Memoir of Rev. Joseph Badger
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Title: Memoir of Rev. Joseph Badger
Author: E. G. Holland
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIR OF REV. JOSEPH BADGER ***
[Illustration: R. Badger]
MEMOIR OF REV. JOSEPH BADGER.
BY E. G. HOLLAND.
FOURTH EDITION.
NEW YORK:
C. S. FRANCIS AND CO., 252 BROADWAY.
BOSTON: BENJAMIN H. GREENE, 124 WASHINGTON ST.
1854.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
MRS. ELIZA M. BADGER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Western District of New York.
DAMRELL & MOORE,
PRINTERS,
16 Devonshire Street, Boston.
PREFACE
The present volume is the Memoir of a man and a minister whose character
was strikingly individual, whose services to Religion in its more
liberal and unsectarian form were large and successful; and in the
denomination to which he belonged, no man was more generally known, and
none, we believe, ever acted a more prominent and effective part. The
writer of this has endeavored to set forth the life and sentiments of
Mr. Badger, to a large extent in his own language. Much of his journal
must be new even to old acquaintance, as it was written many years ago,
and no part of it has ever been published. To those who would be pleased
to read the outlines of the greatest theological reformation among the
masses which the nineteenth century may justly claim, we trust this
volume will be welcome; likewise to all those who may be liberal and
evangelical Christians. Aged men, contemporaries with him, will rejoice
in the revival of past scenes, and the young will be taught, encouraged,
and warned by the paternal voices of the departed.
Two classes of great men figure effectively on the stage of the world.
One class are strongest in writing. Their written words embody the
entire elegance and power of their minds. Such were Webster and
Channing. The other class are strongest in speech. Their personal
presence, their spontaneous eloquence in oral discourse, alone express
their mind and heart. Such were Clay, Henry, and Whitfield. To the
latter classification Mr. Badger unquestionably belongs. Though the
marks of superiority are variously apparent in his papers, it was in the
more natural medium of oral speech that his genius shone. Having now
completed the task demanded by my duty to the family of Mr. Badger, I
would, in the name of the self-sacrificing, trusting faith of which he
was no common example, send forth this volume to the world, hoping that
in an ease-loving age, the presentation of a Lutheran force in the
example of a son of New Hampshire may serve to awaken in others a
kindred energy.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. BIRTH AND ANCESTRY.
II. CHILDHOOD.
III. YOUTH AND EDUCATION.
IV. CONVERSION.
V. CALL TO AND ENTRANCE UPON THE MINISTRY.
VI. PUBLIC LABORS IN THE PROVINCE.
VII. TOUR TO NEW ENGLAND, AND PUBLIC LABORS.
VIII. ORDINATION AND PUBLIC LABORS.
IX. PUBLIC LABORS--MARRIAGE--TRAVELS.
X. LABORS AND SETTLEMENT IN WESTERN NEW YORK.
XI. THOUGHTS AND INCIDENTS OF 1819 AND 1820.
XII. WRITINGS--MARRIAGE--TRAVELS.
XIII. CORRESPONDENCE--VISITS AT ANGELICA WITH D. D. HOW, THE
MURDERER--SERMON AT THE GALLOWS.
XIV. JOURNEY AT THE SOUTH--PUBLISHED JOURNAL.
XV. MINISTRY AT BOSTON.
XVI. FOUR MONTHS' LABOR IN THE COUNTIES OF ONONDAGA AND CAYUGA, NEW
YORK, IN 1828 AND 1829, WITH OTHER PARTS OF HIS PUBLIC LIFE, EXTENDING
TO MAY, 1832.
XVII. EDITORIAL LIFE.
XVIII. GENERAL VIEWS.
XIX. MINISTRY--PUBLISHED WRITINGS AND IMPORTANT EVENTS FROM MAY, 1839,
TO MARCH, 1848.
XX. RETIRED LIFE--READING--TRAVELS--DEPARTURE--1848 TO 1852.
XXI. OUTLINES OF CHARACTER.
XXII. ADDRESSES--SERMONS--REMINISCENCES--VIEWS OF CONTEMPORARIES.
XXIII. REFLECTIONS.
MEMOIR.
CHAPTER I.
BIRTH AND ANCESTRY.
In so young a world as America, it has been held unsuitable for persons
to spend much time in the tracing of pedigree, or to found important
claims on family descent; nor can it accord less with the common sense
of mankind than with the republican genius of the world, to say, that
every genuine claim to human esteem is founded in character. In this is
rooted every quality that can, of right, command the reverence of man.
But, as character is not exactly isolated and independent of ancestral
fountains, from which the innate impulses, capacity, and tendency to
good and evil have flown, the subject of ancestry justly belongs to the
history of every man's mind and life. Our ancestors flow in our veins.
We retain them more or less in our characters always, so that the great
stress which different countries have put upon this theme, rests on
other than artificial and ostentatious reasons. In nature, below man,
the various circuits and orders of being do nothing more than to repeat
ancestral forms and habits, to which the sweet rose, the eagle, and the
strong-armed oak, are perpetual witnesses; and though man, by his
God-like faculty of will is lifted out, in a great measure, from this
necessity, he is so far a derivation from the past, that he ought to be
seen in his connections with it. We therefore introduce the subject of
Mr. Badger's ancestry as the chief part of the first chapter of this
book.
Joseph Badger, the subject of this memoir, was a native of Gilmanton,
Strafford county, New Hampshire, born August 16th, 1792. From an early
manuscript of his I copy the following lines:--
"My father, Peaslee Badger, was born at Haverhill, Mass.,
1756. He was the son of General Joseph Badger, who was a
native of that place. When my father was nine years of age,
his father removed to Gilmanton, N. H., where his family
was settled, and where my grandsire, General Joseph, ended
his days in peace, in the year of our Lord 1803. The good
instruction I received from him, before my ninth year, will
never be effaced from my memory. His name will long be held
in remembrance as a peacemaker, and a great statesman.
Every recollection of him is a fulfilment of the sacred
passage--'The memory of the righteous is blessed.'
"In 1781, my father was married to Lydia Kelley, born in
Lee, N. H., 1759. She was the daughter of Philip Kelley,
who, in the triumphs of faith, departed this life the 11th
of June, 1800, at New Hampton, N. H. For the space of
thirty-six years my father resided at Gilmanton. In our
family were nine children, five sons and four daughters. I
was the fourth son, and the old general, of whom I have
already spoken, selected me as the one to bear up his name.
I was accordingly named for him; but alas! I fear I have
fallen greatly below his excellent examples."
Among his ancestors, there can be no doubt, that he most resembled, in
mind and body, the venerable man whose name he bore. The personal form
of Gen. Joseph Badger, as described in history, in which he is
represented as nearly six feet in stature, somewhat corpulent, light and
fair in complexion, and of dignified manners, answers most aptly to the
subject of this memoir; nor is the correspondence less perfect, when his
mental qualities of foresight, order, firmness, tact, and generosity are
considered. "As a military man," says the faithful pen of history,
"General Badger was commanding in his person, well skilled in the
science of military tactics, expert as an officer, and courageous and
faithful in the performance of every trust. With him order was law,
rights were most sacred, and the discharge of duty was never to be
neglected."
Hundreds, into whose hands this volume will fall, will never forget the
promptness and the courageous efficiency with which Rev. Joseph Badger
met every public duty, and every great emergency; and though his field
was the ministry, and his soldierly skill that which referred to the
Cross, none who ever knew him can cease to remember the ready, natural,
and commanding generalship by which his entire action and influence in
the world were distinguished. He did not float with the wave of
circumstance, but carefully laid out his labors into system, always
having a purpose and a plan; and not unfrequently did his active energy
and position in life, amidst many difficulties, remind one of a
campaign. No mind, acting in the same sphere, was ever more productive
in ways and means. Though a clergyman, he was a general, and one, we
should say, of no common tact and skill.
His father, Major Peaslee Badger, with whom the writer of this memoir
was acquainted, was a man of strong mental powers, quick perceptions,
and of great vivacity. The quality last named, for which the subject of
these biographical sketches was so generally distinguished, is readily
traceable to his father; and the same remark in regard to quickness of
perception might also apply, but for the fact that the mind of the son
was more intuitive, and that he possessed both the qualities spoken of
in a greater degree. Joseph Badger, though at heart deeply imbued with
the solemnity and importance of all that belongs to the Gospel of human
salvation, was no anchorite in spirit, no desponding meditator on man or
his lot; he wore no formalities of a pretending sanctity. He had the
good fortune never to have lost his naturalness; and I think I never saw
one in whose nature was treasured a greater fulness of social life. It
was apparent that Major Badger had a memory that was strong even in
advanced years; that he was a general reader, and had reflected very
independently; that, though capable of tender emotions and kindness of
heart, the intellect had pretty full ascendency over his sympathetic
nature; and that, in social feeling, in affection, in fineness of
nature, and in general sympathy, his son possessed the richer
inheritance.
His mother was a Christian, and judging from her letters, was an
affectionate woman, of good plain sense, and rich in sympathy and
maternal care. Father, mother and son are now in the spiritual world.[1]
As there are several public men wearing the family name of Badger, and
as there are different branches of the same original family that in an
early day exchanged their home in England for the then comparative
wilderness of New Hampshire and Massachusetts, in obedience to the
spirit of adventure that drew, in those times, the most earnest and
enterprising persons to the New World, I have thought it proper briefly
to present the lineage of Rev. Joseph Badger from the settlement of the
first family of this name in Massachusetts; in doing which I shall not
rely on uncertain tradition, but on the published history of Gilmanton,
N. H., and on the Memoir of Hon. Joseph Badger, both of which are now
before me. From these authorities it appears that the Badger family is
of English origin, that its founder was Giles Badger,[2] who settled at
Newbury, Mass., previous to June 30, in 1643, only twenty-three years
after the landing of the Pilgrims. His son, John Badger, a man of much
respectability in his day, was by his first wife, the father of four
children, only three of whom, John, Sarah and James, lived to arrive at
years of responsibility, the first having died in infancy. His first
wife, Elizabeth, died April 8th, 1669. By his second wife, Hannah Swett,
to whom he was married February 23d, 1671, he had Stephen, Hannah,
Nathaniel, Mary, Elizabeth, Ruth, Joseph, Daniel, Abigail and Lydia.
Both of the parents died in 1691. John Badger, Jr., a merchant in
Newbury, married Miss Rebecca Brown, October 5, 1691; their children
were John, James, Elizabeth, Stephen, _Joseph_, Benjamin and Dorothy.
Joseph was born in 1698.
Joseph Badger, son of John Badger, Jr., was a merchant, in Haverhill,
Mass.,[3] and married Hannah, daughter of Col. Nathaniel Peaslee. Among
his seven children was General Joseph Badger, whose usefulness and
excellence of character are strongly expressed in the pages before me.
He married Hannah Pearson, January 31st, 1740; their children were
twelve in number, among whom was Major Peaslee Badger, the father of the
subject of this memoir, and the Hon. Joseph Badger, Jr., the father of
Hon. William Badger, late Governor of New Hampshire. Several of this
name have been distinguished for ability, and have held important
positions of public duty. Some have been active in the defence of their
country, some in the cause of education, the administration of justice,
and the affairs of political life; and like the distinguished men of New
Hampshire generally, they mostly seem to have had strong natures, with
characters marked by native vigor and original force.
South of the White Mountains some fifty miles, and near the Lake and
River Winnipiseogee, is the old town of Gilmanton. As the mind of Mr.
Badger, during his childhood in this place, was lastingly impressed by
the society and instruction of his uncle, I have thought best to copy
the presentation of his character as found in the published history of
Gilmanton.
"In the early settlement of Gilmanton," says Mr. Lancaster,
"no individual was more distinguished than Gen. Joseph
Badger. He was born in Haverhill, Mass., Jan. 11, 1722; and
was the eldest child of Joseph Badger, a merchant in that
place, who was one of the wealthiest and most influential
men of that town. In the time of the Revolution, he was an
active and efficient officer, was muster-master of the
troops raised in this section of the State, and was
employed in furnishing supplies for the army. He was a
member of the Provincial Congress, and a member of the
Convention that adopted the Constitution. He was appointed
Brigadier General June 27th, 1780, and Judge of Probate for
Strafford county, December 6th, 1784. He was also a member
of the State Council in 1784, 1790, and 1791.
"He was a uniform friend and supporter of the institutions
of learning and religion. He not only provided for the
education of his own children by procuring private
teachers, but he also took a lively interest in the early
establishment of common schools for the education of
children generally. Not content with such efforts merely,
he did much in founding and erecting the Academy in
Gilmanton, which has been already a great blessing to the
place and the vicinity. He was one of the most generous
contributors to its funds, and was one of its Trustees, and
the President of the Board of Trust until his death.
Instructed in his childhood, by pious parents, in the
principles of religion, he early appreciated the blessings
of the Christian ministry. Having become the subject of
divine grace, he publicly professed religion, and espoused
the cause of Christ. As he was a generous supporter of the
institutions of the Gospel, so to his hospitable mansion
the ministers of religion always found a most hearty
welcome. While the rich and great honored him, the poor
held him in remembrance for his generous liberality. His
whole life was marked by wisdom, prudence, integrity,
firmness, and benevolence. Great consistency was manifested
in all his deportment. He died April 4th, 1803, in the 82d
year of his age--ripe in years, ripe in character and
reputation, and ripe as a Christian. The text selected for
his funeral sermon was strikingly characteristic of the
man. 'And behold, there was a man named Joseph, a
counsellor, and he was a good man and a just.'"
Rev. Joseph Badger had indeed a noble ancestry; and, in natural ability,
in creative and executive intellect, in force of character and in
general usefulness, he is probably unexcelled by the worthy examples
that in past time may have shed honor upon the name. I have dwelt thus
long on the parentage and ancestry of Mr. B., not because I regard the
tenacity of the Jewish race on the subject of lineage, nor the general
excess of oriental homage to departed fathers, but because we appreciate
the law of cause and effect, as it is manifested in the course of
hereditary descent, which forbids that any man's written history shall
begin like the priesthood of Melchizedek, successionless and without
descent.
In approaching another chapter, the early life of Mr. Badger, perhaps
nothing is more strikingly appropriate to the reader than the
exclamation which stands as the first line of an old manuscript from his
own pen, with which he begins his personal narrative, viz.: "_What a
mystery is Life!_" Ah! who can wrestle with this wonder so as to exhaust
it of its marvellousness? Who can explain the innate genius, and
impulse, with the endless play of outward circumstance, that so
constantly drive these human myriads on to their various destiny?
Scribes can record what outwardly transpires; and even the reason can do
nothing more than to look through the cluster of outward development we
call man's history, to its centre in the inward life, where, though it
may see the harmonious relationship of the facts to the soul whence they
have flown; where, though it may perceive the combination of mental and
moral qualities that make up the man, it is at last obliged to own the
impenetrability of the veil that hides the _genius_ that has taken
individual form for some end of its own; and through the whole drama of
man it owns that life is enacted in the temple of mystery. Mr. Badger's
written journal, among its opening paragraphs, has the following
quotation:
"'Tis Heaven's decree, in mercy, that mankind
Should to their future destiny be blind;
Impatient man rejects his present state,
With eager steps to meet approaching fate,
Yet would the future, in perspective cast,
Display the exact resemblance of the past;
When o'er the stage of human life we range,
The _scenes_ continue but the _actors_ change."
CHAPTER II.
CHILDHOOD.
The town of Gilmanton, which is only forty-five miles from Portsmouth,
sixteen from Concord, and eighty from Boston, is, to a great extent, of
rocky and hilly surface, having within its limits a chain of eminences
that vary in height from three hundred to one thousand feet, called the
Suncook Range, which commences at the northern extremity, near the Lake,
and extending in a south-easterly direction through the town, divides
the head-springs of the Suncook and the Soucook rivers. These fruitful
highlands, covered in their early state with various kinds of hardwood,
interspread with ever-welcome evergreens, have some commanding
positions; especially the one called Peaked Hill, from whose summit the
observer discovers within the area of his extended prospect the State
House of Concord, the Grand Monadnock,[4] in Jaffrey and Dublin, the
Ascutney,[5] in Windsor, Vt., the Moosehillock, in Coventry,[6] Mount
Major, the highest summit in the town of Gilmanton,[7] and Mount
Washington,[8] which is the highest of the White Mountains. It was
amidst scenery like this that the early unfolding of the mind of Joseph
Badger occurred, where the spirit of beauty which everywhere finds
mediums of influence and approach to man, found some romantic symbols of
her presence, with which to impress the tender mind. Nature, which is
everywhere the hundred-handed educator, is an agency not to be omitted
even in speaking of childhood, for children see it from the heart and
learn from it unconsciously. But entering the field of personal
incident, let us listen to his own recorded memories.
"I cannot describe, as some have attempted to do, what
transpired when only two or three years of age; but when
four or five, I most distinctly remember going with my
sisters on a visit to my grandsire's, Gen. Joseph Badger.
It was but a few miles, and there being a school near, I
consented through much persuasion to remain and attend it.
The departure of my sisters was to me the severest trial I
had known, one of whom however remained to comfort me. Here
new and strange things, of which I had never before heard,
presented themselves to my mind. At evening the family and
servants were all called in. I was much surprised at the
gathering, and inquired the cause. My sister told me that
we were about to attend prayers. My young expectations were
raised to see something new, as before this I had never
heard of anything of the kind. Whilst we were assembled,
the old gentleman with the greatest solemnity leaning over
his chair with his face to the wall prayed some time. I
knew not what he said, nor to whom he spoke. His speaking
with his eyes shut, and all the rest standing in profound
silence, excited much anxiety in me for an explanation. As
soon as this new scene had closed and we had retired, I
remember having asked my sister to whom it was that my
grandsire had been speaking. This to me was a mystery, as I
saw no other standing by him. She told me that he spoke to
_God_. I saw at once from her description that I was wholly
ignorant of such a Being. She also told me that there was a
place of happiness and misery, that all the good people
went to heaven, and that the wicked must be burned up. I
thought my sister Mary the happiest person in the world,
because she knew so much about those great things; and
young as I was, the story she told me filled my mind with
solemnity; whilst the view she gave me of the certain doom
of the wicked caused me to weep much, for I thought that I
was one of that number. Impressions there made, and ideas
there formed never wore off my mind.
"But another scene opened to my view, which also much
surprised me. As there were several small children about
the house, they were all called up at evening to say their
prayers. They repeated the Lord's prayer, with some
additions. This made my young heart tremble, as I thought
they were all Christians, and I knew _I_ never prayed in my
life; and further, I knew not what to say. After all the
rest had gone through their prayers, I was called up. My
grandmother asked me if I ever prayed. I answered that I
never did. She then told me to say the words after her,
which I refused to do, from the feeling in my mind that the
name of God was so holy and so great that I could not
speak that word. I wept aloud as she enjoined on me this
practice, and was finally excused. I very much dreaded to
have night come again. For several nights I was excused,
and listened to the others; but finally she insisted on my
praying, telling me plainly that I should be _made_ to
pray. That night she prepared a large whip and applied it
to me severely several times before I would submit. At
length I repeated the prayer, and from that time adopted
the practice regularly. Through the influence of my sister,
I was afterwards induced to thank my grandmother for the
whipping, though I now think some milder measures had done
as well."
