* I give theft Books
tfor the founding if a College in- thh\ Colony'

Gift of
191-a —

SKETCHES

NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.

By Rev. D. SHERMAN.

3T £ to |3 or k :
*
PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER,
200 MULBEEK Y-8TBEET.
1860.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
CARLTON & PORTER,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of
New-York.

e.S'OO

INTRODUCTION.

The following sketches, fragmentary in character, make
but humble pretensions. It is not our purpose to write a
complete history of the pulpit, even in New England ; but
to present a specimen group of clerics, a few clusters from
that fruitful vine which has branched forth beside the altar
established by the Pilgrims, spreading, in its healthful
luxuriance, well-clustered boughs even beyond the old
denominational pale.
The selection of subjects has been made without much
reference to order, chronological or otherwise ; but presents
such a variety as will, it is hoped, afford a fair sample of
the New England pulpit.
The world, which has proved so remiss in acknowledging
the services of the sacred order in advancing its civilization
and ameliorating its condition, both physical and moral,-
appears of late to be becoming sensible of the neglect, as
well as to be disposed to make abundant reparation for the
wrong. We rejoice in this revolution of public sentiment, inas
much as the pulpit is one of the most permanent and efficient
agencies of the world, the standing committee of the Church,
co-operating with Providence in devising the "ways and
means " of reforming and saving the race. Society has no
other such human agency that has wrought so profoundly
and extensively on its fortunes. Foremost in every broad
and benevolent enterprise, laying hold on the gravest truths,
and discharging the most appalling duties, it has exhibited a
courage, an energy, a perseverance and self-denial in the
cause of humanity that we look for in vain elsewhere. The

4: INTRODUCTION.
ministry have included some of the noblest specimens of
heroism in all history, exhibited in the characters of men
who have ventured to the front rank of reform movements
designed to exterminate evils ¦ and implant virtues in the
heart of society. The history of the free pulpit has been
but a history of moral and social ameliorations. Before its
onward progress vice has disappeared ; sin, in the hearts of
men, has been subdued ; their characters modified and
molded after a purer type of beauty ; their material wants
have been met, and the civilization of the world advanced.
The free pulpit has left its trace adown the history of this
desert world in a zone of deeper social verdure, a higher,
holier joy, a peace more profound and tranquil. Its out
stretching path along the course of time is observable by all
who will be at the trouble to notice it, reminding one of the
smitten rock, the waters of which followed the camp of the
chosen people in their forty years' wandering on the
Arabian sands. A glance at the map of the world will
convince the reader of this fact. Point out the green spots,
the oases, that loom up amid its moral and spiritual desola
tions, where piety, and civilization, and social comfort reign,
and you have but indicated the regions where the pulpit
remains most free in the utterance of truth. You will,
moreover, note the fact, that Protestantism — only another
name for an open Bible and free speech in a free pulpit —
embraces the freest, fairest portions of this green earth.
There are chapters in the history of the Arminian pulpit
full of moral dignity and grandeur. As an illustration, we
may mention the generation of noble, courageous men that
introduced the itinerancy upon these shores. Their history
has never been fully written, and not even noticed by the
secular historian: but we opine that the day will arrive
when all parties will recall their deeds as the most heroic of
modern times. We think specimens are still left in the
Church of that noble and enduring earnestness and ardent
piety which continue to, make their mark on the nation.
The pulpit is still vigorous, and, should occasion demand,

INTRODUCTION. 5
can even now fight with beasts at Ephesus in an apostolic
manner. But all these wonders are not so remarkable as
the steady and genial influence that attends its ministrations,
- which fall on the people like copious summer dews, impart
ing to the heart and the social life a freshness and beauty.
The kind of culture and furnishing that will enable the pul
pit to meet the advancing intelligence and enterprise of this
age, and still retain its relative position beside other agencies,
affords inquiries of a serious import. Some evidently de
mand a grade of scholarship too high to be practicable for
the majority of ministers. It would be desirable, no doubt,
to have a few minds thus amply furnished with the whole
range of science and letters, as well as the studies more im
mediately pertaining to the sacred office. Such minds would
subserve the interests of the Church by their breadth of view,
their ability in counsel, and the constant excitement they
would affords to the mass, as well as to open to them new
sources of thought and usefulness. But we must not suppose,
as is too often taken for granted, that these men are always
found in the schools. Many are, but others spring up among
the people and develop in the school of society that strength
of intellect, that hardy and judicious genius that marks them
at once as leaders of the mass. These men are useful when
favored with the means of a liberal and extensive culture.
But to apply this rule to all would be doing the same
thing that was done by the successors of Luther and the
Puritans to withdraw the pulpit from the people. The
minister will be no longer one among them ; but after a
week of cogitation amid the spicery and must of books, he
comes before the congregation to speak a language not
familiar to them. He has not kept in sympathy and com
munication with his audience, and hence fails in making the
best impression on their minds.
While, therefore, we would favor all solid and useful
acquisitions, we would guard the minister against placing too
high an estimate on mere book knowledge. He is not set
to accumulate the stores of other minds, to become a museum

6 INTRODUCTION
of curious information ; but to seek out the sources of his
own strength to accomplish a great work in the world.
Accordingly the best minister is not the one that can
exhibit the finest library or the most extensive intellectual
treasures ; but the one who so commands his resources as to
awaken and save those who listen to his instructions. We
know that mere mental force and acumen can never com
pass this result. This requires the heart. Piety will
always be a leading force, and the most ample furnish
ing of the pulpit, since it is not to be a mere teacher of
theoretical truth, but an exemplar of the virtues of the Gos
pel, attracting men to the cross, more by the silent influence
of its life than by the direct enunciation of its doctrines.
This element in the pulpit can never be dispensed, with or
compensated by any other, while the Bible and the wants of
man remain what they are. We often meet the assertion
that this age demands some peculiar qualifications in the
clergy, and those qualifications are usually resolved into an
extensive education, either in the shape of ample knowledge
or the power to communicate it, or both. These things are
well, but do not touch the core of the difficulty : since an
ardent and constant piety has been, in all time, the want of
the ministry ; and wherever this has been found, its influ
ence has been mighty for good. The world has no want
essentially new, and .hence, no new agency is demanded to
meet it : the same zeal and self-sacrifice that characterized
the apostles would still meet the demands of this age. And
it is more to be feared that the pulpit of these latter days
will lean to the side of books, to the neglect of the people
and piety, than that through excess of religious zeal it will
prove deficient in human learning. Knowledge, education, .
the culture of the schools are now the great demand with a
large class of minds, who give the impression, at least, that
every other thing is secondary. This course, persisted in,
will he ruinous, as it will lead the ministry awav from the
people, and tend to depreciate the value of vital religion.
Such has been the course of all sects.

CONTENTS.

/
FAGS
JOHN COTTON  9
EICHAKD MATHEE  26
EOGEE WILLIAMS  34
INCEEASE MATHEE  57
COTTON MATHEE  76
ELEAZEE MATHEE  107
JOHN WAEHAM  Ill
JESSE LEE  115
JONATHAN EDWAEDS  138
ELIJAH HEDDING  183
TIMOTHY DWIGHT  219
WJXBUE FISK  238
EZEA STILES  256
LEMUEL HAYNES  267
BILLY HIBBAED  285
TIMOTHY MEREITT  312
JONATHAN D. BRIDGE  341
NATHANIEL EMMONS  361
JOSHUA CEOWELL  389
GEOEGE PICKEEING  399
STEPHEN OLIN  414

SKETCHES
OF
NEW ENGLAND DIYINES.

JOHN COTTON.

John Cotton, although of foreign birth, from his prd-
tracted and faithful service here is entitled to a prominent
place among the patriarchs of New England Puritanism.
Beginning, as he did, his ministry in Great Britain, and after
ward emigrating to these shores with the , first settlers, to
continue his work, he forms a sort of comiecting link between
the Puritanism on either side the Atlantic.
Descended of " gentle blood," Cotton was born in England,
on the Derwent, in Lincolnshire, December, 1585. His
father, Roland Cotton, was a lawyer, possessed of fair abili
ties, and placed in easy circumstances, which enabled him
to afford his son a fair opportunity to obtain a rudimentary
education, which he was eager to improve. His deportment
at this period was exemplary, and so careful and assiduous
was his attention to his studies, that at thirteen years of age
he was entered at Trinity College, Cambridge. In this ven
erable institution, where so many ernment Puritans were
trained, he remained fifteen years, at the close of which
period he obtained a fellowship in Emanuel College.
His standing at Cambridge, as the reader might anticipate
from his diligence and scholastic tastes, was deservedly high,

10 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
for few, even in that age of hard students, presented a riper
scholarship. Besides his own tongue, in which he was thor
oughly versed, he was able to write and speak the Latin,
Greek, and Hebrew with a great degree of facility. In test
ing his scholarship in Hebrew at his admission to a fellow
ship, they examined him on the latter part of the third
chapter of Isaiah, which contains an enumeration of the
trinkets and fineries of the haughty daughters of Zion; a
lesson that contains more difficult words than any other in
the Bible. That Cotton passed the ordeal without smell of
fire is no mean commendation of his acquirements.
While at the university he also attained no inconsiderable
celebrity as a preacher of an original and flowery style;
the Xenophon of the pulpit, who paid greater regard to the
elegance of his language and the finish of his rhetoric than
to the word of God. To the latter, in fact, he gave little
heed, save as it furnished him a text, while "Epictetus,
Plato, Tully preached," for he was hitherto a stranger to
the saving grace of the Gospel. He did not, however, long
continue in that state. The university was blessed with the
ministrations of two able and zealous Puritan preachers,
Dr. Sibbs and Mr. Perkins, whose pungent discourses, to
which he was permitted to listen, led him not only to self-
examination, but a distrust of his own virtues and the
safety of his present condition. As a result, the overtures
of the Gospel, as interpreted by the Puritans, were heartily
embraced. This revolution in his religious experience pro
duced a similar one in his ministry. No longer satisfied
with the rhetorical husk, or the diluted philosophy of heathen
Greece and Rome, he sought the sincere milk of the word,
unfolding in the mean time those inner spiritual glories of
the Gospel. The change in Cotton produced a revulsion in
the feelings of the literati of that ancient seat of learning.
When they came together, after the'adoption of his new style
of preaching, to enjoy his finical eloquence and "oratorious
beauty," he exhibited so clearly and forcibly the doctrine of
repentance, as to cause them to draw down their shovel caps

JOHN COTTON. 11
in blank amazement. They were not insensible to the talents
of Cotton, but so perverse had they become through the
spoiling influence of a vain philosophy, that the truth was
evaded and the speaker disliked, by reason of his doctrine.
It is not strange, therefore, that he sought a more genial, soil
in which to cast that evangelical seed which was expected to
produce a hundred fold in the harvest. Accordingly we
soon find him leaving the university to enter the pastoral
office among the " solid men of Boston," in Lincolnshire,
England. Although imbibing most of the views of the
Puritans, he was settled at Boston as a clergyman of the
Church of England.
During the, twenty years that he ministered there his
sentiments diverged more and more from the established
forms of worship, till in the end he came to regard it a sin
to conform to the papistical ceremonies of that half reformed
Church. These irregularities were for a long time winked
at, both by the people, who greatly prized his ministry, and
the authorities, some of whom were Cotton's especial friends.
Among the latter, in high life, was found the Earl of Dorset,
whose great influence was employed to the end in defense
of the nonconforming clergyman. At one time information
was lodged against him by a parishioner named Leverett, a
godless man, but one who soon repented of the part he had
acted, and became a good man' a member of the Church, and
afterward a fellow-emigrant with Cotton to New England.
He left a name that has become familiar to New England
ears. Cotton in the mean time was zealous and laborious in his
work, being permitted almost constantly to witness the
fruits of his labor. The Satanicals, it was remarked, were
in yast multitudes transformed into the Puritanicals. As a
consequence the flock, many of whom were through his in
strumentality led to the cross, became greatly attached to
their spiritual instructor, so that his departure from them
was like plucking away the right arm op eye. Many of
them followed him into exile, choosing rather to enjoy his

12 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
faithful ministry and spiritual counsels in the ends of the
earth, than to taste the pleasures of a home where the word
of God was bound ; and those that remained cherished so
deep an interest in their former pastor, that for twenty years
after the separation they were accustomed to transmit to
him an annual epistle, with various tokens of remembrance.
When the storm had passed, by the fall of Laud and the
king, the people of Boston united in an earnest request for
his return among them. Seldom do we witness such en
during affection between the pastor and his flock — an inter
est which neither time nor change could obliterate. In this
connection the labors of his wife, whom he had married on
entering upon the sacred vocation, and who was a helpmeet
indeed hi that calling, deserve our praise. She was espe
cially serviceable among the female portion of the flock, with
whose temptations, dangers, and intimate experiences she
could become better acquainted than a pastor. Entering
into all their designs, particularly their joys and sorrows,
and setting them an example of beneficent enterprise in the
cause of Christ, she was at the same time able to afford her
husband such information of the state of the flock, as to guide
him to the right portion of truth for his discourses in the
desk. Great was the grief of those lambs whom she had
directed to the Saviour, and nurtured in sound doctrine,
when, after some fifteen years of toil, at the call ofthe Master,
her armor was laid aside to assume the crown that awaited
her in the paradise above. About a year later Cotton mar
ried Mrs. Sarah Story, an estimable lady, who became the
mother of his children, and survived him some twenty years,
being after his death united with Rev. Richard Mather, of.
Dorchester, Massachusetts. But the dogs of persecution
having been aroused, put an end to his peaceful toils in the
parish. His old and steadfast friend, the Earl of Dorset,
strove to avert the storm which began to appear in the ec
clesiastical heavens, but Laud, that papal bull-dog, having
attained the primacy, determined to exterminate the last re
mains of the Puritans. Knowing Cotton to be a ringleader

JOHN COTTON. 13
of the sect, he howled out, " O that I could find Cotton !"
The hated sectary, however, observing how his brethren had
been wasted in prisons, living out lingering deaths, under the
cruel hand of persecution, had fled and concealed himself.
" If you had been guilty of drunkenness or uncleanness, or
any such lesser fault," wrote Dorset, " you could obtain his
pardon ; but inasmuch as you have been guilty of noncon
formity and Puritanism, the crime is unpardonable."
Information against him was lodged by one Johnson, and he
was cited to appear before the High Commission, an infamous
court instituted by Elizabeth for the trial of ecclesiastical
causes without witnesses, judge, or jury ; a tribunal possess
ing all the fearful attributes of the Romish Inquisition, and
amid whose terrible machinery many a Puritan witnessed
the ruin of all his earthly hopes. It was an engine of tyranny
that' wrought in darkness to crush out all that is high and
holy in man.
Cotton compares it to the " courts ofthe High Priests and
Pharisees, which Solomon by the spirit of prophecy stileth
dens of lions and mountains of leopards " — ¦" markets for the
sins of the people, cages of uncleanness, the forges of extor
tion, the tabernacles of bribery." We are not surprised
that he thought it prudent to escape such a court of violence.
Many of the Puritans had fled from the fires of persecution
to Holland, and other parts of the Continent, which suggested
the same course to Cotton. In London, where he expected
to embark, he met Dr. Goodwin, Nye, and Davenport, who,
regarding the ceremonies of the Established Church unim
portant in themselves, had continued to conform to the pre
scribed mode of worship, for the sake of the good they could
do among the people. Honestly entertaining these views
they endeavored to dissuade -Cotton from his intended de
parture. This led to a discussion between them, in which
the able. Nonconformist convinced that noble trio of their
error in giving any countenance to the unscriptural cere
monies of a corrupt Church. On this apparently unimport
ant debate between a handful of clergymen, depended the

14 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
fortunes of states ; for Goodwin and Nye became the cham
pions of Dissent, that brought on that political crisis in
which Cromwell and Puritanism attained the ascendancy,
while Davenport, emigrating to America, became the founder
of the New Haven colony, which afforded essential aid to
the cause of freedom on this side of the Atlantic. While
these redoubtable doctors were turned from their practice
of conformity to the prevailing mode of worship, Cotton in
his turn was led to abandon the plan of emigrating to Hol
land. They directed his attention to the Bay Colony, that
had just been founded by a band of his brothers in the con
solations and sufferings of the Gospel. It would seem that
a series of providences were combined in this meeting, and
that influences went forth from it only to accumulate force
for the day when tyranny should be overwhelmed by the
waves of popular vengeance. The little spark which the
prelates undertook to extinguish, broke forth a little later,
over two continents, in one broad and grand conflagration,
sweeping away throne and monarch in their wild progress,
while the car of Puritanism, containing nearly all the real
piety of the nation, careered proudly like an angelic chariot
amid the flame.
But leaving the Old World, we follow Cotton to the scene
of his toils in America. The voyage of seven weeks, re
garded at that period as a quick passage, furnishes no inci
dents worthy of note, save that the birth of his son, whom
he called Seaborn Cotton, and the daily devotional services
on board, furnished materials for Christian gratitude.
Hooker and Stone, who were on board, led the devotions
in both parts of the day, thus rendering the voyage little
less than a protracted meeting. The arrival of these three
men, who attained renown in the New England Church
suggested to some incorrigible punster the remark, that in
this cargo Providence has favored us with " Cotton for our
clothing, Hooker for our fishing, and Stone for our building."
He landed in August, 1633, when his services were sought
by all those infant Churches in the Bay ; and so great even

JOHN COTTON. 15
was the joy at the arrival among them of a celebrated min
ister, that the proposal was made to pay his salary from
the public treasury. This idea, however, was abandoned1;
and by the advice of the magistrates he was settled over the
First Church in Boston.
Boston was not the gorgeous metropolis of to-day.
Founded only three years previous, it presented but a small
collection of mud huts and log cabins, constructed by a
handful of emigrants from Lincolnshire, who chose this spot
because it had " sweet and pleasant springs and good land,
affording rich cornfields and fruitful gardens," and called the
place Boston, in honor of the parish of Cotton, and, it has
been suggested, with the hope of inducing 'him to emigrate
to New England. The little colony, however, had formed
a church, and called Wilson1 from the old hive at Charles-
town to be their pastor. This was the city and charge to
which the " acute and subtle " Cotton came. Mr. Wilson
retained the pastoral office, while Mr. Cotton assumed that
of teacher or preacher — a division of labor in the ministry
which was then common, and which now, although for the
most part both duties are assigned to the same individual,
might, especially in large churches, be practised with great
advantage. Such an arrangement would afford the fullest
and freest scope to those special pastoral and ministerial
gifts which are now lost* for want of their complement.
Cotton, it will b&recollected, was a member and minister
of the Church of England, from which he was driven away
by violence. His notions of doctrine and Church govern
ment, however, having approximated to those of the
Puritans, he naturally found a home among them. After
his arrival in the Bay Colony, the first act of the Church
was to receive him to her cpmmunion and ministry, a
solemn ceremony, that seems deeply to have impressed the
imaginations and hearts of those early settlers. His wife
passed through the initiatory ceremony, on the same occa-
siony and thus the great preacher and his family are fairly
settled in Boston.

16 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Although Cotton still clung to some of the floating relics
of aristocracy and feudalism, his fortunes were fairly com
mitted to the current of Puritanism, that gulf stream of
English history \Vhich swept him onward unconsciously in
the popular movement, religious and political. He had
grasped some of the truths that entered into the movement ;
had thrown off the burdensome ceremonies of Churchism,
had elevated the Bible, and placed high above all forms that
purity of life and heart without which no man can see God ;
but, like many of his brother Puritans, he was far from
comprehending the amplitude, the real significance, the ten
dency, and the sublime results that have flowed from that
religious schism.
Hence it was that he was rather borne along by the cur
rent than swept by the outspread canvass ; that he was con
stantly heading landward, than abandoning himself to the
broad, swift tide ; that he was making constant, ineffectual
efforts to anchor in some sheltering bay or cove, instead of
pressing to the ultimate goal. He did not see the real end,
had no idea that the current in which he drifted swept over
so broad a sea, or would present such a grand spectacle on
the map of the world. The Puritans, like the ancient navi
gators, were coasting along the continents of truth, afraid
as yet to venture without compass upon the broad and
trackless ocean; they awaited the rise of some Bacon or
Newton, to give a. wider interpretation to their views, to
define the true direction and ultimate reach of their enterprise ;
for some Columbus to launch his frail barque boldly upon
the stormy atlantic of reform, retreating only with the spoils
of empires recovered from the seas, only with discoveries
that should encircle his name with fadeless glory. The work
they performed, however, was not less important Because
they failed to perceive its remote bearings or real tendency.
It makes us feel that there was a mind higher than theirs
directing the storm, and, against all the perversity and folly
of man, directing the proud march of truth to a glorious,
final conquest over error and wrong. It is the combination

JOHN COTTON. ' 17
of these two forces, but partially mingling with each other,
the pillar of fire from heaven leading on the blind multitude
in a way they knew not, that sets off the errors and the follies
of the Puritans in a glaring and ridiculous light. The ten
dency of the movement was to toleration, the right of
private judgment, to the utmost freedom of thought, speech,
and conduct ; but they did not see it so, thought only of
liberty for themselves. They wrenched away the dam
that had for ages shut back all free thought and action,
leaving the human mind to become a stagnant pool. They
intended by this, however, no general freedom ; simply to
set those fetid waters in motion, and turn their vast
resources to private account; but once broke loose, tfiey
were unable to control the flood which was inundating their
cherished nooks and garden spots, while they stood in hor
ror for the terrible times on which they had fallen.
Some of these ludicrous contradictions appear in the life
of Cotton, though from the mildness and benevolence of his
nature he was as free from them as most of his generation.
He had left England for conscience, had braved the storms
of the ocean, settled in a wilderness to escape persecution,
and enjoy the right to worship God without molestation ;
and how could he think of sharing this privilege with any
but the saints] This led him to the theocratic theory of
government in Church and State, carrying him back to the
cramped forms of Judaism rather than • to the full and
mature development of the Christian and republican forms.
" Democracy," said he, " I do not conceive that ever God
did ordain as a fit government either for Church or com
monwealth. If the people be the governors, who shall
be the governed % As for monarchy and aristocracy, they
are both clearly approved and directed in the Scripture,
yet not so as refuseth the sovereignty to himself, (God,,).and
setteth up theocracy in both, as the best form of govern
ment." As the ministers were in great repute in the
colony, the magistrates referred the matter of government
to Cotton, who reported in favor of a theocracy in which
2

18 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the saints should bear rule ; but the interests of the people
were a safer guide than the learning of the clergyman. As
an integral part of this plan the Church and State were to
be bound together by indissoluble ties ; a notion which he <
seeijis never to have abandoned, nor even to have dreamed
that the two could exist separate. His idea was to build up
another England this side the water, with its Church estab
lishment, differing from the old only in this : that his tenets,
instead of those of Laud, should be in the ascendant ; that
Puritanism should assume the place of Episcopacy. At
this period there appeared an individual in New England
that rose entirely above his age, and who, though rejecting
many 'of the forms, comprehended the true spirit and intent
of Puritanism. This was Roger Williams, who was settled
over a church in Salem, and who advocated the- broadest
liberty for all mankind, advancing beyond mere tolerance,
which implies a dominant sect to tolerate, into the broad
field of universal freedom and equality. He was the Colum
bus of that movement, who, gathering up the dark, hetero
geneous opinions of his cotemporaries, constructed for them
an almost perfect system of political geography. Nor did he
stop with the. theory, but carried its boldest features into
practice. His conduct was the embodiment of the spirit,
not the letter of Puritanism, of the providential and not the
human part of it. To Williams, more than to any other
man, or even all the men of that age, is American republi
canism indebted for its free, full, broad expression ; for its
wide and beneficent realization over this extended continent.
He was an original, exemplar man, unfolding from his own
soul the truths that should shape a whole age ; that should
rule whole generations of men, leaving their lengthened
traces along the strata of all history.
That such a genius was not tolerated by the Puritan
Churches, exhibits in a clear and forcible light their tardy
progress toward general freedom. They were rowing
against the> very tide that was bearing them into the open
sea of freedom, were rejecting and trampling on the very

JOHN COTTON. 19
principles that have been nourished and matured in the
> general movement. Cotton, in the commencement of these
difficulties, as might have been anticipated from his kind and
genial nature, advised the magistrates to refrain from all vio
lence in their dealing with Williams ; but to show that he
cherished no principle in opposition to persecution, we need
only exhibit the fact that after Williams's inhuman banish
ment among savages, and in the heart of a severe winter,
the Puritan pastor wrote in defense of this outrage on hu
manity. In a letter concerning the power of the civil magis-
strate in matters of religion, he had made the best defense of
the magistrates possible. But the banished man, who had
the courage of a hero and the endurance of a martyr, was not
to be silenced in this way. They had driven him out among
savage men. They had disfrachised him. They had
heaped odium upon his name ; but, after all, he regarded
himself as the apostle of free speech, went forth to proclaim
the acceptable year of the Lord, the release of the captive,
the opening of the prison doors to them that were bound.
Most men would have fainted under his trials, toils,
and sufferings, but the great soul of Williams bore up under
them patiently, rendering to his foes that good and justice
which they denied i him. He would, however, speak the
truth in all plaiimess, to friend or foe. To the tract of
Cotton he replied by another against the " Bloody Tenet of
Persecution for the Cause of Conscience." Mr. Cotton
rejoined in another, " The Bloody Tenet Washed and made
White in the Blood of the Lamb." Williams possessed
the enduring\rit, and replied, "The Bloody Tenet yet more
Bloody by Mr. Cotton's Endeavor to Wash it White in the
Blood of the Lamb." Here the dispute ended, each of the
combatants leaving the field, satisfied that he had gained
the victory. But it left a stain on Puritanism which many
waters could not wash out ; they rose against tyranny only
to place a heavier yoke on the necks of men. This was the
work ofthe leaders, not the true leading of the movement
among the people.

20 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
While this storm was raging without, another, not less
fearful, arose within the Church of which Cotton was pastor.
His zealous and faithful preaching had produced a large
company of laborers in the Church, females as well as
males. Among this number was Anne Hutchinson, wife of
a wealthy citizen, and a woman of education, gifts, and piety.
Her -zeal led her to overstep the ordinary bounds which
society had prescribed to female usefulness. She held
meetings at her own house, composed of the female mem
bers of the congregation. Great numbers were collected;
she conducted the services, and so pithy and powerful were
her exhortations, that the masses were moved under them
more deeply, even, than under the sermons of Cotton. Her
natural endowments were great. Her genius, tact, and win
ning grace of speech gave her unbounded power over the
multitude, so that she was fairly realizing the glory of the
famous preacher of two hemispheres. This state of things
raised a storm, and the cry of heresy was vociferated on all
sides by the multitude who prefer the form to the power of
godliness. -This was a controversy on such nice points, that
Cotton Mather affirms the " persons who took in with both
parties, did never, to their dying hour, understand- what
their difference was," a circumstance not unusual in religious
contests. Cotton enjoined upon friends that were about to return to
England, to " tell our countrymen that all the strife here is
about magnifying the grace of God ; some strive to advocate
the grace of God in us, as to sanctification ; others the grace
of God toward us as of justification." The enraged party,
however, laid heavy charges against her ; some of them her
language seemed to favor ; but on both sides vthere was
sufficient ambiguity in the statement of opinions to inculcate
moderation and charity in the interpretation of them. Hence
her heresy lay much more in what her enemies charged on
her, in the conclusions they drew from her premises, than in
her own statements. The New England Churches leaned
to the legal side of the Gospel, to the covenant of works, to

JOHN COTTON. 21
the spirit of the Old Testament, rather than to Christ, and
free, present, conscious salvation, as did she. She no doubt
leaned too far in the opposite direction, insomuch that she
seemed to embrace the doctrines of Antinomianism, that the
Gospel abolishes the law, that our righteousness is in
Christ, that sanctification, or the fruits of the Spirit, do not
evidence justification ; that the Holy Spirit, dwells personally
in the believer, and that sins which he commits do not
invalidate his justification. Her explanations, however, of
these points separated her widely from those gross Antino-
mians who, under the guise of freedom, have turned the
truth of God into lasciviousness. Hers was a pure life,
full of zeal, of labors, of sacrifices for the cause of Christ ;
and we can but regard her efforts, like those of Madame
¦ Guyon, of Mrs. Fletcher, ory of Mrs. Palmer of our own
day, as struggles to attain that higher Christian experience
which has been recognized among different sects as " pure
love," " perfect love," " perfection," " sanctification," etc.
She no doubt erred in the expression of it, but so sure was
the spiritual Cotton of her rectitude that he gave his sanc
tion to her views. But the opposing party being strong, at
the head of which was Governor Winthrop, he veered about,
either from fear, or because he really thought her guilty.
This is the darkest act recorded of Cotton, which leaves us
to fear that he quailed before the opposition, and suffered a
woman who had crossed the Atlantic to enjoy his ministry,
had made him a confidant, had been an able helper in his
Church, to be visited by the violence of the multitude with
out defenders. When her pastor passed over to her enemies,
her sentence of banishment was easily secured ; she went to
Rhode Island, where many of her followers gathered, form
ing a sort of commonwealth, where their $iews were fully
held and discussed ; thence to the Dutch colony near New
York, where herself and fifteen of her friends perished by
the tomahawk of the Indians. This fearful end of one wor
thy a better fate excites our deep commiseration, as well for
the loss of her papers and the opportunity to explain to the

22 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.,
world her views, which might have placed her memory in a
better light, as for her personal sufferings. As it is, we 'are
obliged, for the most part, to view her character and con
duct through the glasses of her adversaries. But this
ended the Antinomian controversy in Massachusetts.
Henceforth the labors of Cotton in the first Church in
Boston, are of a quiet and peaceful character, much better
. adapted to his genial nature than the " wars of the Lord " in
which he had been compelled to participate. The Church
under the ministry of Cotton, enjoyed almost uninterrupted
prosperity. Conversions were frequent ; there were added
to the Church daily such as were saved. His knowledge of
men in their various relations, of the varieties and shades
of character, of the temptations that beset and the motives
that move them, was extensive. These qualities, together
with his benevolence, his mercurial temperament and power
of oratory, gave him good command over the people. He,
was the patriarch of Boston — of all New England, according
to some.
Nor was he unknown abroad. The Puritans of England,
after their ascendancy in the state, recalled his virtues and
abilities, and were naturally desirous to see his return to
the land of his birth. He was invited to become a member
of the Westminster Assembly of Divines. He maintained
a correspondence with the ' greatest men of England, Arch
bishop Usher, Rogers, Cromwell. Carlyle has presented a
letter of the Protector to Cotton, which was a reply to one
from the Boston pastor.
But the labors of Cotton are hastening to a termination.
In going to Cambridge to preach to the students, he took
cold by exposure to the wet, so that his powers of utterance
failed before the close of his sermon. He was afflicted
with an inflammation on the lungs, became asthmatic, and
began to realize that he was near his end. The next Sab
bath, however, he entered the desk, and took for his text the
last four verses of 2d Timothy. He took the remainder of
the book, lest he should not " live to make an end of this

JOHN COTTON. 23
epistle." On the next Sabbath again, he preached from
John i, 14, on the glory of Christ, to the enjoyment of which
he was hastening. Then entering his study, he spent one
day in preparation for the great change. On leaving it with
the remark, " I shall go into that room no more," he betook
himself to his couch, where he waited in daily expectation of
" the mercy-stroke of death." Many visited his chamber ; the
great were there. Mr. Dunster, President of Harvard College,
craved his blessing, saying, " I know they whom you bless
shall be blessed." Wilson, his colleague, prayed that God
would lift on him the light of his countenance ; he replied,
" God hath done it already, brother." To his children, whom
he had called to his side, he was repeating, " The God that
made you and bought you with a price, redeem your bodies
and souls unto himself," when his utterance failed, and he
was gently translated from earth to heaven, December 23,
1652. His funeral was attended by the magistracy and
clergy; all the Churches mourned that a prince and a great
man in Israel had fallen. They deposited his remains in
the " Chapel Burial Ground," where his dust will repose till
the morning of the resurrection. " He being dead, yet
speaketh," from his grave in the midst of those gorgeous
temples of Mammon.
As a man, as a Christian, as a minister, Cotton deserves
our commendation. In person he. was short, of a full habit,
ruddy complexion, and kindling eye ; all which gave him an
interesting, commanding mien, which secured the respect of
men. The innkeeper of Derby declared to his companions,
that he wished Cotton out of his house, for he was not able
to swear in his presence. Though all his physical and men
tal movements were nimble and sprightly, his temperament
warm and mercurial, he had attained an evenness of dispo
sition, an equable temper, that was seldom disturbed by the
occurrences of life. In his Christian experience he had risen
above the storms of passion, had become' superior to insult,
envy, neglect, or mere self-interest, soaring to those serene
fields of light and joy where he could look down undisturbed

24 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
upon the clouds and tempests that raged below. Norton
used to call him the Moses or Melaricthon of the New
World, " a dwarf in regard to humility, but a giant in re
gard to strength." " He was of admirable candor/' said i
Whiting, " of unparalleled meekness, of rare wisdom, very
loving to those that differed from him, yet one that stoutly
maintained what he judged to be truth."
Like many of those old Puritans, he was a hard student.
When settled in Boston he was free from all cares but those
pertaining to his ministry. His colleague attended to the
duties of the pastorate, giving the word of exhortation,
while he administered the word of wisdom. He began by
devoting twelve hours per day to hard study, continuing the
same steady course through life. In general literature,
though studied in early life, he read little at a later date,
but into Patristic, Puritan, and Biblical lore he dipped
largely. There was no difficult place in the Bible " which
he had not weighed somewhat to his satisfaction." For
those days he possessed a large library of all the rare books
in those departments. " I have read the fathers, and the
schoolmen, and Calvin," said he, but I find that he that has
Calvin has them all." When asked in later life why he in
dulged in nocturnal studies more than formerly, he replied,
" Because I have to sweeten my mouth with a bit of Calvin
before I sleep." The habits of Cotton were those of the
student ; zeal, application, systefii, rising early, and working
intensely while at it. " How vast a treasure of learning
was laid up in the grave," says his grandson, " can scarce
credibly and sufficiently be related.. He was indeed a uni
versal scholar, a living system of the liberal arts, and a
walking library."
But it was in the pulpit that Cotton appeared in his true
glory and greatness. His appearance, his physique, his de
vout animation, inspired the hearer with an interest which
was intensified the moment he opened his mouth. With an
easy manner he employed a style plain, perspicuous, lively,
which was well adapted to the demands of a popular audi-

JOHN COTTON. 25
ence. Though learned, he never employed difficult phrases'
or high sounding words ; " I desire to speak so as to be un
derstood by the meanest capacity," was a frequent remark
of his.
His sermons were labored productions, often* to such an
extent as to conceal the works of the chisel ; but all tended
to render the truths plain and simple. The Scriptures and
the leading doctrines of Puritanism received especial atten
tion in his discourses. During his settlement in Boston he
canvassed the whole system of divinity three times, em
bracing expositions of several books of Scripture, a proce
dure in which he is said to have exhibited great ability, and
a plan that tended thoroughly to indoctrinate the people.
Carlyle, in his lumbering, topsy-turvy idiom, calls him " a
painful preacher, oracular of high gospels to New England,
who in his days was well seen to' be connected with the
supreme powers of the universe, the word of him being as a
lite coal to many."
The discourses of Cotton, however, were not cold and
clarified utterances of the intellect, the mere collection of
moonbeams, or the chilling radiance of an iceberg ; they is
sued from the heart, mellow, vivified, pointed by the unction
of the Holy One. Careful in opening his sermons that they
be radiant with the light of truth, he thus proceeded in the
delivery, waxing warmer, more intense, till his eye, his en
tire physiognomy kindled into a glow, and his doctrines
fused in his glowing heart, ready to rush from the lips in a
steady, full tide, scathing all sin, but kindling congenial
hearts ,to an intense flame of love. " Mr. Cotton preached
with such authority," this is the language of his colleague
Wilson, "demonstration, and life, that methinks when he
preaches from any prophet or apostle, I hear not him, I hear
the very prophet or apostle ; yea, I hear the Lord Jesus
himself speaking in my heart."

RICHARD MATHER.

In the early ecclesiastical annals of New England^ the
name of Mather played a conspicuous and honorable part.
Early associated with the Massachusetts settlements and
Churches, the family diffused a light and exerted an influence
for more than a century, in the pulpit, above any others of
their time. The priesthood seemed a sort of family inherit
ance or heir-loom, descending from father to son in regular
succession, and with a brightening luster in the transmission.
Hence was inscribed by some rude poetaster, on the tomb
stone of the elder Mather, this singular epitaph :
" Under this stone lies Richard Mather,
Who has a son greater than his father,
And eke a grandson greater than either."
Probably the scale of reputation here indicated is truth
ful, since each seems to have inherited a good share of the
paternal ability, with fair accumulations of interest. The
family thus ran a long race of honor and usefulness, stretch
ing over a hundred years of our most interesting history ; a
period of trial indeed, but also of honor, when the elements
were unsettled, and the few great minds were permitted to
reduce them to form and consistence, very much as they
have remained ever since. But with the close of the century
this name paled before the great lights that appeared in the
ecclesiastical heavens, and has hardly found a record in our
history since. Its discontinuance is not so remarkable as
that during so long a period it was held in honor and re
spect. Few names live in the same office for the space of
a century, and still fewer maintain a place of distinction,

RICHARD MATHER. 27
save it may be the omnipresent one of John Smith, which
seems to have traveled wherever the English language has
made its way, and often to have climbed up to honor.
The first of the name in our history was Rev. Richard
Mather, who was of Transatlantic birth, and migrated to
this soil for conscience sake. He was born of poor, but re
spectable parents, in the small town of Lowtown, Lancashire,
England, A. D. 1596. Of his early childhood nothing of
interest is narrated. At that period schools were not abun
dant, and such as existed were, for the most part, miserable
apologies merely for schools, where knowledge was rather
bruised into the head than clearly and felicitously taught.
One of these dens was kept open at the village of Winwiek,
where boys were received and put through the meager
course of study. At this school Richard was placed at the
proper age by his parents ; but his labors were found so
"painful," on account of the severities of the pedagogue,
that he entreated to be released from the further pursuit of
his studies. From this purpose, however, he was dissuaded
by his father, who encouraged him to persevere; and to
this firmness, probably, the world is indebted for the serv
ices of the American Matners. It is evidence of the profi
ciency of young Mather in his studies that at their close his
rigid master recommended him as principal of a school near
Liverpool. Here he remained several years in the faithful
and efficient discharge of his duties. It was here also that
he was awakened and became connected with the Church.
The principal means of his awakening was the strict and
holy life of Mr. Aspinwall, the gentleman with whom he
boarded. " The exemplary walk of that holy man caused
many fears to arise in his soul that he was out of the way."
He also. read the book of one Harrison, showing how far a.
reprobate may go in the things of religion, which brought
him to the cross and showed him the way of pardon. After
his conversion Mr. Mather felt convinced that it was his
duty to preach the Gospel.
In order to prepare himself in the best manner for so

28 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.

fa-

great a work his school was relinquished, and he entered the
University of Oxford. His continuance at Oxford could
not have been more than two years, for in 1618, when only
twenty-two years of age, he returned to his old residence,
not as a schoolmaster, but as a clergyman of the Establish
ed Church. In connection with several others, he was or
dained by Dr. Morton, Bishop of Chester. At the conclu
sion of the ordination the bishop, taking him aside, addressed
him in the following remarkable manner : " I have an ear
nest request unto you, Mr. Mather, and you must not deny
me ; it is that you will pray for me. I know the prayers
of such as fear God avail much, and I take you to be one of
that number." In 1624, two years after his settlement,
Mr. Mather was married to an excellent lady, a Miss Holt,
who participated in his joys and sorrows for more than
thirty years.
Mr. Mather seems to have been one of those pious and
laborious ministers with whom the Church of England has
been so often blessed. His labors were abundant, not only
among his own flock but in destitute neighborhoods that lay
contiguous. He seized on all rare occasions, like funerals,
to make an impression favorable to religion ; for he then
had those that seldom heard the Gospel, and at a season
and under circumstances likely to open the mind to convic
tion by the truth. For the same reason he often preached
on those holidays that brought a great multitude of people
together, because there was then " an opportunity to cast
the net among an abundance of fish." At such seasons great
multitudes were drawn together that never heard the Gos
pel in churches ; and in this Mr. Mather pursued the course
adopted, at a later date, by the Wesleys and Whitefield ; a
method of doing good often objected to, but one that every
wise man will adopt as opportunity presents. As might,
have been anticipated, this course of faithful toil aroused the
opposition of a class of men that care more about the form
than the substance of religion, and much more about their
ease than about either.

RICHARD MATHER. 29
After remaining pastor fifteen years, complaints of non
conformity were lodged against him, and he was accordingly
suspended from the ministry. By the intercession of friends
this suspension was, after a few months, removed, but soon
renewed again with greater severity, so that he became con
vinced that he must either leave his ministry or his native
land. This state of things set him to study Church polity
by the aid of such men as Cartwright, Parker, Baines, and
Ames, and the result, as might have been anticipated under
the circumstances, was that he became a firm believer in
the Congregational mode of Church government, of which
he henceforth became an expounder and defender.
But the state of things in England forbad the further exer
cise of the functions of his ministry, and his eyes naturally
turned to the New World, where feeble colonies had been
established of like faith and for conscience. Near a hundred
clergymen in the Church of England, we are told, left about
this time, and became pastors of Churches in America.
Among these was the subject of this sketch. Fleeing be
fore his persecutors, who were in close pursuit of him, he
embarked in May, and landed in Boston the next August,
after escaping fearful perils in the deep. /
Dorchester a little before this had been settled by Rev.
John Warham and his Church, many of whom, however,
soon emigrated to Windsor in Connecticut, leaving but a
scattered remnant behind, who were as sheep without a
shepherd. Mr. Ma.ther collected this handful and was set
tled over them as their pastor, a position which he continued
to hold till the day of his death. The various incidents of
his pastorate need not be repeated ; only a few. more not
able circumstances being required in a sketch like this. As
a preacher he was not popular, in the sense of having' any
thing captivating in his manner or style of delivery ; but he
was a sound and earnest preacher, pouring forth from a
warm heart, in a plain and solid style, the substantial truths
of the Gospel. He took with the common people, and was
hence a useful man. It was this quality that drew from the

30 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Rev. Mr. Hooker the remark : " My Brother Mather is a
mighty man." He was instrumental in the conversion of
many souls, both here and in England.
A hearer of Mr. Mather, speaking of events that took
place in Dorchester soon after his settlement, says : " In
those days did God manifest his presence among us in con
verting many souls, and gathering his dear ones into Church
fellowship by solemn covenant. Our hearts were taken off
from old England and set upon heaven. The discourse, not
only ofthe aged; but also ofthe youth, was not, ' How shall
we go to England1?' but, 'How shall we go to heaven?
Have I grace or nol' O, the many tears that have been
shed at such times in the Dorchester meeting-house, both
by those who declared 'the work of God on the soul and by
( them that heard it ! "
Mr. Mather lived at a period when earnest discussion on
Church government was the order of the day. The doc
trines of the Church seem not at that time to have been dis
turbed. Dr. Pond will have it that they were settled on a
firm basis and needed no further disturbance ; but in reality
they had not yet reached them. They were breaking
through the hedge, and came out into that field in due time.
For discussions of this nature always precede those of a
doctrinal character, as lying nearer the surface and being of
easier comprehension. The field is first fenced and then
cultivated. This was the case in the Primitive Church, as
it has been in every reform since that day ; the doctrines
preached by the apostles were few and in a general form ;
these were developed in later day^ when the intellect of the
Church had been whetted by those conflicts that greater
leisure afforded. But matters of Church order were on the
tapis before the close of the Scripture canon ; the mind of
the body reached these first. So with Puritanism ; so, too,
has it been with Methodism. The past century has been
spent in defining, modifying, and defending our polity ; and
as this has now got tolerably well settled, we may antici
pate for the next century an earnest and able reconsideration

RICHARD MATHER. 31
of the doctrines that lie at the basis .of our theology. In our
past course we have but been following the ordinary track
of the human mind.
But to return to Mr. Mather. He entered into those dis
cussions with heart and zeal, and was considered as a prince
among his brethren in the performance of the duty ; of
which we have evidence in the fact that his services were in
continual requisition in resolving and defending points of
this nature. In the synods of the time also he held a prom
inent place, having been a member of every one convened
in New England during his residence here. With his own
hands he is said to have drawn up the Cambridge Platform
of Discipline, which was adopted in 1648.
The fact of his familiarity with synods, and the circum
stance that he was actually moderator of an ecclesiastical
council at the time of his death, led one of his brethren to
write for him the following epitaph: " Vixerat in synodis ;
moritur moderator in illis " — he lived among synods, and
died the moderator of one.
With all his activity, Mr. Mather was a studious man,
devoting a part of each day to his books or pen. " Only
the morning before he died he importuned his friends to
take him into his study where he had not been for several
weeks, and where he remarked, " My usual work and my
books expect me ; is it not a lamentable thing that I should
lose so much time 1 "
It has often been thought that good men have premon
itions of their departure. This seems to have been so, to
some extent, in this case. His last sermon, delivered while
in good health, was founded on the passage : " Now I am
ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at
hand," etc. 2 Timothy, iv, 6-8. A sermon was also pre
pared, but not preached, on 2 Corinthians, v, 1 : " We know
that if our earthly house of this tabernacle be dissolved, we
have a building of God," etc. His sufferings, though not
protracted, were quite severe, but were endured in great
patience. He died in peace, April 22, 1669, at the age of

32 NEW ENGLANB DIVINES.
seventy-three, having labored in the ministry for more than
fifty years.
About twenty years before his death Mr. Mather was call
ed to part with his companion. She died with the following
words on her lips : " Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nei
ther have entered into the heart of man, the things that God
hath prepared for them that love him."
In a second marriage he was united with the widow of
the venerable Cotton, of Boston, who survived him.
By his first marriage Mr. Mather had four sons, who en
tered the ministry and held honorable places in this noble
family succession.
The eldest of these was Samuel, born May, 1626, and
graduated at Harvard 1643, passing thence to England, his
native country, where he spent several years. He was set
tled at Gravesend and at Exeter, and from that place he
passed to Oxford as chaplain of Magdalen College. In 1655,
in cbmpany with several others, he1 passed over to Ireland
as chaplain to Henry Cromwell, and was, as a result, settled
at Dublin, over an Independent Church. But the restora
tion of Charles IL, in 1660, brought disturbance into his
flock, and led him to return to England, where he spent two
years, at the close of which he returned to Dublin and
founded an Independent Church, to which he continued to
minister till the close of his life.
Mr. Samuel Mather was a man of excellent spirit, of fine
education, a good preacher, and honored servant of God in
his day. His mind possessed a serious turn from a child,
so that he might almost afford an illustration of the remark
of an Arabian commentator on the Koran, who reported of
John Baptist, that when a child he said " he was not
sent into the world to sport." After he graduated at Cam
bridge he spent a few years there as tutor, very greatly be
loved by the pupils. At his closing lecture there were few,
or no dry eyes.
A second son was Nathaniel, born 1630. He also gradu
ated at Harvard, and, like his brother, passed to the land of

RICHARD MATHER. 33
his birth. He was presented to a living, by Protector
Cromwell, in Barnstable, from which, however, he was
ejected in 1662, by the famous act of uniformity. He then
passed to Holland, thence to Dublin, to take charge of the
congregation gathered by his brother ; but soon being dis
turbed he went to London and became one of the lecturers
at Pinner's Hall. A volume of those lectures, as also some
other works of his, were given to the public. He died in
London, and was buried in Bunhill Fields.
3

ROGER WILLIAMS.

As frequently happens to benefactors of the race, portions
of the history of the founder of Rhode Island are involved
in great obscurity. Especially is this true of his early life,
previous to his emigration to America, which we know only
by tradition, and that often of the most unreliable character.
From these scanty gleanings it may be gathered that he
was born in Wales about the year 1698, and that his child
hood was distinguished by those rare mental and moral
qualities that marked his riper age. Assuming the credi
bility of these traditions, the lad was early taken under the
patronage of Sir Edward Coke, who, after the requisite pre
paratory study, sent him to Oxford for the purpose of secur
ing the advantages of the university. His name is not to be
found on the books of the university, and the whole tradition
may be doubted, since Sir Edward himself was a graduate
of Cambridge, whither, if anywhere, he would have been
likely to have sent Williams. However doubtful this inci
dent, it seems more probable that under the tuition of his
great, patron he commenced the study of the law; but as
that was an age in which grave theological questions were
disturbing the public mind in England, the legal profession
was relinquished for that of the ministry, as a sphere more
congenial to his tastes and habits. Already had he entered
upon that course of reflection which ultimated in his broad
views on liberty of conscience, or " soul liberty," as he chose
to call it. The subject was still of course seen but in dim
outline. Standing yet on the same platform with the Puri
tans, his eye discerned fields for new conquests in the dis-

ROGER WILLIAMS. 35
tance, although those fields were not accurately measured
and staked off for occupancy. That was to be the work of
his life — to define the metes and boundaries ,of the civil law
as related to the higher authority of conscience. This, how
ever, was not recognized by him as' the mission of his life.
He was not conscious of possessing any superior light, but
supposed himself advocating a doctrine common to the
whole body of Puritans. With his compeers had he grasped
the principle of private judgment on which the Reformation
and Protestantism are based ; but the Puritans stopped half
way, while Williams pursued the subject to its legitimate
results. Starting from a common point, the Baptist out
stripping his comrades, reached the goal in a single journey,
leaving them to wander forty years in the wilderness before
entering the land of promise. They proclaimed a liberty
for themselves ; Williams for all mankind. They talked
of conscience as our Southern philanthropists do of slavery ;
they would secure it liberty, provided it was so prepared as
to be able properly to use that liberty ; while he recognized
freedom as the only safe and proper method of training the
conscience for the execution of its functions. The Puritans,
like many of our democrats, had been warmed into life by
sentiments they neither dared broadly to avow nor follow
out to their logical sequences ; but Williams held no princi
ple which he was unwilling to proclaim to the world, or the
fruits of which he would not permit the world to enjoy.
Such was the young man who, in 1630, sailed for America,
and after a tempestuous voyage of sixty-six days, arrived at
Boston on the 5th of February, 1631. He is now in the
thirty-second year of his age, in the full maturity of his
powers, having attained a reputation for piety, zeal, and
eloquence, which had spread widely in the Old World and
preceded him in the New. His arrival at Boston was hailed
by the colonists as a valuable accession to their Churches
and young commonwealth. He is welcomed by George
Winthorp in his journal as "a godly minister" from whom
they might expect no inconsiderable aid. Little did they

36 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
anticipate the startling doctrines he would advocate, nor did
he gather an intimation of the singular destiny that awaited
him amid the unknown wilderness to which he had migrated !
A few weeks after his arrival Mr. Williams was invited
by the inhabitants of Salem to become the associate of Rev.
Mr. Skelton in the pastorate, a request with which he com
plied. Before the arrangement however was perfected, the
magistrates of the colony had ascertained the nature and
tendency of his doctrines, and immediately interposed their
remonstrances to prevent the settlement.
The charges alleged against him by the authorities were :
1. His refusal to join with the ftngregation at Boston be
cause they would not declare their repentance for having
communed with the Church of England previous to their
emigration. 2. That he had " declared his opinion that the
magistrate might not punish a breach of the Sabbath nor
any other offense that was a breach of the first table."
The second of these charges, it will be perceived, involves
his doctrine of " soul liberty," and hence touches the very
core of those difficulties that during so many years disturbed
the quiet of the colony. His positions have long since been
adopted by the descendants of those patriarchs of Massachu
setts Bay, and the assumption ofthe doctrines ofthe Puritans
of that day on this point would be now accounted heresy by
their sons as fully as those of Williams then were by the
sires. The ' tables so completely turned now were thus
greatly disturbed. The struggle for an advance in Puritan
or rather Protestant principles of freedom was in the crisis.
That struggle was productive of glorious fruits. The opinion
of Roger Williams, which was then urged in proof of his un-
suitableness for the ministry, has become the common senti
ment of the American people, and is fast spreading over the
civilized world, everywhere in its progress affording peace
to the distracted elements of society, and placing on a secure
basis the institutions both of government and religion.
Mr. Williams, having already removed to Salem, was
settled over the Church, notwithstanding the remonstrance

ROGER WILLIAMS. 37
of the magistrates. On the 18th of the following May, after
having been duly propounded, he was admitted a freeman
of the colony, and took the usual oath of allegiance. With
these demonstrations of regard for the welfare of the colony,
it might be sirppdsed that Williams would have been allowed
to pursue his noiseless course as the pastor of the flock that
had chosen him. In "civil things" he scrupulously obeyed
the authorities, was quiet, virtuous, enterprising, displaying
precisely the character that a young colony usually seeks.
But the men of Massachusetts Bay were severe in their
theological notions. With them that state was not designed
to promote, in connection with the physical wellbeing of
the people, the freedom of the conscience, but to uphold and
disseminate their creed. This creed had induced them to
leave the Old World, and it could hardly be expected, now
they were escaped to the wilderness, that they would open
the doors to all kinds of freethinking in religious matters.
It was dangerous - to allow one among them who did not
think according to the orthodox formulas; and as Roger
Williams stoutly refused to do this, it was deemed prudent
for him to leave the colony. He accordingly departed to
the neighboring colony of Plymouth, where he was cordiajly
welcomed by the governor and inhabitants. Although of
the same stock, and embracing the same creed as those of
the Bay, the sentiments of the people of Plymouth were
ever more liberal and generous. This fact may have been
the result of their residence for a season on the continent
where, away from the civil and religious strifes that rent
the mother country, the fervors of their zeal had time to
cool, affording free scope to reason and common sense.
Governor Bradford says his teaching " was well approved
for the benefit whereof," and adds : " I shall bless God, and
am thankful to him ever for his sharpest reproofs and
admonitions, so far as they agreed with truth." These senti
ments of the chief magistrate met the approbation of the
people. The Church, which at that time was nearly identical
with the State, invited him to become associated with their

38 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
teacher in the pastoral office, to which he gave his assent,
and for about two years gave his attention to those duties.
In the mean time it gradually became evident that Roger
Williams was a step in advance of the flock he taught, espe
cially in regard to his doctrine of soul liberty — a doctrine
which the colonists would not disturb, but one with whose
importance they were so slightly impressed that they dis
liked to have it disturb them. It seemed impossible for
Williams to maintain a quiet ministry, because that implies
a ministry which is a mere reflection of the popular senti
ment, while he thought for himself, and that very vigorously,
and endeavored in his public teaching to mold the people to
his sentiments. As the doctrine of religious freedom was one
on which he laid great stress, not only from his personal rela
tions to it, but also from its intrinsic value as a regulator
and pacificator of society, he could not refrain from giving
utterance to his sentiments. It may also be supposed that
his zeal and discretion, in the deliverances of his notions,
were not at that vigorous period of life always duly tempered
by wisdom and prudence. And in addition to this, his affec
tions seem never to have united him to this new people as
they had to those of his first choice. This attachment to
the people of Salem was mutual. They found in Williams
the cherished teacher whose sentiments and feelings were
responsive to their own. And as they sent him about this
time an invitation to return and resume his pastoral duties
among them, he hastened back to the city of peace.
The opposition of the magistrates continued unmodified ;
but the Church at Salem, of which the fearless and fiery
Endicott was a leading member, determined to exercise
their right despite the civil authorities. Williams continued
his prophesying for a few months under protest, when the
Rev. Mr. Skelton, the senior pastor, died, leaving the office
vacant. With their affection for Williams, the people did
not long hesitate as to the choice of a successor to their
venerated minister. In spite of all the efforts of the author
ities at Boston to prevent it, he was duly installed as the

ROGER WILLIAMS. 39
pastor of the Church, an act of disobedience they seem to
have thought would soon be forgotten, or at least overlook
ed. But they had not accurately estimated the leaders of
that band who had settled at the Bay, of whom Winthrop
was the acknowledged chief. They were not to be so
easily thwarted in their purposes of exterminating heresy.
Williams and his Church were dogged by these guardians
of the faith till the one succumbed to their authority, and
the other fled for refuge to the savages of the wilderness.
While residing at Plymouth, Williams had written a
treatise, designed only for the eye of the magistrates, and
which was never published, on the tenure by which the
Calvinists held their lands in America ; and he had argued
that an English patent could not invalidate the rights of the
native inhabitants. The opinion sounded, at first, like
treason against the cherished charter of the colony. It must
be confessed that his enemies were straitened for proofs
of his heresy, to be obliged to rake up the old manuscript,
which was of the nature of a private transaction, and one
too lying beyond their lawful jurisdiction; but being
brought forward as evidence against him, Williams, desirous
to promote peace, and to hold friendly relations with the
authorities of the colony, not only offered to burn the manu
script, but so effectually explained its purport to the
court, that they applauded his temper, and declared " that
the matters were not so evil as at first they seemed."
But the principles of Roger Williams led him into per
petual collision with the clergy and the government of Mas
sachusetts. The whole controversy finally turned on a
tract of land lying upon Marblehead Neck, which was
claimed by the people of Salem, but was refused by the
government, for the avowed reason that they had proved
refractory in persisting to settle Williams against their
remonstrance. On observing such a gross violation of offi
cial fidelity and, propriety, the people of Salem grew indig
nant, and in conjunction with their pastor, " wrote letters of
admonition to the Churches whereof any ofthe magistrates

40 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
were members, that they might admonish the magistrates of
their injustice." This appeal to the people against the
officials only seemed to increase their holy indignation
against men who had ventured to question their proceedings.
The court, so far from recognizing the democratic principle
which refers the ultimate decision of all political questions
to the people, proceeded to execute their designs in opposi
tion to a large class of the people. The act of Williams and
his Church seemed to them no less than open rebellion against
authority, and at the next meeting of the court the deputies
for Salem were deprived of their seats till the letter should
be satisfactorily explained, and an apology made for their
participation in its authorship and doctrines. The town of
Salem submitted to the disfranchisement, and its deputies
made the apology which was demanded, though not till Mr.
Endicott, the principal deputy, had suffered imprisonment for
his adherence to the doctrines of the letter. Williams then
addressed a letter to his Church, urging them to renounce all
communion with the other Churches of the colony ; but they
had been humbled by the procedure of the magistrates, and
refused further to follow the views of their teacher".
Williams, now left to contend alone against the court and
the clergy, was called to Boston to answer for his conduct.
He was here, therefore, before the highest tribunal of the
colony, charged with the crime of maintaining the following
dangerous opinions : " 1. That the magistrate ought not to
punish the breach of the first table, otherwise than in such
cases as did disturb the civil peace. 2. That he ought not
to tender an oath to an unregenerate man. 3. That he
ought not to pray with such. 4. That a man ought not to
give thanks after sacrament nor after meat."
The proceedings of the trial, which partook rather of the
character of an inquisition than of a civil court, were marked
by the greatest extravagance. Neither witnesses nor
counsel were admitted. " In all the colony there were none
to raise a question of jurisdiction, save only the individual
accused; and in raising this question his very crime con-

ROGER WILLIAMS. 41
sisted." After a long and animated debate the court decided
to give him and the Church at Salem one year, or until the
next assembling of the court, to consider of the matter," and
then either to give satisfaction or to expect the sentence."
Upon a man of his material it could not be expected that
lapse of time would produce any material change. The
court assembled the next year. Williams was summoned to
appear before it, and finding that he persisted in the main
tenance of his -views, the conrt proceeded to pass the act
of banishment. The following is the record : " Whereas
Mr. Roger Williams, one of the elders of the Church of
Salem, hath broached and divulged divers new and danger
ous opinions against the authority of magistrates ; as also
writ letters of defamation both of the magistrates and
Churches here, and that before any conviction, and still
1 maintaineth the same without any retraction ; it is therefore
ordered that the said William^ shall depart out of this
jurisdiction within six weeks, now next ensuing, which if he
neglect to perform, it shall be lawful for the governor and
two of the magistrates to send him to some place out of this
jurisdiction, not to return any more without license from the
court." This act of banishment was passed in November, and the
idea of sending forth a minister amid the severities of win
ter, produced such a reaction in the public sentiment that it
was deemed prudent to allow the culprit to remain till the
ensuing spring. After the lapse of a few weeks, however,
the authorities began to grow nervous from the presence of
such a restless spirit among them, especially as they had
learned that many of the inhabitants of Salem intended to
follow him beyond the bounds of the colony, and form a
new settlement, in which the opinions of the banished man
should hold sway. Seeing at a glance that such a colony
would be a troublesome neighbor, they resolved to nip the
plan in its incipiency. Accordingly officers were dispatched
to seize Williams and place him on board a ship then lying
in the port, which was about to sail for Europe. But

42 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
happily for the fortunes of America, the hunted clergyman
had escaped five days before the arrival of the officers.
Advised by Winthrop, who the year before had been sup
planted in the chief magistracy by Thomas Dudley, to pro
ceed to the country of the Narragansetts, as a favorable
position for a settlement, and lying beyond the jurisdiction
of the Massachusetts colony, he received the counsel as
providential. It was now the heart of winter, cold, cheerless, and the
earth mantled with deep snows. Hardly any scene can be
pictured more gloomy and forbidding than the one presented
before Williams. How few are the hearts that for the sake
of cherished principles would have braved the dangers,
made the sacrifices, endured the privations that lay before this
apostle of liberty of conscience ! Behind him was he leaving
his own comfortable home, his wife, children, and civilized
society, while before him stretched out an interminable wil
derness, inhabited only by wild beasts and savage men.
Nor was the least forbidding part of it the severities of the
season. Most men would, at this point, have hesitated, and
if they had not relinquished the undertaking, would, at
least, have looked anxiously for their place of abode, their
means of subsistence, their protection amid the perils of the
wilderness. But Williams was of that admirable make,
that he never stopped to parley when once he discovered
the only path that conscience could tread. Like the father
of the faithful, he went forth he knew not whither, but
trusting to the guidance of Divine Providence, he plunged
into the forest, and made his way for weeks toward the
country of the Narragansetts. How changed the scene
since Williams wandered over that region ! Where the
somber forest, the lair of the wild beasts, and the wigwams
of the savages were, are now found the homes of civilized
life, the outspread fields clothed with grain, the marts of
trade, the hum of a busy and happy population. The rail-
car now takes us in a few hours over the space that he trod
for weary days.

ROGER WILLIAMS. 43
But few of the incidents of this solitary journey have
come down to us. That his sufferings, however, were great
cannot be doubted. " I was sorely tossed," says he, " for
fourteen weeks in a bitter winter season, not knowing what
bread or bed did mean ;" and long ere the return of spring
must he have perished, had he not found friends among the
Indians. " These ravens," said he, " fed me in the wilder
ness." While at Plymouth he gave some attention to their
language, and formed an acquaintance with individuals of the
different tribes bordering that colony, which proved espe
cially serviceable in the present exigency. Pressing on to
the south, he reached Mount Hope, the residence of Massi-
soit, the famous chief of the Pokanokets ; and as he ap
proached his lodge, the savage recognized him as the
teacher with whom he had met at Plymouth, and received
him with many tokens of kindness. Among other favors
he granted him a tract of land on the Seekonk River, " to
which, at the opening of spring, he repaired and began to
build and plant." At this place he was joined by many
of his frienda from Salem, and here he began to think his
wanderings had terminated, and that with the friends who
had chosen to share his exile, he should be able to plant a
new colony which should afford freedom of opinion to all.
But scarcely had the first dwelling been raised and the corn
planted, when the Governor of Plymouth wrote him, ad
monishing him that his stakes were within ^the lines of their
territory. This letter was from the admirable Winslow,
who entertained friendly feelings toward the new-comer,
and had written only to prevent future disputes, assuring
him that if he would remove just to the other side of the
water, he should remain unmolested, having the country
before him.
Williams, who was now desirous of peace, profited by
this friendly advice, and removed a few miles to the west,
stopping at a place since made famous as the site of the
city of Providence. "A little to the north of the center of
the city, the spring is still pointed out which drew the at-

44 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
tention of the humble voyagers from Seekonk." Here, after
so many wanderings, was the weary exile to find a home,
and to lay the foundations of a city which should be a per
petual memorial of his pious gratitude to the superintending
Providence that had guided him to that spot. How changed
is the scene in the lapse of a hundred years ! " Art and
wealth have covered with their beautiful mansions the hill
side that rose in luxuriant verdure before him ; and learn
ing has erected her halls upon its summit. The solitary
place has become a thickly peopled city, the abode of wealth
and elegance ; and instead of the deep silence of nature that
then reigned over the scene, there are now heard over hill
and plain and water, the hum of the spindle, the bustle of
trade, and the cheerful murmurs of busy life." *
Here Williams found himself in the midst of the red men
of the forest, far from the homes of civilization, and unpro
tected from the assaults of the savage. On the one side,
comprised in what are now the counties of Bristol and Ply
mouth, resided the Pequots, while on the other, in what is
now the state of Rhode Island, dwelt the tribe of the shy
but powerful Narragansetts. The latter were especially
dangerous. Wilder, fiercer than any of the other tribes,
they had never maintained intimate relations with the
whites. They were, in fact, averse to coming in contact
with the Europeans ; and perhaps no man among the
New England colonists succeeded so well as Mr. Williams
in gaining their confidence. Always treating them kindly,
he was sure, in return, of their protection, and was cordially,
though with a species of reserve peculiar to the tribe, re
ceived among them whenever he chose to pay them a visit.
It was by these repeated visits that he obtained a knowledge
of their rude and difficult language, specimens of which are
still to be found in the " Key " written by Williams, and
especially in the Indian Bible of Eliot, of which only a few
copies remain. This was the foundation language of all the
New England tribes, the others being mere dialects, or bear-
* Professor Gammell.

ROGER WILLIAMS. 45
ing the same relation to it that the languages of southern
and western Europe do'' to the Latin ; hence could the indi
vidual who had mastered its rude elements converse with
the natives all,pver the East and far down into the middle
states. This, however, was an achievement which few white
men ever made ; even Eliot, who spent his life in endeavor
ing to convey the Gospel to them in their own tongue,
was never able perfectly to express Christian ideas in those
¦ endless words and the unique structure of that grand but
wild speech. It is supposed that Williams succeeded better
than the Indian apostle in .this endeavor. So accurate was
his information, that he wrote treaties in the language,
preaching to the people during all the latter part of his life,
and even prepared a key or grammar of the language, which
still affords the most accurate information in regard to it
extant. Of course an individual maintaining this position between
the savages and the whites must be an important auxiliary
or obstacle to the neighboring colonies ; he could aid them
in the adjustment of their feuds, or could stir up new strifes
which would give the new settlers infinite trouble. We
might naturally have anticipated ,that a man who had re
ceived the severe treatment which he had experienced at the
hands of the magistrates, would have retaliated when once
his own position had been rendered secure and the opportu
nity to do harm presented itself. The magistrates of the
Bay had done Williams great wrong ; but he, in future days,
never exhibited in return a revengeful spirit, though the oc
casion often presented when he might have done them severe
and lasting injury.
In the year 1636 the Pequots, having grown jealous of
the whites, whose .settlements encroached upon their terri
tory, determined to begin a war of extermination. Not
able to prosecute so arduous a labor unassisted, they en
deavored to form a league with the other tribes. • The exam
ple of the powerful Narragansetts would be likely to shape
the plans of the other tribes, and there was but one white man

46 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
who could influence the councils of that warlike band. At
this critical period the authorities of Massachusetts Bay sent
to Roger Williams, requesting his mediation to effect a rap
ture of the league and to gain the Narragansetts to their
side. The mission was one attended with personal exposure,
and with the prospect of alienating the Pequots, with whom
he was in friendly relations; but this noble man did not
hesitate. Proceeding to the lodge of the sachem, he met the
youthful and fiery deputies from the Pequot nation, burning
to wreak their vengeance on the whites. The chiefs of the
Narragansetts were upon the point of acceding to the re
quest when the pale pacificator arrived. Remaining here
three days in constant danger of death from the tomahawk
of his enemies, he succeeded in thwarting the plans of the
belligerent messengers and in stipulating a treaty of peace
between that tribe and the whites.
At a subsequent date a like service was performed by
Mr. Williams, on the occurrence of King Philip's war.
This ambitious and wily chief of the Pakanokets endeavor
ed to league the whole savage race in New England against
the colonies. Williams was now far advanced in life, but
shrank not from the toil and danger of the war. Besides
the advice he gave on the occasion, he formed a company in
Providence, in which he served as captain. And when the
foe approached the city, Williams is said to have taken his
staff and gone forth to meet them in the hope of appeasing
their wrath, as he had done on so many occasions. But the
aged chiefs met him at a distance, and after assuring him
of their friendshipj declared that their young braves were
too highly exasperated to render it safe for him to allow
himself among them. On this assurance he returned to
the fort, and saw the town reduced to ashes. This war ter
minated only with the death of Philip, and after having cost
the colonies much blood and treasure.
In consideration of such valuable services to the people of
the Bay, it would be supposed that those iron hearts that had
banished him would now relent and at least revoke the de-

ROGER WILLIAMS. 47
cree by which he was exiled. They owed their lives, per
haps the continued existence of their state, to this man. If
he had displayed the magnanimity that could rise above
revenge, ought they not to exhibit the equally noble spirit
of retracting an error 1 For a time this feeling obtained in
the colony, and the governor even went so far as to recom
mend this procedure ; but his motion, not being seconded by
the other authorities, fell to the ground. The act of banish
ment remained on their statute books, and their greatest
benefactor was not allowed to tread the soil he had preserved
from the scourge ofthe red man.
Nor was this the only injury he suffered at their hands.
They persisted in ignoring the very existence of this " colony
of conscience." At one time the court pretended to claim
jurisdiction over thjs wjiole territory of Rhode Island, and
actually undertook to punish those who had fled from them
to this asylum in the wilderness. These claims, though
treated in a temperate spirit, were never allowed by the
inhabitants. A confederation was afterward formed between
all the other colonies of New England, but that of Provi
dence was invidiously excluded. These vexatious proceedings
induced the people to request Williams to proceed to the
mother country, for the purpose of obtaining a charter for
the colony. The proposal was accepted, and he proceeded
to England. The " Great Rebellion " was now at its height ;
the Long Parliament was in full blast, and Cromwell at
the head of the nation. Here he met many of those noble
spirits that gave character to the nation in the days of the
Commonwealth — Cromwell, Warwick, Vane, and Hampden.
Among the commoners that sat at the Council Board was
Vane, formerly governor of Massachusetts, the friend of
Williams, and his illustrious compeer in advocating the doc
trines of religious freedom. From him he obtained no in
considerable assistance in prosecuting his errand, which re
sulted in the attainment of a charter for the " Providence
Plantations, in the Narragansett Bay, in New England."
The instrument, bearing date March 14, 1644, conveyed to

48 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the inhabitants of those towns full power to adopt such a
form of civil government, and " to make and ordain such
civil laws and constitutions as they, or the greatest part of
them shall, by free consent, agree unto." The charter dis
tinctly recognized the principle on which the colony was
founded, and which the inhabitants had carefully cherished —
that government should concern civil things alone, and within
this sphere it imposed no limitation save that the ordinances
that might be adopted should not conflict with the laws of
England. Previous to the attainment of this charter the people of
Providence had been bound, together by a single article,
which all were required to sign, and the purport of which
was, that the majority n/all " civil things" should rule, while
in mere matters of opinion each man. should be left to the
dictates of his own conscience". With such a regulation,
which really left each to follow his own inclination, the new
colony became the place of refuge for all sorts of consciences,
as well as for those who had no conscience at all. It used
to be observed, that if any man had lost his conscience, he
would be sure to find it again by going to Providence. This
state of things gave a severe test to the principles of Williams,
and often produced commotions among the people. A few
years after the charter was obtained, there appeared among
them one Coddington, a restless, unmanageable spirit, who
opposed all government, and because he failed to obtain the
countenance, of the inhabitants of Providence, fled to the
island of Rhode Island, where Samuel Gorton, another im
practicable character, had formed a settlement. Thei^e
Coddington passed to England, and by some means succeeded
in obtaining the revocation of the charter of Providence, and
a commission vesting the government in himself. This
again called forth Williams, who was empowered by the
people to proceed to the Court of the Protector to secure
the charter. While in England the commission which had
been given to Coddington was revoked, and the charter re
stored till the whole matter could be adjusted. In the mean

ROGER WILLIAMS. 49
I
time the different towns were ordered to submit to the com
mon regulations ; but the dissension had now become so
great that this seemed impossible. In the mean time Will
iams, leaving the business concerning the charter in the.
hands of his associates, returned to New England. He bore
an order from the Protector to the authorities of Massa
chusetts, requiring them to allow him to pass through their
territory unmolested. This was respected by the govern
ment, but the court did not till two years later enter it on
their records.
The dissensions, which had grown to be almost incurable,
proved a source of great trial and affliction to the founder
ofthe colony. He exerted his utmost endeavors to allay
the strife, and after repeated exertions succeeded. The
several towns came together under one government, and
chose Williams himself to the chief magistracy. He held
the office two years, administering the government with pru
dence and mildness, yet with a firm hand. At the close of
his term he retired to private life. But a man of his charac
ter could not long remain out of office. He held several
town offices, as also a place in the council afterward. But
his days were now drawing to a close, and his few remain
ing exertions were reserved for the Indians, to whom he was
accustomed to preach frequently, and for his own family,
who, amid all his cares, had been supported by his own toil.
Williams died quietly at his home in 1683 ; his funeral was
attended by a large concourse of people who admired his
virtues and mourned the loss of a friend so disinterested and
steadfast, of a Christian catholic in a bigoted age, and of a
statesman whose wisdom had steered the ship of state through
many perils to a secure haven.
In the character of Williams, as in all the great instru
ments Of Divine Providence, there were mingled excellences
and defects, beauties and deformities, lights and shades.
His was not a perfect character. But if his defects reveal
his connection with fallen humanity, his excellences certainly
display the brighter side of that humanity. While we would

50 NEW ENGLAND D.IVINES.
-not claim for him exemption from human frailties, we do
claim that those frailties not only hold an inferior place, but
properly disappear on the page of history amid the splendor
of his good qualities.
" It is the custom of mankind to award high honors to the
successful inquirers into the laws of nature, to those who ad
vance the bounds of human knowledge. We praise the man
who first analyzed the air, resolved water into its elements,
or drew lightning from the clouds, even though these dis
coveries may ha.ve been as much the fruits of time as of
genius. A moral principle has a much nearer and wider
influence on human happiness. If Copernicus is held in per
petual reverence because on his deathbed he published to
mankind that the sun is the center of our system ; if the
name of Kepler is preserved in the annals of human excel
lence for his sagacity in detecting the laws of planetary
motion; if the genius of Newton has been almost adored
for dissecting a ray of light and weighing heavenly bodies
as in a balance, let there be for Roger Williams at least
some humble place among those who have advanced moral
science and made themselves the benefactors of mankind."*
The most touching trait in the character of the founder of
Rhode Island was his conduct toward his persecutors.
Though keenly sensitive to the hardships which he had en
dured, he was far from harboring revenge toward those who
banished him, and only regretted their delusion. " I did
ever from my soul honor and love them, even when their
judgment led them to afflict me." In all his writings on the
subject he attacked the spirit of intolerance, the doctrine of
persecution, and never his persecutors or the colony of Mas
sachusetts. Indeed he requited their severity by exposing
his life at their request and for th'eir benefit. It is not
strange^ then, if many hearts were touched with relentings.
"That great and pious soul, Mr. Winslow, melted, and
kindly visited me," says the exile, " and put a piece of gold
into the hands of my wife for our supply." The founder,
* Bancroft's History of the United States, vol. i, p. 876.

ROGER WILLIAMS. 51
the legislator, the proprietor of Rhode Island owed a shelter
to the hospitality of an Indian chief, and his wife the means ¦
of sustenance to a stranger. " The half-wise Cotton Mather
conceded that many judicious persons confessed him to have
had the root of the matter in him, and his nearer friends, the
immediate witnesses of his actions, declared him, from ' the
whole course and tenor of his life, to have been one of the
most disinterested men that ever lived, a most pious and
heavenly-minded soul.' "
Roger Williams, however, will be remembered by pos
terity chiefly as the founder of a State into which he incor
porated the principles of religious liberty, and maintained
the same in practice even amid a heterogeneous and factious
population. " He was the first person in Modern Christen
dom," says Bancroft, " who asserted in its plenitude the
doctrine of the liberty of conscience, the equality of opin
ions before the law ; and in its defense he was the harbinger
of Milton and the precursor and superior of Jeremy Taylor.
For Taylor limited his toleration to a few Christian sects ;
the philanthropy of Williams compassed the earth : Taylor
favored partial reform, commended lenity, argued for
forbearance, entered a special plea for each tolerable sect ;
Williams would permit persecution of no religion, of no
opinion, leaving heresy unharmed by law, and orthordoxy
unprotected by the, terrors of penal statutes. Taylor still
clung to the necessity of positive regulations enforcing
religion and eradicating error ; he resembled the poets who
first declare their hero invulnerable, and then clothe him in
earthly armor : Williams was willing to leave truth alone
in her own panoply of light, believing that if in the ancient
feud between truth and error the employment of force
could be entirely abrogated, truth would have much the
best of the bargain."
But it has been objected, that while he asserted the prin-
' ciples of freedom of conscience, the rightful liberty of all
mankind, his own practice contradicted his theory ; that his
was after all a freedom only for his own opinions. This

52 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
point deserves a moment's notice before this paper is
brought to a close. And it is not to be forgotten that his
services were invaluable to the age in which he lived as
well as to later times, even though they extended no further
than the avowal of religious freedom for all men. That
was a step in advance of the age, a really new doctrine to
that generation. Others had asserted the right of their
particular sects to think freely ; Williams made no distinc
tion of sects, threw the gate open to all.
But we must go further than this, and assert that his
practice conformed to his theory. Those who maintain
the contrary opinion appear not to keep distinctly in mind
what the precise doctrine was that Williams advocated. It
would seem that some regard him as holding that all men
may not only think but act as they please, without the inter
ference of the civil authority. This, however, is a mistake.
He never pretended to give the loose rein to all sorts of
conduct; but maintained the necessity of civil order as
fully and as earnestly as any other man. While in mere
matters of opinion he gave the amplest freedom to men, he
yet earnestly maintained that " in civil things " the voice
ofthe magistrate must be obeyed. The Puritan held that
the civil officer could interfere with opinions, inasmuch as
those opinions mature into practice ; but Williams would
restrain the civil arm till the act became overt. This was
the ground of his controversy with the leaders of the Bay
Colony — they traveled back of his acts to attack his doc
trines by legal process, while their right to do so he denied.
A man's opinions were an inviolable sanctuary, into whose
sacred inclosure none but God might intrude. If he had
done things worthy of death he refused not to die ; but he
held that those grounds could never be found in the regions
of thought.
In his own day it was objected that his principles sub
verted all government. To this Williams pertinently
replied, that the commander of a vessel may maintain order
on board the ship, and see that it pursues its course steadily,

ROGER WILLIAMS. 53
even though the dissenters of the crew are not compelled to
attend the public prayers of their companions.
He held, The Conscience, that sole monarch in man,
Owing allegiance to no earthly prince ;
Made by the edict of creation free ;
Made sacred, made ahove all human laws ;
Holding of Heaven alone ; of most divine,
t And indefensible authority. — Poilok.
Although Williams maintained a consistency between his
theory and conduct, we claim for him only such a perfection
as is practicable in a state like ours. Subject to the infirm
ities of our common nature, he exhibited some undesirable
traits of natural character : rough and rude ; obstinate in
will, and a disposition marked by a degree of asperity as
well as an inclination to novel, and what the world would
call Utopian opinions and theories ; and in addition to those
misfortunes his lot fell upon very infelicitous times for the
culture of the heart, or the practical exhibition of charity.
All these considerations, in passing judgment on that re
markable man, are to be taken into the account. It is also
to be recollected that those elements are often found in the
individual that undertakes to reform or modify society.
Your staid, conservative, cautious men, however accom
plished, able, and adapted to shine in the peaceful bosom of
society, never possess the pluck to inaugurate and prosecute
a reform. They keep the old beaten track marked out by
their grandfathers, plodding along amid dust and mud,
though abuses around them be heaped to the clouds ; they
will maintain a pious horror of any change of the customs
till some obstinate, original, or erratic genius, with his
brawny shoulders, lift the reform into respectability. That
once done, and your accomplished gentleman leaps upon
the new platform only to make that, with mulish stupidity,
another finality. Here he reposes. Here his arms are
folded to quiet and luxurious slumbers, as though the final
repairs of this rickety world had been made, and all hands

54 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
had nothing further but to fold their hands and let her sail
into port.
This Mr. Smoothitaway don't intend to be disturbed in
his slumbers by any impertinent notions ; and when your
reformer stumbles against him, thrusting into his side a
half dozen of his porcupine quills, causing him to arouse pre
maturely from his rest, think it not strange if the intruder
be stigmatized as an individual of ill manners and a coarse
nature. With all candid minds, however, it will remain a
question, whether the slack-twisted gentleman ought not
gratefully to receive those elbowings that alone save "him
from a fearful shipwreck. A little of that rough and ready
treatment, in perilous times, seems necessary ; the world
will not wake up without it.
In the mass of reformers we find that very crabbedness
of which complaint is made — that fiery temperament, that
vigor and originality of genius that render them liable to
some inconsistencies of conduct. They go out into society
with ox-goads, and if, threshing about amid a dozy race,
they find every hand against them, think it not strange that,
in the universal hubbub, they are sometimes cornered up
and led to do strange things in contradiction to all their
philosophy. Enough that they succeed in awaking us before
our house is burned down about our ears ; all their hallooing
and rough handling are not to be named now ; the season
demands an unceremonious procedure. And whoever
demands a nice attention to all the little proprieties of
calmer times, will fail to appreciate the real greatness of
our noblest reformers. Many of them exhibited all these
faults ; few of them were faultless.
Look at Luther, Zwingle, Knox, these eminent chiefs of
reform. The world has consented to place them in the
front rank. They announced anew the great doctrines of
justification by faith, a holy life, and the right of private
judgment, which have modified the life of Christendom, and
brightened the history of the whole world. The men who
launched these ideas, and got them fairly afloat in the world,

ROGER WILLIAMS. 55
are worthy of remembrance by mankind, for they afford the
clue to lead us out from these dreary ages to the brightness
of the Millennium. These reformers, though rough, rude,
and violent, held precious principles, which they thrust
against the abuses of society. The world has properly con
sented to judge leniently of their infirmities in consideration
of the grave and sublime principles of which they were the
exponents and defenders. We are to remember the age in
which they lived, the untoward circumstances by which
they were surrounded. The material of which they were
made was completely adapted to the times ; any other
would have failed to make an impression. What would
your parlor gentleman do at Augsburg or Worms ? The
times were rude, the passions of the masses excited, and
the whole social and religious framework in a state of revo
lution ; a hand of iron was needed to strike down the evil
and retain the good. A Luther, Knox, Cromwell, men of
no delicate taste, fine sensibilities, or polished manners, are
alone competent to meet such a crisis. Melancthon, and
Charles Wesley, though the finest specimens of accomplished
men, were, for that very reason, unfitted to take the lead in a
great moral reform. Their organization was too delicate ;
their taste too nice ; their sensibilities too acute ; the severe
usage of each day would crucify them. They did good
service as aids, having firmer natures to fall back upon.
If these sentiments be correct, we look in vain in the
noblest of the reformers for the finest specimens of men; a
heavier, harder, and sometimes a coarser material is
demanded for their work. Hence, when allusion is made to
their excellences, it is rather to their masculine abilities to
grapple with the evils their eye discerned, than to any ordinary
accomplishments of life. Their religious convictions are not
those that mature in the shade, but such as flourish amid
the sunshine and storms of the open field, marked less by
delicacy of sentiment, and a nice development of conscien
tiousness, than by a vehement earnestness and tumultuous
though controllable emotion. Such men were good reform-

56 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
ers ; not necessarily the most quiet citizens, or practicable
neighbors or friends.
To charges like the above the character of Williams lies
exposed. But he is still a noble man, to be ranked among
the great choir-leaders of reform. He had a rude work to
do in beating against harsh and stubborn Puritans, or per
tinacious Churchmen, characters not to be subdued by fair
speeches. And as he was a man of original mind, open to
truth, and ever on the look-out for some improvement, we
ought not to look for the same hobby every day, nor always
to find him with the most practical project on hand. He
tries the varieties, not always, it may be, living long
enough to distinguish the good from the evil and worthless ;
but ethers live longer, to profit not only by the good he
ascertained, but by an escape from the reef on which he was
driven. Under this view Roger Williams may be chargeable
with many infirmities, errors, and even inconsistencies, and
yet fill out our ideal of the reformer, who comprehended,
more fully than the Puritans themselves, the real drift and1
intent of Puritanism, and to whom, more than any other man,
or even all the men of that age, American Republicanism
is indebted for its free, full, broad expression, for its wide
and beneficent realization over this extended continent. His
errors have fallen off like the dry husk, as the germ of-
liberty which they enclosed expanded into the broad and
glorious union of this Western world. The evil that was in
him was buried in the grave with his bones, while the good
lives on, and shall continue to endear to every American
and lover of liberty the name of Roger Williams.

INCREASE MATHER.

Increase Mathek was the sixth son of Richard, and the
fourth that entered the sacred office, and was born at Dor
chester, June 19, 1639. His name indicates the joy that
began to revive the hearts of the colonists ; they were now
increasing, not only in numbers, but in wealth, power, and
the comforts of civilized life ; hence, the man of God set
down a mark of gratitude that should abide in the family
and the commonwealth.
His mother was a woman of eminent ability and piety,
to whose watchcare, in a considerable degree, the child was
committed. While the father was busied with the active
cares and duties of the parish and study, his education,
both secular and religious, devolved on her. And to her
prayers and faithful counsels, in this case, as in multitudes
of others where great and good men have been raised up,
was he indebted for those deep religious convictions and
correct habits that carried him on to distinguished honors
in subsequent life. The great purpose of both the parents
was to bring him up in the nurture and admonition of the
Lord. Hence, he remarks, " I was kept from all outbreak
ing sins ; but still I swam quietly in the stream of impiety
and carnal security for years, till it pleased God, in the
year 1654, to visit me with a sore and grievous sickness.
I was brought now to have solemn thoughts, and to have
death arid eternity before my eyes. I was brought also to a
solemn and awakening sense of sin. After I recovered, the
arrows of God still stuck in my heart. In my distress,
I resolved not to live in any known sin, and da examining

58 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
my heart, I could find no sin with which I was not heartily
willing to part."
At this period he commenced the practice of secret devo
tions, reading the Bible and other religious books, and per
forming whatever duties came before him, but all failed to
remove the sense of guilt from the conscience. He medit
ated, wept, fasted, and used all the ordinary means of
grace ; allj however, seemed to sink him in a deeper
despair. Toward the close of- a fast day, in the deepest
anguish, a resolve was formed to go and throw himself down
before the Saviour, resolving that by this last resource, he
would find pardon and relief from his sins, or perish at the
altar. His will being now thoroughly subdued, we need
hardly inform the reader- that he at once found peace in be
lieving. " While I was praying and pleading," he con
tinues, " these words of Christ came into my mind : ' Him
that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.' Impleaded
this precious promise before the Lord, after which I had
some comfortable persuasions that my sins were forgiven,
and that the Lord would show me mercy. So I went on
cheerfully in the ways of the Lord."
At the time of this delightful experience Mr. Mather was
a member of Harvard College, but pursuing his studies
away under the care of a clergyman, as was common at
this period. He was in the class with his brother Eleazer,
both graduating in 1656. He was now ready to enter on
the business of mature life. His sainted mother, who died
when he was a lad of some dozen years, designed him for the
pulpit, and even on her dying bed had strongly " exhorted
him to resolve upon serving Christ in the work of the min
istry," and encouraged him to form such a resolve by a
reference to the rewards of the wise, who " shall shine as .
the brightness of the firmament, and as the stars forever
and ever." The impression of this scene, and the maternal
admonition uttered under the solemn circumstances, were
never effaced from his mind. It had an influence on the for
mation of his character, and was precious to him all his days.

