R. Badger
MEMOIR OF REV. JOSEPH BADGER.
By E. G. HOLLAND.
FOURTH EDITION.
NEW YORK:
C. S. FRANCIS AND CO., 252 BROADWAY.
BOSTON: BENJAMIN H. GREENE, 124 WASHINGTON ST.
1854.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
MRS. ELIZA M. BADGER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Western
District of New York.
DAMRELL & MOORE,
Printers,
16 Devonshire Street, Boston.
[PREFACE]
The present volume is the Memoir of a man and a minister whose character was strikingly individual, whose services to Religion in its more liberal and unsectarian form were large and successful; and in the denomination to which he belonged, no man was more generally known, and none, we believe, ever acted a more prominent and effective part. The writer of this has endeavored to set forth the life and sentiments of Mr. Badger, to a large extent in his own language. Much of his journal must be new even to old acquaintance, as it was written many years ago, and no part of it has ever been published. To those who would be pleased to read the outlines of the greatest theological reformation among the masses which the nineteenth century may justly claim, we trust this volume will be welcome; likewise to all those who may be liberal and evangelical Christians. Aged men, contemporaries with him, will rejoice in the revival of past scenes, and the young will be taught, encouraged, and warned by the paternal voices of the departed.
Two classes of great men figure effectively on the stage of the world. One class are strongest in writing. Their written words embody the entire elegance and power of their minds. Such were Webster and Channing. The other class are strongest in speech. Their personal presence, their spontaneous eloquence in oral discourse, alone express their mind and heart. Such were Clay, Henry, and Whitfield. To the latter classification Mr. Badger unquestionably belongs. Though the marks of superiority are variously apparent in his papers, it was in the more natural medium of oral speech that his genius shone. Having now completed the task demanded by my duty to the family of Mr. Badger, I would, in the name of the self-sacrificing, trusting faith of which he was no common example, send forth this volume to the world, hoping that in an ease-loving age, the presentation of a Lutheran force in the example of a son of New Hampshire may serve to awaken in others a kindred energy.
[CONTENTS.]
Chapter I. [Birth and Ancestry.]
II. [Childhood.]
IV. [Conversion.]
V. [Call to and Entrance upon the Ministry].
VI. [Public Labors in the Province.]
VII. [Tour to New England, and Public Labors.]
VIII. [Ordination and Public Labors.]
IX. [Public Labors—Marriage—Travels].
X. [Labors and Settlement in Western New York.]
XI. [Thoughts and Incidents of 1819 and 1820].
XII. [Writings—Marriage—Travels.]
XIII. [Correspondence—Visits at Angelica with D. D. How, the Murderer—Sermon at the Gallows.]
XIV. [Journey at the South—Published Journal.]
XV. [Ministry at Boston].
XVII. [Editorial Life.]
XVIII. [General Views.]
XIX. [Ministry—Published Writings and Important Events from May, 1839, to March, 1848.]
XX. [Retired Life—Reading—Travels—Departure—1848 to 1852.]
XXII. [Addresses—Sermons—Reminiscences—Views of Contemporaries.]
XXIII. [Reflections.]
[MEMOIR.]
[CHAPTER I.]
BIRTH AND ANCESTRY.
In so young a world as America, it has been held unsuitable for persons to spend much time in the tracing of pedigree, or to found important claims on family descent; nor can it accord less with the common sense of mankind than with the republican genius of the world, to say, that every genuine claim to human esteem is founded in character. In this is rooted every quality that can, of right, command the reverence of man. But, as character is not exactly isolated and independent of ancestral fountains, from which the innate impulses, capacity, and tendency to good and evil have flown, the subject of ancestry justly belongs to the history of every man's mind and life. Our ancestors flow in our veins. We retain them more or less in our characters always, so that the great stress which different countries have put upon this theme, rests on other than artificial and ostentatious reasons. In nature, below man, the various circuits and orders of being do nothing more than to repeat ancestral forms and habits, to which the sweet rose, the eagle, and the strong-armed oak, are perpetual witnesses; and though man, by his God-like faculty of will is lifted out, in a great measure, from this necessity, he is so far a derivation from the past, that he ought to be seen in his connections with it. We therefore introduce the subject of Mr. Badger's ancestry as the chief part of the first chapter of this book.
Joseph Badger, the subject of this memoir, was a native of Gilmanton, Strafford county, New Hampshire, born August 16th, 1792. From an early manuscript of his I copy the following lines:—
"My father, Peaslee Badger, was born at Haverhill, Mass., 1756. He was the son of General Joseph Badger, who was a native of that place. When my father was nine years of age, his father removed to Gilmanton, N. H., where his family was settled, and where my grandsire, General Joseph, ended his days in peace, in the year of our Lord 1803. The good instruction I received from him, before my ninth year, will never be effaced from my memory. His name will long be held in remembrance as a peacemaker, and a great statesman. Every recollection of him is a fulfilment of the sacred passage—'The memory of the righteous is blessed.'
"In 1781, my father was married to Lydia Kelley, born in Lee, N. H., 1759. She was the daughter of Philip Kelley, who, in the triumphs of faith, departed this life the 11th of June, 1800, at New Hampton, N. H. For the space of thirty-six years my father resided at Gilmanton. In our family were nine children, five sons and four daughters. I was the fourth son, and the old general, of whom I have already spoken, selected me as the one to bear up his name. I was accordingly named for him; but alas! I fear I have fallen greatly below his excellent examples."