In those stern Puritan days, the whip was far from being an idle
instrument in teaching the rebellious young the _fear_ of the Lord.
Whatever was accepted as duty in religion, had no compromise with the
diversity of taste and inclination in the families of the faithful. The
reader, I think, will be unable to withhold his admiration from the
naturalness of the question which the child asked in relation to _whom_
it was that the praying man was speaking; and he will hardly fail to see
the difference between his first religious devotions and the free appeal
of ancient Scripture in saying, "Choose ye this day whom ye will serve,"
as the choice was made for him, and the rod was virtuous enough to see
it enacted. He remained at this place about two years, making
considerable proficiency in learning, and, as he thought, some in
religion. Among these, his childhood's musings, was the wonder that he
never heard his father pray, and why his brothers, who were older and of
more understanding than himself, never talked about God. "It is still a
great cause of lamentation to me," said he in riper years, "that men of
understanding dwell no more on the glories of the great Benefactor. In
my opinion, a sense of religion should be early awakened, as first
impressions are lasting, whether for good or for evil, and often appear
in future years as the governing influence, as the foundation of future
action. Ask the vilest man that whirls along in his career of evil, if
he never thinks of the warnings, instructions and prayers of his fond
parent in early days, and if he answers candidly he will say that they
often arise to his condemnation. The destinies of different men are
always teaching the worth of that holy wisdom which said, 'Train up a
child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart
from it.' In glancing back at the religion of my childhood, I find that
I was unconsciously Pharisaical, and leaned on the virtue of my prayers
and good works, although in the mixture there was a great degree of
sincerity and of heartfelt repentance. Although I was wholly ignorant,
probably, of the true love of God, I have always thought that, had I
then departed this life, I should have been happy."
I have alluded to the fact that Major Peaslee Badger was not a pietist,
and that in his family were no religious forms. At this time, and some
years after, his mind, revolting from the ordinary theological teaching
of the day, was inclined to a degree of general religious unbelief. The
minds of the children were not softened and controlled by religious
reverence, the absence of which is usually followed by a degree of
rudeness in regard to all religious form. But, following the child
Joseph to his own home, now that he had learned to love the voice of
prayer, we find him for a time determined in the way he had learned.
"On my return home," says he, "I missed my praying
grandfather and his religious instructions, which had been
frequent and impressive. I also missed my devoted
grandmother, by whose side, as the silence of night came
down, I had kneeled in prayer. Here I was lost, as our
family had no form of religious worship, and their minds
were on different subjects. For a long time I kept up my
form of prayer, but at last, from two reasons, fell from my
steadfastness, which were, that my school-mates none of
them ever prayed, but made much fun of me for this
practice; and my elder brothers, on knowing that I could
pray, used to coax and hire me to do so, and then subject
me to much laughter and derision for doing it. Here I left
my religious exercise, which had served to keep my mind in
a good moral state; and a reaction soon followed, that
found me a noted swearer, using the most extravagant
expressions that one of my age could easily command; a
course in which I was encouraged by my father's hired men,
who used to reward me with much praise and laughter. I well
remember, when eight years old, of being in the company of
several of Mr. Page's boys, who lived near my father's.
Amidst my swearing, they, being very steady, began to
rebuke me and to warn me of my danger. At first, I resisted
their discourse, but the force of their arguments was such
that I was compelled to yield. This restored me from my
wicked habit, brought back my former feelings, and many a
time did I think of it afterwards. It was also very
remarkable that in 1815 I should preach in the same place
and administer baptism to one of those young men. During
this dark interval of which I have spoken, there were times
in which I had solemn reflections; sickness and death,
when I heard of them, brought to my mind my former promise,
and my thoughts always arose to my Creator whenever I heard
the voice of thunder.
"When I was eight or nine years of age, I attended a
singing-school, in which I made rapid progress in the art,
sharing as I did, in common with our family, all of whom
were natural singers, a passionate love of music. With this
new employment I was greatly pleased. In the summer after I
was nine, I remember going to the Friends' meeting. There
was a small society in town, much despised by the popular.
Their dress and manner were new to me. It was thought in
those days a dreadful thing for a woman to speak in public;
and this was the first time that I had ever listened to a
female voice in meeting; and notwithstanding the prejudice
through which education had taught me to view them, the
persons who spake left on my mind the impression of their
sincerity. Not far from this time, I went to the
Congregational church to hear Mr. Smith. My father
inquired, on my return, if I remembered the text, to which
I replied in the negative. He then asked me if I could give
him one word the minister had spoken, to which I responded
that he said several times '_rambling wolves_,' a part of
the discourse that I could not have forgotten, as I had
heard stories of wolves and was afraid of them. I inquired
his meaning, when some of the family replied that he spoke
of the Freewill Baptists, who he said went about like
wolves, and much disturbed and deluded many good and honest
people. The occasion of this assault, as I afterwards
learned, was the great success which attended the preaching
of Elder Kendall and other of Christ's ministers in
Gilmanton and the adjoining town, where the happy effects
of the Gospel were being seen and felt."
It is indeed an old story in history, that the powerful and established
party in religion, medicine, science and politics becomes proscriptive
toward the new and the weaker organizations, a fact which cannot be
ascribed usually to the erroneousness of any one form of faith, so much
as to the natural proclivity of human nature to lord it over the weak
when put into possession of influence and power. Thus the persecuted
parties turn persecutors as soon as they win the summit of command; and
they who have tyrannized without a scruple, will at last plead for the
sanctity of individual rights as soon as they are the subjects of the
same oppression. But even these fierce winds of bigotry are able in some
degree to purify. The young and proscribed sect gets humility and
earnestness. A zeal and an enthusiasm also spring up that give them
power over the hearts of men. They grow noble through their sacrifices
and reliance on God.
"Not long after this several of the young people went to
hear the _Freewillers_, as they were at that time styled. I
accompanied them to the meeting, which was held in a
private dwelling, in a retired neighborhood, and composed
apparently of poor people. I thought they must be as bad as
I had heard them represented. They prayed, they wept, they
exhorted with much fervor and pathos, and notwithstanding I
so much hated their manners, something reached my heart
that robbed me for the time of all lightness and
irreverence. Robinson Smith was the minister who spoke at
this meeting, a strong, healthy man, of unusually clear and
commanding voice. He spoke with power. Some of our company
returned in solemnity of spirit, whilst others derided the
scene we had witnessed. Shortly after this, among my early
reminiscences of Gilmanton, was a weekly conference, in
which various persons spoke, offered prayers, and related
their experience in things pertaining to religion--a
meeting to which I was led sometimes from the examples of
others, sometimes from curiosity, and sometimes from an
inward desire to possess what Christians said they enjoyed.
Thus was my early nature swayed by strong emotions,
sometimes to good and sometimes to evil."
These pages, quoted from a private journal, written more than thirty
years ago, nearly conclude all that pertains to his early life in
Gilmanton. I have lingered thus long on these early years, because every
man is indicated by his earliest development--certainly that part of him
which may inhere in the natural character. It is true that man's latest
period contains all his previous stages, somewhat as the earth we now
inhabit contains the marks and proofs of all its previous states; yet,
it is not given us to see the historical succession in man from a glance
at the matured result. We follow the steps of nature, in whose procedure
childhood and youth are not only illustrations of the substantial
genius, temperament, and character, but are powerful _causes_ in the
performance of the remaining acts of life's drama. In these early years
of Joseph Badger, a strong emotional nature is exhibited--a nature that
could not be inactive--one that was easily reached by earnest moral and
religious appeal, and one that overflowed in a wild excess of energy
whenever the finer restraints of reverence were cast aside.
CHAPTER III.
YOUTH AND EDUCATION.
About this time, 1801, Major Peaslee Badger contemplated a change in his
plans of life, the execution of which removed the subject of this memoir
far away from the lovely waters and the romantic hills of his native
town in New Hampshire. It also removed him from the various advantages
of the better social influence and culture which belong to an older form
of society; but it also rewarded him with the freedom, hardihood, and
self-reliance of forest life.
Anxious to make farmers of his sons, Major Badger resolved to further
this purpose by selling his farm in Gilmanton, and by making a more
extensive purchase in a new country. At this early time, when emigration
had not directed its course to the valley of the Mississippi, and when
the attractions of Iowa and Minnesota lay sealed up for a future
development, the mind of Mr. Badger was directed to the fertile woodland
region of Lower Canada, which at that time was regarded as the best part
of the world. To this region he accordingly made a journey, was much
pleased with the country, and, after selling his farm in Gilmanton,
which he sold for between four and five thousand dollars, he again
visited this section of the king's dominions, in company with his eldest
son, where he purchased eight hundred acres of the best of land. Only a
few families at this time resided in the town. Leaving his son and
several hired men to wage the war of industrious labor on the primeval
wilderness around them, he returned home, and recruiting himself with
new forces, and taking with him all necessary farming utensils, with
several yoke of oxen, hastened to join the company that were already at
work in turning the wilderness into a fruitful field. When he had
arrived within eighteen miles of his land, a wilderness of wide extent
spread out before him. No road was visible. Sending some of his men
forward as surveyors, and setting others to work in cutting a road
through the woods, he continued slowly his progress; and, finally
receiving some assistance from the inhabitants of the town of Stanstead,
and augmenting his company with the addition of those who had been
laboring on his farm, he went forward with the road with great courage
and success, building several bridges across large streams, and
conquering every obstacle in the way till an excellent road was
completed through the whole distance to his farm. It has since become a
highway of great travel, and is known by the name of the Badger Road to
this day. This brave pioneer opened the way for the settlement of the
town. Building a small cottage for temporary convenience, they
prosecuted their work with zeal for several weeks, when they constructed
a house for permanent residence, the best that had, at that time, been
built in the town. These preparations being made, Major Badger returned
to convey his family to their new abode, in the town of Compton, Lower
Canada, for which place they set out in February, 1802, in eight
sleighs, laden with provisions and furniture, and after nineteen days
of slow and expensive journeying, experiencing the alternations of good
and evil fortune, they arrived on the 4th or 5th of March at their new
home in the woods. Woman is ever the natural conservative, loving her
established and long-tried home.
"My mother," says Mr. B., "was much opposed to the new
arrangement, which caused her to leave her kind friends and
neighbors; but such was her fortitude that none discovered
her feelings. In taking leave of our native town and near
relatives, the greatest solemnity filled my heart. Many
wept at our departure, and I could scarcely bear up under
the grief I felt in leaving the place of my birth. As we
arrived at our new habitation, and my mother viewed her
lonely palace, she could no longer suppress her feelings,
but sat down and wept, whilst my sisters were also sad, and
murmured somewhat at the new prospect before them. I
wondered that my father should think of living in the midst
of a forest, but thought that what others could accomplish,
we could certainly do."
The contrast between the cheerful society and scenery of Gilmanton, and
the solitude of this woodland region, which was swept by colder winds
than the climate of the east had known; the isolation of the place,
which required a journey of seventy miles to purchase the necessary
grains for seed and family consumption, were calculated to awaken a deep
feeling of loneliness, and at the same time to invigorate the spirit
with new energy and promptings to personal efforts. But man's nature is
flexible, and easily bends to every variety of condition. As soon as
the news of their arrival had spread, nearly all the inhabitants of the
town came in to greet them in a friendly visit; and soon spring unfolded
in all its gayety of woodland gem and costume, whilst all the company
became laborers to the extent of their respective abilities. Joseph, now
ten years of age, who had known nothing of work, learned his first
lessons in the sugar groves of the new farm. Soon they became contented
with their situation, and the woody solitudes gave cheering proofs of
transition, as extended acres appeared to view, ready to bear the
verdure of the meadow, or the harvests of golden grain. On each side of
the Coatecook river lay four hundred acres; the eastern swell was called
Mount Pleasant, the western, Mount Independence. Here, in a few years,
they reaped a large prosperity from the productive earth. In the journal
of Mr. B. I find a notice of the total eclipse in 1806, the effects that
followed it on the agricultural prospects of that country, and the
melancholy thoughtfulness which the day inspired in his own mind. The
effect was great, according to his statement; so much so as to be
sensibly felt through the seasons. Fourteen acres carefully planted with
fruit-trees and grafted with the best of scions, yielded nothing to
reward the toil of the laborer.
In the general picture here presented, the reader may see the theatre of
action occupied by the young man who was destined in future years to
impress great numbers with his own ideas and sentiments. Doubtless there
are in the world some conventional minds, who, hastily deciding all
things by local prejudice or capricious fashion, would hold it
impossible for genius and power to hail from any but certain favored
localities; from college routine, and the aids of walls of books and of
titled professors. But this is not the way in which the goddess of force
and faculty distributes her gifts and makes her highest elections. She
is by no means afraid of mountains and woodland solitudes; nor does she
despair of winning her ends when professors and colleges do not wait
upon her bidding. She exults rather in natural productions; being able
to turn the night-stars, heaven's winds, earth's flowers, and even
common events, into teachers; and the same of all experience and inward
faculty. She brings a universal power from Stratford to London, from
Ayreshire to Edinburgh, from Vosges and Domremi to Orleans and to
Rheims. All great men are educated. The only variance resides in the
modes and teachers. We like it that a prophet should, in early life,
hail from the woodland world, and that the vastness and tranquillity of
landscapes should reside in his public discourse; that his words and
manners should savor, not of dry scholastic pretension and mannerism,
but of songsters' voices, of colossal trees, wild rose and rushing
brooks. Mr. B., however, for his time and day, was an educated man; we
mean even in the more restricted sense in which the world understands
this word; and certainly he was this, in its most important meanings.
"We soon had opportunity," says Mr. Badger, "for education in our new
country. This was very pleasing to me, and I felt the necessity of
improving every privilege of the kind." And I would say that those who
knew him in after life could not but see in him the rare faculty
bestowed on some of our race, that of turning a few means to a great
account.
Passing on to his fifteenth year, he speaks of a season of illness,
occasioned by excessive ambition at manual labor, which kept him from
school a part of the time during one summer. "My sickness," he says,
"was of pleuritic nature, and at times my life was despaired of. A few
Christian people had moved into the place, and during my sickness, some
of them conversed with me on the subject of religion. At times I
remember to have wept, and supposed that my condition was deplorable.
The death of a Christian woman, who had often conversed with me,
occurring at this time, made a deep impression on my mind. My
reflections, when alone, were melancholy in the extreme. I often wished
I had died when young; and frequently did I promise God that if my life
was spared I would serve Him." Many paragraphs of this sort, whilst they
may wear a tinge of the religious culture common to the age, show deep
and unharmonized strivings of soul. To those who knew his great
vivacity, the fact of melancholy, which he records in the journal of his
youth, may seem strange; but it is natural. In susceptible and
thoughtful natures, in natures of deep strivings, there is ever a
stratum of seriousness, wearing at times the tinge of sadness. The soul,
in such, will often say, "I am in Time an exile. The earth cannot feed
me;" and especially will this feeling be active in the early experience,
before the wisdom of years has given stability to life, to its aims and
emotions.
But a young man like him could not be otherwise than fond of amusement.
With young company of his age he frequently met, and was accustomed to
spend considerable of the time when together in the favorite pastime of
the young--the dance.
His elder brothers settling for themselves in life, threw an increased
burden of care upon Joseph, whose health was so far restored as to act
his part efficiently. His father about this time entered into the
mercantile business, which turned out to his disadvantage; and soon
after this, when seven miles from home, he had the misfortune to break
his leg, suffering extremely for fifteen days, expecting constantly that
amputation would have to take place. Recovering so far as to admit of
removal home, after a long time he was restored to health. "After this,"
says his son, "he twice met the severe misfortune to break his leg, and
on the 5th Sept., 1814, it was amputated six inches above the knee. This
and several such misfortunes, in part, reduced him from the high station
in which he was born and had formerly lived."
"The first preaching that we heard was by an old gentleman
of the name of Huntington. He was a Universalist, a good
man, I think, but not a great preacher. He addressed the
people for the greater part of one summer generally at my
father's house. I do not remember to have seen anything
like reform among the people. The old gentleman died in a
few years, and I trust has gone to rest. Also Elders[9]
Robinson Smith and A. Moulton, of Hatley, a neighboring
town, favored us with their ministry. We called them
Free-willers, but their preaching was life-awakening, and
it was held in remembrance long after they were gone,
although they saw no immediate fruits of their labors. I
recollect of hearing Mr. Moulton once, the first time I
think I ever saw him. His voice to me was like thunder. For
several days after, it seemed as though I could hear the
sound of it."
This indeed is the proof of God's presence in the mission, that the
minister has that to say which the sinner _cannot forget_, that which
lingers in his way like an invisible spell. The man who has God's word
is not a mere lecturer or essayist in the holy temple. He has words of
divine fire to speak, an undying love to utter, a warning of eternity to
hold forth. He _commands_ the giddy and the sinful to listen to a voice
which, if he repent not, will tingle in his ears even to his dying day.
Smooth, elegant composition may be patiently taught, and patiently
learned, but God's living word out of heaven to unfaithful man, is
another thing. This word has many organs, finds its way far and near,
and reaches the heart of the ardent young man whose footsteps are on the
classic ground, or in the larger path of nature's wild.
"When about sixteen or seventeen," continues the journal,
"I heard that a young man about my age from Vermont would
preach in our vicinity. There was a great move to hear him,
and I resolved to go. The house was full. He was evidently
one much engaged in God's work. He looked very pale and
much worn out. Mr. Moulton was with him, prayed at the
beginning of the meeting, after which the young man,
Benjamin Putnam, came forward, and in a manner and address
that were engaging, and to me peculiarly pleasing, preached
a sermon from Isaiah 22:22; a text which I shall never
forget. 'And the key of the house of David will I lay upon
his shoulder: so he shall open, and none shall shut; and he
shall shut, and none shall open.' He described Christ as
the Son of God, and the power as being laid upon his
shoulder; he also dwelt on what he had opened both to and
for man, which none could shut, and finally spoke of the
closing of the same door, which none should be able to
open. I thought this discourse more glorious than anything
I had ever heard. I thought him the happiest young man I
ever saw. As soon as meeting was closed he came forward
through the assembly and spoke to my brother, which had a
solemn effect on us both. Many of his expressions I have
ever remembered.
"The Methodist ministers next made their way into our town,
and I have always thought that they came in the name and
spirit of the Highest. They were humble and earnest. As my
father's family seldom attended their meetings, I perhaps
did not become acquainted with the first that came. Hays
and Briggs were the first I heard. While listening to the
farewell sermon of the former I remember to have been
deeply affected, and one evening, while listening to Mr.