INCREASE MATHER. 59
When he left college, he seems to have had no hesitancy
about entering the ministry. The next year we according
ly find him preaching, although but eighteen years of age.
His first sermon was delivered in his father's desk at Dor
chester, in the presence of the venerable patriarch, who was
so moved at the sight as to be almost disqualified, by
reason of his tears, for closing the service.
" But Mr. Mather did not remain long here. The same
feeling that had attracted two of his brothers across thp sea,
constrained him to follow them to the land of his ancestors.
His departure in those early and simple days of colonial
life, formed an interesting and profitable scene. The father,
already venerable from age and services in the Church, and
who had seen a part of his family forsake him to spend
life in their beloved England, wept bitterly now to part
with his Benjamin. " If I hear well of you, and you prove
faithful to Christ," he remarked to him at the embarcation,
" the joy of it will lengthen out my life." His old friend
Mitchell, of Cambridge, to whose faithful sermons he had
listened with profit during his college days, was also present
to afford his final counsels. " My serious advice to you is,
that you keep out of promiscuous company, as far as the
Gospel and circumstances will allow. The time spent in
your study you will generally find spent most profitably,
most comfortably, and most accountably." Mr. Mather
sailed from Boston to Dublin, to see a brother who was
there settled over a Church. When once there the oppor
tunity was seized upon to improve his education, and
accordingly the first year of his absence was spent as a
student in the Dublin University. At the close of the year
he passed over to London, where he became acquainted
with several eminent Puritan ministers, and among them
was John Howe, who introduced him to a congregation in
Devonshire, where he spent the winter in preaching as a
candidate. For some reason, however, he chose not to settle,
although his services were highly apprecieted by the people

60 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
to whom he had ministered. We next find him engaged as
chaplain to the English garrison stationed in the Isle of
Guernsey, where he labored with great acceptability and
usefulness. But for reasons unknown to us, he soon
forsook that post also to return to England. At St. Mary's
he seems to have found a people after his own heart, with
whom he was inclined to settle for life ; but a change of
times having arrived in consequence of the death of Crom-
well^ind the restoration of the Stuarts, he changed his pur
pose and determined to return to his native country. After
a few weeks of travel in England, he set sail for home and
arrived in Boston safely, coming over to Dorchester of a
Saturday night, to the great surprise and joy of the family.
The pleasure of this greeting was increased by the meeting
of his brother Eleazer, who had come from Northampton on
a visit to spend the Sabbath. " The comforted old patriarch,"
says Cotton Mather, " had the privilege of having his two
sons in the pulpit with him the next day, while he sat
shining between them like the sun in Gemini."
Soon after his return he was united in marriage with
Maria, the only daughter of the venerated Cotton, of Bos
ton ; a union that subsisted more than sixty years, attended
with the happiest associations and results. She was a
woman of fine abilities, of piety, of an excellent education,
received in the household of her father, which gave her
some eminent qualifications for the post selected by Provi
dence for her to occupy.
Such were the talents and connections of Mr. Mather,
that his services were sought- by the best churches of New-
England. The most promising charge then vacant seemed
to be the North Church in Boston, which solicited his per
manent ministrations. For what reason we know not, but
for some reason he did hesitate about the acceptance of the
call for several months. His deliberations, however,
resulted in a settlement over the people, to whom he
ministered to the close of life. He was ordained in
May, 1664.

INCREASE MATHER. 61
The beginning of his ministry, although eminently pros
perous, was subjected to some severe trials. These, how
ever, were not entirely peculiar, but such as the great Head
of the Church often employs to chasten and discipline his
people, and especially his ministers, for eminent services or
great trials for the faith. The greatest and best of Christ's
ministers have passed through this school ; and so well is it
adapted to subdue pride, to exhibit our own weakness, and
to lead us to a throne of grace for help in every time of
need, that Luther regarded it as one of the indispensable
preparations for the sacred office. And in this respect Mr.
Mather was thoroughly trained, for during a series of
years was he furiously beset with temptations to Atheism.
" Vile suggestions and infections, tending to question the be
ing of a God whom he loved and feared, and to whom he
continually prayed, were shot at him as fiery darts from the
wicked one, and caused him to .go mourning because of the
enemy." His mode of repelling those attacks was at once Scrip
tural and rational. He buckled on the defensive armor of
the Gospel to resist, that the devil might flee from him, not
stopping to parley or reason with an enemy so subtle and
deceptive ; for what was never reasoned into the head
can never be reasoned out. " It puts too much respect
on the devil," he wrote, " to argue and parley with him, and
that too on a point that he believes, and at which he trem
bles." And this remark is applicable to much of the infi
delity of all time. There are cases, we admit, of genuine
doubt ; but the mass of infidelity comes not in through the
brain, or the logical faculty, and hence if is not put to flight
by the scourge of our dialectics. The syllogism, logic,
learning, fail to grasp it ; it evades the force and wit of intellect,
because lying deeper in the heart, and must be probed by
the conscience or searched out by the influences of the Spirit.
Infidelity is a perverse feeling rather than a false thinking,
the thinking being but a fruit produced by those affections
that have become alienated from God. Hence the spiritual

62 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
life in, the Church will do more to uproot the evil than all
the logic in Christendom.
But the trials of Dr. Mather did not terminate with these
fiery assaults of the arch adversary ; there were others
growing out of the inadequacy of his salary that will be ap
preciated by nearly all ministers of the Gospel, and that
were for years a severe ordeal to his faith and patience.
Although for a few of the first years his temporal wants
were promptly and fully met, there were a few mean spirits
in his charge who had contrived to get at the head, and who
began to feel that their pastor was receiving too much
honor, as well as sharing too largely in the comforts of this
life. Hence they grew remiss in duty, cut off his supplies,
and left him to become involved in debt, to the no little
embarrassment of himself and his family.
His feelings on the subject are noted in his diary : " Ex
tremely grieved and distressed in my studies with the
thoughts of my debts, and the consideration that my people
do not care for my sorrows in this respect. I could be con
tent to be poor, but to be in debt to the dishonor of the
Gospel, is a wounding and sorrow of heart, so grievous that
if it be not removed in a little time it will bring me with
sorrow to the grave." Under this severe affliction he fled
for refuge to a throne of grace, and besought the Lord either
to remove the burden or afford grace to enable him to bear
it. The latter half of the prayer seems to have been an
swered, for we soon find the record following : " I am con
tent to be poor and in debt, and be laid aside as a broken,
useless vessel. Yea, I am content to be anything that
Christ will have me be ; now I am satisfied." But the trial
having effected the purpose, in humbling him and leading to
a throne of grace, the needed relief arrived. Other and
nobler men, finding the state of the case, supplied all his
wants and made arrangements so that their pastor should in
future want for no temporal comfort.
There is so much here that is characteristic, both in the
good man that suffered the wrong and the groveling spirits

increase Mather. 63
by whom it was inflicted, that the incident furnishes instruc
tion and interest to the Churches and the clergy of all gen
erations. How often are ministers straitened and perplexed,
greatly to the detriment of their comfort, influence, and
ministry, for the want of an adequate or early paid salary.
Nor does this loss stop with them ; it reaches to the congre
gations to which they minister, and is felt in the want of
' that cheerful, earnest spirit in the pulpit that brings out
solid and moving discourses for the edification and salvation
of the people. A man <thus involved goes to the desk with
a burden upon his back ; he cannot preach as he ought while
his financial obligations stare him in the face with every
sixth man he meets. And those same mean spirits that
have produced this result are likely to be the first to dis
cover the defect and enter their complaints. Mutual dissat
isfactions are soon felt, a breeze is iip, and as the result the
minister must leave, greatly to the injury of the people as
well as himself. A little extra exertion to have raised his
salary, which duty obliged theni to make, would have given
him heart again, doing the Church good at the same time,
and producing a result the opposite of the other.
But there is another side to this subject. Dr. Mather
observed in it the hand of Providence working gracious
results by the use of contemptible means. The conduct of
Dr. Mather was most exemplary and Christlike. He did
not leave his people, did not become exasperated at their
neglect, nor scold them for their remissness ; but he kept
steadily at his work, bearing the case before the Lord. The
result is instructive. The discipline of patience and faith
having been attained, the care of Providence became mani
fest, and the relief, in a way and at a time unexpected, came
to hand. The lesson impressed on his mind the value of
that Scripture : " I have learned in whatsoever state I am,
therewith to be content;" nor was he left without recogniz
ing the blessedness of that promise : " The young lions do
lack and suffer hunger ; but they that seek the Lord shall
not want any £ood thing."

64 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Soon after Mr. Mather's settlement, the New England
. Churches were agitated by a controversy on the subject of
baptism, in which he was, from his position and talents,
called to participate. The question then agitaied was not
the modern one, relating to the mode of baptism, nor yet
whether children were the proper subjects of the ordinance ;
for on both these points entire harmony seems to have pre
vailed. Whether children, as such, should receive the ordi
nance, was not debated; but whether the children of those
not Church members should be baptized. Up to this date,
among the Puritans, only such had been considered the
proper subjects of baptism, from the fact that they believed
some sort of connection to exist between the child and the
faith of the parent that rendered the former eligible to the
ordinance. This notion, although still cherished by the
Puritan Churches of America, has never been entertained
by those of Methodism ; and hence from our standpoint the
controversy of that day is not very intelligible. We hold
that the child has a right to the ordinance from his connec
tion with Christ, not from that with the parent ; from his
being a child of God, not from his being a child of believing
parents ; and hence we hold that all children may be bap
tized, whether of believers or not, because all have been re
deemed by the blood of Christ and are members of his
spiritual Church. With our more liberal and Biblical views,
therefore, there could arise no such controversy as the one
that distracted the Puritan Churches two hundred years ago.
With them the case was different. They held that the ad
vantages of the atonement came to the child through the
faith of the parent, and with this view we do not see how they
could well baptize the children of the unregenerate. Such,
according to their teaching, had no right to the ordinance ;
they were aliens because their fathers were. But why did
the unconverted seek this boon for their children 1 Undoubt
edly some, being men of moral lives, and themselves the
children of godly parents, had respect to the spiritual advan
tages which they believed would accrue from the use of that

INCREASE MATHER. ' 65
means of grace ; but others, and probably the far larger
portion, sought temporal ends ; for only those who partici
pated in the ordinances, or, in other words, were Church mem
bers, were allowed to vote or were eligible to office in the State.
The original compact of New England was not formed to
embrace a State, but a Church, or Churches rather ; the
Church did not grow up in the State, as in most other
cases, but the State sprang out of the Church, bearing
along with it in its infancy those ligaments that had
secured the ecclesiastical body. Of course it was pro
per originally that members only should vote or ( hold
office; but when their children grew up among the un
converted, or strangers came from abroad to promote the
interests of the State, their Church rules became an impedi
ment, and ought "to have given place to a more comprehen
sive constitution. The cradle that had rocked their infancy
was not capacious enough to embrace their manhood. But
the fathers were unwilling to throw aside an article that had
afforded them comfort and repose in other years, although
a hard necessity was pressing them on all sides. They had
not forgotten the persecutions of the Old World, and feared,
if the bars were let down, all kinds of heresy would rush
into this heritage of the- Lord. The non-Church-members,
however, had grown so numerous as to demand some part
in the government of the State. To meet this demand, it
was mutually agreed that all men of moral lives who would
recognize the covenant obligations entered into by their
parents, should receive the advantages of the Church. This
was the celebrated "half-way covenant" that introduced
thousands of ungodly men into the Church, and sent spirit
ual death through all her veins. In their overearefulness
to guard the purity of the Church, they rushed into the very
means that corrupted and ruined it.
The good sense of Dr. Mather at first recognized the evil
that would flow from the adoption of such a plan ; but from
a strong desire to promote the harmony of the Churches he
acceded to the wishes of a few kind and generally judicious
5

66 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
friends, among whom was his venerated father, and adopted
the plan. This was one of the unwise things that he did in
his life ; but one that charity will look upon with allowance,
for they had not all the light on the subject that we now
enjoy. The next ten or dozen years in the life of Dr. Mather,
and indeed in the history of the colony, may be denominated
a season of seourges ; for- a series of afflictive events, that
brought sorrow and heart-searching to the entire people,
followed each other in close succession. They began in his
own family, in the sickness and death of his father, the ven
erable patriarch of Dorchester, if not of all New England, who
came down to the tomb of a painful disease, but full of years
and honors. The edge of this affliction was removed in the
fact, that during his lengthened pilgrimage the great pur
poses of life had been answered, and the final change antici
pated. The fruit, during the long summer of life, had been
developed and matured, and mellowed in the " sere yellow
leaf," ready to be plucked and garnered.
With his brother Eleazer, however, who died suddenly a
few days after the burial of their father, the case was dif
ferent. He was in the bloom of life, happily settled among
a loving people, with a long life of usefulness apparently
before him. His life had not been spent, he had just begun
to live ; his light was barely trimmed and beginning to burn
brightly, to illuminate the generation about him, when the
spoiler came and extinguished it forever. This second stroke
fell upon Dr. Mather like a thunderbolt, succeeding, as it
did, the former sore bereavement, and coming, too, so sud
denly. This event was in the spring of 1669. After
receiving the intelligence, he hastened immediately to North
ampton, to comfort the heart of the widow and settle his
brother's worldly affairs. But scarcely had he arrived when
he was himself attacked with a fever, by which he was pros
trated during the whole summer, not, for a long period,
anticipating his recovery from the disease. He came down
to the, very portals ofthe grave, and was called, for weeks
\

increase Mather. 67
together, to look death and judgment in the face. This ex
perience was a severe test to his piety ; but so deep had
been the work on his heart that he passed the ordeal without
the smell of fire. During this trying season of weakness
and apparent dissolution, his mind was kept in calm and con
fident repose on the gracious promises of God, affording a fine
illustration of the power of the Gospel to save to the utter
most even in the article of death. " God," says he, " was
wonderfully gracious to me. He did not leave me to doubts
and fears, but caused his face to shine upon me. I found
myself very willing to die. When I thought of my wife
and children, my heart gave them up to God, firmly believ
ing he would take care of them. I had as much quiet in my
mind as though I had neither wife nor child to care for.
When I thought of that blessedness which is to be enjoyed
in another world, I longed to be there. 0 the presence of
God ! It is sweeter than life itself. My soul knoweth it."
During the autumn he so far recovered as to be able to re
turn to Boston ; his weakness, however, did not allow him
to enter the pulpit till another spring.
Succeeding these /personal bereavements was the great
fire in Boston, by which a large share of the city, including
his own church and house, was reduced to ashes. A great
share of his valuable library, as well as household furniture,
perished in the conflagration. A still greater inconvenience
was found in the scattering of his flock occasioned by the fire.
The magnitude of this loss is not realized by us who have seen
larger cities burned and restored in a single year to nearly or
quite their former enterprise and grandeur. Ample materials
and workmen are now at hand, while abundant resources
crowd the whole country — conveniences which the Pilgrims
did not enjoy. They were but a handful of poor families
settled along the shore, hemmed in by an interminable wil
derness, and depending on the mother country for many of
their supplies. The personal losses, however, of Dr. Mather
were all made up to him by some kind friends, so that
within a year he had a better house and library than before

68 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the.oecurrence ofthe fire. Business, also, gradually resumed
its wonted sway, bringing back in process of time the scat
tered ones of the flock.
It is a somewhat curious circumstance, that Dr. Mather
had so strong an impression that the fire would occur that
he mentioned the fact in the pulpit on Sabbath afternoon,
and the fire broke out the following night.
While the citizens of Boston were passing through this
trial, the whole colony was thrown into a state of alarm by
a war with the Indians. This was King Philip's war, the
last combined struggle of the red men of New England
against the white settlers. Their other contests with the
Indians had been mostly with single tribes, over whom the
Pilgrims came off victorious with comparative ease. These
facts being observed by the wily and politic Philip, his ut
most exertions were put forth to combine the entire tribes
of the East in a war of extermination against the settlers.
As this* was the last general war with the savages, so was
it the most terrible in its effects. Large numbers of t*he
colonists fell in battle, so that the strength of some districts
was cut off. Amid the general alarm all the able-bodied
men were called to bear arms, and even such as remained at-
home were unwilling to cultivate the soil, so that at the
close of the war, which lasted two years, the inhabitants
were ready to perish by famine.
The services of Dr. Mather, who had foreseen the evil
consequences of the war, and made some provision against
them, were in this extremity very great. He had " pro
cure a whole ship-load of provisions from the charity of
his friends in Dublin, and a considerable sum of money, as
well as clothing, from friends in London, to be distributed
among the needy and distressed."
To all these indications of Providence, however, there
were some who gave no heed, losing sight of the Almighty
arm amid the display of second causes. To render all that
had preceded more terrible, the small-pox appeared among
them ; a disease at that time as terrible to the inhabitants

INCREASE MATHER. 69
as the cholera or plague is to us. This last plague seems to
have caused the entire people to feel that God was dealing
with them directly. It led the careless to eVitertain great
fears, and the godly to engage in earnest and faithful self-
examination. They were in the hands of God, with death
and Ahe judgment before them.
In this crisis, at the instance of Dr. Mather, a Reforming
Synod was convened in Boston, Sept. 10, 1679. The first
day was spent in fasting and prayer, in the course of which
Mr. Mather and Mr. Cobb preached. These several afflic
tions that had befallen the people were considered, as also
the sins that led to them, and the means of reform stated in
a result that was drawn up by the subject of this sketch.
In the enumeration of evils the Synod presented the follow-
lowing : Pride, profaneness, decays in godliness, Sabbath-
breaking, neglect of family government, intemperance, dis
honesty, covetousness, unbelief, and an unwillingness to be
reformed. As a remedy to these evils the Synod recom
mended, 1. That the work commence with the magistrates ;
" the people are apt to follow the example of those above
them." 2. An adherence to the Cambridge Platform.
3. Care in the admission of members. 4. Renewal of the
Covenant. 5. To encourage learning ; and, finally, " it
becomes us to cry mightily unto God, in an ordinary and
extraordinary manner, that he would be pleased to rain down
righteousness upon us."
Such were some of the troubles tHat sprang up among
themselves, and the methods taken by them to avert the
wrath of God. During the next dozen years, although
favored with greater internal prosperity, severe trials came
from without, namely, from the mother country. Charles
IL, who looked askance at their prosperity, determined to
take from them the charter they had held from the first, and
under which they were permitted to elect their officers and
to have things very much in their own way. This was too
great a boon to be enjoyed by such schismatics. He
demanded the charter with the intention of administering

70 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the government by his favorites. But to this claim a por
tion of the people demurred. The question was whether
the charter should be relinquished willingly, or Charles be
compelled to seize it violently from them, if at all. Some
1 timid spirits thought they would fare better to acquiesce in
the claims of the king. But Dr. Mather, in a courageous
speech in town meeting, in 1683, stood up for the right at
all hazards, declaring it better to fall into the hands of God
than those of men. By this means the people were induced
to hold to their rights, and the process of quo warranto by
which to obtain the- charter was urged forward. A year
later the Court of King's Bench pronounced judgment against
the colonists. The design of Charles now was to consoli
date the entire New England colonies under the governor
ship of the infamous Colonel Kirke, a fit companion of the
diabolical Judge Jeffries.
But Dr. Mather felt confident that this purpose of the king
could never be effected, for, on receiving intelligence of the
arrangement, he wrote in his diary: "This day, as I was
praying to God for the deliverance of New England, I was very
much moved and melted before the Lord, so that for some ¦
time I was not able to speak. And then I could not but
say, and repeat, ' God will deliver New England.' So I
arose from my knees with much comfort and assurance that
God had heard me. Before I prayed I was very sad, but
afterward joyful." This was the sixth of February, the
very day that King Charles died, which put an end to the
plan of Kirke. James IL, the brother of Charles, who suc
ceeded to the throne, sent over a provisional government,
at the head of which was Joseph Dudley, a native of Mas
sachusetts. But it so happened that this government
pleased neither party, and hence was soon succeeded by
another, at the head of which was Sir Edmund Andrus as
governor. Dudley and the infamous Edward Randolph served
as president of the council and secretary. Andrus was a
genuine tyrant, of the Nero stamp, who experienced an
exquisite delight in oppressing the people. He took occa-

INCREASE MATHER. 71
sion to remark that the colonists would find themselves mis
taken if they thought to retain the privileges of Englishmen,
and that the only difference between their condition and
that of slaves was, that they could not be bought or sold.
It was made unlawful to hold public meetings, or to leave the
colony without a pass from the governor ; and Randolph
even boasted that he and the governor were as arbitrary as
the great Turk. " It would make a long, black story,"
says Cotton Mather, "to tell the tenth part of the vile
things done by that scandalous crew, who did what they
pleased in the government ;" strong language, but not be
yond the truth of sober history.
This state of things was too intolerable to be long
endured, and as the governor was clearly a hopeless charac
ter, they resolved to address the throne directly. To effect
their purpose in this way, it was necessary to select the
right ,sort of an agent to bear their request to the king.
The choice fell on Dr. Mather, who, from his position, and
influence, and character, was well qualified for the task.
Accordingly, having settled his son Cotton as a colleague,
and obtained the consent of his flock, he set sail from Bos
ton, and arrived in London, May 25, 1688, with high hopes
of effecting his design. Five days later he had an interview
with King James, who graciously received the people's
petition for the restoration of the charter. " What you
desire," said the king, "shall be done, and done speed
ily," while he was at the same time plotting to estab
lish the Roman Catholic worship in the colonies. This
was the last he did about the charter ; the king was as
incorrigible as the governor, and a little more hypocritical.
But the triumphing of the wicked is short ; for the Novem
ber following the revolution occurred which exiled the
reigning family from the throne and empire. William and
Mary were, the next month, to the joy ofthe whole people,
established at Whitehall. The overthrow of the Stuart
dynasty terminated the tyranny of the government of
Andrus in Massachusetts Bay. On learning of the revolu-

72 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
tion in the mother country, the colonists of that day, like
the heroes of Kansas now, took the defense of their cause
into their own hands, rather than wait the tardy and
uncertain movements of the general government. The
people, rising en masse, took possession of a frigate lying in
the harbor to overawe them, seized Andrus, Dudley, Ran
dolph, and some fifty others of their oppressors, and com
mitted them to prison; organized a provisional government,
at the head of which they placed the venerable Governor
Bradstreet, and restored, so far as possible, the former civil
-condition of the colony.
William and Mary having, in the mean time, been duly
crowned, and proclaimed both in Old and New England,
Dr. Mather brought the case of Massachusetts to the notice
of the monarch. They wished their old charter restored ;
the king was favorable. A bill to this effect was introduced
into Parliament and passed the House, but failed through
the dissolution of Parliament. The next Parliament was
less favorable to New England. The old charter could not
be restored. Through the intercession and exertions, how
ever, of the queen and some of the leading men of the gov
ernment, a new one was formed and given -to the agents,
which afforded the people of the Bay Colony general though
not universal satisfaction ; for though this was a good, it
was not the old charter. There can be no doubt, however,
at this day, that for them it was preferable to the former
one, whose narrow proportions the vigor of the colony had
outgrown. With this charter, in company with the new governor,
Sir William Phipps, Mr. Mather returned to Boston after
an absence of nearly four years. ' The remaining twenty
years of his life were spent about home as president of
Harvard College and pastor ofthe North Church, in Boston.
Harvard was not then what it has since become, not even
equal to our lower grades of seminaries. The president was
able to perform the duties of his office, and still live in
Boston and remain pastor of a large Church. Dr. Mather

INCREASE MATHER. 73
was elected to this office in 1681, and continued to discharge
its duties till 1701, when a regulation was introduced
requiring the presidents to reside at Cambridge, which, as
he was unwilling to change residences permanently, of
course terminated his connection with the college.
In his connection with the college, Dr. Mather did good
service for that day, though no such paragon as some of
his worshipers would represent him. He was rather a
good financial agent and manager for the college than a
president. It may be enough to say that his other duties
would allow him to be no more. He was the pastor- of a
large Church which required his services and care, and the
wonder with us remains, not that he did no more for the
oollege, but that he was able, with so many weighty respon
sibilities, to perform so much.
On preaching his semi-centennial sermon, the venerable
pastor asked a release from further services in the regular
pastorate. So great, however, was his vigor, both physical
and intellectual, away on into the " sear yellow leaf," that
the people were unwilling to dispense with ministrations
and counsels that had proved of such signal service to them.
He accordingly continued , with them till the close of life,
preaching one part of the day, and his son Cotton, who had
been settled as his colleague, the other half. His life
terminated in 1723, at the advanced age of eighty -four
years. Dr. Mather was a good and able minister of Jesus
Christ, uniting those qualities of learning and p^ty that will
nearly always secure success in the sacred vocation. In the
case of Dr. Mather, that Puritanic sternness and vigor that
marked the rile and early history of the sect were some
what abated, being mellowed and softened by the spiritual
unction which left a seriousness and gravity that banished
from his presence all unseemly mirth and trifling. His
ministerial life was based on a rich and earnest Christian
experience that pervaded his whole being, giving color and
shape to his entire future labors. His life was one of

74 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
prayer, of meditation, and bf communion with God. " He
lived, and seemed to live," says a biographer, "as seeing
Him who is invisible." His very presence was a rebuke
and check to everything bordering on indecency or levity."
" How vehemently," says his son, " did he, as with a ham
mer which breaks the rock in pieces, drive this home upon
you, that ' no sin is to be indulged or harbored, or so much
as a sinful thought allowed a lodgment in you.' How often
has he declared that one known sin lived in is incompatible
with salvation ; that it will be black enough to sink the soul
that persists in it ;" words that border- closely on the doc
trine of entire sanctification in this life, as taught by Mr.
Wesley and his followers. As a result of this experience,
he' exhibited, for that day, great catholicity of feeling and
conduct, wonderfully in contrast with some of his. blear-
eyed successors, who in the noonday of this nineteenth cen
tury are groping in the dark vaults of bigotry, seeking out
means to harass and bespatter whoever of the Church of
Christ are unable to pronounce their shibboleth. These
modern ascetics cherish no union, save as the universe
gathers about and bows down before their atom of truth.
But Mr. Mather, with a large company of great and good
men, found a union of heart amid wide intellectual diversi
ties. The first Puritans of New England persecuted the
Baptists, banishing unmercifully their leader, Roger Will
iams, but Mather fraternized with them.
The discourses of Mr. Mather were pervaded by an evan
gelical spirjf. He preached the Bible, especially the great
leading doctrines thereof, such as the sinfulness of man, the
redemption by Christ, change of heart, the necessity of a
holy life, and the rewards T>f virtue in heaven. Nor did he
merely set forth the sentiment of the sacred writers ; but
was careful, so far as convenient, to adopt the very language
of the word of God, which he regarded as " the food of souls,
and the mor-e there is of that pertinently introduced, the
better fed will be the flock."
In the preparation of his sermons he spent a great deal of

INCREASE MATHER. 75
time and labor. They were studied every day in the week,
and three of those days both forenoon and afternoon.
Having thoroughly digested his subjects, and written them
out, he then on Saturday memorized them, thus uniting the
advantages of both extemporaneous and written discourse.
When these facts are borne in mind, we are not surprised
that he continued the popular preacher till very late in life.
With a noble voice and person, his delivery was pleasing
and animated, so that crowds hung permanently on his lips.
He was like the tree by the rivers of water, bringing forth
his fruit in season, his leaf also not withering with age and
service. He was studious also, and learned beyond any of his age,
save his son Cotton. Sixteen hours out of the twenty-four
were spent in study for more than sixty years in succession.
Visiting is no part of his business. He was buried among
his books, emerging only on the Sabbath, or to visit some
sick member of his flock who had invited him out. There
is nothing in the history of those ancient men so remarka
ble as their hard and protracted studies. Great numbers of
them too attained an advanced age. How amid such
exhausting toils did they live so long 1 This is attributable
in part to their temperance and regularity, but perhaps still
more to their freedom from excitement. Living in a little
world of their own, life flowed on in a clear and steady
stream, unruffled by those exasperating agencies that now
rasp away the life of the ministry, the modern ferment of
society having invaded the pulpit and the study.

COTTON MATHER.

The glory of the Mather family culminated in Cotton, the
son of Increase, who inherited a considerable portion of the
family ability, together with a fair share of their weaknesses
and follies. It is to him principally that we owe the re
membrance of the Mather name, there being few, save anti
quaries of scholars, that know anything of it but as associ
ated with him. It is, moreover, a somewhat curious fact
that his memory has been transmitted by his follies, rather
than his virtues — by his connection with the scenes of witch
craft, rather than by his able ministry or enlarged sentiments
on benevolence.
By this remark, however, we do not intend to intimate
that he was deficient in better qualities of heart and life.
We believe him a good man. And he was incontestably
the most diligent and laborious man of his day, as also an
able preacher and writer ; but such is our proclivity to the
marvelous and silly, that his books have been permitted to
sink to an irretrievable oblivion, while his witch-lore has
proved the rickety craft on which his name has been rafted
down these two hundred years of our history. The three
hundred and eighty books of which he was author have per
ished along the passage, or any that may yet remain will
require the aid of experienced divers to bring them to the
surface ; but the witch scenes of Salem and Boston, with
which the name of Cotton Mather has become nearly synony
mous in the vulgar dialect, still float on in the popular tra
ditions — a fact certainly not especially encouraging to the
amateur authors of the hour, who hope to transmit their
lucubrations to remote posterity. Folly, like thistle-down,

COTTON MATHER. 77
floats much more readily than solid wisdom. But to our
subject. Born in Boston, February 12," 1662, Cotton Mather united
in his own the two ancestral names that had. been cherished
with the highest veneration by the early churches and people
of New England. His childhood and youth were not re
markable, except as furnishing a miniature exhibition of the
future man, the germ from which that remarkable character
was developed. He ate, and drank, and frolicked, rejoiced
and wept, hoped and feared, like other lads of his time, rising
up in the mean time into the ample proportions of manhood.
Those endowments furnished him by the Author of exist
ence were early brought under educational influences adapted
to refine, strengthen, and elevate them. He met examples
of scholarship, as "well as refined and genteel bearing, in both
his father and mother. His home was a Christian school,
whose holy and benevolent precepts were enforced by ex
ample. Great exertions were put forth from the first to
elevate him into a wise and good man, worthy to transmit
the great names he had inherited. His preparatory educa
tion was received at the free school in Boston, under the
tuition of Mr. Benjamin Thompson, a man, we are assured,
of rare " wit and learning ;" and afterward under that of the
" famous Ezekiel Cheever," whose memory among the elders
of the city is still fragrant, and who, in addition to other
qualifications, enjoyed the advantage of seventy years' ex- •
perience in his vocation.
He seems to have been a natural student, able to acquire
knowledge easily, for we find him before twelve years of
age mastering, besides the ordinary studies preparatory to
entering college, Homer, Isocrates, and several Latin authors
not familiar in that age even to graduates. In his twelfth
year he entered Harvard ; an age we think quite too tender
either to meet the temptations of college life, or to reap the
best advantage from the course of study. That was an age,
however, at which very many of the marked men of that
day began their college studies ; an attainment reached not

78 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
so much by their precocity, as by the meager demands of
the educational establishment of the time. Young Mather,
however, seems to have been furnished up to the require
ments of a modern college, if not still more amply ; and the
care of his father seems to have preserved him from any in
jurious moral influences in the social life of the school.
His standing in college was good, and he graduated with
the first honors of his class. He seems to have been born
and trained for a great man, and the sentiment was not only
nourished by those ordinary dreams and aspirations of the
youthful mind, but even by those whose gravity and high
position ought to have taught them better. We have an
illustration in the conduct of President Oakes, who at the
commencement, in his Latin oration, indulged in the follow
ing flattering strain : " Mather is named Cotton Mather.
What a name ! But, my hearers, I am wrong ; I should
have said what names ! I shall say nothing of his reverend
father, since I dare not praise him to his face ; but should he
resemble and represent his venerable grandfathers, the ven
erable John Cotton and Richard Mather, in piety, learning,
• and elegance of mind, solid judgment, prudence, and wisdom,
he will bear away the palm, and I trust that in this youth
Cotton and Mather will be united, and will flourish again."
However unbecoming the occasion and the man, this language
was precisely adapted to nourish the ambitious day-dreams
of the stripling ; nor was it very likely to beget those ances
tral virtues so beautifully lavished in the eulogy of the
president. With such kinds of honor, however, Cotton
seems to have been so familiar as to escape their malign
influence. He went forth at sixteen to grapple with the
severe realities of life. His furnishing for this contest was
found, however, not barely in the intellectual training through
which he had passed, but rather in that moral and religious
culture, and that Christian experience, that strike their roots
deeper, and exert a broader, more pervasive influence than the
curriculum of the university. The thoughts of Cotton took
a serious turn even in childhood. Hardly had he left the

COTTON MATHEE. 79
cradle when he began to pray ; a practice that he never re
linquished." Not only did he perform this office for himself,
but at an early age composed forms of prayer for his play
mates, to whom also, on fitting occasions, he delivered his
juvenile sermons. His example was in remarkable accord
ance with his teaching ; but how much of this work was of
a spiritual character that took root in the heart, we are not
able to say. The tender sympathies of children are often
moved by the scenes and truths set forth in the Gospel.
Most of these juvenile experiences, however, prove like the
early dew. But it remains a question of great interest to
the Church, whether with proper parental and Christian
training these initial stages might not result in the mature
fruits of piety ; thus preserving the child in the bosom of
the family, free from the ordinary contaminations of vice,
enabling him to grow up in the love of Jesus and the adorn-
ings of the Christian life. To say the least, our children
could be made, by parental faithfulness, the subjects of grace
at an earlier hour. Such were the faith and conduct of Dr.
Mather, who by vigilance and care conducted his son from
these beginnings of hope on to broader, clearer views, and
a more stable Christian experience. He soon found his
own strength insufficient to enable him to lead a holy life.
The inward iniquity of the heart began to break forth ; the
strong tide of depravity drifted him downward. He felt his
vileness, and took refuge in the atonement. His father im
proved the occasion to show him the way to the cross, and
by some fitting illustrations brought the amplitude and
adaptedness of the Gospel so clearly to his mind that he was
enabled to enter upon a new and higher phase of Christian
experience. Having found peace through the blood of the Lamb, he
at once adopted a rigorous system of Christian duties, that
were in the main continued to the close of life. In his sys
tematic meditations he found great aid in Bishop Hall, whose
treatise on the subject he endeavored to follow to the letter.
This is denominated by his biographer .a happy method of

80 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
preaching with and to himself. To this duty succeeded those
rigorous fasts and prayers that gave character \o his later
experience — an experience that suggested the remark that'
he was ambitious to resemble the Talmudic Rabbi, whose
face was black with fasting. These seasons of abstinence were
both rigorous and frequent. They are said to have, amounted
to not less than four hundred and fifty ; an assertion which
his son proceeds to fortify by the remark that his father
thought himself starved unless he fasted once a month. He
joined the Church on leaving college at the age of sixteen.
The next 'seven or eight years of his life were spent in
teaching, mostly in private preparation of students for col
lege. He had some pupils older than himself, and to some
gave instruction in the originals of the Old and New Testa
ments. The instructions given in the latter, although faith
ful, were by no means regarded as the whole of his duty ;
he endeavored to bring home the importance of spiritual
wisdom, making every lesson and lecture yield some sacred
influence which should tend to sanctify and elevate the minds
committed to his care.
But the office of pedagogue was not the vocation he had
selected for life. The /time had now arrived when it was
proper to select a permanent calling. All his tastes and
predilections looked to the ministry ; but in his case there
seemed to be interposed an insurmountable barrier, in the
shape of a stammering tongue. So great was this defect
that Mather relinquished all thoughts of entering the pulpit,
and began the study of medicine. Encouraged, however,
by the advice of his old school teacher, Colet, who recom
mended a "dilated deliberation" in his mode of speaking,
he again began the studies appropriate to the sacred office.
His experiments, like those of Moses and Demosthenes,
proving successful, he soon appeared in the pulpit, a brilliant
and earnest Christian orator. His first sermon, which was
preached in his grandfather's desk at Dorchester, and re
peated in that once occupied by the venerable Cotton, of
Boston, retained an odor of the medical profession, since he

COTTON MATHER. 81
selected for a subject " Christ the physician of souls." These
beginnings afforded great encouragement of his usefulness,
and awakened a very general interest in him among the
churches. Hence, before the lapse of six months he re
ceived a call from the North Church to become a colleague
with his father, a rare case, where the prophet was not without
honor in his own land and among his own people. Although
he finally complifed with this request, there were various
considerations that led him long to hesitate.
The charge was important, and imposed a heavy respon
sibility ; he was young, and even cherished doubts of the
validity of the congregational mode of Church government;
but above all, his father was still alive, and did not need a
colleague. But the advice of his father, and the consideration
that he should be able to enjoy his counsels and encourage
ment, induced him to accept the charge. He was ordained
in 1684, when Mr. Allen, Mr. Willard, and his father laid
hands on him, and the celebrated Eliot gave the fellowship
of the Churches. That he felt the weight of responsibility
attaching to the office, is evinced in the fact that he never
read the text, " They watch for souls as they that must give
account," without causing an " earthquake in him." The
manner and spirit with which he entered on the duties of the
pastoral office may be gathered from the following charac
teristic selection from his diary : " The apprehension of ac
cursed pride, the sin of young ministers, working in my
heart, filled me with inexpressible bitterness before the
Lord. In my early youth, even when others of my age
were playing hi the streets, I preached unto very great as
semblies, and found strange respect among the people of
God. I feared, and thanks be to God that he enabled me
to fear, lest a snare and a pit were prepared for such a
novice. I resolved, therefore, that I would set apart a day
to humble myself before God for the pside of my heart, and
to entreat him that I may be delivered from this sin and the
wrath to which I may be thereby exposed." After his set
tlement over the North Church, the life of Cotton Mather
6

82, NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
flowed on placidly to the close. He had few or no connec
tions outside his pastoral charge; he was a man of one
work, devoting all his energies to the edification and com
fort of his flock, and to the spread of the cause of piety in!
the earth. There are a few things more immediately con
nected with him and his work in Boston that demand our
further notice.
Although the life of Cotton Mather was mostly spent in
his own parish, his influence was felt abroad.. As the pastor
of a large congregation in the metropolis of New England,
and associated too with the noble and venerated names of
the Puritan Churches, he occupied a high vantage ground,
that afforded him facilities for influencing and moving the
people, which few could hope to possess. He was set upon
a hill, and whatever light he possessed shone upon the
surrounding regions. This influence, radiating from his life
and writings, sometimes evil, was yet, for the most part,
beneficial to his fellow-men.1 Living before combined efforts,
at least of a systematic character, were introduced for the
propagation of the Gospel, the diffusion of knowledge, or the
defense of virtue, he became the author or instigator of
several philanthropic plans which in their expansion have
become the glory of our age. Man, alone, is feeble ; he can
accomplish but little in life, and his benevolent plans die
with him. Society could not exist a day without associating
for purposes of government ; and when once united with this
specific design, the arm of the law becomes strong, is able
to hold at bay, to crush any number of dissociated individ
uals. There is a potency and strength in the union. On no
other principle could the Church have endured the long con
flict of ages against barbarism, tyranny, and infidelity.
Single-handed, every disciple must have perished long ago
in the contest " against principalities and powers, against the
rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wick
edness in high places." Being happily bound together, how
ever, in the love and practice of the truth, and in the conso
lations and hopes of the Gospel, there have not been want-

COTTON MATHER. 83
ing good men, who have risked all in the service of the
Church, and have thus been able to transmit its constitution
unimpaired from age to age, an abiding example of the
power of anion for a specific purpose. The wonder with us
is, that men living in presence of these illustrious examples
through all those dark ages of tyranny and wrong, never
adopted the plan for the redress of their grievances. But
so it was ; the rulers, though vastly inferior in numbers and
strength, to the broken masses of the people, were able, by
a well concerted union, to hold the people down under a
galling yoke of bondage. There were benefactors of large
heart, and great good-will to the race, sprinkled all along
down the ages, but standing alone, their diminutive tapers
threw but a feeble radiance upon the surrounding gloom,
soon fading from human ken ; whereas, had all poured their
light into a single focus, the world's midnight had blazed
forth with millennial glory. This age has not a really
greater amount of benevolence than those bygone; we
have only learned better how to husband our resources —
how to concentrate the rays of spiritual light into a burning
focus upon the obstinate evils of society. This discovery
belongs in part to Cotton Mather. He observed the futile
efforts of individuals in a really great and broad reform,
and with a prophet's glance descried the remedy which the
present age has, with a surprising degree of success, applied
to reform the abuses of modern society. We say with suc
cess, for we may with truth affirm, that with these new aids
and appliances, more has been accomplished the last hun
dred years in the amelioration of the condition of man than
in all the centuries before.
His plans grew in part from the benevolent structure of
his mind. He had a proclivity " to do good," not because
he was more virtuous than other men, but because his
tastes, ambitions, vanity, all took that direction. " I take
an unspeakable pleasure," he remarks, " in all manner
of beneficence. If I can see an opportunity to do good,
I want no arguments to move me to it. I do it naturally,

84 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
delightfully, with rapture. There is this enjoyment added
unto the rest ; as I am nothing before God, so am I willing
to be nothing before mah."' His charity began at home.
While a lad he engaged in the instruction of his brothers
and sisters, exhorting the domestics, and in every way pro
moting their well-being. He never allowed himself to go
into society without being useful. He commenced while
quite young devoting a tenth of his income to the Lord
—a practice which was never discontinued, though his
charities subsequently exceeded a tenth.
In the care and training of his own children (fourteen in
number) he was most assiduous. He commenced the
work early, was diligent and persevering, fulfilling, perhaps,
to the letter, the direction of Moses : " These words which
I command thee this day, shall be in thy .heart, and thou
shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt
talk of them when thou sittest in thine house and when
thou walkest in the way, and when thou liest down and
when thou risest up." These instructions were accom
panied by much prayer, and in the cases of those that at
tained adult age resulted in the fruits of mature piety.
But if his charity began at home, it did not, like that of
most modern croakers, end there. He had an eye to see as
well as a heart to feel whatever evils appeared in society,
and single-handed he endeavored to do something to abate
them. Many of these plans are embodied in that little
treatise of his entitled, " Essays to do Good." Into the
ordinary method of benevolence, he endeavored to infuse a
new life ; to make all feel that in their sphere something
was assigned them to be performed for the good of the
race, that could not be neglected without iucurring guilt,
and that really more than we had been accustomed to sup
pose, could be performed by us if we would only , go earn
estly to work. Hence he had a lesson for masters and
servants, for ministers and people, for physicians and pa
tients, to rich and poor, gentlemen and ladies — he would
have all go to work to set the world right.

COTTON MATHER. 85
The piety of the Churches at that day, as often since, was
rusting out for want of use. The minister performed
nearly all the offices of religion, while the talents of the
laity were hid in a napkin. They had " painful " preaching,
but very little praying. They went to church on the Sab
bath, to listen to a couple of sermons, which lasted them all
the week. Such a thing as a regular modern prayer-meet
ing was not known. Cotton discerned the ruinous tendency
of this course. Men had nothing to do but find fault, or if
happily delivered from this evil, they were left to turn the
church into a dormitory and the community to a moral
Golgotha. The remedy proposed by Mather was the true one ; that
of setting the people to work by forming praying circles.
Had this plan of holding prayer-meetings been generally
adopted and carried out among the Puritan Churches of that
day, the fearful defection of a later date would hardly have
occurred ; certainly not to such an extent.
Massachusetts was then a slave colony. Domestic ser
vants were in nearly all families. Cotton Mather, strange
as it sounds to us now, was a slaveholder. Some gentlemen
of his society, hearing that he was in want of a servant,
purchased him a " very likely slave," which he denominates
" a mighty smile of Heaven upon his family." He gave
him the name of Onesimus, and no doubt used his best en
deavors to instruct him in useful knowledge, especially that
of a spiritual character. The idea of emancipation had not
yet dawned. The utmost that philanthrophy devised was
to soften the state of bondage in which the colored race had
been thrown by whites. To this work, the prelude of
emancipation that followed, Mather gave his earnest atten
tion. Perceiving that the slaves, even where kindly treated,
had not those advantages of instruction which are necessary
to make them familiar with the precepts of religion, he es
tablished a school in which they were taught to read. The
whole expense of this instruction was borne by himself,
thus exhibiting that spirit of self-sacrifice that lies at the

86 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
basis of all true philanthropy. He imposed no burdens
which he was not willing himself to bear, and indeed, as
his biographer remarks, he assumed those he would not
ask of others. Nor did he stop with the culture of the in
tellect ; he strove to Christianise that unfortunate portion of
the people. To this end he wrote a tract designed to im
press this duty on the Churches, which he endeavored to
"lodge, not only in every family in New England that has
a neero in it, but also to send numbers of them to the
Indies." By these and like efforts this venerable minister
may be considered worthy a place among the anti-slavery
reformers of America ; a prophet raising in the wilderness
a faint utterance of the approaching change ; the morning
star of abolitionism, shedding a mild and mellow radiance
on the world yet wrapped in slumber.
. The intemperance of that day pervaded all ranks of the
people, and was in fact a prevailing sin of the time, against
which no barrier had been raised to stay its desolating
sweep. The evils of the practice, although patent to all,
were considered inevitable. Mr. Mather, however, raised
his voice against them. Temperate himself, he recom
mended his own experience to others, and was able by this
means to rescue many from the vortex in which they were
ready to perish. He wrote much on the subject, and
though no general reform was produced, the ball was set in
motion which has continued with accelerated speed to the
present hour, making New England one of the most tem
perate of the civilized nations.
The introduction of the practice of inoculation affords a
fine illustration at once of the courage and philanthropy of
Cotton Mather. The small-pox, with which New England
had from time to time been visited, was a terrible scourge
to the people. The physicians knew no remedy. It rav
aged the entire settlements, sweeping off whole generations
at once. The wise and the good had looked for some
remedy, but in vain. The whole people seemed destined to
perish under these horrible visitations. But the remedy at

COTTON MATHER. 87
last came by the agency of Cotton Mather. The practice
of inoculation is said to have prevailed long before this in
Wales, in the Highlands of Scotland, and even in Africa.
Whether or not this supposition be true, it was not known
in Europe till so late as 1713, when one Simoni, an Italian,
became, acquainted with it in Turkey. The practice was
introduced into Constantinople about forty years before,
from the Georgians and Circasians. At first the people
were cautious in using the remedy, but success gradually
dispelled their fears, and it came into general favor. This
account, which was fully confirmed by the Venitiaii consul
at Smyrna, was sent to England. The communications
were seen by Mr. Mather, who at once recognized it as a
great discovery, destined to save the lives of multitudes of
people. In 1721, while the disease was beginning to make
its appearance, he made this note in his diary : " The
grievous calamity of the small-pox has entered the town.
The practice of conveying and suffering the small-pox by
inoculation has never yet been used in America ; nor indeed
in any nation ; but how many lives might be saved by it if •
it were practised ! I will procure a consult of physicians,
and lay the case before them."
The physicians, in the mean time, constitutionally jealous
Of remedies coming from those- outside the profession,
turned the whole matter into ridicule. It was mere quack
ery, and of course, to be rejected as a deadly poison. Find
ing no mercy among the doctors, he fled to the clergy who
had eyes to discern the good, and throw over him and his
new practice the broad mantle of their approbation. Of
course, a wordy warfare ensued, hi which sharp missiles
were hurled on either side at opponents' heads. The posi
tions taken, and the arguments employed on both sides are
not a little amusing to us of this day.
The clergy, who were generally in "favor of inoculation,
supported it by arguments drawn from medical science ;
while the physicians, who were as fully united against it,
opposed it with arguments of a theological character, alleg-

88 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
ing that it was presumptious in man to inflict disease on
man, that being the prerogative of the Most High. Not
one of the medical faculty would listen to Mr. Mather, save
Dr. Boylston, a man of high order of intellect, and who
gave the subject a careful consideration, resulting in a con
viction favorable to the practice of inoculation. • Having
embraced the theory, the doctor at once, despite the
sneers and opposition of the fraternity, put it in practice in
the families by whom he was employed.
Though the physicians were incredulous, the clergy man
fully sustained Mr. Mather through the whole contest. The
Boston Association employed all possible means to en
lighten the people on the subject ; but the people thought
them wandering beyond their proper sphere, and that they
would be less likely to know the truth on the subject than
the physicians. They hardly listened to them on the Sab
bath with patience, and for a time so intense was the opposi
tion, that it seemed as though the Church would be over
thrown. Mr. Mather was so fully convinced of the safety
and value of the remedy that he wished to apply it in his
own family; but "the cursed clamor of the people,
strangely and fixedly possessed of the devil," he remarks,
"will probably prevent my saving the lives of my two
children." Following, however, the dictates of conscience,
he rose above the popular rage, and performed the service
to his household..
Mr. Walter, the clergyman of Roxbury, and a nephew
of Mr. Mather, was inoculated in his house. The operation
was privately performed, only a few friends being present ;
but the matter soon came abroad, and produced a consider- -
able breeze. The same night a hand-grenade was thrown
into the window where Dr. Mather usually slept, which was
then occupied by Mr. Walter. Happily in passing through
the window the fuse was beaten off and the meditated
destruction prevented. A paper was found attached to it,
containing coarse abuse of Cotton Mather, and threatening
to inoculate him in such a manner that he would not soon

COTTON MATHER. 89
recover. Such is the peril of the individual who dares to
initiate a reform.
With the popular fury the pamphleteers joined their
popgun cannonades. Dr. Boylston was so beset with the
opposition as to feel compelled to reply, which he did in a
spirited manner in his "Account of what is said of Inoculat
ing or Transplanting the Small-pox." This tract, published
in 1721, after describing the accounts of the Eastern phy
sicians, assures the reader that, if would be easy, if neces
sary, to answer the attacks made on the practice, but that a
wise man ought rather to decline such contention. The
opinion of Dr. Boylston was based on no mere theory ; the
theory with which he commenced had been verified by a
large private practice. In this pamphlet he says that, con
sidering the general excitement, it might not be safe for him
to state the numbers on whom he had performed the opera
tion, but affords the assurance that the evidence is sufficient
to satisfy the candid mind.
The reply to this sensible production, the work also of a
physician, paid no very high compliment to the " acute in
tellectuals " of the author. He maintained, with a great
degree of sanctity, that those providential visitations, like
famine and disease, are to be patiently submitted to, with a
resort to no other kind of relief than that afforded in hu
miliation and prayer. We are nowhere permitted to use
means to anticipate and prevent them ; and if we make the-
attempt, it will only make the affliction sorer when it comes.
And against inoculation, in particular, he produced the sixth
commandment, which forbids the endangering of human
life. He says there is no doubt that inoculation has this
tendency, ergo the Bible forbids the practice. Astute logic!
which surely ought to have upset his calling.
But perhaps the best publication of the time was that of
Dr. Colman, of the Brattle-street Church. He recom
mends it, without arguments drawn either from theology or
medicine, simply on the ground of its success, which was
evidently the only sure practical test. This was followed

90 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
by several " Arguments proving that Inoculating is not con
tained in the Law of Physic, and is therefore unlawful."
The syllogisms of this writer are irresistible. "If inocu
lation is not contained in the rules of natural physic, then it
is unlawful ; the rules of natural physic are sympathy and
antipathy ; now inoculation is neither sympathy nor an
tipathy, therefore it is not lawful." This pamphlet, which
appeared without a name, is particularly severe on Cotton
Mather, as the leader in the whole affair, and was answered
in a "friendly debate," designed to defend the clergy
against the aspersions of their assailants. But their best
defense, after all, was found in the success of the practice
of inoculation. The opposition gradually died away, and
the hated novelty assumed its place as one of the notable
discoveries of the age.
In these instances of philanthropic effort we find for
Cotton Mather the title to a place among the benefactors of
his race. But it was not in these instances only ; the gen
eral spirit of the man bore the same character. Neither
was his influence on others so much specific as a general
quickening of the benevolent feelings of society. He was
arousing sympathy and sentiments that yet groped without
definite means or end, but which at a later date assumed
regular form. The benevolent instincts then waged a sort
of guerilla warfare against the evils of society, but now, hav
ing fallen into line, are marching in proud and steady pro
gress to a final triumph over wrong. We are fashioning
the top-stone with shouts of " grace, grace unto it ;" but
the dusty foundations in which Mather and his compeers
wrought, were a work not less important or glorious.
If in his benevolent exertions Cotton Mather lived in
advance of his age, there was another series of transactions
in which he servilely bowed to the superstitious spirit that
prevailed among the people. We refer to the. excitement
connected with witchraft. The conduct of Mather, although
simply in accordance with the prevailing spirit of the time,
has been variously judged in these later days. There are

COTTON MATHER. 91
not wanting those who have reprobated him as a base
hypocrite and scoundrel, aiding in the production of the
excitement out of revenge, and prolonging it in order to
promote his own designs. This view of, the case, in which
Mr. Bancroft, in his History of the United States, sympa
thises, does great wrong to the memory of this New Eng
land Father, as well as violence to the fair interpretation
of history. Hence the course of Bancroft, Quincy, and
others is inexplicable, save on the supposition that theologi
cal odium warped their judgment, and thus rendered them
incapable of appreciating the true position and character of
their hero. We think, on the other hand, that a judgment
formed on the basis of charity, and a fair reading of the
record, will concede to him an honest purpose — a real
goodness of heart, if not a sound or practical judgment.
He^e precisely was his failing. He was good, but not wise;
had a mind to pursue the right, but lacked the practical
skill to steer the bark amid the storm and among breakers.
A plain statement of the facts will sustain this interpreta
tion of his character.
But in order correctly to understand the facts, they must
be viewed from the right stand-point. We must not iso
late the case of Mather, and transfer it over the events of
two hundred years into the light of our own day ; but
travel back along the highway of history till those events
are met, dovetailed into the current habits, feelings, super
stitions, and -phenomena of that day and people. After
wrenching a block from the Parthenon, we would not trans
fer it to America, and then judge of its original beauty and
propriety by our standards in these ends of the earth. Yet
this is the method in which some have dealt with the memory
of Cotton Mather. Feigning to laugh at witchcraft, they have
branded him a knave or fool. But no fair-minded person will
censure him for a belief in the reality and existence of it; that
was the general belief of the age, of the learned not less than
the illiterate. It requires no credulity to regard Dr. Mather
sincere in his belief in witches ; the whole generation was

92 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
not hypocritical ; and who can rise above his generation 1
Dr. Mather, who had been trained up under the influence of
the Mosaic law, also believed that a witch, when fairly con
victed, was deserving of death, and ought to be executed by
the hand of the law. But in this he was not singular ; the
whole spirit and practice of the age went with him, or rather,
he went with them. Only a few years before a witch had
been executed under the sentence of so wise and good a man
as Chief Justice Hale, of England ; near the close of the
century " many were tried and condemned under the admin
istration of Judge Holt; in 1670 eighty-five witches were
condemned in Sweden, and about the same period we have
accounts of like transactions in France." Cotton Mather,
then, had the practice of Christendom and^ the opinions of
the leading jurists to confirm his theory. Blackstone said :
" To deny the possibility, nay, the actual existence of witch
craft and sorcery, is at once to contradict the revealed word
of God." These are strong authorities, that any but an
original mind would be very likely to defer to.' So far
Mather traveled on a parallel with his generation ; so far
we do not blame him. But a wise man embarking with this
theory would, when it came to practice, lean to the side of
mercy, and not execute it with extreme rigor and precision.
This was the course pursued by most of the ministers of
that day. Their opinions coincided with those of Mather ;
but they either thought it wise to leave a little leeway for
mercy, or else lacked the unflinching, courage to push them
to the extreme of death. *
They were especially wary in admitting testimony that
would lead to the condemnation of those unhappy victims
of delusion. The father of Cotton Mather, though a firm
believer in witchraft, was ever opposed to the severities
inflicHbd upon those esteemed bewitched, by the judges.
But Cotton Mather bore another character. He had a fee
ble judgment, but little prudence, a hothouse conscience,
and a warm temperament, that led him to rush ahead and
urge his views to the extremity. Probably in the begin-

COTTON MATHER. 93
ning he had no intention of urging severity, but .as the
storm increased, his rickety brain, reeling and giving way
to the excitement, rose upon the swelling wave of fanaticism,
till he thought the air full of demons, and that he did God
service in combating those invisible agencies. He affords
an instance of men the world over, who in the quiet bosom
of society are virtuous, useful, intelligent, and adorned with
many of the graces — men that in this sphere will be hon
ored and remembered — but who are deficient in that mus
cular energy, steady, good judgment, and solidity of charac
ter that will enable them to rise to places of high authority,
or to meet the demands of turbulent and revolutionary
times. Such seasons and positions require greatness of
soul, and a Herculean strength of good sense, that, amid the
beating storm and tumultuous billows, abide firmly like the
rock in the ocean ; men like Mather remind us rather of the
drift-wood that floats at the mercy of winds and waves.
Their misfortune is to live in unquiet and perilous seasons ;
to be brought to the helm, without a gift for the position,
while the storm is high, and of consequence to exhibit on a
conspicuous theater their weakness and folly.
Mather had a knowledge, by report, of a few cases of
supposed witchcraft in New England before it came under
his immediate inspection. In the year 1688, the delusion
appeared in Boston, in the family of John Goodwin, and
seems to have_ rendered Mr. Mather strangely nervous.
The great wonder had now come to his door, and demanded
a full investigation.
" The alleged offender was an old' Irish woman by the
name of Glover. She was tried before Chief Justice Dud
ley, condemned and executed." She seems to have been
rather insane than bewitched, which led the judges to ap
point several physicians " to examine her very strictly,
whether she were in any way crazed in her intellectuals ;"
but as the physicians cherished the popular belief, they
very easily confounded a partial mental derangement with
diabolical agency.

94 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
After her death the daughters of Mr. Goodwin were
strangely afflicted, and in the popular opinion were pos
sessed with demons. The father justly grew alarmed, and
as a remedy for the evil invited the clergy of Boston and
Charlestown to spend a day of fasting and prayer at his house.
They regarded it as a matter sufficiently serious to justify a
compliance with the request, and accordingly all but Mather
met at the place appointed. The service, however, failed
to break the power of Satan, as the girls appeared more
bewitched than before. This state of things puzzled Cotton,
and to resolve the difficulty he invited the damsel to his
house, where she remained several days ; " he wished to
confute the Sadducism of that debauched age," and the
girl took care that the appropriate materials should not
be wanting. She could read Quaker or Popish books;
not the Bible or cathechism ; would close her ears when
prayer was offered ; would complain that Glover's chain
confined her, clasp her hands firmly, and assume an un
earthly aspect. The credulous man observed these facts
with blank amazement, which accounts in some measure for
the further liberties she took with him — " a sauciness with
which he was not wont to be treated withal." "She would
call out to him with numberless impertinents." Going to
his study door, she would tell him some one below would
be glad to see him ; when he had taken the trouble to go
down, and scolded her for her falsehood, she would say,
" Mrs. Mather is always glad to see you."
These incidents are certainly amusing, and to the good
man on whom they were perpetrated must have been a
so*rce of annoyance ; it may 'create a smile when we state
that to his mind they were incontestable evidences of de
moniacal possession. So deeply did these events impress
the mind of Cotton Mather, that, at the instance of Gov.
Phipps, he collected and arranged all the facts on the sub
ject of witchcraft that came under his observation, and
published them as a sort of refutation of "Sadducism,"
under the title of the " Wonders of the Invisible World."

COTTON MATHER. 95
" No man with any artful design," says one, " would have
exhibited himself in so grotesque a light." But the reader
will remember that it was the light of the age, and that
the book was reprinted in London, with a preface by the
saintly Baxter, who said, " This great instance comes with
so convincing evidence that he must be a very obdurate
Saducee who will not believe it."
After the lapse of four years, during which period the
book of " Wonders " was read with avidity by old and
young, the epidemic broke out in Salem, (now Danvers,) in
the family ofthe minister, Rev. Mr. Parris. This, time the
subject was an old Indian woman, who had become weary
by age. and hard service, and who was accused by the
daughters of Parris. The matter at once assumed an im
portance by the appointment of a day of fasting. The
magistrates, not permitted to let the matter die silently,
were yet at their wits' end to know what to do ; and in
this state of suspense wrote to, the clergy of Boston. The
reply was drawn up by Cotton Mather, who recommended
caution in the admission of evidence and the entire rejection
of " spectral evidence ;" but, at the same time, urged the
authorities to proceed vigorously against those really
guilty. To the sentiments of this document, however, the
clergy did not all agree. Increase Mather, while firm in
his belief in witches, " did utterly condemn the proceed
ings ;" as did, also, Dr. Willard and Mr. Brattle. In the
mean time the mania had spread till Martha Cory, Sarah
Cloyce, Rebecca Nurse, Elizabeth Proctor, Giles Cory,
Deliverance Hobbs, and Rev. Mr. Burroughs, became in
volved, and the magistrates were led to the investigation.
But, after hearing the cases, the venerable " Simon Brad-
street, the governor of the people's choice, deemed the evi
dence insufficient ground of guilt." Just at this point the
new governor arrived from England, and so deeply did
Cotton Mather (whose especial friend he was) impress his
mind with the importance of the cases at Salem, that a
special court was instituted to proceed to Salem and try

96 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the witches. Of these magistrates, not one acted by the
authority of the people ; the tribunal, essentially despotic
in its origin as well as character, had no sanction but an
extraordinary and illegal commission. On this infirm
foundation, however, as is usually the case with tyranny,
they proceeded to execute their commission with supererog
atory rigor and vengeance. The jails were filled. Twen
ty had already been executed ; fifty -five had been tortured
or terrified into penitent confessions. The evidence on
which these persons were convicted reminds one strongly
of that employed in a Jesuit tribunal ; there was less of
argument than terror. It was notorious that no one who
confessed the crime was hanged, while those who stoutly
denied it were, on that ground, put to death ; hence the
prevalence of the confessions of witchcraft originated, in a
great measure, in the hope of escaping the gallows. The
kind of witnesses,' too, that they admitted, afforded scope
for the indulgence of all sorts of fanaticism, as well as good
opportunity to turn the court into an engine of private
revenge. " Who can think himself safe," wrote the people
of Andover to the General Court, " if the accusations of
children and others, under diabolical influence, shall be
received against persons of good fame V
These prosecutions were brought on, and the excitement,
in a considerable degree, sustained by Parris, who seems to
have been a bad man. Cotton Mather was not present at
the trials or the executions, save in a single instance — that
ofthe Rev. Mr. Burroughs. At his execution Cotton rode
upon the ground, and when the courageous man ascended
the ladder, rebuking the popular folly by repeating, in a
firm voice arid, without blinking, the Lord's Prayer, which it
/ was affirmed no witch could do, Mather remarked that it
was " no marvel, for the devil often transformed himself
into an angel of light."
The next year there was another case in Boston, that
of Margaret Rule, who ate nothing for nine days in succes
sion, but took frequent drafts of ardent spirit. It is not

COTTON MATHER. 97
remarkable that there should be exhibited the feats of evil
spirits; but that any sane man should mistake them for
demons, strikes those conversant with the Maine Law and
the delirium tremens as quite singular. Yet to Mather it
B was a clear case, adding another link to the invisible chain
of evidence for the truth of witchcraft. The excitement,
however, in spite of efforts to keep it up, was subsiding;
the good sense of the people had arisen in rebellion against
the insane violence and cruelty of the magistrates. Many
of the latter were glad to forget the , disgraceful scenes in
which they had been actors, and, on the restoration of tran
quility, shed silent tears or made open confession of the
wrong. Cotton Mather never did anything of the kind.
While he ought to have been nauseated and humbled at the
past, he kept up a fresh interest for years, perhaps till the
close of life, in those infamous transactions, endeavoring
to defend them after the people had pronounced on them
" Anathema, Maranatha."
i The conduct of Mather in these cases is certainly censura
ble, from the general, rather than specific agency* that he
had in the matter. He was a minister of the Lord Jesus,
in high place and authority, a man of great reading and
opportunities, to whom the people looked for sage and
pacific counsels rather than blood and cruelty ; the pliant
governor, moreover, was a man whose conscience was in
Mather's keeping, a word from whom might have removed
the whole evil. Why was not that word spoken ? When
the affair became unpopular Mather endeavored to turn
aside the odium, but in vain. Though he did not do the
whole directly, we are fain to believe that he approved of
the leading facts in the case. Had it been otherwise, his
whole writings would have borne a different character and
his conduct have shown disapproval. While, then, we are
unwilling to concede his hypocrisy, we are, on the other
hand, disposed to brand his conduct as infamous. He was
duped. He intended to do right, but amid the flickering
shadows of the time lost his way, and once gone astray, put
7

98 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
his logic to the rack to make out his own the right course ;
admonishing us that a good heart is not always a safe guide
for the intellect, and that real virtue may consist with
much error and many foibles. The general current of his
life is to be regarded as an index to the state of his heart,
and according to this standard " Cotton Mather was a be
nevolent, and not a malevolent man. He desired the good
of his fellow-creatures, and not their hurt. He was liable,
like other men, to mistake the application of the means and
to be deluded, but he sincerely sought to be useful to those
around him." We will cherish whatever was good in him,
and without embracing them, will throw the mantle of char
ity over his faults — faults that were, in a considerable de
gree, those of his mental constitution and of his age. Let
the reader who has attained constitutional symmetry and
risen above the errors of his age, cast a stone at Dr. Cotton
Mather, the patron and physiologist of witchcraft.
In grouping together the benevolent and malevolent facts
in the life of Dr. Mather, the thread of the narrative has
been interrupted. Let us now return to his settlement in
the ministry, and make a flying visit over another portion
of the field of his public life. We found him in the minis
try a single gentleman .; but he soon embraced the Scrip
tural sentiment that " it is not good for man to be alone."
" He first looked up to Heaven for direction, and then asked
counsel of his friends." Having thus begun where most
men end, he looked around for a suitable companion on
whom to fix his affections. His choice fell on the daughter
of Col. Phillips, of Charlestown, a woman of great beauty
and virtue, and who proved a loving and capable companion.
Perhaps the best eulogy on her character will be found in
the touching remarks of her husband at her death some
twenty years later : " The black day arrives ! I have never
seen so black a day in all my pilgrimage. The desire of
my eyes is this day to be taken from me. Her death is
lingering and painful. All the forenoon of this day she was
in the pangs of death, and sensible till the last minute or

COTTON MATHER. 99
two before her expiration. I cannot remember the point
of discourse between us, only that her devout soul was full
of satisfaction about going to a state of blessedness with the
Lord Jesus Christ. As far as my distress would permit, I
endeavored to confirm her satisfaction and consolation. Two
hours before she expired I kneeled at her bedside and took
into my hands that dear hand, the dearest in the world, and
solemnly and sincerely gave her up to the Lord. Then
putting away her hand, I never touched it again. After
ward she told me she signed and sealed my act of
resignation." The year 1713 was with him one of mingled sorrow and
joy, of honor and dishonor. He had for several years found
that the civil honors which his father had enjoyed were not
to be given to him. He not only lacked the practical sense
of his sire, but the times were changing, and no longer per
mitted the clergy to hold the influential positions they had
occupied in the infancy of the colony. There was, however,
one honor which he yet hoped to attain, and which, if learn
ing constituted a qualification, he was worthy to have at
tained, the presidency of Harvard College. His ambition
in this respect to fill the office so long held by his father, the
chief literary distinction of America, had nothing ignoble
and mean, as has been charged on him ; but on the other
hand, to covet earnestly the best gift in New England, we
consider laudable. Nor was he alone in the opinion that he
deserved the place ; there were many that named him for
it, because no other could fill it so well. But the Mather
family had so long been in power as to create in base minds,
some of whom were now in the government, an intense envy
against all its members. Hardly had this honor slipped
from his grasp, when his dwelling was draped in mourning
for the death of his excellent wife and children. Into the
opposite scale, in the mean time, were cast a couple of cases
of honor, which, though not an equivalent for the sorrow he
endured, served to cut its edge by affording him an assur
ance that he was not entirely forgotten of men. It was,

100 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
however, an aggravation of, the case that both came from a
foreign source. His Curiosa Americana having been read
before the Royal Society, was received with such favor that
they presented him in acknowledgment the thanks of the
society. They also signified their intention at the next
regular meeting to admit him a member, which was accord
ingly done, though his name was never enrolled. " This is
a marvelous favor of Heaven to me ; a most surprising
favor." Hef next received the degree of D.D., from the
TJniversity of Glasgow, accompanied with letters expressive
of their appreciation of his talents and his high reputation
in Great Britain.
The honor he had sought and anticipated had escaped his
grasp, his unbounded influence was impaired, his family in
an unfortunate condition, and his own health infirm ; all
served to darken the latter portion of his life, and leave him
in an almost confirmed state of melancholy. The contrast
between his early and later days was marked ; the brilliancy
of his morning and the glory of meridian darkening till all
the heavens were black with clouds and storms.
As the closing scene approached, however, the clouds
broke, letting in upon his evening the pure and serene light
of heaven. The films passed from his spiritual vision, his
soul expanding in the mean time under the influence of a
broader, loftier charity, while his character seemed ripening
and mellowing for a nobler service and a holier, intenser
pleasure in the world above. The errors and infirmities
that had marred his character and tarnished the beauty of
his noble deeds had now disappeared, and from the midst of
his weakness and vanity issued forth the Christian, armed
with celestial strength and clothed with humility as with a
garment. The conflicts of life had ceased, the storms of
passion died away ; the heavens were serene now, the sur
face of life's troubled sea smooth and calm as he glided on
ward *to the bosom of his God. To one of his parishioners
who inquired whether he wished to die, he replied : " I can
not say whether I do or do not ; I wish to be entirely re-

COTTON MATHER. 101
signed to the will of God." When informed by the phy
sician that he could not recover, with uplifted hands he said,
" Thy will be done in earth as in heaven." A few hours be
fore his death he said, " Now have I nothing more here ; my
will is swallowed up in the will of God." At the last he
cried, " Is this dying ? Is this all % Is this all that I feared
when I prayed against a hard death ? Ol can bear this ! I
can bear it! I can bear it!" They read to him from his
own books : " And it shall come to pass, that at evening time
it shall be light. O the light which a glorious Christ, pre
sent with us, will give us in the evening when we apprehend
ourselves in all the darkness which we should have to ter
rify us, when the curtains of the death-bed are drawn about
us. The light of a soul passing into the inheritance in light.
The light of an open, abundant entrance into the paradise of
God." The tears as they started in his disordered eyes were
wiped away, which suggested his closing remark : " I am
going where all tears will be wiped from my eyes." On the
13th of February, 1728, " the weary wheels of life stood still
at last."
His death was followed by great mourning in all the
churches. Many of the clergy delivered funeral discourses
on the occasion, in most of which they eulogized his virtues,
his extensive services in the cause of Christ, his scholarship,
and his exemplary diligence in the acquisition of all sorts
of knowledge. His faults seemed buried in the grave, while
all strove to retain the saintly image, the celestial halo of
his latest hours. As if in compensation for neglect in life,
men vied with each other, in celebrating his fame.
Although he possessed excellences worthy of remembrance,
we are constrained to regard much of this ceremony as the
mere effervescence of the hour, designed rather to display
the abilities of the orators than to perpetuate the memory
of the deceased. The character of Cotton Mather presented
a strange agglomerate of materials, a moral mosaic com
bined by some undiscovered laws of affinity, or reminding
us of an old abbey, whose heterogeneous styles of architect-

102 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
ure have been the slow accumulations of several different
ages of civilization. The rude antique shot up beside the
classic finish, barbarism and refinement looked each other in
the face, while the modern outgrowth rose irregularly upon
the old foundations, suggesting to the observer the most
ludicrous contrasts.
His intellect, though active and sprightly, lacked the solid
strength, the close, firm grain, the tough, oaken knitting that
secure the felicitious handling of grave questions in debate,
or that enable one to stand firm in seasons of strife and
revolution. He, in this respect, reminds us rather of the
luxuriant' vine in the vale, spreading its branches over the
wall, than of the sturdy oak, whose inwrought strength upon
the bleak mountain has resisted the storms of centuries.
He bowed to the blast, affording evidence that he was born
for quiet seasons rather than the hour of contest and con
fusion, adapted rather to pluck flowers in Tempe, or cull
gems in the Indies, than to fight with beasts at Ephesus.
He possessed nothing of the philosophic grasp of mind,
the Brierian intellect that penetrates the surface of things
and discovers the hidden connections and relations of the
truths that enwrap the universe. His was not the telesco
pic vision that sweeps the heavens at a glance, combining
the inifinity of worlds in one broad generalization. With
Newton and Laplace he could never soar upward with the
steady strength of an eagle wing to the central dwelling-
place of the general laws whence their myriad ramifications
extend to the remotest atom, and where all material forces
are spread out to human view. . Such a prospect would
afford him no profit ; his eye would blink before such in
tense radiance. Breadth and compass of vision he lacked ;
never looking abroad upon the expansive fields of the in
finite that stretched onward at his feet, but turning his gaze
downward to the little pebble or atom along his path. If
philosopher at all, he was of the minute kind, finding greater
pleasure in dissecting an insect than in constructing a world.
Nor was he deficient only in the philosophic power ; there

COTTON MATHER. 103
was a lack of original genius. He fed on the stores of other
men. " He was inclined to read rather than to think ; it
was by his familiarity with the works of others, and the trains
of thought that they awakened, that he was able to send
forth so many works of his own." He exhibited an especial
fondness for what was rare, curious, ancient ; his mind, like
the ivy, flourishing on the decaying remains of antiquated
learning. By his diligence he had accumulated vast stores
of knowledge ; more it may be than any other mail of his
time. He read nearly all the books of the day, and hun
dreds that no one else thought of. Dr. Chancey calls him
a great redeemer of time ; a man familiar with all the books
in existence, and that had a happy faculty of going through
a book. He wrote over his study door, " Be short," as a method
of securing time, in the midst of a city, and with the respon
sibility of a large charge, for the prosecution of his studies.
Not only did he read but wrote, being the author of three
hundred and eighty different treatises. These were not well
executed, being crude, undigested materials for books, rather
than neat and finely elaborated productions. They present
occasional flashes of eloquence and beauty that dazzle for
the moment, but are not sustained, are the oases amid the
broad desert where vast sand piles and plains of words out
stretch before the eye. There is material enough, but no
hidden springs to moisten and clothe them in verdure. No
man, we are assurred, knew so many facts of American his
tory as Cotton Mather, and had he possessed judgment
equal to his memory and diligence, he would have given to
posterity a work as enduring as the annals of Tacitus; but
here was his grand defect. His facts were strung together
without taste or order, like the rude ornaments of a savage,
rather than woven into a consecutive history. At every
page we are surprised at the extent of his researches, the
ofldness of his illustrations, which cause us to wonder by
what process they are connected with the subject in hand,
and the almost infinite capacity of his memory that could

104 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
retain such vast stores of knowledge recommended, not by
its usefulness, but simply by the circumstance that it is Httle
known to other men. His works present to the world the
image of an old museum containing rare and curious speci
mens of natural history; an exhibit of their malformations,
rather than their healthy growth ; or, with greater propriety,
that of an old attic where the refuse and rubbish of three or
four generations have been stowed away to rest undisturbed,
save as some rusty antiquary now and then ventures into
the habitations of spiders and rats, to gather out an old horse
shoe, or plow-point, or the like.
In this respect Mather reminds us of Butler's hero whose
speech " In loftiness of sound was rich ;
A Babylonish dialect
Which learned pedants much affect;
It was a party-colored dress
Of patched and pybald languages ;
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin ;
Like ,fustian heretofore on satin
It had an odd, promiscuous tone
As if he'd talked three parts in one ;
Which made some think when he did gabble
They'd heard three laborers from Babel,
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A leash of languages at once." — Hudibras.
The soul of Mather burned with a goodly measure of en
thusiasm, which, had it been ofthe right stamp, and controlled
by discretion, would have borne him up in sublime flights
of eloquence, and rendered him the Corypheus of his age.
His enthusiasm, however, possessed nothing lofty, ennob
ling, kindling the soul into higher, broader sublimities ; he
rose not with occasions to the magnitude of his theme, like
Samson gathering up strength as he enlisted in the combat ;
but was of the Tom Thumb species, rendering him the busi
est of men, blustering and spluttering like Shakspeare's
" Tempest in a Teapot," or affording a fine illustration of
what he elsewhere calls " Much ado about Nothing." Grave
„ideas and important occasions were not necessary to arouse

COTTON MATHER. . 105
him. One idea, and small at that, was sufficient to send a
tremor through his soul, and to bring to the surface his en
tire wealth of emotion and energy. This quality of mind
was constantly urging him into the extremes of vanity and
folly. A more judicious person, with his warmth of tem
perament, would have progressed with a firm tread to the
admiration of all beholders ; but his tripping at cobble
stones, while gazing on some catchpenny exhibition, his
blank honesty amid the jests of life, displaying the peacock
feather in immediate connection with grave reflections, pro
duce a constant excitement of our risibilities. He once
earnestly prayed that God would rather kill him than leave
him to folly ; and a few moments after he ass,ures us he was
taken very ill, insomuch that he feared the Lord was about
to take him at his word. The disorder, however, did not
prove fatal, and then in a serious mode, as though unable to
discover any incongruity in the matter, he remarked, " I
perceived it was nothing but vapors." The grand defect,
after all, in the character of Cotton Mather was in the judg
ment. He possessed a great deal of sense, imported from
all regions of thought and philosophy, all the rare exotics
of'the human intellect; but he had very little that was indi
genous — real common'sense. Originally deficient in this
respect, nis education was precisely adapted to perpetuate
it. Placed at school in childhood, and kept at his books
till the day of his death, it became second nature with him
to extract all the sweetness of learning, the lessons of wis
dom from the works of other men. Whatever common
sense he inherited was pretty thoroughly shaken out in the
college curriculum. The best education for such a lad (for
a season at least) is attained in a rural district with some
hardy old farmer, where he is brought in contact with the
actual human world, and where, from an inability to con
struct an aqueduct to the high places of learning, he is ob
liged to -dig down and bring up froni the wells of his own
genius those lessons of prudence and practical counsel that
are to conduct him through life. His intellect needs

106 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
strengthening by a thorough contest with affairs, exercising
in the mean time a dieting process, rather than stuffing with
an endless variety of confectionary or spices. Such a train
ing the subject of this sketch never enjoyed, and the want
of it marred the beauty of his whole life ; he knew books,
but lacked what books can never bring, that simple, prac
tical good sense that, like a Yankee, can adapt itself to all
circumstances. But with all his defects, we delight to recall the history
of Cotton Mather ; for they were mingled with much that
was good, and, we believe, an intention to be beneficial to the
world. His benevolent exertions, which alone render him
worthy of a grateful remembrance by mankind, although
ahead of his age, and hence not generally appreciated by the
current generation, were the seed from which later generations
have reaped extensive and golden harvests. He saw little of
the ripe fruit of his doctrine ; but, taking root in other minds,
it spread onward till his sentiments have grown into the
common belief of Christendom. It is something that Ben
jamin Franklin imbibed from the " Essays to do Good," the
notions that led to his best exertions ; this, however, is but
a drop in the bucket compared with the outspread Chris
tian sentiment that sprang from th% same source, and that
now works with a myriad hands in all the benevolent
schemes ofthe present age.

ELEAZER MATHER.

A third son of Rev. Richard Mather that entered the
ministry was Eleazer, who was born at Dorchester, the
residence of his father, May 13, 1637. This son, like all
the other children of that excellent man, was carefully
trained, and exhibiting an early taste for study, in which he
made remarkable proficiency, was entered at Harvard at
the age of fifteen years. He graduated from the institution
1656. He came forth not only with a well furnished and
thoroughly disciplined mind, prepared to grapple with the
difficulties of theology, but what is still more important for
the Christian minister, with a heart purified by the blood of
the covenant, and inspired with a zeal becoming the embas
sador of Christ. He soon commenced preaching, and with
favorable prospects looked forward to a permanent settle
ment. Nor was he called long to delay. The same Lord that
had called him to the altar to minister, opened a door where
his talents could be employed in the service of his Master.
Northampton was, at this date, a new settlement, on the ex
treme line of civilization, and of course but sparsely inhabited.
The forest all along this beautiful valley remained nearly-
unbroken, the haunt of the wild beast and the still more
terrible red man. Those who had ventured to settle upon
these rich alluvial tracts, had done so at the peril of their
lives. They were far from friends, who were separated by
an unbroken wilderness ; they were few and feeble, while
the enemy were numerous, wily, and jealous of their

108 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
encroachment upon the hunting grounds and graves of their
ancestors. The white settlers had hitherto lived without the public
ordinances of the Church being administered among them,
although there was so much in their perilous circumstances
to recall to their minds sacred things, and to cause them to
desire public worship among themselves. In the year
1658 the people determined to institute divine worship,
and accordingly, on the 7th of June, they resolved unani
mously to " desire him to be a minister to them in the way
of trial in dispensing his gifts."
Mr. Mather acceded to their wishes, and for three years
dispensed to them the word of life, with a good degree of
success. During this time no Church had been constituted,
there being, it would seem, not a sufficient membership to
warrant such a step. At the close of three years, however,
his labors appear to have been so far prospered as to render
an advance in this particular advisable.
Accordingly, on the 18th of June, 1661, the Church was
organized, and Mr. Mather was installed the pastor of it.
This relation was maintained for eight years longer, during
which he experienced great success in his labors among the
people. Many were converted and the Church considera
bly enlarged. Such was their prosperity that a unanimous
desire was expressed by the people to " settle Mr. Joseph
Eliot (son of the Rev. John Eliot, of Roxbury,) among them
as a teacher ; the offices of pastor and teacher, according to
the Cambridge platform, being reckoned distinct from each
other." Although Mr. Mather was favorable to this move
ment, and actually secured,N for a season, the services of
Mr. Eliot, yet he was never set apart by the Church as a
public teacher.
The father of Mr. Mather cherishedva deep interest in the
youth of his charge, and as he advanced toward the close of
life became still more deeply impressed with the importance
of laboring for their welfare. These impressions led him,
during his final sickness, to charge his son Increase " to pay

ELEAZER MATHER. 109
particular attention to the rising generation." Eleazer
took the hint also from this remark of his father, and just
before his death preached a series of sermons to the young,
founded on 1 Kings viii, 57. Soon after his death the sub
stance of these sermons was published under the title of
" Serious Exhortation to the Present and Succeeding Gene
rations in New England, earnestly calling upon them all that
the Lord's Gracious Presence may be continued with Pos
terity. Being the Substance of the four last Sermons preached
at Northampton by Eleazer Mather."
Mr. Mather died on the 24th of July, 1669, lamented not
only by his own Church, but by all the Churches of the
Connecticut Valley, to whom his services, from time to
time, had proved especially acceptable and profitable.
The ministry of Mr. Mather was characterized by great
fidelity, zeal, and labor. His piety was deep and constant,
affording him glorious views of the Divine character and
word, as well as clear and impressive conceptions of the
fallen state of human nature. So far as possible he lived in
sight of spiritual and eternal realities, a vantage ground that
will ever induce the minister of Christ to be earnest to win
souls, and to make up his entire account for the judgment.
The last record made in the diary of the subject of this
sketch was the following : " This evening, if my heart
deceive me not, I had some sweet workings of soul after
God in Christ, according to the terms of the covenant of
grace. The general and indefinite expression of the proriiise
was an encouragement to me to look unto Christ, that he
would do that for me which he has promised to do for
some, nor dare I exclude myself; but if the Lord will help
me, I desire to lie at his feet and accept of grace in his own
way and in his own time, through his power enabling me.
Though I am dead, without strength, help, or hope in my
self, yet the Lord requireth nothing at my hands in my own
strength, but that by his power I should look to him to
work all his works in me and for me. When I find a
dead heart the thoughts of this are exceeding sweet and

110 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
reviving, being full of grace, and discovering the very heart
and love of Jesus." The author of the Magnalia remarks
of him, that " as he was a very zealous preacher, and
accordingly saw many seals to his ministry, so he was a
very pious walker ; and as he drew toward the end of his
days he grew so remarkably ripe for heaven in a holy,
watchful, fruitful disposition, that many observing persons
did prognosticate his being not far from his end !"
Mr. Mather married the daughter of the Rev. John
Warham, of Windsor, who after his decease became the
wife of his successor, the Rev. Solomon Stoddard, and thus
the grandmother of the celebrated Jonathan Edwards. He
left one daughter, who became the first wife of the Rev.
John Williams, of Deerfield, and perished by the Indian
tomahawk when that town was destroyed in 1704.

JOHN WARHAM.

John Warham, like most of the early ministers of New
England, was born in England. The date of his birth, his
education, his early history, are involved in profound mys
tery, on which, at this late hour, we may hardly hope that
any new light will be shed. He first appears in history as
the eminent minister of Exeter, England. About this time
(1630) a Congregational Church was formed iii Plymouth,
England, and the Rev. John Warham and John Maverick
were constituted its pastors. This Church was formed of
such as wished to emigrate and form a religious colony in
America. Accordingly, soon after its formation the entire
body sailed for the New World. Touching first at Nan-
tasket, they passed on to Dorchester, where a settlement
was commenced in June, 1631. The locality was not, how
ever entirely satisfactory to the new colony, and as they
had learned of a rich tract of land situated in the interior, "on
the Connecticut River, they resolved, although at great peril
and with untold hardships, to brave the wilderness and secure
homes far out among the " salvages." The people from the
adjacent towns of Cambridge and Charlestown determined
to accompany their neighbors to this new region. In the
summer of 1636 the toilsome and dangerous journey was
performed. About one hundred men, women, and children
traveled a wilderness which civilized man had never before
explored. Their religious services were not abandoned as
they retired from the old habitations, but singing, prayer,
and religious conference marked their progress, which caused

112 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the Indians to gaze upon them in silent amazement and
admiration. The journey occupied fourteen days.
This migration is said to have been disagreeable to the
ministers ; but as their entire congregation removed they
were constrained to follow them, though only Mr. Warham
actually removed, Mr. Maverick being prevented by d^ath,
which took place on the 3d of February, while the prepara
tions were still incomplete. He died in the sixtieth year of
his age. He had been a minister of the Established Church
before coming to this country.
Mr. Warham did not accompany the Church, but joined
them the following September, his family still remaining
behind till better accommodations could be provided. Dur
ing a period of thirty-five years Mr. Warham was permitted
to remain among them in the locality on which they fixed
themselves upon the banks of the Connecticut, which was
named Windsor. In this space of time the colony had
greatly increased, and the Church remained in a flourishing
state. The pastor died, after a life of faithful service, April
1, 1670. His wife departed more than thirty years before
him. He left one daughter, who was married to the Rev.
Eleazer Mather, the first pastor of Northampton, and after
his decease to his successor, the Rev. Solomon Stoddard.
The same diversity of views that now prevails on the
propriety of extemporaneous preaching seems to have existed
in* the days of the New England fathers. The extempora
neous mode of address is certainly recommended by the
fact that in every season of awakening in the Church it has
been employed in the pulpit, the opposite practice being in
troduced only when the fervor of the devotional spirit has
declined, and the experience of the religious masses is ready
to accept more formal and less earnest instructions. We
have not the least reason to think that Christ or the apostles
ever employed a manuscript in discoursing to the multitudes
that listened to them. Indeed hardly anything could appear
more incongruous than to behold the Saviour or his personal
followers reading from a manuscript to the people. The

JOHN WARHAM. 113
idea strikes us strangely. Such a practice could not be in
troduced while the zeal of the Church remained unimpaired.
And then, at the breaking out of the Reformation, the preach
ing of Luther and his coadjutors was extemporaneous. The
same good practice was transferred to England, where it
was found efficient in addressing the masses of the people.
And even now, , among the most inveterate readers, the
manuscripts are thrown aside when an extensive awakening
appears among the people. They hamper and enfeeble the
soul when kindled by the love of God and stirred with an
intense love for souls that are perishing. The deepest and
best impressions are made by thoughts that well up fresh
from the depths of the devout heart.
The Puritans began their ministry without notes, being
led to their use as a deferise against their enemies, who were
accustomed to report their words to the authorities. The
practice seems to have been adopted without any conviction
of its intrinsic value. Hence when they came to New En
gland, where they were unrestrained by the eye of authority,
the book was thrown aside and the apostolic mode of address
adopted. The first to innovate on this good custom seems to have
been the subject of this sketch.. His reading, however, was
not in extenso, but only brief notes or skeletons were taken into
the desk. Even this was objected to by most of the people
and the clergy ; but being persisted in, the practice gradually
gained adherents till that became the mode of the Puritan
pulpit. There have, however, been among them many
eminent men in every age who have adhered to the old plan
of speaking to the people.
Mr. Warham, although a reader, was accustomed to
deliver his discourses in a remarkably energetic and vigorous
manner, more so, we are assured by Cotton Mather, than
most of those " who never looked in a book in their lives."
His abilities as a preacher gave him a high standing among
the people of Windsor, to whom he was permitted to min
ister to the close of his life, as also a reputation through the
8

114 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
entire colony, which " considered him as a principal pillar
and father ofthe Church."
Though eminent for piety and evangelical labors, Warham
was subject to severe attacks of melancholy, which often
lasted for several weeks together. So intense was the men
tal gloom that enveloped him as to cause him to despair of
ever attaining the blessedness of heaven. " Such were the
terrible buffetings and horrible temptations sometimes under
gone by this man, that when he has administered the Lord's
Supper to his flock, whom he durst not starve by omitting
to administer the ordinance, yet he has forborne to partake
himself, through the fearful dejections of his mind, which
persuaded him that those blessed seals did not belong to
him. The dreadful darkness which overwhelmed this child
of light did not wholly forsake him till death. It is even
reported that he did set in a cloud as he retired unto the
glorified society of those righteous ones that are to shine
forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father ; though
some have asserted that the cloud was dispelled before he
expired." — Magnalia iii, 18.

