I preached in Richmond and Chillicothe. In the former place the meetings caused considerable excitement, which brought out a preacher against me. He abused me, my faith, and every body that entertained it. He was a regular blackguard, and a son of thunder. My clothes being rather seedy, the friends, as a compensation for my labor, presented me with a new suit, and I went on my way rejoicing. A clergyman of the liberal faith, by the name of Wood, resided and preached in Richmond. He, however, soon after left there, moved to Patriot, Ind., ceased to preach, was, for one or two sessions, a member of the Indiana Legislature, and finally died insane. He was a worthy man, but was too easily discouraged to be a minister in the West in those days. Delivered lectures in several places in Highland county. Became acquainted with a brother by the name of Webber, who soon after commenced preaching. After laboring about ten years in Ohio, he moved to Scotland county, Mo., where he died, after traveling and preaching in that state two or three years. His lone grave is on the wide and wild prairie. The last time I saw it a frail fence enclosed his resting place, and that, ere this, has probably disappeared.

I returned to Cincinnati May, 1839. Had been absent five months, delivered ninety-three discourses, and traveled six hundred miles. The succeeding nine months were spent in Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky. Delivered a series of discourses in Warsaw, Ky., which awakened much interest. Dr. Chamberlin, a wealthy and influential citizen of that place, had recently embraced the better faith. He had been a member of the Campbellite church, and all who knew him, freely admitted that his new faith had made a new man of him. It expanded his soul, and opened his hand and his purse. His wealth, time and talent, and the latter was of a superior order, were devoted to the upbuilding of the truth. He distributed hundreds of volumes of our denominational books through Kentucky, and was ever ready to aid every effort to advance the good cause. He subsequently moved to Burlington, Iowa, donated to every Universalist society in Iowa one hundred and sixty acres of land, and, I think, gave the Lombard College, in Galesburg, Ill., ten thousand dollars in cash, besides many valuable books and a collection of American antiquities. Lectured three times in Lexington, Ky. One of the ministers in town delivered a philippic against the new faith; said Universalism was a species of infidelity. I asked, what is there infidel about it? It asserts, that there a God, who rules in heaven and on earth, and in who we live, move and have our being. Is that infidelity? It teaches that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and Savior of the world. Is that infidelity? It declares that God will surely and fully reward every virtue, and surely and fully punish every vice. Is that infidelity? It proclaims that man is an immortal being, and destined to advance onward and upward forever and ever. Is that infidelity? It asserts, that our greatest happiness consists in communing with God, and leading a pure and virtuous life. Is that infidelity? Portions of your system, sir, are worse than infidelity. You are a Calvinist, and in the language of John Wesley, “You may call me an infidel, a Turk, a Mahomedan, but don’t call me a Calvinist. I had rather believe in no God than believe he is an almighty tyrant.” You believe in a burning hell in which God will plunge most of the dead, to be his victims eternally. Is there any thing in the baldest infidelity half as infernal as that? You believe that God creates us all totally depraved, not capable of thinking a good thought or performing a good act, and if we do not change our nature, he will roast us in hell forever. And then to cap the climax of infamy, you teach that God decreed from all eternity, that the victims of perdition should be born totally depraved, should live a wicked life, and in the end should fall into the bottomless pit. If your creed is religion, give me infidelity. To exchange the latter for the former, would be exchanging heaven for hell.

I also lectured several times near Lexington, at the request of a venerable man by the name of Taylor, a relative of President Taylor. Several years after, I heard Dr. Young, a Methodist minister, tell the following story in his pulpit at St. Louis, about Mr. Taylor and an imaginary clergyman: “There lived an old and rich man near Lexington, Ky., by the name of Taylor, who was a Universalist. Some time since, he sent to Cincinnati for a preacher of his choice to come and preach for him, and the preacher having performed his labor, Mr. T. paid him one hundred dollars. All right; preachers should be paid for their work like other folks. Some time after, the preacher visited him again, by Mr. T.’s request, and he again paid him one hundred dollars. He did right,” added Dr. Young. “When the preacher was about departing, he told the old man he needed five hundred dollars, and would be much obliged if Mr. Taylor would lend him that sum for a short time. He lent it to him, and to this day the debt has not been cancelled. The old man renounced his Universalism, and died a Methodist. If any of you doubt the truth of this story, I tell you it is as true as the gospel, for I know all about it.” I called on the gentleman the next day and asked him if he was acquainted with Mr. Taylor.

“No.”

“Do you know any of his relatives?”

“No.”

“But you said yesterday that you knew all about this matter.”

“Brother Kavanagh told it to me, and he learned it from a brother in Kentucky.”

“Now, sir, I knew Mr. Taylor, and I suppose that I am the preacher you referred to, and I pronounce the whole story, save that Mr. T. was a Universalist, and that I preached in his neighborhood, false.”

“Oh, this took place a long time ago, before your day.”