I have said I worked in Mr. G.’s shoe shop; yes, and learned to make cheap shoes, but always despised the business, and never more than half learned the trade. My aspiration was to be a merchant. Oh, if I could only be a merchant how happy I would be! I dreamed, and planned, and built air-castles—would weep over my “lapstone,” for being doomed to work at that hateful trade. When I was about sixteen years old, the Boston Trumpet, a Universalist paper, published by Thomas Whittemore, led me to look into Universalism, for up to that time I knew nothing of its principles or history. Mr. George’s family, and all my associates, attended the Congregational church in the neighborhood, and no body seemed to call in question the infallibility of the sermons we heard every Sunday. But the Trumpet opened a new world to my view, changed all my aspirations, and I was really born again. I thought no more of being a merchant—that seemed a contemptible calling,—but must be a preacher. I devoured the paper, read the Bible, and had many hard fought battles with my comrades. I loved them, loved the world, and was sure, if I could get the ears of mankind, I could convert all nations and people. The world seemed to be a musical instrument, tuning the praises of its almighty Author. Thomas Farnsworth was then preaching in Haverhill, four miles from where I resided, and I called on him several times, and he urged me to prepare for the ministry, but I never intimated to him that I had such an intention. I kept that to myself.
I was always fond of reading, and my new faith quickened my love for it. I perused religious books, romance, history, but poetry was especially my delight. I remember with what enthusiasm I read portions of Dr. Young’s “Night Thoughts.” His grand and solemn thoughts and diction stirred my soul to its lowest depths. I even wrote what I called “poetry,” but I am thankful that none of it survives. I have never attempted the “divine art” since those early days, although phrenologists tell me I ought to be something of a poet, as my “ideality” is large.
When in Haverhill, I came near losing my life. I never could swim, but with a plank three feet long, one end pressing against my body, I could paddle far from shore into deep water, without any fear. On one occasion, when indulging in one of my aqueous excursions, while in deep water, a comrade, who was ignorant of my helpless condition when off the plank, took it from me, when down I went, but by the aid of other boys I reached the shore, and I never went into deep water again on my frail craft. In my boyhood, I was subject to violent attacks of colic and sick headache, but otherwise my health was good. My physical frame was small and of fine texture, and consequently I was not very strong, and could not cope with boys generally of my age in athletic exercises.
When I was eighteen years old, I left old Haverhill, and repaired to Princeton, where I attended school one year, and made considerable progress in English branches. But my purse being nearly empty, I was obliged to replenish it before I could further prosecute my studies; and having no one to aid me, I went to Boston, hoping something would there turn up in my favor. I knew no one in that city, and no one knew me, and soon became satisfied I had better try my fortune elsewhere. I noticed in a city paper, that school teachers were wanted in Eastern New York, and I resolved to go there and seek a school, although I had only three dollars in my pocket, and it was one hundred and eighty miles to the place of destination; but my empty purse did not prevent my making the journey. On foot and alone, I traveled the whole distance. Although my feet were sore, and my bones and muscles ached, I pursued my weary march, and finally reached the neighborhood of Bethlehem—I think that was the name of the place. I found myself in the midst of a German settlement, with a people of unknown tongue, and of manners and customs all new to me. I remained there but a few days, became distressingly homesick, and resolved to return to Boston. Repaired to Albany, where I sold my watch to pay traveling expenses, went on a steamboat to New-York city, and from thence to Boston by sea. This was my first tour; this was the beginning of my ramblings, but it was rather an unpropitious beginning. When I went on this school-hunting expedition, my intention was, after securing a school, to devote my leisure hours to study, and if opportunity offered, to speak occasionally in public, and thereby prepare myself for what I deemed the chief business of my life. But that Dutch Bethlehem broke up all my calculations, and I returned disgusted, but not discouraged.
In a few days I walked out to Lynn, the great shoe manufacturing town of New England, where nearly all the men, women and children are shoemakers, and recommenced cobbling, earning enough to defray current expenses, and continued my studies. J. C. Waldo was then pastor of the Universalist church in Lynn, and I soon introduced myself to him, and made known my intentions of preparing for the ministry, and he kindly offered me the use of his books, and such instruction as I might need in prosecuting my object. I remained in L. six months, working, reading and writing, when Mr. Waldo advised me to go to Malden, and study with Sylvanus Cobb. To Malden I repaired, and made arrangements with Mr. C. to reside in his family, and devote all my time to study.
