A JOURNEY EAST--TALK WITH A BAPTIST MINISTER--PREACHED IN DELAWARE
AND CENTERVILLE, OHIO--W. Y. EMMETT--DOORS CLOSED--A. BOND--A. B.
GROSH--IN NEW ENGLAND--ON THE SEA--A STORM--METHODIST PREACHER
FRIGHTENED--BLOW THE TRUMPET--IN PHILADELPHIA--IN DELAWARE--IN
PITTSBURG--RETURNED TO CINCINNATI--GO TO CHICAGO--BAD ROADS--IN
RICHMOND--TALK WITH A QUAKER--A SPIRIT RETURNS TO EARTH--A SPIRIT
OUT OF THE BODY--A STRANGE SIGHT--PREACH IN GOD’S TEMPLE--PREACH IN
CHICAGO--PREACH IN JOLIET--AARON KINNEY, AN EARLY PREACHER--BILL
OF FARE--HARD LUCK IN MAGNOLIA--WHY PREACH--IN HENNEPIN--POLITICAL
HUMBUGS--OPPOSITION IN WASHINGTON--JUSTICE OF GOD--IN PEKIN AND
TREMONT--FROZEN--A PREACHER REPLIES.
George Rogers had traveled in the Southern states, and was urged either
to return or send some one to preach to the people. He could not go,
and at his solicitation, I consented to journey in Kentucky, Tennessee,
Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, North and South Carolina; and from
thence I purposed going by sea to Boston, Mass. February, 1840, with
horse and buggy, I started from Cincinnati on what I expected would be
a long and hard journey, through a thinly settled region, and among
strangers. Crossed the Ohio river, and traveled about ten miles on a
splendid pike. But at the end of the pike the sublime and ridiculous
joined hands. Horse and buggy plunged from the hard, dry and smooth
road into an ocean of mud and water. This enlightened me concerning
the condition of the roads generally, and after floundering in the
mud awhile, I succeeded in getting back to dry land, and returned to
Cincinnati, and abandoned my contemplated southern journey.
I then resolved to go East through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York and
Massachusetts, and in a few days after I recrossed the Ohio river, I
was on my way, on horseback, to the noted city of Boston. I performed
the whole journey, about one thousand miles, on horseback, and it
occupied six weeks. I went East to visit my mother, and hurried through
as fast as possible. But I could not travel very fast, as the roads
were in a bad condition, and the weather was often stormy. Preached
in Woodstock, to large assemblies. Spent three days very pleasantly
in visiting kind friends, and in talking to the people. A society was
subsequently formed and a meeting-house erected. Cyrus F. Wait, then
a youth, attended my meetings. He soon after commenced preaching, and
labored faithfully in the ministry till 1865, when he laid down his
armor and ascended to his God. He lived and labored in Woodstock most
of the time he was in the ministry, was an efficient preacher and an
excellent man. I delivered several sermons in Delaware, and had the
following conversation with a Baptist clergyman:
“You preached in town last night, did you?”
“Yes.”
“If you are right, I cannot be wrong.”
“If I am right in my religious views, you are radically wrong in yours,
for I expect we essentially differ. If my views of God, Christ, heaven,
hell, man, rewards and punishments, are correct, you are in error, of
course, wherein you differ from me. Any one with half an eye, and that
nearly out, can see that.”
“Well, I am safe if Universalism is true.”
“You are in a lost condition if it is true. He only is safe whose
life is in harmony with the truth. Your mind, I perceive, from your
conversation, is darkened by a false theology. ‘Know the truth,’ said
Jesus, ‘and the truth shall make you free.’ ‘Sanctify them through
thy truth, thy word is truth.’ Jesus attached great importance to
receiving the truth. You are walking in darkness, and see that you do
not stumble. Truth is a lamp to the feet, and a guide to the soul. We
cannot walk safely without that light.”
“But I shall be saved as well as you if Universalism is of God.”
“You will be saved when your soul shall be sanctified by the truth, and
not till then. Universalism promises no salvation, in this world or the
world to come, without purity of heart. Let that be remembered.”
“But I thought you believed we should all be saved any how.”
“You thought wrong. There is only one way to be saved, and that is,
by having our souls baptized with the truth. Those thus baptized _are
saved_, heaven now reigns in their souls, the kingdom of God, which is
righteousness, joy and peace in the Holy Spirit, is _within them_. That
is the salvation Jesus lived, labored and died to bless man with.”
