " Why, I suspect he is long, lean, and bony ; with 
 clump feet, and eyes and skin like an Arab." 
 
 " I thought father would laugh then," said the little 
 girl, as she was relating the conversation, after they re- 
 turned home, " he twisted the corners of his mouth 
 around so ! But he didn't. He asked me if I was warm, 
 and when I told him yes, he led me out of doors, and the 
 ladies did not even know who he was." 
 
 This fall and winter my father suffered exceedingly 
 with ulcerated sore throat and lungs. But he lost few if 
 any Sundays without fulfilling his appointments. My 
 mother was also confined to her room most of the winter, 
 and was hardly able to remove in the month of February, 
 1838, when my father once more became the pastor of 
 his well-loved society in Lebanon. I think Mr. Williams 
 was then preaching in Hamilton, and my father had ac- 
 cepted an invitation to supply the society in North Nor- 
 wich. 
 
 "•Back again in the old Lebanon desk," said my 
 father ; "I felt quite at home. There were most of the 
 old friends I had left ; and, as far as I could see, my 
 flock had been watched by a faithful shepherd." 
 
 This shepherd of whom my father speaks was Rev. W. 
 M. Delong. He was in Lebanon at the time of my father's 
 return, and his health was so poor that he was unable to 
 preach. His home was about two miles from my father's, 
 and both himself and my father prized the privilege this 
 gave of enjoying each other's society. As Mr. Delong's 
 health improved, he sometimes supplied my father's place 
 in the desk ; and I am led to believe that he formed of 
 him an exalted opinion. I find in the proceedings of the 
 Chenango Association, held in Binghamton, where Mr. 
 D. resided at the time of my father's death, a resolu- 
 tion offered by himself (Mr. D.) expressive of the high- 
 est regard and esteem for his departed brother. 
 
 In the winter following our removal to Lebanon, a 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOILET. 207 
 
 very thorough series of revival meetings was held among 
 the members of the Presbyterian church in the little 
 settlement about one mile from my father's residence. 
 The good people were, of course, very anxious to change 
 my father's religious views ; and not only to affect him, 
 but to make converts of his little children. Wherever 
 they saw one of them, if it were in the street, they pre- 
 sented the religion of their creeds in language as glowing 
 as they were able to express. One of his daughters, a 
 child often years, went one afternoon, during this excite- 
 ment, to have a dress made at the dress-maker's. The 
 dress-maker was anxious to improve her opportunity, and 
 to impress upon the mind of this child the awful heresy 
 her father preached. As she was sewing she asked the 
 little girl, " Is your father at home ? " 
 
 " No ; he 's gone away to preach." 
 
 " I wonder that people will send for him to preach 
 such a horrid, wicked doctrine ! Don't you think it 's 
 wicked for him to preach such stuff? " 
 
 The child was surprised, but she answered : "I never 
 heard my father preach anything wicked. I should n't 
 think he 'd preach wicked things, for he says that the 
 wicked will surely be punished." 
 
 " Ah ! that's mere stuff. He tells people that they are 
 going right to heaven in their sins, and that everybody 's 
 going there just as we are here. Wicked and good, it 
 makes no difference. An't that the way he tells you ? " 
 
 " No ; he never tells us so. He says people are good 
 in heaven, and always happy, for they never do wrong 
 there." 
 
 "Did he .ever tell you there was a hell, and that 
 every one must go there if they don't believe in Christ?" 
 
 " I don't know what you mean ! " 
 
 "There! I thought so. Mean! — I mean a great 
 place of fire and brimstone, where people burn all the 
 time ! " 
 
 " 0, no ! he never told us of that place. I should not 
 like to go there, should you ? " 
 
208 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 " Well, you will go there, with your father, if you be- 
 lieve his horrid doctrine." 
 
 " What makes you talk so ? My father won't go there ! 
 I know he won't ! " 
 
 " Do you think your father believes what he preaches ? 
 I don't!" 
 
 This was a little too much. The child was old enough 
 to understand that her father had been called a hypocrite ; 
 and, without saying a word, she gathered up the materials 
 of her dress, and went home. 
 
 "Why have you come home so soon?" asked her 
 mother, as she entered the door. 
 
 "Well, mother, I'll tell you. Miss D. called father 
 a hypocrite, and I wasn't going to stay and hear it ! " 
 She was a child, and did as a child would do, without 
 judgment, perhaps. But these missiles always fell as 
 harmless upon the minds of his children ; for nowhere on 
 earth can the soul reveal itself so truthfully, so faithfully, 
 as in the daily life, amid the circle at home. And those 
 whom he nurtured and cherished, who shared his daily 
 kindness and care in the family circle, knew that the doc- 
 trine he preached was the very fountain of his life. 
 
 While a resident of Lebanon my father enjoyed the 
 privilege of attending the State Convention of Univer- 
 salists, which assembled in Fort Plain. For two or three 
 years he had been so engrossed with cares that he had 
 not been able to attend these sessions, and he hailed this 
 opportunity as a great joy which his soul needed. 
 " Here," he wrote, " I met many of my beloved breth- 
 ren in the ministry, and listened to sermons that not only 
 interested me while I heard them, but remained with me, 
 to strengthen my spirit for its high aims and noble pur- 
 
 In the evening of the second day of services, the church 
 of Fort Plain was recognized and taken into fellowship, 
 and my father was selected to preside at the table of 
 communion. He did not refuse to do this ; but he wished 
 to avoid it. It was long since he had been with this 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 209 
 
 body, and he saw around him brothers whom he considered 
 so much wiser than himself, — one of whom, he thought, 
 should fill this important position, — that he would 
 rather have been relieved of it. Besides, though he was 
 self-possessed and graceful in his manners, he had not 
 yet overcome his natural diffidence ; and the duties of 
 his profession sometimes cost him a struggle which could' 
 only be -known to those of a similar nature. As he was ' 
 going to his temporary home, with Rev. S. R. Smith (for 
 they both tarried with the same host), he said : " Brother 
 Smith, do make an excuse for me, and fill my place to- 
 night." 
 
 " Brother Woolley, what do you mean ? " responded 
 Mr. S. 
 
 " I mean that I had rather preach ten sermons than 
 to stand before that table of communion. If it were in 
 my own little church at Lebanon, I should feel no em- 
 barrassment ; but in the presence of so large an audience, 
 and among so many clergymen older than myself, I shall 
 feel out of place." 
 
 "I cannot do this for you, Brother Woolley. Your 
 tormenting diffidence will always trouble you, unless 
 your friends help you break it down. And I sincerely 
 thank God, Brother Woolley, that Brother Freeman 
 found a way to break you into the Gospel labor. And 
 be you sure that nothing, save serious illness upon you, 
 shall cauge me to fulfil this duty for you." 
 
 " I may well plead sickness, for my physician told me 
 that it was with the utmost presumption that I came 
 here. But it was my mind to come, as I thought it might 
 be the last time I should meet with this assembly in this 
 world." 
 
 " That is true of both you and me, Brother Woolley. 
 But, weak as you are, you cast more of a shadow than I 
 do ! " 
 
 "Mine may be the greater shadow, but yours the 
 greater substance." 
 
 I give the following description of the evening's ser- 
 18* 
 
210 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLE*. 
 
 vices, from the pen of a young ministering brother who 
 was present at the time. He writes : 
 
 " The even-time wore on ; and, as the hour of service 
 drew nigh, the worshippers gathered to the temple. The 
 clergymen were seated in the front body-pews, and the 
 table, spread with bread and wine, stood between them 
 and the pulpit. Four wax candles burned upon the arms 
 of the desk, two each side of the large Bible, and four 
 were upon the table. The house was filled, and, before 
 the sermon was to be delivered, Brother Woolley arose 
 from his seat with his brother ministers, and walked in 
 his usual dignified manner to the table of communion. 
 He stood just in front of the desk, with his face toward 
 the congregation ; and, though he was sick, it was that 
 deceiving sickness which gives the rose to the cheek, and 
 the lustre to the eye. He was a noble specimen of man- 
 hood, as he stood there in the soft, mellow light ; his tall 
 form erect, and the glow of religious emotion spread over 
 his beautiful face. One who did not know him well would 
 never think of a feeling of timidity beneath that calm, 
 child-like manner ; and his voice was sweet and full of 
 cheerfulness (as it always was) when he leaned his 
 right hand upon the table, and, in a few appropriate 
 words, asked the blessing of the 'Father' upon the 
 symbolical service he was about to perform.. Then, as he 
 took the bread, he said : ' Jesus took bread, and blessed 
 it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples,«and said, 
 Take, eat ; this is my body. And he took the cup, and 
 gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye, all, 
 of it ; for this is my blood of the new testament which is 
 shed for many, for the remission of sins.' As he poured 
 the wine he said : ' And this do we, my brethren and 
 sisters, in memory of the Christ sent of God, the Father, 
 to teach us the better way ; that the " kingdom of heaven" 
 might come down to us ; and who also brought to light 
 the glorious knowledge u that all men shall be saved, and 
 come to a knowledge of the truth." Ours is no narrow 
 table of communion ; for the blood flowed and the flesh 
 
MEMOIR OB EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 211 
 
 was pierced for all nations and all people-' The deacons 
 of the church took the bread and wine and carried it, 
 one down each aisle; and when they returned to the table, 
 Brother Woolley folded his arms across his broad breast, 
 and, with his blue eyes raised above, gave utterance to 
 the most beautiful prayer that I ever heard from any 
 man. 
 
 " There were hundreds in that church, that night, but 
 they still remember the impressiveness of that commu- 
 nion service ; and years cannot efface the sight of that 
 noble brother, as he stood before them, breathing that 
 touching prayer for the whole human brotherhood. As 
 we went out of the porch, I saw Father Smith put his 
 hand on his arm, and heard him say, ' Brother Woolley, 
 you 've lived it through.' " 
 
 A short extract from the sermon preached at this time 
 will give the reader an idea of the manner in which my 
 father frequently illustrated his sermons. It was often 
 said of him that he possessed the, art of so simplifying 
 his sermons that a child could understand them ; and, if 
 we may believe the testimony of those who were qualified 
 to judge, he also made them interesting to the deep, 
 strong thinker. He had chosen for his subject these 
 words: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." 
 During his remarks he saw fit to show how this principle 
 works with the human heart, by relating an incident 
 which came under his own observation. 
 
 " Once in my life," said he, " it was my good fortune 
 to know a man who had determined to commit suicide. 
 He was in affluent circumstances, and possessed every - 
 pecuniary opportunity for happiness ; but he had nothing 
 to sustain him in his hour of trial but cold, unsatisfying 
 infidelity. And, however well it might have pleased him 
 in the hour of pleasure, when the day of trial came ho 
 found it like a rope of sand. At last his spirit sunk 
 under combined difficulties, and he concluded that he 
 could no longer bear the burden of life. He looked his 
 last upon his home, and turned from the door to enter 
 
212- MKMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBT. 
 
 it no more in time. As he was going down the steps, his 
 little girl asked, ' Father, may I go with you ? ' 
 
 " ' Not now, my child,' he answered. 
 
 " ' May I go with you next time, father? ' 
 
 " ' If I go again, you may go with me,' replied the father. 
 
 " It was a clear summer morning, and the man walked 
 from his dwelling to the high bank of a deep-flowing 
 stream, overhung with heavy willows. The grass was 
 fresh and green at his feet, the flowers bloomed along the 
 river's bank, and the music of the happy birds filled the 
 air. But he heeded them not. Grief tugged at his 
 heart-strings, and the journey through the valley of time 
 had become wearisome to him. 
 
 "As he was standing upon the bank, ready for the 
 final plunge, he felt something pulling at his coat-skirt. 
 He looked around to banish the troublesome intruder, 
 and saw a ragged, dirty boy, begging alms. ' 0, sir,' 
 said the child ; ' do not refuse me a sixpence ! My father 
 is sick, and my mother is starving ! ' There was some-' 
 thing in the boy's voice and countenance that touched the 
 heart of the man, who, a moment before, was ready to 
 take his own life, and he replied, ' I will go with you, 
 my little fellow.' 
 
 " The boy led the way, and, after a walk of nearly a 
 mile, they entered a miserable hovel, where he saw a man, 
 in the last stages of consumption, stretched upon a bed 
 of straw and rags, in one corner ; while a woman, with 
 wan cheeks, hollow eyes, and attenuated form, sat beside 
 him. A little, filthy creature, called a babe, was creeping 
 about in the dirt, and the appearance of everything about 
 the hovel was that of squalid misery. ' 0, sir ! ' ex- 
 claimed the woman, as they entered ; ' we were not 
 always thus. Sickness — long, yearly sickness — has re- 
 duced us to this. Those who have helped are tired of 
 giving so long, and now we must starve ! ' 
 
 " This man, who walked the streets in velvet and 
 broadcloth, whose home contained every luxury, whose 
 children were well clothed and well educated, who suf- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOM.EY. 213 
 
 fcred no want that money could relieve — - this man, 
 ready to throw himself into eternity, had never wit- 
 nessed wretchedness like this. He had never been in the 
 huts of poverty ; had never searched out God's poor in 
 the comers and byways, and cheered his days and sweet- 
 ened his dreams by relieving their wants, and teaching 
 them, if they needed it, the lessons Jesus taught to his 
 disciples. And what wonder, then, that this was to him 
 a strange sight ? His kindly feelings were aroused, and 
 he was all astir to lift them from this suffering condition. 
 Before night a comfortable house was found, and the fam- 
 ily removed ; a physician was provided for the sick man, 
 and from the abundance of his own store provision and 
 clothing were given to the sufferers. That night, as he 
 laid his head upon his pillow, a well-spring of joy was 
 flowing in his heart; and he asked of his own soul, 
 ' When life gives such a field for ministering to others' 
 happiness, such an opportunity of doing good, why should 
 I strive to rid myself of life, or why grow weary of the 
 world ? With so much good to do, why should I not feel 
 happy and contented ? ' 
 
 " That man, my hearers, felt as every other human 
 being feels when he first learns that it is more blessed to 
 give than to receive. Now, let us apply this principle to 
 the great Creator and Sustainer of all things, and what 
 wisdom can begin to understand the length and the 
 breadth, the height and the depth, of the happiness of 
 that God who fully knows how much more blessed it is 
 to give than to receive ! " 
 
 As my father was coming down the pulpit stairs, 
 Rev. S. R. Smith came near the desk, and, reaching his 
 long, slender arm over the heads of many of the hearers 
 who were passing out of the church, grasped my father's 
 hand, and exclaimed, "God bless you, Brother Woolley ! 
 that story was worth telling." 
 
 After my father returned from the convention, his 
 health failed rapidly. His throat and mouth became 
 badly ulcerated, and he grew very emaciated and weak. 
 
214 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 He had a slight chill and fever every day, with night- 
 sweats, and a troublesome cough ; and a hue bright and 
 fresh as the June-roses carry in their hearts lay upon 
 his cheek, and a lustre like the brightest of sunshine 
 glistened in his eye. His attending physician became 
 discouraged, and called counsel ; and this council of phy- 
 sicians said to him : " Mr. Woolley, you must go to Sar- 
 atoga. If the water and change of air do not help you, 
 nothing will. You cannot live so six months." 
 
 It would be expected that this was a trial, — to tear 
 himself from his family, and go so far away, perhaps to 
 die. But it held out to him a chance of recovery, and 
 he said : "I must do all I can to preserve my life, for 
 my family need it. But, if God sees fit to take me now, 
 he will provide some way for them." 
 
 The necessary arrangements were made, and he left 
 home for Saratoga. An anecdote is related of him, while 
 there, that shows the kindliness of his nature, fie was 
 sitting one morning with the boarders, in the parlor of 
 the house where he tarried, when a pale, slender lad, of 
 twelve or fourteen years of age, entered the room and 
 asked alms. He was allowed to pass each person with- 
 out receiving a copper, until he came to my father, when 
 the coin for which he asked fell upon the palm of his 
 hand. The tears sprung to his eyes, and with a hardly 
 heard "thank you, sir," he hurried from the room. -After 
 he had gone, one said, " Mr. Woolley, I fear you have 
 done harm." 
 
 " Will you tell me why, sir? " 
 
 ' ' I should not be surprised if that money furnished a 
 good dram for some poor creature." 
 « " I think not, sir. If I can judge anything of human 
 needs from human faces, that boy asked' for money be- 
 cause some one he loved needed it. Let it be as it will, 
 I shall feel better. I could not sleep well to-night with 
 that pale, sad face looking so pleadingly into mine." 
 
 He stayed in Saratoga only two weeks, constantly 
 growing worse. His children (those who were old 
 
MEMOIR OS EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 215 
 
 enough) were in school when he came home ; and a good 
 neighbor, who had seen him at the gate, called at the 
 school-house and told the teacher that he had returned. 
 This teacher was a member of his society, and she went 
 around by the children's seat and said to them, " Your 
 father has come home. You may go, if you wish." The 
 four glided noiselessly out of the door, linked their 
 little hands firmly together, bounded around the clear, 
 bubbling spring, and ran with all speed up the hill, for 
 home. Our father had the blue-eyed babe in his arms 
 when we entered the house, but he put her down to 
 greet us, and we all asked, at onGe, " Have you got 
 well, father ? " Those parents and children who have 
 parted and met under like circumstances may know tho 
 joy and sorrow that mingled in that welcome. 
 
 He was now given up to die ; but, at the urgent re- 
 quest of his wife, sent for a physician in Cazenovia, who 
 had before raised her from a dangerous illness. Dr. S., 
 a Thomsonian in practice, came, and, after sitting with my 
 father a few hours, said : ' ' Mr. Woolley , I can see no chance 
 for you to get well, and I do not wish to prescribe for you." 
 
 " It can do no harm to try, — can it, doctor? " asked 
 my father. 
 
 " If you could live through a warm bath and an 
 emetic, you might get better. But I honestly think you 
 would die in the operation." 
 
 " Well, no matter; go to wbrk, and if I die under the 
 effect of your medicine, my ghost shall never haunt you." 
 
 " But I don't want the glory, just now, of killing a 
 Universalist minister ; and, if you die on my hands, it 
 will be said that I murdered you." 
 
 " No matter, Doctor ! Every one agrees that I must 
 die. Now, I can but die, any way. So go to work." 
 
 "I will give you a bath to-night, and see how you bear 
 it." There was little sleep in the house that night, for 
 those who were old enough to understand were watching 
 the effect produced by the new doctor. Dr. S. staid until 
 the next night, and when he went away pronounced his 
 
216 MEMOIK OS EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 patient rather better. He came again in two weeks, and 
 found my father one mile from home, a-foot. 
 
 From this time my father's health gradually improved, 
 until he, at times, called himself well. But he never saw 
 a day, in his after life, when his lungs were free from 
 disease. The destroying hand of bronchial consumption 
 was upon him, and he wasted slowly, but surely, beneath 
 its grasp. 
 
 Some months after his recovery, one of his children 
 stood by his desk, one day, when he was looking over the 
 contents of an open drawer, and, taking up a written 
 paper, read it, and then asked, "May i have this, 
 father?" He took the paper, and, looking at it, an- 
 swered, " Yes, it 's of no consequence now." 
 
 The paper was carefully laid away, among many other 
 scraps which the child had carefully preserved, and kept 
 as a treasure, until it was contributed for this volume. 
 It reads as follows : 
 
 " This certifies, that I, being given up by my physi- 
 cians to immediate death, and fully believing, myself, that 
 I stand upon the threshold of eternity, and am about to 
 enter upon the untried realities of the life beyond the 
 grave, do hereby witness : That I have, as far as in me 
 lay, fulfilled the duties of child, husband, father, friend 
 and pastor ; and that I cherish no ill-will towards any 
 human being, but bear only ' peace and good- will ' to all 
 of the human family. Furthermore, that I go happy in 
 the faith I have preached, and rejoicing that God will 
 raise up others, more worthy, to preach it after me. 
 
 " Written and signed, this 24th day of July, 1840, by 
 
 "E. M. Woollet." 
 
 The above paper was written and laid away, to be 
 found after his departure, just after his return from 
 Saratoga ; and it were useless, perhaps, to say that it has 
 always been kept as a priceless treasure. 
 
 During this sickness he gave, -in answer to a request 
 for an album contribution, the following lines : 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 217 
 
 I am asked in thy album a word to indite, 
 
 And this I will cheerfully do ; 
 Yet not of myself nor of you will I write, 
 
 But of Him who is faithful and true. 
 
 Of Christ, the Messiah and Bishop of souls, 
 
 Who gave himself freely for you, 
 That you might discover what prophets foretold 
 
 Respecting the Gentile and Jew. 
 
 A light to enlighten the Gentile's dark mind, — 
 
 The glory of Israel too, — 
 He came to deliver, to seek and to find, 
 
 That in him all things might be new. 
 
 Then lift up your voices, disconsolate souls ! 
 
 Rejoice, for transgression shall die ; 
 For His is the kingdom, the power and control, 
 
 Of all earth, all ocean, and sky. 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DEATH 01? HIS MOTHER V. S. CONVENTION AT AUBURN — CHARITY AMID 
 
 PROVOCATIONS — DEATH OF FRIENDS NOT A " WEIGHTY " PREACHER 
 
 EXTRACT PROM A SERMON. 
 
 This summer his mother died. She went to her rest 
 as quietly as an infant sinks to repose in its mother's 
 arms ; and her last earthly request was heeded, for she 
 was huried by the side of her husband, on the old home 
 farm. When he sold this place my father recorded a deed 
 of this burial-place of his father, which deed gave the 
 little hill to him and his heirs forever. And nearly his 
 last care, before he left his native state, was the building 
 of a new, strong fence around these cherished graves; 
 and he left them, as a sacred charge, to his children and 
 his children's children. 
 
 My father also lost, this year, the friend before men- 
 tioned in this volume, Mr. Pratt, of Stockbridge. He 
 had concluded to go to Wisconsin, and in that then new 
 and far-away territory make a home for his old age. He 
 was one of the friends of early days, one of the small 
 band of believers when believers were few ; and my father 
 prized his friendship, and disliked to lose the occasional 
 visits he enjoyed with him. When Mr. P. came with his 
 wife to make the last visit at my father's before remov- 
 ing West, he said, " Brother Woolley, I shall have you 
 in Wisconsin yet." And after he had purchased a heavy 
 tract of valuable land, lying about the village of White- 
 water, in Wisconsin, he wrote to my father that he would 
 give him, if he would remove to Wisconsin, eighty acres 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 219 
 
 of good land, assist him in building a house, and pay 
 half of the expenses of removing his family. My 
 father was much pleased with this expression of friend- 
 ship ; but my mother would not hear a word to the pro- 
 posed removal, and the project was then given up. 
 
 While residing in Lebanon, my father attended the 
 United States Convention of Universalists, assembled in 
 Auburn. Here he saw, for the first time, that great, 
 good old man, whose praise lingers upon every tongue, 
 Hosea Ballot/. When he returned to his home, he 
 said, " I saw Father Ballou in Auburn." Then, from the 
 lips of the whole family, came the eager questions, "0, 
 tell us how he looks — how he appears ! " And how beau- 
 tiful the answer, — " As the New Testament teaches you 
 the Master did ! " It was told in a few words; but ever 
 after that father in Israel was associated in our minds 
 with the meek and holy Galilean Shepherd. 
 
 In the fall of 1840 my father was called to ,the town 
 of Nelson, to attend a funeral. After he entered the 
 desk he saw, immediately in front of him, a very zealous 
 Presbyterian lady, who had frequently been heard to say 
 that ' ' Mr. Woolley dare not preach such stuff to her ; 
 for she could look him down." And, from her appear- 
 ance, she had evidently come -in for that purpose. She 
 sat very erect, and looked my father steadily in the face. 
 After a few remarks, he turned his eyes towards her ; 
 and, having arranged his words for a sudden and over- 
 whelming effect, he brought his long, slender forefinger 
 down over the desk, and exclaimed, emphatically, "And 
 for you is this condemnation." The woman held down 
 her head, and did not raise it till services were over. 
 But she was never heard again to say that "she knew 
 she could look Mr. Woolley down." 
 
 The benevolence of my father's nature not only prompt- 
 ed him to relieve the immediate wants of the suffering, 
 but it consisted of a beautiful and wide-spreading charity, 
 that gave to his feelings and conversation a just consider- 
 ation and tenderness for others, under all circumstances. 
 
220 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 When he saw a deed — in one, perhaps, whom he had 
 looked upon with respect — that told powerfully against 
 a good heart and pure morals, he would say, "I did not 
 expect it from such a source. It looks rather dark, I 
 admit; but let us wait a while before pronouncing judg- 
 ment. We may yet discover a governing motive that 
 will give holiness to the act ; and if we do not, we should 
 have only love and pity for that one; for we know 
 One that lieth not hath said, that ' he that sinneth shall 
 die ' — that ' the way of the wicked is like a troubled sea, 
 casting up mire and dirt.' " 
 
 It was his natural and cultivated disposition thus to 
 overcome evil with good. I remember once a son of his 
 had been rudely, even insultingly, treated by a neighbor, 
 who jn a moment of anger forgot the many kindnesses 
 this boy had bestowed upon him ; and not only forgot them, 
 but resorted to hard words to express his irritated feel- 
 ings. The boy's indignation was considerably aroused, 
 and he was about to vent his anger upon this neighbor in 
 no measured terms, when relating the circumstance to 
 father. "Hush! hush! boy," said our father; "where 
 did you learn that rule of conduct? It don't sound 
 much like ' overcome evil with good.' " 
 
 " Well, father, he 's a confounded " 
 
 "Be careful, boy, be careful what you say; wait an 
 hour, and then, after you remember his many good deeds, 
 you may put this bad one beside them, and tell what 
 he is." 
 
 " Well, I do say he's an old dunce, father," said the 
 boy, laughing, " and I never '11 speak to him again ! " 
 
 " I don't Tike to hear that, my boy. I had rather hear 
 you say, ' Let him treat me as he will, it shall be my duty 
 to greet him not only politely, but kindly.' " 
 
 " Well, father," continued the son, whose wrath began 
 to die away, "if I do speak to him, I '11 never go into 
 his house." 
 
 " What, my child, — would you be guilty of uncivil con- 
 duct toward his wife and children, because you please to 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 221 
 
 take his conduct so much to heart ? I fear you would run 
 into the greater evil. There is a good old rule I would 
 like you to remember, which One far better and wiser 
 than we are gave us, and that is, ' As ye would in all 
 things that others do unto you, so do ye unto them.' Try 
 to square your life to this rule, and these harsh and 
 abusive words will fall upon you harmlessly as fire-sparks 
 upon a rock." 
 
 A few evenings after, he was going in to see this neigh- 
 bor, and he said, " I am going to neighbor G.'s, boy ; will 
 you go along?" The boy looked up into his father's 
 quiet face, and laughed as he said, "Yes, yes, I'll go, 
 father. Neighbor G. is not quite so bad as I thought he 
 was." 
 
 In this way he quelled, without any difficulty, those 
 little trifling trials that often are allowed to disturb the 
 peace and quiet of neighborhoods and homes. And bis 
 character could not be better expressed than by the 
 relation of these little incidents, which exhibit so 'well 
 his good judgment, as well as show the daily, almost 
 hourly, practice of his religion. He always strove to 
 impress upon the minds of his family that, in the jostle 
 of life, they must bear and forbear, forget and forgive. 
 " Strive to do right yourselves," he would say ; " avoid, as 
 far as possible, even the appearance of evil, and the gos- 
 sip of an idle world will not trouble you. Cherish in 
 your heart afeeling of tenderness, even for your most bitter 
 enemy (if you are so unfortunate as to have one) ; learn 
 to look with kindness upon the immoral and the vicious, 
 and while you give them boldly to understand that you 
 know and disapprove of their wrong, do not, at the same 
 time, hesitate to give them a helping hand towards the 
 better way, if they will receive it ; and if they will not, 
 it can never harm you to meet them with a pleasant 
 smile and a kind word. In this way you will build a 
 heaven in your own hearts, that no hand but yours can 
 take away." 
 
 This spirit of charity he carried with him in his deal- 
 
222 MEMOIB OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 inga with mankind. It influenced him in his business 
 relations, and governed his conduct in failure or success. 
 After he removed to Bridgewater, a friend, whom he 
 knew in Lebanon, failed in business, and was immediately 
 sought out by his creditors, as though they were birds in 
 search of prey. He was indebted to my father, who said, 
 " I shall not trouble him. He will pay me if he can." 
 Some months after, my father went to Lebanon to preach, 
 and this valued friend invited him to go home with him 
 and tarry over night. He went, and said he, "I enjoyed 
 my visit more than I can tell." No mention was made 
 of the debt, but when my father's horse was brought to 
 the door, the friend drew my father's hand in his, and led 
 him into another room, and when he handed him the 
 money, he said : " Brother Woolley, you have not men- 
 tioned this matter to me, and I believe you thought that 
 I would pay you as soon as I could. But you are the 
 only creditor that has not sent me an invitation to ' settle,' 
 and you are the first man to whom I have paid a copper. 
 And you should have your due, my friend, if it cost us 
 our last bed and our last stick of fire-wood." 
 
 " But, my brother," he replied, " I could not take it, 
 if it cost you anything like that." 
 
 " Thank Heaven, it does not ! I shall, I hope, balance 
 all my debts yet ; but I was fully determined that you 
 should not suffer hy me." 
 
 My father was once compelled to hire a house of a man 
 who was a stranger to himself, and his friends said, " Don't 
 go there. You can't live near him; no one can." But the 
 house was hired, and the family settled in it; and, in 
 speaking of this man, my father would say, " I could live 
 near him without difficulty all my life. I never knew a 
 kinder neighbor." 
 
 During the time of my father's pastorship in Lebanon, 
 he lost two members of his society by death. One, a 
 very intelligent and estimable woman, a daughter of Mr. 
 J. McConnell, whom he had united in marriage with the 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 223 
 
 companion of her life-journey, but a few months before 
 he was called to administer consolation at her funeral. 
 
 The other, Miss Urzelia Stetson, became very near to 
 him, not only as one of the young lambs of his flock, but 
 also because she was the cherished friend of one of his 
 daughters. She was much in his own home, and he knew 
 that every-thought of her young heart, every desire of 
 her young spirit, was as pure as the holy faith she 
 believed. She always attended meeting when she was 
 strong enough to ride (for she was a little, feeble creat- 
 ure, always suffering with a scrofulous consumption) ; and 
 as she sat in the gallery, arrayed in her white muslin 
 dress, and her face lighted up with joy during services, 
 the hearers were wont to say of her, that she looked 
 like an angel ready-robed for the heaven to which she 
 was hastening. She became (as the young always did) 
 much attached to her pastor, and the religion he taught 
 her covered her sick pillow with flowers, and strength- 
 ened her young spirit for its journey home. My father 
 had gone to North Norwich to preach on Christmas eve, 
 when word was sent for him to visit this young, child-like 
 friend. Soon, before he returned, came the sorrowful 
 tidings of her death, with a request for him to admin- 
 ister consolation at the funeral. In his absence, Rev. D. 
 Ackley, of Hamilton, was called. My father returned 
 home on the morning of the burial, and immediately rode 
 over to the house of Mr. S. After he had greeted the 
 family, the mother led him to the coffin of her child, 
 and, while the tears fell over her cheeks, she exclaimed, 
 " One week ago to-day how she suffered ! and it wrung 
 our hearts so to hear her say, ' It will be over soon. 
 Don't weep so for me. I am going home, where you will 
 all come.' I hope never to witness suffering like hers. 
 And, ! Brother Woolley, how glad I am that she is at 
 rest!" 
 
 Mr. Ackley preached an affecting and impressive ser- 
 mon, and then my father rose to address the mourners. 
 It was some time before he could speak after he had risen 
 
224 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET, 
 
 to his feet ; and he could not drive the tears that trem-, 
 bled on his eyelashes back to their fountain. " He could 
 not," said one who was present, "have seemed more 
 affected had one of his own children lain in the coffin 
 before him." But in a few moments the struggle was 
 over, and his voice, though low, was clear and distinct,, 
 as his words, rich with joy and hope, fell upon the ears 
 of the bereaved. " How," he asked, "how, my suffering 
 friends, and with what words, shall I come to you this 
 morning ? I, too, have a struggle to pass through — a 
 grief to overcome. 'For I shall miss one of the lambs of 
 my flock as my people gather together on the Sabbath. 
 There is a little hand that will grasp mine no more ; and' 
 a sweet young face, that often gladdened my home, upon 
 which I shall look not again in time. But, my friends, 
 what is this pang in my heart, compared to the heavy 
 sorrow under which your spirits shrink ? Yet, my friends, 
 strive to remember, in this your hour of woe, that God 
 gave you this loved, this idolized child. You received 
 her as a blessing, and he was good enough to leave her 
 with you till you had tenderly guarded her infancy; 
 till you had held her tiny hand and guided her little 
 trembling feet through early childhood ; till you had 
 gladdened and blest her youth. ; till you had labored for 
 her by day, and watched for her by night ; till you had 
 stood by her bed of suffering, weeping and mourning over 
 her anguish ; and then, in his kindness, he called her 
 to participate in that joy prepared for Christ and his 
 redeemed. Can you not thank your God for all this, my 
 friends ? Can you not thank him that you have so 
 faithfully fulfilled your various duties to this fair child 
 while she tarried with you ? Can you not, shall we not, 
 all of us who have known her, thank him for the mem- 
 ory of this holy, this unstained life, that will come to us 
 amid earth's din and turmoil; and, when we weary of 
 . our pilgrimage, and almost doubt the existence of purify 
 in the world, will drive our fears away, and say to us, in 
 our darkness, ' Earth hath its angels, for she was one ! ' 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWAED MOTT WOOLLEY. 225 
 
 Is not this something for which to thank our heavenly 
 Father ? Let us strive, then, my friends, and, as far as lies 
 in our power, rejoice always, and in all things give thanks ! " 
 
 A part of the winter of 1841 iriy father's health was 
 so feeble that he could not preach ; and the desk in 
 Lebanon was sometimes filled by Rev. D. S. Morey, or 
 Rev C. L. Shipman. The first time Mr. Shipman 
 preached in Lebanon, he went to my father's, after meet- 
 ing, and, as he entered the door of the dwelling, my 
 father met him and gave him his hand. Mr. Shipman 
 stopped, looked earnestly at my father (who was then 
 very thin in flesh, and the lower part of his face looking 
 much smaller than usual, underneath the heavy forehead), 
 and then asked, " Is this Brother E. M. Woolley, of 
 whom I have heard "so much ? " 
 
 "I am E. N. Woolley, Brother Shipman; but I 
 cannot say that you ever heard of me before." 
 
