Soon after moving to Indianapolis, I had a discussion in New Philadelphia, in the southern portion of Indiana. In going there, I stopped over night in a little village; told the landlord of the inn that I would speak to the people if he would give notice. As my host was a Methodist, the people inferred the preacher was one of his brethren. “The Lord is good unto all, and his tender mercies are over all his works,” was my text, and I dwelt on the evidences of God’s goodness in nature, providence, and the Bible. I emphasized the conclusion, that as God is unchangeable he always will, in this world and the world to come, through all time and through all eternity, be good unto all, and his tender mercies be ever over all his works. As God is good to all, he blesses all now, and as he always will be good to all, he ever will bless all mankind. I did not say that all would be saved, only that God would ever bless mankind. I requested a man, who I was told was a Methodist, to close the meeting. Before praying he remarked, “My brethren, we have heard the gospel to-night in all its fullness. Glory to God for such truths. They are the bread of life. May we all feast on them and live forever.” Another said, “I bless God for what we have heard this evening. I have been so near heaven, I have felt like taking the shoes from my feet. Bless God for the word of life.” I spent the night with a Methodist brother, and he doubtless thought I was a Methodist. I practiced no deception—told the truth clearly, boldly. No one questioned me concerning my denominational relations, and I said nothing on that subject. The nature of the soul is in harmony with truth and righteousness, and when the wisdom of heaven is unfolded, it is intuitively responded to by men of all creeds, provided their prejudices are not aroused by offensive names, or by unpopular truths stated in too pointed terms. If I had told the people I was a Universalist, the whole discourse would have been pronounced heresy.
At another time, I was traveling on Sunday; coming to a meeting-house where a congregation was assembling, I dismounted, and took a seat with the congregation. I knew no one, and I suppose no one knew me. The expected preacher did not appear, and some one arose to dismiss the assembly. I told the people I was a minister and would deliver a discourse if they wished me to. All seemed gratified to hear a stranger, and I talked nearly two hours to about five hundred people. I pursued the same course I did on the other occasion—said nothing about other people’s faith, called what I preached the gospel. I counted some twenty Universalists in the congregation; at least, I judged they were such from expressions of their countenances when I came out were pretty clear on Universalist ground. I spent the rest of the day with a Presbyterian deacon, and he evidently did not suspect I was a heretic.
The discussion in New Philadelphia continued two days. My opponent was a Presbyterian minister. We had some skirmishing before the regular battle commenced. I delivered a discourse on Saturday evening, and he replied. He spoke on Sunday morning, and I replied in the afternoon. Monday and Tuesday we met face to face, and discussed six hours each day, when he retreating left me in possession of the field. The discussion caused much excitement, for the liberal faith was unknown to most of the people—they had no idea that any thing could be said in its favor. One man offered to bet his farm that I would not be able to make a second speech. A good society could have been established there, but no minister could be obtained.
The strife between the Northern and Southern people, which ultimated in the late rebellion, disturbed the Universalist denomination in Indiana long before the war commenced. The contention though was not about slavery, but grew out of the antagonism between people from those two sections of country. Southern and Central Indiana was settled chiefly by emigrants from the South, and unfortunately they cherished prejudices against the Yankees. The Indiana State Convention would not join the United States Convention, because it was controlled by Northern people. Jonathan Kidwell, who had long been preaching in the West, resided in Indiana, was from Kentucky. In his younger days he was a Methodist minister; then a New Light; and finally became a Universalist. He possessed much intellectual power, and was well read on many subjects, although not versed in the technicalities of knowledge. He had long resided in Indiana, and was well known. Some forty years ago, he had a discussion in Indianapolis with a Methodist minister. It was published by Mr. K., and widely circulated. He had been editor of the Star in the West, and while I resided in Indiana, he published a monthly magazine, called the Philometh Encyclopediæ. He was, as remarked, from Kentucky, pro-slavery, and had but little love for Yankees.
Soon after I settled in Lafayette, he commenced a war on Eastern preachers, calling them “silk-stocking gentry,” sent out West to enlighten the heathen. He complimented me by calling me a “Texan ranger,” “a conspirator,” and a “little bishop.” Many of the Universalists in the state were anxious to be connected with the United States Convention, but Mr. Kidwell and his friends always opposed such union. This difference disturbed the harmony of some of our associational and conventional meetings, and did much mischief in the state generally. I was young, and doubtless indiscreet in some statements I published in the Teacher, but Mr. K. was very coarse and abusive in his attacks. The State Convention met in Terre Haute while I resided there, and one of Mr. Kidwell’s friends reported that he had fifty charges against me, which he intended to lay before the council. When motion was made to adjourn, I stated what I had heard, and demanded a presentation of the charges threatened. This brought G. C. McCune to his feet, and some one proposed the matter be left to six persons, each party choosing three, and their decision with regard to the charges be final. Both parties consented. I selected my men, but the other party did nothing. The year after, the Convention met in Dublin; one of Mr. K.’s friends proposed that I be disfellowshiped on the ground that I pretended to have received a Letter of Fellowship in the East when I had not, and was therefore an impostor. The resolution was laid on the table. I then came out with a long article in the Teacher about my troubles in Indiana, and Mr. Kidwell made that article the basis of charges which he presented to the Convention the next year. It met that year in Laconia, in the extreme southern portion of the state, and the council was composed chiefly of delegates from some dead societies in that locality. The result was as I expected, and rather hoped would be—the council voted me guilty of the charges. But that act killed the Convention. The White River, Wabash and Upper Wabash Associations immediately withdrew from it, and in a few months a new Convention was organized in my parlor in Indianapolis, and it soon joined the United States Convention. The old Convention met once or twice and then died; and about the same time Mr. Kidwell departed this life, full of years; and soon after, his printing office, which was then run by E. M. Knapp, was destroyed by fire. After the new order of things was inaugurated, peace and harmony reigned in our councils, and the good cause was more prosperous.
Liberal sentiments were making some progress in central Illinois, and I was invited to visit that region and hold a discussion in Springfield with a Methodist preacher. I had never been in that portion of the state, and it was a long journey there, for there was no railroad connecting those two capitals in those days. In going to Springfield, I stopped at Mt. Pulaski, Ill., and delivered several discourses. It is on a high mound, in the midst of vast prairies—a beautiful situation. Here I met, for the first time, D. P. Bunn, who resided in the place and preached there, and in the region all around. He still lives in a neighboring town, Decatur, and is yet faithfully discharging his ministerial duties. He is an excellent man, a faithful minister, and dear friend. He has labored long and hard in the moral field, and God has blessed him and his labors. Mr. Bunn accompanied me to Springfield. Arriving there, I found that the preacher who had agreed to debate with me, was not inclined to keep his promise, and Mr. Lewis, the most noted controversalist in that section, was chosen to take his place. He was a Methodist minister of much ability, and very zealous in his cause. He had recently had a discussion with Mr. Bunn, and was pretty well posted concerning Universalism. We debated four days in the Representatives’ Hall of the capitol, in the presence of vast assemblies. The discussion produced much excitement in Springfield, and all parties attended it. I remember seeing Mr. Lincoln there punctually every day and every night. He often nodded his head to me when I made a strong point. Little did I think, or he think, what was to be his future position and history.
In my first speech, I offered some arguments in favor of the restitution of all things. God is love. The Bible says, “God is love;” and all God’s works say, he is love.
“Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchments made,
Were every blade of grass a quill,