Among his ancestors, there can be no doubt, that he most resembled, in mind and body, the venerable man whose name he bore. The personal form of Gen. Joseph Badger, as described in history, in which he is represented as nearly six feet in stature, somewhat corpulent, light and fair in complexion, and of dignified manners, answers most aptly to the subject of this memoir; nor is the correspondence less perfect, when his mental qualities of foresight, order, firmness, tact, and generosity are considered. "As a military man," says the faithful pen of history, "General Badger was commanding in his person, well skilled in the science of military tactics, expert as an officer, and courageous and faithful in the performance of every trust. With him order was law, rights were most sacred, and the discharge of duty was never to be neglected."
Hundreds, into whose hands this volume will fall, will never forget the promptness and the courageous efficiency with which Rev. Joseph Badger met every public duty, and every great emergency; and though his field was the ministry, and his soldierly skill that which referred to the Cross, none who ever knew him can cease to remember the ready, natural, and commanding generalship by which his entire action and influence in the world were distinguished. He did not float with the wave of circumstance, but carefully laid out his labors into system, always having a purpose and a plan; and not unfrequently did his active energy and position in life, amidst many difficulties, remind one of a campaign. No mind, acting in the same sphere, was ever more productive in ways and means. Though a clergyman, he was a general, and one, we should say, of no common tact and skill.
His father, Major Peaslee Badger, with whom the writer of this memoir was acquainted, was a man of strong mental powers, quick perceptions, and of great vivacity. The quality last named, for which the subject of these biographical sketches was so generally distinguished, is readily traceable to his father; and the same remark in regard to quickness of perception might also apply, but for the fact that the mind of the son was more intuitive, and that he possessed both the qualities spoken of in a greater degree. Joseph Badger, though at heart deeply imbued with the solemnity and importance of all that belongs to the Gospel of human salvation, was no anchorite in spirit, no desponding meditator on man or his lot; he wore no formalities of a pretending sanctity. He had the good fortune never to have lost his naturalness; and I think I never saw one in whose nature was treasured a greater fulness of social life. It was apparent that Major Badger had a memory that was strong even in advanced years; that he was a general reader, and had reflected very independently; that, though capable of tender emotions and kindness of heart, the intellect had pretty full ascendency over his sympathetic nature; and that, in social feeling, in affection, in fineness of nature, and in general sympathy, his son possessed the richer inheritance.
His mother was a Christian, and judging from her letters, was an affectionate woman, of good plain sense, and rich in sympathy and maternal care. Father, mother and son are now in the spiritual world.[1]
As there are several public men wearing the family name of Badger, and as there are different branches of the same original family that in an early day exchanged their home in England for the then comparative wilderness of New Hampshire and Massachusetts, in obedience to the spirit of adventure that drew, in those times, the most earnest and enterprising persons to the New World, I have thought it proper briefly to present the lineage of Rev. Joseph Badger from the settlement of the first family of this name in Massachusetts; in doing which I shall not rely on uncertain tradition, but on the published history of Gilmanton, N. H., and on the Memoir of Hon. Joseph Badger, both of which are now before me. From these authorities it appears that the Badger family is of English origin, that its founder was Giles Badger,[2] who settled at Newbury, Mass., previous to June 30, in 1643, only twenty-three years after the landing of the Pilgrims. His son, John Badger, a man of much respectability in his day, was by his first wife, the father of four children, only three of whom, John, Sarah and James, lived to arrive at years of responsibility, the first having died in infancy. His first wife, Elizabeth, died April 8th, 1669. By his second wife, Hannah Swett, to whom he was married February 23d, 1671, he had Stephen, Hannah, Nathaniel, Mary, Elizabeth, Ruth, Joseph, Daniel, Abigail and Lydia. Both of the parents died in 1691. John Badger, Jr., a merchant in Newbury, married Miss Rebecca Brown, October 5, 1691; their children were John, James, Elizabeth, Stephen, Joseph, Benjamin and Dorothy. Joseph was born in 1698.
Joseph Badger, son of John Badger, Jr., was a merchant, in Haverhill, Mass.,[3] and married Hannah, daughter of Col. Nathaniel Peaslee. Among his seven children was General Joseph Badger, whose usefulness and excellence of character are strongly expressed in the pages before me. He married Hannah Pearson, January 31st, 1740; their children were twelve in number, among whom was Major Peaslee Badger, the father of the subject of this memoir, and the Hon. Joseph Badger, Jr., the father of Hon. William Badger, late Governor of New Hampshire. Several of this name have been distinguished for ability, and have held important positions of public duty. Some have been active in the defence of their country, some in the cause of education, the administration of justice, and the affairs of political life; and like the distinguished men of New Hampshire generally, they mostly seem to have had strong natures, with characters marked by native vigor and original force.
South of the White Mountains some fifty miles, and near the Lake and River Winnipiseogee, is the old town of Gilmanton. As the mind of Mr. Badger, during his childhood in this place, was lastingly impressed by the society and instruction of his uncle, I have thought best to copy the presentation of his character as found in the published history of Gilmanton.
"In the early settlement of Gilmanton," says Mr. Lancaster, "no individual was more distinguished than Gen. Joseph Badger. He was born in Haverhill, Mass., Jan. 11, 1722; and was the eldest child of Joseph Badger, a merchant in that place, who was one of the wealthiest and most influential men of that town. In the time of the Revolution, he was an active and efficient officer, was muster-master of the troops raised in this section of the State, and was employed in furnishing supplies for the army. He was a member of the Provincial Congress, and a member of the Convention that adopted the Constitution. He was appointed Brigadier General June 27th, 1780, and Judge of Probate for Strafford county, December 6th, 1784. He was also a member of the State Council in 1784, 1790, and 1791.