 " Then I am disappointed," said Mr. S. ; "I thought 
 you must be a man that would weigh two hundred ! " 
 
 " What led you to suppose that? " 
 
 " I '11 tell you, Brother Woolley. Do you remember 
 that sermon of yours from the words, ' And Israel said, 
 it is enough ' ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember it." 
 
 "Well, my mother (and a good mother she is, too) 
 laid that old sermon away, under the till of her chest, 
 more choice than she would silk or satin ; and every Sab- 
 bath, when we could not go to meeting (and in Ohio we 
 cannot always do that), she would get out the paper, and 
 we would read it over together. She told me that I 
 must come and see you, for her, and tell her how you 
 looked. But, Brother Woolley, we concluded that a 
 man who could write that sermon ought to weigh two 
 hundred. And here you are, a pale, slender man. Why, 
 there 's nothing of you but head ! " 
 
 A few extracts from the sermon above alluded to may 
 express his views of Universalism as well, perhaps, as 
 anything he ever wrote : 
 
226 MBMOIE OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 " With the history of Joseph I presume my readers 
 are perfectly acquainted ; consequently, a repetition of, 
 his history would be like a thrice-told tale — void of 
 interest or instruction. But the language of his father 
 is replete with meaning. The temperate and intemper- 
 ate, the sceptic and the Christian, the moral and the 
 immoral, would all do well to give it a careful examina- 
 tion ; and it would be wisdom in them all to compare 
 their daily walk and religious opinions with the words of 
 the text. And after they have made the comparison, let 
 them lay their hands upon their hearts, and put the 
 question home to their conscience, ' Is it enough ? Have 
 I done all that I should do? Have I acted well my 
 part?' 
 
 "In this age of excitement and contention, judgment 
 and reason are seldom allowed to speak. Passion — loud, 
 boisterous passion — is the propelling power by which 
 the car of religious fanaticism and folly is pushed along. 
 The sober morals and wholesome precepts of Christ and 
 his apostles are, in a great degree, discarded, and a new 
 order of things introduced. Paul was very careful to 
 impress upon the minds of his hearers the important fact 
 that ' God is not the author of confusion, but of peace.' 
 If Paul was right, then those composing the great major- 
 ity of the religious world are wrong, or God has ceased 
 to be as he was, and placed his seal of approbation upon 
 turmoil and confusion. 
 
 "In speaking from the words under consideration, I 
 shall call your attention, in the first place, to manners 
 and customs that are decidedly wrong ; and I shall 
 endeavor to prove, to the satisfaction of the candid 
 hearer, that the man who has imbibed those habits is 
 not doing enough for himself, for community, or for his, . 
 God. In the second place, I shall call your attention ta 
 what I believe binding and obligatory upon men, and 
 especially binding upon the Universalist. As I proceed 
 in the discussion, I beg your undivided attention ; and I 
 pray God that a blessing may be pronounced from on high. 
 
MEMOIR OB 1 EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 227 
 
 upon both speaker and hearer ; that, at the close of our 
 meeting, we may say, as did Israel, 'Lord, it is enough ! ' 
 
 "In a government like ours, it is the duty of every 
 individual to give his undivided support to principles that 
 are positively republican, whether in politics or religion. 
 In the Declaration of Independence it is said : ' We hold 
 these truths to be self-evident — that all men are created 
 equal ; that they are endowed by their Creator with cer- 
 tain unalienable rights ; that among these are life, liberty, 
 and the pursuit of happiness.' Whenever these princi- 
 ples are attacked, by enemies without or foes within, by 
 the strong arm of the law or the cunning craft of the 
 externally religious, there should be no compromise with 
 duty, no counting of cost or contingency, no fear of the 
 result of a well-directed effort ; but, having determined 
 what is right and what is duty, there should be a firm 
 resolve to go forward, and trust the result with that 
 being who is ' too wise to err, and too good to do wrong.' 
 
 " It is unfortunate for us, as a denomination, that our 
 doctrine is not understood by the mass of community ; 
 and the reason why it is not better understood by our 
 opponents is, that they will not 'come and see;' for in 
 every instance in which it is understood it is embraced. 
 But the wilful ignorance of our opponents is not all we 
 have to contend with ; for it is a lamentable fact that 
 many who have named the name of Universalism know 
 little or nothing about it. They think they understand 
 it, — they believe they know all about it, — when, in 
 fact, they know little more about it than its worst 
 enemies. Those who have a correct knowledge of Uni- 
 versalism are positively convinced, beyond a shadow of 
 doubt, that it embraces everything excellent and good.. 
 It provides a recompense for the vicious that no mortal 
 arm can turn aside or defeat. If it be true, ' let the 
 wicked forsake his way,' or prepare to endure (as did 
 David) ' the pains of hell.' Its language is, 'Though 
 hand join in hand, the wicked shall not go unpunished.' 
 God is not man, that he should change or tell a lie. He 
 
228 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 has said, 'The -wickedness of the wicked shall he upon 
 him.' Therefore, be wise, man ! and believe not 
 those who would have you suppose that the wickedness 
 of the wicked shall or may be transferred to another. 
 ' It has no salvo for sin,' no escape from deserved punish- 
 ment, no mystery to bewilder the Bimple and credulous, 
 no angry God to frighten the heart of the timid, and no 
 trick or manoeuvre by which justice is defeated and its 
 claims disregarded. In the mean time, it sanctifies the 
 punishment, ' that it may yield the peaceable fruits of 
 righteousness unto them who are exercised thereby.' It 
 has grappled with the devil and his kingdom ; and will 
 destroy, in the fulness of time, ' death, and him that hath 
 the powep of death, that is, the devil.' 
 
 " On the other hand, it provides or points to a reward 
 for every virtuous act, which is sure and certain, even in 
 this life. God has never said, ' Say unto the righteous, 
 it may be well with him ;' but his language is, ' Say 
 unto the righteous, it shall be well with him.' For God, 
 himself, united sin and misery, virtue and happiness, 
 upon the earth, and all the devils in the universe cannot 
 divorce them. 
 
 " To spread abroad this principle of eternal truth, in 
 which justice and mercy are combined, for the good of 
 the whole intelligent creation, many choice spirits have 
 buckled on the helmet of salvation, and fought the good 
 fight of faith. There are those before me, this morning,* 
 who were rallying around the standard of truth while 
 the speaker who now addresses you was laboring in the 
 ranks of the enemy, contending with zeal, if not ability, 
 for the doctrine of unending sin and misery — a doctrine 
 he honestly believed, and over which he shed many a 
 bitter tear. Your labors have been abundantly blessed of 
 ' Him who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not.' The 
 increase has been more than equal to your most sanguine 
 expectation. You have grown old in the warfare ; and 
 your locks have whitened in the service of your Lord 
 
 * At the session of the Central Association, in Marshall, N. T., 
 June, 1839. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOIAEt. 229 
 
 and Master. You have seen the ' wilderness bad and blos- 
 som as the rose ; ' ' and the barren places of the earth 
 have become vocal with the praise of God.' For tens 
 the Lord has given you hundreds, and for hundreds, 
 thousands. And can you not, this day, as you -take a 
 retrospective view of what the Lord has enabled you to 
 do, ' thank God and take courage,' and, like Israel of 
 old, say, ' It is enough,' even more than we expected? 
 
 "But let me ask my hearers who have come to a 
 knowledge of the truth more recently, if they can look 
 back upon, their past conduct, and compare it with the 
 acknowledged claims of Universalism, and say, ' Lord, it 
 is enough.' It is not enough that an individual is 
 willing to say, ' I am a Universalist.' He may do all 
 that, and yet be an injury to the cause. Yea, he may 
 discard the doctrine of unmerciful vengeance, in all its 
 ramifications, and, after all, know little or nothing of the 
 doctrine for which he professes to contend. Ask such an 
 one to explain a passage of scripture, and ' give a reason 
 for the hope that is in him, ' and he is bewildered at once. 
 The Bible to him is a sealed book. It has never been 
 the man of his counsel ; and its consoling truths are to 
 him like diamonds hidden in the earth — invisible. 
 Presently an excitement begins in the neighborhood, and 
 this man is seriously excited. The clergy, aware of his 
 .ignorance on theological subjects, adduce scripture, 
 scripture, scripture, to refute the doctrine preached 
 'by all God's holy prophets since the world began:' 
 scripture, too, that has no more bearing upon the subject 
 than the east has upon the west. Every well-informed 
 believer* in the Abrahamic faith is well aware of the 
 forced application, and perfectly familiar with the cor- 
 rect illustration of the testimony; but this man, being 
 entirely destitute of correct information upon the sub- 
 ject, is confused, frightened, and converted ! And then, 
 and there, upon the altar of a 1-o-n-g meeting, he 
 renounces Universalism ! Strange renunciation ! Like, 
 unto a man who squandered a fortune in a month, but 
 who never was worth a dollar in his life ! 
 20 
 
280 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 "Again; it is not enough that an individual under- 
 stands the theory, and is able to silence every opponent. 
 He should possess a character for honesty and virtue, in 
 every sense of these words. Such a character is in the 
 reach of almost every one, and no man should presume 
 to call himself a Universalist without it. It is this that 
 gives weight to a well-made and well-applied argument. 
 It is this that will enable a man to look an opponent in 
 the face and say to him, ' You see in me and my conduct 
 the salutary effects of the doctrine I love.' It is this that 
 carries conviction to the mind of the unbeliever, and con- 
 verts him from the error of his way. It is this that stops 
 the mouth of the gainsayer, and multiplies converts to 
 the truth. It is this that causes the hearts of the right- 
 eous to rejoice, and strengthens the minds of the weak. 
 
 "It is not enough (though many think it is) that, as 
 far as its morality is concerned, it is reduced to practice. 
 You should exhibit the light, — the lamp and the oil, — 
 that both cause and effect may be seen by others, that 
 they, too, ' may glorify God in their bodies, which are 
 his.' Hundreds have committed a fatal mistake on this 
 point. They seem to think it of little or no consequence 
 whether they say a word or lift a finger in favor of Uni- 
 versalism, if they only give good weight and measure, 
 and live within the pale of the civil law. This (I repeat 
 it) is a fatal mistake — fatal to the man himself, for in 
 ninety-nine cases out of a hundred such men are left with 
 only the theory in the head, without the substance in the 
 heart. Such an one will excuse himself by saying, ' I 
 am alone, and can do nothing for the cause.' 'Alone ! ' 
 yes ; and may God in mercy grant that you»may live 
 alone, and die alone, and that the world may never con- 
 tain another Universalist like unto you ! 
 
 "I am well acquainted with a worthy friend who was 
 'alone,' as the saying is. But he was a live coal, and 
 resolved to have company. His was the only Universalist 
 paper that came to the office in his vicinity. 
 
 " But it was not long so. He was not ' ashamed of 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY7 231 
 
 the Gospel of Christ,' nor of the paper that strenuously 
 contended for it. He asked his neighbors to read his 
 paper. They did so, and were surprised to find so much 
 in it to approbate, and so little to condemn. Well, the 
 result was, that in about two years twenty copies of the 
 Magazine and Advocate went to that post-office, and they 
 had a minister in the desk to proclaim to the happy con- 
 gregation ' the faith once delivered to the saints.' He 
 was no longer alone ; and, if there ia one before me at 
 this time who is in the habit of saying ' I am alone,' let 
 him ' go and do likewise.' 
 
 " When the President of the United States delivers a 
 message to his private secretary, which is intended for the 
 people of every state in the Union, it is the duty of the 
 secretary, if so directed, to present the message to Con- 
 gress. But is it enough that that Congress understand it ? 
 Certainly not. It must go from hand to hand, from state 
 to state, from county to county, and from town to town, 
 until it has been thrown within the reach of all who wish 
 to read and understand. Consequently it is the express 
 or implied duty of every officer to give the people all 
 the information he can concerning the message. Nor is 
 this all. It is certainly the duty of every citizen who is 
 acquainted with the substance of the message to enlighten 
 the minds of those who, through ignorance, misconstrue 
 the language. The man who is willing his countrymen 
 should remain in ignorance, is no friend to his country. 
 That I am correct in this position, no one will deny. I 
 shall be equally correct when I apply the principle to the 
 subject before us ; for will you not all admit that it will 
 hold good in either case ? 
 
 " Christians, of every denomination, believe that God 
 in mercy commissioned Jesus Christ to deliver his mes- 
 sage of love to the children of men. We, as Universal- 
 ists, believe that the message in its purity, as it came 
 from the mouth of the great Lawgiver, is embodied in 
 the doctrine of the restitution. We believe it was the 
 intention and purpose of the Author that it should teach 
 
232 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 the way of life and salvation to a ' lost and ruined world.' 
 We know, by happy experience and universal consent, 
 that ' it is good to live by ; ' and the dying testimony of 
 all our brethren who have gone down to the grave proves 
 that it ' robs death of its sting,' and ' is good to die by.' 
 Now, let me ask you, brethren, can an individual of this 
 faith "say, in truth, ' I am doing enough,' unless he is 
 doing all that he consistently can to promote this doctrine 
 in the world ? I answer, no ! You will answer, no ! Your 
 enemies answer, no ; and rejoice when they can find a 
 lazy, idle, good-for-nothing Universalist. I say, then, in 
 this case, as in the other, the professed Universalist, who 
 is willing that the. people should remain in ignorance, and 
 know nothing of this consoling faith, cares not for the 
 religion of Jesus, nor for the people among whom he 
 resides. 
 
 " Did Paul think it ' enough ' that he knew that Jesus 
 Christ gave himself as a ' propitiation for his sins ; and 
 not for his sins only, but also for the sins of the whole 
 world ' ? By no means. For he positively declared, in 
 the presence of his enemies, ' For this reason we both 
 labor and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living 
 God, who is the Saviour of all men, especially of them 
 that believe.' Did Peter think it 'enough' when he 
 learned that all the holy prophets preached Universal- 
 ism ? Far from it ; for he immediately preached it him- 
 self, and continued to do so till the day of his death. 
 Will you hear him a moment? He was speaking of 
 Christ and of him crucified, and he summed up the whole 
 testimony in the following sentence : '.Whom the heavens 
 must receive, until the times of the restitution of all 
 things, which God hath spoken by the mouth of all his 
 holy prophets since the world began.' I ask no one to 
 sacrifice as much as Paul and Peter did ; but I beseech 
 every one who professes to believe that God is the Saviour 
 of all men to do what his judgment and conscience de- 
 clare to be his duty. 
 
 " Is it ' enough ' for you to say, ' We are few in num- 
 
MEMOIR OT EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 233 
 
 bers, and cannot do anything,' when your conscience and 
 your Bible both declare the power of truth and its cer- 
 tain triumph ? Is it doing ' enough ' for your children 
 to give them every reason, that indolence and indifference 
 can produce, to believe that you care nothing about the 
 doctrine, and thus encourage them to choose its opposite, 
 and bow at the shrine of falsehood instead of truth ? If 
 this is doing enough for heaven's truth, then heaven's 
 God has done too much for you ! 
 
 " It is not ' enough' to say that you are weak. ' The 
 battle is not always to the strong ; ' and you have strength 
 enough, if you will use it. No man is weak who has 
 almighty truth to sustain him. Your cause is heaven's 
 cause, and the God of battles will give you the victory, 
 and crown your efforts with abundant success. ' Fear 
 not, for I am with thee, saith the Lord ; be not dismayed, 
 for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee, yea, I will 
 help thee ; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of 
 my righteousness.' With such a promise, who can fail ? 
 Surely, not one. 
 
 " Come, then, brethren ; come, sisters, what say you? 
 Will you try to wake up? will you make one Christian 
 effort to sustain and push forward the good cause ? Come, 
 ye old men and women ; come, ye young men and maid- 
 ens ; come rich, come poor ! Come, ye time-serving Uni- 
 versalists; come one, and come all ! You have sung the old 
 song, ' I cannot,' long enough. Up, then, from this death- 
 like slumber, and let us unitedly write upon our beauti- 
 ful banner of salvation, ' God helping us, we are resolved 
 to try ! ' 
 
 " Then shall the work go bravely on, and the borders 
 of our Zion shall be enlarged. Hundreds and thousands 
 shall flock to the standard of eternal truth, and the glad 
 song of salvation shall be sung by millions of new-born 
 souls. And angels and archangels shall lend a listening 
 ear to catch the glad sound as it rises from earth to 
 heaven ! Transporting thought ! 0, happy period ! When 
 our trials shall all be over, the battle fought, the victory 
 20* 
 
234 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTI WOOLLEY. 
 
 won, and the world saved from sin and its attendant mis- 
 ery ; when God himself shall say, ' Sin is ended, let it 
 be no more ; pain has passed away, let it never return ; 
 and the last enemy is dead, let him never have promise 
 or prospect of a resurrection ! ' Then shall every heart be 
 glad, and every tongue shall say, ' Lord, it is enough ! ' " 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 REMOVAL 10 BRIDGEWATER — INCREASE OP ILLNESS — SONQ-SINOINQ 
 — CHRISTMAS EVE — DEATH OF A SISTER — PLAYFULNESS WITH CHIL- 
 DREN ALBUM TRIBUTE CEDARVILLE VISITS THE WEST LETTER 
 
 TO HIS SON — DISCUSSION IN WINFIELD ACCIDENT AND ILLNESS 
 
 FATHER STACY — TRIBUTES TO HIS CHARACTER. 
 
 In the fall of 1841 my father received an invitation 
 to become the pastor of the society in Perry ; and, at 
 the same time, was requested to settle in Bridgewater, 
 Oneida County. Circumstances influenced him to decide 
 in favor of the last request ; and, after purchasing a home 
 near the pleasant little village, he removed his family 
 thither, in March, 1842. This new home was delight- 
 fully situated. Down below the meadows, on the east 
 of the low dwelling, wound a branch of the " silver 
 Unadilla," and in the spring or fall the loud dashing of 
 the waves might be heard within the house. On the 
 south were the red and white dwellings of the wealthy 
 farmers; and upon the west was a deep, dark gulf, 
 made darker by the thick, heavy trees, the shadows ' of 
 which would not even flee away for the course of a shining 
 rivulet, and so the tiny thing must needs flow on till God 
 led it out into the green fields and broad sunshine. Down 
 at the foot of the hill upon which stood the home dwell- 
 ing was the small red school-house; and a few rods 
 further north stood the neat white church where my 
 father ministered to his people; while yet beyond was 
 the village, with the church-spires pointing to the sky. 
 
 The village of Bridgewater lies about eighteen miles 
 south of Utica, is pleasantly situated as an inland village 
 
236 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 can be, and, like all other little towns, contains its medley 
 of rich and poor, of learned and ignorant, of good and 
 vicious. It were folly, perhaps, for me to say that this 
 village, or its vicinity, were any more to be preferred 
 than thousands of others in our beautiful land ; for the 
 "heart makes some places dear to us," and those spots 
 where we have lived, and sorrowed, and enjoyed, — where 
 we have found friends, and received and returned kind- 
 nesses, — these are the ever-green islands in our wind- 
 swept ocean of existence, the beauty of which lingers 
 around our gliding bark, till it is stranded by the glistening 
 walls of the eternal home. Thus was it with my father's 
 memory; of his life in Bridgewater. His situation was 
 satisfying to him ;- for the people of his charge were kind 
 and intelligent, and interested in the cause for which 
 their pastor labored ; while the surrounding society was 
 not only agreeable, but not so strongly spiced as many 
 are with that religious bigotry which sees a serpent in 
 every good deed of one who bears another faith, and 
 doubts the purity of the loveliest human soul, if it be not 
 bound with the fetters of creeds. There, in and around 
 that little settlement, he found an opportunity for a strong 
 defence and promulgation of the Gospel of Christ ; there 
 he "wept with those who wept, and rejoiced with those 
 who rejoiced." There, too, he formed many friendships 
 which he always kept ; for he had become of that age 
 when the heart neither lightly gives nor receives. 
 
 There are many beautiful reminiscences of this life in 
 Bridgewater, that would, undoubtedly, add greatly to the 
 interest of this volume ; but my space will allow but a mea- 
 gre presentation of those blessings so thankfully received, 
 and so sacredly remembered. 
 
 The society in North Norwich retained my father's 
 services some months after his removal to Bridgewater ; 
 and, as he was one day on his way to this place, he was 
 introduced to Mr. T. H. Matteson, at the home of Dr. 
 Lyman, a resident of the village of Sherburne. My 
 father's, friends were exceedingly anxious that he should 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY, 23T 
 
 sit for a portrait from this eminent artist, and he at last 
 consented to gratify them. Mr. Matteson made a beauti- 
 ful picture, and a fine representation of manliness ; but 
 it never suited the eyes of my father's family, for it was 
 not a correct portrait of the husband and father. The 
 hearts of those who loved him asked something more. 
 Neither was this exquisite painting satisfactory to the 
 artist. Many times would he become discouraged, and 
 say, " Mr. Woolley, it's all useless, — I can't paint you. 
 I get one expression of your countenance in my mind, 
 and when I look up another has chased it away. God 
 never made your face to be painted. He gave you too 
 great a heart — and no living artist can give you a real 
 likeness.'' 
 
 During the summer of 1842 my father's old affliction 
 of the throat and lungs troubled him seriously. Many 
 Sabbaths he was only able to preach by holding firmly 
 to the desk for support. Some Sunday mornings the 
 people would assemble, and when they saw how sick their 
 pastor looked, gather around him, and say, " Mr. Woolley, 
 don't preach to-day. You are notable." But he always 
 preached one sermon. On a Sabbath day, after he had 
 been ill some weeks, as he walked slowly into the church, 
 several of his society gathered round him, and said, ' ' You 
 must not preach to-day, Mr. Woolley." 
 
 "I don't know that it will injure me." 
 
 " I do," said one, " for one of your physicians told me 
 yesterday that you must not preach, if you ever expected 
 to get well. Now, we won't stay to hear you." 
 
 " Well, well," said the pastor, with a smile, •' it 's a 
 fine way to turn a preacher out of church, by leaving him 
 with an empty house. I guess I '11 go home, brethren." 
 
 A few days previous to this incident, my father had 
 rode with his family physician — Dr. Kellogg — to the 
 residence of an old practitioner, for counsel. While they 
 were conversing, the elder physician asked, >«, 
 
 " Woolley, do you expect to get well? " 
 
 " I have no expectation about the matter, sir." 
 
238 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 " Do you hope to get well? " 
 
 " Sir, I do not know that I have anything upon which 
 to found a hope." 
 
 " Confound your way of answering questions ! " (and 
 the doctor laughed) ; "do you wish to get well, then ? " 
 
 " I wish, sir, that God should do with Mr. Woolley as 
 he sees ' best. If it were best for him to give me health, 
 I wish to receive it ; if it were better that I die soon, I 
 wish to go." 
 
 " Why do you take medicine, then ? " 
 
 " Because, as I see things, it is my duty to preserve 
 the life I have received. If I try to do so, and fail, I 
 shall know that God will overrule my puny effort, for a 
 greater good." 
 
 "There is one thing that makes me think you won't 
 die. Do you want to know what that is ? " 
 
 " If you choose to tell me." 
 
 "You are too willing; you would just as lief die as 
 not ; and, I declare, I don't believe you will. But, if you 
 were in a fret about it, I should say you could not live a 
 month." 
 
 Among the young people who frequented my father's 
 meetings were children of the various members of his 
 society ; and in their welfare he became much interested, 
 and always retained for them a tender regard. Some of 
 these young persons were sweet singers ; and when one 
 or more of them came to his home, my father joined them, 
 if he were present and had leisure, in their merry, harm- 
 less song-singing. In a clear, moonlit summer evening, 
 after the door was closed and the lamp burning, the 
 musical sound of a sweet female voice floated through 
 the open window, and while we listened a light foot was 
 upon the step, the door was noiselessly opened, and a 
 fair young girl, with the glow of the moonshine upon her 
 soft, dark hair, entered the room, singing those joyous 
 
 " In the starry light of a summer's night, 
 On the banks of the blue Moselle." 
 
MEMOIR OB EDWARD HOTT WOOLLBY. 239 
 
 As she finished her song, she said. " Now, Mr. Woolley, 
 you must sing." 
 
 " Well, E , what shall I sing ? " 
 
 " 0, ' Twilight Dews ;' then I can sing with you." It 
 was a little incident, forgotten now, perhaps, by the sweet 
 singer, but it became a golden memory in the hearts of 
 my father and his family. 
 
 Christmas eve of 1842 was greeted by the Univer- 
 salist society in Bridgewater by appropriate services in 
 their church. The white, slender pillars of the little 
 temple were wreathed with evergreen vines, and the 
 same fresh-colored leaves hung upon the gallery and the 
 walls, and about the long, wide windows. The pulpit was 
 neatly and tastefully decorated, and all through the house 
 the many bright lights peeped out from a cluster of shining 
 green. The choir felt the inspiration of their hymns, the 
 pastor was in his happiest mood, and the congregation 
 came from far and near. In the course of his remarks, 
 my father pointed to a bright, clear light, that looked like 
 the shining of a star through the slender pine-leaves, and 
 said : " That star ! — it glistened o'er the plains of Beth- 
 lehem, and guided the feet of the wondering shepherds to 
 the rude manger where was cradled the world's Redeemer. 
 That star ! — its rays lay bright upon the cross of the 
 Crucified, and lingered, soft and shining, around the tombs 
 of the prophets. -That star ! — its beams have gleamed 
 adown the mount of ages, and, as the weary watchman 
 upon the shores of time asked, ' Tell us, what of the 
 night ? ' those star-beams, in their brightness, answered, 
 'All is well, all is well.' That star ! — there hath it shone, 
 there will it shine, answering 'All is well,' till that glo- 
 rious time when sin shall die, and sorrow be no more ; 
 when ' Christ shall see of the travail of his soul,' and 
 ' God be all in all.' " 
 
 Said one, who was present that night: "It was a 
 Christmas eve long to be remembered." 
 
 A friend, who knew my father well at this time, wrote 
 one of his family, last June : " You may think my note 
 
240 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOIXEY. 
 
 intrusive, but I am sure you cannot find in your heart to 
 chide me for giving you one poor word, to let you know 
 that I truly sympathize with you in the affliction you have 
 met, and the trial you have been called to undergo. 
 
 "And why should I not mourn with you? We are 
 enjoined to weep with those who weep ; and did he not 
 teach the doctrine of universal brotherhood — that we are 
 all brothers and sisters of one family ? 
 
 " ' Our father has gone home.' Yes, he has gone 
 home, and why should we mourn? Because, in this 
 state of existence, we cannot see the hand that afflicts us, 
 and we cannot understand the mysterious order of Prov- 
 idence, which makes birth, death and decay, the unvary- 
 ing and inexorable law of our nature ; because we can- 
 not see nor understand why one so worthy and so loved 
 should be called, and others, who are seemingly trials to 
 all around them, allowed to remain. And yet, in this 
 hour of affliction, how precious to us become those prom- 
 ises which our Saviour taught, which our father always en- 
 deavored to impress upon the hearts and minds of those 
 who were brought under the sphere of his influence. 
 
 " May we, my dear friends, continue to cherish the 
 hope that we shall meet him in 'that glorious home' of 
 which he taught us, and where he told us ' that love 
 would be met, and welcomed, and embraced, by love.' " 
 
 This winter another great affliction fell upon my father's 
 household, in the death of my mother's Only sister. She 
 was, certainly, one of the excellent of the earth. She 
 was always much in her- sister's family, and her loss to 
 'my father was like that of an own sister; he felt it no 
 less keenly than did her own family. For she was one to 
 look up to, to lean upon instinctively in the trials of life. 
 And no matter how dark the cloud, or how great the grief, 
 she was always ready with a word of encouragement and 
 a smile of hope. My father wrote a beautiful epitaph, 
 consisting of only a few lines, which are now upon the 
 white stone at the head of her far-off grave ; and I regret 
 that I am not able to present them to the reader. But 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 241 
 
 the following extract from a letter to one of his daughr 
 ters, then with her mother's family, will exhibit the spirit 
 of trust with which this trial was received. 
 
 " You write to me that you ' miss your aunt so much.' 
 Undoubtedly you miss her, my child. But one nurtured 
 in the faith that you have been cannot feel entirely with- 
 out her. Remember the many good deeds she bestowed 
 upon you, and thank God for these blessings ; and strive 
 so to live that when you, too, shall be called away, some 
 heart may be left to cherish the thought of your kind- 
 nesses, as you cherish hers." 
 
 In his family my father was uncommonly sportive apd 
 playful. He allowed them to take any liberty in "fun- 
 ning," at all suitable times, as a little anecdote will show. 
 He was one day shovelling the snow from the door-step, 
 when he threw his little boy of twelve years into a soft 
 snow-bank. The boy picked himself up, shook the white 
 snow from his black locks, and entered the house ; but he 
 watched his opportunity, and soon after he saw his father 
 standing on the edge of the door-step, and, gliding noise- 
 lessly up behind hiin, took hold of his ankle and tripped 
 him over into the snow. There was a shout, and two or 
 three more little ones made the snow fly over the father's 
 face, as the boy said, "Father, you told grandma once 
 that you should pay her back in her own coin ; now, an't 
 that just what we are doing ? " 
 
 " Yes, you are doing it, in good earnest, I should 
 say ! " 
 
 Two neighbors were passing at the time, and one said 
 to the other, " Mr. Woolley plays so much with his chil- 
 dren, I wonder that they mind him." 
 
 Ah ! it was that spirit of playfulness and affection, that 
 ready sympathy in their 1 little joys and sorrows, that 
 brought him so near the hearts of his children. And 
 they would as soon have thought of gross, outbreaking 
 sin as to remain quiet when he said to one of them, " You 
 may," or, "you had better, do this." And though, as 
 they grew older, they were taught to use their own JUClg- 
 
242 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ments, and form their own opinions of right and wrong, 
 jet it was very rarely that a difference of opinion occurred 
 between them. 
 
 It was not alone in his own family circle that he exhib- 
 ited this afifection for children, but it was manifest when- 
 ever he was in the presence of a child ; and children 
 were as playful with him as they were with one of their 
 own little friends ; but they never grew rude or saucy. 
 
 Early one first day of April, All-fool's Day morning, 
 a little boy of a neighbor opened his sleeping-room door, 
 and exclaimed, " Mr. Woolley, I wish you 'd come down 
 and see what 's the matter with your horse." It was a 
 bitter cold morning, and the snow had drifted between the 
 house and the barn through the night, and the wind was 
 blowing terribly. Aa my father entered the barn-door, 
 the boy who woke him thus early sprang over the garden 
 fence, exclaiming, as he went, " The first day of April, 
 Mr. Woolley ! " My father evidently enjoyed the trick 
 as much as did the boy ; for he replied, in perfect good- 
 humor, " Ah ! Bub, you are up too early for me, this 
 morning ! " 
 
 If it be true that a love of and for little children is 
 evidence of childlike purity, then the subject of this 
 biography possessed that innocence in a great degree. 
 Children always loved him. The writer of this remem- 
 bers to have seen a babe of ten months, who had never 
 looked upon his face, reach out its arms to go to him the 
 moment he entered the room ; and when it was returned 
 to the mother its screams were almost frantic. 
 
 In the village of Bridgewater was a little boy to whom 
 my father became much attached, and the child would stand 
 in the door and watch for his friend, and when he saw him 
 coming he would hold out his dimpled hand and say, 
 " Obe ! [Rover] Mr. Ulley tomin." This sweet child 
 went home to the angels in his third year ; and said my 
 father of him, " It was the most beautiful sight I ever saw 
 in life, cherub Georgie asleep in his narrow coffin, and cov- 
 ered with geranium -leaves and half-blown roses." The 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 243 
 
 fair mother of this child faded with consumption ; and in 
 a letter to my father, descriptive of her departure, her 
 husband wrote, "After her voice became so low" that it 
 was scarcely audible, she would say to me, ' I should like 
 to see Mr. Woolley ; he always had a word of cheer for 
 me ! ' " It was this cheerful word that made his presence 
 so sought after in the sick chamber. He had comfort and 
 consolation for the suffering, and they remembered him 
 with blessings. 
 
 My father's time was so engrossed with the duties of 
 his profession that he found but little time to devote to 
 light literature ; but he would sometimes gratify the 
 request of a friend in giving a few lines for an album ; 
 and among these contributions I find 
 
 AN ALBUM TRIBUTE. 
 
 Earth's brightest prospects pass away, 
 
 Like bubbles on a stream ; 
 Life's sunny spots, how short their stay — 
 
 Elusive as a dream ! 
 Not so with those religion brings '■ — 
 Mercy and Truth are living springs. 
 
 With these deep springs of living grace, 
 
 Life's joys are dearer far ; 
 They are a constant resting place, 
 
 Where grief's o'erhung with stars : 
 If thou hast these, thy life is blessed ; 
 Without them, thou wilt find no rest 
 
 The second year of my father's residence in Bridge- 
 water, he became the pastor of the society in Cedarville, 
 Herkimer County. This people were very near to him, 
 and he also became dear to them. Many of the young 
 persons in the vicinity of Cedarville attended his seryices, 
 if they were not believers in his faith ; for there was 
 something about him that always won the love . of the 
 young and happy, and this affection was returned from 
 the depths of his own loving heart. A ehort extract 
 from a sermon addressed to the young persons of this 
 
244 MEMOIK OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 society will show how valued and worthy a friend he waa 
 to the youth, and how well it were to remember the 
 advice he gave them. 
 
