EC 17 192S
LIBRARY-

MEMORIAL

GERARD HALLOGK

J. HALSXED CARROLL.

V

f' ¦

1

^& iy "
. - ' y -Vs
•*$*r-\.
/
MEMORIAL

GERARD HALLOCK

J. HALSTED CARROLL.

NEW HAVEN.
PRINTED BY TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE 4 TAYLOR.
1866.

The following Discourse was delivered in the South Congregational
Church, New Haven, January 14th, 1866. In this delineation of Mr.
Hallock's character, the author's thanks, for valuable assistance, are
due to his honored predecessor, under whose ministry the deceased
united with the Church ; also to the elder brother of the deceased ;
and to the family for generous access to private correspondence —
the letters of father and of husband.

DISCOURSE

" Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile." — John v : 47.
"For he loveth our nation, and he hath built us a syna
gogue." — Luke vii: 5.

Gerard Hallock, our dear departed broth
er, of whom we stand pledged to say some
thing commemorative to-day, was born in
Plainfield, Mass., on the eighteenth of March,
in the year 1800. He was the son of Rev.
Moses Hallock, highly distinguished among the
ministers of his day for his humility and devo
tion. In 1815, when fifteen years of age, he
entered Williams College, and graduated in
1819 with the second honor in his class, hav
ing left the first to his brother, Rev. Wm. A.
Hallock, D.D., then six years older than himself.

6
Their excellent father had educated these two
sons for the ministry, and sent them, though
not yet converted, to Andover to study
divinity. There William professed religion and
became a minister of the gospel. But Gerard,
despairing of his own conversion, left Andover,
and in 1823 entered upon that calling in life, in
his judgment second only to the ministry in
Christian usefulness, the editing of a religious
newspaper. He was soon invited to exchange
his prospering infant enterprise for one of the
same kind, more responsible and remunerative,
and accepted the invitation. Very soon he
was called to another position of the same kind,
still more extensive and commanding, and this
too he accepted. In 1827, to reform and
christianize, if possible, the political press of
the country, the Journal of 'Commerce was estab
lished, and having failed in the hands of Mr.
Maxwell, of Va., and Mr. (now Dr.) Bushnell, of
Conn., it was offered to Mr. Hallock in 1828.
Upon reflection, he accepted the proposal

made, became a joint proprietor with David
Hale, Esq., and continued to discharge the
onerous and honorable duties of the position
until August 31st, 1861. At this time, a sum
mary process of one branch of the govern
ment against the Journal, summoned him, in
its operation, to decide whether he would sur
render his principles, or his paper. On that
day Mr. Hallock retired from all connection with
the Journal of Commerce, after a laborious, suc
cessful, valuable, and honorable editorial career
of thirty-eight years. Since that time, he has
been living quietly at his home in this city, as
a private citizen, finding his principal interest
in his Christian duties. His health began to fail
nearly three years ago ; he became desperately
ill not long since, and under a terrible complica
tion of diseases, he departed this life at his msi-
dence, on Thursday, the 4th of January.
When a man of mark, merit, and benevolent
achievement passes away, it is manifestly proper
that his surviving neighbors should turn aside

from ordinary business and spend an hour in
surveying the work he has done, and the powers
that wrought it, that thus they may cherish
a grateful memory of the departed, and com
mend his example to universal imitation.
It is hard to compute Mr. Hallock's work
for man. It may be said, in general, that he
has left the world the benefit of a long life of
unblemished morality, terminating in later
years in a personal Christianity most consistent,
liberal, regular, and zealous. It may be said, in
pxrticular, that for a considerable period he
conducted religious journals in different cities,
by universal consent, with distinguished ability ;
that by prominent co-operation he secured the
establishment of the Southern Aid Society, and
thus contributed (o re-open a channel for the
disbursement of Northern Missionary funds at
the South after the original avenue had been
closed by the national organization ; that by
troubling himself to obtain some history of the
parties, and the sums required for their libera-

tion, by repeated brief and earnest solicita
tions in his paper for the necessary contribu
tions additional to his own, and by receiving
and transmitting the sums contributed, and
continuing this operation for a succession of
months, or years, to his honor we record it, Mr.
Hallock secured the liberation of a large mul
titude of slaves ; and finally, that he constructed
a commodious, excellent, and well furnished
Christian sanctuary, and donated to its occu
pants a liberal support for a succession of years.
But we must pass by these and similar servi
ces, to find Mr. Hallock's pre-eminently valuable
work on earth. Half a century ago all good
men felt, and the common parlance of the world
confessed, that every Christian virtue had long
been banished from the political journals of the
day. It was solemnly proposed by good men,
into this most important but abandoned field to
attempt the introduction of Christian moral
ity, dignity, charity, and truth. To accomplish
this worthy end, the Journal of Commerce was

10

established in 1827, and committed to the
editorship of two of the most talented and dis
tinguished men of that day. The enterprise
failed and was about to be abandoned, when, as
a last resort, Mr. Hallock was earnestly . be
sought to undertake the discouraging task.
As we have seen, he did so, and all admit that
he maintained the Christian virtues in the con
duct of a political paper, — that very platform
on which such virtue had been strangled for
a generation. In proof of this important fact we shall ad
duce but two witnesses. The first is popular
concession. A few days ago, a retired merchant
in Brooklyn, with much earnestness thus ad
dressed a friend:-*" I hear that Mr. Hallock
is sick. Do remember me to him most kindly.
I love and honor that man. For thirty years
before I knew him, I could find the truth
nowhere but in his paper, and I always found
it there" Now just what this man affirms of
the truthfulness of Mr. Hallock and his paper,

11

has been asserted by the impartial men of all
parties, in all sections of the country, for the
last thirty years. Should this testimony be
disputed, we present a more incontrovertible
witness. In Mr. Hallock's house there is a
service of plate, bearing this inscription :
" Presented to Gerard Hallock, Esq., by his fellow citi
zens, as a memento of their regard and esteem for the able,
faithful, and impartial manner in which he has discharged
Ms duties to the public as editor of one of the principal jour
nals during the interesting and exciting Presidential cam
paign of 1844."
This service of silver was presented to Mr.
Hallock by men of both political parties, in
nearly equal numbers.
He was one of the most immutable of men.
What was true of the principles of his editor
ship in 1844, was equally true of his habitual
practice both before and since that period.
Now if for the weal of men in the preser
vation of truth, he stepped upon one of the
most crowded, and popular, and powerful are
nas of human life, where Christianity had been

12
thrown down and trodden under foot for half a
century— I say, if Mr. Hallock did indeed stem
that fierce torrent and act out the saving prin
ciples of Christian virtue boldly and successfully
for four and thirty years, then here is a work
whose manifold important benevolent bearings
human arithmetic can hardly compute. Think
of all the moral and religious intelligence, doc
trines, and counsels, which from this elevated
stand-point were dispersed over a broad area
of ruling mind, for four and thirty years !
Think of all the commanding influence of the
Journal of Commerce over the democratic press
of the country, and the necessary exemplary
power, restraining and sanctifying, upon all the
hostile cotemporary journals of the city and
the land, for the same long period. Think of
all the shaping of events and measures, of the
course of parties, of the destiny of the nation,
by those valued editorials, so seasonable, mas
sive, well-poised, sagacious, and intrepid — for
the same long period! And who, I say, can

13
readily comprehend all the work done for
Christianity and the country by his protracted
services in the conduct of the Journal of Com
merce for four and thirty years! *Surely to
accomplish all this, some sort of power was
necessary. What was that power ?
Gerard Hallock was a man of no ordinary
intellect. So thought his classmates, accus
tomed as they were to recur to his high schol
arship for the solution of the mysterious prob
lems of the lesson they did not comprehend.
So thought the Faculty of Williams College,
when, at his graduation, they awarded to him
these prominent distinctions, the Greek Ora
tion and the Poem. So thought the Christian
public, when they furnished so liberal a pat
ronage to three religious papers of which he
was successively the editor. So thought the
political world, when, through its flattering
countenance that very journal which two
selected men from the north and south had
failed to set in motion, through his supervision