Delivered a discourse in Circleville, and formed the acquaintance of W.
Y. Emmett. He has long been known in Ohio as a faithful minister of the
New Testament. His father was a Methodist clergyman, but the son has
greatly improved on the theology of the father. There are three steps
from extreme error, in religion, to truth--Calvinism, Arminianism,
Universalism. Perhaps Br. Emmett’s grand-father was a Calvinist.
Passing on, I lectured several times in Ashtabula, but sectarianism
taking alarm, all doors were closed against me, and I proceeded to
Conneautville. Ammi Bond resided there. He has recently died. His
ministry was confined, chiefly, to the northeast part of Ohio, and
to contiguous portions of Pennsylvania. His personal appearance was
attractive; had a well formed head, a Grecian face, and the soul within
corresponded with the outer man. From here I proceeded more rapidly
on my journey. Called on A. B. Grosh, Utica, N. Y., who was then
publishing _The Gospel Advocate_. He possesses fine ability, and is,
every way, a noble man. Crossed the Hudson river, at Troy, and after
six weeks traveling reached Princeton, Mass., where my mother resided.
Visited my old home in Haverhill, and shed a tear over my brother’s
grave in Plaistow, N. H., attended a Conference meeting in Boston,
and then sailed from Boston for Philadelphia, in the brig Mary Ann,
commanded by Captain Chase. We encountered a tremendous storm--an
equinoctial storm--which made the vessel roll and plunge at a fearful
rate, and set the sailors to telling stories of shipwrecks, ghosts,
and home. The captain, who was a member of one of our societies on
Cape Cod, related the following of a Methodist preacher:--The previous
season there was a terrible storm off that coast, and many vessels were
lost. A friend of his, who ran a vessel between New York and Boston,
was out in it, and during the hardest of the gale, in a pitch-black
night, he was trying to weather Cape Cod, to get into a sheltered
position. He had a Methodist preacher on board. About midnight, when
it was dark as Egypt, the wind howling, the waves dashing, and the
vessel plunging, he went into the cabin dripping with salt water, when
the preacher said, “Captain, how are we getting along?” The captain
replied, “We are drifting towards the shore very fast, and we shall all
be in heaven before morning.” “God _forbid_,” said the clergyman. This
reminds me of a courageous preacher in Indiana. Some boatmen, after
toiling all night in a flat-boat on White river, tied up their craft,
and sought a place to rest. They selected a barn for that purpose. Over
its floor was a scaffold covered with hay, on which they laid their
weary bodies to repose. Being much fatigued they slept sound and long.
When they awoke, they found that there was a congregation worshiping
on the floor below, for it was Sunday morning. The preacher was in the
midst of his theme--the judgment day, that day for which all days
were made. He had got to where the saints were about to be raised, and
he, of course, was one of them. “O-ah,” said he, “I want to go-ah; I
am tired-ah of this wicked-ah world-ah;” and looking straight at the
roof of the barn, he cried as loud as he could scream, “Gabriel-ah,
Gabriel-ah, blow-ah that trumpet-ah, that I-ah may leave-ah this
ungodly-ah world-ah, and go to heaven-ah. I-ah say-ah, Gabriel-ah,
blow-ah that-ah trumpet-ah this-ah minute-ah.” The boatmen had a tin
horn, and one gave a loud blast, which made every worshiper bound to
his feet. The preacher stopped short, cast one agonizing glance upward,
and then leaped through and over his flock out of the barn, and ran
home as fast as his legs would carry him. One old lady, in her haste to
get out of the way of Gabriel, broke a limb.
In Philadelphia I was introduced to Asher Moore, a well known minister
in the East. Z. Fuller, for many years an influential clergyman in that
city, had recently died. Being anxious to return to my western field of
labor, I tarried but a few hours in P. Proceeded over the mountains to
Pittsburg, by railroad and stage, where I delivered several discourses.
From thence I went in a steamboat to Cincinnati; and in a few days, was
on the road to Chicago.