 " You have heard it said, my young friends, that sin 
 was a sweet morsel to the tongue; that persons of discord, 
 of unkindness, and deception, — that the profane man, the 
 inebriate, the gambler, the profligate, — you have heard 
 it said that these persons, one and all of them, were liv- 
 ing in happiness, because they revelled in sin. 
 
 ' ' You have been told, and perhaps you have believed 
 it, that vice led through flowery paths to courts of honor, 
 and that the way of the righteous was a pebble-strewn, 
 road, while upon its borders grew the night-shade of sor- 
 row and despair ; that the Christian man or woman must 
 expect a life of crosses and trials here, and only await the 
 joy laid up as his or her reward in the courts of heaven. 
 But, ah ! my young friends, if you have for one moment . 
 consented to this opinion, put far away from you the be- 
 lief ; for I eome to you with a new song upon my lips ; 
 and I tell you that only the good, the truly good man or 
 woman, can sing the song of happiness, and shout hosan- 
 nas to the Lord. Put it away from your hearts forever, 
 this wicked thought that there is joy in sin ! This one 
 idea, my friends, has been the scorpion sting, poisoning 
 through and through many a young and innocent soul. 
 Then believe almighty God when he tells you that ' the 
 wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him ; ' that ' the 
 way of the transgressor is hard ; ' that ' there is no peace 
 to the Wicked.' Believe that as ' ye mete to others, so 
 shall it be measured to you again ; ' and that only ' the 
 pure in heart ' and in conduct ' are blessed.' Believe 
 that only where love and where peace is, where Christ 
 and where God is, can you find happiness and content- 
 ment." 
 
 While residing in Bridgewater my father formed a 
 more immediate acquaintance and a greater friendship for 
 Rev. A. B. Grosh, then supplying temporarily the pulpit 
 of the Universalist society in Utica. Being only eigh- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBY. 245 
 
 teen miles apart, they frequently ministered to each 
 other's societies ; and that my father's affection for this 
 brother was reciprocated may be judged from an extract 
 of a letter from Mr. G. to the writer of this memoir. 
 The extract reads : " The sad news of your letter stunned 
 me for a moment ; for your father was ever very dear 
 to me as a man and as a preacher ; his fervency of spirit — 
 his uprightness and earnestness in speech and conduct, 
 his frankness and sincerity in the utterance of opinions 
 and feelings, and his large, warm, fresh heart — all en- 
 deared him to me at my first acquaintance with him ; and 
 ever since I have endeavored to keep watch over his 
 •'chances and changes,' while we were widely separated 
 from each other by distance." 
 
 My father's health was such that a change of climate 
 was prescribed by his physician, and in the summer of 
 1843 he journeyed west ; visited a portion of Michigan, 
 Illinois, and Wisconsin, with the intention of selecting a 
 place of residence, if he liked the country, and thought 
 it would agree with or benefit his health. While in Wis- 
 consin he visited the friend of earjy days, Mr. Pratt, and 
 found that the old promise still held good ; and at the 
 house of Mr. P. he wrote the following to a friend in 
 Bridgewater : "Yes, here I am. in far-famed Wisconsin ; 
 and do you ask what I think of it ? Well, my friend, it 
 is a good country, a beautiful country, for those who are 
 pleased with the like. No doubt a man can raise great 
 wheat and corn here. And it is a great, a grand, a glo- 
 rious sight, these broad, rolling prairies, some of them 
 hardly showing for miles a cluster of trees. But, with 
 nothing to break the wind, how a poor fellow must get 
 blown around here in a cold, bleak winter's day ! 
 
 "Mrs. Scott wrote that beautiful poem, 'The Prairie,' 
 in a ringing, glowing strain, full of beauty as a diamond 
 is of light. But, ah ! I verily suspect she never saw a 
 prairie. As for me, give me a quiet little nestling-place 
 where I may nestle down, with my household treasures, 
 among rocks, and hills, and babbling streams, and let 
 21* 
 
246 MEMOIR OJ EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 those who wish take the broad prairie, with its sea of 
 flowers." 
 
 He preached many times while in the West, and 
 always found among his hearers many who had listened 
 to him years before in the yicinity of their old homes in 
 the Empire State. The daguerreotype from which the 
 likeness in the front of this volume was taken was given 
 him, on his return, by an excellent friend, Mr. Gage, of 
 Chicago ; and it is not only satisfactory to his family, 
 but to all his friends who have seen it. It has, at least, 
 borne a good test ; for a child in Cedarville, who was ; 
 very fond of my father, and had not seen him for the 
 space of a year, when he looked upon this daguerreotype- 
 clapped his little hands and exclaimed, "0, it's man 
 Woolley ! " 
 
 On his return from the West, my father visited Niag- 
 ara Falls. But I never knew him attempt a descrip- 
 tion of this wonder of nature. He felt that it was beyond 
 his ability, and that silence, only, expressed his praise. 
 His feelings in viewing the falls may be partially known 
 from an anecdote related by a gentleman in company 
 with him: "Mr. Woolley sat down upon a rock, and 
 looked at the wonder before him as though he was gazing 
 into infinity. I should say he sat thus an hour, silent 
 as the dead, when a lady of our company ran up to him, 
 and, putting her hand on his arm, gave him a hearty 
 shake, and asked, ' What 's the matter, Mr. Woolley ? 
 I don't see anything so wonderful in this ! ' " 
 
 The following letter, addressed to his eldest son, then 
 pursuing his studies in the Clinton Liberal Institute, will 
 show the playful manner in which he delighted to converse 
 with his loved ones, ever mingling instruction with 
 humor : 
 
 " Sridgewater, Oct. 22d, 1844 
 
 "Well, Bub: Your letter came to hand about ten 
 minutes since, and I was pjeased to hear that you are 
 well, and yet in the great stone building. And I pray 
 Heaven that you may never be found permanently located 
 
MEMOIR OS 1 EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 247 
 
 in a stone building of an entirely different character, 
 under lock and key ! 
 
 " You ask, ' Why am I here ? ' I answer, not for the 
 express purpose of learning good 'manners, good 
 morals, or to walk in virtue's path.' These may all be 
 learned as well out as in school'; and I should be sorry, 
 indeed, if you had not learned something of all these 
 things before you saw the Clinton Liberal Institute. 
 These items are all of great importance, and it is impos- 
 sible to be a true man without them ; and I hope that, 
 whether in or out of school, you will ever strive to excel 
 in them all. With them, you cannot fail to be respected ; 
 without them, you will surely be despised. 
 
 " ' To learn how to form and express ideas.' Yes, 
 that is an important item for which you are at school. 
 He that has good and correct ideas treasured up in his 
 mind, and is able to express them clearly and earnestly, 
 will always be listened to with pleasure wherever he may 
 journey. In order to do this, much study is necessary ; 
 you must learn the precise meaning of many, very many 
 words ; you must study the rules of language. If you 
 hear a word used with which you are not acquainted, 
 remember it until you can turn to your dictionary for its 
 true meaning. Observe good speakers, whether in the 
 desk or in common conversation ; and, above all, try to 
 express your meaning correctly, at all times, and in the 
 best words you can command. The language with which 
 you become familiar in youth will cling to you while you 
 live. 
 
 ' ' Aribther object in sending you to school is this : 
 to qualify you, so far as education can qualify, to trans- 
 act any kind of business that may devolve upon an Amer- 
 ican citizen. It is impossible to foresee what opportu- 
 nities may present themselves in the course of your life. 
 If you have a good, substantial education, and it should 
 rain porridge, you will know how to hold your dish right 
 side up ! And yet I would not have you cut a figure in 
 the world any greater than is consistent with the purest 
 
248 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 principles of justice and Christianity. In one word, I 
 would have you, if I could, honest, humane, and intelli- 
 gent." 
 
 In the winter of 1844 Col. B. Carver, then of "Win- 
 field, came to my father and said, " Mr. Woolley, Rev. 
 Mr. Kingsbury, now preaching to the Baptist society in 
 Winfield, says that he is anxious, or that he is certainly 
 willing, to meet one of our clergymen in debate. He says 
 he ' don't want any of the little fry ; but he will be willing 
 to dispute the falsity or truth of Universalis™ with such 
 a man as Mr. Skinner, if Mr. Skinner will meet him.' 
 Now, Mr. Woolley, I have taken the responsibility to 
 say that you will not shrink from a contest with this 
 chief of the Philistines." 
 
 My father never refused to meet an opponent in argu- 
 ment ; and with Mr. Amos Scott, a member of his society 
 in Bridgewater, he rode over to meet Mr. Kingsbury and 
 his friends, at a dwelling between Winfield and Bridge- 
 water. Col. Carver, and, I think, Mr. D. Burgess, were 
 also present, and arrangements were made for the discus- 
 sion to be held in the large old Presbyterian church, be- 
 tween the villages of East and West Winfield. The 
 news of the proposed discussion went over the country far 
 and near, and all who heard of it were anxious to attend. 
 
 When my father was going to Winfield on the morning 
 of the debate, he entered the store of a Baptist brother 
 in West Winfield, to whom he was unknown. Asked 
 this man, " Are you going over to this discussion ? " 
 
 "I am," replied my father. 
 
 " Are the Bridgewater people out ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; the road is filled with them, and yet they 
 come." 
 
 "You Universalists over there better look out, for 
 Woolley '11 be as dead as a dead sheep before night." 
 
 "Well, we'll try and give him a respectable burial, 
 then." 
 
 My father was accompanied by B*vs. D. S. Morey and 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY- 249 
 
 J. H. Stewart, and upon arriving at the church they were 
 pleased to welcome Rev. W. H. Ryder, then a student at 
 Clinton. The church was crowded full, and many went 
 away for want of room. My father's remarks continued 
 through three hours, and I can present the reader with but 
 few of them. His subject was the love of God, and he 
 said : 
 
 "It sometimes seems to me, my hearers, that people 
 reason more strangely about religion than about aught 
 else in the world. Now, if I were to say to my opposing 
 brother here that stove is made of iron, he would under- 
 stand me. But when I say ' Our Father who art in 
 heaven,' he thinks I mean, or should mean, Our enemy 
 who art in heaven. If I were to tell him that that stove 
 was made of iron, he would believe me ; but when I tell 
 him that ' God is love,' he believes I mean that God is 
 part anger. If I were to ask him if a stream of melted 
 lava and a stream of pure cold water could flow from 
 the same fountain, he would immediately answer me, ' No.' 
 But when I ask him if God can be love and at the same 
 time be hatred, in the sincerity of his heart he responds, 
 ' Yes.' Strange reasoning this ! When my brother 
 goes home, let him put away this ' Hatfield's Universal- 
 ism as It Is,' and many other works he has here ; let him 
 put away his catechism and his book of creeds, and when 
 he takes his child in his arms, if some friend should ask, 
 ' Mr. Kingsbury, do you love that child ? ' then, if the 
 response be ' Yes,' let the questioner continue, ' Do you 
 mean, sir, that you hate him ? ' What, think you, would 
 be his reply ? Ah ! every human heart is ready with an 
 answer, and that answer would be one with my brother's 
 — it would be an emphatic ' No.' " 
 
 A stenographer had been engaged by Mr. Kingsbury 
 and his friends, for the sake of publishing this discussion ; 
 and he wrote very energetically through the morning, 
 but in the afternoon he stopped. My father and his 
 brother clergymen tried to prevail upon him to go on, and 
 Rev. J. H. Stewart offered to contribute to his Tee. But 
 
250 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBT. 
 
 persuasion and money were useless ; . he would not, and, 
 consequently, this discusion never came before the public. 
 At the close of the second day an adjournment was made 
 for an evening meeting in the Baptist church at West 
 Winfield. This evening my father preached from the 
 words " Overcome evil with good; " and Mr. Kingsbury 
 followed with a sermon from the same words. After ser- 
 vices my father said : " Brother Kingsbury, you are very 
 near the kingdom of heaven to night. Not a word in 
 your sermon but is Universalism." Mr. Kingsbury 
 smiled as he said, " Mr, Woolley, I should not dare to 
 preach Universalism, if I believed it.' I should be afraid 
 of its evil effect upon the world ; and then, if it were not 
 true, where would be our chance of salvation ? " 
 
 " Well, let us see. If you and I were to die to-night, 
 and both of us go up to the gate of heaven together, and 
 the Judge of the universe were to ask, ' Mr. Woolley, 
 what have you been doing in the other world ? ' and I 
 should answer, ' I have been preaching Universalism as 
 hard as I could. I preached it because I believed it, and 
 to do good ; and if I must go to endless woe for being an 
 honest man, it matters not how quick you send me there.' 
 Then comes the question to you, ' Mr. Kingsbury, what 
 have you been about ? ' — -' Preaching endless misery.' — 
 ' Did you preach it because you believed it ? ' — ' No ; but 
 because I wanted to be on the safe side.' Now, Brother 
 Kingsbury, which do you think would go into heaven 
 first, you or I? " 
 
 " I think God would accept of the honest man." 
 
 "I think so too," responded my father, and thus they 
 separated. But they frequently met and heard each 
 other speak at temperance celebrations, and were always 
 pleased to treat each other with Christian politeness. 
 
 Of this discussion Rev. D. Skinner says : "It was 
 generally conceded, by those who heard this discussion, 
 that Brother Wooiley most successfully and triumph- 
 antly vindicated the truth against the assaults of his 
 opponent." 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 251 
 
 In June, 1844, my father and mother, after attending 
 the Central Association in Morrisville, rode on towards 
 Nelson Flats for the purpose of visiting my mother's 
 friends, when the horse ran away, and threw my mother 
 and little brother from the carriage. My mother was 
 taken Tip insensible, with a broken limb. She was car- 
 ried to her father's, where she remained several weeks ; 
 and her husband's time was completely filled with the 
 charge of his societies, the watch over his home and chil- 
 dren, and the care of his wife. After my mother's recov- 
 ery, one of their daughters was taken sick, and required 
 great care through the fall and winter. And in this, as 
 in every other sickness that came upon his family, no 
 attention could be required, no kindness needed, but it 
 was always cheerfully given. This winter was made 
 pleasant to my father by a visit from Mr. and Mrs. 
 Stacy ; and I am happy in having an opportunity to 
 offer the reader a beautiful little tribute of affection to 
 him of whom I write, from the pen of this good old 
 father in Israel : 
 
 " I had long before been apprised of the demise of 
 your much-respected, much-beloved sire ; and my sighs 
 and tears had mingled with those of a vast host of admir- 
 ing friends and brethren he had left behind. 
 
 " But, great as our loss is, we have no reason to mourn 
 for him. Death had no terror for his faithful, hopeful, 
 confiding soul. He had ' fought the good fight,' and had 
 ' finished his course ; ' and has gained the victory, and 
 entered into the 'joy of his Lord.' 
 
 "lam glad you propose to give the world a biography 
 of your father. I am satisfied that such a work, if true 
 to his life, would be interesting and useful." 
 
 About this time my father formed the acquaintance of 
 Rev. J. H. Tuttle, and of the friendship into which this 
 acquaintance deepened one may judge from the truthful 
 and touching remarks of this young divine, in the Chris- 
 tian Ambassador of June 25th, 1853 : 
 
 "The announcement made in the Ambassador, a few 
 
252 MEMOIK OF BDWABJD MOM WOOIXEY. 
 
 weeks since, of the death of Brother B. M. Woolley, of 
 Birmingham, Michigan, but formerly of this state, was 
 no less solemn than unexpected to me ; and this, I doubt 
 not, was the case of most of his numerous friends through- 
 out this section. It is seldom that a similar announcement 
 has impressed me with such sadness ; owing, doubtless, 
 to an agreeable acquaintance with the deceased, and a 
 deep consciousness of his deserved popularity. Close 
 upon the thought that Brother Woolley was no more, 
 came a crowd of memories, reminding me of his wonder- 
 ful power as a preacher, his remarkable social qualities, 
 his manly independence, coupled with an earnest desire 
 to be just and honest,— all of which won for him a mul- 
 titude of friends and admirers, whose eyes will be filled 
 with tears by the reflection that they shall grasp his hand 
 and listen to his thrilling eloquence no more. 
 
 " Of one thing we are satisfied ; — if it were possible 
 to collect together all the persons who caught their first 
 religious impulses from Br. Woolley's voice, and were 
 led by the potency of his logic out of the mazy labyrinths 
 of error into the broad light of truth, his memory would 
 need no greater eulogy, and his past ministry no greater 
 meed of success. In imagination, I see a multitude rise 
 up to call him* blessed, and who would gladly gather 
 around his distant grave, to shed tears of gratitude. In 
 imagination, I see, also, a company of angels, once his 
 nearest in the flesh, gather around his bed, at the twilight 
 hour, and take his spirit with them to a higher, better, 
 happier world, where his affections had long since gone, 
 and where his soul, weary of this life's career, shall for- 
 ever be at rest. 
 
 "The first time the name -of E. M. Woolley came to 
 my ear was one of unusual interest. In the town of 
 Salisbury, Herkimer County, New York, a man professing 
 to be a Universalist, in consequence of the sudden death of 
 his wife, became insane, and committed suicide. In those 
 days, more than now, it was a great wonder what a 
 preacher of our order could say upon such an occasion ; 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 253 
 
 for it was a common remark, and generally thought to 
 be scripture, that 'No self-murderer shall enter the 
 kingdom of heaven ; ' consequently, a great number, more 
 than a thousand people, came together from the surround- 
 ing region, at the funeral, — as much as anything to 
 gratify their curiosity in relation to the preaching. Broth- 
 er Woolley was in Salisbury at this time, on an exchange 
 •with Brother Whitney ; and, as he had-not been long in 
 the ministry, and was little known in that section, there 
 was some trembling on the part of the Universalists, as 
 he ascended the pulpit, for fear that his effort would fall 
 short of their wishes, and fail to satisfy so many prejudiced 
 hearers. He took his text from the Lord's prayer — ' Thy 
 kingdom come ; ' and he had not proceeded far in his ser- 
 mon, when he secured the undivided attention of his 
 immense auditory, and satisfied his friends that he was a 
 workman that needed not to be ashamed. His tall, majes- 
 tic form, his piercing eye, radiant with Gospel fire, his 
 strong, pathetic voice, and his powerful reasoning, capti- 
 vated all before him ; his premises were broad, strong, 
 consistent; and as he advanced, step by step, to his 
 conclusions, and finished by an appeal to the sympathies, 
 — as he expatiated upon the strength of human love, and 
 the sad consequences which often follow when its cherished 
 object is removed, as seen in the case of the deceased, — 
 as he depicted the happy meeting of the husband and 
 wife, where they should never again be subject to separa- 
 tion, or pangs of disappointed affection, — as all this was 
 most vividly described, and brought home to the mind, 
 every sectarian prejudice seemed to give way, lips of the 
 most determined bigots quivered with emotion, eyes 
 unused to weeping were filled with tears, and all was 
 one sea of mingled sympathy. Unexpectedly to his 
 hearers, he no sooner had concluded his sermon, than he 
 commenced singing — he was a beautiful singer — the 
 familiar hymn : 
 
 • Low down, down in yon beautiful valley, 
 Where love crowns the meek and the lowly.' 
 
 22 
 
254 MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 " This was too much. The effect produced was beyond 
 description. His fame as a preacher was firmly estab- 
 lished in that town ; and to this day the memory of that 
 occasion is fresh in the minds of all who were present. 
 
 "At my ordination, in Richfield, Otsego County, 
 Brother Woolley was selected to give the ' right hand of 
 fellowship ; ' and never shall I forget how kindly he 
 addressed me, and how he made me feel the importance 
 of the duties opening before me. ' If,' said he, ' you 
 have entered the ministry expecting to travel in a smooth, 
 easy pathway, for pecuniary or ambitious ends, I advise 
 you to stop here, for you will surely be disappointed.' 
 
 " Some allowance must of course be made for my early 
 enthusiasm, for the eagerness with which I devoured 
 everything which fell from the lips of a Universalist 
 clergyman ; but Brother Woolley, from the beginning, 
 was one of my favorite preachers. There was something 
 in his pulpit appearance, in the tones of his voice, and 
 the style of his sermons, that captivated me, and almost 
 invariably made me weep ; it seemed to me as though all 
 the angels in heaven came near, and looked on his pulpit 
 efforts with silent approbation, and aided him in scattering 
 a sacred influence over the anxious audience. He was 
 not an educated man, in the popular sense of that word ; 
 but he possessed a great fund of good sense, and was one 
 of the most thorough reasoners in our order. As a sort 
 of climax to his argument, he had a way of uttering the 
 following words, which often produced a striking effect : 
 ' You knoio, and I know, and God knows, that this is 
 the truth.' 1 None but those who have heard him preach 
 can form any conception of the mightiness of his eye, the 
 significant expression of his whole face, and the magic of 
 his voice, when these words came from the deeps of his 
 very soul. His sword of wit was two-edged, and keen ; 
 but he wielded it so masterly that there was seldom a 
 heart-stain left upon it ; and his opposers in argument, 
 when vanquished, found him ready to close the wound 
 he necessarily made. He held several public discussions, 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 255 
 
 and his clerical antagonists will undoubtedly bear me 
 witness that his were the powers of a giant mind. 
 
 " During the later years of our acquaintance with the 
 deceased, his mind was often depressed, and there was a 
 plaintiveness in his voice and look which made him seem 
 like one 
 
 ' Whom unmerciful disaster 
 Followed fast, and followed faster, 
 Till his song one burden bore.' 
 
 "He tried to be cheerful, and most of the time was 
 so : but now and then a word would escape his lips which 
 told plainly that some heavy sorrow lay upon his too 
 sensitive heart, and which often brought to mind the 
 remark of Robert Burns — 
 
 ' What 's done we partly may compute, 
 But know not what 's resisted.' 
 
 " Well, he is gone ! — gone to that ' beautiful valley ' 
 he so often sung of, and his name is now with the angels. 
 Far, far from here they have made his grave, and the 
 vanished hope of meeting him on earth again is succeeded 
 by the wish that I may some day wander that way, to 
 refresh my memory of a noble Christian man, by gazing 
 upon the green grass and the sweet flowers that grow 
 above his dust." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 VISITS PONTIAC, MICHIGAN LETTERS TO FRIENDS AND FAMILY 
 
 RETURN HOME — PONTIAC AGAIN — LETTERS TO HIS YOUNGEST DAUGH- 
 TERS; TO HIS SON; TO A FRIEND; TO HIS FAMILY; TO FRIENDS HOME 
 
 AGAIN. 
 
 In July, 1845, Hon. S. M. Green, of Pontiac, Mich- 
 igan, wrote to Rev. D. Skinner, of Utica, New York, 
 requesting information as to a suitable pastor for the 
 Universalist society in Pontiac; and he received from 
 Mr. Skinner the following letter : 
 
 " Dbak Sir : Your letter of the 26th of last month, 
 in relation to procuring a pastor for your society, is before 
 me. In answer, I would inform you that I have quite 
 recently learned that Brother E. M. Woolley, of Bridge- 
 water, Oneida County, New York, has made up his mind 
 to remove to the West (though I believe he had designed 
 to go further west than Michigan), and it is not impossible 
 that you might procure his services. He is a most wor- 
 thy and estimable man; a well-informed and zealous 
 preacher; always ready and on hand, and will sustain 
 himself manfully against any opponent you can find. I 
 know of no one in the denomination that I think would 
 do better than he would for the interests of your society 
 and the cause, if you can obtain him." 
 
 After receiving the above line, Mr. Green wrote to my 
 father, requesting him to take charge of the society in 
 Pontiac, and my father replied: "I will tarry with the 
 society in Pontiac six months, and then, if you prove the 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 257 
 
 people for me and I the man for you, we will talk about 
 a settlement." 
 
 The proposition was accepted by the society in Pontiac, 
 and made known to my father by the pen of Mr. Green ; 
 when my father again wrote : 
 
 "Kind Sir: Your letter containing an acceptance 
 of my proposal to labor with your society six months is 
 received. And I write to inform you tbat, God willing, 
 I will be with you the first Sabbath in October. 
 
 " Permit me to suggest to you the propriety of saying 
 to your friends that Mr. Woolley is nothing more than a 
 jilain, matter-of-fact man, with little poetry and less 
 eloquence in his composition. The partial pen of Broth- 
 er Skinner has undoubtedly given me a character in 
 your estimation which I do not possess; and I would 
 caution you and the society not to expect a great man 
 from the East ; for, although I am six feet in my boots, 
 my intellectual powers are not in exact proportion." 
 
 We are very grateful to Mr. Green for the kind note 
 accompanying the above letters, and which reads as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " Your father fully sustained the character, both as a 
 man and a preacher, given him by Mr. Skinner. The 
 high principles of honor, integrity and morality, which 
 governed him, he made it the business of his life to 
 recommend and enforce for the benefit of others; and 
 wherever he labored he did not fail to make his influence 
 felt. Free from the influence of bigotry and superstition 
 himself, he had no regard for the mere forms or ceremo- 
 nies of any religious sect, but cared only for the vitalizing 
 energies of those pure and holy principles which impel 
 men to good actions from just and pure motives. 
 
 " He was a bold and fearless preacher, Of a high order 
 of talent ; always practical, and never failed to instruct 
 his audience, however intelligent or intellectual. 
 
 "As a friend, he was warm, cordial, and sincere. I 
 22* 
 
258 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 had the high privilege of enjoying his friendship from 
 the time of our first acquaintance ; and I can truly say 
 that I never passed an hour in his society without feeling 
 that I had been benefited thereby." 
 
 Faithful to his appointment, my father (leaving his 
 family for the time in New York) was in the desk in 
 Pontiac on the first Sabbath in October ; and of his suc- 
 cess in his pulpit labor, and the warm, true friends he 
 met with in the village of strangers, we may judge from 
 the letters which he wrote to the members of "his old 
 societies in New York. The first letter that I find, 
 written after his arrival in Pontiac, bears date " Novem- 
 ber 23d, 1845," and was sent to an old and cherished 
 friend near Cedarville, Herkimer County, New York. 
 I am thankful for the opportunity I have to present these 
 memorials of affection ; for his letters were always frank, 
 natural and truthful, expressing better than aught that I 
 could write the mingled playfulness and affection of his 
 nature. The letter before alluded to reads as follows : 
 
 "Friends of 'Auld Lang Syne' gather around me, 
 while I talk of the past, the present with its Michigan 
 Wolverines and my humble self, and of what may possibly 
 be revealed in the future. 
 
 "There, C, you young rogue, you, sit down before 
 me ! for I would keep my eye upon you, lest you get into 
 mischief ere I have done with my talk. There, now I 
 suppose you are all in order, and I must call your atten- 
 tion to the first part of my text, the past. The past ! — 
 upon my word, this clause of my text is a little too 
 mighty for my humble pen ; consequently I shall not 
 dwell long upon it — but I do love the past ! Its lights, 
 its joys, its shadows, all come to me, in a lonely hour, 
 with healing on their wings. There is much in it upon 
 which I delight to ponder ; much around which my soul 
 delights to linger. ! how much of joy and gladness 
 are garnered up in those good old days that have gone, 
 with which we have shaken hands and parted forever ! 
 
MEMOIR OF BDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 259 
 
 How many joyous meetings we can count, how ..many 
 bright spots have we found in our pathway, where the 
 spirit lingered and drank in happiness till it thirsted no 
 more ! Friends, good, warm-hearted friends, — Heaven's 
 best gift to mortals while on earth, — came to us with 
 many a smile, and enriched us with many joys. Friends — 
 God's blessings upon you, everywhere ! 
 
 "My body to-night is in Pontiac, Oakland County, 
 Michigan ; and my mind, I suppose, should be here ; but, 
 to tell you the truth, I journey back to central New 
 York, now and then, and once in the while I drop in to 
 see how life goes with friend H, and his family. You 
 do not see me, I suppose ; but no matter — I am in your 
 midst when perhaps you think it not. 
 
 " ' Enough of this ! ' you will say ; ' tell us how you 
 succeed in your labors, what the prospect is, and how 
 you like Michigan.' My success here is as good, per- 
 haps better, than I expected. Our society is not large, 
 — not as large as yours in Cedarville, 4 — but they are of 
 the choice kind; that is, our members. And yet they 
 are not, and I cannot make them seem, like my old friends 
 in New York ; and, indeed, I do not care to. I know I 
 am one of the foolish beings ; but God made me so, and 
 can I help it ? I form, perhaps, too strong attachments 
 for one who is compelled to journey so much up and down 
 the earth ; and I do delight to be with those old and tried 
 friends, with whom I can talk as the unbending mind 
 directs, with the positive assurance that I am understood, 
 and all is well. 
 
 " I have not determined to purchase in Michigan, for 
 I am yet on the wing ; but this part of the state is as 
 beautiful as the mind of man might wish to behold. We 
 have no hills, as in New York ; but the country is just 
 undulating enough to relieve the eye as you pass along, 
 and all the time presents new objects and change of 
 scenery. The soil is good, and this is the country in 
 Which to purchase beautiful farms with small fortunes. 
 
 " The village of Pontiac is the master place for busi- 
 
260 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ness I ever saw in my life, of its size. It is about as 
 large as Herkimer village ; but its business is five times 
 that of Herkimer and Mohawk, and its location such that 
 in a few years it must be five times what it is. 
 
 " Tell D., though, that it is overdone with pills, divin- 
 ity, and law. We have eighteen or twenty lawyers, eight 
 doctors, and six settled ministers. And now I think I 
 hear you exclaim, ' God save the people ! ' 
 
 " That I remember you, and that I anxiously await a 
 letter, you well know." 
 
 In December he wrote to a friend in Bridgewater : 
 
 " Good-morning, Friend A. : For this is a bitter-cold 
 December morning. Have you looked long for a letter 
 from the preacher, and have you said in your hearts [ he 
 has forgotten us ' ? Then drive the thought back ; for it 
 is a false one. To forget the little white church where, 
 and the people to whom, I ministered, with the few who 
 have gone to rest in our little new grave-yard, in shadow 
 of the temple, and they who are left, but will yet, un- 
 doubtedly, sleep there,— to forget all this were to me an 
 impossibility. God gave me this precious memory, and 
 he will let me keep it, not only as I journey over the 
 hills and through the valleys of time, but when I go up 
 to that world where circumstances cannot take us from 
 friends that are tried and near. 
 
 "lama busy man here in this land of the Wolverines j 
 for Universalist preachers among us are like dew-drops 
 in a burning summer's night, and the few who are here 
 are made to move. 
 
 " When away to attend a funeral, I am frequently 
 called twice or three times, before I return, to go and 
 assist in the burial of other forms whose spirits have 
 passed through the last great struggle ; and there is no 
 end to the preaching a man might do here, if he had the 
 locomotive power and the strength of lungs. 
 
 " Being a lord of the soil, you would of course like to 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 261 
 
 hear something of our farming privileges. The soil here 
 is good for all kinds of grain; you cannot raise finer 
 wheat in your whole country ; our market is good, and 
 when our state is furnished with one or two more rail- 
 roads it will be about as good as that of old Rochester ; 
 and this will also bring up the value of most of the 
 Oakland farms to fifty dollars per acre. This is pretty 
 well for farmers, you will say ; and you know I intend 
 to pick up a small farm somewhere, if I stay here. 
 
 "We have a pretty church here in P., neatly done 
 off, and well furnished ; and we gather a good congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 "I would like to know who preaches, to you next 
 Sabbath. Whoever he may be, may he joyously and 
 successfully break to you the bread of life! " 
 
 The following extract from a letter to one of his chil- 
 dren will show how much they engrossed his mind in his 
 absence, and how anxious he was for their comfort : 
 
 <: This is a cold month; so cold that I often find 
 myself querying, ' How is it with those at home ? ' And 
 I sometimes fancy you all gathered around the stove, 
 shaking as if you had the ague ; for I cannot forget how 
 cold, how freezing cold, the days are there, and how un- 
 ceremoniously old blustering Boreas walks in among you 
 if a door is open, or howls at night around your windows. 
 You have, I am sure, all that is necessary in the cellar, 
 and all in the flour line that you will need before spring ; 
 and if your wood should fail (but I think it will not), 
 your mother will only have to send word to Mr. 0., and 
 it will come to you ready for the stove. 
 
 "You must have E. put a stove in the chamber, to 
 make it more comfortable ; and tell your mother, if she 
 needs more funds than she has in her possession, to call 
 on Dr. K., with whom I left money. 
 
 "Be careful, each one of you, of your health ; and now, 
 to one and all, a hearty God bless you, and "good- by till 
 spring opens the frozen waters of Lake Erie." 
 
262 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 In May, 1846, my father left his society in Pontiac, 
 and it was his intention when he returned to Bridgewater 
 to remove his family in a few weeks to Michigan. While 
 at home he enjoyed the precious privilege of attending a 
 conference at Edmeston Centre, and a session of the Ot- 
 sego Association, held at Richfield Springs. These were 
 days which he long remembered ; for then he saw, for the 
 last time in this life, many friends whom he held dear, 
 and parted with many of his beloved ministering breth- 
 ren, to meet with them no more till they gather " in the 
 conference above." 
 
 Before his return to Pontiac, he was requested to enter 
 the white church in Bridgewater, while before him, at 
 different times, gathered the mourners, with the lifeless 
 body of some old member of his society. Of these who 
 were laid in the church-yard at that time, and others who 
 were buried a few miles distant, were Mr. F., Mr. S., Mrs. 
 R., and Mrs. B. All of these were Universalists, and 
 most of them steady attendants at his meeting. The 
 good old man, Mr. F., who was then in feeble health, 
 said to my father, when he first left Bridgewater for Pon- 
 tiac, " Brother Woolley, you will come back to preach 
 my funeral sermon." His words were verified, and when 
 my father returned from his new-made grave he exclaimed, 
 " How fast they are going ! " 
 
 In July of this year we find him again in the desk at 
 Pontiac, and a few days after the following letter was re- 
 ceived by his young daughters, Eunice and Laura Ann : 
 
 " My Children : From the date of this letter you will 
 see that I am once more in the land of the West ; but I 
 suppose you learned that from a paper I sent home on the 
 day of my arrival in Pontiac. I have written to Edward 
 and Fidelia, and now comes a letter to Eunice and Laura 
 Ann. 
 
