Adin Ballou
and the Hopedale Community

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Adin Ballou Biography

Hopedale Town History

In February, 1823, I received a request to preach one or two Sundays to the First Universalist Society in Boston. Their design seemed to be to hear different clergymen for short periods each, with a view of inviting the more acceptable of them to serve subsequently as candidates in anticipation of a call and settlement - their pastorate being already, or about to be, vacated by Rev. Paul Dean, who had filled it for several years most acceptably. I occupied the pulpit as desired, then gave way to others, but was afterwards asked to supply it for six months. My twenty-first year opened with an arrangement to preach regularly in several different places once or more in each month: in West Medway, in Bellingham, and in different neighborhoods of South Parish, Mendon (now Blackstone), all in Massachusetts. I had warm friends and admirers in these several localities who were very desirous of sharing my ministrations as often as possible. My family residence still continued to be the tenement house of my father.

In West Medway, the Universalists owned a small meetinghouse jointly with the Baptists. In Bellingham Center our friends were striving to obtain the occasional use of the only house of worship there, the occupancy of which was in dispute between the town and the Baptist society. Pending the settlement of the matter, our meetings, by my advice, were held in the hall of the adjacent tavern. At South Bellingham, services were in a schoolhouse. In the factory village of South Parish, Mendon, we occupied a store-loft furnished by my friend Col. Joseph Ray and his partners. I also spoke in the hall of the Henry Thayer tavern, Five Corners; in Capt. Aaron Burdon's hall, Chestnut Hill; or in some schoolhouse in that part of the town. Occasionally I lectured in other neighborhoods of my general region.

In the principal of these places, my friends contributed to my support at the rate of five or six dollars per Sunday; in others and for lectures a smaller sum. As I never dictated prices or compensation for my religious ministrations, what I received was freely given, was the better enjoyed, and was all I had any right to expect under the circumstances. In other respects I was encouraged and cheered by the cordial interest manifested in my public exercises as well as in my private welfare.

On the third Sunday in May, 1823, a somewhat exciting and memorable occurrence transpired in Bellingham Center which it may be well to record. The town claimed to own and have rightful control of the meetinghouse, and had voted that the Universalists might occupy it one Sunday in each month. But the Baptists contended that it belonged wholly to them and were unwilling the others should use it at all. There had been much wrangling in the matter, and the case had been submitted to the courts for adjudication, but was not yet settled. So the quarrel was still on between the home parties when I engaged to preach there. I told my friends that I should avoid all proceedings which savored of trickery, force, or indecorum, and occupy the disputed pulpit as a gentleman and a Christian or not at all.

On the third Sunday in April, large and excited crowds of both parties assembled to watch proceedings and see what would be the issue. The Rev. Abial Fisher was pastor of the Baptist church, a man of large combativeness, pluck, and obstinacy, and he determined that the Universalists should not occupy the house on that day, though the town had assigned it to them. But he and his people could not enter it, inasmuch as it was locked and the selectmen had the keys. So he collected his congregation about the doors of the edifice and preached from the steps, both morning and afternoon. My friends, by my advice, demanded as their right a peaceable entrance to the building, but not being allowed it, retired to the hall before spoken of and held services there.

When the month came round again in May, matters were in a still more aggravated condition than before. During Saturday night some desperate Baptist entered the meetinghouse by a back window which he found unfastened, wrenched off the lock from the inner door of the entry, and set free the corresponding outside door which was rendered secure by a crossbar. Having done this, and, as he supposed, made access to the house easy for his Baptist friends on the following day, he withdrew. About this time, Mr. Foster of the public house, who had the keys to the place of worship in his possession, dreamed of what had been done; but upon awaking and thinking it over concluded it was only a dream and went to sleep again; when the same dream was repeated with the same result as before. But when it occurred a third time, he deemed it of enough importance to be looked into a little. He therefore arose, much excited, dressed himself, lighted his lantern (for it was not yet daylight), and went and examined the premises, to find that what he had dreamed was literally true in all its details. He immediately procured another lock for the inside door, replaced the bar to the outside one, and returned home to await further developments.