Briggs, I felt a strong conviction of my sin, and believed
that I was undone without regeneration. They first formed a
small class in town. Leaving the circuit the next year,
Joseph Dennet and David Blanchard were their successors,
under whose ministry many of the old and the young were
turned to God, whilst even children were made happy in
Christ. I think that the preaching of the latter was the
first that ever brought tears from my eyes. Also, in those
days, we had frequent visits from the missionaries, but I
do not remember that their preaching had much effect on my
own mind or that of any other person.
"In the conflict of good and evil tendencies in the minds
of young men who share largely of the passions and
giddiness which characterize the period of one's youth, it
is interesting to contemplate the skill with which these
influences assail each other, each winning its temporary
victory, and each wrestling at times with great might for
the doubtful mastery. Notwithstanding these solemn emotions
to good, I was quite wild and had several bad habits. In
hearing Mr. H. preach the summer I was eighteen, I was much
aroused to a sense of duty, and though seeing the way of my
life to be death, my determinations as yet were not equal
to the chain of habit that bound me. On the first of August
I looked forward to the 16th, which was my birthday, as the
day in which I should begin to walk in newness of life, and
for several days this occupied my thoughts. But the time
passed, and my resolution with it, whilst my feelings
reacted more strongly than ever toward my former ways. The
Spirit of God righteously strives with sinners; and many
have I seen on languishing beds lamenting their early
resistance to the holy influence, and that they had ever
broken their promise to Him. I had a taste for reading, and
spent much of my time in the perusal of novels and with
vain young company. A young man by the name of Richardson
was my most intimate friend. On the Sabbath and every other
opportunity we were together; we spent the time mostly in
reading; I thought I enjoyed happiness in his society. In
our assemblies for diversion we ever had a good
understanding. His friendship lasted until my conversion,
when something far more glorious opened to my view. It
appeared a great mystery to him, and it caused me much
sorrow to leave him, but the first lesson I learned from
the cross taught me how to relinquish and how to renounce.
"In the autumn of 1810 we had many vain assemblies for
dancing and other recreations. Never had I before gone so
far in wickedness as at this time. But, in the midst of our
gayety, events of Providence compelled our thoughts to
serious objects, as death, through the agency of a fatal
fever, spread over the town its sorrow and sadness, cutting
off the old and the young indiscriminately. On the 10th of
January, 1811, I commenced a journey to New Hampshire, to
visit my friends, whom I had not seen since 1802. When I
arrived at Stanstead, I passed several days with a cousin
of mine who was engaged in teaching the art of dancing. He
was an agreeable gentleman, and of great talents; but it
was a grief to his friends that he had taken to this
employment. I was much pleased with the instructions he
gave me, as I was anxious to attain perfection in the art.
"With several young men I proceeded on my way to New
Hampshire, and making the journey merry with rudeness and
laughter, we prosecuted it till I arrived at Gilmanton.
Here I found that my honored grandsire no longer occupied
his place on earth. His companion, who had watched over my
childhood for two years, and had made the voice of prayer
familiar to my lips, still survived. Several other
relatives had also gone to their long home, and though
these things made little impression on my heart, owing to
the state of my mind, I could not but solemnly reflect on
the hand that had so long upheld me, when I visited my
early home, the place of my birth, and recalled the many
scenes of my childhood freshly to mind. We have in life but
one childhood, and no hours of retrospect put us into such
unison with nature as when we live it over in the revival
of its scenes.
"I passed several weeks in Gilmanton, attending school a
part of the time, and freely enjoyed the company of my
young friends. My sister Mary, the wife of General
Cogswell, occasionally rebuked me for my lightness, and
though I made light of her admonitions at the time, they
made much impression on my mind. But most of all I dreaded
that my uncle, Mr. Smith, who had been the minister of the
place for thirty years, should talk to me about religion. I
was very loth to visit him at all, but I stayed with him
the last night I remained in town, and to my happy
disappointment escaped the drilling I had so much feared,
as he did not once mention the subject. In company with my
cousin, Joseph Smith, I set out the next day for home, and
by evening arrived at Judge William Badger's, a cousin of
mine, with whom we had an excellent visit. The next day,
when passing through Meredith, we saw a young man standing
in the door of a house with a multitude around him. The
building appeared to be full of people, to whom he was
preaching. We arrived that evening at Camptown, and though
I was nearly sick and my spirits depressed by some
influence I could not define, and my mind uninterested by
surrounding objects, I yielded to the persuasion of my
cousin to go on. Nothing was able to interest me. After
some time we started for the place since so much
celebrated, the Notch of the White Mountains.
"But nature, which to me was ever welcome, did not attract
me as usual. A spirit, over which I had not control, seemed
to work within me to the extreme of solemn conviction.
People, road, trees, rivers--all seemed gloomy, and I
appeared to myself as a monument spared to unite with them
in mourning. We finally passed the gloomy Notch, and as I
drank in its lonely influence, I felt, unavoidably, its
likeness to the mood of my own spirit. At Franconia, many
new prospects and objects appeared to view. The manufactory
of iron was at that time and there a great curiosity. At
Littleton, further on in our journey, we rode on the river,
as it was hardly frozen. I disguised my feelings, and as we
were riding along, several in number, I fell in the rear
that I might enjoy the meditations in which my mind was
absorbed. At this time, an old gentleman, whose silver
locks and grave appearance attracted my attention, appeared
near me, coming from his house to the river to draw water.
My eyes were fixed upon him. 'How far,' said he, 'is your
company journeying?' To the province of Lower Canada, I
answered. 'Do you live there?' said he. I answered that I
did. Then in a solemn tone the old patriarch inquired, 'Is
there any religion in that part of the world?' I was
surprised to hear this subject introduced by a stranger. I
told him there were some in our country who professed
religion. He then burst into a flood of tears, and exhorted
me with a warm-hearted pathos to seek salvation, and,
though I disclosed none of my feelings to him, I was most
deeply moved, and the image of the venerable old man was
continually before my eyes through the day. I could
scarcely refrain from weeping; and whatever others may
think of such apparently accidental events, I am free to
confess, that from that time until now, I have firmly
believed that this old gentleman was a God-sent prophet
unto me. The impressions he made continued till I enjoyed
the sweet religion that inspired his look and his voice. I
have often wished that I might see him and humble myself in
thankfulness before him, a thing not to be expected in this
life.
"When we arrived at Stewardstown, near the head of the
Connecticut river, I parted with my cousin, whose
destination was different from my own. Crossing the line,
I passed the night with Dr. Ladd, a friend of my father,
who was a Christian and a man of extended knowledge. I
treasured up many of his observations. I was then only
twenty miles from home, and heard the sad news of the
ravages sickness had made during my absence, which greatly
disturbed me with the thought that I should never again see
all my friends. On the 10th of March, however, I arrived,
and though fearful to inquire for my relatives, found, to
my joy, that they were all well. In company I sought to be
cheerful, but in solitude the keenest sensations of sadness
were active.
"Having business with my cousin at Stanstead, I made him a
visit, where I heard a missionary preach and attended as a
pall-bearer at a funeral, to which my feelings were much
averse. On my return, when I had proceeded as far as
Barnston, for some cause I returned a mile and a half, and
taking a lantern started on foot through the woods, when
suddenly a storm exhibited its signs of dark and angry
violence. When about half through the forest, the winds,
thunder and lightning were terrific. The rain fell in
torrents, my light was soon extinguished, and nothing was
left to guide me through the swamp except the lurid flashes
of the lightning that made the gloom more terrible. Several
trees were struck and fell near me across the road; some
branches fell from the tree I had chosen for my shelter, as
the tempest mingled with darkness, raged in madness; and
never was I so deeply impressed with the might of Him who
rules the world and sways the elements. Here I gained a
fresh idea of the awful power and mercy of God. I was
nearly induced to kneel upon the earth, and there, in the
storm, make a covenant with my Maker.
"At length the storm ceased and I arrived in safety at the
house of a friend. The next day I reached home, and though
met by cheerful faces, through the state of my mind, the
music of their tones were as mournful sounds. The company
in which I had found delight, could no longer entertain me;
my home was dressed in mourning, my pillow wet with tears,
and the bright prospects which had cheered me had vanished
from my sky. I had no heart for business, no relish for
pleasure. O how tiresome was every place! I read the Bible
in private; often left my father's table in tears; often
retired to the grove whose trees, more than those around
me, seemed to know my heart, that I might relieve my soul
in weeping. None knew the cause of this love of
solitariness. Some said 'he suffers the influence of
disappointment;' others, that 'he is plotting something for
advantage:' none supposed that within me a deep striving
was separating me from the world and leading me to the
Fountain of Salvation. This period was a severe trial.
Every power, it would seem, combined to test my spirit.
Sometimes, from the conflict within, whilst darkness held
its temporary victory, I was almost tempted to be angry
with the Powers above, and with the whole creation; and
once, I remember to have so far fallen under the evil
power, as to swear at the existing order of things. It was
continual trouble. I strove to labor what I could, and to
fulfil my station in the family, using all the fortitude I
could command. Here many things occurred that I shall not
particularize; some things between my father and myself,
which I once thought I should mention in every respect, but
which the delicacy of the subject and the tenderness of our
relation prevent. I can only say that my father was of
deistical opinions, and at that time did not possess the
degree of friendship and tenderness for the cause of
religion which I could have wished him to, and which he
indeed possessed some months after.
"At times, everything seemed to unite in tormenting me, in
causing me trouble; again, all things in nature, when my
clouds were partially dispersed, had a voice for the
Creator's praise. I alone was untuned. The very winds, as
they passed, spoke of His power. The stars, ever calm,
looked down in love, seeming faithfully to perform the will
of their Ordainer; and the flowers of the earth, which
bloomed in beauty, sending forth their fragrance to His
honor; and the songs of birds, whose notes were full of the
primeval innocence, all combined to administer reproof. The
following lines would then have spoken my feelings, as the
full-blown spring-time lay unfolded around me:
"'Ye warblers of the vernal shade
Whose artless music charms my ear,
Your loveliness my heart upbraids--
My languid heart, how insincere!
While all your little powers collected, raise
A tribute to your great Creator's praise.
"'Ye lovely offsprings of the ground,
Flowers of a thousand beauteous dyes,
You spread your Maker's glory round,
And breathe your odor to the skies:
Unsullied you display your lively bloom,
Unmingled you present your sweet perfume.
"'Ye winds that waft the fragrant spring,
You, whispering, spread His name abroad,
Or shake the air with sounding wing,
And speak the awful power of God:
His will, with swift obedience, you perform,
Or in the gentle gale or dreadful storm.
"'Ye radiant orbs that guide the day
Or deck the sable veil of night,
His wondrous glory you display,
Whose hand imparts your useful light:
Your constant task, unwearied, you pursue,
Nor deviate from the path your Maker drew.
"'O Lord! thy grace my languid heart can raise,
These dissipated powers unite,
Can bid me pay my debt of praise
With love sincere and true delight:
Oh! let thy power inspire my heart and tongue,
Then will I, grateful, join Creation's song.'
"Leaving company almost entirely, and not going into
society except on certain occasions, to please my friends
or escape reproach, I gave myself up to solitary meditation
and to the inward and undefined strivings of my being. In
this state of spiritual disquietude, I felt no impulse to
attend a church. I was most at home when alone. I heard
divine voices where there was no man to act as medium or
interpreter. At a funeral, I recollect having assisted in
singing, and to have heard from Elder Moulton a sermon that
impressed me, he being a man of considerable spiritual
power, and one for whom I had particular respect. I heard
him also a second time after this, when he most deeply
affected my mind. I sometimes repaired to the forest for
the express purpose of coming to God in prayer, but for
some time was restrained from speaking aloud or kneeling on
the earth. My heart was often eased in weeping; and though
I had no _form_ of prayer, I believe I prayed as really, as
acceptably, as ever I did. Is it not a strange doctrine, so
generally promulgated, that sinners, previous to
conversion, ought not to pray? To me it is a dark doctrine.
The Scriptures do not intimate it. My experience, the
divine command, and common sense oppose the dogma. The fact
that men are morally weak and sinful, is itself a
sufficient occasion for prayer.
"One Sunday, without the knowledge of our family, I went
about two miles to attend a Methodist meeting, in which
several spoke, and spoke well. Mrs. John Gilson, a little,
delicate woman, with much diffidence arose to speak. Her
wisdom and manner won my heart, and her message, which was
particularly to me, seemed to carry the evidence that it
was from God. I could never forget it. I knew she was my
friend, and believed that she spoke for my good, and I
would have rendered her my thanks at the close, but for the
restraining power of a sentiment common to me, which was,
an unwillingness to disclose to any one my deepest
emotions. We had been taught by some, that before we could
attain salvation, we should be willing to be damned and
lost. I never had this willingness. But, in candor, I must
say that my sense of guilt was so deep that I felt I had
merited the sentence to be finally uttered against the
impenitent."
The reader will perceive that the thread of this journal is drawn from
such portions of Mr. Badger's early life as seem most directly to
express its various moral phases. From other points of experience, it is
natural to suppose, much was omitted, the main purpose being that of
tracing the moral history of his mind through the years of his youth. I
think I never opened a journal that contained throughout a plainer
natural impress of truth and reality.
CHAPTER IV.
CONVERSION.
"Repent ye therefore and be converted, that your sins may
be blotted out."--ST. PETER.
To every work there is a crisis which openly exhibits success or
failure. To every growth there are certain perceptible changes by which
we note the progress from incipiency to the mature state. There is a
symbolical new birth in nature when the rose-tree blooms, when leafless
wintry trees are green with foliage and white with blossoms. Summer is a
regeneration in the state of the earth, and it is none the less so
because we cannot point out the moment, hour, or day, in which the
actual summer assumed its effective reign. None fail to see the
difference between June and January. If in July you meet the bending
lilac, it silently tells you of all that March, April, May and June have
done for it. So man's moral periods are marked. The soul in its
struggles after divine life, through penitence and faith, reaches a
crisis of victory and development of holy purpose, principle and power,
which the church has generally agreed to call conversion, and for which
we know no better name.
The journal of Mr. Badger, which refers to this epoch of his spiritual
history, is headed with a poem on Christ, of which we have space for
only a few lines:
"Oh! glorious Father, let my soul pursue
The wondrous labyrinth of love divine,
And follow my Redeemer to the cross.
Nailed to the cross--his hands, his feet, all torn
With agonizing torture!
Stupendous sacrifice! Mysterious love!
He died! The Lord of life--the Saviour died!
All nature sympathizing, felt the shock.
The sun his beams withdrew, and wrapt his face
In sable clouds and midnight's deepest shade,
To mourn the absence of a brighter sun--
The Sun of righteousness eclipsed in death!
A short eclipse. For soon he rose again,
All glorious, to resume his native skies!
Oh, love beyond conception!
In silent rapture all my powers adore."
In the religious experience of Joseph Badger, as intimated by this poem,
Christ with him is always the central sun, the presiding power.
"I do not think," says Mr. B., "that persons can _tell_
their religious experience, if their change is real and
they have fully felt the effects of love divine. They are
led to say with St. Peter, that it is 'joy unspeakable and
full of glory.' Human language cannot describe the fulness
and sweetness of the religion of Christ. Viewing the
invisible depth of its wealth, how faint are our
descriptions? How weak our best comparisons, and the
metaphors by which we attempt to represent it! The soul
which has become a partaker of the divine nature, of its
love, is ever ready to exclaim--'The half had never been
told me;' yet words, and other imperfect signs, will easily
indicate the presence of the reality enjoyed.
"Eighteen hundred and eleven! that memorable year will
never be forgotten by thousands now living, on account of
the victorious spread of the Gospel in North America.
Generations yet unborn will trace the pages of
ecclesiastical history with anxiety and delight, to learn
what transpired among their ancestors during this year. But
how soon, when a heavenly influence is in the ascendant,
some counteracting power will enter the field with ruinous
violence! The cruel war soon succeeded, and devastation
spread her vermilion garb over our happy and enlightened
land.
"As I have already alluded, in a former chapter, to the
feelings of moral conviction that wrought in my breast, I
will only say that they began with this year, and were of a
kind neither to be drowned nor driven away. Not for Adam's
sins, or the sins of our fathers, did I feel condemned; it
was only for such as belonged to me. Light had come and I
had chosen darkness. I therefore cast no reflections on any
class of persons, as the Gospel, conscience, and the
creation, seemed to unite in proclaiming--'Thou art the
man;' and under a sense of my ingratitude to Jesus, the
sinner's Friend, I felt to add my hearty Amen, and say,
'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight,
and am no more worthy to be called thy son.'"
In the pride of philosophical speculation, there are knowing ones who
rob the rich idea of God of personality; also, in the attempts to deify
the sacred parchments of Palestine, others unwittingly superannuate the
Holy Ghost, driving us all to live solely upon ancient words--words that
were undoubtedly its breathings when spoken. But one page from the
journal of such an experience as that of Mr. Badger is better than all
learned theory. Every page referring to his mind's exercise abounds in
_feeling_--earnest, real feeling. He believes in the God of action, who
converts the repentant soul by his holy, actual agency; in Jesus he
believes as the lone sinner's Friend and Saviour; in the Holy Spirit he
confides, not doubting its real striving in his own heart; in the
oracles of prophets, of Jesus, and of the apostles, he holds unwavering
faith that they are God's real, eternal word; whilst his frequent and
many tears in private attest his deep sincerity in seeking his soul's
salvation. He recognizes the supernatural, the miraculous, in the
conversion of the sinner; and whatever we may concede to the
rationalistic statement on this subject in our severely philosophical
moods, it is certain that the miraculous statement is the one which more
than it concentrates the diviner charm and the more commanding energy.
It has ever been so; the statement wearing the outward miraculous hue,
is the strong one--the one that holds the element of triumph; and though
we do not hold that any work of God with man violates the constitution
and laws of the human mind, it would have struck us with diminished
effect had St. Paul, before Agrippa, discoursed on the accordance of his
conversion with some _a priori_ argument for an abstract Christianity,
or of its accordance with his own nature, and with all nature. This
intellectualizing on great vital facts, whatever may be its
philosophical merits, can never come up to the bold and picturesque
sublimity of the words--"At mid-day, O king, I saw in the way a light
from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me;
and I heard a voice speaking unto me and saying, Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou me?" Such passages reach the soul in every clime, as
abstraction never could; and from the reverence we have been accustomed
to pay to universal convictions, and from the effect of such eloquence
on our own feelings, we believe that mankind have not been fools in the
cherishing of faith which brings Divinity into active and wonder-causing
contact with humanity. If we have a God in our faith, let us have one
who can _do_ something, _say_ something, and _impart_ something to them
who ask him, and not a tender abstraction who has no thunder for
transgressors, and who is so lenient and plausible that no lawless
spirit shall regard him as any essential obstruction in his way.
Characters of most energy always grow up under the faith of God's
omnipotence, of his awful majesty, beautified by justice and love.