"He was a uniform friend and supporter of the institutions of learning and religion. He not only provided for the education of his own children by procuring private teachers, but he also took a lively interest in the early establishment of common schools for the education of children generally. Not content with such efforts merely, he did much in founding and erecting the Academy in Gilmanton, which has been already a great blessing to the place and the vicinity. He was one of the most generous contributors to its funds, and was one of its Trustees, and the President of the Board of Trust until his death. Instructed in his childhood, by pious parents, in the principles of religion, he early appreciated the blessings of the Christian ministry. Having become the subject of divine grace, he publicly professed religion, and espoused the cause of Christ. As he was a generous supporter of the institutions of the Gospel, so to his hospitable mansion the ministers of religion always found a most hearty welcome. While the rich and great honored him, the poor held him in remembrance for his generous liberality. His whole life was marked by wisdom, prudence, integrity, firmness, and benevolence. Great consistency was manifested in all his deportment. He died April 4th, 1803, in the 82d year of his age—ripe in years, ripe in character and reputation, and ripe as a Christian. The text selected for his funeral sermon was strikingly characteristic of the man. 'And behold, there was a man named Joseph, a counsellor, and he was a good man and a just.'"
Rev. Joseph Badger had indeed a noble ancestry; and, in natural ability, in creative and executive intellect, in force of character and in general usefulness, he is probably unexcelled by the worthy examples that in past time may have shed honor upon the name. I have dwelt thus long on the parentage and ancestry of Mr. B., not because I regard the tenacity of the Jewish race on the subject of lineage, nor the general excess of oriental homage to departed fathers, but because we appreciate the law of cause and effect, as it is manifested in the course of hereditary descent, which forbids that any man's written history shall begin like the priesthood of Melchizedek, successionless and without descent.
In approaching another chapter, the early life of Mr. Badger, perhaps nothing is more strikingly appropriate to the reader than the exclamation which stands as the first line of an old manuscript from his own pen, with which he begins his personal narrative, viz.: "What a mystery is Life!" Ah! who can wrestle with this wonder so as to exhaust it of its marvellousness? Who can explain the innate genius, and impulse, with the endless play of outward circumstance, that so constantly drive these human myriads on to their various destiny? Scribes can record what outwardly transpires; and even the reason can do nothing more than to look through the cluster of outward development we call man's history, to its centre in the inward life, where, though it may see the harmonious relationship of the facts to the soul whence they have flown; where, though it may perceive the combination of mental and moral qualities that make up the man, it is at last obliged to own the impenetrability of the veil that hides the genius that has taken individual form for some end of its own; and through the whole drama of man it owns that life is enacted in the temple of mystery. Mr. Badger's written journal, among its opening paragraphs, has the following quotation:
"'Tis Heaven's decree, in mercy, that mankind
Should to their future destiny be blind;
Impatient man rejects his present state,
With eager steps to meet approaching fate,
Yet would the future, in perspective cast,
Display the exact resemblance of the past;
When o'er the stage of human life we range,
The scenes continue but the actors change."
[CHAPTER II.]
CHILDHOOD.
The town of Gilmanton, which is only forty-five miles from Portsmouth, sixteen from Concord, and eighty from Boston, is, to a great extent, of rocky and hilly surface, having within its limits a chain of eminences that vary in height from three hundred to one thousand feet, called the Suncook Range, which commences at the northern extremity, near the Lake, and extending in a south-easterly direction through the town, divides the head-springs of the Suncook and the Soucook rivers. These fruitful highlands, covered in their early state with various kinds of hardwood, interspread with ever-welcome evergreens, have some commanding positions; especially the one called Peaked Hill, from whose summit the observer discovers within the area of his extended prospect the State House of Concord, the Grand Monadnock,[4] in Jaffrey and Dublin, the Ascutney,[5] in Windsor, Vt., the Moosehillock, in Coventry,[6] Mount Major, the highest summit in the town of Gilmanton,[7] and Mount Washington,[8] which is the highest of the White Mountains. It was amidst scenery like this that the early unfolding of the mind of Joseph Badger occurred, where the spirit of beauty which everywhere finds mediums of influence and approach to man, found some romantic symbols of her presence, with which to impress the tender mind. Nature, which is everywhere the hundred-handed educator, is an agency not to be omitted even in speaking of childhood, for children see it from the heart and learn from it unconsciously. But entering the field of personal incident, let us listen to his own recorded memories.
"I cannot describe, as some have attempted to do, what transpired when only two or three years of age; but when four or five, I most distinctly remember going with my sisters on a visit to my grandsire's, Gen. Joseph Badger. It was but a few miles, and there being a school near, I consented through much persuasion to remain and attend it. The departure of my sisters was to me the severest trial I had known, one of whom however remained to comfort me. Here new and strange things, of which I had never before heard, presented themselves to my mind. At evening the family and servants were all called in. I was much surprised at the gathering, and inquired the cause. My sister told me that we were about to attend prayers. My young expectations were raised to see something new, as before this I had never heard of anything of the kind. Whilst we were assembled, the old gentleman with the greatest solemnity leaning over his chair with his face to the wall prayed some time. I knew not what he said, nor to whom he spoke. His speaking with his eyes shut, and all the rest standing in profound silence, excited much anxiety in me for an explanation. As soon as this new scene had closed and we had retired, I remember having asked my sister to whom it was that my grandsire had been speaking. This to me was a mystery, as I saw no other standing by him. She told me that he spoke to God. I saw at once from her description that I was wholly ignorant of such a Being. She also told me that there was a place of happiness and misery, that all the good people went to heaven, and that the wicked must be burned up. I thought my sister Mary the happiest person in the world, because she knew so much about those great things; and young as I was, the story she told me filled my mind with solemnity; whilst the view she gave me of the certain doom of the wicked caused me to weep much, for I thought that I was one of that number. Impressions there made, and ideas there formed never wore off my mind.
