“The only passage in the Bible where deliverance from hell is spoken of reads thus:—‘For great is thy mercy towards me; and thou hast delivered my soul from the lowest hell.’ Psalms lxvi. 13. Here is hell, the lowest hell, and the writer speaks of salvation from it; but this hell is on earth, and the deliverance is a present deliverance. David had sinned, and he expressed his sins and their consequences by the term, hell; but he repented, reformed, obtained forgiveness, and was delivered from the lowest hell into which he had been plunged. And it was the mission of Jesus to save the world from just such a hell, and from no other.”
“But the Bible speaks of salvation from hell in the future world—an endless hell.”
“The Scriptures no where locate hell in the immortal world. It is a condition of moral corruption, and, the world knows by sad experience, that condition is experienced in this life. The terms, ‘eternal hell,’ ‘everlasting hell,’ ‘endless hell,’ do not once occur in the good book. But if gospel salvation is deliverance from such a wretched place, it is remarkable that the sacred writers say nothing about it. The truth is, God never made such a horrible place as theologians denominate hell, and consequently nobody is exposed to its fiery surges, and all this talk about salvation from it, is simply idle talk. But men do cherish evil thoughts, purposes, habits, and the salvation the Bible contemplates is deliverance from those real evils. Here is a trinity of evils, and to sever them from our souls and from our life; to purify our thoughts, correct our habits, and rightly direct our purposes, should be the end and aim of life. But to spend life’s golden moments, trying to dodge imaginary evils, evils which exist only in our creeds, and thereby make ourselves miserable, is foolish, is suicidal. The only hell we need fear is within our own souls, not without, and away in yonder world; and if half the effort was made to save the world from that hell, that is made to save it from imaginary torments beyond the grave, much more would be accomplished for humanity.”
Proceeded to Bainbridge, where I spent several days, and delivered four sermons to an excited people. The doctrine of the Restitution was hardly known there, even by name, but all classes attended my meetings to hear the youthful speaker, and to learn something of his strange doctrine. Some were mad and some were glad. One minister treated me very kindly, and assisted several times in the services, but another was boiling over with rage, but he heard me through. At the close of the second discourse, he jumped to his feet, and told the people that the speaker believed in no hell or devil, and for my part, he added, I would as soon deny that there is a God or a heaven. I kindly informed him that he was mistaken, that he had not understood me; that I believed in all the hells and devils the Bible speaks of, and no more; that possibly we might differ relative to the Bible meaning of those subjects, and that it was very uncharitable to assert that I denied the Bible because I differed from him in understanding it. Doing that is not denying the Bible, but simply differing from the gentleman. He then dashed into Revelation to prove that the devil was a huge monster, almost equal to the Almighty, had his throne in the infernal regions, where he reigned, “monarch of all he surveyed,” and that his eagle eye, from the center of hell, beheld this earth and all therein, and he not only attended to his infernal duties at home, but was constantly besieging every man, woman and child of earth, and never forsook a soul till it was fairly within the gates of the New Jerusalem. I replied, that there was this difference between the speaker and myself—he was a Pagan and I was a Christian; I believed in one God, and he, at least, in two—the God of heaven, and the god of hell. And I exhorted him to abandon his Paganism and embrace Christianity. He cooled down some, and at the close of the meeting gave me his hand. I entered Bainbridge a total stranger, and departed from it with the blessings of many.
I went to Cincinnati by stage, and oh, what roads! There were no railroads then, not even turnpikes. It was mud, mud, mud, nothing but mud; stiff, black, deep mud. I forget how many times the stage broke down, how many horses were killed, or how many times all hands had to get out into the ocean of mud, and pry the stage out of the mud. But I do remember, that when we reached Cincinnati, the horses, driver, stage and passengers, were covered with rich Buckeye mud. Mr. West was then preaching in the Queen city, in a small house, on Walnut street, and Mr. Tizard and George Rogers were publishing the Star in the West. Cincinnati then contained only twenty-five thousand inhabitants, but now its population is fully two hundred thousand. Still, it was then the city of the West. St. Louis and Chicago were then mere villages, now each of them is equal to Cincinnati in population. Surely, western cities are great growers. Preached several times in C., and made many pleasant acquaintances. I was urged to remain and labor in the vicinity, but I had resolved to go South, and no persuasion could change my purpose. I had to learn my mistake by experience.