J E b bE LE E.

No sketches of the pulpit in New England would be
complete without affording a niche for the statue of Jesse
Lee. Although born in the " Ancient Dominion." his
memory will be most reverently cherished as the pioneer of
Methodism in the land of the Pilgrims.
Born 1758, he enjoyed a remarkable preparation for this
work. Reared in the Episcopal Church to which his
parents belonged, under the pastoral care of the pious, de
voted and laborious Jarratt, he early witnessed the fruits of
experimental piety, both in the household and the parish.
Jarratt was the friend of the Methodists, who then profess
ed to be only a " society in the Episcopal Church, under
the care of Rev. John Wesley." The house of Lee's
parents became one of the homes of the itinerants, and
hence, at an early date, he heard the Gospel declared by
those earnest and powerful men who followed in the wake
of Asbury, Strawbridge, and Pilmoor.
At fifteen years of age young Lee's attention was more
especially directed to experimental religion by a conversation
to .which he was listening between his father and a neighbor.
The conversation appears to have presented nothing striking,
save as it related to personal religion, a topic then fresh
before the people, but was employed by the Holy Spirit to
rivet conviction on his mind. From his previous instruc
tion . in the catechism, as well as by the teachings of
conscience, he knew that he was a sinner, and could be
saved only by the atonement of Christ through repentance
and faith. During several weeks he read the Bible, and

116 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
spent much time in prayer, all apparently to no purpose, as a
thicker gloom seemed to settle on his mind. The struggle,
however, was not given up. He continued to pray earnestly
for mercy till one morning the clouds broke away and the
Lord came to his relief, delivered his soul from the burden
and guilt of sin, and poured into his heart the peace and
joy of faith. Being ignorant of the way to retain the blessing,
he refrained from reporting the change he had experienced,
and thereby suffered darkness and doubt to return. This
sad result soon induced him to declare what the Lord had
done for his soul, when the light again beamed upon his
mind. When Lee was nineteen years of age he went to North
Carolina to superintend the farm of a widowed relative.
Methodism was then little known in that part of the South,
since but a single circuit had been formed in the whole
region. But, unlike many who stand aloof from a caiise
where its adherents are in the minority, he displayed his
colors with all the more zeal, laboring for the salvation of
the souls about him. The preacher, as he came around on
his circuit, heard of the zeal of the stranger, whose talents
appeared to be too important to the cause to be neglected.
The position of class-leader, which had for some time been
vacant, was given to him, and proved peouliarly favorable
for the development of his talents and the training of his
Christian graces.
The transition from class-leader to exhorter and local
preacher was natural and easy. These were days when
laborers did not stand long in the market-place idle. The
vineyard was ripe, and the call for laborers loud and long,
and the diffident, but really deserving and able ones were
pressed into the work. While attending the conference of
1784, Bishop Asbury invited him to enter the regular work
and take a circuit. To take so important a step he was
not ready ; and yet that invitation seemed but the outward
expression of those inward convictions that had been
haunting his mind for years before. Hence, after his

JESSE LEE. 117
return to his father's house, his future course became a
matter of still more serious deliberation. He felt inwardly
„ moved to take on him the work and office of the sacred
ministry. It was in obedience to this high behest that he
had gone forth preaching and exhorting in his own neigh
borhood and among his own people. Why should he not
give himself entirely to the work ? Of the sacrifices, the
poverty, the hard labor, the deprivation ofthe joys of home
that lay in the path of the itinerant, he knew something ;
but none of these things moved him. He possessed a
stout heart, a noble courage to dare and to do for Jesus.
And that inward voice, the meanwhile, inaudible to others,
sounded in his ears, calling him to the great harvest field.
Lee was not the man to falter when conviction was evident
and duty plain. So, adjusting his affairs, equipping himself
with horse, saddle-bags, Bible, and Hymn Book, he started
on his life-long journey of benevolence.
Edward Dromgoole, a popular preacher of that day, was
en route for North Carolina, to form a new circuit in the
region of Edenton. Lee fell into his wake, and thus began
his ministry in doing the work of a pioneer, a work that he
loved to the close of life. Once on the ground chosen as
their field of labor, they enjoyed prosperity to the close of
the year. At the conference of 1783, he was received on
trial, and reappointed to North Carolina, where he continued '
to labor with encouragement on several circuits till the
spring of 1785, when he was invited to accompany Bishop
Asbury in his southern tour. ,
It was during this journey that a little incident occurred
which gave color and shape to his future life. This was a
conversation with a clerk in a mercantile establishment in
South Carolina, who was a native of Massachusetts, and
who related to Lee many curious facts illustrative of the
habits, customs, moral condition, and religious ideas of
New England. These things were all new to him, and
awoke in his mind a deep interest in the people of that,
region, while at the same time he felt a presentiment that

118 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
it would be his destiny to become the bearer to them
of the glad tidings of Methodism. The impression was
made known to Asbury, who encouraged it, but still.
thought the time for such a movement had not yet arrived.
He was gradually, however, removed from his field in the
far South, to'ward the one in which his brightest laurels
were to be won, all the while acquiring those resources that
would be requisite for his work..
From North Carolina he was transferred to Maryland,
where, in city and country, he labored with his accustomed
success. Passing thence, he traveled a year in New Jersey
and the portion of New York lying contiguous to the state
of Connecticut. Here he fell upon the outposts of Calvin
ism, and was engaged in some of those little theological
skirmishes that were so common in his New England travels.
But Lee was in a remarkable manner qualified for his
wprk. Indeed, it has been the grand feature of Methodism
to be happy in the selection of its agents to' extend and
consolidate the sect. John Wesley was a master man by
nature, but his adaptation to the times and to the people
went far to give him the character he possessed of the able
minister, the bold reformer, the awakener of the masses^
and the organizer of those masses into the "sacramental
host" on whose banner his name is inscribed. Casting a
glance upon the work this side the Atlantic, we observe,
while the denomination was in its infancy, an Asbury, Coke,
Whatcoat, and Boardman, who seemed to be born to do the
pioneer work of the order in the new world. In that glori
ous band were all the varieties of character, taste, and
talent ; the eloquent orator, the rigid logician, the disciplin
arian, the Boanerges, and the son of consolation ; the men
whose charmed words held the metropolitan audience, and
the John the Baptist whose trumpet notes sounded the
alarm through the wilderness, while above all stood the
rigid and devoted Asbury, the organizer of the sect, and the
ablest representative of Wesley on this side the water.
The West has taken on the form of civilization introduced

JESSE LEE. 119
by the wandering itinerants, the Finleys, the Cartwrights,
Quinns, and Youngs, men who braved the wilderness, the red
man, and the wild beast, to plant the standard of Method
ism on that virgin soil. The same is true ofthe South, and
of New England, which was a field peculiar, a land apart both
in its position and in the character of its people.
The itinerant found not in the East a new country, nor an
indigent, uncultivated class of inhabitants. The country,
naturally rude and sterile, had been, by the hand of industry,
brought to a high state of cultivation. The people possessed
the subtle spirit of Greeks, ever curious, inquiring, meta
physical, and disputative in their mood, gathering intellectual
and moral nutriment from the discussion of the dryest,
hardest dogmas — the mere browse of theology, which would
prove indigestible to the greater part of mankind, but on
which these theological bipeds flourished, growing every day
more attenuated, wiry, and wasplike. They were the sons of
the Pilgrims, those rigid men who chose to endure exile and
death rather than pray out of a book or perform divine
service in an ecclesiastical vestment. And these sons were
chips of the old block — rigid, precise, angular ; adhering to
the old customs, and ready to die for an article of faith.
Descended from such a venerable ancestry, and recalling
the persecutions that had exiled them from, their native land,
they cherished a hereditary hatred ofthe very name of bishop,
and had acquired a rare ability to detect heresy whenever it
appeared in the land, disguised by whatever specious appear
ances. As their home was purchased at the price of exile
for conscience' sake, it was natural that it should be regarded
as assigned for their sole occupancy. Hence was the whole
land sliced up into parishes and dotted over with meeting
houses. The clergy were settled for life, on a handsome
salary paid from the state treasury.
These same clergy were notable characters in that age ;
standing above the people, a sort of Puritanical popes.
They usually lived aside from the laity, on their farms,
mingling little with them save on the Sabbath, when they

120 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
issued from their privacy to ascend the high pulpit and dis
pense to the hungry multitude a wisp or two of ecclesiastical
straw in the shape of a dry disquisition on the fall, election,
perseverance, or divine sovereignty. The people in the
mean time looked reverently from their square pews up to
the eminent position of their teacher, and what they received
was masticated sufficiently to meet the demands of the most
ultra-vegetarian, thence becoming incorporated with their
spiritual organism.
The spiritual authority of these men over the laity is one
of the striking facts of the time. The Puritanic stock had
not yet reached the age of skepticism. Whatever the pulpit
uttered was regarded as one of the eternal verities ; uncon
ditional election, reprobation, infant damnation, et id omne
genus, went down with an appetite, because forsooth the
minister had thrown them out as wholesome articles of
spiritual diet. We laugh at the tatterdemalion regiment of
the pope, who nab at any old bone or moldy relic his holi
ness may deign to throw down to them ; but their credulity
in regard to the holy father is hardly more preposterous
than was that of the Pilgrims in regard to their clergy.
What the clergy said they seized up, Very much as the
baboon is said to scrape his food into his mouth — good, bad,
and indifferent — dust and vegetables all together, leaving
nature to make selections to her liking. And had the min
isters joined the pope in asserting that the bread and wine
in the Eucharist were the veritable body and blood of our
Lord, nothing but vigorous Saxon sense would have induced
them to repel the interpretation. Hence, with all their
acuteness and their rigid investigations on otter subjects, on
what related to their faith they made no inquiry for a new
continent of truth. It was heresy to think of there being
any other. John Calvin and his compeers had explored the
whole expanse of ascertainable religious knowledge. Any
moral Columbus that might spring up ought to be impris
oned or exiled for promulgating such novel and pernicious
notions among the people. These self-satisfied theologians

JESSE LEE. 121
remind one of Pollock's " good man " " who never had an
unbelieving doubt."
Those preachers were not merely men of implicit faith ;
they were the self-constituted police of the Church. These
cleric chiefs held more than military sway over the masses.
The pope, backed by his thunderbolts and purgatory, main
tains less authority over his subjects. The days ofthe faggot
and the stake were indeed past at the time of which we
speak ; nor were these the days of legal punishment, when
they could send a man to the gallows for witchcraft, or to
the penitentiary for doubting the Catechism ; but they gave
a terrible sting to public opinion. They had a devout way
of exhibiting their contempt for a novel opinion or uncom
fortable individual, consigning all who were not able to pro
nounce their shibboleth to a social purgatory. Hence any
of those teachers of novelty had but to be pointed out by
the pulpit, and the ecclesiastical blood-hounds would be heard
baying on their track. Hence, too, the invidual who ven
tured to break away from antiquated methods of thinking,
or to introduce a new set of teachers, required the spirit of
a martyr to face the frowning visage of public opinion.
Think not, kind reader, that we would depreciate those
old fathers of New England. We are only saying they were
fallible ; that in a century of severe conflicts they had ac
quired some excrescences of character,, had contracted some
prejudices, had been worn somewhat too angular and narrow
in their religious convictions and experience. As men, as
citizens, as Christians their characters were not complete.
We admire their thoughtful soberness, solidity, discipline,
and noble self-reliance ; but other qualities were needed to
mellow and relieve the severer features, the hardiness of their
character. Their economy was not broad enough to nourish
the whole man, bringing up all the faculties and graces in
symmetrical proportion. This demands varied truth and
culture. The naturalist informs us that the vegetable king
dom requires different soils to mature its multiplied plants,
and the human system is not properly nourished by a single

122 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
kind of food. The same is true of our spiritual nature.
Vital religion was suffering an almost irremediable decline
under Puritanism, because some ofthe vital truths, the juices
that sustain the Christian life, were wanting in the system.
The Churches, as above stated, were in a decline which
would have proved quite irremediable by the agencies then
in the field. The period of thoughtless credence, of spiritual
slumber, was drawing to a close, and out from the ashes of
this dead faith there sprang up that two-horned monster of
infidelity, adapting itself to the masses in the shape of Uni
versalism, to the learned and wealthy in that of Unitarianism.
Like the goat of Daniel, this foul beast was " moved with
choler against" the remaining piety ofthe land, and " smote"
the old Churches so that many of them " were not able to
stand against him, but he cast them down to the ground and
stamped upon them." All things indicated that the faith of
the land would be laid prostrate, and that the masses of the
people would leave the creeds in which they had been trained.
This was the rationalistic movement of New England that
started the people from their old moorings, and that threat
ened to be as fatal here as it proved in the land of Luther.
There no Methodist sect intervened to save the people;
the whole mass passed over into the arms of a cold and
heartless disbelief. Puritanism, more fortunately situated,
found .bands of Arminian itinerants ready to point the dis
sentients to the full atonement, the impartial love of God,
and the saving efficiency of simple faith in the atonement,
as well as to conduct the lengthening procession, so many
of them as would go, into the fold provided by John Wesley.
By this means was the force of the collision considerably
broken and the severer features of the calamity relieved,
while at the same time the way was provided to kindle the
fires anew upon the old altars. Those old teachers who had
so long persisted that the whole truth was in the Catechism
and Calvin's Institutes, were obliged, from sheer necessity, to
modify their theological dogmas in order to prevent being
swept away by the adverse currents about them. Hence shreds

JESSE LEE. 123
of the Arminian faith were incorporated into lthe old web
of Calvinism, resulting in the striped coat of " new divinity "
or New England theology— the inworking of good common
sense upon a system of subtle, metaphysical nonsense, which
of course could not produce the best theology. But while'
only a little truth intermingled with much error to neutralize
it, was sprinkled into their creeds and theological systems, '
a great deal-of good Arminian doctrine began to creep into
their sermons in place ofthe insane raving about the decrees,
et cetera, which had been in vogue. From being a merely
dry, doctrinal machine, the pulpit assumed a practical shape.
The Methodists are at work to get men saved ; they effect
that design by the utterance of practical truth ; and we must
do the same or see our flocks drawn into their folds. By
this process ministers and Churches became instrumental in
the conversion of men, who had been strangers to revivals
for half a century. Nor by this means alone were their
Churches replenished with living members ; Methodist con
verts flowed into their folds in numbers nearly or quite as
large as remained in the communion of the new sect.
Moreover the reader should riot overlook the fact, that the
type of the piety which then existed in the land was too
somber and gloomy, overcast as it was by the dark shadows
of persecution, and depressed by the influence of a severe,
pitiless theological system, which could consign men to per
dition by a divine decree and without any fault on their
part. That such a system would exert a darkening, depress
ing influence on Christian experience, can be well conjec
tured, and the facts of those times well attest it. Christians
had become sober, sad, desponding, more like prisoners than
like the heirs of heaven, " kept by the power of God unto
salvation, ready to be revealed in the last time." They
needed the enlivening, cheering rays that emanate from a
brighter system ; a clear and forcible presentation of our
privileges through Christ ; an unfolding, enforcing of the
Wesleyan view of conversion ; a radical change flowing from
the forgiveness of sin, bringing the soul, by faith, into con-

124 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
scious fellowship with God, and then conducting it along to
those heights of Christian experience, to that ripeness of •
grace where it could bask in the perpetual sunshine of the
Divine presence. These were the jubilant elements inher
ing in the system of Methodism, a part of the heritage
brought by it to the descendants of the pilgrims, which have
given a brighter hue to the life of the Churches since that
day. From these have flown their revivals, their renewed
enterprise, their missionary spirit, which are stirring the
masses and girdling the world with bands of missionaries.
It is true that among the Puritans there was an occasional
lighting up of the heart, an infrequent beaming of the light
of heaven; what was wanted was the perfect illumina
tion of the Holy Spirit, the habitation of the Shekinah in
the heart of the Church. We occasionally meet one of
these old fathers whose fancy sent forth the corruscations of
wit ; but it was not the humorous, heartfelt wit of Lee and
his comrades. It reminds us of a torch flickering amid the
gloomy aisles, or about the altar of some ancient cathedral ;
that of Lee was the generous outbursting of the springtime •
of the soul, songful, full of music of love, and exultant in
the praise of God. ,
Such was the character of the messengers of grace whose
feet already touched the soil of New England, and such the
message transmitted to the Puritanic Churches. Their des
cendants begin to acknowledge the benefits that have flowed
from their mission ; let not the reader think strange that
these apostles of the new sect were treated coolly, sus
pected, persecuted, and thwarted in their work, while the
fruits thereof were adroitly stored in the old garner. This
has been the fate of every new set of teachers as they have
gone forth to bless the world.
The conference of 1789 was held in the month of May, in
the city of New York, from which Jesse Lee was appointed
to New England. Immediately after its close he hastened
to his new field, unconscious of the toils and trials which
awaited him, put animated with the hope of success in this

JESSE LEE. 125
strange but to him delightful mission. The spectacle of
Lee entering New England presents, something ofthe mor
ally sublime ; an unfriended, indigent, andt youthful stran
ger entering the territory of the best educated and most en
terprising people of the world, and that as a Methodist
preacher ; going with nothing but his horse and saddlebags
to plant Churches in those ancient and honorable states !
Churches, too, with a creed diverse from those of the land.
The first place at which he arrived was Norwalk, Connec
ticut. As a request had been forwarded from New York to a
Mr. Rogers', of that village, to allow him to hold meetings
in his house, he repaired thither on entering the place. Mr.
Rogers, however, was not at home, and had left word that
no Methodist preaching should be allowed in the house.
Mr. Lee then asked permission to preach in the orchard, but
this was refused. But Lee was not to be thwarted or bluff
ed off in this adroit manner. Repairing to a conspicuous
place in the street he began to sing, an exercise for which
he was well qualified by his musical training and his sten
torian voice. During its performance about twenty persons
collected around him, attracted by his novel appearance as
well as by the strains of that mellow, rich, flowing Wesley-
an song, so different from the stiff old meters then in use in
the Churches. After singing then followed the- prayer, brief,
pointed, fervent ; characteristics which widely distinguished
it from the prosy petitions ordinarily heard in the Churches,
and which strangely excited the attention of the hearers.
But their astonishment arose to the highest pitch when the
stranger arose, took his text, and preached without " notes,"
unfolding and enforcing his subject in a style most easy and
truly eloquent. " No such man," said the bystanders " has
appeared since the days of Whitefield." At the close he
gave notice that in two weeks he would preach in that place
again. Amid the excitement of the occasion some one in
vited him the next time to occupy the Town Hall, but no
one possessed the moral courage to invite him home to
spend the night, lest he should thereby incur the displeasure

126 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
of the minister or of the deacons for harboring a heretic, at
that time a very foul name, sufficient to consign the indi
vidual to social death.
The next day, entering Fairfield, his landlady very quietly
asked him if he possessed a liberal education. " Tolerably
liberal," he replied ; " enough, I think, to carry me through
the country." He requested of the authorities permission
to preach in the Court House, when he was again asked if
he had a liberal education. The request was, however,
granted, with the very cool remark that they did not think
many would attend. Passing then to the school-house, he
desired the teacqpr to give notice that he would preach at
six o'clock. At the time appointed he found nobpdy there,
but began to sing, when the school teacher and three women
came in. A little later thirty or forty others came ; then
he arose and gave them a sermon.
The landlady, who happened to be in the congregation,
became deeply interested in the discourse, bade him wel
come, invited him to lead at family devotions, and earnestly
requested him to call upon her sister on his way, the next
day, to New Haven. The request was cheerfully complied
with. It proved that the sister, together with a few others, had
been converted several years before by the labors of Mr.
Black, a Wesleyan preacher on his way from Nova Scotia.
Forming themselves into a band they had watched over
each other, waiting for a teacher after their own heart, who
should proclaim a full, free, present salvation. Lee was
welcomed by this pious band as the prophet they had an
ticipated. The news was spread about the town and a good
congregation soon gathered. It was a glorious time. Many
of them remained till late at night to talk of experience and
to receive instruction in the way of salvation. The heart
of the itinerant was encouraged as is that of the pilgrim of
the desert when he approaches an oasis.
But he found no time to linger, even in such a delightful
spot. The next day, passing through New Haven, he came

JESSE LEE. 127
to Reading. The*minister invited him home ; but he soon
learned it was not for the purpose of allowing him to occupy
his pulpit, or of aiding him in his enterprise of benevolence ;
rather with the design of catechising him to ascertain his
doctrines. He had now been three weeks on his circuit, in
which time he had explored nearly the whole of Fairfield
County with little apparent success, but still with hope.
On the 3d of July he entered Stratfield, and was invited
to preach at the house of a deacon. Here he found a prayer-
meeting which was regularly sustained by a few devout
individuals in the place, and Lee, on being invited, conducted
the exercises somewhat after the fashion of a class-meeting.
The next day he rode to the village of Stratford, being
assailed by many doubts as to the expediency and hopeful
ness of his undertaking. Hope in the mean time prevailed,
and he sent out a man to inform the people that there
would be preaching in the Town Hall that evening, by a
Methodist preacher. After service a citizen invited him to
make his house a home while in the place.
\He now had a comfortable circuit laid off, and proceeded
to pass a second time over the ground. The eye of the
clergy began to be open to these inroads of heresy. The
people began to tremble. When he reached his old stand
at Reading, the minister insisted that he should preach his
principles ; Lee hesitated, stated that he chose to deal with
practical truth, to labor to awaken and save men, rather
than amuse their fancy or gratify their curiosity; but all to
no purpose. He must preach doctrines. Hence, as the
fates seemed to be all that way, he consented, and opened a
charge on the Saybrook Platform — the creed of the Con
necticut Churches — which caused the grave old fathers to
tremble for the fate of that venerable instrument. Some
one remarked that the Methodist preacher had knocked a
hole in the platform so large as to render its occupancy
any longer unsafe. " With very few exceptions," observes
an accomplished writer, " he was treated with the most rude
and inhuman inhospitality. He would go to an appoint-

128 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
ment in a village and preach to people, who would seem to
hear with attention, with interest, arid often with deep feel
ing, but who would leave him, late at night, to get his horse and
ride away, none knew where, for entertainment. The min
isters, without a,ny exception, and the deacons, with few
exceptions, instead of receiving him as a Christian brother,
warned the people against him as a pestilent heretic ' holding
damnable doctrines.' The cry was raised all over the land
that he had come to break up the Congregational Churches
and to root out the ministers. The ostensible occasion for
the alarm was the acknowledged intention of three women, in
the county of Fairfield, to join the Methodist Church. There
were within the range of Lee's circuit forty-five Congregational
ministers, men of liberal education, settled over able con
gregations, and supported by large salaries secured by law.
And Jesse Lee, with the aid of three women, was endanger
ing the stability and very existence of ' standing orderism.'
It was necessary to repel those heretics. Therefore forty-
five ministers, ninety deacons, and lots of lay helpers must
unite and repel, even at the sacrifice of common politeness
and Christian courtesy, the inroads of an army of three
women and one man."
The trepidation of these venerable ecclesiastics, however,
arose less from the minute army then in the field, than from
the shadows projected from the future — the shadows of
that approaching host that has swelled frqm the " one man
and three women" to a hundred thousand strong on this
New England soil. Their eye pierced the century stretched
out before them, while the presentiment flitted across the
mind, that the little band, once obtaining foothold, could
never be dislodged. Thus far was the foreshadowing true ;
but their eyes discerned not the showers of blessing that
band would scatter over the land of the Pilgrims, enriching
the whole spiritual inheritance, and sending up from its
length and 'breadth a jubilant shout of praise. They had
not learned the lesson, (many- have not yet) that every
part of God's Church is a benediction to all the rest; that

JESSE LEE. 129
all are members of the mystical body of our Lord, and that
no one can say I have no need of the remaining members.
' The history of the Church as well as the word of God dem
onstrates that we are all mutually helpful, each feeling his
riches, spanning his circle of influence, or emitting a lively,
healthful radiance on the whole body. J' No man liveth to
himself." The year was now wearing to a close. Lee had contended
bravely, in his new field, single-handed against -a nation.
But the authorities of the Church knew that continued toil
and endurance alone were too much to be imposed upon
human nature. Accordingly they detailed from the ranks
of Old Baltimore a detachment of preachers to his aid.
The new recruits were Jacob Bush, Gorge Roberts, and
Daniel Smith — names that intimately associate us with that
ancient and conservative Conference, and that the Method
ists of New England will not soon suffer to die.
Leaving his colleague in charge of the work in Lower
Connecticut, he took an excursion to the north ; passing to
Hartford, and thence to 'Massachusetts, he swept through
New Hampshire and Vermont, and back to the land of
steady habits. All the while, however, his eye was fixed on
Boston, the metropolis of New England and the strong-hold
of Puritanism. Hardly stopping to rest, he started off for
the east, passing through Norwich, New London, Stoning-
ton, Newport, Warren, and Providence. When about ten
miles beyond the latter place, he met a traveler in the garb
and with the accoutrements of a Methodist preacher. So
great was his surprise that he could hardly venture to trust
to sight. When a little relieved from his surprise, he
rushed forward and grasped the hand of Rev. Freeborn
Garrettson, who was on his way from Nova Scotia, whither
he had been on a missionary tour.
After spending the night with Garrettson, Lee passed on
to Boston, a morally cold and desolate place, as he had
reason to think. The day in which he entered the city was
cold, each man was passing to his business, and all were
9

130 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
strangers to the itinerant^ offering him neither entertainment
nor opportunity to preach. His material resources were
small and every day growing less ; he could not stay long
at a hotel with the slightest hope of escaping the bands of
the bailiff. This was a severe crucible to his faith and
patience. He had done valiantly hitherto, and his labors
had been crowned with success. Should he now falter ]
The old courage rose, and by his wonderful executive' energy
he combated men and nature to obtain a foothold in that
ancient and aristocratic city ; but after repeated efforts no
hall or church or private dwelling, could be obtained as a
preaching-place. There was one source left which Methodism had found
available — the open air. Lee passed to the Common, and
selected as his' sacred locality the old elm under whose
ample boughs the patriots of the Revolution were wont to
give expression to their notes of liberty. Mounting a table
he began to sing a hymn, then knelt down and poured forth
a fervent prayer, so unlike those ordinarily heard in the
churches, as to excite a great degree of surprise in the
score of auditors that had by this time collected about the
stand. After singing another hymn, the audience in the
mean time swelling to hundreds, he took a' text and pro
ceeded to unfold the subject felicitously in an extempore
discourse. His voice rung like a trumpet through those
woody aisles, and his novel doctrine strangely struck those
multitudes. All was new and wonderful.
But Boston then gave slight indications that Methodism
could ever obtain foothold in so obdurate a soil. Hence
he passed on to Salem, Newburyport, and Marblehead,
thence back to the city and to his old field in Connecticut.
He soon, however, returned to Boston and resunied his
labors under the old elm. Among the crowd which then
gathered about him was Benjamin Johnson, of Lynn.
The Church at Lynn was in a state of revolution, the ma
jority being disposed to select a new minister. The dis
course of Lee impressed the mind of Mr. Johnson favorably.

JESSE LEE. 131
and he gave him an invitation to open his message at Lynn,
which was cheerfully accepted.
It was now December when he went to Lynn. Arriving
after dark, in the face of a cold wind, he found hospitable
entertainment with Mr. J. A society was soon formed,
into which the discontented majority of the old one was
incorporated, and thenceforth Methodism in Lynn became a
fixed fact. Here is the stronghold of the sect in Massachu
setts to this day. Here, too, Lee makes his head-quarters,
when he issues forth on his missionary expeditions to the
North, East, and West.
The Conference of 1793 was held in Lynn, the first in the
Eastern States. It was a season of power and victory.
Other men were introduced to take charge of the field
already acquired, while the indomitable Lee pushed on into
Maine, a region but thinly inhabited and poorly supplied
with the word of life. Although belonging to the Old Bay
State, it was indeed a neglected tract, which demanded mis
sionary service. He had previously visited Portsmouth,
but now burned with intense desire to rush into the dense
forests of this ultima thule spread out at his feet. Here he
would meet the double difficulty of pioneering in New Eng
land and a new country. But Lee was equal to any emer
gency, and always ready to make a trial.
Crossing the Piscataqua River he dashed on to York,
Wells, and Portland; thence beyond the Kennebec, he
swept through the country to Wiscasset, New Castle, and
Waldoborough, and Thomaston, on the Penobscot Bay.
Turning to the north he followed up the west side of
the bay to Frankfort?, then on the east bank to the Indian
settlement near Old Town, and so back to the Kennebec,
preaching at all the settlements along the way. This was
a tour of observation, designed to spy out a territory suita
ble for a circuit ; and hence, at the close of these extensive
explorations, he grouped the villages and neighborhoods
west of the Kennebec into a circuit which, in the Minutes,
was called " Readfield," the result of a year's toil.

132 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
At the Conference of 1794, five years from the time Lee
entered Connecticut, thirty preachers were scattered about
New England. One of them, Philip Wager, was placed on the
Readfield Circuit, while Lee took the general oversight of
the work, and reserved the privilege of making still further-
incursions into the territory. It was November when he
was ready to proceed to the north. Taking a new route,
he proceeded up the Androscoggin ; thence striking across
through a wild region, to the banks of the Sandy, he came
to a halt at a place since known as Strong, then but
sparsely inhabited. The snows were now falling, which
rendered the traveling in their unfrequented tracks highly
laborious and full of danger ; but Lee plunged into the
forest, taking an easterly direction to reach the banks of
the Kennebec ; thence bending his course to the south till
he came up at Readfield, his old hend-quarters.
After recruiting a few days another tour was undertaken
to the same region, after which he passed down into Massa
chusetts, spending some three months in inspecting his
extensive district.
Finding great encouragement from the state of the work
on his district, he resolved to make a more extensive ex
ploration than ever before in the province of Maine. The
region beyond the Penobscot was to him a terra incognita,
into whose mysterious depths he was desirous to penetrate.
Hence, passing that stream at Orrington, he proceeded to the
east, crossing the Union River at Ellsworth, and thence
winding around Frenchman's Bay, he visited the peninsula
of Goulcesborough. Starting again east, he came to
Machias, and thence by water he passed between the
main-land and Grand Menau to St. Johns, and on to
St. Stephen's upon the Schoodac River, where he found
Rev. Duncan M'Call, a missionary in the British Provinces,
with whom he had before held corresnondence. During the
J. O
year 1795 he traveled the old ground, passing as far as Mount
Desert, where he preached to a large congregation, who
had met for a militia muster.

JESSE LEE. 133
The year 1798 was one memorable for Maine, since the
first Conference was held at Readfield. Nine years had
now passed since the Methodist itinerant entered on the
soil of the East, and what a band had God raised up ! At
that Conference the heroes of the ministry gathered ; the
imperial Asbury, the apostolic Lee, the evangelic Merritt,
Broadhead, Mudge, Taylor, all men of renown, who have
engraven their names on the hills and vales, or rather on
the hearts of New England.
The health of Bishop Asbury had now become feeble,
and Lee became his traveling companion during the two
years subsequent, assisting him in holding the conferences,
visiting the societies, and preaching through the entire
extent of the country from Maine to Georgia. The General
Conference of 1800 met in the city of Baltimore. As his
health continued to decline, the bishop had relinquished all
hope of ever being able to serve the Church longer in that
capacity, and prepared to resign. In casting about for a suc
cessor, his attention was naturally attracted to Lee as the man
whose sound judgment, conciliating spirit, and indomitable
energy qualified him to fill the difficult and laborious office.
When the Conference, however, came to vote for a candid
ate, there was a tie between Lee and Whatcoat. On the
third ballot Whatcoat was elected by a majority of four
votes. The result was received by Lee in good-humor.
A friend suggested to him that probably he was thought
too fond of displaying his wit for a bishop. Lee replied,
that it would be unnatural to assume the gravity of the
office previous to receiving it.
At the close of the Conference, by request of Bishop As
bury, he visited New England, passing up through New
Hampshire and Vermont, thence across into the state of
New York, and down to Virginia, his old Conference, in
which he again took an appointment. He was made pre
siding elder of the Hanover District. But his old instinct
roused again in him, and he started off to the far South as a
pioneer, where he spent several years.

134 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
In the year 1808 he paid his last visit to New England.
Entering the country at Norwalk, where he began operations
nearly twenty years before, he passed along through Connecti
cut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and Maine, visiting all the
places where he had founded Churches, and witnessed the
moral triumphs of the Gospel in stirring and saving the peo
ple. On this tour he met many old 'friends, saw indications
of the continued prosperity of the work, and had his heart
greatly cheered by remembrances of the past and anticipa
tions of the future in this glorious old land.
In 1809 Lee was chosen chaplain to the House of Repre
sentatives at Washington, an office which he continued to
hold till 1815, when he resigned, to satisfy the scruples of
certain brethren who thought him engaged in too secular a
work. There is no evidence that he grew remiss in executing
the duties of his office ; he was the same humble, faithful, plain
preacher in the halls of Congress, amid the representatives
ofthe nation, that he had been i»'_ 'be forests of Maine ;but
after leaving this post he was soon gathered to his fathers.
He died at Hillsborough, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland,
on the evening of September 12, 1816. His end was
peaceful and happy.
Mr. Lee was one of those rare men who combined with
good-nature, a sound judgment and keen insight of human
character, readily adapting himself to all varieties of circum
stances. and to all classes of people. Hence he became a
most successful pioneer. He saw at a glance when to strike,
which side of man to hit, and had all the ability, the adroit-
ness, the hilarious, genial spirit to execute the project. No
one could dislike him, however much they might be dis
pleased with his doctrine or his mission.
As a preacher he possessed many advantages. His noble,
rotund English physique was in his favor, as well as his deep-
toned, sonorous, and well modulated voice, rolling forth vol
umes of, sense as well as sound, which held with unabating
interest to the close his large audiences. In addition to
these rare appendages his discourses were marked by sim-

JESSE LEE. 185
plicity, boldness, vigor, an evangelic tone and an underly
ing humor that only occasionally sparkled in witticisms,
but whose fires kept continuously gleaming through the sur
face, and creating in the audience most comfortable sensa
tions. He was often eloquent, sometimes overwhelming in
his appeals to the conscience, when the audience would be
moved like the forest smitten by the blasts of a tempest.
" Hard hearts broke under the word, the fountain of tears
was opened, cries arose in various parts of the house till the
whole assembly would burst into tumultuous, uncontrollable
exclamations." While as a clergyman he was ordinarily sedate and dig
nified, he could on occasion bring forth from his ample
treasury wit, sarcasm, and humor equal to any emergency.
Many incidents of this sort float in the traditions of New
England Methodism, which the few of our aged members
who recollect something of Lee or of the times immediately
succeeding his labors in the East love to repeat, We-have
space for only a handful of these .fugitive anecdotes, but"
must not deprive the reader of the privilege of tasting a few
specimens of these spicy fruits.
As he was one day riding along the street, a minister of
the standing order and a lawyer rode up on either side of
him, and began a rude attack on his doctrine. Lee was not
abashed by the procedure, and under his well-directed cross
fire the contest became so earnest that the assailants medi
tated a withdrawal, At last the lawyer, in a fit of i mpatience,
exclaimed " Are you a knave or a fool ?" " Neither the one
nor the other ; but," casting his eyes on either side, " I hap
pen to be occupying a position between the two." Whether
their departure, which immediately occurred, was hastened
by this incident, may be left to the reader's judgment.
On another occasion he fell in with a couple of lawyers,
who, on learning that he was an extemporaneous preacher,
were overcurious to know how he contrived to succeed
without the manuscript. " Do you never make mistakes ]"
said one. " Certainly." " Do you correct them as you

136 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
proceed ?" " Why, that depends on their character. If the
mistake be a great one, likely to lead the hearer into error
or a misconception ofthe subject, I stop at once and correct
it. But if it be only a slip of the tongue, a slight inadver-
tanee in the phraseology, I let it pass. For example : I was
about to say the other day that ' the devil is a liar and the
father of it,'' but by a slip of the tongue I said the ' the
devil is a lawyer and the father of lawyers,' which proved
to be so nearly correct that I passed on without correct
ing it."
It long continued a mystery to our people how he could
preach so well without notes. Some thought him a man of
superior gifts, others that he was in league with the devil,
while the more shrewd ones concluded he must have written
out and memorized a set of sermons, numerous enough to
last him on his tours about the country. As to that mat
ter, a shrewd clergyman thought he could test him by giv
ing him a text after he entered the pulpit, and one too that
he had not probably ever preached from. Lee consented,
and the minister selected as the text the passage, " And Ba
laam arose and saddled his ass." A tough text thought Lee.
But revolving it in his mind during the preliminary ser
vices, he opened with a description of Balaam as a deceitful,
mercenary teacher, who prophesied for wages. He then
proceeded to portray the oppressed, enslaved, pitiable con
dition of the ass, and the saddle that might become oppres
sive and galling, especially under the weight of a large, fat
man (which by the way happened to be the character of the
clergyman before him.)
Having concluded his exposition of the text, he proceeded
to apply the wholesome doctrines found therein to the con
gregation. He said the idea might be new to them, but he
thought Balaam might be considered as a type and repre
sentative of their pastor. The ass in many' respects re.
minded him of the people of the parish ; and the saddle,
bound on the poor beast by girths and cords, evidently re
presented the salary bound on the people by legal cords.

JESSE LEE. 137
On all these topics he launched out freely and excursively,
enlarging especially on the tax which proved so burdensome
to the people.
This good-natured shrewdness often served him when he
found himself in strait places and under circumstances of
embarrassment. While holding a camp-meeting on the
James River, the people were annoyed one night by a set of
rowdies, who had come upon the ground most hopefully
drunk. The noise and confusion having become intolerable,
Lee rose from his bed, and with two or three of his com
panions ascended the pulpit, and in a stentorian voice pro
claimed a welcome to them, at the same time inviting them
to come forward and hear a sermon. They readily com
plied. Lee then set one of his preachers to give them a
sermon in a deep, sonorous monotone, calculated to lull and
soothe the listener. The pitch-pine fires throwing a dim,
heavy gleam over the ground, were in wonderful consonance
with the monotones of the preacher and the somnolent ten
dencies of the new listeners. At last one by one they sank
quietly to the earth. " Stop," said he to the preacher. He
listened, but all was quiet, and the rioters slumbered"
heavily till morning, giving no one on the ground any
trouble.

JONATHAN EDWARDS.

New England, during the last century, produced a group
of renowned divines, among whom Edwards stands pre
eminent. . Their gigantic intellects were warmed by a stern
but ardent piety, that burned usually in the depths of the
soul, silently quickening the movements of the mental
machinery, but occasionally bursting forth into a more joy
ous and triumphant experience. In Edwards we hardly
know which most to admire, the keenness of his intellect,
which readily dissected the most subtle and abstruse prob
lems of philosophy, or the tropical warmth of his heart,
which poured forth a tide of emotion that swept all before
it. He was at once the philosopher and the Christian : ex
hibiting in one relation a grandeur of intellect that towered
up to the proudest regions of thought ; in another, the humil
ity and simplicity of the little child ; teaching by his intel
lect the philosophers of the world ; by his heart, the men of
humblest capacity that bow at the cross. Take him all in
all, he may be reckoned the mightiest mind that has appeared
in the modern world.
Jonathan Edwards was born at East Windsor, A. D.
1703 — the same year with John Wesley. He was the child
and only son of Rev. Timothy Edwards. His mother was
a daughter of Solomon Stoddard. To these parents was he
in no small degree indebted for his future distinction. Pos
sessing naturally a large share of intellectual power, a
soundness of judgment, and a strength of will, these powers
were cultivated and polished by study and learning. The

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 139
family was a school in which the knotty problems of philos
ophy and theology were probed.
Jonathan, the pet of the family, a fair-faced, flaxen-haired
child, whose nimble faculties gave ample promise of great
things in the future, was early inducted into this severe cur
riculum. The sisters taught him Latin at six years of age,
a period when most children are struggling with the cabal
istic alphabet of their mother tongue. The most happy,
however, and valuable part of that family training was of a
moral character. The parents were pious, and in their vari
ous relations seemed never to forget that they were Chris
tians. The savor of their devotions filled the household, and
happily tended to imbue the members of it, so that as they
went forth to the struggle of life, it was with an almost im
pervious shield of sound principles and religious example.
After this mental and moral home culture, he entered
college at thirteen years of age. Yale was then young and
in a somewhat disorganized state, the instruction and govern
ment of the institution being administered mostly by the
tutors, in the absence of the president, who was pastor of a
church at Saybrook. Of his college life few records are
left. He was a quiet, studious, obedient boy. Rows, then
as now, were the disgrace of colleges ; but Edwards, though
of a tender age, which would naturally expose him to temp
tation, had no inclination to such conduct. The conclusion
of his college course, as might have been anticipated, was
highly honorable to his head and heart. " He received the
highest degree in the arts ; and at the commencement had
assigned to him not only the most eminent, but almost the
sole and accumulated honor awarded to his class." All this
before he was seventeen years of age. But his college life
was blessed with not only intellectual but religious influences,
that seemed to pervade his entire being, remodeling his
whole nature, and imparting those lineaments of beauty and
power thdt rendered him the good man he was.
He had evidently graduated too young to enter immediately
on the duties of a profession. The body needed more vigor,

140 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
and the mind, though singularly ripe for his, years, lacked
the experience needful for the grave duties of life. Edwards,
however, was never idle. His recreations were but change
of employment. In the present case, after a careful examin
ation of his own heart and the indications of Providence, he
arrived, at the conclusion that it was his duty to preach the
Gospel. Hence he immediately addressed himself to the
study of theology, and to accomplish his purpose in this re
spect he remained two years longer at New Haven.* Pass
ing, then, to New York, he, for a few months, supplied the
pulpit of a small Presbyterian Church with great acceptance ;
but the prospect of support was small, and some old diffi
culties that seemed to be festering anew, and that presaged
troubles, induced him to leave and return to East Windsor,
where he spent a season of delightful retirement in the bosom
of the family.
It was during this season of repose that he composed and
recorded those famous resolutions for the governance of his
conduct in study, in religious duties, and social intercourse,
that have since attained world-wide renown. Considering
the age at which he wrote them, their breadth and compass
of thought, and the fact that he opened a new field in this
line of writing, they are an astonishing production. They
are worthy of remark, also, from the fact that they gave
shaping and form not only to his life, but to thousands of
others since, in all parts of Christendom.
In the mean time his grandfather, the venerable Stoddard,
of Northampton, whose half century of ministerial service,
together with age and growing infirmities, admonished him
that his day was drawing to a, close, began to look about for
a colleague. He had observed with pleasure the promise
and sterling worth of his grandson, and very naturally be
came desirous of transmitting his charge to hands at once so
competent and so dear to him. In this wish of their aged
pastor the people participated. They had recognized the
* He was also tutor a couple of years in Yale College, a duty .on which
he entered because he regarded himself too immature for the pulpit.

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 141
brilliant talents, the studious habits, and the deep piety of
the stripling, and really indulged pride in obtaining the
services and anticipating the ministry of one so gifted. Ac
cordingly they joined in an invitation to Mr. Edwards to
become co-pastor of the church at Northampton. On his
part there were many considerations that induced him to
comply with their wishes, and hence he accepted the call,
and was, on the 15th of February, 1727, in the, 24th year
of his age, ordained to the work ofthe ministry, and installed
as pastor of the church.
Northampton was not then what the name of Edwards
afterward made it. Located as it was almost upon the
verge of civilization, a small town, containing not more
than two hundred families, and apparently farther from
Boston than Cincinnati is at present, there was little in the
situation to arouse the fire of ambition. As a quiet resort,
however, embosomed in the verdure of the Connecticut val
ley, and overhung with the drooping branches of venerable
elms, it was highly favorable to intellectual pursuits, and to
the culture of the heart. What gave the place to him an
additional interest was the intelligence and piety of the
people, who had been trained under the protracted- and able
ministry of Stoddard.
In this delightful situation Edwards spent more than a
score of years, stretching on from 1727 to 1750, filling out
our ideal of a contented, studious, holy pastor, in a retired
position. A few months after his settlement he was united
in the holy estate of matrimony to a kindred spirit, every
way worthy of him, and one that has left her mark on the
world. The lady's name was Sarah Pierpont, a daughter
of the Rev. James Pierpont, of New Haven, the reputed
author of the " Saybrook Platform," a founder, and for a
time a professor in Yale College, and a notable of his day.
Thrown by these circumstances, in childhood, into religious
and intelligent circles of society, his daughter became highly
educated and accomplished, and so deeply imbued with the
principles of piety as peculiarly to fit her for the duties of a

142 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
pastor's wife. Early in her married life she became a favor
ite o'f the female portion of the Church, and, indeed, of the
whole town ; an angel of mercy, ministering to the sick and
dying, instructing the young, and giving encouragement and
aid to the poor and destitute. Long did the simple cottagers
remember her gifts, and recall the smile and the counsel that
accompanied their bestowal. But what was of more conse
quence to Mr. Edwards and to the world, she assumed the
whole care and responsibility of the household, the affairs
out doors and in doors being under her surveillance, thus
leaving him free to attend to his pastoral duties and to
prosecute his studies. To this arrangement we are, no doubt,
indebted' for most of his works that have- so materially en
lightened and blessed the world.
A couple of years later another event of great interest and
importance to him occurred, which made him sole pastor of
the church. We refer to the death of Stoddard, who passed
away, crowned with years and honors. As was natural,
Mr. Edwards felt deeply the loss of one whose counsels and
experience were inestimable. While, on the one hand, how
ever, he witnessed judgments, he was on the other called to
sing of mercy. Scarcely had he opened his, ministry when
the Church and community were visited with a gracious out
pouring of the Spirit under his labors, and some twenty
" hopeful converts " were received into the Church. A few
years later (1732-35) a more general and deeper work broke
out through the entire town. Old men and children, the
rich and the poor, were, brought to the cross. The whole
people seemed to be melted in a most surprising manner.
Men in masculine strength fell under the power ofthe word,
making bold confessions of their sins, in great terror lest the
pit should swallow them up. A universal weeping seemed
to pervade the community. There were none uninterested.
But on all sides they flocked to the assemblies of prayer,
and with strong crying and tears sought the pardon of their
sins. Scenes like those that afterward attended the ministry
of the Wesleys were witnessed at Northampton ; and as the

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 143
fruits of the revival some three hundred were gathered into
the fold.
These things were not done in a corner. Their fame had
gone out into the adjacent towns, and crowds were attracted
from the whole region to Northampton. The name of Ed
wards was emblazoned abroad as the apostle of a new dis
pensation. His services and counsels were everywhere
sought ; for in the mean time revivals had appeared through
the length and breadth of New England, and reached even
into the Middle States. The fields seemed on all sides to
be .white to the harvest ; men pressed into the kingdom in
all haste, and for dear life, under the labors of such men as
the Tennents, Davenport, and Prince ; but the great central
mind in the entire movement was Jonathan Edwards.
When the, work was assailed by the clerical pharisees of
the time, the mighty pen of the Northampton pastor was
wielded in its defense, producing a volume on the Affections
that has been a classic in religious literature ever since.
Not only were these obstacles without, the greater danger
arose from the excesses of excitable converts, whose ardent
temperament and aroused emotions were leading them be
yond all bounds of propriety. They were not the characters,
nor were they in a state of mind to submit to authority or
reason. Preachers sprung up on.all hands under gowns and
tow -cloth, wise above their pastors, and determined, despite
all protests, to obtrude their services on the people. There
was no governing them. A spirit had been raised that no
one seemed able to allay. The'work was apparently on the
verge of being ruined in the conflagration of fanaticism, when
Edwards stepped forth and uttered those magic words that,
quelled its violence, and did much to save the fruits of the
revival. The " Great Awakening," as this was denominated, was
succeeded in 1740, in Northampton, by another revival, less
extensive and powerful, but that was signalized by the pres
ence of Whitefield, whose fame had preceded him. At the
close of this season the religious interest entered on an irre-

144 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
trievable decline, and the usefulness of Edwards, though he
remained pastor a number of years longer, was ended.
There were two causes that contributed to the dissatisfaction
which resulted in his removal. Some five or six years pre
vious he was informed that licentious books were in circula
tion among the youth of the village. Surprised and pained
at the intelligence, he took the subject into the pulpit, and
gave a home talk, without indicating names, however, and '
at the close of the service, he consulted the leading men of
the society, who cordially approved his course, and urged
him to proceed still further in the case.
When the names, however, of the guilty young men were
read, the most respectable families in the place were found
to be involved, and fearing the disgrace that would ensue,
his generous counselors withdrew, and even professed to be
offended at the forward conduct of their pastor. The matter
was quashed, only, however, to smolder in concealment
/preparatory to a more fearful explosion of popular wrath.
Five years passed on in tolerable quiet, almost that of
death, during which the mind of Edwards was earnestly
directed to the state ofthe Church. Stoddard had introduced
the practice • of admitting to the communion unconverted
men on a profession of sincerity, and assuming the obliga
tions of the half-way covenant. On coming to Northampton
Edwards found the Church half full of these mongrel pro
fessors, a great hinderance to the progress of piety, and so
much like an iceberg as soon to reduce the fervors of devo
tion to a secular temperature. His keen eye soon perceived
that this element would continue to crush out real religion —
would make their labors productive only of an alternative of
heat and cold, and that the only remedy was a radical change
in Church discipline. But this practice had spread and become
rooted in all the New England Churches, was shielded
under the great nahie and piety of the venerated Stoddard,
was agreeable to the natural heart, and afforded those who
had been received under it privileges they were not willing
to relinquish.

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 145
Edwards made known to a group of confidential friends
his convictions in the case, and the difficulty that would at
tend their promulgation. They, however, urged him to
publish his views ; when he very quietly remarked that
such a course would unsettle him, and probably ruin him
for life ; his opponents would cover his name with such op
probrium that no Church would give him a call ; and he
should be left, in the decline of life, with a large family, and
no means of subsistence. His friends thought otherwise;
but events demonstrated his superior sagacity. But he was
made of that kind of material that never flinched in the day
of battle. He had /counted the cost ; had become satisfied
where the path of duty lay, and calmly, resolutely looked
the difficulty in the face.
The cause was Christ's, and in peril ; under this conviction,
with a martyr resolve, he sat down and penned the treatise
on the "Terms of Communion," which startled the New
England Churches like the blast of Gabriel's trumpet. It
was no less than an "humble attempt" to send half the
Churches to perdition ! The moment this book dropped
from the press, <all the dogs of war, as if infernally inspired,
pounced upon him. His Church was a complete hornet's
nest. Men that once wept like children under his pungent
and searching ministry, became infuriated and were ready
to send him to the nethermost hell.
He attempted to explain his views in a public lecture ;
but reason and right were out of the question ; all attempts
' at reconciliation only increased the confusion. They that
had shouted " hosannas " in the day of his prosperity, now
joined the multitude in the cry, " Crucify him." His friends
were few and abashed at the terrific collision of the elements.
To add fuel to the flame, neighboring Church members inter
fered. A storm was up now that even Edwards could not
manage. A council was called to remove him, and was
conducted on one side with violence and malice, as if fore
ordained to make an end of him. In the midst of all, how
ever, Edwards was calm, defending, by reason, his positions,
10

146 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
and breasting the storm and the billows as coolly as a granite
column. To his spiritual vision, which had carefully and
philosophically scanned human nature, and read the charac
ter of the New England Churches of that time, this was all
apparent years before. He knew what it would cost to
break the ice, to open the batteries of reform, and went about
his work as deliberately as he would say his prayers. He
calculated to suffer martyrdom of soul, and made a willing
sacrifice. The council, after long deliberation, advised to dissolve
the union that had subsisted between them as pastor and
people. Having uttered their advisory behests, to all
which Edwards very piously submitted, they retired. His
farewell sermon closes the drama. The occasion naturally
drew his attention to the judgment, under whose intense
light, in a simple and fervent spirit, he held up the pas
tor and his people in their mutual relations and respon
sibilities, uttering by the way some pious home truths that
must have fallen upon consciences not as yet seared with a
hot iron, with a terrible and withering energy.
Looking back through the vista of a century, this scene
strikes us with not a little surprise. Northampton,
whose very glory is but a reflection from the name of Ed
wards, ostracising her noblest son ! casting away as a vile
thing her only name that will float down to the dawn of
the millennial glory ! But such are the lessons of history ;
full' of glory and shame*! Edwards took his way from
Northampton, much as we may suppose an angel would
leave Hades, pervaded by a mingled feeling of grief and
melancholy. Going forth into a cold world with a blackened name,
without friends or home, surrounded by a virtuous wife and
weeping children, his condition starts the tear of pity.
Where shall he go % He has friends in Scotland, to whom,
however, he is known only by his writings, and they are far
away ; but in the hour of darkness and need they invite
him to come among them. He looked' coolly at the matter,

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 147
and honestly told them he was a Yankee, that distance had
lent an enchantment to his name, and that when the Scotch
people should see him they would be disappointed, and he
should be left with a large family in a distant land. He
declined. Nothing now remained but a little Indian mission, away
up hi old Stockbridge, not old then, the very last town that
contained a white settlement. The little Church of whites
(hardly a baker's dozen) in Stockbridge, also made him
their pastor. Thither he repaired; cheerfully indeed, but
not without reflecting on the cost of honesty and faithfulness
in a crisis. Well, here we are, goods and children, tumbled
into a little cabin on the very confines of the unbroken wil
derness ; and the great teacher of philosophers the world
over, striving to catch the gibberish of a handful of savages,
and to learn them the Gospel. How ludicrous, and yet
sorrowful ! But all the ills of life have their compensations.
Old Bedford jail did for Bunyan what a bishopric would
have failed to do. We are most grateful for it. To the
prisons of the Old World we are indebted for the epistles of
St. Paul. The devil never committed a graver mistake than
when he incarcerated these men. In Northampton, Ed
wards probably would have done but little more with his
pen ; but in Stockbridge his leisure was diligently employed
in writing. Here, in a few months, he threw off the work on
the Will, which placed him forever among the few great
minds of the world. To his work on Communion, that
originated the difficulties at Northampton, a reply was writ
ten by Solomon Williams, and published by Edwards's
Church. He now found time to attend to Solomon, and in
about a hundred pages of classified logic, poured on scalding
hot, he reduced him and his book as near to nonentity as
ever poor wight came.
But we must hasten. The world began to wake up to
the real greatness of Jonathan Edwards. Crushed like the
fruit of the vine, the divinity and philosophy with which his
soul had been saturated from the cradle began to ooze

148 , NEW ENGLAND #IVINES.
forth quite freely ; men sipped of these, and found them
sweet to the taste. Of course, then, if he could not be
killed there was no harm in letting him live. Nassau
Hall was then struggling into existence. Burr had just died,
and their eyes turned to Edwards as the man to fill his
place; so the Indian catechist was speedily transformed
into the learned President Edwards. Scarcely, however,
had he assumed these honors when the shaft of the great
destroyer pierced his heart and terminated his valuable life.
Friends gathered sadly around his couch and whispered
their fears for the fate ofthe college, when rousing up from
the death-lethargy, and in a sepulchral utterance, he bid
them " trust in God, and they need not fear." So lived, so
died the great Edwards.
Of human life, as of a painting, much of its apparent sig
nificance and beauty arises from our stand-point. Viewed on
certain sides and at particular angles, it is dull and mean
ingless — a mere jumbled mass of exercises, without afm or *
order ; while a single glance from the true point of vision
will unfold its mystery and reveal traits of hitherto conceal
ed excellence. We need to look out upon other regions of
the mind from the leading trait of character, not what ought
to be, but what is the pioneer instinct or principle. In
Edwards this was the religious life. True, his speculative
faculties were strongly developed, but they were steadily
held amenable to the conscience, were under the guardian
ship of the heart. By the Princeton Reviewers he has been
styled a bold and daring speculator, frigid, hyperborean, and
metaphysical, the author of a frosty system, devoid of fruit.
They look at him from some of his rugged syllogisms, dis
cover only his intellect, and hence can see but a Hercules
with his bludgeon. Are you not mistaken, Doctors ; gazing
at the wrong angle, where you will fail to observe the real
force and significance of his life? Now just come and stand
at the fountain head, where his spiritual life gushes forth to
fertilize every department of his nature, and see what a
divine beauty flashes from his entire being. The eye

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 149
kindles, the countenance burns with intelligence and love,
the heart moves in sympathy, and the hyperborean specula
tor melts, under the attraction of the cross, into the simple,
affectionate disciple.
Piety was the mainspring of his exertions, the moving
force of his existence, the volcanic fire that fused his theolo
gy, and that broke up the primary strata of philosophic
truth, hurling forth his burning granite upon the bosom of
society. To attempt an understanding of the import and harmony
of his life without a knowledge o'f this interior power,
reminds one of a geologist scrutinizing an iceberg to ascer
tain the internal structure of this planet. The effort is
futile. We can know him only as we look out from the
heart, from these "inward burnings" kindled by a deep
religious experience, from the magnificent laboratory in
which were wrought out the forces of his life. Here all
appears beautiful, orderly, plain ; moving forward like a
well constructed system of machinery.
His religious principles were imbibed in early life, almost
in the cradle. That vigorous period in which the character,
in a great measure, is shaped was given to God. From the
first, under a kind culture, he exhibited that amiableness,
modesty, and docility ; that filial, fraternal, and social affec
tion in acts of kindness and attention, that rose almost into
the dignity of religion. Like the young man that came to
Christ, he seemed to lack but one thing, a radical change of
the affections. •
He was early visited with religious impressions. At
seven years of age, during a revival in his father's Church,
he felt a deep and lasting concern for his soul. " He was
abundant in religious duties, used to pray five times a day,
occasionally to join with the other boys, with whom he united
to erect a booth for prayer, and often felt the flow of affec
tion and pleasure when he engaged in religious exercises."
These, however, in after life, were not regarded as the ex
ercises of genuine piety.

150 " NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
During the latter "part of his college course he was
visited with a deeper, more powerful influence, that secured
to the Saviour his sturdy intellect and heart. From his
training and his generally correct life, we do not anticipate
those struggles of terrific grandeur, often witnessed in the
hoary penitent who wars against inveterate habits and
a nature long subject to sin. Gentle influences moved
upon his soul, and he melted, as it were, under the attrac
tions of the, cross. " The sense of Divine things," to adopt
his own language, " kindled up a sweet burning in my own
heart ; an ardor of soul that I know not how to express."
He seemed to see all things changed; heaven and earth in
a " sweet conjunction ; majesty and meekness joined together.
It was a sweet, and gentle, and holy majesty, and also a
majestic meekness ; an awful sweetness ; a high and holy
gentleness." The sovereignty of God, that ever after filled his vision
with mountain majesty, now rose before him in all those
aspects of beauty and loveliness calculated to please and
attract. He once found it difficult to admit the doctrine ;
but now " absolute sovereignty is what I love to ascribe to
God, the doctrine appearing exceedingly pleasant, bright,
and sweet ; so that in future he scarce ever finds so much as
an objection against it in the most absolute sense."
Flowing from this change, he realized all the fruits of
piety. " My mind was greatly fixed on Divine things,
indeed almost always in the contemplation of them. I
spent much of my time in thinking of them year after
year ; often walking alone in the woods to meditate, solilo
quize, pray, and converse with God. Prayer seemed
natural to me. as the breath by which the inward burnings
had vent." These surely are the marks of a thorough con
version. The religious life of Edwards was characterized by
extreme simplicity and humility. With imperial mental
endowments that rendered him at home among the proud
est intellects, he was in religion simple as a child. He put

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 151
on no airs, assumed no importance above his brethren;
nay, was willing to learn at the feet of the humblest of
them. Indeed, he never seems to have been conscious of
the magnitude of his power and influence, nor to have
dreamed of the position he has taken in the ranks of philos
ophers and divines. He was elevated to such sublime
regions that all these terrestrial objects appeared diminu
tive and little worth ; the mere bubbles that swell and dis
appear on the distant surge of human life.
" Nothing is worth a thought beneath,
But how I may escape the death
That never, never dies I"
Hence he seemed earnestly to desire to eleminate all im
pure and grovelling motives, to be actuated only by those
of a religious kind. He set down this among his resolves :
" That no other end but religion shall have any influence at
all on any of my actions, and that no action shall be, in the
least circumstance, any otherwise than the religious end will
carry it." His, however, was the simplicity and humility
of a great mind, not a mere crouching to the great, a servile
abjectness in the presence of authority. He realized his
equality with others, but was pervaded by the feeling that
all men were insignificant. Their frowns or smiles did not
move him materially. Surveying from a religious altitude
the waves of human passion, and the inequalities in the
social ranks of men, he was affected very much as we
should be, by the activities and the " strife for precedence "
among a family of ants.
His piety was Biblical ; no mere excitement of the imag
ination, or superstitious clinging to old traditions or incant
ations, no ado about the worship of nature, but a healthy
outgrowth of the moral and religious nature under the oper
ations of the Spirit and in accordance with the divine rule.
With him the Bible was a holy oracle, a rule of life and
faith infallible, to whose glorious revealments he paid a
cheerful homage and ready obedience. To this crucible he

152 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
submitted his religious experiences, his moral code, his theo
logical notions, his entire life, that the " wood, hay, stubble"
might be purged away, and only the pure gold treasured for
life eternal. Philosophers too often have made a rule of
their science. Under the garb of servitude have they brought
their idol into the true temple. Perhaps in a single in
stance Edwards gave his philosophy too free a rein, in the
treatise on the Will ; but this was a theoretical weapon
turned against his enemies, and not allowed to modify his
religious experience. His piety was Biblical in the sense,
too, of being deeply in sympathy with the sacred volume.
He loved its truths, and hence loved to read them. He
possessed a style of piety that would have precluded him
from being a Papal Catholic. He declares that he had " the
greatest delight in the Holy Scriptures of any book whatso
ever. Oftentimes in reading it every word seemed to touch
my heart. I felt a harmony between something in my heart
and those sweet and powerful words. I seemed often to see
so much light exhibited ' by every sentence, and such a re
freshing food communicated, that I could not get along in
reading, often dwelling on one sentence to see the wonders
contained in it, and yet almost every sentence seemed to
be full of wonders."
His was a piety that invested the cause of the Redeemer
with a primary and sacred interest. Of Christ and his
kingdom he thought first in the morning, last at night, and
amid all his studies and labors during the day. Religion.
was a business of highest import. He was zealous for the
Lord his God. The following statement accords well with
his whple life, although referring to an early period of it :
" I had great longings for the advancement of Christ's king
dom in the world; and my secret prayer used to be, in
great part, taken up in praying for it. If I heard the least
hint of anything that happened in any part of the world,
that appeared, in any respect, to have a favorable aspect on
the interests of Christ's kingdom, my soul eagerly catched
at it, ana it would much animate and refresh me. I used

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 153
to be eager to read the public newspapers, mainly for that
end, to see if I could not find some news favorable to the
interest of religion in the world."
His devotions were builded upon a broad basis, spreading
out over the whole space of his immortal existence, and
gathering strength from all the worlds. He lived in sight
of heaven and hell, having a full view of the long vista of
his immortal life, terminating in the joys of paradise or the
pains of perdition. His actions were governed by this
view, and so performed as to meet the demands, not of the
hour, but of his eternal existence. Could we thus persuade
men to take a look at realities, to pre-read the oncoming
facts of their history, arid render their judgment in full sight
of all the facts, the wicked would become just, the righteous
stable. We deceive ourselves by exparte decisions ; look
at one side, and take it for all, seeing only that truth that
pleases us, and that we desire to believe. Hence, death
beds and separations, eternities and the wailings of woe,
come up horribly in the face of men, making the worldly
stare, and infidels gnash the teeth. Edwards looked at the
whole. Read here his proclamation to " Mansoul."
" Resolved so to act as I can think I should do if I had seen
the happiness of heaven and hell torments; to live at all
times as 1 think it best in my most devout frames, and when
I have the clearest notion oflthe things of the Gospel and
of another world ; to do nothing which I would be afraid to
do if I thought it would not be above an hour before I
should hear the last trump."i
The piety of Edwards was regular, flowing on with a
fullness little affected by the incidents of time ;' silent but
powerful, drawing its supplies from the great River of Life.
Most Christians have religious zeal enough, if it were only
husbanded and expended in the proper method ; but they
suffer it now to break away from all bounds, then to burn
out. Edwards kept his in the proper channels, diked up
by strong resolutions, sweeping on, under the influence of a
spiritual gravitation, to the great sea of eternity. Frames

154 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
and feelings, fortunes and misfortunes, the bright or the
dark side of Providence, made little change hi him. His life
was hid with Christ in God, his supplies drawn from a divine
source that knows no disturbance. There was much in his
life as well as in, himself to check the even flow of his
desires and aspirations. He was pressed* down by the
incubus of disease ; was but poorly understood among men,
and ruthlessly thrust out from the flock nourished by his
prayers and toils. Under the whole, however, he kept
serenely on his way, singing of mercy and of judgment,
and confidingly reposing all his hopes in Providence. Of
that he had a fair trial, thrust out upon the cold charities
of the world at forty-six years of age, with no fiscal re
sources, no hope of a new settlement, and but a slender
prospect of any other means of livelihood. Most men in
like circumstances would have stared wildly, would have
distrusted, and relinquished hope. Not so with Edwards ;
he hoped on, and believed some way would open. At this
dark period he wrote to a friend in Scotland : "lam fitted
for no other business but study. I should make a poor
hand at getting a living at any secular employment. We
are in the hands of God, and I thank him I am not anxious
concerning his disposal of us. I hope I shall not distrust
him, nor be unwilling to submit to his will ; and I have
cause for thankfulness that there seems to be the same dis
position in my family." To another friend he wrote : " I
have now nothing visible to depend upon, in future, for the
subsistence of my numerous family. But I hope we have
an all-sufficient, faithful, covenant God to depend upon. I
desire that I may ever submit to him, walk humbly before
him, and put my trust wholly in him." The eye of prophecy
was not needed to foretell the care of Him who feeds the
ravens, and satisfies the want of every living thing, over such
confiding, patient trust. His was a faith that pierced the
clouds, looked beyond the storm, and rejoiced in the sun
shine that glowed above him. Nor did his day close before
the sky cleared up.

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 155
In a character thus stern, unbending, springing from a
broad, capacious intellect, we hardly look for a great deal
of emotion. By such religious emotion is usually chilled,
repressed, or entirely quenched in the soul. They regard it
unmanly to feel, especially to weep at the cross, or in the
Hall of Judgment. They may now and then shed a dry
tear over human change or misfortune, over the death-bed
of a friend or the bier of a hero ; none for Christ. They are
in advance of the Man of sorrows that let fall warm tears
over broken hearts and homes. With David, and Jeremiah,
and St. Paul, the pastor of Northampton was not ashamed
to give visible utterance to his pent emotions. He was not,
however, a man whose chief function was weeping, who
could bring forth tears to order, and by this means fill any
gap that might chance to be in his argument. Not at all.
Huge arguments were tumbled down every Sunday from
that old high pulpit, and sometimes tears to boot. The
presence of Whitefield was an extra favor, which so excited
the good feelings of Edwards that he wept through the en
tire service. But we hope the reader will not think his feel
ing was reserved for public occasions ; that would be a great
mistake ; few men exercised a more perfect control over
their emotions in public than he. When he let go the big
anchor, and suffered himself to be swept away by the tide
of feeling, be sure there was a storm up that would justify
manly tears. But in private, where your sensitive people
seldom weep at all, he gave his feelings freer course. As
an example, take the following from his Diary : " Once as
I rode out into the woods for my health, in 1737, having
alighted from my horse in a retired place, as my manner
was, to walk for divine contemplation and prayer, I had a
view that for me was extraordinay, of the glory of the Son
of God, as Mediator between God and man, and his wonder
ful great and full, pure and sweet grace and love, and meek
and gentle condescension. This grace that appeared so
calm and sweet, appeared also great above the heavens.
The person of Christ appeared ineffably excellent, with an

156 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
excellency great enough to swallow up all thought and con
ception ; which continued, as near as I can judge, about an
hour ; which kept me the greater part of the time in a flood
of tears, and weeping aloud. I felt an ardency of soul to be
emptied and annihilated, (I know not how else to express it,)
to lie in the dust and be full of Christ alone ; to love him
with a holy and pure love ; to trust him, to live upon him,
to serve and follow him, to be perfectly sanctified and made
pure with a divine and heavenly purity. I have several
other times had views of the same nature, and which have
had the same effect. I have also, many times, had a sense
of the glory of the Third Person . . . communicating light
and life to the soul. I have also, sometimes, had an affect
ing sense of the word of God, as a word of life, as the light
of life, accompanied with a thirsting that it might dwell
richly in me."
Again: " Another Saturday night (January 1739) I had
such a sense how blessed a thing it was to walk in the way
of duty, that it caused me to break forth into a kind of loud
weeping, which held me some time, so that I was forced to
shut myself up and fasten the door. I could not but cry
out, 'How happy are they who do that which is right in
the sight of God !' " Some regard the emotions as danger
ous ; but this sort are never ; they are the healthy outgrowth
of a vital religious principle, not the mere fungi of fanati
cism, ever in holy companionship with the understanding ;
and when walking thus hand in hand, as the first pair are
said to have left paradise, they will be sure to gain a re-
entrance to that state of blessedness.
In a word, the religion of Edwards, while evangelical
and Scriptural in its nature, pervaded the entire circle of his
duties and relations. It warmed his doctrine in the sanctu
ary, exhilirated his heart in private, glowed about the hearth
stone of his home, blessed the poor, was eyes to the blind,
feet to the lame, ears to the deaf, a home to the homeless,
and hope to humanity. Whenever he walked among the
sick or the sinful, in the Church or the market-place, he

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 157
bore along with him his piety. It was no" mere Sabbath
garb to cloak over a multitude of week-day sins ; but a holy
benevolence, gushing forth on all sides to gladden foe and
friend, and to make this desert world bloom into a second
Eden. His was the true, universal religion, saturating the
whole man, body, mind, conscience, heart, and soul, burst
ing out into all the avenues of life, all the actings and think
ings of the man, so as ought to satisfy even Theodore Par
ker ; the spiritual baptism of his natural religion, and no
mere gaunt and starved sainthood, on which he delights to
harp. Here is a man for you, Theodore, a whole man,
expanding into the ample and beautiful proportions of a real
saint ; no mere spiritual zo-ophyte, but a nature fairly de-,
veloped into the divine image ; a man full of the absolute
religion, branching out into all its specialities.
Whether true or false, it was a happy notion of the phy
siognomist, that the body and mind resemble each other, the
soul fashioning its tenement for convenience and the expres
sion of its own taste and character. In the case of Edwards,
at least, the theory was verified. His physical framework, to
an intelligent mind, suggested the chief points of his charac
ter ; the soul streaming up in look and act, and giving true
utterance to his manhood. To the men of his generation
he presented a tall, erect, modest figure, but attenuated and
meager, as though
" Sharp misery had worn him to his bones."
This lank form, which would not have ill become Cassius,
was surmounted by a head that was a crown of glory, dig
nified and gracefully borne, with a lofty and ample forehead,
an eye brilliant and steady, and a face curiously inwrought
by intelligence and grace, the severe lines of thought merg
ing in the dimpled smile, as though the pure light of the
intellect and the crimson blaze of the affections, streaming
forth, intermingled and played in beauty on the countenance.
The whole system appeared feeble, fragile and sickly ; a
tabernacle too ethereal by far for the mental enginery that

158 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
played within, trembling like the " curtains of Midian " under
the pressure of a mighty will. The beholder feared the re
sult, and was slow to believe the habitation could long with
stand the storms without or the heat within. But he lived
on amazingly, in defiance of the grasp of death which had
held him from childhood, as if determined to prolong the
term of his labors. These endeavors, indeed, were not
always equally resolute ; at times a languor and weakness
presaged the stoppage of the " weary wheels of life ;" but un
derneath this debility of the outer man, there burned an in
tense flame, an altar-fire that was consuming the very tem
ple in which it was kindled. Such was his physical pres
ence, grand and somewhat stiff, and yet full of an enchant
ing interest.
His character was like, reminding one of a summer land
scape, made up of hill-side and vale, of purling brooks and
broad, swelling Amazons ; of rugged mountain forest and
gentle meadows, interspersed with giant oaks, and gardens,
and flowers, curtained with waving clouds and bathed in the
mellow effulgence of heaven, a scene of grandeur and
beauty, of greatness and happiness commingled. As in the
landscape, mountain and valley, the sunny meadow and
graceful cloud, offset and beautify each other, even so in the
character of the divine, differing virtues, like the modest
flowers, grow quietly together, while far above all shoot up
his intellect, affections, and will, like the burning points of
Chimborazo. The world has long and willingly conceded to Jonathan
Edwards the possession of great intellect, " the philosophic
faculty," acute, comprehensive, patient, with magnificent
powers of generalization. His mind moved slowly with a
measured and dignified tread, placing the feet carefully upon
the piers of truth, but with an elephantine power. His men
tal apparatus was of a heavy style, that thundered along the
highway of investigation like a steam-engine, pressing fear
lessly into the wildest regions of abstruse, bold, original
speculation, leveling, in his way, or tunneling the mount-

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 159
ains of philosophy and theology, breaking up the huge strata
that have slept undisturbed for ages.
The mind of Edwards was peculiarly observing, wide
awake ; the eye open to catch every new fact or appearance
in nature or in man, in the natural or the spiritual world.
In this respect he was like the foe of Caesar ;
"He reads much,
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men."
To the sons of genius the world is a vast museum, crowd
ed with wonders, resplendent with great deeds, showing
everywhere the foot-prints of the Creator. To the mass,
however, they are as though they were not. They see them
not, have no eyes to see them, stumble on through as it were
a dark night, grumbling at the rough world in which they
live. All the time they walk amid the sights and sounds of
paradise, only their heavy eyes and dull ears fail to drink in
the beauties and harmonies that come up from every rank
of the Creator's works. They run hastily over the field as
if in a rout, or in pursuit of some bauble, without stopping
to observe the treasures that glisten in the soil, or the mon
uments that crowd the way. Edwards was of another spirit.
He ventured out into this great world with amazement and
awe. He felt it to be the temple of the Creator, built about
with the garniture of heaven, and illuminated by the per
petual fires of a thousand altars. God was there recogniz
ing the perpetual sacrifice. " His excellency, his wisdom,
his purity and love seemed to appear in everything ; in the
sun, moon, and stars, in the clouds and sky ; in the grass,
trees and flowers ; in the water, and all nature, which used
greatly to fix my mind. I often used to sit and view the
moon for a long time ; and in the day spent much time in
viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of
God in these things ; in the taean time singing forth in a
low voice the contemplations of my Creator and Redeemer.
And scarce anything among all the works of nature was so

160 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
sweet to me as thunder and lightning. I felt God, if I may
so speak, at the first appearance of a thunder storm, and
used to take the opportunity at such times to fix myself in
order to view the clouds and see the lightnings play, and
hear the majestic and awful voice of God's thunder, which
oftentimes was exceedingly entertaining, leading me to sweet
contemplations of my great and glorious God." His was a
mind of great acuteness, sharp and angular, with a keen
edge, that shaved the folds of the gordian knot. He looked
at truth through an eye-glass that gave a magnitude to motes
which, with his philosophical instruments, he would seize
hold of, turn over, examine and discourse upon as very plain
matters, while the rest of the world were knitting their
brows and straining their eyes to find out what he was
talking about. Usually he would contrive to present them
in su'ch 'a manner, exposing them under the blaze of the
sunbeam or at high noon, that the vision of ordinary men
would discern them ; but we are obliged to confess that in
this he sometimes failed to convince us that he was dealing
with substantia] realities, and not the mere figments of his
own brain. Whether the fault was with his practical
Yankee auditors or the metaphysician, we leave the reader
to determine. One thing is certain ; among a different
class of men this feature of his genius would have been
more thoroughly appreciated. The old Grecians, for in
stance, would have gone into raptures over him. By them
his subtilty would have been elevated into an inspiration,
while he charmingly talked over the distinction to be made
between their Homoousian and Homoiousian notions of
Christ. Their optics would have scanned needle-points
and infinitesimal motes as long as he would have pointed
them out, his hearers as well as he being able to
" Scan and divide
Betwixt north-west and north-west side."
*
But this is not always the case with Americans. They
are in too great a hurry to master the visible world to

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 161
become voluntary stylites on the great Sahara of meta
physics. Only now and then one will submit to such mar
tyrdom. Hence, Edwards has been better appreciated, as
a philosophical writer, among the Scotch than among his
own countrymen. There good, patient souls will keep on
gazing, sure of something worth the toil by and by. In him
they found an oracle, and have poured out on him more
profuse eulogies than any other people. " His work on the
Will never has been and never will be answered," ejacu
lated a Scotch philosopher in an ebullition of enthusiasm.
But he had not seen then how the Americans were picking
his book to pieces, as the crows would an old dead horse ;
never thinking that some bold Yankee, stumbling along,
would one day knock down the very chief pillars on which
his fabric rested. He said it honestly in his love and
ecstacy. But the truth is, Edwards nursed into life the
young serpents that are stinging to death his big idol. In
training his disciples to analyse and dissect every subject,
even the most abstruse that fell in their way, to walk up
boldly to every new theory and to try their hand at its
demolition, he led them, when they found leisure, auda
ciously to turn their" scalpels on the flesh and sinews of his
own system, and it is not strange that they have hacked and
carved till the old thing looks hideous.
With this razor-edge was joined a mind of heavy caliber,
staid and manageable — not an unbroken beast that chafes
and worries under the weight of intellectual burdens and
among the snags of philosophy, but one that bears on
coolly to the goal, whatever of the precious ore of truth
may have been gleaned from the mine. Not that he was
mentally perfect ; his practical judgment was sometimes
faulty. It might have been wise sometimes to bend around the
base of the mountain, or to avoid the quagmire, instead of
taking a bee-line or observing exact mathematical angles
in his progress. But he knew more about systems and
science — the abstract notions of truth, than of their practi-
11

162 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
cal, every-day application to human affairs. In the phil
osophy of the human mind, a deep knowledge of the sinful
ness and deceitfulness of the heart, the springs of action,
the deep, half-concealed motives that sway the man, he
hardly had a superior in his day ; while there were multi
tudes that could manage the practical workings of society
much better, with more grace, with less chafing ; just as an
ingenious man may construct a mowing machine, that a
practical farmer will work much better than himself, or as a
doctor who perfectly understands the anatomical structure
of the human frame, may but ill compete with the agile
movements- of the rope-dancer. Edwards manifested little
generalship in managing men in great emergencies, when
the masses are stirred and the passions are high. Like
some old general who carries the exact rules of the schools
to the battle-field, he would sooner make the curve of the
mountain bend to his plan of battle, than it to the
mountain. He went to Northampton under the most favorable
auspices, was extremely popular, almost worshiped for a
time by the people ; his labors were greatly blessed, and he
was, by means of those great revivals that attend his minis
try, providentially placed in the most desirable position of
any minister in New England. In the midst of his glory
he fell — fell, as it seems, by imprudence. His way
of reproving the youth that had rebelled, his way of
managing the controversy with his people, as well as the
time he selected, exhibit imprudence. True, he was doing
a work to which the hearts of the people were opposed ;
but Stoddard had done the like before him, and done it
effectually, and we can but think the old patriarch might have
done the work his grandson attempted with success equal.
He knew better the twistings and windings of men, the
practical sinuosities of the heart. Edwards shut himself up
in his study, living a sort of hermit life, seldom seeing his
members, save on the Sabbath. Had he been a good pas
tor, making himself familiar with the people, and learning

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 163
their tastes and characters by a daily, intimate knowledge,
we can hardly suppose they would have been able so un
ceremoniously to cast him out. But it is to be recollected
that he was urged to this course by conscience, a high
authority to which he did well to take heed. Whether that
conscience might not have profitably conferred with the
judgment, as to the time and mode of its operation, maybe
a delicate question to decide. It is certain, at any rate,
that his sense of right and wrong was in an unusual degree
squared by the word of God — was no mere time-serving,
India-rubber affair, that could be adjusted to all sorts of
circumstances. We are bound to say that he carried one
of the most fearless,.straight-forward consciences- — one little
influenced by any temporal consideration, having the honor
of God ever in view. Such a conscience is littie likely to
make any compromise with the world, or even to be a very
devout admirer of the common maxims of prudence.
Conjoined with his collossal intellect was a noble heart —
expansive, sympathetic, warm. It was not chilled or
checked in its movements by the cool and calm operations
of the intellect ; but wherever his thoughts traveled, or his
great genius planned schemes of benevolence, there it
glowed with a tropical zeal, lending a charm and beauty to
his whole being. His sympathies were world-wide. His
intellect, at least on the theological side, was Calvinistic ;
his heart was catholic, loving and blessing all that was good,
rising above sects into communion with the general Church
of the " first-born." He exhibited none of the childish,
sickly sympathy that would move one to tears by little tales
of distress, while he could remain calm in full view of the
great facts of our ruined nature. He seldom wept, perhaps
never, from the causes that produce the greater part of hu
man tears. He wept over the fall and ruin of human souls
— the severed tie that binds the race to the throne ; over
the sins, and not the sufferings of. men merely. He was
like the surgeon who amputates the limb of the patient with
less reference to his present agony than to his general good.