A new era in my life had now opened, and my hopes were buoyant. I could give all my time and thought to study, and I made the best use of my advantages. Mr. Cobb was a prominent man in the denomination, an able minister, a fair scholar, and consequently well qualified to give instruction. To that excellent man, and his accomplished lady, I am under great and lasting obligations. “I was a stranger and they took me in.” May God ever bless them. They now reside in Boston. Mr. Cobb, or rather, Dr. Cobb, for he is now a D. D., for many years published the Christian Freeman, is the author of a Commentary on the New Testament, and of several other useful books. His son, Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., who is a well known literary writer, was a boy when I was in Mr. C.’s family, and the twins, Cyrus and Darius, now ministers, and who fought for the Stars and Stripes, during the late rebellion, were born while I was a member of the household. He had three other students while I was with him—A. P. Cleverly, G. Hastings, and C. S. Hussey. We had fine times; we talked, read, wrote and declaimed. When we wanted to ventilate our logic, we repaired to a neighboring grove, where we made the welkin ring with our eloquence. “The Orthodox,” said A. P. Cleverly, on one of these occasions, “will come to you with their creed in one hand, and damnation in the other, and say to you, take this or take that, but one of them you must and shall have.” On Monday we generally went to Boston, two miles distant, and at the Trumpet office would usually see Hosea Ballou, H. Ballou, 2d, Walter Balfour, Thomas Whittemore, Sabastian Streeter, Henry Bacon, T. B. Thayer, all noted men, but most of them are now dwellers of the spirit land. The departed did a noble work on earth, and long will they be remembered. “Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.”
When I had been with Mr. Cobb about three months, he went to the state of Maine, and left me to preach for him one Sabbath. My heart jumped when the first bell on Sunday morning told me to prepare for my first pulpit services; but I went through the exercises of the day without much embarrassment. My texts were: “God is love”—“They hated me without a cause.” When Mr. C. returned, he seemed well satisfied with my effort, for he had heard his friends speak of it, and gave me words of encouragement. While with him, I preached in Lynn, Haverhill, and several other places, but devoted most of my time to hard study.
After being with Mr. Cobb six months, I put myself under the instruction of William S. Balch, then residing in Claremont, N. H., and pastor of the church in that place. I found him to be a noble man and shall ever remember his many acts of kindness with gratitude. Although I was in his family, and received his instruction most of the time during six months, he would receive no compensation. He now resides in Galesburg, Ill., and although years are pressing hard upon him, he is as faithful in the discharge of his ministerial duties as when in early manhood. When with him, I took my first preaching tour, and had my first debate. I went up the Connecticut river into Canada, and preached in most of the towns on both sides of the river. I performed the journey on foot, and must have walked about two hundred miles. In one town where I had an appointment, a Methodist minister had one at the same place and hour. We both met in the pulpit. He did not wish to speak, as he was unwell, he said, and desired me to occupy the time. I objected, for I was afraid of him; but as he insisted that I should go ahead, I delivered my discourse. My text was: “For if the word spoken by angels was steadfast, and every transgression and disobedience received a just recompense of reward, how shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation which at the first was spoken by the Lord, and confirmed unto us by them that heard him.” Heb. ii. 2, 3. As soon as I was through, he seemed to be well enough, took my text, and made a long reply to my feeble effort. He handled me rather rough, but I did the best I could in the way of a rejoinder, but felt that I had come out second best. It was not manly in him, an experienced preacher, to attack a boy as he did; but I suppose he had rather encounter a boy than a man.
Soon after returning from this journey, I noticed a statement by Otis A. Skinner, a minister in Baltimore, Md., in one of our denominational papers, that several young men were wanted to preach in Maryland, and Mr. Balch advised me to go there. Heeding his advice, I went by stage across the Green Mountains to Albany, thence to New-York. In the latter place, I had the following conversation with an Englishman, right from his foggy island:
“I do not like this country,” said he.