The youth of this memoir looked around upon the dark world, and upward
to the great God for his spirit's rest, and searched through the
labyrinth of his own conflicting emotions to find a rock for his feet.
Often his "eyes were rivers of waters;" and, "as I looked around for
comfort, every place revealed some circumstance that gave to grief a
keener edge." He is now so deeply touched by the Holy Spirit that
nothing filled him with delight like the tender portraiture of the love
of Christ; the profane word was now a loathed and jarring discord in his
ear; the songs of the wicked deepened his sadness, and often did he
repeat to himself, in tears, the well-known lines, "Alas! and did my
Saviour bleed!" which he tells us had the power to penetrate his heart
of hearts, whilst the most secret and hidden recesses of the wild
witnessed his humble thank-offerings of praise and contrite confessions
of sin. Without a minister to aid him, and without the sustaining
sympathy of a single human creature, he continued to wage his warfare
with the powers of darkness. A young man, alone, with resolves and
feelings unknown to man, longing for the clouds of his being to
disperse, and for the influx of the immortal light to crown his life!
This spectacle, however it may strike the mere formalist and the seeker
of material good, is one which, to us, joins with myriads of
heart-histories in different climes, to attest the derivation of the
soul from God, to declare its yearnings and struggles against the
obstacles of sin and sense, that it may regain the atmosphere and light
of its native original heaven.
Contrary to the customs of his family, he went, once in a great while,
to the Methodist meetings, a denomination whose power to reach the
popular mind all over the world is known and honored. At one of these
meetings, July, 1811, the persons present supposed, from his former
reputation for rudeness, that he was there perhaps to criticise
derisively their humble manner of worship. When Mrs. Tilden arose and
said, "The eyes of the world are upon us, and if any came here to feast
upon our failings, or to spy out our liberties, let us starve them to
death, by living such lives that they can find no action of which to
speak reproachfully"--after a few moments, he arose and said:
"I very much regret that any of my neighbors and friends
should, for one moment, imagine me as an enemy, or suppose
that I came here to ridicule what may pass before me. Far
be it from my mind. I believe religion is what all men need
to make them happy in time and eternity. With all my heart
I wish you well and hope you will go on your way
rejoicing."
This was the first time he had spoken in public, and though the object
of his remark was merely to furnish a gentlemanly apology for being
present, it caused the religious people much joy, as they saw him sit
down in tears; and ever after his companions regarded him differently,
all of whom were startled with surprise, and some wept as they heard his
words.
"One of my young friends, a respectable young man,
conversed with me on the subject. I stated to him all I had
said, and in part I manifested my feelings to him with some
degree of boldness. He expressed a fear that I would become
deluded, though, by the way, he had never manifested a fear
of the kind when we used to dance, play cards, and spend
the Sabbath together in the reading of novels. 'About the
things of religion,' said he, 'it is not well to be in
haste. It is a subject which needs the greatest
deliberation.' With this I agreed. He further remarked, 'If
a person thinks of such things, it is not best to give
expression to such thoughts, because people will talk about
it, and you,' continued he, 'are already a subject of
conversation. Many are concerned for you, and wish your
society, and you know it is a disgrace for us to go among
those foolish and ignorant Methodists.' By these remarks,
coming from a particular friend, I was embarrassed, but
soon learned that I must leave all, and part with my
dearest companions for Christ; that two masters it was
impossible to serve; and in my indecision I seemed to hear
a voice as from heaven, saying, 'Choose ye this day whom ye
will serve,' impressing my mind with the idea that then was
the time for me to secure an interest in the Great
Redeemer. Great things of eternity were continually resting
on my mind; the saints, as they had opportunity, began to
talk with me, of which I was glad, though to them I did
not say much, as I was resolved that others should not know
my feelings; even if I were ever so happy as to feel my
sins forgiven, I was determined not to say much about it to
others, and certainly not to make such an ado over it as
many did.
"I was in search for a great and sudden change. About
August 1st, 1811, I felt impressed to retire and unbosom
myself to the Eternal God, and cry once more for mercy.
Walking through the woods to a large valley, I there, by a
murmuring brook, fell on my knees and gave vent to my
burdened heart in prayer. For a moment my soul felt
delivered of all her griefs, and for a few moments I sung
and praised God in that delightful place with all my heart;
but doubts arose, and as I cast over the scene the eyes of
reason, my little heaven vanished, and I remained in
silence. I began to fear that I was walking by the light of
imagination, and was warming myself by sparks of my own
kindling.
"I began to be more familiar with the saints, sometimes
revealing to them in part my determinations, and always
gaining strength by so doing. I had not the same
consciousness of sin as before. At times, before I was
aware of it, my mind would be soaring above on heavenly
things; the Scriptures would beautifully open to my mind,
and glorious would seem the things of religion; yet I
scarcely dared to rejoice. I derived much benefit and
instruction from the conversation of the saints, and though
I asked their prayers, I neither united with them in
prayer, nor kneeled according to their custom. The narrated
experience of others aided me some, and as all my Christian
friends advised me to pray, I again kneeled in the solitude
of nature to invoke divine aid, when the reflection that I
was in the presence of an Omnipotent God sealed my lips in
silence. Almost fearing that my performances were but
mockery, I felt inclined to despair. The next day gleams of
hope entered my mind; and on Sunday, hearing many speak of
the power of God, and of trials they had passed through, in
a manner, some of them, that exactly expressed my feelings,
I took courage, because there were others in whose
Christianity I had confidence, who felt in some respects as
I did. Moved, as I think, by the Spirit of God, and from a
high state of mental resolve, I arose and told the assembly
that I was determined to seek my happiness in religion, in
which alone I believed it could be found. Many of the
saints praised God aloud, and my soul was filled with joy
and peace that were unspeakable. My love to the faithful
was far superior to anything that ever before had dilated
my heart. On my return home the very winds that waved the
trees, and the streams that flowed through the quiet
valley, seemed unitedly to speak my great Creator's praise.
The fear of man now vanished, and a holy boldness moved me
to speak to all around me of the beauties of my Lord. My
soul overflowed with love to my greatest enemies, and my
wonder was that the chief of sinners did not behold the
glory of God, and unite to exalt his name. Through the
night my soul was exceedingly happy, and the next morning I
thought the sun was never before so richly laden with the
glory of God. I had never known so happy, so pleasant a
morning.
"Though I did not then suppose myself converted, I now
think, from an analysis of my feelings, that I enjoyed
something of the converting grace of God, for the following
reasons:--1st. I had a witness in my own soul that God was
my friend. 2d. I felt a vital union with all the saints,
without respect to name, age, or color. I loved them, and
could say, They are my people. Some who were poor and
ignorant, whom I had formerly despised, I was able to
embrace as my best friends. 3d. I felt a particular regard
for every creature and object God had made, and a
tenderness even to the lowest animal forms--as nothing
seemed unincluded in the bond of love that united me and
all things to Him. 4th. For the chief of sinners I felt
particular love, regarding such as brethren in nature, and
I greatly wished them to share in the peaceful wealth of
the Gospel. 5th. My former ways in which I had sought
happiness, now seemed to me as worthless and vain. Indeed I
abhorred them.
"My freedom from the former oppressive gloom, the fulness
of the tide of joy that was rising in my breast, at times
startled me with the apprehension that as I was not
converted I ought not to feel so light and so free, and my
embarrassment was increased by the circulation of the
report among the people that I was converted. They began to
call me brother, which also seemed quite too much for me;
and as I could not feel that I had experienced the change
as usually described, I began to fear that I was deceived,
which caused me much trouble and induced me to be silent
for some time, as I was unwilling to discourage or to
deceive others. Although I never had so much confidence in
dreams as some, yet at this time the glory of God was
beautifully revealed to me in night visions, and through
them my mind was relieved of many doubts and fears, and
again partook of the inward peace which the world in its
greatest ability is unable to give. For several weeks,
however, I kept my joys to myself, saying nothing in
meeting and little in private, as I was determined not to
deceive others, as I might in case my joys should prove
unreal. Employing myself constantly in reading the
Scriptures, that I might walk understandingly, my mind for
several weeks was swallowed up in the interest their pages
revealed, which unfolded a glory and beauty I cannot
describe. In my retired moments, I held sweet communion
with God, and, notwithstanding the shadows of doubt that
crossed my mind in solitude, I was truly led from glory to
glory.
"I heard others tell the day and the hour when the change
was wrought in their hearts. Herein was my greatest
trouble. My experience was not like others, nor indeed what
I supposed it would be. I knew of several times when my
mind was relieved of all its oppressions, but as I could
single out no one of them and call it conversion, I
concluded that the whole together was conversion. Though
continually thirsting for new evidence, for which I was
much drawn out in prayer, and selecting the most retired
places for holy meditation, I pondered, like Mary, these
things in my heart. Some conversations about this time,
proved beneficial to me; especially was my soul refreshed
by the dreams and night visions that came to me, making it
seem ofttimes as though angels were hovering over my bed,
and my apartment as filled with the divine glory. I was
many times ready to say, I _know_ that my Redeemer liveth."
In this manner Mr. B. records the operations of his youthful mind in
seeking to solve the most serious of all problems--his soul's salvation.
One perceives the presence of much self-distrust, much repentance; and
an abundance of sympathetic sensibility to whatever is morally powerful
and affecting in religion. Perhaps some have already taken it for
granted that this youth of overflowing energy, lonely meditation,
earnest prayer, and self-questionings, was wholly moving on the tide of
popular instruction, or that he fell as melted lead or iron, into the
moulds of theological teaching already prepared. This view is suddenly
dispersed by all that is known of the man, and by the facts of the
narrative itself. Do not sin and conscious alienation from God afford
good cause for weeping? Are not the elements of the soul itself good
reason for prayer, for deep desire and aspiration after a union of
spirit with Him who is its Parent source and the glorious Perfection, of
which it now has clear and happy glimpses? That work was unable to
absorb his mind, that society could not get very near his heart, that
his food even became tasteless, and his home a scene of mourning, are
facts that hail from certain states of mind that have their deep
significance, and which, in India and Persia, as well as in the American
wilderness, have their numerous representatives.
He speaks of a time of religious interest when his father felt the need
of something; more than Deism as a support to his mind; also of his
becoming deeply interested in the ministry of Mr. Farewell, a
Universalist minister; of his reading with great zeal the writings of
Winchester, Dr. Hunting, Ballou, and others of the same faith, often
spending whole nights in writing and study; books which, at his father's
request, he also studied; and though for a time embarrassed by the
philosophical arguments of Mr. Ballou on the Atonement and other topics,
he discarded them ere long, with an earnest decision as opposed to the
religious experience which gave him joy and hope, and as contrary to the
plain teachings of the Scriptures. At this early day Universalism was
indeed a bold extreme, it being little else than Calvinism benevolently
applied to human destiny; and its strongly controversial and
undevotional character was poorly adapted to a welcome in hearts that
were glowing with the sacred enthusiasm of religious love. One evening
he offered some speculative conversation in relation to the being and
attributes of Satan, which so hurt the minds of the converts that he
resolved no longer to harbor these negations, the dwelling upon which so
much discorded with the happy feelings inspired by their simple faith
and humble worship.
The Methodist denomination, at this time very spiritual and very
prosperous in the province, was with him a favorite, though for reasons
independent of the dictation of persons or of circumstances, he did not
become a member of their society in his town, a fact which did not at
all interfere with the entire freedom and cordial fellowship they
mutually enjoyed. A Methodist Discipline is kindly offered him. He
gladly reads, and commits it mostly to memory. But there is something in
this young man that questions the Discipline and the ministers who
explain it; that regards it as formal, and in many respects unlike the
Scriptures; that quietly declines making it the groundwork of a faith
and a sectarian position, though he does not break the happy concord
about him by obtruding open controversy. He joined no sect.
"I wondered," said he, "that saints cannot all be one. I
thought it strange that the affectionate names of
'Brethren,' 'Disciples,' 'Christians,' 'Friends,'--golden
names that I found scattered through the New Testament,
were not sufficient without the sectarian names under which
the denominations were marshalled. This was a great mystery
to me. I knew of none at that time who adopted the name of
_Christian_ as their only designation; but young and
ignorant as I then was, I thought I beheld something more
glorious than anything at which either myself or others had
as yet arrived. My trials in pondering over these things
were great. There were others who agreed with me in ideas
of liberty, that were far greater than anything within the
limits of the Discipline."
At a time when the righteousness of sectarianism was undisputed, when no
voices from the pulpit were pleading for the true catholicity of the
Christian faith, and when his associates were moved along by emotional
ardor, was it not a strong, clear-sighted, original force of the young
man that paused to ask, Why this formality and narrowness of creed? Why
these many sectarian names? Why is the unity of the religion of Jesus
broken by sects? These indeed were great questions for a young man in
1811; and in resolving them into a principle of action without
relinquishing an iota of the faith and piety that had inspired him with
hope, and joy unspeakable, he has given to the world an early proof of
the superiority of mind of which his maturer years were the exhibition.
The multitude, yielding to the enthusiasm of great moral excitement,
often float along as flood-wood. He so controlled the current that bore
him, as to be his own man, free from the despotism of any sectarian
platform.
Through the spring and summer of 1812, his mind steadily poised on
heavenly things, and anxious to do what the will of God in Christ
required, he made the subject of baptism a topic of study.
"I searched the New Testament, as I was determined to know
all that it said on the subject. I first became satisfied
from the Scriptures, and secret prayer, that baptism was an
institution of the Redeemer. 2. That it was enjoined on all
believers in the Son of God. 3. That the mode practised in
primitive days was going down into the water, and coming up
out of the water after being buried therein. Although I was
so clear relative to these three ideas, I often wept and
cried to God in secret places in view of my unworthiness;
but I received a glorious answer that in this institution
of outward acknowledgment and obedience, I ought to follow
the examples of Him who is the Way, the Truth, and Life.
One evening when my mind was much tried on this subject, I
prayed to God that if it was my duty to be baptized, I
might dream of pleasant water. That night when locked in
sleep I dreamed of riding on the most beautiful stream that
I ever had seen; also of being immersed in the pure and
tranquil element, whilst the divine glory shone around as a
sacred enchantment. When I awoke my heart was filled with
love divine, and I believe that, had there been an
administrator present, I should hardly have waited for the
day-dawn. These feelings I kept to myself; and, as I could
not think of any administrator, or fix on time and place, I
continued in this way till the first of September.
"I then went to Hatley to attend a general meeting, and a
glorious time it was. Here I first saw Elder Benjamin Page,
from Vermont, who preached a very instructive and
refreshing discourse from Rom. 8: 21. 'Because the creature
itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of
corruption into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.'
Here I became acquainted with many of God's people whom I
had not known, and in their spirituality and freedom I saw
what more accorded with my existing ideas than I yet had
seen. Nearly two hours Mr. Page spoke again from Isa. 33:
2. It was a glorious time, as was also the evening meeting,
in which many participated. The next day we all parted with
tears of joy, never expecting to meet again on earth. As I
was about to leave, I took Elder Moulton by the hand and
asked him if he would come to Compton and preach, to which
he replied that he would whenever I desired him, inquiring
at the same time if there were not some in our vicinity who
would like to receive baptism, saying, 'I have thought for
some time that I should have to go there to administer this
ordinance'--a remark that gave to my former impressions a
new evidence of my present duty. We agreed upon the time; I
made the appointment and longed for the day to come; but
the morning that brought me this new responsibility was not
wholly without clouds, as the cross appeared great and
fears arose. In spirit, I said,--
"'Jesus, my Lord, my Life, my Light,
O come with blissful ray;
Break radiant through the shades of night,
And chase my fears away.'
In a trembling and prayerful state of mind I went to
church, where I found a large concourse of people in
attendance, to whom Elder M. preached words of life. Among
the many that were moved to speak in honor of the Redeemer,
I arose, expressed my love to God and the saints, inviting
my young companions to a rich and costly repast, without
money and without price. Here every doubt was removed. Here
I gained strength. The glory of God filled my heart. My
father being present, Elder M. asked him if he was willing
that his son should go forward in baptism, to which he
replied that he was perfectly willing that Joseph, in
things of religion, should act according to his own
conception of duty. This gave me additional joy. I had
chosen a pleasant stream, the Coatecook river, as the place
where I preferred to receive baptism, to which locality we
walked, two and two, in large procession, the distance of
half a mile, singing the praises of God as we advanced.
This day, Sept. 29, 1812, will be held in everlasting
remembrance by me. My father sat upon his horse a few rods
above me, in the water, so as to have a fair prospect. I
was informed by the spectators who stood near him, that
when I went into the water the tears flowed freely from his
eyes. Under the smile of clear skies, of a quiet
surrounding nature, I was baptized in the name of the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The hearts of the
brethren on shore appeared full of joy, and some voices of
acclamation were heard. It seemed, indeed, as though the
heavens were opened, and the Spirit was hovering on the
assembly. Some praised, others wept, and a sweet peace and
calmness filled my soul. As I ascended from the water, I
sung the following lines with the Spirit, and I think with
the understanding also:
"'But who is this that cometh forth,
Sweet as the blooming morning,
Fair as the moon, clear as the sun?
'Tis Jesus Christ adorning.'[10]
We returned singing; and truly, like the Ethiopian
worshipper, we 'went on our way rejoicing.' From this time,
I felt that I was newly established in God's grace. I had
more strength to withstand temptation, more confidence to
speak in the holy cause of the Redeemer. Here, with the
Psalmist, I could say, 'How love I thy law; it is my
meditation all the day.'
"'Let wonder still with love unite,
And gratitude and joy;
Be holiness my heart's delight,
Thy praises my employ.'"
Thus reads the narrative of such outward and inward facts as belong to
the early religious history of Joseph Badger. Its component parts are,
deep feeling, much thought, temporary doubting and despondency,
penitence, inward aspiration, prayerful reliance on God, and at last a
wide Christian fellowship, untinged by sectarian preference, and a
conscious peace and joy in God. Through the many changes of theory, each
winning admirers and having its day; through the stormy excitements of
the religious feeling in the world, Mr. B. always retained his
equilibrium and his constancy. And why? Because he laid his basis not in
dogma, not in speculation, but in _experience_. By this he held his
course, it being an anchor in the sea-voyage of life, a pole-star to the
otherwise doubtful wanderings of the world's night. What can we or any
one _know_ of Divinity, except what we hold in our inward consciousness
and experience? Nothing else. _Words_ do not reveal holy mysteries. The
soul must have God in its own life, or He is a mere intellectual
conception, a mere word. We admire the poetic, marvellous vein that
enables one to linger upon a beautiful dream. The young man, already
rich in the Spirit's baptism, saw sacred value in the outward form, in
the pure Scripture symbol. Earlier than the dates of Christian records
in Palestine, did the religious feeling of man, in different climes,
select water as one of its best formal expressions; and, though not
heretofore inattentive to what theological controversy has said on the
subject, we should say it is as well to stake one's duty now on a
beautiful dream, as on all the light engendered by the ablest
controversy ever held by polemic divines. The Coatecook and the Jordan
are, through faith, equally sacred, as it is the Spirit that sanctifies.
