Could a more happily conceived answer have been given to the woman, if hours had been consumed in its preparation? We opine not; and herein the reader will observe the instantaneous and lightning-like operation of Mr. Ballou's mind.
His conversational powers were most remarkable,—remarkable because ever tempered with such a fund of logical clear-sightedness, such profound acumen, and such convincing argument upon the topic under discussion; then we have to add to this the effect of his speech, so distinct and impressive. Hazlitt's remark of Coleridge, that he was an "excellent talker,—very,—if you let him start from no premises and come to no conclusion," would in no way apply to the subject of these memoirs; for, at the outset of Mr. Ballou's conversation, you would at once divine the end he aimed at, and would only be surprised at the velocity with which you found him leading you to the desired result, always established in his own mind, though he addressed you with the calm and collected expression that was a second nature to him. No mountain of error seemed too lofty for him to surmount, with giant strides and unbroken strength; and you would find his white flag of truth waving from its summit, and yourself breathing freer and deeper at the consummation of the rough ascent, before you had fairly found time to realize the power of reason necessary to surmount the rugged obstacles of the path. And once elevated above the murky haze of error, his descent with you again to the lowlands and plains of every-day life was as easy and graceful as his ascent had been majestic and lofty.
Often, in private conversation with those who had come to his own fireside to meet him, he was most efficacious. In the grandeur of his conception, the glory of his theme, and the unequalled sincerity with which he advocated it, his soul would seem to expand, his eyes to kindle in the expression to a surprising brilliancy, his lips and countenance seemed like those of one inspired, while you would have been almost awed at the man, had not his theme so much more power over your heart. But, having uttered such language as few could frame, having challenged your admiration and wonder by the adaptedness of every word, and the conviction that he forced upon you, he relapsed again into the quiet, peaceable, domestic soul that he was, and you would seem to look around instinctively to behold the spirit which had so entranced your faculties but a moment before, it seeming impossible that it was he who sat so quietly beside you.
Mr. Ballou's reading was confined almost entirely to sacred history, and, comparatively speaking, he consulted little else, though he was well versed on all general subjects, and he carefully perused at least one daily newspaper regularly. We remember to have asked him, at a late period of his life, why he did not vary his reading somewhat from the great theme of divinity, arguing that it might afford some relief to his mind, and be of both mental and physical benefit to him, by somewhat relaxing the constant exercise of his brain. He answered us in the words of Milton,—"The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love him, and to venerate him;" adding, that this was the great actuating purpose of his labors and study; in short, the being, end and aim, of his existence. "That which seems to you to be labor," said he, "is to me as refreshing recreation. No course of reading could afford me the pleasure and delight that I find in that which has engaged me, heart and soul, for more than half a century."
His whole library did not exceed three hundred volumes, but these were of a character that particularly indicated the nature of his mind and pursuits, being well worn by constant use, and relating to such subjects as might be supposed to occupy and interest him. His thorough acquaintance with the Scriptures was almost unprecedented, and he was never at fault as to any passage or quotation from its wealth of knowledge. It was the book he had studied more than all others put together; nor was there any passage, in the whole of the sacred record, which had been made the theme of controversy or misunderstanding, that he had not also made the subject of careful study and exposition.
Every unoccupied moment was given to mental exercise upon the subject nearest to his heart. We have seen him thus occupied often in the street, when all the turmoil and bustle of life passed him by unheeded. On this peculiarity, Mr. Bacon says, in the eulogy before referred to:—"He wasted no power in frivolity, but as he walked the streets he seemed to be unaffected by the crowd about him, meditating some new utterance of the truth. I remember being amused, and yet impressed, by beholding him, in my youth, walking along with his head bent, and his lips moving as in speech, heeding not the passers-by or the shows in the street, appearing as quiet amid the noise and bustle as in the solitude of his own study. Yet should any one greet him by name, he would instantly pause, fix his sharp, keen eye upon the face before him, and, as he recognized the friend, one of the sweetest smiles that ever illumined a human face would spread over his countenance, deepening till that countenance was youthful indeed; then, with ready utterance of kind feeling and warm interest in the happiness of others, he made his affectionate regards known."