164 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
In him an energetic will controlled every department of
the mental republic. Though not hasty or harsh, his exec
utive behests were weighty and powerful — what must be
obeyed. A little lenity could sometimes be afforded, since
the monarch was so absolute as to fear no insurrection, and
hence needed not, like Louis Napoleon, to slay the innocent
lest they rebel and dethrone him.
The presence of his powerful will was felt along the
entire course of life. He ruled himself — a work which the
history of man has proved to be the most difficult allotted
us. By an unflinching resolve, he held the machinery steady
under the highest pressure, and kept all in operation. Look
at him during the difficulty with the people of Northampton.
Observe his perfect calmness while the elements of discord
swell and rage about him. The coolest minds are stirred,
his friends partake of the general excitement, and his ene
mies blacken his name. He could but see and feel all this ;
but during the whole he showed the most perfect self-con
trol. The papers that he presented to the council, although
drawn up in the greatest disquiet and haste, are elaborate
presentations of his views, exhibiting no traces of the pre
vailing excitement. The same truth is seen in his steady-
pursuit of his studies for a lifetime, scarcely permitting the
mind to unbend from its severe exertions. His plans of
life also exhibit a course of persistent endeavor very rare.
His grasp was tenacious, not readily unclenched; the result
of a purpose and a will full of holy energy. Few ministers
in the midst of revivals would continue to delve in dry
metaphysics, to make definitions and form theories on sub
jects apparently so remote from their immediate business.
Fewer still have been able to pay such exclusive court to
study. How few under such obloquy would have persisted
in stating their views to the people of Northampton ! But
Edwards had a law of perseverence written in the constitu
tion of his nature, irrepealable as those of the Medes and
Persians. To give up a plan appeared to him as much
like 'a revolution as the exhibition of the democratic

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 165
bayonets did to the pope; but it is certain, had he been
pope, no military demonstrations would have scared him
away to Gaeta, before his reasons against the violence had
been calmly and fully rendered.
But the crowning glory of his character was a nice mental
and moral symmetry running through the whole — not a
mere dead level, a barren sand-bar, but the requisite variety
of eminence and vale, the proud forest and gentle arbor so
delightful to the eye. If he inherited an intellect tall, and
proud, and mighty, beside it there glowed a heart genial and
happy, breathing the sweet airs of paradise all about him,
while both were regulated and controlled by an ample vol
untary force. If, on the one hand, he was self-confident, he
was on the other modest and humble. Retiring, diffident
in his natural taste, a home man that would have little to do
with strangers, one given to study and reflection, he yet
dared, when duty demanded, to face the tallest champions of
error, not in a trembling, faltering way but with an open
brow and in a fair field. Who would have turned to the
minister of a small country parish, in the wilds of America,
as the successful antagonist of Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, or of
the Churches of New England 1 In the Arminian contro
versy he stood in the fore-front of the battle, and amid
" the thunder of the captains and the shouting," was confi
dent his sling would bring down Goliah.
If he was one of the greatest theorizers, one that could
attenuate his spider-web fabrics into thin air, he was also,
in a good degree, a practical man. We are not surprised
that such a theorist missed sometimes in bringing down his
ideals to " the business and bosoms of men ;" the wonder
is that he could ever be a minister at all — coujd preach so
as to hit any, and thereby convert them. Not every one
from a dizzy intellectual height can so unerringly send the
arrow of Gospel truth to the heart in the vale.
Thus far what he is in himself; let us see how beauti
fully this nature acted out in two or three spheres in life.
Edwards was peculiarly a man ofthe study, spending, as

166 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
he did, nearly or quite one half his earthly existence in a
persistent struggle for the acquisition of knowledge. Llis
was a student life ; emphatically so ; no mere attempt or
feint, while the soul dreamed away its energies amid the
flowers and perfumery of polite literature. His soul bent
to the task in earnest as to a life-long loving labor. He
descried no royal road up the hill of science, 'no method of
" learning made easy," no ascent by steam power, which
should be a mere " pleasure trip " to the sacred grottoes of
wisdom ; but like a practical geologist, in rude attire, with
pick-ax, hammer, and chisel, he makes a foot journey of
observation up the steeps of all knowledge possible to man.
He was a man of universal curiosity, opening his eyes with
increasing amazement upon each new field of thought dis
closed along the ascent, intermeddling with all knowledge
and wisdom as opportunity presented.
Few readers of the stern old dialectician and theologizer
whose mind patiently explored the arid regions of meta
physics, would suspect him of a taste for the rosy features
of nature. Yet such is, the case. Natural philosophy was
his earliest study, his cradle pastime as it were. The influ
ences of nature swept across his soul as the winds strike
the. chords of the ssolian, producing a music at once sweet
and sublime, full of the earthly and celestial harmonies. It
is to be recollected that he began life at a time when science
had but just begun to unfold her treasures, and in a place
remote from scholars and books, an American book then
being a phenomenon. But these appliances, so necessary
to most, men, could. be dispensed with by him. He found
"books in running. brooks," in stones, and forest, and sky;
heard the voice of the great Author walking in the garden
of nature, and caught, amid rural scenes, the strains' of
celestial music. When a child he would spend hours alone
in the woods near his home, in minute observation of nature
— the trees, the flowers, insects, and birds. At twelve years
of age his letter to a savan of Europe, on the habits of the
spider, was written, and evinces such accuracy of observa-

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 167
tion, such minute insight into the habits of that little animal,
and such sage conclusions as would do honor to a mature
naturalist. Nor did he stop here. His researches extended
to all those puzzling, every-day facts of. nature that had up to
that date baffled the skill of philosophers and left the com
mon mind in amazement. And in some of these studies he
was remarkably successful, even anticipating the discoveries
that have given renown to names in science.
He discovered (independently, so far as we know) that
there were several unaccountable phenomena attending the
reflection and refraction of light, whose exposition would
let us into a new world of philosophy ; that the atmosphere
contained a more subtle, ethereal fluid than atmospheric air ;
that water was a compressible fluid — a fact not communi
cated to the world till forty years later ; that water in freez
ing loses its specific gravity — a fact for which he was una
ble to account ; that the existence of frigorific particles was
doubtful, and that lightning was " an almost infinitely fine,
combustible fluid matter that floats in the air, and that
takes fire by a sudden and mighty fermentation, some way
promoted by the cool and moisture, and perhaps by the
attraction of the clouds," a near approximation to the theory
of Dr. Franklin. His theory of atoms, and demonstrations
that the fixed stars are suns, as also his explanation of the
channels of rivers, of the different refrangibility of the rays
of light, of the growth of trees, of the process of evapora
tion, of the lever, and of the laws of sound, are not only
curious, but far in advance of his age. These early efforts
of the American student will suggest to the reader the simi
lar ones of the celebrated Pascal, whose genius in some
respects resembled that of Edwards. Both possessed great
mental endowments, conjoined to strong faith and Christian
simplicity ; in both, those powers were precociously devel
oped, were in deep and delicate sympathy with nature
throughout her wide domains ; both made early discoveries
in science, and left their names legibly inscribed upon the
theological literature of Christendom ; aye, more, they find

168 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
a home in the heart of humanity. This resemblance ex
tends to all their studies. Each delighted in the exact
sciences — those studies that above all others discipline the
faculties, and that whet the mind to a razor-edge. Pascal
invented geometry in his teens, studied the mathematics a
great deal through life, and exhibits the fruits of those
studies in the acute and serching " Thoughts," and still more
masterly " Provincial Letters," that he bequeathed to the
world. Edwards also relished these abstruse studies, not
only in college but to the end of life. They were his pas
time every week ; the astringent that knit the soul to un
wonted strength ; the tuning-fork that adjusted his ear to
the harmonies of nature. His hard and muscular style and
heavy trains of thought are but clusters of his fossilized
theorems strowed along the lava-path of his volcanic soul.
Had he not been a mathematician, in daily and familiar com
munion with that austere science, he could never have hand
led the grave questions he did in philosophy and theology.
We must not conclude, however, that these objective and
theoretical studies absorbed his whole attention. Far from
it. He brought the power of his optics to bear upon his
own heart, where he scrutinized carefully each motive, and
feeling, and desire, keeping an earnest surveillance over his
entire spiritual nature. Few men ever so thoroughly
looked themselves through and through, delving into the
deepest recesses of the soul, revealing caverns crowded with
every vile and abominable thing far below the soundings of
ordinary men, as well as bringing up pearls and treasures from
the wrecks and ruins of fallen humanity. In his Journal
for August, 1728, he writes : " Very much convinced of
the extraordinary deceitfulness of the heart, and how ex
ceedingly affection or appetite blinds the mind and brings it
into entire subjection. There are many things which I
should really think to be my duty, if I had the same affec
tions as when I came from New York, which now I think
not so to be. How doth appetite stretch the reason to
bring both ends together." Six days later he adds : "The

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 169
chief thing that now makes me in any measure question my
good estate, is my not having experienced conversion in
those particular steps wherein the Puritans used to ; where
fore, now resolved never to leave off searching till I have
satisfyingly found out the very bottom and foundation, the
real reason why they used to be converted hi those steps."
" Resolved, whenever I do any conspicuously evil action,
to trace it back till I come to the original cause ; and then
both carefully endeavor to do so no more and to fight and
pray with all my might against the original of it" — "to ex
amine carefully and constantly what that one thing in me
is that causes me to doubt of the love of God, and to direct
all my forces against it."
This searching self-retrospection brought to light the mul
tiplied disguises of sin. " I see there are some things quits
contrary to the soundness and perfection of Christianity,'
he remarks, " in which almost all good men do allow them
selves, and where innate corruption has an unrestrained
secret vent which they never take notice of, or think to b<
no hurt, or cloak under the name of virtue."
It naturally also revealed to him depths of depravity in
his own soul which sometimes have been regarded as in
congruous with those lofty attainments in piety which his
life everywhere exhibits. The real difficulty, however, was
not that he was more wicked than other men, but that he
explored regions of the spiritual nature to which most per
sons are utter strangers ; and hence, when such tales are
brought back they are regarded as incredible, mere exag
gerations of the fancy. Perhaps the experience of Edwards
in this respect was extreme. He says : " Often have I had
very affecting views of my own sinfulness and vileness ;
very frequently in such a degree as to hold me in a kind of
loud weeping ; so that I have been forced to shut myself up.
I have had a vastly greater sense of the badness of my heart
than ever before my conversion. It has often seemed to
me, that if God should mark iniquity against me I should
appear the very worst of mankind ; and that I should have

170 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
by far the lowest place in hell." When persons remarked
to him that they felt they were as bad as the devil himself,
he thought their expressions " faint and feeble to represent
his wickedness."
But his theological studies, to which he restricted his
main efforts, will ever claim the deepest attention of the
world. Here he put forth his sturdiest, life-long exertions,
passing over it into the field of metaphysics only where the
lines of the one merge in the other. The work on the Will
is not a philosophy, though philosophical ; or, in other
words, it only looks at the religious side of the philosophy,
and designs no exhaustion ofthe subject. Most of his other
works were presented first to his congregation, in the shape
of sermons or lectures, and then remodeled into book-form.
With the breadth of intellect, the inquisitive genius, the
universal tastes that would have led him to distinction any
where, making him a rival of Bacon, or Newton, or Socrates,
he chose, in obedience to the admonitions of his moral na
ture and of Providence, to restrict himself to sacred studies.
He acted, in this respect, on the principle of the division of
labor, and in the end realized all those advantages that
naturally spring of such an arrangement. The mind was
concentrated, apt, and full of vigor. The field selected was
plowed deep, and from the good seed and rich soil pro
duced an abundant harvest of golden sheaves that will en
rich the Church and be reproduced, in a thousand forms,
till the millennium. In some other spheres of thought he
made no pretensions. In this he called no man master, and
was ever ready to render a reason for the hope that was in
him. He was here at home, and stalked forth as a brave
sentinel, warning away every heretic, and fearlessly grap
pling with the Goliaths of error.
He was not a man of many books, which in his day were
rare and expensive luxuries. He studied things and sub
jects, reading a great deal in the few authors he possessed,
but was by no means confined to their range of thought.
Taking up the thread interwoven in their pages, he traced it

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 171
on to sublime regions, whence their wing would tire and the
train of thought be lost to ordinary vision. His great hu
man authors were the old Puritans, those stern masters in
theological metaphysics, together with a few of the cham
pions of evil, on whom he kept a steady, stern eye. What
was a little peculiar, his own writings afforded him strength
and devotion. Instead of reading the " Saints' Rest," or
" Pilgrim's Progress," to rekindle the languishing fires of
piety, his own resolutions and diary were conned. His own
mind sent forth ample stores for sustenance across the de
sert of time.
But in this connection we ought not to pass the Bible as
the book that, above all others, gave shaping and power to
his life. In this he made daily study. Here the soul
feasted, as in green pastures, esteeming the Gospel the rich
est treasure. " It was his rule," says Dr. Hopkins, " not
only to search the Scriptures daily, but to study them so
steadily, constantly, and frequently as that he might disco
ver a regular and obvious growth in his knowledge of them.
By prayer and self-application he took constant care to ren
der them the means of progressive sanctification." The
Scriptures were the basis of all his writings ; the fountain,
deep and full, whence he drew forth living streams to irri
gate the arid wastes of the moral world ; the source of elec
tric power that he conveyed along his productions into the
heart and life of humanity, communicating a portion of his
own Bible-given energy to the common stock of the race.
His books were no mere gaunt and meager speculations on
dry and useless themes ; they glow with a warmth that kin
dles and bursts out into flame amid his staunchest pages.
They stir the souls of men to divine action, to more earnest
and world-wide endeavor in all the walks of Christian enter
prise. Under the influence of the writings of Edwards and
his disciples, in no small measure, the missionary, the Bible,
the tract, and the temperance causes sprung into life and
vigor, giving hope and joy to depraved manhood. The
germs of truth disclosed in the parables and narratives of

172 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the sacred volume are luxuriantly developed by his pen, till
the rich and luscious clusters protrude over the wall and at
tract the desire ofthe world, presaging the dawn ofthe mil
lennial light.
In his habits of study President Edwards was severe and
unbending, subjecting his physical and mental powers to ex
ertions not less rigorous and persistent than those of the
beast in the mill. While at Northampton he spent fifteen
hours of the twenty-four in his study. Hot or cold, he was
accustomed to rise at four o'clock in the morning, and enter
ing his room, he spent the morning in prayer and such devo
tional reading as he chose, usually the Bible alone, till
breakfast. Thence, after family devotion, he returned and
lingered till dinner. After dinner, in summer, he mounted
his horse and rode away into some secluded region, two or
three miles distant, where, in forest or field, he meditated
and prayed as he walked about or reposed in the shade of
some tree. These, however, were not idle and useless hours,
in which the thoughts were permitted to run to waste. The
mind was partially unbowed, taking a freer and more ex
cursive range through the field of truth, but was wide awake
to seize on any new ideas or trains of thought that might
suggest themselves. Often did he here stumble upon rich
veins of truth that opened with a munificence and wealth of
thought beyond all his hours of severe study. During these
seasons his great works were suggested, floating along like
bright visions from the skies, and kindling in his own soul
an intense ardor. At such visitations he used to dismount
and note on scraps of paper .or old bits of letters the out-
lines of his meditations, pursued as far as possible. Of
these relics he left bushels at his death, the broken and
wasting records of his exhausting study.
To us they are mere hieroglyphics, a heap of old rubbish,
curious indeed, but without harmony or spirit. To the mind
of Edwards they were not so. He recognized their price
less treasures — the nuclei of grave treatises for the press or
the pulpit. Among these heaps of scoria we find the oi-ig-

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 173
inal chippings of the " Inquiry into the Freedom of the
Will," approximating the completed work about as the bab
oon does the species homo. Had the president lived to an ad
vanced age, no one would predict the venerable tomes that
might have tumbled "out of this rubbish heap ; and tomes,
too, that should have shook the world from side to side.
But these fifteen hours spent in the study were no mere
holiday time. Whatever he found to do, he did with his
might. He thought with his pen in hand, thus making sure
of a subject when once drawn from its obscurity. To the
remark of Macaulay, that men can think more clearly on
paper than any other way, the history of Edwards affords a
striking example. Whatever subject he handled was probed
to the bottom. It was carefully and critically analyzed ;
its hidden parts were laid open and all its minute relations
revealed. Whatever of weakness and error clung to it was
exposed, and its truth presented in its entireriess and power.
This care and labor were not usually expended on trivial sub
jects. He went far below the surface, and wrought in a
strata of thought little familiar to the masses of men, save
as they now and then observe a block drawn from those
silent depths, to adorn some curious human structure. But
he knew the stone-bed whence the blocks, in a rude state,
were quarried, not without toil and soul-wrenching agony,
mingled with a pleasure in the mind's own achievement.
But we approach here the miracle of his life — its continu
ance amid such Herculean toils. With a frame feeble and
trembling like Richard Baxter's, just ready to sink into the
tomb, he outworked all the men of his generation, living on
more than half a century of years when he seemed to die in
the cradle.
The great archer seemed really to have been outwitted,
and brought down his victim at last only by an epidemic.
This wonderful prolongation of life was effected, in part, by
his rigid temperance and regularity in his diet and all his
habits. The burden', it may be, chafed sometimes ; but the
harness had been long and steadily worn, till all tender

174 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
parts had become callous, and thus the system, under its
regular pressure, grew strong instead of weak.
In his work he. was not more regular than in his diet.
On the Czar Appetite he kept a steady eye, administering
only such rations as would encourage* a healthy effort, and
repress any ambitious stirrings of the heart. The reader,
on a sight of the diminutive bowl from which he dined,
would judge him in little danger of gluttony, and his diary
reveals frequent twinges of conscience for breaking over his
dietetic rule. His sin, however, in this kind, compared
with others, seems exceedingly venial. For these little
cares for his health he was deeply indebted to Mrs. Ed
wards, who lingered like a guardian angel about his paths,
administering to every want.
His life was still further prolonged by an intense and en
during enthusiasm, an internal fire that sustains the chief
tain in battle and the scholar in his investigations. Studies
pursued irregularly, or as mere task-work, while the mind
fails to kindle with interest, are weary and wasting labor ;
they drink up the spirits and wither the physical frame;
but when the soul enters into them, comprehends their deep
and subtle philosophy, and extracts a sweetness therefrom,
kindling a holy and unconquerable enthusiasm, they serve
as an oil to the bones. This animating principle sustains
even a feeble body in untold exertions. Hence plodders
die early, while the enthusiastic sons of science and letters
ripen into a genial old age. To this remark Edwards forms
no exception. His philosophic soul burned with a steady but
intense glow, was moved on by a high and mighty resolve
that beat death in the face without stopping to listen to his
message. The human body, under these conditions, reminds
us of an old carriage wheel, which will run, when in full
motion, with half the spokes gone, but be sure to drop down
the moment it ceases to roll. Had Edwards relaxed his
exertions, the crazy wheels of life would have been incapa
ble of further motion ; but from the fact that he kept them
in rapid play, allowing no time to die, he lived on as though

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 175
the angel of death was afraid to broach the subject and
thus break in upon his toils.
A few words more illustrative of his theological and cleri
cal strength, ought to close our remarks on this great think
er. He was a man born for all time, a denizen of the stu
dent world, whose fame will be sounded down to the latest
ages. He was a creator of thought, who delved in the deep
quarry of universal truth, and chipped out the huge blocks
that other men fashion into gorgeous temples and comforts
able homes.
There are two classes of theologians. The one sticks fast
to the creeds of old time, to the traditions ofthe elders just
as they received them in the catechism at their mother's
knee. They dare not leave these old and beaten paths, and
strike out new ones across the field of truth. They were
never born to walk without crutches or to depend on their
own reason and judgment. They walk most devoutly in
leading-strings, priding themselves on their devotion to truth
and orthodoxy, observing the ancient landmarks as sancti
moniously as Don Quixote did the rites of his knightly con
secration. Such theologians the past has produced, whose
straggling representatives are occasionally seen venturing
abroad still into the world with great bleared eyes, like owls
at mid-day. The best that can be said of them is, " They
never had an unbelieving doubt."
Such was not Edwards. He thought for himself; took
no man's nor company of men's ideas as divine revelations.
Imbued as he was with the religious sentiment, he rever
enced the past, and gave his most careful consideration to
the sentiments of great doctors. He trod lightly upon the
ashes of the fathers, willing to put the very best construc
tion upon their creeds, and to pass over their foibles with
the briefest censure allowable; but no more. They must
not urge on him their notions as the dicta of an infallibe
pope. Come they from authority high or low, from pope
or council or priest, from primitive days or the latest age,
they must be submitted to the crucible of his own reason..

176 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
If not able to stand this fiery ordeal, they must pass away
with all hay and stubble.
He was the devotee of universal truth, digging for those
central veins that course the wide empire of God, sending
up, wherever touched, life-giving influences to the world.
Truth was to him a mighty name ; not any special one, but
the truth that runs through "being in general." He mount
ed above the special truths that busy most men, taking a
flight loftier than the creed of a sect, into the sublime and
glorious regions of catholic Christianity. Here we perceive
his true grandeur, towering up in untold strength, and shin
ing forth upon the generations of men like a spiritual Pha
ros, or a heavenly luminary, a great light which all the
storms of time will not be able to extinguish. Amid these
great questions of general truth, that in their labyrinthian
windings puzzle the wits of the wise, he was at home, more
so than in the handling of minor points. For the latter his
giant fingers were too bungling, while they were precisely
adapted to seize the cables that lash the world ia their em
brace. His views of these great principles were original. He
was no copyist. He sought not the confirmations of a creed,
but truth, found in whatever field. To call him original, I
am aware is saying a great deal ; for few original minds have
visited the world, scarcely one in a myriad. A Socrates, an ,
•Aristotle, a Bacon, bore this highest style of genius, which
only after ages were able to appreciate, so far did they live
in advance of their times.
For others these high claims have been made, but seldom
truly. Most of our original men are shams, that dress up
old and stale truths in a transcendental garb ; or, if they deal
in the sterling coin, have stolen it from some antiquated and
forgotten coffer. But as to Edwards, we must place his
name in the list of original men, men that descend into the
quarry and bring up the unchiseled blocks, and decipher
and read to men the divine handwriting.
No reader can plod through the ten volumes of Edwards

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 177
and not be impressed with the thoroughness of his investi
gations of truth. He grasped the substance, minding little
the drapery thrown about it; the great ideas were more
precious to him than the form of words in which they were
bodied forth. He was too much in earnest for thought to
stop to turn a period and form a musical sentence. In this
he may have been wrong ; it was regretted by himself in
later life. The one he ought to have done, and not have
left the other undone. But while we feel obliged to censure
the style in which he presented his thoughts, those careful
and extensive investigations demand our admiration. In
thought he tolerated no surface work. Whatever subject
he took up he probed to the bottom, thrusting in the prairie
plow, beam-deep, which was sure to tear out every snag
and root which would yield to human appliances. It made
a great crackling, sometimes, among the stumps of super
annuated systems ; it turned up new treasures in the soil ;
but no matter for that, he was ready to root out any error,
however hoary, to take up any truth, however new. He
had a high courage that led him into any region, arctic or
tropical, where truth abode, and once there, he clutched the
trophy, even though in the keeping of infidels, and conse
crated it to the noble purpose of blessing God and men.
But the reader must not take it from this remark that he
was daring and ruthless, dashing through the regions most
sacred to men, and maliciously sweeping away truths that
have consoled a thousand generations, as a herd of swine
would ravage a cornfield. Far from that. He went rever
ently to his task, with a heart candid and honest and child
like, uttering the prayer, "What I know not, teach me."
He loved the notions that had been taught him as truths ;
but the real thing he loved better — failed not to choose it
whenever and wherever found. We hardly know which to
admire most, his sturdy boldness or his meek humility, the
confidence he felt in his viewsy or the modesty with which
he proposed them to the world. He seems, in this 'respect,
" the great, humble man ;" unlike many of our modern re-
12

178 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
formers, who fiendishly break down the most sacred enclos
ures, and then exhibit an unearthly chuckling over the ruin.
These dash on to their conclusions in full sympathy with
this age of steam ; he felt his way along the links of his logic.
Perhaps, however, you will claim that candor and sim
plicity are easy virtues in those elevated regions of general
truth, where the animosity and prejudice of sects can never
come, and that a truer test of a man's candor will be found
in dealing with the creed and theological notions his fathers
reverenced and instilled into the heart of his childhood. So
be it. Let the rule be laid upon Edwards, and his character
in this light will yield full measure. While we are not able
to assent to all his conclusions, we are obliged to confess
that he dealt honestly with his creed.
I know men, have called him a bigoted Calvinist ; but not
truly. That some of the points in the system he sacredly
cherished are Calvinistic is undeniable, while at the same time
it is true that he gave other of the doctrines of the Genevan a
deadly thrust under which they reel from very faintness and
despair. The enemies ofthe scheme had cropped its outgrowth,
had beaten down some of its proud towers, giving it a wasted
and dilapidated appearance; but Edwards dug down to the
foundations, and undermined the chief pillars of the super
structure. He abandoned the outworks of the fortress, as
constructed by Calvin, because he saw them falling under
the heavy blows of the Arminians, but went quietly to work
away down under ground, and built up the walls anew. He
changed his views of the nature of sin and holiness — the two
great principles that are interwoven in, and that give color
ing to the whole of theolbgy. These were a part of his
"new views in theology," which have become the grand
staples among the theological wares of his followers. Here
is the fountain-head of the new style of Calvinism under
whatever name — New Divinity, New England Theology,
Hopkinsianism, or Taylorism. In each we behold only the
transmigrations of the Edwardean ideas. Edwards was the
pioneer in breaking up. the old system, and introducing the'

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 179
new notions in a disjointed form, bringing out some full and
life-like, while others were but obscurely hinted at. A sys
tem it can hardly be said he formed. That was left to his
followers. They took the blocks, rough hewn by him, and
builded up the temple. Such men were Hopkins, Bellamy,
Emmons, and Taylor, who took his disjecta membra and
bound them up in forms of beauty and life.
As a preacher, Edwards stood among the mighty men of
his time. There were giants in those days, but he was one
of the chiefest of them, swaying an influence in the pulpit
above any man in New England.
The impressions he made upon audiences were profound
and enduring, leading to the most important results.
When he went to preach at Enfield, Conn., the inhabitants
were in such a state of religious indifference, that when the
neighboring clergy entered the meeting-house the appearance
of the assembly was thoughtless and vain. " The people
hardly conducted themselves with common decency. When
Mr. Edwards preached, before the sermon was ended the
assembly seemed deeply impressed, and bowed down with
an awful conviction of their sin and danger. There was such
a breathing of distress and weeping, that the preacher was
obliged to speak to the people, and desire silence, that he
might be heard."*
On the text, " Their feet shall slide in due time," he pro
duced a sermon of terrific and solemn grandeur, that brought
the people to their feet, and caused them to seize hold of the
pews to prevent an immediate sliding down into perdition.
The written ' discourse produces an impression hardly less
vivid on the mind of the reader ; as he proceeds in it, he
gets wrought up to a serious earnestness for his welfare.
Those great revivals in Northampton would furnish still
other illustrations of his impressiveness and power in the
pulpit ; revivals that were brought about by his preaching,
and that were the deep upheaval of the popular conscience
which those sermons had stirred and kindled.
* Christian Spectator, as quoted in Miller's Life of Edwards, p. 198.

180 . NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
And yet this man, in the popular acceptation of the term,
was not eloquent. His heavy nature was too staid to excite
the natural feelings, his imagination too grand to move the
fancy, and his thoughts too substantial to gratify the taste
of an audience. In his manner there was nothing to please.
He stood up in the desk, and calmly read off his discourse in
an indifferent tone, with scarcely a gesture, the lifting of a
hand, or the upward glancing of an eye, save at the turning
a leaf.* Yet, in spite of all these defects, no minister, not
even Whitefield himself, could surpass him in fastening con
viction on an audience, in driving the nail of truth in a sure
place. His power is, no doubt, attributable to various
causes. The one that would first and most deeply impress
the hearer was solemnity — a something that reminds him of
eternity, as the preacher lifts up in the high pulpit his tall figure,
" Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed."
The great truths he comes to deliver seem to have settled
deep into his own soul. Those eternal realities about which
he discourses, appear before him ; heaven, with its walls of
jasper and streets of gold, flashes upon his vision, and hell
from beneath gleams before him. The shouts of celestial
triumph and the agonies of despair combine to make him
serious and in earnest, filling out Cowper's ideal of a true
minister : " Decent, solemn, chaste ;
. . . .Much impressed himself,
As conscious of his awful charge,
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds
May feel it too ; affectionate in look,
And tender in address, as well becomes
A messenger of grace to guilty men."
The solemnity of Edwards was no sanctimonious vacuity
of mind, but the index of deep, earnest thought. Discarding
* In his last years Edwards regretted that he had ever habituated him
self to reading in the desk. He not only believed the free, extemporane
ous delivery more apostolic, but also more effective,* as the open counte
nance, the flashing eye, the moving figure speak more impressively to
the mass than any words.

JONATHAN EDWARDS. 181
wholly the antiquated maxim that' makes ignorance the
mother of devotion, he fed the people with knowledge. He
dealt out the strong meat of the Gospel. He was not afraid
of reason in the pulpit, making it the instrument by which
to lift truth from the deepest mine, to draw it down from
the highest heaven, to gather it in from the wide universe.
It was the solid thought, tumbling down from his lips, upon
the congregation, like ingots of gold or showers of pearl, that
arrested and kept the attention. His thoughts were wide,
original, deep, opening landscape views across new fields,
glorious or gloomy, and causing the hearer all the time to
realize the novelty, and yet the truthfulness of the presentar
tion. As'he left the place he might not feel that his soul
had been as deeply stirred as under the teaching of a White-
field or a Tennent, but he would realize an addition to his
knowledge, a stirring of the intellect, if not the heart, which
would be felt many days after.
But his sermons were by no means adapted merely to the
intellect. He presented those truths that moved the entire
man, taking hold on the foundations of his being, and lifting
him into a serious, holy sympathy with the preacher. The
body of his discourses came home to the hearts and con
sciences of men. The hearer, without stopping too long to
gaze and wonder at the new and strange thing the preacher
was saying, felt that the truth was intended for him, should
lead him to act at once, and to act in earnest.
But the sermons of Edwards left the impression that he
was honest, and toiling for the hearer's good, not standing
there to read his moral essay, to show his skill and erudition,
or to fill up his hour. He spoke what he felt in his inmost
being, and because he believed, therefore did he speak. All
men who heard him felt that he was not there " to court a
grin," or " break a jest," or " to address the skittish fancy
with facetious tales." He was " sent with God's commission
to the heart," pleading the awful concerns of eternity as
brother with brother.-
As a preacher and theological writer, he attained his endur-

182 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
ing popularity — the fame that will carry him onward to the
millennium. Men may forget the ordinary incidents of his
history, his struggles, his connection with the men of his
time, and even riiany of his merely philosophical speculations,
but his theological and clerical influence will be felt to the
end of time. His philosophy was human, and hence subject
to change and decay by the revolution of thought, and the
introduction of new systems ; but his theology, so far as
embalmed in sermons and treatises, was so imbued with the
spirit of the Bible as to be almost imperishable.
Not that coming ages will assent to all he wrote, as we
do not now ; they will observe some rubbish drifting on the
stream — something of the taint and wrongness of his time
clinging to him ; but at the same time, in his leading ideas
and general spirit they will recognize such beauty, so much
of the aroma of eternal truth, as to treasure in their hearts
his sentiments of wisdom and love. We already obtain a
glimpse of this result. We do not believe him when he
endeavors to bring down the glorious ideals of Christianity
to the pattern of Calvinism, or rather Edwardeanism ; to
torture the Gospel into a confession of the " five points,"
and make God's wide and jubilant universe, with its myriad
voices of praise, pour forth a deep and dreary miserere.
And yet there is much in him that the stoutest Arminians
love and cherish. They feel that he was not built for a
Calvinist merely, but to soar into the regions of catholic
truth, where they delight to follow him. He was a Chris
tian, that noblest style of man. As such he will live for
ever, admired and lauded of men ; the man of the ages,
great and good.

ELIJAH HEDDING.

Not vainly did old poets tell,
Nor vainly did old genius paint
God's great and crowning miracle,
The hero and the saint.
God blesses still the generous thought
And still the fitting word he speeds,
And truth, at his requiring taught,
He quickens into deeds.
Where is the victory of the grave ?
What dust upon the spirit lies ?
God keeps the sacred life he gave —
The prophet never dies. — Whittiee.
Bishop Hedding, who long lingered as the chiefest
among the princes of our spiritual Israel, was descended
of a good English stock, and trained in that " middling "
social condition best adapted to afford a vigorous physical
constitution, as well as to develop a robust and healthful
intellect, and to cherish the fairest of the Christian virtues.
Though born beyond New England, his, early removal
hither, his education acquired on our soil, and the exercise
of his ministry among our Churches previous to his eleva
tion to the episcopacy, induce us to claim him and the
laurels he wore for New England, and enable all our
Churches to cherish a holy satisfaction in having given to
the denomination such a redoubtable and honored chief;
whose early labors contributed so considerably to the ex
tension of a then recent sect; whose calm and dignified
wisdom aided to guide her counsels; and the stream of
whose history, as it advanced toward the close of his life,

184 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
became identified with that of the Church. From this last
consideration, as well as from the fact that a most ample
and entertaining biography of the bishop has been given to
the world by Dr. Clark, we shall pass, in this sketch, quickly
over the leading incidents, the main field of his biography,
lingering only on such as afford illustrations of his character
and style of life.
He was born in Dutchess County, near what is now the
town of Pine Plains. His early days were spent amid the
hardy and healthful occupations of husbandry. Of course
the educational advantages outside the household were
scanty ; but, so far as we can ascertain, those within were of
the best sort. Though neither of his parents were pious at
the time of his birth, the mother possessed that serious and
meditative disposition which induced her to give strict
attention to the religious culture of her son, imparting to
his youthful mind the leading elements of Christian truth,
and teaching him forms of prayer suited to his years. By
those efforts at early religious instruction his mind became
imbued with Christian sentiment, and the" soil of the affec
tions mellowed and adapted to nourish up these seeds of
truth into the beautiful forms of the Christian life. So sen
sitive was his conscience, that the juvenile prayer taught
him by his mother, " And now I lay me down to sleep,"
etc., was almost invariably repeated before he retired to
rest, and if he chanced to omit it, he could not compose him
self to sleep till it was solemnly and earnestly repeated.
How deeply these instructions penetrated his mind, is
evident from the facts that this prayer of the nursery was
repeated by the good bishop in his private devotions till the
close of life, and that they shielded him from the allure
ments of youthful vice, and confirmed him amid the later
assaults of infidelity. How great, how far-reaching is the
power of a mother ! To the germ of immortal life, nest
ling in her arms, she gives direction and form, encouraging
it to venture from the parental care forth amid the stern
realities of time and the world, and giving shape to all the

ELIJAH HEDDING. 185
long trains of its history, extending into the depths of an
eternity rendered dark or glorious by the early influence of
that maternal example and instruction. The mother plants
the first seeds of truth, which, like the banyan tree,
develop into innumerable shoots, taking root over a wide
field, and assimilating the diverse material of earth and air
to the likeness of the original stock. It is this multiplication
or reproduction of the original impression, this assimilating
power of the mind that reduces all the forms and forces we
meet along our path to the primitive pattern afforded us in
the nursery, that lends to the office and position of a mother
such a responsibility and power. The child is to pass out
from under her tuition into the world, to wrestle with its
temptations and experience its joys ; to impart to that world
an influence, and to receive another in return; and that
world will mean to him whatever the mother has written on
his heart. He will draw to himself whatever has an affinity
with his nature and tastes, and even reduce the rougher
materials to the grain of his own mind. How vastly import
ant then that the mind take the right direction from the
starting point? The child well-trained at home, imbued
with the sentiments and convictions of the Gospel under the
maternal eye, will be most likely to profit by the means of
grace when he goes to the sanctuary, or ventures alone into
the world. Such a one providences may awaken, or seasons
of reflection lead to repentance. Do you observe a John
Newton, rescued by the grace of God from the vile traffic in
slaves, and made a minister of that grace ; remember that this
was accomplished by drawing up from the springs of early
experience the gentle instructions, the treasured prayers,
the holy example of that sainted mother, which touched and
kindled that seared heart to new life and beauty. Thus
it generally happens that early instructions are not lost,
even when amid seasons of darkness and coldness the
fruit fails to appear ; they are taking deeper root all the
while in the mtellect and affections, and under warmer suns,
more genial influences, shoot forth rapidly in forms of

186 New England divines.
earnest and faithful piety. Young Hedding never' lost the
benefit of these early teachings.
While yet a lad he accompanied his mother to church,
where the service was conducted by that sturdy and noble
pioneer, the Rev. Benjamin Abbott, who had recently com
menced his wonderful career of labor and triumph, and was
then traveling the Dutchess Circuit. That circuit, when
formed in 1788, consisted of only two members. Two
years later, the date at which Abbott appears thereon,
" the handful of corn in the earth upon the top of the mount
ains," presented a harvest that "shook like Lebanon," " the
one circuit having expanded into four, and the ten members
multiplied to one thousand and four hundred." Among the
fruits of this remarkable and extensive revival, which
extended to all classes of society, we find the mother and
several of the relatives of Bishop Hedding. Of course she
tarried after public service to attend class, and while
engaged in this exercise the burning words of Abbott smote
the heart of young Hedding, who remained with his mother,
m'aking an impression so deep as never to be erased.
After addressing the members, that son of thunder paused
a moment, and looking earnestly at the lad, he said, " Well,
my boy, do you know that you are a sinner V He assent
ed. Then, with vehement emotion, and a stentorian voice,
the preacher continued, "There is many a boy in hell not
so old as you are," and thus continued to exhort him with
great power to give his heart to the Lord.
In the year 1791, when the subject of our sketch was but
ten years of age, his parents emigrated to Starkborough, in
the state of Vermont, a part of the country then recently
settled. While|their residence in this frontier settlement
exposed the family to many privations and hardships, it was
also well adapted to nourish in the young the more hardy
and manly traits of character, which are by no means useless
in the more advanced stages of life or amid greater refine
ment of society. Hedding grew up a venturesome, stalwart
youth, the leader of the band of young men in the neighbor-

ELIJAH HEDDING. 187
hood. The presence of danger had rendered him daring,
almost reckless, which, together with an intellectual vigor
and independence, gave him the pre-eminence among his
companions. Under these influences the good impressions
of earlier life were gradually disappearing, and this child of
prayer appeared to be in danger of being swept away, not
only by the reckless spirit of the neighborhood, but also by
the assaults of a bold and heartless infidelity, introduced
from France, and then prevalent through the .country. In
Vermont the spread of these dangerous errors was promoted
by the efforts of Ethan Allen, a military character, distin
guished in our Revolution, who had removed to that new
state, and engaged in a crusade against the Bible and the
Church, the two leading obstacles in the way of infidelity.
That these errors, which were proclaimed to him at every
corner, occasioned no little perplexity in the mind of Hed
ding, will not be regarded as remarkable. Venturing out
upon the bog of infidelity, he passed from the milder types
of unbelief, leaping from tussock to tussock, on through deism
to the Stygian blackness of atheism. But these doctrines
of devils never obtained hold on his heart ; they were rather
assaults upon the head. He felt the whole morass shake
under his tread, and could never think of resting in a locality
so insecure. "My conscience," he afterward said, "bore
awful testimony, for it then was awful to me that there was
a God." The broad and open volume of nature refuted and
rebuked his unbelief. " Here are facts," said he to himself,
" the verity of which I cannot question. • My eyes see them,
my hands feel them, my perception and reason comprehend
them. Here is contrivance ; there is design. Here is the
most exquisite adaptation of means or agencies for the ac
complishment of specific and manifest ends ; and there is an
unseen mysterious power somewhere that has executed, and
still continues to carry into effect these various plans."
With these reasonings, strengthened by an accusing con
science, and coinciding with the teachings of the household
and the sanctuary, he could -find no resting-place for his faith

188 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
among the creeds of infidelity. In passing out to a more
rational and evangelical faith he " must needs go through "
the slough of Universalism ; a mitigated form, a sort of half
way house, of infidelity, from which many an unwary theo
logical adventurer has been swept on to the lowest depths
of disbelief. But this was not the fate of our hero, who was
now on the bdck track, and by a sprightly leap threw him
self upon terra firma.
The methods employed by Providence to extricate us from
the toils of error are ever of interest to the human mind.
The one in the case before us was somewhat peculiar, yet of
such evident wisdom, so well adapting him to his future
sphere of labor, that we must recognize in its adoption a
superintending agency. It was on this wise. The neighbor
hood, hitherto destitute of religious services, was favored by
the removal thither of a Methodist family by the name of
Bushnell, on whose altar the fire burned brightly, and who
could not be reconciled to the dearth of religious privileges
prevailing in the place. Accordingly, in the genuine style
of the sect of that early day, they instituted a prayer-meet
ing at their house, at which Hedding was induced to read
one of Wesley's sermons. Having once opened the volume,
curiosity induced him in private to read further, and the
work was prosecuted till the two volumes were completed.
Nor did he stop here ; the sermons were only preparatory
to the well-selected library of the new family, consisting of
the entire list of Methodist publications of that day. Hed
ding read the whole, and, with his retentive memory and
vigorous intellect, appeared to be well armed against th*
assaults ofthe enemy. A deeper work was, however, needed
to fit him for the duties of life as well as for an inheritan' j
among the saints.
In the year 1798 the Verguenes Circuit, which embracer"
Starksborough, was traveled by Joseph Mitchell and Abner
Wood, who witnessed one of those primitive revivals sweep
ing over the whole region, and gathering into the Churcn
vast numbers from all classes of society. In a season o-

ELIJAH HEDDING. 189
such general religious interest the attention of Mrs. Bushnell
was directed to the young man who had contributed to the
interest of her household gatherings by reading Wesley's
sermons, and who, if converted, would be able still more
effectually to assist the Church formed in her house, but which
had now thrown off the swaddling-bands, and, under this re
cent inspiration of the revival, assumed a position among
the Churches of the land. Accompanied by the correspond
ing labors, her hopes were soon realized in the happy con
version of the youth, who, as she firmly believed, was to be
called to important services in the Church. In this senti
ment the members of that Church seemed generally to con
cur, for the more pious portion of the Church seem to possess
something of the spirit of prophecy in regard to the destiny
of those who are to be leaders in the hosts of the spiritual
Israel. The basis of the conviction pervading the minds of
his brethren was no doubt found in the evidence he gave of
sound and deep piety, together with those gifts that adapted
him to the work of the ministry. His conversion was clear ;
and six weeks later, under the instruction of Rev. Joseph
Mitchell, " the light of the Spirit," he says, " broke in upon
my mind as clear and perceptible to me as the shining of
the sun when it comes from behind a cloud, testifying that
I was born of God. Then my heart was filled with joy and
my mouth with praise.
'Jesus all the day long was my joy and my song.'
For several weeks after this not a doubt, nor a fear, nor a
moment's uncertainty clouded my spirit. Satan was not
permitted to tempt me. It seemed as if the old adversary
himself was chained, and my wljole soul was love, and my
whole time was employed in prayer and praise." In this
state of mind he went to study arithmetic with a gentleman
in the neighborhood skilled in that then neglected branch
of education ; but so intent was he on religious themes that
his attention could not be fastened on mathematics.
He did not labor long without some of those fruits which

190 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the Methodists have ever regarded as one of the evidences
of a call to the ministry. Among those converted was the
mathematician with whom he had gone to study. Though
a moral man, the light of conviction exposed to his view a
depth of corruption that altogether surprised and startled
him, leading him to cry out, in the depth of his anguish, " I
am going to hell. I am going to hell." These cries con
tinued till, being directed to the Lamb of God that taketh
away the sins of the world, he was enabled to cast himself
upon that atoning sacrifice and find relief. " He died for
me!" was his exclamation ; " my sins are all forgiven ; Christ
has died for me. Glory to God in the highest !"
After affording these evidences of his call to the sacred
office, the transition from the laity to the position of exhort-
er, to the local ministry, and thence to the traveling con
nection was natural and easy. The Methodists of that day
had no schools, and did not deem it indispensable that a
long term of education should intervene between the con
version of a young man whom God had called to the work
of the ministry and his entrance upon the duties of the
sacred calling. As the older denominations leaned strongly
in training the ministry to the human and external prepa
ration, making education more important than the graces of
the Spirit, and those especial ministerial gifts, it was natural
that a sect originating in a revival of religion, and still
glowing with the sacred fervor of the founders, should take
the opposite direction, and esteem most highly the experi
mental preparation. These views were especially needed at
the time, as the ministry in the Churches of the standing
order was becoming secularized, and promoting in this way,
through the masses of the people, very inadequate notions
of spiritual religion. Without this strong conviction in our
own denomination, of the importance, to the efficiency of the
ministry, of a deep experimental work, serving as a break
water against the "opposite errors outside, the new sect
would have been inundated by the prevailing tide of world
liness and irreligion, and the spiritual life of the Churches

ELIJAH HEDDING. 191
must have disappeared. But taking the opposite course,
strenuously insisting upon the importance of the gracious
preparation for the ministry, they saved their own Churches,
and kept active the leaven which has diffused the same spirit
through all the other Protestant bodies of New England.
The Congregationalists of the present day would deem it
sacrilegious to place a merely educated man in the pulpit,
although they properly continue to place a very high esti
mate on the scholastic preparations of young men for the
ministry. A new sentiment, entirely different from that
existing a hundred years ago, now prevails and for its prev
alence they are indebted to the revival of the eighteenth /
century, originating in England, and sweeping thence over
this continent, and depositing alongside of the Calvinistic
Churches of New England, healthful, earnest Arminian
ones, which have been constantly stirring and rousing the
piety of the land. In the beginning it may be that both
the Methodists and Calvinists adhered too exclusively to
their own views of ministerial -training, excluding what
truth might exist on the other side ; time has corrected this
mistake, by inducing each to engraft upon its own system
the excellences of the other.
But it must not be supposed, as has often been affirmed
by our enemies, that the Methodists of that day were
opposed to education either in the ministry or laity. This
supposition is rendered baseless, not only by the early
efforts of the Church to secure educational advantages to
their children, but also by the avidity with which the
Church has availed herself of those now afforded in our
seminaries and colleges, now so numerously sprinkled over the
States. Had any such dislike to education as the charge
supposes, existed in the denomination, it would have required
years to effect a change in the public sentiment. As it was,
the Church, with a maternal zeal, adopted and cherished the
first institution of learning established among us, and in an in
credibly brief time, set slips from the old stock all through
the country. This does not appear like a love of ignorance.

192 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
The fathers loved education ; but not a godless education.
They desired to see the mind of the Church ignited as well as
educated. Young men of that day were pressed into the minis
try at once from another consideration : they needed laborers,
and felt impressed that the work must suffer if they waited
for young men to obtain a collegiate education before entering
on their work. Hence, firmly believing with Wesley that
study was good, but saving souls better, the fathers re
ceived preachers fresh from the plow and the workshop,
sending them forth, with hearts glowing with Divine love,
tinto fields already white to the harvest. Great was the
company of those who bore the message, and glorious have
been the results. Though many of these messengers were
deficient in the training of the schools, they were by no
means feeble or ignorant men in the sphere in which they
were called to operate. The fathers were shrewd and care
ful observers of human nature, and selected for the pulpit, as
a general thing, such men as had some strong and effective
characteristics, a marked individuality that rendered them
powerful among the masses. The history of the denomina
tion attests this. And then, after their reception into the
traveling ranks, they continued to be close students of the
Bible, and of man in his various relations in society, exer
cises, we hesitate not to say, that afforded a discipline pre
ferable to that enjoyed by the mass of educated clergymen,
especially as it so amply qualified them to address and in
fluence the masses. Whoever will thoroughly understand
or influence either an individual or a class, must be inti
mate with them, so as to be able to adopt their language
and mode of reasoning ; in a word, must accustom himself to
look at truth from their standpoint. This was the view of
the fathers, who held uppermost in their hearts the interest
of souls and the edification of the Church.
Hence, we find them calling such men as Hedding, on
whom the seal of God's approbation was set from the day
of his conversion, immediately to the clerical work. He
had hardly been admitted into full membership when urged

ELIJAH HEDDING. 193
by his brother to take an exhorter's licence, the first step
at that day taken in graduating to the higher functions of
the ministry. Under these persuasions he began to extend
his labors to other towns, holding meetings sometimes
alone, but more frequently in connection with other breth
ren. In these early exercises his humble estimate of his
own abilities and services was characteristic of the man.
He would not venture to call it preaching when he delivered
sound and well arranged doctrine to the people. " Instead
of taking a text," he says : " I delivered an exhortation
usually about an hour long." But these exhortations were
listened to with avidity, and exerted a quickening influence
on the Churches, while at the same time they proved instru
mental in the awakening of sinners. '
By these indications of his labors being owned by the
great Head of the Church, he was induced, though with great
diffidence and trembling, to take the local preacher's licence.
With this new commission he was soon called by the pre
siding elder to fill, on the Essex Circuit, the place of the
eccentric Lorenzo Dow, who, under what he esteemed a di
vine impression, had left the post assigned him by the au
thorities of the Church and gone to England. With many
fears and much diffidence he was induced to comply with
the request, and in November, 1799, he entered upon his
new and extensive field of toil. The circuit was three hun
dred miles in extent, embracing the whole tract of territory
lying between Lake Champlain and the Green Mountains,
and extending some twenty or thirty miles into Canada.
Of course the labors on this four weeks circuit were arduous
and multiplied, since he was called to preach thrice on the
Sabbath, and once or twice on each of the week-days, be
sides attending frequent class and prayer-meetings. But he
showed himself a diligent son in the Gospel, whose word
was with power and in the demonstration of the Spirit.
But there were many adversaries, especially of the baser
sort. One incident illustrative of his courage and physical
ability may be given. A couple of young men who proved
13

194 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
disorderly in one of his meetings were rebuked by an ex
horter present, which so enraged one of them that he
knocked down the. exhorter while passing out at the close of
the meeting, just in front of Mr. Hedding. The latter
grasped the fallen man and drew him into the house, while
the people closed about him to prevent a repetition of the
blows. The bully, terribly enraged, ran back some thirty
or forty feet, clenched his fists, and with horrible oaths
challenged any present to come and fight him. At this
juncture Mr. Hedding discovered a class-leader, formerly a
noted boxer, but now a genuine Christian, for the moment,
under the great provocations, so far forgetting himself as to
slip off his coat and prepare for the fight. Calmly laying
his hand on him, he said : " Brother, put on your coat. It
won't do to fight. You are a Christian, and it is the Sab
bath-day." His decided tone and manly bearing at once
quelled the strife, by causing the bully to feel that, for him,
it was the better part of valor to disappear from the
field. At the close of the year he returned home, and engaged
again in agricultural occupations, without any intention of
doing more in future than the duties of a local preacher ;
but such noble gifts could not be allowed to lie hid in a nap
kin. It was still with reluctance, however, that he was in
duced to join the traveling connection, and with the expec
tation on his part that he might be useful in some retired
appointments, where moderate abilities and slight educa
tion would satisfy the demands of the people ; so different
was the estimate he formed of his own abilities from that
entertained by the Church. A sense of his insufficiency for
so arduous and responsible a work, induced him to spend \
another year in traveling under the presiding elder before
joining conference, and the field assigned him was the Platts-
burgh, and then, at the close of the first six months, the Gam-
bridge Circuit. In 1801 we find his name on the Minutes
of the New York Conference. He is reappointed to the
Plattsburgh Circuit, having the Rev. Elijah Chichester, a

ELIJAH HEDDING. 195
man of note, for his colleague. The year proved a very
laborious and profitable one to the preacher and people.
The next year he passed to the Fletcher or Essex Circuit,
having for a colleague that burly, warm-hearted Irishman,
Henry Ryan. The circuit was " divided into two parts,
nearly like a figure eight, containing two weeks' appoint
ments in each and bringing us together once in two weeks ;
the whole distance about four hundred miles, including all
that part of Vermont, north of the Onion River, and in
Lower Canada from Sutton to Missisque Bay, and around
the Bay to Alsbury and Isle La Motte, embracing about
forty appointments for four weeks." His colleague was a
curious compound of piety, eccentricity, and brusque energy,
which enabled him to drive through his ample fields of
labor, praying, exhorting, and preaching as though the thun
ders of the judgment were constantly sounding in his ears.
In their intercourse for the year Mr. Hedding often ex
perienced his kindness, and at the point of intersection in
the route of the circuit was occasionally saluted with his
characteristic exhortation, " Drive on, brother ! drive on !
drive the devil out of the country ! Drive him into the
lake and drown him !"
It was not without reason that language like the above
was employed by that stern evangelist. The picture afford
ed us of their circuit labors presents the shades as well as
the lights of the itinerancy. The masses of the people liv
ing in a retired section of the country, were sunk in ignor
ance, and almost entirely destitute of piety. The blast of
the Gospel trumpet at first aroused the passions of the mul
titude, who rushed to the preaching-places to make disturb
ance, or remained at home to engage in still more vindictive
acts of persecution toward those individuals who experi
enced the more salutary influences of the truth. The prin
ciples of Thomas Paine, embodied in the Age of Reason,
had become prevalent in those parts, and were embraced by
young and old, male and female. This awakened oppo
sition to Christianity, sometimes in the form of violence, at

196 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
others in that of ridicule of the doctrines of the Bible and
the professors of religion. Rev. Elijah R. Sabin was struck
by a lawyer and knocked down. At another time a man
wrung the nose of Lorenzo Dow. Two young women were
whipped by their father till the blood ran down to their
feet, and he then turned them out of doors when they
walked fifteen miles to a Methodist society. The same
father, eight of whose children experienced religion, excluded
six of them from their home, and continued to whip the two
younger boys for the crime of attending the Methodist ser
vice. On one occasion a brazen-faced female entered the
praying circle, and seizing by the hair one of the sisters en
gaged in prayer, dragged her out doors and then through
the barnyard, recently wet by a shower, badly tearing her
garments and besmearing her with mud and filth.
In addition to these scenes the preachers had to travel in all
weathers, over bad roads, through deep snows, wading or
swimming streams often rendered dangerous by the ice or
by being swollen by the rains, with scanty fare, few friends,
and almost constant preaching and praying.
Scenes like these rendered the words of Ryan not alto
gether inappropriate. Satan held his seat there, and was
likely to be displaced only by the most earnest efforts ofthe
Church and ministry ; and it may be justly doubted whether,
after all their efforts, the arch-adversary did not succeed in
keeping clear of the lake.
Following the one year system then in vogue, Mr. Hed
ding traveled the Bridgewater circuit in 1803, a field em
bracing the central part of the state of New Hampshire.
While in this charge he experienced a severe trial in the
loss of health. For three months was he prostrated by a
fever, and that was succeeded by an attack of inflamma
tory rheumatism, which occasioned the most acute and in
tense suffering. What added to the trial was his absence
from home and want of means to meet his expenses. He
was sick at the house of a good Baptist brother, who afford
ed him every aid in his power. It required four men often

ELIJAH HEDDING. 197
to take care of him and turn him in bed, which was done
once in four hours. These hard services were, however,
performed cheerfully, both by the host and his neighbors,
who seemed to sympathise deeply with the servant of the
Lord. For such attentions, rendered in the time of greatest
need, Mr. Hedding ever held them in remembrance.
In passing through this severe ordeal his faith and pa
tience, although brightened in the end, were deeply tried —
tried as never before. " The pain I suffered," says he, " was
beyond anything I had ever endured or conceived of before;
and Satan took advantage of it to tempt me most violently.
If I never had any other evidence of the existence of the
devil, and his power to tempt men, than what I felt in his
severe assaults upon me at that time, I could never doubt
his existence. He tempted me day and night to blaspheme,
and would say to me : " What have you ever done that
you should suffer this % Curse God and die !" In my dis
tress I cried continually unto the Lord, and prayed for deliv
erance and protection. I said to Satan: ,'I will not; I will
not.' But so great was my fear that I should be overcome,
that I held my teeth together lest blaspheming words should
escape from my mouth. When this attack of the adversary
had continued ten days, I obtained a complete victory over
him, and my soul triumphed exceedingly in the Lord."
A still sorer trial awaited him as he began to recover.
He found himself crippled in his limbs, and was assured by
his physician that he could never recover their use. So ar
dent, however, was his zeal in the service of his Divine
Master that he at once mounted his horse and, holding the
reins in his teeth, proceeded around the circuit, not without
imminent peril of his life. In completing a single round
he was thrown from his horse ten times, often severely in
jured in the process, sometimes being left to be picked up
by a traveler and replaced upon his beast. But in the midst
of all he counted not his life dear unto him, experiencing
spiritual growth in his own soul, and proving a blessing to
the people of his charge.

198 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
He next traveled successively the Hanover, Barre, and
Vershire Circuits ; the former in New Hampshire, the latter
in Vermont. In addition to his labors among the Churches,
we find him ardently prosecuting his studies. If he entered
the ministry without all that scholastic training desirable, he
certainly exhibited a most commendable zeal afterward in
endeavoring to retrieve those lost opportunities. His at
tention was not devoted to mere reading; the mind was
bowed in severe and protracted study of the elements which
are so likely to be neglected by self-educated men. Besides
the grammars, he read and studied Perry's Dictionary
through by course. At a later date he pursued the same
course with Walker's and Webster's, a plan which gave
him great command of language and enabled him to be ac
curate in its use. Indeed this method possessed the same
advantages in regard to our own tongue that a study of the
classics does in regard to the languages of antiquity.
We now find Mr. Hedding in a new position as presiding
elder, for a couple of years, on the New Hampshire district,
then for two more on the New London district. These dis
tricts embraced large territories, requiring, of course, exten
sive travels and multiplied labors of the presiding elder.
But while the labors were abundant, the material aid afford
ed was very meager. The first year Mr. Hedding received
as his salary only $4 25 in cash ; affording evidence, cer
tainly, that his was not a post that would attract the ambi
tious or the lovers of ease. His second term was, however,
more remunerative, though not in direct income. It hap
pened by his removal to Ludlow, Massachusetts, where he
was settled as parish minister for several years, having a
salary paid by the town in consideration of a stipulated
amount of service which he was able to spare from his
district. With this improved state of his finances he ventured to
think on the subject of matrimony, a topic which Methodist
preachers of that day always contemplated with some trepi
dation. The individual selected as his companion in labor

ELIJAH HEDDING. 199
and suffering, as well as hi the domestic relations, was Miss
Blish, of Gilsum, New Hampshire, a lady who proved
every way worthy of so great a man, and who was permit
ted to accompany him to the close of his earthly pilgrimage.
From the district he passed, in 1811, to Boston, where
he had for a colleague the Rev. Elijah R. Sabin. This was
a year of much labor and of success. Amorig those who
experienced the pardoning love of God under his preaching
was the world-renowned Edward T. Taylor, long the preach
er at the Bethel, and who to this day cherishes a lively in
terest in his memory, and not seldom relates iii his racy
way the method by which the bishop's broadside brought
him down.
The next year, having been appointed to Nantucket, he
found the people ready to receive him. " We had scarcely
reached the island," says he, "before we were greeted with
a cordiality and a manifested friendship such as I had never
received from any other place to which I had been appointed.
We were immediately taken to, a friend's house, and while
engaged at dinner, other brethren had taken our goods out
of the sloop and removed them to the house provided for
us, and set them up in order. We were comfortably set
tled in the parsonage, with all the conveniences for house
keeping, the same night."
What a fine example of brotherly kindness ! We need
hardly inform the reader that this noble-hearted people
were served by the clerical nobility of that day, William
Beauchamp, Joshua Wells, Joshua Soule, Joshua Crowell,
Truman Bishop, and the subject of our sketch. Such a peo
ple will always be served by bishops ; if not such already,
they will make them bishops. What other evidence does
the reader desire toi convince him that they are a noble,
large-souled people? It is not strange that they had no
poor, none poorer than the preacher, and that they could
afford to bestow their charity collection on him.
From Nantucket he passed to Lynn, that old cradle of
New England Methodism, where he spent two laborious but

200 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
pleasant years. As Lynn is a seaboard town, it suffered
much from the ravages of the war, which materially hinder
ed the usefulness of Mr. Hedding. Toward the close, how
ever, of his service in that charge the face of things changed.
The war was drawing to a close, and the attention of the
people was gained to the truth as it is in Jesus. A gracious
revival broke out which lasted to the end of the conference
year, and so deeply engaged the attention of Mr. Hedding
that he failed to attend the ensuing session of his conference.
In 1815-16 we find him again in Boston. The Church
was at this date deeply involved in debt, and, possessing
little ability, was unable to devise any method by which to
extricate itself. At this juncture a noble individual came
forward and proposed a plan for their relief, a plan requir
ing a great amount of effort by the preacher, but one that
resulted in the removal of the debt. It was, in substance,
that a subscription be raised through the city, and that the
sums subscribed be taken by himself at their nominal value,
he paying the debt. The benevolent individual making this
proposal was Colonel Binney. Mr. Hedding suffered little
time to elapse in profiting by the proposal. None but a
Hedding would have undertaken the formidable task, or if
they had would have been able to complete it. This debt
assumed by Colonel Binney was eighteen thousand dollars,
a very large sum for the Church in its then feeble state.
We pass rapidly over a few of his later fields of labor
previous to his entrance on the duties of the episcopal office
in 1824. In 1817, Portland; 1818-19, again at Lynn;
1820, New London; 1821, presiding elder on the Boston
District, during which period he took a severe cold on the.
Cape, so entirely disabling him as to cause him to desist
from the work ; hence 1822-23, we again find him in Bos
ton. This terminates the list of his appointments, bringing
us down to the General Conference at which he was chosen
bishop. The General Conference of 1824, which assembled in the
•city of Baltimore, proved an occasion of much interest, from

ELIJAH HEDDING. 201
the grave questions which were there debated. Among
them we find the vexing ones of lay delegation and the
presiding elders' election. On both these subjects Hedding
and Emory took the liberal side, or that which favors a
lay delegation, and the election of presiding elders by the
Conferences instead of their appointment by the bishops.
The opposite views were held and advocated by Joshua
Soule and William Beauchamp, with many others; in fact
the Conference was about equally divided between the two
parties, whose leaders ate indicated above. The debates on
both points were lengthy and animated, but tended but
slightly to modify the views of the members. Hence, as
two bishops were to be elected at that session, those seemed
likely to become test questions in the election. The con
servatives put forward as candidates the Rev. Joshua
Soule and Rev. Wm. Beauchamp, while the liberals sup
ported Elijah Hedding and John Emory. The ballot
ing resulted in the election of Joshua Soule and Elijah
Hedding. This event brought out a trait in the character of Bishop
Hedding that the world would not generally anticipate in such
connection, but one that through life was exhibiting a ten
dency to the surface, and now and then appearing to the
view of men. It was his humble estimate of his own abili
ties and services. So early as 1820 the friends of the
bishop proposed to put him in nomination for the episcopal
office, but he refused the honor. Four years later, the con
viction of his brethren that his talents were adapted to the
office had deepened, and their persistency overcame his
remonstrances. " I believe I was the first," says Rev.
Enoch Mudge, " who named to him at the General Confer
ence, that a number of his brethren had determined to
bring him forward as a candidate for the episcopal office.
Although it is a true saying, that if a man desire the office
of a bishop he desireth a good work, it is certainly not
what he desired or sought. I well remember how it
affected him. He wept, remonstrated, and urged a number

202 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
of objections against the movement. He yielded only at
the urgent solicitation of his brethren."
It is said that Washington, when proposed as commander-
in-chief of the American army in the Continental Congress,
rose up and walked out of the assembly. Bishop Hedding,
who possessed many of the noble qualities of the father of
his country, was on this occasion overwhelmed with gloomy
apprehensions, lest he should fail to meet the just expecta
tions of the Church. These were fears, however, in which
his brethren did not participate, and to relieve his feelings
they passed the following resolution :
" Resolved, That we do entertain unlimited confidence in the
integrity, ability, and ministerial worth of .our beloved brother
Elijah Hedding ; and he having signified to the General Con
ference some hesitancy of receiving episcopal ordination,
arising, as we believe, out of his own humble views of his
qualifications, as well as on account of impaired health,
we affectionately request him to submit himself to the call
of Providence and of the Church, and receive ordination to
the office of a bishop. (Signed) W. Capers,
W. WlNANS."
The resolution, introduced by those opposed to him in
the election, and cordially sustained by his friends, removed
in part his objections, and he returned to the body to state
that he must receive the voice of the Church in this case as
the voice of God, and would therefore submit himself to
their direction and receive orders.
We have now touched upon a broad tract in the life of
Bishop Hedding, a service extending over thirty years,
during which he discharged the duties of the episcopacy.
As this was an extension of his labors to the whole Church,
we shall stop only to obtain a glance at the whole field.
And what a field ! His diocese extended from the British
Provinces to Texas, and from the Northern Lakes to Florida,

ELIJAH HEDDING. 203
embracing more than thirty states and territories, and
crowded with twenty-five millions of inhabitants, a fifth
part of whom are under the watch-care of his own denomi
nation. At the time of his election there were no railroads
or steamboats ; the common mode of travel was by stage,
sail, or private conveyance, rendering a journey to the ex
tremities of the republic a laborious and painful undertak
ing. The office of a bishop was then no sinecure, when
travel and work were the terms most expressive of its
character. The long journeys, the hard traveling and rude fare in some
parts of the work, were, however, the least of the difficulty.
The weight of responsibility constantly resting on him, the
multiplied cares, the vexations ever springing up along his
path, and involving his administration, contributed more than
all else to render the work onerous and exhausting. It was
his fortune to come in contact with most ofthe new isms and
heresies with which the Church was afflicted during the
period of his administration. Hardly had he commenced his
labors when he stumbled upon the old question of lay rep
resentation, at the time so rife in the middle conferences.
The inflammation came to a head in the Pittsburgh Confer
ence, of which Asa Shinn, George Brown, and Henry B.
Bascom, the champions of the radical movement, were
members. The two former were presiding elders, the latter
conference missionary, posts favorable for spreading the
leaven of radicalism through the whole body. They had
not been negligent in using their opportunity, and so great
had been their success, that at the opening of conference
they claimed a majority as favorable to their views, and
what was hardest of all to be borne by the friends of the
Church, they claimed that the bishop was on their side.
The conservative party felt alarmed. They knew Bishop
Hedding had been considered liberal in his views of Church
polity, and that he was elected to the episcopal office on
that ticket ; but they were aware, also, that he now viewed
the subject from a new stand-point ; that he had pledged him-

204 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
self to maintain the Discipline as written, and that he was
now brought into connection with extreme views of the
subjeot, which considerations might, and probably would,
leave him favorable to the conservative party in this crisis.
In this opinion they were not mistaken. When drawn out
in open conference, he exposed the movement in a masterly
speech, which not only set friends of the Church right in
regard to his views, but completely discomfited the radicals,
who made but a feeble attempt to reply, and left the field
to the other party.
The cool courage of the bishop proceeded a step further,
and removed the implicated presiding elders from their
districts, and placed Bascom in a station. This procedure,
of course, occasioned some fluttering among the wounded
birds, but it was of short duration, while the decided course
of the bishop brought back the Church to the old path.
Soon after this he proceeded to Canada, then connected
with the Methodist Episcopal Church, to settle a difficulty
growing out of efforts on their part to be set off from
the Methodist Episcopal Church. At a later date he found
difficulty in the case of Randall, in the New Hampshire
Conference, who denied that any atonement had been pro
vided for the actual sins of men. Of all the difficulties in the
Church, however, with which he came in contact, no one
tried him so severely as the Abolition movement. Here
he came in conflict with his old friends and fellow-laborers,
men of age and experience, but who were not able to take a
general survey of the whole work, as was the case with the
bishops, and were not for that reason able to determine
what the duty of the bishop was in the case. The charges
he brought against O. Scott, the three weeks' session of the
conference, the remarkable vote of the body to sustain the
specifications and not the charge, the removal of Scott from
the district, and the hard epithets bandied about, are all
matters familiar to the current generation. That the bishop
acted prudently in a time of such heat his frjends all be
lieve ; that he had in all a good motive, most of his enemies

ELIJAH HEDDING. 205
now concede, which is certainly a high eulogy, for those were
the days that tried men's souls. To the bishop it was not
less trying than to others. Some called him hard names,
drew off his old friends, set his administrative acts in the
worst light before the public and implicated his motives.
He bore the trial for a time ; but it weighed so heavily upon
him that he resolved to leave the field where he had spent
his youth and the vigor of his manhood in building up
Churches whose leading members now branded him as a
"tyrant who presumed to lord it over God's heritage. He
removed from Lynn, where he had resided since his election
to the episcopacy, to Poughkeepsie, N. Y., where he re
mained to the close of life.
It is gratifying to be able to state, that after this storm
blew over the old state of feeling was in a good measure
restored, and the bishop enjoyed the pleasure of seeing
many of his old friends about him again as he passed down
into the valley. Some, however, were missing. They had
permanently given in their adhesion to the enemy of the
bishop and the Church. Such are the sad results of
controversy. The foregoing facts afford the best eulogy of Bishop Hed
ding. His name lives and will live among all classes of
good men ; but especially in his own communion where
he long held a prominent and honored position. He was
recognized as a leader, yea, as the leader of the denomina
tion. To his judgment the clergy and laity deferred ; he
was the oracle, embodying more of the wisdom of the
founder of Methodism than any man that had appeared on
the continent. His decision, carefully elaborated and dis
tinctly announced, outweighed the opinions of a multitude
of other men. There was no standing out against it, as he
carried reason and right and sturdy logic on his side, com
pelling all right-minded men to accede to the truth and pro
priety of his utterances. For thirty-years before his death he
occupied the place of Ulysses in the order to which he
belonged, and for generations to come his sentiments in

206 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES. *
regard to doctrine and church polity seem likely tov be
sought after, as in the Republic are those of Washington and
Jefferson* Leaving this broad and healthful reputation as a
legacy to the Church and the world, it may be proper to
inquire further into some ofthe difficult means by which he
' attained it; for we cannot suppose it to be the acquisition
of an hour, or the result of a single effort or class of efforts.
[n such a character as that of Hedding, we have the result
of many forces which had long and variously operated to
give it strength, harmony, and completeness.
One of the first thoughts that will impress the mind of
the reader, will be that of his earnest, life-long, well-directed
labor. He relied not for success on genius, natural gifts,
or grand fortune, though highly favored in his mental and
moral endowment and attended with fair fortune. The
good fortune, as he well understood, was not the precursor,
but the result of effort; not the parent, but the child of
honest endeavor, of well-directed toil.
"Labor omnia vincit ; et nihil sine labore" might be
set down as his motto, on which he acted through life.
What a record of toil does his life present ! He was not
one of those who bid his brethren go to the discharge of
duties which he would not undertake in person ; he had
borne the burden and heat of the day, and hence with a
peculiar grace could assign to others their fields of toil.
Although sometimes hard ones, he had himself tried harder
and found them tolerable, and hence was firm in the conviction
that all obstacles would yield to the steady and persevering
stroke of the hammer. Mr. Lledding was a steady worker,
never in haste, never chafing under the burden, never anx
ious to do everything in a day ; but having faith in the power
of work, he finished up the matter in hand forever, so that
the way was left clear the next day to take up a new item
and handle it in the same manner. No one who ever saw
him while presiding in conference will forget his calm,
simple, yet dignified appearance; never apparently raised
to perform a great task, but marching onward with a steady,

ELIJAH HEDDING. 207
elephantine tread through the complicated, onerous duties
of the week, without growing restive under the petty vexa
tions of the session, or being hurried by any pressure of
business. With an even thread his existence flowed onward
through the varied experiences of life. In his contest with
Scott before the New England Conference, the enemies of
the bishop will have it that his mental temperature was a
little changed, a little elevated above the ordinary level ;
but the fact is noted as remarkable, and as indicative of
the white heat to which the controversy had risen. None
ever saw him so stirred before or since. His feeling was
usually controlled in a very remarkable degree, so that it
became manifest only in the solid, sturdy deeds that he
performed. While the bishop was willing to perform the hardest part
of the labor, he also exhibited an indomitable perseverance
therein. He joined the itinerancy in days that tried the souls
of men. Many of his comrades grew weary of the abundant
work and little pay, but Hedding held fast to the end; and
what seems more remarkable, he never thought of turning
from the sacred calling. The same energetic, persevering
labor characterized him in every part of his life. It has al
ready been noticed, that when stationed in Boston he under
took to raise money to liquidate the debt on the Church.
It was a trying, difficult work. The subscriptions were ob
tained often of strangers in small sums, in opposition to in
difference or prejudice against the cause. Few men pos
sess the requisite patience to do such a work, or if the
work were undertaken, the energies of common souls would
flag before the completion of the task ; but Hedding held
on with good courage till the last dollar was subscribed,
and the whole transferred to Colonel Binney.
Here lay in a great measure his success in his circuits
and stations. He worked hard and long, and though often
faint he still persevered. While he brought beaten oil to the
sanctuary, he performed the work of a good pastor visiting
from house to house. The rides in those days were long,

208 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the traveling often bad, but he seldom allowed a congrega
tion to be disappointed by his failure to meet an appoint
ment. While on the Fletcher Circuit he found the travel
ing horrible during a part of the winter. The ground, soft-
ened by recent rains, was frozen on the surface, but was not
sufficiently firm to hold a horse. His own beast had broken
through till his limbs had become sore. and lame, rendering
it impossible to proceed further. To obtain another horse
was impossible, as no one would risk an animal in such
traveling. What should he do? The appointments were
made, and the people would expect them to be filled. A
less resolute mind, or a mind encased in a less, robust frame,
might and probably would have faltered, regarding the way
as hedged up by Providence ; but this was not the temper
of Mr. Hedding. He was not to be conquered by such
obstacles. Shouldering his saddle-bags, he sallied forth to
make the round of his circuit on foot, and in two weeks
traveled one hundred and fifty miles. Of this pedestrian
tour he said : " Frequently I would break through the ice
and the frozen mud in the swamps and woods, tearing my
boots £.nd keeping my feet wet most of the time ; but I per
severed, and got round to my appointments at the usual
times, preaching once or twice a day with my other accus
tomed services. I lived through it, but the exposures and
hardships of that tour I have never recovered from to
this day."
But the amount of labor is not all ; it must be well
directed, judiciously expended, to attain the desired result.
Some individuals toil hard and perseveringly without ever
attaining satisfactory results. They labor without judg
ment, or at least without the best judgment as to the manner
and time of employing that laborv We knew two farmers
who lived side by side for a quarter of a century. The one
grew rich and the other poor. Both were men of good
habits and industry ; the poorer neighbor, however, was al
ways observed to work the harder. He was up at early
dawn, and worked late, and ate the bread of carefulness ; but

ELIJAH HEDDING. 209
still he could not compete with his cooler, calmer friend,
who would always contrive to complete his work first, to
obtain the best crop from the same soil, in a word to rise
later, close the day earlier, and still secure an ampler for
tune. The difference lay in their judgment. • The one
plowed his field at the right time, hoed his corn before the
grass got the start of h>m,"and harvested it before half of it
was destroyed by the storms or the cattle. This was the
contented, calm, philosophic man in the husbandman's at
tired, rising along an incline plane to fortune., while his friend
stumbled over a rugged path to eventual penury. This in
cident may serve to illustrate the clerical service. It is
not always the man that performs the most work who is
most successful. It is the man that labors with judgment,
striking at the right time and at the proper point. Bishop
Hedding was a man of this stamp. He possessed a well
developed judgment, a round and plump common sense,
which, in fact, is worth more to a practical man than all
sorts of imcommon sense of which the world is so full.
Not as showy as some men, he still surpassed most in this
plain, every-day wit that served him well at all turns of
fortune and on all sorts of subjects. He moreover had his
wits always at hand, and hence was seldom found shaking a
bush in which there was no bird. His plans were first
laid, then the work performed according to the plan, and in
this he differed from a class of minds that do the work first
and then elaborate a plan.
Of course, a mind of the character above described will
have a keen insight into character. " He read men," says
one, " as easily as most men read books," and another who
knew him from early life was accustomed to regard him as
a discerner of spirits. This quality was often brought into
requisition in his episcopal labors. His keen eye scanned
a conference almost at a glance, enabling him readily to
discern which were the leading minds, and what were the
points in their characters that gave them their positions.
In attending the New England Conference the bishop
14

210 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
usually had an eye to a few of the old appointments such
as Lynn and Boston, where he was personally acquainted
and was careful to station the right men in these positions.
It happened one year that the presiding elder designed to
station <a man in one of these cherished charges who was
little known in the conference. Being of a modest turn of
mind, and somewhat inferior withal in his personal appear
ance, few had come to appreciate his abilities. -Among that
few was the presiding elder, whose proposal to give him so
heavy a charge not a little surprised the cabinet. The
other elders doubted his good judgment, and the bishop
shook his head. The case was laid over till the next day,
and in the mean time the brother was pointed out to the
bishop in the conference room. He observed him during
the session as a quiet member, sitting in a retired part of
the church. When the cabinet reassembled his case came
up again, and the bishop gave his judgment in favor of the
appointment. We need hardly say that the brother more
than met all expectations, and that he is now known through
the whole connection as one of our ablest and best men.
At another conference he sent a junior preacher to a
somewhat dilapidated station, being a slice from one of his
old circuits. The brother was a little restive under the ap
pointment, and perhaps, with a few more years on his head,
would have ventured to enter his remonstrance ; but it so
happened, after the close of the conference, he was invited to
tea at the house where the bishop lodged. When the
bishop came in he greeted his young friend very cordially,
and then, with a grave, elongated countenance, inquired :
" Where did these old fellows station you ?" The place
was named. " Ah !" continued he, still holding the young
man by the hand, " that is a good place, I was once stationed
there !" That was an extinguisher. They sat down to the
tea-table, and after a pleasant chat the yourig man departed
to his charge fully satisfied.
A fine incident illustrative of this point in the bishop's
character is given by Dr. Paddock, who was traveling with

ELIJAH HEDDING. 211
him on a canal boat. On the same boat was a venerable
old gentleman, attired in the costume of a former genera
tion, and accompanied by a richly clad young lady and a
beauish gentleman. They evidently belonged to the better
class, but no one ventured to guess their whereabouts and
station, but the bishop. " The old man," said he, " is a
Connecticut judge, the lady is his youngest daughter, and
the young gentleman is his son-in-law and a lawyer." The
doctor, who was with him at the time, was not a little curi
ous to ascertain the real state of the case, and was not a
little surprised to find that the bishop was not mistaken in
his guessing.
He possessed many qualities that eminently fitted him to
be a good bishop, as his sound judgment, his broad and calm
intellect, his knowledge of men, and tact in the manage
ment of officers. Looking over the whole field, he seldom
made a wrong decision, and in fact he gave form to our eccle- •
siastical constitution. When he came upon the stage there
was a good beginning, but it needed completing and ampli
fying, and Hedding proved to be the Daniel Webster whose
judicious and persevering labors went far toward effecting
this desirable object. He displayed many of the qualities
of the great constitutional lawyer, many that belong to the
judge. His mind was strong and steady, possessing great
power of patient research, of analysis, of reasoning. Free
from passion, of a firm texture, his mind plowed through
masses of rubbish, and seized the main thread of the argu
ment, holding it with a tenacious grasp, till viewed on all
sides and assigned to its proper place. The qualities that
gave Sir Isaac Newton his eminent position in the scientific
world, gave Hedding a like position in his own denomina
tion. As a preacher, Hedding exhibited the same rare abilities.
He was sound, strong, and mighty, given to develop deep
doctrine, to dispense to his hearers the strong meat of the
Gospel. As the wings of his imagination were closely
clipped, he never attempted lofty flights through the

212 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
heavens ; his simplicity and practical good sense kept him on
terra firma, where he towered up into the proportions of an
ecclesiastical mastodon. In the pulpit, as everywhere, his
manner was simple, his style plain, and his discourse rich
in thought. Our old members in charges that he once
occupied, remember, with deep interest, the ingots of Gos
pel truth which he used to throw down among the people.
He especially delighted to elucidate and enforce the peculiar
doctrines of Methodism. These were days when the tenets
of the new sect were not accepted by the people, and of
course he felt it to be his calling to make them clear, as
doctrines based on the Bible. Bishop Hedding was a popu
lar preacher, because he dealt largely in that common sense
with which the people were so well acquainted. Mr. Fillmore,
who was his colleague in Boston, in 1815, relates an amus
ing anecdote illustrative of his style of preaching. It seems
the people had fallen into the habit of following Mr. Hed
ding and leaving the congregations of his colleague thin.
At the close of one of these meetings, a simple-hearted sis
ter came up to him and assured him that she had no dispo
sition to leave her own meeting and run after the popular
preacher. " True," said she, " he has the reputation of
being a- deep preacher, but for my part I like shallow
preaching." The compromised brother contrived to thank
her for her kind sympathy, but whether he exactly relished
such an exhibition of sympathy at the time we are not
informed. Like many of the old preachers, the bishop possessed a
fine gift at conversation. He relished a good anecdote,^ and
was able to relate one with good effect. In his travels he
had gathered many incidents that were both curious and
instructive, and around the social board, or before the even-
fire, he would dispense from his full treasury those stores of
wit and wisdom, to the great delight of his friends. At other
times, in company with his clerical friends, he would ply
them with knotty questions in theology, philology, or
science. This habit he had gained in obtaining his education,

ELIJAH HEDDING. 213
and found it, all through life, a very useful one, not only to
himself but to others, as it awakened in the mind trains of
thought that were carried out to their legitimate results in
moments of calm deliberation. In his conversation the
character of the man came out, simple and retiring, yet
shrewd and entertaining. He talked little on men, and
was extremely careful of the feelings of others ; his taste
leading him to bring forward such harmless topics as afford
ed both pleasure and profit to the company. Not the least
charm of his conversation wds the vein of quiet and inno
cent humor that ran through the whole.
But his crowning excellence, as a man and a minister,
was the simple but heartfelt piety that adorned and enno
bled his character. Partaking of the general character of
his mind, the piety of the bishop was simple, childlike, and
sincere, rather of an intellectual than an emotional type, and
maintaining a great degree of equanimity amid the thousand
disturbances along the path of his pilgrimage. He was a
hearty believer in the doctrines of Methodism, and his religious
experience partook very much of the Wesleyan character.
As a Christian he mellowed and ripened in the later
stages of life, when the higher doctrines of the cross afford
ed a peculiar illumination to his mind. It was then that he
especially relished Mr. Wesley's doctrine of Christian
perfection, a doctrine which the Methodists hold to be the
common heritage of all believers. It may indeed be at
tained in the initial stages of our Christian experience,
although it is not usually till a later period in life. When
ever attained, however, it affords the soul new power, and
throws about the last hours of life a halo of glory. Of
this we are reminded in the case of Bishop Hedding, who
had long preached this blessed doctrine, and now, in pros
pect of dissolution, realized its sustaining, exalting power.
" Fifty -two years ago," he remarked to a friend, " I gave
my all to God, and have never taken back the gift. I
have been a most fallible creature, and have committed
many involuntary offenses, but, have never willfully departed

214 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
from God. I have always needed the atonement of Christ,
and have trusted in that alone for forgiveness of all my
short-comings." The Holy Ghost wrought in him, as he will in all who
cherish his influences, a deep and abiding sense of unworthi-
ness, of the meagerness of all his endeavors, of the worth-
lessness of his sufferings — a truly contrite and humble
spirit, that bowed before God as its author and end,
Richard Watson, when contemplating the august character
of God and his own littleness, felt like the worm that
crawls out of the earth to meet the splendors of the noon
day sun. " I find that I ought," said he, "to lie low in the
dust before him." Views of himselfnot less humbling were -
cherished by Bishop Hedding. With a giant intellect,
whose clear and strong conceptions of truth were the admi
ration of the world, with honors abundant, with an experi
ence rich and wonderful, with toils for Christ which few
could endure, the most remarkable trait in his character was
humility, a low estimate of himself and his services. Self
obtained no share of commendation, not even in an indirect
way. He seemed to feel that his brethren were more able
than himself, better entitled to notice, and more competent
to fill the high offices of the Church.
We can never forget remarks made by him before the
New England Conference, on the death of George Pickering,
who had been his early and fast friend. After closing his
address to the congregation, he remained silent for a few
moments, with his head bowed, as if in self-introspection, and
then, with unusual emotion, he again broke out : " Brethren,
I know I may be the next to go ; at all events I must go
soon ; and in view of it I turn to my own heart and life,
and discover so many infirmities, and so much frailty there,
that I am led to inquire whether it be possible that so un
worthy a creature can reach heaven. I feel the least among
you. I feel as though I ought to get down in the dust
before my brethren, would gladly be servant of all. I
wonder how Christ can save me." Then, with a brightening

ELIJAH HEDDING. 215
countenance and kindling eye, straightening up his noble
figure, he continued, " But unworthy as I am, Jesus saves
me. I don't believe I shall go to hell. Christ covers me
with his glorious atonement ; he will not leave me to my
self; he will not forsake me in the last hour." »
When on his death-bed he exclaimed : " O, what a won
der it is that such a poor, worthless, hell-deserving wretch
as I am should be saved ! What a mercy ! What won
drous love ! It is all of Christ ! What could we do with
out him ? How could we preach, how could we pray, how
could we live, or how could we die ?"
Luminous in its nature, the Gospel diffuses a brightness
along the path ofthe believer in youth and middle age; but
at the approach of death, or amid dissolving nature, the sky
of the faithful Christian becomes unclouded, beatific scenes
burst upon his vision, and the Sun of Righteousness beams
in full effulgence and glory on his soul. The Gospel then be
comes the all-absorbing theme, greater than all the philoso
phies, than all the treasures of science, the single divine pres
cription for the healing of the moral disease of the heart.
Its doctrines, especially the central ones, unfold to the soul
their hidden truth and beauty, like the golden cloud winding
along the sky as if exulting in the solar beams. Providences
which have lowered for years now brighten ; life, with its
enigmas, becomes plain ; while death and immortality appear
as striking but glorious realities.
"I have long believed the promises," said the bishop;
" but I realize them now more than I ever did before." He
again observed that he had " served God fifty years. I have
generally had peace, but I never had such glory before, such
light, such clearness, such beauty ! O, I want to tell it to
all the world ! O, had I a trumpet voice,
' Then would I tell to sinners round,
What a dear Saviour I have found.' "
With choked utterance he continued : " But I cannot, I
never shall preach again, never shall go over the mountains
and through the valleys to tell of Jesus any more. But O

216 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
what glory I feel ! it shines and burns all through me ; it
comes upon me like the rushing of a mighty wind, as on the
day of Pentecost."
Again : " I used to wonder how it could be that Christ
couM have mercy on such a poor, miserable sinner as I am,
and save me. There was a kind of mist over the subject;
but within a few days all has been cleared away. I now
see such goodness, such glory, such power in the Redeemer
that there is now no difficulty in it. Yes, all is now plain.
Since this dreadful disease struck me, more than a year ago,
I have not had one really dark hour, nor one pang of guilt."
During the earlier part of his sickness he had endured
terrible assaults from Satan, doubts more terrible than had
been suggested by any infidel, the blackness of darkness up
rising before him, and causing him to fear lest the floods
should go over him ; but by faith he saw Jesus walking on
the waves, and heard him say, " It is I, be not afraid." He
then arose in the middle of the night and engaged in prayer,
when he was led more clearly than ever to see the goodness
of God in afflicting his children, and was able to sing of
mercy and of judgment.
" I do not depend so much on past experience, nor on
present states of feeling, as upon a clear inward witness,
like the shining light, that Jesus died for me, that he loves
me and owns me for his child. I am going down to the
dust, but I expect to go to a better world ; that supports
me. Sometimes the state of the body presses down the
mind so that I do not feel much joy, but there is a settled
peace, and a calm assurance that the Saviour is mine."
Referring to the severe attacks of the disease, he said :
" With the stroke God gave me wonderful grace ; and it
has been with me ever since. Not a day, not an hour, not
a moment have I had any tormenting fear of death, or any
doubt. I have been at times so that I was doubtful whether
I could live for five minutes ; but all was bright and glori
ous. I have not had joy all the time ; but great support
and comfort. But to-day I have been wonderfully blessed ;

ELIJAH HEDDING. 217
I was reflecting upon God's great mercy, how much he had
done for me, so unworthy and polluted; and I had such
glorious views of the atonement of Christ, his sufferings, and
the glory that should follow, that my soul was filled in a
wonderful manner."
In reply to a friend who remarked to him that he was al
most over Jordan, he said, " Yes ;" and then, raising both
hands, uttered in a low voice : " Glory, glory ! glory to
God ! glory to God ! glory to God ! glory !" Death, he
averred, had no terrors, " no, none at all ; my peace is
made with God." Then, with his hand upon his breast, he
exclaimed, " I am happy — filled !"
But the soul, thus triumphant over disease and death,
turns the eye of its faith to invisible and eternal realities,
piercing the vail and anticipating the joys and society of
the better land, where the weary rest in the bosom of Jesus,
and in the presence of loved ones gone before. These views
of the future afforded him great comfort in the immediate
prospect of death. " I shall never see Brother  again
on earth, but I feel certain that I shall meet, yea, and know
him in heaven — both him and his dear wife. I have been
entertained at their house; it was my home; they have
ministered to my wants. I shall see them on earth no
more; but I shall see and know them in heaven."
In keeping with this was his parting advice to his brethren.
Taking a retrospect of his victories won for Christ, of the
ranks of laborers he was leaving behind, and of the fields
white to the harvest, just as he was stepping into the chariot,
it was natural that his heart should be moved to urge on
once more to victory the sacramental host of God's elect.
" Brother," said he, " while you have life and strength
preach ; preach Christ ; call poor sinners to repentance ;
bring them to the Saviour, he is a blessed Saviour. My
time of labor is now past, and I am going to my rest.
This is my dying testimony ; I do not know how long God
will spare me; but, brother, whether you are present or
not, or whether I can speak or not, this is now, and I trust

218 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
will be my dying testimony : ' Blessed are the dead that die
in the Lord; they rest from their labors and their works
do follow them."
Thus passed away, on the 31st of March, 1852, one of
the purest and noblest spirits of the Church militant. " He
being dead, yet speaketh."

TIMOTHY DWIGHT.

The name of Dwight is honorably recognized in the
annals of American literature and Christianity ; signalized
not more by a generous and noble nature than by liberal
and extensive culture ; and is likely to be transmitted to the
generations of the future as one of the worthies of the age
and country in which he lived. He is one of the few who,
after the lapse of a third of a century since their demise,
still maintain a place in the recollections of society, rising
above the oblivious waves that sweep the masses of men to
the place of forgetfulness. He lives as yet in the recollec
tions of friends and men that were trained under his care ;
in the affections of the Churches which profited by his in
structions ; and still more generally in the productions of ,his
pen, that he left for the illumination and guidance of man
kind. Some of these, indeed, have faded from the popular
vision, and others of them are receding gradually, although
as yet they maintain some points of contact with the people ;
and still others may, at a future day, experience a literary
resurrection that will place them in their former positions.
At least, of his Theology it may be anticipated that the
ministerial corps will retain, for several generations, some
practical knowledge ; and that thus through the pulpit he
will still speak to the multitude.
Timothy Dwight was born in 1752, at Northampton, of
honorable and worthy parentage, running back on his
father's side to the days of Cromwell, in a long line of noble
Puritan ancestry, and his mother's side being connected
with the celebrated Edwards, of whom she was the third

220 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
child. The circumstances attending his childhood and youth
were peculiarly favorable to develop and discipline his
mind ; and to them he was indebted in no small measure
for the distinction to which he attained. Perhaps, in the
formation of character and the attainment of success we too
seldom make account of those providential arrangements
thrown about us, that silently help on to the victory.
In the case of Dwight, the times in which his lot was cast
were peculiarly auspicious and stirring ; the great forces that
were operating in the political and moral world roused the
people, and tended to lift even mediocrity into importance,
and to elevate men of fine parts into giants. As he was ripen
ing into mature life the American Revolution burst upon the
continent, sweeping away venerable customs, shaking the very
pillars of society, and introducing new forms of government,
more liberal ideas, and broader, freer forms of thought. And
after the close of the war, when called to reconstruct the gov
ernment, and initiate new forces, grave questions arose that
touched, and that stirred to their lowest depths, the popular
sympathies. The nation was moved as by an electric shock.
The key-note was struck of the world's mighty triumph over
tyramiy and wrong — a note that still swells onward and that
waxes louder among the millions of the race.
The family of Dwight, too, from its elevated and religious
position brought him into communication with the better
part of society — that intermediate strata where intellect
and virtue flourish best. His father was a merchant in
high standing, of a good moral and religious character.
His house was the center of attraction to an extended circle
of guests, embracing the great, the wise, and good of the
time. To be in the presence of such men, to listen to their
words, to mingle in their conversations, and to drink in, in
boyhood, their great thoughts, is a rare privilege, for which
one may well be grateful, and that will be likely to leave
lines of influence on the character in after years.
To the home circle, however, was he, as are most others,
indebted for the highest and the best impulses, for those

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 221
silent but powerful influences that, like the rays of light or
the principles of attraction, mould and beautify the charac
ter. That home was Puritanic, characterized by a rigid and
austere discipline that draws with exactitude the lines of
duty ; but one at the same time cheered by the radiance of
a genial and vital Christianity, glowing not less in the life
than the creed ; one that poured the sunshine of joy on all
within the circle. While in his father he observed a sound
and vigorous intellect and a noble heart, his mother inherit
ed a large measure of the intellectual greatness and stern
integrity of President Edwards. Here was a pledge that
no effort would be wanting to unfold and mature the facul
ties of their son, and make the most of the noble nature he
had inherited.
Such were the surroundings, the influences, silent and
occult, or manifest, that operated to form his intellectual
and moral character. What the elements of that nature
were, forms a curious and instructive study. Beginning
with his physical structure, we are first struck with the
dignified, commanding, majestic figure he presents ; of a
plethoric habit, a well proportioned form, a round, pump
kin-like head, with a full face, but dark and brilliant eye,
he exhibits a picture of perfect health, a blessing that, with
few exceptions, he enjoyed through life. If we take this
external form as an index of the mind, it indicates a tran
quil and benevolent, rather than a great intellect ; a genial,
mediocre ability, rather than a grasping, avaricious genius ;
a lover of the amenities and proprieties of the beaten
path of life, rather than a daring and hardy adventurer in
untried regions. Nor did the outer altogether belie the
inner; the physical fail to set forth the mental character
in some good degree, although we are obliged to confess
that in some respects it failed to do it full justice; since
from underneath that heavy figure there flashed a keen
intellect, there glowed a fervid imagination, that pleased
with beauties of imagery and expression, rather than startled
by bold and eagle flights.