"But another scene opened to my view, which also much surprised me. As there were several small children about the house, they were all called up at evening to say their prayers. They repeated the Lord's prayer, with some additions. This made my young heart tremble, as I thought they were all Christians, and I knew I never prayed in my life; and further, I knew not what to say. After all the rest had gone through their prayers, I was called up. My grandmother asked me if I ever prayed. I answered that I never did. She then told me to say the words after her, which I refused to do, from the feeling in my mind that the name of God was so holy and so great that I could not speak that word. I wept aloud as she enjoined on me this practice, and was finally excused. I very much dreaded to have night come again. For several nights I was excused, and listened to the others; but finally she insisted on my praying, telling me plainly that I should be made to pray. That night she prepared a large whip and applied it to me severely several times before I would submit. At length I repeated the prayer, and from that time adopted the practice regularly. Through the influence of my sister, I was afterwards induced to thank my grandmother for the whipping, though I now think some milder measures had done as well."
In those stern Puritan days, the whip was far from being an idle instrument in teaching the rebellious young the fear of the Lord. Whatever was accepted as duty in religion, had no compromise with the diversity of taste and inclination in the families of the faithful. The reader, I think, will be unable to withhold his admiration from the naturalness of the question which the child asked in relation to whom it was that the praying man was speaking; and he will hardly fail to see the difference between his first religious devotions and the free appeal of ancient Scripture in saying, "Choose ye this day whom ye will serve," as the choice was made for him, and the rod was virtuous enough to see it enacted. He remained at this place about two years, making considerable proficiency in learning, and, as he thought, some in religion. Among these, his childhood's musings, was the wonder that he never heard his father pray, and why his brothers, who were older and of more understanding than himself, never talked about God. "It is still a great cause of lamentation to me," said he in riper years, "that men of understanding dwell no more on the glories of the great Benefactor. In my opinion, a sense of religion should be early awakened, as first impressions are lasting, whether for good or for evil, and often appear in future years as the governing influence, as the foundation of future action. Ask the vilest man that whirls along in his career of evil, if he never thinks of the warnings, instructions and prayers of his fond parent in early days, and if he answers candidly he will say that they often arise to his condemnation. The destinies of different men are always teaching the worth of that holy wisdom which said, 'Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.' In glancing back at the religion of my childhood, I find that I was unconsciously Pharisaical, and leaned on the virtue of my prayers and good works, although in the mixture there was a great degree of sincerity and of heartfelt repentance. Although I was wholly ignorant, probably, of the true love of God, I have always thought that, had I then departed this life, I should have been happy."
I have alluded to the fact that Major Peaslee Badger was not a pietist, and that in his family were no religious forms. At this time, and some years after, his mind, revolting from the ordinary theological teaching of the day, was inclined to a degree of general religious unbelief. The minds of the children were not softened and controlled by religious reverence, the absence of which is usually followed by a degree of rudeness in regard to all religious form. But, following the child Joseph to his own home, now that he had learned to love the voice of prayer, we find him for a time determined in the way he had learned.
"On my return home," says he, "I missed my praying grandfather and his religious instructions, which had been frequent and impressive. I also missed my devoted grandmother, by whose side, as the silence of night came down, I had kneeled in prayer. Here I was lost, as our family had no form of religious worship, and their minds were on different subjects. For a long time I kept up my form of prayer, but at last, from two reasons, fell from my steadfastness, which were, that my school-mates none of them ever prayed, but made much fun of me for this practice; and my elder brothers, on knowing that I could pray, used to coax and hire me to do so, and then subject me to much laughter and derision for doing it. Here I left my religious exercise, which had served to keep my mind in a good moral state; and a reaction soon followed, that found me a noted swearer, using the most extravagant expressions that one of my age could easily command; a course in which I was encouraged by my father's hired men, who used to reward me with much praise and laughter. I well remember, when eight years old, of being in the company of several of Mr. Page's boys, who lived near my father's. Amidst my swearing, they, being very steady, began to rebuke me and to warn me of my danger. At first, I resisted their discourse, but the force of their arguments was such that I was compelled to yield. This restored me from my wicked habit, brought back my former feelings, and many a time did I think of it afterwards. It was also very remarkable that in 1815 I should preach in the same place and administer baptism to one of those young men. During this dark interval of which I have spoken, there were times in which I had solemn reflections; sickness and death, when I heard of them, brought to my mind my former promise, and my thoughts always arose to my Creator whenever I heard the voice of thunder.
"When I was eight or nine years of age, I attended a singing-school, in which I made rapid progress in the art, sharing as I did, in common with our family, all of whom were natural singers, a passionate love of music. With this new employment I was greatly pleased. In the summer after I was nine, I remember going to the Friends' meeting. There was a small society in town, much despised by the popular. Their dress and manner were new to me. It was thought in those days a dreadful thing for a woman to speak in public; and this was the first time that I had ever listened to a female voice in meeting; and notwithstanding the prejudice through which education had taught me to view them, the persons who spake left on my mind the impression of their sincerity. Not far from this time, I went to the Congregational church to hear Mr. Smith. My father inquired, on my return, if I remembered the text, to which I replied in the negative. He then asked me if I could give him one word the minister had spoken, to which I responded that he said several times 'rambling wolves,' a part of the discourse that I could not have forgotten, as I had heard stories of wolves and was afraid of them. I inquired his meaning, when some of the family replied that he spoke of the Freewill Baptists, who he said went about like wolves, and much disturbed and deluded many good and honest people. The occasion of this assault, as I afterwards learned, was the great success which attended the preaching of Elder Kendall and other of Christ's ministers in Gilmanton and the adjoining town, where the happy effects of the Gospel were being seen and felt."