As the hour of morning service drew near, the Baptist pastor and his flock collected about the house as four weeks before, those in the secret not doubting, probably, that they would obtain an easy entrance. Upon trying to open the supposed-to-be-unfastened door, they found, to their ill-concealed chagrin, that it was as firmly closed as ever. Nothing now remained for them to do but to go through the forenoon service outside again, I and my friends worshiping in the hall at the same time.

At the noon recess, several of the influential members of the Baptist society, becoming tired, if not ashamed, of such proceedings, approached some of my friends with assurances that if the house were opened in the afternoon we might occupy it in peace. But they either were unwarranted in giving those assurances or were deceived by their pastor. For when we approached the house, led by the selectmen with the keys, Mr. Fisher and his allies rushed forward and as soon as the door was unlocked both parties crowded in, filling the vestibule instantly, while considerable numbers remained outside. The padlocked inner door prevented further advance, and I, who was directly behind the selectmen, requested them not to permit entrance to the audience room till the situation could be somewhat discussed. I then demanded of Mr. Fisher what such conduct meant. The town had voted us the house and we had been promised the use of it by some of his leading men for the afternoon. He was furious with rage, declared the town had nothing to do with the house, and silently ignored the action of those who had made pledges to us. I remonstrated calmly but firmly, maintaining our rights and declaring that I should do nothing in violation of the true Christian spirit and rules of propriety. God could not be worshiped acceptably in the midst of such confusion and strife. Some of his people made a proposition to withdraw and leave us in possession of the place; but he and his more zealous supporters would not hear to it, determined as they were to force themselves in if possible. I then said: "Let the door be opened, and if Mr. Fisher does not conduct himself decently, I certainly shall and will publish his doings to the world."

The door was then unlocked, the selectmen entering first, with me immediately in the rear. We proceeded slowly and becomingly up the central aisle toward the pulpit, but Mr. Fisher crowded in as quickly as possible and rushed at rapid speed by one of the side aisles to the pulpit stairs, which he reached about the same time the head of our column did, and bouncing up there cried out as he arrived at the top panting for breath, "Let us begin the worship of God by singing," etc. Some of his people had now entered their pews and, as the whole matter had been pre-arranged between pastor and flock, commenced singing. The whole scene was so ludicrous and withal such a mockery of public worship that I remained but a moment in the pulpit, which I had entered simultaneously with the breathless parson, then signified my purpose to retire to Mr. Foster's hall, which I did, followed by my part of the congregation.

What followed? Intensified excitement throughout the community and in all the neighboring region. I at once wrote and published a pamphlet letter to Mr. Fisher, entitled "The Furious Priest Reproved," in which I reviewed the whole case and characterized the proceedings in such terms of reprobation and censure as justice demanded. The pamphlet had an extensive circulation and a greedy perusal. By the affair I seemed to gain reputation and influence, while my opponent suffered in proportion. The question of the control of the meetinghouse was ere long decided by the court against the Baptists and they abandoned it altogether, building a new one for their own undisputed occupancy and use. Mr. Fisher lost the respect and confidence of the people at large, and a few years after left the place for a more congenial home. In reading over, at this late period of my life, my only preserved copy of my letter to him and reviewing the whole strange scene it describes, I am confirmed in the truth, justice, and rectitude of my course, and can see nothing on my own part to be ashamed of or to reproach myself for, though I am obliged to regard all such religious squabbles as more or less pitiable and much to be deprecated. With my matured knowledge of human nature and of the workings of a perverted religious zeal, I make more allowances for my antagonist in this encounter than at the time of it, having learned that conscience and will may honestly fall into deplorable mistakes - mistakes oftentimes more to be pitied than blamed.

