CHAPTER XIII.

SPIRIT OF HIS DOCTRINE.

Mr. Ballou ever strove to make the word and the principles which he

taught appear attractive, by representing them in their appropriate

dress, the livery of joy and peace, and from the principles of fatherly

love and kindness he gathered the strongest motives for humility,

gratitude and obedience. He would tell you that God has written upon the

fragrant flowers of the field, on the breezes that rock them, and the

refreshing sun that nurtures them, indelible tokens of his fatherly

affection, and would refer you to the blooming clover, and the falling

rain, as blessings not to be misconstrued, in God's own hand-writing, a

"way-side sacrament," free to all. He would never tire of depicting the

Almighty through the spirit of the most beautiful emblems in nature, and

ever deducing from them the most amiable and glorious traits of Deity.

The employment he made of the familiar images of nature will remind the

reader of what we have already said touching the influences of his

birth-place. The blue skies, the green pastures, the gushing rivulets,

the everlasting hills that rear their giant summits to the glorious

effulgence of the noon-tide sun, or the cold kiss of the midnight moon,

spoke to his heart a language that his intellect faithfully interpreted.

The constant contemplation of beautiful natural scenery almost

invariably inspires devotional feeling. In the wonderful solitudes of

nature the sneer of the infidel is hushed upon his lips, and the worldly

man forgets the passions, the jealousies, the intrigues, the

heart-burnings and frivolities, of his daily artificial life. But the

heart of the true, thoughtful, right-minded man does something more than

mirror the images presented to his eye. It is not like

"----a sleeping lake,

That takes the hue of cloud and sky,

And only feels its surface break

As birds of passage wander by,

That dip their wing and upward soar,

Leaving it quiet as before."

Before the mind's eye of such a man, the beauties of nature do not glide

away like the figures of a painted panorama, serving only to amuse,

charming the eye for a moment with grace of form and beauty of manner,

and then passing away like an idle dream, the "baseless fabric of a

vision." In the true man, the child of God, the inner, the spiritual

sense is awakened in sympathy with the material organs of vision. For

him each lineament of nature is a revelation, each feature a symbol.

The flowers are to him, as some one has beautifully remarked, the

"alphabet of angels."

We have labored somewhat in these pages, even at the risk of repetition,

to inculcate the idea that Mr. Ballou was one of these students of

nature; and this was the case in a most eminent degree: the teachings

that he received at her feet in youth he garnered up in his heart, to be

repeated, to be illustrated, and illumined with new light from the

brightness of his intellect, to be poured forth again to thousands who

required so eloquent an interpreter. He had learned a lesson he could

never forget, from the beautiful creations of God, of his fatherly

affection. The fierce midnight storm, with its thunder-peals and

lightning-flashes, had no terror for him; he knew better than to

interpret it as a manifestation of the wrath and vengeful fury of the

Deity; for he knew that it was to be followed by a purer and healthier

atmosphere, by the glowing bow of promise, and by brighter smiles from

the unshadowed sun.

In none of the varied phenomena of nature did he behold the God of

wrath, the God of vengeance, the pitiless Deity of the dark theology,

whose horrors he was destined to dissipate and overcome. Far from this.

He deduced from every phase of nature the great truth of the

all-prevailing and inexhaustible love of the Almighty for the children

of his creation. Thus, by the simple symbols and tokens he had

discovered, strewn like flowers along the pathway of life, he sought to

awaken the torpid sense of those "who, having eyes, saw not, and having

ears, heard not," the wonders of the glad tidings the angel-messengers

of the Deity were commissioned to communicate to man.

Mr. Ballou's examples and illustrations of God's unbounded grace and

goodness, as drawn from visible nature, were very frequent. God's word

first, and then God's works, were his strength and shield. Let the

following show his mode of reasoning in this particular. He says:--"If

our Creator has so bountifully provided for our existence here, which is

but momentary, and for our temporal wants, which will all soon be

forgotten, what has he not done for the security of our immortal state,

and for our enjoyment in the everlasting world? Pause, and behold what

boundless scenes of riches and glory are opening to our view in Jesus,

by whom life and immortality are brought to light! We have seen the

brightness of the morning sun, have known the renovating majesty of his

noon-tide rays, have seen a fair creation blest with his universal light

and heat! But this is only a symbol of the Sun of Righteousness; his

brightness is above that of the morning sun, his heat is more renovating

than the rays of the noon. In him our Heavenly Father hath given unto us

eternal life. As the life of the natural is in the sun, so the life of

the moral creation is in Jesus, the light of the world, the life of man.

If the _earth_ be full of the goodness of the Lord, have we not in this

a fair specimen of the rest of his vast creation? Have we any reason to

believe that the _earth_ is more favored with the divine goodness than

any other part or parts of creation? No, surely we have not. All those

worlds which sparkle in the wide expanse of heaven are full of the

goodness of the Lord; and if time be all full of divine goodness, so is

eternity; and if God be universally good temporally speaking, so is he

in relation to spiritual things. What infinite reason have we to

exercise our hearts in gratitude to God, and our affections in love to

him, who giveth us all things richly to enjoy! With what propriety may

we say, 'Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!'"

Observe how vastly different was the effect produced by the tenets of

faith preached by many around him! How far from lovable was the

portraiture drawn of God and Heaven by those who held forth the creed of

the old school!

How many preachers of this school have won their ephemeral reputations

solely by awakening the terrors of their auditors, and have been

esteemed great in proportion to their ability to produce fainting,

convulsions, tears and groans, among women and children! The perverted

vision of such men rests on no image of nature, except such as they can

distort to symbolize some imaginary dreadful attribute in the God of

their theology. He is clothed by them in storms and clouds, as the

heathen Jove was depicted grasping in his hand a sheaf of thunderbolts.

From their portraiture every gleam of light is excluded,--it is a murky

and repulsive mass of shadows. The gentle and fragrant flowers, the

sweet perfumes and rainbow colors with which the face of nature is so

prodigally decked, claim no word or thought of theirs; they cannot

employ these images in their illustrations, they cannot reconcile them

with their gloomy theories,--their very existence is unaccountable to

their perverse vision.

"That gloomy, heart-dejecting something," says Mr. Ballou, "which has

been maintained in our world at an incalculable expense of treasure, of

comfort, peace and joy,--at the expense, also, of the tender charities

of the heart, and the benevolent sentiments of the soul,--though called

religion, is all counterfeit. It has drawn a sable curtain over the

mildly radiant countenance of our Father in heaven, and in room of

leading the mind to contemplate the Divine Being with pleasure and

delight, it has attached a horror to the sacred name, which gives a

stupefying chill to the heart, repels the mind, and forces it to seek

relief in the contemplation of visible and sensible objects; and after

becoming the author of this horror and disgust in the soul, it artfully

takes the advantage of the deception, to inculcate a belief that the

reason of these feelings is the natural depravity of the human heart!

Such are the views which youth are led to entertain of religion, that

they contemplate it as something calculated to deprive them of their

present comforts, and only useful as it relates to a state of existence

hereafter, where, as a recompense for sacrifices which they make of

happiness in this world, they are to receive extensive and lasting

blessings. With such reflections, it is natural to delay the concerns

of religion as long as possible, with an intention to submit to its

unpleasant requirements in season to win the prize. This is evidently

the reason why youth are so little inclined to employ their thoughts on

divine things, and to prefer amusements and trifling vanities to the

acquisition of Christian knowledge.

"But true religion presents the Father of our spirits as the most lovely

character of which the mind can possibly conceive. It directs to the

contemplation of that almighty power which controls a universe, and to

view all its elements in harmony with the unchangeable love of God to

his creatures. In youth, while the heart is tender, and sensibility

quick and lively, what an exquisite delight the mind is capable of

enjoying, by penetrating through visible objects and the beauty of

temporal things, to the contemplation of that wisdom, power and

goodness, which are manifest through the medium of these outward forms!

If the fragrance of the rose can so gratefully delight the sense, how

much greater is the pleasure to the rational mind which flows from the

consideration of that wisdom and goodness which gave this power to the

rose, and this capacity to sense! From this single item let the mind

glance through all creation, and freely indulge the reflection that the

universe is as full of the divine goodness as the rose or the lily of

the valley. Freed from superstition, what heart would not be charmed

with the character which the Saviour gives of our Heavenly Father?

'Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap,

nor gather into barns, yet your Heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not

much better than they? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;

they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that even

Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these.'"

These mute, but beautiful and eloquent testimonials of their Maker's

love and gentleness, would rebuke the dogmatism of the schools; and

hence they naturally avoid to mention the graceful, refined and touching

features of nature. They prefer rather to revel in their own dark and

unwarrantable conceptions of a future state, to gloat over the

prospective agony of their brethren, to conjure up horrid pictures of

future suffering and woe, and madly to pronounce all as being necessary

to the full glory of God, and the exemplification of his almighty power.

What wonder, then, that thousands, turning with loathing and shuddering

from the image of a deity clothed with all the repugnant attributes of

the most debased humanity, plunge into hopeless unbelief, refusing all

credence in such a being, and in any future state whatever? Was it not a

Herculean task to combat the immemorial and prescriptive dogmas of

powerful and learned preachers, armed with all the rhetorical imagery of

the schools for working terror and despair in the hearts of their

listeners?

Again Mr. Ballou says:--

"The preacher of the old school exhorts his hearers, above all things,

to the practice of the most rigid self-denial; and assures them that

God will be highly pleased with their abstaining from those pleasures

which he has placed within their reach. The most innocent amusements,

the most harmless recreations, he declaims against with the utmost

vehemence, as damning sins. He considers religion essentially to consist

in a perpetual effort to suppress and eradicate that propensity to

acquire temporal happiness which the God of nature has made to be the

spring of our actions. But on no subject does he delight to dwell so

much as on the future punishment of the wicked and impenitent. He

dresses up the Father of the universe in the awful robes of eternal

wrath and unbounded indignation, filled with incessant anger at the

crimes of the wicked, exerting infinite wisdom in devising the modes and

augmenting the severity of their punishment.

