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.