Adin Ballou
and the Hopedale Community
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Works on Adin Ballou and Hopedale Links |
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1825-1828 The labors of a duly settled minister of the Christian religion, though many and various, are much the same, generally speaking, from year to year, and to mention them in chronological order and detail would involve wearisome and needless repetition. Only those, therefore, of special interest and importance in themselves considered, or in their relation to the personality of the writer or to the thought and life of the world at large, will be chronicled at length or more than hinted at in these pages, although months and even years may be passed over without reference to anything transpiring in them. In a narrative like this one here given, the omitted particulars are so well known as to be easily supplied, if necessary, by the reader. On August 3, 1825, my friend, Lebbeus Gaskill of South Mendon, colonel of the Second Regiment, First Brigade, Sixth Division Massachusetts Militia, did me the honor of placing me on his staff as chaplain. I received my commission as such August 9, and continued in the office till formally discharged July 13, 1837. I accepted the position with pleasure and officiated on various occasions to the best of my ability - always, I believe, to general satisfaction. Many a pleasant interview I enjoyed with my fellow officers at their various meetings and refreshment tables. My first service in this new capacity was rendered at the autumnal muster of the regiment at Mendon on the ancient Hastings training field. An old Congregationalist deacon, not knowing me, was somewhat taken with my prayer and warmly commended it. But when told upon inquiry who I was uttered an exclamatory "Oh!" in blank astonishment and at once subsided. A prejudiced Calvinist, who knew me, commenting upon it, said it sounded more like an oration than a prayer, which was probably a fair hit; for a military prayer ought to be more oratorical than reverential to be in good keeping with its surroundings. The reader may wish to know how I now view that military chaplainship and its duties. With little admiration and self-complacency, yet not with profound compunction and shame. For I was acting up to my then highest light. I had not at the time a thought or a scruple against war per se as un-Christian and wrong, and of course not against training and preparation for war. Like all others, I claimed to be opposed to wicked wars, under the presumption that there were sometimes righteous ones which I could approve. I simply acted according to my education and predilections. The all-important truth that Christ moved on a higher moral plane than that of civil society and national government as they now are and called his disciples to rise and act with him on his distinctive plane had not at that day shot its faintest ray into my murky understanding. I had no more doubt that civil government, backed by necessary deadly force, was consistent with genuine Christianity, and that Christian ministers and people ought to act in it in both political and military capacities than I had that they ought to be Christians. I took it for granted, as most good people do, that there is no plane or position distinctively higher than existing governmental civilization, which can be occupied to any practical advantage by eminently advanced minds, whether claiming to be Christians, or progressionists of some other name; as I also did that no Christianity can be organized above and in the lead of the prevailing civilization of the world. On this ground, Christianity must play the part of handmaid of such civilization, but attempt little or nothing more. On this ground, war must be provided for with all its requisites till the necessity for it shall cease by the universal prevalence of wisdom, righteousness, and love on earth - an era inconceivably remote under the reproductive genius of the politico-military system. In this view, chaplains of the army, navy, militia, etc., are as necessary, salutary, and respectable as voting citizens or any class of functionaries that cooperate in sustaining the existing institutions of civil society. So thinking in my youth, I acted accordingly. Besides, I had, as already indicated, the military, political, and civic instincts in my very nature, and it is no wonder that a regimental chaplaincy was congenial to my taste. The wonder is that such stock was ever fashioned into a conscientious, uncompromising, Christian Non-resistant. But so it was and is. In the autumn of 1825, I purchased of my friend, Col. Sullivan Sumner, an acre of land in the village of Milford, for the purpose of building upon it at an early day a suitable and permanent home. I soon afterwards planned a dwelling thirty-eight feet in length by thirty-two in width, two stories high and nine feet between joints, fronting the north, with a sufficient yard between it and the road. On the first floor were a parlor, dining room, and kitchen of large size, with the needful halls, pantries, and other smaller apartments desirable for domestic uses; while on the second floor were two large chambers in front, and one of still greater measurement in the southeast corner designed for a schoolroom. The remaining area was divided as necessity and convenience seemed to dictate. A contract for the erection of the structure above the underpinning was made with Colonel Sumner, who was to have the whole completed