14
had been gradually worked up to a position of
unexampled prosperity and power. So thought
the government, when they ascertained that
the editorials of the Journal of Commerce exer
cised so commanding an influence over the
press of the land.
Were the intellect of Mr. Hallock subjected
to a careful analysis, it would probably be pro
nounced eminently excellent in four respects.
Its simplicity. Simplicity was the ground
work of every element which made up the man,
and certainly pertained to his mind. In its
structure and operations there was nothing
stately or rigid ; nothing showy ; nothing an
gular or overstrained. On the contrary, in
all its conceptions and utterance, his intel
lect was perfectly simple, natural, childlike,
straight-forward. Its accuracy. In all its judgments and state
ments, its arguments and language, Mr. Hal
lock's mind was extraordinarily accurate.
Its strength. Whenever he was found in

15
company, in his wisdom and modesty, he never
opened his lips unless he had something to say.
The moment he commenced to speak, every
one felt that what he might say would, well
nigh settle all doubts upon the subject. Thus
judged by conversation, all men felt the ruling
strength of his mind. Try his intellect by the
next theatre of display, paragraph writing.
The editorials of the Journal, so seasonable
and sagacious ; so just and true ; so full of
common-sense and forecast, — verily, it would
seem to be the general verdict, that for naked
practical strength such another body of politi
cal paragraphs can scarcely be gathered from
the press of the country. The last and high
est ordinary ordeal for the trial of intellect is
polemic discussion. He was a shrewd, expert,
and powerful debater. He always exhibited a
dignified spirit, and pressed the strong points.
He knew how to assail, and how to retort ; to
detect a sophism, or despise an insult. He
knew, too, when to administer the keen thrust,

16
and when to deal the heavy blow. In a
word — to lay your hand upon the man who
was a more accomplished polemic, or had
successfully broken a lance with the editor
of the Journal of Commerce, you would have
to travel far, and then probably fail to find
him. Thus, judged by any of the ordinary
methods of testing mental strength ; candor
would certainly pronounce Mr. Hallock a man
of powerful intellect.
After all, the crowning characteristic of his
mind was versatility. He was ever ready for
any mental work to which he might be called —
narration, discussion, calculation, or prediction.
In all these fields, be the topic what it might, he
would throw out strong common-sense views
which would be sure to commend themselves
to the reader. And should you prefer an
excursion to the regions of fancy, he could
accompany you there. Beyond a question,
he had all the temperament and genius of
a poet. He who seeks satisfaction on this

17
point, may find it if he will peruse the fugi
tive productions of his youth, or the more
delicate effusions of his riper years. Indeed,
the Faculty of Williams College have well nigh
settled this question. They knew him well,
for they had the intimate handling of his mind
for years. At his graduation, they awarded to
him the Greek Oration, to fix the grade of his
scholarship : and then, they awarded to him
the Poem. Why ? They then and there orig
inated this distinction purposely to express
their high admiration of his peculiar poetic tem
per and capacity. May we not say then, in
conclusion, that Mr. Hallock's mind was char
acterized by distinguished excellence in simpli
city, accuracy, strength, and versatility.
But why discuss the intellectual claims of
our modest, noble brother, at this late day ?
The meed of superior faculties and scholarship
has long been inscribed on the record of uni
versal acknowledgment and admiration ; and
since his death, has been most cheerfully, hon-

18
orably, and abundantly conceded by the bitter
est and ablest of his opponents in the edito
rial fraternity.
No man should be surprised that Mr. Hal
lock accomplished so valuable a work in life,
when he reflects that his moral character was
every way equal to his mental endowments.
Nathaniel was an Israelite indeed, in whom
was no guile. Barring idiocy and infamy, the
negation of all guile is well nigh equivalent to
the affirmation of all rectitude. How far our
departed brother merited the encomium passed
upon Nathaniel, none but Nathaniel's eulogist
can accurately tell, especially as the deceased
was singularly retiring and reticent, and there
fore opened himself but very partially either
to the observation or conversation of men.
We do not wonder, then, that so many of his
neighbors entertained the belief that he adopt
ed his views of Southern institutions, simply
to court the patronage of the South ; his po
litical creed, only to curry favor with the dom-

19
inant party in politics ; in a word, that he
managed all his affairs with the single purpose
of securing to himself material aggrandizement.
Alas ! How little did such men know of our
departed brother ! The world has seldom seen
a more guileless man. He was a radiant
representative of a class of virtues certainly
the least conspicuous, if not the most worthy.
The deceased was eminently pure. Although
he ever felt and freely owned himself one of
the vilest of sinners, so diminutive were the
vicious alloys of his character, and so infre
quent their exhibition in life, that it is ques
tionable whether his most intimate acquain
tance could readily recur to a single act or
expression of Mr. Hallock, which, at the time,
he had naturally set down to passion, or pride,
or ambition, or covetousness, or selfishness,
or malice. Compared with men as we find
them in life, it is indeed a hearty comfort to
feel that our departed brother was remarkably
pure.

20

The deceased was eminently upright. It
would be hard to conceive a deeper implan
tation of the principle of justness than he uni
formly exhibited. Who ever charged him with
an act of injustice ? Who ever found his own
reasonable claims disputed by him ? How
conscientiously strict to enquire into all the
circumstances of every case, that he might
know all that was due ? How patient to hear,
how impartial to weigh, how fair and honest
to decide upon every old suggestion, every
new consideration, which a neighbor felt dis
posed to urge ? Indeed, it may be said, with
out fear of contradiction, that he was accus
tomed through life to conduct and settle every
successive transaction upon principles so every
way just and fair, that the discovery of the
slightest inequitableness perpetrated by him
self, would have distressed him until the en
tire affair had been most thoroughly examined
and righteously arranged.
The deceased was eminently modest. He

21
never spoke of himself, and never invited the
commentary of another upon his performance.
At the expense of style, he would write and
re-write every word of his articles so as to ex
press the exact truth, but never a word did his
heart suggest or substitute to win the praise
of men. No friend of the deceased could be
more shocked than he would be by any man's
affirmation that Mr. Hallock had assumed
more than he was entitled to, or affected to be
what, in truth, he was not. Through life he
shunned the public eye, and was surprised and
disconcerted by every honoring ascription.
He sought to. do his duty, and so seriously was
this his one great aim, that few men were bold
enough to venture a personal compliment in
his presence. And yet he could be pleasant in
view of some aspects of his self-abnegation.
" I have been elected to-day to the very first
office I ever held." "And pray what is that ?"
said his friend. He very pleasantly replied :
"A tithing-man in the South Church."

22
The deceased was eminently gentle. He was
never boisterous, or forward, or rude. True,
his manners were often cold, and sometimes a
little petulant ; but who ever saw him in a
passion ? or felt that his heart was malig
nant, or his tongue vituperative? On the
contrary, his spirit was almost' uniformly bland
and placid ; his manner calm and gentle ; his
habit, taciturn and retiring. To the poor he
was always attentive and respectful ; to all men
mild and courteous : amidst the prosperities of
business just as simple and grave as ever ; in
all the distressing pangs of his last illness, his
silence was never broken by the first note of
complaint, but now and then relieved by a
look or a word that seemed to proceed from
studied cheerfulness within.
The deceased was eminently truthful. The
all-dominant properties of his character, were
simplicity, rectitude, and truth. He was cer
tainly a man of singular veracity. He never
uttered or suppressed a word, never acted or

23
failed to act, to produce a false impression.
The truth, the literal, exact truth, he ever
studied to speak. He withheld nothing that
truth demanded ; he did nothing to conceal the
truth. To deceive his neighbor was the one
thing he ever labored to avoid ; to present the
truth perfectly, the one thing he ever sought
to accomplish.
The deceased was eminently kind. The poor
know this. The Church of God knows this.
And many a stranger knows this, who will
never disclose to us the name of his benefactor
till the judgment ' day. Nor is this the only,
undiscovered field of his sympathy. Few men
know that one of Mr. Hallock's peculiar eleva-
' tions above themselves lay in the fact that his
benevolence was not confined to his race. If
the numerous and diversified family of God's
inferior creatures, who find a home round
about his domicile from year to year, could
manage to find a representative, they might
experience a pleasing relief in bearing testi-

24
mony, that of all their fellow-creatures in this
region of country, he was almost the only hu
man being who practically acknowledged a com
mon parentage with themselves. The insects,
and reptiles would gratefully report that " when
severe droughts threatened distress, and even
destruction, our precious benefactor, with
his own hands, would be sure to provide
and to plant shallow receivers in every part of
his premises, and would never forget to supply
the same with that water which could be found
nowhere else, though so indispensable to our
comfort and our existence." The birds, too,
would bear their happy testimony that — "in
the spring of the year, when subjected else
where to such severe toil to find the proper
soft, strong, and pliable material to make our
nests, all around the premises of Mr. Hallock,
convenient strips of suitable twine were scat
tered about upon the trees, the shrubs, and the
fences, which greatly facilitated our labor, and
braced, beautified, and perfected our little fam-