"The eternal din of future punishment soon loses all effect in

frightening the people, and has no influence but to impress a melancholy

gloom on their minds. Mankind are to be animated to strive to enter the

gates of heaven by the love of God and of goodness. He who attempts it

through fear of damnation exhibits no evidence of holiness of heart. As

well may we call a man honest who, having an inclination to steal,

refrains for fear of the whip, as we may a man religious, who, having

vicious inclinations, restrains them, and conforms to the exteriors of

religion, for the purpose of escaping the flames of hell. It is matter

of much regret that the amiable religion of Christianity should be so

disfigured and misrepresented as to deprive many people of the

happiness of enjoying it. Jesus Christ has in the clearest manner

inculcated those duties which are productive of the highest moral

felicity, and consistent with all the innocent enjoyments to which we

are impelled by the dictates of nature. Religion, when fairly considered

in its genuine simplicity and uncorrupted state, is the source of

endless rapture and delight. But, when corrupted with denials,

mortifications, and a punctilious observance of external rites, it

assumes a form disgusting to men of taste, and a relish for social

happiness, and is productive of the most destructive consequences. It

drives one part of mankind into the practice of superstition, hypocrisy

and bigotry; and, by exciting a distaste and aversion in the minds of

the other part, it excludes them from the rational pleasure arising from

the practice of genuine religion. The road to heaven is pleasant and

delightful, if mankind will go the right way; and certainly God will bid

the saint as sincere a welcome to the realms of immortal felicity who

has in the journey of life tasted the temporal delights of innocence, as

he will him who has abstained from them. Why, then, should we leave the

path that is strewed with flowers and roses, for the purpose of going in

another through a wilderness beset with thorns and briars, when both

parts will terminate in the same happy country?"

People listen to the dogmas of the schools, and are filled with awful

forebodings; terror is the predominating principle in their bosoms, and

sorrow takes possession of their hearts, speaking out from their

faithful countenances in sadness. How far is the true influence of the

gospel from inducing such results as this! Mr. Ballou believed, with

Fenelon, that "true piety hath in it nothing weak, nothing sad, nothing

constrained. It enlarges the heart; it is simple, free, and attractive."

If this were not the true nature of the gospel, how could there be

"peace and joy in believing"?

He held that the true way to cleanse the hardened and rebellious heart

is to inundate it with a deluge of love, the only weapon of Omnipotence.

Reason with the sinner, he will meet you with subtle argument; threaten

him, and he will meet you blow for blow; against future interest he will

adroitly balance present pleasure. The human heart rises against

severity or oppression, while it is soothed by gentleness, as the waves

of the ocean rise in proportion to the violence of the winds, and sink

with the breeze, until it becomes a gentle zephyr, into mildness and

serenity. Love, the warm sunshine of our existence, subdues the sinner

at once; there is not one in a thousand whose heart is so hardened that

its genial warmth will not melt it. True it is that force can subdue

numbers, cunning conquers force, intellect can master cunning, but love

conquers all. There is a vast difference between a wounded heart and a

contrite spirit. You may break ice by force into a thousand pieces,--it

is ice still; but expose it to the warm sun, and behold! how quickly it

will melt!

We have enlarged somewhat upon this doctrine of divine love, and trust

that our readers will bear with us in our desultory career, since this

principle is the fundamental basis of Universalism,--the starting-point

and the goal, the Alpha and the Omega, of Mr. Ballou's spiritual

experience and teaching. By it he reconciled the impulses of his heart

and the promptings of his intellect. The principle of God's perfect,

unchanging and eternal love of man, was the great discovery of his

earliest manhood, the object of his self-imposed mission, the

inspiration and solace of his labors, the spirit and joy of his

existence. His adamantine belief in this great idea, daily strengthening

by the study of God's works and word, was his shield and spear. It

touched his lips with living fire, as he stood in the pulpit, or beneath

the blue canopy of heaven, where he often preached; in the solitude of

his study, in the busy haunts of men, it fed the flickering lamp of life

when it waned with severe exertion, and it shone like the brightest star

of heaven on his dying bed. It was no solitary joy; the treasure he had

found he journeyed through the land to share with others. From his lips

the glad tidings rang through every nook and corner; and he lived, as we

have seen, long enough to hear the accents caught up by the willing and

faithful watchmen of the gospel, and the cry of "All's well!" echo from

port to port, from battlement to battlement, on the castles of Zion,

through the vast circumference of his native land. He saw his

denominational congregation swollen from a little band of eager

listeners to an auditory numbering hundreds of thousands. He saw the

shadows of unbelief flying from the face of truth, as the mist of

morning disappears before the rising sun. And he felt joyful, but not

proud or elated, in the consciousness that his sacred mission had been

crowned with such complete success, and that multitudes recognized the

truth which he first enunciated, that _the law of God was the law of

love_.

But let us give place here to his own words, beautifully expressed, and

illustrating his belief, and the _spirit_ of his doctrine, as appears in

a poem he wrote upon this theme, some years since. It is entitled

GOD IS LOVE.

"When lovely Spring, with flowery wreaths,

Comes on young Zephyr's wing,

And every bird soft music breathes,

'Tis love that makes them sing.

Love blossoms on the forest trees,

And paints each garden flower,

Gives honey to the laboring bees

In every sylvan bower.

Love breathes in every wind that blows,

And fragrance fills the air;

Meanders in each stream that flows,

Inviting pleasures there.

Love brings the golden harvest in,

And fills her stores with food;

It moves ten thousand tongues to sing

Of universal good."

"If we believe that God so loved us that he sent his Son to die for us,

we ought to love one another," he says. "Shall I not love those objects

whom my God loves? Shall I not love all those for whose sins he sent his

Son to be a propitiation? Most assuredly. This is a consequence

naturally to be expected from our belief. I do not say that all who

profess the doctrine do love one another as they ought; but I have the

confidence to say that no one who possesses the real sentiment, the real

principle, in his heart, can do otherwise than love all mankind. And

here you will easily perceive that all the commandments of the gospel

are to be obeyed. For when we love one another and love God, what duty

is there that will be neglected? If this will not lead us to our duty,

what will? Will terror make us do our duty? No; for, referring once more

to the similitude, what drove your children away? It was believing the

story they were told of your character. What _brought_ them back?

Knowing you were good. And know you not that it is _the goodness of God

that leadeth to repentance_? Why, then, should not his goodness be

preached to sinners? Why should we be told such awful stories with

regard to eternity? Why should we be told that there is an everlasting

state of burning, in order to induce us to love our Father in heaven? O!

incongruous doctrine! Let it be banished from the world, and let the

angel of the covenant proclaim the love of God to mankind; and may the

world be converted. Man will then love his fellow-man; we shall all see

that we are the children of God, that we are all the objects of God's

love, and all the objects of our Saviour's grace. Believe this truth,

treasure it up in your hearts, let your affections move with assent,

love God and love one another, and the God of love and peace shall be

with you."

All his writings and all of his conversation, both public and private,

were thoroughly imbued with this belief and principle of universal love;

it ran like a golden stratum through all his life and conduct, imbuing

every sentiment and every thought. His doctrine was such that a

realizing sense of its character must invariably thus affect the firm

and relying believer. He never held forth dark threats, nor adopted,

like many preachers about him, the doleful tones of grief when he talked

about religion. "If good people," says Archbishop Usher, "would make

their goodness agreeable, and smile instead of frowning in their virtue,

how many would they win to the good cause!" Mr. Ballou was affected, in

his cheerful and happy belief of universal salvation, like Haydn, who,

in answer to a query of the poet Carpani, how it happened that his

church music was ever of an animating and cheerful character,

answered,--"I cannot make it otherwise. I write according to the

thoughts which I feel;--when I think upon God, my heart is so full of

joy that the notes dance and leap as it were from my pen."

How many there are among us who, the moment the subject of religion is

mentioned, put on long faces, and talk as if they were mourning their

own lot and that of all creation, "in hopes to merit heaven by making

earth a hell!" Such people, by their example and bearing, would lead us

to believe that churches are institutions reared for the purpose of

encouraging long faces and dyspepsia, instead of pure altars from whence

may ascend the glad incense of grateful hearts. How strongly it is

impressed upon us that "God loves the _cheerful_ giver!" and did not

Christ reproach the Pharisees for disfiguring their faces with a sad

countenance? To use the forcible language of another, they make of

themselves "Hypocrites, who, to persuade men that angels lodge in their

hearts, hang out a devil for a sign in their countenances." "It is quite

deplorable," says Lady Morgan, "to see how many rational creatures, or

at least who are thought so, mistake suffering for sanctity, and think a

sad face and a gloomy habit of mind propitious offerings to that Deity

whose works are all light and lustre, and harmony and loveliness."

Such was the philosophy of the subject of these memoirs, such his

religion, such the doctrine which he taught. He found no cause for

sorrow in his belief, but a never-failing fountain of joy ever welled up

in his breast, pure and sparkling.