222 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
In the character of Dr. Dwight there was no single shin
ing quality that rose prominently to attract notice ; the
nice and full symmetry that marked his physical organism
ran through his entire nature. Every faculty, mental and
moral, was developed in its due proportion, so that all
seemed to rise up side by side, imparting to his mind
something of the appearance of an elevated level. He pos
sessed genius and mental power, but they were not all turned
into a single channel ; they were rather diffused through
the whole man. It is too often supposed that genius lies in
the exuberant growth of some particular faculty — in some
hideous mental malformation — the protrusion of the reason,
the memory, or the imagination beyond all the other
forces of the soul ; hence education is too often but a
pampering of a sickly and overgrown portion of the mind,
a quickening of the life of the mental plant where it ought
to be " headed in " and checked, to aid the general health
and growth. In Dwight there was nothing of this hot-bed
process either in his organization or education. His mind
was well balanced and well controlled. A fine imagination
and powerful intellect marched abreast ; he could reason, or
sing, or write poetry, or speak, with a great degree of ease,
and could pass from the one to the other without the least
apparent inconvenience. He was always at home, master
of himself. Many men have surpassed him in particular
characteristics and spheres of action ; few, in all. Many
have excelled him in a single sermon, a poem, a song ; in a
few efforts at instruction, or in desperate generalship in a
crisis ; not in the even thread that ran through his whole
efforts. His life was like one of those plateaus of Cen
tral America — elevated but flat, and spreading out in one
broad prairie of floral beauty.
A stranger might, at first, have supposed the mind of
Dwight to be somnolent and heavy, but the crimson that
mantled his cheeck and the fire that flashed in his eye would
soon correct the mistake. His actings, especially when he
opened his mouth, would soon discover an active, inquisi-

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 223
tive intellect. The mind was wide awake, with eyes and
ears open to drink in the sweet sounds and the enchanting
sights of nature about him. " Keep your eyes open," was
the advice he gave his students in their perambulations — a
rule of which his own life afforded a fine illustration. His
observations were confined to no one subject ; he had no
hobby that he rode to death. All subjects lying within
the range of his faculties claimed and received a due share
of his attention, the little as well as the great. If he had
studied the philosophy of the heavens, had traced the
planets in their paths along the azure floor of the sky, had
strove to "bind the sweet influences of Pleiades or to loose
the bands of Orion," he also was acquainted with the flower
by the wayside, the pebble in his path, the leaf that rustled
at his feet. Nothing was too grand or too minute for his
study ; from all he drew lessons of wisdom and inspiration
of praise. Probably few men were ever so well booked on
a multiplicity of subjects. He could converse on divinity,
law, education, science in its various branches, agriculture,
or the thousand minute and nameless subjects suggested in
every day intercourse ; and so well was he acquainted with
each that one would have thought his life devoted to that
particular branch of study. Lawyers not seldom mistook
him for a member of the bar ; merchants for one of their
class, and farmers were full of amazement at his knowledge
of planting potatoes and raising sheep and pigs. " I was
astonished that he conversed with my husband all the
evening about cattle and farming," said a humble housewife,
in whose family the doctor had spent a night. But he
knew what would interest them, and his study of languages
and metaphysics had not so entirely flayed the common
sense out of him as to render him incapable of descending
to their level. Scholars too often despise this minute and
miscellaneous wisdom. Casting their intellectual gold into
huge ingots, they are in want of small change every day.
They are mighty wise among the problems of Euclid or the
learned nonsense of Kant, but strangely blank among the

224 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
daily incidents of human society. And this is the more to
be lamented as success in life with most men turns on
these minor points. A Milton or Dante, a Lamartine or
Prescott, may gain renown by a single splendid effort ; the
masses cannot. They are indebted to the thousand little
influences that, like the rain-drops or sand-grains, swell the
materials of life.
His inquisitive spirit was kindled in his childhood, and
nurtured by parental effort. In the nursery his mother
held before his mhid the volumes of nature and revelation,
in a way to catch the attention and awaken in the mind a
permanent interest and zest. Her instructions began as
soon as he was able to speak ; and such was his eagerness
as well as capacity for improvement, that he learned the
alphabet at a single lesson, and before he was four years
old was able to read the Bible with ease and fluency ; until
six years of age he was under the instruction of his mother.
Her school -room was the nursery. Here he had his regular
hours for study, and twice during the day she heard him
repeat his lessons, after which he was permitted to read
such books as he chose. At these intervals he read over
the larger portions of the historical books of the Bible. So
deep and distinct were the impressions they made, that the
minutest incidents were never effaced from his mind. At
six years old he went to the grammar school, when he
began to importune his father to study Latin. This, how
ever, on account of his age, was denied him. But so intense
was his thirst for knowledge, that he obtained the use of
Lilly's Grammar, and ere teacher or parent was aware of
the fact, had made considerable progress in the study. On
making this discovery, his father permitted him to continue
the pursuit, and during the two years succeeding he would
have been prepared for admission into college had not the
school been discontinued.
Thrown again under the care of his mother, he studied
geography, history, and astronomy. His attention was
turned to Josephus, Prideaux, Rollin, and the histories of

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 225
Rome, Greece, and England, and also the accounts of the
settlement of New England. In his twelfth year he wp.nt
to Middletown to prepare for college, and thence in his
thirteenth he entered Yale.
The first two years that he spent in college were mostly
frittered away in the society of dissipated and riotous youth,
of which every college has a modicum. At the commence
ment of his junior year he began study in earnest. Pray
ers were then attended at half-past four in the summer, and
at half-past five in the winter. Before this exercise he was
accustomed to construe and parse a hundred lines in
Homer, which constituted no part df the college course, but
was designed to render him more familiar with the Greek.
This exercise, at such unseasonable hours, greatly affected
his eyes and laid the foundation of that weakness, that after
ward nearly precluded their use. He graduated honor
ably in 1769; was chosen tutor to that institution in 1771,
and held the office for six years ; was chaplain in the army
in 1777-8 ; resided at Northampton, whither he went to assist
his mother at the death of his father, from 1773 to 1783 ;
was installed pastor of the church in Greenfield, Conn., in
1783 ; was removed hence to the presidency of Yale Col
lege in 1795, where he died 1817.
From the period of his graduation the duties of Dr.
Dwight, as a teacher of youth and a minister of the Gospel,
retained him in an intellectual atmosphere. Hjs life as we
may say was spent in teaching. During the time he was
at the head of several different institutions, in all of which
he acquitted himself with honor and usefulness. He con
ducted the education of nearly three thousand persons,
which fact alone renders him worthy of remembrance.
We have already noticed the fact that he was six years
tutor in Yale, from ' the duties of which office he was
released only when the war broke up the college arrange
ments. When he returned to Northampton to care for and
sympathise with his mother in her last years, he set up a
school, thus dividing his time between the cares of the
15

226 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
family, the school, and the farm; the last an occupation
in which he took delight to the close of his life. And after
his settlement at Greenfield, a small country parish, he
again opened a school, partly from the delight he found in
that employ, and partly from the meagerness of his salary.
Here were studied all the branches usually pursued in col
lege ; and hence, many here received their entire education.
His best impressions as a teacher, however, or rather as
the head of an institution, were made after his elevation to
the presidency of Yale. He at once abolished the old sys
tem of discipline, which consisted in the infliction of fines
for offenses, and an abject servility of the lower classes to
the higher — a relic of the old European university system,
which appealed only to the baser principles of our nature.
In place of this he instituted a more paternal system, in
which he appealed on the one hand to a well regulated self
love, and on the other to the feeling of filial affection and
gratitude ; claiming not the prerogative of a tyrant, but the
attributes of a father. With the erring he expostulated with
parental tenderriess ; explained their dangers, urged upon them
the course of duty and safety, and not seldom saved those
that were on the brink of ruin. In this manner were the
wayward restrained, so that during his presidency there
was never anything like a rebellion against the authority
of the institution ; and it was a rare case, when public disci
pline was administered, that the students did not acquiesce
in the justness ofthe sentence.
The value of his services is still further manifest in the
encouragement he afforded the desponding and diffident.
A student of this character, whom he had often in college
incited to effort, was at a later date settled in the ministry
over a large congregation, but not without the occasional
experience of feelings of self-distrust. On one of these
occasions he called upon his ever faithful friend, and, in view
of the appoaching Fast, declared he could never write
another decent Fast-day sermon. " Why," said the Doc
tor, " you are in as bad a plight as President Edwards

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 227
once was, when he said he could not find another text in
the Bible on which he could make a sermon. Go to your
study, and with the best subject you can find do your best,
and the sermon will be good eriough." We need not say
that the result suprised even the preacher himself.
This is but an illustration of his- daily happy influence on
the minds of young men. The best minds usually, in early
efforts at education, experience a distrust of their powers ;
they feel as though they can never succeed ; and the best
thing that a college does for such is to make them realize
that effort will insure success. What Dwight did in this
way was worth more to the young man than all the round
of Greek and philosophy. " Genius," he often remarked, " is
nothing more nor less than the power of making efforts."
The golden fruits of this maxim were happily realized in a
multitude of cases. Men who had mourned over their
stinted endowments, were by effort aroused, and found capa-
ble of achievements surprising to themselves ; while others,
who indolently reposed on their splendid genius, slunk
away into obscurity and insignificance.
Allusion has already been made to the stirring period
during which President Dwight was ripening into manhood.
Political disquiet and commotion were giving birth and sus
tenance to new and loftier social ideas, to bold and hazard
ous enterprises, to insurrection and revolution throughout
the entire country. Liberty, that had been beld under
the heel of British tyranny, was anew lifting her head and
asserting the rights of humanity ; her altars smoked with
fresh incense, and enlisted in her defense the true chivalry
and nobility of the land. These scenes touched the young
heart of Dwight. He felt a deep interest in the land of
his birth, as well as in the progress and permanent estab
lishment of liberty on these shores. The future of the
country rose before him, her greatness and glory, waxing
more intense and brilliant as ages should transpire, while
her arms should stretch across the continent and press to
her bosom the oppressed of all lands, binding up in her

228 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
history the shattered fragments of numerous tribes and na
tions, to whom she imparts the light and strength of Anglo-
Saxon civilization, and the warmth of Protestant Chris
tianity. Such a prospect naturally kindled the heart of a Puritan
with patriotic zeal, and left upon his character an indelible
impress. The country rose up as the great fact of the time.
The masses were patriots, inspired onward by honest and
able leaders. Politics had not become a trade, and had not
degenerated to a stagnant pool, sending forth malaria and
death among all who might crowd its margin. Among
political men the common virtues of honesty and truth had
not become superannuated and obsolete, a mere gala dress
to be assumed on election week, or during the delivery of
a Buncombe speech in Congress. Religion and politics had
not then assumed a belligerent attitude. It was not con
sidered dangerous for clergymen to read the political bulle
tins, nor to mingle in the affairs of the state, nor even to
bring the high sanction bf the pulpit to the support of godly
measures. Under the circumstances it was natural that Dwight
should devise some method to aid his- country. ,A chap
laincy in the army afforded the best promise in this direc
tion, and accordingly, in 1777, he entered upon the duties
of the office with great zeal and faithfulness. His services
were highly acceptable to the soldiers and officers, espe
cially to Washington, whose friendship and esteem he was
permitted to enjoy, and who recognized in the young divine
a firm and able helper in the cause. While his example,
exhortations, and enthusiasm contributed to the success of
the movement, his poetic talent lent still more efficient aid.
Nowhere is the power of secular music and poetry greater
than in scenes of war and love, the enchanted region where
the extremes of their wild chivalry meet and coalesce.
The Marseillase, in the French Revolution, did more to rouse
the nation to arms, than the voices of her generals, sending
a thrill through the political heart, and awakening senti-

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 229
ments of heroism and daring, even as the fingers of the
musician evoke from the organ strains of grandeur and
pathos. When he threw off a few songs that became popular
in the army and country, that flowed from lip to lip, and
that gave full and fiery expression to the feelings that had
long burned in the depths of the popular consciousness, he
did much to roll on the tide of victory and secure the final
issue of the contest. He was addressing directly the whole
soldiery, entering the recesses of their thoughts, and main
taining an invisible but continual communication, and afford
ing them language and sentiments that would be sure to
leap from the heart to the mouth in every hour of peril.
But his stay in the army was brief. The death of his
father recalled him to Northampton to care for the inter
ests of the family, and especially to minister to the de
clining years of his mother, a duty which he considered
paramount to all other merely earthly considerations.
While here his time was divided between the home cares
and his school. On the Sabbath he supplied vacant congre
gations at Westfield, Deerfield, and South Hadley. But
he did not lose his interest in political affairs. He was
twice elected to represent the town in the Legislature,
where his services were highly appreciated by the common
wealth at large. It was here that he discovered admirable
abilities for political life, which led his friends to cherish
the hope that he would relinquish entirely his clerical duties
and devote himself to politics. It was thought by some
high in place that this course would immediately have
brought him before the country, and have elevated him to
a very eminent position.
But though possessing a keen relish for honor and human
applause, he chose to bow to the behest of duty, which, he
conceived tb point in another direction. Hence he never
afterward participated directly in political affairs, although
to the close of life he continued to cherish a deep interest
in the subject. His political views, which he was ever free
to avow, assumed the guise of the Federalists, who, besides

230 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
some notions of internal policy, were the avowed enemies
of the French, whose alliance was sought by the opposite
party, headed by President Jefferson. Dwight deprecated
any such alliance, in view of their disorganizing and red-
republican furor, as well as their infidelity, as the union of
" living health and beauty to a corpse dissolving with the
plague." But the name of Dr. Dwight is indissolubly associated
with the pulpit, of which he presents a noble representa
tive. He never, perhaps, rose to those heights of oratory
and power over men, never moved the masses as the wind
sweeps the forest, or was able to send electric shocks
through an audience, like a few of the masters of sacred
eloquence ; his noble mediocrity here as elsewhere was ap
parent. There was a bound beyond which he was not able
to pass. Rising high on important occasions, there were
yet others that surpassed him in imaginative or oratorical
flight. If, on the one hand, however, he was not promi
nent, on the other he never descended to those low and
puerile efforts that characterize many good preachers.
There was a remarkable evenness that ran through all his
efforts. If his sermons were never transcendantly grand,
they were always good, full of instruction, marked by a
fine taste and imbued with an evangelical spirit, which al
most invariably left on the mind of the audience a salutary
impression. He had a keen sense of propriety, which led him to the
requisite variety and adaptation in the selection and treat
ment of his subjects. While at Greenfield, a rural parish,
he was accustomed to select themes that bore upon the
essentials of the Gospel, and to exhibit them in a style at
once dignified and simple, adapted to the taste of the best
educated, and not above the comprehension of the simplest
of his auditors. It was -here that he first presented the
rough draft of a series of sermons on the leading doctrines
of the Bible, which were afterward amplified and completed
in the shape of the " System of Theology," a work by

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 231
which he continues to be best known to the world. After
his removal to the presidency of Yale College (1795) these
sermons, hitherto only scored out in hasty notes, were writ
ten in full and twice repeated to the students. One sermon
of the course was delivered each Sabbath, thus completing
them in four years.
"He designed not only to present them in a neat form,
such as would render them attractive to students, but also
to set up strong barriers against the tide of infidelity that
was then breaking in upon the country, and especially
exerting a deleterious influence upon the students of the col
lege. The French alliance had brought in the French army
and the writings of Voltaire, Hume, and Paine, the great
apostles of unbelief. Among the students their writings
became popular and were extensively read, while not a few
became their avowed disciples. Others were silent on the
subject, and infidelity became triumphant in these classic
halls. The Bible was under a fearful eclipse ; few ventured
to defend its inspiration, and even those in a faltering man
ner. It was about to be declared an obsolete book when
Dwight came to Yale. To him the circumstances were ex
tremely painful. And yet he was conscious that no mere
authority on the part of the officers could shake off this
viper that had arisen from the heat of revolution and vice.
The evil must be met by calm and fair reason. Accord
ingly he selected for the subject of debate, one day, in the
senior class, " the authenticity and 'inspiration ofthe Bible."
AH heard it with surprise ; some trembling for the safety
of a volume their heart cherished, but which their reason
was not able to defend. The class were requested to speak
freely on the subject, and bring to bear against the work
their best arguments without feeling any restraint from his
presence. Many fine and able sentiments were uttered
in the negative ; but all were surprised when, at the
close, the president swept them all away as so many cob
webs, and held up, in new and glowing colors, the Holy
Scriptures.

232 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
But he did still more in the pulpit. His Greenfield ser
mons were directed against the fortress of infidelity, which
was carried by this strong and powerful cannonading.
Christianity soon began to be respected. The evil was
effectually subdued, and it was soon accounted as great a
folly to disbelieve, as it had before been to believe the
inspiration of the Book of God.
The sermons of the doctor, in all his earlier years, were
delivered extempore, so far as concerns the language ; only
a brief sketch, containing the heads, being taken into the
desk. There can be little doubt that this mode rendered
him more popular among the multitude, as well as afforded
relief to his sight, which was feeble to the day of his death.
There are those, indeed, whose heavy natures and tardy
recollection disqualify them for the office of the extempo-
rizer; but then they are still more meager readers, de
manding in an audience the patience of the patriarch to hear
them. If an ass is to be installed in the pulpit, let him
bray without notes. He that can speak at all to the edifi
cation of a congregation, can do it to more general accept
ance, with equal study and care, by a simple arangement
of the matter than by the aid of full manuscript. If any
one can read a sermon decently, it is the agile, wide-awake
cleric, whose thoughts blaze and whose heart swells with
emotion ; and even he should do so only under high pres
sure when the mental machine needs brakes. There may,
indeed, be an exception to this remark in the case of doc
trinal discussions or pulpit essays, in which the preacher
seeks for strength, exactness, or beauty, instead of impres
sion upon the mass ; but it is only an exception that should
not often occur in the history of an ordinary minister. Dr.
Dwight, as above remarked, in his later years, wrote out
his serial discourses, and read them, much however to the
injury of the popular effect. These, moreover, were rather
lectures to the students than ordinary sermons.
Although a good reader, it was as an extemporizer that
he excelled, a duty for which he possessed some admirable

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 233
qualifications. His fine figure, his genial countenance, his
voice possessing at once melody and compass, his lively
imagination, ready memory, that seized on any of his ample
stores of knowledge, and his ardent, active temperament,
brought him before the people in an interesting light. His
first appearance made an impression which was intensified
the moment he opened his mouth. It was a pleasure to
listen to him ; he seemed so easy, pleasant, happy, and the
silvery stream of his speech flowed on so beautifully, that
the hearer almost involuntarily imagined himself in the
presence of an oracle.
His devotional exercises would not compare with his ser
mons. They lacked variety and animation, the perpetual
altar-fire that sets the words aglow and warms the audience
into sympathy with the place and occasion. His thoughts
and language, ordinarily the same, were coolly repeated.
There was, however, a capacity in him for devotion which,
on striking occasions, was brought out, and he would rise
above the dull monotony of routine. Gathering up the in
cidents, and imbibing the spirit of the occasion, he would
at such seasons, soar away to new and loftier regions. The
fall of Napoleon, whom he had all along regarded as the
scourge of the race, affords a fitting illustration. The news
of the victory of Waterloo reached New Haven in the after
noon. At evening the doctor entered the College Chapel in
a glow of animation, and commenced the service by reading
the 14th of Isaiah : '" The Lord hath broken the staff of the
wicked, and the scepter of the rulers. He who smote the
people in wrath, with a continual stroke, he that ruled the
nations in anger, is persecuted, and none hindereth. The
whole earth is at rest and quiet. How art thou fallen, O
Lucifer, son of the morning !"
He then read the following verses from the 37th Psalm :
" The haughty sinner have I seen,
Not fearing man nor God,
Like a tall bay tree fair and green
Spreading its arms abroad.

234 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
" And lo ! he vanished from the ground,
Destroyed by hands unseen,
Nor root, nor branch, nor leaf was seen
Where all that pride had been."
"The prayer that followed," says Dr. Sprague, who was
present on the occasion, " was entirely in keeping with the
previous exercises ; a prayer conceived with a grandeur, and
uttered with a power, which not only astonished, but that
well nigh enraptured his audience."
Dr. Dwight, it will be perceived from the foregoing re
marks, possessed all the endowments and material for a
good conversationalist, that most charming gift of the human
race. Though all can talk, the genius for talk is variously
distributed. Some men can discourse, but can't talk ; they
can make a speech, but speech never flows down from their
lips. When they rise upon the rostrum, or in the pulpit,
with the body at a certain angle, and in sight of a certain
number of physiognomies, the soul unburdens itself decently,
often with power ; but the moment they descend to chit
chat, their ideas congeal in their brains and their words bog
gle on their tongues. The physical machinery fails to work.
They that in the pulpit pould thunder like Massilon, or
glow like Chrysostom, lose all their wings and their light
ning in the presence of a single peasant. Their flasks con
tain the finest wine, but it can't be poured off.
" What numbers, sheathed in erudition, lie
Plunged to the hilts in venerable tomes
And rusted in, who might have borne an edge,
And played a. sprightly beam, if born to speak !
If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue."
This gift of wayside speech, the ability to talk in all places,
to all sorts of people, under a variety of circumstances, was
possessed by the president in an eminent degree. He was
not a mere twaddler, chattering over a mass of silly gossip ;
a mere monkey aping a man ; but a talker of sense in an
agreeable and intelligible manner.
He had not the pompous and patronizing air of Dr. Johnson

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 235
or Robert Hall, whose words were often spears, and who
talked into a man and through him, if they did not entirely
annihilate him. Dwight descended to the popular level,
entered into the feelings and drew out the hearts of his com
panions. They were not so much struck by the majesty,
the grandeur of his sentences, by the lofty roar of some
Niagara, as by the ready flow of his speech, the gentle mur
mur of thought, as of Arcadian streams, that charmed the
hours and poured perpetual delight through the circle. " As
his had been a life of observation and reflection," remarks a
friend, " rather than of secluded study, his acquisitions were
all practical ; they were all at hand, ready to enrich and
adorn his conversation. In theology and ethics, in natural
philosophy and geography, in history and statistics, in poetry
and philology, in husbandry and domestic economy, his
treasures were equally inexhaustable. Interesting narration,
vivid description, and sallies of humor ; anecdotes of the
just, the good, the generous, the brave, the eccentric ; these
all were blended in fine proportions to form the bright and
varied tissue of his discourse. Alive to all the sympathies
of friendship, faithful to its claims and sedulous in perform
ing its duties, he was beloved by many from early life with
whom he entered on the stage, and whom, as Shakspeare
says, he ' grappled to his soul with hooks of steel? "
With these varied accomplishments, conversation appeared
in him a kind of instinct. The stores of his mind were
poured forth in a bright and sparkling stream of wisdom
and mirth. His intellectual treasures could not be hidden ;
they sparkled on all sides, sending forth their odors like
flowers to bless and to cheer.
This very power, however, of conversation, this copia
verborum, this very\ fullness of his language which is so
agreeable in the social circle, which warms the heart and
exhilarates' the spirits, becomes tedious and heavy on the
printed page. Here is the failing of Dwight's writings.
They are clear, often transparent, save .where he delves in
some profound subject that will never light up through any

236 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
human language; but his ideas flow on in an everlasting
wordiness. He seemed to have no power to compress his
thoughts. They leaped forth, and on winged words sailed
at ease in mid air. Whatever his thoughts, there is always
a plethora of language, a superabundant mass of drapery
thrown over them, often beautiful, but still mere verbiage,
that rather stifles than develops the idea. It is this multi
plicity of words that will extinguish some of his books, sink
them as a nether millstone to the depths of oblivion. The
Theology will have a hard struggle to live. Had it been
compressed to half the space, and preserved* its present
beauties, it must have lasted with time. Besides the Theol
ogy, he published a list of occasional sermons, some of
• which are extremely fine, and some volumes of travels.
Then, on the other hand, he wrote several poems that made
a mark in their day ; but most of them, in the subject or the
execution, lacked the seeds of immortality. They were well
in their season, contain fine things, and performed a good
work ; but the popular taste, that merciless and impartial
judge, has brushed them aside, at least for the present. It
is to be remembered, however, in honor of Dwight, that his
achievements were made in a large measure without eyes,
or by the aid of those not his own. The hours that others
spend in communion with some favorite author, were by him
devoted to reflection. In the absence of books, he talked
with nature, with the oracles of conscience, reason, and judg
ment, and with the Maker of all these. He did not even
write his own sermons ; they were prepared by amanuenses
who took them sentence by sentence from his lips.
This apparent evil, however, like most ofthe ills of earth,
was found capable of yielding excellent, fruit. It learned
him to control his own mind, to become master of himself
as well as of the ample stores of knowledge that had been
accumulated by him. He was able to dictate to three
amanuenses at the same time, or to earry forward different
trains of conversation, or conversation and writing together.
The process, too, strengthed his memory. Shut out from

TIMOTHY DWIGHT. 237
books, his ideas were written on the tablets ofthe mind, and
ready to spring into life at his bidding. His knowledge
was never like that of the Yankee pedagogue, folded and
locked up in his trunk.
It made him feel, too, that the mind is sufficient to itself.
Shut out from the world of nature, from the pleasures of
reading, from the external for long periods, he found a
world within, where joy leaped forth and wisdom flowed
with a perpetual fullness. The pleasures of calm reflection,
which he enjoyed, were sweeter than all the enchantment of
natural vision. The mind rose above the clogs that op
pressed it, triumphing over obstacles, and joying in a genial,
pure atmosphere of thought and feeling.

WILBUR FISK.

" Thy spirit is more gentle than a dove
Yet hath an angel's energy and scope ;
Its flight is towering as the heaven above
And with the outstretoh'd earth doth bravely cope."
The material incidents in the life of Dr. Fisk are not
abundant, nor are they of that extraordinary or thrilling
kind which are calculated to arouse the attention and main
tain the interest of the vulgar mind. _ He knew nothing of
war, of the garments rolled in blood, of revolutions, of
politics with their strife for precedence, or of those " hair
breadth escapes by flood and field" which lend an interes*"
to the lives of many men. No such extraneous badges of
distinction marked his history. In contemplating this
sainted man our attention is attracted to the mind itself,
the inner life, intellectual beauty, the moral loveliness that
impart a charm to his character. His life never reminds
one of the grand and the rugged in nature, of the towering
cliff or the bold precipice down which dashes the roaring,
foaming tide, like the spirit of an infuriated warrior ; rather
of the gentle rivulet issuing from the bosom ofthe dripping
rock in the mountain sides, gliding thence in its meander
ing, tranquil course, through fresh groves and meadows,
amid sweet-scented grass and flowers, and glistening in the
beams of the sun like a long thread of molten silver. It
was beauty of spirit rather than power, a peculiar blending
of the intellect and the heart, that distinguished him. His
life was, in an unusual degree, a spiritual one, like the gener
ous vine, ever essaying a heavenward flight, and fastening

WILBUR FISK. 239
itself to the world only by little tendrils clasped here and
there. Few and insignificant as were many of these connections
with the world, the reader will desire to know how such a
chaste spirit was able to touch the world at these points
and yet contract no more of its taint and wrongness.
Wilbur Fisk came of a good stock. His parents were
trained in in the serious and staid habits of the Puritans,
but had, in mature life, merged into the richer, higher ex
perience of Methodism, thus affording their son the advan
tage of both schemes. At the time of Wilbur's birth
(1792) his father resided at Brattleborough, Vermont; but
he soon after removed to Lyndon, in the same state, where,
amid those green hills, the lad spent his boyhood. His
educational advantages were few, but those few he improved
to the utmost. The few books possessed by the family
were read with the greatest avidity. In order to make the
most of h}s time, he used to rise very early, while the family
were yet in bed, to enjoy an hour or two in his delightful
employ. Nor did his studies cease when they went forth
to the labors of the day ; his book was often carried into
the field in his pocket, and any leisure moments that
occurred during the day, were spent in its perusal. In this
way we are informed that he read Smellie's Philosophy of
Natural History while watching a coal-pit on a distant part
ofthe farm.
As he advanced in years his thirst for knowledge became
more intense. He began to realize something of the
pleasure it was capable of affording, as well as the power
it gave a man in society. Nothing kept him from the
enjoyment of those privileges save the straitened circum
stances of the family. The meager advantages afforded by
the district were in the mean time improved to the fullest
extent, and when he was seventeen years of age his father
placed him at the academy in Peacham, for the purpose of
pursuing the studies preparatory for college. Here his
progress was rapid, and in 1812, three years later, we find

240 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
him entered at the University of Vermont, in the Sophomore
year. The war with England, which soon broke out, inter
rupted the exercises of the institution, the British army
having entered the town and appropriated the university
building to the use of the troops for barracks. A couple
of years later he entered Brown University, at Providence,
Rhode Island, where his talents were immediately recognized
by his fellow students. He graduated with high honors in
1815. As he had been the child of many prayers and hopes, this
was naturally a season of riiuch interest on the part of the
parents. He was now to enter on the path that would
stretch on through life, and give shape to his destiny for
ever. They had early dedicated their son to the Lord, and
cherished fond hopes that he would one day become a min
ister of the Gospel. With this view had he been carefully
trained and educated. His mother " took him early and
constantly to church, made it a particular business to
read to him the word of God, required him to learn the
catechism, and commit little hymns and prayers to memory.
She had the happy art, too, of rendering these things more a
pleasure than a burden. According to his capacity she was
almost constantly stimulating him to thought and inquiry
by her conversation with him. Both parents were exem
plary in the observance of the Sabbath. They regarded it
as a day strictly set apart for religious uses, and hence the
time not spent in public worship was occupied in family
instruction. Yet their piety was so mild and cheerful, and
their household governed with such uniform consistency,
that the Sabbath was far from being a dull or gloomy day."
These parental instructions were attended with the happi
est results. His mind, naturally susceptible and gentle,
yielded to the influences of pious example and instruction,
and became early impressed with a clear sense of his sinful
state, and the ample provision made by the atonement of
Christ for his salvation. He was not more than five years
when he was known to weep bitterly on account of the sins

WILBUR FISK. 241
be had committed against God, and frequently to dread
going to sleep lest he should awake in misery. These
serious impressions continued at intervals till his eleventh
year, when they were deepened by the death of an infant
brother. Regarding the hand of God in the solemn event,
he said to his sister Mary, " How good God is to us in
taking our little brother away, who needed no conversion,
and giving us time to repent." These convictions, being
cherished by the parents, continued to strike deeper into the
heart and life of the boy till they ripened into conversion.
The change was very clear and evident. He had merged
into a new life, beautiful and glorious, where the higher facul
ties would have scope, and the whole being advance toward
perfected manhood. He joined the class, and began imme
diately, in a quiet way, to employ the gifts which had been
bestowed upon him by the Creator. Never boisterous,
even in those stirring days of Methodism, he was yet active,
affording indications to his friends of the rare but sanctified
abilities afterward displayed to the world. During the
years that he remained under, the paternal watchcare, his
zeal and religious consistency were maintained ; but as he
advanced in his studies, and was much from home, amid
strangers and new scenes, his piety declined till he reached
the level of a merely worldly mind. This was his religious
state when leaving college. It was a source of extreme
anguish to his parents, whose long and fondly cherished
hopes in him seemed to be blasted. All aspirations that he
had possessed for the Christian ministry had, of course, be
come extinct, and his mind took a merely secular direction.
The law presented itself as a profession that might prove
both lucrative and honorable. Some of his associates in
college, among them the Hon. Thaddeus Stevens, were
engaged in legal studies, and urged him to engage in the
same pursuit. To the great grief of his parents he finally
determined to select that profession.
Ere engaging, however, in his law studies, he found it
necessary to spend some time in teaching, for the purpose
16

242 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
of liquidating a debt that had accumulated during his educa
tional term. In carrying out this purpose he engaged as a
family instructor in Maryland. He remained here but a
few months, when he was obliged to return home on
aecount of ill health. This sickness and return home were
apparently providential. The Church at Lyndon were in
the midst of a very extensive and interesting revival. The
faith of his mother had become unusually elevated, so that
she grasped, with a firm hand, the Divine promises. Her
son was laid upon the altar. While he was planning to
become a lawyer, she was praying that he might be thrust
out as an ambassador of Christ. The influence of those
prayers was felt on the mind of the son, then in the South.
He returned home not only in a feeble state of health, but
with a perturbed and restless mind. He realized as never
before his lamentable backslidings, and when entering the
religious atmosphere of his native place, felt deeply con
cerned for his personal safety. Health was gone; life
might be near its close; the world appeared much more
meager than usual. But he at once began to attend the
meetings, and soon was able to attain his former position in
religious experience. That was a happy day to himself,
to his parents, to the Church, for it changed the whole
course of his life. Those irrepressible convictions that it
was his duty to preach the Gospel returned, and under the
influence of his now delightful experience, he at once aband
oned the law and resolved to become an itinerant preacher.
To pursue this course was no slight cross, inasmuch as
none of his associates in the schools belonged to this recent
sect, nor were there any liberally educated men in the min
istry with which he was to be associated ; but to his mind
the path of duty led that way. It was to this sect that his
parents belonged, and through their agency he had been con
verted and now restored to those early and bright experi
ences. Fisk was of a noble, independent nature, and could
not hesitate in deciding a question of this sort. Other sects
presented the prospect of an easier life to the minister, of

WILBUR FISK. 243
more literary leisure, of a more ample and better paid sal
ary ; but his experience had reached a higher key than all
this. He felt some of that woe if he preached not the Gos
pel, and hence it became a question, not where he could be
most honored, pampered, enriched, but where he could do
the most for Christ and his Church. Providence had thrown
him among the Methodists, who had become endeared to
him as the messengers of his salvation ; and if they were
destitute of literary culture, and even of institutions of learn
ing, there was presented a field where he might be useful.
It is worthy of remark how this course, which he regarded
only in the light of stern and unyielding duty — a course, as
friends thought, leading him away from the honors that in
vited in the distance — proved to be not only the path of
duty but of renown. These two, in the arrangements of
Divine Providence, are not separate and diverse; they are
converging lines that terminate in the same point. He who
eschews duty in pursuit of honor will find himself in a diffi
cult way, and will, as the fruit of his labor, eat the bitter,
substanceless apples of Sodom ; but the young man that .
clings to duty will find more than duty in the pursuit ;
flowers will spring up as he advances along his rugged path,
and the gates of Paradise unfold to admit him in the end to
her celestial banquet. Had Wilbur Fisk chosen a wealthier,
more popular denomination, he would not, probably, among
her distinguished and educated men, have found a special
work, and with life his light would have gone out in Israel ;
but the actual history presents a case how different ! Though
passed to the skies he lives in a thousand hearts ; his fame
has reached the ear of the great world, and his name shall
pass from lip to lip till the remotest generation.
This decision once made he joined the New England Con
ference. His first appointment was to Craftsbury Circuit,
where he spent two delightful and profitable years. He
was now in his element, and bounded over the hills and
through the vales of the Green Mountains with a light heart.
He loved, long after this, when he had arrived at eminence in

244 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the Church, to refer to the struggles through which he had
been induced to become an itinerant, and the blessed days
of his early ministry. He used sometimes to repeat it in
the form of a dialogue between the Master and his reluctant
messenger. Christ. Go, preach my Gospel.
Answer. But, Lord, I have other engagements.
Christ. You are not your own ; you have been bought
with a price.
Ans. But, Lord, I have been preparing myself for another
profession ; I have been struggling for an education ; I have
high prospects, etc.
Christ. What have you that you have not received ?
Ans. Lord, I have strong domestic feelings, and I hope
one day to have a family.
Christ. He that loveth houses or lands, wife, or children,
more than me, is not worthy of me.
Ans. Lord, I have aged parents, and I am an only son.
Christ. He that loveth father or mother more than me, is
not worthy of me.
Ans. Lord, is there no excuse ; may not another answer ?
Christ. The gifts and calling of God are without re
pentance. Ans. Lord, I cannot go.
Christ. Woe unto you if you preach not the Gospel !
Ans. Lord, wilt thou not pity a poor, helpless wretch,
who begs for an excuse as one would plead for his life ?
Christ. Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that
though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor that
ye, through his poverty, might become rich.
" Here," remarked the doctor, " the dialogue ended ; the
young man covered his face with his hands, and bursting
into tears cried, ' Nay, but I yield ! I yield !' The bond was
signed and sealed, and the young man consigned over, body
and soul, to the Church. The next thing I saw of him he
was threading a pathless forest among the Green Mountains,
bordering upon the Canada line, driving his horse before him

WILBUR FISK. 245
because of the roughness bf the wilderness, cheerful as an
angel on an errand of mercy. And I heard his song with
which he made the rugged mountain tops that hung over his
path reverberate; and what do you think it was ?
" ' Nothing on earth I call my own—
A stranger to the world unknown,
I all their goods despise ;
I trample on their whole delight,
And seek a eity. out of sight,
A eity in the skies.' "
At the Conference of 1819 he was stationed in Charles-
town, Mass., where he labored with considerable success for
two years. In consequence of ill health he continued one
year without an appointment; but in 1823 was made Pre
siding Elder on the Vermont District, embracing, as the
name indicates, the entire state ; and though younger than
the men ordinarily selected for that office, he discharged its
duties to the satisfaction of all his brethren. In 1826 the
Wilbraham Academy was opened, and Wilbur Fisk was
elected its first principal. Here he remained four prosper
ous years, in which educational interests had so far advanced
that the Methodists of New England had projected a uni
versity at Middletown, Conn. In looking about for a presi
dent of this new institution, Fisk stood prominent among
the candidates, and received the appointment. Entering
upon the duties of this post in 1830, he continued till his
death in 1839.
He was a man known to the whole Church, having been
thrice sent to the General Conference, twice elected to the
office of bishop, and once sent as a delegate from that body
to the British Conference. In 1829 he was elected presi
dent of Lagrange College, and also the same year pro
fessor in the University of Alabama. During the same year -
the title of D.D. was conferred on him by his Alma Mater.
His health having failed, in 1835 he sailed for Europe, where
he spent a couple of years in travel, the main incidents being
embodied in his Travels — a volume that has been read with

246 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
much interest. After his election to the episcopacy he
declined to receive consecration, as also to accept the posts
proffered in the colleges named above. He felt it to be his
mission to labor in New England, a conviction that he fol
lowed out to the end.
It was the happy lot of Dr. Fisk to become the leader in
the educational movement in his own Church. When he
entered -the itinerant ranks the Methodist Church, though
numbering many thousand communicants, and exerting a
¦ wide-spread influence in the land, possessed no institution
of learning. Attempts were made at an early date to found
schools, but the repeated destruction of Cokesbury College
cooled the ardor of the preachers, and, in fact, left on their
minds the deep, indelible impression that God had called
them to another and higher work, the salvation of men by
the simple preaching of the Gospel. Under this impression
efforts for securing educational advantages ceased, and the
fathers continued to give their individual attention to the
labors of the pulpit and the pastorate. In this work their
success was great, and perhaps it will not be improper to
suggest that their labors were providentially confined to this
channel till the denomination attained greater vigor and
numerical as well as financial strength. The times demanded
preachers, and those with few literary qualifications were
acceptable and useful among the masses, it may be more
so than scholastic men could have been, while the introduc
tion of educational institutions, at that early day, would have
called away some of their strong men. At that period,
moreover, such institutions could have been but feebly sus
tained by the Church, and hence would not have been likely
as soon to engraft upon themselves the vigor of the body.
A sickly institution is a bane to the denomination, requiring
the expenditure of more money and effort to elevate it to
the proper level than to establish a new one. Happily the
history of our later literary institutions presents a different
aspect. Founded in New England, by a man thoroughly
educated in our best schools, and every way adapted, both

WILBUR FISK. 247
by his personal accomplishments and his relations to the
Church, to accomplish such a work, they proved an imme
diate success. The seminary founded at Wilbraham, hi
1826, by Fisk, soon created the necessity of establishing a
university, which was soon opened at Middletown, Conn.
From these beginnings the work has proceeded with a rap
idity and efficiency beyond the most sanguine expectations
of friends of the Church of that day, till now we have col
leges sprinkled all through the States, and an academy in
nearly every conference, besides two or three theological
schools. Such is the ample harvest already resulting from
the labors and plans of the founder of Methodist schools in
America. His connection with the educational movement afforded
him a favorable acquaintance with the best minds of the
Church, especially the young men, who became enthusiastic
in their attachment to him as a teacher and friend. As
many of this class soon arose to eminence as teachers in
new seminaries, or as ministers in various parts of the
country, they did much to bring the name of Fisk into gen
eral notoriety. Forming an acquaintance with him at that
period in life when the feelings are ardent and the intellect
but partially developed, they carried away, in their fervid
imaginations, pictures of angelio loveliness and worth, which
were, in many cases, transferred to the printed page, thrown
off in the set speech, or dispensed in the social circle to large
companies of eager listeners. In addition, he was unrivaled,
standing, as he did, at the head of the educational movement
in the Church. Those rising up about him were, for the
most part, his pupils, who revered him as a father, and of
course maintained a fresh recollection of his gentlemanly
bearing and Christian worth.. Few men have been so happy
in their friendships. Some of his scholars have surpassed
him in both natural and acquired ability, but can never
sustain the same relation as he did to the public. As we
survey the picture of our educational men, the figure of Fisk
ever remains prominent, as the one who initiated the project

248 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
and gave form and consistency to the plan when going into
practical operation. He will ever be recalled as the Wash
ington of our schools.
In intellectual caliber, though possessing a mind of fair
vigor and fine development, he had many superiors. He
was not distinguished for strength of mind so much as for
the nice balance of all his faculties, the symmetrical develop
ment and Grecian finish of the entire man. No faculty pro
truded beyond the line prescribed by a classical taste. He
possessed a fine intellect, a nice taste, a healthful and fertile
imagination, generous sensibilities, and a sound judgment,
or good sense, that bound all in unity and enabled the mind
to work with facility. Hence there was no bald feature in
his character that attracted the glare of the casual observer
Wit that became disgusting to those favored with his more
intimate acquaintance. He was like the symmetrical temple,
whose classical and exa'ct proportions fail at first to gain the
attention as to a remarkable work of art. It appears a work
easily performed, almost a matter of course, lying within the
reach of ordinary minds. The illusion, however, dissolves
the moment the work is considered carefully or attempted
by another hand. Fisk was great in his simplicity, and
most highly appreciated by those who knew him best. If
not as profound as some men, he possessed other excellences
that more than counterbalanced this deficiency. If not " the
oracle in whom dwelt the response," he was the priest who
expounded it. " He did not so much dwell in the penetralia
as stand upon the portico. He stood rather the mediator
and interpreter between the inner sanctuary and the outer
world, capable of comprehending in his intellect the pro
fundities of the former, and of sympathizing with and mak
ing all intelligible to the capacities of the latter. We mean
not that he was the mere compiler from other minds, for his
mind was eminently creative and original."*
We know not where to look for a finer specimen of the
finished and natural gentleman. Easy and graceful in his
* Eev. Dr. Whedon's " Tribute to the Memory of Dr. Fisk,"

WILBUR FISK. 249
manners, at home in all classes of society, and making others
feel quite at home in his presence, he yet exhibited none of
the gloss of.art. The marks of the chisel, if ever there, had
been entirely removed, and his utterances and demeanor
impressed one as the outbeamings of a generous and noble
nature. He was not the professional gentleman, who had
taken his cue from the highest metropolitan circle, and who
was always straining to render himself pleasing to those
about him ; he seemed not to think of this, but his ordinary
conduct, flowing from the depths of a kindly, Christian heart,
proved most agreeable to those who enjoyed the pleasure
of his acquaintance.
In society he was not a mere talker, the autocrat of the
circle, presuming'no one to have rights there but himself.
In the proper sense of the term, he was a conversationalist,
who enjoyed an interchange of thought and sentiment, the
generous flow of whose language and feelings mingled with
the general current and helped to increase the pleasure of
the occasion. "'Bland and cordial, animate, recollected, and
dignified ; flexible to all the varieties of rank or character,
sympathizing with the humblest, and courteous to the digni
tary ; dexterous in every difficulty, felicitous in every ex
igency, and self-posses&ed in every surprise, he diffused
around his daily presence and converse the atmosphere of •
his own gentle, pure, yet high-toned spirit ; ever ready with
the judicious counsel, the lucid illustration, or the even-
handed discussion, now brightening up the scene with a
cheery yet chastened burnor ; now sobering it away with
the recollective monition, checking the possibly rising im
propriety by the powers of severely silent rebuke, or even
when it would surge up into rebellion, capable of rising
into a subduing mastery over the rampant elements."
He possessed a happy faculty of ingratiating himself with
strangers whom he chanced to meet in public conveyances
or at places of resort. We met an elderly gentleman the
other day, a stranger to Methodism till within a few years,
who became acquainted with Dr. Fisk in the stage, more

250 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
than thirty years since, and received from his conversation
and deportment so happy an impression as to maintain a
vivid recollection and lively interest in him ever ¦after. , And
this incident was characteristic of the man. - He was the gen
tleman abroad as well as at home, among strangers as well
as in the circle of his cherished friends ; never allowing the
opportunity of making himself agreeable to a fellow-being
to escape, as too many do, because a stranger. This was
performed with the greater ease because the whole flowed
from nature, and afforded a high degree of pleasure to him
self as well as to others. The assumed gentleman, the in
dividual putting on airs and making a virtue of his breed
ing, will be very likely to throw aside the lion skin the
moment he passes beyond the lines of his own circle. Gen
tility is to him a restraint, a burden to be bome with all
patience within the domain of etiquette, and to be cast away
as soon as possible.
In this connection a remark will not be out of place
touching his intercourse with students. That he was quite
at home in circles of this kind, and well adapted to meet
their demands, will be readily gathered from the fact that
he maintained, to the last, his popularity among them. In
fact he was idolized by almost every class that passed
under his tuition, many of his pupils treasuring his sayings
as oracular, and weaving the advices he dispensed into the
web of future life. Herein was the most striking peculi
arity of his social history, the friends he made were perma
nent, loving him even more intensely in his absence than
during the days of their familiarity.
This ascendancy over the minds of students was gained
by his sterling worth, his straightforward, manly course,
his generous feelings and gentlemanly bearing, equally re
moved from the severity of the official and the descending
familiarity of vulgar friendship. Mild, yet firm, unbosom
ing himself to the inquirer, and still, by a sort of gentle, in
imitable dignity, causing him to know his place, he found no
difficulty in holding the reigns of government, or in guiding

WILBUR FISK. 251
the mind whither he would. He was the born educator,
whom men loved to obey. Perfectly accessible, they came
to him as a friend to relate their trials, to reveal their
wants, or to express their aspirations. His ear was open
to their story, his heart beat in sympathy with them, while
his excellent judgment yielded them the best adivce, admo
nitions, or consolation, as the case might require. The most
diffident were made at once to feel at home in his presence,
and if the unruly so far mistook his suavity as to suppose
their ends could be attained, they were soon undeceived
when they found in him a firm purpose, a steady hand that
held the reins. With such qualifications he became the able
governor and efficient disciplinarian.
It was not his purpose simply to dispense a certain amount
of learning, or to develop the intellect alone ; he wished
to inspire high and noble ideas of life, to awaken young
men to a sense of their responsibility, to prepare them for a
place in society, and for an exalted destiny in another world ;
and it was in this latter respect that he exerted the hap
piest influence over minds committed to his care. They
left with higher aspirations, reaching beyond the hopes of
the mere scholar, and grasping the substantial realities of
both worlds. Of his scholars a vast number have become
practical and useful men, helping on the world's great
achievements ; many through his influence selected the path
to the better life, and remain to this day the lights of the
world. Previous to the rise of Methodism, the darkest feature
in the schools of the land was their irreligious tendency.
' For this reason the friends of vital religion who joined the
Methodistic movement felt a distrust of such establishments,
some going so far as to affirm that illiteracy, in both clergy
and laity, was preferable to an education that must be at
tained amid such exposures of the moral and religious na
ture of the child or youth. Hence our first institutions of
learning were watched with a jealous eye by men who
feared their influence on the piety of the Church. But the

252 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES?
movement was commenced by the right individual, one
placing a high value on learning, but cherishing a still more
sacred regard for the spiritual welfare of minds committed
to his charge. In this respect his fondest hopes have been
realized, since thus far our seminaries have not only proved
fountains of pure literature, but also the dispensers of
spiritual influences, in many cases surpassing in this respect
the best of our Churches. The number of conversions at
our schools has been very great, and those usually of a
character that prove valuable accessions to the Church.
Our people no longer fear these seats of learning ; but, on
the contrary, pupils are often committed to the charge of
these teachers, with the sanguine expectation that they will
leave with new and better purposes of life. Nor has this
influence stopped with our own schools ; those older estab
lishments where revivals were like angels' visits, have be
come the scenes of like gracious refreshings. In attaining
this blessed result, we claim that Fisk had a larger influ
ence than is usually supposed. The religious atmosphere
that pervaded the schools over which he presided has be
come diffused, and is exerting a most happy influence on the
youth in these several places of instruction. " Behold how
great a matter a little fire kindleth."
Dr. Fisk was a practical rather than a scholastic man.
He came upon the stage at a time when the denomination
demanded work ; and after the selection of his own special
field, found every day of his life crowded with active occu
pations. His scholarship, although exact and neat, was not
extensive, embracing little more than the ordinary collegi
ate course ; and not being a great reader, his resources were '
mostly in his own mind, which took a common-sense view
of every subject brought to his notice. Yet was he capable
of attaining extensive erudition, and if left free to choose
his path in life, would perhaps have selected that of the
scholar, so agreeable to his mild and genial nature, as well
as to his naturally finished and discriminating mind. No
one, however, will .regret his call to au active field where he

WILBUR FISK. 253
accomplished so much for the Church and the world, al
though in seclusion his pen might have discoursed charm
ingly of truth and virtue. No single individual in a brief
life can be all things.
But, notwithstanding his multiplied engagements, the doc
tor wielded an able pen. From the fact of his constant en
gagements of another character, he could not be an extensive
writer ; but the few productions he has left bear the stamp
of his own simple but noble nature. The thought, clear and
practical, shines through a transparent style ; a style like
himself, simple and elegant, but full of Saxon energy. His
sermon on predestination has been pronounced one. of the
ablest in the language. Clear and compact in thought,
presenting an earnest and forcible logic upon a solid stratum
of common sense, it carries the reader along the quiet but
resistless current of his argument tilL he reaches the goal of
staunch Arminianism. The high compliments paid to this
production by friends are surpassed by those rendered by
enemies, who undertook to confute his arguments. Grow
ing out of this sermon, were his keen strictures on New
England theology, which exhibit the ability and tact of the
polemic. But his great power over the masses was in the pulpit.
Unlike most great preachers, he found his way to the hearts
of the people. They loved him, and after the lapse of
years felt for him a sort of personal attachment. Some
great Christian orators, who are able, like Whitefield, to
overwhelm an audience by the tide of imagination, or to
sweep all in the path of their burning logic and rhetoric,
appear to the hearer to be themselves entirely distinct from
their discourses. With Fisk it was otherwise ; his person
ality seemed to melt into the stream of his thought, while
the hearer felt the force of the man more even than of his
logic. This arose in part from the fact that he spoke from
nature, untrammeled by the art of the schools. It was the
conversationalist transferred to the pulpit, with only such
modifications in style and manner as became the new posi-

254 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
tion. He stood there the same simple man as in the par
lor or the street, with no airs or pretensions, uttering no
strains of thrilling eloquence, nor calling forth from the
audience the thunder of applause ; but from those lips the
stream of thought flowed gentle, pellucid, and subduing.
Full of the richest imagery, and breathing a spirit of the
most sublime arid unaffected devotion, his sermons were a
truce to all human cares and passions; and can be compared
to nothing more fitly than the representation in the twenty-
third Psalm, xa " lying down in green pastures and beside
still waters," or to the descent of the capacious dews upon
Hermon. " No imaginative excitement prevailed in the audience as
under Maffit's eloquence, no tumultuous wonder as under
Bascom's ; none of Cookman's impetuous passion, or
Olin's overwhelming power, but a subduing, almost tran
quil spell of genial feeling, expressed often by tears or half-
suppressed ejaculations, something of the-Jrindly effect of
Summerfield combined with a higher intellectual impres
sion."* In public prayer he presented the richness and variety of
thought and expression, as well as the devotional spirit of a
Fletcher or Payson. His expressions, flowing to the lips
at the moment, were both simple and pertinent to the occa
sion, insomuch that the notice of strangers was particularly
attracted to this subject, and his friends retained among
their fondest recollections of the man, " the soft and sooth
ing tones of his voice as they melted along the current of
fervid devotion." Like all else about him, they were the
natural expression of his Christian life as it flowed through,
and assumed the form and color of his natural genius. He
did not make a prayer or say his prayers. His lips once
unsealed at a throne of grace, they welled up from the depths
of his heart, and flowed forth beautifully through the channels
of the intellect to refresh the garden of the Lord. As he
advanced in life, and merged into the higher experience of
* Stevens's Essays on Preaching, p. 242.

WILBUR FISK. 255
Christian perfection, the change became visible in his pray
ers as well as his sermons ; in the mellow and subdued
spirit, the melting love and aspiring faith that lifted the soul
up into the Divine presence, holding it in the attitude of
devotion till the entire audience would kindle under the in
fluence and glow with the hallowed spirit of supplication.
The conclusion of his pilgrimage was befitting such a life.
To a friend he said : " You see me hovering between two
worlds." " And fit for either," was the apt reply. He
lingered long in the chamber of death, which became to him
the scene of remarkable divine manifestations, finding
abundant consolation in those sacred promises, while the
tabernacle was being taken down by the sharp fingers of
disease. On the 22d day of February, 1839, the dismis
sion came, when his last faint but expressive utterance was
" Glorious hope."

EZRA STILES.

Unlike Edwards, Hopkins, Pay son, and other New Eng
land divines, Dr. Stiles left no popular book that should
serve as a bond to unite him with the religious masses, and
thus to transmit his memory to future generations. Hence,
although he has been dead little more than half a century,
few of the masses recollect his name, fewer still know what
he did to render him -worthy of remembrance ; and after
the lapse of another half century his fortunes will be con
signed mostly to the .tender mercies of old and moth-eatem
libraries. Antiquaries and scholars will occasionally stir his
ashes and examine his dry bones ; but he left nothing that
will retain its place among popular productions, nothing the
people will idolize and forbid to die.
And yet Ezra Stiles was worthy of a better fate. In his
day he was one of the ripest scholars and ablest ministers
of America, exhibiting a rare combination of Puritan and
Roman strength of character. He only failed to put that
strength in a form the people could appreciate and cherish.
He was born at North Haven, in the year 1727, and was the
son of Rev. Isaac Stiles, who had for several years discharg
ed the functions of the pastorate in that place. His mother
was a daughter of Rev. Edward Taylor, of Westfield, Mass.
She died a few days after the birth of her son, and thus left
him to pass through the years of childhood anij youth with
out the maternal watchcare and influence. At first he pos
sessed a feeble constitution, insomuch that but slight hopes
were entertained of his long surviving; but with age he
increased in strength, although never possessed of robust

EZRA STILES. 257
health. This may in part account for his lank form, his
elongated and spare features, as well as his " lean and hun
gry look." In lieu, however, of a dignified Falstaff corpo-
rosity that would render him worthy of the bench, he
inherited a well-knit, wiry constitution, and a flashing eye
that presaged for him scholastic honors. The character of
the Puritan, of which Stiles was largely possessed, easily
and naturally adjusted itself to this stern physique. For
the want of academies his preparatory education was con
ducted by his father, who had made no mean attainments
in scholarship. The son gave early indications of genius,
and was particularly distinguished for retentive memory,
good-humor, and pleasing manners. So rapid was his
progress in learning that at the age of twelve years he was
thought to be prepared to enter on his collegiate course.
This step, however, was wisely deferred till he was fifteen,
when he was admitted to Yale. While in college he was
remarkable for close and thorough scholarship, and a patient
attention to study and the various duties of his station.
Beside the studies usual in the course, he found time to de
vote himself to astronomy, a study to which, at that time,
little attention was given, even in the highest institutions of
learning. At the close of his course, so extensive and
thorough had been his scholarship, that President Clapp
selected him to deliver the customary oration on the colle
giate course of study, its object, its mode of pursuit, and its
benefits. This youthful performance gave ample assurance
of mental vigor, of his varied acquirements, and also of his
taste for studies, like logic and ' metaphysics, that had
disciplined the minds of the heroic thinkers of the past.
At the commencement, a few weeks later, in a syllogistic
dispute, he defended the thesis "Jus regum non est cure
divine hcereditarium" which will indicate to the reader his
fondness for political discussions and his early interest in
liberal opinions. This, it will be borne in mind, was written
in 1746, while we were feeble colonies under the British
crown. After the close of his studies he was chosen tutor
17

258 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
in his alma mater, in which office he spent six years, dis
charging its varied duties, and adding to his stores of
knowledge. During this period, also, he was called to
deliver several orations or discourses on public occasions ;
, as on the death of Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, one of the
benefactors of the institution ; on the death of Governor
Law ; and also on the reception of Dr. Franklin, then on a
visit to New Haven. In all these performances, which
were done in Latin, he acquitted himself in a manner cred
itable to his talents and acquisitions. His acquaintance
with Franklin resulted in a correspondence between these
two distinguished men, turning particularly on the electrical
experiments then being made by the American sage.
About this period Franklin presented to Yale College an
electric apparatus, the first in New England, which afforded
Stiles a fine opportunity to experiment in this compara
tively new branch of natural philosophy.
While tutor he was subject to some doubts as to what
one of the learned professions he ought to enter. The
balance was finally struck in favor of the law, resulting in
part from his natural tastes for legal studies, but still more
from the religious doubts he had come to entertain. In
accordance with this decision he took the attorney's oath
at New Haven and entered on his studies. Besides
acquainting himself with the Connecticut practice, he visited
several other colonies, and consulted some of the most able
and distinguished practitioners in this country. Nor did he
confine his inquiries to local systems of jurisprudence ; he
aimed to take a comprehensive view of law as a science,
which is requisite to eminence in the profession. These
studies, so apparently remote from the duties of his subse
quent life, were yet in many ways advantageous to him in
their prosecution.
Although afflicted at present with doubts, not merely
about some of the minor doctrines, but the very fundamen
tals of religion, no one who knew his Puritanic parentage
and training could for a moment entertain the thought of

EZRA STILES. 259
his resting in this state of disbelief. Interests so exalted
and lasting were at stake in the overtures of the Gospel, that
he suffered no time to elapse/ without examining its claims
on the race. Creeds and names were thrown aside, and he
went right back to the Book itself, and carefully sought
truth. We need hardly stop to remark that the result pre
ponderated on the side of Christianity ; the miracles, the
prophecies, and the internal evidence bringing down the
scale with great force. A like research, accompanied with an
humble and earnest reliance on God in prayer, he recom
mends to others who may be oppressed with doubts, as
likely to afford them relief.
During the prevalence of these doubts he was offered pre
ferment in the Episcopal Church, if he would consent, in
due form, to take orders. But this he declined, not only on
the ground of his unsettled views on religion in general,
but also from his positive dislike to the Established Church.
"If Christianity," he said, rests on divine authority, then
episcopacy I am sure rests on human ;" but loose as he
.now was from all creeds, he went on a pilgrimage through
the chief cities of the colonies in search of truth, among
Quakers, Cohgregationalists, Baptists, and Roman Catholics.
The Bible was his only guide, which seemed to him, at
times, to read a lesson opposite to Calvinism, and he was
hence reputed an Arminian. Not improbably he, in earnest
search for simple truth, stumbled upon that system, since
Arminianism is the theology of common sense, as Cal
vinism is that of the schoolmen. In the mean time, how
ever, his religious tastes, imbibed in the cradle, brought
him around in his elliptical orbit again to the sentiments of
the Puritans, though with a theology somewhat mellowed
in the process. He had in the flight thrown away some of
the sharp asperities, and brought home some of the points
of catholic unity that are interfused through all orthodox
creeds. His creed settled, he- very soon determined to enter the
ministry, in accordance with a call extended from the

260 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Second Church in Newport. The mixed motives that
induced him to devote himself to the duties of the sacred
office, will show the low views that were in that age enter
tained of the ministerial call ; for he affirms that he was
led to it partly by the partiality of friends, partly from the
natural and literary advantages of the place, and partly
from the voice of Providence, his love of preaching, and the
leisure the ministry would afford for study. This partially
secularized view ran through his entire ministry, as of many
others of that day, and exerted a paralyzing influence on
their labors. The sacred office once brought down on a
level with the secular professions, and it brings along only
the ordinary inspiration to the performance of its duties. It
burns with no apostolic ffre, but is a mere dry and cold
round of duties, rousing neither the minister nor the . people
by a "Thus saith, the Lord."
And yet Stiles .performed the duties of his office for
twenty years with great zeal and system. In an age when
little was done by the clergy but to deliver two sermons
on the Sabbath, he every week held at his own house a sort
of conference and prayer-meeting; at stated times catechised
the children of his. flock ; looked after the interests of the
poor, and had an especial regard to the colored people of the
Church, of which there wer6 many. As might be supposed
from these attentions, he was popular in his charge, and
was likely to remain with them to the close of his life. But
in 1775, the British taking possession of Newport, the
Church to which he had ministered was scattered. He
went to Dighton, thence to Portsmouth, N. H., where he
was settled over a Congregational Church. In this charge,
however, he remained' but a short time, for in 1777 he was
elected president of Yale College, on the duties of which
office he very soon entered. In consequence of the war the
college arrangements were somewhat disturbed, and the
different classes had followed their particular professors
into inland towns, less exposed to the incursions of the
British. In its financial condition, also, the institution was

EZRA STILES. 261
considerably embarrassed by the state of the country grow
ing out of the war. It is therefore matter of not a little
praise, that President Stiles lived to see the embarrassments
removed, the college amply endowed, and the professors and
students once more gathered within its classic halls. He
died in the year 1795, after holding his office eighteen years.
From the preceding remarks it will be perceived that
President Stiles was a man of ample and vigorous mind ;
of a large and generous culture, and one that in important
positions well served his generation. From this general
view we pass to notice two or three traits in his character
that deserve more especial remark. And prominently
among them stands his curiosity, which protruded, like the
horn of the rhinoceros, beyond all his other mental
characteristics. This particular taste was observed in his
childhood, but appeared more conspicuously after his
entrance upon his studies in college. Professors and stu
dents observed this as a marked trait through his whole
career. When engaged in the duties of the tutorship the
predilection found still further opportunity for gratification.
At that day the geography of the New World was not well
known, beyond a few tropical and South American settle
ments, and the belt of colonies along the Atlantic. Our
great inland states and Pacific possessions were covered
with the primal forests, and were traversed by the tribes
of red men as before the whites crossed the water. In these
early days, in the infancy of modern geography, Stiles was
peering into these somber forests, and gazing athwart the
wide continent in quest of some new people or city, or
some new physical fact. The northern coast of America
merged into a shadowy untraversed region, over which hung
a vail of the deepest mystery. Some had conjectured that
America was but an extension of Asia ; but they were left
without any observations as the basis of the conjecture.
Finding a favorable opportunity, he sent to a commander in
the Pacific to learn the state of the case, desiring to use the
information to solve the origin of the native tribes of the

262 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
forest ; but no reply, that we are aware of, was received.
The same spirit of curiosity led him to pick up every scrap
of information about distant cities, and countries, and people ;
making in the end a vast accumulation of such curious and
rare knowledge.
But while he marched abreast of the age in which he
lived, he had an eye to the past ; he loved to look back, if
only over his shoulder, being, in all his tastes and predilec
tions, a thorough-born and bred antiquarian, who could
devoutly and earnestly affirm that " the former times were
better than these." In his intellectual tastes he was the
reverse of the Saxon race. While they were rushing on into
the forest with the cry of " Westward, ho !" he wistfully
turned to the east, to those old seats of civilization, where
arts, science, and religion had flourished in by-gone genera-
tions. This gave a zest to the languages of antiquity with
which, for that day, he was very familiar. The Latin was
almost like the vernacular to him ; he read, wrote, and
spoke it with a great degree of facility. With the Hebrew,
that sacred language in which Jehovah first spoke to men,
he was as familiar as with the Latin. After going to New
port, he became acquainted with the rabbi of the synagogue,
with whom he conversed and corresponded in that tongue.
These circumstances so far subdued the prejudices of the
Jew that he1 consented once to attend the church in which
Dr. Stiles preached, and heard him deliver a discoure on
the Messiahship of Jesus of Nazareth.
Besides the Hebrew and the classical languages, the doctor
made rapid advances in several Oriental tongues. In com
paratively a short time he read and gained a good knowl
edge of the Chaldee, the Targum, the Syriac, and Arabic.
He read portions of the Talmud, dipped into the Persic
and Coptic, and several other Oriental languages. Of the
comparative ease with which these can be acquired, the
reader will perhaps place some value on his opinion. " I
could learn," he says, " Hebrew, Arabic, Syriac, and Arme
nian with less pains than the Latin only." With him, in-

EZRA STILES. 263
spired by an antique taste and enthusiam, this may have
been true ; hardly with persons in general.
He was hardly more curious about the tongues than the
places and people of the East. Newport, being a seaport,
afforded him facilities for gaining information of the Holy
Land and countries adjacent. And every scrap of such
information was hoarded with the care and zeal of a miser ;
for these relics were to him of great value, since no regular
commerce was then opened with those countries, and
travels there were much rarer than at present. Curious
questions of geography, topography, ethnography, etc.,
were linked with the inquiries, among which were those
relating to the chosen people, and to the remains, location,
and condition of the lost tribes. He was strongly of
opinion that they were still to be found in Persia, or per
haps in India, and that hence, if careful search were made,
their Pentateuch might be found among some of these
nations in the ancient Hebrew. He suggested the idea to Sir
William Jones, the President of the Asiatic Society ; before
the letter had crossed the Atlantic, however, Sir William
was dead, and no reply was returned till Dr. Stiles also
passed away. At a subsequent date the suggestion was
heeded by the Rev. Claudius Buchanan, and a copy of the
Hebrew Pentateuch was found in a chest in one of the syna
gogues of the black Jews. It was a manuscript' of high
antiquity, which was brought to England and collated at
Cambridge, but afforded no new readings of any importance.
The identity of the manuscript with our five books afforded,
however, a confirmation of our Bible, while it proved the
suggestion of President Stiles true. The curiosity of Dr.
Stiles also, not seldom assumed the form of the pompous,
in imitation of Old World trumpery. On great occasions
he was fond of botching up his sermons with foreign lan
guage, and not seldom gave an entire discourse in Latin.
At the first commencement after his elevation to the Pre
sidency of Yale, he opened the exercises with a Latin and
also a Hebrew address. At the funeral of Dr. Wales, the

264 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
divinity professor, he read his text in Hebrew and delivered
his discourse in Latin, the last folly of the kind, probably,
perpetrated in New England. The same love of antique
display was carried into the government of the college ; the
classes were made to feel that they were of different grades,
and all were taught to look up to the august faculty, as in
old Oxford and Cambridge. When the doctorate was con
ferred on Rev. Stanhope Smith, he thought it best to depart
from the usual mode of publishing such honors, and as the
gentleman was present he introduced him upon the stage
after the custom of some of the foreign universities. The
ceremony was somewhat imposing, 'except that the candi
date did not seem to have well studied his part, and the
consequent embarrassment created some amusement in the
audience. In the preceding remarks we have looked only at the
laughable side of Dr. Stiles. All men have such a side,
even as the sun has spots ; this, however, does not argue
that they have no side which is not laughable. With the
doctor this side protruded a little too fully, and attracted
our notice at first view ; yet he possessed excellences, en
tered in some good degree into the sympathies of the age,
and looked ahead, although we have to confess that he
always looked back first, to be sure there was no enemy
in the rear.
Into the contest for liberty, which was arousing the Amer
ican people in his early manhood, he threw his whole soul
and sympathies ; and so keen were his observations of the
leading political forces of the time, that he was able with a
great degree of accuracy to predict the result of the struggle
between the British crown and the colonies. Before the
firing of the first gun of the Revolution, he wrote to an
English correspodent in the following language : " If op
pression proceeds, despotism may force an annual Congress ;
and a public spirit of enterprise may originate an American
Magna Charta and Bill of Rights, supported with such
intrepid and persevering importunity as even sovereignty

EZRA STILES. 265
may not deem it wise to withstand. There will be a
Runymede in America."
At the close of the war Dr. Price, in a letter to him,
remarked that he had in the opening of the war predicted
the precise attitude public affairs had assumed ; a fact that
could be observed only by a profound student of the times.
But it may be remarked of him that in his tastes and gifts
he was more than half statesman during his entire life.
Another noble trait in the character of Dr. Stiles was his
catholicity — his inlaid views, of divine truth and human
practice. His head was moderately Calvinistic, but his
heart was catholic. Three quarters of a century before the
great Evangelical Alliance, and in the midst of bigoted New
England, he proposed a scheme for the union of all sects on
the proper basis — an evangelical life ; not a union in theo
retical views which can never be effected among men whose
intellects are widely diverse, and hence variously color the
light emanating from the Bible and nature ; but a union in
heart, in affection ; not on what we think, but in what we
do. In the same spirit he aided men in founding the
Brown University, which he consented should be mostly
under the control of the Baptists, as the most numerous
sect in the state. " His spirit," remarks Dr. Channing,
" was confined to no parties. He desired to heal the
wounds of a divided Church, not by a common creed but
by the spirit of love. A young man to whom he had been
a father, one day communicated to him doubts concerning
the Trinity. He expressed his sorrow, but mildly and
with undiminished affection told him to go to the
Scriptures." In all his efforts he breathed a spirit of benevolence to
man in general, especially to those in need of sympathy
and aid. These feelings were concentrated on no single
object as in the case of Howard and Wilberforce ; but, like
the breath of flowers, was the spirit diffused through the
entire circle of his influence. The young who were friend
less and needed a counselor often received from him an

266 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
encouraging word. As an illustration of this thought
we may refer to the case of General Nathaniel
Greene, whose services in the Revolution gave him a high
place among our countrymen as a patriot and military
commander. Dr. Stiles found him while a boy dressed in
Quaker" garb, which exhibited marks of his laborious occu
pation, and calling him to his study, gave him advice as to
his reading. The result was cheering to the whole country.
Such instances of friendly counsel and kindly encourage
ment with him were not rare. Even Dr. Channing, who in
childh6od was a member of his congregation, confesses to
have derived from him his best impressions. " To the influ
ence of this distinguished man in the circle in which I was
brought up," he says, " I may owe in part the indignation I
feel at the invasion of human rights. In my earlier years I
regarded no other human being with equal reverence."
" Take him for all in all," observes Chancellor Kent,
" this extraordinary man was undoubtedly one of the purest
and best gifted men of his age. In addition to other emi
nent attainments, he was clothed with humility, with ten
derness of heart, with disinterested kindness, and with the
most artless simplicity. He was distinguished for the
dignity of his deportment, the politeness of his address, and
the urbanity of his manners. Though he was uncompromising
in his belief and vindication of the great fundamental doc
trines of the Protestant faith, he was nevertheless of the
most charitable and catholic temper, resulting equally from
the benevolence of his disposition and the spirit of the
Gospel."

LEMUEL HAINES.

Me. Haynes, if not one ofthe greatest, was certainly one
of the most remarkable ministers of his generation. De
pressed by the circumstances of his birth to a degree that
would have crushed most men, he yet rose, despite these
obstacles, to a position of great respect and usefulness, and
left a name to mankind which will be cherished, and will, in
fact, outlive many of the reputed brighter lights of the
Church. Not only was he of semi- African lineage, his father
being a man of pure African blood and his mother a white
woman, but a more humiliating circumstance was the illeg
itimacy of his birth.
His mother was evidently a gifted though depraved wo
man, whose passions had hardened her heart to that extent
that she repudiated her child from his birth, having refused
ever to speak with him and even to see him. When a lad
he providentially met his mother in an adjoining town, at the
house of a relative, when he fondly anticipated- a delightful
interview with one toward whom, though utterly unacquaint
ed, he yet cherished a filial attachment. In this expectation,
however, he was doomed to a sad disappointment. The
mother, forgetting her relation to her offspring, and banish
ing all the generous feelings of her breast, refused to see
him, and, with some contrivance, was able to elude the in
terview. 'But he was determined to see her ; and when at
length he observed her escaping stealthily from his presence,
he was so vexed that he accosted her in the language of
severe rebuke, and was ready, in the bitterness of his grief,

268 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
to adopt the sentiment of Job : " Let the day perish where
in I was born; let darkness and the shadow of death stain it."
The conduct of this mother, so unnatural and cruel, cer
tainly justified the rebuke of her son and afforded cause of
deep sorrow to him through life. How painful to recall
such mdurnful incidents in the history of one who sustains
to us the endeared relation of mother ! What a desecration
of that venerated and sacred name ! But this fact reminds
us that our cup in this world is never an unmixed one ; for
from this depraved mother he derived the traits of mental
character which, in later life, served to render him eminent
— his shrewdness,, tact, wit, good judgment, and firmness of
purpose. And then, too, when forsaken by those with whom
he ought to have been most intimately connected in life, a
kind hand of Providence led the friendless boy to a virtuous
home, and to those who were to him more than father and
mother. Mr. Haynes was born at West Hartford, Connecticut,
July 18, 1753. This, however, was not destined to be the
place of his education. That good Being who cares for the
lily and the sparrow had provided for this child of misfor
tune a home in a Christian family residing in the country,
where he was trained to the love of all that is excellent and
of good report. This was the family of Deacon Rose, of
Granville, Massachusetts, one of those old Puritan households
where piety, industry, and education combined to develop
and beautify the character. The simple language of Mr.
Haynes, employed in later life to describe this scene, de
serves an insertion in this place :
" When I was five months old," he remarks, " I was car
ried to Granville and bound out to Deacon Daniel Rose, as
a servant, till twenty-one years old. He was a man of
singular piety, by whom I was taught the principles of re-
i ligion. His wife, my mistress, had a peculiar attachment
to me ; she treated me as though I was her own child. I
remember it was a saying among the neighbors that she
loved Lemuel more than her own children."

LEMUEL HAYNES. 269
In the bosom of this godly family, surrounded by a com
munity virtuous, intelligent, and enterprising, the boy
remained till he arrived at mature years. Here he
received his discipline, his staid habits, his religious taste,
and such scanty education as the district schools in the
rural parts of New England then afforded. While the
educational advantages open to him in the shape of schools,
were meager, he possessed others to which many who
possess those opportunities are strangers. His mind
kindled with an intense love of learning, which led him
to improve to the uttermost his privileges. And when this
deep thirst for knowledge exists, an individual will overstep
all the barriers .in his way, and actually seize the prize for
which he struggles. This was true of young Haynes.
Borne down by an unusual pressure, he yet rose above
the level of ordinary minds, and performed in the world
a really great work for Christ.
He proceeded beyond the common school, which then
gave instruction only in the rudiments of reading, writing,
and arithmetic. Those old Puritan homes were then, more
than now, schools of the highest value, which took hold on
the higher portions of our nature, and tended to develop
the whole man. Around those altars was dispensed not
merely that secular knowledge adapted to meet the wants
of ordinary life, but especially the spiritual instruction
suited to our higher nature and to our prospective eternal
wants. The people of that day, especially in such secluded
portions of the land, laid no little stress on reading — read
ing too of a most substantial character. The era of rail
roads, telegraphs, and daily newspapers had not yet
arrived. The distance between the great centers of trade
and the far interior was so great, that the spirit of trade
did not as now invade those quiet regions. Each neigh
borhood was a little world in itself, having its own peculiar
joys and sorrows. As they turned to commune with
minds at a distant, they naturally selected the more solid,
valuable productions ofthe past.

270 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Theirs too were religious minds of the Puritan stamp ;
they of course reverted with deep pleasure to those grand
old authors who illuminated the history of Puritanism by
their genius and learning. In those pious circles Howe,
Owen, Baxter, Doddridge, and Whitefield found interested
and devout readers.
Before all those books, however, in importance, stands the
Bible, that root and fountain of theological literature. To
them ' that volume was not a mere ornament to decorate
the center-table ; it was read not merely by the head of
the family, but the children and servants even were sup
posed to be familiar with its contents. It was a good cus
tom to select some one of the family to read- to the whole
in the evening, which was the case at Deacon Rose's. After
Lemuel became sufficiently advanced in age, he was fre
quently selected for this service, and always performed it
with great interest and acceptance. On one of these occa
sions he ventured to slip into the book from which he was
to read, a sermon of his own composing. The good deacon
listened to it with great delight, supposing it to be White-
field's, and when upon inquiry he discovered the real
author, his surprise was unbounded. This slight incident
exerted a great influence on his future life, for it seems to
have been one of the circumstances that suggested to his
friends the idea of his entering the Christian ministry.
The excellent domestic training with which he was
favored produced in him all the fruits that might be antici
pated. While in early life he discovered such good sense
and prudence in the management of his master's business
that the oversight of it was almost wholly committed to
him. If a horse was to be purchased, he was the purchaser.
He was not an eye servant, but went unbidden to his daily
toil and care, and everything prospered in his hands.
During these years he was the subject of several provi
dential escapes from death, which are the more noticeable as
they exerted an influence on his future life. He once came
near drowning. He had gone with his mates to bathe in

LEMUEL HAYNES. 271
the river while as yet he had not learned to swim. Ven
turing beyond his depth, he sank to the bottom, and was
rescued only by the hand of a brave companion. Again,
he narrowly escaped death by lightning. The interposition
of a kind Providence in his protection deeply impressed his
heart, leading him to sincere reflections on the uncertainty
of life and the needed preparation for death. Although
resulting in his conversion, these events did not, as in some
other cases, produce an immediate change ; they rather sup
plied some of the intermediate links in the chain of experi
ence. In fact, few or none were ever saved through a
single effort or agency ; but most that are brought to enjoy
the Divine favor, arrive at that state through many appar
ently disconnected efforts. At one time they heard a
prayer, an exhortation, a reproof that fastened on the con
science; or at another time were overtaken by a striking
providential interposition, or were led to a serious train of
reflections. Years may have intervened between these
different steps, and men have forgotten that they had any
connection with each other. In the mind of God, however,
these are not disconnected, but each one constitutes a link
in the series — is one of the rahi-drops that finally wear
away the impenitence of the heart. So it proved in the
case of young Haynes.
At a later date he experienced a still greater deliverance
from the perils of infidelity, which was at the time rife in
the country. When about nine or ten years of age he hap
pened, while serving as a plow-boy, to be brought into con
tact with a man of licentious principles, and notwithstand
ing all the guards that had been provided through the
influence of a pious family, h^e actually began to imbibe the
poison of infidelity. The ordinary objections to Christianity
created in his uneducated jrmid an almost insurmountable
difficulty; and had not the providence of God, that designed
him for so great a work, interposed, he must have been lost
to the Church and the cause of truth. An antidote, how
ever, to the influence of the scoffer was af hand. Death

272 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
came to his family and snatched away some of its members,
which enabled the boy to see that the infidel system was
utterly insufficient to sustain the soul in affliction. Here
was the practical test, the fiery ordeal through which
he had observed that believers in Jesus pass in holy
triumph to a better life. To his view then the Gospel for
all times was best ; if so consoling in the darkest hour, it
was worthy of its divine origin, and could not be a merely
human contrivance. Thus he happily escaped the snare.
At a later period he was in jeopardy again from the
same cause. A professional gentleman having moved
into the place, who was unfriendly to the cause of Christ,
lent him some of his books ; those at first of a general char
acter, but afterward one that was of a decidedly infidel.
tendency. Lemuel, however, quickly discovered its char
acter, and without further perusal returned it to the owner
with a note conveying a delicate, but richly merited reproof
for so disingenuous an assault on his principles. These
proved severe trials of his integrity, but being met in an
humble, honest spirit were soon dissipated. These assaults,
no doubt, were allowed by a kind and wise Providence, who
disciplines his instruments for the work that lies before
them, in view of the part he was to act in the Christian
ministry. He was called to confront infidels, to defend the
Gospel against their attacks, and to make manifest the
name of Jesus, which he might not have been able to do, at
least in so able a manner, without this early experience.
Thus far had he been addressed in an external form.
But there was needed a life within — a change of heart ; and
this passage from the natural to the spiritual life constitutes
by far the most important event in the life of man.
With Mr. Haynes, the time of the change cannot at this
date be ascertained, but the facjjs are presented in his own
simple language. "I remember," says he, "that I often
had serious impressions or serious apprehensions of going
to hell. I spent much time in what I called secret prayer.
I was one evening 'greatly alarmed by the aurora borealis,

LEMUEL HAYNES. 273
or jiorthern lights. It was in that day esteemed a presage
of the day of judgment. For many days and nights, I was
greatly alarmed through fear of appearing before the bar of
God, knowing that I was a sinner. I cannot express the
terrors of mind I felt. One evening, being under the apple
tree, mourning my wretched situation, I hope I found the
Saviour. I always visit the place when I go to Granville,
and, when I can, pluck some of the fruit to carry home ; it is
sweet to my taste. I have fears at times that I am deceived
but still I hope.
"Soon after I united with the Church in East Granville,
and was baptised by the Rev. Jonathan Huntington, pastor
of the Church in Worthington."
The African race in this country has ever, from its asso
ciation with slavery, been separated by a wide chasm from
those of European origin. Recent attempts have been
made to render that gulf still wider. Not only has the"
planter, the stump orator, and the legislator endeavored to
defame the colored race ; but the judicial head of this great
Republic strives to denationalize a race of men born on
our soil. These judges claim that the blacks not only have
no rights which white men are bound to respect, but that
the same views and feelings prevailed in the Colonial and
Revolutionary periods of our history. This evidently was
not the view of the case taken by Mr. Haynes, or the simple
men with whom he had the good fortune to be associated.
He regarded himself as a citizen, enjoying all the emolu
ments and rights, and assuming all the responsibilities that
attach to that state. Accordingly, when the war broke out,
considering his own interest involved in the contest, he was
zealous to serve his country. In 1774 he enlisted as a min
ute mari, and was with the army at Roxbury after the battle
of Lexington. The next year he enlisted for that perilous
expedition to Ticonderoga, and only at the close of the
northern campaign did he return to Granville to enjoy the
j epose of agricultural life.
In the midst of his varied labors and the turmoils of war
18

274 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
was he assiduous in his endeavors to acquire an education.
Busied with manual labor by day, he gave the nights to
study, and for the want of a better light read by the pine
knot. The midnight hour often found him at his books,
opening up, without a guide, the highway of knowledge.
This, however, was not always to be the case, To the soul
that thirsts for intelligence will some method display itself by
which those desires may be gratified. Young Haynes about
this time had an opportunity to study with the Rev. Daniel
Ferrand, of Canaan, Connecticut, a man of sound sense,
piety, learning, and wit, qualities in which the pupil in later
life strongly resembled his preceptor. Under Mr. Fer
rand he studied most of the branches at that day pursued
in our academies and colleges. In Latin and Greek his at
tainments were considerable, so that to the close of life he
read the Septuagint and Greek Testament with critical
acumen. Of course, under such a teacher, those studies re
lating more immediately to the pulpit would not be for
gotten nor slightly passed over. Reading, composition,
logic, and oratory would find a place. With these attain
ments, equal to those of the majority that entered the min
istry, he ventured to ask a license to preach, which was ac
corded him under date of November 7, 1780. The cre
dentials bear the signatures of his instructor, the Rev.
Jonathan Huntington, of Worthington, and Joseph Hunting
ton, D.D., of Coventry.
The attainment of the licence, however, was ' but a first
step toward his ultimate object; he found himself at liberty
to preach, but no people to accept his ministration ; a col
ored clergyman was then a rare phenomenon, and with all
the prejudices of his caste pressing upon him, the wonder
turns not on the success merely, but on the brave-hearted-
ness that dared to venture or hope to succeed in his pro
ject. And to the wisdom of man this might have _ been
deemed an impossibility. But he recognized a Providence,
and that Providence turned the scale in his favor. He not
only found/ a people, but one to whom he had long been

LEMUEL HAYNES. 275
attached. He received a call from the Church in his own
town, Granville, Massachusetts, which was accepted. In
this delightful field he spent five years, during which time
he experienced no inconvenience to his ministry on account
of color, but he labored with acceptance and profit to the
people. The times were very unpropitious, in consequence
of the general immorality and free-thinking that prevailed
among the people, which did not permit him to witness any
extensive work of grace ; but his steady, upright course
produced a very salutary effect on the entire congre
gation, and no doubt prepared the way for subsequent
revivals. Another event, about this time, that exerted an influence
on his whole life, was his acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth
Babbit. She was a white woman, of good intellect, and ot
a serious disposition, who had found some difficulties in the
divine service, and , had experienced great relief and
encouragement under the ministry of Mr. Haynes. Deeply
grateful for those labors, she was desirous to exhibit some
substantial token of her feelings, which resulted in her pro
posal to become his wife. This was a favor beyond what
he had anticipated and deeply affected his heart. After due
deliberation, prayer, and the consultation of friends, he de
termined to accept the proposal, and they were united in
marriage at Hartland, September 22, 1783.
He had now ministered to the small congregation in
East Granville for five years without having been ordained.
It was now, however, thought best that he should receive
this rite. The sermon was preached by his venerable in
structor, the Rev. Dr. Ferrand, from 1 Chron. xvii, 16.
" What am I, O Lord God ! or what is my house, that thou
hast brought me hitherto V
Soon after his ordination he left Granville. The two
subsequent years were spent at Farmington, Conn., where he
supplied a charge with general though not universal accept
ance. A large majority desired to retain him as their per
manent pastor, but they yielded to the prejudice that existec

276 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
in a few minds against color, and suffered Mr. Haynes to
leave them.
We next find him in Vermont, where he was destined to
win new victories for Christ. He was led first to that state
on a visit to friends, but the result shows a hand of Provi
dence in directing him to that field for which he possessed
such striking qualifications. The state was at that day re
garded as new, and hence but sparsely settled. Churches
had not been generally introduced, which left the people
who migrated to the region as sheep without a shepherd.
Hence was it an inviting field for infidelity. The noxious
weed had taken deep root, and was throwing aloft its branches.
This was the home of Ethan Allen, who maintained an
open and avowed unbelief, and seemed to regard that as
a region by right free from all Christian influences. The
Bible was discarded; in its place were circulated the writings
of Thomas Paine and the English Deists. Christianity was
made a subject of ridicule, and the mere mention of it was
considered an impertinence, for which the transgressor
needed to offer an apology. It was to such a corrimunity
that the talents of Haynes were peculiarly adapted. The
enemy had chosen the shafts of wit and ridicule, and Haynes
could employ against him the same weapons, and the only
ones perhaps that would prove effectual. Sound sense and
strong arguments exert but a slight influence on minds ac
customed to sneer at all the solemn verities of the Bible.
Looking at the ludicrous side of things, they have ceased to
observe the reason on which Christianity is based, and
hence need to have their own awkward positions set off to
bring them to their senses. The condition of things in the
Green Mountain state required such a style of handling at
that day, and there was not perhaps another minister in
New England as well adapted as Mr. Haynes to do this
work. While on his visit he received a call from the Con
gregational Church in Rutland, Vermont, which he accepted.
There he remained thirty years in the exemplary discharge
of his duties in the pastoral office. At the close of this

LEMUEL HAYNES. 277
period he removed to Manchester, Vermont, where he spent
a few years in preaching to a congregation over which he
was never regularly settled.
It was during his stay here that Mr. Haynes became
connected with a most singular trial for murder, which ex
hibited in strong light, the insecurity of even the most re
liable circumstantial evidence. The case was that of the
Booms, tried for the murder of Russell Colvin. The facts
are substantially as follows : Colvin, who was partially in
sane, had been accustomed to wander about the country,
being occasionally absent from home for several months
together. He at length, however, disappeared and was not
heard from for years. The disappearance; under the circum
stances, did not create immediate alarm ; but as time passed
on, and no tidings arrived, suspicion began to awaken that
foul play had been experienced. The suspicion was not for
a season fastened on any one; there was only a general im
pression that some one was guilty, till a slight circumstance
called the attention to the brothers-in-law of Colvin, Jesse
and Stephen Boorn. Some one in passing along the street
had seen Boorn and Colvin in the field, and heard loud
talking ; the discovery of human bones near the spot served
to intensify this impression that the missing man had been
murdered, and that the brothers were the perpetrators of
the deed. From this sligkt beginning they proceeded to
collect other threads of evidence, which all strangely led to
the same source. They were charged with the crime and
arrested to await trial. In the mean time one of them had
in substance confessed that the brother was cognizant of the
deed, although he stoutly protested that he was himself in
nocent. The truth was now thought to be attained. But
the accused brother indignantly protested against the charge,
claiming that he was entirely innocent. These protesta
tions possessed all the marks of sincerity, and threw the
community into extreme doubt. The court was led to sift the
evidence in the most thorough manner, and obtained as a
result the verdict of guilty. The day of execution was

'278 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
fixed. While in prison, awaiting execution, they were fre
quently visited by Mr. Haynes, as their spiritual adviser
and friend, and from these visits he became convinced that
they were innocent men. They still persisted in their claim,
and begged Mr. Haynes to obtain for them a commutation,
or at least, a postponement of the execution, as they felt confi
dent something would transpire to exhibit their innocence.
Effort was made by him in their behalf, which resulted in
commutation for one, while the other whose guilt was
deemed clearly established, was left to suffer the penalty of
the law.
The time for the execution of the sentence drew near.
In the mean time a man in New York, who had seen Colvin
at the house of a friend in New Jersey, observed in the
public journals notices of the trial at Manchester, and wrote
to the prosecutor that Colvin was still alive. The letters
did not reach Vermont till after the trial ended. But the
brothers were so completely implicated in the web of cir
cumstances, that the guilt of one of them at least was, sup
posed to be clearly established. Hence it was natural to
think that the report was originated to exculpate the crimi
nals. The party in New York wrote again, and assured
them that the missing man was alive, and that in due time
he would take him to Manchester. But still they doubted,
x and were so well satisfied with the evidence that had been
produced against them, that all were ready to proceed to the
execution. It was not till within thirty-seven days of the
execution when Colvin entered the village that the incredu
lity of the people yielded. And even then some were so
sure of the guilt that they regarded the whole as a plot, and
would not believe till they could see the man face to face.
To the surprise of the entire village, the victim was brought
before his murderer. The whole people came together,
and in fact there was their old, eccentric neighbor, as in days
of yore. There was no doubting the fact, their fine web of
evidence fell to pieces at once in the presence of such facts.
The old friends, brought together under these peculiar cir-

LEMUEL HAYNES. 279
cumstances, embraced each other and wept for joy. " What
mean these chains 1" said Colvin. " They were going to
hang me for murdering you," was the reply. " You never
hurt me," rejoined the former. So uncertain is all evidence
short of positive. The occasion was improved by Mr.
Haynes in a sermon on Isaiah xlix, 9. " That thou mayest
say to the prisoners go forth, to them that are in darkness,
show yourselves."
The physical energies of Mr. Haynes had now began per
ceptibly to decline, which led the people of his charge to
look for the services of a younger and more vigorous man
to fill the desk. At the same time the Church in Granville,
New York, a scion from the old stock in Massachusetts,
communicated to him their desire that he would take up
his residence among them, and supply their pulpit as he
might be able. He acceded to the proposal, and removed
thither in the winter of 1822. Among these children of his
old parishioners he spent the remainder of his life. Nor
was this remnant of his days spent in vain. During the
year 1831 the congregation was visited by an extensive
revival of religion, in which about eighty were received into
the Church. Although enfeebled from age, the old gentle
man seemed at this period to renew his youth, and to put
forth the efforts of his earlier years.' But nature had reached
her extreme point, and sank down in the race. He died
peacefully, September, 1834.
In the character of Mr. Haynes there were blended many
excellences which are seldom found so happily combined,
completing and beautifying the whole man. It was' this
wholeness of the moral nature, in fact, that lent a charm and
power to his life. No one characteristic unduly protruded,
giving a malformation, all were developed in order and with
beauty. Yet it may give more distinctness to the mind of
the reader to specify a few points that would impress all
that knew him.
A crowning excellence was his simple, ardent piety, which
shone with equal brilliancy in the sacred desk and in the

280 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
ordinary walks of life. He was, as Dr. Cooley justly ob
serves, " a child of grace," who could more appropriately
than most men adopt the language of St. Paul : " By the
.grace of God I am what I am." The circumstances of his
birth, his humble origin, the position of his race, tended to
humble him. By them would he naturally be excluded
from the dominant race, yet this was not the case with Mr.
Haynes. His religious life furnished him new resources,
bringing out an humble spirit, an affability, and deeds of
kindness to the bodies and souls of men, that won all hearts
coming within the reach of his influence. Herein was his
power. Men could resist his logic, despise his race, con
temn his person, but not the earnest eloquence of his
heart and life.
Of the power over the hearts of men exerted by his
suavity, we have an example while he supplied the pulpit at
Farmington. Much sensitiveness had been experienced by
a few of the society on account of the color of their preacher.
In a single instance the feeling was carried so far that the
individual refused to attend church. At length, however,
uninfluenced by principle, he was induced from curiosity to
attend on his ministry for once. The house was crowded
tb its utmost capacity when the gentleman entered, and sat
with his head covered as a mark of disrespect for the
preacher. The service began in the ordinary method, and
for some time' nothing occurred to move the heart or even
to strike the attention of this curious spectator, but as Mr.
Haynes grew warm in his theme, the prejudices of the
scoffer began to yield, and ere the discourse drew to a close,
so great a change had come over him that he thought the
preacher " the whitest man he ever knew." Of course he
had in the mean time doffed his hat and thrust it under the
seat, while he sat with rapt attention to the close of the
sermon. By that sermon was the truth carried to the heart,
and he became pious and united with the Church. Ever
after that time did he cherish a deep interest in the black
preacher ; nor was he after that ashamed to recognize him

LEMUEL HAYNES. 281
as a friend, yea, " a brother beloved." With his ardent
piety was united a good degree of mentaL acumen, a
quickness, a ready memory, a thirst for knowledge,
and an uncommonly sound and healthful judgment. His
opinions on any subjects with which he was familiar,
were of great value; for he looked at a thing with the
keen discriminating eye of common sense, and often would
he, by a few words, shed light on a topic that had been
mystified by subtle and ingenious minds. He would look
through the sophistry and pour daylight over the whole
field. But this sketch ought not to close without a notice of his
wit, a quality that gave him such a complete adaptation to
the work of his time. Joined as it was to good sense, it
often did great execution where any other weapon would
have proved useless. Upon opponents that were disposed to
sneer at the Gospel, or at the evangelical interpretation of
it, or to make broad assertions in defense of their novel dog
mas, he was well able to turn the tables, and after throwing
aside the lion's skin, to point with biting sarcasm to the
meager skeleton of their creed.
Entering a store where ardent spirits were sold, he
familiarly addressed the company, " How d'ye do V " O !
not more than half drunk," was the reply. " Well, well, I
am glad there is a reformation begun."
Some young sprigs accosted him in the street, inquiring
whether he had heard the news. " No ; what news ?"
"Why, the devil is dead, and if true, your business is done."
Lifting both his hands and laying them on their heads, in a
tone of solemn concern, he said, " O ! poor fatherless chil
dren, what will become of you V
Possessed himself of a catholic spirit, he was impatient
of the undue intrusion of denominational shibboleths by
others. A Baptist elder, a genuine hydrophyte, professed
a deep attachment to Mr. Haynes, and only regretted that
he did not follow Christ down the banks of Jordan. " O,"
said he, "I am an old man, and Jordan is a great way

282 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
off." " You misunderstand me," rejoined the other, " here
is the creek close by, what doth hinder you to be
baptized V " O, brother, that is not Jordan, that is Otter
Creek." A minister was lamenting to him the loss of his manu
scripts at the burning of his house. " Don't you think,"
asked Haynes, " they gave more light from the fire than
they ever gave from the pulpit 1"
On going to pay his bill to the physician, the son of
Esculapius, who was, by the way, a notorious infidel,
remarked that he should take nothing, but hoped Mr.
Haynes would pray for him and make him a good man.
Haynes quickly replied, " Why doctor, I think I had much
better pay the debt."
A man who had been on a tour teaching false doctrine,
observed that the work was so well established that the
devil himself could not destroy it. "Ah," replied Mr.
Haynes, " probably he will not try."
A clerical bachelor, who had been advised by Mr.
Haynes to change his relation in life, informed him, one
day, that his arguments had produced conviction, and
that he understood he had some fin« daughters. " I
have a sympathy for you and your parishioners," was
the quick rejoinder, " but I have taken great pains to
educate my daughters, and do not like to throw them
away." " They say you are making a book," he observed to an
acquaintance. "Trying to do a little something at it."
" Well;" he added, "you have just as good a right as those
who know how."
But perhaps the very best cut was his sermon on
Gen. iii, 4, in answer to Hosea Ballou, the great Universalist
champion. Mr. Ballou had obtained Haynes's church,
very much against his wishes, in which to deliver his ob
noxious sentiments ; and Mr. Haynes, at the entreaty of
some of his congregation, who were inclining to the new
views, was induced to attend. Mr. Ballou proceeded to

LEMUEL HAYNES. 283
expatiate on the antiquity of his creed, in the free and
confident manner of the sect, and at the close, feeling
sure that he had carried the audience with him, invited
any one that chose to remark on his doctrine. The
pastor arose in a modest way, and begged to deliver a
brief sermon on the above text. The following brief plan
of the sermon will show the truthful satire that scorched
all the way through it :
I. As to the Preacher — the Devil. 1. He is an old
preacher. 2. Very cunning and artful; more subtle than
any beast, etc. 3. Laborious, unwearied, going to and fro ;
walking about to seek whom he may devour. 4. A hetero
geneous preacher. Can use the Bible or throw it aside.
5. Presumptuous. God said, " Thou shalt die," but he said,
"Thou shalt not die." 6. Very successful; in fact, the
Universal preacher. No preacher can . count as' many con
verts as he.
II. His Doctrine — Thou shalt not die. Bold, without a
single argument to support it..
III. The Hearer addressed — the Woman. Gen. iii, 4 ;
2 Tim. iii, 6 ; Rom. xvi, 18.
IV. The instrument employed — the Serpent. Why did he
employ the serpent 1 1. To save his own character and yet
carry his point. 2. An enemy to all good. 3. Employs
instruments because his empire is large, and he can't be in
all places. 4. Has many at his command who love to do
his work.
V. Inferences — 1. The Devil is not dead. 2. Universal sal
vation is no new-fangled scheme. 3. Ought to be rejected
from its antiquity. 4. Hence Satan dislikes the Bible,
Mark xvi, 15-16. 5. Because the punishment of the
wicked is true, Satan is so much in earnest to oppose the,
doctrine. John viii, 44. 6. Preachers not to be proud as
they only repeat Christ's sermons, or, on the other hand,
use the devil's old notes. 7. As the preacher is still alive,
it is probable that the doctrine of universal salvation will
still prevail.