What can surpass in beauty and loveliness, the idea of the grand
baptismal scene of the sacred river of Judea? We imagine the numerous
multitude walking silently thither through the overshadowing woods, and
in anxious, reverent musings, standing upon its banks. We feel the
thoughts of penitence, the gleams of hope, half shaded by melancholy, as
they here stole into the hearts of Abraham's dejected sons; and with
them we muse upon the expected Christ of their deliverance, whom they
daily hoped to see. We gaze upon the form of one whose moral and
physical beauty it had delighted the eyes of the most beautiful to have
seen; and as the waters glide by him on either side in graceful
loveliness,--as the yellow sunbeams here and there rest calmly upon the
shaded current, we see him meekly bowed into the genial waters; and what
artist shall ever picture the beauty of the ideal in our minds when we
view the circling dove from on high hovering upon the Saviour's breast,
and the golden stream of light through the opening heaven descending
upon his brow? Formal baptism, thus honored and glorified, remains a
permanent institution of religion and of the Christian Church.
CHAPTER V.
CALL TO AND ENTRANCE UPON THE MINISTRY.
"But rise, and stand upon thy feet: for I have appeared
unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a
witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and of
those things in the which I will appear unto thee."--Acts
26: 16.
With these words of a high mission Mr. Badger's journal opens, and how
well does it accord with the idea of divine agency in placing moral
lights in the world, and with what to him was a common thought, the
unequalled greatness of the minister's station. More than once or twice
have I heard him say to the young man who was publicly receiving the
honors of ordination, or of a conferential reception, "You are called,
my brother, to fulfil the duties of the highest station ever occupied by
a human being. No station on earth is so great in its nature, and so
responsible in its duties, as that of the Christian minister;" and more
than once, in the quiet social circle, and when alone, heard him say: "I
would not exchange the joys and trials and honors of the Christian
ministry, for the throne of the ablest king on earth." And this was the
settled, serious feeling of his mind. He recognized God in the call of
the true minister, not leaving the sacred choice at the mercy of family
policy, of individual ambition, or the efficiency of college endowment.
"In ages past," says Mr. Badger, "God has seen fit to raise
up, qualify, and send forth ambassadors to the people. He
has frequently sent angels with celestial messages to men.
Men also have been employed in the same work, have received
the word from Him and declared it to the people. Aaron,
Moses, Jeremiah, Isaiah and others, are striking
illustrations of the truth that God has appeared unto men
to make them ministers and witnesses of those things they
have seen, and of those which he shall reveal unto them.
John said, 'We speak the things we do know, and testify the
things we have seen.' The Gospel is not something learned
by human teaching, as are the mathematics and divers
natural sciences. St. Paul was nearer its fountain-head and
true attainment when he said, 'I neither received it from
man, neither was I taught it but by the revelation of Jesus
Christ.' 'Wo is unto me if I preach not the Gospel.'
Neither reputation nor worldly recompense prompted the
apostolical preaching. 'We preach not ourselves, but the
Lord Jesus Christ.' 'Freely thou hast received, freely
give.' The Gospel is not an earthly product, but a divine
institution for divine ends. The preaching of it,
therefore, is the highest possible work, demanding the
greatest deliberation and integrity. Its effects are either
'a savor of life unto life, or of death unto death.' How
delightful also is this employment, as it brings life,
light and comfort to all who yield to its elevating,
enlightening and purifying power."
These passages, written in the early years of his ministerial life, at
once recalled the second sermon[11] that the writer of this ever heard
him preach, founded on the heroic text of St. Paul, "I am not ashamed of
the Gospel of Christ,"[12] in which he announced the Gospel as a divine
science, as a refining power, as according with human nature and its
wants; and, indeed, as "the only perfect science of human happiness
known on earth." Such is the supremacy he unwaveringly gave to Christ,
to his Gospel, and to its genuine ministry.
* * * * *
The feeling that drew the mind of Mr. Badger into the ministry, was an
early one, having birth almost contemporaneously with the deep strivings
of his mind already narrated in the previous chapter. It was the highest
aspiration of his youth. Often, when at work, as early as the autumn of
1811, then nineteen years of age, his mind scarcely within his own
control, he was frequently in a preaching frame, and often fancied that
he was speaking to audiences of people on the attractions of Christ; so
thoroughly was his mind engrossed in these meditations, that he often
spoke several words before being aware of it, and not unfrequently did
he find himself suffused with tears. "I had at this time," says Mr. B.,
"no idea that I should ever be a minister."
"As soon as I had myself partaken of the pardoning love of
Christ, I felt as though all others should be sharers in
eternal life. In prayer, my mind was drawn out for all men,
for the chief of sinners. My mind was quickly weaned from
earthly delights, and all my powers were devoted to
spiritual interests. The few good ministers I knew I
esteemed as the best and happiest of human beings; and, as
the harvest seemed great, I often prayed that the Lord
would send forth more laborers into the field. I thought if
I were in such a minister's place I would go to the ends of
the earth to sound the message of redeeming love. It was in
the midst of such meditations that, in the first of the
year 1812, all at once the idea broke into my mind that I
must leave all and preach Christ. My soul shrunk away from
the overpowering greatness of the thought, which I
immediately banished from my mind; but with its banishment
there came a gloomy despondency, as through the winter I
continued at times to be exercised with the spirit of a
station, which I supposed I never could fill.
"In the spring I went into the woods to make sugar, a
business much followed in that country. Night and day for
several weeks I was here confined, a scene that might once
have been gloomy, but now was delightsome, as I enjoyed
much of God's presence in my secret devotions. I kept my
Bible with me, had some opportunity of reading, which I
eagerly improved with the greatest satisfaction. Here my
mind was again powerfully exercised in relation to
preaching; these impressions always brought with them the
greatest solemnity. At such times I sought the most retired
places I could find, wishing that I might hide, as it were,
'in the cleft of the rock,' as the sacred vision passed
before me. I said, 'Lord, who is sufficient for these
things?' and with Jeremiah I was constrained to say, 'I
cannot speak, for I am a child.' While these things like
mountains were rolled upon my mind, I frequently spent the
greater part of the whole night in prayer, in which I asked
that I might be excused, and that these things might be
taken from me. Hours in the lonely woods I passed in tears,
and none but the angels witnessed the action and utterance
of my grief. Once I opened my Bible wishing to know my
duty, and the first words I beheld were, 'The harvest is
past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved;' language
that impressed me with the great importance of the present
time as an opportunity to lay up treasure in heaven; to
call the attention of men to their salvation, before the
lamentation of the prophet should become their sad and
unhopeful song. From the depth of my spirit I said, Oh! my
soul, can I be excusable for my silence, when I behold the
dark tide of sin on which myriads are rushing to eternal
wo? Hearing the voice of Heaven perpetually resounding 'Why
will ye die?' and beholding the crimson tide of the loving,
dying Christ, that ever spoke of mercy, whilst angels
appeared to my view as waiting and longing to rejoice over
one repenting sinner, I said, Can I refrain from warning
men of their danger, from inviting them to the Christ of
their deliverance? For several days the above named
scripture occupied my mind, and I was satisfied that God
was drawing me into the ministry by these impressions, and
soon I was willing to leave all, and suffer the loss of all
things for Christ.
"Late in the spring I left my retirement, with a
countenance wan and fallen, and a heart filled with 'wo is
me if I preach not the Gospel.' I was silent, no company
seemed agreeable, and to no one did I confide my feelings.
In the summer of 1812, I searched the Scriptures, and often
did my mind so extensively open to an understanding of what
I read, that I was impressed to communicate what I felt and
what I saw. On some particular passage my mind would rest
for several days at a time, and ideas of which I had never
before thought, would present themselves. Well do I
remember the great power in which the words of the
apostolical commission came to my mind: 'Go ye into all the
world and preach the Gospel to every creature;' words that
seemed night and day to sound as a voice of thunder through
my spirit. I regarded this as the divine voice; as Job
says, 'God thundereth marvellously with his voice.' From
all the scripture I read I gathered something that taught
me the moral situation of mankind, God's willingness and
ways for saving them, also my own duty to my race.
Remarkable dreams at this time united with other evidences
to confirm me in my duty, as often in the midnight slumber
I dreamed of speaking to large assemblies in the name and
spirit of the Lord. Frequently, under these exercises, I
spoke so loud as to awaken the people in the house, and
sometimes awoke in tears calling on sinners to repent and
embrace the Saviour. When sleep departed from my eyes, as
it frequently did, I would spend most of the night in
prayer to God. Often could I say, with the weeping Hebrew
prophet, 'Oh, that mine head were waters, and mine eyes a
fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night.' But
none, except those who have passed through similar trials,
can understand the peculiar experience touched upon in
these last paragraphs."
The passage of men, called in any divine way, from worldly business into
the work of reclaiming souls from sin, cannot be as smooth and easy as
the passage one makes from a machine-shop to a counting-room. Fashion
and custom may render it so, but these are far from being God's prime
ministers. Is there no preparatory process by which the spirit of the
prophet is stirred to its depth? Did not the fine nature of Jesus
undergo temptations and trials in the wilderness for forty days before
he entered upon his public mission? Did he not there feel the grandeur
of his mission, when he foresaw the cost of all that the world and its
ambition holds dear, as the result of his future procedure? He casts the
worldly crown beneath his feet, and steadily fixes his eye on the
immortal good of the world as his end. The coarser heart of Arabia's
prophet also sought solitude as its home ere it gave to the East its
lasting oracles. The question of the calculating European and New
Englander, as to which one of his family he shall select with whom to
stock the sacred profession, never came from the land of inspiration and
of divine missions. He that was too dull to be a rogue, or a successful
practitioner in law, medicine or merchandise, the old maxim thought to
promise best for the pulpit. No such plottings had aught to do in the
election of this young man. It was warm from his heart, was seasoned in
prayers, baptized in tears, and cherished in sleepless night-watchings
and lonely meditations. Preaching skilfully, learned as an art, may be
had almost as cheaply as Parisian dancing; but the living word that
"breaketh the rocks in pieces" never comes in it.
Mr. Badger attended meetings through the summer, heard, when they had no
minister, one of John Wesley's sermons read, as dictated by the
discipline; mingling with others his own voice of exhortation and
prayer. The eyes of all were soon fixed upon him, and the brethren began
to complain of his disobedience to the heavenly vision long before he
had intimated to any one the state of his mind. Some assured him
confidently that they had an evidence from God that it was his duty to
preach, and that their meetings were impoverished by his unfaithful
withholding. "This," says he, "I could not deny." Though encouraged by
the kindred sympathy of Mr. Gilson, who narrated to him his own trials
before entering the ministry, though finding a response to his own
conviction of duty in the hearts of all the spiritually minded about
him, he did not immediately or hastily go forth in ministerial action
and armor. He waited the call of circumstance and occasion. His journal
narrates a most beautiful visit he had at the house of Capt. Felix Ward,
where the conversation was wholly devoted to religion; where scripture
inquiry, prayer and holy song united to enlighten their minds, and to
lay the basis of a valuable lasting friendship; and though strangers to
each other, the family spoke of him afterwards as one whom they then
believed would be a chosen vessel to bear the honor of God before the
Gentiles. "I thought," says Mr. B., "I scarcely ever saw a house so full
of the glory of God."
But particular occasion calls. In June or July, 1812, persecution arose
in Ascott, which drove from the province two successful ministers,
Messrs. Bates and Granger, because they would not swear allegiance to
King George, which they boldly affirmed that they would never do.
Thanking God that they were counted worthy to suffer for Christ, they
meekly submitted to the persecution that seized them as prisoners in the
midst of a happy meeting, and that drove them, after a lengthy
arbitration, back into their own country, the State of Vermont.
"When I heard of this circumstance," says Mr. B., "my
heart, filled with love for the dear converts and brethren
who were bereaved of their pastors by the counsel of the
ungodly, caused me to feel my responsibility anew; as I was
a citizen of the country, knew the manners and customs of
the people, and could easily take a position from which the
same persecuting powers could not drive me. My heart, like
David's, began to burn with a holy resolve to go forth into
the field, and take the place of my injured brothers."
Though a stranger in the town of Ascott, where these events occurred, (a
town about twelve miles from Compton,) he started on Saturday, near
Sept. 1st, to attend with them a general meeting of which he had
previously heard, and as he was riding through a space of woods, it
suddenly struck him that Mr. Moulton would be absent, and that he should
be obliged to speak; and the hundreds who remember the simplicity and
naturalness of the texts from which he almost invariably preached in
after life, will see something characteristic in the passage, Heb. 13:
1, that came at once to his mind, "Let brotherly love continue."
Hesitating for a time whether he would proceed or return, as he was
satisfied that he should meet this great duty if he proceeded, he went
forward, found a large audience assembled and no minister present. As he
entered, all eyes were attracted to him, and though many present
regarded him as one whom the Holy Spirit had called to preach, he
remained through the meeting in silence, except at the close he owned
his disobedience, and received from several present warnings to be
faithful hereafter. In personal figure Mr. B. was a noble and commanding
man, one that could not pass among strangers without drawing to himself
a marked attention.
Saturday evening he was invited to pass at Mr. Bullard's, where they
spent part of the evening in singing, and hours, he says, upon their
knees in prayer,--an evening by him never forgotten, as the Holy Spirit
consciously filled their hearts with joy. "I thought then," says our
youth, "I never saw so happy a family. Oh, what a glorious age will it
be when the principles of pure religion shall pervade the world!" On
Sunday they repaired to the place of worship, where "Mr. M. most
beautifully described from James 1: 25, the perfect law of liberty. Many
were in spirit refreshed, and indeed we sat together in heavenly places
in Christ Jesus." As the Lord's Supper was not then administered,
another appointment was made, and from the happy influences of this
meeting with saints, Mr. B. returned home "in the power of the Spirit,"
firmly resolved to do all that duty might ever require. He again
returned to Ascott to attend the appointment made for the communion,
where Mr. M. gave an able discourse on having "_a sound mind_," and
where, for the first time in his life, he partook of the symbols of
Jesus' truth and dying love. He says:
"I trembled at the thought of attending on so sacred an
ordinance, and with so holy a band of brethren; but as I
could not feel justified in the neglect of the privilege, I
came forward in the worthiness of my Lord, and I believe
with his fear before my eyes. A deep solemnity rested on
the whole assembly, and our souls, at the close, were
seemingly on flame for the realms above. I was never
happier in my life at the close of a meeting.
"Mr. M., having appointments over St. Francis River, wished
me to take a journey with him. I complied. We crossed the
river, visited several families, had one meeting; then
passing up the river to Westbury (eight miles), through a
woody region mostly, we arrived in the afternoon much
fatigued, as we had to encounter the buffetings of a
violent storm. On our way, I had fallen back and rode
several miles alone in the most serious meditations. I
clearly saw the hardships of a missionary life, and felt
that I must enter the field. We found a loving company of
brethren, who received us kindly, and who appeared to be
steadfast in faith. We held several good meetings in the
place. Some were baptized. I also made the acquaintance of
Mr. Zenas Adams, a young minister who had just begun to
preach. This journey increased my confidence, as Mr.
Moulton was a discerning man, and qualified both from
knowledge and sympathy to assist young ministers. The
conversations with Mr. Adams were also advantageous. He was
but a few months my elder.
"I had now arrived at a crisis in which I must earnestly
dispose of every practical objection. I had said, 'I am a
child--I cannot speak.' I was but twenty years of age; I
thought my friends might be unwilling. Soon, however, my
father gave me my freedom; and I felt that there was much
meaning yet in the good scripture which saith, 'It shall be
given you in that same hour what ye shall speak.' I plead a
comparative illiteracy, as the minister is ordained to
teach, and ought to command the various resources of
knowledge. This objection also fled before that potent
scripture, James 1: 5, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him
ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth
not; and it shall be given him.' I was satisfied of this,
that if God had called me to the work, with health, youth,
and industry on my part, He would give me every necessary
qualification. As swimming is learned by swimming, and
agriculture is acquired by its active pursuit, it struck me
that fidelity in the new work would secure the only
effectual skill in conducting it. I thought of a kind
father's house, of my loving parents who had watched over
my childhood, of the four brothers and four sisters with
whom I had lived in the greatest friendship; and I did not
omit to think of the needful renunciation of worldly
prospects, and of the censures I should get from some, and
the various treatment I had reason to expect from the world
if I went out as a faithful, uncompromising ambassador of
Christ. To take the parting hand with my dear relatives,
and to live in the world as a _stranger_ and _foreigner_,
called up many painful emotions in my breast as I glanced
into the uncertain future. Still no tide of emotion could
carry me back in my purposes, and with much feeling I felt
to say:
"'Farewell, oh my parents, the joy of my childhood,
My brothers and sisters, I bid you adieu!
To wander creation, its fields and its wildwood,
And call upon mortals their God to pursue:
When driven by rain-drops, and night shades prevailing,
And keen piercing north-winds my thin robes assailing,
And stars of the twilight in lustre regaling,
I'll seek some repose in a cottage unknown.'
"Through all my discouragements and melancholy hours,
interspersed throughout nearly a year's continuance, there
were times when the sweet peace of God grew conscious in my
heart, and always did this passage bring with it a cheering
light, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the
world!" I felt that it was mine, that it was for me, and
for all true ministers through time, as well as for the
worthier ones who carried the Master's truth through
suffering and trial over the earth. Feeling now that the
time had come when I must venture forth, and finding that
nothing among the armory of Saul would suit my form or
answer my purpose, I concluded that no other way remained
for me but to rely on 'the mighty arm of the God of Jacob,'
under whose name I would fight the battle of life. In the
latter part of October, 1812, on a pleasant Sabbath
morning, while the people were gathering from every
direction for meeting, the following passage came with
power to my mind, and as no minister was present that day,
I knew I could offer no good excuse for a refusal to speak.
Phil. 2: 5. 'Let this mind be in you, which was also in
Christ Jesus.' On this text, on this very glorious theme,
my public life began, and doubtless in a weak, broken, and
trembling manner. I have often thought of my first text,
and have endeavored to make it my motto for life, for it is
on the idea here advanced that the vital merit of ministers
and Christians must forever depend. How important that the
Gospel minister should have the mind of Christ! How can he
otherwise preach Him to the world? How may he penetrate the
centre of other souls and hold up the living evidence of
Christianity without it? How important that all Christians
have His spirit and temper! For it is this that directs,
this that supports, this that adorns the child of God.
"But when the echo of the first effort came back from the
community, 'Joseph Badger has become a preacher,' a
sentence then in everybody's mouth, I was greatly
mortified, particularly when the invitations came to me
before the week had ended, to go and preach in different
parts of the town. I complied as far as practicable with
these requests, and our meetings were thronged with people
who came to hear the new minister, the young man--young,
indeed, in a double sense,--in years and in experience.