according to specifications and ready for occupancy on or before the first of the following August. The cellar and foundations were to be otherwise provided for and made ready for the superstructure in due season. This undertaking, entered upon with fond expectations, was rather a wild and extravagant one for a young minister with little capital, a meager income, and no certainty of a permanent residence in the town. But various considerations weighed with me in deciding to enter upon it. I was very much in need of a more eligible and commodious residence than the one I occupied; the estate, it was said, would be salable at any time without loss; a part of it might be rented, if I desired; it was so arranged that I could open a select school in it and so increase my annual receipts; my principal creditor, Colonel Sumner, was a very kind and indulgent man and would favor me in the matter of payment for the land and building, while other friends would give me an occasional lift; and, to cap the climax, I had a large amount of hope. So I went ahead with my project and took the consequences, some of which proved to be good, others indifferent, and yet others - the pecuniary ones - bad. None of my creditors lost anything by the affair, though it was some seven years before the last installment of the indebtedness incurred was paid. Circumstances so changed that I occupied the premises only about half of that period. So far as they furnished me a home, they added to my convenience, comfort, and happiness; otherwise they occasioned me many outlays, anxieties, and vexations. I rented them at much disadvantage and finally sold them at considerable pecuniary loss. My experience, I think, was that of the general average in analogous cases. I do not advise others, though like myself well-disposed and over-hopeful, to follow my example. Other occurrences of quite a different nature took place during the year 1825, which left a lasting impression on my memory. Two of these were connected with my funeral ministrations. The first to be mentioned is almost laughable in its leading incident. Mr. Darius Morse of Franklin, a Universalist in faith, invited me to conduct the services upon the death of his mother. The celebrated Dr. Emmons, then far advanced in years, was still pastor of the old church of that town, and they were few who dared dissent from his distinctive theological teachings. Mr. Morse was one of these, and so, when his mother passed away, he turned from the venerable champion of the ancient beliefs to one of the larger hope touching the plan and providence of God; but invited two of the elderly members of the Doctor's church, to which the deceased had belonged, to assist as bearers at the burial. When they learned that a young heretic was to officiate on the occasion, they refused to act as desired unless they could be roomed out of hearing of the preacher while the service was going on. Mr. Morse accommodated them by assigning them to a chamber in a remote part of the house. Thither they repaired in season to prevent contamination and there remained till all danger of that sort was over. In untroubled ignorance of this arrangement, I went through with what devolved on me to do, opening with a brief invocation, then preaching a regular sermon from Isaiah 25:7-8, and closing with a funeral prayer and benediction, as was my custom in those days. When all was over, the two self-secluded bearers appeared to perform, with others, the duty belonging to them. Of their exploits I was informed not long after, as I was also in due time of the light in which their conduct was regarded, both by individuals in the community and by Dr. Emmons himself. Laughed at by those of less religious turn of mind, they repaired to the house of their pastor to tell him how bravely they had stood by their creed, and to obtain his commendation, as they no doubt believed they would. But Dr. Emmons was not the man to relish their sort of tactics. And so after questioning them closely and getting all the information he wanted in the matter, he exclaimed: "What! What! Shut yourselves up in a chamber during the services! I am ashamed of you! You'll make people think your own faith is pretty weak if you act so cowardly as that! I don't advise you to run after such preaching, but if you have to go to a funeral, don't bide away from it as if you were afraid to trust your creed in its presence." They undoubtedly retired from the interview with more mortification than comfort, well cured of all such errantry. About a month after this ludicrous affair took place, another of a more serious nature and of more immediate concern to me transpired, which taught me a salutary lesson. Within my own proper field of pastoral labor there had lived a family, consisting of the two parents and several children, indirectly connected with my parish. The husband and father, though possessed of a handsome estate, was penurious and miserly, living shabbily himself and denying his family the comforts and even the necessaries of life. The wife and mother, a most estimable woman, discharged the duties devolving upon her conscientiously and faithfully for many years, but finally by overwork, privation, neglect, and abuse, broke down in health and became a victim of consumption. Under these distressing circumstances, her husband made less provision for her comfort and happiness than before. At length her parents took her home to care for and nurse during her evidently few remaining days on earth. I frequently