“If I am right in my religious views, you are radically wrong in yours, for I expect we essentially differ. If my views of God, Christ, heaven, hell, man, rewards and punishments, are correct, you are in error, of course, wherein you differ from me. Any one with half an eye, and that nearly out, can see that.”
“Well, I am safe if Universalism is true.”
“You are in a lost condition if it is true. He only is safe whose life is in harmony with the truth. Your mind, I perceive, from your conversation, is darkened by a false theology. ‘Know the truth,’ said Jesus, ‘and the truth shall make you free.’ ‘Sanctify them through thy truth, thy word is truth.’ Jesus attached great importance to receiving the truth. You are walking in darkness, and see that you do not stumble. Truth is a lamp to the feet, and a guide to the soul. We cannot walk safely without that light.”
“But I shall be saved as well as you if Universalism is of God.”
“You will be saved when your soul shall be sanctified by the truth, and not till then. Universalism promises no salvation, in this world or the world to come, without purity of heart. Let that be remembered.”
“But I thought you believed we should all be saved any how.”
“You thought wrong. There is only one way to be saved, and that is, by having our souls baptized with the truth. Those thus baptized are saved, heaven now reigns in their souls, the kingdom of God, which is righteousness, joy and peace in the Holy Spirit, is within them. That is the salvation Jesus lived, labored and died to bless man with.”
Delivered a discourse in Circleville, and formed the acquaintance of W. Y. Emmett. He has long been known in Ohio as a faithful minister of the New Testament. His father was a Methodist clergyman, but the son has greatly improved on the theology of the father. There are three steps from extreme error, in religion, to truth—Calvinism, Arminianism, Universalism. Perhaps Br. Emmett’s grand-father was a Calvinist. Passing on, I lectured several times in Ashtabula, but sectarianism taking alarm, all doors were closed against me, and I proceeded to Conneautville. Ammi Bond resided there. He has recently died. His ministry was confined, chiefly, to the northeast part of Ohio, and to contiguous portions of Pennsylvania. His personal appearance was attractive; had a well formed head, a Grecian face, and the soul within corresponded with the outer man. From here I proceeded more rapidly on my journey. Called on A. B. Grosh, Utica, N. Y., who was then publishing The Gospel Advocate. He possesses fine ability, and is, every way, a noble man. Crossed the Hudson river, at Troy, and after six weeks traveling reached Princeton, Mass., where my mother resided. Visited my old home in Haverhill, and shed a tear over my brother’s grave in Plaistow, N. H., attended a Conference meeting in Boston, and then sailed from Boston for Philadelphia, in the brig Mary Ann, commanded by Captain Chase. We encountered a tremendous storm—an equinoctial storm—which made the vessel roll and plunge at a fearful rate, and set the sailors to telling stories of shipwrecks, ghosts, and home. The captain, who was a member of one of our societies on Cape Cod, related the following of a Methodist preacher:—The previous season there was a terrible storm off that coast, and many vessels were lost. A friend of his, who ran a vessel between New York and Boston, was out in it, and during the hardest of the gale, in a pitch-black night, he was trying to weather Cape Cod, to get into a sheltered position. He had a Methodist preacher on board. About midnight, when it was dark as Egypt, the wind howling, the waves dashing, and the vessel plunging, he went into the cabin dripping with salt water, when the preacher said, “Captain, how are we getting along?” The captain replied, “We are drifting towards the shore very fast, and we shall all be in heaven before morning.” “God forbid,” said the clergyman. This reminds me of a courageous preacher in Indiana. Some boatmen, after toiling all night in a flat-boat on White river, tied up their craft, and sought a place to rest. They selected a barn for that purpose. Over its floor was a scaffold covered with hay, on which they laid their weary bodies to repose. Being much fatigued they slept sound and long. When they awoke, they found that there was a congregation worshiping on the floor below, for it was Sunday morning. The preacher was in the midst of his theme—the judgment day, that day for which all days were made. He had got to where the saints were about to be raised, and he, of course, was one of them. “O-ah,” said he, “I want to go-ah; I am tired-ah of this wicked-ah world-ah;” and looking straight at the roof of the barn, he cried as loud as he could scream, “Gabriel-ah, Gabriel-ah, blow-ah that trumpet-ah, that I-ah may leave-ah this ungodly-ah world-ah, and go to heaven-ah. I-ah say-ah, Gabriel-ah, blow-ah that-ah trumpet-ah this-ah minute-ah.” The boatmen had a tin horn, and one gave a loud blast, which made every worshiper bound to his feet. The preacher stopped short, cast one agonizing glance upward, and then leaped through and over his flock out of the barn, and ran home as fast as his legs would carry him. One old lady, in her haste to get out of the way of Gabriel, broke a limb.
In Philadelphia I was introduced to Asher Moore, a well known minister in the East. Z. Fuller, for many years an influential clergyman in that city, had recently died. Being anxious to return to my western field of labor, I tarried but a few hours in P. Proceeded over the mountains to Pittsburg, by railroad and stage, where I delivered several discourses. From thence I went in a steamboat to Cincinnati; and in a few days, was on the road to Chicago.
A journey to Chicago from Cincinnati was not as easily, or as quickly made in those days as it is now. Instead of a few hours, it took about two weeks of hard traveling to perform the journey. Instead of a smooth, iron road, it was about the roughest and softest road ever traveled by man or beast. Parts of it were railway, but the rails were unhewed logs, and laid across the track, which endangered the horse’s legs and carriage wheels. Portions of the year it was hard to find the bottom of the mud. It was indeed a rough and terrible road most of the way through; and the driver had to keep both eyes open to avoid stumps, holes and quagmires, and often with good eyes, and they used to the best advantage, he did not escape shipwreck. Preached in Richmond, Ind., four times. This is a Quaker town. Had a long conversation with a preacher of that order.