On Sunday, June 22 of this year [1823], my wife brought forth our first-born child, a son, to whom was given my own name, Adin Ballou, Jr. This event was a joyous one in our marital experience, though the constitution of the mother was so frail that it taxed her physical energies to the utmost extent. The little one throve well as a babe and through its early childhood, awakening fond hopes in the parental breast for long years on its part, and great usefulness and honor in time to come. But these hopes were vain, for it was stricken with a fatal disease when in the tenth year of its age and was translated to the heritage of the immortals February 10, 1833.

In the month following, I received an invitation from the First Universalist Society in Boston, originally organized under Rev. John Murray, the reputed founder of that faith in America, to supply their pulpit six months as a candidate for the vacant pastorate. Rev. Paul Dean had, during his ministry, gathered about him a large congregation from which a colony of his devoted friends had gone out, erected and dedicated a new house of worship on Bulfinch Street, and persuaded him to resign his position and take charge of the movement there. Those remaining in the old association, whose meetinghouse was on Hanover Street, had heard as many other preachers as they desired and voted to give me the proposed six months' probation. I shared the good will of surrounding Universalist ministers, and had been favorably heard for several Sundays by those now extending to me the offer; yet it was a somewhat presumptuous undertaking for me to engage in, considering the immaturity of my youth and the poverty of my qualifications. But I consented to make the trial. My friends in Medway, Bellingham, and South Mendon professed to be sorry to part with me, but acquiesced cheerfully in my decision and wished me success, it having been our mutual understanding that I was at liberty to accept any such call, should it come to me.

My Boston candidacy began on the last Sunday in July, 1823, and continued till the third in January, 1824. During that period (my wife and child being with me a part of the time) I gained many ardent friends in the congregation and outside, and succeeded in my pulpit labors quite as much to my own satisfaction and that of my hearers as I had a right to expect, though I finally failed in the object sought. A single competitor entered the field, who, being in many respects my superior at the time, carried off the prize. This was Rev. Sebastian Streeter, who was willing to close his pastorate at Ports mouth, New Hampshire, where he had been eight years. He was then at the zenith of his ability, experience, judgment, and pulpit eloquence, and he very naturally triumphed, receiving a considerable majority of the suffrages. Nearly one-third of the society adhered to me with considerable tenacity, but, of course, submitted to superior numbers. If my ambitious hopes were somewhat dashed, I had no right nor disposition to complain. I had much more reason for thankfulness than for murmuring, for I had gained many friends and the preference was, on the whole, wise and best for all concerned.

During my six months' engagement in Boston, I solemnized the first three of my marriages, now (1882) numbering over one thousand. At its close, on the evening of the third Sunday in January, 1824, I preached my final sermon from Acts 20:32: "And now, brethren, I commend you to God and the word of his grace, which is able to build you up and to give you an inheritance among them that are sanctified." Leaving the people with cordial good feeling and in a prosperous condition, I returned to my family.

Just before entering upon my Boston candidacy, I had been proposed and formally admitted to the fellowship of the Southern Association of Universalists, assembled in semi-annual session at Stafford, Connecticut, though I was not personally present on the occasion. At the annual session, held in Milford, Massachusetts, the next December, I was regularly ordained with the usual ceremonies, as is attested by the following certificate:

This certifies that Brother Adin Ballou was ordained to the work of the ministry of reconciliation at the annual meeting of the Southern Association of Universalists convened at Milford, Mass., Dec. 10, 1823.
JACOB FRIEZE, Clerk.

The call of the Boston society, given soon after to Rev. Mr. Streeter, left me at liberty to find an available opening at my convenience and pleasure. Several invitations were in prospect, but without waiting for a more desirable location, I accepted the one coming to me shortly afterward from the Universalist society in Milford, Massachusetts, whither I removed my family about the first of April [1824].

This society had had two pastors before me: Rev. Thomas Whittemore, then of Cambridgeport, for one year, and Rev. Jacob Frieze, who had just been called to Marlborough, for two years. Their salaries had been $330 per annum, and mine was to be the same. The society was comparatively small and deemed this sum a handsome one, since it was the same paid by the Milford Congregational parish to their minister, Rev. David Long. The Methodist society in North Purchase, the only other one in town at that time, was feeble and could not give their pastor anything like so good a pecuniary support.