called to see the suffering woman, as her life was slowly ebbing away. In one of my last conversations with her, after referring sorrowfully to the cold and cruel treatment she had received from her husband, she spoke of her funeral (at which I had already engaged to minister) as soon to take place, and expressed the hope that I would so admonish and reprove him on that occasion as to make him realize his blameworthiness and guilt. It seemed to be a charge given me on her dying bed and I promised to fulfill it. She soon passed through the gate of death and arrangements were made for her obsequies in the Universalist house of worship. The occasion was one that imposed unusual responsibility upon me, as a discourse was expected suited to the well-known circumstances of the case. I therefore prepared myself with great care, writing out in full what I had to say, which I was not accustomed to do except in extraordinary emergencies. The manuscript I have preserved - the oldest of its kind that ever came from my pen. To indicate the fidelity with which I discharged the trust committed to me from a dying bed, I subjoin a few disconnected extracts. Taking a text from Job 21:23,25-26, I first unfolded the subject there brought to notice in its general aspects, and made an application of it to the life, character, and trials of the deceased in such a way as to commend and honor her name and memory. I then proceeded to address the mourners directly, and particularly the husband, who sat cowering among the family relatives in the midst of a large promiscuous congregation, gathered for various reasons, no doubt, from all classes of the town's population. The passages which I deem it proper to reproduce are as follows: I commence with you, my friend, who claim the first and nearest relationship - that of husband - to the deceased woman who lies in silence before me. I beseech you in the name of Almighty God to hear patiently the solemn admonition of one who feels for you nothing but kindness and pity such as cannot be uttered. You never injured a hair of my head personally, but by a strange course of conduct, to me altogether unaccountable, towards your deceased wife, you have inflicted a grievous blow on my humane feelings and thereby laid me under the painful necessity of counseling you in the name of Jehovah for your good this day. Friend, bear with me and pardon my plainness, for I must be no flatterer or hypocrite towards you; otherwise, my God, who hears me, would smite me with a just condemnation. I have made these quotations as a funeral curiosity and as suggestive of a lesson to be pondered and taken solemnly to heart. My whole discourse and especially the portion thus given was listened to with profound attention and mingled emotions that cannot be described. Many of those present expressed approval of my testimony as just, though some no doubt questioned silently the wisdom of it. One heart was deeply grieved by it, that of a sister of the inculpated man, who acknowledged the painful facts in the case and their wrongfulness, but pleaded that her brother was insane and so not responsible for his conduct. At first I could give no credence to this plea, but time proved it to be substantially true. His mental aberration, then unknown save by a few who were brought into close contact with him, increased as the years went by until he became a confirmed lunatic, not of the violent type, but of so pronounced and positive a character as to necessitate the appointment of a legal guardian to have constant charge of him and of his affairs. He lived, however, to a good old age, and when he at length passed away I was called upon to minister at his obsequies. My course in this matter, which had been suggested and even enjoined by the suffering victim of neglect and abuse on her deathbed, and pursued under a profound sense of duty and with the conviction that some good would come of it to the offender and possibly to others, was subjected to a very careful and searching review on my part not long afterward, whereby I was brought to the conclusion that I had acted unwisely, and to no such salutary effect as I had anticipated. I therefore never again allowed myself on a funeral occasion to sit in judgment on sinful mourners, nor administer special personal rebuke even to notorious evil-doers. I had become convinced that such is not the time, place, and method for serving the cause of truth or promoting the moral and spiritual improvement of my fellow men. Neither the guilty nor the innocent are made better thereby. Very likely, in my purpose to avoid a recurrence of the mistake I made in this instance, I may have gone many times to the other extreme and estimated the virtues of both the departed and their survivors too highly, without intending to justify or palliate anything wrong in human conduct or character. But a fault in this direction, especially when proceeding from kindness of heart, seldom does moral harm. Three other deaths of more than ordinary personal interest to me occurred during the year 1825, subjecting me to a deep sense of bereavement and producing a lasting impression upon my heart and memory. The first of these took place March 27, removing from the scenes of earth and time the oldest member and one of the leading supporters of my society - the venerable and worthy Wales Cheney in the ninety-third year of his age. He was a man of good common sense, rigid justice, true to his word, outspoken to bluntness, strictly temperate, exemplary in all his