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During the continuance of my school, which closed about June l5, I preached on the Sabbath either in the Ballou Meetinghouse nearby, or in the general vicinity, not farther away than Providence on the south and adjoining Massachusetts towns on the north. My discourses, doctrinally, were along the lines indicated in a former chapter, and yet my mind began to be exercised with some doubts whether, after all, Destructionism, as the final doom of the impenitent wicked, was really taught in the Bible.

Some time before this, my wife's mother, one of the best of women and a sincere Restorationist withal, had asked me if I would read Winchester's Dialogues on Universal Restoration. "Certainly," said I, "and I am sure such a doctrine can be easily refuted." She made no reply, but smiled at my self-confidence and handed me the volume. I went through it carefully, but with the persuasion that it was full of error and would make little impression on me.

I was surprised, however, to find it written in such a serious, religious, and candid spirit as to deeply interest and gratify me. Unlike most of the Universalist publications which had been urged upon my attention, there was not a sentence in it that seemed to denounce or ridicule what I called strictly religious convictions and feelings - regeneration, experimental piety, or consecration to God. Moreover, I was struck with the moral grandeur of the author's distinctive doctrine and the force of his answer to some leading objections to it. Yet I was not convinced that he was right, nor consciously shaken in my own belief. His argument seemed to be spent chiefly against the dogma of endless punishment, which I considered even then as indefensible as it was horrible. I flattered myself at the time that my own doctrine of the annihilation of those who died impenitent was so much stronger than that of never-ending misery or that of ultimate universal redemption that it must triumph over both in a fair contest. And I said so when I returned the Dialogues to my good mother-in-law. She was not disposed to debate the matter with me, but leave all to time and my own reflective mind. I now see what I was then unconscious of, that Winchester's ideas had imparted their leaven to my understanding too effectually to be wholly neutralized by my prejudices. And I would drop the hint to such religious inquirers as are determined never to embrace Restorationism that Winchester's Dialogues is too seductive and convincing a work for them to read, without jeopardy to their opposing faith.

The fact that I had published a review of Rev. Hosea Ballou's sermon on the "New Birth," naturally opened the way for further discussions with my Universalist neighbors. Several of them were fond of and skillful in debate and they missed no good opportunity of testing my ability in the same line. And on my part, I never declined to take issue with them. Foremost among these disputants were Lewis Metcalf and Luke Jenckes of Wrentham, Massachusetts, and Levi Ballou of Cumberland; all of them known by me from early childhood. They were elderly men, uneducated in the scholastic sense, but naturally strong-minded, shrewd, sharp reasoners, and well posted in all matters pertaining to Universalism. Winchester's opinions and claims they repudiated, cleaving with great tenacity and admiration to the new-school, no-future-punishment expositors and doctrinaires. I thought myself competent to battle with these men, especially on their own peculiar platform. They argued mainly from Scripture and reason, both of which I could use to their frequent perplexity and discomfiture. But I found that I had one weak point to defend and that was that an all-perfect God, infinite in power, wisdom, and love, who really willed the final holiness and happiness of all humankind, and raised up Christ to redeem all, must needs ultimately annihilate most of them as incurable sinners and so practically confess his impotency and utter failure in that important behalf, so far as they were concerned. My opponents pushed me hard on this point whenever they could. And all I could do was to contend that the Bible taught the doctrine and that it was the best thing God could do without depriving mankind of moral freedom - an evil out of the question. When brought fairly to bay this was my only refuge.