^84 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
It need hardly be remarked, that the preacher who had
preceded him found it more uncomfortable to listen
than to preach, or that his mission to that place was
thoroughly defeated by these shrewd observations of the
colored pastor. He had endeavored to laugh down
orthodoxy, but was himself, by this single effort, laughed
out of town.

BIL*LY HIBBARD.

The subject of this sketch was one of those eccentric
geniuses with which the world is occasionally visited, com
bining a large share of goodness with rare mental power,
tact, and gifts. While his eccentric modes of thought and
illustration attracted the attention of his audiences, his
sound arguments, his profound thoughts, his earnest appeals
to the conscience, served to fasten the truths he uttered on
the hearts of his hearers. His eccentricity was not, as in
many cases, an end ; rather was it the means of helping him
on to greater good. Though not inclined to place much
value on such individual idiosyncracies, yet are we com
pelled to acknowledge that in his case the very peculi
arities with which the Creator had endowed him, rendered
him more efficient in the work of the Gospel ministry.
The sheaves he gathered were many, so that even now, on the
old fields that he cultivated a half century or more since, the
gleanings of the precious grain are still observed. The few
individuals remaining, who heard him in his palmier days,
maintain an undimmed recollection of his efforts, and even
the generations that have succeeded on the stage, have
received and transmitted the shrewd arguments, pithy say
ings, and rich anecdotes in which he abounded. To many,
therefore, will a picture of this man prove acceptable.
Billy Llibbard was born at Norwich, Connecticut, Febru
ary 24, 1771, being a son of Nathan and Mehitable
(Crosby) Hibbard, who maintained a respectable standing
in the humble walks of life. According to their day and
opportunities were they pious, godly individuals, who strove

286 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
to honor God in their lives, and to train their posterity Jbr
his service. Of course they were Calvinists of the old style,
standing on the Catechism and Cambridge platform, holding
in reverence the tenets of election, reprobation, etc., all of
which, to their view, received an authoritative interpretation
from clerical lips. In this faith, so perplexing to his sim
ple, honest mind, was the boy trained ; taught to fear all
heresy as he would the devil, and to keep himself only to
the approved teachers, and the wholesome doctrines handed
down from the fathers of New England.
But Billy's mind was always curious to learn the philoso
phy of a novel opinion, to scan and sift the received
dogmas of the Church, and to thrust a question into any
crevice or seam that might appear in the popular creed.
While yet a mere lad, the rigid Calvinism of his father
became a source of perplexity to him, and was the occasion
of frequent petty controversies with the old gentleman, in
which the boy's good sense would set off, in a forcible man
ner, and to the no little uneasiness of his venerable opponent,
the inconsistencies of the Genevan faith. His early life
passed at a period and in a region where the people, as well
as the clergy, entertained a liking for doctrinal discussion,
especially upon the abstruse and metaphysical peculiarities of
Calvinism. The sermon on the Sabbath was little more
than a dry budget of theological points and angles, an
illustration ofthe decrees, a presentation ofthe Divine sove
reignty, or the beauties of effectual calling, grace, regeneration
and providence. To a people so deeply attached to the clergy,
these deliverances of the pulpit afforded sufficient scope for
conversation during the week. The clerical lesson was often
rehashed on the six days, from the " deacon" down to the
humblest member of the flock. Their arguments to sustain
their doctrine, being oft-repeated, became more familiar
than the twice-told tale, even to the children, who often
gloried in theological lore. Hence can we see how Billy,
although never a convert to that system, yet became per
plexed by the ceaseless reiteration of the Calvinian extrava-

BILLY HIBBARD. 287
ganza. The " horribile decretum," like a ghost, haunted him
by day and filled his dreams by night, throwing him into
great doubt and consternation, and filling his mind with
gloomy reasonings " Of Providence, foreknowledge, will,*and fate ;
Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute;
And found no end in wandering mazes lost."
No wonder that this obnoxious theme thrust itself into his
most sacred exercises, and occasioned infinite disturbance to
his meditations and prayers, the question just then bolting
into his mind, if you are elected to be saved you will be
saved, and if you are reprobated to be damned, you will be
damned, and why pray so much? Thus was his young
head sadly turned by these perplexities, and his feet
enwrapped in this web of Satan.
At twelve years of age he experienced the renewing
grace of God on his heart. While in prayer he " felt a
sudden sense of the impropriety of his offer to be damned
for the good of others, though he felt no condemnation for
it ;" the love of Christ in the mean time filling his heart so
overpowering] y, that amid a flood of tears he found himself
exclaiming, " Glory, glory, glory !" This vision of the divine
glory, through faith, was a rapturous sight ; but on opening
his eyes the whole creation, as in a grand chorus, was cele
brating the praise of the Creator. "The sun and firma
ment, the trees, birds and beasts, all appeared stamped
with the glory of God." He leaped from his knees at the
sight, clapping his hands and continuing his exclamations
of glory, of which, to his new heart, as viewed through
an ardent imagination, the heavens and earth seemed to
be full. The language to which involuntarily he gave
utterance at the moment was : *
" Command his praise abroad,
And hymns of glory sing ;
Jehovah is the sovereign Lord,
The universal King."

288 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
His account of this change reminds us of that given by
the elder Edwards, of a similar scene in his experience. The
renovation of his spiritual nature was so thorough as to
leave a deep impress on the mind, and to give the impres
sion that God had, by a sudden stroke of lightning while he
was upon his knees, wrought a change in the whole form
and phase of nature. " While I was walking home," he
observes, " I would often stop to contemplate the glory of
God. Now, thought I, will I take the meanest place in the
service of God here, for I have been the greatest sinner that
ever lived.- In this frame of mind I went on to the house,
expecting to see the same change in my brothers and sis
ters that I had witnessed in the creation around me. But
when I entered the house and saw them I was disappointed ;
they did not appear as I expected they would. The disap
pointment caused a sudden grief, and I retired immediately
to a secret place to give vent to my tears. Although it
was my custom after this to pray in secret as often as con
venient, and to keep up a praying frame, yet I resolved to
keep the knowledge of what 1 had heard and seen to myself'
until I should be a man.
" With pleasing grief and mournful joy
My spirit now was filled."
In a delightful frame of mind he continued for a season
to glide along, and with the helps that are at this day found
in our Churches, he would no doubt have held fast ; but in
the region where he resided personal piety was at a low
ebb. The orthodox clergy were often unconverted men,
who busied themselves more with the curious and useless
questions of Calvinism, than the living and practical word ;
maintaining that -no man could know his sins forgiven, and
yet drawing out the characters of the elect and reprobate in
bold and fearful colors. While he was striving to attain
heaven, the whole tide of the Church and world went the
other way. The old difficulty about decrees was now
revived, and the battle had to be fought afresh. The trials

BILLY HIBBARD. 289
he experienced from this, source are at once characteristic
of the man and amusing to the reader. His judgment
decided against their truth and propriety ; but *hen he saw
arrayed against him the authority of learning and age — the
clergy, who were supposed to know about such matters ; the
deacons, who held a place next the pulpit; and, in fact, the
whole people. What was he, to reply against God 1 So he
struggled to believe the doctrines of the pulpit, to hold
up before his mind the best arguments in their favor, and to
suppress the rising doubt. But once settling down upon
this creed, another painful question arose. He had observed
that all those who held to the decrees regarded themselves
as among the elect few. He could not start on any such
assumption, but entertained strong fears lest he was num
bered with the reprobates. But how could he know this?
Calvinism gave no method of detecting the spurious coin.
Billy meditated and read the Bible to solve this problem ;
he thought of the divine manifestations to men in other
ages : of the voice speaking from heaven ; of the great light
that shone about Saul ; of the case of Gideon and his fleece,
as well as the prophet that called fire from heaven ; but
then he thought also, if he should ask God to give a token
that he was elected, and should fail, that failure would
stamp him as a reprobate, which would prove a quite
unwelcome revelation. After enduring this mental torture
for a season, however, he hit upon an expedient that he
thought would at once give the desired information and
elude the peril of finding himself on the list of reprobates.
" It was by making a mark and standing at so great a dis
tance from it that he could not fairly leap over it without
some assistance and yet so near that he might get his feet
over in a manner that it would not prove that he was a
reprobate. This was very solemnly tried. After invoking
the divine aid, he sprang for the line, his feet attaining it.
But this could not be regarded as a fair test. The ordeal
was repeated several times without attaining any satisfac
tory evidence that he was elected ; but he at last had the
19

290 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
satisfaction of feeling that he was not yet designated as a
reprobate, which gave him heart to hold fast his habit of
prayer. While engaged in this exercise one day, it was
deeply impressed on his mind, " Live faithful and you shall
be elect." This assurance afforded him momentary comfort,
but could not prove permanent while his inbred deformity
was breaking out into open acts. He mourned over his
sins, and finding prayer insufficient hitherto to stay the tide,
he betook himself to corporeal flagellations. While in the
field he once so severely castigated the flesh as to rupture a
blood vessel which was with difficulty staunched. Nor were
these conflicts waged alone against the flesh ; back of this
his ardent imagination beheld the devil plying all his
infernal arts to ruin the soul. As he slept, the arch fiend
disturbed his dreams, and on one occasion did he endure a
nocturnal conflict from which he escaped scarred and bleed
ing. Satan presenting himself, " stern as vengeance," to
the sleeper, held up a rope and very significantly reminded
him of his fate. This stirred his strength, and though his
arm just then seemed to be burdened with an unusual
degree of grayity, he let drive at the old fellow's breast,
which rung like true metal, and caused the stripling to
feel as though he had broken every bone in his hand. His
grim antagonist, though in deep amazement at such a sally,
stood firm to his position, and suffered him to escape with
many expressions of readiness to repeat the blow, although
at heart thoroughly convinced, with Falstaff, that " prudence ¦
is the better part of valor." The morning at length arrived,
revealing to him the wounded hand, and as his eyes were cast
up to the impending roof, the skin from his knuckles was
observed adhering to the rafters. That the ensuing six
weeks bore painful evidence of the danger of such diabolical
encounters, may well be conjectured.
But this savage engagement with the powers of darkness
did not beat the difficulties about election out of his brain.
It still remained an anxious inquiry, whether he was one of
the happy few ordained to attain the kingdom of God.

BILLY HIBBARD. 291
His prayers, ordeals, inquiries, afforded no new light ; and as
all was fixed by an irrevocable decree from the foundation
of the world, he came to the conclusion that a knowledge of
the matter would make no difference one way or the other ;
nor would anything he could do change his fate. Hence,
as he had become weary of such a life, and as death would
make a clear revelation on the subject of his election or
reprobation, he concluded to hang himself. The execution
of the rash resolve was prevented by the arrival of his
brother at the barn, where he had gone to perpetrate the
deed ; a deliverance which he ever after regarded as provi
dential. Once escaped from the edge of the fearful preci
pice, he trembled at his own temerity, and in view of the
hell he had escaped ; tears flowed freely, while he could
only stand before a compassionate Goa to wonder, admire,
and adore. The old difficulty, however, about his election
threw him into renewed anguish of mind. He could not
embrace the popular creed, yet it appeared like presumption
in a youth to brave the whole Church of the land. The
impression on the subject was so .deep that he sank under
it for want of strength, uttering these words : " 0 Lord,
does everybody believe so V That moment he received, as
by an audible voice, the following answer : " No ! there is a
people in England that teach clearly from the Scriptures
that any poor sinner that has not committed the unpardon
able sin may be saved, if he will repent and turn to the
Lord in the time of his probation and day of grace, which
God gives to every man. But if he will not obey the
calls of God, but resist and grieve him by the sins he
willingly commits, then he ought to be damned." This
revelation afforded him relief, and led him to seek the
means by which he could find that people, and the test by
which he could know them when found. In the same une
quivocal manner he was assured that he should meet them
and be able to distinguish them by certain marks of
doctrine and practice ; that through them he would be called
to preach, opening his message in such houses as were then

292 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
designated to him, and thence he saw the fields in which, in
later life, he was to travel and proclaim the Gospel of Christ;
that from the time he was twenty five till thirty six he should
meet with good success, and at the latter date should meet
with a severe trial, the nature of which was not made
known. Here the revelation ended, and the lad went on his
way rejoicing, for a season maintaining his religious ardor;
but long ere he reached the time of his vision the fires died
down to the embers.
In the mean time the family had removed from Connec
ticut to Berkshire, in Massachusetts, and settled on a farm
in that then new country. They had been called to pass
through dark days that tried the souls of men : the days of
the American Revolution, and at a later date, in Massachu
setts, the scenes of the Shay's rebellion, which grew out of
the debts contracted by the former war. The din of war,
especially in the latter outbreak, filled the brain of the youth
with visions of battle and military life. Like all such
youthful visions, however, they soon vanished, leaving as
their fruit a deep desire to read the histories of like trans
actions in other ages. Having once opened these volumes
a desire was created to learn other things relating to other
topics ; and to promote this end the meager advantages of
schooling in that new settlement were improved to the ut
most. Little indeed can be said in commendation of those
educational establishments called schools. The school-
house of olden days was a rude den, constructed with the
strength of a fortification, as though to resist the onsets of
wild beasts or still more savage men, of which many a
grandsire retains a most impressive recollection. That
ample fire-place, designed to admit a six foot log, opening
with capacious flue to the upper air; those elongated benches,
made of slabs but slightly modified by the offices of the
plane and saw ; nearer the center of the room those others,
equally rude, on which the urchins in the alphabet sat like
criminals, without backs, and often too elevated to allow
their feet to reach the floor ; the old pine writing-desk, com-

BILLY HIBBARD. 293
passing the room on three sides, well hacked by jack knives,
and blackened by the inelegant imagery of juvenile idola
try ; the superannuated pedagogue, with somnolent faculties
and severe visage, bearing the rod or the ferule, of sad and
solemn memory, as the insignia of his office, are matters
that do not readily escape the memories of those who had
the doubtful honor of passing through this alma mater of
the masses, hi addition to these ordinary disadvantages
our subject fell into the hands of a crusty, misanthropic,
savage old bachelor, ¦ whose sympathies, as well for the
sportiveness, glee, and exhiliration of childhood as for the
attractions of the fairer sex, had become quite extinct, and
who seemed to take a genuine pleasure in detecting his
pupil in some violation of the rules of the school, and to
receive a no less genuine satisfaction in administering the
requisite stripes on the offender. The recitation of these
mournful episodes in his literary history might prove not
a little amusing, but we pass on, stopping only to assure
the reader of a fact which he will ere this have surmised,
namely, that under the guidance of such a malignant star
his progress in knowledge was not rapid. Reading, in a
very incorrect manner, writing, cyphering, together with a
few other scraps of information, affords the full inventory of
his learning at that date ; little erfough, certainly ; better,
however, than none, as it served as a basis for his future ac
quirements in brighter days.
Contemplate him now as one arrived at man's estate, tall,
robust, of full features and a jubilant spirit, which gave him
a readiness for all sorts of harmless frolic and fun, as well
as an ambition to stand well with the grave church-goers of ¦
the place. While he played his part in the choir at the
meeting-house, he had come to delight in the dance, the
more as the fathers ecclesiastic, reverend and laic, esteemed
that a harmless recreation. They seem to have viewed the
ball-chamber very much as some of our divines of the
present day do the theater, the place of rest for the multi
tude or for the young, the occasion thoroughly to shake

294 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
themselves of evil, and " sow their wild oats." That our
subject eagerly embraced this sanctified license to serve the
devil will not be regarded strange, when we reflect on the
materials of which nature is made up. He would not be
singular ; and as to the sin of the practice, there could be
none with so many venerable names in its favor.,- So on he
went in the dance, not only without the reproof, but with
the positive approbation of God-fearing men. At length,
however, when a luckless Methodist preacher strayed along
that way, and gained the ear of the young man, these grave
fathers became alarmed for his sanity. They were earnest,
wide awake to warn him of the peril to his soul if he should
persist in such a course. Coveting their approbation, he
would not willingly do anything to merit their displeasure;
but what could occasion men who never attempted to re
strain him from the follies of life, to become so deeply
alarmed at his listening to the sermons of an apparently
harmless and sincere people, he could not divine. These
dissuasives, however, failed to restrain him from his attend
ance on Methodist preaching. Every repetition of his at
tendance served to deepen the impression on his mind that
the new sect were right in their doctrinal views and general
practice. He began to feel that they were the people con
cerning whom, at twelve years of age, he had a revelation.
Those were the doctrines, those the usages, that the spirit
which were to characterize them. He delayed not, but
gave God his heart anew and united himself to this people.
In the \mean time, having become convinced of the pro
priety of the Scriptural precept that " it is not good for man
to be alone," our subject joined hirrteelf unto a wife, who
was by this rash act placed in a vexatious dilemma. She
had not given her hand to a Methodist, and having been
trained in the opposite faith, was extremely unwilling to be
in any measure instrumental in introducing into the town
that pestilent sect " everywhere spoken against." Hence
were her voice and entreaties united with those of the
deacons to dissuade him from a course so dangerous, sure

BILLY HIBBARD. 295
to ruin their reputation in the community, and to blast their
prospects for the future, if not for eternity. These were cer
tainly grave considerations, and coming from such a source
could not fail very deeply to impress his mind. But then,
the. voice of conscience and of God seemed to call him in
that direction, which were worthy of higher consideration
than any merely human authority or interest. While these
obstacles were extremely trying to the young convert, he
at the same time recollected that he who would be a dis
ciple of Christ must take his cross ; and that except he " hate
father and mother, brother, sister, and wife, yea, his own
life" also, he could not sustain that relation. Assuring his
wife, therefore, that he would do all in his power to help
her to enjoy the privileges of her own meeting, he at the
same time informed her that the new sect was his people,
and that he should give them his name. This resolution
was immediately executed. The step afforded him great
peace of mind. For months he lived in great quietness,
magnifying the grace of God which had saved him and
caused him to sit in heavenly places in Christ. His wife,
who had not yet attended any of the services among the
Methodists, now proposed to accompany him to a prayer-
meeting. She went rather as a spectator than a worshiper ;
but once there, in the midst of those few simple, devout
souls, who lived apart from the world, her prejudices began
to yield to the genial influences about her. The tear was
seen to start in her eye, and as they left the house she men
tioned to her husband the ardent love and exalted fellow
ship that pervaded the meeting. The like she had never
witnessed before. She could not longer wonder that her
companion had been attracted to this branch of God's fold.
Unsolicited she requested to give in her name with that of
her companion, and henceforth they walked together to the
close of life.
As the Methodists had established no regular preaching in
the place as yet, there being only a small class organized,
Billy was often requested to conduct their meetings, some-

296 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
what after the manner of an exhorter. His compliance with
these requests to hold meetings met the approbation of the
people, and he soon found himself surrounded with ample
congregations that awaited the word from his lips. Hitherto
he had taken no text, but he was soon requested by a gentle
man, at whose house he was to expound on the Sabbath, to
do so. The congregation was large for the place, and many
of them joined in the request that their young townsman
should preach to them instead of delivering a mere exhorta
tion. This request took him quite by surprise, but he
informed them that he would take the matter into consid
eration, and if the Lord should find him a text, he would
use it to the best of his ability. The text in due time was
announced, and the sermon created among the people still
greater amazement. A young prophet was really risen
up among them. Additional calls came in from every side
to have meetings held by him, with many of which he
complied. Although he had entertained no idea of preach
ing in the beginning, he had been led on, step by step, till he
now found himself doing the work of a local preacher, and
the propriety of taking a license was urged upon him, ,not
only by his own sense of duty, but also by the brethren who
had heard him speak. The license tended still further to
enlarge the field of his labors, until he found so much work
on his hands that his farm suffered from his absence.
Behig still in debt for his land, it seemed needful to con
fine his efforts to his temporal concerns for a season at
least ; but the people were not only unwilling to relinquish
his services for the present, they further deemed it his duty
to enter the traveling connection and become a regular
itinerant minister. Similar thoughts had been revolving
in his own mind, although as yet he had been striving not
only to keep them private, but to suppress them as unwel-
come intruders. While the people and his own sense of
duty bid him go forth into the harvest, a strong worldly
interest pleaded the other way. His arrangements had all
been made for a quiet life on the, farm, and then that farm

BILLY HIBBARD. 297
was still unpaid for, and the claims of a rising family
devolved on him. On one side was presented to his eye
the picture of a sunny home amid the hills of Berkshire, in
which should cluster all those blessings that render life
desirable and pleasant ; on the other, in dim perspective, he
saw the toils, perils, and poverty of a Methodist preacher's
life. It was then no sinecure. The preacher lived not in a
palace, nor did he revel amid abundance of the goods of this
life. The churches were yet to be raised up, and as he
went forth on his long journeys to carry the bread of life to
the perishing multitudes, he was often hungry and cold, and
though making many rich, remaining himself poor. This
gloomy prospect was sufficiently forbidding, and, a man of
less nerve or feebler convictions would have relinquished
all idea of entering on such a work. But like most who
entered the primitive Methodist ministry, he was moved
by a lofty impulse to take on him that office, " which
raised him above those material considerations that sway the
mass of ordinary minds, even professedly Christian minds.
He sought not wealth, but souls, for whose salvation he
endured untold toils and sacrifices. Nothing short of this
exalted conviction could have induced Hibbard to embark
on this stormy sea. The question having been often revolved
in his own mind, he felt ready to obey the divine monition.
Only one consideration now stood in the way. There was
his companion, whose feelings in such a case could not be
disregarded, and whose sufferings in the itinerancy would be
equal to his dwn. He must consult her wishes in the case,
and her decision'must be law.
The whole matter was laid before her, and so far from
dissuading him from the work, she, in full view of the priva
tions that must be her lot as the wife of an itinerant,
exhorted him, with more than Spartan fortitude, to go for
ward, assuring him that if the Lord had a work for him to
do provision would be made for* the family. Noble
woman ! one of the early band to whom Methodism owes
so much ! The missionary spirit in its highest form

298 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
burned- in their breasts. Having placed her hand to the
work, she never looked back, but through their years of toil
and trial in the itinerancy, with an unflinching heart and a
cheerful spirit did she meet every scene of adversity. Sor
row, and want, and infirmity were not strangers at their
door, but amid them all has she exclaimed, " Though I suffer
hardships and trials here, my soul rejoices in the anticipa
tion that all the souls converted through my husband's
instrumentality will be as stars in the crown of his rejoicing
in glory ; and that if I am faithful I shall share with him
and have some stars in my crown ;" language that becomes
a Judson, and that justifies the eulogy of her companion :
"Ah! thought I, you are a dear soul; what husband would
not like to live at home and enjoy the society of such a wife."
Having been received into the traveling connection in
1798, he was appointed to the Dutchess Circuit. " The
next year he labored on Cambridge Circuit. In 1800 he
was ordained deacon and traveled the Granville, and the
following year the Long Island Circuit. In 1802 he was
admitted to the order of an elder ; and from that time to
1821 continued effective, and traveled successively the
Dutchess, Croton, New Rochelle, Reading, Cortland, Rhine-
beck, Pittsfield, Granville, Chatham, and New York Circuits.
From 1821 to 1823, inclusive, he was superannuated. In
1824 he was again returned effective and continued in that
relation four years, laboring on the Petersburgh, Salisbury,
and Tyringham Circuits. In 1828 he again took^a super
annuated relation, which was continued till every relation to
the Church and world was severed by death."* His death
occurred August 17, 1844.
Having dwelt somewhat minutely on the preceding
portions of his life, the brevity required in this sketeh will
not allow us to dwell with great particularity on the labors
of Mr. Hibbard in the active ministry. That ministry,
spread over a half ceftury of years, was checkered by the
usual incidents, "by flood and field," that in that day
* Minutes.

BILLY HIBBARD. 299
Tendered the travels of the itinerant so perilous and
romantic. Many of these stirring incidents were recorded
by Mr. Hibbard, before his death, and have been preserved
in his autobiography, together with many of his ingenious
arguments, original thoughts, and quaint anecdotes which he
used charmingly to relate both in' his sermons and to circles
of friends about the fireside. From the mass of material
we can only select such as will illustrate the leading traits
of his character.
As already intimated, his educational advantages in early
life were quite meager. In the common school, where the
merest rudiments were taught, he had not attained even the
scanty education possible under these circumstances. Not
having been educated for any of the learned professions, his
mind had not pressed into his service all those occasions that
present themselves along our path of acquiring information.
During all those years in which many of our clerical candi
dates are preparing to enter the sacred office, Mr. Hibbard
was toiling on a farm and aspiring to nothing higher than
the character of a good farmer. But God, who chooses as
the messengers of his word, not only the accomplished
scholar, fresh from the schools of science and theology, but
also the shepherd-boy, the tax-gatherer, the fisherman from
his nets, and the agriculturist from the plow, designed him
for a higher work. He was to break the fallow ground in
tne Church, to scatter the precious seed of truth, and to
cultivate and garner the rich harvest of the Lord. Trained
up in the midst of a people who regarded a liberal education
as a more important prerequisite to taking the ministerial
office than even piety itself, his want of such an education
naturally made a strong impression on his mind. At times
he felt as though he could not undertake such a work, so
inadequately prepared ; at others the divine call to the
work was so distinct and forcible as to encourage him, in
spite of all his defect in training, to go forward ; and then,
too, the thought occurred to him that it might not be too
late to acquire an education, though evidently it was out of

300 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the question to think of entering college. The collegiate
course might in most cases be desirable, and in many the
only means of obtaining a thorough training; yet, by a
careful course of self-training, some , of the brightest lights
of history had fitted themselves for their work. What
others had done he might do. It would do no harm to try
and attain the best results possible.
After revolving the subject in this form, he determined to
enter on the work of mental improvement in earnest ; and
though his labors in the ministry were abundant, he contin
ued to snatch a few hours each day, which could be appro
priated to reading and reflection. With him, as with the
most of our primitive preachers, the leading treatises to
which they were called to give their attention were the
Bible, the Hymn Book, and the Discipline. While this
restriction to so narrow a field of religious literature, occa
sioned by their want of means to purchase the books, and
of time to read them when purchased, operated, in some
respects unfavorably on the mental development of our
early ministry, there were others in which the results were
highly favorable, not only to the ministry but to the people
also. Th^y became extremely familiar with the language
of the sacred text, as presented in our homely but energetic
version ; an attainment quite too rare among our theological
students and even scholars, who spend years in the mere
preparatory work of reading the Bible, while the substance
is all the while escaping them. The acquisition of the
sacred languages, the mastery of the laws of hermeneutics,
the elements of systematic theology, are only the husk of
the grain, the staging erected abont the temple of truth ;
but too many of our preachers so cram their minds with
these mere husks, that they never taste the real sweetness
of the inclosed germs of inspired truth, or spend all their
lives in building up the external platform by which to
enter the temple, and then die with nothing more than a
glimpse through the window into the temple itself. With
early and ample opportunities, those studies are no doubt

BILLY HIBBARD. 301
proper; but for many who are able to spend but few
years in study preparatory to entering the regular work,
and whose time after that event will be too fully occupied
with immediate duties to allow the prosecution of extensive
researches in foreign branches, there are other studies that
will, at the same time, secure mental discipline and store the
mind with useful knowledge. To such individuals, many
of these critical studies are labor lost ; for while they will
never be able to become safe critics in Hebrew or Greek,
the time spent in obtaining this smattering will be so much
subtracted from their knowledge of the contents of the
Bible. And this loss will be great, since the familiar
acquaintance with the language of the sacred volume, and
the ability to quote it readily in the pulpit, in confirmation
or illustration of our discourses, is a popular and valuable
acquirement. This restriction in the studies of the ministry exerted, too,
a favorable influence on the work in which they were
engaged. Had they gone forth with the shibboleth of the
schools, or with angles of a creed ground sharp in the pro
fessor's chair, an agglomeration of theoretical notions,. glued
together by the intellect rather than fused in the heart, a
Gospel proceeding from man rather than God, the confusion
would have been great. But as it was ordered. in Divine
Providence, how different the result ! Those leaders in '
that great revival, although many of them unpolished and
ordinary men, drew their teachings directly from the wells
of inspiration. They presented the truth without any
foreign mixture, commonly in the very language of the
Scripture. On their lips the theology that had been mys
tified, concealed, or distorted, was popularized, and the old
absurdities that had been mixed in with it were exposed in
the clear light of common sense. Taking the very words
of Jesus as a model, the Gospel was brought down to the
mass, who were thus able to appreciate its beauty and
truth, and many of whom, by this means, were led to give
their hearts to God. In the battle which Methodism

302' NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
fought at that day, the weapon employed was the open
Bible, in opposition to intricate and abstruse questions
in human learning ; the Bible instead of philsophy, falsely
so called. In thus confining the researches of the preachers,
then, may we not recognise the providence of God ! He
raised up some learned men as the exigencies of the work
required ; but the mass of teachers he confined to Ins infal
lible text-book, whose doctrines and statements of truth
were to be infused into the popular thinking.
To these studies in his opening ministry did Mr. Hib
bard give his attention. He made the Bible, in some good
degree, his own; not merely the letter but the spirit, the
connected Sense of the entire revelation. Few men have
attained a clearer understanding of the sacred oracles, or
been able to present a more rational statement of their doc
trine, than he. Imbued as he was with its sentiments,
he possessed a happy faculty of making one passage of
Scripture illustrate another ; comparing Scripture with
Scripture so as to bring out the combined and full meaning
of the Spirit. Such an attainment was the result of long
continued, careful study.
No one can become ripe in this sort of scholarship in a
day. The Bible was the daily companion of our subject ;
he communed with that truth by the way, and then, after a
day of hard toil or continuous travel, he would sit down at
evening and read fifty chapters of it consecutively. Read
ing with marked attention and interest, his memory, which
was unusually retentive, stored away much that was read
for futur euse. The evening's reading afforded subjects for
meditation in the extensive journeys of the succeeding days.
Thus was he, in some sense, studying all the while, and fast
qualifying himself for the posts to be given in charge to
him by the Church.
But we must not suppose, as he advanced in years and in
experience, that his studies terminated with this literary
trio, however important they be. These books laid a good
foundation, and stimulated the mind to other acquisitions

BILLY HIBBARD. 303
that came in aid of his sacred calling. He was all his life
an extensive reader in theology, general literature, and
politics. In the study of medicine also he made considera
ble proficiency, more, in fact, than one half the regular
faculty. To those exciting questions, also, that occasionally
create a commotion on the surface of society, he felt bound,
as a public teacher, to give a careful attention. On their
first appearance, instead of passing them by as most of the
clergy do, as puerile or unworthy of notice, he scanned the
principle on which they were based, accurately noting their
character and influence on men, and then, when fully booked
up, met them squarely by reason, and demolished them by
a solid matter-of fact logic. When the Millerite mania
raged, he was far advanced in life, and had ceased to
preach, but he informed the writer that he had read fifty
volumes on that controversy, and of course had become
much more familiar with the whole subject than the mass
of those who regarded themselves as adepts in the matter.
When Joe Smith appeared, with his Book of Mormon, he
gave the whole subject a thorough investigation. The Mor
mon Bible was so carefully studied by him that he could
repeat whole chapters verbatim. Soon after this a Mormon
elder entered the neighborhood and began, with some success,
to propagate his crude and baneful faith. Encouraged by
this success, he grew bold, and threw down a challenge
'for a public controversy, which " Father Hibbard," al
though feeble from age, very readily took up. Both parties
met, and the discussion proceeded for several days in
succession, resulting in the complete discomfiture of the
disciple of the new faith. Of course the whole sect was
soon rooted out of the neighborhood, and' the disease being
radically cured, Mormonism has never troubled the town
since. In estimating the training of our early ministers in New
England, we are not to forget another element of education
that exerted a vast influence on the minds of the preachers.
Their teaching was brought into continual conflict with the

304 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
prevailing creed. As a consequence, the way must be
fought step by step. No man presumed to announce the
tenets of Methodism without he possessed the pluck to
measure a lance with the abettors of Calvinism. They had
carved the whole state out into parishes, each of which had
its settled pastor, supported by a tax on the entire people
of the parish. Into these enclosures they believed no
man ought to come to teach, without their invitation, not
even to save the people from perdition. When the Meth
odist preachers stumbled over those lines, as . they very
often did without even deigning to see them, the " deacons,"
and their "posse commitatus" like faithful ushers, jogged
their memories in a very significant manner. Not at all
bashful in their work of exterminating heretics, they followed
the preachers to the school-houses and private residences
wbere they preached, and after the sermon was over, they
were sure to detain the people to reason " on doctrines."
No preacher must flinch, except he wished to give up the
field, when the catechetical exercise was brought on by the
deacons. He must meet them with an open face and ready
tongue. As they were well booked up in the " decrees," etc.,
he must be equally versed in the creed of Arminius. This
was a regular school, in which many of the preachers by
constant exercise sharpened their intellects on these theo
logical grindstones. The leaders of the New England
Churches were shrewd enough, after a time, to perceive that
their course increased instead of diminished the forces of
Methodism, and hence were led to desist from this species of
efforts. But Mr. Hibbard, in his early days, enjoyed these
advantages, which were faithfully improved. It was in this
school that he was so admirably trained for a controversialist.
He no doubt possessed a natural taste and talent for con
troversy, but practise alone could give that complete
mastery of the weapons which he displayed in mature life.
Indeed in the juvenile conflicts with his father and the neigh
bors he exhibited a rare keenness and point, the true mental
discrimination that marked all his later attempts to disen-

BILLY HIBBARDi 305
tangle the truth from the web of false doctrine. His lack
of early literary opportunities prevented him from employ
ing the pen to any great extent in defense of the truth. He
wrote two or three brief controversial pieces ; one against
the Quakers, another against the Calvinists, each of which
displayed no inconsiderable abilities as a thinker; but all
were burdened with some crudities and vulgar expressions,
which in an oral controversy would not be so much no
ticed, or at least, if noticed, would be readily excused by
the audience as growing out of a personal encounter. In
this remark, however, we do not intend to say that Mr.
Hibbard was unusually culpable. Many of the most
finished scholars, when taking the controversial pen, have
exhibited equal want of courtesy and good, taste. The
defect with him wis in the transference of all these
blemishes, which are so freely forgiven in the heat of per
sonal conflict, to the printed page, where we look for the
expressions that result from calm reflection.
It ought to be stated that Mr. Hibbard had prepared one
treatise on some points involved in the Calvinistic contro
versy, which afforded not only an able statement and de
fense of the Arminian ground, but also was marked by
greater literary excellence than any of his writings that
have been published. Unfortunately, however, the work
perished amid the flames that destroyed his residence in
Canaan, New York, and the 'old gentleman was too far acb
vanced to reproduce it.
' But his best effort with the pen would have been likely
to fall below the impression made by many of his oral de
fenses. As Calvinism was the giant against which he was
obliged to contend all his life, he of course became extremely
expert in the treatment of that subject. . To exhibit his tal
ents to the best adyantage, it was necessary to surround
him with a knot of rabid disciples of John Calvin. Place
him with these concomitants, either in the pulpit or the par
lor, and the lion would shake his mane. Though not treats
ing the subject in the learned or exact phrases of the schools,
20

306 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
he would handle it with clear logic, and dress up his ideas
in plain, forcible English. Hence was he ever a favorite
with the masses. They could understand him, however in
tricate the subject in itself; for the language he employed
was as transparent as the panes of your windows, and was
so arranged as to impress the minds of the hearers. Prob
ably no man, since Lorenzo Dow, has said so many things
that have inhered in the popular mind in the regions where
he traveled, as Mr. Hibbard. Though most of the genera
tion to which he ministered has passed from the stage, his
influence is still felt, and from the lips of the living a vol
ume of his sayings could now be gathered, a remark that
would be applicable to very few men. This posthumous
reputation may be in part attributable to his eccentricities,
but at the same time it is to be recollected that mere ec
centricity has never been able to secure such attention, much
less to retain its hold on the hearts of the people so long.
The maintenance of such an empire over the souls of men
necessarily implies a remarkable power over the feelings,
the hearts of the people, a method of entering into their
hearts and securing their confidence. This was eminently
true of Mr. Hibbard. He possessed a remarkable ac
quaintance with the human heart, knew what was in man,
had not only scanned the principles that philosophically lie
at the basis of human action, and that are involved in all
the movement of the human being, but, what is still more to
the purpose, he inherited the instinct, if one may so express
it, of controlling the emotions of his' fellow-men. Some
men are great mental philosophers, anatomists of the mind,
who are able to strike out the thinking powers into sections,
and to estimate all the forces that may be brought to bear
thereon, while at the same time they are never able to make
that knowledge practical. Far as they are advanced in
science, the illiterate are often able to exceed them in the
power to move the hearts of those about them; just as
some men are adepts in the theory of war who could never
be even third-rate commanders in the actual service ; or as

BILLY HIBBARD. 307
others, who understand the whole science of painting and
sculpture, could never successfully employ the pencil or the
chisel ; or again, as the individual versed in the science of
music, while unable to ply the harmonic art, either for the
want of an ear to discern the niceties of musical sounds, or
of the fingers to touch the keys. Mr. Hibbard, while well
read in the science of human nature, was at home in the
practice. Like all those born to their work, he performed
his part easily, being hardly conscious of the possession of
any remarkable endowment of this sort. But herein was
the beauty of his gift ; he touched the keys of the human
heart, moving its passions, exposing the motives, inspiring
the soul to high endeavor almost unconsciously. Not only
was he able to raise the storm among the passions, but to
control it, now giving it intensity, breadth, Sweep, across
the whole heavens, then repressing or throwing out a free
rein, affording all the varieties from the low baritones to
the loftest and grandest notes. To him the entire train of
human sympathies and emotions were as a very pleasant
instrument, that gave forth at. the touch of his genius the
most varied and delightful music. He could exhibit the
mirthful as well as the mournful, could bring joy or sorrow,
could move the heart to exultation or the eyes to tears, and
often the one extreme would succeed the other in the same
discourse. An incident or two will best illustrate this characteristic.
When so far advanced in life that only words of wisdom
and gravity were expected to drop from his lips, the face
tious and the eccentric, escaping as naturally as his breath,
often excited the smile or the broad laugh,, and that too in
the most serious connections. On one occasion he was
called, in the absence of the circuit preacher, to officiate at
the funeral of a young woman. The husband, who deeply
felt the stroke, was, together with the friends, seated in the
church, the coffin was placed in the altar, the congregation
had become quiet, and the hour having arrived, all was in
readiness to proceed. Father Hibbard then rose in the

308 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
desk to give out the hymn, but stopping with a most pecu
liar twist to his mouth to make some preparatory remark,
he gave utterance to a sentiment that so strangely swept
across the heart of the bereaved young man as to cause him
at once to forget his grief, and the position he occupied as a
mourner for the dead, and he burst out into hearty laughter.
The same power over man was exerted in private. Hav
ing been invited by a friend to pay him a visit and hold a
meeting in the evening, he made it in his way to reach the
place early in the afternoon. Not having anticipated her
visitor' so soon, the good lady had not yet got her fire built
in the parlor, and so to prevent taking her guest into the
kitchen, she requested a young man boarding with her, who
entertained infidel principles, to allow him for an hour to sit
with him. To this request he refused to give his assent, as
he entertained especial prejudice against the clergy. This
very unkind refusal threw the good housewife into a state
of deep perplexity, the parlor was not ready for his recep
tion, and as for the kitchen, that was a place totally unfit to
take a clergymen into. The anxiety was great, such as
only a woman can duly estimate. ' In the mean time, how
ever, her husband is conducting his pastor into the hall.
Passing the young sprig's door, which stood ajar, he entered
without invitation and introduced himself to the stranger.
Making himself very much at home, he laid aside his hat
and overcoat, and after being seated by the stove, began
conversation. For a time the burden of discourse was all on
one side, the other employing only monysylables, with a
sort of disagreeable ventriloquisms ; but as the interview
proceeded, his rigidity began to relax, and the interview to
be mutually enjoyed. His new clerical acquaintance soon
discovered the tendency of his mind to be in the direction
of politics, and drawing the thread of discourse that way,
¦ was easily enabled to conduct him withersoever he would.
Long ere the interview terminated the youthful disciple of
Paine began to entertain new views of the man who had
ventured so unceremoniously to disturb his seclusion. He

BILLY HIBBARD. 309
was afterward known to go ten miles to hear Mr. Hibbard
preach, and to declare that he was the clearest thinker in
the country.
The foregoing observations define, in a considerable
degree, the charaeter of his pulpit addresses. Simple in his
style and language, his sermons usually combined depth
and reach of thought with clear analysis and familiar homely-
illustrations, often in the form of anecdote or incident.
Hence were his discourses at once instructive and entertain
ing. To the thoughtful and intelligent - he dispensed from
those ample treasures of knowledge the accumulation of
years and hard study, while to that class of hearers who go
to the church as mere passive machines, as receptive
demijohns, waiting, sometimes in slumber, for their modi
cum of truth, as the oyster does for the tide, he always
threw out a handful that would keep them awake. His
congregations were never sleepy, or if so, were not allowed
to turn the church into a dormitory, while he occupied
the desk. If the simple train of reflection he was pursuing
proved insufficient to fix the attention of the audience, there
always seemed to be some by-path into which he could at
any moment turn aside, and as readily, where the occasion
required, return to the highway ; if sound sense would not
effect his purpose, he had at hand some curious or quaint
incident that seemed admirably to chime in with his main
design. Combined with this power of securing the atten
tion, was the more rare and wonderful ability to address the
conscience. Mirth and tears, the opposite poles of the emo
tions, were the common results of his ministrations. If by
the first, he was able to secure the ear of the sinner, his
way was then prepared by the -second to fasten the truth
of Jehovah on the conscience. And often, those who came
to laugh returned from his discourses to pray. His object
seemed to be to affect the sinner in some way, to draw him
forth from his fortifications, and then, once engaged, to
open his fire on the walls, which were not relinquished jtill
the whole were razed.

310 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
But those who enjoyed the pleasure of his personal
acquaintance will never forget the charm of his converse
tions. Possessing a full mind and a ready as well as reten
tive memory, he was able at will to draw from the stores
of information his reading and observation had accumulated,
for the illustration of almost any topic that might be under
consideration.' His mind was like the perennial fountain,
which, so far from becoming exhausted, seemed actually, as
the conversation progressed, to produce greater freshness
aud vigor, as well as abundance of thought. To his
treasury of anecdote there was apparently no bottom. He
would string them on for hours together in an unbroken
chain, affording a sort of running commentary on the thread
of discourse. And they were seldom tedious to the com
pany, but being brief, pithy, pointed, and apposite, were
listened to with unflagging attention, almost any length of
time. He was not however, a mere talker who, like John
son usurped the throne, and held the rod over the trem
bling subjects about him; he was a conversationalist, who,
while bringing forth the resources of his own mind, unsealed
those of his companions, and set them in delightful play.
Sitting, not as a despot or a censor, but as a brother and
friend, all realized a pleasure in his presence. We shall
never forget a couple of days we were once permitted to
spend with him at the house of a mutual friend. It was
midwinter, and as the old gentleman was not pressed by
business, he was unusually communicative, and the whole of
those wakeful hours was spread over with a web of anec
dotes. The season being one of great political excitement,
the conversation took that direction. Being a staunch Dem
ocrat, of the old school, he made it in his way to castigate
abolitionism hi the most thorough manner. He made no
pretensions at being either politically or ecclesiastically an
antislavery man, save in that sense in which some slave
holders set up the same claim. His great pet was the
Church in its integrity, which he could not endure to see
marred; and when the rupture came in 1844, he was so

BILLY HIBBARD. 311
sensibly affected thereby as to suffer in his health and
spirit, and it has even been stated that his death was
hastened by that event. His pro-slavery, although of the
milder type, and resulting in some degree from the public
sentiment of the Church in his day, is one of the things
about him we could have wished different. With all his
failings, however, we reVere his virtues, and gratefully com
memorate his services for the Church — the Church which
he cherished with filial tenderness and affection.

TIMOTHY MEBRITT.

It is cause .of deep and unfeigned regret th^t so few
records are left of many of the noble pioneers of Method
ism. They were men who deserved to be remembered, and
whose memory the Church is not willing to suffer to perish
from the earth ; hence the effort now being made to
gather and garner every relic of early days, as well as
those incidents that serve in any degree to illustrate the
lives and labors of those apostolic men who planted on
these shores the Methodistic vine, whose branches are
now so generally diffused through the land, and whose
rich and luscious clusters of fruit already hang over the
walls of our Zion. But they were men of toil, who labored
hard to lay the foundation of an ecclesiastical structure,
rather than those possessing literary leisure which could be
employed to amuse or instruct their fellow-men. They
were men of the tongue, rather than of the pen ; evangelists
whose words of fire kindled upon the passing generation,
and left their mark in the renewed life of the multitudes
turned from sin by their ministry, which have followed
them to the skies. A further obstacle in the way of
preserving their memorials, is found in their itinerant life.
They continued with a single people scarcely long enough
to become acquainted, and then passed on to other fields of
labor, thus spreading out life over a very broad territory.
Of course from such a field the difficulties in collecting
biographical material are much greater than in the case of
a settled pastor, where all the people know him from their
childhood, or from the time of his settlement. Hence, in a

TIMOTHY MERRITT. '313
"great degree, the records of those men were with the Lord,
and their judgment with their God. Earth will never
know them ; but the judgment will unfold a record of
labors and sacrifice which will place many of them among
that band who have "come up out of great tribulation,
having washed their robes and made them white in the
blood of the Lamb."
While the loss sustained by the Qiurch, in the disappear
ance of so many brilliant lights from the ecclesiastical
heavens, is inestimable, the loss of a few of that number,
men combining in their characters a constellation of excel
lences, is most deeply felt. What a loss would the Church
and the world suffer in the obliteration of the records
which have come down to us of Luther, Baxter, and John
Fletcher ! Many such losses have been experienced in
kind if not in degree ; the extinction of those who shone in
their sphere as stars of the first magnitude.
Such a one was Timothy Merritt, a man of love, and
power, and a sound mind, who made a deep mark on the
men of his time, moving the multitudes by his words of
power, and .attracting them to the cross by a tender and
devout spirit. But as only scanty records of his ministry
are preserved, most , of them' having been destroyed by
himself just previous to his death, that influence on the
masses has ceased or become merged in the general tide,
rendering it impossible to trace its thousand currents
along the thread of human life. What remains, however,
of history we hasten to gather up and present as a grateful
offering to the Church.
Timothy Merritt was born at Barkhampstead, Conn.,
October, 12, 1775. His parents, though in humble life,
were respected and virtuous, being descendants of those
stern old Puritans who settled New England, and possessing
many of their mental and moral charactertistics. Their
piety, though deep and sincere, was stern and gloomy,
shaded rather by the severities of the Mosaic economy than
illuminated by the glories which gild the summit of our

314 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Christian Zion. In that household, where a strict rule was
maintained, a rigid morality enforced, the Bible was the
law book, and in fact the library of the circle. Its sacred
truths were early taught the children, and by committing to
memory its passages, its lessons were so enforced as to
exert a salutary influence on the youthful heart.
In the absence of many educational advantages by means
of schools, an excellent substitute was found in such a well
constituted family. , The female, head of the family was one
of those mothers in Israel, so frequently found in a Chris
tian community, a woman of strong intellect, a comprehen
sive mind, and a remarkably tenacious memory. In speak
ing of the latter trait, her daughter, Mrs. Ruth Burt, the
only survivor of the family, says " that from what she read
and heard, she could repeat pages and chapters in succes
sion." The circumstances, likewise, that surrounded him in early
life in the state and Church, exerted not a little influence in
developing and giving fashion to his character. He was
born at the opening of the Revolution, and as that storm
was bursting over the continent, rousing all the civil ele
ments into commotion, and stirring to the lowest depths in
the soul the sentiments on civil and religious liberty, his
faculties were gradually unfolding. These surroundings
must have tended materially to quicken the intellect as well
as to have given direction to his thoughts.
We accordingly find that he early evinced those intellec
tual tastes, and that ardor in the cause of human freedom,
whether personal or political, which distinguished him in
later life. The former was early observed in his, taste for
books, which were read with great avidity, and the contents
treasured up in a very tenacious memory, in many respects
similar to that of his mother. Before he was ten years old
he was able to comprehend much of the sermons he heard
at church, and on returning home to repeat nearly the whole
discourse, as well as the prayers, imitating, in a remarkable
degree, the tones and manner of the speaker, " to the no

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 315
small amusement of those who listened to him." It was
this circumstance that gained for him the title of preacher,
which he afterward so honorably bore. About this time,
also, as though his tender mind were stirred by that pre
venting grace which eventually thrust him out into the
harvest, he wrote what he called a sermon, taking for his
text Job i, 19. Though interested at that period in the
Bible and external religion, we have no evidence that any
unusual work of grace was progressing within. His inter
est was that of 'an ingenuous mind uncontaminated by sin
ful habits or tastes. It was the natural piety of childhood,
affected more or less by the gracious influences of the Holy
Spirit, but not yet elevated to that stage of complete Chris
tian experience attainable by and demanded of the adult.
It was preventing grace, the drawings of the Spirit, which
often insensibly attract the heart of the child toward that
sphere to which the providence and grace of God will
eventually designate it. This state of experience often be
comes manifest in the mild and genial spirit of its subject,
a spirit which feels generously and acts kindly and nobly
toward juvenile associates; This was the case with young
Merritt. He was noted for his kindness to his playmates,
especially the depressed and afflicted, a trait that nobly
marked the whole of his after life. As an evidence of the
existence of this quality in his childhood, we have handed
down to us a beautiful incident. There lived in the neigh
borhood a mulatto family, very poor; and whose son was
about his age. Among the lads of the place his color was
regarded as a stigma, and gave occasion for frequent taunts
and blows, which the poor boy was quite unable to ward
off. Merritt, however, would always become his champion,
and often take him home with him to his meals. But it hap
pened one day that the mulatto, falling out with him, struck
him a severe blow. At his next application for food young
Merritt was told by his mother (to try him) that, as his
kindness was so ill requited, perhaps he had better deny
him; but, with much of the Christian spirit, he averred

316 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
that if he could not give him some he did not want any
himself. The same spirit was evinced in his acquiescence under
authority. " When denied anything," says his sister,
"he was grieved rather than obstinate, never attempting
to carry his plans by will or force. At school, as he
advanced in years, he was distinguished for affection, and
shared largely in the affection of his teachers and fellow-
pupils." We have lingered the longer on these points, as they
afford an insight into his character, as well as an indication
of his future life. That he carried this fresh, almost para
disiacal innocence through the whole period of youth,
might be too much to assert. We believe as he entered
his teens, coming in contact with vicious influences, he ex
perienced a change for the worse, and that iong before his
conversion he had cast off fear and restrained prayer. But
even then he was not without occasional visitations of the
Spirit, which awakened terrible questionings within. And
at the age of seventeen his attention was so deeply arrested
by the inquiry, " What must I do to be saved 1" that he
yielded his heart, renounced his sins, and chose the Saviour
as his portion forever. Sorely pierced by the arrows of
conviction, the ensuing change was deep and genuine. It
made him humble. It awakened in him all that early ten
derness of conscience, that sense of obligation to God, of
kindness to man. He asked the forgiveness of injuries so
slight and so long past that the parties in some cases had
forgotten them. In a word, the experience of childhood had
been restored and elevated to the beauties and joys of the
Christian life.
At the time of his conversion great lukewarmness pre
vailed in the Church of his native town. The fathers were
passing away, while the children remained in impenitence,
no young persons in the neighborhood being members of
the Church. This was a great trial to young Merritt, but
all this served to strengthen him for his future work. He

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 317
at once and boldly showed his colors as a disciple of Christ,
and, like all genuine converts, cherished a deep interest in
the spiritual welfare of his companions. Some he addressed
personally, others by letter, entreating them to accept of the
great salvation. He possessed something of that happy art
of seizing upon impressive moments and circumstances,
which frequently tell upon the whole future of the hearer,
as the effort leads him to an immediate and full decision to
be on God's side. An incident of the kind occurred soon
after his conversion. A company of his former associates
were to spend an evening at his father's, of mirth and hil
arity with the elder members of the family, supposing him
to be absent ; but as they came together he entered the room
and kindly spoke with each of them. Then he proposed to
sing a hymn, to which, of course, all acceded, and at the
close of the singing, the moistened eyes about tne room
gave him assurance that it was an appropriate time to pray.
As he proceeded in the prayer, the company was greatly
moved, nearly all eyes being bathed in tears. The result
of the effort was the conversion of several of those present,
and a considerable reviving ofj the wqrk of God in the
neighborhood. This state of the work created a desire in the minds of
some to hear the Methodists, a sect which had then re
cently appeared on the borders of the state, and were creat
ing a sensation in the old Churches by their zealous and suc
cessful proclamations of the truth. An uncle of Mr. Mer
ritt had entertained the first who entered the Eastern States,
and he very soon introduced one of those bold itinerants
into the town of Barkhamstead, where he gave intensity to
the work already so favorably begun. Perhaps the labors
of these new comers would have been but transient in the
place, if the old Church had seconded the religious move
ment ; but this they did not do. Mr. Merritt, the elder, who
had opened his house to allow them to dispense the word
of life to the people, was visited and disciplined for un
christian conduct in harboring these retailers of heresy, a

318 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
procedure which so grieved the family that they all left the
" standing order,", and united with the new sect.
The profiting of young Merritt, in the mean time, appeared
to all. The fewness of the laborers induced the young
society to push him forward till he • was induced to try his
hand at preaching. The way to the pulpit in those days was
not long and tedious. The young convert was set at once
to exhorting, and if he proved efficient in that part of the
work, and thought himself moved by the Holy Ghost to
take on him the office of the ministry, he was soon arrayed
in the panoply, and sent into the field of open conflict. If
often raw recruits, they felt an enthusiasm in the cause, and
in' most cases soon evinced some natural as well as gracious
aptitude for the work, demonstrating, if not by their literary
qualifications, at least by their fruits, that they were workmen
that nee* not be ashamed.
Merritt's first attempt at preaching was made in a neigh
boring town. The congregation was large, as it was a time
of some religious interest, and to add to the embarrassment
of the young evangelist, the parish minister appeared in the
assembly. His father was filled with apprehensions for the
result, and, to use his own words, "he trembled like an
aspen leaf, and was covered with a cold sweat through the
whole, service." But the boy succeeded beyond his expecta
tion. He enjoyed " liberty," preached a good sermon, and
greatly disarmed the fears of his father in regard to his call
to the sacred ministry. He spent two years after this at
home, often preaching in the small societies that had been
formed in the vicinity, and all of which had been combined
in a circuit. '
The impression made on the minds of the Church by these
repeated services was so favorable that he was generally
desired to enter the traveling ministry. With this advice
of his friends his own inclinations and sense of duty concur
red, and accordingly, in 1796, he gave his name to the Con
ference, and was stationed on the New London Circuit.
Our records of this early portion of his ministry are meager,

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 319
and allow us only to say, that while ho experienced the
trials and anxieties incident to an entrance into that sacred
work, his consolations also abounded. These were not
merely of a personal character, but such as arose from suc
cess in his work, the awakening of sinners, and the happy
conversion of penitents. But the year, with its trials and
consolations, soon wore away, and the early policy of the
fathers in regard to short pastorates, or frequent removals
of the preachers, opened to him a new field of labor for the
ensuing year.
This new field lay along the Penobscot, in Maine, occa
sioning a removal of such a distance as would, in these days
of stations, be thought oppressive. But it was not so then.
The noble men of that date vied with each other in doing
the work of evangelism, flying through the length and
breadth of the land to proclaim the Gospel message and
organize new societies, counting it all joy to suffer for -
Christ, if only they could obtain bread to eat for themselves
and families. In fact, they often lacked these comforts of
life, and many of them continued, amid great obstacles, to
prosecute their labors, while some were driven by the increas
ing demands of their families to desist from the duties of
their sacred calling. While on this circuit the subject of
our sketch experienced his full share of hardships and toils.
The country was new, and of course the people poor and
scattered, and, at the same time, strangers to our so
cieties, views, and modes of worship. Congregations had
to be collected, the people's attention gained, and their con
version effected. This required long and frequent journeys,
through forests that had few roads, and across streams that
were seldom bridged. Hence the labor and fatigue were
great, and the exposure such as often to endanger life,
especially in the case of individuals with feeble health. As
it happened in this case, Mr. Merritt possessed robust
health, and was enabled to endure the whole without great
inconvenience. The next two years (1798-9) a different field was assigned

320 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
him, which was the city of Portland. This position involved
new responsibilities and still more arduous exertions, though
of a somewhat different character from the former ones. The
society was larger and made up of a different class of per
sons. Here, too, he preached every Sabbath to the same
congregation, the whole requiring more mental and less
physical labor than his former charges. But it need hardly
be .stated that Timothy Merritt more than met the ex
pectations of his friends and of the Church in that place,
and that he rose up with the occasion, exhibiting those
elements of strength and wisdom which gave him a con
trolling influence in the early counsels of the Church in
that section.
With his usual success he traveled the succeeding two
years the Bath and Union Circuit. During this period an
incident somewhat perilous to Methodist preachers of the
time occurred. We refer to his marriage with Miss Mary
Maxwell, of Bowdoinham. The union in their domestic
relations proved eVery way a happy one ; but, as in many
other instances at a day when salaries were inadequate and
seldom promptly paid, it resulted in his early retirement
from the itinerant work. His labors on the circuit were
attended with such success, and he had obtained such wide
spread popularity in that region, that he was continued at
_ Bath for a third year, that part of the circuit being erected
into a station.
At the close of this year he located, finding it extremely
difficult to sustain a family on the salary the infant Churches
of that region were able to pay. But the years which he
passed in the located ranks, extending from 1803 to 1817,
were not lost to the Church; for he maintained his interest
in the cause, and notwithstanding his pressing labors in
obtaining a livelihood, he continued to extend his efforts
among the neighboring Churches, often with great inconve
nience and sacrifice to himself. He resided during most of
that period at Bowdoinham, and on the Sabbath would run
his boat to Bath, a distance of ten miles. After landing

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 321
he would then walk two miles to the church, preach three
times, and return home by the oar at evening, a work
which he was able to perform only by an iron constitution,
that passed through the ordeal without giving signs of
injury. In the winter the same journey was made upon
skates. This, however, is but one of the many incidents of
the days of his location, which serve to illustrate his zeal
and labors in the cause of Christ. It is a somewhat
remarkable circumstance, likewise, that his popularity at
Bowdoinham, the place of his residence and business, contin
ued to the last. His preaching, observed one who knew him
well in those days, would attract a larger audience than that
of any other minister of any denomination ; a eulogy, when
we consider that a prophet is not without honor save in his
own land, which affords us assurance both of the great ex
cellences of his character as a man, and of his power as a
preacher. In regard to his labors during these years, a friend who
visited him in the year 1812 gives us this account:
" With a family of five young children, and a location that
required of him as much labor as any itinerant performs,
the demand upon his hands and time seems sufficient to
engage every moment, yet he reads, writes and studies,
when others would find neither time nor inclination."
In 1812 he was chosen a representative from Bowdoinham
to the General Court of Massachusetts. Of his services in
that capacity we know little, save that they were character
ized by the same fidelity that had marked his preceding life.
At the close of the session he returned, and found a feverish
state of excitement pervading the public mind, growing out
of the recent declaration of war against Great Britain. As
he had been elected an administration member, the opposi
tion party endeavored to attach to him the opprobrium of
the movement. But his convictions coincided with the
course of the government in regard to the war, and he did
not hesitate to avow that he approved the course of the
President in maintaining the honor of the American flag.
21 ,

322 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
The opposition, however, proved so strong as to render his
continued residence there unpleasant, and hence he soon
removed to Hallowell, in the same province.
In this change of residence, however, he experienced no
change in his views on the political topics of the day. Find
ing the opposition to the war here running high, he felt it
his duty to defend the policy of the government at every
convenient opportunity. It was aniid this state of feeling
that he was invited to preach on fast-day, and taking the
opportunity to speak on the war, he gave such a substantial
and incontestible defense of the government, as greatly to
exasperate the opponents of the war, but drew forth the
immense applause of the friends of the measure. The ser
mon, founded on Judges v, 23 : ' Curse ye Meroz, because he
came not up to the help of the Lord," etc., was published and
extensively circulated in the province, affording aid to the
cause, and extending the reputation of Mr. Merritt as an
able and fearless man in whatever movement he thought to
be right.
In the mean time the necessities of his increasing family
pressed heavily upon him, and with the hope of improving
his temporal condition he procured the right of a patent
loom for the state of Connecticut. With the hope of dis
posing of it to advantage, he went to Connecticut, traveling
through different parts of the state, but meeting with no
success. This left him in a distressed situation. His time
had been lost, much money expended in traveling, and his
family were in want of the proceeds of his labor. He was,
however, far from home, and his return would be rendered
both expensive and, by water, dangerous from the ice. Op
pressed by those anxieties and disappointments, his courage
for a moment failed him, and he gave utterance to his feel
ings of agony.
This depression, however, continued but for a moment,
since the soul of a hero throbbed in his breast, enabling
him to adopt the sentiment of the poet from his own
forests :

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 323
Let us, then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to*wait. — Longfellow.
In these straightened circumstances he removed his fam
ily to Connecticut, hoping by perseverance to obtain better
results with his patent; but hope was vain. The whole
scheme proved a complete failure, and left him very greatly
distressed in his pecuniary affairs. How this result came
about affords matter of various conjectures. Some of
his friends attributed it to the want of business talent,
while others recognized in it the hand of Providence check
ing his temporal prosperity, and thus opening the way for
his return to the regular ministry. Perhaps both causes
exerted their influence. However that may have been, Mr.
Merritt deeply felt the perplexity of his situation, as well
as the spiritual loss he had sustained by constant engage
ment in secular business. He felt as though these years
were in a great measure lost, and we have reason to sup
pose that he regretted that he did not, with all his embar
rassments, struggle through those years and retain his con
nection with the conference.
But a brighter era was dawning in his history. The
Rev. Asa Kent, then presiding elder on the present Spring
field District, invited him to remove within its bounds and
supply some charge. In compliance with this invitation he
removed his family to Wilbraham, and for some time sup
plied the Churches in Springfield and vicinity, to the great
profit of the hearers as well as of his own soul. The
Church in Springfield was greatly enlarged by the conver
sion of souls, and then began to assume the noble position
which it has since maintained.
But Mr. Merritt felt an increasing desire to re-enter the
itinerant ranks, and as a part of his family were now attain
ing maturity, which would enable them to sustain them
selves, he concluded the work could be re-entered without
serious embarrassment.

324 rNEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Accordingly in 1817 he was readmitted to the confer
ence and stationed in Boston, where he remained two years,
dispensing the word in season and out of season to the great
delight and profit of the people. His return to the work
of the ministry also exerted a salutary influence on his
personal enjoyments, and from that hour to the close of his
active life, he appeared by his multiplied and earnest efforts
to- be engaged to retrieve the past. Sdon after entering on
his work in the city he organized bands, and introduced
those extra means of grace calculated to quicken the Church
and secure the salvation of sinners. " In some stations, cer
tainly, there was never for him a leisure hour, and more
surprising still, he never seemed to get weary of such a
life. No man went beyond him in the spirit of self-sacra-
fice. Many have done greater deeds, perhaps better ones,
but none ever gave himself up more cheerfully to the exi
gencies of the moment, without hesitation or complaint. He
might, perhaps, in some cases be censurable for not hesita
ting, or would have been justified in not complying."
But the following letter to his Sister Ruth will afford a
still better view of the state of his mind, and his labors for
Christ at this time : " Boston, August 24, 1817.
" Mt Dear Sister, — I thank you for your kind letter of
July, 29, which came to hand three days ago. I think I
wrote to you before I left Wilbraham, and my wife is of the
same opinion, but be that as it may, I ought, perhaps, to
have written to you since I came to Boston. Be assured I
have you in affectionate remembrance, and have often re
gretted that I could not have you with me here in Boston.
The only reason I have not written to you sooner is the
want of time to write. You know how it has been with
me for years past ; if I was always in a hurry then, it was
my fault, now it is not. I cannot avoid it. Here we have
a meeting every night in the week, and still cannot supply
the calls of those who want. The preachers who were here
before us had two evenings in the week when they had but

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 325
one meeting, so that one- of the preachers could be at home
on each of those evenings. But Brother Mudge and I have
two meetuigs on each of those evenings, so that we are
never at home without neglecting a meeting. And our
days are as much taken up as our nights. I could fill this
sheet with details of our various calls, and then not give
you a complete view of them. The best is, I am entirely
willing to be thus employed. When I look over the years
that are past I feel ashamed and confounded ; I am filled with
regret and sorrow that they are worse than lost. Could I
call back tho'se years they should be spent in the ministry.
This inspires me with resolution to devote the little remain
der of my life to the service of God in this way. But I
will not dwell upon the past ; like you I will speak of pres
ent things. I enjoy myself better than I have done. I trust
I am something more in the spirit of a minister than I have
been for a long time. One thing is, however, still wanting,
and that is holiness, complete sanctification. I believe that
for years I have had a tolerably clear idea of this doctrine,
and at times have had desires for it myself, as well as seen
the importance of it to the Church. My views are, that in
order to experience this great blessing we must have a view
of the amazing depths of sin in our hearts, in our inmost
souls, and be humbled out of ourselves and thoroughly sub
dued before God. Then we shall hunger and thirst after
righteousness, desire it with inexpressible longings, and
then, seeing it contained in the promises, we shall lay hold
on it by faith and realize it.
" I am rejoiced to hear you speak on the subject of holi
ness, and that you speak of it to and press it upon others.
Go on in the same way and it shall be attended with many
advantages. In particular this is the way to stir up your
soul to seek after it. Above all I advise you to read the
Scriptures, especially the New Testament, with reference to
this point, marking attentively all the passages which relate
to it. You will see it in a thousand places where it is not
called holiness or sanctification, but something else that

326 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
means the same thing. And let every step be accompanied
with earnest prayers for the assistance of the Holy Spirit
of God.
Let me mention to you the epistle of John, first chapter,
ninth verse : " If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just
to forgive our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteous
ness." Observe here how clearly forgiving and cleans
ing from all unrighteousness are distinguished. 2. The.
faithfulness and justice of God secure both to you, the one
as well as the other. 3. Both may be had upon the same
condition, that is, " confessing one's sins." Arid is not this
sufficient encouragement 1 Can you not, with this 'in view,
lay hold on the blessing 1 This being cleansed is but the
negative part of evangelical righteousness. When the soul
is cleansed from sin it must be " filled with the fullness of
God." Ephesiansiii, 19, andiv, 13. See also 2 Thessalonians
i, 11, and Deuteronomy xxx, 6. Lastly, .let me recom
mend' to you Mr. Wesley's Plain Account of Christian
Perfection, Mr. Fletcher's sixth volume, and Mrs. Rogers's
life. I advise you to seek holiness. Pray for it continually,
and never give over till you obtain. Mark your progress,
and let me know what it is. It will be a blessing to me
and to yourself also.
I believe we were never more agreeably situated ; I have
enjoyed my health better thus far than for a number
of seasons past, excepting a heavy cold which I have taken
within a few days. My love to Jerusha, to her father's
family, and all my friends in Southwark and Barkhamsted.
Your affectionate brother, T. Merritt."
At the close of his two years in Boston he was removed
to Nantucket, an important field at that date, where he con
tinued those unremitted exertions in the cause of Christ.
" After his removal to Nantucket, in 1819," writes Mrs.
Bartlett, " I again enjoyed the unspeakable privilege of sit-

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 327
ting under his ministry and of spending some months in
his family. When I revert to that period the most memo
rable feature in his character seems to be his habitual
prayer. None who witnessed his daily walk could doubt
that he derived from heaven that zeal and tenderness which
characterized his labors in that place. In all his efforts his
great aim was to get the Church right. To this end the
social circle as well as other means was made subservient.
Time with him was too precious to be spent in useless vis
its, and the Christian party, by his happy manner of con
trolling conversation, mingled with prayer, was a season of
refined spiritual enjoyment and social improvement."
From Nantucket he removed to Lynn, Wood End,
where he spent two years. Thence in 1822 he went to
Providence, and at the close of that year to Bristol, Rhode
Island, where he continued a couple of years. At the close
of this term we find him again in Boston for two years.
In 1827-8 he was stationed in Springfield, and in 1829-30
at New Bedford. While stationed at Maiden the next
year he gave much attention to the editing of Zion's
Herald, which had been established in Boston a few years
previously. In this department he evinced great ability,
holding as he did the pen of a ready writer, and being able
to employ, in the cause of truth, that clear and compact
argumentation requisite to set an intricate subject in the
true'light, or to repel the attacks of an adversary. Those
were days in which Methodism was reviled, and our doc
trines and polity attacked by various classes of errorists.
On these occasions the preachers looked to him for a de
fense, as he early and constantly trained himself to the
use of his pen, thus inducing those habits of close and
accurate thought, that facility in composition and correct
ness of style which adapted him to the work.
He was, withal, an admirable controversialist. To a
cool and well-balanced judgment were united a strong com
mon sense, the power of discriminating thought, and ready
perception of the various bearings of an argument. No

328 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
adversary, however adroit, could bewilder him or disturb
his mental equipoise, or for a single moment induce him to
turn aside from the direct and legitimate train of argument
to any side issue. He saw the goal from the starting post,
and would not only himself press directly onward, but
compel the sophist to accompany him thither. What
greatly added to the impressiveness of the whole, was the
fact that he maintained a meek and quiet spirit, using hard
arguments, which often stirred his adversary, but soft words,
which only occasionally, and in cases that demanded
it, assumed the form of severity. Although an eminently
practical man, we have reason to suppose that he possessed
a natural taste and tact for controversy, which would proba
bly have been more extensively indulged, had not the dis
position been checked by conscientious scruples. These,
however, were overcome when attacks were made upon the
usages of his own denomination, and, buckling on the armor,
he went forth as a fearless champion of the cause. His
reply to " Letters on Methodism," supposed to have been
written by the Rev. Parsons Cooke, was a most cogent
and caustic production, which tore that scurrilous tract into
a thousand fragments, and held up the character and logic of
the reverend gentleman in a most unenviable light. No
rejoinder was made at the time, and all concluded the guns
of the battery were spiked, when lo ! after the lapse of
twenty years, spent in ransacking the ecclesiastical scullery,
the old gentleman rakes together a mass of ill-odored filth,
mostly the carpings of the enemies of Methodism, which
ought to have been washed down the gutter long ago, and
obtruded them upon the olfactories of the public in the form
of 'a book entitled the "Centuries," a miserable rehash of
broken meats, passing through the early stages of decay
before he thus subjected them to a second process of mas
tication. It was well that he omitted the operation till the
generation of Merritt's readers had passed from the stage.
His sharpest controversies, however, were waged with
the Universalists, at that day more belligerent than at

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 329
present. In his 'early travels in Maine he had come in
contact with this heresy, and was thus induced to give it a
careful consideration, so that he felt prepared, in later years,
to meet and repel the attacks of its advocates. While he
was stationed in Boston, their doctrines began to undergo an
essential modification, which was introduced by Hosea Bal
lou. Hitherto they had maintained the 'future, though lim
ited punishment of the wicked ; but on the first bf January,
1818, Mr. Ballou avowed that there was no future punish
ment, for even the most incorrigible, but that all, at death,
would pass directly to a state of happiness. True to his
principles, and to the repeated vows made to repel and
refute, so far as able, the other forms of Universalism, Mr.
Merritt now wrote a reply to his sermon, and then, in a
rejoinder, vindicated the^ " Reply."* The controversy, at
the time, elicited much interest, and gained for Mr. Merritt
much praise, both within and beyond his own denomination.
He was deeply impressed with the terrible evil of the sys-
•tem, and therefore spoke with earnestness against it, a course
which, in later life, afforded him a peculiar pleasure. He
remarked to a friend, " that there was one thing that he
thought would afford him gratification in a dying hour, ' I
have to.ed the mark with the Universalists.' " This he said
with great emphasis.^
Subsequently, he engaged in a discussion on the same
subject with Mr. Page, an eminent preacher of that order,
in Springfield, Mass. That gentleman, in the style of the
day, threw down the gauntlet, inviting any one to discuss
the question with him in public, and Mr. Merritt was un
willing to allow the occasion to pass without an endeavor
to check the triumphing of the wicked and vindicate the
ways of God to men. The debate was continued for several
weeks, at first by Mr. Merritt, and then by Dr. Fisk, to the
great satisfaction of evangelical Christians in the vicinity.
The result, we believe, was considered on all hands, detri
mental to the interests of the Universalists, and proved a
* Eev. G. E. Cox. in MS. letter. t Ibid.

330 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
perfect quietus to that desire for publfc discussion which
had'existed among them previous to that date. The dis
cussion was afterward published, accompanied by a sermon
on the subject by Dr. Fisk, both of which have done good
service in the cause of truth.
His various publications, both of a controversial and
didactic character, had now brought his name before the
Methodist'public throughout the country, and so favorably
impressed the leading men of the denomination, that it was
thought advisable to place him in a position where his
abilities could have freer scope, and exert a wider influence
on the Church. Hence, at the General Conference of 1832,
he was elected one of the editors 'of the Christian Advocate
and Journal, a periodical which, at that date, circulated
through all the Conferences. This position was held during
four years, with entire satisfaction to the Church.
When he returned home, in 1836, the agitation on the
slavery question began to be felt in the Conference. Orange
Scott, then a leading member of the body, had avowed
himself an abolitionist, and was exerting all his influence to
bring others to his views. The subject had already enlisted
the sympathies of Mr. Merritt, and he at once avowed his
acquiescence in the leading views of the party, namely, that
slavery is a sin — a sin per se — and that its abolition is the
duty of the master and the right of the slave. This step,
though taken with firmness, cost him a great sacrifice of
feeling, since he left behind many intimate and valued
friends, who felt obliged to oppose his course, and incurred
the displeasure of enemies who possessed the ability to
render his position uncomfortable. With no one did he
feel so reluctant to differ as with Dr. Fisk, for whom he
had long cherished a strong affection, and with whom he
had maintained an intimate friendship. But with him duty
preceded all personal attachments, and he did not hesitate,
on this subject, to assume a public position against him,
since he regarded him in error. It is grateful, however, to
learn, that through all that period of bitter controversy his

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 331
regard for the doctor as a Christian and an able minister
continued unabated.
But his sorest trial was with the hasty and irascible
spirit, as well as unadvised conduct of some of the friends of
antislavery men, who measurably forgot their missions to
preach emancipation for the negro, by engaging in a bitter
tirade against the Church, and especially some of the noblest
spirits found therein. But on this point we will allow one
of his intimate friends, now a venerable father in the Church,
to speak in a letter addressed to the Rev. G. F. Gox, which
is here introduced : " New Bedford, July 5, 1848.
" Dear Brother, — . . . Our correspondence began in the
winter of 1814-15, and was continued until his mental
powers failed. I never had so intimate a correspondent
of such duration. I could disclose to him my secret
thoughts in the most confident manner. Indeed I think
neither of us hesitated to say all that most intimate friends
could wish to say ; for that bond of affection which first
united our hearts continued to the very last.
"At the time of my first personal acquaintance with him
he either had, or was about to remove from Maine, to the
State of Connecticut. At my first camp-meeting after I
came to the district, in 1814, in Wilbraham, hundreds came
from the United States Armory, in Springfield ; some were
converted and a society formed in that place, and I should
think it was in the spring or fall of 1815 that I employed
Mr. Merritt in that place, and I continued him on the cir
cuit until 1817, and then recomended him to the conference,
and he was readmitted and stationed in Boston.
" I was often with him in traveling and visiting ; on com
mittees of business, and in various relations etc., and ever
found him the same uniform Christian. He had a rare gift
to introduce useful and religious discourse into company,
and to follow it up in a way to please and profit. When I
have listened to his discourse on such occasions, I have

332 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
almost envied him that gift, and wished I knew as well how
to begin and persevere in drawing the attention and hearts
of the company to that which was spiritually useful. The
subject of Christian holiness was the theme in which he
greatly delighted, and the meek and tender spirit with which
he spoke was calculated to awaken interest and inspire an
ardent desire for more of the mind which was in Christ.
" His joining the abolition society, and the train of conse
quences which followed, may have been judged by his
friends as the most unfortunate act of his life. There were
circumstances connected with this which ought to be
understood in order to judge fairly in the matter.
" Brother Merritt was, from principle, utterly opposed to
slavery, and. when the subject became agitated in our con
ference, he saw much indiscretion manifested. During the
four years he was in New York he could not act fully in
accordance with his own convictions. When he returned
to Lynn he thought he ought to be decided. He wrote
to N. Bangs, and W. Fisk, and others. As soon as he began
to write his sister Ruth, at Ithaca, N. Y., wrote me, (as we
had freely corresponded some years,) and asked my views
of some things connected with that controversy ; wishing I
could see her brother. Just about that time Brother
Merritt wrote me, wishing I could spend a little time with
him in looking over a manuscript he then had, 'The
Young Convert's Guide.' From Andover I went to Lynn,
and spent sometime with him, and we agreed on some
additional matter in the 'Guide.' We spoke freely on
slavery, and our views were the same. He proposed
our joining the antislavery society for this purpose, as
conservative to check an ultra spirit which became
manifest, of which he was afraid, unless a remedy could
be found. He observed : ' Brother Scott has just published
that if his brethren think that he is young, or wanting
in experience in this great work, let the older brethren
come forward and help by their counsels and advice,
pledging himself that he will rejoice to act with them.'