It is indeed an old story in history, that the powerful and established party in religion, medicine, science and politics becomes proscriptive toward the new and the weaker organizations, a fact which cannot be ascribed usually to the erroneousness of any one form of faith, so much as to the natural proclivity of human nature to lord it over the weak when put into possession of influence and power. Thus the persecuted parties turn persecutors as soon as they win the summit of command; and they who have tyrannized without a scruple, will at last plead for the sanctity of individual rights as soon as they are the subjects of the same oppression. But even these fierce winds of bigotry are able in some degree to purify. The young and proscribed sect gets humility and earnestness. A zeal and an enthusiasm also spring up that give them power over the hearts of men. They grow noble through their sacrifices and reliance on God.
"Not long after this several of the young people went to hear the Freewillers, as they were at that time styled. I accompanied them to the meeting, which was held in a private dwelling, in a retired neighborhood, and composed apparently of poor people. I thought they must be as bad as I had heard them represented. They prayed, they wept, they exhorted with much fervor and pathos, and notwithstanding I so much hated their manners, something reached my heart that robbed me for the time of all lightness and irreverence. Robinson Smith was the minister who spoke at this meeting, a strong, healthy man, of unusually clear and commanding voice. He spoke with power. Some of our company returned in solemnity of spirit, whilst others derided the scene we had witnessed. Shortly after this, among my early reminiscences of Gilmanton, was a weekly conference, in which various persons spoke, offered prayers, and related their experience in things pertaining to religion—a meeting to which I was led sometimes from the examples of others, sometimes from curiosity, and sometimes from an inward desire to possess what Christians said they enjoyed. Thus was my early nature swayed by strong emotions, sometimes to good and sometimes to evil."
These pages, quoted from a private journal, written more than thirty years ago, nearly conclude all that pertains to his early life in Gilmanton. I have lingered thus long on these early years, because every man is indicated by his earliest development—certainly that part of him which may inhere in the natural character. It is true that man's latest period contains all his previous stages, somewhat as the earth we now inhabit contains the marks and proofs of all its previous states; yet, it is not given us to see the historical succession in man from a glance at the matured result. We follow the steps of nature, in whose procedure childhood and youth are not only illustrations of the substantial genius, temperament, and character, but are powerful causes in the performance of the remaining acts of life's drama. In these early years of Joseph Badger, a strong emotional nature is exhibited—a nature that could not be inactive—one that was easily reached by earnest moral and religious appeal, and one that overflowed in a wild excess of energy whenever the finer restraints of reverence were cast aside.
[CHAPTER III.]
YOUTH AND EDUCATION.
About this time, 1801, Major Peaslee Badger contemplated a change in his plans of life, the execution of which removed the subject of this memoir far away from the lovely waters and the romantic hills of his native town in New Hampshire. It also removed him from the various advantages of the better social influence and culture which belong to an older form of society; but it also rewarded him with the freedom, hardihood, and self-reliance of forest life.
Anxious to make farmers of his sons, Major Badger resolved to further this purpose by selling his farm in Gilmanton, and by making a more extensive purchase in a new country. At this early time, when emigration had not directed its course to the valley of the Mississippi, and when the attractions of Iowa and Minnesota lay sealed up for a future development, the mind of Mr. Badger was directed to the fertile woodland region of Lower Canada, which at that time was regarded as the best part of the world. To this region he accordingly made a journey, was much pleased with the country, and, after selling his farm in Gilmanton, which he sold for between four and five thousand dollars, he again visited this section of the king's dominions, in company with his eldest son, where he purchased eight hundred acres of the best of land. Only a few families at this time resided in the town. Leaving his son and several hired men to wage the war of industrious labor on the primeval wilderness around them, he returned home, and recruiting himself with new forces, and taking with him all necessary farming utensils, with several yoke of oxen, hastened to join the company that were already at work in turning the wilderness into a fruitful field. When he had arrived within eighteen miles of his land, a wilderness of wide extent spread out before him. No road was visible. Sending some of his men forward as surveyors, and setting others to work in cutting a road through the woods, he continued slowly his progress; and, finally receiving some assistance from the inhabitants of the town of Stanstead, and augmenting his company with the addition of those who had been laboring on his farm, he went forward with the road with great courage and success, building several bridges across large streams, and conquering every obstacle in the way till an excellent road was completed through the whole distance to his farm. It has since become a highway of great travel, and is known by the name of the Badger Road to this day. This brave pioneer opened the way for the settlement of the town. Building a small cottage for temporary convenience, they prosecuted their work with zeal for several weeks, when they constructed a house for permanent residence, the best that had, at that time, been built in the town. These preparations being made, Major Badger returned to convey his family to their new abode, in the town of Compton, Lower Canada, for which place they set out in February, 1802, in eight sleighs, laden with provisions and furniture, and after nineteen days of slow and expensive journeying, experiencing the alternations of good and evil fortune, they arrived on the 4th or 5th of March at their new home in the woods. Woman is ever the natural conservative, loving her established and long-tried home.
"My mother," says Mr. B., "was much opposed to the new arrangement, which caused her to leave her kind friends and neighbors; but such was her fortitude that none discovered her feelings. In taking leave of our native town and near relatives, the greatest solemnity filled my heart. Many wept at our departure, and I could scarcely bear up under the grief I felt in leaving the place of my birth. As we arrived at our new habitation, and my mother viewed her lonely palace, she could no longer suppress her feelings, but sat down and wept, whilst my sisters were also sad, and murmured somewhat at the new prospect before them. I wondered that my father should think of living in the midst of a forest, but thought that what others could accomplish, we could certainly do."