25
ily homes. And when, a few years ago, in
mass we made him a responsive visit, in grate
ful remembrance of his annual contributions of
bread and grain and twine, he recognized our
common parentage, made a public record of our
tuneful effort, and gave notice to men of the
correspondence which exists between us." And
ah ! that household pet who so loved to recline
about his feet, and to occupy the soft cushion
of his arm-chair when he left it — what a story
he could tell ! Down to his dying day, though
pressed into the grave by an almost unprece
dented complication of dreadful distempers, if
our departed brother chanced to find his arm
chair occupied, he never would permit the
occupant to be disturbed, no matter who might
be present — but the hard chair he himself
would endure, for hours if need be, until
" Tom," unmolested, had finished his nap,
and arisen and stretched himself, and delib
erately given place of his own accord ; and
then, and not till then, would Mr. Hallock

26
resume his accustomed, his only comfortable
seat. Finally, the deceased was eminently firm.
•While no man should say that he was ob
stinate or stubborn, he who ventured to deal
unjustly or .overbearingly with him would be
very apt to find him just as inflexible as he
should be. To stand by truth and justice cost
him no effort, cost whatever else it might. To
the one who ventured to suggest that he
should change the course of his editorials be
cause a multitude of his subscribers were giv
ing up their papers, he indignantly replied —
" I do not consult my subscription list to find
out my principles." One act indicative of
his unyielding firmness — the most noble and
exalted of his life as an act of devotion to
principle, to what he believed to be the right
— can never perish from the memory of the
people or the records of the country, — the
surrender of the editorship of the Journal of
Commerce. That act, as such, shall go down

27
on the page of American history as the most
distinguished memorial of a private citizen
earned in our day. That calm, grand, and sol
emn editorial of August 31st, 1861, was a de
liverance in self-defence,— before the accusing,
confronting authorities,— to the Grand Jury
of the country and the world, — and in
the presence of Almighty God, — which pro
claimed Gerard Hallock a man who, under a
mandate regarded by him as despotism, could
surrender his property, but not his principles ;
who could part with his tastes, his habits, his
calling, and his comforts, but not with his con
science. A splendid adherence to principle,
which embodied more of Roman dignity, in
tegrity and intrepidity than one man in a
generation has either the opportunity or the
virtue to perform. That act, thus viewed,
shall ever stand out by far the richest,
loftiest legacy of which his family and his
friends shall delight to boast. The solid virtue
of this most noble act was fully sustained to

28
the last. Listen to these brave words con
cerning it, which fell from his lips some time
previous to his death. " I have given up my
business and half my property ; and I am ready
to give up the remainder, if necessary, and —
my life also."
Honor to humanity ! It is a noble spec
tacle to see the ablest journals of the country,
many of them hostile — a part inexorably so,
for the quarter of a century — marching up to
Mr. Hallock's grave to endorse our very loftiest
ascriptions to his character.
Hark to a portion of that testimony :
THE TRIBUNE.
" His mistakes in politics never affected his personal in
tegrity, or caused any man to doubt the honesty of his
convictions. THE TIMES.
" One of the kindest-hearted men, generous to a fault,
fond of doing good, ever the suggester and promoter of
benevolence, his concealed charities boundless and unceas
ing. His long life was devoted to enterprise in the right
direction ; and while differences in political and ecclesiasti
cal points may have at times led him into discussions with
his fellows, his purity of life and general bearing of charity
toward all, were the notable features of his existence."

29
THE HERALD.
" He had a mind of powerful cast, a clear and almost
prophetic view of the state of the country and its political
relations, a broad and comprehensive appreciation of men
and events, a thorough knowledge of the world and the
influences which sway its destinies, and a courage to do
and maintain the right at whatever sacrifice."
One more tribute. It is from the pen of
editorial friendship.
" Gerard Hallock was a Christian of no weak faith or
uncertain walk, a' friend never to be distrusted, a man of
noble heart, of kindliest sympathies, of child-like gentle
ness, a patriot, like whom would God we had a million
more to-day. He has gone out of strife into a world where
men are judged by no false witness. He has left a reputation
to be admired and studied, and an influence which is limited
in its extent only by the limit of American civilization."
All these testimonials are thus endorsed by
one whose name and fame are co-extensive with
our literature.
"I knew Gerard Hallock well. I knew him early, inti
mately, and long, from his student, days onward. I knew
him as a scholar, a gentleman, a christian, and a patriot;
and I say what such knowledge of him authorizes me to
say, that a man of more modesty of intellect and manners,
of more integrity, of purer or broader patriotism, or sincerer
piety (so far as man can judge of that) is not often seen, —
is nowhere seen, in my belief. His record is on high."

30
Brethren of the church ! what signal moral ,
beauty, glory, and symmetry, pertain to the
character of our ascended brother : so emin
ently simple, upright, modest, truthful, ben
evolent, and intrepid. And here let it be ob
served, that to do justice to the character of
Mr. Hallock, it should be appreciated that the
strength of immutability seems to pertain to
the properties of his nature far more than to
those of ordinary men. His virtues did not
seem to lie loose upon the surface of his spirit,
but to be fast anchored — nay, so ingrained,
essentially, into the very texture of his soul —
that his palpable impurity, or injustice, or
immodesty, or untruthfulness, or unkindness,
or imbecility, would seem to be an impossibil
ity from the very nature of the man.
We have seen what a noble work for God
and man our brother has been impowered to
achieve. Should it surprise any man that such
a character and such an intellect, indefatigably
consecrated through a long and vigorous life,

31
has accomplished so much for the universal
weal ? Or should it surprise any man that such
a human being should be profoundly loved and
honored by all who know him ? Oh ! what in
this world should be appreciated if we are not
to set a value upon talent, and virtue and toil,
working political prosperity to the country,
and ecclesiastical advancement of the Kingdom
of Christ.
When I look at Gerard Hallock living
and Gerard Hallock dead, I feel summoned
to call upon all men to give instant heed
to the three great and simple examples
which he has left for their imitation. Culti
vate your intellect assiduously all through life
as he did ; that you may live for God and man.
Cultivate your moral and religious character
assiduously all through life as he did ; that
you may live for God and man. And now, be
sure to consecrate this intellect and character
to the kingdom and crown of Christ, assiduously
all through life as he did ; and though at the

32
last you may have your transient struggles, as
did the master and the disciple, yet like them
you shall soon cease from your labors and your
good works shall follow you into the land of
" pleasures forevermore." Observe now :
I. The death of Gerard Hallock furnishes one
of the sublimest exh ibitions of Christian heroism
on record in the Church of God.
We beg leave to premise, that throughout
his last illness, by the simple tests of scripture,
the spectator could clearly discern the personal
piety of the deceased. He saw that his con
viction of sin was profound ; his sorrow for sin
godly ; his faith in Christ exclusive ; his sub
mission to God sincere. In a word, he dis
covered, with perfect precision, that every
doctrine, feeling, and purpose essential to the
principles of religion were as clearly domiciled
in the soul of Mr Hallock as in the heart of
the happiest Christian of his acquaintance.
We premise again, that it pleased God for
wise reasons, unrevealed to us, to deny to the

33
deceased the conscious comforts of Christianity.
This is a common element of Christian expe
rience, and perfectly natural in this case. A
gloomy temperament ; and a still more gloomy
experience ; and both intensified by the most
gloomy condition of his body, it was perfectly
natural that he should be temporarily unable
to discover anything good in himself, and per
fectly natural that he should disclaim its exis
tence. But there is a third point to which we beg
leave to call your attention just here. Below
consciousness there is an underlying surface of
Christian experience. For though deprived at
present of the positive consolations of the
spirit, yet God and his religion are in the man.
This constitutes an explanatory element indis
pensable to the intelligent comprehension of
the phenomena of the case. Therefore it is,
that though his faith as to himself has stag
gered, it has not fallen ; though it receives no
outward light, it still holds on in the dark.