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 333
He added : ' I think if we should join we may, by this
step, do much good, and prevent evils of which I fear
the consequences.' I told him if I could view the matter
in that light I would join ; but I thought we were too late;
that soon after Brother Scott published his first letter to
Bishop Hedding, I went over to Lowell to see him, and
had a long talk, with him ; and asked him if he consulted
anybody before he sent that letter to be published. He
said no ; he did not see any necessity for that. • I told him
he had made a number of mistakes, and pointed out
several, which he acknowledged, but replied : ' When
the bishop replies he will correct them.' ' Do you expect
the bishop to answer your letter V 'Indeed I do.' 'Well,
you will be disappointed ; he never will reply to such a
letter in a public print of which he had no previous knowl
edge? 'Then let his friends reply for him — come, you
undertake it, as you see its defects.' ' Not I, for I see
so many, and connected with such a mass of other matter,
I should not know where to begin.' I then told Brother
Merritt here was a specimen of Brother Scott's imprudence ;
he sent out that letter as a '¦feeler' to see what effects
would be produced ; he saw no need of advice, and
I was sure he would be an unsafe leader. I supposed
he would help, but it was to sustain him in his views ;
but I had no idea that he would accept any advice to
check his own determination. If we join, and don't come
up to his standard, we shall be denounced. Brother
Merritt hoped otherwise, and soon after joined their society.
Not long after there was a convention in Lynn, and Brother
Merritt was placed on the committee, with Scott, Horton
and others, on a ' declaration of sentiments,' or some such
subject. Orange Scott presented and read a paper he had
prepared, which abounded in defects; they went through
with making a great variety of amendments, and then
voted Brother Horton take and rewrite and include amend
ments, etc. This he declined, nor could they find one to do
it. At last Orange Scott agreed to do it faithfully if the

334 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
committee would authorize him to affix their names to it.
They did so, being in a hurry, and it came out, as one
told me, with few if any amendments ; they thought that,
being made with a pencil he probably could not decipher
them. Here Brother Merritt was deeply mortified;
but there was no way of redress but to come out against
Brother Scott for unfaithfulness.
"Again, Brother Merritt is at a Garrison Convention
in Boston, and called upon to open the meeting by prayer.
Then Garrison denounced Brothers Fisk and McDuffie, as
united like the Siamese twins. With such slander Brother
Merritt had no sympathy, and yet he knew it was spread
through the country that he took an active part in such
meetings. His situation was painful ; his name was
wanted to be first and foremost ; they seemed aware they
needed his credit to do their business to better advantage.
He was opposed to slavery, and thought he ought to act
against it; and he was also opposed to the ultra movements,
which he would not attempt to justify. He said to me one
day, speaking of one of Orange Scott's letters to Bishop
Hedding, That emphatic you, "what right had you" etc.,
I cannot endure ; it is not treating the bishop with common
civility,' etc. ; but he found to his sorrow that Orange
Scott would take his own way. I had told him before he
joined that Orange Scott and others were taking the
regular steps to secede, if they could not carry the Church
with them. So I had told Orange Scott at Lowell, and
that those antislavery societies formed within our Church
were designed as a neucleus around which they would be
called upon to rally. Orange Scott denied it flatly, and
Brother Merritt could not believe it possible; but after a
while his fears were awakened.
"As soon as he saw that a secession was inevitable
he gave no countenance to the movement; and could he
have seen the issue, he would have given no aid by any
means whatever. It has always appeared to me that his
being engaged in controversy with Brother Fisk, and at

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 335
the same time Orange Scott and others adopting measures
which he could not approve, brought his mind into such a
strait that it was too much for him, and affected him both
mentally and physically.
" After he had in a great degree lost his reason, there was
a very remarkable trait in his movements, so far as I had
an opportunity to perceive, (and he would sometimes come
into my house several times in a day to tell me, in con
fidence, of what he thought to be real ;) he would say, ' Now
let us, in disposing of this matter, be careful that religion is
not reproached by it.'
" He has requested me to try to prevent religion from
being dishonored, when it appeared to me that every Other
principle of reason was lost ; yet his soul held fast to
religion. " I had intended, when he was in health, if he survived
me, to have put some things into his hands ; but he is gone,
while I linger behind. I think I can say I have never found
the man in whom I could place such implicit confidence at
all times and under all circumstances ; nor do I expect to
find another until mortality shall be swallowed up of life.
" Many of the letters I send you would be of no use to
you but for one thing ; whatever the business or haste he
rarely, if ever, closes till he has said something about the
great salvation ; for out of the abundance of the heart the
mouth and pen spake.
" Yours truly in Christian bonds, A. Kent."
But we now rapidly approach the close of his active life.
After his return from New York he was stationed at South-
street, in Lynn, where he continued two years. At the
close of this period his strength was so impaired as to
oblige him to desist from the duties ofthe active ministry.
He remained, however, at Lynn, till his death, which oc
curred on the 2d of May, 1845.
" This venerable man," say his brethren in the Minutes,
""who so long filled a prominent post in our New England

336 . NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Methodism, has, in a good old age, ripe in religious experi
ence, and having performed more than ordinary labor for
the Church, gone down to the grave. Few men have
left so pure a character as a legacy to the Church and his
family. He was marked as a preacher by the frequency
and thoroughness with which he proclaimed the doctrine of
Christian perfection. He exhibited a consistent profession
of that doctrine for many years till the close of life. He
was distinguished as a powerful polemic writer, and was
always ready to defend the Church of his choice, both in
her doctrines and her polity. The Church in New England
owes a debt of gratitude to his memory for the services
he rendered in placing her before the religious community
in the true light."
" No man has been taken from New England Meth
odism," writes Dr. James Porter, " who had a higher claim
to an honorable memorial among us than had Father Mer
ritt. Though he lived and died "untitled by man, he pos
sessed those enviable qualities which titles, alas too often !
falsely indicate. He was a learned man, a man deeply
read in divinity and philosophy, critical in his observations,
powerful in his analysis, of untiring application, deeply ex
perienced in the things of God, always exhibiting the fruits
of the Spirit by the patience of faith and labor of love.
But he was a self-taught man. Being converted and called
to the ministry, he conferred not with flesh and blood, but
taking his Bible, and such other appropriate books as he
could obtain, he ventured out upon his commission trust
ing in God.
"And as he went he studied ; studied much, and prayed
for heavenly wisdom. What he learned he appropriated,
preached, and practiced, and thus stored it up for future use.
Some of the first pieces he published, he wrote, corrected,
and threw aside ; rewrote, corrected, and wrote again, even
to the fourth time, before he allowed them to go to press.
By this process he acquired a terse, perspicuous, and beau
tiful style. The attention he bestowed upon the arguments

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 337
of an opponent, before answering him, was remarkable.
He weighed every word, and comprehended it before he
framed a sentence, and then replied in the most concise and
forcible manner possible. Thus he seldom misunderstood
or misrepresented, always kept directly to the point, and
seldom failed of complete victory.
" His treatment of an opponent was peculiarly kind and
respectful. He admired to see fair play in controversy,
and never descended to take any advantage which did not
properly belong to him. The practice, so common among
editors, of attacking a man in a contemptuous and abusive
manner, and, in the exercise of editoral sovereignty, exclud
ing all reply, he despised. Being among the first advocates
of the temperance reform, his communications to certain
papers in which he had a right to be heard, were rejected,
but replied to at very considerable length editorally. I
can never forget the patient but indignant grief he express
ed to me on that occasion. Be it said to his everlasting
honor, his correspondents, while he was editor, never had
occasion to complain of such treatment- at his hands.
Never ! However weak, or fanatical, or wicked even,
though not always gratified in their wishes, they were treated
with the greatest courtesy. He would act the gentleman
and the Christian with his opponents, whatever their deserts.
And for this, as for other qualities, he deserved to have a
monument of gold erected to his memory, to the lasting
rebuke of cowardly sycophants, who trifle with the views
and feelings of correspondents, and then, by the despotism
of editorial authority, deny them one word of reply. Such
conduct is in perfect keeping with popery, slavery, and
rumocracy, but it is a perfect burlesque upon Christianity.
" Father Merritt was companionable. The youngest and
weakest of his brethren were made to feel perfectly at
home in his presence. He conversed with and respected
them as though they were his equals, asking counsel and
giving advice with the most pious modesty and sincerity
conceivable. There was no affectation in this. It was the
22

338 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
outbeaming of his real heart ; he loved the brethren. If
they were inferior to himself, he treated them as equals ; if
superior, he rejoiced, and was happy to sit at their feet.
Thus, as he loved all, he was loved by all. Though I spent
my first year's itinerancy under his charge, and had the
high privilege of much intercourse with him subsequently,
I never saw the first thing in his spirit or conduct to lessen
my esteem for him, nor do I recollect to have heard his
name mentioned but with profound Respect.
" With his preaching I was not familiar, but in prayer he
excelled. There was a dignified simplicity, a loftiness of
language and thought, accompanied by a solemnity and fer
vency of spirit which awed the hearer, and made him feel
that God was near. And not unfrequently, as the good
man's soul filled and gathered strength, and in the might
and majesty of confiding faith, rose higher and higher still,
he would stand entranced, like an astonished Israelite, look
ing up into the mountain to see Moses talking with God.
" He was also a man of Christian sympathy. No sorrow
wept unpitied, and to the needy he extended the largest
relief possible. The missionary enterprise was dear to his
heart. Speaking on the subject about the time our lamented
brothers, Cox and Wright, were fitting for Africa, he re
marked with great animation, mingled with regret, if he
were only a little younger he would rejoice to give his life
to the heathen. Every benevolent movement had his ap
proval and his prayers. He was liberal in his pecuniary
contributions nearly to a fault. When old age and infirm
ity had wasted his energies, his big heart still impelled him
to a liberality which greatly exceeded his means."
Of his power in prayer his brethren make frequent men
tion, a power that subdued all obstacles, that opened the
windows of heaven, and that obtained great and immediate
answers. When at sea, we are told by one that the hardy
mariner was awed in the presence of his spirit, and felt as
sured, amid the fury of the storm, that his supplications
would avail to lay it. A beautiful incident is recorded of

TIMOTHY MERRITT. 339
his prayers for Dr. Fisk, when the latter was sick at Char-
lCstown, and supposed to be nigh unto death. " Lie shall
not die," said he to the family ; and when they manifested
some surprise at the remark, he added, " if prayer can pre
vent it." From that hour to the day of his recovery he
ceased not to plead in a most eloquent manner in his be
half, bringing up his youth, his eminent gifts, and the
field open and white for his labor as arguments for his
recovery. It is, however, as the advocate of holiness or entire sanc
tification, that the Church will longest remember him. He
loved this doctrine of the Bible, and presented it to the
people in the plain and simple form in which it was taught
by Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fletcher. While he zealously
proclaimed this truth from the pulpit, and in private pressed
it upon the attention of the people, he also employed his
pen in the same service. Knowing how greatly the people
needed some devotional reading of a periodical character,
he began the publication of the " Guide to Perfection," a
work which, having passed into other hands, continues still
to go forth on its mission of piety. In this periodical he
set forth, in a clear and forcible manner, our view of that
blessed doctrine, and in that way, as well as by his personal
exertions, exerted a mighty influence upon a large and
noble class of minds, leading them to entertain higher views
of the Christian life, and to rise to a richer religious ex
perience. Of his abilities as a preacher we have already incident
ally spoken. His word was attended with power and with
the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven. People went
far to listen to his discourses, and in the delivery were often
deeply stirred. The sources of this power are found in his
great mental strength, his plain and forcible logic, his deep
earnestness and solemnity, assuming something of the Pur
itanic sternness and rigor, only a little mellowed by the
jubilant Gospel of Methodism, an earnestness in part con
stitutional, but also arising from a sense of sin, a view by

340 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
faith of the realities of the future life to which he ever felt
that we are hasting, and the grave duties imposed upon u's
in a state of probation.
Such was this father, a most eminent man in his day,
whose like seldom appears in the Church, and whose coun
sels and labors contributed in a great degree to build up
and strengthen our order. One of our clearest and most
accurate thinkers, he was yet a worker, a practical man,
every pulsation of whose heart beat in unison with the
good cause in which the Church was engaged.

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE.

The subject of this sketch appeared on the stage just at
the time Methodism was beginning to make a profound im
pression on the rural districts of New England. For
many years had its light and .power been wielded in the
cities and large centers of the Eastern States; footholds here
and there had been obtained in the country, but it was not till
now that it began to be felt as a power in the religious world,
and to attract the personal attention of the sequestered ham
lets and neighborhoods. Hitherto had it been suspected,
and the cautious people of New England had been wary of
its theology, as well as of falling into the " gulf stream " it
was forming througb the land. Trained in the quiet, staid
habits of the pilgrims, they cautiously edged toward the
new sect to scrutinize and survey its machinery, and when
decided to commit themselves to the craft, it was with a
good share of their characteristic caution. They were often
Puritans vamped over, rather than a thoroughly new brand.
At the time, however, of which we now speak, they were
merging out into deeper water, and assuming more of that
hale and joyous Christian experience that characterized the
early followers of the Wesleys and the members of the
societies in the Middle States. Experience was convincing
them of the sea-worthiness of the vessel on which they had
embarked, which called forth their jubilant shouts of praise.
The parents of Mr. Bridge, whom he ever held in the
highest honor, were persons in the humbler walks of life,
but of stern integrity and worth; not so indigent as to
destroy self-respect or honesty, nor yet so far competent as to

342 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
relieve the family from the necessity of daily toil ; in a
word, a family of that moral worth and of those industrious
habits which are precisely adapted to train a son for the
active and responsible duties of future life.
A filial pen has so beautifully drawn their characters, that
the reader will indulge a brief quotation. " Mr. Bridge," he
says, " was of small stature, retiring manners, and rather a
melancholy cast of mind, but sustained an unblemished
reputation for honesty, industry, piety, intelligence and
common sense. He shunned the tumults of the world,
being the most contented when surrounded by books, papers,
and the quiet circle of his own family. Among strangers
he was taciturn and unassuming ; but in the chosen circle
of his acquaintance his eye sparkled, and his words flowed
freely. " He was a practical man, always preferring utility to fancy
and fashion ; in early life a man of decision, having fixed
ideas on all the questions of politics and the essential doc
trines of theology. He had few inclinations in common
with the floating mass whose partial views and perverted
tastes lead them from flower to flower, like certain bees,
always more remarked for their incessant buzzing than for
intelligent and worthy diligence. Moreover, he possessed a
tender conscience. He would sooner lose all his earthly
goods than obtain a penny by fraud. But~no trait of his
character was more refined and amiable than his humanity.
The horse or the ox that he chanced to drive rarely bore
the marks of his lash. The cattle of the farm-yard never
retired at his approach, and the cat and the dog, instead of
meanly slinking away under the table in fright, leaped upon
his knees the moment he became seated at the fire-side.
Such a father could not fail to be beloved, such a companion
to be dear, nor such a neighbor to be respected."
The companion of this man was one of those rare and
noble spirits that occasionally glitter like gems along this
lower social strata or that, when lifted to higher positions
in life, became the Hannahs and Susannah Wesleys, the

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 343
mothers of the wise and good, raised up to bless and elevate
the race. With this worthy woman, who possessed the
faculty of gaining the confidence of all with whom she asso
ciated, and whose labors in the cause of the Redeemer were
peculiarly blessed, it was our privilege to have some
acquaintance. The writer was present at her funeral, and
assisted in committing her precious dust to the tomb, nor
will he soon forget the grateful tears of those children who
had ever risen up to call her blessed, and who now came to
the grave to weep. The writer whom we have just quoted
proceeds to notice he(r character in the following language :
" Mr. Bridge was married young. His wife brought him no
worldly goods besides a scanty outfit for house-keeping.
But for symmetry of form, strength and capacity of mind,
depth of piety, evenness of temper, buoyancy of spirits, and
ready talents, she was surpassed by few if any in the com
munity. She was descended from one of the first settlers
of old Plymouth. In temperament she was, in many
respects, directly the opposite of her husband ; in talent much
more brilliant. She was both modest and bold. But her
modesty did not spring from a slavish fear of man, and her
boldness was merely the result of a prudent confidence in
her own power, combined with a virtuous self-respect." She
was an individual possessing great fortitude and faith,
while her heart embraced all the world, especially those
that believe in our Lord Jesus Christ. Happy the Church
that embraces such mothers in Israel ; thrice happy the
family blessed with the watchcare and labors of such a head !
Jonathan Davis Bridge, their eldest son, was born at
Northfield, in the year 1812. Of his early history, most of
which is unwritten, we may form a tolerably correct con
jecture, since we know about the course in which life, amid
such a rural Puritanic 'family circle, would flow, and above
all, the impress and impetus that would be given to it by
tiie hand of such a mother.
" He was a youth of the fairest proportions and most
promising traits of character. In earliest childhood he was

344 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
remarked for his sprightliness and beauty. At twelve years
of age he showed himself uncommonly efficient in all
departments of manual labor. He was often engaged at
day labor among the neighbors, while his activity made
every one predict that he would ' one day leave his mark
upon the world.' He was out of bed and gay as a lark at
an early hour in the morning. He could mount a horse,
break a yoke of steers, tumble logs into the mill-way, leap a
fence in pursuit of a truant sheep or heifer, chop, mow, romp,
or wrestle with his mates with admirable agility. Nor was
his mind less elastic. The little school to which he was
sent at an early age, was of humble pretensions, but a good
one of the kind. He readily learned what was taught there,
and often came home with his reward of merit, a document
of as much importance in the minds of those concerned as
a college diploma in riper years. Rarely did he incur the
displeasure of his teachers ; and when he did, it was not so
much the result of a censurable temper as the carelessness
and untimely .boiling over of his good-nature. From his
infancy his mother had taught him little prayers, and hymns>
and the elements of religious truth. Notwithstanding his
activity, he would be often thoughtful, and sometimes mani
fest a deep seriousness. He could usually repeat the text
and, not unfrequently, rehearse much of the discourse.
Many predicted that he would become a minister when he
came to maturity, and though his father had began to place
much dependence upon him, yet he could not help but feel
some misgivings lest he might be 'destined to a different
calling." When the lad had attained his sixteenth year the com
munity was visited by one of those primitive Methodist
revivals. The town being remote from large cities, had
remained still and staid with the old Congregational meet
ing-house, preacher, and services as in days of yore. It
now fell in the way of an itinerant to stumble along into
this parish and disturb the calm that had so long reigned
there. He was a holy man, full of clear conceptions of

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. ; 345
truth, and strong faith in the word of God. His preaching
was in demonstration of the Spirit and power of the Holy
Ghost. In prayer he was mighty. His pleadings seemed
deeply to move the people, for a divine illumination and
fear spread through the congregation, such as they were
not wont to witness. The number of hearers daily increased ;
some wept, some cried in distress, and, as is usual at such
times, some ridiculed, while others were blessed with the
forgiveness of their sins.
Our subject was among the early fruits of this revival.
" His convictions were pungent, his views of sin and of his
own depravity and helplessness broad and clear, and the
change produced in him was deep and lasting. It was at the
family altar that light broke in upon his troubled spirit.
So ardent were his emotions, and so overwhelming was the
change that had come over him, that he could not contain
himself, but shouted aloud for joy."
On waking the next morning he looked forth upon a
world apparently transformed by the power and glory of
God. The soft beams of an autumnal sun seemed more
than usually mellow, while the birds caroling and rejoicing
in the air reminded him ¦ of the better land, and he fell
down lost in wonder, love, and praise. He felt a longing
to tell the world the story of the cross, since he felt confi
dent he could convince all of the loveliness of his Lord,
and induce them to secure a treasure in heaven. How
great his disappointment when he met an unbelieving world
ready to parry all his arguments and turn to ridicule his
experience. He devoted himself, however, to prayer and watchful
ness, and though an immature Christian, he generally
maintained a consistent character for piety and devotion.
In the social meetings his voice was ever tuned to praise or
uplifted in heartfelt exhortation, little aware with what de
light the people hung upon his words, or how often they
said among themselves, " This man will surely be called of
God to minister."

346 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
About a year after his conversion he received an exhort-
er's license, an office at that time honored by the people,
and which usually constituted the first step in the progression
toward the full ministry. This step only more fully con
vinced him that he was called of God to the high and re
sponsible work of -the regular ministry. He was now
visited with many of those feelings, impressions, or convic
tions that are afforded by the Chief Shepherd when he is
about to thrust, a new laborer out into the harvest. While
his soul was uncommonly impressed with a sense of the
worth and danger of those for whom Christ had died, he
experienced an inward struggle to reach a higher position
in life, where his entire powers could be devoted to saving
souls. These convictions were strengthened and matured
by an occasional expression in the prayers at the family
altar, or in the exhortations of his Christian brethren in their
social intercourse, inasmuch as they led him to think he
was in some measure looked upon as devoted to the pub
lic service of the -Church. On opening the Bible he would
sometimes read passages like the following, which would
stir his soul like the voice of a trumpet : " The harvest
truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few. Pray ye there
fore the Lord of .the harvest, that he would send forth more
laborers into his harvest."
Texts of Scripture and plans of sermons, we are assured,
' constituted the staple of his pious thoughts, and some
times these trains of reflection would break forth into audi
ble expression amid the labors of the field, or while passing
along the way. The more ardent his devotions, the deeper
did these impressions of duty become. As the struggle in
his breast continued, and even increased in intensity, he de
termined to reveal his feelings to his parents, although it
was felt to be painful to make such revelations, in view of
the feeble state of his father's health, and the heavy respon
sibility of his mother in training a large family on very
limited resources. By his own hands, he felt that he might
in some measure aid them in temporal affairs and thus

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 347
help to smooth their rugged path through this life, a view
of the subject which induced him to maintain silence on the
point that most deeply exercised his mind. His only resort
was a throne of grace. Here he poured forth strong cries
and tears, beseeching the Lord either to remove those emo
tions or to open a door of providence by which he might
enter the harvest of the .world.
That prayer, which we may suppose was inspired by the
Holy Spirit, did not remain ' long unanswered, although the
answer came in a form he did not anticipate. The temporal
affairs of the family were so arranged that it became con
sistent for him to leave home, and their consent was fully
obtained for his entrance upon the duties of the traveling
ministry. He now received a license as a local preacher, being but
eighteen years of age, and as the conference had already
held its session, it was deemed advisable to take work
under the presiding elder. That the parting was a scene of
intense trial to the parents, who were now called to give up
their child to the work of the Lord, will be apparent when
we reflect on his extreme youth, as well as the perilous
path and lofty responsibilities lying be.fore him. .The
mother experienced the deeper anguish at the separation,
since she clung to the child with all the intensity of a
mother's affection ; but as she was a woman of faith and
prayer, and a believer in the providence of God, she said,
" The Lord hath need of him ; let him do what seemeth him
good." Then followed the song of praise and prayer, inter
mingled with tears when they exchanged the parting hand,
and Jonathan crossed the parental threshold to enter on the
great warfare of life.
While the parents experienced intense grief in devoting
their son to the holy ministry, they enjoyed the satisfaction
of knowing that he went forth under the eye of an eminent
minister, who would be to him more than a friend or even
a father. The Rev. Orange Scott, then presiding elder of
the Springfield District, in which the Northfield charge was

348 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
embraced, was in his prime and glory, " full of zeal, am
bition, health, and mental energy," and, like the angel of the
Apocalypse, flying through that extended ancLrugged region
of country, " having the everlasting Gospel to preach."
Those were the days of great revivals ; the Gospel, as inter
preted by Methodism, was taking hold on the masses, and
the great deep of society was being broken up by the energy
and enthusiasm of that corps of mighty men.
Scott was a host in himself, but displayed the finest tact
in moving the masses that clustered around him. , To him
it was given to galvanize the people, who loved to hang
upon his words, and to be moved and melted by his majes
tic utterances. Entering upon his work as presiding elder
with an intense interest, he designed to set the. whole coun >
try hi a blaze, and to bring thousands of souls to Christ.
To effect this purpose he delighted to associate with himself
young men, in whose souls the fires of enthusiastic devotion
burned with unabated intensity. He could fill their minds
with his own enlarged views, and commit to them the exe
cution of his plans for extending the Gospel among the
masses of the people, who were wandering as sheep with
out a shepherd!
Young Bridge could not have selected a leader more to
his liking. He was now full of the vigor of youth, of an
ardent temperament, full and ready flow of language, and
flushed with the first successes of the Christian conflict
Entering fully into the spirit of his presiding elder, he went
forth in the style of Methodism to urge a close warfare
against sin, and to obtain immediate and complete success
in the work of saving men from eternal death. He traveled
the first year on the Northampton Circuit, and the next on
that of Westfield, in the state of Massachusetts. In 1834
he was received on trial in the New England Conference,
and reappointed to the Westfield Circuit.
His subsequent appointments we briefly subjoin, namely,
1835-6, Holland; 1836-8, Coleraine; 1838-9, Asbury
Chapel/Springfield ; 1839-41, Duxbury ; 1841-3, Saugus ;

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 349
1843^4, Charlestown; 1844-6, Boston, Bennett-street;
1846-8, Worcester; 1848-9, Roxbury; 1849-51, Bos
ton, Church-street; 1851-3, Springfield, Pyncheon-street ;
1853-4, Maiden; 1854-6, presiding elder on Worcester
District. Nearly all these appointments were in the State
of Massachusetts, and within the bounds of the existing
New England Conference, many of them among the largest,
most influential, and responsible charges in the state, and
in all, his powers as a preacher were fully recognized by
the people to whom he statedly ministered, the best test,
certainly, of his abilities.
In entering upon the duties of the sacred office he ex
perienced great inconvenience from his limited education.
The schools of his native town, the common schools of
Massachusetts, were then in a poor condition, and afforded
but limited advantage to the pupils, reading, writing, and
figures, constituting the entire curriculum. The meager
opportunities for attaining an education afforded by these
establishments could not, in his case, have been fully avail
able, especially when we consider his extreme youth at the
time of leaving home, and the straitened circumstances of
the family previous to that period.
Hence, on entering upon his itinerant career he was
master of only the simpler rudiments of learning, and was
obliged to place in his saddle-bags, besides a Bible and
Hymn-Book, the Grammar of Murray, a geography, and
such books of theology and devotion as it might be con
venient to transport about his circuit, in order to prepare
himself for the responsible charge committed to him by the
Church. Those were days when the Churches were break
ing new ground, and much labor was required of the
preachers ; the time for study being found in the early
morning, and on such occasional days as had no appoint
ment to be filled. Few who began their ministry under
these disadvantages, and without much previous training in
the schools, ever advanced far in their studies, or became
very accurate thinkers, and of course were not able to hold

350 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
the pen of the ready writer. These were attainments that
required time which was not at their command. Many of
them became skilled in extemporaneous speaking, and in
the pulpit were men of real power, who left their works on
the age in which they lived.
Occasionally one rose to higher intellectual attainments,
and ranked among the well educated ministers of the age.
Of this class was Jonathan D. Bridge. He was a great
reader, an intense thinker, and a writer who commanded a
finished and nervous style, although the defects of his early,
education were severely felt to the close of his life. So far
as diligence and application could remedy those defects, his
efforts at self-tuition accomplished it; for all those oppor
tunities for reading and study afforded him on circuit or
station were improved in such a manner that his profiting
appeared to all.
About the time he enlisted in the service of the Church
Orange Scott became a champion of the abolition cause,
which occasioned not a little sparring among the clergy and
laity. The spirit of controversy was aroused, and extended
not only to the more private circles and conferences, but to
the public prints of the Church. Bridge, with his ardent
temperament, threw himself at once into the breach with his
leader, and was encouraged to employ his pen in defense of
the antislavery views. Some of his early attempts at com
position were submitted to the revision of Scott ere going
to the press ; but .he was soon able to complete his own
MSS., as well as to convince the public that he wielded a
scorching pen, which it was not safe for many men to
provoke against themselves. It was this controversy, per
haps, that drew out and disciplined his powers more than
anything else that occurred in his early life. It reduced
him at once to modes of accurate thinking, while the
frequent employment of the pen induced the habit
of perspicuously stating and defending his thoughts. If
the best education is, as Dr. Wayland contends, that
which comes by the pen, then young Bridge was in a

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE.

35f

good way, which is still more fully evinced by the results
of the course.
His intimacy with Scott, while it afforded him many and
rare advantages, proved also in the end a source of trial and
danger, that came near severing his ecclesiastical connec
tions. That wonderful man, once enlisted in the abolition
cause, was led by rapid but imperceptible gradations to the
point where it was thought, by many good men, that the
interests of the Church and those of the slave must be
sundered. The timid and conservative here drew back ,
but the .leader was made of that stern and enthusiastic
material that bowed to no obstacles, and that considered no
sacrifice too expensive to be offered on the altar of humanity ;
and he was moreover so completely committed to the
current, that he swept on in pursuit of his object, leaving
the Church of his early choice, that had elevated him to
honor, and in whose bosom he had achieved^ his noblest
victories, behind.
The corps of champions that stood about him, among the
most bold and ardent of whom may be reckoned the subject
of this sketch, naturally sympathized with him through the
entire conflict; and when he bravely shot the cataract, their
blood was so stirred that they were not only ready to draw
the sword in his defense, but also to thrust themselves'down
after him. Some of them carried into execution these
impulses, and became associated with their long-tried friend
in the new organization known as the Wesleyan Methodist
Church. Mr. Bridge followed to the very edge of the
precipice the man in whom, amid every danger, he had been
accustomed to place implicit confidence, arid would perhaps
have selected the fortune of his comrades, but for a friendly
voice that from childhood had been wont to warn, admon
ish, guide, and encourage him in his work, and that invariably
found access to the most secluded chambers of the heart,
which here interposed to retain him in. the Church. Es
caped from this peril, he went forth again to his accustomed
toil in the Church, though not without some scars received ,

352 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
in the contest that he bore to the grave. It was after this,
perhaps, that he was most successful, and most beloved by
the people. The conflict, however, in which he had
observed bishops and presiding elders enlisted in defense
of the positions of slaveholders, served to develop the
radical side of his nature, and to render him suspected as au
unsafe and unreliable man inecclesiastical legislation by a con
siderable body of the Church. In the year 1848 his popu
larity in the Conference had culminated, and in the General
Conference of that year he led his delegation, having
received several more votes than any other delegate. It
soon, however, began to be rumored that his sentiments
were very radical, not only on the matter of slavery, but
also on the entire constitution of the Church; and he was
even known to affirm that his views of Church polity were
not Methodistic, and that if called to fill important posts in
the Church it must be with the understanding that he should
advocate at pleasure the sentiments he had been led to
entertain. After the avowal of such sentiments, he was honored as
a good man and an able minister of the New Testament ;
but the men who had been ready to elevate him to high and
responsible offices became wary of placing in positions of
trust an individual who might exert his influence and
talents to subvert the constitution of the Church. It became
the opinion of many that he entertained substantially the
views of Mr. Scott and his coadjutors on questions of
ecclesiastical order. Hence, in the election of delegates to
the General Conference of 1852 he received but a handful
of votes ; a falling off that arose from no want of confidence
in him as a good man, but from a dislike to commit the
law-making of the Church .to one whose judgment had so
widely departed from their own.
In the interval between this and the succeeding General
Conference, the attention of the board' of bishops was
attracted to his extreme views, and the opinion of one of
them, at least, was that the only probable cure of the dis-

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 353
order would be a term of service in the office of presiding
elder, where he would observe the working of the whole
system from a new stand-point, and experience the difficulty
of maintaining the efficiency of our organization without the
present machinery.
He was accordingly appointed, as above indicated, to the
charge of the Worcester District, on which he labored with
great efficiency, acceptability, and- success till he was stricken
down by death. That this new sphere of labor tended to
moderate, if not essentially to modify his former views,
seems most probable, since while in this office he not only
ceased to talk on the subject as in former years, but mani
fested an unusual degree of solicitude to maintain the integ
rity of the Church. In attributing this change to the influ
ence of his position, we may advance too far ; time, that
great modifier of human affairs and opinions, had made
indelible impressions on his mind. The fervor of youth
had passed, and he was now advancing into the very heart
of sober and ripened manhood.
On whatever side we view the life of Mr. Bridge, noble
and commanding traits of character are displayed to our
view. His is a noble example of that perseverance that
faces and conquers all the obstacles that beset the path of
probation. Beginning the work of the ministry with very
limited educational qualifications, he proceeded to apply his
mind to accumulate information and acquire mental disci
pline, amid all the disadvantages of circuit life, and with
what measure of success the result determines. Many men
with his outfit would have lingered through life in the third
rate appointments ; but his unremitted exertion lifted him
up from the humble position in which he began life, and
enabled him to occupy the heaviest stations in the confer
ence. Though hindered in his enterprises by the inconven
ience of a frail constitution and feeble health, he was Seldom
willing to give up what he undertook to do. He felt an
ambition to accomplish whatever task was assigned by the
authorities of the Church. It was, perhaps, under the
23

354 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
promptings of this feeling that he finally sacrificed his life.
His district was extensive, and the labors not only multi
plied but arduous. He knew that life was imperiled by
the overexertion and exposure in filling his appointments,
so as to meet the expectations the people had formed of him
as a preacher ; but he would not consent to make the office
ii mere sinecure, or to allow the people to affirm that his
power had departed at the magic touch of that office., For
a season he bravely 'faced the obstacles in his path, and
seemed to rise above them all; he pursued his long journeys
through the heats of summer and the storms of autumn and
winter, preaching, lecturing, and holding Quarterly Confer
ences and love-feasts ; but such a course, so opposite to all
his later habits, so oppressive to his feeble system, could
not be long pursued. During- the third year of his term
the consumption, hereditary in the family, made its ap
pearance, and he rapidly yielded to the pressure of the
disease. As a preacher, Mr. Bridge was seen to the greatest
advantage. Neither his early advantages nor his later
opportunities were sufficient to qualify him to shine in
every place; he wisely bestowed his principal labor in
adapting himself to the ministry. Here nature, grace, and
culture combined to render him complete as an ambassador
of Jesus Christ.
Nature bestowed a fine, commanding figure, that stood
proudly erect nearly six feet, and which, adorned with the
neat attire he wore, was calculated to attract the eye and
fasten the attention of the auditor. The sounds of his
voice, which was full, varied, and shrill, were adapted to
intensify the impression, and to hold the hearers spell
bound to the close of his discourse. His, too, was an
ardent temperament, indicated by his red hair and whiskers,
that kindled and glowed as the discourse advanced, drawing
the listener into closer and still closer sympathy with him
self. Becoming lost in his subject, he would, for the time,
create the impression that the theme on the tapis was the

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 355
one of all-absorbing interest and importance, and the whole
congregation would be swept on to his conclusions, recover
ing themselves only after the hurricane was passed^ to take
reckonings and ascertain their latitude and longitude. Con
scious that they had been under the wizard's power, they
would hardly venture to trust their senses, or to adhere to
those ordinary convictions that had served as landmarks
along the shore of human experience.' Having been urged
on to higher, broader conclusions by the logic of the volcano,
then followed a reaction, that subsided till men felt that the
old level had certainly been reached. Perhaps this is our
experience under all intense, fiery oratory. Of course he
did not always observe the rule of Mr. Wesley, relating to
long and loud speaking. His glowing mind, especially
when stirred by the discussion of some great theme that lay-
near his heart, was not readily restrained within metes and
bounds. The heated engine drove on the machinery with
an intense whirl and clatter, despite valves and brakes. The
rules of oratory, as found in the books, were then super
seded, while he rushed forward, "taking no note of time."
On such occasions the spectator felt the inadequacy of the
physical apparatus to sustain the shock of such mental
intensity and fire ; ' he listened to the lion's roar without
observing his muscle and physical energy. He was not,
however, a hard speaker ; his words rang out distinctly, as
from the throat of a trumpet ; but the volume, the body of
sound was too great for his meager frame.
While he possessed these appliances of oratory, the con
gregations were also furnished with fresh thought, sound
reasoning, apposite illustrations. The preacher who depends
on excitement, merely, for the success of his ministry will'
find his power failing him as life advances, so that at that
period when we look for maturity of intellect, and the
greatest reach of mental strength, he will be found to have
passed his meridian, and to have progressed some distance
on the down-hill road. This was not true of Mr. Bridge.
He might easily have run into this error. Many of his

356 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
character have done so. His ardent temperament, ready elocu
tion, and striking personal appearance in early life, gave him
command ofthe masses even without much thought; but he
did not trust to these qualities. He gave diligence to lay
in stores of knowledge for the future, when there might not
be as much in the man to attract attention, that truth
might then supply the lack. Hence his ministry increased
in interest to the close of life.
It is not, however, intended by the above remarks to in
timate that he was perfect even in this sphere ; that charac
ter can be attributed to few ministers ; but it is claimed
that, considering his origin and early advantages for study
and experience, he made remarkable attainments as a pulpit
orator. If there was any one defect in his character as a
minister standing out more prominently than another, it
was found in the slight degree of attention bestowed on the
pastoral work, a department, in fact, too generally neglected,
and by none more than by the able preachers.
The ministry of the cross will, in a considerable degree,
possess the character of the individual's piety who fills the
office. If he be gloomy, of a legal spirit, or the opposite,
those qualities will be transfused through his discourses,
and, will be imbibed, to a great extent, by his congregation.
In this sacred work piety is the vital element that leaves its
marks, and that diffuses itself through the mass with which
it comes in contact.
The piety of Mr. Bridge was of an intellectual caste
rather than sympathetic, being deeply rooted in the founda
tions of his nature. Hence his experience presented nothing
of that effeminate, sickly, sentimental style which belongs
to the mere religionist. His manliness in this, as in all
other departments of life, was apparent to the world. His
sermons were not mere hortatory deliverances; they
embodied the central doctrines, were a feeling for the main
pillars bf the Christian system. The Cross stood in the
center of all. Never stopping in the region of sentiment or
emotion, laying no stress on the experience of mere feeling,

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 357
which can content itself with the repetition of prayers
and other devotional acts, while justice and mercy are
neglected, he ever had a heart to say the severest truths
needful without the fear of offending any one, high or low,
and of so saying them as to make a profound impression on
the individuals concerned. His language of rebuke and
denunciation was terrible. In his moral and political excori
ations, he often reminded one ofthe experienced surgeon who
wields the scalpel, slashing away at the flesh as though he
cared little for blood or life, so he removed the malignant
excrescence or the maimed part. His words scorched terri
bly, like the rough utterances of the prophet Elijah, or our
Saviour's denunciations of the Pharisees.
This trait was conspicuous in his writings. While he
was capable of producing well-turned periods, and did, on
proper occasions, throw off finished compositions, he never
theless found an especial delight in the employment of a
caustic pen. Here he was at home, and displayed his
inimitable power. He was a lover of Sydney Smith, and
perhaps there was some affinity between their minds.
Sydney possessed the keener wit, but not a finer apprecia
tion of what was facetious than his transatlantic cousin.
And then it is certain that clerical joker never enjoyed
" spitting and broiling" apolitical or religious heretic better
than the subject of this sketch. That was a business for
which he had a relish, and showed a dexterous hand. If the,
fellow had sinned unwittingly he might look here for for-
forgiveness and comfort; but woe to that incorrigible
sinner who, after having eseaped from many transgressions
with impunity, should chance to fall into his hands ! He
was certain to think he had at last reached the day of
doom. Caging him up like some wild beast, exhibited to
the gaze ofthe multitude, he would pelt him with stubborn
facts, thrust at him with his metallic pen, or jeer upon him
in those withering words that would startle the hoary trans
gressor with the idea that he had really fallen into the cus
tody of the arch tormentor ; and if he should chance to get

358 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
loose with a whole skin, he would be sure never to meet
him again. These suggestions will recall to the minds of all
his friends those letters in the Northern Christian Advocate
over the signature of " Fideleter," in which, a la Dr.
Cheever,he trounced every sort of transgressor, from a poor
tobacco-muncher to a theological heretic, dealing out those
severe, biting words that most men can produce only in fits
of indignant passion, but which flowed from his mental
treasury as naturally and easily as the springs flow down to
the valleys. They were words charged with moral elec
tricity, the gunpowder of rhetoric. ' Does any one recollect
how he once seized up, with his polemic tongs, the venera^-
ble Dr. Bond, who had often sinned by impaling abolitionists,
(among them the said Fideleter,) and, notwithstanding his
gray locks, flayed the old gentleman alive, and then
scorched him with fire and brimstone ? There were many
abolitionists that would have given the doctor a handsome
drubbing with a good will, whose hearts relented when they
heard Bridge's cat-o-nine-tails tearing tbe doctor's back.
But this was characteristic. He did not readily engage in
a fight, but once enlisted, he proved as obstinate as Oliver
Cromwell when he butchered the inhabitants of Drogheda.
But it was perhaps in the close circle of friendship that he
was best appreciated and beloved, though to the stranger
his reserved air would give no indication of intimate attach
ments. To the world at large he never _ unbosomed his
views and feelings, holding it at a distance, as a knight
would his antagonist. The friends he admitted to his heart
were few and long tried, but to that few he clung to the close
of life. They knew his thoughts ; they were his advisers in
emergencies, his solace in trial. For no men did he cherish
a stronger affection than for a few of the members of his
conference who had long fought by his side, and been true in
every conflict and vicissitude. They lingered longest in his
memory. A few days before bis death he' wrote in pencil
marks to his old associates, the preachers in Boston: "The
atonement is my great and glorious hiding place ;" and a few

JONATHAN D. BRIDGE. 359
moments, before he breathed his last he whispered to those
about his couch, " I never felt better in my life than' now."
After all his mental aberrations his heart remained true
to the cause of Methodism, beating in sympathy with that
rich experience, that hopeful spirit, those arduous labors and
heroic undertakings that animated the fathers of that great
religious era. The conference and the camp-meeting gather
ing, .the quarterly meeting and the revival, where the old
veterans collected, and the shout of triumph ascended to
heaven in remembrance of old days or of present joy, would
rouse his soul as the voice of the trumpet or the sound of
battle stirs the war-horse. It was amid Such scenes that
the ardor of youth kindled afresh, and even in his later
years incited him on to new engagements and victories.
While his attachment to the preachers ripened into inti
mate friendship with only a select band, his sympathy
extended to the whole body ; especially to those who were
so unfortunate as to be poor, oppressed, strangers, and who
were hence necessitated to struggle against grave obstacles
to obtain a foothold in the conference. Others, the favored
sons of fortune, might calmly witness the pressure upon
such junior brethren and have no tear to shed over their
rent hearts, their crippled energies, their fallen fortunes ;
but Jonathan D. Bridge never remained an indifferent
spectator of such scenes. He had experienced all these
disadvantages himself. Entering the conference as he did
poor and friendless, and being obliged by many a struggle
to reach the position he occupied in later life, his heart was
moved by a sacred, irrepressible sympathy for those young
men that ascended by the same path.
Because of a few faults, he could not consent to cast a
brother overboard who chanced to be indigent, unwary, or
without companions to lend him the helping hand in the
hour of need ; let these facts become known, and the sym
pathies of Brother Bridge were at once enlisted in his behalf,
and his powerful voice was uplifted in his defense. An
incident which occurred several years since in his conference

360 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
will illustrate this point. The conference was engaged in the
examination of character. One of the presiding elders, who
happened to have the majority of the young men on his
district, .although a good man, was not blessed with the
soundest judgment, or with a superabundance of sympathy
for others. -'The bqys" had somehow, whether wickedly
or righteously, come to dislike him, and regarded it as a
great penance to be placed on his district. He perhaps
knew something of this state of feeling, and, it may be,
thought no better of the lads for their restiveness. Be that
as it may, when he was passing them through the confer
ence he handled their characters with a great- deal of sang
froid, very much as a butcher would the lambs he was
driving to the slaughter. They all winced under the treat
ment, but of course felt obliged to keep silent. Being
strangers to the majority of the conference, no orie inter
posed to remonstrate or demand an explanation. But all
this time Bridge grew nervous, restless, his flushed cheek
and kindling eye indicating to the spectator the existence of
an internal struggle that must soon burst forth. In a
moment he sprang like a tiger to his feet, and poured on
the head of that erring brother such a torrent of just cen
sure, of merited rebuke, of biting reproof as amazed the
whole conference and brought the ecclesiastical culprit to
his senses. No man, especially no young man, heard that
speech who did not love Brother Bridge better ever
afterward.

NATHANIEL EMMONS.

As life wears a charm, so does its review afford us
pleasure. We love to look back over the vista of human
pilgrimage, flickering with sunshine and shadows, to see
from what beginnings a man sprung; to witness his joys
and sorrows, his progress in his work, and his final attain
ment or failure to attain his coveted object. From this
review, too, are gathered some of our most useful lessons —
the prophesies that go before on our life and course of con
duct — the primitive surveys that point out the obstacles
and advantages that will be found. along our path in years
to come.
I propose to give a sketch in this paper of a celebrated
country preacher, who attracted in his day the notice of the
theological world, and the even thread of whose life, though
he followed not us, we delight to follow, the late Dr. Na
thaniel Emmons, of Franklin.
He was born in Haddam, Connecticut, in 1745, a region
of country, hallowed as the birthplace and early home of
David Brainerd, Dr. Griffin, Dr. Nott, and J. B. Taylor.
This old agricultural community, the seat of the virtues and
of common sense, seems well adapted to nurture hardy and
adventurous genius, to discipline the mind for life's earnest
conflicts, and to mellow and prepare the heart for great
usefulness. Young Emmons realized these advantages,
though he never loved rural employ. Quite early in life
his father intended to give Nathaniel a liberal education,
and to allow him to enter some one of the professions ; but
on witnessing his volatile, trifling spirit, he changed his
mind, and determined to sober his views by making him a%

362 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
, farmer. At this idea, however, his young mind revolted, for,
as he frankly confesses, he never loved labor, and always
intended in some way to escape it if possible. Hence, he
set himself at the work of contriving some method to attain
an education by his own efforts. Where there is a will
there is a way, and Emmons had a will to lead a more
scholarly life, and, sure enough, the way soon operied before
his faith and hard efforts. He about this time accidentally
fell upon a Latin Grammar, which he committed to memory,
and very soon found a neighbor who kindly offered to pre
pare him for college. The opportunity was seized with
avidity, and after about a year of persistent and earnest
study he entered Yale, not, of course, with the best prepara
tion, but passable, so that with vigorous health and untiring
endeavors he was able to stand up tolerably in his class
beside embryo judges and governors.* He subsequently
engaged in school-teaching, then studied theology with Dr.
Strong, of Coventry, was in the mean time enabled, as he
thought, to entertain a hope in Christ, and in 1769, at the
age of twenty-four years, was licensed by the Hartford As
sociation as a Congregational minister. Three years later
he received a call from the Second Church in Wrentham,
which he accepted. Some objections were made in the
council to his theological notions, which came near prevent
ing his settlement ; these were his " new divinity" views,
which had been imbibed from Dr. Smalley and the elder
Edwards. His sentiments then on the subject were in em
bryo and by no means elaborated, as'they subsequently be
came by his own and the pens of Hopkins", Edwards, and
Bellamy. But he was not the man to yield his honest con
victions, and hence the council came to a sort of compro
mise, by which he was settled in Wrentham,f where he
* Governors Treadwell and Trumbull were in the same class.
t His parish in 1785 was set off, and took the name ofthe great Ameri
can philosopher. Dr. Franklin was then in Paris, and received a note in
viting him to give the town a bell. To this he characteristically replied,
that as he hoped they preferred sense to sound, he would give a library,
which in due time came, along.

NATHANIEL EMMONS. , 363
remained in the same church, in the same house, in the
same study, in the same chair for sixty-seven years, of
which fifty-four years were spent consecutively as active
and sole pastor of the Church. At the age of eighty -three,
when most men would have been twenty years in their
graves, he resigned the pastorate with an intellect as vigor
ous, with a body as agile, and with a heart as genial as at
forty. Both at home and abroad, on the day of his resigna
tion, he was as acceptable a preacher as he had ever been, and
hence his retirement took his Church by surprise. But he
was accustomed to say, " I meant to retire while I bad sense
enough to do it."
Dr. Emmons was thrice married. First, to Miss French,
of Braintree, a lovely woman, to whom he was ardently
attached, and who became the mother of two children. She
went with him to Franklin, to taste the early joys and sor
rows of pastoral life ; and although they experienced the
trials incident to the life of a young clergyman, and the still
sorer ones growing out of the war of the Revolution, which
was then breaking out, and which bore heavily on all in
the vicinity of Boston, they spent together three delightful
and happy years, at the close of which she was very suddenly
stricken down by death; and about two weeks later both
her children died in a single day, leaving Mr. Emmons a
bereaved, heart-broken, and lonely man. He felt the
bereavement most deeply ; his heart rose against the gov
ernment of God, and he felt 'himself verging upon the bor
ders of insanity, when, struggling in prayer, a new light
burst in upon his soul, and his agitated mind became
tranquil under the assurance that God doeth all things
well. Two years later he married the daughter of Rev.
Chester Williams, of Hadley, Mass. She lived fifty years
after her marriage, became the mother of six children, all of
whom are deceased but one daughter, and departed this
life in 1829. In 1831 he married the widow of Rev.
Edmund Mills, of Sutton, who still survives. Thus was his

364 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
life checkered by light and shade, by joy and sorrow, pre
senting that varied experience which is designed and adapted
to disengage the affections from earth and discipline them
for heaven. He died in 1840, at the advanced age of
ninety-five. When Dr. Emmons came to Franklin he purchased a
farm, as was then common with clergymen. Hence, he
lived out of the center, on a quiet road, undisturbed by the
bustle of business or the intrusion of visitors. There he
was alone, and at the very opening of his ministry he
looked about him to see where his strength lay. He
- observed his harsh exterior, his feeble and inflexible voice,
his somewhat awkward movements in the pulpit, his lack
of the graces and the flow of elocution, and hence came to the
wise conclusion that he could never become a taking,
popular speaker, whose imagination and manner could
electrify and captivate an audience. Despairing of attain
ing this end he resolved to be an instructive preacher, to
dive deep and bring up the pearls of truth, which are in the
end sure to influence men.
His first business was to make all external arrangements,
all his temporalities bow to this high behest. He resolved
to have nothing to do with secular affairs. A friend was
hired to purchase his farm and put the house in repair, and
he never entered it till the day he moved into it. Once
there, he kept his hired man, who tilled his land, cultivated
his garden, took care of his stock, harnessed his horse, etc.,
while he only gave a general superintendence from his study
window. During the fifty-four years that he was pastor he
never wrought an hour in the garden, never did a chore,
never even harnessed his horse. Few would have persisted
in such a course through the obstacles that he encountered.
During the war help was scarce and high, he was involved
deeply in debt, his salary was but partly paid, in a depreci
ated currency ; almost a necessity was laid upon him to
labor ; but he persistently refused, not from a dislike, but
from policy. If he began there would be no end to it, and

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 365
his charge would soon complain that he was becoming too
secular. This he never intended they should be able
to say of him. An anecdote will illustrate his unbending
resolution. His men, one day, had mowed a large amount
of hay, which was likely to be wet by a sudden shower
unless he would assist in securing it. On ordinary occa
sions they knew it would be useless to ask his assistance ;
but how, as the emergency was so pressing, the loss consid
erable, and all to be his own, they ventured to go to his
study, and expressed fears that the hay would get wet. He
made reply in- this abrupt but impressive style : " Let it get
wet then ; I am not going to leave my work to do yours."
But to attain any great renown there were yet great diffi
culties in his way. He was absent from scenes of excite
ment, from the thoroughfares of business, where multitudes
congregate, and the soul is stirred to unwonted vigor and
almost miraculous achievements. He was aside from
chances for factitious greatness, on the even plain where all
ascent must be by growth, where no counterfeit would pass.
Some men are great because in an explosion of the social
volcano they have been accidentally thrown to the high
places of power ; they are pigmies perched on an alp,
reminding us of the bold cliff that reposes upon the Himalaya,
looking out by reason of this advantage upon the waste of
eternal snows. Not so with Emmons. He towered up in
his own proper manhood, stood upon his own foundation,
and never wished to use the stilts of other men, nor even by
an accidental association with them to lift himself into
notice. His was a greatness that needed no such aids, that rose
far above the mass of great men around him, and that stood
out in quiet, subdued grandeur to the gaze of the world. In
that retired town, in his quiet way, and by long continued
effort, he brought his name before the Christian world, and
engraved it so conspicuously and surely, that only the fires
of the judgment will be able to obliterate it.
Emmons was a man of strong convictions and an indom-

366 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
itable will, which gave to his character an aspect of stern
ness, of chilly dignity. What he undertook to do he did
not readily give up. This was no evanescent resolution
that blazed out during a few weeks of excitement, a mere
blustering which is sure to end in defeat ; but a calm con
test with obstacles, a well-planned siege that would starve
them, and fairly wear out their last shreds of patience. At
the outset his calm, cool intellect counted the cost, and his
steady nerve, his mighty will never gave back in the hottest
of the battle ; coipe life or death, he braved it to the teeth.
To the decision of his judgment, in all matters within the
reach of the human mind, he was accustomed to give im
plicit confidence. Nothing but reason and the Bible were
authority. No weight of character, no must of antiquity or
catalogue of precedents, gained his credence. Reason must
see the subject, or God announce it, else he would not trust.
But when once an opinion was formed, when he had scanned
its grounds arid reasons, and found all sure, it possessed
with him all the weight of a divine revelation ; it was firm
as the hills, and he would cling to it if heaven and earth
passed away.
This gave him a kind of haughty confidence in his own
creed, made him speak as though all his tenets were the
accredited verities of heaven, and caused him to think dis
paragingly of all other creeds. It inspired a -confidence in
his own efforts, made him feel and see his greatness, and
occasionally to think of it aloud.* It caused him to stand
aloof from his brethren of other sects, to refuse to co-ope
rate in many plans in his own sect, to 'stick to his own
views, and keep at it.
But there are other men who have decisive opinions and
yet lack the courage to carry them out. They hate other
creeds, dislike other sects, and depreciate other talents as
* A Universalist onee replied to a sermon of his, and published the ser
mon and reply in the same pamphlet. A friend asked him what he
thought of it. " It is against the law," said he, " for Moses says, ' Thou
shalt not plow with an px and an ass together.' "

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 367
much as he did ; they wish them out ofthe way, in private
say so and act so, but lack the nerve to come out boldly in
their opposition. The doctor, however, possessed a will
that never shrunk from the open field ; he carried on no
guerilla, no mere Indian skirmishes in ambush ; he showed
his colors, and gave a fair fight. By his boldness he gave
v the enemy to understand that he had resources so immense
that he was not afraid to risk his cause, there was no danger.
The wills of some individuals remind us of some modern
limited monarchs, who are so beset with checks and coun
selors as to become mere automata in the government ;
that of Emmons sat upon the throne with the dignity and
sway of an autocrat, unwilling to be trammeled by another,
and affirming, with the hero of New Orleans, " I take the
responsibility ;" and great was the obstacle that did not
bow before him.
This enabled him to triumph over obstacles. We see it
m his managing his secular affairs, in his opposition to his
opponents, in his rule over his appetites and passions, and
in his management of men.
To opponents, though sometimes supercilious and over
bearing, he was generally fair in argument, giving them all
they could Reasonably ask, and never taking advantage of
any unguarded point or slip of the pen. He marched
squarely up to the main question, clearly and conspicuously
stated his arguments, and endeavored to make it plain to
them that they were in error. When once engaged he was
not always merciful. His arguments were burnished
weapons, the genuine Damascus blade, arid to him were so
handy that he did not always like to lay them by, after
taking the fortress, till the rebels were -put to the sword.
This, however, occurred only when the provocation was
great, or he wisbed to give any salutary lessons to others.
By this species of open warfare he kept all other sects out
of town as long as he lived. They did not like to meet his
colossal intellect in an open contest; and they knew if they
came they must do it, or he would make them a by-word.

368 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
The trial was often made, but he as often nipped it in the
bud; so that while the sirocco of Unitarianism and Univer
salism was swaying over all the region, and blighting every
green thing in the heritage of the Lord, the energy of a
single mind beat it off, and left Franklin a kind of Goshen
in the midst of the -plagues.
But if at times his hand was a little heavy on others, it
was still more so on himself. His appetites, which the ex
perience of the world has proved the most insubordinate sub
jects, he ruled steadily and constantly. In an age when ar
dent spirits were freely used he abstained almost entirely ;
seldom drank tea or coffee, and ate so simple a kind of
food, in such moderate quantities, that he was able to study
from twelve to seventeen hours a day with scarcely any
exercise, and yet to live to a very advaced age. He
remarked that hardly during his entire ministry had he
taken a meal when his appetite was not as good at the
close as at the beginning. This preserved the spry and
agile movements of youth away along into age, never per
mitting him to sink down under the weight of years and
ailments, but brought on a gradual seasoning till the
grave found its prey but a bundle of dry muscles and
bones. His . will kept him steadily at his studies from green
youth to the very year of his death. He seldom traveled,
seldom visited, except the sick called for him, seldom left
his study for anything but his meals, his rest, and his
parochial duties. He was once seated in his parlor with
a maniac, who was engaged in earnest argument to show
that he was living in the other world, and among others, and
as a final proof, he remarked : " You have evidence of it
in the fact that Dr. Emmons is here. In the natural world
he was never known to be out of his study."
Another trait in the character of Dr. Emmons, that gave
him great power, was singleness of purpose. He never
dreamed that he possessed a universal genius, or that he
could shine in all departments of life. » In some positions

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 369
he felt that he should be a small man, while at the same
time he fully believed that in some one sphere he might be
able to leave his mark on the world. And that sphere he
early thought to be the pulpit, where he could unfold the
counsels of heaven to men, and, because imbued with that
kind of " wisdom, still teach the people knowledge."* He
did not attempt all sorts of pulpit effort. He made "no
pretension to oratory, to excite the imagination, or to move
the feelings ; his forte was with the intellect. He could
instruct, reason, and weigh truth. He made no pretensions
to be a politician, a financier, a statesman, or a general
scholar. His study was theology, a mere province of litera
ture, but that department he cultivated to great perfection ;
and probably one grand reason of his success was the fact
that he undertook so little, attempted to do only what he
could perform well. His studies embraced some other
topics, to be sure, besides theology, but it was only as they
were related to that science. He attempted a critical and
extensive acquaintance with nothing but his chosen science,
although he, no doubt, did attain incidentally quite general
and extensive views of many other subjects. But they
were by the way, and were no integral part of his plan.
Dr. Emmons was an independent man. He was himself
in all things, and fell into the right pew when he became
an Independent. He copied no one, though he resembled
many. He was independent in thought, made his own creed,
formed his own opinions, struck out his own style of life,
in a degree seldom done by any man. It may cost some
men little to be independent in thought, since they have
only a small amount of this kind of stock invested. With
Emmons, however, it was otherwise. He thought a great
deal, and to be independent in that thinking cost an outlay
* Eev. Thomas Williams was invited forty years before his death to
preach his funeral sermon. He soon prepared a sermon on the above
very appropriate text, which he used occasionally to read to the doctoi
when they visited together. The doctor would object to some passages,
when he would be informed that a dead man had no right to speak.
24

370 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
of energy and time. The elder Dr. Be'echer once remarked
to .a southern gentleman, that " Dr. Emmons for the last
fifty years had done more independent thinking than all the
ministers south of the Potomac." He used to tell his stu
dents, and others whom he advised respecting their studies,
to think independently. " Young ministers," he would
sometimes say, " feel themselves weak and lame, and think
they must use crutches. But if they would ever do any
thing in the world they must learn to walk alone. I once
used crutches, but I have thrown them away ; I can remem
ber the day when I threw them away." With him the an
tiquity of a creed or the sanction of great names that had
been attached to it, were no evidence of its truth. He
must measure it with his own line, scan it with his own
reason, and see for himself that it was based on the immu
table foundations of truth ; then it was a fixed fact, a great
settled principle so far as he was concerned, that he no
more thought of disturbing than he did of removing the
Mendon hills.
Whether many or few embraced his views of a subject,
was a matter entirely immaterial. He was not afraid to
stand alone, and never was shaken in his views, though all
the world was on the other side; and the very fact that he
was an independent thinker often gave him the chance to stand
alone. This gave him no alarm, but rather then it was
that he exhibited his peerless grandeur. If men scorned his
views, they at least satisfied him, and on them he found
permanent repose.
Nor was he afraid to announce his convictions. He
cherished no thought that he was not willing to proclaim
upon the house top. No matter how many or who they
hit, whether popular or unpopular, they came forth, and the
world had an opportunity to test the truth of them. Only
convince him of the truth and propriety of a scheme or an
idea, and he would announce it to the world though all the
elect angels stood in his way.
He appeared upon the stage at a time when his own denomi-

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 371
nation were united to the state, when the people were taxed
to support Congregational clergymen ; and when, too, a large
mass of the Churches believed the Gospel could be sus
tained, and the pulpit filled with able ministers, in no other
way ; but he did not hesitate to denounce the system as a
useless appendage to the Gospel, as a corruption that devi
talized the Church, and that introduced worldly men into
the sacred office.
In his day the community used intoxicating drinks ; his
own members drank freely, his deacons sold it ; but that
made no difference; he denounced the practice in scathing
and burning words. New England then held slaves, his
own Church participated in the guilt ; yet he came out in a
sermon against the system in words so plain and in a spirit
so earnest that none could mistake him. As the result of
that sermon, one of his members released his slave, and she
became an inmate of his family during life. Nor was he
more sparing in reproving the neighborhood's sins that from
time to time shot up to the surface of society. Friend or
foe, no matter who might be the guilty individual, he looked
for no quarter from the stern old divine. He was made to
feel, "Thou art the man."
A theologian is naturally sensitive in regard to his own
creed, and if in any place cautious, will guard it ; Emmons,
however, fearlessly stated the most repulsive doctrines of
Calvinism in unguarded terms. To any view he .enter
tained, he was not afraid to give a loose rein ; to let it go
out to the world in the broadest statements, and carried to all
its consequences. He was no half-way man. His truth was
worthy of all acceptation, and there were some points in his
theology in which he differed from his brethren. In regard
to Church polity he could not go all lengths with them.
He was in the strictest sense an Independent, would have
each congregation a separate Church. He did not fear to
talk to his Congregational brethren on this wise : " Asso
ciation ism leads to Consociationism ; Corisociationism leads
to Presbyterianism ; Presbyterianism leads to Episcopacy ;

372 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
Episcopacy leads to Roman Catholicism, and Roman Ca
tholicism is an ultimate fact."
But the reader of Emmons's works will constantly be
struck with another trait in his mental structure, namely,
a keen perception of truth in its multiplied relations. He
was the discoverer of some new points in theology ; but his
greatest and most valuable services were in exhibiting the
results of old truths, in showing the relations they sustained
to each other, and in reconciling different theories, or parts
of the same theory, that had been hitherto regarded as essen
tially at variance. He had not laid away so many facts in
his memory as some men, but few knew so well how to use
those already possessed. He saw the relation between. It
has been said that no man of his age saw so clearly the rela
tion of one truth to another as he did. This rendered him
a most convincing preacher, a transparent writer ; it enabled
him to rest with entire confidence in the conclusions he at
tained, and at the same time exerted an almost uncontrolled
influence over other minds. He made them see the truth
as a living reality before them, led it out from all the mazes
of error, and rendered it a very simple, plain, and lovely
object. Perhaps no minister ever lived who so completely
beat his sentiments into the heads and fastened them m the
hearts of his Church as Dr. Emmons. He made all so
clear that they could not escape his conclusions, without
some of his subtilty to revise his first principles.
Again, Emmons was powerful because he possessed a
number of qualities rarely combined in the same mind.
For instance, severity and mildness shot up in his nature
side by side. An onlooker would take him to be a stern,
ascetic old man, a fit inmate for some middle-age monas
tery, but entirely devoid of the qualities that would render
one au acceptable and useful minister. An intimate friend,
however, who could be let into his heart, would soon see a
mellow side to him. He knew well how to put on the repul
sive air, to bid men stand on one side ; he not seldom made
strong men tremble in his presence ; but he could relax and

NATHANIEL EMMONS. , 373
enter as keenly as any one into the social and familiar talk.
Men who came from a distance, and had hitherto known
him only by his writings, were not seldom surprised at the
exhibition of this trait in his character.
There was, again, a combination of quickness with judg
ment. This is a rare gift, which the Creator bestows on
hardly more than two or three individuals in any eminent
degree in an age. The possession .of these qualities renders
them marked men. They have an advantage over their
fellows, and are almost sure to attain high positions in so
ciety. We often see individuals of great penetration, of
quick and facile thought, but they lack ballast. They have
no judgment to profit by this advantage. We also observe
judicious men who are always safe, and maintain a great
influence by reason of their correct decisions ; but then they
are so long in making them that the more stirring men
take the wind out of their sails before they g4t them
announced. Napoleon was a man that could think quick, and do it
correctly. His decisions were almost oracular. As a re
sult, he soon rose to the height of power. Cromwell was
such a man. He knew what it was best to do, and at once
did it. Of the same style of intellect was Dr. Emmons.
All he did was done quickly ; he was nimble in body and
mind ; he spoke quickly but well ; acted on the first thought,
but wisely ; seemed to move from instinct, but with a steady
eye to the future. His short sayings often darted from his
lips like lightning, while they embodied wisdom that only
hours of study could develop.
Modesty and self-respect were equally developed in him.
At times, as you view him on one side he seems retiring,
ready to say, "I am the least of all saints;" but at the
proper season he was not ashamed to vindicate his apostle
ship. Dignity and simplicity were remarkably and beautifully
blended in his character. He could put on the airs of a
bishop, and with a little practice would have been able to

374 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
play off the metropolitan to good advantage, but he de
spised the whole thing. He would have felt belittled under
the cassock and the gown. He loved simplicity, delighted
in the habits of the common people, and enjoyed the scenes
and quiet pleasures of rural life. Lie never seems to have
had any desire for city life or for dignified place ; the old
rural town met his tastes, and a farm in a retired position
met his feelings better than the center.
It is still more remarkable that he was a reformer and a
conservative. Look at him from some points, and he seems
to lag behind his age, to value old things, to be obstinately
set against all the new-fangled notions. But this is the man
that remodeled the theology of the New England Churches,
that led off in the great .reforms that only now begin to
take hold on the popular mind, that looked ahead of his
age to the time when his blustering cotemporaries are
forgotten, and his own name brightens on the page of
history. A grave divine who has startled the worid by the power
of his thoughts and the charm of his voice, we should all
naturally like to see in his study and his pulpit, the en
chanted places where he elaborated his system, and where,
in burning words, he gave it utterance to the world. There
we should be likely to find him in his element, and this was
eminently true of Dr. Emmons.
His study was his home. There he had remained three-
quarters of a century, had become familiar with, and deeply
attached to all in and about it. He seldom sat with his
family, even for half an hour. The history of a day with
him was very simple and brief. He arose with the sun, or
before, read a portion of the Scriptures, and attended to
private devotion till breakfast ; after the morning meal he
returned to his table, and with a knit brow, and earnest
soul probed some severe theological question until the din
ner hour, then for half an hour, after dining, he would be
seen walking a quiet road, rather for the purpose of musino-
than of exercise, after which he entered his room and re-

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 375
mained till tea-time, and after that duty was performed till
the hour of retiring came. The history of every day was
alike, except some emergency called him abroad, or to visit
some sick member of his parish. The repetition of this
brief record three hundred and sixty-five times in a year,
and for seventy years, would be the external history of Dr.
Emmons. A friend once asked him, after his retirement from the
pastoral charge gave him leisure, why he did not amuse
himself by traveling a little about the country ; to which he
replied that he had become so accustomed to his study
that he did not feel at home or at e^,se anywhere else.
His study presented an image of his neatness and prder.
In person he was small, not over five and a half feet high,
but straight as an arrow, as one said, in every sense up
right. His apparel, the tout ensemble of his person, was
neat. In the study every book was in its place ; all were
put up neatly in the book-case but the one he was reading,
and that was replaced as soon as he finished the perusal ;
the chairs had particular places and positions, and even the
shovel and tongs were not allowed to be a moment out of.
their position.* It has been said that a man's intellectual
and moral character may be read by a view of his study.
Whether the remark be true 6r not, there was a striking
accordance between the study and character of Emmons.
The order that reigned there is seen everywhere in his writ
ing and discourse. He was quite in the habit of dividing
up his thoughts after the good old method of firstly and
secondly. Not only were his sermons and other writings
* When Dr. Harris, of Dumbarton, first went to study with him, he
sat by the fire, when a brand fell upon the hearth. He took the tongs
and replaced it, and then set them up with the shovel. The doctor im
mediately put them back. Soon another brand fell, and Mr. Harris
repeated his effort, purposely setting the tongs as before. The doctor
then very significantly said : " My younjr friend, as you are going to stay
with me, I wish to tell you, now, that I keep my tongs on the right and
my shovel on the left of my fire," a lesson which Dr. Harris confessed
" taught him to keep objects that differ separate, and to be accurate in
small as well as in great things."

376 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
marked by an orderly arrangement; even his briefest pray
ers, his conversations, his most vagrant thoughts, from a
steady and unbending habit, arranged themselves in line.
A thought out of place would do violence to his taste as
fully as a sin would to his conscience. He would as soon
have no thoughts at all, as to have them come tumbling
pell-mell into his brain, as they do with some men.
His great theme was theology ; all else was only incidental
or tributary. As he sat quietly for hours, and weeks, and
years in the same place in his study, the existence and at
tributes of deity, the nature of sin and holiness, the scheme
of redemption, election, reprobation, and Divine influence
were doctrines congenial to him, and that stirred his spirit
like the sound of a trumpet. And it is not strange, when
we consider his familiarity with those lofty themes, how he
drank in their very spirit, and grappled them with a zest as
a man would some delicious morsel, and persevered as
though he would prolong the pleasure they afforded ; when
these things are recollected it is not strange that he became
a giant in intellect, the lawgiver to his brethren. His
mode of life would render him great, if any decent basis
were given to build upon. Others might be like him if they
would pay the price. That is the hardest part of the whole.
In studying he took but one subject at a time, seemed in
capable, like some minds, of grasping everything at once, and
could not pass from one subject to another without embar
rassment. His subject once on the tapis, he took nothing
for granted, probed every question to the bottom, struck
out his general plan, and then read all he had that was worth
reading on the subject, and digested the whole into consist
ency, lopping off every excrescence and filling every chasm.
On the subject thus thought out, he generally wrote one or
more sermons that were sure to make their mark on the
people. One remarkable feature in his student life was his power
of attention, of continuous mental application, holding on
and never letting go. He held fist to an idea long after

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 377
others would unloose their grasp ; could look, as one said,
" half an hour at the point of a needle," and would never
give up while there was hope of setting the subject in a
clearer or stronger light. He could study from ten to
seventeen hours in twenty-four, could continue the same
constantly, so that during his long pastorate he hardly
permitted his mind to unbend or recreate. Hot and cold,
wet and dry, winter and summer, he was at it; the same
hard and busy student. Few men have the will that could
maintain such mental tenacity, and still fewer the physical
frame-work that would endure the fatigue and labor. He
possessed a body and mind well adapted to it; vigorous,
wiry, and athletic in body, his resolution pressed him on
to great and almost incredible exertions.
As a reader, Dr. Emmons was not rapid. He read only
the best and worst books on a subject, as he used to say,
that he might scan the whole, see the extremes of good and
bad, and learn the nature and strength of the arguments for
and against the truth. His motto was " Non multa sed
mullum" not to read a great many books, but to read them
carefully. He remarks: "Though I was fond of reading,
yet I was still more desirous of examining and digesting
what I read. I always found a disadvantage from reading
more than I could digest. This never failed to unsettle my
mind and give it a bias toward skepticism ; and I believe
that there is scarcely a circumstance that tends more
directly to turn learned men into skeptics, than reading too
much and thinking too little." " Steady, patient, persever
ing thinking," he once said, " will generally surmount
every obstacle in the search of truth."
From the above remarks, however, it must not be
assumed that he was a sparing reader in comparison with
the mass of modern students. A man that studied his'
hours, that devoted the entire energies of life to study,
would of necessity read a large number of books. But he
read only so many as could be completely digested, and
the contents brought down to the grain of his own mind.

378 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
In the theological world, he intended that no man should be
before him in the knowledge of the subjects it embraced ;
while in all departments related to that science he was
well-read, keeping his eye on .every new work or move
ment. He was generally ready in conversation on the
news of the day, both sacred and secular, and was a volu
minous contributor to the magazines of the time. To read
the .number of books he did would be no holyday effort ; but
to think out and digest all his quartos and folio's of learned
and ancient lore would prove an appalling task.
He was very fond of reading the ancients. Owen and
Howe, Tillotson and Barrow, were favorites. Baxter and
Doddridge fanned his piety and elevated his thoughts. "I
read these authors for the sake of the matter," he would say :
" they are more sentimental than modern preachers ; be
sides, they breathed a most pious and devout spirit, which I
wish to imbibe and transfuse into my own discourses." He
loved to read deep and well-written tragedies,, which dis
close the recess of human nature, and give access, by the
shortest road, to the springs of the heart. But hallowed as
the old study is by pleasant and stirring associations, we
must leave it, and follow the pastor of Franklin to the
pulpit. The Sabbath has dawned ; the church bell rings out mer
rily upon the clear, still air ; the people, taught to reverence
the holy day, flock to the sanctuary, and at the very
moment for service the neat, erect figure of the divine
moves along the aisle and enters the old high pulpit, from
which, with a dignified air, he looks down on his audience.
He rises and begins the devotions with a prayer elaborately
arranged, and embodying a brief system of theology — an
acknowledgment of God as the great author of our existence
and blessings, a recognition of his government and grace,
drawn out into all their relations to the present time and
occasion. The prayers through, and the praises hymned, the
speaker, with a quiet and careless confidence, arises and

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 379
reads his text with some introductory remarks, all very
pertinent, and leading right into the pith and core of his
subject. After announcing his subject — always a single
idea — he reads on in a level monotone, with both eyes
obstinately fastened upon the manuscript. His first
thoughts are simple, plain, neatly expressed, yet important.
The style is elevated, vigorous, and dignified, plainly the
outgrowth of manly thought, but destitute of the gorgeous
drapery of the imagination, and seldom adorned by even a
modest wild flower, plucked by the wayside. It flows on
in quiet grandeur, with a measured murmur like a magnifi
cent voice, or the march of a Roman army. By and by the
end of the sermon proper is reached, and then come some
four or a half dozen improvements that are nails in a sure
place — perfect clinchers, that drive the opposer to the wall.
These improvements were ingenious contrivances. They
frequently constituted the afternoon sermon. In the fore
noon he laid down his doctrine, in a few simple proposi
tions, plainly stated, that gained the ready assent of the
entire congregation ; but the knowing among them always
looked forward for some catch, and sure enough in the next
discourse it would come. From those careful and lucid
statements, all assented to, he would evolve a number
of unlooked-for doctrines or thoughts. The bait had
been swallowed, hook and all, and it was now quite too
late to repent.* By this method he often carried his most
repulsive tenets : being crafty, he caught men with guile,
and convinced them, against their wills, of the truth of his
theory. Admit the premises, and by a kind of dove-tailed
argumentation he would force you on to the conclusion.
He would shut you up to the faith. It was remarked that
Dr. Sanford was like a surgeon that paraded before the
*To one Birch, who prided himself on his skill in the pulpit, Emmons
said : " Birch, you don't know how to preach." " Why not ?" " Why,
you are just like an angler who flourishes his rod, throws out his hook
and vociferates, ' Bite, you dogs.' " Emmons exhibited neither line nor
rod till the fish was taken.

380 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
patient his instruments and explains their uses — how this is
the knife for dividing the muscles, this the saw for cleaving
the bone, and that the forceps for grasping the arteries — and
then amputates the limb. Dr. Emmons comes in quietly,
and before the patient knows it, the limb is off; the deed
done before he has time to object or become alarmed.
Of his power in the pulpit there are unmistakable evi
dences. He remained the pastor of the Church over which
he was settled in youth for fifty-four years, till admonished
by age that it was time to give up the work to other
hands. He early attained the confidence of his people, and
maintained that ascendency to the day of his death. This
is a remarkable circumstance that hardly finds a parallel in
the history of the New England Churches, and is more
striking when we recollect that it was done by pulpit power
solely. Some men by careful management, by their
social graces, by their good sense and worth of character,
maintain their standing With acknowledged mediocre pulpit
abilities. They have a worth, though not the worth we
anticipate in clergymen. But Dr. Emmons derived his
power wholly from the pulpit. He hardly pretended to be
a pastor ; was destitute of that ease and familiarity that win
the hearts of common men ; had airs and habits that were
repulsive ; yet he maintained an almost despotic sway over
his parish. They knew he could think and preach as few
men can ; hence he carried all before him.
The New England clergy of that time were no mean
men; there were giants in those days like Edwards, and
Bellamy, and Hopkins, and those of a later date hardly less
able ; but among his equals in age Dr. Emmons was a
Corypheus. His influence was almost unbounded. He
never ministered in a city place, never held high office, was
not obtruded by position on the notice of men ; he was but
a simple pastor of a rural parish, secluded, seldom mingling
with the crowd; but the eyes of all the clergy instinctively
turned to the old Franklin parsonage as the abode of
wisdom and power. He differed from most of his breth-

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 381
ren, had a system of his own, and would work in his own
way ; but in spite of all they loved to do him honor.
But he made an impression on the world. His name
flew on the wings of every breeze to distant lands. No
where, however, was he known as other than the great
American preacher. His pulpit sounded abroad his fame.
If space would allow, we could relate instances of the pro- .
found impressions made on the minds of strangers, as well
as on those of his own people, by his public efforts.
His was not only a pulpit influence, but almost solely
that of the intellect, of thought. He had no imagination,
was blessed with none of the gifts of the orator, possessed
but a feeble voice, was closely confined to, his manuscript, and
read but indifferently. There was but one source of power
in the desk left him, but that he wielded with the arm of a
giant. Men that heard him can never forget the quiet but
deep impressions his utterance made ; as he proceeded in
the development of his subject, all eyes, as by a charm,
were attracted to him ; strangers looked with mute atonish-
ment; silence, like that of the charnel house, reigned; old
men that during twenty years had listened to the re-
vealments of the oracle, gradually rose from their seats
and stretched their attenuated forms toward the speaker;
all was the result of simple, original, ingenious thought.
This last fact reveals the secret of his protracted popu
larity. He was more popular at eighty than at twenty-
five. Most of our ministers, and even the most popular,
when the glow of youth fades and the animal spirits flag,
enter on a swift decline, from which there is no retrieve.
Their power has been derived more from imagination, from
the charms of the voice, the beauty of style, or the anima
tion of maimer, than from thought. Hence, as the outer
man decays, their real strength departs, and they find them
selves at sixty in good health physically, but superannuated
in intellect. Emmons never had any of these adventitious
aids, these settings of thought; his power was always in
thought, " in itself considered." He " indoctrinated" the

382 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
people — a work that could be done only with the hand -of a
master — by his nimble faculties, long after age had shook
about him her hoary locks.
To assert of a grave divine, honored as the ambassador
of the great Head of the Church to guilty men, that he is
witty, may appear to the reader unseemly, and to afford a
somewhat equivocal compliment, if not a broad contradiction
in terms. Yet no bright and genial intellect whose percep
tions are clear, whose mental movements are quick, and
whose powers have been stirred by contact with the social
mass, exists without wit. One may indulge it and culti
vate it more than another; there may be shades of difference
in its keenness and edge originally ; but this whole class of
minds possess its eleriients, and are capable of bringing it
to great perfection. Wit is but a clear view of the resem
blances of objects that differ and the differences of objects
that resemble each other, so expressed as to awaken both
surprise and pleasure. Hence, when we say that Dr. Em
mons possessed a clear and discriminating intellect, we
affirm in other words that he was facetious, or had the
power to be so, and we can hardly think him the worse
divine for possessing this quality, albeit some whose souls
. were never kindled by such jeux d'esprit are disposed to
charge him hardly. They are of the morbid class, in whom
the wheels of life move sluggishly ; men that are nurtured
under a cloud, and are seldom made to leap in the joyous
sunshine, or are even thrilled and delighted by the tints of
the rainbow amid the breaking clouds.
But the indulgence of a little facetious humor kindled in
the stern, ascetic soul of Emmons a new light ; the blood
took a quicker pace, the animal spirits flowed more freely,
the mind became more elastic, and thus were several years
added to his life. Without it he could never have been the
man he was, either physically or intellectually. He who
never, for seventy years, took an hour's exercise for its own
sake, who could study during all those years, on an average,
ten hours a day, and who, in the midst of it all, could

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 383
retain the mellowness and freshness of life, must have
some lubricating oil for the mental and physical machinery.
It was in private, in the seclusion of his study, amid the
scintillations of his wit, that the stranger saw a bright and
beautiful side to his life. He had perhaps previously read
his sermons, he had traced the links of his mighty reasoning,
and had observed that he was a stern metaphysician that could
dwell for years in the dry region of definitions, of first prin
ciples, of hair-splitting, a kind of mental salamander that it
would be dangerous for mortals to approach. With sur
prise then he found him a genial man, full ofthe sympathies
and fellow-feeling of our common manhood. The exterior
was rugged, like the bark of a cinnamon-tree ; but whoever
was able to pierce the surface, found within an intense
sweetness. He was a man, after, all, like others ; but
clothed in an impervious mail, which he was pleased only
occasionally to throw off and to exhibit his manhood ; and
he was well aware that some, who were not personally and
intimately acquainted with him, regarded him as devoid of
the milder graces. When one of this class remarked to
him, " I have come several miles out ofthe way to see you,"
he smiled and said, " Now you see the bear. Men go out
of the way to look at me as if I were a wild beast. But
see, I have no horns."
This anecdote reminds me that his wit sometimes took
the character of biting sarcasm. When a young clergyman
had preached a whole system of theology before him in a
single sermon, the doctor asked him, on his leaving the desk,
if he ever intended to preach again ; and when he replied in
the affirmative, the doctor asked, " What have you got to
say? you have preached about everything this morning."
He had a neighbor that indulged atheistical notions, and
who was sometimes a little pompous in the display of his
dialectics, and who was especially fond of proposing his
queries in the presence of ministers. He was one day in
company with Dr. Emmons, and with the gravity of a
sage asked, " Dr. Emmons, can you tell me what I am to

384 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
understand by the soul of man V " No," was the reply,
" I can't tell a man that has not got any." An intemperate
grandson of a friend of Dr. Emmons accosted him in a
crowd, and endeavored to give the impression that he was
familiarly acquainted with him. But he did not receive the
recognition which he expected. " What," said he with some
chagrin, "do you not know me, doctor'? I have held the
stirrup for you to mount your horse many a time when
you were at my grandfather's." " You look as if you had
not been in such good business since," was the cuttmg
reply. A certain divine, the junior of Dr. Emmons by several
years, and one that was under some peculiar obligations to
him, was extremely fond of putting on the metropolitan airs
in the presence of the country pastor. For a while this
domineering treatment was . endured with patience, till
patience ceased to be a virtue. Having read Dr. Em
mons's sermon on the Atonement, which was then meeting
with some opposition, he sent the pastor of Franklin the
following epistle, which seemed a little too laconic, magiste
rial, and patronizing to comport with the apostle's direction
for the treatment of elders : Mayl.
My Dear Brother, — I have read your sermon on the
atonement, and wept over it.
Yours affectionately, A. B. C.
These admonitory words were no sooner read than the
following reply was written, and sent to the office : May 3.
Dear Sir, — I have read your letter, and laughed over it.
Yours, N. Emmons.
This was, at least, a short way of admonishing him of
their mutual relations, and that a brother is to be reasoned
with before he is wept over.
A young clergyman, who had preached a pompous dis-

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 885
course before the doctor, in private requested his paternal
criticism. The critic, ninety years old, rose from his chair,
protruded his chest, inflated his cheeks, raised his eyebrows,
and after a significant puff sat down without saying a word,
but smiling at his useful pantomime. To another he said,
" Your clock has struck twelve the first time. Fools will
complain if it do not strike thirteen next." To still another
he remarked, "Your sermon was too much like Soekonk
Plain, long and level." A somewhat confident man, that
had swerved a little from the faith, said to him at a public
dinner, " that .every tub must stand on its own bottom."
" Yes, yes," added the doctor, " but what will those tubs do
that have no bottoms 1"
Being asked by a young preacher, whose sermon on the
preceding Sabbath had not entirely pleased him, why
"young clergymen felt so small after visiting him," he
said : " Because they felt so large before."
But this species of thorny wit was brought into requisi
tion only to sting those obtuse intellects that had a hide
like that of the rhinoceros, and that refused to bow to rea
son ; a kind of dernier resort that never failed him in the
time of need; and though this kind of exercise did no vio
lence to his better feelings, yet he loved to indulge that
genial humor that mellows the spirits, that adds a charm to
social intercourse, and becomes an excellent oil to the bones.
He loved to dart his arrows so that they should wound no one,
to excite the smile or outright laugh. But in all he knew
very well when to laugh and when to be sober, and was never
known to be intemperate or inappropriate in his humor.
Some witty ministers carry their wit everywhere, and be
come disgusting by exciting a smile when they ought to
shed tears. But Emmons never took it into the pulpit,
never indulged the disposition on the Sabbath day, never
seemed to forget its true use. It is said, that during his
protracted ministry he was not even once known to excite
a smile in the desk.
But his wit was the more admirable, because it sparkled
25

386 NEW, ENGLAND DIVINES.
with the gems of wisdom. It was not the mere crackling of
thorns under a pot, an indulgence of mirth that would ex
cite in us a smile at the time, but be sure to disgust on sober
second thought, and to lessen the dignity ofthe perpetrator
of it. His sayings had a meaning. They generally en
closed a pith and point, a breadth and keenness of view,
that would, on consideration, surprise and please. The
jocose remark would be found to contain a volume of wis
dom, to be an aphorism of great value. His conversations
were marked by a more sententious brevity than his writ
ings. He was in this, like Coleridge and Cecil,, a master at
table-talk, and our only regret is that these jewels of thought
were not collected by some friend and put into a casket
where they could be preserved for the benefit of the world.
The few that have been preserved will afford us some speci
mens of his witty wisdom. I shall not, in every case, se
lect them for the wit, rather for the wisdom ; and the reader
can judge whether they be not worthy to stand beside the
bon mots of Luther or Talleyrand.
" No man's character," he used to say, " will bear exam
ining ; every man has something about him to spoil him."
To a friend who was to leave, he said : " You must keep
yourself familiar with three ideas — the nature of sin, the na
ture of holiness, and your responsibilities to eternity."
"Of the two Edwardses the father had more reason
than his son, but the son was a greater reasoner than his
father." " Whatever President Edwards investigated for himself
he understood and mastered; but in his treatise on original
sin, he took his first principle on trust, and hence is like a
great horse floundering in the mire. The more he tries to
push through, the deeper he gets in."
• " The weakest spot in every man is where he thinks him
self the wisest."
" Great objects form great minds. Great men always
commit great errors."
" Reason is the same in God, in angels, and in men."

NATHANIEL EMMONS. 387
" There is not so much difference in men's ideas of first
principles and elementary truths as is commonly thought ;
a greater difference lies in their power of reasoning from
these first principles."
" Just definitions, like great distinctions, either prevent or
end disputes."
" The more men have multiplied the forms of religion,
so much the more has vital godliness declined."
" Everything that captivates will at length disgust, there
fore popularity cannot live."
Take the following for ministers : " Never try to do what
you know you cannot do ; never try to be what you cannot
be ; but try to preach better and better every Sabbath,
which you can do."
" So construct your sentences as to bring out your prin
cipal meaning as early as possible.; this will secure brevity
and perspicuity ; it relieves the mind of the hearer or reader,
and facilitates the entrance of ideas."
Being asked what was the secret of popular preaching, he
said : " So to preach as not to meddle with the hearer's
conscience." And again : " Preach with animation enough
to produce a great excitement of the natural sympathies,
which will make the hearer think he has some natural
goodness." " We are to judge of ministers, not only by what they
say, but by what they do not say."
" It is a great pity that some men who can preach so
well, do not preach better."
" Every one should study himself, and adopt such rules
of diet, and mental and moral discipline, as suit his peculi
arities." " Let your eloquence flow from your heart to your
hands, and never attempt to force it the other way."
" Every man carries a little world in himself, and by
knowing which he will be able to know the rest of mankind,
and to form a just estimate of human nature."
" I never could think well of a man's intellectual or moral

388 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
character if he was habitually unfaithful to his appoint
ments." " A man must not only know the truth, but know that
he knows it."
When asked what was the most important requisite for a
preacher, he replied: "That he be established in first prin
ciples." " Let your sermons and prayers have a beginning, mid
dle, and end. Keep your best and most important thought
to the last. The close of a sermon should be like a ship
coming into port with all sails standing."
" Be short. Better leave the people longing than loath
ing." " For attaining precision and perspicuity of style, first
consider what you have to say, and then say it."
" Preach upon your subject, not about it."
" Stand behind your subject, not before it."
" Let your sermon, like a sugar loaf, begin at a point and
widen to the end."
"Begin the study of divinity at the root, not at the
branches ; take the first principles, which are few and plain,
and follow them out in all their connections and relations."
But this paper is lengthening out too far, and will, I fear,
attain a too great resemblance to " Seekonk Plain." To
avoid so great a misfortune I will close instanter.