The contrast between the cheerful society and scenery of Gilmanton, and the solitude of this woodland region, which was swept by colder winds than the climate of the east had known; the isolation of the place, which required a journey of seventy miles to purchase the necessary grains for seed and family consumption, were calculated to awaken a deep feeling of loneliness, and at the same time to invigorate the spirit with new energy and promptings to personal efforts. But man's nature is flexible, and easily bends to every variety of condition. As soon as the news of their arrival had spread, nearly all the inhabitants of the town came in to greet them in a friendly visit; and soon spring unfolded in all its gayety of woodland gem and costume, whilst all the company became laborers to the extent of their respective abilities. Joseph, now ten years of age, who had known nothing of work, learned his first lessons in the sugar groves of the new farm. Soon they became contented with their situation, and the woody solitudes gave cheering proofs of transition, as extended acres appeared to view, ready to bear the verdure of the meadow, or the harvests of golden grain. On each side of the Coatecook river lay four hundred acres; the eastern swell was called Mount Pleasant, the western, Mount Independence. Here, in a few years, they reaped a large prosperity from the productive earth. In the journal of Mr. B. I find a notice of the total eclipse in 1806, the effects that followed it on the agricultural prospects of that country, and the melancholy thoughtfulness which the day inspired in his own mind. The effect was great, according to his statement; so much so as to be sensibly felt through the seasons. Fourteen acres carefully planted with fruit-trees and grafted with the best of scions, yielded nothing to reward the toil of the laborer.
In the general picture here presented, the reader may see the theatre of action occupied by the young man who was destined in future years to impress great numbers with his own ideas and sentiments. Doubtless there are in the world some conventional minds, who, hastily deciding all things by local prejudice or capricious fashion, would hold it impossible for genius and power to hail from any but certain favored localities; from college routine, and the aids of walls of books and of titled professors. But this is not the way in which the goddess of force and faculty distributes her gifts and makes her highest elections. She is by no means afraid of mountains and woodland solitudes; nor does she despair of winning her ends when professors and colleges do not wait upon her bidding. She exults rather in natural productions; being able to turn the night-stars, heaven's winds, earth's flowers, and even common events, into teachers; and the same of all experience and inward faculty. She brings a universal power from Stratford to London, from Ayreshire to Edinburgh, from Vosges and Domremi to Orleans and to Rheims. All great men are educated. The only variance resides in the modes and teachers. We like it that a prophet should, in early life, hail from the woodland world, and that the vastness and tranquillity of landscapes should reside in his public discourse; that his words and manners should savor, not of dry scholastic pretension and mannerism, but of songsters' voices, of colossal trees, wild rose and rushing brooks. Mr. B., however, for his time and day, was an educated man; we mean even in the more restricted sense in which the world understands this word; and certainly he was this, in its most important meanings.
"We soon had opportunity," says Mr. Badger, "for education in our new country. This was very pleasing to me, and I felt the necessity of improving every privilege of the kind." And I would say that those who knew him in after life could not but see in him the rare faculty bestowed on some of our race, that of turning a few means to a great account.
Passing on to his fifteenth year, he speaks of a season of illness, occasioned by excessive ambition at manual labor, which kept him from school a part of the time during one summer. "My sickness," he says, "was of pleuritic nature, and at times my life was despaired of. A few Christian people had moved into the place, and during my sickness, some of them conversed with me on the subject of religion. At times I remember to have wept, and supposed that my condition was deplorable. The death of a Christian woman, who had often conversed with me, occurring at this time, made a deep impression on my mind. My reflections, when alone, were melancholy in the extreme. I often wished I had died when young; and frequently did I promise God that if my life was spared I would serve Him." Many paragraphs of this sort, whilst they may wear a tinge of the religious culture common to the age, show deep and unharmonized strivings of soul. To those who knew his great vivacity, the fact of melancholy, which he records in the journal of his youth, may seem strange; but it is natural. In susceptible and thoughtful natures, in natures of deep strivings, there is ever a stratum of seriousness, wearing at times the tinge of sadness. The soul, in such, will often say, "I am in Time an exile. The earth cannot feed me;" and especially will this feeling be active in the early experience, before the wisdom of years has given stability to life, to its aims and emotions.
But a young man like him could not be otherwise than fond of amusement. With young company of his age he frequently met, and was accustomed to spend considerable of the time when together in the favorite pastime of the young—the dance.
His elder brothers settling for themselves in life, threw an increased burden of care upon Joseph, whose health was so far restored as to act his part efficiently. His father about this time entered into the mercantile business, which turned out to his disadvantage; and soon after this, when seven miles from home, he had the misfortune to break his leg, suffering extremely for fifteen days, expecting constantly that amputation would have to take place. Recovering so far as to admit of removal home, after a long time he was restored to health. "After this," says his son, "he twice met the severe misfortune to break his leg, and on the 5th Sept., 1814, it was amputated six inches above the knee. This and several such misfortunes, in part, reduced him from the high station in which he was born and had formerly lived."
"The first preaching that we heard was by an old gentleman of the name of Huntington. He was a Universalist, a good man, I think, but not a great preacher. He addressed the people for the greater part of one summer generally at my father's house. I do not remember to have seen anything like reform among the people. The old gentleman died in a few years, and I trust has gone to rest. Also Elders[9] Robinson Smith and A. Moulton, of Hatley, a neighboring town, favored us with their ministry. We called them Free-willers, but their preaching was life-awakening, and it was held in remembrance long after they were gone, although they saw no immediate fruits of their labors. I recollect of hearing Mr. Moulton once, the first time I think I ever saw him. His voice to me was like thunder. For several days after, it seemed as though I could hear the sound of it."
This indeed is the proof of God's presence in the mission, that the minister has that to say which the sinner cannot forget, that which lingers in his way like an invisible spell. The man who has God's word is not a mere lecturer or essayist in the holy temple. He has words of divine fire to speak, an undying love to utter, a warning of eternity to hold forth. He commands the giddy and the sinful to listen to a voice which, if he repent not, will tingle in his ears even to his dying day. Smooth, elegant composition may be patiently taught, and patiently learned, but God's living word out of heaven to unfaithful man, is another thing. This word has many organs, finds its way far and near, and reaches the heart of the ardent young man whose footsteps are on the classic ground, or in the larger path of nature's wild.