34
In view of the peculiar moral character ani
condition of the sufferer, we repeat, we are
not surprised that he should never have felt
the raptures, rarely the consolations of reli
gion ; nor that, just now, he is a stranger even
to hope : nor that even this does not describe
the extent of his bereavement. For observe,
if you please, while unable to detect the pres
ence of religion in his soul, the absence of it
must of course seem to him a matter of con
sciousness. Ever prompt to respond to those
who enquired concerning his spiritual state, on
one occasion in reply, he thus expressed him
self : " I know that he that believeth shall be
saved ; but I have no faith. I know that he
who is not regenerated must perish, and I
have no evidence of regeneration." Such in
substance was his laconic reply to every in
quiry. Thus, you perceive, like the master in
his last days, it was arranged that the disciple
too, in his, should be placed under the hidings
of his Father's countenance, as if God-forsaken.

35
In this appalling state of abandonment what
were his surroundings ? The King of Terrors
was advancing hard upon him, sword in hand.
This he knew. And Satan, who loves to worry
whom he cannot destroy, and to take advan
tage of the crippled condition of his victim,
doubtless rushed upon him like a giant, and
plied his weary soul with that accursed troop
of sore and fierce temptations whereby he had
cowed and crushed his spirit through so many
dark and bitter months of his life. " Thou art
doomed." " The man that made not God his
friend." "The man who is following the
funeral of his own soul, and the grave thereof
just at hand." "The great sinner whom a
righteous God will like to damn."
In that death chamber of Mr. Hallock — what
a scene ! The sufferer all helpless and hope
less within ! An array of overwhelming, crush
ing adversaries at the very door! And how
did he bear himself in this unequal, this porten
tous conflict ? He fixed his solemn eye upon

36
Death and Hell, and all their hideous retinue,
and awaited their approach, to all appearance.
as composed and sustained as if that eye rested
upon the opening gate of heaven. Yes ! all
alive to his immortality, accountability, de
pravity, and condemnation : fully sensible of
the nearness of death and retribution : and all
unconscious of acceptance, and feeling, as he
thought, the very frown of heaven ; yet such,
after all, was his underlying confidence in the
rectitude of God, and the truth of His word ;
such his hold upon the great foundations all in
the dark ; that not an act, or word, or thought,
or tone indicated the very slightest agitation
at any moment of his illness. He was just as
calm and serene and self-poised as a man could
be. He ever acted as if that were true, which
he ever repeated to the day of his death, that
he was but "half-sick." He went to the
house of God just as long as he could ride in a
vehicle. He read the Bible in family devotion
just as long as he had the necessary voice.

37
He kneeled in prayer just as long as he could
rise from his knees. He occupied his chair at
the family table to the very meal before his
death. Nor did he ever allow friend or kins
man to watch with him. No matter what the
topic, secular or spiritual, yours or his, his
conduct, his manners, his language, his tone
were all just as easy and natural to the very
moment of his death, as if the weight of a
feather did not rest upon his mind.
On the day of his death he announced in the
morning his belief that he had transacted his
last act of business ; consented during the day
to an exchange of chambers from one on the
second floor to another on the first ; and allow
ed himself to be assisted, at night, to walk out
of the sitting-room into the chamber. Placed
in an easy chair, with his feet on the footboard
near the stove, and his limbs, which had been
growing cold for hours, comfortably wrapped,
he looked up and half cheerful said : " How com
fortable we all are here 1 We have everything

38
to make us happy. How much better off than
many poor people this cold night ! I would
like to have you leave me alone for awhile ; I
am very comfortable." Five minutes had
scarcely elapsed, ere the family returned and
found him on the floor in the act of dying.
We know nothing here ; but the bystanders
around his breathless body verily believe,
that he solicited their absence because he knew
he was near death, and neither wished to be
confused by a sense of their presence, nor to
pain them by the vision of the issue ; that hav
ing committed his soul to God, he deliberately
closed his own eyes, and sank powerless to the
floor. Most intensely oppressed by adverse truth ;
yet as mightily sustained by inwrought, uncom-
forted faith. What prodigious power is here !
Quiet endurance without seeming support,
under pressure almost infinite. Oh, what
resplendent heroism!! Where in all this
world will you find a courage like this ? Behold

39
that grand army, in double quick rushing up to
storm formidable works. They know that in
the space of one single minute, the half of them
must go down in the roar of the conflict, yet
on they rush ; what courage here ? And yet
the similar courage of a thousand just such
armies would not supply the necessities of Mr.
Hallock's death chamber. He thought, he
knew, he ever felt that in his own soul he had
more at stake than the lives of half the bodies
of a thousand grand armies. And see ! in a
sense — nay! to his very consciousness — it
seemed as if all was lost. And yet, that man
was so calm, and to the very last could talk
about the matter with infinite composure ! !
Oh ! the power, and the value, and the dignity,
and the heroism of our blessed Christianity !
And oh ! the omnipotent grace which God
vouchsafes to a feeble creature, at the very mo
ment when blinded nature feels that grace
would scorn to notice his most piteous suppli
cation !

40
II. The peculiarities of Mr. Hallock's natural
temperament and religious experience furnish
a relieving exposition respecting the peculiarities
of his social habits and manners.
It must be acknowledged, that in some re
spects he was one of the most unsocial and
solitary of the human family. He was rarely
ever known to seek the society of a fellow
man or make a social call upon a friend. One
solitary visit in forty years is all that is noted
in the family register. His manners, too, it
must be confessed, in general were singularly
grave and cold, taciturn and incommunicative.
If I mistake not, his temperament and experi
ence had much to do in the construction of these
peculiarities. From his very youth he displayed a retiring,
poetic, sombre constitution. The subjects of
his compositions in college indicate this fact.
Listen to the catalogue : "A Reverie among the
Tombs," "Mayhew's Grave," "Autumn," "The
Vale of Years," &c. The sentiments that per-

41
vade these productions confirm the judgment
expressed. You will be assured of this, if you
but peruse the first sentences of these compo
sitions, without explanation, as they stand
casually arranged in a book by a friend.
" My harp is broken, and my lyre unstrung ;
My years are fled, my hopes in sackcloth hung ;
And earth is pall'd in sadness, and its bloom
Is but the flower that blossoms o'er the tomb."
Again, —
" Ahme ! How soon the bloom of friendship fades !
My dearest joys, oblivion's gloomy shades
Have curtained from me."
Again, —
" To a feeling heart there is something inexpressibly ten
der in the whispers of Autumn. It is a season which no one
can approach without emotion, and none can pass through
without feeling how transient and how perishable are the
charms of earth."
Again, —
" Oh ! how I bleed when pensively I tread
'Long the dread confines of the dead ;
"Where lone and sad the weeping willows wave
O'er the dark regions of the insatiate grave."

42
Again, —
" Oh hopeless, dismal state, to be confined
To this vile clay and this still viler mind !
Why chain me thus to my own mouldering corpse,
Which, only to behold, my senses warps
Into distraction ? 'Tis an awful doom !
Yet I could bear the horrors of a tomb —
Corpse, winding sheet, and all the ghastly forms
That dance their orgies dire to reveling worms,
Were this my only destiny : — but oh !
The plague and torment of a heart of woe."
These are the first sentences of compositions,
not selected, but just as they succeed each
othei^on the record. How clearly they reveal
a melancholy chord in the very structure of
the man. His sensibilities, like the strings of
an iEolian harp, were touched by the slightest
breath of mortal sorrow, and filled the posses
sor with the mournful strains of their every
vibration. The fact is, this vein of constitu
tional pensiveness overspreads and tinges all
the effusions of his mind, and stands out, the
capital, distinguishing feature of his entire
correspondence, as well as of his fugitive pro
ductions. We shall cite but one illustration.