JOSHUA CROWELL.

Many readers, especially our aged ministers and mem
bers, will be pleased to have some account of this veteran
of the cross, who early entered the itinerant ranks in New
England, arid who has recently been removed from the
scene of his labors to his heavenly reward.
Joshua Crowell was born in West Brookfield, Massachu
setts, September 15, 1777. His parents, who were both
members of the Presbyterian Church, maintained pious and
consistent lives, were strict in the observance of the Sab
bath, in their attendance on the means of grace, and in the
government and instruction of their family. The children
were early taught forms of prayer, which they repeated
morning and evening ; and while very young committed to
memory the Lord's Prayer, the Ten Commandments, the
Westminster Catechism, and the Apostle's Creed, a plan
which in the present case was attended with the happiest
results, as it imparted a religious tendency to the minds of
the whole family.
Joshua was the subject of serious impressions when not
more than eight years old. At that period he was not only
thoughtful, but felt an unusual happiness in his daily pray
ers, and a sweet childlike assurance that he was embraced
in the Saviour's love. But as it was an experience unrecog
nized by the creeds and the faith of the Church, and hence
not cherished by pious instruction and counsel, as it should
have been, it grew dim as life advanced and the pleasures of
the world engrossed the mind.
At the age of fifteen, however, those impressions were

390 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
revived by the death of a sister, and still further deepened
a year later by the sudden and painful death of his father,
who among his last words exhorted the sou to seek the
Lord. This dying request, made under the impressive cir
cumstances, left a deep impression on his mind, which ma
terially aided his ultimate decision to seek the salvation of
his soul.
After his father's death the cares of the farm and the
family devolved in a considerable degree on him, as his
elder brother was away at college. Desirous of securing
further mental improvement, he attended the Leicester
Academy during one or two terms, which awakened in his
mind an intense desire to obtain a complete education; but
this course seemed to be incompatible with the duties of
home. The affairs of the farm in his absence had become
considerably disarranged, and his mother's appeal for his
aid induced him to relinquish the design of pursuing his
studies in the schools, and to return home to comfort his
widowed mother, who had been especially commended to
him by his father at the time of his death. After this change
of purpose, his ambition aspired only to make a good, well-
to-do farmer.
But Providence cherished other purposes, and was bring
ing about that train of influences that would change the
whole course of his life. The itinerants of Methodism in
New England, then few and feeble, had begun their crusade
through the land, rebuking all sin, and proclaiming a pure,
free Gospel to the perishing multitudes. One of them,
Rev. Reuben Hubbard, while sweeping his ample circuit,
called at the house of the widow to bait his horse, and, as
was his wont, spent the time in religious conversation,
prayer, and singing some of those beautiful lyrics of Charles
Wesley that have so often .enlivened and enriched the
services of Methodism. As he seemed to be a setter forth
of strange notions, they made inquiries about his doctrines
and the history of his sect, which he endeavored to satisfy,
and even proposed to preach if they would call the people

JOSHUA CROWELL. 391
together. Hardly deeming such a procedure proper with
out consulting the ecclesiastical authorities, they suffered
him to depart with the assurance that he would at a future
date preach, if a place could be secured in the mean time.
Not long afterward the Rev. Elijah Bachelor came for
the purpose of filling the appointment. As the people had
not yet ascertained the heresy of the new sect, it was not
thought improper to allow them to hold forth at the house
of the widow. Accordingly Mr. Bachelor opened to 2 Cor
inthians v, 20 : " Now, then, we are ambassadors for Christ,"
etc., and delivered so excellent a discourse that the people
were pleased with the preacher and his doctrine, and re
quested a continuance of his services. Having complied
with their request, the preachers continued their labors in
this field till a small society sprang up, on what was called
" Ragged Hill," and the little band became the nucleus of
the Brookfield Circuit, which plays no inconsiderable part in
the early Minutes, and which has been the parent of several
Churches and a number of distinguished ministers. Among
the former may be reckoned the Methodist Churches in
Brookfield, Hardwick, Ware, and perhaps other towns,
which were scions from that stock. From this garden, too,
sprang some of the best gifts of the Church, Rev. Asa
Kent, Isaac Bonney, and Sewall Lamberton, of the Provi
dence Conference, Rev. Joshua Crowell, the subject of this
memoir, and Rev. Jefferson Hamilton, of the Church, South.
Messrs. Kent and Crowell were converted about the same
time, under the labors of Mr. Bachelor. Under his plain,
pointed discourses the convictions of the latter became deep
and pungent, his old cloak of morality having been rent
away, and the sinfulness of his heart exposed under the
light of the divine word. He lingered for many days- at
the gate of repentance without daring to venture upon God's
mercy through Christ. And when he had given up all his
sins and cast himself upon the altar of the Lord, he felt no
assurance that he was accepted of the Saviour. Friends
told him he was forgiven, though he had not the witness in

392 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
his soul. But he could not rest in any such assurance. He
was jealous of his own soul lest he should be induced to em
brace a false hope. Hence, taking up the Bible he com
pared his experience with the sacred text, passage by pas
sage, till he became satisfied that he had passed from dark
ness to light. That light was not at first so great or clear
as he would have desired, but it was enough to afford en
couragement, and gradually increased till his whole soul
exulted in the divine illumination.
One of the best evidences that he had entered on the new
life is found in the fact that he felt a deep interest for the
spiritual welfare of others, and immediately engaged in the
labors appropriate to secure their salvation. He appointed
the first prayer-meeting that had been held in the neighbor
hood within the current generation, and conducted it in con
nection with Asa Kent. By reason of their zeal, activity,
and efficiency, in the absence of Mr. Batchelor the social
meetings were committed to them. This was the old style
of Methodist training, setting the 'new converts to work.
It was a good style. Under this regimen the profiting of
young Crowell appeared to all, and when the time arrived
to form a class he was constituted leader. From this
office the transition was very easy to that of exhorter and
local preacher.
On the subject of preaching he passed through an experi
ence similar to those of the elder Methodist ministry. He
began to exhort soon after his conversion, but " it was not
long before I began to have exercises about improving in a
more public manner, but kept them all to myself, thinking
it could not be that God would take such an unworthy crea
ture as I to call sinners to repentance. But it was not long
before .some of the preachers wanted to know if I had some
exercises about calling sinners to repentance. At first I
was not disposed to tell them, but after a while I told
them my trials. They said they thought I was called of
God to preach, and I must not keep back. I told them I
was afraid of going too fast.

JOSHUA CROWELL. 393
" Brother Brumley thought I had better go withhim around
the circuit and exhort some, and see how I felt. I concluded
to go, and went with him to New Salem. There I exhorted,
and one soul was struck under conviction and afterward
converted, which gave me some encouragement. I went
then to Orange, Winchester, Chesterfield, Keene, Rindge,
and Winchendon, and had comfortable times all along. At
several places Brother Brumley was a mind I should preach,
but I was afraid to undertake in view of my own weakness
and inability. But at Winchendon I ventured to try, and
took for a text Matthew iv, 17 : ' Repent, for the kingdom
of heaven is at hand.' " The sermon did not altogether satisfy
him, and he found himself in something of the predicament
of Bunyan when he thought his head in a bag. And what
added to the vexation was the profound and dignified silence
of Brother Brumley whenever he edged about to ascertain
his estimate of the performance. If he had been asked at
this time by Brother Brumley " how he felt," he would
have been likely to have given a lugubrious experience.
But he soon fell into more genial company. The vener
able Brodhead, who was then presiding elder, took him to
the Pomfret quarterly meeting, where he found a freer at
mosphere and preached more to his own satisfaction, and so
much to the liking of the elder, that he at once requested
him to supply the remainder of the year on the Vershire
Circuit, in Vermont. This request took him quite by sur
prise after the former rebuff ; but, like a true soldier, he
seized his saddlebags and- hastened to the field assigned,
where he labored to the acceptance of the people. Here,
for the first time, he witnessed displays of the divine
power after the style of early Methodism. The people
fell under the word sometimes in large numbers, and the
members lost their strength, recovering again extremely
happy. To him this was all new and strange, but the
result, as he thought, of the divine power accompanying
their ministrations. This was in the year 1800.
Vermont was at that time but sparsely settled, and the

394 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
houses were, in the rural settlements, built mostly of logs,
and so open that in winter the snow would often cover his
bed inNthe morning, and the stars be visible through the
roof. During the winter,.too, the unfrequented woods were
difficult to travel. Mr. Crowell once lost his way during a
severe snow storm in the mountains, and came near
perishing. At the close of the year he. repaired to New York, to
attend the sittings of the Conference, and joined in company
with a noble band, among whom were Elijah Hedding,
Thomas Branch, Seth Crowell, and Martin Ruter. Asa
Kent, his bosom friend, joined a year later, and Isaac Bon-
ney not till 1807. His first appointment was on Hanover
Circuit, embracing the central portion of the state of New
Hampshire, where his labors were abundant, but not more
so than his consolations. He often speaks in his, journal of
having gracious times in preaching.
In these days the preachers seldom remained a second
year on a circuit. Hence, in 1802 we find Mr. Crowell
on Brandon Circuit, in Vermont, having Rev. David
Stevens for a colleague. In 1803 he again attends Confer
ence, receives deacon's orders at the hands of Bishop As
bury, and receives the charge of Ashburnham Circuit, in
the state of Massachusetts. His feelings on this occasion
are evinced by the following observations : " This year I
have taken the charge of a circuit, which I feel to be a
great thing, and need a great deal of grace to perform its
duties. It is no small thing to be a minister of Jesus
Christ, and to take charge of the Church and govern the
same. ' Who is sufficient for these things?' Who is able
to instruct souls in the way to heaven, and guide them when
on the way 1 O ! how I feel insufficient for the work ; yet
if Thou hast called me thereunto, I rely on thy grace to
enable me to perform the same. O that I may find it
sufficient !"
In 1804 he was sent to Granville Circuit, embracing
the hill country of the state of Massachusetts, where he

JOSHUA CROWELL. 395
remained only a few months. He was then removed by
the presiding elder to the New London Circuit, to take the
place of Abner Wood, who had been suspended for enter
taining strange doctrines, as the washing of feet, kissing as
a mode of salutation, and the abolition of the Sabbath. This
was, in many respects, the most trying position he ever
held. Mr. Wood was a man of talent, and though sus
pended, still remained on the circuit, and had brought a
part of the Church over to his views. It was no small
compliment to Mr. Crowell that he was selected to stand in
the breach. His conduct justified the confidence which the
authorities reposed in him ; for his administration, at once
prudent and conciliating, but firm, repulsed the heretics, and
secured the Church. He entered on those difficult duties
with fear and trembling; but filled out a prosperous year.
His station in 1805 was on the Pomfret Circuit; 1806,
Nantucket; 1807, Rhode Island and Somerset; 1808, Warren,
R. I. In 1809, in consequence of feeble health and the cares
of an increasing family, he, like many of our early preach
ers, felt obliged to locate. This was, no doubt, the great
mistake of his life, as he came afterward to feel ; but at the
time it seemed to be the path of duty. He regretted,
especially in later life, that he did not, amid all the toils,
privations, and afflictions of an itinerant life, continue in the
traveling ministry. Llis own dear-bought experience in this
respect induced him to dissuade others from pursuing the
same course.
After his location he removed to Ware and engaged in
secular business. For a time his prospects of accumulating
wealth were flattering ; they were shaded, however, after a
season, and he passed through life with smaller means than
his firm business habits would under ordinary circumstances
have secured. Although going athwart the designs of
Providence, he felt himself so completely committed to the
currents of trade and business that retreat was not easy.
Hence he passed the remainder of his life in the course he
had chosen.

396 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
During these years, however, of secular engagements, he
maintained his interest in the Church, and in the capacity
of a local preacher did much to build up our cause in all
that region. Lie frequently preached in Ware, Brookfield,
Hard-vick, Belchertown, etc. It cannot be doubted that
these desultory labors in the churches were productive of
much good ; but at the same time his worldly cares tended
to moderate his zeal, and to render him much less useful
than he would have been in the traveling ministry.
While in the itinerant ranks, he not only stood well
among his fellow-laborers, but was eminently zealous and
useful, a bright and shining light, conducting many to the
cross. The venerable Amasa Taylor, in giving an account
of his first visit to Lunenburg, in 1803, observes that " a
number of souls were awakened' under his first sermon.
He was then a young man, and full of faith and love. His
zealous, powerful mode of preaching was new. One of
those awakened under this sermon was Barzillai Pierce,
who was for years a powerful preacher, but is now dead."
Under the same preaching Mr. Taylor was himself soon
after converted. If we may rely on the testimony of those
who 4?new him in his palmier days, his sermons were cer
tainly impressive, and instrumental in the conversion of
many souls. They were characterized by strength rather
than beauty, by a vein of good sound sense rather than by
lofty flights of eloquence, by abundant and apposite quota
tions of Scripture rather than by a learned and abstruse
philosophy. As a man, Brother Crowell was characterized by gener
ous feelings, by strength of intellect, and by a remarkably
sound judgment. We cannot doubt, that if he had con
tinued in the itinerancy, he would have remained prominent
among those ancient men who have come down to our
own day.
These qualities of mind and heart made him an agreeable
and valuable friend, a wise counselor and an unmanageable
controversialist. He was well versed in the Scriptures and

JOSHUA CROWELL. 397
in the interpretation of them, and when he wished to defend
his position, the right words and the appropriate proof-
texts were ever at hand. In the social meeting and in the
class also, his fund of Scripture truth, and excellent judg
ment in using it, always made him feel at home, and made
others also feel at home.
His attachment to the doctrines and usages of Methodism
was strong and unswerving. Amid all her reverses he
adhered to the Church, the identical organization that had
proved to him "a savor of life unto life." This course was
more remarkable from the fact that many who sympathized
with him on the subject of slavery became the enemies of
the Church that had been instrumental in their conversion.
He passed through days when Methodist preachers were
obliged to " fight with beasts at Ephesus," when the whole
people were taxed to support the standing order, and where
every second deacon would controvert their doctrines ; but
Brother Crowell exhibited an unyielding front. His
refusal to pay the tax brought on him the ire of the authori
ties, and they once sold his cow under the auctioneer's
hammer. But while he rebuked all opposers of Methodism, in
whatever form, he deeply sympathized in every movement
that clearly tended to promote the welfare of the Church.
Such was the cause of education. He was one of the
founders and trustees of the Wesleyan Academy, the first
seminary of our denomination in New England. Such, too,
was the cause of antislavery. In this, as in fact in all
the other reforms, he stood in the van in his own town,
never afraid to stand alone, if need be, on the platform of
truth. The writer recollects when there were but two or
three abolitionists in town ; but Brother Crowell was one of
those who beared to agitate and vote when such kind of
wares were at a discount. He was first, too, in tha temper
ance movement.
The last few years of his life were spent with his daughter
in Sturbridge, Mass., where he employed much of his time

398 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
in reading the Bible, prayer, and religious conversation, a
course which tended greatly to quicken his spiritual life, and
to bring out in all their original freshness his early experi
ences. He was always a great reader of the Bible, but he
now found the truths of this volume unfolding to his mind
with new and diviner beauties. In this state of triumphant
experience he passed several months, having complete vic
tory over death, and longing to depart to the certain joys of
another state.
With these delightful prospects, he departed this life at
Sturbridge on the 21st of July, 1858, in the eighty-first
year of his age and in the fifty-seventh of his ministry.
The friends assembled for the burial at the old homestead
in Ware. • Some remarks were made by the writer when
the remains were committed to the dust, with less of sorrow
than of subdued, chastened joy at the departure of a venera
ble patriarch who had fulfilled the duties of life and gone
to his reward in heaven.
Mr. Crowell was twice married: in 1806 to Miss Mercy
Lyon, an amiable and accomplished lady, who became the
mother of ten children, and died in the year 1822. In
1824 he was married a second time to Miss Sarah Negus,
who survives him, and who is sister to the wife of Rev.
Daniel Webb, the oldest Methodist preacher in America.
He leaves eight children, four sons and four daughters, all
of whom have been hopefully converted, and most of whom
are members of the Methodist Church. The oldest son,
Lorenzo, is a merchant in Lowell ; Joshua is a farmer in
Ware, Robert F. is a lawyer, and the other is the Rev.
Loranus Crowell, a member of the New England Confer
ence, and at present Presiding Elder of Boston District.

GEORGE PICKERING.

George Pickering was one of those marked, unique
characters whose outlines, when once observed, never
fade from our memory. Not a brilliant genius, born
to please the world by the coruscations of his wit, to
charm them by the creations of his fancy or imagination,
or to fasten ou himself the gaze of whole generations by
the power and reach of his thoughts, he yet possessed a
something that at once gained the eye and heart. One
felt at sight that he was a man of a thousand, possessing
that remarkable organization and those tastes and habits
that demand a re-examination, a closer inspection, to enable
us to ascertain the source of his great strength — a strength
resulting from a rare combination of noble mental and
moral characteristics.
Far along in the decline of life when we first enjoyed
the privilege of his acquaintance, he then presented a pic
ture of hale and genial old age, in which the lines of thought,
of care, of a half century of ministerial toil, were mellowed
and relieved by a blithe and hopeful spirit. The physical
man at this advanced age was not, as in most cases, a mere
burden that crushed the spirit, but remained firm' and
unshaken, a consecrated temple in which a pure devotion
was ceaselessly offered to God. A rigid adherence to the
demands of temperance and regularity, a due moderation of
the passions and appetites, the constant subordination of the
animal nature to the wants of the soul, afforded him almost
uninterrupted health, leaving the system elastic, the limbs

400 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
lithe and nimble, the whole frame spare and meager, and his
figure perfectly erect. As he rose up in the conference or
the pulpit, full six feet, adorned in the Quaker garb of the
primitive Methodist ministry, with every seam and part of
his dress in .order, and neat as though just received from
the tailor's, his head graced with his .own whitened locks,
combed precisely behind his ears, he presented to the
beholder a figure., venerable and imposing — the hoary head
before which the young instinctively rose up in reverence.
Like many of our early ministers, he failed to leave any
extended account of his life in writing, his record being in
the churches to which he ministered, and with the, souls that
through his instrumentality were brought to Christ. The
few scanty memorials that have floated down to us are to
the Methodist public exceedingly precious.
He was born in Talbot County, Maryland, in the year
1769; his youth was passed in the city of Philadelphia,
where, at the age of eighteen, he was converted to God.
Immediately after this event he commenced preaching the
Gospel, and in 1790 joined the old Baltimore Conference.
His first appointment was on the Northampton Circuit, in
Virginia. The next year he traveled the Caroline Circuit,
'in Delaware ; and the succeeding one that of Dover, in the
same state.
Lee in the mean time had gone to New England, to
' introduce the doctrines of Methodism among the Puritans.
In no degree daunted by the cool' reception he met among
the clergy and the people, he continued his toils with
unabated vigor, and from time to time called new recruits
to his side. At the date here indicated a noble band
clustered about him, whose names, in the annals of Method
ism in the East, have become as ointment poured forth.
Coming mostly from that old conservative conference, they
form a link that binds us to that body of noble men who
for a century have filled its ranks of effective laborers. Nor
were the men they sent hither in those times unworthy of
their parentage, but were the most effective ministers

GEORGE PICKERING. 401
known to Methodism in that day. Dr. George Roberts,
Daniel Smith, Jacob Brush, John Bloodgood, Nathaniel B.
Mills, Hope Hall, Joshua Taylor, Daniel Ostrander, John
Brodhead, Shadrach Bostwick, William Beauchamp, and
George Pickering, were something more than ordinary men.
Possessing strong intellectual powers, popular gifts, a
burning zeal, and courage that no obstacles could conquer,
they formed about Lee a formidable host that went out in
good faith to take the land. That the youthful Pickering
was detached from the more settled work at home to
become the associate of such noble spirits in this difficult and
perilous expedition, sufficiently indicates their appreciation
of his abilities and worth. They sent to this work no
disabled or inefficient men. The field was an important one,
and encompassed with difficulties so grave as to require the
first class of talent to obviate them, and sow those seeds of
truth that have since sprung up and produced a hundred
fold. Some twenty itinerants already in this field welcomed
their new associate to their conflicts and their victories.
His first appointment in the East (1793) was to the
Hartford Circuit, Connecticut. We pass rapidly over his
subsequent appointments : In 1794, Tolland ; 1795, Lynn ;
1796, Boston and Needham ; the four years following,
presiding elder on the New England District, including all
the Eastern states save Maine and Connecticut; 1801,
Boston, Lynn, and Marblehead ; 1802, Salisbury and
Hawke; the following four years, Boston District; 1807-8,
the city of Boston ; 1809, he was a missionary at large ;
then on Boston District again for four years ; 1813-14,
Boston; 1815-16, at Lynn; the ensuing four years again
on Boston District, and then three years missionary at
large; 1824, missionary at Newburyport and Gloucester;
the next five years missionary at large; 1830 — 31,Easton
and Bridgewater ; 1832, Lowell; 1833, Cambridge;' 1834,
Worcester ; 1835, Marblehead and Salem ; 1836, Charles-
town ; 1837, Watertown ; 1838, Watertown and Waltham ;
1839, Roxbury; 1840—11, Weston; 1842, Saxon ville;
26

402 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
1843, Church-street, Boston; 1844-45, Medford; 1846,
North Reading ; a " remarkable record of tireless travels,
labors, and privations in the work of his divine Master
during fifty-seven years. There is a severe and significant
eloquence in this bare recital of names and dates which no
comments can enhance."
He sat in all the General Conferences of the Church,
save two, that were held during forty years. In the delega
tions of 1836 and 1840, his name, which had on all preced
ing occasions headed the list, was superseded by those of
Orange Scott and Jotham Horton, who soon after led off
the secession from the Church ; but in 1844, as though the
remaining body would restore the old landmarks, again his
name appears at the head of the list, and he took his seat in
the highest assembly of the Church to witness the sad
catastrophe of its division. A member of the General
Conference of 1808, he held a place on the committee that
projected the plan of a delegated General Conference.
One of the most painful features of our economy in the
early history of the Church is found in the straits into
which it brought the preachers in regard to temporal support.
While they were compelled to be often and long absent
from home in traveling their extensive circuits, thus pre
cluding any secular arrangement by which to secure a
support, their salaries were meager at best, and often only a
small portion of them paid. The people were, as a general
thing, poor, the more able and intelligent classes having
already been embraced in the legal society ; and these poor
dissenters, who had been rescued by the itinerants from
the ditch, or the byways where the state-paid religion had
left them, in addition to paying their preachers, were obliged
to hand in their tax to support the standing order. Pressed
by these embarrassments many of the early preachers were
compelled to locate for the support of their families.
For Pickering, however, was reserved a more fortunate
lot. By a happy marriage, contracted after he entered the
Eastern states, he was ever relieved from those cares, and

GEORGE PICKERING. 403
enabled to prosecute his work without any of those anxieties
that often perplex and dishearten the way-worn itinerant.
This was a marriage with the daughter of Abraham Bemis,
of Waltham, Massachusetts, a man in good temporal cir
cumstances, possessing a delightful home, and who had
opened his doors to welcome the preachers to the hospitali
ties of the mansion as they came around on their large cir
cuit. This was one of the places where Lee, Asbury, Brod-
head, and their fellow-laborers were wont to turn aside in
their tedious and toilsome journeys, to repose for a time and
regain vigor for farther labors.. Hither came the youthful
Pickering for the same purpose, little dreaming that that ro
mantic and delightful homestead, together with one of its fair
inmates, would pass into his hands, and become one of the
sacred shrines of Methodism in the East. But it was even
so. Coming to share the hospitalities of the family, he at
once found himself interested in the daughter of his host,
and was doubly cheered to find that interest reciprocal.
The father gave his consent to the union of his daughter
with the itinerant only on condition that she should remain
at the homestead while he prosecuted his itinerant toils.
Assenting to this condition, which presents some hard feat
ures, and others that relieved them of their severity, they
were in due time united in the holy estate of matrimony.
The new home was established, and diverging from this
center he proceeded on his life-long itinerant labors. Few
men, perhaps, are so well adapted to an arrangement of
this sort as was Mr. Pickering. To most would the gentle
influences of home prove too strong for their sense of duty,
and gradually attract them from the wider sphere of labor
to enjoy the society of their own household. Such, how
ever, were the habits and the unyielding principles of Mr.
Pickering, that he pursued the even tenor of his way with
all the regularity of the sun for a lifetime.
His character was rigidly modeled after that of the great
founder of his sect. Wesley was his beau ideal of a man
and minister, the simple, yet noble character that always

404 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
lived in his memory and his heart, and in accordance with
which he was constantly striving to mold the materials of
his own nature. No man of his day saw more clearly tbe
strong points, the transcendent excellences combined in the
character of that great man, or strove more earnestly to
copy them. How far this endeavor was successful will ap
pear more clearly as we retrace the leading points in his
style of life.
Among the most notable of those traits was his self-
control, his perfect mastery of his own powers, passions,
and appetites. To the casual observer he seemed a Stoic
who had subdued his own nature, reducing it to that Roman
hardiness, that cold, marble precision that admitted of no
scope for the feelings, no yielding to the more gehtle and
tender sentiments of our nature. The fire seemed to have
been quenched, if indeed there ever was any, and the stony,
unyielding statue alone to be left to confront us. But all
this was illusive ; for, with all his rugged habits of order
and self-control, the fires of emotion stirred in the depths of
that heart, differing from those of others only in the simple
circumstance of being controlled, bitted, and bridled, and
kept in their place as menials of the higher life. There was
much in his mode of life to throw a man, at least at times,
from his even balance, and to show those about him that he
was not perfect master of himself; but Pickering was never
found in this plight. He took the journey ings, perils, toils,
changes, disagreeables, disappointments of an itinerant life
in a most cheerful and equable humor. Never over-much
elated by prosperity, he was never conquered by adversity,
but rose from every trial with a greater strength to dare
and to do for Christ. A man's self-control is most readily
revealed in a stormy assembly, or amid intense, almost un
conquerable obstacles. If that quality ever forsakes him it
will be at such a time. And we may safely conclude that
the individual who is able to resist the beating of such a
tempest will, under all ordinary circumstances, remain mas
ter of himself. In his long itinerant career Mr. Pickering

GEORGE PICKERING. 405
had some experience of this sort. He lived in the days of
the antislavery reform, and was a member of the same con
ference as Orange Scott. He was an actor in that famous
session of five weeks, passing through all those scenes that
harrowed up the soul of the sedate Hedding, " who was ex
cited," says a member of the body, " as I never saw and as
perhaps nobody ever saw him before or since ;" scenes that
rendered the whole body nettlesome, and that created an
intense, long-continued excitement through the land. But
in the midst of it all, the whole mass at fever-heat, stirred
like a boiling caldron or swayed like the ocean under the
pressure of the storm, Mr. Pickering remained calm and
staid, as though he felt not the billowy waves of excitement
which were beating all around, and brushing the barks of
other men far from their moorings. ". In the picture of the
old New England Conference at the Book Room, the figure
of George Pickering appears in the pulpit, seated, but erect
in body, calm, contemplative, aside in his niche, while the
conference are engaged in animated debate. That affords
a fair illustration of his character, of the native bent of his
mind. It was a happy hit of the artist to place him in
that position. It is George Pickering to the life.
He was a member of the General Conference of 1844,
which proved a severe ordeal to the spirits of men, and
which resulted in the severance of the organization. The
session opened calmly, as usual on like occasions, but as
they advanced to more important matters, touching upon
the slavery question as connected with the cases of F. A.
Harding and Bishop Andrew, the tide of feeling rose with
the magnitude of the subject in debate, till the majority of
the body were losing control of their reason and their
tongues, swaying to and fro under the general impulse of
emotion, yet nearly all apparently unconscious that they
were acted on by auy peculiar influence. The eccentric
Peter Cartwright insisted that they were inordinately ex
cited, almost red hot, and that " if applied to water they
would go phiz ! phiz ! phiz !" This state of feeling was not

406 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
surprising. The meeting was large, composed of many
able minds, which were stirred to terrible wrestlings by
questions that affected the integrity and honor of the. Church
and the glory of God.
But what a spectacle of more than Roman coolness and
deliberation was Pickering, in the midst of the swelling,
surging, overwhelming tempest, and yet unmoved, unexcited
by it all. He reminds one of the rock jutting into the sea,
which is often raked by the foaming tide, but which inva
riably maintains its position till the face of the sea grows
calm again.
A still more severe test of his self-control occurred in
the loss of his daughter, who perished with that ill-fated
Steamer Lexington, which was burned at night on Long
Island Sound. "The- intensity of the affliction was not
capable of enhancement, yet he stood firmly on his ministe
rial watch-tower, though with a bleeding heart, while his
family, but a few miles distant, were frantic with anguish.
Not till the due time did he return to them ; when it arrived
he entered his home with a sorrow-smitten spirit, pressed
in silence the hand of his wife, and, without uttering a word,
retired to his room, where he spent some hours in solitude
and unutterable grief."
Intimately associated with his /power of self-control were
those rigid habits of order, that disposition to reduce every
thing to an iron rule, to make everybody bow and conform
to the plan. When his appointment was received at the con
ference, a plan stretching over the whole year was marked
out in all its minutiae, and that plan was to be followed as
rigidly as though he had been a machine. He could tell ten
months beforehand precisely where he should be if not
providentially prevented, on what weeks and days he should
be at his station, at what times engaged in study or pas
toral visiting, and at what hour he would return home.
He could inform you how long it would take to make a
sermon, or how many pastoral visits he would make on
any particular day. He had a time to retire arid to rise, a,

GEORGE PICKERING. 407
time to eat and to pray ; in a word, a time for everything
and everything in its time. His nature was so trained to
obedience, that it never thought of flinching under any tasks
he set, any more than an instrument of iron would wince
under the pressure of heavy machinery. His mode of life
would have proved somewhat severe and ungenial to a new
beginner, but habit had made it easy to him. The bow
had been so long bent that it remained curved without ex
ternal pressure.
The figure of the old gentleman, as he used to sit in
conference, straight, neat, precise, still lives before our
mind. At the exact time for meeting he would be seen
marching quietly in, and taking his seat in the front slip at
the right of the center aisle. He always occupied the same
seat, and remained in it till the conference adjourned for the
day, without scarcely changing his position. His hair was
precisely arranged, his clothes neatly brushed, his shoes
blacked, almost as precise as though adorned for the king's
presence. There he sat, with his arms in a particular
position, head erect, and eye intent on the business of the
conference, for hours together. Nobody ever saw him at
conference in any other position.
In our annual gatherings he seldom spoke. When he did
his remarks were brief and pointed, but kind. He came not
to talk, but to act, a field in which he was ever ready for
service. His system was carried to an extreme, extending as it
did unyieldingly to all the little matters of his daily life,
which must ordinarily yield more or less to the circum
stances by which we are surrounded. In this direction, how
ever, there is generally less danger of our going astray than
in the opposite. His plan in itself was good, but it required
a flexible mind to work it easily and agreeably in general
society. It is a remarkable circumstance, that while so rigid in
his own methods he was lenient toward others. Such
men who have succeeded in bringing themselves under the

\ 408 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
yoke are frequently narrow-minded, angular, disposed to
impale everybody who will not adopt their methods of doing
things. Such persons soon become disagreeable to all with
whom they hold connection. But Pickering was singularly
lenient in his conduct and judgments of others, which served
to relieve the sharp edge of his angular habits, and to ren
der his company agreeable at all times.
His too was the gift of perseverance, the huge and burly
patience that could work and wait till all obstacles yielded
to his will. With him to undertake was to do. The way
might be long, the hinderances many, friends might falter
who began full of zeal at the starting point with him, but
he was sure to reach the goal even if alone.
Lie clung to the traveling ministry till the close of life,
entertaining a horror of location, or of being laid aside from
the active work. The days of his ministry were those that
tried the souls of brave men, many of whom were obliged
to yield to the pressure of their worldly concerns, and
many more were attracted to a more genial mode of life
than that afforded by the itinerancy. Pickering possessed
a home of many attractions, to which the mass of men as
life advanced, losing the elasticity of youth and experiencing
the infirmities of years, would have been gradually drawn,
demanding now a year's respite, and then an accommoda
ting appointment ; but his course was undeviating as the sun.
Never asking to be accommodated in his appointment, ho
yielded no more to domestic influences in age than in the
early years of his ministry. There was his orbit, through
which he wheeled with the utmost soldierly regularity.
The intellect of Pickering was practical, and hence well
adapted to work. He possessed nothing of the philosophic
grasp, none of those powers of extensive generalization
which would make him master of the fields of philosophy,
or enable him to seize up at once any subject in its entire-
ness and breadth. His power lay in items, details, any
number of which could be handled in their order. His was
the eye of the corporal, that can count up the soldiers one

GEORGE PICKERING. 409
by one ; not that of the general, which comprehends the
movements of the army en masse ; the genius of the account
ant, who can cast up a million of columns, not that of the
financier whose broad, ample thoughts embrace plans in all
their relations and ramifications. His mind, however,
was clear, surveying accurately the field within the
circle of vision; and the plans he formed were marked
by good sense. He looked at the subject not so much
in its relations to all truth, to the rest of the universe,
as in its relations to the affairs of every day, to the
business then in hand.
The characteristics to which we have referred of course
entered into his sermons. He was not a great preacher,
but a good one, whom the people always delighted to hear.
Failing to partake of the young growth of thought, his dis
courses came forth in the dress of olden times. Selecting
some practical truth for a topic, or rather some plain text,
he proceeded to unfold it by regular divisions, in simple lan
guage, but briefly and neatly. Like most of the old Meth
odist preachers, he lingered in his discourses about those
few great central doctrines — depravity, atonement, regenera
tion, faith, and the riper experiences of the Christian life
this side the tomb — which have ever proved so efficacious
in moving and saving the masses of men. In this respect
he was Wesleyan. The discourses to which we were per
mitted to listen were clear, simple, neat; a plain text, with
all the doctrines about the cross worked upon it ; a piece of
spiritual embroidery rather than the selection of one of
those grand topics after the style of Bunting, Watson, Olin,
which were unfolded, developed, elaborated, till the whole
stood forth in its simple but massive proportions. Lack
ing the philosophic in his nature, the sermons of Mr. Pick
ering were mechanical rather than natural, built upon an
arbitrary framework instead of the grand model of nature.'
We have said he was Wesleyan. He was so in spirit
and doctrine ; in fact, more Wesleyan than the mass of
those who succeeded that great reformer. The fire and

410 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
emotion, the thunder and the tempest exhibited by these
men constituted no part of his power. In all his ministra
tions he was calm, staid, straightforward, setting everything
in commotion around him, while he remained calm in the
midst of it all. That he experienced mental vicissitudes
cannot be doubted, inasmuch as he was man ; but his stern
command of himself kept those changes from the gaze of
the public. In the pulpit, the parlor, the conference, amid
all the multiplied changes of human life, he seemed to be
the same placid, cool, deliberate individual ; never in a
hurry, and never behind time. Perhaps his power as a
minister lay full as much in the pastoral work as in the
pulpit. In this also he was systematic in the extreme. His
work was laid out for the week, and Saturday seldom
arrived finding it unfinished. His calls were brief and
frequent, and. devoted strictly to religious concerns. A
word or two in regard to their spiritual, interests in which
the children were not forgotten, and he was on his way ;
hence his calls were never tedious or unwelcome. They
were not strictly pastoral visits but calls; he dropped in
unceremoniously to sit a moment in the kitchen, or wherever
the family might be at the time. On one of those errands
he happened in at the house of a friend as the family
were sitting down to breakfast. It was yet quite early
for a winter morning; but that was the seventh call
made by the old gentleman that day. This was quite
characteristic. He took time by the forelock, always
getting a little the start of his business, according to
the rule of Franklin.
He was a man of great singleness of purpose. His life
had a unity, all his "energies being directed to one great
work, and that work the salvation of men. Taking his
stand upon the watchtower of Methodism, nothing was
able, to jostle him from his position, to cause him to falter,
or to obscure his vision of this one grand purpose of life.
He chose the simple, hardy life of an itinerant, and so far
as we know never experienced an aspiration for any other

GEORGE PICKERING. 411
place, be it that of teacher, editor, book agent, or bishop,
and probably could not have been induced to assume any
position far aside from the active ministry. This unity gave
intensity and directness to all his efforts, whether in the
pulpit or out. His sermons were clenched, by warm,
earnest exhortations, and his pastoral labors were directed
to the heart. The spectator felt that he was not a mere
hireling, but an under shepherd, one of those
" Who watch for souls for which the Lord
Did heavenly hliss forego ;
Eor souls which must forever live
In raptures or in woe."
Incredible as it may appear to the reader, there was a
vein of dry humor running through this stern and singularly
exact mind. It possessed nothing of that mellow, genial,
sprightly character that marked many of those early
itinerants; it was quaint and Puritanic; an undercur
rent that seldom reached the surface, and that never
sparkled in witticisms, or bit in keen personal sarcasm.
It was a kind feeling, the outbursting of genial nature
under stern habits, the cropping forth of a sober wild
flower to deck the gray and rugged walls of such a
probationary existence.
But what further need be said ? The hero of a hundred
battles approaches with an unruffled front the last enemy.
And need we say that he passed triumphantly the gate of
death'? His was
" The chamber where the good man meets Ms fate,
Quite in the verge of heaven."
While lying upon his death-bed, in his beautiful mansion
at Watertown, the preachers of Boston paid him a final
visit. As he was too feeble to endure much conversation,
the Rev. A. Stevens was delegated to convey to him their
Christian and fraternal greetings. On entering the room,
the following brief conversation ensued :

412 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
" Beloved father, a number of your ministerial brethren
are present, and have requested me to express to you their
Christian affection and sympathy."
He replied with strong emphasis and tears, " I thank
you ; you all have a high place in my affections."
" They are happy to learn that in this extremity you are
still rejoicing in hope of the glory of God."
"Yes! Oyes!"
" That you feel that the sting of death is extracted."
"Yes! 0 yes!"
" And that you can resign yourself into the hands of the
Lord." " Yes ! O yes ! glory be to his name ! You all have my
high esteem and affection. Tell, O tell the brethren to
preach Christ and him crucified — an all-powerful, all-willing,
all-ready Saviour ; a present Saviour, saving now. Preach,
'Now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation.'
O tell them to preach holiness — holiness is the principal
thing. Preach holiness — holiness! God enable you to
preach holiness !"
His emotions here overcame him. He endeavored to
say more, but the brother conducting the conversation
closed by saying : " We thank God, dear father, for the good
testimony and counsel we have been permitted to receive
from you ; we shall never forget it. We regret that your
condition will not allow us to linger longer with you; we
take our leave to meet you in heaven. God bless you !
farewell !"
The scene was touching and sublime ; a hoary and heroic
veteran of the cross was standing between both worlds,
about to disappear from his. fellow-laborers forever on earth.
Full of years, and virtues, and services, he was now victori
ous over death, and giving his parting counsel to his breth
ren. We broke away from the room, so near the gate of
heaven, with emotion, and assembled in the parlor below,
where we sung within reach of his hearing,
" On Jordan's stormy banks I stand."

GEORGE PICKERING. 413
After this we joined in prayer, committing the venerable
saint, his family and ourselves, to God.
The hero of so many fields* died as he had lived — -victori
ous. His last distinct utterance was : ' All my affairs for
time and for eternity are settled, glory be to God !' And
the last whisper caught by his attendants was ' Glory !'

STEPHEN OLIN.

Dr. Olin, although of northern birth, was little known
to the Methodists of New England till the latter part of
his life. His name occasionally appeared in " the papers "
as that of a great pulpit orator, or of an instructor connected
with some of our literary institutions, or as a traveler in
Europe and the East. After his return to America his
travels were issued from the press of the Harpers. The
perusal of those noble volumes first impressed our mind
with the great abilities of the author.
Among the personal incidents therein recorded, one,
though insignificant in itself, served to reveal a fact as well
as to display some remarkable traits of character, and hence
made a deep and abiding impression on our mind. It
occurred in the journey from Jerusalem to Jericho, a region,
he observes, still infested with thieves as in the days of our
Saviour. The incident to which allusion is made transpired
near the close of the day, and while he was standing on the
last or eastern eminence of the range extending from the
Mount of Olives, in full view of the valley of the Jordan.
The company with which he had been journeying had passed
on before, and pitched their tents on the distant plain of
Jericho for the night; while he remained upon the high
land to enjoy the beauties of the landscape, to live over
again the old historic scenes enacted on this locality, as well
as to inspect the ruins existing in the vicinity.
While occupying this position, with his right hand in his
bosom, his head slightly bowed, and his mind absorbed in
the memories that came floating down upon him from the

STEPHEN OLIN. 415
centuries of the past, an athletic Bedouin sprang from the
rubbish and marched directly up to him. His sudden
appearance, amid the solemn sunset-stillness of the
scene, was like that of an apparition of the dead at night.
The first impulse would naturally be that of flight ; but our
traveler well understood that such an attempt would be
futile, and that any signs of trepidation would stim ulate the
courage of the robber to perpetrate his meditated deeds of
blood and murder. Hence, when invited to pass over to
the opposite side to survey a more interesting part of the
ruins, he remained motionless, save a decided and significant
shake of the head. His hand still remained in his bosom,
which served sorely to perplex the Arab, as that was the
place where Franks were accustomed to carry their weapons. ,
The position of the savage, however, was doggedly maintained,
as though he thought it unsafe to attack him under present
circumstances, and yet deemed it too great a misfortune to
let his prey escape when so nearly within his grasp. He
eyed him scrutinizingly from crown to heel and from heel
to crown. The process was continued for several minutes,
when the eye of the desperado fell under the searching
glance of the traveler, as that of a panther does before the
gaze of the hunter. He tripped away, intimidated less, the
Doctor will have it, by his withering look, than by a consid
eration of his immense corporosity — a mammoth figure it
would be highly presumptuous for any such minor biped to
attack. Not many months after the perusal of this incident, our
conference met. It was perhaps the third day of the session,
when, on entering one morning after the business had com
menced, we observed in a slip near the altar an individual
that at once attracted our attention, and awakened the inquiry
as to who he might be. Let us observe him for a moment
more carefully. He is evidently a noteworthy character.
His physical presence cannot be said to be " mean and con
temptible," for he presents a Herculean framework, a very
pyramid of bones and sinews, a figure every way colossal,

416 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
as though of the lineage, of the giants. Above those ample
shoulders there mounts up a head proportionably larger
even than the trunk that supports it, and but ill steadied
by that short and slender neck. Time and disease have
combined to leave their marks in deep lines above the
mouth, and on the iron grey but abundant locks of his head.
Some topic is evidently under discussion in which he is
deeply interested. That pair of small, half-squinting eyes,
which peer out with such shrewd good-nature from the
base of an ample brow, afford unmistakable indications of
interest. That is a figure worthy the pencil of a great
artist — a figure that can never vanish from our memory.
When some one whispered the name of Stephen Olin,
the incident in Palestine, as above narrated, flashed upon our
mind, affording a complete explanation of the cautious con
duct of the wary son of Ishmael. We could not wonder that
he thought "prudence the better part of valor" in attacking
such an Anak. Any one in such a presence would be very
likely to take time to consider.
Let not the reader suppose he possessed merely a mass
ive body ; his whole nature, mental, moral, and physical,
was constructed on the grandest scale. Lie was in all
respects a giant, " of the remnant of the giants." Born
amid the green hills of Vermont, his character partook of
their grandeur, as though the world of matter and that of
mind had some affinity, the qualities of the one entering
into the web and woof of the other. And why may -we not
suppose some such subtle connection'? that men grow
larger, are more amply endowed and broadly developed in
mountainous regions than on the plain*? Does not an
early residence in the presence of grand and magnificent
natural scenery tend to impart those qualities to the mind 1
Have not some of our noblest men, our broadest intellects,
our most enterprising mechanics, statesmen, and divines
descended from those sublime hills of the north 1 • Witness
our Websters, Casses, Heddings, Olins, and Fisks. Could
this subtle but pervasive influence on the mind in early life

STEPHEN OLIN. 417
be distinctly traced, it would constitute the most interesting
portion of biography. But this may not be; the most
valuable parts of our educational influences are unrecorded,
in fact are unrecordable, while we grasp but the coarser
materials that go to make up life. Of what value to me
are the facts that Stephen Olin was born at Leicester, Ver
mont, in the year 1797; that he was of an honorable parent
age; that he enjoyed good opportunities for education, etc.,
compared with an account of the select, unseen, unappreci-
able influences of nature and of society that are constantly
acting on the mind ! But we must forego the pleasure of
this knowledge in regard to other minds, and content our
selves with grouping the dry facts and extracting such lessons
therefrom as we may be able.
The mind of Stephen Olin was active, and his heart
susceptible in boyhood. His father was a judge, and of
course had some books, though not of an inviting character
for a child ; but the lad read again and again Bigland's View
of the World, Rollin's Ancient History, and some five
hundred volumes of a circulating library in which his
father held a right. His mind, as will be seen by the class
of reading to which he was devoted, was ripe for one of his
age ; he took an interest in subjects and people beyond his
years. When eight years of age his father sent him on
horseback forty miles to do business, which was correctly
transacted. His mother was always feeble, and died while he was a
lad some fifteen or sixteen years of age. That his was not
a rude nature, a cold heart, obtuse sensibilities, may be seen
by his conduct on the occasion — " his carefulness to please ;
his reading the Bible to her and his deep excitement when,
on returning from some errand of love for the invalid, ho
found her dying."
The college life of Dr. Olin presents a record of sad and
yet triumphant achievements ; sad inasmuch as they pros
trated his health and shattered a noble constitution; triumph
ant, in that he distanced all his competitors, and won, though
27

418 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
unable to wear, the laurels of victory. Designed by the
judge for the legal profession, he placed him in the office
of Hon. Horatio Seymour, of Middlebury, Vermont.
This situation bringing him into contact with college life,
awakened in his mind a desire to enjoy the advantages of a
more thorough and extensive education. Henpe, after
reading law for some months, he packed up his law books
and returned home, informing his father that he was ready
to work on the farm, but that he had determined not to be a
half lawyer, and that he could not hope to be more without
a liberal education. That was Olin through life ; the dis
position to do a whole thing, a noble thing, or to abandon it
altogether. He could be no half man. Whatever he
deemed worth doing engaged the full powers of his soul —
was done with his might, according to the Scriptural
imagination. Such mental intensity is ordinarily sustained by the fires
of ambition, or by a deep, pervasive sense of duty, a re
cognition of the claims of God and eternity. Of the latter,
at this date, Dr. Olin knew nothing. He was urged forward
by a noble, but still secular ambition to make sacrifices, to
endure privations, to perform labors in attaining an educa
tion which could have been sustained by none but a Hercu
lean nature. The avidity with which he engaged in literary
pursuits enabled him to prepare for college in half the time
that would have been occupied by an ordinary mind. And
the same plan was pursued in college. Often found at his
books after the midnight hour, sometimes sitting at his win
dow till the dawn of the morning, the reader will readily
conceive how such military dispatch, such unyielding persist
ence, placed him at the head of his class. His studies were
not mere recreation, his mental treasures floated not in upon
the golden wings of genius, but were the result of severe,
protracted exertion. His favorite studies were metaphysi
cal ; the mastery of such authors as Butler, Locke, Paley,
Edwards ; those masters of thought, who have taxed the no
blest intellects of the race to understand and analyze them.

STEPHEN OLIN. 419
Finding a pleasure in the perusal of these magnificent pro
ductions, he was able not only to pursue his course along
the line of argument, but to comprehend them in their en-
tireness, to seize upon the whole subject at once, and by a
remarkable power of mental assimilation, and iron grasp of
mind and comprehensiveness of thought, to reduce the
theme to the grain of his own mind. He disposed of the
knotty problems of metaphysics as an anaconda will of a
deer, hoofs and horns, going down together, were reduced
to healthful nourishment in the wonderful alembic of his
soul. We have already observed that he was at this period un
influenced by religious considerations. The following extract,
which embodies a conversation held with the president of
the college near the close of his course, will exhibit his re
ligious views at the time, as also afford an illustration of his
frank, open, candid nature, a trait of character that never
forsook him. " When I came to college," he observes, " I
came doubting the truth of Christianity and the reality of
experimental religion. Most of my reading, in the early
part of my course, had no tendency to remove my doubts.
Indeed, many of the works on English literature which fell
into my hands, especially those of the most popular histori
ans, which I read with eagerness, tended only to confirm me
in infidelity. But the severer studies which led me to ana
lyze the intellectual and moral powers of man, and hence
to view his relation to God with his consequent accounta
bility, especially the study of Butler's Analogy and Paley's
View of the Evidences of Christianity, cured my infidelity,
and convinced me intellectually, and beyond a doubt, of the
truth of Christianity, and the reality of experimental religion.
But," he added with deep emotion, " I am convinced like
wise that I have no lot or part in the matter. Religion, it
seems to me, is something beyond my reach, far from me,
in the clouds."
In referring to this period, subsequent to his conversion,
he observes that he " would have been willing to barter a

420 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
seat in heaven for a seat in Congress." While there, was
much in the frank avowal of his religious convictions to
elicit our praise, this latter extract displays the tendency of
his aspirations, and the dangerous ground on which he had
entered. His anticipations were altogether of a worldly
nature, visions of the supreme bench or place of chief
magistrate filling his mind.
For this young Saul Divine Providence, however, had
a more important work. Suffered to remain at college
till all the substantial advantages had been gained, he was
laid aside by sickness before commencement day, suffering
the extreme anguish of seeing others wear the laurels de
signed to deck his brow. But such was the will of his
Divine Master, who was then permitting him to taste the
cup of affliction from which he subsequently drank so deeply,
from which he came to drink so submissively and profit
ably. God's thoughts' are not as our thoughts, nor his ways
as ours.
A change of residence very often effects a change in our
plans of life. Thrown into strange society, amid new scenes
and influences, we find a tide sweeping us from our old
moorings which none but the most resolute are able to
brook, and which often operates so silently that a new direc
tion is given to our existence ere we become fully conscious
of the fact. Stephen Olin, in going to South Carolina to
spend a few terms in teaching, for the purpose of replenish
ing his purse, entertained no suspicion that his path con
ducted by an easy transition from the political arena to the
pulpit, from a merely worldly position, where religion
seemed to be a matter not for him, and, far above him, to
the midst of the Church, where all the sacred influence would
descend upon him, bringing religion down to him, and call
ing forth upon the world his wealth of thought and emotion.
Least of all could he have been persuaded that he should so
far deviate from his worldly bearings as to become a min
ister, a Methodist preacher. And yet how quietly did the
hand of Providence conduct him to this result.

STEPHEN OLIN. 421
On opening his school in the South he engaged board
with a good Methodist family. They of course were
solicitous for the spiritual interest of the school., which led
them to inquire of a pupil whether the teacher prayed, in
school. Being answered in the negative, they expressed
their surprise that one from the heart of religious New En
gland, where the custom was universal, should neglect so
important a duty. From that hour young Olin, who had
overheard the conversation through a door that chanced to
stand ajar, determined to begin the practice of prayer in his
school. Ignorant, however, of the whole matter, having not
even a form of prayer in his mind that might prove suit
able to the occasion, he retired to a neighboring grove, where
he composed and memorized one to be repeated on the
next day. The mechanical form once in operation, he was
led- to feel the need of the spirit of prayer, the right state
of the heart. His thoughts once inclined in this direction,
the. full discovery of his sinful and lost estate, the worth-
lessness of his morality as a means of salvation, and the
need ofthe atoning blood of Christ to remove both the de
pravity and the guilt of sin, was the natural consequence.
Any one acquainted with the honest, earnest intensity of his
nature, knows that Stephen Olin could never rest in that
position. He could maintain no medium ground. He
must be either an infidel or a Christian. Hence earnest
struggles followed the breaking in of this light upon his
soul, struggles that ultimated in a complete victory in the
name of Jesus, affording the heartfelt assurance that he was
born of the Spirit, an heir of God.
This change, no less decisive and little less remarkable
than that in the great apostle, effected a complete revolu
tion in his plans of life. The law was instantly abandoned,
being displaced by the Gospel ; and those burning exhor
tations that immediately began to flow from his lips, very
naturally and quickly grew to sermons. There was a tide
about him that urged him into the ministry ere he had
much time to confer with flesh and blood. It remained a

422 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES

question as to what branch of the Church he should give
his name. While bold to avow his early preferences for
the Episcopal Church, he exhibited a noble, Christian spirit
in connecting himself with an humbler, less pretentious sect,
where he might do more good, at least for the present.- He
was surrounded by Methodists, was in a Methodistic com
munity, and had been helped to the gates of the kingdom by
Methodist influences. That was his home. This change in
his views and feelings was reported to his father in the fol
lowing extract of a letter : " And you, my honored father,
though you may perhaps give way to the feelings that
would naturally arise in the heart of a father who, solicit
ous for the welfare of his son, may have conceived favor
able hopes of his success in life, must rejoice in the happy
prospect opened before me, convinced, as I know you are, of
the truth of the Christian revelation, and of consequence
that the principal concern of this life is to prepare for the
next. You already know that I am a Methodist preacher.
My life has taken an unlooked-for direction. With it, how
ever, I am more than content, and only regret that my weak
lungs are likely to keep me out of the itinerancy, a field of
action in which I have a great desire to be engaged. Shall
I violate the filial reverence due to one to whom, under God,
I owe everything, by inviting you, my honored father, to
embrace religion 1 It will be the solace of your declining
years, ease all the burdens of life, and smooth your way
down to death whither we are all hastening. Pardon me
for the liberty I have taken. I could not say less. I can
only pray to Him who has the hearts of all men in his
hands." As he advanced farther in experience, and became more
thoroughly acquainted with the doctrines, practices, and
spirit of the sect to which he was united, his attachments
strengthened, and the conviction was ultimately reached
that he had been providentially conducted to a branch of the
Church not only suited to his nature, but the one, modeled
on the Bible, and adapted to meet the wants of the world.

STEPHEN OLIN. 423
To the Rev. C. Mallory he wrote : " Soon after my con
version I joined the Methodist Church. This I did because
I believed their doctrines were those of the Bible, their
practice truly Christian, and because I ardently wished to
enjoy the ordinances of God's house. After I began to look
to the ministry my partialities were in another direction.
I was led, however, to examine the matter seriously and
conscientiously, and this examination has resulted at least in
the full determination to remain in the Methodist Church.
I believe them to be a more humble and a more holy
people. They want plainer, more pointed preaching than
Episcopalians will hear, so that as a preacher I am sure
that I can be more useful among them, and an instrument
I hope of getting more souls to heaven. This with me de
cides the matter. The humilities, the reproaches, the pov
erty do not terrify me."
It was at this period that a vacancy occurred in the Board
of Instruction at Middlebury. He was proposed as pro
fessor of mathematics and natural philosophy, a situation
which would prove quite agreeable to him, as his health
would not allow him to take the itinerant field, which would
be preferable, he declares, " to a diadem." It was whis
pered in the mean time by a friend, that whoever assumed
the professorship would probably have to become a Congre-
gationalist. That was enough. Stephen Olin would be
glad of the professorship, but could not be bought, could
not leave his own sect, even if they abandoned him for the
" obstinacy of his Methodism." Those interested friends
mistook their man.
The election, however, which soon took place, resulted in
the choice of him to the post of professor. His mind had
in the mean time taken an entirely new direction. Suppos
ing himself abandoned on account of his attachment to
Methodism, he turned his thoughts to. the traveling minis
try, his health in the mean time having so far rallied as to
afford hope of his being able to prosecute its duties.
Flushed with this hope he declined the professorship.

424 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
At the South Carolina Conference of 1824 he gave his
name as a traveling preacher and was stationed in Charles
ton, where, however, he was able to remain but part of the
year. This was his only term of service in the itinerancy,
brief but brilliant and glorious. These were the palmy
days of his ministry, when his health was firmest, his mind
the most vigorous, his imagination towering in wild and
rugged luxuriance, and his heart throbbing with early love
to Christ and the souls purchased by the blood of atone
ment. The people of Charleston who heard him will not
soon forget the powerful logic, the directness, the fire of his
discourses. Laid aside by disease from the active duties of the minis
try, he determined to revisit his home in Vermont for the
purpose of regaining his vigor, which had been utterly pros
trated and also of enjoying the society of friends from
whom he had been absent four long years. He had not
been forgotten in the neighborhood. The friends of his
childhood had learned from time to time his whereabouts,
his religious tendencies, his entrance into the ministry, and
the tremendous effects which his eloquence produced on the
people. They had known him early as an irreligious,
skeptical, and ambitious young man ; and the young evangel
ist entertained fears lest those old and familiar friends
should meet him with reserve, with the averted eye, with
an air of disappointment at witnessing the " fanaticism " of
his religious life ; a course which he felt would be most
painful to him, but one that he could not consent to prevent
by any modifications, theoretical or practical, of his opinions.
He was converted in the beautiful fervid climes ofthe South,
amid a people who, on principle, allow some scope to the
emotions ; so converted that truth touched the depths of
the soul, unloosing its pentup fires, touching his whole
being with the living flame, the tongue of fire, so that he went
forth as a newly anointed apostle, a burning and a shining
light, to conduct benighted men to the cross of Jesus Christ.
What he was in the Palmetto State amid his religious

STEPHEN OLIN. 425
friends, that must he be in the sterner, colder regions of his
native state, albeit to his calculating,' rationalistic friends he
might appear to be Beside himself. Having a noble, open
nature, and a heart burning with zeal for Christ and for the
souls of men, he must exhibit his true colors in the family,
the neighborhood, the Church, and in view of the sect of his
choice. He had left the family without a practical knowl
edge of Christ ; his visit must contribute something to bring
them to the blood of sprinkling.
" 0 with what faith," said his youngest sister, " did
Brother Stephen approach the throne of grace ! It occurred
on the evening of his return home. We were all assembled
in my father's sitting-room. He read the one hundred and
third Psalm, and nothing more appropriate could have been
selected. It was a time of thanksgiving with us all — he
was so changed, and we were so melted and overcome. I
have heard but few who seemed to press so- closely, and to take
hold on the promises as he did. How well I recollect that
first prayer he made in the family after his conversion. I
always connected the reading of that Psalm with his reading
the Bible to our mother before she died. When he had
concluded his solemn prayer he arose and went to his^room,
where he paced the floor in deep excitement, of feeling."
But his influence was felt beyond the family. The people
of the community were desirous to hear the preacher who
had been reared hi their midst, and the fame of whose ora
tory had reached them from the plains of the distant South.
And what is of peculiar interest to us,- is the fact that he
employed his position for the good of the masses who heard
him, endeavoring to turn the unsanctified curiosity which
had brought them together into more sacred channels that
should conduct them to eternal life. He hoped to see
scenes of revival in his native place like those he had been
permitted to witness in the South, a desire which was in a
measure realized, though not to the extent anticipated. " On
the first Sabbath after his return home he preached in a
grove. The occasion was one of thrilling interest. A large

426 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
assembly was present, most of them his old townsmen and
acquaintances ; a few, however, had been drawn from other
towns, and even from Middlebury College, attracted by the
report of his power in the pulpit, with mingled feelings of
curiosity and expectation. But Dr. Olin ever rose above
earthly considerations in the pulpit, losing himself hi the
magnitude of his theme.
"I very much question," said his uncle, "whether he
ever preached more powerfully. The occasion was one to
arouse the energies of his mighty mind. The tears rolled.
down the great manly face of his father, and he enchained
the audience for' nearly two hours without any one thinking
. the sermon long. He pointed, while preaching, to the little
graveyard toward the sun-rising, the quiet resting-place of
his kindred, and spokfe of his sainted mother, whose prayers
were fulfilled in him. It is said that thirteen persons found
peace in believing while listening to that sermon."
After his return to the South in the spring, Dr. Olin
spent a year in such desultory pursuits as gave promise of
restoring his health, such as traveling, visits to mineral
springs, and occasionally scribbling for a religious newspa
per the Methodists of South Carolina were endeavoring to
establish, and of which they were desirous \of making him
editor. These recreations proved salutary, and so far
restored his health that, in 1826, he ventured to assume the
duties of professor in Franklin College, Athens, Georgia, a
post which he continued to occupy during eight years.
When fairly entered upon the duties of his professorship he
married Miss Mary Ann Eliza Bostwick, of Milledgeville,
Georgia, a lady of fine accomplishments who had been
recently converted, and connected with the Methodist Epis
copal Church. She proved every way a suitable companion,
and their cottage near the college became the scene of all
the domestic comforts and pleasures — a home, small but
cozy, and long endeared to them by the remembrance of its
quiet perennial joys. During his protracted ill health Mrs.
Olin proved an angel of mercy, who by her gentle ministra-

STEPHEN OLIN. 427
tions, affable manners, and genial spirit, did much to relieve
the tedium of those afflictive years, and to preserve his
precious life for further important services in the Church
and the world. She died at Florence in 1839, whither she
had accompanied her husband in pursuit of health.
in 1832 Dr. Olin was elected to the presidency of Ran
dolph Macon College, in Virginia. The call to that posi
tion, declined at the time, was finally accepted on being
repeated in 1833, accompanied by the solicitations of
several of his intimate friends ; and his inaugural address, a
document of great power, and which produced a strong
impression on the public mind at the time, was delivered
on the fifth of April, 1834. Soon after assuming the duties
of this responsible station, the title of Doctor of Divinity was
conferred on him by three colleges in succession. He
continued at the head of Randolph Macon till 1837, when
his health, never firm, became so broken as to oblige him to
relinquish all set duties. He soon sailed for Europe, where
he spent several years in travel, passing in the mean time
the Mediterranean to make the tour of Egypt, Arabia, the
Holy Land and Asia Minor, of which he has given the
world an interesting and instructive account in his " Travels
in the East."
While he was absent in Europe the death of Dr. Fisk
occurred, which left the Wesleyan University without a head.
The services of Dr. Olin were sought to fill the vacancy,
but he had gone into seclusion at his home in Vermont,
where he intended to spend the remnant of his days. On
the earnest and repeated solicitation, however, of the trus
tees, he finally consented to assume the position of president
of the university, and commenced his duties in 1842. In
1843 he was a second time married, to Miss Julia Lynch,
a daughter of Hon. Judge Lynch, of New York, who sur
vives him. He remained in this position till his death,
which occurred the sixteenth of August, 1851.
From this narrative it will appear that the greater por
tion of his life was devoted to educational interests, as

428 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
principal of an academy, professor in college, and then
president of two similar institutions. We might therefore
anticipate from him matured views on the subject of educa
tion in its various relations, and we think no one who reads
his works will be disappointed in this respect. As a sort
of underlying principle he maintained, after the old masters,
that the design of education was discipline culture, the
unfolding and invigorating the faculties, and not the mere
accumulation of knowledge. This starting point gave shape
to his whole system and practice. Under the light of this
truth he discarded the modern idea of popularizing educa
tion by introducing simpler studies into the college course.
He would maintain the old classics, Greek and Latin, together
with the abstruser mathematics in their time-honored and,
as he contended, their appropriate position. They bowed
the mind, awakened its dormant energies, and afforded the
mental strength that would enable men to wrestle with the
knotty and perplexing problems of practical life. This,
he contended, was what the young man needed. Without
this .severe discipline, stores of knowledge would prove to
him cumbersome and useless, while with it he would be
constantly treasuring new acquisitions along his path in life,
by reading, observation, and reflection, which could be used
with facility and profit.
His conduct in the recitation room was judged by the
same principle. He did not intend to make the process
easy to the student ; that would defeat the very purpose he
had in view. He intended to arouse the student's mental
life; to strain steadily, but to their utmost tension, his
faculties. Under this severe regimen he required the
student to give him an analysis, clear .and full, of his author,
without any questions or prompting, and if unable to do it
he was passed by for the time. The next was required to
take up the thread of the subject where the first dropped it,
and proceed in the same way till the whole class had recited.
whatever else may be said of it,, all will agree that such an
iron method, rigidly carried out, as it was by Dr. Olin, will

STEPHEN OLIN. 429
make close, accurate thinkers and reasoners, with whom
undisciplined minds do well not to come in conflict.
But we invite the reader to his own statement of the
case : " The great prominence given to linguistic a,nd
scientific studies is a well merited concession, approved by
all experience, to their pre-eminent adaptation to the ends
of development and training. They occupy an early as
well as considerable part of the course, because they best
furnish the indispensable experience and habitudes which the
mind wants in order to secure the best fruits of the discur
sive and speculative studies that are to employ his subse
quent labors. This course of study is the result of a com
prehensive, protracted experiment in education. It may he
regarded as the accumulated testimony of the teachers and
scholars of many enlightened nations and centuries. We
do well to observe that the malcontents under this system
do not usually deny to it the highest merit to which it lays
claim — the merit of being incomparably the best system
which human genius and experience have ever devised for
the development and discipline of the mental faculties.
This, I repeat again and again, is the true philosophical idea
of a liberal education. Between those who embrace this
theory of education, and those who so clamorously demand
of our colleges, not intellectual culture, but only so many
of the crude elements of knowledge as are immediately
applicable to the art or craft to which they hasten, there is
really no just ground for controversy. Their ideas of edu
cation are indeed very diverse ; but not more so than their
objects, which are unlike by the entire difference that exists
between a scholar and an artisan — between a philosopher
and the superintendent of farm or factory operations."
Admirable as was his " theory and practice of the
scholastic life," his rigid, inexorable methods of education,
it was perhaps in affording the scholar an exalted ideal, in
inspiring him by high motives and in endeavoring to elevate
his true manhood, that Dr. Olin rendered the best services
to those classes of students who passed under his tuition

430 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
and supervision. He could not condescend to a groveling
thing. He would not consent to make mere artisans, lawyers,
or ministers. Manhood, true and well developed, was his
aim. Upon this as a substratum might be built up the
. various professions. With this basis might the scholar go
forth and succeed in any of the callings of life to which
inclination or a sense of duty might conduct him. To live
in the presence of such a spirit, splendidly endowed by
nature, and still further elevated by the sanctifying influence
of grace, was more than any of the appliances of culture.
In him they witnessed the incarnation of his exalted teach
ings ; his very presence in the institution had a perceptible
moral influence over the little community. His tread within
the walls was one of moral majesty. LTis presence at the
chapel, and the daily prayers he offered when able to be
present, had a hallowing power.
" The secret of his government," says one of his pupils,
" consisted in aw-akening, and keeping in active exercise, the
sense of moral obligation. He never appealed to a base or
ambitious motive ; and though it might have been proper
enough to have done so, he never appealed to the decision
of public sentiment — popular opinion — not even to the
opinions of parents and friends. 'Thou God seest me,' was
the burden of his appeals."
Although so large a share of his life was devoted to the
interests of education, he always cherished a liking for the
ministry — an intense longing to be engaged in the itinerant
field. He did not, like many, shrink from the toils and hard
ships, the deprivations and crosses incident to such a course ;
it was to him the most inviting of all callings — a work
which angels would delight to perform, and that he would
prefer to a diadem. He attained honorable literary posi
tions which would have satisfied most minds ; but any of
them would have been relinquished by Dr. Olin in exchange
for the exquisite pleasure of traveling a circuit. And could
he have been permitted to choose between the honor of the
presidency of the United States, and the privilege of

STEPHEN OLIN. 431
preaching Christ to sinners, we think the balance would
have been struck at once in favor of the latter. The active
ministry was his beau ideal of life. The few months that
he was permitted to spend as stationed preacher in Charles
ton were the happiest of his life ; arid it was the exclusion
from the duties of the sacred calling that gave a sting to
those years of lingering affliction.
When we recollect his intense devotion to the ministry,
we are not so greatly surprised at the impressions made by
his sermons. They were uttered from the heart — the
breathings of a " dying man to dying men." In the pulpit
he was a giant, on a par with Chalmers, Hall, and Robert
Newton. For power over an audience his equal perhaps did
not live in the current generation. Nobody who ever, enjoyed
the privilege of listening to his profound, philosophical,
majestic utterances, can ever forget the impression he
stamped upon the mind. Olin, in the pulpit, with fair
health and a suitable occasion, was a thunder-storm let loose,
in which were observed now, the muttering, swelling, majes
tic march of the voice of the Lord ; then, the gleam, the dim
ming flash, the fiery chain of truth ; now, the dark and threat-
ning cloud from which vengeance is ready to leap forth
upon the sinner ; then, the quick but gentle pattering of
the rain which falls soothingly, refreshingly on those who
stand near the cross. His power lay in no trick of oratory,
no smoothly turned periods, no sonorous, high sounding but
meaningless paragraphs ; he was at the furthest remove
from such artificial trappings. He was no babbler who
bewitched the people by his sorcery ; but a gloriously
great Saul, an intellectual prodigy, a moral Niagara whose
heavy voice, sublime music, enchained the attention of
prince and peasant, of scholar and illiterate. There were
occasions when his eloquence was overwhelming, and we
may safely conclude from these specimens that, with vig
orous health, he would have made a profounder impression,
as a pulpit orator, on the nation, and indeed the world, than
any man since the days of Whitefield. During the few

432 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
months that he held the relation of pastor in Charleston,
then but a beginner, he attracted more marked attention
then any mature minister of the region. " Never," says Dr.
Wightman, "had so powerful a preacher burst with so
sudden a splendor and so tremendous effect upon the
Church." " Nor was this a temporary brilliancy. Olin
was no meteor, but a light shining brighter and brighter
unto the end."
His sermons were frequently two hours in length, but so
full of interest that the multitudes who hung upon his words
were unconscious of the flight of time. Hence, a friend of
his observes that his discourses, though protracted, did not
violate the injunction of the Discipline, "which prohibits
preaching too long. The propriety was always felt of
affording ample scope to a mind so vigorous and extensive,
so full of thought, and overflowing with a tide of feeling
which seemed to sweep the audience to his conclusions. He
was not a man to compress his world-wide thoughts into a
neat, compact sermon of twenty-five minutes ; he uttered
momentous truths, and ever felt that he spoke for eternity.
Hence it appeared impossible for the sinner who heard him
to escape conviction. He was driven to the wall and made
to feel that nothing but repentance or perdition were before
him. On nearly all the occasions when he was permitted
to preach, doubts were dissolved in the skeptical, long-
cherished and bitter prejudices were subdued, the proud,
ambitious, and worldly humbled, the penitent brought to
the cross, and sometimes " scores literally rushed to the
altar when he had finished his discourses, the powers of
the world to come having won the field perhaps to the last
man." Does the reader inquire for the sources of strength and
impressiveness in this Samson of the pulpit 1 We find
them in the blending of many excellences. In the desk his
mein and bearing, thongh not graceful, were impressive.
Uncouth and clumsy in his gestures, there was yet a some
thing in the uprising of his elephantine person before an

STEPHEN OLIN. 433
audience on the tiptoe of expectation, and the pouring forth
of his wriggling, ill-governed voice, that struck the beholder
with awe, and afforded an intimation of the imperial intel
lect enshrined within such a massive temple, whence were to
issue thoughts, of eloquence and power. The hearer at
once anticipated an intellectual treat ; nor did the sequel
disappoint his expectation's. His was a mind of rare and
natural vigor, of acute discrimination and analysis, and a
vast sweep of generalization, which made him feel quite at
home in any region of thought, and independent of details ;
not a common mind raised upon the stilts of learning. He
must have been a robust thinker, a solid, invincible antag
onist, without any of the aids of culture. Learning in his
case only served measurably to polish the shaft, removing
some of the harsh edges, while the iron strength remained
the natural basis.
When he began his discourses your attention was at
once arrested by his clear and forcible thoughts — thoughts
which would strike you as common sense, and which ought
to have occurred to your own mind before, and yet the
phase of the subject under discussion is presented in a new
light. Starting from some plain and simple point, which
the feeblest intellect could appreciate and all would assent
to, he would launch forth under the guidance of the principle
into the broadest generalizations the subject would allow,
making the circuit of the whole hemisphere of truth, taking
the audience along in the track of his flaming car, and
fetching up at some of those practical truths that bear upon
the regeneration and elevation of the human race. The
style of Dr. Olin possessed little attraction. His sentences
were long and cumbrous, and the hearer was continually
puzzled to pick the sense from their numerous, labarinthine
windings. The mind seemed to be laboring to bring up
crystalized thoughts from its depths, but to be obliged, as
a last resort, to cast out the golden ingots in that rough
and involved state.
To know the full strength, the invincible power of our
28

434 NEW ENGLAND DIVSNES.
preacher, one needed to hear him on a grand occasion, when
an immense audience was congregated, and expectation
raised to the highest pitch, causing every one to feel that
there was now but a step between the sublime and the
ridiculous. Such an occasion would utterly crush an in
tellect naturally feeble, however gayly decked with the orna
ments of learning. But to a mind of missive build, like
his, it would only give additional power, as the well-formed
arch receives strength from the" superincumbent weight.
To his mind th<5re was a sort of elasticity that enabled him
to rise .with times and occasions, so that in the hour of
highest expectation he more than satisfied the hopes of his
friends. His best seasons were at camp-meetings, confer
ences, or dedications, the circumstances, while furnishing an
ample field for the display of his gifts, serving also to call
into full play those majestic intellectual and moral forces
that on all ordinary occasions would lie dormant.
Combined with a discriminating and vigorous intellect was
a superb imagination, which traveled into all the sublime re
gions of thought, and imparted a grandeur to his speculations.
He possessed little of the sportiveness of fancy, and never
displayed it in the pulpit. It was a higher quality that gave
color and comeliness to his thoughts. His descriptions were
grand, rather than picturesque or beautiful ; a series of
thought-pictures, sometimes enchanting but oftener terrific, as
though daguerreotyped by a chain of lightning. In what
terribly vivid colors would he paint the sinner's doom ! his
departure from the great Father ; his infatuation under the
intoxicating influences of wealth, pleasure, or ambition ; the
approach of the storm of divine vengeance amid whose black
ness and darkness his shattered bark sinks beneath the
waves. Hark ! as he describes the scene the whole is before
you. You see that frail bark and the maddened wretch
within wrestling with the billows, startled now at the thun
der peal, or cringing beneaih the blaze that kindles the whole
heavens into one sheet of flame, and then yielding to the
unconquerable elements about him with knees smiting like

STEPHEN OLIN. 435
.those of the Assyrian king. Amid the distant, horrid roar
of the §torm you discern the dividing waves, and hear the
hoarse, solemn splash of the waters as he goes down into
the nethermost hell.
Those impressive descriptions were not scattered at will
through the discourse, a sort of mosaic wrought upon the
substratum of truth ; -they were the grand result to which
he attained in bringing his discourse to a climax, the con
centrating of all the lines of thought and feeling in a single
focus, the bursting forth of the moral electricity from the
hearts of the speaker and the audience, producing an over
powering concussion, which started the people from their
seats and drew tears from many eyes.
These, however, were not the only, nor indeed the main
sources of his strength. His power was a moral one, and,
forgetting for the time his intellect, his imagination, his
logic, the audience were captivated by the highly evangeli
cal truths that issued from the depths of his earnest, over
flowing heart. He seemed to feel a deep concern for the
people, and to give forth those direct, pungent utterances
which would secure immediate effect. " It is the intensity
of his own feelings that draws the feelings of others and so
fascinates their minds. The heart of the great Christian
orator is penetrated by an intense desire for his own sanc
tification and for the sanctification of others ; his eloquence
has its roots in his own moral condition and moral sympa
thies. His distinctive agency consists in giving a powerful
impulse and direction to the minds of others, and he is not
equal to this unless the goal to which he would direct them
is plainly in his eye, and unless he earnestly desires to reach
it himself."Such earnestness can never be temporary, or exist with
out its appropriate effects. It resulted from his living
in sight of all the eternal realities; God and angels, the
judgment, heaven and hell, were ever before him, viewed in
their relations to the state of probation. He saw " men
pushed up to the brink of the grave with no light beyond,

436 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
doubtful, at least, of all beyond, the vast procession of
humanity swept on by an invisible fate, plunging into a
midnight gulf."* This mental vision affected his heart, im
pelled him to exhort the people, and to do it with a fervency
befitting the solemn theme.
This impressive earnestness is always a power in the
Church, but doubly so when " combined, as in his case, with
an intellect of imperial rank, with a comprehension of the
grandest sweep, with an analytical faculty that pierced and
penetrated every mystery of human passion ;" in a word,
with a nature in all its departments colossal. It was the
grand symmetry of the whole man that constituted his
power, the interworking of the intellect and the heart. His
logic was clear and straightforward, possessing a metallic
ring and force yet glowing as it rushed forward under the
touch of emotion, till the whole melted into a fervid tor
rent of eloquence overwhelming the audience. His was in
deed the " Seraphic intellect and force
To seize and throw the doubts of man ;
Impassioned logic which outran
The hearer in its fiery course."
Dr. Olin's preparation for the pulpit, although abundant,
was somewhat peculiar. In the early part of his ministry
he seldom committed his thoughts to paper, being precluded
therefrom by his feeble health ; but after his return from the
East, having become inducted into habits of composition by
preparing his travels for the press, the pen was more fre
quently and amply employed in preparing for the pulpit.
This preparation generally consisted in a full skeleton, some
times an entire sermon, written out, neither of which, how
ever, were taken into the pulpit, nor perhaps very accurately
followed. He never relied on any such specific or mechan
ical preparation. The subject in all its bearings was sur
veyed by his sweeping intellectual vision, till he felt him
self at home'nd master of the field; then, on the day be-
* Sermon on Faith in Christ.

STEPHEN OLIN. 437
fore he was to preach, much time was spent in prayer, hold
ing the theme up before a throne of grace till the heart be
came thoroughly "imbued with its spirit, till his soul was
full. When once in the pulpit the floodgates were removed,
and the tide of discourse assumed such a direction as the
occasion and his own judgment suggested. With such a
preparation we less wonder at the effects of his discourses.
Our surprise at his mental powers and ample labors is
increased when we recollect the broken state of health which
commenced during his collegiate course and continued to
the close of life. It made his life but a lingering death. It
caused all labor to be burdensome, and crushed those plans
of usefulness which he often projected both in earlier and
later life. How serious was this trial to him, how it pene
trated to the heart's core, can be known only to those who
experience a like fate, and are inspired by the same am
bition, mental intensity, and Christian zeal ; by those who
see a world perishing in sin and yearn to fly to the rescue,
but are thrown aside as useless instruments.
That he became submissive to these severe dispensations,
even recognizing therein the goodness and love of God,
affords unmistakable evidence of the genuineness and depth
of his piety. His personal afflictions were intensified by
the death of his wife, and that death, too, in a foreign land,
leaving him alone amid strangers. He was an invalid,
with his nervous system prostrated, precluding him from
the enjoyment of social worship and the active duties of life,
sinking beneath the crushing weight of disease, yet in the
midst of it all was he cheerful, hopeful. In this hour of
misfortune, when stroke after stroke had fallen upon him,
and his nature seemed to be falling in ruins, the flame of
devotion that rose from his heart ascended with an intenser,
a celestial brilliancy.
" I never in my life," said he, on that afflictive occasion,
" felt so sensibly the need of divine support. Not that I
feel myself forsaken of God, though he has wounded so
deeply. No , I am able to say, " Though he slay me, yet

438 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
will I trust him." To another friend, a few months later,
he writes : " Since I committed my blessed wife to the dust
in Naples, I must tell you that I am mightily sustained by
grace. Nothing assuages my grief, my deep sense of utter
bereavement ; but the comfort of religion comes, not to my
deliverance, but to my support, and I do not sink below its
influence. I feel every day more and more afflicted. My
heart clings to her who is in the grave with unconquerable
pertinacity. The wound is irritated, not assuaged, by the
progress of time, by change. Yet I do not charge God
foolishly ; I am resigned. I say to him, ' It is just, it is right, '
it is all well.' Before I sink into despair or complaint, I
fly back to first principles and find them amazingly strong."
"There is a tendency," he writes to Bishop Andrew,
" in these overwhelming sorrows that is always good, a ten
dency to drive us to God, which almost reconciles me to
them ; and I have seldom enjoyed more than when, un
able to rise in faith, I have sunk in self-despair ; unable to
take hold on God, I have fallen upon him in sheer help
lessness. "My great source of enjoyment is a firm confidence in
God through Christ, which makes the cure, the protraction or
the speedy termination of my maladies almost equally agree
able in prospect. To labor for Christ in the Church, to
submit to light afflictions which work for us a far more ex
ceeding and eternal weight of glory, to depart and be with
Christ, who can say which is best 1 I bless God I esteem
either to be good enough."
Trained, so far as religiously trained at all, in the Calvin-
istic faith, he remained long after his conversion under the
shadow of that dark creed,* though he had thrown away every
one of its articles of faith; especially did he continue skep
tical in regard to those higher experiences of the Christian
life, known among the Methodists as perfection or sanctifi
cation. Frequent, deep, protracted afflictions had a tendency to
unloose his grasp of worldly objects, and to throw him back

STEPHEN OLIN. 439
upon God for support till that terrible bereavement, the
death of his wife, drove him to the throne as his only ref
uge. He felt the need of more grace to enable him to sub
mit cheerfully to the Divine will. It was his own experi
ence that led him to the doctrine of holiness. He earnestly
sought, but it was not till his wanderings on the banks of
the Nile that he felt that perfect love that casteth out fear.
It was then that he perceived " the reasonableness of the
Methodist doctrine of holiness, and its entire conformity to
the tenor of the Holy Scriptures and to the genius of the
Gospel, with a clearness and application which they did not
formerly possess in my view." " I succeed," says he in a
letter to a friend, " at least in some measure, better than
formerly, and I am, therefore, happier than I ever was be
fore. I find God present with me in a new sense. I rest
in God. I am satisfied with him. His will is mine. Mine
is swallowed up in his. Christ is my all and in all. Bless
his holy name !"
It frequently happens that individuals blessed with large
mental endowments, and who have attained celebrity in the
great world, prove anything but comfortable and agreeable
companions in the little world of home. Accustomed to
live in society, to regard extended reputation as the most
precious boon, they become adjusted to the demands of
popular opinion, and come to regard the domestic circle as
a mere dormitory or eating saloon, where are supplied the
coarser demands of our nature. They have their crotchets
and quirks, which may appear very amusing for an hour to
strangers who do not come in very close proximity to them,
but are found to be unendurable when they make up so
much of the little history of domestic life. Dr. Olin was
happily exempt from these defects. It was in the family
and the circle of intimate friendship that was exhibited the
most genial phase of his life, that were brought out the most
beautiful traits of his character. Simplicity and tenderness
were blended with playful humor, racy and brilliant wit,
elasticity of spirits, which disease could not abate, and the

440 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
genuine dignity of the Christian philosopher. It was a
mark of a genuinely great mind that he loved little children,
participating in their simple pleasures, and striving to im
plant in their tender minds some seeds of truth that might
germinate and grow into great and good actions. In the
household he was not a recluse ; he came not from his toils
with the harsh and crabbed spirit of the mere bookworm
or thinker. He who had scaled the heights of scholarship,
who knew something of severe thought, of rugged disci
pline, left all these behind when he approached the home
circle. There his mind unbowed. There his geniality, his
blithe and hopeful spirit, sent perpetual sunshine through the
household. While he possessed the private virtues, Dr. Olin was also
a man of public spirit. He cherished an interest in the
Church, the nation, the world, and, so far as health and cir
cumstances would permit, kept an eye on their current his
tory. This was especially true of the Church of his choice.
Incidentally, as it were, thrown into her communion, his at
tachments grew strong as years elapsed, until the sorrows
and joys of the Church became blended with his own. He-
was deeply concerned for her welfare. While he loved her
piety, he wished to see every other element of power in
corporated therewith. He would have an educated Church,
especially a thoroughly trained ministry. The depth of this
interest was attested by his life-long labors ; and long ere
a theological school had been projected by the American
Methodists, or the denomination were prepared for that ad
vance step in education, he had revolved the subject in his
own mind and sounded others on it.
As early as 1834 he expressed the opinion to a friend
" that such institutions were not only desirable but indis
pensable. We got along passably well when other denom
inations were wasting their strength in attempting to explain
and inculcate the blind mysteries of Calvinism ; but now,
when they unite great learning and zeal to as much Armin-
janism as gives them access to the popular mind, we must

STEPHEN OLIN. 441
educate our ministry better or sink. Nothing can save us
but an able ministry, and this can be had only through
education. I am full to overflowing on this subject."
Nothing of a public nature caused him so much pain as
the severance of the Methodist Episcopal Church on the
slavery question. The rupture occasioned him the loss of
many friends. He was converted in the South, where had
been formed his most intimate attachments, both religious
and domestic ; but his position as a delegate from the New
York Conference, in 1844, obliged him to vote against the
very man who had been his most cherished friend. This
would naturally cause him to hesitate, and cast about for
some balm to heal the wound that had been opened. Hence
his conduct pleased neither the North nor the South. His
convictions were against the institution as an evil, but he was
not able to see the harm which the evil contained, in per
mitting good men to hold slaves, as they would be better
treated by their connection with the Gospel. He saw not
in the institution a sin, nor that Christian slaveholders, by
giving aid and comfort to the Haleys and Legree?, were really
the men who were riveting the closer upon the slave his
chains. He had seen good men who were slaveholders,
had been himself a slaveholder, and had even sold a slave,
and if his health had not driven him away from the South
he would, in all probability, have remained a slaveholder till
the day of his death. Familiarity had blinded him to the
sin of the practice, and of course he seemed to the reform
ers of the North to be altogether too tame in his views.
Hence, much was felt and said against his course in the
North ; but what gave him the intensest pain was the loss of
cherished friends in the South, and the bitter vituperation
that was poured upon him in their public prints. This con
duct opened all his wounds afresh, and caused his heart to
bleed over the alienation of brethren who, in his view, ought
to have compromised the matter to maintain peace. It is
a matter of regret to his friends in the North that he did
not perceive Ithat this was a question of right which ought

442 NEW ENGLAND DIVINES.
to take precedence of peace, but that regret is alleviated by
the consideration that he lacked conviction of the inherent
wrong of the slave system.
In glancing over the life of Dr. Olin, we perceive a re
markable blending of qualities apparently diverse, and sel
dom combined in the same individual, which tend to enrich and
beautify his character. Not always very important, some
times unlovely in themselves, they yet, by a kind of cross
light, afford those milder tints, that melting of light and
shade into each other which greatly relieve the boldness
and ruggedness of the picture, rendering it less titanic, more
human and lovable.
For instance, there was a species of aristocratic majesty
and genuine humility blended, not existing separate, in his
character. He was naturally an aristocrat. He had a
lofty bearing, a towering intellect, a careless consciousness
of great abilities, which permitted him to be independent
and graciously to condescend to inferiors. This was not
pretense, the inflation of -an ordinary soul by position or
success, a mere nobility on stilts ; he stood proudly upon
bis own feet, and rose to this social and moral altitude
because, as everybody thought, he was endowed with a no
ble nature. God made him a giant. On this majestic
character was engrafted the spirit of Christian humility
which, like the meek ivy upon the spreading elm, enveloped
and interpenetrated it, till the original hauteur disappeared
from view, although it held those meeker, humbler virtues
up in their conspicuous position before the world. In this
respect he resembled St. Paul, " who was the least of all
saints in his own estimation, but who could, when necessary,
vindicate his own apostleship with a bold pen.
His intellect was of the philosophic mold, leading him to
rely on general principles, to build theories without the
trouble of looking after the facts to sustain them. His
mind never seemed to rest till he could grasp the principle
that underlay his project; but once falling back upon that
ample support, no storm nor change could alarm him or

STEPHEN, OLIN. 443
drive him from his position. Yet he was not a mere theo-
rizer. The philosopher was struck through with Saxon
common sense. He built theories, but they, carefully based
on facts, were practicable, and adapted to the men of the
actual world.
He was the rough, uncouth thinker, displaying the stern
granite of his own hills ; but that granite had been polished
and oiled by culture, so that a gentlemanly gracefulness
mingled with his awkward manners, and his severe meta-
' physics were lighted up by the playful smile, the sparkling
wit, the jolly good-humor.

THE END.

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YALE UNIVERSITY

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