A journey to Chicago from Cincinnati was not as easily, or as quickly
made in those days as it is now. Instead of a few hours, it took
about two weeks of hard traveling to perform the journey. Instead of
a smooth, iron road, it was about the roughest and softest road ever
traveled by man or beast. Parts of it were railway, but the rails were
unhewed logs, and laid across the track, which endangered the horse’s
legs and carriage wheels. Portions of the year it was hard to find the
bottom of the mud. It was indeed a rough and terrible road most of
the way through; and the driver had to keep both eyes open to avoid
stumps, holes and quagmires, and often with good eyes, and they used to
the best advantage, he did not escape shipwreck. Preached in Richmond,
Ind., four times. This is a Quaker town. Had a long conversation with a
preacher of that order.
“You do not pray in public?”
“No; Christ enjoined secret prayer.”
“True; but he prayed in the presence of others, and on the cross prayed
in the presence of thousands, ‘Father, forgive them for they know not
what they do.’ The seventeenth chapter of John is a prayer uttered
in the presence of his disciples. The apostle Paul, on one occasion,
kneeled on the sea shore in the midst of a large assembly, and vocally
invoked the divine blessing. And most of good men and good women in all
ages and in all climes, whether Christian or Pagan, have sanctioned
the practice. The tongue loves to speak what the heart feels, and
a prayer straight from the heart, often has more influence on an
assembly than a good sermon. Of course, it is a great sin to pray or
preach ‘to be seen of men,’ but praying and preaching with the spirit
and the understanding, are heaven-appointed means to christianize
the soul. There is, doubtless, much hypocritical praying as well as
preaching, but the abuse of a good thing is not a valid reason for its
abandonment. You oppose singing, I understand. Why do you?”
“The Friends in their worship are governed by the _spirit_, and singing
is an _art_, _taught_ and _learned_, hence they exclude it from their
worship.”
“Learning to _read_ is an _art_, and yet you read the Bible. Speaking
correctly is an _art_, but you cultivate correct speaking in your
meetings. The _spirit_ does not teach you how to read or how to speak.
Music is a science of which God is the author, and in studying music we
learn of the wisdom of God, and in singing we sing his praise. A good
hymn sung correctly is a sermon and a prayer; it unites the hearts of
all who hear, and stirs the soul to its depths. Why do you all wear the
same style of dress?”
“Because we abhor _fashions_.”
“But it seems to me that your people are great lovers of fashion. There
is a Quaker fashion, and you all, men, women and children, stick to
it through thick and thin. If one of your members deviates from your
fashion he is dealt with as an offender. You do not run after every
fashion, but you adopt the fashion of the times of Charles II., and
will make no improvement. I despise fashion more than you do, for I
consult my own taste, and not the frivolous whims of crack-brains in
the nineteenth or sixteenth century.”
A gentleman here told me a singular story. A physician and a lawyer
lived in Richmond; they were intimate friends, and spent much time
together. Both were zealous infidels, and they promised each other,
that the one that should die first, if he lived after death, would
return to his friend left on earth if he was able to do so. The
physician died, but the survivor thought not of the promise, for he was
sure death had spared nothing of his friend. Several months after the
physician’s death, the lawyer was astonished to see his departed friend
enter his office. He slowly approached the couch on which he was lying,
for it was night, and reminded him of their mutual promise; said he
had made several efforts before to visit him but failed; told him that
both of them were mistaken about death; that _the man_ did not die;
he only put off the body and entered on a higher sphere of existence,
and that most of mankind were in error concerning the second stage of
life, that being much more like this world than many imagined. After an
affectionate adieu, he disappeared, promising to return, if possible,
but he saw him no more. The gentleman related the circumstance to his
friends, and they, of course, laughed at him, and said he was crazy or
asleep, whereupon he went before a magistrate and testified under oath,
that what he related was strictly correct. He was ever after a believer
in immortality; he said he _knew_ there was a future life, for he had
seen one from the land beyond the vale.
A gentleman in Ohio related to me the following: He ran a flouring
mill, located at the foot of a hill, on the top of which was his
residence. His aged father often spent an hour or two in the mill. One
day he observed him enter the building, with staff in hand, and after
remaining a few minutes, walked out. Nothing was said by either party,
and several times they passed within three or four feet of each other.
Stepping to the door soon after the old gentleman went out, he saw
his father slowly ascending the hill to the house. He immediately had
occasion to go to the house, and not seeing his father, inquired for
him, and was informed that he was lying down. He went into his room and
found him asleep, and was told he had been on the bed a full hour.