habits, scrupulously conscientious, a little eccentric in some of his ways, but of kind and generous sympathies. Both he and his son Alexander, who cared for him in his declining years, were earnest Universalists and steadfast friends of mine, and his decease was a great grief to me. Near the close of the year my half-sister, Mrs. Rozina (Ballou) Arnold, the oldest of my father's children, died in childbed at the age of forty-two - a great and sad bereavement to her family and a large circle of relations and friends. She was a woman of many excellent qualities and a noble heart, but sensitive to adverse experiences and subject to great depression of spirit and over-anxiety amid the trials through which she was called to pass. The loss of a greatly beloved and tenderly cherished daughter just blooming into youthful womanhood in the summer of 1824 was a terrible affliction to her and nearly crushed out her life. She recovered in a measure from the shock which so utterly prostrated her, but not sufficiently to rally from the exhaustion incident to the birth of twin daughters a year and a half later - a few days after which event, in which she greatly rejoiced at the time, her spirit passed on to the unseen world. She was the fourth of my father's children to enter that world and shares the rest and reward that there await all true and loving souls. Clouds and darkness seemed to hover over her departure hence, and to her husband and little ones it was indeed shrouded in gloom, but divine love and wisdom meant it for good - sometime to be understood and gratefully acknowledged. Still another visitation of a similar kind occurred about the same date as the one just named. It was the decease of Mrs. Joanna (Sayles) Sweet, wife of Jesse B. Sweet of Providence, Rhode Island, a favorite sister of my wife, next older than herself. The two had grown up in loving intimacy from childhood, and their marriages were consummated not far apart. My wife felt this bereavement most keenly, as also did the whole family circle. The departed left infant children needing a mother's care and love. She was an amiable, excellent woman, whose spirit home must be a blessed one. Little of a personal, professional, denominational or general nature transpired during the year 1826 that I deem worthy of record. During the spring and summer months, my house, contracted for late the previous season, had been in process of erection, the foundations having been prepared, and the grounds put in proper order under my own immediate supervision, though I received substantial help in executing the work from kind friends who rendered me gratuitous service and from hired jobbers or day laborers employed as they seemed to be needed. Much of the work, however, was performed by myself at such times and in such a manner as my other regular duties allowed. I was naturally ambitious to have the oversight of these outside matters and to take an active part in carrying them forward to completion according to my own choice and taste. I had been brought up to rough manual labor such as is incident to the care and management of a large farm, and deemed myself competent to judge fairly well how the task in hand ought to be accomplished. The result justified my confidence in my own ability in that direction - at any rate, I was satisfied and contented with what was done. At length the house was finished, its surroundings were put in decent condition, and the premises were ready for occupancy. About the first of September, I and my little family were nicely settled in the new home and the machinery of our domestic life began to move under more agreeable conditions and with better prospects than ever before. I immediately opened a private school, as provided for in the original plan of my dwelling, and found myself encompassed and burdened with cares and duties many and various, which taxed to the utmost my time, strength, and energy of body, mind, and soul. I seemed to be firmly established in my lot and dreamed little of the changes that awaited me at an early day. As the anniversary of American Independence, 1827, drew near, the Republican citizens of Milford resolved to celebrate the day in some becoming manner, and I was favored with an invitation to deliver the oration in my own church, more commonly known as the "brick meetinghouse." Patriotism - civil, military, and religious - was then an essential part of my Christianity and I cheerfully accepted the proffered honor. The occasion was one of unusual importance and one long remembered by those participating in it. Extraordinary preparations were made for it. Besides the oration, the dinner, and a grand military display, with martial music and other accompaniments, there was to be a formal presentation of a "splendid standard" by the ladies of the town to the long-famous Artillery Company, which had been organized in 1803 under Pearley Hunt, Captain, as a testimonial of respect and admiration. Announcement was duly made in all the neighboring towns of what was to be done and such a time was provided for and expected as Milford had never seen before. Nor were the promise and anticipation unfulfilled. The day was ushered in not only by bells and cannon, but by a resonant and copious thunderstorm, the last of which, however, soon passed away, leaving as clear a sky and atmosphere as mortals could desire. The program was carried out in full and everything went off to universal satisfaction. The streets were thronged with people from all the surrounding