Perhaps never before did surrounding circumstances unite to
render me more thoroughly conscious of my weakness,
dependence, and inefficiency. I spent much time in secret
prayer, and in pensive meditation, and the cry I once
before had made in the anticipation now arose with
redoubled energy, 'Lord, who is sufficient for these
things?' More than ever did I begin to fell the worth of
souls by night and by day; and through the bodily fatigues
to which my labors subjected me, the sense of
responsibility and insufficiency that weighed upon me, my
mind was somewhat shaded with melancholy, and often did my
heart find relief in tears.
"The next Thursday evening after my first sermon, I
attended a Conference, where I met Mr. Gilson, a well-known
minister. He appeared much rejoiced at what he called 'the
good news,' and insisted that as there were many present, I
should occupy the desk as the speaker, and give the
introductory sermon. This, to me, was a great cross,
particularly so as one of my brothers was present. After
enduring for a time the conflict of feelings, which may be
easily imagined, I went forward in prayer, then arose to
speak from 1 John 5, 19th verse: 'And we know that we are
of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness.' In
speaking, I had a good time, and both branches of the
subject, which run over the ground occupied by saints and
sinners, seemed to have a good effect; it inspired joy in
the one, and awakened solemnity in the other. Mr. G.
approbated my discourse, but I felt much mortified that I,
a mere lad, was called out to set my _few loaves_ and
_small fishes_ before the great multitude."
CHAPTER VI.
PUBLIC LABORS IN THE PROVINCE.
"From this time, I continued to improve my gift in public
speaking, in this and other neighborhoods of the town.
Feeling much friendship and care for the brethren in
Ascott, I spent as much time as my business would allow
among them, which was to my instruction and comfort, as
there were in that place many faithful and experienced
Christians. As I had some leisure, and found it duty to
visit the neighboring towns, I thought it would be proper
to have something to show, upon my introduction to strange
communities, what my character and standing were at home.
As I felt commissioned from God's throne, I saw no
necessity of applying to men for license or liberty to
preach, and therefore only sought a confirmation of my
moral character. It would indeed be an absurd mission that
did not include the liberty of fulfilling the duty imposed.
Thus 'I did not go up to Jerusalem to those who were
Apostles before me,' though I conferred much with 'flesh
and blood.' I submitted this question to Mr. John Gilson,
who as a minister was highly respected. He concurred with
me in opinion, gave me a letter stating that my moral and
Christian character was good, and that the religious
community believed me to be called to preach the Gospel.
This was singular, as I was not a Methodist, and was in no
way pledged to their peculiar doctrines. We always had,
however, a good understanding, and it was with tears that I
parted from them. Since then I have often met them with
joy, and they are still dear in my memory.[13] For one
year from the time I began to preach, this was all the
letter I had, whilst with solemn joy I went through the
region of Lower Canada to preach, experiencing the mingled
cup of joy and trial common to a missionary life, which was
my heart's choice.
"In the winter of 1812 I made it my home in Ascott,
attended school some, but, so far as scholarship is
concerned, to little profit, as my mind was subjected to
impressions that constrained me to leave school and preach
Christ. In the early part of the winter, I concluded to
visit Shipton, on a preaching tour of about sixty miles,
with Zenas Adams. He was a well-informed young man, who had
commenced preaching a few months earlier than myself. We
started on foot, and travelled along with mind and
conversation seriously imbued with the spirit of our
calling, to the appointments we had made, where we met
large assemblies, who had convened to hear what the boys
could say. Brother A. spoke mostly on this tour. We
attended meetings in Brompton, Melbourne, Shipton, and
other places, meeting kind receptions and gentle treatment
from many good Christians, and short answers from some of
our enemies. At Shipton we were joyfully received by Capt.
Ephraim Magoon, in a manner never to be forgotten by me;
also were we kindly greeted by many other good friends. We
passed several days in this place, which laid the
foundation for a long acquaintance, and for my subsequent
labors in that community."
The following paragraph is so characteristic of Mr. B., that no one can
fail to see the man as present in the youth. It was in sudden emergency
that the energy and creativeness of his genius were always manifest.
Though naturally diffident, no one ever saw him in an emergency that
proved greater than his own mind. His dignity, firmness, composure and
aptness at such times, were always striking and heroic. In a crisis,
who ever saw him at a loss?
"On our return, at a meeting held at Mr. Hovey's, whilst
Adams was preaching, a British officer came in. When the
sermon was ended, I arose to speak by way of exhortation.
It was a solemn, weeping time, and I observed the officer
to shed tears. When the meeting was dismissed he made known
to us his business, informing us that Esquire Cushing had
sent him to arrest us, and to bring us before him for
examination, as it was a time of war between two nations,
and we were strangers. 'But as for myself,' he kindly
observed, 'I am not concerned about you, and if you will
agree to call on Esquire C. to-morrow, I will return home;'
to which we agreed, exhorting him to repent. The next day
we called at Esquire Cushing's tavern (for his were the
double honors of landlord and magistrate) and ordered
refreshment. At evening we were formally summoned into his
presence. I walked forward and Adams fell in the rear, in
order that I might act as the chief speaker. Mr. Cushing
then exclaimed, with all the harsh authority a British
tyrant could assume 'What's your business in this country?'
I replied, 'To preach Christ's Gospel, sir.' 'By what
authority?' 'By the authority of Heaven, sir.' At this the
old man began to look surprised and beaten, thinking that I
probably knew his character too well for him to succeed in
this sort of treatment; and my friend Adams,
constitutionally mild and retiring, began to take courage.
He then observed, 'How came you in this country?' 'My
father purchasing a large tract of land in the town of
Compton, brought me into this country when nine years old,
and, _sir_, I have as good a right here as you or any other
man.' 'Have you taken the oath of allegiance?' 'Yes, sir.'
'Let me see your certificate,' added he. I presented it; it
was read and returned. 'Are you a son of Major Badger, of
Compton?' 'I am, sir.' 'Well, you'd better be at home than
to be strolling about the country.' 'I thank you, sir, I
shall attend to what employment I think best, and shall
visit what part of the country I please.' Here I was
dismissed, and I conclude he thought me a saucy fellow.
"Next poor Adams had to walk up. He came forward with a
calm and delicate countenance, clothed in the sweet temper
of the Lamb. The blood which had forsaken his beardless
face, now returned, and adorned his cheeks with their
accustomed bloom, as he stood before a '_beast of the
deep_,' who possessed much of the spirit that prevailed in
his mother-country during the reign of Queen Mary, who
caused her own beautiful cousin, Lady Jane Grey, to ascend
the scaffold at the age of seventeen to suffer death for
her religion. Brother Adams had taken the oath of
allegiance, but as he could present no certificate he
experienced some difficulty and suffered much abuse. But
his soft answers served to turn away wrath. As I knew him I
spoke in his favor, and after a short time we were
dismissed. The next morning, after paying an extravagant
price for poor, and to us disagreeable entertainment, we
departed, rejoicing that we in our youthful days were
counted worthy to suffer for Jesus' sake.
"This journey was very beneficial to me. Here a friendship
was formed between brother Adams and myself which has never
since been destroyed. He was an excellent young man, and
had not at that time joined the Methodist connection. After
a most agreeable acquaintance for more than one year, it
was heart-rending to part with him. I found that he was
resolved to join the Society, and that he was very anxious
that I should. We conversed on the measure lengthily. I
proposed to him that we would travel at large, and not be
confined to sect or party, but preach a free salvation to
all who would hear us. He said that his confidence was so
small, that he thought it best to preach upon an
established circuit, where he should be sure of a living
and where he should have homes to receive him. I replied,
that I could not fear to trust in God for a living; that
the faithful minister would never starve; and that if I
could not get further on my way, at any time, I would go
home and resume my daily toil. I saw that he was set on
going to Conference; he also saw that I had a permanent
dislike to the _Bishop's power_, and that I would not
become subject to the Methodist _laws_. We did not longer
urge each other, but parted in love. I walked with him half
a mile, when he started, and I felt the trial of our
parting to be great. We kneeled in the woods with our arms
around each other, and when we had prayed and bathed each
other's bosoms in tears, we arose and parted with
affectionate salutation, never expecting to meet again on
earth. He went to unite with the American Methodists, and
I, more from duty than inclination, remained among enemies
in Lower Canada, to stem the torrent of opposition alone.
"In the month of January I left school, rode to Hatley and
Stanstead, on the shore of Lake Mogogue, where I spent
certain days, and attended several meetings. The greater
part of the winter, when out of school, I spent at Ascott,
Compton, and Westbury, where I had good times, though
mingled with trials and temptations. The first day of
January, 1813, was a very glorious time at a general
meeting in Ascott. Mr. Gilson, and a colored man by the
name of Dunbar, who was both a godly man and a faithful
preacher, were our principal speakers. In the month of
March I took a journey to Shipton alone, where I enjoyed a
glorious meeting, and made an engagement to return in the
spring.
"During this month, my eldest brother came four miles to
hear me preach. He requested me to make an appointment at
his house, which was near my father's residence; and but
few of our family had ever heard me speak. His house was
one where I had attended many balls and had met assemblies
for vain recreations. The audience to whom I spoke was
composed of my parents, brothers, sisters, neighbors, and
my fellow youth, who had been my old companions in
sin--circumstances that rendered my cross very great. My
father's presence made my embarrassment much greater, as I
knew the critical cast of his mind, the extensive reading
and education by which his intellect was enriched. I
observed that my father selected a seat with his back
towards me. Excessive as my cross was, I could not be
reconciled to this. I arose and presented him my chair, and
when he had again taken his seat, I read a hymn from the
Methodist collection, which was sweetly sung by the young
people, my brother serving as chorister. After prayer and
the second singing, I announced my text, at which every
countenance fell, a general surprise being visible all
around, and the young people appeared as solemn as if the
day of doom had dawned. I believe I have intimated
heretofore that, as a town, the people were irreligious. My
text was Matt. 23: 33. 'Ye serpents, ye generation of
vipers! how can ye escape the damnation of hell?' My text
was harsh, but my discourse was mild. I first noticed the
natural qualities of serpents and vipers that constituted
the analogy of the passage, and that furnished the reason
of their being so called. Second, I described what I
considered to be the damnation of hell. Third, I endeavored
to show how we might escape this, and the necessity of
improving a present day of grace. I then addressed myself
to the assembly in the following order: 1st, to my parents;
2d, to my brothers and sisters; 3d, to the young people;
4th, to the neighbors. This was indeed one of the most
affecting scenes I ever had witnessed. When I came to
address the young people in relation to our former sports
in that room, and to express my regard for them, and to
tell them of the new and better inheritance I had
discovered, some wept aloud, and at the close several said
'Pray for me.' I name this circumstance, as it was the
first time my parents ever heard me preach, and it being a
time deeply impressed on my own memory. After this I rode
four miles, and preached in the evening at Mr. Benjamin
Sleeper's, in whose house a most beautiful child lay dead,
and which on the following morning received its burial."
I find, on another page of his journal, that the sermon here spoken of
bears date March 23d, 1813.
"I now began to reflect on the situation of the people at
Shipton, and felt it my duty to return to them, as in that
and in several adjoining towns there was no minister. I
accordingly made preparations and started, April 1st, 1813.
On the way I spoke several times, to good assemblies;
arrived on the 6th, and found from multitudes a joyful
reception. A reformation immediately began among the youth,
and the spirits of the aged pilgrims revived like the
golden life of a second summer. This, to me, was an
evidence I could not doubt, that it was under a heavenly
guidance that I had come to Shipton. I made it my home at
Capt. Magoon's, where I enjoyed, with the aged people, many
very happy hours; they were indeed the excellent of the
earth, and I hope their numerous kindnesses to me may
receive a thousand-fold reward.
"In the month of June, I made my first visit to Ringsey, to
which place I was invited by Col. Bean, one of my father's
particular acquaintances, likewise one of the principal men
in this community. Though invited on a personal visit at
his house, which was about sixteen miles distant, I found,
on my arrival, a multitude assembled, to whom I spoke,
under the conscious aid of the higher power. Several dated
their conviction from this meeting, and through all the
town the reformation spread. After speaking to them a few
more times, I returned to Shipton; and in a few weeks
visited them again, where I found several happy converts
and many whose heart-cry was for mercy. Thus the work
spread until it was thought that upwards of one-half of the
grown people had experienced religion; I say experienced
religion, for religion is not a matter of theory but of
life. Its home is not in the dry speculation of the brain,
but in the field of experience. Religion in theory is like
the pictures of trees and flowers; they may win the eye and
the fancy; but these pictures do not blossom, nor grow, nor
bear fruits. The juices of life flow in the roots and
branches of everything that grows.
"Col. Bean, my good friend, whose house was always to me an
agreeable home, and some of his children, found peace in
Christ. He continued a shining light until his death, which
was about one year after. The many pleasant days and nights
enjoyed with him and his agreeable family afford pleasure
in their recollection; and though these cheerful scenes are
not to be recalled, I trust they may be resumed in a better
state of being.
"The latter part of August I was invited to attend a
meeting in the upper part of the town of Ringsey, a place
whose inhabitants were said to be remarkably hardened and
wicked. I thought a place like this should not be shunned
by a minister whose commission it is to seek the lost. At
the time appointed there was a general attendance. I had
rode a long distance, and both myself and horse were very
much fatigued. I had no attention whatever paid me as to
refreshment, nor did their sense of civility or bowels of
compassion disturb them with a single thought about the
needs of the faithful animal that had done its part in
helping them to a minister, and that stood very patiently
by the side of the fence. I stood, a stranger, in the midst
of _glaring_ spectators. I recollect that when walking
through the assembly, I felt an emotion of tenderness and
solicitude for them that nearly impelled me to tears. I
spoke to them from Zech. 9: 12, and, if ever the Being who
gave me my mission assisted me in fulfilling it, it was
then. Though very feeble in health I spoke to them over one
hour, and the power of God came down upon the assembly, and
many wept aloud. At the close I gave opportunity to any who
wished me to pray for them to indicate their mind by
rising, when the greater part of the assembly arose. The
cry was audible and general, 'What shall I do to be saved?'
In my closing prayer I could scarcely be heard. Though
late, I mounted my horse, and rode nine miles to Shipton,
where, at the house of Mr. Heath, I was kindly treated. But
I was so weary and exhausted that I retired without
refreshment, and did not visit Ringsey again for several
weeks, leaving them to work out their own salvation. I then
proceeded up the St. Francis river about seventy miles, to
the town of Dudswell, where I found a happy circle of
Christians. When I again returned to Ringsey the scene was
wonderfully changed. Old and young flocked into the streets
to meet and welcome my return. I could not pass a house
where I was not urged to go in. I occasionally spoke to
them during my stay in that country. Truly in this place
were the songs of the old and the young mingled together.
"In the month of August, we held at Shipton a general
meeting. Mr. R. Smith preached a very interesting discourse
on Saturday, from Gal. 3: 26: 'For ye are all the children
of God by faith in Christ Jesus.' Sunday morning Mr. Avery
Moulton spoke from Acts 3: 22: 'A prophet shall the Lord
your God raise up.' Mr. J. Gilson next addressed the
assembly from 2 Kings 5: 13. After him I endeavored to
speak from Zech. 9: 17: 'For how great is his goodness, how
great is his beauty!' Several happy converts were baptized
at this meeting by Elder Moulton.
"From this we appointed a general meeting to be held at
Ascott, on the 8th, 9th, and 10th of October. It being a
time of war between two powerful nations, our situation was
rendered very unpleasant in many respects. Our provincial
officers were much opposed to our travelling from town to
town, and our brethren in general refused to bear arms.
This enraged the officers. They frequently sent spies to
our meetings to see if we prayed for the king and if we
preached against the government, as we afterward learned.
One of the officers once accosted me in these words: 'Well,
Mr. Badger, I understand you do not pray for the king!'
'You are mistaken, sir, I do pray for the king.' 'But _how_
do you pray for him?' 'I pray that he may become converted,
and be a child of God.' 'Ah! but that won't do; you ought
to pray for the success of his arms.' 'I do, sir, pray for
his arms, that his swords may be beaten into ploughshares
and his spears into pruning-hooks. This is the best prayer
I can make in his behalf.' He did not seem to like my
answer, but said no more to me.
"The October meeting coming off at this time, made no small
stir among the people, and the wicked, as of old, 'took
counsel together against the Lord, and against His
anointed.' As they had been successful in driving two good
preachers out of the country, they were now emboldened to
make a strong attempt, first to frighten us out of the
country, and should they fail in that, which they did, to
disturb our meetings as their next best stroke of policy.
They issued warrants for nine of us, myself and two other
ministers, and six of the leading members of our churches.
We were arrested on the first day of our meeting, which had
opened under promising auspices, as enemies to the
Government. I had an insight into their methods before any
part of their plot was executed; for as I was on my way the
morning of the 8th, and within eight or nine miles of the
meeting, an officer with whom I was acquainted, hailed me
from his house and observed if I would wait a few moments
he would be my company. As we rode along I drew from him a
development of the whole plot, and at that time I became
his prisoner. The greatest fear I had was this, that the
meeting would be essentially disturbed. The prisoners were
to be delivered and have their trial at Mr. Stone's tavern,
one mile from the place of the meeting, _at the same time_
that it was in progress. When I arrived at the place where
the congregation was to convene, I called, found several
preachers present, and some brethren to whom I related the
whole of what was about to transpire. Some were filled with
fear. I advised them to discover no alarm, but to go on
composedly with their meeting, provided there should not be
more than ten persons left, after the rulers should have
sifted the audience in their legal network, and to pay no
attention whatever to us who were absent, except to
remember us kindly in their prayers; and away I went to
stand in the presence of authority. Soon, however, I was
favored with the company of brother Amos Bishop, a faithful
minister of the Gospel. He came in rejoicing that he was
counted worthy to suffer for Jesus' sake. Our trial
formally opened on Friday noon, but not much was done. At
evening I obtained a room in which to hold meeting,
thinking that inasmuch as the legal process was tardy, the
ministers present could make no better use of their leisure
time than in preaching Christ to all who would become our
hearers. Seats were prepared, and the neighbors flocked in.
I then walked into the somewhat spacious bar-room to invite
the honorable court to attend, a body composed of three
magistrates, viz.: Pennoyer, Nichols, and Hyat, who were at
the time _merrily passing the glass_. Making to them as
courteous an address as I was capable, in which I stated
the superlative worth of the religion of Christ in the
soul, I gave them an invitation to be with us. They did not
make much reply, but stood by the door, as we learned,
where they could hear the communications of the meeting.
Never did we enjoy a more glorious time, never did we
realize the divine presence more joyfully than here under
keepers. Many brethren came to see us, their eyes filled
with tears, whilst our hearts overflowed with joy.