Another intelligent friend related the following: His family and
another family occupied one house in an Ohio town--the former the
front, and the latter the rear part of the building, and a gate, two
feet from the front door, was the entrance to the rear of the house.
The gate swung hard on its hinges, and with much noise. About ten
at night, my informant, from his front door, observed a person on
the sidewalk approaching the house; having a peculiar appearance, he
requested his wife to step to the door and see who it was. To both he
seemed a stranger, and both remarked that he made no noise walking on
the stone pavement. When opposite the gate, and two feet from where
they were standing, he turned and passed through the gateway to the
rear of the building out of sight. Supposing the gate was open, as the
traveler did not stop to open it, the gentleman stepped aside to close
it, when, to his atonishment, he found it shut. On opening the gate
he found that it made as loud a report, and required as much effort
as usual. Not being able to account for all this, he inquired of his
neighbor if any one had called, and was answered, nay. That night a
woman in the rear part of the building died. It is quite fashionable
to cry humbug and delusion, when such stories are related; but I do
not raise that cry, neither have I a satisfactory explanation of them
to offer. The history and tradition of all nations and people are full
of what seems to be the supernatural; and if that part is all false,
how can we credit the balance of their history? But most people, after
all, have, at least, some vague impressions, that the departed have
something to do with the world they once inhabited. And why should they
not?
I had an appointment in a Methodist meeting-house in Washington;
and while the congregation was assembling, the pastor of the church
told us we could not occupy the house; such abominable sentiments
should not be promulgated in the Methodist meeting-house. I told the
congregation, as we were not allowed to occupy the Methodist house,
we would adjourn to the house of the Lord--a beautiful grove. This
being an unexpected reply, and part of the congregation being rather
pleased, the preacher good-naturedly said I might say what I pleased
in the Methodist house. Visited many places where I had before spoken,
and reached Chicago, August, 1840, where I preached three Sabbaths,
and then proceeded to Joliet. Lectured there three times. We have now
a society in that place, and a splendid meeting-house. Aaron Kinney
then resided in Joliet, and preached there and in the region round
about. He subsequently moved to Farmington, Ill., where he and his wife
died. He was one of the first ministers of our faith in Illinois, and
he labored under many disadvantages. Liberal Christians were few in
number, for the country was thinly populated, and he consequently was
poorly supported. But he persevered in the good work till death closed
his labors. Delivered one discourse in Peru, but did not find a soul
that sympathized with me. The congregation was large, but all seemed to
be afraid of me. I was informed of a friend, who resided a few miles
below on the canal, which was then being excavated. Spent one night
with him; and although he seemed to be a good kind of a man, he lived
like a hog. The bill of fare for the night was, 1st, A hot night; 2d,
A dirty bed; 3d, An army of bed-bugs; 4th, Ditto, fleas; 5th, Ditto,
musquitoes. I was glad to leave the dirty hole. Reached Magnolia in the
night; and after being refused lodging at half of the houses in the
village, a poor drunken man took me in. He treated me to the best his
cabin afforded, which was poor enough. Found some friends the next day,
and delivered several discourses before I left town. A preacher could
not let me pass without a hit.
“If this man,” said he, “is correct, he is a fool for traveling about
this new country preaching. If I believed as he does, I would never
preach again.”
“My friend,” I replied, “I preach the truth. 1st, Because it is the
truth; 2d, Because I love the truth; 3d, Because truth benefits man.
But you seem to have more regard for party than for truth. Anything
that is not found there you care nothing about, let it be ever so
valuable. You need to be baptized with the spirit of truth, for you
have been baptized only with the spirit of some party. Jesus, whom you
profess to follow, but really run away from, was an ardent lover of the
truth. He toiled, bled and died for the truth. He cared nothing about
party, but he was as true to the truth as the needle is to the pole. He
never varied from it one iota in the darkest hour of his life. When I
hear men talk as you have to-day, I know that they know nothing of the
spirit of Christ.”
Lectured in Hennipen several times. Dr. Pulsifer had recently moved
there from the East, and took much interest in getting up the meetings.