The whole population of the place scarcely exceeded 1200, and its since large and thriving industries were then in their incipient stages of development. Tenements were scarce and crowded and it was with difficulty that I could find a place suited to the needs of myself and family. I finally obtained one that served us for a while until we could do better. It consisted of two rooms and a few exterior accommodations, three-fourths of a mile east of the meetinghouse, in the dwelling of Mr. Zebadiah Flagg, one of my people. The quarters were more limited than we had been accustomed to, but we made ourselves comfortable in them, and there we found ourselves domiciled on my twenty-first birthday, April 23, 1824.

I now applied myself diligently to my pulpit, pastoral, and miscellaneous duties, preaching often three times on Sunday - twice regularly at home, and in the evening in some one of the neighboring towns; officiating at funerals within the same circuit, solemnizing marriages, and attending to incidental domestic affairs. My people received my services appreciatively and our mutual relations were pleasant and harmonious. Pearley Hunt, Esq., Col. Ariel Bragg, Col. Sullivan Sumner, and others of prominent standing in the community were among the foremost of my people.

The town in which I was now located had been divided since 1819 into two very distinct and determined parties - the Parish party, so-called, and the Town party. The former consisted of persons attached to or sympathizing with the old or Congregational parish; the latter of Universalists, Methodists, and people having no religious affiliations - the promiscuous population.

This division originated in conflicting claims to the old precinct meetinghouse, or rather, perhaps, in a difference of opinion respecting the location of a new one. When the eastern part of Mendon was incorporated as the town of Milford in 1780, parochial affairs were assumed by the body corporate, and the existing house of worship was used for general public purposes. There was then only one religious organization in the place. In a few years the Universalist and Methodist societies were organized, while many persons signed off from the Standing Order or became indifferentists and refused to be taxed at all for the support of religions institutions, as formerly. This obliged the adherents of the old New England faith to reorganize, which they did under the name of the Congregational parish in 1815. Four years afterwards it was deemed advisable to build a new meetinghouse, when a dispute arose whether the old site should be occupied by it or a new one selected, in which was involved the question of the ownership of the building. Those persons who favored the old site, under the leadership of John Claflin, Esq., claimed that it belonged to the parish, while those who contended for a new site near where Dr. Fay's office stood, under the leadership of Pearley Hunt, Esq., claimed that it was the property of the town. Hence the names - Parish party and Town party.

In the vote on the location, the Parish party prevailed, as they did finally on the matter of proprietorship before the courts, and proceeded to erect the new house accordingly. The minority of the parish then withdrew and joined the Universalists, the combined forces in due time setting about building a brick meetinghouse, which they planned to be one foot larger on the ground than that of the parish, with a bell five hundred pounds heavier, and with a clock in its tower, which the other did not have. The Congregationalist house was dedicated November 19, 1819; the Universalist, January 10, 1821. By this time the conflicting parties were well-defined and belligerent to the highest degree. And the conflict thus inaugurated continued some fourteen years, entering more or less as a troublesome factor into all town affairs - into the consideration and decision of all public questions. Then a truce was sounded on both sides, a more peaceable era opened, and a growing spirit of mutual respect, unity, and cooperation sprang up, which has continued unto this day.

This conflict was at its highest pitch of intensity of purpose when I entered on my pastorate in 1824. I had no disposition to aggravate it and little power to mollify it. What I had, I found, after acquainting myself with the situation, must be exercised indirectly, prudently, and quietly. I took care not to add fuel to the flame, not to excite anyone by word or deed to greater partisan violence, but rather to moderate passion where I could, and above all, to set an example of courtesy, forbearance, and kindness in my personal intercourse with everybody. Two trifling incidents will illustrate my success in that direction.

I had been in town but a short time when a prominent leader of the parish, who enjoyed a joke and thought the newly-come Universalist minister a proper subject for one, was called upon by a colored wanderer from Connecticut and asked where he could get a night's lodging gratis, as he had no money. "I belong to the hospital at home," said he; "is there any hospital in these parts?"