43
In a letter to a friend, just after graduating,
he says :
"Mr. E., is just such another secluded mortal as I am.
We have a grove about a mile from the Academy that is
really a solitary haunt. We usually visit it in the decline
of day. A solemn stillness reigns, save the chattering of a
multitude of moaning night birds that resort here as a re
treat from the eye of man. It is closed from the face of
day by a multitude of pines that overhang a spot where no
flower ever blooms, and no plant ever receives the radiance
of the sun. Here, retired from the din and hurry of life,
we ponder on our nature, our duty and our destination."
Observe now, whatever morbid, sombre,
gloomy temper nature gave him, his religious
convictions could not fail to darken. Oh, the
fearful images that haunted him through life !
He has been heard to say, as already stated,
that for a long time he was oppressed with the
conviction that "the very atmosphere was
gloomy ;" that he himself was a doomed man ;
that every step he took on earth, was a tread
ing in the funeral of his soul ; that every human
being that threw his eyes upon him on his way
to perdition, would point and say,— "There

44
goes the man who made not God his friend."
The strongest feelings of man on earth are the
outworkings of God's truth on his soul. Such
terrible images as abode upon Mr. Hallock's
spirit ; such dreadful anathemas as ever rung
in his ears, must have stirred the hardest soul
to its lowest foundations ; how much more the
subject of such dark and tender sensibility!
Had he been a man of social nature, who could
have thrown out his inmost thoughts and feel
ings upon his friends, and taken home their
diluting meditations and their relieving views,
it might have mitigated the severity of the
infliction. Not so that sombre, lonely being,
who shares his thoughts with none ; but with
intensest, ever-during contemplation holds up
those terrific forms within, to frown their
dark and harrowing power down to the pro-
foundest depths of the soul. Oh, if there is
a wretched man on earth, you have found him
now ! Who, who can doubt for an instant that
such a constitution and such an experience are

45
the necessary parents of a solitaire ? Such a
man must be unsocial in his habits ; unsocial in
his manners. That morbid, melancholy, smit
ten spirit, ever listening to the echoings of
such terrific curses and maddening forebodings
in the dark caverns of his soul, — how can
such a mortal endure society. Most assuredly
solitude is the only possible refuge of such a
spirit. The last thing such a man can do is to
break away from his accursed tormentors, and
the last thing he would do is to share his sor
rows with another. Ingraft, therefore, the
very slightest truth on the constitution of the
unhappy man, and he must meet every one
on earth with a gravity that would chill him ;
and he must part with him at sight, lest he be
forced to lie by pretending an interest which
he does not feel in any topic that may be
presented. We commend to you, brethren, the lesson
we deduce from these reflections. Mr. Hal
lock's unsocial habits and manners are, in a

46
measure, the philosophical result of his mor
bid constitution and his afflicting convictions.
Now, if any man has been accustomed in his
own mind to ascribe his unsociableness to a
proud, unfeeling, or selfish disposition, let him
read here that inner history which his own
delicacy would never have revealed, and from
this hour let him do justice, and vindicate an
innocent .and afflicted fellow being from his
own past unrighteous accusations. Above all,
let the world deeply honor the departed when
they reflect that instead of being driven by
the assassins of his peace to intemperance,
insanity, or suicide, he has, all through life,
commanded himself with such perfection of
intelligence and benevolence, that while on
the one hand he has trodden the wine press
alone, and never troubled a human being to
share his sorrows ; on the other he has man
aged to accomplish his great life-work to gen
eral satisfaction under all the heavy disadvan
tages of crippled peace and powers.

47
III. If the dark side of Mr. Hallock's nature
advances claims to be relieved from the unjust
imputations it may have awakened, its brighter
side will be sure to minister a pleasing surprise
to many who may never have imagined its beau
tiful and touching features.
In passing through life, Mr. Hallock's frigid
exterior, — rather his unsympathizing sur
face, — to say the least, left him but very
inadequately understood of men. It is due
to God, the world, and the man, that an effort
should be made to set him before his race
somewhat as he was. In making a momentary
effort in this direction, we must beg leave,
first of the spirit of our departed brother, then
of his family and the public, in this extraordi
nary case to be allowed to trespass a little
beyond the ordinary limits of family privacy, —
we almost fear of delicate propriety, — to reach
those warm affections, beautiful sympathies,
virtuous aspirations, noble promptings, saga
cious hits, and a thousand other charming things

48
which abounded wherever his pen carried out
the workings of his heart to his kindest and
most intimate friends. Our simple method
shall be to throw before you in his own words,
and in unexplained connection, a continuous
succession of these lovely exhibitions of his
brighter side as we shall find them scattered
through his private correspondence and fugi
tive productions.
" I anticipated much satisfaction in visiting with you, my
brother, the seats of our childhood and recounting the sim
ple and interesting annals of our morning years. There is
something grateful in looking back upon the innocence of
childhood— so cheerful — so happy — so indiscreet — so prone
to feed on ideal bliss, and yet with us so guarded and
sanctified by the watchfulness of our dear parents. Few,
very few, my brother, have such cause for thankfulness in
view of family concerns as we have."
To a brother in England :
" I shall think of you as sustained and soothed by the
nearest, kindest, and best of earthly comforters. It is true
I have not the means of knowing definitely the precise
value of the prize you have drawn ; but from the fact of its
being that which a wise man has chosen, I cannot doubt
but it has made you rich indeed. I should want no better

49
recommendation of a woman, as far as it goes, than her
willingness to embark on a 3,000 or 4,000 miles voyage,
leaving her delightful shores and friends behind, in order
that she might benefit and bless the ignorant and perishing.
As you have entered on this new relation without counsel
from your American friends, so I suppose you are not very
anxious whether they approve or disapprove of the course
you have taken. Nevertheless, I shall make bold to say,
that, so far as I know, we heartily concur in the wisdom of
your choice, and wish that a thousand blessings may rest
upon you and your partner. I know the state upon which
you have entered is infinitely promotive of human happiness.
Were I alone in life, instead of being a husband and a
father, I would embrace the first fair opportunity of binding
myself in these silken chains. All that a miserable Ccelebs
anticipates of cares and troubles in the married state, is a
dream of his own imagination; for these very cares and
trpubles, shared in so endearing a connection, are converted
into pleasure."
On parting with a friend, he throws out
this passionate burst :
" I sometimes exclaim in a kind of agony, ' cruel fate !
that should thus tear me from my best friends.' I have
but few friends on earth; but those few are dearer to me
than life. Be assured that, whether living or dying, I am
your sincere but unworthy friend."
To his wife :
" There is no where on earth to be compared with the
peaceful shelter of my home."—" How happy you and I are

50
in our home life. If we look over the past, scarcely a
breath has ruffled the surface of our social relations. Now
I know the stubbornness of my own disposition too well —
yes, and my excitability too, not to understand to whom
this beautiful harmony and love are, under God, to be at
tributed. You have never undertaken to rule me ; and yet
by keeping within your own sphere you have ruled me even
as you listed. I wish a thousand other women might un
derstand this secret of a wife's supremacy. It is all told
in some of the Epistles, but how few women, comparatively,
so read as to understand."
" ' Your hope in Jesus ! ' I know of nothing on earth
which could have given me such unmingled satisfaction.
And I desire to thank God for his mercy vouchsafed in
your behalf. In some respects we have been unfortunate,
but how little do these things appear when contrasted
with the amazing interests of the soul. I rejoice with
you, and ever will rejoice, in what Jesus has, as we
humbly trust, done for you ; and my fervent desire is
that I may be like you as far as you bear the image of the
Saviour." " But God has been better to us than our fears ; yes,
better than our hopes; and after what He has done for
you, may He not do the same for me ? I feel that I need
His salvation ; that He is infinitely worthy of my love, and
that I am wholly unworthy of His favorable notice."
" My home is now more desirable to me by far than ever,
since it is consecrated by the Christian's affections and the
Christian's hope." " We have lived together many years

51
very happily, and I hope more are in reserve for us." " I
am these days very cheerful and very sad. I feel all the
time as if I owed a thousand thanks for the mercy mani
fested to you, but I rejoice with sorrow for what I know and
feel in regard to myself." " I want that you should not
give me up as reprobate, nor be discouraged by anything
I have said, from dropping your sweet words of piety in my
ears, and placing them before my eyes, as often as you
please. There is no knowing which shall prosper, this or
that. And furthermore, it is pleasant to me in itself. I
hope it is to you." " It is something that I can have your
prayers, and that I can know there is at least one in this
world who cares for my soul. I wish I could join you in
your path to the Heavenly Canaan. I feel I have lived
long enough in this way, and have no desire to live longer
unless I can live better, save for the single purpose of pro
viding for and loving my family and being loved by them."
To his child :
" My Dear Daughter : I write you this line to tell you
how sorry I am that I spoke to you so harshly when you en
tered the carriage on Monday morning. I must learn to be
more gentle, even if I am hurried. I should have said some
thing like this : ' Now, my child, I am afraid you will be dis
appointed. You have got into the carriage expecting to ride
to school with me ; but I am obliged to go in the opposite
direction on business. Next Monday morning I shall hope
to have the pleasure of your company.' You will learn
from my example, how bad it is to be impatient, and how
uncomfortable it is to others. I hope my child will culti-