I went on foot, down the Ohio river. Stopped at North Bend, saw General Harrison, who then resided there, and spent several hours in his company. He was very kind and social. He told me he had thought much about religion, believed in its reality and usefulness, that he could not subscribe to the eternity of punishment, but did not know about the salvation of all; but added the General, “I believe God is just, wise, good and merciful, and that all will end well, but what that end is to be I know not. I must wait for the developments of the great teacher—death.” Soon after, he was elected President of the United States. I saw him several times during the presidential campaign; heard him make his Dayton speech to congregated thousands, and read with tearful eyes, the announcement of his death, one short month after his inauguration, and have since lingered around his grave, on the banks of the Ohio.
I next went to Rising Sun, Ind., where I preached every day for a week. This was my first advent into Indiana. Since then, I have traveled through its length and its breadth, and preached in nearly every town within its borders. Much interest was manifested in the meetings at Rising Sun, and large congregations attended. One man, I was informed, a member of some orthodox church, who attended one of the meetings, became so excited, during the service, that he ate all the tobacco he could find in his pockets—three large plugs. Since then, a society has been organized there, and a church built. Perhaps the good seed sown then, in after years yielded some fruit. Seven miles down the river is Patriot, where I stopped ten days, and delivered five discourses. The principal families of the place were of the liberal faith, excellent people, and practical Christians. They loved the truth, loved to talk about it, and loved to attend the services of the sanctuary. That place was an oasis in the desert—no controversy, no denunciation, but peace, love and harmony reigned. A fine meeting-house was built soon after I was there, and the society prospered for several years. But pecuniary misfortunes overtaking some of the leading members, and the business of the town diminishing, nearly broke up the society. After a pleasant sojourn with the Patriot friends, I went to Louisville, Ky., where I preached several times in a large hall. I had not been in Kentucky before, but since then have traveled extensively in that state. In this city, E. M. Pingree lived, studied, labored and died. He died young, in the midst of usefulness, loved and honored by all who knew him. He was a strong man, gathered many friends around him, and built up what seemed to be a permanent society, but it did not prosper long after his death, and is now extinct. Gad Chapin was in L. on my first visit, and is there still—a patriarch in our Israel.
At Louisville I took passage on the steamer “Commercial” for New Orleans, fifteen hundred miles down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. Nothing of much interest occurred on the voyage. I delivered three discourses, at the request of the captain and passengers, on three subjects—Judgment, Punishment, Salvation—and theological points were the principal subjects of discussion the ten days occupied in going to New Orleans. The merits and demerits of Universalism were pretty freely canvassed by all, from the captain to the barber. Captain Rudd, the commander, was of the liberal faith. I met him in after years in St. Louis, where he died of yellow fever. He was a good officer, and a generous friend.
I arrived at New Orleans in January. Ten days had transported me from winter to summer weather; from where the earth was bound in chains of ice, and covered with snow, to where mother earth was teeming with vegetable life, and covered with a carpet, in which were blended the tints of the rainbow. Jack Frost was busy, biting ears and fingers, in Louisville, but in New Orleans gnats and musquitoes were fully as eager to bite at every exposed point. I heard Dr. Clapp, but he had not then embraced the better faith, and I formed no acquaintance with him. I traveled all over the city, and visited the battle ground where General Jackson gave the English such a drubbing. I wanted to preach on the spot, but could not find a door of entrance. No one seemed to care for any thing but money, and dissipation. Mammon and Bacchus were the gods mostly worshiped. The churches on Sunday were nearly empty, but the theaters, museums, gambling dens, and grog-shops, were crowded. There were doubtless some righteous men there, but to a stranger, they seemed to be as scarce as they were in Sodom of old.