"Oh, yes," answered the honorable wag, "there is one down street kept by a Mr. Ballou." And turning to his clerk, said "Write this man a note of introduction," at the same time dictating it as follows: "Rev. Mr. Ballou: Please keep the bearer over night and charge the same to him." No signature was appended.

After some trouble, the poor fellow found me in the midst of a crowd on the common and handed me the note. I saw that there was some trickery in the matter and inquired who gave him the paper. "A fleshy man they called the squire in the store near the other meetinghouse. He said you kept a hospital and would let me stay with you over night."

"Well," I replied, "I keep no hospital, as the squire very well knows. This is an imposition on both of us. But you shall be cared for. I cannot lodge you in my own house, but I will pay for your entertainment with my good friend, Colonel Sumner, the tavern-keeper near by, and will introduce you to him at once." He was astonished, but full of thanks to me and indignant at the trickery played upon him. He was well provided for till the next morning, when he posted back to the squire and scolded him sharply in his rude way for imposing on a poor wayfarer and on so kind a gentleman as he found Mr. Ballou to be.

As the matter had already been pretty well ventilated in town and as several persons were listening to the talk, the discomfited joker handed him a twenty-five-cent piece and told him to go along, which he at once did, taking the road to Boston. I lost nothing by this performance and never received another insult from the Parish party.

A second incident, of an entirely different character, but redounding equally to my credit, occurred not long afterward in connection with the annual town meeting in April. The ancient custom of opening the proceedings with prayer was still observed from year to year. Since the quarrel had been going on, the Town party being all the while in the ascendant in public affairs, Parson Long, the Parish clergyman, had not been invited to conduct that service, but it had been assigned to the Universalist and Methodist ministers alternately. At the time under notice, it fell to the former, and when the proper moment came, my friend, Col. Bragg, who was presiding, called upon me for the usual ceremonial. I was much surprised, being wholly a stranger to such a usage, and in nowise prepared for it. Moreover, it was as repugnant to my feelings as it was unexpected, for I knew in what an unprayerful, pugnacious state the minds of most of those present were, making the formality very much of a pious farce. My first impulse was to excuse myself outright, but I saw at once that this would hardly do. Instantly the thought flashed into my mind: "There stands Rev. Mr. Long, who would be glad of the chance; decline the honor and nominate him." In a moment this was done, and with proper deference to all present. Doubtless the moderator and people generally, as well as Mr. Long, were astonished; but the invitation was promptly accepted, and the service satisfactorily rendered. If I had carefully studied and devised a stroke of good policy, I could not have made a happier hit than was this unpremeditated act. It softened prejudice and won golden opinions in the Parish party, without disturbing the feelings of their opponents. I did not dream that it would have any effect beyond the passing occasion. But it did and much to my advantage. It not only pleased Mr. Long at the time, but secured his personal respect (which lasted, I believe, to the end of his days) and conciliated many of his people, who thereafter spoke of me as a gentleman and treated me accordingly. I never, before or since, received so much compliment and good will in return for so small an investment of makeshift civility.

During my first year in Milford, I ministered a considerable number of Sabbaths, either in person or by supply, to the society in Medway. This was pursuant to a mutual understanding between me and my people and was satisfactory to all parties concerned. I also made frequent exchanges with my ministerial brethren, some of whom occupied a high position and had an enviable reputation in the denomination. Among these were Revs. Hosea Ballou and Paul Dean of Boston, Hosea Ballou 2d of Roxbury, and David Pickering of Providence, Rhode Island. At the same time, my lectures and funeral ad dresses, which were then elaborate and carefully prepared sermons of an expository and argumentative character, were abundant at home and abroad.