52
vate the opposite virtue, and that her father will do like
wise. I suppose as you see Thomas plowing the garden,
and James beginning to plant, you are thinking about your
garden also. You must have a little spot which you- can '
call yours, where you can plant or set out what you please,
and see the plants grow, and call them your own. But
you also have a full interest, in common with the rest of
the family, in all the garden, trees and grounds, and I trust
you will enjoy yourself much in running about and hearing
the birds sing, and swinging. I hope to see you again next
Saturday, in which case perhaps we shall find time to take
a little walk together, and see the oxen, and the bird's nest."
To a relative :
" My little Caroline went to sleep (for to nothing else could
it be so aptly compared,) on Sabbath evening at a quarter
past six, and was buried yesterday afternoon. Her sick room
afforded such an example of meekness, patience and sub
mission, amidst great weakness, and for some days extreme
suffering, as is scarcely ever seen. She had her reason to
the last, and- her little corpse looked so sweet and lovely
that one would have almost wanted to kiss it. I feel a
degree of confidence that she is safe in the arms of the
Saviour, many of whose traits of character as a man she so
closely imitated. Those who have associated with her
most intimately and freely, think she has been a Christian
for months. She was asked what she must do in order to
go to heaven. She answered, she must love Jesus Christ
and obey his commandments, or to that effect : and then
added, " I hope I do love him some." She has for many

53
months past expected to be very' short lived. A little
before she was taken with her last sickness, noticing the
birds on the trees close by, something was said about their
soon leaving us. The remark was added, " but they will
come back next spring," and my Caroline said, "but I shall
not be here," and after a pause, " nor at mamma's house. I
shall be in my little grave in the burying ground."
We trust we have laid before, you extracts
from his correspondence in sufficient variety
and extent to reveal this fact : that he at heart
was an impassioned friend and a loving hus
band; and father ; that he had a passionate ad
miration of the sweets of home, and a shrewd
vision of the jvays of Providence ; in a word,
that he' was a gifted- man, so; gentle, modest, and
just ; so sombre, and yet so; sprightly.; that
could you have penetrated; the shell, his mel
ancholy mood had built, ground' him, you
yourself might have found in the -brighter,
inner -features' of his- character,' just, -such a
fellow-man as you should have .. delighted* to
"record your nearest neighbor1 and your ¦¦bosom
friend. 5

54
IV. Mr. Hallock's experience was in itself
pre-eminently Christian, and to his friends
should be profoundly consoling.
It is proper to premise, that the ministers
of the gospel who visited him during his last
days had abundant opportunities of personal
conversation with the deceased, and that he
always expressed his feelings with the utmost
freedom and distinctness. Nor should it be
forgotten, that he knew his own religious con
sciousness as definitely, and could express it as
perspicuously, as almost any man knew and
could explain his. When, therefore, the attend
ing ministers declare that he possessed this and
that defined religious feeling, every one must
decide for himself in the premises the degree
of confidence which should be reposed in that
testimony. In their judgment, the dying experience of
Mr. Hallock, in its type, was the dying expe
rience of his Master. Jesus felt Himself for
saken of God. As a man, so did His humble

55
disciple. Under this desertion Jesus only held
the more tenaciously to God. As a man, so
did this humble disciple. Through all His
conflict Jesus submitted Himself reverently to
the will of God. As a man, so did this hum
ble disciple. Finally, from duty to duty,
apparently uncheered, Jesus passed on into
the presence of God. As a man, so we trust,
did this humble disciple.
The dying experience of Mr. Hallock exhib
ited exact conformity to the conditions pre
scribed by Christ to secure his blessing. On
a distinguished occasion, said Jesus Christ :
" Blessed are the poor in spirit ; " — honest self-
abasement for sin against God. If we knew
the state of his mind, this was one of the
strong feelings of his soul. " Blessed are they
that mourn ; " — deep grieving of soul for neg
lect and disobedience of a righteous and mer
ciful Father. If we knew the state of his
mind, this was one of his deepest convictions.
"Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after

56
righteousness ;" — strong desires for righteous
ness for its own sake, and because due to God.
If we understood his feelings, this was one of
the sincerest longings of his soul.' Now, if
Mr. Hallock's dying experience bore such
'marked resemblance to that of his Master, and
involved such ample compliance with the pre
scribed conditions of His blessing, surely we are
warranted in saying that his experience was
pre-eminently Christian.
It may surprise unreflecting men, it is
nevertheless true, that Mr. Hallock's exercises
in their nature give the very strongest evidence
of religion which it is in the power of man to
exhibit. Like David in the Psalms, our de
parted brother, in all his desolation, seems to
stand before God, and substantially press this
most solemn plea: "My Maker, blot out all
lights, cut down all comforts, strike away all
props, inflict all curses, and brand reprobation
upon my very soul, so that I shall seem to
taste the bitter doom ; still I cannot, cannot

57
give thee up. I have nothing, to fall back
upon. Nothing that I love, — nothing that I
want, — nothing that can fill my soul, or cheer
my heart I have been put out of sympathy
with everything on earth as a chief good.
Nothing suits my great relations, — nothing
meets the solemn demands of my moral na
ture. My God, I cannot let thee go. Thou
art my all in all. Abandon, afflict, accurse,
slay me, — yet will I trust in Thee. A wreck
and a wretch without Thee, ah, whither,
whither shall I go ? Oh my God and Saviour !
while I have any being I must cling to thee,
to thee only, to the bitter end." Regenera
tion puts the soul out of vital sympathy with
creation, into vital sympathy with God, and
when roused and put into desperate straits, it
must act precisely as described above. And
observe ; nothing but regeneration can act so,
and therefore nothing can so triumphantly
prove regeneration. Every other species of
Christian evidence must have something joy-

58
ous about it. Now nature loves to be joyous,
and in these cases this may be all that is loved.
But everything that nature loves is stormed
away from Mr. Hallock's soid, and nothing,
nothing therefore, but naked Christian princi
ple, could hold on at such a time. As yon oak
on the mountain crag, which, though stripped
and dismantled in its fearful wrestle with the
tempest, still stands firmly rooted, — anchored
to the rock.
We have not discussed this point to brace
up Mr Hallock's Christian character. It need
ed no support. That splendid, old fashioned,
orthodox, Calvanistic account of his experience,
left us in his own hand-writing,* in these days
is a rare and ample evidence of his personal in
terest in the religion of the Lord Jesus. " By
their fruits ye shall know them." Fourteen
years ago he united with this church, under the
fervent, faithful ministry of its first pastor, Rev.

* See Appendix.

59
J. C. Stiles, D. D., and ever since his blameless,
spiritual walk and conversation have been
a Christian testimony which needs no confir
mation. No ! It was rather for the comfort of
his friends that we called up these thoughts.
Many persons, not deeply learned in the ele
ments, action, and evidence of true religion,
forgetting that Jesus Christ Himself had an ex
perience of which this disciple's was an almost
exact counterpart, would be very apt to be
made unhappy and hopeless by the seeming
comfortless gloom of his last days. Profound
consolation, rather, they should assuredly feel
in view of two truths— his experience was pre
eminently Christian, and the very strongest
type and style of Christianity earth shall ever
know. Brethren and sisters, and friends of this
church and congregation ! I come to your
relief at last. You have enjoyed all this at
tempted tribute to the work and worth of our

60
friend. And you have rejoiced to have the
world stand by and give heed to these solid
testimonials of his exalted character. But you
have felt, too, that you have long sustained a
far warmer, closer relation to the departed
than the world can claim, and are not content
therefore to yield only a formal respect to his
memory. You demand now, to be allowed to
come nearer to our honored, sainted brother.
But5 where is the evidence ? Where the bond?
Where the monument of his peculiar relation
to you? Here it is, brethren! This noble
edifice !
'•He hath loved our nation and built us a
synagogue" Christianity is the fountain head of all good
to man, — individual, national, universal Ab
stract from any people all the good they have
received from Christianity, and that nation is
doomed. Impart the blessings of true religion
to every inhabitant of a nation, and that peo^
pie you glorify. Piety, therefore, is the per-