Mr. Ballou's religious belief, the faith which he promulgated with such

zeal and wonderful effect, can be summed up in a few words. He held that

God judges the human family in the earth; that every man must receive

according to the sin he hath done, and that there is no respect of

persons. That the "righteous shall be recompensed in the earth, much

more the wicked and the sinner." That the future state of existence will

be one of unalloyed happiness for the whole human family. That God is a

being who governs the world with a parent's regard, and not with the

wrath of a tyrant; that the world could be led to love him, but never

driven to do it through fear. That love, not wrath, should be preached

to the people. That all punishment is designed by the Divine Spirit for

the reformation of the sinner, and consequently must take place where

the sin is committed. That the reward of good deeds is to encourage well

doing, and must come when and where the worthy acts are done. He

believed in no more dreadful hell than is produced by the consequences

of sin about us, with the still, bitter gnawings of conscience; and in

no sweeter or more desirable reward than an approving conscience, and

the natural consequences of doing good. He taught that man must be saved

from his _sins_, not from the _punishment_ of them,--_that_ is

impossible,--and that to be happy we must "do justly, love mercy, and

walk humbly with God."

He believed that, in order to prove that misery will exist in the future

or eternal state, it must first be made to appear that sin will exist in

that state. But this he did not believe could be proved from any

scriptural testimony; on the contrary, he was fully convinced that the

Bible taught that "He that is dead is freed from sin." To quote his own

words on this point: "We have shown, in order for justice to require the

endless misery of any moral being, it must, of necessity, require the

endless continuance of sin, than which nothing can be more absurd."

Again he says: "We have sufficiently argued that man cannot be miserable

in consequence of moral condemnation, any longer than he is, in a moral

sense, a sinner." And we have often heard him make the remark, in regard

to limited future punishment, that if any one would produce but only one

passage of scripture which proves, beyond a reasonable doubt, that sin

or the sinner will exist, as such, in the eternal, immortal state, then

I give up my doctrine of no future punishment; but until this is done, I

shall hold to the doctrine that the Scriptures do not teach the

principle even of a limited future punishment. Mr. Ballou would not

allow analogy to take the place of scriptural proof on so important a

subject as the destiny of man in the immortal state. He had nothing to

do with mere assertions, which had not a "thus saith the Lord" for their

support, on any doctrinal point.

This feature of his mind cannot be too strongly insisted upon. He was

not content with relying on the _spirit_ of the Scriptures, which would

have fully sustained his doctrine, but he conciliated the spirit and the

letter, and rested every proposition he advanced on this immutable and

impregnable basis. If ever a man strictly obeyed the injunction to

"search the Scriptures," it was Mr. Ballou. They were the armor from

which he drew the shield that sheltered him in conflict, and all the

shafts that garnished his quiver. He had the very words of Christ and

his apostles for every item of his creed, and such creed alone would he

accept as might be adapted to this standard. He was not one of those

self-complacent and easy theorists, who readily support their favorite

doctrine by a few ambiguous texts, or an arbitrary construction of a

mooted passage. He was far too conscientious for this; the language of

learned commentators, however elegant the phraseology and plausible the

reason, never satisfied him. His standard was fixed in the Bible.

There was little of the enthusiast,--to use the term in its common

acceptation,--nothing of the bigot and fanatic, in his nature. He first

convinced himself of the truth of his ideas; he reflected and pondered

them deeply by himself, in some of those abstracted moods peculiar to

him, examining them in every light, trying them by every test,

dispassionately and calmly; and then gave them to the world, armed at

all points, and ready for defence against attack. And how prompt and

ready he was to defend what he had satisfied himself was the truth, we

need not reiterate here. The language in which he enforced his arguments

was simple and clear, because his ideas were so. They needed not the

tinsel garb of rhetoric, the flowers of a refined oratory, to make them

presentable to the world; they needed no foreign or artificial aid;--no,

they stood forth clear, simple, strong, arrayed in the garb and radiant

with the light of truth and of nature. They stood the test of public

scrutiny, because they had been refined in the alembic of his own severe

and critical mind. This simplicity, which is fast becoming an

old-fashioned virtue, commended the preacher to the earnest seekers

after truth. It is a pretty fair inference to arrive at, when you hear a

religion preached which requires disguise and ornament, that the truth

is not in it. Where truth is there need be no such garbing; it is only

error that requires to be gilded, like the covering to bitter pills,

used to render them sweet. The gospel of Christ appeals to the judgment,

not to the taste.

In relation to the argument of analogy, as used to prove the doctrine of

punishment in a future state, we subjoin the following, in his own

words:--"Another ground on which the advocates of a future state of

rewards and punishments place much dependence for the support of the

doctrine, they denominate _analogy_. We think it too hazardous to

attempt anything like an accurate statement of the particular arguments,

which are made to depend on this principle, in favor of this doctrine;

for we might be liable to some mistakes, which would represent the views

of its advocates differently from their mode of representing them. Our

liability to misrepresent in such an attempt seems unavoidable, on

account of the fact that there has been nothing like a system of

reasoning yet exhibited on the general subject. We feel safe, however,

in saying, that, as far as we have been informed, those who rely on what

they call analogy to support the doctrine of future retribution, hold

that, in all respects which are necessary to carry sin and its miseries

into the future state, that state will be analogous to this mode of

being. So that, reasoning from analogy, as moral agents sin, and

thereby render themselves miserable in this world, the same moral agents

may continue to do the same in the world to come. In connection with

this argument it is urged, that, as it is evident to our senses that sin

often escapes a just retribution in this world, it must be recompensed

in another state, or divine justice must forever be deprived of its

claims.

"On reasonings of such a character, we shall use the freedom to say,

that they appear to have no higher authority than mere human

speculations injudiciously managed. That they are nothing more than

simple speculations, is evident from the fact that they are not founded

on any divine authority. We presume that their own advocates never

ventured to support them by scripture authority. And that they are

managed injudiciously, is very apparent from the circumstances, that

while they profess to be justified by the principle of analogy, they are

a direct denial of the very analogy on which they depend. Theologians

who endeavor to exert an influence over the minds of people by means of

these speculations, are constantly urging that in this world we see sin

procuring for its agents the riches and honors of the world, while it

escapes judicial detection, and goes unpunished. Now, if they were

consistent with their analogy and with themselves, they would see at

once that in the next state of existence sin will procure for its agents

the riches and honors of that world, and there, as well as here, escape

judicial detection, and go unpunished. They would likewise see that as

divine justice can quiet its own claims in this world, without

administering a full and adequate retribution of human conduct, it may

do the same in the future state. In this way we might proceed and make

the future state precisely like the present; for we have no more

authority for carrying sin and its miseries into a future world, than we

have for carrying all other things into that state which we find in

this. Reasoning from all that we know, we must believe that, so long as

men sin, they will do so from the beguiling power of temptation. If,

then, we believe that sin will exist in the future state, we must

suppose that temptation will there act on the mind with a deceiving

influence. In this world the wicked are allured with the hopes of

temporal gain, and these attractions are strengthened by the belief that

crime will not be detected, and that punishment will be avoided. Were it

not for these hopes and allurements, no wrong-doing would be practised

in this world; and to suppose that we shall transgress the law of God in

the future world, without any temptation, is a speculation altogether

arbitrary and capricious, as well as contrary to _analogy_."

"Of late, the writer of this," says Mr. Ballou, in one of his last

published sermons, "has seen an inclination, in some of the professed

preachers of Universalism, to adopt some of the peculiar opinions of our

Unitarian fraternity. Among other things, is the opinion that men carry

into the next world the imperfections of this; so that their moral

condition hereafter will depend on the characters they form while here

in the flesh; but that they may and will improve and progress in virtue

and holiness in the spirit world. This opinion being rather newly

adopted, and as it seems to ingratiate them into favor with Unitarians,

it is quite natural for such preachers to devote not a small share of

public labor to lead the minds of their hearers to the adoption of such

views of the future state. Whenever the writer of this discourse comes

in contact with these labors and opinions, he feels it to be his duty,

in a friendly, brotherly, and candid manner, to endeavor to bring them

to the test of some acknowledged standard. It is worthy of

consideration, that the New Testament gives us but little on the subject

of man's future state. There can be no doubt but Jesus was known to

believe and preach a doctrine embracing the fact of the resurrection,

and an immortal state for the human family. All this is clearly

manifested by the question asked him by the Sadducees respecting the

resurrection. In the answer which Jesus returned, we have all which

gives us any account respecting the state of man hereafter which was

spoken by him. In this answer, we are told the following facts:--1st.

That, in the future world, they will neither marry nor be given in

marriage. 2d. That, in that state, men will be the children of God,

being the children of the resurrection. 3d. That they will be equal unto

the angels, and that they can die no more. 4th. That the doctrine of

the resurrection was shown by Moses, and that God is not the God of the

dead, but of the living, for we all live unto him. St. Paul says more on

the subject of the resurrection, and of the future state, than did

Jesus. He says, 'As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made

alive.' He also distinguishes man's state and condition in the future or

resurrection state, from his condition here, as follows:--'It is sown in

corruption, it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonor, it is

raised in glory: it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power: it is

sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.' Thus we are taught

that our future state will differ from the present as incorruption

differs from corruption; as glory differs from dishonor; as power

differs from weakness; as a spiritual body differs from a natural body.

Now, if we allow ourselves to carry our speculations respecting our

future state not only beyond all the Scriptures say on the subject, but

so as to adopt distinctions in that state, which evidently conflict with

the divine Word, do we not say, by so doing, that divine Revelation is

not only incomplete, but also inaccurate?"

He believed that all those promises which give the assurance of the

final _holiness_ and _happiness_ of the entire race of man depend solely

on the will and power and goodness of God, and not on any conditions for

the creature to perform. While dwelling upon this theme, which he

delighted to do, he says:--"Let us pass to the prophecies of Isaiah; see

Chap. 25: 6, 7, 8.