At length, however, I began to have some doubts whether, after all, the Bible did, on the whole, teach what I claimed, and also whether it were absolutely certain that God must destroy man's moral freedom if he finally by his saving might regenerated all who left this state of existence unreconciled to himself. These doubts were too slight at first to affect me much, and especially so long as I firmly held the opinion that man's earth-life was his only probation for eternity. This opinion my ultra Universalist opponents did not attack with much force, for though they scouted it as groundless, their phase of Universalism led them to expend their strength in proving that the Bible taught no such thing as sinfulness and punishment after death under any possible circumstances. All this to me was labor lost, for I was just as certain then as now that if the Bible, particularly the New Testament, does not teach that a portion of mankind will wake up condemned sinners in the next life, it teaches nothing that common sense can understand. And I think now as I thought then, that many of the expositions whereby no-future-punishment Universalists explained away what are generally considered threatenings of future retribution, are specious, unsound, and some of them absurd. I should never have been converted from my old belief by any such interpretation of the sacred record. But it was impossible for me to get over the weak point mentioned to my own satisfaction, however successfully I could confute my adversaries on their distinctive ground. Recurring to Winchester's Dialogues, I felt all the force of their reasoning and felt it against the doctrine of annihilation as well as against that of endless misery; for though the former was incomparably preferable to the latter, it was an alternative involving in less degree the same principles, difficulties, and objections, and was bound to go to the wall when it came to be submitted to the tribunal of my more enlightened, rational, and moral understanding, as was the case at an early day.

In the month of June, 1822, the organization known as the Southern Association of Universalists held one of its sessions at West Wrentham, Massachusetts. My friend, Levi Ballou, kindly invited me to attend its public exercises. I accepted his invitation, but heard nothing from the preachers on the occasion that made much impression on me or exerted any appreciable influence in the way of effecting a change in my theological convictions.

I was introduced to several of the ministers, among whom was Rev. Hosea Ballou 2d, as he was then called. I had a conversation of much interest with him and took a decided liking to him at the time and thenceforth through life, though we did not sail in the same ecclesiastical ship except for a brief session. He was a candid and calm as well as a close reasoner and was more of a Restorationist than an ultra Universalist in his views, though he remained in continuous fellowship with the new-school men of the sect. He argued with me as one holding the idea of future retribution as well as that of final restoration and begged me to remember that the denomination embraced both believers and disbelievers in that view of the divine government, not making either a test of fellowship. I must therefore ponder the arguments on both sides and if I could accept the doctrine of universal salvation, do so on grounds that seemed to me reasonable and satisfactory. Should I adopt Restorationist views, I should not be obliged to endorse the other, and should be regarded the equal in every respect of those differing from me by all intelligent believers in the final redemption of all men.

I returned home under some conviction that I might be in error concerning the consummation of all things, but by no means converted from my former belief. I felt, however, that I must thoroughly investigate the whole subject, and at once set myself about the task, becoming a very close and anxious student. I took my Bible and went through it carefully from Genesis to Revelation, noting down under three distinct heads - endless punishment, final destruction of the wicked, and universal salvation - every text which seemed to favor each doctrine or which I knew to be quoted as such. I also noted the passages supposed to teach that this life is man's only probation for eternity or that there is no change from sin to holiness after death. The result was that I found the smallest numerical array of texts under the head of endless punishment, the largest under the head of the destruction of the wicked, and the next largest in favor of the final salvation of all. To my astonishment the word "probation" was not in the Bible, nor a single passage evidently intended to teach the doctrine that this life is man's only probationary state, and only about half a dozen passages from the letter of which that view could be plausibly inferred - none of these absolutely requiring such inference.

Respecting the texts seeming to favor endless punishment, I learned that their strength depended mainly on words often having a limited signification or on intensified forms of expression, employed in a figurative, impassioned sense, and that none of them were obviously designed to affirm that dogma as an article of faith; in fine, that they were highly-wrought, glowing descriptions of retribution in its general aspects, rather than positive and definite declarations of divine truth concerning it. The numerous passages apparently teaching the destruction of the wicked were also found to be of the intensive, figurative class, in which the mere sound of the words gave them force - words used elsewhere with a meaning altogether different from that of utter annihilation, and not one of them obviously employed to denote an item of doctrinal belief.