 " And yet, my young girls, I have little to write about 
 that will interest you; for there is no one here with 
 whom you are acquainted, and letter- writing is, I fear, in 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 268 
 
 this age of the -world, too much like conversation — all 
 about our neighbors. 
 
 " Michigan reminds me of the eastern part of New 
 York, where my eyes first opened upon the beauties of this 
 lower world, and my ears first heard the song of birds. 
 Here, as there, we have the whippoorwill ; and I sit down 
 at early twilight and listen to the plaintive song of this 
 far-famed bird, and tears come up to my eyes, and my 
 heart throbs, as the memory of other days comes back to 
 my mind. Here, too, we have a quantity of the huckle- 
 berry ; a berry that you never saw, but -which is about as 
 large as a pea, and grows on small bushes all over the 
 woods. I had not seen one for twenty long years until 
 I returned to Michigan this summer. 
 
 " And now, girls, you must write me as often as you 
 can, and tell me if you are all well, and how things move 
 about you. A kiss to the little ones, Myra and Stephen 
 R., and may the great, good God watch over and keep 
 you all ! Always affectionately, 
 
 "E. M. Woolley." 
 
 Mingling instruction for the moral man in a business 
 letter, he wrote as follows to Edward J., then in a store, 
 Dec. 28th, 1846 : 
 
 " I presume it is not necessary to say to you, be faithful 
 to your employer. Look to his interest as you would look 
 to your own. Make every effort to improve in the busi- 
 ness ; for, whether you continue in it or not, it is a first- 
 rate school. And remember to improve your mind by 
 reading and thinking as much as you can. True, you 
 will not have much time ; but a little, well taken care of, 
 is worth something. You are young to-day, and a long 
 life may be before you in which to make yourself useful 
 and happy. You are one hundred per cent, in advance 
 of what I was at your age ; and at my age you can be one 
 hundred per cent, in advance of what I am now ; and 
 that, too, with but moderate exertion. * * * By 
 
264 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 the way, I suppose you have joined the Rechabites, from 
 the pamphlet you sent me. Well, I have no objection, if 
 it is what it professes to be. If it is not, you know it, and 
 will of course ' bolt the race.' My health is very good, 
 for me, and things move onward very much to my mind." 
 
 The next letter from his pen bears the date of Decem- 
 ber 31st, 1846, and was written to a friend in Herkimer 
 County : 
 
 " Well, here I am, once more in the far-famed city of 
 Pontiac ; and that is not all, — I don't know but I am pretty 
 well made over into a good-for-nothing Wolverine. In. 
 truth, the rough-and-tumble — sometimes up and some- 
 times down — though terrible at first, is not so hard 
 after one has endured it for forty-four years. One thing 
 is certain with us of the Western States, — if we have less 
 to love and admire, we have more to laugh over, than 
 have you, away down in that eastern world, where you 
 have all ceased to think that a red-skin may darken your 
 door. And why is it not as well to laugh as to weep, to 
 be .merry as to be wise ? ' Laugh and be well ' has long 
 been in the mouth of the ignorant man and the philoso- 
 pher ; and why not laugh ? It is better for the health 
 than the doctor's medicine, pill-boxes and all ; and the 
 man, woman or child, that does not enjoy a good, hearty 
 laugh, — not a wee bit of a broken smile, that dies upon 
 the lips, but a real, happy burst of merriment, that comes 
 ringing up from the joyous heart, and falls away like 
 tinkling bell-notes upon the surrounding atmosphere, — 
 the man, the woman, or the child, that does not like this, 
 must, to say the least, have a bit of a soul, and be the 
 nearest of anything possible to what the good, old, honest 
 Dutchman called a ' Ting.' Say what you will, it does 
 one good to laugh ; and he is a good fellow who can look 
 up something to laugh at. 
 
 " I have sometimes thought that the philosopher was 
 no better than the ignorant man. The philosopher looks 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 265 
 
 great and wise ; the ignorant man feels great and wise. 
 The philosopher thinks he knows a thing or two ; the 
 ignorant man thinks he knows it all. But here the igno- 
 rant man has the worst of it, for he is the most important 
 of the two. They both think themselves happy. 
 
 ' The learned is happy Nature to explore ; 
 The ignorant happy that he knows no more.' 
 
 " And if they are happy, have they not reached the 
 great desideratum after which the sons and daughters of 
 men are constantly seeking ? 
 
 " Now, I will not stop to tell you which I believe 
 could truly be called happiness, — you have heard that 
 years before to-day ; and I will just say that you may 
 write me down the ignorant man or the philosopher, as 
 you please, — though, upon my word, I don't believe I 'm 
 either ! 
 
 " What is going on in Cedarville ? God and you may 
 know, but, as for my humble self, I beg to plead perfect 
 ignorance. And yet there are many in and about that 
 place upon whom I would like to look if I could, and 
 from whom I should be happy to hear. 
 
 " I think of those who are my friends oftener than you 
 or I can tell. Not a Sabbath comes and goes but I stand 
 in that little church, and, in imagination, look upon 
 those who, in days of yore, went up to the temple of God 
 to worship with me. Well, well ! it is not in my nature 
 to forget. I sometimes wish it was. But to forget the 
 places where and the good friends with whom I have been 
 happy, is a lesson I have never learned, and in all human 
 probability I never shall. 
 
 "Ah! there are bright spots in the past, beautiful 
 truths written out upon memory's page ! Book of books 
 is that memory God has given us ; and as we turn page 
 after page, 0, how the past comes up and clusters round 
 our way ! Names long dear are pronounced again ; hands 
 long separated are clasped once more ; and the well- 
 remembered voice, that was music to the soul in days 
 23 
 
266 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 gone by, sounds sweetly upon the ear. The time when 
 we parted, the place where we met, the kind greeting, 
 and the tear of gladness, are all there upon memory's 
 page. 
 
 " I once said I would forget. No, no ! I would re- 
 member everything that is beautiful, generous, forgiving 
 and godlike, in the human soul. And I would forget 
 nothing but anger, retaliation, and contempt. ' I have 
 unlearned contempt.' God bless the man that said it ! 
 Let the past come to me with its sustaining influence and 
 strengthening power, until the time of times spoken of, 
 when the past shall be present, and absent and cherished 
 friends be always near ! 
 
 "As to matters about here, they are well. Some how 
 or other, in the providence of God, I always have a few 
 dear friends ; and I have found them here. 
 
 " It has been sickly about here this season, and still I 
 have passed through unharmed. True, the old tiger, 
 fever-and-ague, came growling at me once, and I drove 
 him back with a huge pill, and the old scoundrel has kept 
 his distance ever since. Bad luck to him ! May he soon 
 die, and be buried without benefit of clergy ! No Univer- 
 salist should take the job of preaching his funeral ser- 
 mon ; but, if the worst came to the worst, and I were 
 compelled to do it, I would put endless damnation into 
 the sack with him, and send them both to that naughty 
 place preachers prate so much about. 
 
 " If my letter breathe a little of the egotistical, don't 
 mention it, for you know I have nothing else to write 
 about. 
 
 " God willing, I shall be with you in March; but, I 
 think, to make ready, and get ! outward bound,' for the 
 shore of the setting sun. 
 
 " Now to your pens, all hands, and tell me what has 
 been, what is, and what is going to be, while I pray the 
 Lord to keep you." 
 
 In January, 1847, he wrote to his family : 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 267 
 
 " Yes, here I am, yet among mortals upon the shore of 
 time, and appearances indicate that I may tarry a while 
 longer. ' Life,' says one author, ' is hut a bubble with 
 which mortals play ; ' and yet methinks it is well worth 
 possessing, if one knows how to make it so. But there 
 are many men and women who, it would seem, strive 
 harder to be miserable, and to render all about them 
 unhappy, than to enjoy life, and make their associates 
 bappy and contented. Well, let that pass ; but, children, 
 don't let the reflection pass, that your happiness depends, 
 first of all, upon your cultivating cheerful dispositions, 
 good-humor, and a eharitable and accommodating spirit. 
 In the economy of God no one can be happy without 
 such a character ; and no one who does not possess it can 
 be anything less than a trial, and a care, to those by 
 whom he is surrounded. 
 
 "I would have you learn to speak low ; for there is 
 nothing so disgusting to the finer feelings of the human 
 soul as a loud, coarse, heavy voice, especially in a woman. 
 
 " Again, remember that your happiness depends upon 
 the company to which you attach yourselves. You may 
 be an angel in disposition, you may possess superior 
 talent, but, if you are confined to the society of those 
 who are low, vicious, or ignorant, given to disputation or 
 gossipping, without wisdom enough to understand and 
 correct his or her faults, you will, in time, become like 
 them, and life will be to you a bitter cup, drugged with 
 wormwood and gall. 
 
 " In the next place, labor to become as intelligent as 
 you can. Riches dwindle into insignificance when com- 
 pared to a well-polished and well-disciplined mind. I 
 would not have you toil beyond reason, for that would 
 only defeat the end in view, by destroying your health, 
 and consequently injuring the- physical organs through 
 which the mind expresses itself. In this respect, those 
 of you who are old enough have thus far done as well 
 as I could ask ; and, like every other father who loves his 
 children, I thank God that it is so. 
 
268 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 " One important way in which to obtain knowledge, 
 and one of the best ways, is, to commune, either verbally 
 or with the pen, with intellectual men and women. Mind 
 never learns so fast, nor so well, as when it comes in con- 
 tact with mind. Thus far you have enjoyed a very good 
 opportunity for associating with the moral and intelli- 
 gent ; and, if I can devise ways and means to continue it 
 for you, I intend to do so. 
 
 " Don't laugh, girls, and say that I suspect you of 
 husband-hunting in your young years ; for, seriously, I 
 do not ; but what I shall say to you may, by and by, 
 result in blessings to yourselves and others. Girls who 
 depend upon ruffles and show, and the sprightliness of 
 their heels, for introduction to society, sometimes succeed ; 
 but when such an one, by cunning management, succeeds 
 in getting an intellectual and worthy companion for a 
 husband, he soon finds that a doll is not a companion, 
 and quite likely, if they both live a few years, he mourns 
 the day she became his wife. 
 
 " Neither would I have you careless and indifferent 
 about your manners or your dress, or confine yourselves 
 entirely to kitchen labor, or hard mental toil, to the 
 neglect of the lighter accomplishments, or the perusal 
 of those delicately and beautifully written books and 
 poems, the possession or knowledge of which adds grace 
 and loveliness to the mind and manners. Strive always 
 to be scrupulously neat and tidy in your dress ; and, if 
 possible, while you toil for mental improvement, do not 
 neglect the household cares or duties that fall upon you, 
 and forget not the sweet graces of a kind and confiding 
 heart. For be assured that the girl who looks well to 
 the mind with which God has enriched her presents her 
 husband (if she ever marries) a jewel that time can 
 never tarnish, a diamond that never grows dim. The 
 well-taught, well-disciplined mind never grows old ; it is 
 blessed with eternal youth. Beautiful thoughts, holy 
 aspirations, charitable purposes, and rich, warm affec- 
 tions, give it an appearance like the evergreen — fresh, 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 269 
 
 and green, and beautiful, amid the shifting changes of 
 time. Young as you are, you have seen something of 
 this. You have seen aged men and women, with the frost 
 of many winters upon their heads, and yet how mild, 
 how pleasant, how childlike, how cheerful ! — beautiful 
 even upon the borders of the grave, and captivating in 
 defiance of the gnawing tooth of time ! Such indi- 
 viduals are always beloved by the higher order of com- 
 munity, and respected even by those who cannot under- 
 stand them. But this high order of mind is attainable 
 only by long and protracted discipline. A day, an 
 hour, a year, will not do it. It must be the ' long pull, 
 the strong pull ' — the effort of many years. But there 
 is one consolation about it ; it is worth far more than it 
 costs, cost what it may. 
 
 "In my last, or last letter but one, Edward thought I 
 used ' soft soap ; ' but I think him mistaken. Merited 
 praise should always be given, and I had much rather 
 find you in a situation to merit praise than to deserve 
 condemnation. But he will bear me witness, I think, 
 that I am not slow to condemn, when, in my opinion, it is 
 deserved. He that always condemns is anything but a 
 good parent ; and he who always commends is unwise. 
 And if my letter was a little slippery, I pray God that 
 you may all so conduct yourselves that my letters to 
 you may never lose that ingredient, and become like a 
 grater. What say you, boy, — which would you like 
 "best? ■■ 
 
 " Now, my children, one and all, don't forget the 
 items I have mentioned; for in after life, if not. now, 
 you will believe that which I have told you. 
 
 " Don't forget to write often ; for you know 'father' 
 is far away from the family, by the stranger's hearth- 
 stone." 
 
 The last letter I find, written this winter, is dated 
 January 10th, 1847. 
 23* 
 
270 MBMOIK OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 " Well, what a very simpleton I am ! After having 
 written you a long letter, and waited a long, long time 
 for an answer, I am once more at my desk, pen in hand, 
 
 ready to spin out another yarn, to let me see, who 
 
 shall it be to ? To H. ? No, — sent the other to him. 
 To Dr. D. ? Ah ! he's in Texas, may be. Well, then, 
 it shall be C. M., and L., and mother too. There, H., 
 you are out of my book, — but don't look sorry about 
 it ; for, come to think, just at this time I don't know but 
 the others are as much under obligations to write as you 
 are ; and, on the whole, I think a little more. Conse- 
 quently, they shall be out of my book, too. Now, 
 mother, let 's turn them all down cellar, and then we '11 
 look up something to talk about. Now that they are 
 gone, we '11 suppose, for the sake of making the matter 
 clear, that a woman • — a young woman (I will not say 
 ' lady,' it sounds so much like nothing) — should invite an 
 old pastor, upon his departure for a new field of labor, 
 to write occasionally to the family. Then, suppose he 
 did write — but the family, for some reason (or for no 
 reason), did not answer. Ought not the individual who 
 
 requested the letter to say as much as this ' Dear 
 
 Sir, your letter is received, but don't write again ' ? 
 When C. comes up out of the cellar, just ask her that 
 question, and see if she don't blush ? Well, good 
 mother, this is the way I am situated with a family 
 somewhere in central New York (can you tell where ?) ; 
 and am I not a good-natured man, not to get in a pet 
 about it? 
 
 "Heigho! as I live, here is a letter, just in the 
 moment of time, over the signature of L. F. W., and in 
 it I find the following strange item : ' In my last letter 
 from C. she says they have received no line from you.' 
 What, in the name of wonder ! no letter ! Well, mother, 
 call them all up, and we '11 shake hands all round, and 
 give ' Uncle Sam ' a genteel scolding. Here I have 
 been vexed a long time for nothing, — just as we foolish 
 mortals always are ! — out of patience with our friends, 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 271 
 
 and not even thanking that Friend who never fails for 
 his boundless mercies ! 
 
 ' ' This part of Michigan is beautiful as eye . can 
 ■wish. The country is just undulating enough to give 
 you a beautiful variety of hills and vallieys ; but the 
 hills are little fellows, not half grown. Oakland County 
 has been settled about twenty years, and the disadvan- 
 tages of a new country are fast disappearing. 
 
 " I like the members of our society very much, but I 
 cannot yet feel at home. Strange faces look upon me, 
 wherever I journey ; and I get sad, sadder, saddest. 
 But I must shake it off, and harden my heart. If I 
 had one or two old friends here, I should settle in this 
 country. I may, as it is. 
 
 " Our winter, thus far, has been very mild ; no sleigh- 
 ing — but such wheeling you never saw — not a stone 
 to be seen as large as a hickory-nut. 
 
 " Tell all of my society that I remember them in my 
 
 prayers I do wish you would send me a half-dozen 
 
 long, good letters ; for nothing on earth is so like seeing 
 a dear old friend as a letter from himself." 
 
 This winter closed his labors in Pontiac, for a few 
 weeks ; and before a steamer could break the heavy 
 ice of Lake Erie he crossed the Detroit river, journeyed 
 in lumber-wagons through Canada to Buffalo, and in the 
 stormy days of March trod over the threshold of his 
 New York home. 
 
CHAPTER XV . 
 
 REMOVAL TO MICHIGAN WAYSIDE RAMBLES SAVES PADDY FROM A 
 
 DUCKING — HIS CHILD SAVED FROM DROWNING VISITS S. R. SMITH 
 
 SINGING AND SERVICES ON A STEAMER THUNDER-STORM ON 
 
 LAKE ERIE — THE NEW HOME STARVING A HERETIC ILLNESS 
 
 AGAIN — LETTER TO "GENIE." 
 
 My father had finally decided to remove his family to 
 Michigan ; and after his return home the weeks fled 
 rapidly away in preparation for the expected departure. 
 The last sermon was preached, the last visit made, the 
 last sad adieu spoken, and at daybreak, on the morning 
 of the tenth of May, 1847, my father, accompanied by 
 all his household, save one son and one daughter, bade 
 farewell to the pleasant inland village of Bridgewatcr. 
 The ride to Utica was dreary indeed ; the sky was low- 
 ering and gray, the snow had not all melted, and lay 
 in huge banks over corners of the fences, while the stage- 
 coach and loaded wagons were sometimes upon "terra 
 firma," and then again half-way down in mud and water ; 
 and the poor quadrupeds drawing these loads found (as 
 they ever do in early May in central New York) the 
 mellowest of ground to tread through ! 
 
 After reaching Utica, there were a few books to pur- 
 chase, a few more friends to see, a few more words of 
 farewell to be spoken, and then a boat was chartered for 
 the little company of three families, westward bound ;, 
 and amid the gathering mist of a damp evening, the 
 turning away of familiar footsteps, the dying sounds of 
 long-loved voices, the noise and continuing jostle of the 
 beautiful city, now to be seen no more, — amid all this 
 the little boat was drawn from the dock, and the shining 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 273 
 
 spires and winding streets faded, as human forms and 
 faces had faded before, from tear-dimmed eyes, whose 
 glances turned not away till the gathering darkness shut 
 stream and shore from view. 
 
 The canal journey was necessarily slow on account 
 of the hindrances of lock-breaking, and the party was 
 detained nearly two days within two miles of Syracuse, 
 that the great number of boats there gathered might be 
 " locked through." In the morning, after we were noti- 
 fied of the necessary delay, my father went down to the 
 city, and returned with several friends, who had come to 
 prevail upon him to take his family and remain with 
 them until the trouble was over. ' ' It must be dreary 
 here," they said; " come with us." But my father re- 
 plied, " We are comfortable here, and moving is so muck 
 work. Beside, the air has become mild, and the ground 
 not very damp, and those of us who weary here can take 
 to the woods till sundown." 
 
 After a conversation of a few hours, these friends de- 
 parted, and then from my father's lips came the proposi- 
 tion for an all-day's ramble. The mothers, as mothers 
 always must, stayed to watch their babies, and to find the 
 sight of violets in soft blue eyes, and hear a sweeter than 
 bird-music in the dove-like cooings of baby- voices. But 
 there was a picking-up of black beavers, a gathering 
 of sun-bonnets, a hurrying of feet, and a quick spring- 
 ing from the boat-side ; then my father led his little girl 
 and boy by the hand, and took his way over hills just 
 green with the bursting grass-leaves, through little hol- 
 lows where the snow was hardly melted, and on, to a 
 heavy wood, some three miles from where the happy com- 
 pany started. The trees had not yet put on a semblance 
 of a leafy robe, and the brown garments they wore the 
 year before rustled beneath the tread of the beauty- 
 seekers. The air was warm, and the sky bright with 
 sunshine, as my father lifted up a cluster of brown leaves, 
 and exposed to the view of those around him a bed of 
 " spring beauties " and " blue violets ;" then he repeated, 
 
274 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 in his rich, musical voice, those exquisitely expressed 
 ■words of Willis, beginning with " I have found vio- 
 lets." The poem was felt and understood by those who 
 heard it, in view of that bed of wild-flowers, better than 
 it had ever been previously ; and in each and every heart 
 then there has it become a precious memory. The day 
 wore on in rambles through wood and vale, and at twi- 
 light my father had hung sweet garlands around the 
 necks of his little ones, and entered the boat- cabin with 
 his hands filled with the younglings of the wild. 
 
 The next day, towards evening, the little bark was 
 "locked through," and the company felt that they were 
 once more upon the way. The morning after leaving 
 Syracuse, a shuffle, accompanied with loud talking, was 
 heard upon deck, and my father went up to ascertain the 
 difficulty. He found that a feeble old Irishman had 
 come upon the boat the night before, and, unknown to 
 the " captain or hands," tarried all night. The "crew" 
 took it in great anger; they had already thrown over 
 his hat into the water, and were making an effort to teach 
 this poor vagrant better manners by giving him a plunge 
 bath. ' ' What — ho — ho — boys, what 's this ? What 
 are you going to do with that brother of Erin? " 
 
 "Why, sir, ye see, this boat was to take no one but 
 yees, that corned on to Utica ; and here 's this feller corned 
 on in the night, and nobody knows how, and so we's 
 jest going to teach him what 's what, sir." 
 
 " And were you going to throw him in the ditch, boys ?" 
 
 "Yes, that's jest what we's going to do;" and they 
 made an effort to lift him over. But my father laid his 
 hand on the man's shoulder, and asked, " How is this, 
 my poor fellow ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, ye sees, I'm been sick, and I wants to go 
 to Newark, where my wife and bairns are ; and I haints 
 no money, and so I gots on to this here boat, last night. 
 The Lord help yees, sir, and yee '11 not let 'em throw me 
 overboard." 
 
 " Let him be, boys, — let him be. He could n't stand 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 275 
 
 a bath now any better than a dying chicken. Some one 
 of you boys may wish to go home to die, yet, and be 
 compelled to ask the same help of this poor creature. 
 It's a blessed thing to die at home, boys; let him go 
 there." 
 
 " But, bless yees, he's no money." 
 
 ' ' No matter ; I can spare him enough to help him home. 
 Don't throw him overboard, boys ! " 
 
 After the company reached Newark, the sick old 
 man came tottering along to my father, and, crossing his 
 breast, exclaimed, "And the Lord '11 bless and do yees 
 good ; for yees good to them that 's sick, and to sich as 
 wants help." 
 
 As the boat was passing through Newark, Rev. J. J. 
 Austin sprang upon the deck, and my father was rejoiced 
 at the kindly greeting, and the opportunity of a few 
 moments' conversation. 
 
 When we were near Buffalo, as my father was seated in 
 the cabin, busy in conversation with his friends, a little 
 black-eyed girl came running to him, and exclaimed, 
 " Mr. Woolley, Smith 's drownding ! " My father bounded 
 upon deck, and saw one of the " hands" in the river, 
 with a child in his arms, making an effort to get on deck. 
 My father took the boy, which was his youngest child, 
 and, throwing a five-dollar bill to the kind-hearted man 
 who had been so active in saving life, he hurried down 
 stairs with the child in his arms, and proceeded to give 
 him a warm bath, and a change of apparel. My father's 
 face was as white as marble, but he did not utter a word 
 until his little boy was warmly dressed and again about 
 his play; then he said, very gently, "My son, you had 
 better be quiet when you are on deck." 
 
 After the change from canal-boat to the hotel, and the 
 ride from thence to a lake steamer, there was little time 
 to spare in Buffalo ; but my father was anxious to see 
 Rev. S. R. Smith once more, and he hastened to his 
 dwelling. When he had been welcomed by Mrs. Smith, 
 she said, " Brother Woolley, Mr. Smith is in the study; 
 
276 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLliE*. 
 
 you can go in, if you wish." The study door stood ajar, 
 and my father pushed it noiselessly open, and had nearly 
 crossed the room before he was noticed by the pale, slen- 
 der man at the desk; but when Mr. Smith heard his 
 footstep, he looked up, and, springing to his feet, ex- 
 claimed, " Brother Woolley, upon my word, I'm glad 
 to see you again!" Then he continued, "Brother Wool- 
 ley, they tell me you are going to remove to Michigan. 
 I hope you will say that it is a false report." 
 
 " I must say that it is true, for we are now on our way." 
 
 "Brother Woolley, I don't like this. Why did you 
 not go to R. or G. ? " 
 
 " Simply because I could not. I am not qualified to 
 fill such positions." 
 
 " Not qualified ! You old foolishness ! Brother 
 Woolley," (and the old man's bright blue eye grew 
 brighter in his earnestness,) " you are qualified to fill any 
 pulpit in the land. And I do not like this. Let our 
 young men, who are fresh and strong for the contest, go 
 as pioneers into these new states ; but we who have grown 
 old in the service, who have borne the heat and the 
 brunt of the battle, let us, -while we labor, tarry where 
 so great a work has been done." 
 
 " God only knows, Brother Smith, how gladly I would 
 live and die in central New York, amid the field of my 
 early labor ; but circumstances render it impossible, and I 
 can do more good in Michigan than I can here." 
 
 A few moments more, and they had parted, with a 
 mutual " God bless you ! " How soon He heard their 
 prayers, and how richly has He blest them both since then ! 
 
 That night the heavens were hung with a canopy of 
 stars, — the moonshine lay like bars of gold beneath the 
 starry flag that hung out, broad and free, against the 
 gentle breeze, as the Lexington bore away from the har- 
 bor, and rode proudly on, to buffet the deep waters of 
 Lake Erie. As the waves parted before her prow and 
 gathered again in her wake, there were those who stood 
 upon her deck and thought of the dear old friends they 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 277 
 
 had left behind, and gazed far away upon the distant 
 hills and quiet villages, asking their own hearts if it were 
 indeed fact that they had said farewell forever to the 
 father-land. 
 
 After the clear, shrill notes of the steamer's band rang 
 over the glistening waves, while the distant city of Buf- 
 falo was yet in sight, my father leaned over the deck 
 railing, and his voice, always rich and melodious, was 
 unusually sweet, as he sang that sweetest of Mrs. Hemans' 
 songs, "Farewell to Wales." While he was singing, 
 one after another gathered near him, till he was sur- 
 rounded by a large circle of attentive listeners. His 
 whole heart was in his voice as he breathed the last 
 line, " Green land of my childhood, my home, and my 
 dead ! " and one young sailor lifted the broad brim of 
 his tarpaulin, and with the sleeve of his blue jacket 
 wiped the mist from his eyes. My father saw him 
 and whispered to a friend, " Somewhere in the world 
 he has a home, and those he loves are there." 
 
 It was told below that there was to be prayer upon 
 deck, and those who had not become weary with the day's 
 cares came up to listen. The men lifted their hats and 
 the women bowed their heads in silence, while my father 
 stood among them with words of thankfulness falling from 
 his lips. His heart was full of mingled grief and joy ; 
 and he gathered it all up, with a spirit of hope and trust, 
 and laid it upon the great throbbing heart of the good 
 God and ever-loving Father. It was a beautiful and 
 impressive prayer, uttered upon the deck of that flying 
 steamer, with the sound of rushing waters beneath, 
 the clear moonlight above and around, and the gentle 
 evening breeze, just stirring the silken brown hair above 
 his heavy forehead. When the clear, audible Amen 
 sounded upon the air, and floated on across the waves, 
 the listeners separated without a murmur, as though 
 conscious of a newly-received blessing ; the sailors went 
 noiselessly to their posts of duty, and the passengers to 
 their quiet slumbers. 
 24 
 
278 MEMOIR OP ED-WARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 The next evening there was a heavy thunder-storm, 
 and my father sat in the hall between the line of state- 
 rooms, watching the happy play of his children, for whom 
 he nad obtained the liberty. An old lady sat near him, 
 complaining of the children's sport ; and as my father did 
 not heed her words, she addressed him thus : " Why 
 don't you stop their play?" 
 
 "Why should I stop it, madam ?" 
 
 " Because it 's so wicked to play in a thunder-storm." 
 
 " Indeed ! — is it wicked to play when it thunders? " 
 
 "Yes, it is,— and you wouldn't ask, if you knew 
 much!" 
 
 " I must confess my ignorance ; for I did not know it, 
 madam." 
 
 The old lady, seeing that he did not intend to spoil 
 the sport, took it upon herself. She hurried, as fast as 
 she could, after the children ; but, in place of catching 
 one, she ran against a great ebony-faced waiter, and 
 pushed the glass goblets from his hands. " ! ! I 
 wish you 'd go away, you old witch you ! " exclaimed the 
 frightened black man, rolling up the white of his eyes, 
 and gritting his teeth at her. This called forth a burst 
 of laughter from my father, and he sought to console her 
 with, " Let the naughty children go, mother, and come 
 you and enjoy a good chat with us. I don't believe their 
 frolic will make the thunder any heavier." 
 
 " You are a good-for-nothing wicked creatur ! — and I 
 shouldn't wonder if God sent thunder and lightning 
 through you, and sunk us all, for being with you, in the 
 bottom of the lake before morning ! " 
 
 When we arrived in Detroit, having been two weeks 
 upon the journey, we found the peach and apple trees in 
 full bloom, and the shade trees with their leaf-buds un- 
 folded. Here my father met with a kind reception, and 
 his family also, as they always did for his sake ; and after 
 remaining over night, he found passage in the cars for 
 Birmingham. A few moments before starting, a noble- 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT AVOOLLEY. 279 
 
 looking stranger asked of my father, "Is that your 
 dog, sir?" 
 
 " We call him my eldest son's," was the reply. 
 
 " What will you take for him?" 
 
 " Not anything, sir ; he has come with us from Oneida 
 County, N. Y., and all the money in the world couldn't 
 buy him." 
 
 " Are you in earnest? " 
 
 " Certainly, — I never sold a friend, and I am too old 
 to begin now." 
 
 " Give me your hand ! — we are friends, after this ! " 
 said the stranger. 
 
 The journey to Birmingham was through an unpleas- 
 ant portion of the country. The land was low and wet, 
 but the trees were fresh and green beneath the sun and 
 rain of spring ; and clusters of sweet-brier blossoms and 
 wild roses hung almost constantly before the car-win- 
 dows. 
 
 Upon stopping in Birmingham, my mother, who was 
 sick upon the way, and a sister who had been ill before 
 leaving New York, were placed by my father in the care 
 of his kind friends, while he, with his eldest and youngest < 
 daughter and a little son, went to prepare the new home 
 for the reception of the invalids. The morning of their 
 departure from Birmingham was fresh and clear as a 
 May morning could be^; the air was soft and balmy, the 
 bird-songs fell sweetly upon the ears of the strangers, 
 and the young flower-buds peeped out from the green 
 grass by the roadside, to brighten their newly-discovered 
 way. As they drew near the strange home, they were 
 greeted by an excellent family (henceforth to be among 
 the chosen of the spirit), whose assistance lightened the 
 daily toil, and whose kindness lifted from the heart that 
 burden of loneliness that will settle down upon it as it 
 throbs in the land of the stranger. 
 
 That night, as the father stood with his children upon 
 the door-step of the new dwelling-place, he said : " Here 
 I shall live, here I shall die, and there I shall be buried ! " 
 
280 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 pointing to a cluster of white tomb-stones nestled together 
 upon a little hill that was crowned with oak-trees, and 
 whose base was washed by the waters of a shining lake. 
 
 Every year that he dwelt in this home, he added some- 
 thing to its comfort and beauty ; for he intended to make 
 it the resting-place of his old age. Here were the fruit 
 and shade trees and berry-bushes his own hands had 
 planted, and the shrubs and flower-roots he had gathered 
 from many places, and helped to nourish with his care. 
 But, ah ! it was not long that he should here suffer or 
 enjoy ! God knew the great gift his spirit needed, and 
 that he could receive it only in that glorious home where 
 the air is always balmy, and the flowers never fade ! 
 
 As soon as my father had gathered his family upon 
 this small farm, about two miles from Birmingham, he • 
 returned to his ministerial duties. He was preaching 
 every alternate Sabbath in Pontiac and Birmingham ; and 
 though many other heavy and trying labors were his to 
 perform, he was always faithful to the discharge of his 
 professional duties. He had no horse this summer, and 
 generally walked to his appointments, and often jour- 
 neyed ten or twenty miles on foot to attend a funeral, or 
 be present to solemnize a marriage rite. Whenever he 
 was called, he was ready. Hip armor was always on, and 
 never gathered rust from disuse. Of the faithfulness 
 of his labors in this young state- Rev. J. Billings has 
 said: 
 
 "Brother Woolley came to Michigan six years ago, 
 and settled with our friends in Birmingham, Oakland 
 County. He preached there a portion of the time, and 
 in the flourishing village of Pontiac, and also in the sur- 
 rounding country. If able to meet his appointments, he 
 was always on hand to proclaim the divine riches of the 
 Gospel. 
 
 " Our brother had more calls to preach than he could 
 fulfil ; the Macedonian cry arose, from every quarter, for 
 him to preach the word of truth. And, being a Gospel- 
 worker, he went far and near, often laboring beyond his 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWAHD MOTT WOOLLEY. 281 
 
 strength. He was often requested to go into some new 
 neighborhood, by a lover of the better covenant, to preach 
 an evening discourse ; and the whole country would be 
 collected together, to hear of the truth everywhere spoken 
 against. Brother Woolley, possessing a warm and ardent 
 temperament, full of sympathy for his fellow-mortals, 
 knowing how to pity them, and anxious to lead them from 
 the thraldom of error, would preach a long discourse, 
 forgetful of himself, until he was done, and found he had 
 gone beyond his strength ; then he would say, ' It is 
 better to wear out than rust out.' 
 