"'And in this mountain shall the Lord of Hosts make unto _all_ people a

feast of fat things. * * * And he will destroy in this mountain the face

of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over

all nations. He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will

wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall

he take away from off all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it.' No

one will doubt that the provisions here spoken of are those which are

provided in the gospel of salvation,--made for all people. The vail of

darkness which is over all people is to be taken away. Death is to be

swallowed up in victory, and tears wiped from off all faces. The rebuke

of God's people shall be taken from off all the earth. And the proof is

in the above passage, 'for the Lord hath spoken it.'"

Mr. Ballou says:--"I look with strong expectation for that period when

all sin, and every degree of unreconciliation, will be destroyed, by the

divine power of that love which is stronger than death, which many

waters cannot quench, nor the floods drown; in which alone I put my

trust, and in which my hope is anchored for all mankind; earnestly

praying that the desire of the righteous may not be cut off. The fulness

of times will come, and the times of the restitution of all things will

be accomplished. Then shall truth be victorious, and all error flee to

eternal night. Then will universal songs of honor be sung to the praise

of Him who liveth for ever and ever."

In relation to the subject of his faith, Rev. A. A. Miner, in his

funeral sermon delivered on the occasion, says:--

"Let me say, then, that he was _a man of unswerving faith_. He believed

in the Bible as the treasury of divine revelation. His ministry was

based upon it. Few men have confined themselves so exclusively to its

themes. None have treated those themes with greater clearness and power.

He studied the sacred page with a spirit equally removed from the

Germanic philosophy, on the one hand, and from Calvinistic bigotry on

the other. In the fulness of its promises, the riches of its grace, and

the blessedness of its hopes, his soul continually delighted. It was to

him the 'Book of books;' and, at the advanced age of more than fourscore

years, its truths, still fresh in his memory, continually employed his

understanding, and its glories enraptured his heart.

"He believed also in God;--in God as the supreme good. He believed in

him as sovereign,--not simply as a candidate for sovereignty, but as

already sovereign; nor alone as sovereign to create, to uphold, to rule,

to condemn, and to chasten or destroy. So far had the _world's_ faith

gone. He regarded him as sovereign, not to do evil, but to do good, and

to do good only. He believed God limited by his very nature to the doing

of good,--that he is no more able to do evil than he is to be untrue.

And, since it is admitted, on all hands, that there are moral influences

by which some will be saved in perfect harmony with the exercise of

their own voluntary powers, he believed that a God who is really

sovereign in his moral domain can accomplish in all souls whatever is

possible to be accomplished in any. Thus, from the character of God he

saw freely flowing the blessed promises of his word.

"His faith, too, in Christ stood related to the affectionate Father as

the sovereign cause. Christ was God's messenger to man. He came not to

procure the Father's love for the world, but as a testimony of that

love. He came not to open to man the door of mercy, but to strengthen

man to walk in the already open door. His mission was not simply to

explore the wide-spread moral waste, but to possess and cultivate it;

not to make salvation possible, but actual; for God 'hath appointed him

_heir_ of all things,'--'hath given all things into his hands, that he

should give eternal life to as many as God had given him.' Thus it was

his mission to _accomplish_ a work, rather than to _offer_ to accomplish

it; and, by his ever-memorable prayer on the cross, he perfected the

power by which the world will be saved; as he said, 'And I, if I be

lifted up from the earth, _will draw all men unto me_.'"

No one who has thus far followed this unpretending but truthful

biography, can fail to admit the full justice of the foregoing analysis

and eulogy of Mr. Ballou's moral and mental nature. The faith of which

Mr. Miner speaks was the strongest characteristic of the man. It

illumined his whole life. His intellect was not clouded by doubts. In

the geniality and genuineness of his faith he proceeded to the study of

the book of books; every leaf he turned in the sacred volume confirmed

the steadfast belief of his soul. He read it not as a verbal critic, not

as a worldly philosopher, ambitious to found some system on the hints he

might discover, but as a Christian seeking, where he knew he should

discover it, the eternal light of truth. It was, indeed, to him a source

of unsullied, uncloying, constant delight. Daily and hourly he

discovered new beauties and new truths in its pages. Its story rolled

before him like a wave of unbroken harmony, until his mental vision

became almost microscopic in its powers of detection. Thus filled with

the word, thus made conversant with its glowing truths and beauties, he

constantly renewed and multiplied the means of awakening and confirming

faith in others.

As we have labored to show, his reverence and love for his Maker were

boundless; they absorbed his whole being--not, however, to the exclusion

of earthly objects of affection, for he well knew that a true love of

our Father in heaven is totally incompatible with the neglect of his

creatures. Therefore, he was as unlike as possible to those ascetics of

the middle ages, or the recluses of our own day, who fancy that a strict

seclusion from the world, and a complete abandonment to religious

exercises, is the most acceptable offering that can be made at the foot

of the altar. This was an idea that found no sympathy in his bosom; he

knew that there was nothing inharmonious between religious and social

duties, and that to love our fellow-creatures is a proof of love towards

God. His devotion was filial, but of that transcendent nature which far

surpasses all the affections of this world. His boundless love of God

rested on his vivid conception of his nature, as all-powerful,

all-merciful, and all-good, the enthroned sovereign of the universe, the

Father and Benefactor of each and all of the human race.

In a recent letter to the "Star in the West," Rev. George H. Emerson

says:--

"The theological mission of Hosea Ballou was this:--_to assert the

benevolent and perfect sovereignty of Almighty God_. I once said to him,

'Suppose the idea of God's sovereignty were taken out of you, how much

would there be left of you?' His answer was significant, and comprised

three words,--'_O my soul!_' Of course, these three words, of themselves

simply, convey no answer; but the tone with which they were uttered

said, very distinctly, that, the idea of God's sovereignty taken away,

there would be no Hosea Ballou. But this great man did not simply

believe that God is a sovereign, but, further, that God is a

_benevolent_ sovereign; he not only believed that God ruled in the

armies of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth, but that he

ruled them with the especial object of bestowing happiness; he not only

believed that God worked all things after the counsels of his own will,

but that it was God's will that all should be saved and come to a

knowledge of the truth. Every one who has heard or read him will

recollect how frequently he would illustrate his views of the divine

government by the beautiful story of Joseph and his ten brethren:--'But

as for you, _ye_ thought evil against me; but _God_ meant it unto good,

to bring to pass as it is this day, to save much people alive.' This

verse contained volumes of meaning with Father Ballou."

Such was the sum and substance of his doctrine, his life-long mission,

the creed he held forth to the people for more than sixty years.

Some of his religious opponents have frequently charged him with

card-playing, an amusement which we conceive to be of no evil import in

itself, but the charge was designed as a matter of reproach against him.

Now, we happen to know, and can say for a certainty, that Mr. Ballou did

not know one card from another, nor could he have named a dozen cards

rightly, had his very life depended upon his doing so.

This may be thought, perhaps, a trifling matter to notice; but the truth

is, his religious opponents, finding no evil in him that they might

expose, invented this charge to prejudice the public mind, and one

minister in New England more than once publicly declared it from his

pulpit; though, when called upon by one who heard him, and who knew the

subject of this biography, he was puzzled to produce the name of his

informant. It is within our own recollection that these stories were

rife, and that they were very generally talked of. It was also

sneeringly said that he preached to the lowest classes of society, and

that respectable or intelligent persons never attended his meetings;

that some of the most wicked and sinful of the community were found

listening to him, and that they were always welcome!

These declarations were often made as evidences, weighing not alone

against him, but also against the truth and godly character of his

doctrine; they were preferred by clergymen from their pulpits, and often

in opposition religious papers; but, of course, this was more frequently

the case during his early settlement in Boston than in subsequent years.

The first part of the latter charge brought against him needs no

refutation; an intelligent public can judge of its truth; but we cannot

refrain from calling the attention of the reader to the spirit that

prompted the last clause. How very like it is to that evinced by the

Pharisees of old, who said reproachfully of their Divine Master, "This

man receiveth sinners and eateth with them." And now mark the reply of

Jesus to these grumblers:--"The whole," says he, "need not the

physician, but they that are sick." "The most wicked and sinful of the

community," said Mr. Ballou's revilers, "are found listening to him, and

they are always welcome!"

The truth is, that Mr. Ballou made no distinction or selection among

auditors; he as readily preached to the poor and humble, as to those

"clad in purple and fine linen," who "fared sumptuously every day." He

never withheld his services; it might be, perhaps, that he preached with

more fervor to those who stood in the clearest need of consolation and

good tidings, than to those who enjoyed every opportunity of mental and

intellectual culture. But it is certain, that a preacher with the

universality of Mr. Ballou's vocation neither can nor ought to draw

distinctions; he is summoned to speak whenever and wherever his services

are needed, and the preacher of the gospel who should refuse because the

call came from the sinful would be as much to blame as he would be to

disregard the call of the righteous. The true soldier of Christ and the

gospel recognizes no distinction of rank; his consolations are as warmly

given to the nameless sufferer, as when beside the couch of the

millionaire.

Still less is the minister of the true religion to refuse to afford

words of encouragement and advice to the unfortunate being who is

struggling in the toils of sin. To such an one his mission is absolutely

imperative; he must wrestle with the perturbed and darkened spirit, he

must aid the awakening conscience, struggling to throw off the burthen

of evil passions, he must point to the undying love of God to man, and

bid the tears of the sinner be dried up in the effulgent smile of

Omnipotence. If, therefore, sinners crowded to hear the discourses of

Mr. Ballou, it was a tribute of which a preacher of the gospel might

well be proud. "To comfort and help the weak-hearted, and to raise up

those who fall," is essentially the province of the conscientious

preacher; and no one, however hardened his heart, could have listened to

the sincere and earnest words of the subject of these pages, without

deriving some hope, some consolation, and some strength, from the

glorious doctrine he preached so eloquently; and that there were very

many who were thus ransomed from the thraldom of sin and consequent

misery, there can be no reasonable doubt.