"Saturday morning I arose very early and obtained
permission to visit my brethren at the general meeting on
condition that I would return at nine o'clock. I enjoyed my
visit there; but what most affected me was this. Just as
the sun had begun to brighten the eastern sky, after I had
started, I met my oldest sister and my brother's wife, who
had heard of my bonds, and hastened with eyes and hearts
full of sympathetic concern for my welfare. They had
arrived at the place the night previous, and were at that
early hour hastening to the lodgings of their poor brother
Joseph in afflictions. When I saw them I could not refrain
from tears. They brought me money and articles of clothing,
which were acceptable to me at that time. They tarried
through the meeting and returned home.
"At ten o'clock the court sat, and the whole scene together
was one at which the student of human nature might have sat
with amusement, scorn, edification, and pity. False
witnesses arose as in ancient days. I say false witnesses,
because they proved so before the court. They stated that
we had opposed our brethren in bearing arms, that we had
spoken diminutively of the British king, topics on which
the public speakers present had been silent. Finally, at
the close we were bound over for our appearance at court,
which sat at the Three Rivers, and only twenty-five minutes
were granted us in which to procure bondsmen. This we
utterly declined doing. I told them that I knew the
character of the cause in which I was called to suffer;
that for me the _Stone Jug_ had no terrors, and that if I
must occupy its walls, I should trust that the same God who
heard Paul's prayers and songs at midnight, would also be
my friend. At this a captain was ordered to take charge of
me. Bishop answered rather independently, and asked Esq. P.
to be his bondsman, but at length informed them that he
despised their power. At this we were companions. Many
present who were at first our enemies, came to me in tears,
and offered to be our bondsmen. A captain who had carefully
observed all that had transpired, came and offered to
pledge his farm for me. At this, sympathy became
contagious, and the spectators, who had thus far been
watchfully silent, began to damn the squires, two of whom
were now observed to stagger, having taken too much whiskey
to retain a respectable command of their persons. One of
them took me aside, told me that he found no cause against
me, that it was the others who had caused them to bind me
over, that he had always been _my_ friend, and would attend
meeting the next day. The poor fellow fell from his horse
on the way home, and broke his shoulder, which for weeks
prevented him from leaving his house. Esq. P. the following
day was found in the road drunk; and thus ended the suit.
These events were not ineffectual. Our keepers, on seeing
the agitation of the people, and the increase of our
friends, on Monday morning, by the advice of Captain Ward,
dismissed us, and told us to go about our business. This
was a day of glad news to the brethren, who in trembling
fear and faith, had borne us in their prayers to the
Invisible King; and now having a little leisure, I improved
it in visiting my friends at Compton. I had not seen my
father's house for months. I spent some time with them very
agreeably--relived past scenes in conversation--bade them
an affectionate farewell and again went to Shipton.
"In the latter part of the year 1813, when on my return
from Shipton, my father sent me word that unless I could
tarry several days, he wished me to send an appointment and
preach at his house. This to me was welcome tidings, as I
had long been waiting with hopeful anxiety for this
opportunity to open. I sent an appointment, which soon
spread over the town. No travelling minister had at this
time ever preached at my father's house, and a large
multitude assembled, probably under the impression that
there was something new in the circumstance. Oh, how
solemn, how memorable the scene! I had long been absent
from home among strangers, had passed through a trying
experience in which friendship and hatred had largely
commingled, and now, at the invitation of a kind father, I
stood amidst my relatives, brethren and old acquaintances,
to speak freely on whatever I felt to be dear to the hope
and salvation of man. I spoke from Mark 5: 19. 'Go home to
thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath
done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee.' After the
assembly had dispersed, my father and myself spent a great
part of the night in conversation on the things of the
kingdom, in which he rather favored the doctrine of
Universalism. I had an agreeable visit of a few days, and
went rejoicing on my way. I name these circumstances as
they belong to the time I first preached at my father's
house.
"At Shipton and vicinity, we had through the fall and first
part of the winter, golden seasons, and many were added to
the church of God. Party rage seemed to die away, and
persecution greatly subsided. I now began to feel a
dismission, so far as my labors and responsibilities were
related to this region of country; and in casting my eye
over the world as my lawful field, I longed to visit other
lands, and carry to distant parts the unsectarian message
of Repentance, Faith, and Love. During the winter I made
several visits at Stanstead, a town lying on the eastern
shore of Lake Memphremagog, where I saw a few persons
converted, and where, with the saints of the Most High, I
took sweet counsel. Also had many useful meetings in my
father's vicinity.
"In the spring of 1814 I found my health exceedingly poor.
Many thought I was inclining to the consumption. As the
roads were exceedingly bad in the spring season throughout
the province, I resolved to make but one general visit in
each particular place where I had preached, unless
particular impression should otherwise direct me, and then
journey to the land of my nativity, to the New England
sea-coast, around which my feelings of friendship and
reverence warmly clustered, almost taking in the scenery of
New England as a vital part of my filial feelings.
Accordingly, as soon as the going became settled, I started
on my farewell visits through the North country. Hundreds
flocked together in the several towns where my
appointments had been sent, to hear my farewell discourses;
and unegotistically do I record the simple fact that my
audiences wept as I told them my work with them was done,
and that in other lands I must go and publish the same
salvation in which they rejoiced. Many said, from the poor
health I was in, they were satisfied they should never see
me again. This was indeed a solemn time to me. I made my
intended visit, and left Shipton on the 5th of June. Many
of the aged saints and the warm-hearted young people came
together at an early hour in the morning to bid me adieu.
When ready to leave, I sung a few verses of a missionary
hymn, which thus commences:
"'Farewell, my brethren in the Lord!
The Gospel sounds the Jubilee;
My stammering tongue shall sound aloud,
From land to land, from sea to sea.'
Some united in the song, others were prevented by the
fulness of their emotion. At the close, we kneeled together
in prayer; and it was with a heavy heart that I offered to
them my parting hand. Never can I forget the kindness and
friendship of this people. They contributed largely to my
necessities, welcomed me to their homes, and upheld, with
their prayers, my feeble hands. Returning to spend a few
days at my father's house, I found on parting, the strength
of the social and filial ties that bind the heart of man to
its home. When, after prayer, I gave my hand to my father,
he could only utter 'God bless you,' such were his
emotions, and a wordless silence, accompanied by tears, was
my mother's benediction. When I rode away, I felt myself
dead to every earthly prospect, to every worldly enjoyment,
and from the dearest friends on earth cut off. Yet there
was a holy sunshine falling down upon my clouds, that gave
to my sinking spirit its needful consolation. It is
usually thought that the situation of a youth cut off from
his friends is a trying one, especially so if called to the
ministry. It is not only in parting with friends and in
renouncing worldly prospects, that the spirit is tried; the
life of a missionary, who is a man of God and faithful, is
exposed to a thousand sufferings and dangers. Missionaries
often go forth as the chosen organs of different
denominations, whose denominational interests they plead,
and from whom they receive a pledged support. I had aspired
to be a missionary of another school, a missionary _to_ men
and not _from_ men, having only the Gospel of the world's
salvation to uphold, looking on high for the mission, and
to the just and careful operations of His providence for
all necessary support. For one so conditioned to consider
the awful and immense responsibility he assumes before God,
to think of the account he must soon render of his
stewardship, is enough to humble him in the dust. Yet when,
on the other hand, the faithful minister has a view of the
everlasting inheritance that appears to the eye of faith,
from the future compensations of His love, he can say, with
the great missionary of the Gentiles, 'I reckon that the
sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be
compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.'
Perhaps this contemplation is not capable of a statement
more just than that which it finds in the olden words:
"'What contradictions meet
In ministers' employ;
It is a bitter sweet,
A sorrow full of joy.
No other post affords the place
For equal honor and disgrace.'"
With these lines the nobly expressed narrative of Mr. B., so far as it
relates to his early ministerial labors in the Province, closes. A few
other documents lie before me, several letters from the hand of Mr. Z.
Adams, his colleague for a time in the labors and trials of his early
ministrations, several letters of commendation from churches with whom
he had labored, and from influential ministers with whom he had
associated. These letters from Mr. A., though wearing the sallow impress
of time on their forms, are fresh with the ardor and devotedness of what
never grows old, the earnest heart; and what is peculiar to all these
letters from the churches is this, that, after the usual commendatory
expressions relative to moral and Christian character, they invariably
speak of the _success_ of his ministry among the people. There are also
a few letters from him to his father and brothers, written during the
period of his ministerial labors of 1813-14, that are unfeignedly rich
in the spirit of self-sacrifice, firm faith in his mission, and a fine
feeling of love and kindness to all his relatives, a quality flowing
through all the correspondence I have seen, addressed to relatives. A
long catalogue of names, dated Dec. 20, 1813, shows the number of
persons in different towns who were converted under his ministry; and
though the evidences at hand indicate for them a general stability of
principle and aim, _one_ name, from the first column, must appear to
great disadvantage in a future chapter, for it would be equal to a
hunting excursion in the forests of antiquity, to find in any country a
more unreasonable persecutor, on a limited scale, than was Capt. Moor,
in the month of September, 1815.
Joseph Badger was a man who could never endure dulness. Lifelessness
and inactivity, in fine, all the brood of stupid demons, he had a
magical power to disperse. They fled at his entrance. He _would_ have
life and interest, and no man could better create them, by awakening
readily the resources of all around him. Thus far we only see the young
man of twenty, but the same inherent traits of his whole life are
conspicuous. He awakens community wherever he goes. He calls out
opposition, creates strong friends and enemies, concentrates attention,
brings himself into trying emergencies, which call out his various
facility of tact and successful management, his firmness and
self-composure. Having set his mind and heart on the persuasion of men
to repent and to seek salvation, he carries a multitude along to this
end. But what is most rich, is the deep evangelical element, in which
all his powers are immersed; his constant, prayerful, weeping solicitude
for souls. I know not where to go to find these holy elements in a more
abundant, pure, and I will add, in a more natural state, than they
appear in Mr. Badger's early life. His enthusiasm was not rash or
fanatical. The fire of his heart blended with the light of his brain.
His eye was always as calm as it was penetrating. It combined the glow
and the calmness of the night-star. Almost at the risk of presenting too
much of a good thing, I venture to quote a mere fraction of some of
these letters, each line of which is so fully alive with the sincerity
and earnest faith of the writer.
"SHIPTON, May 11th, 1813.
"DEAR PARENTS,--I assure you it is with pleasure I once
more attempt to write you. I arrived on May the 6th, very
much fatigued. I walked twenty-one miles without
refreshment, which was too much for my nature. I was unable
to preach for some days. My greatest pain was to see the
inroads made by the enemy into our little church whilst I
was absent, and the spirit of persecution that rankles in
many hearts. As I view souls united to eternity, and see
that some are hewing out to themselves 'broken cisterns,'
and giving way to 'seducing spirits,' in the doctrine, 'Ye
shall not surely die,' I am led to mourn."
"It is surprising to view the beauties of creation, in
which we see how everything is formed for the use and
comfort of man. Yet how sadly they abuse the great
profusion of His blessing. 'What more could He have done
for His vineyard than He hath done for it?'--Isaiah 5: 4.
Whilst I meditate on the extent of His goodness and long
suffering, on the cross of Him who died for all, and then
think of the wickedness that abounds, I am obliged to
mourn. Oh my loving parents, may we be wise for both
worlds, for time and for eternity! I have had serious
thoughts of late why it was that my father did not write to
me. As I am here in the wilderness without any relatives or
connections, I thought that love for me would have led him
to seek my enlightenment if I am in darkness, he being
acquainted with the Scriptures; and if I am right, I
thought he would wish to give me encouragement. My love to
all for their kindness.
"Your prayerful servant,
J. BADGER."
"STANSTEAD, July 16, 1814.
"DEAR FATHER,--According to my expectation when at your
house, I started on my journey to the southward, preaching
on my way; Friday at Derby, Saturday at Holland, Sunday at
Major Stewart's, in Morgan, where I met a large concourse
of people, among whom were eleven young persons from Derby,
who were deeply awakened to a sense of their danger whilst
out of Christ. To their ardent solicitation for me to
return to Derby, I have yielded, which makes it expedient
for me to tarry one week more. I do not enjoy very good
health, but my mind is happy. I feel that at most a few
more rolling suns will bring me to the fair city of Rest.
Each beating pulse but leaves the number less. Had I time I
would gladly ride to Compton to see you. But it is wholly
uncertain when we again shall meet. I ofttimes think of you
all. My love to relatives and inquiring friends.
"'From all that's mortal, all that's vain,
And from this earthly clod,
Arise, my soul, and strive to gain
Sweet fellowship with God.'
"I subscribe myself a Disciple of Christ, or a Friend to
Mankind.
"J. BADGER."
"ASCOTT, July 27, 1813. (In haste.)
"DEAR BROTHER,[14]--Since I have seen you I have preached
in Compton, Ascott, Westbury, Oxford, Brompton, Ringsey,
Shipton. I am in great haste on my return. I have been
comfortable as to health, though much fatigued. I have felt
the waters of salvation to flow sweetly through my soul.
Give yourself no trouble if you hear I am taken up. You
know the animosities that war engenders. The God who
delivered Daniel, and who protected our fathers, has
promised to shield me whilst in the way of my duty. Keep
free from all strife, deny self, live in peace with all
men. I still feel it my duty to employ all my abilities in
holding up Christ to a dying world. My love to parents and
brethren."
These extracts show the spirit with which his whole early life was
imbued, and they accord well with the journal he wrote a few years
later. One vital life pervades them all. Whilst the war was desolating
the country, filling the minds of men with anger, jealousy, and
irreverence to humanity, he, the heroic young soldier of the Cross, was
successfully pouring into their hearts the great lessons of Reformation,
Unity, and Peace. Such a ministry at such a time appears to the eye of
history as a rainbow arching the black region of cloud and storm, or as
life-clad rivers that flow along through the desert regions of the
earth.
CHAPTER VII.
TOUR TO NEW ENGLAND, AND PUBLIC LABORS.
With good recommendations, and with the fruits of a not very ordinary
experience for one so young, he starts for his native land. What sect
does the young preacher hail from? From no sect. He hails from the
church of experienced believers, whose test is religion, not theology.
Love to God and peace with men are the cardinals of his platform, and
such was the persuasion of his eye and presence, that his credentials
are very seldom disputed. Nothing in the form of sectarianism hedges up
his way or impedes his success. If difficulties at any time thicken in
his path, he knows what to do with them.
Let us pause a moment to look at the theological latitudes and
longitudes of the self-taught young man at this time, before he leaves
to carry his message towards the regions of sunrise in the more
intelligent east. In theology he has acknowledged no human master, has
sat at the feet of no Edwards, Channing, or Wesley, nor read in musty
dogmatical lore what he shall publish as the essential doctrine. The
following views, however, may be gathered from the various utterance of
his mind, expressed as occasion called, without the intention of making
a system. 1. That man bears a living relation to God; that he may now as
of old come to him confidingly, and seek effectually for wisdom and
salvation. 2. That the being of God is One; that his influences are
constantly felt in the moral world, promoting the joy and life of his
people, and subjecting the sinful to the solemn conviction of their sin
and danger. 3. That Regeneration is the want of all men; that _all_ may,
like the prodigal of Scripture memory, return to their Sovereign Father.
4. That the Scriptures are the great storehouse of sacred wisdom; that
through them the will of God is infallibly revealed. 5. That Jesus is
"the sinner's friend," the Son of God, the centre of Christianity, and
that his Gospel is of celestial birth and mission; "the power of God
unto salvation to all that believe." 6. That experience is the basis of
religion; that the only authorized test of fellowship for the church is
Christian character. 7. That no sect in Christendom, as such, is _the_
church of God; that _the_ church is everywhere composed of such only as
have passed from death unto life. 8. That sectarian names do not fit the
catholicity of the institution; that the names "disciples," "brethren,"
"friends," "Christians," are the better designations. 9. That human
creeds, traditions, "doctrines and commandments of men," are abolished
in the light and authority of the Gospel. 10. That sons of God are
freemen, owing no allegiance to Pope, Bishop, Prelate, or Council. These
views all fairly reside in the writings which unfold this early period
of his life; and when we consider the exceeding scarcity of liberal
thought in the religious world at so early a day, and the isolation of
his position from the most active and enlightened minds on the
continent, his stand in the church and the world becomes a wonder, only
to be solved by the recognition of the original and superior intellect
that gave him intuitive insight into the right and wrong of whatever
problems may have won his earnest attention. The liberality of many is
but a mere scepticism of thought. His liberality was a part of the most
devoted labor and unabated zeal. It was one with prayer and tears. Now,
in this last day, (1854,) with all that learning and comprehensive
thinking have done for us, where and what are the heights of liberality
occupied by the theological reformers whose names have gone abroad as
being wider than their denominational platform? As we glance along the
sparse population of these plateaux, we observe among others, the names
of Bushnell and Beecher, the former with certain acute philosophical
powers, the latter with a bold dramatic energy of speech, each exposing
himself in a degree to the censure of that large class who dread all
innovation made upon the time-honored landmarks of the Fathers, who are
alarmed at new roads, even though they are more direct, convenient, and
comely. But neither of these gentlemen has gone so far as did this youth
in the wilderness of his adopted country. Neither has altogether
_practically_ forgotten the claims of sect and of creed; and the view
that holiness of life and purpose is the indisputable claim to
fraternity independent of dogma, which is their highest _idea_, was his
constantly _practised_ principle long before the world had heard of new
and old school in the contentions of orthodox sects. Open now his first
letters of commendation and you will see that the fraternities that
authorized them ignored sectarian names, simply styling themselves "The
Church of God in this place." In liberality, I do not see that the best
part of the Christian world now are, either in theory or practice, at
all in advance of his position in 1813. That his peace principles did
not allow him to pray for bloody victories, or to strengthen the king's
arms by his influence over the people, there is pretty good evidence. He
and his brethren drank too deeply at the wells of religion to engage in
the destruction of their fellows.
To return. The young man, now nearly twenty-two years of age, intent on
the duties and trials of a missionary life, starts for his native New
Hampshire, improving every opportunity on the way, where circumstances
united with his own impressions in producing the conviction that good
might be done. Without abating his own labor, he depends continually on
divine assistance, believing that he enjoys the advantage of the real
presence of the One who said, "Lo! I am with you alway;" and before
undertaking any important cause, or plan of action, he seeks
illumination in secret prayer, then follows the leading impressions of
his mind. He diligently studies the Scriptures, observes nature, and
discriminates the strong points and peculiarities of the different
characters he meets, for which he seemed to possess an intuitive power
that received no assistance from the later inductions of phrenology, or
the didactic lessons of physiognomy. He could, without rules admitting
of statement, readily discern the character of an audience, the kind of
discourse fitted to their capacity and wants, and most easily did he
arrive at this kind of knowledge by a brief social contact with
individuals. No nature perhaps ever had a greater power of adaptability
to the many-phased character of mankind and surrounding circumstances,
than his. But for the present, indeed for the several years of his early
ministry, the central element of his life, the one that ruled all
others, was his earnest, hearty, prayerful devotion to the holy mission
of saving human beings from sin, and of bringing them into living union
with God and with Christ. Along the meanderings of this current let us
therefore follow the course of his narrative, which at this time unfolds
itself in a series of letters, hastily and unelaborately written to some
friend whose name does not appear; perhaps to Z. Adams, or to some other
young minister interested in his welfare.