In the summer of the same year [1824] I became a Freemason, passing through the first three degrees in Charity Lodge, Milford, of which I was, in orderly succession, a member, subordinate officer, and finally master. That lodge surrendered its charter and jewels a few years later to the Grand Lodge of Massachusetts, by reason of the violent anti-Masonic excitement which swept through the country, and other depressing circumstances. Before the close of 1825, I ascended through the Royal Arch degrees in Mount Lebanon Chapter in West Medway to those of knighthood in the Worcester County Encampment at Holden, since removed to Worcester and now known as the Worcester County Commandery.

I had come to be much interested in the Masonic Order and its institutions, and especially in the broad fundamental principles of the fraternity therein represented. These commanded my reverence both in their theoretical and practical aspects, whatever might seem exceptional or doubtful in some incidentals. And although my interest abated somewhat in maturer age and under the pressure of more engrossing matters of thought and action, I still cherish a profound respect for the intrinsic essentials of Freemasonry, notwithstanding the furor of anti-Masonic denunciation which at one time threatened its existence. There are few persons, institutions, or movements that have not their shady as well as their bright side. This has its defects and shortcomings in common with all human inventions. But its escutcheon is resplendent with "faith in God, hope in immortality, and charity to all mankind;" with "brotherly love, relief, and truth;" with "temperance, prudence, fortitude, and justice;" and with significant emblems of righteousness. It inculcates many great individual and social virtues, which, if they were faithfully practiced by its professors, would reader it pre-eminently illustrious.

But with all their failures, the Fraternity have not fallen so far below their acknowledged standard as has the nominal Christian Church. They have steered almost entirely clear of all mean proselytism, lust of dominion, monopolizing selfishness, and sanguinary persecution. On the other hand, they have done much to assuage intolerance, violence, and cruelty; to liberalize, genialize, civilize, and humanize mankind. The world has grievously needed the influence of the Order and still needs it. Therefore, it is not likely to be crushed out by its enemies nor to die out at any very early future of itself. When human society shall have fairly transcended it in absolute Christlikeness, doubtless its mission will terminate. Meantime, let anti-Masonic zealots demonstrate individually and socially that they have superseded its excellence and are therefore worthy to minister at its funeral.

I spent the winter months of 1824-25 in teaching what was known as the North Purchase school, two miles out of the village of Milford, in addition to my pulpit and pastoral labors. I had some eighty pupils under my care, ranging from those four and five years of age, just entering upon their educational tutelage, to grown-up young men and women, expecting to finish their common schooling with that term. My duties, so varied and multitudinous, kept my heart, head, and hands full, and I wrought persistently at my different posts of service. It was impossible for any one teacher to do full justice to such a throng of pupils as I had in charge, many of whom were poorly equipped and imperfectly classified. But all went prosperously on to the closing examination, which elicited flattering commendations from the superintending town committee. I won the respect, love, and general obedience of those under me and had little occasion to employ harsh corrections.

One case of discipline which had passed from my recollection has recently been recalled by an elderly matron, then a little girl in the school. The peculiarity of it, reminding one of the methods employed by the philosopher, A. Bronson Alcott, in his far-famed Boston school, justifies a description of it in these pages.

It seems, according to my informant's statement, that I had among t he rest a somewhat troublesome boy whose misbehavior evoked repeated reproofs on my part, but to little purpose. One day, after some fresh violation of the rules, I summoned him to my desk in unusually stern tones of voice, saying to him as he stood before me that I plainly saw that he meant to have some one whipped and the matter must be settled forthwith. "Now," said I, "here is my rod and I suppose it must be used or you cannot be cured of your misconduct. I cannot bear to whip you; perhaps it will do you more good if you whip me. At any rate, I have concluded to try it." Whereupon I took off my coat and having laid it aside, handed him the rod and told him to use it on me long enough to make him a good boy. Refusing to take it, I insisted that he should, inasmuch as it was necessary for him to do so in order to teach him obedience to the rules of the school. The boy broke down, wept bitterly, and promised that he would not repeat his offenses. I then sent him to his seat amid the amazement of the whole school, and he gave me no further trouble.