61
fection of patriotism. Christianity, remember,
works out its redeeming effects through a
church and its ordinances. He, therefore, who
discreetly builds a synagogue, is the prince of
patriots. But it has been said that Mr. Hallock built
this sanctuary for earthly gain, — to magnify
the value of his adjacent land. He always said
that this charge would be tabled ; but added,
" if the accuser knew my business as well as I
do, he would not risk his accusation." Time
has proved the man impeached the wiser
financier. One hundred and nineteen thou
sand dollars have already been expended upon
the enterprise. Had this sum, with the conse
crated thought and toil of fourteen years, been
otherwise invested, the issue, a'l must see,
would have verified his prediction, and he
would have lived and died a richer man.
Mr. Hallock, his bitterest enemies now ad
mit, was an eminently honest and truthful man.
What account does he give of his own motives

62
in the erection of the church? A Christian
brother, witnessing an exhibition of his splendid
liberality, after a momentary pause, thus ad
dressed him : " You have two things to be
thankful for, which, jointly, bless but few men :
a large purse, and a large heart in the disburse
ment of it " With his accustomed philosophic
gravity, he thus responded : " From my boy
hood I have observed that every man grew
covetous in proportion as he grew rich, if he
did not keep giving. I am making money and
must give it." Observe now, he affirmed to
his friends that one motive which influenced
him to build the church, was self-protection ;
to defend the liberalities of his natural heart
against the choking grasp of approaching
covetousness. Above all unconverted men we ever knew,
he felt, spoke, acted, and aimed most like a
Christian. He was always a great Sabbath-
keeping, church-going man. Between his own
home and the central city church which he

63
attended on every Sabbath, he had seen so
much desecration of the day, so many children
running wild in the streets, that he naturally
felt that it would be an unspeakable blessing
to establish a good Christian church in these
then neglected outskirts of the city. Observe
again ! Mr. Hallock always stated to his friends
that another motive which actuated him in the
erection of the church was, love to his neigh
bors. Right or wrong, Mr. Hallock had long be
lieved that the primitive piety of New England
was somewhat on the wane : that the old-
fashioned, simple, orthodox preaching of his
father, uncle; and the men of their day, urging
steadily and passionately the distinguishing
doctrines of the gospel, had given way to a
degenerate exhibition of God's message, which
travels out too far from, the heart of Chris
tianity to matters more external, and imports
indiscreetly into the sanctuary the fires of po
litical and fanatical excitement. With many

64
other men, he verily believed that another kind
of Gospel presentation — one that would keep
close to the great central doctrines, and fire up
on these, and rather close the door against the
unwholesome foreign fires of the day, would
work, both in its direct and exemplary influ
ence, a vast advantage to the cause of Christ.
Observe once more ! Mr. Hallock always af
firmed to his friends, that, with him, a third
object of his church erection, was the glory of
God in the dissemination of a purer gospel.
We reaffirm, — he was a man to be believed ;
especially when he stands in God's house, be
fore the officers of God's church. It was under
these solemn circumstances that you heard him
on the last Sabbath* bear testimony to the
deep religious workings of his soul respecting
this very matter of the building of the church.
" I saw the walls of the Church going up, with the feel
ing that I was precisely in the condition of Noah's carpen
ters, who were building an ark for the salvation of others,

*See Appendix.

65
but were themselves to be lost. I believe, as nearly as I
can analyze my feelings at that time, I was glad to have
"others saved, even if I must be lost."
Thus, on multiplied occasions, he has borne
witness that he built this church to accomplish
these three ends, viz :— to shield his own heart
from covetousness ; to give his destitute neigh
bors the blessings of a convenient, christian
church ; and, with all the solemnity of the
presence of his Maker, to give God glory in the
salvation of men. He, then, whose profane
tongue styles this sacred house, " the church of
the Holy Compromise," " the land specula
tion," would do well to ponder the doom of him
who " offends one of these little ones."
* . Have the objects of the builder in the con
struction of the church been accomplished ?
Thank God ! from the day of its dedication
it has been a church of revivals. What human
thought can compass the blessings which God
hath seemed to distribute through the instru
mentality of this enterprise ! How many chris-

66
tian professors, through its services and influ
ence, have been preserved from backsliding,
and declension; have been edified, sanctified
and comforted ; have been kept in a state of
prayer and faith and daily duty ; and have here
found a field of helpful christian effort, been
upheld under trial, and finally, matured for
heaven ! How many children have been gath
ered into the Sabbath school, and youth into
the Bible class, and been instructed, restrain
ed, advised, and received that well-laid founda
tion on which God's saving work shall be built
ere long ! Yes ! And how many sinners, we
have reason to hope, have been converted to
God and eternally saved ! Oh ! who can speak
the holy consolations, the heavenly fellowship
we have enjoyed in this church, especially in
seasons of revival ! Nor have we alone receiv
ed the blessings of this sacred enterprise. For
glad we are that our noble benefactor has had
his share in the smiles of God upon us. Con
trary to his dark forebodings, unlike Noah's

67
builders, he did find salvation in the ark he
built. Like his brothers and sisters, he too
has ever found a pure, increasing satisfaction
in all the services of this house of God, much
more than any mortal knew.
But we are here to-day to record the fact
that our great friend, our precious benefactor,
is no more. Our solemn, modest, pure, dear
Mr. Hallock has left us for the eternal world.
We shall see him no more at our weekly meet
ings for social prayer. We shall see him no
more every Sabbath, moving with measured
step up this middle aisle as solemn as Moses on
his way to the summit of Sinai. We shall be
hold him no more seated in yonder pew, with
reverence so stern that from the founding of
the church he has never been known on a single
occasion to turn his head, to look upon a face,
or to trace a sound. We shall meet him no
more at yonder sacred table where we so often
fed upon the bread of life together. Oh yes !
our great friend, our patron brother, is gone !

68
and who will take his place ? To help us, who
so wise, so kind, so vigilant, so firm, so strong
as he ? If we rarely heard him, surely we ever
felt him. For he was our peace, and under
his wings did we trust. He was our glory,
and at our head we felt honored. But he is
gone, and who, who we ask shall fill his place ? '
Already we begin to dream that we feel the
foundations shaking beneath us, and see the
heavens blackening above us. What ! are all
these sacred privileges insecure ? All this rich
fellowship, these endearing consolations, these
cherished hopes, this valued accustomed plat
form for Christian work — like him is none left
now to throw his wing over us and all our holy
blessings, and uphold when days of storm and
sorrow come ? Hearken, oh my people, hearken
to the one only voice of consolation, " Fear
not, for / am with thee ; be not dismayed, for
( I am thy God ; / will strengthen thee ; yea i"
will help thee ; yea, J will uphold thee with the
right hand of my righteousness." I solemnly

69
proclaim this present Christian trust in God
Himself the one only lesson of our salvation at
this sorrowful crisis. We must now put God
in the place of man, and in His own far higher
place. We must learn to expect far more from
our unseen Father above than we ever receiv
ed from our earthly father here. Alas! we
may have been destroying our power to trust
in God, by cherishing too happy a confidence
in man.
Though it cost severest grief, on this solemn
day let us learn this only saving lesson. God
has taken our loved and loving brother. Here,
then, in the house he built, his own appro
priate monument ; on the confines of that nar
row house where we so lately laid his precious
dust ; in vivid memory of all we have so long-
enjoyed with him in happy Christian fellow
ship ; just here and now, we will heartily
give him up, and let him go. And here
and now we do most humbly covenant,
that from this sad hour we will struggle to

70
give God in our affections the highest place,
and in all our coming trials the truest trust ;
while the memory of our dear brother we
will enshrine in our inmost souls, and to his
sainted spirit bid a solemn, tender, farewell, —
farewell !

The following relation of Christian experience has been referred to
in the Discourse. It was originally prepared and read by Mr. Hallock
to the Committee of the Church. He did not himself feel that he had
such evidence of regeneration as would justify an application for
admission to Christian communion. He was, however, induced by his
pastor to ask advice of his brethren, and accordingly gave to them this
account of his spiritual state. It was found among his papers after his
death, and was read at his funeral. The insight into his inner life
which it furnishes, justifies its presentation here.

APPENDIX.