Was it true that "sinners flocked to hear him," as has been said so

often by his opponents in the way of reproach against his doctrine, as

being conducive to the pleasure of such persons? Let us pause for one

moment, and review what he used to say that was particularly pleasing to

this class of hearers. The following, for instance, will suffice us,--it

is from his own pen:--"The vile affections of sin will burn to the

destruction of the sweetest harmonies of nature; the whitest robes of

innocence are stained with its indelible crimson; the soul is drowned in

the black waters of iniquity, and the whole mind, with every faculty, is

plunged into the hell of moral death. Yet, listen to the worst of

torments, in consequence of sin. 'A wounded conscience who can bear?' A

fire that burns all the day long, a sword that continually pierceth the

soul, a sting that cannot exhaust its poison, a fever that never turns

till the patient dies. 'A dart struck through his liver.' What ails the

sinner?--why his hand on his breast? There gnaws the worm that never

dies,--there burns the fire that is never quenched. A consciousness of

guilt destroys all the expected comforts and pleasures of sin. How

strange it is that, after a thousand disappointments in succession, men

are not discouraged! O sin! how you paint your face! how you flatter us,

poor mortals, on to death! You never appear to the sinner in your true

character; you make us fair promises, but you never fulfilled one; your

tongue is smoother than oil, but the poison of asps is under your lips;

you have impregnated all our passions with the venom of your poison; you

have spread gloomy darkness over the whole region of the soul; you have

endeavored, with your stupefactive poison, to blunt the sword in the

hands of the cherubim, which, for your sake, keeps us from the tree of

life. A mistaken idea has been entertained of sin, even by professors. I

have often heard sincere ministers preach, in their reproofs to their

hearers, that it was the greatest folly in the world for people to

forego salvation, in a future state, for the comforts and pleasures of

sin in this. Such exhortations really defeat their intentions. The wish

of the honest preacher is, that the wicked should repent of their sins,

and do better; but, at the same time, he indicates that sin, at present,

is more productive of happiness than righteousness; but that the bad

will come in another world,--that, although doing well is a hard way,

yet its advantages will be great in another state. Just as much as any

person thinks sin to be more happifying than righteousness, he is

sinful; his heart esteems it; though in some possible cases, for fear of

the loss of salvation in the world to come, he may abstain from some

outward enormities, yet his heart is full of the desire of doing them.

It is as much the nature of sin to torment the mind, as it is the nature

of fire to burn our flesh. Sin deprives us of every rational enjoyment,

so far as it captivates the mind. It was never able to furnish one drop

of cordial for the soul; her tender mercies are cruelty, and her breasts

of consolation are gall and wormwood."

Mr. Ballou's style of preaching was of a kind calculated to create

regret in the hearer's heart at his own shortcoming, and to plant a

contrite spirit there, rather than fear for the punishment of his sins.

The object of his sermon was not to terrify the sinner, but rather to

lead him into the ways of peace and pleasantness. His sermons were of

the character referred to by Louis XIV., when he told that eminent

preacher, Massillon, "Father, I have heard many great pulpit orators,

and I have been much pleased with them, but every time I hear you I am

exceedingly displeased with myself;" alluding to the sorrow for sin

which Massillon's sermons created in him. This is the true and effectual

style of preaching, such as will convert sinners from the error of their

ways, by inducing a correct feeling in their own bosoms, not by

frightening them out of their senses. Representing before men's eyes

such oceans of wrath that they feel as though they were sinking to

perdition, will undoubtedly lead them sometimes to _profess_ religion,

as a drowning man would catch at a straw; but their profession is made

by instinct, not conviction,--by an undefined consciousness of

necessity, not by any incentive of love.

It might be said of Mr. Ballou's sermons as Thomas Fuller said of

Perkins in his eulogy: "His sermons were not so plain but that the

piously learned did admire them, nor so learned but that the plain did

understand them. Unshelling theological controversies of their school

terms, he made of them plain and wholesome meat for the people."

"Children can understand him," was the constant remark of the

ministering brethren, in relation to Mr. Ballou's sermons; and he has

said often, "If I can make children understand me, then I am satisfied;

for surely it must then be that older minds will comprehend my words."

In this connection we are forcibly reminded of the true incident of the

minister and the child. Forcible, simple as it is!

"Mother," said a little girl, seven years old, "I could not understand

our minister to-day, he said so many hard words. I wish he would preach

so that little girls could understand him; won't he, mother?"

"Yes, I think so, if we ask him."

It was not long after that the little girl's father saw her going over

to the minister's, and calling her back to him, he asked:--

"Where are you going, Emma?"

"I am going over to Mr. ----'s, father," was her innocent reply, "to ask

him to preach small!"

A hint this that many might improve by.

To the place of his birth Mr. Ballou was fondly attached, and often

visited it during the latter years of his life, in company with his

children. He seemed thrice happy among those well-remembered hills and

dales, where "the dreams of youth came back again." Aside from the fact

of its being the home of his childhood, which in itself will strew with

roses the bleakest spot in Christendom, the valley of his nativity had

many picturesque and glowing natural beauties, of a character to impress

the lover of nature with admiration. Here he had set his snares at the

skirts of yonder wood, and here made his morning ablutions in the clear

running brook. Adown the crevices of this huge old rock, when a little

boy, surfeited with the abundance of wild strawberries, he had pressed

out their juice, and adown the green crevices in the mossy stone the red

liquid had made its way. These old stumps, now decayed, and like himself

passing away, once bore the orchard fruit that he had watched with

anxious eye to its ripening. And this mass of rocks, this ruined cellar,

is the only remnant left of the cot where he was born. Not a stone nor a

tree was forgotten,--not one but brought back its peculiar legend to his

quickened heart. And here was the old burial-ground, on the hill-side,

where the dust of his father and kindred reposed. With what awe had he

ever looked upon that place when a boy! How many times strolled

thoughtfully among the rank grass and moss-grown slabs, whose gray old

forms, now bending hither and thither with age, gave faint and feeble

token of names long, long since passed away,--

"With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked."

While on a visit to this spot, accompanied by his second son, Rev.

Massena B. Ballou, in 1843, he lingered long and thoughtfully among the

tomb-stones, and at last said:--"I believe I could sleep sweeter here,

among the hills of Cheshire, by the side of my early home and kindred,

than in the grounds of Mount Auburn." And this was in truth

characteristic of him and of his feelings, as the reader will have

gathered ere this. A retiring spirit governed him at all times, unmoved

by one single prompting of ambition or a desire for fame, and only

zealous in the service of his Lord and Master. His works he desired to

leave behind him as perfect as might be, because he hoped that, even

after he had himself ceased to live, they might be productive of good to

his fellow-men; but it was the only memento he wished to leave behind.

"I can hardly conceive of language," he says, "to express the flood of

tender emotions that overflow my heart, when I look upon that valley and

those well-remembered hills. I seem as if touched by some potent wand,

and to be changed from age to youth again. It becomes impossible to

realize the crowd of incidents and experiences that have thronged my

pathway for more than half a century. I am once more in that frugal,

happy home, where contentment ever smiled upon us, and the kind words of

my brothers and the affection of my sisters, more than compensated for

what by some would have been considered not an enviable lot. Though that

cottage is now levelled by Time's ruthless hands, yet how prominent it

stands before my mind's eye! That aged and beloved parent now rests on

yonder hill-side. Those brothers and sisters,--how various the fortune

of each! All, _all_ have now passed that portal to which my own

footsteps are steadily wending." He was often inspired to pour out his

feelings in song, after visiting Richmond and the haunts of his youth,

for his heart was full of the memories of those days that had endeared

the spot to him. The following lines upon this subject were composed for

his children to sing with instrumental accompaniment, and are written in

the metre of one of his favorite songs, the air of "Dumbarton's Bonny

Belle."

BALLOU'S DELL.

"There are no hills in Hampshire New,

No valleys half so fair,

As those which spread before the view

In merry Richmond, where

I first my mortal race began,

And passed my youthful days,--

Where first I saw the golden sun,

And felt his warming rays.

There is no spot in Richmond where

Fond memory loves to dwell,

As on the glebe outspreading there

In Ballou's blithesome dell.

There are no birds that sing so sweet

As those upon the spray,

Where, from the brow of 'Grassy Hill,'

Comes forth the morning ray.

Unnumbered flowers, the pride of spring,

Are born to flourish there,

And round them mellow odors fling

Through all the ambient air.

There purling springs have charms for me

That vulgar brooks ne'er give,

And winds breathe sweeter down the lea

Than where magnolias live!"

This is but one of a large number of pieces composed by Mr. Ballou while

inspired by the same theme. It will serve to show the reader the

hallowed and inspiring feelings that lived in the writer's heart, as his

memory went back in freshness to the days and associations of his

boyhood, as in retrospection he shook away the snow of time from the

evergreen of memory.

The attachment to one's birth-place, to the home of early youth, "be it

ever so humble," is a beautiful trait of character, and is significant

of a refined and noble spirit. It is in masses one of the first and most

prolific fruits of civilization, distinguishing a stable community from

a nomadic tribe; and, as another peculiarity of the trait, it is most

touchingly exhibited in the least fortunate members of the human family.