The passages that seemed to favor universal salvation were of various kind. Some commonly used in that behalf had no force whatever; others might be construed so as to support either of the three theories under examination; but there were none which I could be certain were designed to assert the doctrine absolutely as divinely revealed truth. There were, however, a large number, the principles and spirit of which would consistently harmonize with no other view. These related to (1) the nature, attributes, and moral character of God; (2) his will, purpose, and design towards mankind; (3) the mission, office, exaltation, and triumph of Christ; (4) the essence and spirit of God-likeness, i.e. the moral imitation of God as the only true personal righteousness; (5) the aim or purpose of divine rebuke, chastisement, judgment, and retribution, as beneficent and reformatory; and (6) a grand prophetic era, in which there shall be no sin, evil, pain, but God "be all in all."

I perceived that these six classes of Scripture testimony were of a different nature and scope from those seeming to teach the other two doctrines. They were not incidental statements, descriptions, or representations of divine retribution, nor figurative, intensified, impassioned forms of phraseology, but were declarations of great truths to be religiously held, and of fundamental principles demanding the broadest application both in faith and practice. Their weight did not depend on mere sound of words, it was intrinsic. They did not express a simple, positive, theological conclusion in respect to God's final disposal of the human race, but they necessitated the conclusion that it must be a disposal perfectly benevolent, impartial, wise, and good; perfectly accordant with his own will and purpose; and perfectly triumphant through Christ over all opposing forces, hindrances, and obstacles. I saw, therefore, that it was not warrantable to construe even the most intense, highly-wrought representations of sin and punishment as finalities, or as frustrating the ultimate divine purpose, or as rendering in any way doubtful the absolute moral perfections of God.

I was now in a tight place, with a flood of light beaming on my mind and a host of new ideas taking possession of my understanding. The whole subject presented itself in an aspect original and astonishing. The plain, unavoidable issue came home to me: Is the belief that God will finally blot out of existence all who die in sin reconcilable with the fundamental truths and principles unquestionably declared in those six classes of texts? And is any other belief than that he will sooner or later render all human beings holy and happy consistent with those testimonies? Regarded in the spirit of truth and unprejudiced reason, the case looked very much as if I must yield.

But why had I not seen the subject in this light before? I had been as sincere and honest in my desire for truth in the past as now. Why had so many millions of pious and learned Christians in all ages of the church held the final loss in some form or other of all that die out of Christ? I was then ignorant of the fact that many eminent Christian Fathers, including the great Origen, were unequivocal advocates of universal restoration.

Furthermore, if I became a believer in the final holiness and happiness of all mankind, I should have to avow and preach it. In that case I must renounce all I had thus far professed and contended for to the contrary. I should shock, aggrieve, and alienate my fellow Christians, including my nearest and dearest friends. I should be denounced as a changeling and an apostate, as others had been. And with whom should I find myself presently in fellowship but those whom I had regarded as rejecters of experimental religion and whose phase of Universalism was radically repulsive to me? Then arose the strong internal suggestion: "You are a victim of Satanic delusion and that makes universal salvation look probable to you. Take care how you advance." I trembled and shrunk backward. Objections and doubts rolled in upon me. I wept, prayed, and reviewed the ground I had gone over again and again till I was well nigh distracted. I could not eat, drink, sleep, or appear like myself. I grew pale and wore an anxious, sickly look, to the serious concern of my wife and friends, who knew nothing of the conflict that was raging within me. My solicitude, doubt, and fear brought me to a poise of suspense and disquietude hardly to be endured.

In this dreadful condition I wandered off by myself one day to a retreat out of human sight (I can never forget the place), and gave full vent to my emotions, bordering almost on despair. A voice came to me, saying: "Kneel and pray."

"Alas!" thought I, "for what shall I pray?"

"For deliverance - for heavenly light and guidance. Pray that if this be a Satanic delusion it may be dispelled; but that if the Spirit of Truth is leading you into more glorious truth, you may not resist it; and that all doubts be banished from your mind."

I did as directed, breathing forth my petitions with all the fervor of which I was capable. In a moment the heavens seemed to open above my head; an inexpressibly sweet influence flowed in upon my soul; the whole subject became luminous, every doubt vanished, a vision of the final triumph of good over evil shone forth in majestic splendor, and my heart was filled with transports of joy. I was supremely blest and if I could have commanded an archangel's trumpet, the whole world would have heard the sublime gospel then and there revealed to me. My faith was conclusively sealed, and I have never since felt one serious doubt of the final universal holiness and happiness of all the immortal children of God. I returned to the house with a buoyant step and a joyful spirit, told my wife what had transpired, and she rejoiced with me.