 " Brother W. always treated his antagonists with 
 Christian courtesy; but woe to the system of doctrine 
 promulgated as the Gospel by the opposers of the 
 final ingathering of all men to holiness and happiness ! 
 Industry, integrity and perseverance, were so much a 
 part of his nature, that it was impossible to divert his 
 mind from his work. As a man, no one who knew him 
 could doubt his good intentions. He was generous- 
 hearted, ready at all times to help the distressed, and 
 a friend to the down-trodden of humanity. 
 
 " But he has gone ; and we have full confidence that 
 he has entered upon a higher sphere, and received a mis- 
 sion far transcending the one allotted him upon earth. 
 And peace be to his memory ! " 
 
 Combined with my "father's many cares, this season of 
 1847, was the continued sickness of his family. His 
 daughter Laura Ann, who had been ill in New York, 
 remained sick through the summer, and was not improv- 
 ing when another daughter was taken down with what 
 was supposed to be bronchial consumption, and was con- 
 fined to her room, and most of the time to her bed, 
 through the fall and winter. And the commingled labor, 
 with the " wear and tear " of mind, made sad inroads 
 upon his health ; but he relinquished no duty, and dis- 
 appointed no congregation. 
 
 The September of this fall was made bright to him by 
 the return of his daughter Eunice, who had been visiting 
 24* 
 
282 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY, 
 
 in the West. She had come home with happy heart, and 
 the rose of health upon her cheek, and her welcome was 
 one of cheerful thankfulness. 
 
 Amid all his cares, however, he could not forget the 
 friends away; and the following letter to a friend in the 
 State of New York was written this winter, some time in 
 the month of January : 
 
 "Valued and esteemed Friends: Your kind and 
 very welcome letter was received soon after date, and 
 was joyously perused by one and all of the household. 
 Joyfully perused, for we were all happy to hear from 
 the friends of early days, — and not only to hear, but 
 likewise to hear that it is well with them. No one but 
 God and myself knows how often I think of you all, and 
 others in your vicinity to whom I have been, am now, 
 and always shall be, much attached. 
 
 "How much there is, in the days gone by, to render 
 the present moment joyous, tongue cannot tell. It is 
 well worth while to deal justly and tenderly with our 
 fellows, were it for no other reason than to enjoy the 
 past in retrospection, by and by. 
 
 " But, ah ! wait a minute ; it is Sabbath evening, and, 
 having preached all day, I forgot myself, and came near 
 giving you a sermon. 
 
 " You tell me to write all aboulr myself. Whew ! what 
 a subject B. M. Woolley would be for a yarn ! But, as 
 you request it, here goes for a dissertation ; and if it does 
 not please you, remember it was of your own choosing, 
 and say, ' He did as well as he could, with su»h a 
 naughty subject.' 
 
 " To begin with, — for every subject has a beginning 
 and an end, unless it is this one : but whether there will 
 be an end to B. M. Woolley, remains yet to be told. 
 
 No, I'm not i dead, 1 — upon honor, I am not, 
 
 and I pray you to believe me ; and the man who' reported 
 the story in New York that I was dead was either a 
 very naughty man or a little deranged. 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLBY. 283 
 
 " Every letter we have received for three months has 
 come fraught with the tidings of my death ; until, upon 
 my word, we have grown to think that, if I am not dead, 
 I shall be at some future time. 
 
 "It is true that I was sick many months, and some 
 of the time too sick for comfort ; and one day they tell 
 me I looked like dying, but they ' kept the spirits up by 
 pouring the spirits down,' and by night-fall I was far 
 better. You know nothing of the effect of chilh-fever 
 in your country ; one sick with it requires the closest 
 watching, or he sinks away when the fever leaves ; and 
 I assure you nothing so racks one's brain as this horrible 
 sickness. It makes you another person entirely, and it 
 is ten chances to one if you ever get to be quite yourself 
 again ; however, I hope to escape next spring and sum- 
 mer; and, if I do, why, then I shall gather back my 
 energies once more. Although I am far from well, yet 
 I make out to preach every Sabbath, and my congrega- 
 tions are large and attentive. They seem to like their 
 pastor, and I know that he likes his people. 
 
 "As for Universalism in Michigan, it is far from 
 having the firm, influential and numerous supporters that 
 it owns in New York ; and the opposition here is as it 
 ever is in new countries, where a belief in endless suffer- 
 ing is first established. And the opponents of our faith 
 are numerous as the white flakes in a snow-storm ; and 
 as bitter — 0, my soul ! — as bitter as the wormwood 
 and gall ! They expect to see every Universalist with 
 cloven feet and the horns of his satanic majesty ! And 
 yet, 'I must do them the credit to say that, as a general 
 thing, they treat the man with Christian politeness ; but 
 his faith is another thing. But, God helping me, we 
 shall spread this blessed truth far and near through this 
 new state. The believers are waking up, and buckling 
 on their helmets of salvation ; the doubting are becoming 
 confirmed, and many an unbeliever is turning from the 
 evil of his way ; and E. M. Woolley is giving his time and 
 his health for the success of the great cause. 
 
284 MEMOIR OB EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 " There ! will you confess it, my friends, — have I not 
 done good justice to my subject ? 
 
 " To all the family we send greetings of affection; not 
 forgetting those little black-eyed chatterboxes, that were, 
 and are, and will be, I presume, in all kinds of mischief. 
 
 " Tell D. that I have not forgotten him, if I have not 
 sent him a letter ; but I must plead guilty of seeming 
 neglect to many of my friends ; yet are they remembered 
 with the old affection, and the only excuse I plead is the 
 multiplied cares of my busy life. 
 
 "There were many subjects- that I intended to talk 
 about when I took up my pen, but the tremendous great 
 subject you gave me forbade the very thought of any- 
 thing else. I cannot, however, close this long, long 
 letter, without requesting you all to write often. Don't 
 wait to ask ' who wrote last,' for I speak the simple 
 truth when I say your letters are always more than 
 welcome. 
 
 " Eleven o'clock ! and now for the farewell, and then 
 for the arms of old Morpheus, until the day dawns ; and 
 I would n't wonder if he kept me a little longer than 
 sunrise, — would you ? " 
 
 Through the month of February, my father, though 
 not wellj was ready to respond to every call to preach ; 
 and he walked and rode great distances to teach the new 
 doctrine to many who had never heard it. He always 
 found kind friends, who could understand how toilsome 
 is a faithful minister's life, and who were willing to do 
 all that was possible for them to administer to his wants, 
 and give him rest and quiet after a toilsome journey. 
 Sometimes he met with treatment rather ludicrous, fur- 
 nishing him with a fund of amusement. He was in- 
 vited, this winter, to go into Macomb County, and give 
 an evening lecture. Before services, he called at the 
 house of the gentleman who requested him to give the 
 appointment, and was kindly received by this friend and 
 his wife. The family were eating supper when my father 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 285 
 
 went in, but an old lady who had just left the table sat 
 by the fire lighting a pipe. When she heard her son 
 call my father by name, she put down her pipe and com- 
 menced clearing off the table. "Why, mother," asked 
 the son's wife, "what's the matter?" 
 
 "Matter? — matter enough! I want these dishes 
 washed, and not be all night eating supper ! " and the 
 old lady bustled around, and washed her dishes in a 
 moment's time. When she sat down by the fire, Mrs. 
 D. spread a white cloth over the table, and put on the 
 neat, white dishes ; then she went into another room, but 
 when she returned with her hands full of eatables, the 
 cups and dishes were gone, and the table placed against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Why, mother," she asked, " what does this mean? " 
 
 "I an't going to get victuals for Universalist minis- 
 ters, and then be sent to hell for it ! " 
 
 "I'll get the supper, mother, so that the sin won't 
 come upon you." 
 
 " No matter ! I shall have to suffer for it, and it shan't 
 be done ! If this sinner wants supper, let him get it, if 
 he can ! " 
 
 Mrs. D., however, made a second effort, and, as the hus- 
 band was present, the old lady did not touch the table, 
 but bustled out of the room, muttering all kinds of 
 imprecations against Universalists, and Universalist min- 
 isters in particular. 
 
 Early the next March, my father was again attacked 
 with chill-fever, and this time it would not yield. He 
 could not consent to give up his ministerial labors, and 
 preached and journeyed with the utmost presumption, 
 when he should have been at home, and been attended with 
 the most faithful nursing. He was then preaching at 
 Walled Lake ; and one Sabbath morning in May, as his 
 health had somewhat improved, he started to go to his 
 appointment, in company with two of his children and a 
 few friends ; but he soon grew sick and faint, and in 
 making an effort to get out of the wagon fainted and 
 
286 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 fell. Word was sent to Walled Lake of the cause of the 
 disappointment, and several friends came to the house 
 ■where he tarried, to render, if possible, assistance. The 
 next day he was carried home, and was a confirmed and 
 suffering invalid for more than six months. The family were 
 most of them sick at the time, only one daughter and a 
 little son being able to get about the house. But amid 
 all this suffering and trial no murmur passed his lips. 
 He knew where to go for consolation, and his sorrows 
 were not for the ear of mortals, — they were only for 
 his God. It was a part of his character to keep his 
 own trials from those about him, and to console and 
 make cheerful the other sufferers in his home. Those 
 beautiful words of Eliza Cook were often upon his lips : 
 
 " My joys, my hopes, let others share ; 
 In grief 1 'd play the miser's part ; 
 I 'd scatter all that 's bright and fair, 
 But lock the night-shade in my heart." 
 
 In June his health improved some, enough to enable 
 him to send a few letters to his eastern friends ; and the 
 first of this month a package of short notes was sent to a 
 family in C, who had gathered with him for years in 
 the old temple of worship. They sweetly express the 
 affection he always felt even for the little ones of his 
 flock: 
 
 " Young Friend C. : It is a long time since your 
 very kind and welcome letter was received ; and you can- 
 not begin to think what a ' hurly-burly ' it caused in our 
 humble domicil. P., E., L., A., and a host of others, 
 all perused it at once — looking over the shoulder, peep- 
 ing through under the arm, in any way to obtain a 
 glance of the line from the long-tried friend. And it is 
 not strange that it should be so ; for we are nestled down 
 in a far-away land, among warm hearts, it is true — but, 
 then, they are new friends, and know us not as those know 
 us in the ' father-land.' And it is equally true, and I 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 287 
 
 presume it always will be, that they are not to us, in feel- 
 ing at least, what those long-loved and cherished friends 
 are we left behind. This, undoubtedly, they also feel ; 
 for they too have their old friendships, that must not 
 and should not give way for ours. And I will venture 
 to write here that expressive line of Mrs. Norton's, even 
 at the risk of being Galled a simpleton in my old age ; 
 for it is true, laugh at it as one may, that ' No love is 
 like the early love which young affection nursed.' Those 
 we loved in the long-ago may be frail, faulty, wicked ; 
 they may vex, and injure, and grieve us ; but time 
 and good thoughts, those softeners of all passions, bring 
 back the good they have done us, the memory of the 
 early joy they knew with us, the thoughts of the sor- 
 rows we have shared together, the knowledge of the 
 temptations they have been compelled to endure from 
 within, and we forget our vexation ; and though they may 
 still grieve us, if we cannot heal the wound, we may draw 
 down the white wing of peace over it, and ask God to 
 forgive as we forgive. If we feel all this for those who 
 have proved false or unkind, what words can express our 
 affection for the faithful and the tried of that early- 
 formed band whose kindness still brightens our path as it 
 winds onward to the tomb ? 
 
 " You will permit me to remark here, that among the 
 multitude of acquaintances and friends with whom we 
 took the parting hand one year since, no one possesses a 
 larger share of our affection than the various members of 
 your father's family. And I must say to you, C, that 
 you did yourself and us good justice when you wrote : 
 ' It is not forgetfulness, it is not indifference, it i3 not 
 because change has come over one or all of you, that 
 you do not write ! ' That clause in your letter, C, 
 speaks more than at first might be understood. It speaks 
 as the soul of the generous must ever speak, and forms 
 a complete index to the mind. And the remark, too, was 
 true in its application ; for, if you should never hear from 
 us again, you may attribute it to anything save a dimi- 
 
288 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 nution of affection. Ton will at once discover that our 
 letters to your family must be mostly confined to events 
 concerning ourselves ; while yours to us are not only 
 filled with interest concerning home, but also about 
 many, very many, who are scattered around you, and of 
 whom we are pleased to hear. 
 
 " And now, my young friend, see to it that some one 
 of you write often ; and, my word for it (not the best 
 security in the world, perhaps), we will send you back 
 something, and that the best we have." 
 
 This letter continues in the following manner : 
 
 " Friends H. and Wife : Here I come with a mes- 
 sage to you, safely done up in C.'s letter. And, in the 
 first place, I am better and better pleased with this part 
 of Michigan, every day I live ; and yet it is not just 
 as I would have it, and I begin to think I never shall 
 have a world quite to my liking till I make one ! By 
 the way, I have made thousands in my life, but the 
 trouble is they '11 not stay made ! 
 
 " We have not storm enough here. I have seen more 
 wind, rain and snow, in New York, in one month, than 
 we have here in a year. During the past winter we had 
 not one day of sleighing, and the sun shone like summer 
 more than half of the time. 
 
 " In early April the trees budded, the grass was 
 green, and wheat never looked finer since days were born. 
 It is now, seemingly, almost midsummer with us, and, 
 more than all, we shall not pay for these fresh, early 
 springs, by taking a cold, dark, dismal fall. Our au- 
 tumns here are the finest seasons of the year. Never did 
 eyes of mortals behold a more glorious sight than is our 
 country in October. 
 
 "I wish God, in his mercy, would send us a faithful 
 minister. My own health is such that I cannot go even to 
 a funeral; and there is not a day passes without the 
 want of a Universalist minister to attend a funeral, a wed- 
 
MEMOIR OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 289 
 
 ding, or to preach somewhere. I have often thought that 
 I must give up preaching ; but I am satisfied that I could 
 not do it and live. 
 
 " It would do my soul good to see you, or to receive a 
 letter. In the first respect I do not expect soon to be 
 gratified ; but of the last wish I do not despair." 
 
 The letter closes thus : 
 
 " M. L., Boys, and Little Girls : Just give us a call 
 any afternoon you please, and we will go down to the lake, 
 a few rods from our door, step into the boat and go fish- 
 ing. Any quantity of the finest fish we may have for 
 plucking up. Ah ! rare fun we will have, if you come ; 
 or, if you like it better, wait till our peaches are ripe, 
 and we will serve you with such peaches as you cannot 
 gather in Herkimer. 
 
 " But the fish will all die, the peaches ripen and pass 
 away, and the blue waters of Erie will reach their ocean 
 home, long before we shall meet again ! 
 
 " Well, well, my little friends, — come to us upon paper, 
 if you can come no other way. We will give you a 
 hearty reception, and part with you — never ! 
 " To one and all, truly, as ever, 
 
 "E. M. Woolley." 
 
 Through the months of July and August my father 
 was very sick. Many days we looked to see him die ; and 
 we knew, if he - was spared to us, it would be many years 
 before he could regain his natural cheerfulness and 
 strength. In the first of September he began to improve, 
 and was able before the month passed away to walk 
 about the yard, and look to home business. But this 
 fearful sickness, combined with the effect of a fall he 
 had received several years before, and which injured his 
 back, gave his nervous system a derangement from which 
 he never recovered. His lungs, too, were very weak and 
 diseased, and this sickness left him with a cough that 
 25 
 
290 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 lingered with him, sometimes less and sometimes 'worse, 
 till he sank under it to the grave. 
 
 In October he preached again, and, as his health seemed 
 to improve, he accepted the charge of his old societies, 
 and also extended his field of labor. He not only 
 preached every Sabbath, but lectured several times 
 "through the week, and went in every direction to com- 
 fort the mourners, and show them the God of all grace 
 and the Father of all mercies. 
 
 When one inquired for his health, he would reply, 
 " Ah ! sir, it is so long since I possessed health, I could 
 not answer your question." Or, he would say, " I am 
 very well; " and the hue of his cheek, the brightness of 
 his eye, and more than all the cheerfulness of his voice, 
 cheated many of his friends into the belief that he was 
 not suffering with any fatal disease. But those who 
 knew him best, and loved him most, saw that his work 
 below would soon be accomplished. 
 
 The fall of 1848 was also made happier to the father and 
 invalid by the welcome of his eldest son, whom he left 
 in New York. This son had come home for the purpose 
 of remaining near his father, and the family circle had 
 at last all come west of Lake Erie. 
 
 The winter of 1848 and 1849 was a happy, cheerful 
 one to those in my father's humble home ; and the days 
 fled by bearing happiness upon their wings. Health, 
 tolerable health, was restored to each of the sick ones, 
 and with it came a deeper thankfulness for life's bless- 
 ings, and a greater and more intense desire to bear every 
 ill patiently and trustingly. The family were mostly by 
 the home fireside, the eldest son being in a school only 
 two miles away ; and the kindness and presence of many 
 friends, found in the Western land, contributed greatly 
 to the social happiness of the little circle. 
 
 Among the few epistles of friendship, written during 
 this winter, I find one to another young friend, which 
 shows how near his heart were the youthful and inex- 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWAED MOTT WOOLLEY. 291 
 
 perienced ; and from it, too, may be gathered how much 
 he was beloved by those in the morning of life : 
 
 " Thanks, many thanks, Madam Genie, for that line 
 which came in the corner of your father's letter. It was 
 kind, very kind, thus to remember the man who, a long 
 time ago, adopted you as one of his own flock. For, 
 although I am an old man now, and may never see you 
 again in time, yet, like other old men, I like to be remem- 
 bered by my children. 
 
 " By the by, Genie, that meat we saved for you*last 
 summer spoilt ; so last fall I put our meat all together, 
 and we shall not save any more for you till we have some- 
 thing more sure than your intimation, that you are com- 
 irig this way. 
 
 " Hold your eyes close down now, Genie, and read this : 
 I don't like to be the father of too many old maids. I 
 want my girls, and boys too, all married before I go to 
 the long home ; then I can run around from one to the 
 other, and take mine ease and comfort, in my last years. 
 
 " But, hark ye to another word. — Beware ! for I had 
 rather see you all in single blessedness than in double 
 woe. 
 
 " How is it with you all, this winter ? Are you in 
 good health and in good heart to breast the battle of life ? 
 Do the song and the laugh ring, as of old, through 
 your happy home ? 
 
 "How is it about you? Are those everlasting hills 
 crowned with mountains of snow ? and are you compelled 
 to shovel out every time you stir from the door ? 
 
 " And last, but not least, — how is it with the society? 
 I see you had services last Sabbath. 
 
 " In our descriptions of this country I believe there is 
 one place of which not one of us has spoken to you. I 
 will not make an effort at description, for I should fail if 
 I did. But I will merely give you a few outlines, and 
 your mind may fill the picture. About four miles from 
 Pontiac there is as bright and clear a sheet of water as eye 
 
292 MEMOIK OP EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 ever saw ; and in the centre of this beautiful lake is an 
 island, containing nearly thirty acres. This we call Or- 
 chard-lake Island, for here are the old apple-trees the red 
 men planted when their bark canoes skimmed o'er these 
 limpid waters. Here, too, are the graves of their dead, 
 so sunken that the foot of the stranger treads over them 
 ere he knows that he is walking over buried dust. Here, 
 also, are heavy forest-trees, wound around with creeping 
 grape-vines, or Michigan roses ; and one may sit for hours 
 on the green sloping banks and watch the blue gliding 
 wave!", and think to find no greater beauty this side of the 
 'ideal islands of the blest.' Some day may you look 
 upon it with us ! ' 
 
 " If I were to drop a word of advice in this letter, as 
 I would to my own child, it would be, Look out for your 
 roguery ! 
 
 " And now to each member of your father's family 
 we all send salutations of unfeigned affection, and sin- 
 cerely pray God to bring us together once more in time." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FARMINGTON, LIVONIA, WATERFORD — MARRIAGE OF EUNICE — LABORS 
 
 DISCUSSION WITH MR. FOOTE POETRY, " THE BIBLE " LETTERS 
 
 MARRIAGE OF FIDELIA — LETTER TO A SISTER — POETRY, " LIFE, WHAT 
 
 IS IT? " — DEATH OF HIS BROTHER JAMES PREPARATION FOR HIS 
 
 OWN DEATH MARRIAOE OF LAURA ANN — INCREASED ILLNESS, SUF- 
 FERINGS, AND RESIGNATION • — HIS DEATH AND FUNERAL. 
 
 In 1849 he commenced his labors in Farmington, Li- 
 vonia, and Waterford. In neither of these places had he 
 the assistance of an organized society, — no church, and no 
 meeting-house. But, as he always did, he labored faith- 
 fully and earnestly among them, asking the blessing of 
 God upon his labors. He would leave home for one or 
 two weeks, and all the time he was away he was almost 
 constantly preaching. He went into the by-places, into 
 the secluded school-house of a retired neighborhood, 
 where they knew nothing and cared less for the truth he 
 taught, and labored with the greatest energy to make 
 plain to them the promises of Jehovah. It seemed as 
 though the hand of God were upon him in this, that he 
 must labor unceasingly. And his efforts were crowned 
 with success beyond his dearest hopes. 
 
 In relation to the success of his toil in Farmington and 
 other places in the vicinity, I find an allusion in nearly 
 the last letter he ever wrote, and directed to Rev. A. B. 
 Grosh : 
 
 " Since I commenced laboring in Parmington, we have 
 built one Union church in Livonia, Wayne County, and 
 are building a meeting-house in Parmington, Oakland 
 25* 
 
294 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 County, which is almost entirely owned by Universalists. 
 This church will be ready for dedication about the first 
 of June next. We have also organized a society in Farm- 
 ington, and Universalism begins to look up among us." 
 
 To the friends in the above-named places my father 
 became inexpressibly dear ; and though they may and 
 undoubtedly will become much attached to his successors, 
 yet no one, I think, can ever possess a greater share in 
 their affections, or a holier place in their memories, than 
 their old, cherished, and faithful minister of the Gospel 
 of the reconciliation. There are many to -whom he first 
 broke the bread of life, and who owe to him their safe and 
 pleasant passage across the billowy waters of unbelief 
 to the green and sunny shores of the promised land. The 
 richest blessings of the great and ever-loving Father rest 
 upon them for the kindness they bestowed upon him, who 
 now needs no mortal's tenderness or care ! 
 
 In the spring of 1849 niy father was again taken down 
 with what was called-chill fever ; but it was, undoubtedly, 
 another form of his old bronchial disease. His constitu- 
 tion, however, rallied under it in a few weeks, and he was 
 again able to be busy in his chosen field of labor. 
 
 In the June of this year he cheerfully gave his daugh- 
 ter Eunice in marriage to Mr. H. Belding, of Troy, Oak- 
 land County, Michigan. This worthy young friend and 
 son had left his home, and was in the wilds of California, 
 when his father became a dweller with the angels. 
 
 In a letter to a friend, written this June, I find a few 
 lines expressive of the father's feelings at the time of his 
 daughter's marriage. And they come now as a benedic- 
 tion from the loved in heaven to all his children who are 
 left upon the earth. They read as follows : 
 
 " Well, my good, my fondly-remembered friend, I must 
 tell you that, at last, our family circle is broken. And 
 yet, why should I say broken? I will recall it; for, 
 though Eunice was married last Sabbath, I have not lost 
 a daughter, but have gained — so I believe — a good son. 
 And when my children marry, those they love shall be 
 
MEMOIR OB 1 EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 295 
 
 as near to my heart as is my own flesh and blood. God 
 bless Eunice ! She has always been, like all the rest of 
 my children, a dutiful and affectionate child. We shall 
 miss her by the home hearthstone ; but may the love she 
 goes to cherish her as carefully as have the warm hearts 
 she leaves in her girlhood's home ! 
 
 " It is only when the parent heart is tried by these sep- 
 arations that it learns fully to look to that boundless and 
 glorious home, where every child shall be gathered back 
 to its embrace, and go away no more forever." 
 
 The summer glided by, with its many labors, its multi- 
 plicity of cares, and its change from health to sickness, 
 and from sickness to health ; and then came the winter, 
 with its short days for little toil, and its long, blessed 
 evenings for rest, reading, writing, or conversation. 
 
 This winter the family circle was lessened by the de- 
 parture of the daughter Laura Ann, for school in H. 
 But the eldest son was so situated that he could pass most 
 of his evenings at home ; and the daughter Eunice, now 
 Mrs. Belding, was frequently in the household. 
 
 Many" friends also came and went ; one would tarry an 
 evening, another a day, a third a week or more, and then 
 depart, leaving the pleasant memory of their cheerful 
 voices and happy conversations hanging, like a bending 
 rainbow, above the altar of the heart. 
 
 Notwithstanding the many afflictions which lay heavily 
 upon my father, he yet seemed to enjoy life, these few 
 months of winter, as well as he had ever done. He did 
 not brood over his trials, and grow moody, silent, and 
 uncompanionable ; but, while he labored, he gathered up 
 the joys around his way, and thanked God that they 
 were his. He was often urged, by the various members 
 of his family, to devote himself to writing, and prepare 
 his sermons more carefully, that they might be as he 
 would wish to leave them, were he called away. But he 
 would reply : " I should be happy — yes, as happy as 
 would you to have me do it — could I sit down in the 
 quiet of my home, and devote myself to writing and 
 
296 MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTI WOOLLET. 
 
 reflection ; but mine is now a pioneer life. I go fre-, 
 quently where the word of truth has never been spoken,' 
 and I do as much, perhaps more, good in my ready-' 
 spoken, extempore efforts, than I could with the most crit- 
 ically-prepared manuscript. I have no time now to devote 
 to sermon-making. Let those who come after me do this. 
 My mental labor must be done in the buggy, upon the 
 saddle, or on foot. I must strike the rocks and briers from 
 the way through which I carry the snowy banner of 
 truth ; others may, by and by, find time to strew it with 
 buds and blossoms." 
 
 It was even true ; his mental labor, or the preparation 
 for this labor, was made while he journeyed. And he 
 would pass friend after friend upon the road and not know 
 it, unless he was spoken to, so busy was his mind with the 
 subject of the great redemption. He was one day sawing 
 wood, when his youngest boy, who had watched him a 
 few moments, entered the house, and said, "Do come 
 out, one of you, and see what father's talking about ! " 
 
 During the quiet of this pleasant winter, he said to me, 
 " Fidelia, if I live long enough, I shall write my own 
 biography. If I die without doing it, you may arrange 
 it for me." And he then gave me many of the manu- 
 scripts and incidents presented in this volume. 
 
 Early in 1850 he preached twenty-five sermons in one 
 month, and held a religious discussion, which lasted two 
 and a half days, with Rev. C. C. Foot, Unionist. When 
 my father entered upon this discussion, his lungs were so 
 diseased that he expected to be compelled to give it up ; 
 but the intense interest and excitement carried him 
 through. He returned to his home, however, with a dis- 
 tressing cough, and strength completely exhausted. 
 
 I have not space to present any points of this interest- 
 ing disputation ; but it was satisfactory to his friends, and 
 courteous to his clerical antagonist. 
 
 In the month of March, of this year, an aged man, 
 who had just become a believer in the doctrine of the 
 restitution, requested my father to give him a few written 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLEY. 297 
 
 lines, and his autograph. The wish was granted by the 
 presentation of the following poem : 
 
 THE BIBLE. 
 
 One blessed truth you now have learned 
 
 From revelation's page ; 
 A truth for which your heart hath yearned, 
 
 From childhood to old age. 
 
 Death and the grave, that filled your heart 
 
 With sorrow and despair, 
 When viewed aright, form but a part 
 
 Of God's paternal care. 
 
 Now you 've no wish to tarry here, 
 
 Since youth and hope have fled ; 
 You do not fear the pall or bier — 
 
 The rest among the dead ! 
 
 For to your age-dimmed eyes there comes 
 
 A light across the wave, 
 And shows the world beyond the tomb, 
 
 Above the home of graves. 
 
 Let others cast the Book aside, 
 
 And spurn the promise given ; 
 But may its truths our footsteps guide, 
 
 And lead our souls to heaven ! 
 
 In the last letter he ever wrote are the following re- 
 marks upon the above subject : 
 
 "I do believe, my brother, that those who read the 
 New Testament five hundred years from to-day will learn 
 from its pages more truths than we have yet discovered." 
 
 In the summer of 1850 his family were again stricken 
 with illness. Both a son and daughter lay seriously and 
 alarmingly sick, and for a few days no hope was enter- 
 tained of the recovery of either. While passing through 
 this trial, my father wrote : 
 
 "Midnight ! how strangely fall upon the ear the bell- 
 notes that tell the hour ! How still is the out-of-door 
 air, — how softly lie the moonbeams upon the thresh- 
 old, — how lightly move the green leaves of the peach- 
 tree by my window, and how low are the footsteps of the 
 
298 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 •watchers in the sick room ; and how distinctly to my ear 
 comes every moan of the sufferers ! They tell me my 
 children are sick enough to die, and yet I cannot under- 
 stand it. I cannot make myself see the cold, quiet face, 
 the dim eye, the compressed lip, the silent feet, and the 
 lifeless form. I cannot bring before me the narrow cof- 
 fin, the open grave, and the vacant chair at home. I 
 have seen these for others, but for mine I cannot make 
 them visible. And I thank God that I cannot. If my 
 children must go before me, let me see only the beauti- 
 ful land where they are welcomed, and where their wan- 
 derings will all be over ! Let me hear only the angel- 
 strains that float upon the air, as they are gathered to 
 the love and care that can never fail ! Spare me, 0, 
 heavenly Father, if so it seemeth good in thy sight, this 
 great trial ; but help me to say, 'The Lord gave, and the 
 Lord hath taken away ! '" 
 
 These children were spared to receive his latest bless- 
 ing, and to weep above his precious dust. 
 
 In December, 1850, his eldest daughter* was mar- 
 ried, and in a few days left the paternal roof. Her 
 father's parting words were: " Remember, my child, that 
 you are entering upon a new field of duty ; that the way 
 before you is untried and strange. You cannot expect 
 to find life all sunshine ; if you do, you will be sadly dis- 
 appointed. Neither need you look for all darkness. 
 You will find joy and sorrow commingled, as it always is 
 in life ; and there will be many times when you will miss 
 the advice which you have received so many years, and 
 you will, I presume, feel as though you knew not your 
 best way. Then strive to know what is right, and be 
 courageous in your duty. Be patient and cheerful, make 
 your home the happiest spot on earth to your husband, 
 and do not fear any little sacrifice to contribute to his 
 happiness. Those who know how to yield gracefully, in 
 the little trials of life, know the true way to enjoyment. 
 
 * Fidelia, the writer of this memoir. — A. B. G. 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWABD MOTT WOOLLEY. 299 
 
 Give your joys and pleasures to your friends, bat go with 
 your sorrows to your God. And may .His eternal mer- 
 cies rest upon the new home of my children! " 
 
 In April, 1851, he wrote to his aged sister : 
 
 " It is a long time since R.'s letter was received, in 
 answer to the one I sent you ; and it is not because you 
 are forgotten that I have not written before now. No, 
 ah ! no — there are, I believe some hearts that never 
 forget, and I do not know' but mine is among the number. 
 If I were to make an excuse for my silence, it would be 
 this. Mine always has been, is now, and, I presume, 
 always will be, the busiest of lives. There is an old 
 adage, ' Time waits for no man ;' and, do the best I 
 can, I cannot make him wait for me. I sometimes wish 
 I could ; for there are pleasant places I would like to visit 
 again, there are dear old friends I would look upon once 
 more before I am called to my final rest ; but all this is 
 doubtful. I can only expect to meet those I love, so scat- 
 tered over the broad world, in that home where God will 
 gather us all. 
 
 '■ The longer I live in Michigan, tbe better I like it ; and 
 yet, as my health fails, and I descend further into the 
 valley of years, I sigh more frequently for ' the cot 
 where I was born.' Scott's heart was in the Highlands, 
 and mine yearns for the old familiar places of my boy- 
 hood. Not a day comes to me, freighted with its joys and 
 cares, but I see the meadows round our old home, fresh 
 with the growing grass, and the young lambs — my 
 lambs — skipping in their play. The brook sings to me 
 as it did when I threw my bait in among its shining bub- 
 bles to fasten the tiny trout. Mother goes about her 
 work with her face quiet as it always was, and her eyea 
 lustrous as stars, while father reads his paper or sings 
 his merry song. All this is fresh in my heart as though 
 they lived but yesterday ; and sometimes it does seem 
 as though I must go back to the sacred spot before I die. 
 
 " Strange how strongly these holy memories twine 
 around the heart — how indelibly these first impressions 
 
800 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 axe stamped upon the mind ! If we fathers and mothers 
 understood this law of nature better, we might make the 
 early lives of our children such that in after years they 
 would stoop to no sin or crime. In this respect I have 
 done as well as I could with those God has given to my 
 care ; and I should be doubly blest if my children, in after 
 tfme, can look back as joyously to the hours that saw 
 them by their father's side as I do to the blessed home of 
 my childhood. 
 
 " We are all here as well as usual. The children are 
 all away, save the two youngest, who are in the other 
 room with their mother. Edward is in Detroit ; Laura 
 Ann is at one of the neighbors', on a visit. Eunice is 
 about two miles from here, and Fidelia's new home is 
 nearly the same distance. When I get weary, and my 
 heart tires of the jostle of life, I run over and see the 
 girls, and they always have an encouraging word for me. 
 Life has much for which I should be thankful. 
 
 " I would like to know how the world moves with you 
 and J., and also with all of the numerous relatives I have 
 around you. Remember me kindly to them all. 
 
 " I doubt if you have such April weather as we get 
 here. Everything about us looks spring-like ; the roads 
 are fine, and the trees nearly clothed in green, while 
 you, I suspect, are shut in your homes by mountains of 
 snow. 
 
 " It will not be as long before I write again. But 
 now good-by, dear old E., for the'present, — perhaps till we 
 meet in heaven." 
 