The Icelanders, dwelling in a hyperborean region, where for a large

portion of the year they are deprived of the light of the sun, and

depend upon the stars and the Aurora Borealis to guide their footsteps

in the long, long winter midnight, are accustomed to say, with a spirit

of unmistakable fondness and affection, Iceland is the fairest country

of the globe! The poor Highlander regards the smoky hut where he was

born with enthusiastic love. As life draws gradually towards its close,

this feeling deepens in the human breast. Standing on the extreme verge

of existence, and just about to leave the world forever, man, as he

turns to survey the pathway he has travelled, overlooks its midway

stations, and fixes his eyes upon the starting. The beginning and the

end of the journey are then brought close together; from the earthly to

the eternal home there is but one step; from the tenderest recollections

of his earthly parent he passes into the presence of his Father in

heaven. Love of home! what a theme for the essayist!

It would almost seem as if the deprivations and hardships of his

youthful days must have thrown an unhappy spell about his early home,

and as though the memories that came up to him from the long vista of

years would be laden with recollections of want and severe trial, of

personal endurance, of scanty food and more scanty clothing; in short,

of all the stern realities of his childhood's home. But this was very

far from being the case with him. He has often said to us, in relation

to this subject, that he deemed his life at that time anything but

unhappy,--that what now appeared to be so great hardships, by

comparison, were then but trifling discomforts, and matters of course.

He was never inclined to set up for a martyr, or to gather any credit

for having endured patiently, and risen in time above the fortunes of

his youth. He could only recall this period of his life with feelings of

pleasure. Such feelings as these force upon us the conviction that there

is ever about the place of one's birth a spell that hardship seems only

the more closely to bind about the heart,--that deprivation and want but

the more strongly cement. The cheerful allusion to the affectionate

regard of his brothers and sisters, and the remark that contentment ever

smiled upon his early home, show the true spirit of the man, and the

natural trait which ever influenced him to make the best of everything.

"How I used to cherish a kind word from my father, when I was a boy!"

says Mr. Ballou. "He was in some respects an austere man; and when I was

born, being the youngest of our large family, he had got to be advanced

in years, and looked with a more serious and practical eye on the events

of life and all things about us. He was Puritanic, strictly religious,

as he interpreted the meaning of that word, and his mind was ever

engrossed upon serious matters. But when he put his hand sometimes upon

my head, and told me I had done well, that the labor I had performed

might have been more poorly done by older hands, or that I was a good

and faithful boy, my heart was electrified beyond measure; and I

remember his words and smile, even now, with delight."

How the simplicity and purity of the man shine forth in this little

paragraph!

"It may be interesting to your readers to know how Father Ballou was

regarded in the town of his nativity," says the Rev. Joshua Britton,

Jr., of Richmond, N. H., in a communication addressed to the Christian

Freeman. "He was accustomed to visit this place once in every few years,

and always received a cordial and hearty greeting. It was my privilege

and happiness to spend a few days with him on the occasion of his visit

here in October last. I removed to this town in October, 1850, and soon

learned that there was a general desire among our friends to see and

hear their fellow-townsman again. The approach of cold weather prevented

our taking any immediate steps to accomplish this object. In June, 1851,

I saw him at the meeting of the State Convention in Chicopee. He had

many affectionate inquiries to make respecting his friends in Richmond,

but then he could not name any time when he would visit us. In July I

wrote him, and he replied August 5, and said:--'I want very much to

visit Richmond, and will on one of the days you have named.' He

suggested that we could complete the arrangement at the convention

meeting in Boston. We did so, and fixed upon Sunday, October 12th, as

the day when he would be with us. He was careful to have no appointment

for the following Sunday, in order that he might remain in this

vicinity. He was met at Fitzwilliam depot, by one of our friends, on

Friday, October 10th, and conveyed to his residence. Sunday was a

favorable day for meeting, and there was a large audience from this and

the adjacent towns in this state and in Massachusetts. It was a happy

day for us all; but I must not dwell here.

"Though I enjoyed the meeting very much, yet my enjoyment was still

greater on the following week, in the society of our aged friend and

father, at my own home and the homes of our mutual friends in this town.

"It may be proper to state that Father Ballou had no very near

relatives here. None, I believe, by the name of Ballou. He was a cousin

of Father Luke Harris, and with him and his family he spent a portion of

the time quite pleasantly. He seemed happy in being once more in his

'native Richmond.'

"Three days the writer accompanied Father Ballou while he made calls

upon various families in different parts of the town. We were uniformly

kindly received; and those not acquainted with Father Ballou can hardly

conceive the ease and success with which he familiarly approached

all,--the young, the middle-aged, and the aged. We had brief interviews,

but they were agreeable and profitable. Prayer was offered with and

consolation afforded to the sick. In one or two instances we met with

those whose minds were in doubt on doctrinal points: these, of course,

listened to a few words of explanation. Then there was the going back to

former days, and a rehearsal of time's numerous changes. We visited the

old burying-ground, and stood by the graves of the parents of my aged

companion. We visited the old homestead, the place where he was born,

and spent his boyhood. This was changed, and unchanged. The buildings,

fences, and some of the fields, presented a new aspect, but the valleys

and hills remained as before. At the homestead we entered the orchard,

where the owner was engaged picking apples. We walked about and found

apples, of which my companion ate, though he declined taking any, a

short time previous, on an adjoining farm. We also, by invitation, dined

here, and had a pleasant chat with the family. This farm is a mile and

a half east of our meeting-house. Grassy Hill is on its eastern border,

and overlooks the valley in which it is situated. Some will recollect

the poetry of our friend, 'My native Richmond.' He repeated this, at my

suggestion, at a dwelling in full view of this eminence; and as the

words 'Grassy Hill' were spoken, he gracefully waved his right hand in

that direction, his countenance expressing satisfaction and delight.

"Several times, during his stay, the inquiry was agitated,--'Will you

come to Richmond again?' His reply was, ''Tis uncertain,--I may; should

life be spared, and my health remain as good as it is at present, I

think I may.' But, as we had some reason to expect, this proved to be

his last visit. He was conveyed to Winchester on Friday, where he

preached on the following Sabbath. He returned on Tuesday, Oct. 21st. I

made a few calls with him on the afternoon of that day, and in the

evening he spent an hour at our singing-school, tarrying with us at

night. On the following morning we bade him 'good-by,' and he proceeded

homewards to visit a daughter, rejoined his wife, and in due time

reached their home in Boston."

In Mr. Ballou's letter to the Trumpet, describing this visit, he says:--

"When I arrived at the depot in Fitzwilliam, I was met by a worthy

and respected friend, from Richmond, who came on purpose to convey

me to his hospitable dwelling in the neighborhood of the place of

my birth. Our road passed through the farm on which I was born,

and on which my childhood and youth were spent. All around lay the

hills and the mountains, the valleys and streams, which I always

carry with me on the map of fond memory. But where were the father,

the mother, the brothers and sisters, who watched over my infancy

and guided my youth? The hope of the gospel answers, in HEAVEN!

Before the Sabbath, I was conveyed by our worthy Brother Britton,

the beloved pastor of the Universalist society, to the dwellings of

a number of my kindred and friends, who received me with a welcome

corresponding with the esteem in which they were held by me. But

some bitter drops were mingled with the sweet cordials of

friendship and love. Some deaths had recently removed the beloved

and respected, causing those sanctifying sorrows to which love and

friendship are heirs. When the Sabbath came, I was conducted by

Bro. Britton to the house of devotion, and into the pulpit where he

is wont to break the bread of life to the flock of his charge. I

was agreeably surprised at beholding the crowded congregation,

which filled the house to its utmost capacity with people, who came

not only from all parts of Richmond, but from all the adjoining

towns. * * * * When I beheld this large assembly, all of which

seemed to be moved with one spirit, every countenance presenting

the same expression of desire and expectation, I felt oppressed

with a sense of my weakness, and lifted my desires to Him who is

able to strengthen the weak, and from what seems a scanty portion

to feed the multitude.

"I could not avoid a comparison between what I then saw with the

condition of the cause of divine truth sixty years ago, when I

first attempted to speak in its defence in a private dwelling in

this Richmond. Then, but a few could be collected to hear the

impartial and efficient grace of the Redeemer proclaimed and

defended.

"The Universalist meeting-house in Richmond is quite respectable

for size, conveniently constructed, and neat in appearance. The

society who worship here is not very numerous, yet I believe more

so than that of any other denomination in town. As far as my

acquaintance enabled me to judge, I had reason to believe that

better disposed disciples of the Divine Master are seldom found.

Bro. Britton preaches here one-half of his time. He is a sober,

candid, well-educated and faithful pastor, and highly esteemed by

his society here, and also in Winchester, where he labors

successfully the other half of his time. His family consists of an

amiable companion, who knows the importance of her station, and is

faithful in the discharge of its duties, and an adopted daughter,

who is justly held in high esteem both by those whom she regards as

her parents, and by all her acquaintances.

"The Sabbath following my appointment in Richmond, which

appointment was on the second Sabbath in October, I preached in

Winchester. The day was extremely rainy and cold, and few

comparatively attended meeting. The society here has a very good

and convenient house, and its condition at present is said to be

promising. The friends of truth here are firm and steadfast, full

of hope and confidence, promising perseverance unto the end.

"After my labors on this rainy Sabbath, I found myself much

exhausted, and was sensibly unwell. My friends were kind and

attentive to me, and the worn-out servant was well provided for. On

Wednesday a respectable merchant of Richmond brought me in his

carriage to the depot in Fitzwilliam. By aid of Divine Providence I

arrived the same day at Lancaster, where I found my wife and our

family connections in good health, and my own somewhat improved.

Thanks be to God for all his mercies!

"HOSEA BALLOU."

With other numerous calls upon his time and attention, and in addition

to his never-ceasing professional and parochial labors, Mr. Ballou has

had at various times over _twenty_ ministerial students, who, for the

time being, generally became residents of his family, and who studied

the profession with him. To these young men he devoted his powers with

the same untiring zeal that characterized his other professional labors.