A letter from Hosea Ballou 2d reached me about this time in reply to one addressed to him asking an explanation of certain of my strongest proof texts in support of Destructionism. But the work had been taken out of his hands and was already accomplished - more effectually than he possibly could have done it. His letter was an excellent one, but it would not have met my mental and moral wants as they had been supplied from the eternal world. It was valuable of its kind, as was also his then recently published discourse on Galatians 3:8, a copy of which he sent me. But neither of these would have overcome wholly my objections or removed my principal difficulties, because they did not deal so much with fundamental principles as they did in special expositions and polemic subtleties, some of which I should then have deemed unsound or at least inconclusive.

I had now a stormy scene to pass through with my brethren, relatives, and friends. No sooner was it known that I had embraced the doctrine of Universal Salvation than they were filled with astonishment and overwhelmed with grief. All the fair promise I had given of gospel usefulness was to their minds blasted in the opening bloom. My own father was first and foremost among the aggrieved. I expected he would be, and thought it my duty to be prompt and frank with him and let him receive the painful news from my own lips. It was the bitterest cup he had ever been called upon to drink. I have no doubt that my death would have been more endurable to him. I was his favorite son and had flowered out into a promising minister of the gospel, as he understood and prized it. Profoundly sincere and firmly established in his religious convictions, he was no less so in his prejudices against Universalism in all its forms. He had not a doubt that it was of the Devil nor that I was the deluded victim of his Satanic majesty's wiles. He remonstrated, rebuked, denounced, pleaded, and deplored, but could not move me. Finally, in his impatient vexation, he threatened to disinherit me if I did not renounce such a damnable error. This had no effect whatever upon me. I was so insensible to such a motive that it did not even disturb my equanimity, for I had counted the cost and had received a special assurance from above that I should never be forsaken. I therefore replied in perfect kindness that I had no claim to any of his property, that he had a perfect right to give it to whomsoever he chose; but of this I was sure, that if I had no earthly father to provide for me, I had a heavenly one who would never fail me. He was sorely vexed by this answer and retorted, "You will find you have no father in heaven to do you any good in the way you are going."

I merely rejoined, "I can trust him implicitly." This was the last in a series of conversational debates I ever had with him. He had said and done all he could to save me and now gave me up as hopelessly lost. He, however, became sorry for his passionate threat of disinheritance and some months after wished my ever kind mother to tell me he should never cast off a child of his for difference of opinion. Meantime, he stood aloof from me and did not become fully reconciled till ten years had elapsed. My mother did not accept my new faith and probably regretted the change, but treated me with unaltered maternal affection and kindness. On the other side, my parents-in-law rejoiced in my conversion to their own cherished faith, and gave me nothing but sympathetic encouragement.

My father next felt it to be his painful duty to have me publicly disowned by the church and formally deposed from its membership as dangerous to its welfare. He dissuaded all he could from holding personal discussions with me, as it would be of no use to me and might unsettle their own minds; for, he said, I was very adroit and seductive in argument. Most of my friends were thereby deterred from coming to see me at all, but good Deacon Nathaniel Aldrich, who was once a member of our church, but who seceded on account of his strong Calvinistic views, had so much concern for me that he resolved upon a personal interview. My father, who never liked him very well, when he announced his intention, advised against it and signified that it would be labor lost. Yet the deacon was not to be deterred from his purpose; so he called upon me and gave me the full benefit of his counsel. Finding that I was unconvinced by his argument, and unmoved by his solemn admonition, he said he must leave me with grief to my chosen delusion. He deplored my apostasy and consequent doom, but could do no more for my salvation. I had taken pains to draw out his Calvinism in its baldest form, and now that he was about to leave with such despairing professions of sorrow for my fate, calmly said: "Why do you allow yourself to be so much distressed on my account? If I am one of the elect, you cannot doubt my final salvation; and if I am one of the reprobates, it will be for the glory of God and the good of the universe that I should be lost. Why do you distrust the sovereignty of God, the wisdom of his decrees, or the certainty that my destiny will be just what you should rejoice in, whether I am consigned to heaven or hell?" His only response was a sigh!