 After this spring his correspondence , grew less and 
 less, and only one or two letters were written for the two 
 succeeding years, save those of urgent business. A 
 beautiful poem was penned in May of 1851, while he 
 was confined at home by sickness. It was the last time 
 he held a pen for the "fastening" of a thought, and 
 these are the last lines of poetry he ever wrote. They 
 beautifully exhibit the now plaintive happiness with which 
 
MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLE?. 301 
 
 he looked and longed for 'the great change that was so 
 soon to come. These lines are entitled 
 
 "LIFE— WHAT IS IX?" 
 
 Life as it has been, as it is to-day, — 
 
 Is it a babble with which mortals play ? 
 
 A bubble floating on the stream of time, 
 
 That winds through every nation, every clime? 
 
 Is it a meteor, soon to disappear, 
 
 Lost in the vastness of revolving spheres ? 
 
 Is it a flower, that blossoms in the spring, 
 
 And sends forth fragrance on a balmy wing, 
 
 But fades and dies beneath the autumn frost, 
 
 Its beauty wasted and its sweetness lost ? 
 
 Is it a sunbeam, through the mist of night 
 
 Crowning the morning with a golden light ? 
 
 Is it a bird-note breaking on the air, 
 
 One moment here, another moment there ? 
 
 Is it a dew-drop nestled in the rose, 
 
 Then lost where ocean-waters meet and flow ? 
 
 Is it a joy, a laugh, a hope, a song, — 
 
 A thing of beauty as it glides along 
 
 Par o'er the brown hills of the mortal shore, 
 
 Unseen — unheard of — to be found no more ? 
 
 Is it a spirit clad in weeds of woe. 
 
 With haggard face, and footsteps weak and slow ? 
 
 Is it a mourner, bending o'er the tomb, 
 
 With pallid lip, and brow of heavy gloom ? 
 
 Is it a chain of thorns, to pierce and bi»d 
 
 The weary heart — the feeble, struggling mind ? 
 
 Is it to weep, to sorrow, to despair, 
 
 To sink at last beneath the weight of oare ? 
 
 Is it to toil, to struggle and to wait, 
 
 To feel amid a crowd so desolate ? 
 
 Is it to look for peace — no peace to find; 
 
 To kiss the rod, and strive to be resigned ? 
 
 No — !. my soul, this never can be life, — 
 This weary waiting 'mid the toil and strife, 
 These little joys, so like a transient gleam 
 That fades and dies across time's winding stream ! 
 The life God gave his children — can it be 
 But the pure soul, to live eternally ? 
 To gather joy upon its way below, 
 And breast grief's billows that around it flow ; 
 To sail triumphant o'er the heaving seas, 
 With white sail spread against the changing breeze, 
 Bearing its sacred .pleasures and its love 
 To the great Father, waiting for His child above ! 
 26 
 
302 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY, 
 
 One beautiful day in the summer of 1851, my father 
 entered our home, and, after greeting us with his usual 
 affectionateness, he said, " My child, your TJnole James 
 has gone to his happy home." There was no sadness in 
 his voice, no sorrow upon his countenance, as he uttered 
 the words ; although this brother had been dear to his 
 heart as ever brother could be to brother. This was the 
 •brother with whom he lived so long in Nelson Flats, 
 when he journeyed from Duchess County. 
 
 But he had gone home, — and this was joy enough ! 
 While we were conversing upon this brother's departure, 
 my father remarked, " I shall go next, and that before 
 long." We tried to rally him with, " 0, father, if you 
 go East next fall you will recover, and come back to tarry 
 long with us, and to preach many years." 
 
 " I think I shall go to Long Island next summer or 
 fall ; and I may, I should hope, live long enough to get 
 back, for I wish to die among my children. But my life- 
 journey has been a toilsome one. I am getting old, and 
 need rest; and do you remember what I tell you now, — 
 before we count two years more, I shall be ' with the 
 loved in Paradise.' " 
 
 He seemed anxious to prepare our minds for this, and 
 to so impress it -upon us that we might be willing to let 
 him go. In February, 1852, his eldest son married 
 and settled in the beautiful village of Mt. Clemens ; but, 
 with this exception, his children were near his home. 
 
 During the winter of 1851 and '52, his health was 
 poor indeed. Hardly a day could he sit up all of the time, 
 and yet he would have his horse brought to the door, and 
 amid wind and storm ride away to his appointments; 
 when those he left at home, and those who heard him 
 preach, knew that these efforts could not last long. But 
 the restlessness of consumption was upon him, and he 
 only felt at ease when expressing the great truths of 
 " our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 The summer of 1852 found him still engaged in 
 preaching ; but he was constantly growing emaciated, his 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 303 
 
 eyes wore an additional lustre, and his voice had acquired 
 that hollow, bark-like sound, which is a sure indication 
 of speedy dissolution; while his nervous system, from 
 such long and complicated suffering, was in the greatest 
 possible state of derangement. 
 
 In December, 1852, my father solemnized a marriage 
 ceremony between Mr. Charles Farmer and his third 
 daughter, Laura A. Woolley. This excellent young 
 son and brother deserves a tribute of affection here ; for 
 he gave up his labor, and for three months gave his 
 whole time to his new but sick father. He watched with 
 him at night, and tarried with him during the day ; and 
 cheerfully and patiently anticipated every want, and, as 
 far as lay in his power, robbed the sick bed of its thorns, 
 and smoothed the dying pillow. And, in return for his 
 kindness, he not only receives the gratitude of those who 
 remain, but he was richly rewarded with a love that lives 
 in heaven ; for the spirit of the father, to whose necessi- 
 ties he ministered so faithfully, fluttered up to God while 
 the word " Charley " fell from the chill, blue lips. 
 
 This month of December, my father said to his daugh- 
 ter, Mrs. Farmer : " I have often wished to see this day. 
 My children now can do without me. Four of you have 
 homes of your own, and the two youngest ones will find 
 protection with you. I bless God, that he has spared me 
 thus long, and now I am ready to depart." 
 
 On the seventh day of January, 1853, he preached 
 one sermon ; but the disease that laid its vice-like grasp 
 upon him years before had nearly reduced the citadel 
 of life, and now it fastened upon him with redoubled 
 strength ; and on the eighth of January he was taken to 
 his bed, which he afterwards left but a few moments 
 each day. Those who had not been intimately acquainted 
 with him before this sickness might, as they looked upon 
 him, have some hope of his recovering ; but those of his 
 own household, who had watched him through many 
 serious illnesses, and, more than all, understood his 
 peculiarly sensitive nervous temperament, his great and 
 
304 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOXT WOOLLBT. 
 
 never-failing hope and cheerfulness, and his consideration 
 for the feelings of all around him, knew that these 
 symptoms of recovery were illusive as the rainbow-hues 
 of a departing dream. 
 
 There was no hope of longer life below, and the dearly- 
 loved but wasting sufferer knew it. His faith had be- 
 come too much a portion of his nature to grow dim in the 
 hour of death. If he had lost all else, even had the dark 
 wing of insanity fluttered among the chords of his soul, 
 the precious religion he had so long taught would have 
 cast its rays of brightness underneath the darkness, and 
 permeated his voice with cheerfulness, and hung hosannas 
 upon his lips. Nothing could have changed it ; it would 
 have gone with him, as it did, like a creature of light, 
 down through " the valley of the shadow of death." 
 
 The days of suffering wore on, the nights of weariness 
 went by ; and, on the 4th of May, 1853, as the curtain 
 of twilight was falling over the newly-decorated earth, 
 the angel-messenger came, the healing balm fell upon 
 the wounded heart, and the great, freed spirit burst its 
 prison-bars, and soared away to the elysian fields of eter- 
 nal joy and rest. 
 
 How perfectly was the before-mentioned prediction 
 verified ! Only eighteen months, and we stood by his> 
 pulseless form. 
 
 In accordance with the request of my father and his- 
 societies, Rev. J. P. Averill, of Battle Creek (who was 
 notified of the dangerous illness of his ministering brother 
 in the month of March, and since held himself in readi- 
 ness to pay the last sad tribute of respect, when it were 
 needed), was telegraphed for by my eldest brother ; and, 
 at the last moment, even after the hour of burial,, he came. 
 And around that flower-wreathed coffin were eyes that 
 grew less dim, and hearts that beat less sadly, at bis 
 approach. 
 
 The following epitaph was dictated by my father,, a few 
 days before his departure : 
 
' HEBE RESTS 
 
 ALL THAT WAS MORTAL 
 
 OF 
 
 REV. E. M. WOOLLEY, 
 
 AGED 49 TEARS. 
 
 HE ASPIRED TO BE AN HONEST MAN, AND CLAIMED 
 
 NOTHING MORE. 
 
 dj religion, A UNIVERSALIS!; he died strong in 
 
 THE FAITH, 
 
 ASCRIBING GLORY TO GOD." 
 26* 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER — HIS STUDIES — HI3 FAITH 
 AND TEACHINGS — PREPARATION FOR PREAOHINQ — HIS PREAOmNS 
 CHEERFUL VIEWS OF DEATH — CONCLUSION. 
 
 The subject of this biography tad no thought of 
 adulation, and no desire for fame. He was, in his own 
 estimation, simply a member of the great human family, 
 journeying on to the Father's house of many mansions, 
 and striving to do all that his circumstances and limited 
 ability would permit to spread the " Gospel of Jesus 
 Christ" among his fellow-men. He kept no record of 
 his toils, rehearsed but f&w of the many conversions under 
 his ministry, and gave no care as to whether the world 
 knew the happy result of his labors. Said that aged and 
 revered father in Israel, Eev. K Stacy: "Men have 
 different calls to preach the Gospel. There 's Brother 
 Woolley, — God called him to preach." And he preached, 
 not only to show the erring a brighter way, but because 
 he could not help it. It was a necessity of his nature to 
 express those great, those glorious truths, that had burst 
 the fetters of his own soul ; and, had every person in the 
 world been a happy believer in the doctrine gf the recon- 
 ciliation, he would still have proclaimed it in the valleys 
 and on the hill- tops. 
 
 His religion has undoubtedly become known to the 
 reader, from the perusal of the preceding pages. It was 
 preeminently the religion of love. He had no faith in 
 the doctrine of fear. " If you cannot make men better 
 by tea* hing them the law of holiness and duty, you may 
 
MEMOIR 0* EDWABD MOTI WOOXLEY. 307 
 
 bfr satisfied that you cannot drive them into goodness," 
 were words he often uttered. 
 
 In his own family he governed by the law of love, and 
 it was seldom that words partaking more of a command 
 than " You may," or " You had better," were expressed 
 by him to one of his children. 
 
 He needed no musty tomes of religious historians, no 
 heavy commentaries, no books of catechisms or creeds, no 
 ponderous Greek and Hebrew lexicons, to explain to his 
 understanding the meaning of those simple and expressive 
 words, " God is love." Failing to measure the love he 
 bare his children, he knew " that neither death nor life, 
 nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 
 present, nor things to come," could separate the God of 
 all mercies from the children he had endowed with life. 
 
 This paternity of God, this undying love of the never- 
 changing Father, formed a prominent subject in his ser- 
 monizing, and also in his conversation. He not only 
 read it upon the page of revelation, but he felt it in 
 the deep affection he cherished for the friends that bright- 
 ened his way upon the earth ; he saw it in the clouds 
 that floated in the sky, in the stars that shone above his 
 head, and in the flowers that blossomed at his feet ; he 
 heard it in the voices of the wind, in the sweet music of 
 the birds, in the whispers of the waving tree-leaves, and 
 in the murmur of the silver streams that glide from their 
 mountain homes, and -sing through the green meadows 
 and rocky defiles to the broad waters of the ocean. 
 
 He also religiously believed that there is but one ruler 
 and controller of the universe, which is God ; and that, 
 though "the wickedness of the wicked" may triumph 
 for a season, yet at last will all evil be overcome with 
 gqod, and all sorrow displaced with joy. 
 
 He had no faith in a future state of punishment, for 
 he did not believe that it could be proved by the word of 
 God ; and he could not admit that punishment would be 
 inflicted if sin did not exist, and he had no belief that an 
 JBcJwtjon for wK»g-doing would be; carried* into the im- 
 
308 MEMOIR OF EDWAKD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 mortal state. Neither had he any faith in the theory 
 that death banishes all differences of mind or spirit, and 
 that the holyman and the sinner enter the eternal world 
 with the same capacity of enjoyment. He thought that 
 the wicked, they who pass the life below in infamy and 
 transgression, go home like untutored babes to the em- 
 brace of a tender father, who has provided for them 
 angelic teachers. The life beyond the grave was to him 
 one of endless progressive wisdom and development. 
 And in the present world he saw only the evidences of 
 that time when the blood-red banner of war shall wave 
 no more above the bristling spears and glittering helmets, 
 when the word of unkindness shall have no fountain to 
 give it birth, when the sigh of sorrow shall have been 
 exchanged for the song of gladness, when the wail of the 
 mourner shall be hushed forever ; and from mountain to 
 mountain, from hill-top to hill-top, from valley to valley, 
 and from ocean to ocean, shall go up thanksgivings to 
 the Lord ! 
 
 In his pulpit efforts my father imitated no other 
 speaker. His manner, and the arrangement of his ser- 
 mons, were peculiarly his own. The sermons he preached 
 were never prepared with the thought, " What will this or 
 that one say, if I preach thus and so ? Shall I please Mr. 
 S., or offend Mr. D. ? Shall I drive one or more from 
 my meetings, and will this train of reasoning render me 
 unpopular in my societies or my' denomination ? " Ah ! 
 no ; these were the thoughts furthest from his heart. He 
 discovered, if possible, the necessities of his hearers, and 
 then brought himself and his sermons to them. He first 
 satisfied his own mind, by close investigation, and clear, 
 simple reasoning, of the truth, and then went busily at the . 
 work of teaching it to others. He had a way, when he 
 commenced preaching, of making many remarks, and 
 touching upon many points and subjects, which did not 
 seem to be in connection with his text ; but, after a few 
 moments, he began to gather back, one after the other, 
 the sentences he had thrown out, as the workman draws 
 
MEMOIR OF BDWABD MOTT WOOLLBY. 309 
 
 together his implements of labor ; and the hearer soon 
 discovered that not a word had been carelessly spoken, 
 for every one told in just the right place upon the sub- 
 ject he -was endeavoring to illustrate. He was a deep 
 thinker, and a profound reasoner. His intellect combined 
 acute, far-seeing perception with immense causality, and 
 comparison. There were times, in his happiest circum- 
 stances, when he preached the most masterly sermons, 
 and exhibited intellectual gifts of a high order, pervaded 
 and permeated with the heavenly spirit of the childlike 
 Redeemer. 
 
 In speaking, he had no thought of oratory. He made 
 no pretension to eloquence. His manner was dignified, 
 yet free from ostentation, simple and childlike. He was 
 six feet in height, and in health would not have been 
 slender ; his head was very large, his forehead broad, 
 full and high; his eyes were blue, with an uncommon 
 starry brilliancy ; his mouth finely formed, and in speak- 
 ing wreathed with smiles. His face, in the pulpit or in 
 conversation, was the index of his soul ; but in his hours 
 of quiet it wore a melancholy like the secret sadness of 
 the evening star. At times, when he had been uncom- 
 monly interested in his subject, and when the minds of 
 the audience were wrought up to the highest possible 
 feeling of interest, he would, as soon as he finished his 
 sermon, commence singing some sweet, plaintive hymn, 
 that went direct to the heart of every hearer. I remem- 
 ber an incident illustrative of this remark. It was the 
 funeral of an aged man, whose wife had been buried the 
 year before, and his children were now following his life- 
 less dust to the last rest beside their mother's grave. 
 The services were held in a large church, which was 
 filled to overflowing. My father had chosen for the sub- 
 ject of his remarks that comprehensive sentence, "Hope 
 thou in God," and it was uttered as the last words of 
 his sermon. Then came a sweet old song, which he had 
 before arranged fox a church melody ; and the stillness of 
 
310 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 
 
 death was through the house, and the effect produced 
 was indescribable, as he sung the last words : 
 
 " Where immortal spirits reign, 
 There we all shall meet again." 
 
 There was no subject upon which my father con- 
 versed more cheerfully, and about which he was more fully 
 satisfied, than that important one which men call death. 
 This great change that must come to all is said, by many, 
 to bring terror to every heart, and to present a fearful 
 barrier between the loved in heaven and the loved on 
 earth. But it was not thus with him of whom I write. 
 The Grecian mother, when she prayed in the temple of 
 worship for the richest gift of the gods upon her sons, 
 knew not that it would be the kiss of death. But the 
 subject of this biography sincerely believed that the most 
 precious blessing pertaining to mortality, that lay in the 
 gift of the Father, was the great change produced by the 
 seal of death. He strove to impress this opinion upon 
 the minds of his family, and he never uttered a word 
 that could change it. One of his little girls once came 
 home from school and said, " Father, Miss S. says it 's a 
 dreadful thing to>die. I wonde* what makes her think 
 so. Don't you wonder? " 
 
 " No, my child," was the reply, "I do not wonder. 
 Your teacher's mother told her so, long ago, and she has 
 not forgotten it yet." 
 
 Ah! to him the sight of the coffin and the pall 
 brought no fear or dread. Death — what was it but the 
 jewelled stairway trod by angel feet, the flower-strewn 
 pathway leading home, or, 
 
 " The rose that climbed the garden wall, and bloomed 
 The other side." 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 In the arrangement of a work like this, it would not be 
 expected that one of my^ years and inexperience would 
 
MEMOIR OE EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 311 
 
 fully describe my father's intellectual ability, or do justice 
 to his character. But I have done it as well as I could. 
 I have gathered together a few of the incidents of his 
 busy life ; have made an occasional extract from the many 
 sermons he preached, and selected a small number of 
 the letters he sent to his dearly-loved and always remem- 
 bered friends ; these. I have endeavored to weave together 
 in a manner that might present a dim outline of his char- 
 acter to those who care to peruse this volume. Of the 
 .poetical selections here presented I would not express an 
 opinion. They were written to express a gentle affec- 
 tion, some law of righteousness, or an important religious 
 truth. As such let them be read. Their author never 
 gave a moment's time to the cultivation of the Muses ; 
 and, if he possessed poetical power, he carried it home to 
 be developed among the angels. 
 
 If the humble sketch I have here produced should 
 encourage one sensitive, sorrowing, and poverty-stricken 
 boy to persevere in the way of knowledge and goodness, 
 if it should carry consolation to one troubled heart, or 
 help one weary spirit to bear more bravely the burdens 
 of life, how exceeding great will be my reward ! 
 
 In writing this volume I have labored faithfully and 
 religiously, as I would if the gentle hand that guided my 
 pen years agone, and corrected my early efforts at com- 
 position, had been here to round a period or erase a line. 
 And I have endeavored to throw over these pages the 
 cheerfulness of that loving, trusting spirit, that could 
 always 
 
 " Smell the rose above the mould." 
 
 And as I have sat in my quiet home, not far from the 
 new-made grave, I have had another presence than our 
 happy babe. The father, so worshipped by his children, 
 has been with me, wearing the old, sweet smile ; and I 
 most religiously believe that his happy spirit has given 
 approval to the labor of his child. 
 
 To my father's aged brother and sister, to the various 
 
312 MEMOIR OF EDWARD MOTT WOOLLET. 
 
 members of his societies, to his personal friends, and his 
 ministering brothers, who have so kindly favored me with 
 incidents, letters, manuscripts and prints, for the prepara- 
 tion of this work, we would express our heart-felt grati- 
 tude. And we pray our heavenly Father to bestow 
 upon them, individually and collectively, the same kind- 
 ness and affection with which they have cheered and sus- 
 tained the hearts of the bereaved. 
 
 To the Rev. A. B. Grosh would we particularly return 
 our thanks for aid freely promised and fully granted in the- 
 preparation of this volume. May it be many years before 
 the household of his love shall require the same kind- 
 ness which he has so cheerfully given to the family of his 
 friend ! 
 
 And thus I send forth this book, as a gift of love, to 
 the personal friends of him whose virtues it records, to 
 the societies with whom he labored, and to the religious 
 believers in that holy faith for the promulgation of which 
 he gave his life. And now, while the piercing winter 
 wind moans above the little mound that has been rounded 
 above his precious dust, I write these last lines in this 
 simple memorial of affection. May it be a sacred link 
 between the hearts of those my father loved and left 
 below ; drawing us nearer and nearer to each other, until 
 we are called to participate in his labor and his joy in that 
 world where there is no more change, save from glory to 
 glory ! 
 
SERMONS. 
 
 SERMON I. 
 
 Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright : for the end of that 
 man is peace. — Bsasms 37 : 37. 
 
 In the wise economy of God, etfecta follow causes as 
 naturally and immutably as water seeks its level. If 
 you can command the cause, you never need doubt re- 
 specting the result; for<what God has united man can- 
 not divorce, if he will. The echo is ever true to the cause 
 which produced it. The bullet lies harmless in your hand 
 to-day; to-morrow it -pierces the beating heart of man, 
 and it beats no more forever. *** It consigns the body to the 
 grave, sends the spirit to its God ; and the mourners,/ 
 with wounded hearts, refuse to be comforted. That small ' 
 piece of lead, in itself harmless and insignificant, has 
 been acted upon by a cause superior to itself, and has 
 produced lamentable results. And it is even so, to a great 
 extent, throughout the creation of God. We can scarcely 
 move, speak or think, without producing good or evil, 
 joy or sorrow, to ourselves or others. It .has been justly 
 said that a small spark kindles a great fire ; and it fre- 
 quently happens that causes apparently insignificant 
 produce astounding results. "It was a word — a word 
 only — and yet I made an enemy." — " 'T was but a word 
 — an idle word — and yet I wounded a sensitive heart." — 
 " True, I did it; but I little imagined that such would 
 27 
 
314 SEBMONS. 
 
 be the result. ! how I regret that one mistake ! " is 
 the language of almost every son and daughter of the 
 Adamic family. Had Napoleon turned his face towards 
 France the moment Moscow was burned, he would have 
 saved himself and his army. But he lingered yet a little 
 longer, and that one mistake was the moving cause of all 
 the mishaps which followed the man, and dogged his foot- 
 steps while he lived. 
 
 How many of earth's children tq-day look back upon 
 the checkered scenes of light and shade through which 
 they have passed, and regret, with sorrowing hearts, the 
 part they have acted in the great drama of life ! To find 
 such individuals, you need not resort to the prison's cell, to 
 the outcast from society, to the humble cotof the beggarwho 
 eats the bread of charity. No ; you will find such in every 
 grade and among all classes of men. There is an innu- 
 merable multitude of men and women in the world, even 
 now, who are, to a certain extent, respected by commu- 
 nity ; but the past, with its inconveniences, and shades, 
 and shadows, rises up, like the 'ghost of the departed, to 
 retard their progress, and annoy their hearts. The truth 
 is, he who scatters seed must reap the harvest ; and if 
 the harvest is tares instead of wheat, he may attribute 
 the result to his own rashness and folly. He may sit 
 down an isolated being, and weep alone ; but tears and 
 repentance come too late. ! it is horrible to think and 
 to know that thousands and millions of men and women 
 in the world choose darkness in preference to light, misery 
 instead of happiness, and death to life. It is strange, 
 strange indeed, that they will not look upon the upright 
 man, and learn wisdom. If they would mark the perfect 
 man, and behold the upright, they would learn that the 
 end of such an one is peace. 
 
 To be happy and respectable, or miserable and despised, 
 is within the reach of every one. He who will be a man 
 may be a man ; and I would to God I could write this 
 important truth upon the heart of every living mortal ! 
 But no result is produced without a sufficient cause ; con- 
 
SBBMONS. 315 
 
 sequently, if we intend to be men and women, we must 
 seek for the principles and materials which produce such 
 a result. These principles and materials we find in the 
 nature and composition of the perfect man ; and we 
 purpose at this time to delineate the character of such an 
 individual as best we can ; and we pray God to impress 
 the likeness upon every soul. 
 
 We do not suppose that a perfect man is, strictly speak- 
 ing, perfect as God is perfect ; but we suppose him to be 
 just what God intended he should be, — a man, and, as a 
 man, perfect. Anything is perfect which is just what 
 the builder intended to produce, because it perfectly 
 answers all the purposes for which it was created. God 
 made a worm ; out of the worm he made a butterfly. God 
 made a man ; out of the man he made an angel. They 
 are both perfect, — one as a man, the other as an angel. 
 And yet, an angel (as we sometimes use that word) 
 would make an imperfect man, and a perfect man would 
 be but an indifferent angel. 
 
 The perfect man will' live according to the require- 
 ments of his own nature ; for these are the laws and 
 requirements of God. And he will find every require- 
 ment of his nature, and every law by which he is gov- 
 erned, instituted with special reference to his convenience 
 and good. Everything in nature must, of necessity, 
 work together for good to the individual who lives true to 
 naturev I have not the least doubt that these bodies, that 
 are old at forty, would be young at sixty or one hundred, 
 if we were wise enough and prudent enough to obey the 
 laws by which we are governed. The physical man is a 
 machine, and, like every kind of a machine, it would do 
 good service until it wore out, did we not break it in pieces. 
 Doctor Gall remarked that trees, and plants, and flowers, 
 of every kind, must be nursed with special reference to 
 their kind and nature. It is just so with man. Nurse him 
 with special reference to the laws of his nature, and you 
 will produce a hale, hardy body. Violate those laws, as 
 we generally and almost universally do, and a puny, 
 
310 SEBMONS. 
 
 sieffiy, kelpies® thing is the result; The physical rnaH 
 should be nourished, day by day, with such nourishment as 
 iff conducive to health and strength. And it is even so 
 with the man within ; an imprudent and improper course 
 of treatment will mar and deform' the moral and intel- 
 lectual man as much, and even more, than the physical 
 man. And the mind, once seriously diseased and de- 
 formed, is far more uncomely and hideous than a de- 
 formed body can be. The body, no matter how deformed, 
 no matter how wrinkled with .age, is made almost beau- 
 tiful by the mind within. The well-taught and well- 
 disciplined mind gives ease, and grace, and dignity, 
 even to deformity itself. The mind ia the man ; and 
 flesh and bones and blood ,are twin-sisters of the brute. 
 And can these items of earth, formed and fashioned in 
 the most beautiful manner, give ease, and grace, and dig- 
 nify, to the deformed intellect within ? Indeed they can- 
 not. If disease and deformity must fall upon me or mine, 
 or my friends, may they strike the physical man ; but, O 
 God ! spare the man within ! Let the body go down to the 
 grave as it may, I care but little how, if the man within 
 is well taught, and ripe for the harvest when the Master 
 comes. I envy no man his hard-earned or ill-gottefl 
 wealth. I covet no man's fame. The first is an uncer- 
 tain inheritance, and may take the wings of the morning 
 and disappear in a moment. The other is a bubble, at 
 best ; and he who toils for it is like the silly man who 
 ran after his own shadow. But, should it please Heaven 
 to grant me the ability, I would delight, above all things-, 
 to present my Father; God, in the resurrection morning, a 
 mind well taught in the school of Christ, — a perfect 
 man, moulded in likeness to the spirit of his Son. 
 
 And I thank God, both morning and evening, yea, and all 
 the day long, that in the denomination with which I am 
 happy to be connected there is a visible and soul-cheering 
 improvement upon this important subject. Almost every- 
 where- the same desire and determination is expressed, 
 and that is', to live higher. We have long since received 
 
SEBMONS. 317 
 
 the letter of truth ; we have learned it well, and preached 
 it faithfully ; and now, thank Heaven, we begin to 
 catch the spirit of our life-sustaining faith. " Mark the 
 perfect man, and behold the upright," is heard upon the 
 hill-top, and in the low valley ; in the splendid dwelling, 
 and the humble cottage. The spirit of reform is abroad, 
 and the still small voice of Jesus is heard where, not long 
 since, the thunders of Sinai's mount, and the deep dam- 
 nation of hell, were the beginning and end of faith, hope, 
 and salvation. And ours is the pleasant task, thank God, 
 to leave creeds, and party names, and party strife, 
 far in the shade, and point upward to the perfect man. 
 Upon us devolves to lead the way, not only in theory, 
 but in practice. If we will grow in grace, and in the 
 knowledge of God, we must mark the perfect man, and 
 take him for our pattern and guide. 
 
 In the character of the perfect man we shall discover 
 all the traits of character that are necessary to prepare 
 us for life, for death, and immortality. The man who 
 ia made perfect in Christ loves his fellow-man, wherever 
 he may be, or whatever may be his condition in life. His 
 charity is ample as the creation of God ; it is confined to 
 no sect, bounded by no national line ; the whole world is 
 his country, and the Jew and the Gentile are alike his 
 brethren. And he not Only believes, but he feels, that 
 they have all one Father, even God. I want no better 
 evidence that an individual loves God than proof posi- 
 tive that he loves man. He who sincerely loves the 
 whole brotherhood of man, imperfect as they are, cannot 
 fail to love the common Parent of all. And I know of 
 no additional lustre that can be added to the character of 
 such an individual. He is a perfect man, and he can 
 rise no higher in time. The law by which his conduct 
 and intercourse with man are regulated is written in his 
 heart, not in a book. It is the law of God, not the law 
 of man. It is too high for earth ; it is heaven-born. It 
 is not the poor man's scourge, and the rich man's staff ; 
 for it gives to every one good measure, and holds an 
 27* 
 
S18 SHKMONff. 
 
 eqwal balance for all. It has but one oBject in view ; and 
 that is, to heal the wound which sin has made. It touches 
 the heart of the impenitent man, and pours in the flood- 
 tide of devotional feeling. In one word, it is the law of 
 love. If it wounds, it wounds to heal. If it kills, it 
 kilfa to make alive again. You may call' it a- sword, if 
 you please, — for it is sharper .and more potent than 
 weapons of warfare, — but, thank God, it is a virgin 
 blade — it has never drawn' blood. 
 
 And 1 why, I inquire, are we not all such men, and such 
 women? O, depend upon it, we lose much, and gain 
 nothing but sorrow and tears, by living as we do- ! Mark 
 the perfeet man ; he deals justly, he loves mercy, and 
 he walks kumbly with God. His peace is like the sur- 
 face of the unruffled river ; bis heart is always glad and 
 joyous. Where others see nothing but thorns and: bram- 
 bles, flowers bud and blossom for him. Where others dis- 
 cover evil forebodings, and are filled with alarm, he, by 
 the divinity within, discovers the rainbow of promise. 
 While the giddy and timid multitude are looking for the 
 outpouring of God's vengeance upon the children of men, 
 his ehildlike heart "looks up to God, and receives a 
 Father's blessing. In storm and in sunshine, in sorrow 
 and in joy, in adversity or prosperity, he is the same 
 fearless, upright man. Like the bee, he gathers sweets 
 from bitter flowers, or good from Unpleasant mishaps. In 
 every dispensation of providence, when surrounded and 
 almost swallowed up by the wrath of man, he draws his 
 mantle of love around him 1 , and sits down in peace — at 
 peace with the world, at peace with his father, God 1 , 
 and at peace with himself. 
 
 He need not go abroad for joy ; 
 
 He haa a feast within. 
 The world cannot his peace destroy, 
 
 For he is free from sin. 
 
 "Mark the perfect man, and behold theaprignt : for 
 the end of that man is peace." 
 
SEEMONS. 819* 
 
 If effects follow causes, — and we know they do, — tha- 
 end of the perfect man must be peaee. It is as certain 
 as that springs make brooks, and brooks make rivers. It 
 is the certain and infallible result flowing from a given 
 cause. Human wisdom may fail, human strength yield ; 
 the father may forget his oflspring, and the mother neg- 
 lect her child ; and yet the end of that man is peace. 
 The past rises up in review, with its bright spots and 
 never-to-be-forgotten enjoyment ; and the soul, just ready 
 to leap from its prison-house of clay, is refreshed and 
 strengthened. The future gradually unfolds to the flut- 
 tering spirit within facts, and truths, and beauties, un- 
 thought of before. The spirit's eye looks out upon ely- 
 sian fields, and the pent-up soul, with full-fledged wings, 
 is anxious to fly away. Death has no terrors, the grave 
 has no victory ; the past is all bright, and the future all 
 glorious. His soul has long been a prisoner in bonds ; but 
 now the fetters of earth are being removed, and the freed 
 soul can almost reach the beautiful garment of immortal- 
 ity. The long-absent wanderer has almost reached his 
 Father's mansion. Every beating pulse, every moment that 
 comes and goes, brings him nearer, and still nearer, his 
 Father's dwelling. He sees, by the eye of undoubting 
 faith, those dear, dear friends who have gone before him 
 to the spirit-world, and who now shine like burning lights 
 in that building not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens. Has he lost from earth parents who loved him 
 much, and nursed him well ; — he feels that they are there 
 with extended arms to greet and welcome the earth-worn 
 pilgrim to his spirit-home. Has death torn his children 
 from his bosom ; — he feels in his soul that in a few hours, 
 or days at most, they will rest upon his bosom, and kiss 
 his tears away ! 
 
 " For the last end of that man is peace." Friends 
 (and enemies, if you are here), may God in infinite 
 mercy induce you and me to seek this peace until we find 
 it ! Without it the world is a blank, life a bubble, and 
 religion a farce. And in an especial manner I pray 
 
320 SBKMONS. 
 
 you who, like me, worship God after the manner which 
 some call heresy, to look to the spirit of your doctrine ; — 
 the letter kills, but the spirit makes alive. Would you 
 see Zion put on her beautiful garments, — let your light 
 shine. Would you have peace in the morning, peace in 
 the evening, peace all the day long, — mark the perfect 
 man, and learn to copy him. 
 
SERMON II. 
 
 He that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one that 
 judgeth him : the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him 
 in the last day. — John 12 : 48. 
 