region, eager to share in the festivities and keep in patriotic fashion the nation's holiday. The more formal proceedings began with the presentation of the flag. The company to be honored was out in full numbers and bright uniforms, Capt. Clark Sumner commanding it, with Lt. Isaac Davenport second officer, and John Corbett, Jr., third or standard bearer. A suitable platform had been erected on the common where the exercises were to take place, and where in due season the principal actors in the scene were gathered, surrounded by interested multitudes of people. A prayer having been offered, Miss Lucy Hunt, eldest daughter of Pearley Hunt, Esq., (with Miss Laura Ann Adams on her right and Miss Harriet Hunt on her left, all tastefully attired), came forward bearing the elegant gift, and partially unfurling it, presented it with an appropriate address to Second Lieutenant Corbett. He received it with an appreciative response, at the close of which the band struck up one of their liveliest airs, amid whose inspiring strains and the plaudits of the delighted populace, the ladies were escorted back to Colonel Sumner's hotel, whence they came. A long civic procession was immediately formed, and began its march through some of the principal streets to the meetinghouse, led by an imposing array of soldiery. The auditorium of the building was crowded to the full, many desiring entrance being obliged to remain outside. The oration, which was the principal feature of that part of the celebration, was delivered at the proper time, being preceded and followed by anthems, prayers, odes, and other customary accompaniments. There was nothing unique, profound, or eloquent about it, but it probably compared favorably with the old-style productions of that sort. A copy of it was asked for the press and the request being granted, a considerable edition was at once printed and widely distributed, a few numbers of which are still in my possession. The services at the church having been concluded, such of the audience as were disposed, with others of like mind, repaired in processional order to the dinner tables - those for the ladies being spread in the hotel, the others under spacious tents or awnings outside where the post-prandial exercises were held. These were presided over, if my memory serves me, by Pearley Hunt, Esq., assisted by Newell Nelson, Esq., as toastmaster - most of what transpired consisting of regular and volunteer toasts, which, as they were announced, were washed down after the old ante-Temperance fashion, and responded to by cannonry and strains of martial music. Without going into much further detail in regard to what took place on this occasion, I must speak of one laughable incident connected with the after-dinner festivities. Among those present was Mr. Timothy Walker, an elderly citizen of Hopkinton, who had distinguished himself somewhat during or soon after the war of 1812, by publishing several magniloquent letters to Gen. William Hull, of ignoble fame arising from his surrender of Detroit to the British. Opportunity being given for volunteer sentiments, Mr. Walker rose, saying to the toastmaster that he had one to offer which he hoped would be received without local offense. Whereupon Esquire Nelson in strong, sonorous voice, called out, "Citizens, please give attention to a volunteer toast from Mr. Timothy Walker, author of letters to General Hull." Mr. Walker in sharp, age-cracked tones started off in a long sentiment, prepared no doubt with much care for the occasion. When about halfway through it he paused for a moment to take breath. The director of the artillery, supposing he had finished, signaled the cannoneer accordingly, when boom went the six-pounder and up struck the band, to the great merriment of those who understood the situation. But Mr. Walker, not in the least disconcerted, kept his standing, and when the music ceased cried out: "Mr. President and fellow citizens, you have been too fast for me; I hadn't got half through." This increased the mirth, which in no wise subsided when, re-announced by the toastmaster and given full sway, the speaker began anew and went through to the end as follows: "Party Spirit - that wicked and baneful party spirit, by which empires, kingdoms, and republics have been overthrown, and by which too many of the good people of this town have been greatly led astray: may this noxious party spirit be torn up by the roots, transported to the island of Java, and there placed in battle array with the bohon upas tree, till it shall be demonstrated which is most poisonous to humanity, that deadly upas or party spirit." Then came another gun, more music, and deafening shouts of applause from the greatly amused assemblage. This closed substantially the more formal proceedings of the day. A few days subsequent to the Fourth of July celebration, I received an unexpected visit from Asa Holden, Esq., an entire stranger to me and a leading trustee of the First Universalist Society, Prince Street, New York City. He had come as a special messenger to New England for the purpose of looking up a minister to fill the vacant pastorate of that body. I had been mentioned to him by some of my older clerical brethren and recommended as a suitable person for the position, and he had called upon me to engage my services at an early day as a candidate for it. There were good reasons why I should at once have declined the proposition. I had a nice field of usefulness where I was, and the unanimous good will of an increasing