"DEAR FRIEND,--I rode from Stanstead, where I had enjoyed
several good meetings, across the line into the State of
Vermont, where I had several more in Derby, Holland, and
Morgan, but soon returned to a little village on the line,
and on Stanstead Plain, where there were prospects of good
being done. It was here that I met Mr. Roswell Bates, who
became my company, as he was going to the town of
Woodstock. Leaving the line about July the 16th, we passed
through Rigah, Browning, and Wheelock, holding several
meetings at the last named town, in which the spirits of
many appeared to gather new courage and joy. I then rode to
Danville, and remained several days, in which time I had
the pleasure of seeing some who had been for months cold in
their affections, quickened and newly determined in the
cause of life. We then rode to Peacham, then to Newbury,
Bradford, and Corinth, where we separated, Mr. B. going to
Hafford and I to Strafford. Here I was greeted by a happy
band of brethren, with whom I held several meetings, and
remained several days. Crossing the Connecticut river over
into Lyme, thence through Dorchester to Hebron, thence to
Bridgewater, I arrived next morning, which was Sunday, at
New Hampton, and was kindly received by Wm. B. Kelley,
Esq., a distant relative, by whom I was politely introduced
to the clergyman of the place. With him I passed a half
hour very pleasantly; we repaired to the church together,
as the people began to assemble. I occupied with him a seat
in the desk, and listened with a degree of satisfaction to
what he communicated. When we returned to his house, he
insisted on my speaking in the afternoon, and in vain did I
urge the excuses of a long journey and much fatigue. He
gave me a Bible and a Concordance, saying that I had three
quarters of an hour in which to prepare, and left the
room. We again repaired to the church, and contrary to the
order of the morning, I was assigned the right-hand place
in the pulpit. I spoke to these strangers in the same
freedom to which I had ever been accustomed, and reserved
nothing of the divine counsel made known unto me; the word
seemed to have some direct effect; the people appeared to
hang with solicitude on the truths advanced, and many wept
under the exhibition of the love and pardoning grace of
Jesus Christ. The next day I heard a young man, Mr. John
Swett, who, much to my joy, was wholly engaged in the work
of the Lord--a work already commenced under his labors. At
the request of my friends, I gave out an appointment, at
which there were three ministers, Mr. Hillard, the aged
priest to whom I had been at first introduced, Mr. Daney,
whom I had never before seen, and Mr. Swett, my new
acquaintance. I scarcely ever found greater liberty in
speaking. Priest Hillard at the close arose and gave me his
approbation, inviting me again to call on him; others also
spoke on the goodness of God, as experienced by them.
Bidding them an affectionate farewell, I was, in about four
hours, at my native Gilmanton, whose citizens and scenes I
had not known for the space of four years.
"Here I had great joy, mingled with sorrow--joy to meet my
sister, Mrs. Cogswell, and other relatives; sorrow to learn
that in their plans of happiness, religion and
reconciliation to God were not the essential part. Capt.
C., who did not usually go to the Free Church, wished me to
permit him to make an appointment in that place, to which I
gave consent. Accordingly, on the next Lord's day, at
half-past ten o'clock, I met a large congregation at the
Free Church; and at five o'clock, P. M., spoke to a full
assembly at the house of Capt. Cogswell, each audience
being probably attracted in part by curiosity. At the
former meeting, my mind was constrained to weep over the
people, who also wept under the message I delivered them.
Many serious exhortations were given; many expressed the
fulness of their joy in Christ. Wishing to see men and
women stand upon some positive decisions in regard to their
salvation, and knowing the good influence which a public
expression of secret resolves has upon the subsequent
action of man, I proposed that such of the assembly as felt
the worth of religion, and desired to enjoy its heavenly
light and consolation, would signify the state of their
minds by rising up. Very few kept their seats; and I have
reason to think that many were strengthened for life. Many
invitations were given me for new appointments. At 5
o'clock at Capt. C.'s, there were many Calvinists present,
who with the rest, seemed to mingle with their critical
aspect considerable true religious feeling. Perhaps my
preaching called out more criticism than it would otherwise
have done, on account of my manner being wholly
extemporaneous, and my sentiments not being formed from
Calvin or any sectarian creed. My grandmother[15] was
present; she seemed much pleased, and after meeting said to
me, 'It is a wonder and a mystery to me how you talk as you
do without having any of it written. Two of my family have
got to be preachers, William C. and yourself. He learned to
preach at the institution, but who in the world ever
learned you up there in Canada?' I believe I told her that
the Being who needed ministers had much to do in making
them, which seemed to be a new idea in these parts.
"I then went to New Durham to visit my relatives, but spoke
frequently before my return. On my way back, at a very
good meeting about two miles from the place of my other
appointments in the town, a young lady whom I baptized in
February of the next year, was there permanently and
effectually impressed with the need of salvation through
Christ. She continued from that time to be drawn into
nearness and union with Jesus, whose power over the heart
no one can measure. After this meeting I returned to
Gilmanton. As my sister was somewhat out of health, and
travelling was recommended as her best restorative, I
favored her desires to visit her parents in Canada, whom
she had not seen for six years: and taking a carriage
suited to the journey, conveyed her to my father's house in
Compton. Our parents were overjoyed to see us. The next
morning early I returned to the States, rode to Glover,
Greensborough, and Montpelier, attended a quarterly
meeting, with several other appointments, and returned to
the Province in about seven days. Meeting my sister at
Stanstead, where my elder brother according to agreement
had brought her, I again set out for Gilmanton, where I
arrived after an absence of about four weeks. On my way
east I passed through Cabot and Danville, where I held
several meetings; but when passing through New Hampton I
met Rev. Mr. Hillard, who informed me that he intended to
go to Toronto to preach, and should be happy to have me
supply at his church during his absence. I accordingly left
an appointment.
"Here, my dear friend, you have a brief account of my
journeyings for the space of two months and a few days, in
which time I have travelled 770 miles. Here in good old New
England scenes, I at times revive the lights and shades of
my early days, but the work of salvation is one that
overlays in interest all reverie of the mind, and I shall
hasten to give you a further account of the work of God in
my next, hoping that from former friendship, my hasty
letters will be interesting to your delicate and studious
mind.
"Yours, in the truth,
J. BADGER.
"Sept., 1814."
Here I would observe, that the manuscript from which the events of these
several months are chiefly known appears to be copies of letters,
several of which were addressed to one person, whose name may have been
upon the outer leaf of the scroll at first, but which I do not find in
the letters themselves. As his present history is reflected in these, I
offer them, with all the variety of incident which a man of his peculiar
cast of character would very naturally call out. These "scratches," as
he labelled them, appear to have been kept as a means of reënlivening
past scenes, should he ever wish to write their history.
"After attending several meetings in Gilmanton, I went on
to my appointment at Newhampton, and met a very large
congregation who had come out to hear the new preacher. The
people thinking me a missionary direct from college,
readily swallowed the doctrine of a free, universal
salvation, designed for and offered unto all men, and many
rejoiced in the liberal view I presented. I felt at this
time, very much the weight of the cause, and spoke with
great freedom on the true mission of the Gospel to our lost
world. It may be thought by some that courtesy should have
dictated an acquiescence in the formality and doctrine that
reigned about me. But I felt constrained to speak from my
own soul and the word that burned in my own heart. I did
so. Many of the silent kindled anew with ardor, their
tongues were unloosed, and some praised God aloud. In the
afternoon I had a glorious time, concluding my sermon with
the most earnest warning to the people. This change in
their accustomed routine for Sunday called out many
remarks, some saying one thing and some another. One said,
'He preaches just like a damned Freewiller, and if Mr.
Hillard lets him preach there again, I will neither hear
nor pay _him_ in future.' Nevertheless, I had several
invitations to preach again. In the evening I spoke at Mr.
Kelley's, to about 200 hearers, on Monday, P. M., at Lieut.
Sinkter's school-house, to an audience of entire strangers.
In that vicinity were many Freewill Baptists, few of whom,
however, saw fit to attend. Priest Hillard's deacon came to
me at the close of meeting, with considerable emotion, and
said, 'I know the joyful sound of which you have spoken. I
am satisfied God has called you to preach the Gospel. I
want you to preach at my house this evening,' and
accordingly gave out the appointment. There are always some
discerning spirits among the people, who, sooner than
others, look into the nature and meaning of things. One of
the Freewill members, a lady, remarked when she got home on
the character of the meeting, saying, 'The deacon will get
joked this time with his missionary or I am deceived.' At
evening the house was crowded, the Freewill brotherhood
having waked up to an interest in what was occurring. At
the time I did not know as there was one anti-Calvinistic
mind in the house, but resolved, as a dying man, to do my
duty without shrinking. I arose to speak from Mal. 4: 2:
'Unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness
arise with healing in his wings,' and felt, as I
progressed, the love of God in my soul. Many of the young
people wept aloud, the Freewill brethren began to assist,
and before the meeting broke up the power of God was so
strikingly displayed that the deacon, unexpectedly to all,
fell prostrate on the floor. A haughty young woman, whose
hair was wrought into a profusion of curls, came forward
and kneeled down, bathing her curls with tears as she cried
for mercy. The argument on this occasion, though no
doctrine was discussed, was one that the deacon was unable
to resist, for he fell as many as five times under the
power of God. The house seemed filled with divine glory.
The congregation broke up about one o'clock at night. The
next day I went from house to house praying and conversing
with the people. I found that many were seeking Christ, and
that a thoughtful solemnity was resting even on the minds
of children.
"The next evening our meeting was no less powerful. Not
less than twice did the deacon fall to the floor; one man
who had fallen away from the Christian profession, lay for
some time speechless, and the young lady spoken of before,
came out bright and clear in the expression of her change.
She then walked through the assembly, taking her mates by
the hand, and warning and inviting them to flee to Christ,
made a deep impression on the assembly. One other made
profession of being translated from the kingdom of darkness
to the kingdom of light. In this state of affairs I left
Newhampton to attend other appointments, which required
some eight or nine days, and from the good attention paid
to the word and its effect on the people, I began to think
that my mission to New England was not in vain."
Passages like these will doubtless meet with a variety of tastes, and be
subjected to different constructions. The effects of a great immediate
power that followed the preaching of Abbot, Whitfield, and others,
seeming for a time to irresistibly sway the subject, has been variously
explained, or, perhaps, more properly, has never been explained to the
full satisfaction of the thoughtful. There is something certainly in the
nature of the _theme_; for who was ever struck speechless and nerveless
by a political appeal, or a literary, philosophical, or financial
address? To make the least of it, these phenomena show a wild, mighty
vigor in the darkly oppressed religious element within, or the same
amount of zeal on finance or the election of candidates would produce
equal results. Whether the Holy Ghost be present or absent, the man
whose word and personal presence palsies a beastly sinner or formal
deacon, so that he can neither move nor speak, is himself no weak
formalist; no wavering, half-and-half man, who lives on plausibility and
apology. This much is certain, that he carries a conquering force, if
the effect be _of him_; if not of him, if he is right in the declaration
"not unto us" be the glory, a similar conclusion follows the admission
of his instrumentality. We love harmony; and in the great harmony that
the soul should enjoy genuine thunder will prove no essential discord.
We enjoy quietness; but of the two, we say by all means give us the
preaching that knocks men off their seats, to that which never moves
them. But how comes on Newhampton?
"I continued my visits to Newhampton for the space of three
months. Some twenty of the youth were hopefully converted;
I think I never saw converts of greater strength. But oh!
what trials awaited some of this number! The first that
came forward in this reformation had much persuasion to
resist. Her father was an open enemy to religion, her
mother was very pious, but wholly bound up in Calvinism,
and the young woman was determined to be free and not be
entangled with any yoke of bondage. A number of times was
she threatened to be turned out of doors. She wished
baptism; but being unordained I could not administer; and,
as she was unable to join Mr. H.'s church, out of
preference to the church of the first-born, she had to go
against the current, which is never a _bad_ sign, as dead
fish invariably move along with the stream. Many wished to
be baptized, and Mr. H., thinking it a good opportunity to
gather additions to himself, began to raise all his forces
against me, spreading defamatory reports to sour the minds
of the people, intending to drive me out of the place. I
was reminded of the stanza:
'They hate the Gospel preacher,
And cry out, a _false_ teacher!
A wolf! an active creature,
Will pull our churches down.'
He found fault on several points of doctrine. We held
together several conferences, public and private. He indeed
stirred up the devout women and all his party to
opposition, and not a little to my grief we had to
say--Farewell to the reformation. He proselyted five young
converts, whose happy condition, I fear, became like that
of the fish which glide pleasantly down the river Jordan
into the Dead Sea, which is called immediate death; for
they soon grew formal and lifeless in the atmosphere of the
church. 'How is the fine gold become dim!' But what of our
deacon? you will say. Why this, that after falling beneath
the power of God so many times, after giving me a letter of
commendation extolling my character, and the power and
usefulness of my ministry, after I had labored night and
day, and God had visited his family in the conversion of
three of his children, _he_ 'lifted up his heel against
me.' In whom then shall the Gospel minister trust? In God,
and in Truth. At this declension I sorrowed with a bleeding
heart. You can judge of my feelings. I gave out an
appointment, administered as good advice as I knew how to
the converts, preached on Sunday, took a letter of
commendation signed by Elder Heart,[16] in behalf of the
church, and bade them adieu. December 2, 1814."
It would seem that young Mr. Badger was not exactly a safe hand to trust
with the direction of church machinery, where doctrine, devotion and
preaching were respectably stereotyped, where all things were smoothly
continued. His steam and individuality were rather hazardous elements in
the temple of forms. "Priest Log" had been a safer priest.
He also narrates his success in Gilmanton, where several young persons
and some of his own relations "bowed to the mild sceptre of mercy." His
cousin, who came out in this revival, he says was the first of his
relatives with whom he had felt a union in the Gospel, that as he had
been educated under the theology of Calvin, he was besieged with
entreaty to join them. "But," says Mr. B., "he still walks in Gospel
liberty; I pray that he may be preserved blameless, and prove a thorn to
the clergy whilst he lives." He compares the policy of his opponents
towards his cousin to the barbarian usage of slaying prisoners when the
prospect of being overcome grows certain. Extracts of other letters here
follow.
"After I left Newhampton, December 2, I went to Meredith,
and attended the ordination of Mr. John Swett.
Here I find a page erased, but as it is legible and very characteristic,
I venture to transcribe.
"Here I was introduced by some of the brethren present for
ordination. The ministers with whom I was acquainted seemed
willing to ordain me, provided I would 'consent to walk on
two legs,' taking the church of God for the one and the
Freewill society for the other. This statement,
substantially, was from Rev. E. Knowlton, of Pittsfield.
This saying of Solomon immediately came to my mind, 'The
legs of the lame are not equal;'[17] and considering the
Freewill society as inadequate to the church of God, I
concluded that, carrying out the figure, one had better go
through the world hopping than limping, and I asked wherein
one could be the loser, provided he went as fast on one
limb as others did on two. I said to them, that if I could
not have their approbation on the ground that I belonged to
the church of God, without the addition of their wooden
staff, I would much prefer to stand alone. They accused me
of being on the common. I answered that I was born there;
that I much preferred it to a barren pasture, or a pit
wherein is no water; that I meant, through divine grace, to
stand where I had received the Lord Jesus, and that if the
church of God, unsectarianized, is the common, I would be
content with it till the arrival of the time when there
shall be 'one fold and one shepherd.'
"Here I had to stand alone, whilst my heart bled to see the
superstition and bigotry of those who profess to be free;
and, I say it reluctantly and with sorrow, I have seen as
much bondage, and have met as bad treatment from those who
claim to be Freewillers, as ever I did from the more
stiff-necked and stoical of the sects. To have the clearest
proofs of belonging to the body of Christ, of having the
sanction of Him who calls men to his ministry, and to have
undisputed standing among good men is not enough. Party
must be worshipped. This more and more convinces me that it
is well to abandon the doctrines of men and all
unscriptural names, to be disciples not only in name but in
practice. I am also sorry to say that I have discovered the
same spirit among those who are called Christians. But I
will leave this subject, praying that God will help us so
to run that we may obtain."
Rather difficult, was it not, to get this young man into a net? He
stands yet erect upon his mission, prays, weeps, preaches by night and
by day; and old men and young, mothers and maidens, acknowledge his
right to lead them in the "new and the living way" by falling into his
line of march, and finding words of life in his speech. This refusal to
pledge himself to creed and sect, grew out of nothing unsocial, for his
whole being was social and brotherly. Interest could not so have
dictated. An innate greatness of mind it was that gave him this high
position for a young man as early as 1814, aided no doubt by the free
and generous impulses of the religion of Jesus, which, in his experience
and in his Testament, alike declared the oneness of the body of Christ,
and of whatever is essential and saving. This position seems not to
have hindered him; the faithful still rally under the banner he bears.
Mr. Badger was a man of great facility for carrying his points, having a
persuasive eye, will, and speech; nor is it at all surprising that among
his early commendatory letters, there should be some from clergymen of
different denominations; one I remember signed by three _class leaders_,
in the Province of Canada, and others from those who had obeyed his call
to the new life, and to whom he became as an apostle and father.
At Gilmanton, Barnstead, Stratham, Portsmouth, Rye, Northampton, he held
forth in the name of the victorious Christ; and though there is no
record of dogmatic speculation and "disputations of science," the fires
of reformation were kindled, the young convert and the steadfast
believer rejoiced together, bringing forward their golden treasures, not
from the cold chambers of the intellect, but from the mines of the soul,
as wrought by experience and refined by the agencies of the Holy Spirit.
One more touching paragraph from this letter, we cannot withhold. Those
who recollect the calmness and the pensive music of the pine-grove, its
unison with the deeper feelings, will vividly realize the passage which
refers to the lonely and dependent spirit which there sought relief in
prayerful utterance.
"How many trials I have passed through during these four
months! I well remember the sad feelings of my heart as I
was riding from Rye to Portsmouth, across a pine plain,
whilst I meditated on my mission and present lot in the
world. Leaving my horse, I retired into this still grove,
where none but the heavenly powers could hear the
expression of my burdened soul. As I considered my
situation, a feeble youth, hundreds of miles from home,
among entire strangers, and bound by solemn duty to the
world of dying sinners, I was constrained to weep before my
God in this wilderness. Here I sought his aid. How oft, on
that journey, did I weep for miles, as I rode the streets.
Angels! ye are witnesses to the sleepless nights that
passed away as I thought of the unreconciled state of
mankind, and of my duty to them. Here, my loving friend,
you have a brief account of what I have seen the last four
months. I have reason to praise my Redeemer. Like Mr. Dow,
I can say, 'W
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