 \ 
 In every age, the children of men have found it abso- 
 lutely necessary to establish a government, and frame 
 laws, for the purpose of protecting the innocent, and 
 correcting or restraining the vicious. Under an absolute 
 monarchy the -word of a king is law. Consequently, his 
 subjects are not judged by the monarch in person, but 
 the word he has spoken shall judge the people. The 
 governments and laws of men must, of necessity, be very 
 imperfect ; for imperfect creatures could never produce a 
 perfect code of laws. We try, judge and condemn our 
 fellow, as we see and understand the subject-matter in 
 hand. He may be guilty of all that is: alleged against 
 him — he may be innocent. The testimony is seldom 
 positive ; and when it is to the point, the fact that men 
 sometimes bear false testimony produces a degree of un- 
 certainty, after all. Human law-makers, in every age of 
 the world, have adapted laws to the capacity and character 
 of man, as man understands man. They have looked 
 upon human nature as being always inclined to commit 
 crime; consequently laws have been ungenerous and 
 severe, in almost every age. They have looked at the 
 act of the transgressor, independent of the motive which 
 induced the operator to act. It must be so ; for man 
 cannot understand and comprehend the heart. My 
 motives, your motives, and the motives of every man 
 
322 SERMONS 
 
 and woman in the world, though pure as the pur- 
 pose of God, are many times condemned ; and men, 
 though innocent as the angels in heaven, are judged and 
 punished. The primitive Christians will afford a case 
 in point. They had journeyed out and beyond the lim- 
 ited partial laws and creeds of their spiritual dictators. 
 They had learned a new lesson, and that lesson had 
 opened their eyes to the faults and imperfections of those 
 men and laws under which they had lived long and suf- 
 fered much. They saw human nature crushed beneath 
 the iron hand of oppression, and, with motives pure as 
 the thoughts of God, resolved to lift it up. But their 
 motives were impeached, and their laudable efforts to ele- 
 vate man in the world were condemned as heaven-daring 
 and hell-deserving. No marvel, then, that they appealed 
 to the judgment of a better government, a better King, 
 and a better law. 
 
 Christ is our King — his word is our law — and by 
 that word or law we are to be judged. An important 
 inquiry now presents itself for consideration ; and I solicit 
 the undivided attention of the hearer while we present 
 it, and answer it as God may give ability. What is 
 the nature and character of the word by which Christ is 
 judging the world, in the kingdom over which he pre- 
 sides ? Is it like the word and law of man ? Does it 
 abound with death, and death penalties ? Men tell me it 
 does ; but God, Jesus, and the prophets and apostles, all 
 tell me it does not. " Man shall not live by bread alone, 
 but by every word which proceedeth out of the mouth of 
 God." Mark the phraseology — he shall live, not die ; — 
 by every word, not a part or portion of has words, but by 
 every word. The language of Christ is, " The words I 
 speak to you, they are spirit, and they are life," — not 
 death — not vengeance — not damnation. Once more I 
 . request the hearer to watch me with all his powers as I 
 journey onward in the investigation. For, if I am de- 
 ceived, God knows I do not wish to deceive the hearer. 
 
 John says that in Christ was life and light, and that in 
 
SERMONS. 323 
 
 God there is no darkness at all. To communicate and 
 impart life and light to the benighted and death-stricken 
 children of men, Christ sits upon the judgment-seat in 
 his kingdom ; his word is life — his law is life — Christ 
 is life — and his judgment is life. 
 
 In the 6th chapter of John you may find these words : 
 " For the bread of God is he which cometh down from 
 heaven and giveth life unto the world." God is life ; his 
 words are all life. Christ is life ; his words are all life ; 
 and to bestow life upon the world, the whole world, 
 is his business and avocation. The word of eternal truth 
 declares, " He hath destroyed death and him that hath 
 the power of death, that is, the Devil." 
 
 " Seek judgment, for it is sweeter than honey," said 
 one who understood the subject. ' ' Zion shall be redeemed 
 with judgment," is the language of inspiration. " I will 
 praise thee with uprightness of heart, when I shall have 
 learned thy righteous judgments," said the Psalmist. 
 The object of Christ's mission — his word, his law, and 
 his judgment — the hearer must understand, is to give life, 
 not death ; to reform, not to make miserable ; to build 
 up, not to break down and cripple, human nature. The 
 word of a Nero could produce death and misery; but 
 the word or judgment of Christ looks beyond the misery 
 of the individual, and makes judgment but the means to 
 obtain an end, and the end is the reformation of the 
 transgressor. The capital error committed by theolo- 
 gians is the supposition that judgment with Christ is an 
 end, instead of a means to obtain an end. They suppose, 
 and so they preach, that when an individual is judged 
 and condemned, the work is all done ; when, from the 
 whole tenor of the Scriptures, it is positively evident that 
 judgment, and condemnation, and punishment, are only 
 means to destroy death and bestow life. For said Paul 
 to Timothy, " Christ hath abolished death, and brought 
 life and immortality to light, through the Gospel." The 
 hearer cannot but understand that the Gospel dispensa- 
 tion, length and breadth, beginning and end, is life, and 
 
324 SERMONS. 
 
 life only. The last book opened was the book of life; 
 and I challenge the whole world to show me the item of 
 death in it, except as the means to life. Again and 
 again we read of the Gospel of life, the Gospel of sal- 
 vation. But do you read in the New Testament of the 
 Gospel of death, of the Gospel of damnation ? Never — • 
 bo, never ! If you would learn and embrace such a 
 Gospel, go study with the doctors of divinity. They 
 deal in the article. But in Christ is only life ; and his 
 words are spirit, and they are life, and life only. 
 
 But the hearer will inquire of me, How does the word 
 of Christ judge the children of men? But before we 
 proceed to that portion of our subject, we will offer a few 
 remarks upon "the last day." This part of our subject 
 has been adduced with the utmost confidence, by our op- 
 ponents, as proof of a general judgment in the future world. 
 Days and nights are peculiar to time, not to eternity ; 
 and if we are judged in "the last day," it must be in 
 this world, unless it can be proved that there will be a 
 " last day " to eternity. 
 
 The prophet Isaiah introduces the last day and the 
 judgment, for our consideration; in his second chapter. 
 He is speaking, as you will discover at once, of the clos- 
 ing up of the law dispensation, and the establishment of 
 Messiah's reign. Doctor Clark says that when the 
 Jewish writers wrote of the Christian era, they desig- 
 nated it as " the world to come." The world to come 
 (he says) was a constant phrase used by the Jewish 
 writers when speaking of the Christian dispensation. 
 And when they spoke of the closing up of one dispensa- 
 tion, and the introduction of another, they couple the 
 judgment and last day mentioned in the text, and then 
 give the result. The prophet Isaiah, to whom I called 
 your attention a moment since, writes as follows upon 
 this subject : " And it shall come to pass in the last days 
 that the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established 
 in the top of the . mountains, and shall be exalted above 
 the hills, and all nations shall flow unto it. And many 
 
SERMONS. 325 
 
 people shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the 
 mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob ; 
 and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his 
 paths ; for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the 
 word of the Lord from Jerusalem. And he shall judge 
 among the nations, and shall rebuke many people ; and 
 they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their 
 spears into pruning-hooks. Nation shall not lift up 
 sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any 
 more." 
 
 We have demonstrated, unless we are deceived, that 
 the word by which the world is being judged is a dispen- 
 sation of life, and not of death. We have shown that 
 judgment is not an end, but the means to obtain an end ; 
 and the end designed is the reformation of the transgress- 
 or; that the Gospel dispensation is not a dispensation 
 of fear and sorrow, but a dispensation of gladness and of 
 love. 
 
 There is nothing in the creation of God that is not 
 governed by laws directly adapted to its nature and ca- 
 pacity. Matter, in all its forms, qualities and ramifica- 
 tions, is, and ever has been, governed by laws. And if 
 there is truth in philosophy, or revelation, or experience, 
 mind, like matter, is, and must be, governed by laws 
 adapted to its nature and capacity. The word, or the 
 letter of the word, by which we are judged, is written in 
 a book ; but the spirit of that word or law is written on 
 the soul, or, in the language of the book, written "in the 
 heart." In the 10th chapter of Romans, the apostle 
 says, " The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and 
 in thy heart, that is, the word of faith" (or doctrine, 
 or truth), " which we preach." In the 37th Psalm and 
 31st verse, it is said, " The law of his God is in his heart." 
 In the 2d chapter of Romans and 14th verse, it is said, 
 " For when the Gentiles, which have not the law," (that 
 is, not the letter of the law written in a book,) " do by 
 nature the things contained in the law, these, having not 
 the law, are a law unto themselves, which show the works 
 28 
 
326 SERMONS. 
 
 of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also 
 bearing -witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accus- 
 ing, or else excusing, one another." 
 
 Paul, writing to the Hebrews upon the subject of the 
 new covenant', or Gospel dispensation, speaks as follows : 
 "This is the covenant I will make with the house of 
 Israel after those days, saith the Lord : I will put my 
 laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts ; and I 
 will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people." 
 
 In the government of Christ Jesus, the act is lost in 
 the purpose. The act is nothing, the motive every- 
 thing. Men are here condemned or justified, according 
 as they see, understand and comprehend duty. In this 
 government, the government of mind, "he that knoweth 
 his master's will, and doeth it not shall be beaten with 
 many stripes; while he that knoweth not his master's 
 will shall be beaten with few stripes" or none at all. 
 "For if our hearts condemn us," said John, "God is 
 greater than our hearts, and knoweth all things. Belov- 
 ed, if our hearts condemn us not, then have we confidence 
 towards God." The language of Paul to the Romans is 
 as follows: "Happy is he that condemneth not himself 
 in that thing which he alloweth." 
 
 Hearer, do you believe this testimony ? I shall take 
 it for granted that you do ; and if you do, you must take 
 the position I take to-day — that the spirit of the word, 
 which is the Judge, the testimony, the acquittal or con- 
 demnation, are all here, all within, all in the man, 
 creating in his own bosom a heaven of joy and gladness 
 tongue can never express, or a hell that is frightful past 
 the power of description. 
 
 I know, as well as any one can know, that my good 
 friends of another faith deny all this. I am not igno- 
 rant of the fact that they laugh to scorn the idea that 
 heaven and hell may be found in the mind of man. But 
 all these things affect me as little as the moonbeam affects 
 the snow-bank. Truth is truth, whether the multitude 
 i or curse me. And truth is the first blessing I ask 
 
SERMONS. 327 
 
 at the hands of heaven's God ; and what Nature, Reve- 
 lation and Experience, all teach, I must, I will believe. 
 The Christ whom we profess to serve has taught us, in the 
 text, that the word shall judge us. The apostle Paul 
 declares that the word of faith, or word "of truth, by 
 which all men are to be judged, is in our hearts. Can 
 you doubt it ? Dare you doubt it ? I cannot — I dare 
 not; and I pray God you may not. I tell you, upon 
 the authority of high Heaven, this " word is quick and 
 powerful, sharper than a two-edged sword, piercing 
 even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the 
 joints and marrow ; and is a discerner of the thoughts 
 and intents of the heart." And it will pierce, if it pierce 
 at all, to the very centre of the soul. It is judging the 
 children of men every day, every hour. And conscience, 
 ever true to her post and her mission, is pouring out upon 
 the man within the flood-tide of shame and confusion, 
 or cheering the soul with hopes and prospects bright and 
 beautiful as the morning sun. A guilty conscience who 
 ean bear ? A fire that burns and burns, to the lowest 
 hell. A viper, whose bloody fangs bite and devour all 
 the day long. The night approaches, bringing to the 
 pure in heart rest, refreshment and repose ; but the law- 
 less navigator upon the putrid stream of crime finds 
 thorns in his bed, daggers in his pillow, and the fire 
 of hell in his soul ! He looks upward, but not a ray of 
 light dawns upon his crippled mind ; for 'tis dark at 
 mid-day. He looks backward ; and the past, with all its 
 folly, crime and debauchery, comes to him like the ghost 
 of the departed, crying vengeance ! vengeance ! ! ven- 
 geance! ! ! He looks forward; but the future has no 
 sun, no moon or star, to lighten his pathway; for the 
 night-cloud of darkness and blackness extends over all ! 
 " The wicked always prophesy evil," said one of the 
 prophets ; and well they may, for it is always evil with 
 them. And yet, I am told by the professedly wise and 
 righteous of the day that conscience is nothing, — a mere 
 bubble — an ignis-fatuus, that leads only to darken and 
 
328 SERMONS. 
 
 bewilder. I am reminded of the fact that conscience is 
 sometimes seared, as with a heated iron. And then they 
 tell me its warning voice is silenced, and its strong arm 
 is palsied. But, in my opinion, a more miserable and 
 contemptible and mischievous sophistry was never intro- 
 duced to sustain a sinking cause, than this. Take, for 
 illustration, if you please, an individual from your circle 
 of friends or enemies, and with a heated iron sear his 
 body from the crown of the head to the soles of his feet. 
 Then tell me, honestly, if the pain ceased with the pro- 
 cess. You know better than this ; for you well under- 
 stand that the whole physical man would be tormented 
 both day and night, until a cure was effected, or death 
 kindly put an end to his misery. And so it is, so it 
 will be, with the man within, until the sun of righteous- 
 ness arise, through all these clouds of tribulation and 
 anguish, upon his soul, with healing in its wings ; until, 
 perceiving that the Lord correcteth every son whom he 
 loveth, and scourgeth every child whom he receiveth, the 
 sinner yields his soul to the power of that word which 
 judgeth the universe, and becomes reconciled to the Father 
 of spirits, and lives. 
 
Sermon hi. 
 
 And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life : he that cometh 
 unto me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall never 
 thirst. — St. John's Gospel 6 : 35. 
 
 Beautiful and appropriate were the similes and 
 allegories introduced by our Lord and Master to illus- 
 trate and enforce the Gospel he was commissioned to 
 propagate among men. We all know that truth of 
 almost every kind is more effectually brought home to 
 the mind, and its beauty illustrated, by the assistance of 
 a well-selected allegory, than it can be by a plain state- 
 ment of facts. The figure used in the text is full of 
 meaning, — "I am the bread of life;" Bread, in one 
 sense of the word, is the staff of life ; it is the strength, 
 stay and support, of all physical or animal life. The 
 most hale and hardy of our race, the hardiest among all 
 the tribes and grades of animals found upon the earth, 
 languish and die if the required quantity of bread is not ■ 
 given them. And the most superficial men have learned 
 that the well-fed animal is robust, hardy, and happy. We 
 have long since learned that a particular kind and quality 
 of food is adapted by nature, and nature's God, to differ- 
 ent grades and kinds of animals. The same kind of food 
 that would nourish one animal in the most perfect man- 
 ner would ruin, past all recovery, another. The same 
 remark holds good when applied to trees, and plants, and 
 flowers ; each and every one must be nursed with special 
 reference to its requirements and its nature. And it is 
 only when we arrive at that degree of wisdom which 
 enables us to judge with truth of the nature and require- 
 28* 
 
330 SERMONS. 
 
 ments of animals, trees or flowers, that we can rear either 
 with abundant success ; and, in order to obtain this wis- 
 dom, we must take lessons from nature. Upon nature's 
 page, and nowhere else, is this knowledge written out. 
 
 And it is just so with man. If you will make him 
 what he should be, — generous, noble, pure and godlike, 
 -£- you must understand his nature and requirements, I 
 repeat the remark -. — If you would nurse man with suc- 
 cess, and see him rise higher and still higher in the scale 
 of existence, you must learn what he is, and what he 
 was in a state of nature. If man is degenerated, — if he 
 is far, and very far, from being what he was and what 
 he should be, — we may rest assured that there is good and 
 sufficient reason somewhere. To discover the error, to 
 rectify the mistake, and bring man back to his primitive 
 nature, is the most noble and elevated subject mind can 
 investigate. In this, as in every subject presented for 
 our investigation, much depends upon the truth of our 
 premises. We must learn what man was and is by 
 nature, before we can apply means that are well adapted 
 to his nature and his case. 
 
 In my opinion, we have suffered much, and shall un- 
 doubtedly suffer long, by losing sight of the two-fold 
 nature of man. If there is one truth that requires no 
 evidence to demonstrate it, it is the fact that man is a 
 compound being. There is the man without, and the man 
 within. The physical man has his earth-born and earth- 
 craving nature. The earth is his home, his beginning 
 and his end. The spiritual, moral or intellectual man, 
 is the dweller within, and is governed by laws entirely 
 unlike the laws which ever have governed, and ever will 
 govern, the man without. The physical man is altogether 
 an animal ; there is nothing connected with the outer man 
 that is not part and parcel of the brute. He lives to get, to 
 keep, and to eat ; and so does the brute. To get together, 
 to hoard up, an abundance that can minister to the appe- 
 tites of the body, is, and ever has been, peculiar to the 
 man without. And so general and universal has this 
 
SERMONS. 331 
 
 become in the world, that the great and protracted strug- 
 gle is, who shall accumulate the most of that substance 
 which alone ministers to the wants of the animal. To 
 provide a superabundance of food and clothing for the 
 offspring, the parent struggles and toils, and toils and 
 struggles, while he lives; and, if success crowns his 
 efforts, and he goes down to the grave in the midst of his 
 flocks and herds, and leaves his broad-spread acres and 
 shining dust to his children, in the ignorance and vanity 
 of his heart he believes his labor done. 
 
 Goods and chattels, lands and tenements, with silver 
 and gold, when given to the wise and benevolent of earth's 
 children, are of no trifling importance. When owned and 
 managed by the well-taught and well-disciplined man 
 within, they are so many important auxiliaries in doing 
 good in the world. But when the man within is neither 
 wise nor virtuous, they only curse him while he lives, 
 and enable him while he lives to curse others. 
 
 Could we be induced to look upon this subject until 
 we shall see it as it is, I believe we should all agree, in 
 a moment, that when the world lost sight of the compound 
 nature of man, and man turned his attention, in a great 
 degree, to the animal man and his vain desires and 
 swinish appetites, then man lost sight of God. Then he 
 became sensual and devilish ; and then the curse of God 
 first rested upon him. The veriest simpleton in the world 
 is well aware that the harvest will never come, unless the 
 seed he commits to the earth is watered by gentle 
 showers, and warmed into life by the life-giving rays of 
 a summer's sun. You would think the man worse than 
 a simpleton who should expect an abundant harvest where 
 not a drop of water moistened the earth from spring 
 to autumn. And yet, he is not more wild and visionary 
 than the parent who expects his sons to become true men, 
 and his daughters true women, and yet only cultivates 
 the inferior portion of their nature. 
 
 I would have every parent in the world remember 
 that in every son and daughter he has a mortal and an 
 
332 SERMONS. 
 
 immortal offspring. He should know that these are joint 
 partners in the firm, and both claim his protecting hand 
 and fostering care. One will perish soon ; the other will 
 live when the sun himself grows old, and all the wheels 
 of nature break. The beauty and excellence of one fade 
 and depart at the touch of time ; while the comeliness of 
 »the other will increase with every year, and gather new 
 beauties while God and nature live. One is the fading 
 child of earth ; the other, if nature and revelation speak 
 truly, is destined to outlive and outshine the stars. Time 
 touches one with his finger, and youth and beauty are 
 gone forever ; while the touch of time to the other, like 
 the touch of the painter's brush upon canvas, adds new 
 beauty and lustre to the man. 
 
 If I am not deceived in this particular, it follows, as 
 a matter of course, that man should be nourished with 
 special reference to his compound nature. While we 
 strive to render the casket beautiful as we can, we should 
 direct an extra degree of attention to the jewel it contains. 
 If the outer man is poor and deformed, it matters but a 
 trifle, for a few years will end it ; but the mind, cramped 
 and crippled in every part, has lost what, in my opinion, 
 it can never regain. If it lives in ignorance, dies in 
 ignorance, and enters the spirit-world untaught, it enters 
 a lifetime behind what it might have been, and would 
 have been, had it been well instructed here. Others may 
 tell you that a lifetime lost may be all regained in a 
 moment, at the resurrection ; but I am far from believ- 
 ing that one moment lost can ever be recalled or regained. 
 I have read and thought to little advantage, if time and 
 eternity are not both given to instruct and enlighten the 
 heaven-born man within. How far he may journey, how 
 much he may learn, God only knows. But I feel that 
 in the limited circle of my acquaintance there are those 
 who are ripe for the better school above. To instruct, to 
 make beautiful and glorious, the man within, will be the 
 business and avocation of God, angels and men, in the 
 spirit- world; and, although we shall ever go upward and 
 
SERMONS. 333 
 
 onward in the path of investigation, we shall always find 
 enough to learn. 
 
 If this view of the subject is correct, how important it 
 is that we commence right here ! How vastly important 
 that we learn truth, and not falsehood ; that we eat the 
 bread of life, and not the poison of death ! 
 
 The text, I opine, will give us a fund of useful instruc- 
 tion upon this important subject. "I am the bread of 
 life." As if he had said : " The truths I teach, the doc- 
 trine I impart, when believed and treasured up in the 
 soul, are to the man within what literal bread is to the 
 man without. They are all adapted to his nature and 
 constitution ; and, as bread carries the little one from the 
 helplessness of infancy to the full strength of manhood, 
 so will the doctrine I teach develop the latent strength 
 and hidden beauty of the dweller within. He may sit 
 down at another table, feast at another board, eat of other 
 bread, and rise up more hungry than before ; but, if he 
 eat of this bread, he shall hunger no more forever." 
 
 The text plainly implies that the moral and intellectual 
 man hungers for this bread, as the physical man hungers 
 for earthly food. But we have other, and perhaps I may 
 say better, evidence of this fact, in the experience of 
 every man and woman in the world. We have before 
 remarked, in substance, that when the outward man is 
 deprived of bread, hunger, with its long catalogue of 
 evils, fastens upon him. To live three-score years, and 
 hunger and suffer all that time, would be intolerable in- 
 deed. But physical suffering, cruel and wasting as it 
 may be, can never be compared with the bitterness of 
 mental misery. As one said in olden times, so say I 
 to-day : " Of all plagues, deliver me from the plague of 
 the heart." When the soul hungers, the whole temple is 
 a stranger to peace. When the soul mourns without 
 hope or prospect of relief, there is no avenue through 
 which light dawns upon the sorrow-stricken dweller 
 within. When the sun of the soul goes down, it is all 
 darkness and blackness, for it has neither moon nor star. 
 
334 SEEMONS. 
 
 No; nothing but the pure, clear sunlight of heaven's 
 truth can gladden and feed the soul ; and this it must 
 have, or it never smiles. "You may bring it wealth, you 
 may give it fame, you may spread out before it all that 
 is calculated to charm the eye and captivate the earthly 
 man ; but it loathes them all, and turns aside to weep ! 
 * Go with me, hearer, while we look upon a world where 
 sighs and tears abound. Pause not to look upon the sur- 
 face ; for we know that the surface of society is'Bometimes 
 like the unruffled surface of the mighty deep, — smooth 
 and calm as the face of a mirror. — but deeper down, far, 
 far below the deceptive surface, there are huge monsters 
 who bite and devour. We will go, if you please, where 
 the soul speaks with all its native energy, and begs and 
 pleads in language all its own. Yes, we will enter the 
 temple of the living God, where thousands congregate 
 from time to time, to feast upon that spiritual provision 
 upon which the flock of Christ subsists. Yes, -here is 
 the altar, there is the oracle of God, in the character of 
 a priest, and before him is the waiting, famishing con- 
 gregation. His office is one of much responsibility ; he 
 claims to be the shepherd and bishop of souls. He has 
 been set apart, by solemn ordination and the laying on of 
 hands, to minister in holy things. ; T is' his to break the 
 bread, 'tis his to feed the flock, 'tis his to point the path 
 which leads to elysian fields beyond the milky-way. He 
 claims intimate and holy communion with the Father of 
 all spirits, and professes to feed to his waiting congrega- 
 tion the very bread heaven's God gave him. Day after 
 day, and week after week, they have gathered here, and 
 tears have flowed like mountain brooks from many a 
 weeping eye. Groans have been multiplied, until figures 
 fail to count them o'er; and prayers, heart-rending 
 prayers, steeped in the bitterness of human woe, have 
 gone up to heaven's courts, laden with the soul's unutter- 
 able anguish. Hark ! that voice from behind the altar 
 thunders forth the deep damnation of hell! The quiet 
 dead are called forth from the nether world, and compelled 
 
SERMONS. 835 
 
 to speak of the burning prison-house in which God is tor- 
 menting his enemies day and night. O, my God! is 
 this the bread that angels eat? or is it not the bread 
 mentioned by the honored prophet, — the bread of tears, 
 the bread of affliction ? 
 
 Hearer, permit me to put the question home to your 
 heart and your soul. Is this the bread upon which you 
 delight to feast? is this the doctrine embraced and beloved 
 by the man within ? Nay, nay ; you know it is not. 
 The -more we eat, the more we hunger, — the more un- 
 happy we are. To think of nourishing the man within 
 with such provision, is as ~ preposterous as an attempt to 
 sustain the physical man with wormwood and gall. 
 
 Everything in nature has a natural medium through 
 which it passes, or an element in which it lives and enjoys 
 life. The bird has the atmosphere, the fish has the 
 water; and the moral man within finds his haven and 
 home in a religion of kindness and love. 'T is love that 
 plants the first glad smile upon the features of the tiny 
 babe. 'T is love that sends the first deep thrill of hap- 
 piness to the human soul. 'T is love that binds parents 
 to children, children to parents, man to man, and men to 
 God. All other ties are sundered, all other bonds may 
 be broken, all other connections dissolved ; but this out- 
 lives the wreck of nature, and the crash of worlds. 'T is 
 the native element of the soul ; the food upon which the 
 spiritual man lives, and the medium through which he 
 ascends up to heaven. And it is the medium, too, through 
 which heaven comes down to man. He that climbs up 
 another way, the same is a thief and a robber. 
 
 " 'Tislove that makes religion sweet; 
 'T is love that makes us rise-, 
 With ■willing hands and ardent feet, 
 To yonder happy skies." 
 
 Men tell me to preach the anger and vengeance of the 
 Almighty. The learned and would-be wise of this world 
 tell me to address the fears, the interest and the passions, 
 of men, if I would succeed in calling the multitude around 
 
336 SERMONS. 
 
 me, and get a name in the world. But my answer to all 
 such is, — Such a procedure would ruin me, and ruin 
 them ; we could not live in such an element, better than 
 the fish could live on land, or the bird in the water. The 
 captive Hebrews could not sing the Lord's song in a 
 strange land, away from kindred, friends, and home ; 
 neither can the freed spirit within taste again of that 
 bitter provision which poisons the very fountain of life. 
 
 In conclusion, permit me to urge upon you all, and 
 especially you who have the care and supervision of the 
 young, to look well to their religious, their moral and 
 intellectual wants. While you look well to the food and 
 raiment of the man without, see that the man within is 
 clothed with salvation, — not damnation. And, as you 
 love God, and love your own soul, see that the bread 
 they eat is " the bread of life," and not the wild gourds 
 of death. 
 
SERMON IV- 
 
 For which of /you intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, 
 and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it? Lest 
 haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all 
 that behold it begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, and 
 was not able to finish 1 Or what king, going to make war against 
 another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able 
 with ten thousand to meet him that cometh against him with twenty 
 thousand ? Or else, while the other is yet a great way off, he sendeth an 
 ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace. — Si. Lake's Gospei, 14 : 
 28—32. 
 
 The first clause of the testimony read in your hear- 
 ing calls up in the mind of the thinking man an import- 
 ant thought. "Which of you intending to build a 
 tower, sitteth not down first and counteth the cost, ■whether 
 he have sufficient to finish it ? " Every builder who is 
 ■wise and prudent will leave no means untried likely to 
 acquaint him with the nature of the enterprise in which 
 he is about to engage, the expense to which it will sub- 
 ject him, and the means within his reach. Before the 
 first effort is made, the building itself is completed in all 
 its parts. Not only the external, but the internal, — the 
 halls, the partitions, the apartments from cellar to garret, 
 — all exist in the mind of the experienced builder. He 
 can tell you just how it will appear, what purpose it will 
 answer, and the amount it will cost. He is now pre- 
 pared to commence operations, which, when carried out 
 and completed, will exhibit to others what has long 
 existed in his own mind. And as the work progresses, 
 we shall have developed to our view the original de- 
 sign of the builder, together with the resources he can 
 command, and the ability he possesses. If his efforts 
 29 
 
838 SERM0N3. 
 
 are crowned with complete success, there is but one opin- 
 ion respecting his wisdom and ability. He counted the 
 cost, matured his plans and arrangements, and the result 
 demonstrated that he was equal to the undertaking. 
 
 Such a builder obtains a character for punctuality and 
 skill wherever his name is known. Men learn to trust 
 and confide in him as naturally and entirely as in 
 the immutable laws of nature. There are many in the 
 world, yea, many in the circle of our acquaintance, who 
 have obtained our unlimited confidence in such business 
 transactions. The confidence reposed in his character 
 by his extensive acquaintance is an important auxiliary 
 in all his movements. And the community in which he 
 resides must and will be benefited by his precept and 
 example. 
 
 On the other hand, the man who attempts to erect a 
 tower without counting the cost, and fails in the attempt, 
 is by common consent deemed a simpleton. One, two, or 
 three failures will as certainly deprive him of the confi- 
 dence of community as that effects follow causes. And 
 the inevitable result is, his business is deranged or ruined, 
 his character is gone, and all who behold his unfinished 
 job begin to mock him, saying, "This man began to 
 build, but was not able to finish." That such is the 
 lamentable effect produced by such conduct, no living 
 man will deny. And the hearer is requested to retain 
 this self-evident truth in his mind, while I apply it to 
 another subject. 
 
 God is represented in the Scriptures as a builder, the 
 builder of heaven and earth. The apostle's language 
 is, " Every house is builded by some man, but he who 
 built all things is God." Speaking of Abraham, he 
 says, " For he looked for a city which hath foundations; 
 whose builder and maker is God." Throughout the Old 
 and New Testaments, the prophets and apostles, and 
 Jesus, speak of God as the creator and builder of all 
 things beneath, above, and around. To him all nature 
 owes, not only its existence, but its form, its qualities, 
 
SERMONS. 339 
 
 and location. 'T was God who created the planet we 
 inhabit, and spread out upon its far-stretched surface a 
 rich and prolific soil. His active and never-ceasing good- 
 ness to the children of men adapted the planet he cre- 
 ated to the natural wants and desires of the creature 
 he purposed to create. He made all things beautiful 
 in their season, and nothing was created in vain. Nor 
 did he confine his labor to a single effort, or to a single 
 world ; but around us, and above us, and below us, 
 worlds upon worlds, without number, are running their 
 eternal rounds. He created the heavens above, and the 
 earth below. He created beasts and birds to inhabit the 
 earth and air, and fish to live and enjoy life in the running 
 brook. And think ye he neglected to count the cost ? Was 
 not the beginning, the progress, and the end, as visible 
 in the morning of creation as it is now, or ever can be ? 
 Will not the whole building answer to perfection the 
 design and expectation of the Creator ? or shall some one 
 mockingly say, "This man began to build, and was not 
 able to finish " ? Shall, it be said to-day, and in ages to 
 come shall the story be told, that God was an unwise 
 builder, and failed to accomplish what he eternally pur- 
 posed to do? 
 
 So far as inanimate matter is concerned, so far as the 
 laws that govern matter are known and understood, we 
 are compelled to acknowledge the perfect accomplishment 
 of the Builder's plan and purpose. The innumerable 
 planets he has created, hung upon nothing, and balanced 
 in the air, move to-day as they moved the first moment 
 they went forth from their Maker's hands. Should I 
 attempt to prove that the original purpose of the Builder 
 was not carried out and accomplished so far as inanimate 
 nature is concerned, I should offer a direct insult to your 
 common sense. You would point me to the earth, the 
 air, and the water ; and tell me that an idiot may well 
 understand that they answer the numerous purposes for 
 which they were created. You would say to me, It is 
 positively certain that the Builder well understood and 
 
340 SERMONS. 
 
 determined what they should be, and how they should 
 operate. You would say to me, with the utmost propri- 
 ety, Here is a healing medicine springing up from the 
 bosom of the earth, planted, and nursed, and nourished, 
 by God's own hand, for the express purpose of giving 
 health and strength to the physical man. There is a 
 Beautiful flower ushered into the world to shed its fra- 
 grance upon the atmosphere inhaled by mortals, and to 
 delight the eye and cheer the heart of the beholder. The 
 windows of heaven are opened, and copious showers are 
 poured out upon hill and valley, to answer those numer- 
 ous and important purposes that God made sure and cer- 
 tain before time began, or the earth was created. Search 
 creation round, scale the heavens and measure infinite 
 space, and the place cannot be found where the result 
 produced is not just as the Builder determined it should 
 be. 
 
 But another item, of the first importance, demands our 
 attention. The heavens were completed, the earth was 
 finished, the sun shone with unequalled brilliancy and 
 beauty, the moon commenced her journey round the earth, 
 and the stars peeped out from their hiding-places to look 
 down upon the new-made world. And upon what did 
 they look ? There were beasts and birds, hills and val- 
 leys, running brooks and blooming flowers. And Ged 
 said, Let us make man to dwell upon the earth. So God 
 created man in his own image ; in the image of God cre- 
 ated he him. And I put the question to the intelligent 
 hearer, — Did the Builder count the cost ? Will man an- 
 swer the purpose for which the great Builder designed 
 him? or, will God be disappointed in his labor, and, like 
 the unwise builder, fail to complete what was well begun ? 
 Shall infuriated demons pass by and mock, saying, " You 
 began to build, but were not able to finish " ? 
 
 In the old catechism that I committed to memory when 
 a boy it is written, "God created man for his own 
 glory." I believed it then, and I religiously believe it 
 now. The language of the apostle is, " For ye are 
 
SERMONS. _ 341 
 
 bought with a price ; therefore glorify God in your body 
 and in your spirit, which are God's." I beg the hearer 
 to remember, while he lives, that man was created for a 
 positive and definite purpose ; and that purpose, by com- 
 mon and universal consent, is that God's glory shall be 
 perfect. 
 