Have often been there since, and always found him to be a faithful
friend. I met here several families which had formerly resided in the
East, and were there regular attendants at the sanctuary, but had not
heard a discourse on the Restitution for several years; and it made
their hearts leap with joy to attend a meeting of their choice. “Thank
God,” said one lady, “for the blessed privilege of hearing the gospel
of our salvation once more, before I go hence. The Lord be with you;
and may you long live to proclaim the unsearchable riches of Christ to
fallen, sinful man.”
During this year was the noted presidential campaign, when General
Harrison and Martin Van Buren were candidates for the White House, and
the whole country was in an uproar. The air was vocal with “Tippecanoe
and Tyler too,” and log cabins, and cider barrels were moving in all
directions at the beat of the drum. The Democrats disdained such
humbuggery, and lost the day, but after that they were not a whit
behind the Whigs in all sorts of tomfoolery. Whisky, beer, and such
senseless exhibitions, often command more votes than a just cause. This
is a lamentable and humiliating fact, and the evil will continue till
intelligence and virtue are the ruling spirits of the land. Meeting a
boy eight or ten years old in the road one day, he cried, “Hurrah for
Harrison.” Wanting some amusement, I said, “You rascally tory!” “Well,
then,” said he, as quick as lightning, and jumping from the ground,
“hurrah for Dick Johnson and his black ones.” That was a poser for a
Democrat, for Richard M. Johnson, who was the candidate for the Vice
Presidency on the Democratic ticket, was the father of several darkies.
If that boy is living, he is doubtless now one of our stump orators. I
made no reply to the little politician, but left him alone in his glory.
Lectured in Washington. A preacher delivered a discourse against the
Great Salvation. His chief argument was based on what he termed “the
justice of God.” The justice of God requires the endless punishment
of the wicked. Some of my remarks in reply were as follows: What
the preacher calls justice is injustice, is malignity, dark, cruel,
infernal malignity. Because frail, finite man, worm of the dust,
steps aside from the line of duty, and thereby harms himself, and no
one else, the Creator of heaven and earth must pounce upon him with
the wrath and vengeance of a thousand tigers, and pursue him from
the cradle to the grave, from the grave to the resurrection, from
the resurrection to the infernal regions, and there commission the
devil and all his crew to keep up the chase through the length and
depth of hell forever and ever. Why, justice would turn pale at such
injustice. But to make out that such cruelty is pure justice, the
preacher said that man violates an infinite law, and therefore justly
merits everlasting hell-torments. Then the transgression of any law of
God deserves endless woe. Breaking a bone, cutting the flesh, eating
improper food, are violations of God’s laws, and according to the
preacher, richly deserve ceaseless punishment. A child or a man steals
a pin; that is a violation of the divine law, and both merit eternal
suffering. If disobeying of God’s law merits infinite punishment, then
obeying of it merits infinite happiness. What then becomes of the
Bible doctrine that “eternal life is the GIFT of God?” Rom. vi. 23.
If the gentleman is correct, there are no degrees in crime, guilt or
punishment. There cannot be if every infringement of God’s law is an
infinite offense. He who steals a pin, and he who murders a man, commit
crimes of equal magnitude, and both are equally guilty, and deserve
equal punishment. If one sin merits infinite punishment, ten thousand
sins can merit no more, and God will punish a man for _one sin_ just as
long as he will for a _million_ of sins. All mankind sin, and therefore
all mankind deserve endless punishment. Who then can be saved, if the
preacher is right? But, said he, Jesus has made an atonement for the
sins of the world, has satisfied divine justice, and sinners can escape
the penalty due their crimes. How is that? The justice of God satisfied
with the sacrifice of Christ? Did Jesus suffer the penalty man merits?
Did he suffer infinite misery, the few hours he was on the cross? Did
he suffer all the pain that all mankind deserve for breaking the law?
The preacher must reply, yes. If Jesus satisfied justice for the “sins
of the whole world, original and actual,” as his creed--the Methodist
creed--asserts, then will not all be saved? Is not God bound to save
all for whom Christ made an atonement? If the gentleman is correct--if
the law is infinite, if the penalty is infinite, if all deserve
endless hell-torments, and if Jesus has made “an atonement, a perfect
satisfaction for the sins of the whole world, original and actual,” all
are bound to escape, and reach heaven.