Like most other persons religiously educated, I have,
almost from my infancy, experienced seasons of special
religious awakening ; —sometimes my mind has been deeply
impressed, and I have seemed to myself not far from the
kingdom of God.
In looking .back to such periods, I can see, I think, that
I was always secretly relying upon something which I had
done or could do, as a ground of my acceptance, — and never,
under a proper sense of my own vileness, casting myself
wholly upon the mercy of God in Jesus Christ. Conse
quently, instead of being regenerated, as I might have
been, had it not been for my own self-reliance, I always
lost my impressions, after days or weeks or months, and
became as careless and indifferent as ever to the concerns
of my soul.
With the progress of years, and the cares of the world,
these seasons of awakening became less frequent, and in
general, less powerful. I was sometimes alarmed to see
how deeply I was sunk in worldliness, and how I seemed to
be abandoned by the Holy Spirit, without whose influences
I knew I never should be converted. In the meantime,
there grew up in my mind a conscious alienation from God,
together with a kind of remorse, and a feeling that God
6*

74
would like to damn me, by way of retributive vengeance.
In this state of mind I was, when a revival took place in
Rev. Mr. Strong's congregation, with which I was then
connected, — I think it was in the winter of 1848-9. It had
no effect upon me at first, except to bring out my latent
enmity. I attended none of the meetings, except the two
regular services on the Sabbath, — until one Sabbath noon,
one of the Deacons called at my house, and spoke to me
plainly, though kindly, about my soul. I heard what he
said, but replied in monosyllables, and was glad when he
was gone. I then felt determined not to attend to the subject
of religion at that time, and I felt a sort of desperation,
which disposed me to postpone the whole subject to an un
certain future, whatever the consequences might be. In
this fearful and Heaven provoking way, my mind became
roused, and I began to see that I was probably lost. The
very atmosphere seemed gloomy, and there was constantly
before my mind, for days, if not weeks, the idea of my own
funeral from my own pleasant home, after having enjoyed
more than my share of the good things of this life, — a
wretched outcast from God, with the feeling deep in the
minds of the spectators, and by some perhaps expressed, —
" This is the man that made not God his friend." I knew
that these dreadful words were applicable to my case; and
they rung in my ears from day to day. At length my alarm
gradually subsided, and was succeeded by a calm, in which
I remember to have felt a strong desire to be good, pure,
and Christ-like. This continued for some days. As I
never had had such feelings before, the thought crossed my
mind that possibly — just possibly — this was conversion. I
however did not allow myself to hope, and expressed no

75
hope to others. Indeed no person knew the state of my
mind with any exactness, nor do I suppose any one was
aware that I had been so deeply interested on the subject
of religion. I continued my daily reading of the Bible and
prayer for several months, and then dropped both, except
occasionally, — finding them irksome and uncongenial to my
wicked heart. Eor nearly a year prior to Dr. Stiles' coming
to New Haven, I had scarcely ever attempted to pray. I
saw the walls of the church going up, with the feeling that
I was precisely in the condition of Noah's carpenters, who
were building an ark for the salvation of others, but were
themselves to be lost. I believe, as nearly as I can analyze
my feelings at that time, I was glad to have others saved,
even if I must be lost. Dives in the parable had a similar
desire. When Dr. Stiles and Rev. Mr. Sawtell came to New
Haven with reference to the dedication of the new Church,
in June 1S52, they both made my house their home. I
was struck with the very serious manner in which they
treated the matter, praying over it again and again, publicly
and privately. My impressions of the great moral differ
ence that existed between those men and myself, were also
strong. Dr. Stiles once remarked to me that the manner
in which we should dedicate that church, might, and prob
ably would, have a decided bearing upon its usefulness, as
long as its walls should stand. I however felt that I could
not enter into his spirit, — that I could do nothing towards
devoting the church to Christ, except to give the use of its
walls to those who might wish to occupy them, — and I was
painfully conscious of a moral deadness, coldness, and aliena
tion from God. But I did not yet attempt to come to any

76
better state of mind — I did not pray— I had not done so
for months ! One day Dr. Stiles told me he wanted pretty
soon to have a plain cmversation with me on the subject
of personal religion ; at the same time giving me to under
stand that he suspected I was a Christian. I told him I
should be happy to talk with him, but if he expected to find
anything good in me, he would be greatly disappointed.
One Sabbath evening, I think, he spent half an hour in a
kind inquiry as to my state of mind ; and when he ascer
tained it, he presented to me God as a kind Father, and
myself as a wayward, undutiful child; he showed how
ready and anxious that kind Father was to receive me into
his arms, notwithstanding my far wanderings, and what He
had done to render it possible to receive me, consistently
with His justice, honor, truth, the equity of His administra
tion and the welfare of His universe. This conversation
was admirably fitted to my hard, alienated, desperate state
of mind ; and the idea that God was so ready to forgive
and bless and save even me, notwithstanding my long life
of sin, overpowered my feelings, and sent me too my knees,
as soon as I found myself alone, I then, for some days, was
in much the same condition as before described, when my
funeral was so constantly before my eyes, accompanied
with the dreadful sentence, " This is the man that made
not God his friend." The world looked gloomy to me, and
I had no taste for business or diversion of any kind. With
out God and without hope in the world, were the words
continually recurring to my mind. For weeks and months
following this date, my soul was more absorbed in the
things of religion than anything else. Dr. Stiles' preaching
from Sabbath to Sabbath, and his prayers and exhortations

77
at other meetings, went home to my understanding and con
science, as no such exercises ever did before. It would be
tedious to particularize. But I may mention that his ser
mon from the text, " If I be a Father where is my honor 1"
was a powerful one to me, and so were his numerous ser
mons on the love, grace, mediatorship, and atoning sacrifice
of Christ. A remark which he made in one of his sermons,
that "nothing stands between the sinner and salvation
but his own will," came home to my mind as clearly as
light, and, as a visible, tangible truth, practical in my own
case, it was new to me ; for I had always had a secret feel
ing that I was willing and waiting to be saved ; but that
God was not quite ready ; — that I must use more means,
strive more, be better, &c, and then perhaps He would
receive me. For weeks and months, my trips in the cars
to and from New York were almost wholly devoted to re
ligious thought and the repetition of hymns ; and I may
say, they were pleasant seasons, particularly after my mind
had settled to some degree of calmness. The hymns which
I speak of, — I mean those which were continually recurring
to my mind, — I had never committed to memory, although
I had often read them. The first hymn that occupied this
prominence in my mind, was that beginning,
" Like sheep we went astray.
And broke the fold of God."
bringing up vividly man's ruin and Christ's sacrifice. A
little later, the hymn, " How heavy is the night,
That hangs upon our eyes,
'Till Christ with his reviving light
Over our souls arise,"

78
was uppermost in my thoughts. This hymn revealed the
preciousness of Christ, and His perfect righteousness in
place of my unrighteousness. Our guilty spirits dread
To meet the wrath of Heaven,
But in his righteousness arrayed,
We see our sins forgiven.
Unholy and impure,
Are all our thoughts and ways,
His hand infected nature cures,
With sanctifying grace.
The powers of hell agree
To hold our souls in vain ;
He sets the sons of bondage free,
And breaks the cursed chain.
Lord, we adore thy ways
To bring us near to God ;
Thy sovereign power, thy healing grace,
And thine atoning blood.
These two hymns, I suppose, passed through my mind
scores, if not hundreds of times, and seemed fresh and in
teresting each time, and an exact expression of my own
feelings and views. Later, and after the strength of my
feelings had subsided, the hymn,
" The Lord my Shepard is,"
took the place of the foregoing ; or perhaps I should say,
was added to them ; and was often repeated, with admira
tion and delight.
And here I must say, that if God has begun a good work
in me, (concerning which I am in great doubt,) I suppose

79
the change took place within three months after Dr. Stiles
came to New Haven. I recollect to have had very distinct
and strong impressions of the readiness of God in Christ to
save sinners, even the chief; and that all the reason why I
was not saved, was my own unwillingness to submit. All
my hardness towards God seemed to have passed away.
and I looked upon Him and His character with approbation,
At least I thought so, and that I wished none of His attri
butes or commandments changed, whatever might be the
consequences to me personally.
I have not allowed myself to hope that I was a renewed
man, and yet I have detected a lurking hope, for a number of
months past, — I hardly know why, unless it be that I have
had an habitual feeling akin to reconciliation, and an inter
est in the prosperity of the Redeemer's kingdom. But on
the other hand, I find so much coldness in my heart, so
little love and faith, if, any ?.t all — and so many other
things that a holy God cannot approve, that I know not
whether I have any right to enter Christ's fold. I shall
take it as a real kindness, if my Christian friends will probe
my heart to the bottom, and then advise me what is my
duty. I earnestly desire faithful and plain dealing, in a
matter involving the well-being of my soul, and in some
small measure the purity of the church and the Glory of
God.

/

V

>

V.