 I will just introduce the inquiry again, — What is it 
 that enables the builder to glory in his labor ? There 
 can be but one answer ; and that is, unqualified success. 
 The carpenter glories in the house he has built. The 
 watchmaker glories in the watch he has made. The ship- 
 builder glories in the floating castle that has gone forth 
 from his hands to live upon the ocean wave, and ride 
 upon the tempest-lashed waters. Pulton gloried in his 
 steam-engine ; and well he might ; for surely that was a 
 proud day when success crowned his protracted efforts, 
 and scattered the doubts and silenced the opposition of 
 men who had laughed him to scorn. The honor, and 
 fame, and glory, of the man, are intimately connected 
 with success, if Fulton had failed in his effort to pro- 
 pel vessels by steam, where would have been his glory 
 and renown ? If the house will not answer the purpose 
 for which it was built, where is the glory of the builder ? 
 If the watch tells not the truth, but utters falsehoods every 
 day, where is the glory of its maker ? By their works 
 ye shall know them. 
 
 And it is even so with the God who laid the foundations 
 of the earth. His works and his glory cannot be sepa- 
 rated. His works give us the clearest and surest testi- 
 mony as to what he has been, what he is now, and what 
 he will be. If he manages all things well ; if he carries 
 out, with a master's hand, all his great and glorious pur- 
 poses ; if he produces and secures to all his dependent 
 creatures the greatest possible good, — then will his wm-ks 
 be glorious, and his name glorious. 
 
 I will remind the hearer of the important fact men- 
 tioned and labored before, — that man was created "to 
 glorify God, and enjoy him forever." That it is man's 
 29* 
 
342 SERMONS. 
 
 duty to glorify God with his moral, physical, and intel- 
 lectual powers, will not be disputed. The question may 
 rise up in the mind of the hearer, How shall mortal man 
 glorify God ? This is an important question, one that 
 should be answered as truth can answer a question. And 
 I opine we cannot do better than to apply to the inspired 
 penman for an answer. — " Whoso offer eth praise, glo- 
 rifieth me." By this expression I understand gratitude 
 to God, love to God and love to man, and every act of 
 the man that flows directly from either. It must be the- 
 ory and practice blended together. Or, in other phrase- 
 ology, love and good works. Love, pure as virtue itself, 
 must be the cause ; and charity, humility, genuine kind- 
 ness of heart and soul, and moral honesty of the highest 
 name and nature, must be the glorious results. In this 
 manner, and by such conduct, man should glorify God. 
 And I am certain I do not err when I say this is the 
 only way in which man can glorify God, for the simple 
 and sufficient reason that nothing short of this purity of 
 conduct will answer the high and glorious purpose of the 
 benevolent Builder. " Herein is my Father glorified, 
 that ye bear much fruit," said Christ to the disciples. 
 The man who, by study and perseverance in well-doing, 
 has arrived at this elevated standard of human perfection, 
 is constantly and perpetually glorifying God, and God is 
 evermore glorified in him. There is joy in heaven over 
 one penitent sinner. And why is there joy in heaven 
 when a sinner is converted to holiness and truth ? Be- 
 cause God is glorified in that conversion; because his 
 primitive purpose, so far as the salvation of that indi- 
 vidual is concerned, is carried out and accomplished. 
 Hence there is joy in heaven at such an occurrence ;, 
 and, of necessity, there is joy on earth. Wherever God 
 is glorified there is joy and rejoicing without measure. 
 God's happiness is imparted with his spirit and his grace 
 to the creature ; and the creature is honest as God is hon- 
 est, pure as God is pure, and happy as God is happy. 
 " Whoso offereth praise, glorifieth me." Do we dis- 
 
SERMONS. 343 
 
 cover evidence sufficient in the volume of inspiration and 
 nature to convince us that God will finish the work, and 
 complete the building, as he first designed ? You will 
 notice that man is not finished until he is born from 
 above ; or, in other language, until upon the bended knee 
 of humility he offereth up praise to God, and, by so doing, 
 glorifieth his Creator. Short of this, he is like a beauti- 
 ful temple, erected, and enclosed, and painted. 'T is beau- 
 tiful in appearance, and the eye dwells upon the external 
 with delight. But the moment we approach tha^ temple, 
 and survey the interior, we are disappointed, we are 
 grieved. We supposed the building was completed, and 
 verily believed the beauty of the interior was far superior 
 to the beauty and brilliancy of the exterior. But, alas ! 
 a little time sufficed to correct the mistake. Within all 
 was derangement, disorder, and confusion ; and the con- 
 trast between the beautiful outside and the deformity 
 within was striking and annoying. 
 
 The apostle has well said, "Ye are God's building." 
 And certainly the external appearance of man is noble, 
 dignified, and beautiful. But is the building completed 
 when the physical man has been touched and polished by 
 the hand of a master ? Certainly not. And yet, how 
 many thousands there are in the world who judge of the 
 whole building, or whole man, by the worthless, fading 
 tinsel that is thrown upon the external ! They do not 
 turn their attention for a single moment within ; and, con- 
 sequently, are ignorant of every part and everything 
 that is connected with the man, save the paint and varnish 
 that give polish to the external. 
 
 The apostle remarked to his Corinthian brethren as 
 follows : " Know ye not that ye are the temples of God, 
 and that the spirit of God dwelleth in you ? " Those 
 temples were finished. I care not how beautiful the 
 external might have been, if the spirit of God was with- 
 in, there was beauty of a higher order in the soul. Such 
 temples we should be, and such temples I believe we 
 shall be. Man is rising all over the world. Mind is at 
 
844 SERMONS. 
 
 work. Intellect is pluming its full-fledged wings for a 
 higher and holier flight. God and man are taking cog- 
 nizance of the motives by which men are governed. And 
 the time is not far distant, I opine, when God will be 
 glorified in the conduct and conversation of every man 
 and woman that has lived upon the earth. The work will 
 be done. The temple will be finished. God will be glo- 
 rified, and man made glorious. 
 
 But methinks I hear a murmur of disapprobation. 
 A dissenting voice is heard, saying, This can never be 
 accomplished. Demons and wicked men have combined 
 to defeat the Creator, and drag a portion of his half- 
 completed temples down to eternal burnings ; and so 
 certain as there is a God, they will succeed in their hell- 
 ish undertaking. They have been doing battle against 
 God and his saints since the first dawn of creation. And, 
 as the war is protracted from age to age, Satan's party 
 is strengthened by new recruits, and new accessions of 
 strength. And so formidable is his party to-day, that 
 the soldiers of the cross have ceased to hope. They have 
 yielded by common consent, and will consider themselves 
 fortunate, indeed, if they make good their retreat, and 
 save a mere fragment of their fellow-kind. To them the 
 battle is lost, and victory is perched upon the blood- 
 besmeared standard,, behind which demons and wicked 
 men do battle. 
 
 But, hark ! methinks a voice from the upper skies is 
 heard. It speaks to the children of men. 'T is the voice of 
 God ; and let the sons and daughters of men give heed to 
 its language. 
 
 " For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth 
 not down first, and counteth the cost whether he have 
 sufficient to finish it ? Lest haply, after he hath laid the 
 foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it 
 begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, and 
 •was not able to finish ? Or what king, going to make war 
 against another king, sitteth not down first, and consult- 
 ed whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him 
 
SERMONS. 345 
 
 that cometh against him with twenty thousand ? Or else, 
 while the other is a great way off, he sendeth an ambas- 
 sage, and desireth conditions of peace." 
 
 " Shall it he said of me, He commenced building with- 
 out counting the cost ? Shall demons and deluded mor- 
 tals have reason to say, He commenced building, but he 
 was not able to finish ? Shall they point the finger of 
 scorn, and exultingly proclaim my inability to complete 
 my work,' and finish what is well begun ? Shall the tem- 
 ples I created to glorify me go down unfinished, to grat- 
 ify mine enemy ? 
 
 " Have I commenced hostility and declared war against 
 Satan and his work's -without consulting my own strength 
 and my resources ? Am I not the cause of all causes ? 
 Is not all power in my hands ? Where are the powers that 
 are not ordained of me ? Where are the demons that I 
 could not blast with a word, as the thunderbolt shivers a 
 feather ? Let host combine with host, let men and de- 
 mons unite against me ; still I am almighty — still I am 
 God — and my honor I will not give to another. Had I 
 doubted, — yea, had I not declared the end from the be- 
 ginning, — I would have sent an ambassage to meet his 
 sooty majesty while he was yet a great way off, and asked 
 conditions of peace. But I know the strength of my 
 enemy ; it is weakness itself. I understand his wisdom ; 
 it is iblly. I will overcome both. I will destroy death, 
 and him that hath the power of death — that is, the devil. 
 I will finish sin, and make an end of transgression. I 
 will wipe tears from off all faces, and plant righteousness 
 in every soul. I have sworn by myself — the word hath 
 gone forth in, righteousnells, and shall not return — that 
 unto me every knee shall bow, and every tongue shall 
 swear, surely shall say, In the Lord have I righteousness 
 and strength. I taught the prophet to say, I will be glo- 
 rified before all the people. And am I a man, that I 
 should change ? or the son of man, that I should tell a 
 lie?" No, no ! let every soiil respond. God's labor of 
 love must be, will be, completed. Then will ,every Bon 
 
346 SERMONS. 
 
 and daughter of Adam offer praise to the Lord. And he 
 who offers praise glorifies God. Then, in the language 
 of his holy prophet, he " will rest in his love." And his 
 rest will be glorious. Yes, that will be glorious, glori- 
 ous, GLORIOUS ! Satan destroyed, sin and sorrow 
 ended, mankind made holy, angelic, blissful, Jesus hon- 
 ored in the full success of his mission, and God glorified 
 in the completion of all his purposes, the perfection of 
 all his works ! 
 
' SEKMON V. — [Extracts.] 
 
 After this manner therefore pray ye : Our Father which art in 
 heaven, Hallowed be thy name. — Matthew 6 : 9. 
 
 These words were spoken by Jesus of Nazareth " a 
 long time ago," and the particular object in view at that 
 time was the instruction of the children of men upon 
 the all-important subject of prayer. Previous to the 
 utterance of these words, he had cautioned them not to 
 follow or imitate the Pharisees and hypocrites in this 
 duty. He labored faithfully to impress upon them the 
 evil of the error into which the Pharisees and hypocrites 
 had fallen respecting alms-giving and prayer. "There- 
 fore, when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trum- 
 pet before thee, as the hypocrites do, in the synagogues 
 and in the streets, to be seen of men." 
 
 There has always existed in the world a great desire 
 for show and display. This desire has been exhibited in 
 every age of the world ; but perhaps no class of men, 
 since the world began, ever carried this low, debasing 
 passion to a more ridiculous extent than the ancient 
 Pharisees. If they were about to perform an act of 
 charity or kindness, that was by common consent praise- 
 worthy, there must be< a good degree of preparation to 
 begin with; the inhabitants of? earth must understand 
 that the water was troubled, the righteous were moving, 
 and a good and commendable object was in view. Our 
 Saviour used a figure to represent the formal notice that 
 was given at such times by those deluded and hypocrit- 
 
348 SERMONS. 
 
 ical professors. The figure was the sound of a trumpet. 
 By this he gives us to understand that their good deeds 
 were always trumpeted abroad, and were done for effect. 
 Thus, you discover, the beginning and end of the trans- 
 action was selfish and hypocritical. Thus it has ever 
 been, thus it is now, and thus it will ever be, with such 
 men and such characters. A great flourish, and a dimin- 
 utive result. Much talk, and little good accomplished. 
 Such conduct of such people reminds me of the dark, 
 murky cloud I have seen rising in the far west, when the 
 earth was almost ready to burn. I watched with eager 
 and anxious eye its every movement, trusting and hoping 
 that by and by it would pour down upon hill and valley 
 a copious supply of pure cold water. The deep-toned 
 thunders came booming along in quick succession, declar- 
 ing as positively as such a messenger can, a storm is at 
 hand. Nearer and still nearer it approaches ; the light- 
 ning is playing in the heavens, the elements are in unu- 
 sual commotion, and the big drops that usually usher in 
 the shower are among us and upon us. But, alas ! the 
 cup of hope that was full to the brim a moment since 
 is dashed upon the ground and broken. The wind is 
 hushed to repose, the electric fluid is far away, the deep- 
 toned thunder salutes our ears no longer, the clouds 
 that seemed to promise much rain have departed for other 
 climes, and the scorching rays of a summer's sun are 
 upon us. In plain English, we have had an unusual 
 movement among the elements, that, in the commence- 
 ment, promised much ; they gave us timely notice — they 
 wrangled and stormed, and departed. In one word, they 
 gave us hope and disappointment — but no rain. 
 
 The same love of display and ostentation was visible in 
 all the religious ceremonies of the, Pharisees. The sub- 
 ject of vocal and public prayer was with them of para- 
 mount importance. No individual could obtain the fel- 
 lowship of the Pharisees, unless he was a praying man. 
 And so anxious were those infatuated mortals to convince 
 their neighbors that they prayed thrice a day, that they 
 
SERMONS. 349 
 
 would place themselves in some conspicuous place or po- 
 sition, before the prayer was commenoed. The question 
 then was, Is he a praying man ? — and upon the answer 
 given to this question depended the respectability of the 
 man with that people. Hence, Jesus and his disciples 
 were unequivocally condemned as heretics and deceivers. 
 They did not pray as the Pharisees did, and consequently 
 were very wicked. This is the uniform conclusion drawn 
 by such men, from such premises, in every age of the 
 world. And if Jesua Christ may be relied on as a com- 
 petent witness, I pronounce the men of that age, and 
 the men of this age, and such men of every age, wrong 
 in the premise, and wrong in the conclusion. 
 
 In the context, Jesus gave the disciples the following 
 prudent instruction upon the subject : " And when thou 
 prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are ; for they 
 love to pray standing in the synagogues, and at the 
 corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. 
 Verily I say unto you, they have their reward. But 
 thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet ; and when 
 thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in 
 secret, and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward 
 thee openly." The reward that is promised, you will 
 notice, is not to the blustering, talking, religious bragga- 
 docio ; but to the individual who cheerfully follows in 
 the footsteps of Jesus, and retires to some secret place to 
 hold silent and heartfelt communion with God. 
 
 Now let me appeal to the hearer, in sober earnest, and 
 inquire of him, Do you love and covet the praise and 
 approbation of a certain class of men that could be men- 
 tioned ? If you do, commence a pilgrimage from house 
 to house, from town to town, and, as you go, go pray- 
 ing at the top of your voice for your wicked neighbors 
 and ungodly countrymen ; and my word for it, and the 
 experience of ages, which is far better, you will succeed 
 to your heart's content. But perhaps you will inquire, 
 as one did in olden times, " What shall I have there- 
 fore ? " To which I reply, with the utmost assurance, 
 30 
 
350 SBEMON9. 
 
 the approbation of that class of men, and the unequivo- 
 cal condemnation of Jesus of Nazareth. 
 
 The first effort of the Saviour was to correct the vague 
 and erroneous ideas of his hearers respecting the char- 
 acter of God. If I am not egregiously mistaken, he 
 commenced, like a true philosopher, at the great First 
 Cause of all things ; and from that Cause, as a premise, 
 he drew his conclusions. 
 
 After he had gathered a goodly number of disciples, 
 and revealed to them the true character of God, and the 
 truth he came to bear witness to, " one of his disciples 
 said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray." And he said 
 unto them, " When ye pray, say, Our Father which art 
 in heaven, Hallowed be thy name." 
 
 " Our Father ! " — methinks that word is full of mean- 
 ing, and full of consolation. "Our Father!" — what 
 tongue can describe the height and the depth, the length 
 and the breadth, of that word! "But hold — hold," 
 says the hearer ; " don't say our Father ; for God is not 
 the sinner's Father. ' Ye are of your Father the 
 devil! ' " Ah, indeed! indeed! that alters the case all 
 round ; for I believe it is an undisputed fact, the world 
 over, that the child is, and should be, subject to his own 
 parent, and not to another. Consequently, the homely 
 old saying, "Give the devil his due," is not only proper 
 and just, but well-timed. I confess I am unable to dis- 
 cover a good and sufficient reason why his sooty majesty, 
 the devil, has not, legally and morally, as good a 
 right to claim and receive the service and obedience of 
 his children, as any other parent in this or any other 
 world. " Children, obey your parents," is the divine 
 command ; and it is also the command of reason, com- 
 mon sense, and law ; and to it I respond, Amen ! 
 
 It sometimes happens that sinners are under convic- 
 tion; and for what, I inquire. "Because they have 
 served the devil," says one. But is not the devil their 
 father? "Most certainly." But is it not passing 
 strange that children should be convicted and condemned 
 
SBRMONS. 351 
 
 for serving their father faithfully and perseveringly ? 
 condemned for obeying the Bible, common sense, and the 
 law of the land ? But who will condemn them, I in- 
 quire. " Why, the Lord," says the hearer. The Lord ! 
 and what has he to do with the devil's children, I in- 
 quire again. I read in the Bible that the Lord is just ; 
 and is it just in one parent to stir up strife and rebellion 
 in the family of his neighbor, be he friend, or be he ene- 
 my ? You will all answer, No. But I shall be told 
 that " there is a strife between them — the devil is 
 striving to get the Lord's children, and the Lord is 
 striving to convert the devil's children." 0, indeed ! 
 that alters the case again, and, in that case, I can scarcely 
 tell which is the worst of the two. Of this much, 
 however, I am quite certain — they are both in the wrong ; 
 for no power or being in heaven, earth or hell, is justifi- 
 able in obtaining, by fraud or coercion, either men or 
 things that are not, in the proper and just sense of the 
 word, his own. This is justice by common consent, to 
 say the least of it ; and I would rather have justice with- 
 out religion, than religion without justice. 
 
 Now, "to the law and the testimony." If there is 
 truth in the Bible, God created man. From this declar- 
 ation but one conclusion can be drawn, namely, that the 
 entire race of man belongs to God, by creation. Again, 
 the prophet, in God's name, has written as follows, upon 
 this subject : " All souls are mine ; as the soul of the 
 father, so also the soul of the son is mine." From this 
 testimony there can be no appeal ; for it is positive and 
 unequivocal as language can make a declaration. Now, 
 if all souls belong to God, can the devil own any souls ? 
 You will all answer, No. 
 
 If the hearer is inclined to query respecting the mean- 
 ing of the sentence before quoted, "Ye are of your 
 father, the devil," I reply, the word diabolus, most 
 commonly rendered devil (and more properly than any 
 other word in the Greek, we are informed), is compounded 
 of dia, through, and ballo, to dart, throw, strike, . or 
 
352 SERMONS. 
 
 stab ; and signifies slanderer, accuser, or enemy. This 
 ■word is applied to women in the plural number, 1st Tim- 
 othy 3 : 11, — " Even so must their wives" (that is, the 
 deacons' wives') " be grave, not slanderers," or devils. 
 Here the apostle supposes it possible for deacons' wives 
 to be devils, and cautions them against it. 
 
 Our Saviour called Judas a devil ; consequently those 
 who were influenced by Judas might with the utmost 
 propriety be called, theoretically and practically, the 
 children of Judas, or the children of the devil. But, 
 strictly speaking, they were the lawful and legitimate 
 children of their parents according to the flesh. Our Sav- 
 iour, in the fifth chapter of Matthew's Gospel, takes the 
 same view of the subject. " But I say unto you, Love 
 your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them 
 that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use 
 you, and persecute you ; that you may be the children 
 of your Father which is in heaven." Mark the expres- 
 sion, " That you may be the children of your father." The 
 plain, obvious meaning is this : If they followed his di- 
 rections, they would then become the practical children 
 of their natural father ; for such he was before their re- 
 turn to obedience ; for all souls belong to God. And 
 the prophet's language in another place is : " Have we 
 not all one Father ? Hath not one God created us ?" 
 
 As I before remarked, the word Father contains the 
 sum and substance of the whole matter. That the parent 
 is under the most solemn obligation to look well to his 
 household and oflspring, will not be denied in this age of 
 the world. So universally is this truth received in com- 
 munity, that the individual who should presume to deny it 
 would at once be pronounced a wretch. The laws of 
 every civilized country are uniform and correct upon this 
 subject. They make no distinction between the learned 
 or unlearned, virtuous or vicious children. They say, 
 without distinction or exception, the parent shall provide 
 for his children, if he is able. If he is destitute of the 
 means, and cannot command them, they pity and assist 
 
SERMONS. 353 
 
 him. Those laws are just and prudent, and are in per- 
 fect keeping with divine law upon this important subject. 
 " If any provide not for his own, and specially for those 
 of his own house, he hath denied- the faith, and is worse 
 than an infidel." Now, 'mark, the expression ; he that 
 will not provide for his own household has denied the 
 faith — he has denied Christianity. Nor is this all — " he 
 is worse than an infidel." You cannot but notice the 
 universal application of this plain declaration. It is one 
 of Heaven's best laws, and is a conspicuous part of 
 Christ's religion. Now, if God be our father, in what 
 consists his honor and glory ? I answer, in acting well 
 his part as a parent ; in providing well for his household. 
 Will. you deny this? Will you say he has denied the 
 faith, outraged the holy religion he has given us, 
 trampled upon his own law that is binding upon all 
 parents, and is worse than an infidel ? God in mercy 
 speed the day when it shall be proclaimed upon every 
 hill, in every valley, and by every tongue, " Let God be 
 true, should every man be a liar." 
 
 *M, jt, .y, jy, 
 
 TT TV TT "IV" 
 
 Hearer, — let us hallow and sanctify the name and the 
 character of our heavenly Father. Nature and revela- 
 tion both declare that "he is good unto all, and his 
 tender mercies are over all his works." And love is his 
 nature, and Good is his name. 
 
 Could I convince my unbelieving brother, who has 
 written annihilation upon his banner, that he is not an 
 orphan, — that his Father is my Father, that my Father 
 is the Father of all spirits, and the God of salvation, — 
 then would he join with me in ascriptions of praise trans- 
 cending praise, and our song should be of glory trans- 
 cending glory, and the beginning of every prayer and 
 thank-offering would be, " Our Father !" 
 
 •Who that believes in such a Parent can despair of ulti- 
 mate success ? Friends may forsake him in the time of 
 need; slander, with its thousand tongues and serpent's 
 tooth, may attack his untarnished reputation, and blast it 
 30* 
 
354 SERMONS. 
 
 forever ; poverty may cripple his energies, and trample 
 him beneath her iron foot; sickness may waste his 
 strength, and break down the physical man ; but Faith 
 still burns bright in his bosom, and Hope is the polar 
 star of the time-stricken and toil-worn pilgrim. His 
 language is : Father, I thank thee for friends and for 
 friendships ! Father, I thank thee for the temporal 
 blessings thou hast poured out upon thy wayward child 
 in his pilgrimage through the world ; and for the numer- 
 ous tokens of thine immutable, unpurchased love which 
 thou hast strewn in my pathway to the tomb. " Our 
 Father." " I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, 
 nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things • 
 present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor 
 any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the 
 love of God" "our Father," "which is in Christ Jesus 
 our Lord." 
 
SEKMON VI.— [Extracts.] 
 
 And Jesus, answering, said, Were there not ten cleansed? but 
 Where are the nine ? — Luke 17 : 17. 
 
 As Jesus journeyed to Jerusalem, through Samaria 
 and Galilee, he entered a certain village, and there met 
 him ten lepers, who, standing afar off, cried, " Jesus, 
 Master, have mercy on us ! " And he said, " Go show 
 yourselves unto the priests," that on legal examination it 
 might be seen whether they were healed or not. " And 
 it came to pass, that, as they went, they were cleansed. 
 And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned 
 back, and with a loud voice glorified God," and fell down 
 at the Saviour's feet, giving him thanks ; and this one 
 was a Samaritan. "And Jesus answering said, Were 
 there not ten cleansed ? but where are the nine ? There 
 are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this 
 stranger." — Luke 17: 11 — 18. 
 
 Among the multitude of beautiful sayings and interest- 
 ing occurrences in the history of the Nazarene, not one 
 can be found that contains a more striking illustration of 
 his whole character, than the one under consideration. 
 It was well saidxpf him, " He went about doing good ; " 
 and it might have been added, with the utmost propriety, 
 " under the most discouraging circumstances imaginable." 
 True, it is a luxury to do good ; and those who love 
 goodness for its own intrinsic worth find delight in acts 
 of benevolence and love. But, in my humble opinion, it 
 requires more than an ordinary share of genuine goodness 
 
356 SERMONS. 
 
 of heart to enable an individual to persevere in doing 
 good, from year to year, when nine out of ten upon whom 
 his blessings fall pass on without even a thankful thought. 
 And yet every man and woman in the world ought to 
 possess, and may possess, if they will, that elevated view 
 of God and man which will enable them to persevere in 
 well-doing with pleasure. 
 
 The universally received opinion, that favors conferred 
 lay the recipient under obligation to express gratitude to 
 the donor, is founded in the fitness and propriety of things. 
 But an opinion has obtained extensive room in the world, 
 that an exhibition of ingratitude — a cold, sordid, selfish 
 indifference to the feelings and interests of the charitable 
 giver — is a good and sufficient reason why kindness should 
 curtail its operations, and the hand of charity close. 
 This system of error has received the approbation not 
 only of commonplace men and women in the world, but 
 is sanctioned by those who profess to be followers of the 
 meek and lowly Jesus. And it is preached through the 
 religious world, that even God himself will withdraw 
 his protecting care from the unthankful recipients of his 
 favor, and pour out upon their souls an eternal storm of 
 vengeance. But I have yet to learn that such senti- 
 ments and opinions are taught in the Scriptures of divine 
 truih, or ever received the sanction of Christ and his 
 apostles. Ingratitude is a sin, and must be, will be, is 
 sorely punished by the bestowal of God's care and atten- 
 tion to the sinner's case, that haply he may be restored 
 to duty and holiness — not by the withdrawal of God's 
 common providences, or the cessation of God's goodness 
 and love. 
 
 To me it is a self-evident fact that certain duties are 
 binding upon all men, everywhere. And I have yet to 
 learn the duty of man to man, if every one is not under 
 obligation to all grades, classes and conditions of men, 
 as he has opportunity, irrespective of their character or 
 conduct. It certainly matters not, so far as my duty is 
 concerned, whether my neighbor be saint or sinner, drunk 
 
SERMONS. 357 
 
 or sober, thankful or unthankful. If he is a man — a 
 whole man — I would thank God that his good provi- 
 dence placed him near me ; but if he is only a miserable 
 apology for a man, — if he wrongs himself and annoys 
 me, — that fact, unpleasant as it may be, cannot abrogate 
 my duties to him, or justify me in doing him evil. My 
 duty to do him good is the same under all circumstances 
 — the same to every man. No matter what he may do to 
 me, — Christianity is as false as the Koran, or it is my 
 duty to do him good, and good only. If my neighbor 
 curse me, am I at liberty to curse him in return ? ' ' Curse 
 not at all," — " bless, and curse not," — is the language 
 of the Gospel of Christ. If mine enemy smite me on 
 one cheek, does that justify me in bruising his body ? 
 The language of Jesus is, "Turn to him the other cheek 
 also." If I confer an important favor upon my fellow, 
 and his ungrateful heart should curse me for my gener- 
 osity, my duty is to bless him again. And could I reach 
 the full stature of a man in Christ Jesus, I should never 
 find my moments so well employed as when returning 
 good for evil. True, it is unpleasant to know that there 
 are minds in the world so completely hardened by selfish- 
 ness, and darkened by ignorance, that benevolent treat- 
 ment and generous thoughts make little or no impression 
 upon them. I have not the least doubt that the virtuous 
 and wise of every age have felt deep regret that such 
 was the case. And undoubtedly Jesus possessed these 
 regrets in a preeminent degree ; for he mourned over the 
 hardened and vile, he wept over Jerusalem as a tender 
 lover and friend over the doomed, and he prayed for even 
 his murderers in his dying agonies. But he never lost 
 his humanity in their hate, the friend in the enemy, or 
 turned a deaf ear to the supplicating voice of his foes. 
 Great as was their wickedness, it never overpowered his 
 righteousness — his good never was overcome by their* 
 evil. His mind and attention were always fastened upon' 
 his own duties and responsibilities, and a fixed determi- 
 nation to fulfil their requirements is seen in all his inter- 
 course with man. 
 
358 SERMONS. 
 
 Methinks I can see him even now, as he stood com- 
 muning with the grateful Samaritan who returned to give 
 thanks. I can see, almost feel, the workings of his benev- 
 olent mind, as he put the question, " Where are the 
 nine?" "Yes," I hear him say, "yes, there were ten 
 healed ; but only this stranger to my nation and people 
 returned to give thanks and glorify God ! Yes, there 
 were ten healed • but the nine have forgotten the gener- 
 ous physician and his God, in thinking of dear, dear self 1 
 Yes, I have healed their loathsome uncleanness, and 
 they have gone forward 'with renewed flesh and invigo- 
 rated health, to mingle with the world and obtain its hon- 
 ors ; but the unpopular, earth-cursed benefactor, who has 
 not where to lay his head, is not even thanked for the 
 benefaction. I may feast or fast, live or die, what matters 
 it to them ? They are healed, and that is enough for 
 them. Their turn is served, their interests are pro- 
 moted, and there the matter ends. They are glad and 
 rejoice ; but if I mourn in anguish unutterable, will they 
 sorrow ? No, no ; it is all the same to them, whether 
 blessings or curses are scattered along the pathway of 
 their deliverer. But I rejoice that I healed them, never- 
 theless ; and I would rejoice to heal them, again and 
 again, should they need my healing power. I cannot- 
 hate them, though I abhor their selfishness ; — no, I love - 
 them still, and my kindness shall follow them whitherso- 
 ever they journey, until, at last, it shall touch even their 
 insensate souls with gratitude and love ! " 
 
 At first thought the case of these nine lepers may 
 seem an extreme instance of ingratitude on the part of 
 the benefited. But a moment's reflection will convince 
 you that this is but a fair specimen of our world as it is. 
 Point me to any individual, in ancient or modern times, 
 who has battled for the good of man instead of a party ; 
 who condemned wrong instead of virtue ; whose philan- 
 thropy reached the whole family of humanity instead of 
 an illiberal, uncharitable few ; who had courage to con- 
 demn error even in the mouth and practice of the pro- 
 
SERMONS. 359 
 
 fessedly saintly ; who grappled -with hoary systems of 
 fraud and falsehood, political or religious, and pointed 
 out remedies for the evils they had heaped upon our 
 race, — and I will show you one who received denuncia- 
 tions and persecution from the very men and women for 
 whose special benefit his labors were performed. True, 
 there were sotne grateful ones ; but most probably only 
 the stranger, the outcast and despised among them, as 
 was the Samaritan among the Jews ! 
 
 In our intercourse with the world we find far too many 
 who, after having received ninety and nine favors from the 
 generous of earth, are denied (from necessity, perhaps) 
 the hundredth, find it extremely convenient to forget that 
 they were accommodated even once ! If there is one Bin 
 more prevalent in community than another, it is this sin 
 of ingratitude. And the mischief it works in society no 
 tongue can describe, no imagination fully conceive. It 
 induces us to place an exaggerated value on the little 
 favors we confer upon others, and to place a light esti- 
 mate on those conferred on ourselves. 
 
 -Tr TT ■Tr TT 
 
 Hearer, how are you situated in this important matter ? 
 Have you felt that you needed a Saviour ? Have you 
 cried out, in your agony, " Jesus, Master, have mercy 
 on me ! " Has he heard and healed you ? I trust he 
 has cleansed you more than once. And have you re- 
 turned, like that grateful Samaritan, to thank Jesus, and 
 to glorify God ? or have you gone onward in your worldly 
 career, like those nine named in the text, with ungrate- 
 ful heart, and silent tongue? "He that hath ears to 
 hear, let him hear ! " 
 
 I marvel not at all that people who know men better 
 than they know Christ should be induced to believe that, 
 by and by, Jesus will become weary in well-doing ; will 
 leave the mediatorial seat, and cease to save ; will refuse 
 to heal, and learn to curse. It is perfectly natural for 
 the human heart, untouched by grace, to believe this, and 
 love it. I once believed it. I once taxed my mental 
 
360 SERMONS. 
 
 powers to the utmost to induce others to believe it. But 
 I knew not God, nor his Christ, then. I had not learned 
 that the Father sent him to heal, and to heal only ; that 
 he came to save men's lives, and not to destroy them ; that 
 he was sent to be the Saviour of the world. I fancied that 
 I saw in one hand the beautiful olive-branch of peace, and 
 in the other the blood-besmeared sword of vengeance. I 
 prayed for mercy ; but I wept and groaned as I prayed. I 
 tried to hope; but cruel doubts crept in between me and 
 my God. It was a dark, dark night with my soul. But, 
 thank God, at last the morning dawned, and the Sun of 
 Righteousness arose with healingin his wings. The voice 
 of the Good Shepherd was heard calling his wandering 
 flock. I knew that voice in a moment ; for it breathed 
 the tones of Calvary, — of immutable, undying love. In a 
 brief moment my soul cast off her badges of mourning, 
 and put on the garments of praise, and learned to rejoice 
 in God and his Christ. And, if I know my own heart, 
 I bowed low at the feet of Jesus, and returned thanks, 
 and gave glory to God. 0! ye sin-burdened and error- 
 darkened sons and daughters of men, look up from your 
 doubts and fears, and behold your Father as he is, and 
 your Saviour as God exalted him to be, and be healed of 
 your infirmities, and glorify God in your bodies and in 
 your spirits which are his, and you will find rest and 
 peace to your souls ! 
 
, tf ■ ', -l [