He reported my case as hopeless to my father, who, after he left, said to my mother: "Aldrich has been talking with Adin and he got his mouth shut up pretty quick, as I knew he would." Father abhorred Calvinism almost as much as he did Universalism, and probably derived more pleasure from the recusant deacon's discomfiture than he could have done from his success.

At length I was summoned to appear before the church during the first week in August, 1822. The meeting was held in the same venerable house of worship in which I first heard preaching and where I delivered my first sermon. A full attendance of members was present and my father laid the case before them as one perfectly plain to them all and requiring no investigation or trial. To his heartfelt affliction and regret, I had become a Universalist. This I had openly avowed and persisted in, notwithstanding the most faithful admonition. The church could give no fellowship or countenance to that doctrine, my acceptance of it excluded me from the fold of Christ, and it was the solemn duty of the church to disown me. Discussions were unnecessary; action and record only were required. I asked the privilege of being heard in explanation and defense of my views, which I did not wish to disguise, but this was denied me, my father saying that he well knew my ability and skill at talking and should afford me no opportunity to unsettle and mislead the young and draw susceptible minds into my snare. The others concurring, I saw that the whole proceeding was a solemn farce and requested them to finish their work without the least delay. They did so and I became to them "as a heathen man and a publican."

Whether the Connecticut Conference, whose letter of fellowship I held, ever took any action on my case, I do not remember. Probably not, as my disownment by the Cumberland church was deemed conclusive. For my part, I was so disgusted by that action that I did not care a straw for all the excommunications in the world. Good Elder Benjamin Taylor of Swansea was the only one of my old "Christian" brethren, who, to my knowledge, regretted and condemned the proceedings against me as utterly repugnant to the very foundation on which the denomination professed to stand: "No creed but the New Testament, interpreted by each individual for himself, and a practical Christian life." Father Taylor was right - consistent with the often-boasted platform of the order and with his own large soul. He said: "Our young brother Ballou should have been treated tenderly, reasoned with kindly, borne with patiently, without ever being censured, much less disowned, except for un-Christian conduct." If I had been so treated, I should in all probability have spent my days as a minister of the Christian Connexion.

It was in some important respects an unnatural and most disagreeable transition for me to leave my old, fondly-cherished, ecclesiastical relations and become identified with the Universalist denomination as it was at that period of its history. For while I had come to believe in what might be regarded the distinguishing doctrine of that body, there were many opinions, notions, theories, put forth and urged by its leading spirits as correlative deductions from, if not essential adjuncts of, that doctrine, with which I had not one particle of sympathy, but rather an instinctive repugnance to them. Those leading spirits were strongly opposed to the idea of any future disciplinary punishment; explained away, often by far-fetched interpretations, all the passages of Scripture which teach retribution after death; ridiculed revivals of religion; held all spiritual experience to be superstitious or fanatical; and expended nearly all their effort in proving, argumentatively, the naked tenet of universal salvation, as if that were the whole of the gospel of Christ. And this result was made to depend more on the arbitrary will and decree of God than on any searching process of regeneration whereby each soul must have a conscious struggle of choice or consent and be brought into a state of personal holiness. Death was to finish sin and the resurrection to inaugurate perfection of character and blessedness. These peculiarities of faith and practice were repulsive to my spiritual instincts and habits of thought. They had not exerted one particle of influence in aid of my conversion. During that whole experience, from inception to consummation, I had not had a single doubt that mankind would be called to judgment after death for the deeds done in the body; nor that most of the texts (not all), commonly understood to refer to retribution in the invisible world, did so refer; nor that death and the resurrection affected chiefly the mortal and immortal organisms inhabited by the soul in its different states of existence rather than its absolute moral character; nor that men must be born again out of animal selfishness into the love of God and man in order to enter the kingdom of heaven; nor that constant self-sacrifice must be practiced as a necessary condition of true holiness and happiness, here and hereafter. The much-vaunted notion that the destruction of Jerusalem was the grand crisis of divine judgment and retribution to which Christ and the apostles chiefly referred in their warnings against sin, did not commend itself then any more than it does now to my understanding. In short, I was not converted to the no-future-punishment phase of Universalism, nor by any arguments therefrom derived, but to pure Restorationism by reasons which had no affinity with those upon which that phase of the doctrine was based.