number of friends, though in a rural community, which could afford me but a moderate compensation for my labors. I was well established with my family in our pleasant new home, and it was annoying, if not unwise, to leave it without great certainty of a better location elsewhere. There was no such certainty in the case presented me, for the society in question had just been sadly weakened by a division which resulted in the withdrawal of a considerable number of its members. The famous Abner Kneeland had been its pastor, and being in that unsettled, transitive state of mind which not long after landed him in open infidelity, his preaching had so alienated from him a majority of his people that they voted his discharge from the pulpit. Thereupon his friends, considerable in number, seceded, hired a public hall, set up a rival organization, and employed him as their minister. All this must render my position in the Prince Street pulpit, if I occupied it, not only a delicate and trying one, but one of problematical success. New York was not as sensational then as now, and not easily moved by aspirants for popular favor of my moderate type and caliber. But I was probably too ambitious, vain, and shortsighted to weigh all these considerations judiciously, and so was inclined to yield to the solicitations urged upon me. Nevertheless, I argued against the proposed change for some time with ambassador Holden, and requested him to consult some of my leading supporters, get their opinion, and learn their feelings about the matter, which he consented to do. He was a stirring, sanguine man and made quick work of his conferences, returning very soon and reporting that the few he could find thought I was fully competent to fill the proffered pastorate, and had better go to it if called, though it would be a great loss to them. He represented in particular that such were the views expressed by Esquire Hunt, my most influential parishioner. I was rather taken aback by this statement, inasmuch as it caused me to infer that possibly there was a willingness to have me leave, founded as much on indifference to my continuance in Milford as on a conviction of my fitness for the prospective place in New York. I was therefore much more disposed by this representation to listen to these new overtures than before. I ascertained afterward, however, that Esquire Holden had no warrant for saying that any willingness existed that I should leave the Milford parish, though I was not informed of this till too late to profit by it. I suppose that his zeal to have me comply with his wishes either warped his veracity or caused him to misconstrue expressions which seemed to favor his suit, though not intended to do so. Suffice it to say that I was persuaded to be a candidate for the vacant pastorate and engaged to preach as such the last two Sabbaths in July and the first in August. So much being settled, Brother Holden returned home with joy to report his success. I took my wife and little boy to Smithfield, Rhode Island, about the middle of July, to remain with relatives during my absence from Milford, and proceeded directly to New York to fulfill the terms of my candidacy there. A letter written to my wife soon after my arrival detailed my experiences on the way and after reaching my destination, and also my first impressions of the people to whom I ministered and of the city. New York City, (Monday) July 23, 1827 The above language indicates that the candidate was rather captivated by his surroundings and prospects, and quite likely to take the new position. So it proved. After preaching three Sabbaths, I received and accepted the society's call on a salary, I think, of $800 per annum, to be raised as the society grew. During this visit I was pleasantly boarded in the family of Brother Sylvanus Adams, one of the trustees, and was introduced to most of the members. I also solemnized one marriage. It being settled that I was to remove to New York, affairs made haste with me. My installation was arranged for September 26, the Rev. Hosea Ballou to be invited to preach the sermon. But my pastorship was to date from the sixteenth of that month, the third Sabbath; and I was to make an exchange with Brother Hosea for that day and the Sunday following. I returned to my home in Milford, taking my little family from their three weeks' visitation with me, and set about the necessary preparations for removal. My friends seemed deeply aggrieved at my leaving them, but blamed the New York strategist rather than myself, as having seductively robbed them of their minister in an unfraternal manner. I was sorrowful for them and also for myself, fearing that I had done wrong and that the change I was to make might turn out an unwise one for all concerned. But the die was cast; nothing could be undone. I must go ahead and do my best. On the five Sabbaths that remained before the close of my pastorate, I preached morning and afternoon in my own pulpit to interested and anxious audiences, and on successive days at 5 P.M. lectured in Blackstone, Hopkinton, and Bellingham. My afternoon discourse September 9 was in the nature of a valedictory, from 2 Corinthians 13:11: "Finally, brethren, farewell; be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind; live in peace and the God of love and peace shall be with you." It was an affecting and impressive occasion. A large audience was present, composed mostly of deeply interested friends, though some outsiders were there, drawn by curiosity or otherwise. I