His mode of instruction with these students was peculiar; he went with

them always, to use one of his favorite phrases, "to the root of the

matter," and was never content until he had imbued their minds with at

least a portion of the realizing sense he himself experienced relative

to all the main points of the faith he advocated. His words of advice to

them were few, but they were just what each one needed, and no more. He

was never fulsome with them, but complimented when it was deserved,

checked when it was necessary, and suggested when improvements might be

made, but ever inculcating those Christian qualities which shone forth

as a burning light in his own loveliness of character. Nearly all of

those students are now teachers of the gospel of Christ, men honored for

their Christian spirit, and as true disciples of the gospel. Most of

these are settled in the New England States; and, as we write, we easily

recall the names of numbers who are much respected and beloved by the

denomination to which they belong.

In the instruction and guidance of so large a number of candidates for

the sacred calling of the ministry, he assumed a very weighty addition

to his constant labors. We have seen that his parochial, ministerial,

scholastic and editorial duties, were exceedingly onerous, and many

would have shrunk from the idea of adding to such an accumulation of

labors. But it was a principle of Mr. Ballou's life never to neglect a

single opportunity of serving the great and sacred cause in which he had

embarked; he felt the full force of his mission, and to it he was

constantly ready to devote every energy of his physical and mental

nature, every moment of his time, looking to the source of all power for

the strength and inspiration necessary to sustain him in his task.

Among those who felt a vocation to preach the word of God, there was an

earnest desire to pursue its study under the guidance of one who was the

father and oracle of the creed they had espoused. They felt that,

transmitted through other mediums, many of the rays of light that beamed

from his original mind must necessarily be lost; they sought to derive

directly from him the clear instructions, the vigorous reasoning, the

straightforward mode of investigation, which distinguished him. They

wished to be near him, to follow his example in everything pertaining to

a Christian's duty. As to himself, he was never so happy as when

imparting instruction to those who really desired and sought it. His

inquiring and intelligent spirit constantly sympathized with minds of

kindred stamp, nor did he ever lose his warm sympathies for youth. With

the motto _progress_ inscribed upon his banner, he was at heart and in

soul as much with the young as the hoary-headed. The child-like

simplicity of his nature brought ardent youth very near to his vigorous

and green old age, harmonizing the two extremes in a wonderful manner.

In biographical writing there is often an obvious and studied obscurity

in regard to some certain portion of the subject's life. The reason for

such a course, on the part of the author, is very plain; for there are

few public men, who are deemed worthy the notice of a biographical

record, who do not look back with regret, and often with deep

mortification, to some heedless act of early life;--some deed wherein

the laws of right and wrong have been disregarded, and honorable and

upright principles trampled under foot; some thoughtless moment, when

the tempter has found them with their armor off, and has led them into

contact with evil that has pierced their defenceless bodies, and left

there scars deep and rankling, as monuments of the frailty of their

nature. In reference to this subject as it relates to Mr. Ballou, there

is not one hour of his life which will not bear the scrutiny of strict

justice. From his very boyhood he was remarkable for firmness of

principle, and unwavering integrity of purpose. Had he a personal enemy

in the world, that person could not point to a single act of his life

that it would not give us pleasure to chronicle here!

We know that this is saying much, and that the reader will be apt to

look back and re-read the last passage; but, while we write this strong

language, we wish to be understood as doing so in all calmness and

judgment; each word, as written, is duly set down and abided by. Now, we

humbly ask, how many are there, among those to whom the world accords

the meed of greatness, that can have this language applied to them and

their characters in truth? I do not mean to signify that there are no

such men; but to say--and the experience and personal knowledge of all

will bear testimony to the fact--that such cases are very rarely found

in this every-day world.

When we go back and consider Mr. Ballou's early life, the very limited

means he enjoyed of mental cultivation, and all the vicissitudes through

which he has passed, and contrast this view of his life with the

station which he ultimately filled, and consider the works of his pen

and mind, we are led to remember that it has ever been the fate of

genius to climb the rugged steeps of fame and honor under the greatest

disadvantages; that the brightest gems the exploring mind has brought

from the caves of knowledge have been wrought, before they were given to

the world, with the poorest means, and the least available tools. It is

the circumstance of those very disadvantages that has elicited more

mental diamonds than all the schools and richly-endowed institutions in

the world.

Though the difficulties and impediments that thus environ the path of

genius seem like a heavy stone about the neck, yet they are very often

like the stones used by the hardy pearl-divers, which enable them to

reach their prize, and to rise enriched. Adversity is to genius what the

steel is to the flint,--the fire concealed in the one is brought out

only by contact with the other. "Hard is the task," says Coleridge, "to

climb into the niches of Fame's proud temple; rough and cold is the

road; but rougher and stronger than the rocks that strew it are the men

who toil over it. Up they climb from the cottages and lowly homes of the

world; over Alps and Alps do they stride, heaving the millstone of

persecution from their towering heads, and bursting into the sunshine of

glory, despite of all that circumstances could do to keep them down."

The experience of all mankind shows that nothing great can be

accomplished without labor. The original difference between men who

have achieved greatness, and those who have died in obscurity, is,

perhaps, after all, very inconsiderable; but the same ideas which in the

latter died in their birth for want of culture, in the former, fostered,

sustained and developed, by assiduous labor, flourished, and produced

both flower and fruit. Uncultivated genius is a melancholy spectacle; it

is like the light of a shooting star, brilliant, flashing, but

evanescent, dazzling the eye for a moment, and then sinking into outer

darkness; while cultivated genius, blazing with a steady, constant and

pure flame, dispenses a surer and vivifying warmth far around it,--its

light is not that of the meteor, but the planet. All history and all

experience go to show that the bane of genius is not adversity, but

prosperity. It was not Alpine toils, but "Capuan delights," that

decimated the ranks of Hannibal's army, and wasted them away; it is not

the cold north wind, but the genial sunshine, that destroys the mighty

avalanche. The soul of genius, like the iron of the mine, must undergo

the ordeal of fire, ere it can become steel. We might quote many

examples of history to prove that this is a universal law of our nature.

It is true that some have achieved greatness when their worldly

circumstances were easy and affluent; but in such cases the gift of

genius has been accompanied by a mental organization which imposed

internal struggles, and hence the rule may be said to be without

exceptions.

Books, thoughts, deeds, imperishable memorials of their author, so

laboriously accomplished, do not die with the body. No; a thought once

expressed never dies;--it must exert its influence, and be the pioneer

to many more. Like the gentle ripple upon a calm, placid lake, it starts

upon the world a speck, but ceases not to expand its force until it

reaches over all extent. Man does not die with the body; as the soul

shall live forever, so does the influence he has exerted upon society

live after him, and by that influence is he judged. Is not this thought

in itself a strong incentive to virtue and well-doing? What man or woman

is there, however humble be their sphere of action, but desires most

earnestly to leave behind a good and honored name?

An ancient maxim avers that "spoken words fly away, but written ones are

permanent." But modern science teaches us that no sound uttered by the

lips of man is lost,--that the vibration of the air bears it onward and

onward, through all time. How very few there are in this world whose

words, written and spoken, are so considered that they are willing to

have them consigned to immortality! How few whose utterance of a year

old will bear the test of their own judgment! There are moments of

existence, generally the closing ones, when all our words and deeds

crowd back upon the memory with overwhelming force. There are records of

men in seasons of extreme casualties, who have testified to the painful

accuracy of memory under such imminent circumstances; and there are few,

indeed, who so shape their lives as to be enabled to bear with

equanimity a retrospective glance on the panorama of their existence. So

to have lived that, in ceasing to live, they have no reason to blush

for their existence, as it regards the daily duty of the

Christian.--Alas! in seasons of trial and temptation this duty is often,

very often, forgotten; the way-side of life is strewn thick with

temptations and allurements to win us from the straight and narrow path.

Fruits of golden promise tempt the hand to pluck them, and it is only

after tasting that we discover them to be only dust and ashes, like

those which grow on the fated shores of the Dead Sea. Happy, then, and

worthy of all reverence, is he whose unwavering course through life has

ever been onward and upward. The summit gained, whence both the promised

land and that of his earthly pilgrimage are in view, he can turn back

and say, as his vision embraces the line which his feet have trod so

toilsomely, yet ever so cheerfully:--"I have held that path without

variation; no temptation has seduced my footsteps to the right or to the

left, nor have my lips uttered aught upon that journey which a wish, in

this trying moment, would recall!"

There have been, at various times, and in different works, short

biographical sketches of Mr. Ballou's life given, from various

pens;--these, of course, contemplate only his public career, and are

quite brief. In the third volume of the Universalist Miscellany,

published in 1846, there appear the following remarks from the pen of

the editor, which we subjoin. After giving a short account of his public

career, the writer of the sketch referred to goes on to say:--

"We have not time, even if we had the ability, to give a just

description of him as a man, a Christian, and a preacher. We will not,

however, permit the occasion to pass without offering a word on each of

these points.

"We presume no one was ever more highly beloved and truly respected by

his acquaintances than Mr. Ballou. Pleasant in his disposition, and

honest in his dealings, he has uniformly enjoyed their confidence and

esteem. Though he always sustains a becoming dignity of character, and

is never light or trifling, he has a pleasantry and shrewdness which

render his company peculiarly agreeable.

"As a Christian, Mr. Ballou is firm in faith, and catholic in spirit.

While he believes with undoubting confidence what he preaches, and has

no respect for what he considers error in doctrine, he never manifests a

want of kindness towards those of an opposite faith. We are aware that

many entertain a different feeling; but they misjudge him. It is true

that for the insincere and hypocritical he has no feeling; and, if he

had, he would not be faithful to his ministry.