After the termination of my winter engagement, I gave myself with renewed zeal to the current duties of my home and pastorate, reaching, while busily engaged in them, the end of the twenty-second year of my life.

At this stage of my narrative, which finds me well settled under Universalist auspices in my new field of labor and active in my professional work, it may reasonably be asked "What was the religious condition of your society in Milford at that time and what thus far were the fruits of your ministry as an ambassador for Christ?" Not very flattering in either respect to the ambition or reputation of a devoted, faithful, Christian pastor. In the estimation of so-called Evangelical religionists, I was not such a pastor, nor scarcely was I according to my own then best ideal, and much less according to my present theoretical standard.

I was, however, sincerely desirous of preaching divine truth and of promoting human righteousness, as I then understood them, and current circumstances seemed to afford me favorable opportunities for doing so. And I have no doubt that in both of the particulars named, I exerted on the whole a salutary and effective influence. But I do not think my own intellectual, moral, and spiritual state was high enough to accomplish much in the way of raising the people of my charge to the true Christ-plane of thought and life.

There was then no church organization among them, no meetings for social Christian culture, and no Sunday school for the religious training of children and youth. Nor was there much, if any, perceptible desire for these institutions and helps to virtue and holiness. On the contrary, many were prejudiced against and adverse to them as savoring of "orthodox" superstition, craft, or bigotry. Even my own mind had been so repelled and sickened by the excommunicative and damnatory spirit of the dominant church religionists that I was in no haste to re-embrace their forms, modes, and expedients. Though in themselves good and perhaps necessary to human welfare, they had become so associated with irrational faith, terrorism, spasmodic emotionality, superstitious pietism, and sanctimonious cant, that I was not in a mood to separate them from their abuses and urge upon my hearers their right uses.

I had swung off into a sphere of theological protest against the dogma of endless punishment and all kindred notions derogatory to the moral character of God. I was in the midst of a polemical war with vast hosts of bitter antagonists whose watchword was No quarter to Universalists of any school. I neither asked nor expected any, and fought accordingly. The whole denomination of which I had become a member was at that time in the same combative sphere - one not very conducive of personal and social piety of the constructive type. How it could have been otherwise in the then warlike stage of theological opinion is hardly conceivable. If we had been ever so devotedly intent on the cultivation of strictly personal religion, the whole solid phalanx of our opponents was inflexibly resolved that we could not and should not have anything of the sort except on their platform and after their fashion. For a person to repent, become regenerated, and enter into church relations while in full belief of universal salvation was in their view not only impossible, but absurd and ridiculous. Men must believe that God loved only his friends and hated his enemies, certainly in the next life, and that his merciless vengeance awaited all who died in their sins, else there was no adequate motive or reason for any one to try to be personally and experimentally a disciple of Christ. But that folly and bigotry was destined to be overcome by valorous conflict and give place to better theories and convictions.

I must also state that nearly all my congregation, seldom exceeding 150 persons, had grown up as outsiders of the old churches; that some of them had been more or less skeptical with respect to revealed religion; and that as Universalists they were of the ultra school, with scarcely a Restorationist, properly so-called, among them. Even my own Restorationism had receded into the background, becoming faint and feeble in its abeyance to the then predominant no-future-punishment doctrine of the denomination. In view of such a peculiar and complicated state of things, the nature and success of my ministry in those days must be judged. The special reforms which afterwards agitated the pulpit and public mind - temperance, anti-slavery, peace, etc. - had not then been sufficiently developed to attract attention. So the old social habits, customs, and ideas remained undisturbed among the people of Milford, as elsewhere throughout the country.

Nevertheless, all things considered, I cannot but persuade myself that my preaching, pastoral labors, and personal influence not only rendered no one morally and spiritually worse for this world or the next, but were salutary to some positive and appreciative extent and accomplished considerable good in the way of establishing religions opinions on a more rational basis than before in the community, commending practical Christian righteousness to my hearers as of inestimable worth, diffusing the spirit of charity and good will among the people at large, and making divine truth and love a power of redemption in the hearts and minds of men.