"When about sixteen or seventeen," continues the journal, "I heard that a young man about my age from Vermont would preach in our vicinity. There was a great move to hear him, and I resolved to go. The house was full. He was evidently one much engaged in God's work. He looked very pale and much worn out. Mr. Moulton was with him, prayed at the beginning of the meeting, after which the young man, Benjamin Putnam, came forward, and in a manner and address that were engaging, and to me peculiarly pleasing, preached a sermon from Isaiah 22:22; a text which I shall never forget. 'And the key of the house of David will I lay upon his shoulder: so he shall open, and none shall shut; and he shall shut, and none shall open.' He described Christ as the Son of God, and the power as being laid upon his shoulder; he also dwelt on what he had opened both to and for man, which none could shut, and finally spoke of the closing of the same door, which none should be able to open. I thought this discourse more glorious than anything I had ever heard. I thought him the happiest young man I ever saw. As soon as meeting was closed he came forward through the assembly and spoke to my brother, which had a solemn effect on us both. Many of his expressions I have ever remembered.
"The Methodist ministers next made their way into our town, and I have always thought that they came in the name and spirit of the Highest. They were humble and earnest. As my father's family seldom attended their meetings, I perhaps did not become acquainted with the first that came. Hays and Briggs were the first I heard. While listening to the farewell sermon of the former I remember to have been deeply affected, and one evening, while listening to Mr. Briggs, I felt a strong conviction of my sin, and believed that I was undone without regeneration. They first formed a small class in town. Leaving the circuit the next year, Joseph Dennet and David Blanchard were their successors, under whose ministry many of the old and the young were turned to God, whilst even children were made happy in Christ. I think that the preaching of the latter was the first that ever brought tears from my eyes. Also, in those days, we had frequent visits from the missionaries, but I do not remember that their preaching had much effect on my own mind or that of any other person.
"In the conflict of good and evil tendencies in the minds of young men who share largely of the passions and giddiness which characterize the period of one's youth, it is interesting to contemplate the skill with which these influences assail each other, each winning its temporary victory, and each wrestling at times with great might for the doubtful mastery. Notwithstanding these solemn emotions to good, I was quite wild and had several bad habits. In hearing Mr. H. preach the summer I was eighteen, I was much aroused to a sense of duty, and though seeing the way of my life to be death, my determinations as yet were not equal to the chain of habit that bound me. On the first of August I looked forward to the 16th, which was my birthday, as the day in which I should begin to walk in newness of life, and for several days this occupied my thoughts. But the time passed, and my resolution with it, whilst my feelings reacted more strongly than ever toward my former ways. The Spirit of God righteously strives with sinners; and many have I seen on languishing beds lamenting their early resistance to the holy influence, and that they had ever broken their promise to Him. I had a taste for reading, and spent much of my time in the perusal of novels and with vain young company. A young man by the name of Richardson was my most intimate friend. On the Sabbath and every other opportunity we were together; we spent the time mostly in reading; I thought I enjoyed happiness in his society. In our assemblies for diversion we ever had a good understanding. His friendship lasted until my conversion, when something far more glorious opened to my view. It appeared a great mystery to him, and it caused me much sorrow to leave him, but the first lesson I learned from the cross taught me how to relinquish and how to renounce.
"In the autumn of 1810 we had many vain assemblies for dancing and other recreations. Never had I before gone so far in wickedness as at this time. But, in the midst of our gayety, events of Providence compelled our thoughts to serious objects, as death, through the agency of a fatal fever, spread over the town its sorrow and sadness, cutting off the old and the young indiscriminately. On the 10th of January, 1811, I commenced a journey to New Hampshire, to visit my friends, whom I had not seen since 1802. When I arrived at Stanstead, I passed several days with a cousin of mine who was engaged in teaching the art of dancing. He was an agreeable gentleman, and of great talents; but it was a grief to his friends that he had taken to this employment. I was much pleased with the instructions he gave me, as I was anxious to attain perfection in the art.
"With several young men I proceeded on my way to New Hampshire, and making the journey merry with rudeness and laughter, we prosecuted it till I arrived at Gilmanton. Here I found that my honored grandsire no longer occupied his place on earth. His companion, who had watched over my childhood for two years, and had made the voice of prayer familiar to my lips, still survived. Several other relatives had also gone to their long home, and though these things made little impression on my heart, owing to the state of my mind, I could not but solemnly reflect on the hand that had so long upheld me, when I visited my early home, the place of my birth, and recalled the many scenes of my childhood freshly to mind. We have in life but one childhood, and no hours of retrospect put us into such unison with nature as when we live it over in the revival of its scenes.
"I passed several weeks in Gilmanton, attending school a part of the time, and freely enjoyed the company of my young friends. My sister Mary, the wife of General Cogswell, occasionally rebuked me for my lightness, and though I made light of her admonitions at the time, they made much impression on my mind. But most of all I dreaded that my uncle, Mr. Smith, who had been the minister of the place for thirty years, should talk to me about religion. I was very loth to visit him at all, but I stayed with him the last night I remained in town, and to my happy disappointment escaped the drilling I had so much feared, as he did not once mention the subject. In company with my cousin, Joseph Smith, I set out the next day for home, and by evening arrived at Judge William Badger's, a cousin of mine, with whom we had an excellent visit. The next day, when passing through Meredith, we saw a young man standing in the door of a house with a multitude around him. The building appeared to be full of people, to whom he was preaching. We arrived that evening at Camptown, and though I was nearly sick and my spirits depressed by some influence I could not define, and my mind uninterested by surrounding objects, I yielded to the persuasion of my cousin to go on. Nothing was able to interest me. After some time we started for the place since so much celebrated, the Notch of the White Mountains.