could ask no more unmistakable demonstrations of personal respect and attachment, nor of regret at my departure than were there manifest. And it was substantially the same with friends in neighboring towns where I was accustomed to lecture and officiate at funerals. On the third Sabbath in September I commenced fulfilling my engagement to supply the pulpit of Rev. Hosea Ballou in Boston, while he went on to occupy what was now mine in New York. I spoke n the morning in his School Street church; in the afternoon in that of the First Society, Hanover Street, in exchange with Rev. Sebastian Streeter; and in the evening, by request of Rev. Hosea Ballou 2d, in his desk at Roxbury. The next Sunday morning I exchanged with Rev. Brother Thompson of Charlestown, and in the afternoon preached again in School Street, thus concluding my engagement and with it my ministry in New England for the then present. Meanwhile preparations had been going on rapidly for transferring myself, family, and belongings to the new home and field of service in the country's metropolis. Some household and other articles not likely to be needed had been disposed of at auction, and the rest were carefully packed and shipped in proper order. Our dwelling house was put in good hands, to be rented or sold, as might be deemed most desirable. All things being ready, we left Milford on Tuesday, September 25, for Providence, where we boarded a steamer, expecting to reach our destination the next forenoon in time for the installation services at three o'clock P.M. But various things transpired to delay our boat, and we had a long, dismal passage, terminating about five o'clock, when we landed, in poor plight (by reason of seasickness, broken rest, etc.) for appearance before the public in any form. The installation had been postponed till evening and came off accordingly, though at a later hour than hoped for, and with much less than the customary display of parts. I have neither memoranda nor recollection of details further than that the sermon was by Rev. Hosea Ballou, who took for a text Romans 1:14-16. The subject of discourse was treated with the well-known ability of the preacher, a respectable congregation was present, and the exercises were appreciatively satisfactory. Thus my pastoral canoe was once more launched on the uncertain waters. After temporary accommodation in the family of Brother Holden, we rented a tenement and set up housekeeping at No. 99 Thompson Street, though it was some time before our domestic affairs were comfortably reconstructed so that we felt really at home. We were subjected to serious disappointment at an early day in our New York life, in that our matronly friend, Miss Joanna Cook, who had come on with us to be an assistant in household cares and a companion more particularly for my wife, became so decidedly homesick and otherwise ill that she insisted upon returning to the friends she left behind her, and did so within a month of our arrival. After her departure we supplied the place thus vacated as best we could - sometimes readily and satisfactorily, but frequently quite otherwise. While getting settled in our new quarters we were one day thrown into a spasm of fearful anxiety and alarm by the sudden disappearance of our son, then a little over four years old, for whom a careful search of several hours throughout all the neighborhood and repeated calls in all directions proved fruitless and vain. I went hither and yon, hoping to find him in some of the streets or alleys; friends and neighbors were rallied to assist in looking him up; but the mystery grew deeper and deeper, and our apprehensions more and more distressing, till at length our good Brother Holden appeared, leading the tired and trembling wanderer into our presence. It may be imagined what relief came to our burdened hearts when we caught sight of him again and with what emotions of grateful joy we once more had him in our arms. It seemed that he ventured some distance from our dwelling place, lured by strange and pleasing sights - so far that when he came to himself and wanted to return, he could not find the way. Realizing very soon that he was lost, he began to cry and moan piteously, saying, "I want to go home." A watchman hearing him, took him in charge, and not being able to learn where he lived, carried him, agreeably to city regulations, to the public almshouse, where such stray ones are kindly taken care of until called for. When Brother Holden heard of his disappearance, knowing the course pursued in such cases, he at once repaired to the institution named where he found the lad a short time only after he had been brought in by the officer. The little fellow recognized Mr. Holden, whom he had seen repeatedly before, sprang to meet him, seized his hand eagerly, and was happy to be led by him back to the home from which he had thoughtlessly strayed and to the fond embraces of parental hands and hearts. Having been duly inducted into my new field of labor, I addressed myself to my pulpit and pastoral duties with all the ability and zeal of which I was master, but with less evident success than I had hoped for. I had good friends who did what they could to assist and encourage me, but Mr. Kneeland and his adherents seemed to prosper, drawing into their support and fellowship many wavering and susceptible minds. My society had been seriously weakened by the division, and the faithful were anxiously looking for an increase of numbers and renewed thrift under my administration. But