But notwithstanding all this, I entered into the pale and fellowship of the denomination indicated - compelled to that alliance by stress of circumstances. I was driven out of the Christian Connexion by the honest narrow-mindedness of its members. The vast majority of them could not at that time tolerate the doctrines I had espoused. One must believe in destructionism or in endless torment, else in their judgment he could not be a Christian. On this ground, in spite of their declaration against all creeds save the Bible as each individual understood it and their boast that their sole test of fellowship was a Christian life, I was excluded from their Order. On the other hand, I was hailed and welcomed by the Universalists as a convert to their faith, although I scarcely held any views in strict accordance with what was generally believed among them except the single tenet of final universal holiness and happiness. I told them frankly how far I was in agreement with them and that on many points I differed from most of them. "All right," they said; "there are various opinions among our people upon those minor particulars, but we allow the largest liberty. Come with us, fear nothing, and feel at home." Thus behind me was the merciless outcry, "Begone from our midst," and before me a thousand greetings of hospitality and assurances of welcome.

As a religious outcast therefore, with no power to assume and maintain an independent position, I sought the only place of refuge open to me, and accepted the only proffered welcome and fellowship, casting in my lot with my new-found friends - the Universalists. In doing so, I did not feel that I was compromising any moral principle, or yielding any point of honor, all necessary explanations, positions, and concessions having been interchanged and clearly understood. Still I was unfortunately situated, inasmuch as the masses of my new allies, like most masses, were too indiscriminating to appreciate my peculiarities, while I was so placed as to be perpetually tempted to yield my scruples and conform to the prevailing sentiment of the body with which I had associated myself. And this temptation was all the more seductive and potent in that so much geniality and kindness were shown me. With ample liberty to differ, and with so many expressions of cordial friendship, it was much easier to agree and conform than to nurse dissent. Such was the course things took with me, and ere long I became to outward appearance completely amalgamated with the Universalists as a sect. Whatever dislikes and misgivings I had at first gradually diminished by closer intercourse till they ceased almost to exert any perceptible influence over me. In this I gained social power, but probably lost some religious stamina and strength of moral purpose. But whether, on the whole, more were lost than gained to me and to the world remains to be seen in the light of the great future.

It may be asked what I was doing in other respects during this transition period. As soon as I began to doubt seriously the soundness of my theology, I suspended preaching altogether, and for a time gave myself wholly to study and investigation. This taxed my health and strength to the utmost. After passing the crisis and finding myself physically enfeebled, I began to have some anxiety in regard to my temporal affairs. My funds were low, I was burdened with debt, and the outlook, in a worldly point of view, was far from encouraging. I had many dark hours on this account, but in one of the darkest of them, when I was in secret deploring my dubious earthly prospects, a voice again came to me, saying: "Fear not, my child. I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." The effect was electrifying and rapturous. My soul was thrilled to ecstasy and I felt the most perfect trust in divine providence and the most heartfelt joy.

The promise was soon after so fully verified to me, and has been through life, that I should deem myself basely ungrateful to doubt that it was from heaven. For I had hardly passed through this experience when an offer came to me from my uncle, Daniel Sayles of Franklin, Massachusetts, to work for him during haying time according to my strength, it being mutually understood that I was unable to render full service and should receive pay accordingly. This tided me over the shallow waters and enabled me to provide for myself and family until I could begin preaching again under new auspices and with assurances of a remunerative income equal to my necessities. And this good fortune visited me at an early day.