But let the law of God be infinite or finite, man’s _guilt_ is in
proportion to his _knowledge_ of right and wrong. An idiot may kill
a man, but he is not guilty, for he knows no better. An intelligent
person would be deeply guilty for such a deed. Our guilt, then, and the
punishment we merit, are in exact ratio with our knowledge of right
and wrong. These facts upset the preacher’s whole theory of infinite
sin and punishment. Justice does not require so much pain for so much
sin. To demand that would be vengeance, retaliation, an eye for an
eye, a tooth for a tooth, just what Jesus condemns. Exercising justice
is giving all parties their due--restoring the equilibrium, making
the crooked straight, the rough smooth, causing all flesh to see the
salvation of God. It is not destruction, but restoration; it does not
hurl men from God, but draws them to him; it consigns us not to hell,
but exalts us to heaven. This view of justice harmonizes with the mercy
and goodness of God, and refutes the line of the poet, that
“A God all mercy is a God unjust.”
Lectured in Pekin three times. We have now a good society and
meeting-house in this place. It was then a small village, now it is
a large town. Proceeded to Tremont, where I spent several days, and
lectured four times. At a subsequent visit to this place, I had an
appointment in Washington, twelve miles north, on a cold December
Sunday morning. The thermometer was below zero, the snow deep, and
the wind blowing hard from the north. Started on horseback, and was
soon very cold. I walked, ran, kicked, and thrashed my arms, but this
exercise fatigued me, and I remounted my horse, and soon became very
comfortable, and congratulated myself that I should get through without
further trouble. A hole being in one of my gloves, I noticed that one
of my fingers looked rather pale, and I was not long in discovering
that I was actually freezing. It was then two miles to a house, and
when I reached it I hesitated about stopping, I felt so comfortable.
I finally went into the house, and soon found that my fingers, ears,
nose, and face were badly frozen. Remained there till the next day, but
if I had not stopped, I should probably have frozen to death, as it was
several miles to a house, and across an open prairie.
Spoke again in Washington. The preacher I replied to a few days
before, was still howling about the abominations of Universalism, but
I said no more to him. Went to Bloomington, preached three times, and
got into a controversy. The preacher was a strong believer in water
baptism--contended that there was no salvation without it. I told him
that his creed damned nearly all mankind; that a person might love God
and his fellow men, like John, believe the whole gospel, like Paul,
repent of his sins, like Peter, but unless he was immersed in water, in
the name of Christ, he would be lost forever; if he was correct, heaven
would be almost empty, hell crowded; Christ redeem but a small portion
of mankind, while the devil would be crowned with nearly all. The wise
and benevolent Author of our being bases salvation on principles, not
on rites--not on going into water, eating wafers, drinking wine, or
offering incense. Love is the fulfilling of the law. God is love, his
will is love, his power is love, his spirit is love, his work is love,
his law is love, his gospel is love, and our whole duty is included
in love to God, and love to man. The great need of the world is, more
love, and less show and profession; more purity of the heart, and
less washing of the hands; more soul religion, and less materialistic
religion.
I proceeded to Urbana. Met a man hobbling along on one leg. He had
heard me preach somewhere, and abruptly said:
“If all are to be saved, what is the use of being religious?”
“I see you have only one leg. I suppose you would like to have two
sound limbs.”
“That I should. I would freely give my farm for a leg made of flesh and
bone, instead of this concern made of wood, iron and leather.”
“You remarked a moment since, that you hoped you were a Christian, and
expected to go to heaven when you left this world. Do you expect to be
a one-legged cripple in heaven?”
“Of course not; all will have perfect bodies there.”
“Well, then, what is the use of your troubling yourself about your
lameness in this world; you will be all right in heaven; you can hobble
out your three score years and ten, and then all be well with you.”
“But that is no reason why I should not have a sound body in this
world. I want to enjoy all the blessings I possibly can in this world.”
“My friend, you have answered your question. You want a whole limb
in this world, if you do expect one in the next. So, we should be
religious in this world if we do expect to partake of God’s blessing in
heaven, for a religious life only is a happy life, a heavenly life.”
I then proceeded to Perrysville, Ind., in the western part of the
state. This was the end of my journey, as I did not return to
Cincinnati. I had traveled full eight hundred miles since I left
Cincinnati, and delivered eighty-eight discourses.