"As a preacher, Mr. Ballou, for clearness of conception and power of

argument, has few, if any, superiors. We have often heard him preach

with an unction and power that we have never heard surpassed. But we do

not design, in this article, to speak at length of his qualities as a

preacher.

"No man ever enjoyed the respect of our denomination more than does Mr.

Ballou. He is cordially loved and esteemed by all who believe in the

salvation of the world."

These remarks are valued the more highly as coming from one who was

intimate with the subject of this biography for a long period, and also

as a fair and unprejudiced tribute to his character and life by a

brother-laborer in the vineyard of Christ. The number of the Miscellany

which contains the remarks we have quoted is embellished by a mezzotint

likeness of Mr. Ballou, from a painting by E. H. Conant, and engraved in

the finest style of art by Sartain. This picture, however, is inferior,

as to likeness, to many others which are preserved of him.

We conceive the following, from the pen of the venerable and beloved

Father Streeter, the oldest minister in the Universalist denomination

now among us, to be of great interest; the work in hand would be quite

incomplete without it. It is the impression of a faithful brother

concerning the deceased, from the commencement to the close of his

professional career.

"I first saw Father Ballou a short time before the commencement of

his public ministry. It was in the town of Vernon, then called

Hinsdale, in the State of Vermont. At that time there was but one

open and decided Universalist in the place. This solitary champion

of the common salvation had long been impressed with a desire to

have the gospel of the grace of God, in the fulness of its

universality, preached to those of his neighbors who might feel

disposed to give it a hearing. An arrangement was at length made

with the Rev. David Ballou, an elder brother, to deliver a lecture

in the place.

"The day was designated, and due notice of the meeting given. At

the appointed time the preacher came, and Hosea came with him. He

was then a tall, slim young man, with an aspect, however, which

indicated profound thought, and a deep solemnity of feeling. In his

general appearance there was a marked peculiarity, a certain

something which arrested and fixed the attention, and which

impressed the beholder with the conviction that no ordinary

individual was before him,--that the germs of eminence, the genuine

elements of intellectual greatness, were embodied within him.

"Such, at any rate, was the impression among the more inquisitive

and discriminating who attended that meeting. At the close of the

sermon, Hosea gave an exhortation, and offered the concluding

prayer; and this effort was spoken of, especially by the less

conservative and bigoted, as one of rare spirituality and power. It

became the topic of general remark, and of high encomium.

"The next day, if I mistake not, he made his first attempt as a

preacher of the everlasting gospel, as a public advocate of the

sublime doctrine of the salvation of all men 'by the blood of the

cross.' It was, as I have often heard him say, a partial failure.

The exordium went off very well; but, as he proceeded with the

discussion, he often hesitated, now and then came to a pause, and

was finally obliged to sit down before he had reached the original

design of the discourse.

"He was deeply mortified. He was discouraged. He resolved to

abandon all thoughts of the ministry. He felt himself utterly

incompetent to the efficient discharge of its high and momentous

duties. His friends, however, interfered in the premises. They

succeeded in changing his purpose. They persuaded him to persevere

in the work of a Christian minister, and it was not long before he

made his second attempt at sermonizing. The effort succeeded. It

was a complete triumph. The manner in which he acquitted himself

was a matter of deep astonishment to his friends, and to all who

heard him. In that meeting his lofty and invaluable career finds

its legitimate date. It was followed by no faltering, no

irresolution, no shrinking from toil, however laborious, or however

wearing to the physical frame or to the mental powers.

"He soon became immensely popular. His fame went forth as on the

wings of every wind. From all quarters, far and near, the

Macedonian cry, 'Come over and help us,' poured in upon him. These

calls, so far as it was possibly practicable, were promptly and

cheerfully honored. His labors, of course, became exceedingly

abundant,--almost, indeed, without intermission. By day and by

night he was found at his post, and zealously doing his great work.

"He frequently held meetings in the town where he was born and

brought up, and in nearly all the towns in that region. His

circuits often embraced some hundreds of miles, and in making them

he preached almost every day, and not unfrequently several times in

a day; and wherever it was generally known that he was to hold

forth, immense crowds rarely failed to be present, that they might

listen to his testimony. Though a mere youngster, I myself once

walked, or rather ran, eight miles and back, to hear him. The news

of the meeting did not reach me till somewhat late on Sabbath

morning, and no mode of conveyance to the place could be obtained.

I was, of course, reduced to the necessity of either losing that

rare spiritual treat, or of making my way to it on what Mr. Murray

used to call 'apostolical horses;' in other words, on foot. And so

great was my anxiety not to lose a word that might fall from his

lips, that I forgot to take with me a crumb of anything for a

lunch, and so I lost my dinner; or, rather, I had to make it on the

sermon and the prayers which I had heard, and it was truly one of

the most luscious meals which it has ever been my good fortune to

eat. It was devoured with a high relish.

"The subject of these remarks was the youngest of five brothers,

three of whom were preachers; and I once had the privilege of

attending a meeting at which four of them, with the venerable

father, were present. Hosea was the preacher. He seemed to have

made special preparation to meet the peculiarities of the occasion.

Contrary to his usual custom, the sermon was written. At the proper

time he commenced its delivery. The old father--himself a Baptist

clergyman of considerable note--and the elder brothers, were seated

around him.

"He was not familiar with the use of a manuscript, and, of course,

to read from one he found to be a new and somewhat awkward

business. For a little time, however, he persevered in the effort.

The experiment was far from being satisfactory either to himself or

to the congregation. In spite of him, the eye would quit its hold

upon the contents of the paper, and wander about among the dense

masses who filled the seats below. These excursions caused him to

lose his place. He often found it again with no little difficulty,

and sometimes not without a most vexatious delay.

"At length his patience gave out. Its power of endurance was

completely exhausted, and, taking up the manuscript and rolling it

between his hands, he deliberately put it in his pocket.

'Brethren,' said he, 'I shall weary your patience with these

notes.' This was the end of all hesitancy. He proceeded in the

discussion of his subject with his accustomed fluency, and

everything flowed onward with the smoothness of oil. It was a

season of deep and thrilling interest.

"The venerable father, though not a Universalist, and with no

disposition to become one, listened to the arguments and

illustrations of this youngest of his sons with the profoundest

attention. I carefully watched the muscles of his face, and plainly

saw that mighty emotions were stirring within him. Every now and

then a large tear would start out from the eye, and course down

the furrows in his time-worn and manly cheek. It is not strange

that such should have been the case, for the discourse was one of

peculiar tenderness, and of uncommon pathos and power. Probably it

was rarely, if ever surpassed, even by the speaker himself, in the

palmiest days of his ministry.

"Indeed, Father Ballou's pulpit powers were of an exceedingly high

order. Taken as a whole, my impression is that I have never known

his equal. Never have I seen a man who could hold his hearers so

perfectly under his own control. They were entirely at his command.

He clothed them in smiles, or melted them to tears, and these

things he seemed to do at pleasure. This power embodies the chief

component in true eloquence. We often refer, and with profound

admiration, to the pulpit talents of Griffin and Beecher, of

Channing, and Dewey, and Chapin. And to these men the meed of rare

eloquence unquestionably belongs; but still, taken all in all, they

fall far below the standard of Father Ballou. Theirs is an

eloquence of another and a humbler type. They deal chiefly with the

intellect,--with the demands of a literary and refined taste; he

dealt more especially with the latent chords of the heart,--moved

and controlled the deeper sympathies and more refined affections of

the human soul. Relying but little upon books, he went principally

upon the profundity and strength of his own resources. The

structure of his mind approached very near to an actual intuition.

He grasped the whole of a subject at a glance. His powers of

analysis were prodigious, and singularly accurate. He stopped not

to inquire what others had thought or done. He examined every

subject for himself. Like the diver for pearls, he plunged to the

depths of divine truth; and, when he had found a precious gem, he

rose with it to the surface, held it up before the eyes of the

people, and said to them, This belongs to you, and there are more

of the same sort where I found it,--enough for you all, and for the

millions of the race to which you belong.

"But it was not in the office of a Christian minister, merely, that

Father Ballou excelled. He was admirable in every sphere of life.

As a husband and a father, the head of a numerous family, he was

truly a model man. He knew how to rule his own household. His word

was law, and obedience to it was prompt and cheerful by all around

him. There were no family jars in that well-ordered and happy home.

The idea, perhaps, is an extravagant one, but I have often thought

that his house was the nearest fac-simile of the great mansion of

the Infinite Father on High of which I could form a conception.

"And then as a brother and a friend he had no superior. With the

exception, perhaps, of some members of his own family, there is no

one living who enjoyed so long and so intimate an acquaintance with

him as myself; and it is one of the happiest reflections of my

life, that, in all our intercourse, not a single unkind word or

emotion ever passed between us.

"Indeed, I never knew his kindly regards mastered but once, and

that was after the endurance of many gross and most cruel

provocations. But on one occasion his philosophy and his religion

failed him, and then his brow was mantled with the very majesty of

wrath, the frowning aspect of a deep and withering indignation. The

roll of a moment or two, however, and it was all over. The old

saint was himself again, and never, from that time to the day of

his death, did I ever hear him utter an unfriendly word in relation

to the individual by whom he had been so grossly and wickedly

abused. But I must not enlarge. I have no wish to deal in flattery;

but, injustice to my own feelings, and to the memory of our

departed father, I must say that he was one of the very best men

with whom it has been my happiness to associate. Indeed, I doubt

whether he had a solitary failing,--so far, I mean, as the

convictions and purposes of his own mind were concerned.

"S. S."