I.
CHILDHOOD.
Can a father, his heart yearning with unspeakable tenderness over a child worthy of all the love he inspired, tell the story of that child wisely, fairly, profitably? Let me try: for to me it seems full of the sweetest lessons our Lord could bestow on parents and on children. Perhaps a ray of heavenly light from his life may fall pleasantly upon some path,—a somber and rugged path, perchance,—bringing assurance that in God’s time “the rough ways shall be made smooth,” and “light arise in the darkness.”
James was received at his birth as a loan from the Lord, and was then, and thenceforward, consecrated unconditionally to him, to serve in whatever capacity he should be best pleased to employ him. God gave him a most affectionate, and home-loving disposition. He was the sturdy friend and helper of the little ones, and in his earliest letter written to his parents, before he was eight, he said, “I wish to live, with God’s consent, to see you in a good old age; and I wish to live to support you in your old age.”
He began life as other boys begin it, with great delight in hardy sports, and a fair interest in study. He was unselfish, frank, and fearless. Having no inclination to be unkind to others, it seemed never to occur to him that others could be unkind to him. Secure in this unconscious panoply, he was welcome everywhere, and made friends before he thought of doing so.
At fourteen he began to realize the want of the new life,—the life from above, which our Lord pointed out to Nicodemus. For a time he was much perplexed to discern the signs and tokens of this life. It is not given to every one at once to find an open road straight before him. It was not given to James. He found it true that “the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God.” He had at first little or no spiritual discernment. The light came, as morning light comes, in like circumstances, gradually, and struggling through clouds. It was indeed a long morning, and the omens for the coming day were equivocal. Faith waited for the evening and the morning to become the first day. In the best time the sky became clear, the sun warm, and it marched grandly on towards its meridian. A light breeze of favoring influence did much to dispel the clouds. It was thus: he went down one evening to the prayer-meeting of the young men of the Christian Association. One of them whispered the inquiry, “Are you a Christian?” “That is what I don’t know, but would like to know,” was the answer. “Why not ask prayers that you may?” It had not occurred to him. He rose and asked at once. The clouds melted.
On the following Sabbath evening he went down to the seamen’s meeting—a very favorite meeting with our young converts—and told the hardy and sympathizing sailors what God had done for him. From that hour he stood committed to a hearty coöperation in every Christian endeavor to diffuse light, love, and kindness. Knowing well that no man can “freely give” who does not freely and constantly receive from the fountain of spiritual truth, he gave himself assiduously to the study of the Bible, to much meditation and prayer. He did not divest himself of a healthy interest in all good reading, but loved a superior book, in almost any department of thought, and loved that book best which led him most directly to the reason of things. “I have been reading,” he said, “‘Locke on the Understanding;’ just the book, I believe, I wanted. You know I was in some perplexity when at home, and tried to make Dr. — understand what it was, but did not succeed very well. This essay of Locke’s seems to meet my case exactly. I seemed to be in search of first principles; something to base my reflections upon. Locke supplies that want; shows me what is self-evident; what is capable of demonstration, and what must be settled by a balance of probabilities.”
II.
AT SCHOOL.
Weak eyes compelled him to leave the Latin School for a farm in Michigan. Not gaining all the relief desired, he then went for a year into a store, and thence proceeded to finish his preparation for college at a military school; from which he wrote, “You can’t do me a greater favor than to write me on religious topics. I have no religious society here, and, strange as it may seem, my interest in religion has increased daily since I came. My confidence in Christ is becoming stronger and stronger. I was firmly convinced, before I came here, that he would deliver me from evil, and I am more and more persuaded of it. I can’t tell you how much religious happiness I have got from the very worldliness of the school influences. Place a plant in a hot-house till it has had the opportunity to become delicate; then expose it to the chilling winds of heaven: and if it can straighten up and resist them, you know that there is a real healthy, independent life in it. That is the feeling I have had here. I am getting on nicely, and like the school better every day, and have come to the conclusion that they are a very nice set of fellows, after all. It takes a great while to get acquainted though; I find that I have been on trial all this time. They have now about concluded to trust me; so I find them much more agreeable. You would be surprised to hear several of the hardest fellows in school, who scarcely ever stop swearing, tell me that they would be glad to change places with me. Several have said so, and that entirely of their own accord, introducing the subject themselves. My chum told me that ‘I had a great many advantages;’—in having taken a decided stand as a Christian, he meant. He told me that he had sat up in our room, with his legs out of the window, looking down to the ground, and thinking, to use his own language, ‘how soon he would be in hell if he dropped out.’ He added, that once, in a skirmish in Western Virginia, the bullets were flying pretty thick, and he thought that he was going to die, and that he would recognize his Maker in death, if he had not in life; and he ran over ‘Now I lay me,’ in his mind. I have heard him confess that he did not know the Lord’s Prayer. Think what a life he must have led since he was twelve years old, when he ran away from home, and went down the Mississippi as far as New Orleans in the position of assistant bar-keeper. ‘But then,’ said he, ‘you know I hate to be called pious.’ I wonder how many souls have been lost through that fear!
“‘You think I’m a pretty hard case—don’t you, fellows?’ said another, to a little collection of boys yesterday morning. ‘I might be reformed, now, I tell you.’ They asked me whether I thought it was necessary for a man to be religious? I said I thought we were made for religion, and felt unsatisfied all the time without it.
“‘Now that’s so,’ said one; ‘I feel that way all the time myself.’ And another said, ‘Not all the time;’ which implied some assent. And yet they were all of them, perhaps, swearing away as much as ever in three minutes.