circumstances were unpropitious, and with all my diligence and zeal, I could not realize my own expectations, and what was a greater trial to me, I felt that I was not realizing the expectations of my people. After several months of earnest effort to little purpose, as I thought, I began to suspect that I was not the "right man in the right place"! Still I persevered and cast about in my thought for some new means of usefulness and influence. In my anxiety and desire to accomplish the most I could for myself, my society, and the cause of truth, I devised a plan or scheme for starting and editing a small, semi-monthly paper to be called the Dialogical Instructer, and made arrangements for carrying the project into effect. I secured a few personal friends as financial backers, and prepared and put to press my first issue, which bore date January 5, 1828. This gave me my first experience in editorship, of which I have had much since that day. My removal from Milford, though determined upon somewhat abruptly, and, as I afterward found, much against the judgment and earnest wishes of the principal members of my society there, awakened no unkindly feelings on their part toward me, and called forth from them no expressions of blame or condemnation. On the other hand, they still seemed to hold me in profound respect, manifested toward me a truly friendly spirit, and hoped the change would prove advantageous, both for me personally and for the cause of Universalism, which both I and they had so much at heart. This was evinced by the correspondence carried on between me and some of their leading representatives, which was always characterized by the utmost cordiality, frankness, and good will. Somehow or other, perhaps by some casual remark of mine or by the general tone of my letters, or in some other way, it began to be suspected among my former parishioners ere many months had passed by, that things in New York were not going altogether to my mind; that my expectations were not fully realized; and that consequently there was a growing uncertainty in regard to what my future was to be. This suspicion appeared in letters of friends inquiring particularly into my pastoral affairs, whether or not I was satisfied with my position and work, etc., reminding me of my promise to return to Milford if all did not go well, and signifying that they all would be very glad to see me back again. As early as January 11, 1828, Esquire Hunt wrote me as follows: We are one and all anxious to hear how you are situated, what society you have, of your prosperity or adversity. I wish you to write me plainly and truly. I have a letter from Esquire Holden, who states that he was mistaken in his communication to me respecting your wishing to be considered a candidate for their society, but quite the reverse; therefore he takes the blame upon himself. Please give my compliments to him and tell him I thank him for the pamphlets he sent me, but am sorry that he should be the means of separating you from our society. We are at this time without any meeting except visiting each other, all waiting to hear from you. It was evidently understood among my Milford friends that I was struggling against wind and tide, with little prospect of any change for the better. Probably I said as much as this in my letters to them from time to time. And so on February 25, Mr. Hunt wrote me again: You have the same opportunity, and I think, greater reason to return to Milford than you had to leave it; but you must and will be your own judge. Here are Milford, Bellingham, and Medway with meetinghouses; and Hopkinton, Mendon, Upton, Uxbridge, and many other societies you used to labor with, all destitute at this time. We, as well as our neighboring brethren, still feel anxious for your return. I do hope and trust you will not disappoint so many of your good friends here as to deprive them of your labors in the ministry without, after due trial and just experience, you are fully persuaded you can be far more useful in New York than in Milford. And once more, March l7: Since I wrote you last I have not heard anything from you, etc. I am requested by the Universalist Committee to say to you that it is their desire you should inform them on what conditions you will return to Milford and settle with us for seven or ten years, provided there is a printing office set up and a schoolhouse built for you. For our society still believe it is best for them, as well as yourself, that you should come back as soon as possible. About the first of April I sent a response to these earnest appeals of Esquire Hunt, confessing that I felt somewhat disappointed by my New York experiences, that I appreciated the good feelings and wishes of my Milford friends, and that I might ultimately think it best to return; but that there was likely to be a severe struggle in my mind before I could decide to abandon my situation. At this point all correspondence was suspended for a few weeks, during which period thoughtful deliberation was going on with both parties concerned, in order that a wise decision might be reached in regard to the matter in hand. I received, after the lapse of a few weeks, the following communication: Milford, May 3, 1828 On May 12 I answered this letter, communicating my decision to comply with the committee's invitation and return to Milford in the course of a few weeks. To this Colonel Bragg cordially rejoined a week later, expressing for himself, the committee, and society, the most fraternal love and satisfaction. |