After becoming fully established in the belief of the final triumph of the all-redeeming grace of God, I wrote to my friend, Rev. Hosea Ballou 2d, in reply to his letter, announcing the fact and giving somewhat in detail the circumstances attending the change through which I had passed. The substance of my letter he published in the Universalist Magazine, of which he was one of the editors, the last week in August, l822, under the heading of "Another conversion in the ministry."

This brought me before the public in my new ecclesiastical position, and advertised me far and wide among friends and foes as a Universalist minister. As a consequence, I immediately began to receive invitations to preach in the general region round about, which I was very glad to accept so far as health, time, and convenience would allow. My first discourse under new auspices was delivered in the Elder Williams meetinghouse, West Wrentham, Massachusetts, to a crowded audience, it having been extensively notified that "Young Ballou would give on the occasion the reasons for his change of theological faith." I also preached at Bellingham, Cumberland Hill, Woonsocket Falls, Providence, and other places in Rhode Island and Massachusetts, not far distant from my home, and officiated at several funerals in the same general vicinity, not lacking for employment in my adopted profession.

During the autumn I made a second visit to Boston and its environs, being a guest for some days in the family of Rev. Hosea Ballou 2d, of Roxbury, where I was kindly received and treated with all the courtesy and hospitality I could desire. Nor ought I to say less of his great-uncle, often called "Father Hosea," and other clergymen of the denomination with their families to whom I was introduced. I was invited to preach in each of the Ballou pulpits and perhaps one or two others near by. Of my impressions of the younger Hosea and my attractions to him, I have already spoken.

"Father Hosea," with whom I also visited, was a very genial man in the midst of his large family, and fond of pleasantry in common conversation. He was then in mid-life, being about fifty-one years old. His oldest son was already a clergyman in Vermont, his second son just entering the profession; while the youngest was a little boy in his frock, running about the house. One of his daughters was married and the others were at home, gracing the domestic circle.

He was a man of sensible, plain habits; living comfortably, but not extravagantly. He was a great lover of children, and governed his household admirably, with a gentle but commanding discipline. He had a large store of anecdotes, and although not a great talker knew well how to keep up conversational discourse and entertainment when surrounded by his friends. He was not, however, inclined to intrude his theological peculiarities upon his visitors, much less to indoctrinate his juniors with them. So during this visit not a word was said to me on the subject of no future retribution, which, if broached, might have raised a discussion between us.

This pleasant visit had an indirect but strong tendency to blunt my convictions and scruples, or as might be said, soothe my prejudices against ultra Universalism. I was silenced, too nearly, by so much respect and kindness, and was drawn too far into acquiescence with men from whose teachings I was afterwards obliged strongly to dissent, much to my cost. And what was worse, I became infected with an almost groundless prejudice against Revs. Paul Dean, Edward Turner, Charles Hudson, and others - the defenders of Restorationism as opposed to ultra Universalism. A controversy had already been opened between the parties representing these two isms, in which some personalities appeared. And these, which were of trifling importance as related to the real point at issue, were magnified by the ultra leaders and made to seem the fundamental reasons or motives of their opponents in inaugurating and continuing the controversy. In fine, the Restorationist champions were represented as mere ambitious factionists and mischief-makers in the order, with no honest, solemn convictions of doctrinal faith or of Christian duty. This was a gross injustice to them, as I afterwards learned, for which there was no reasonable excuse. Nevertheless, this visit had the effect of making me for a time a sharer in that injustice to my subsequent regret and sorrow, causing me to think ill of the Restorationist party and their proceedings, when I ought to have sympathized and acted with them - at least on the main question at issue.

Returning from Boston, I preached from time to time during the autumn as opportunity in the surrounding towns offered, and in the winter had charge of a school in West Wrentham, adjacent to my home. New religious friends flocked around me from all directions and seemed anxious to make up for the loss of old ones, deserving by numerous manifestations of regard and kindness to me and my wife an indelible record of heartfelt appreciation and gratitude. Olney Ballou, Levi Ballou, and Luke Jenckes, with their families, belong to this category, as do others of less prominence. My always first and foremost friend, my dear mother, never changed.