"But nature, which to me was ever welcome, did not attract me as usual. A spirit, over which I had not control, seemed to work within me to the extreme of solemn conviction. People, road, trees, rivers—all seemed gloomy, and I appeared to myself as a monument spared to unite with them in mourning. We finally passed the gloomy Notch, and as I drank in its lonely influence, I felt, unavoidably, its likeness to the mood of my own spirit. At Franconia, many new prospects and objects appeared to view. The manufactory of iron was at that time and there a great curiosity. At Littleton, further on in our journey, we rode on the river, as it was hardly frozen. I disguised my feelings, and as we were riding along, several in number, I fell in the rear that I might enjoy the meditations in which my mind was absorbed. At this time, an old gentleman, whose silver locks and grave appearance attracted my attention, appeared near me, coming from his house to the river to draw water. My eyes were fixed upon him. 'How far,' said he, 'is your company journeying?' To the province of Lower Canada, I answered. 'Do you live there?' said he. I answered that I did. Then in a solemn tone the old patriarch inquired, 'Is there any religion in that part of the world?' I was surprised to hear this subject introduced by a stranger. I told him there were some in our country who professed religion. He then burst into a flood of tears, and exhorted me with a warm-hearted pathos to seek salvation, and, though I disclosed none of my feelings to him, I was most deeply moved, and the image of the venerable old man was continually before my eyes through the day. I could scarcely refrain from weeping; and whatever others may think of such apparently accidental events, I am free to confess, that from that time until now, I have firmly believed that this old gentleman was a God-sent prophet unto me. The impressions he made continued till I enjoyed the sweet religion that inspired his look and his voice. I have often wished that I might see him and humble myself in thankfulness before him, a thing not to be expected in this life.
"When we arrived at Stewardstown, near the head of the Connecticut river, I parted with my cousin, whose destination was different from my own. Crossing the line, I passed the night with Dr. Ladd, a friend of my father, who was a Christian and a man of extended knowledge. I treasured up many of his observations. I was then only twenty miles from home, and heard the sad news of the ravages sickness had made during my absence, which greatly disturbed me with the thought that I should never again see all my friends. On the 10th of March, however, I arrived, and though fearful to inquire for my relatives, found, to my joy, that they were all well. In company I sought to be cheerful, but in solitude the keenest sensations of sadness were active.
"Having business with my cousin at Stanstead, I made him a visit, where I heard a missionary preach and attended as a pall-bearer at a funeral, to which my feelings were much averse. On my return, when I had proceeded as far as Barnston, for some cause I returned a mile and a half, and taking a lantern started on foot through the woods, when suddenly a storm exhibited its signs of dark and angry violence. When about half through the forest, the winds, thunder and lightning were terrific. The rain fell in torrents, my light was soon extinguished, and nothing was left to guide me through the swamp except the lurid flashes of the lightning that made the gloom more terrible. Several trees were struck and fell near me across the road; some branches fell from the tree I had chosen for my shelter, as the tempest mingled with darkness, raged in madness; and never was I so deeply impressed with the might of Him who rules the world and sways the elements. Here I gained a fresh idea of the awful power and mercy of God. I was nearly induced to kneel upon the earth, and there, in the storm, make a covenant with my Maker.
"At length the storm ceased and I arrived in safety at the house of a friend. The next day I reached home, and though met by cheerful faces, through the state of my mind, the music of their tones were as mournful sounds. The company in which I had found delight, could no longer entertain me; my home was dressed in mourning, my pillow wet with tears, and the bright prospects which had cheered me had vanished from my sky. I had no heart for business, no relish for pleasure. O how tiresome was every place! I read the Bible in private; often left my father's table in tears; often retired to the grove whose trees, more than those around me, seemed to know my heart, that I might relieve my soul in weeping. None knew the cause of this love of solitariness. Some said 'he suffers the influence of disappointment;' others, that 'he is plotting something for advantage:' none supposed that within me a deep striving was separating me from the world and leading me to the Fountain of Salvation. This period was a severe trial. Every power, it would seem, combined to test my spirit. Sometimes, from the conflict within, whilst darkness held its temporary victory, I was almost tempted to be angry with the Powers above, and with the whole creation; and once, I remember to have so far fallen under the evil power, as to swear at the existing order of things. It was continual trouble. I strove to labor what I could, and to fulfil my station in the family, using all the fortitude I could command. Here many things occurred that I shall not particularize; some things between my father and myself, which I once thought I should mention in every respect, but which the delicacy of the subject and the tenderness of our relation prevent. I can only say that my father was of deistical opinions, and at that time did not possess the degree of friendship and tenderness for the cause of religion which I could have wished him to, and which he indeed possessed some months after.
"At times, everything seemed to unite in tormenting me, in causing me trouble; again, all things in nature, when my clouds were partially dispersed, had a voice for the Creator's praise. I alone was untuned. The very winds, as they passed, spoke of His power. The stars, ever calm, looked down in love, seeming faithfully to perform the will of their Ordainer; and the flowers of the earth, which bloomed in beauty, sending forth their fragrance to His honor; and the songs of birds, whose notes were full of the primeval innocence, all combined to administer reproof. The following lines would then have spoken my feelings, as the full-blown spring-time lay unfolded around me:
"'Ye warblers of the vernal shade
Whose artless music charms my ear,
Your loveliness my heart upbraids—
My languid heart, how insincere!
While all your little powers collected, raise
A tribute to your great Creator's praise.
"'Ye lovely offsprings of the ground,
Flowers of a thousand beauteous dyes,
You spread your Maker's glory round,
And breathe your odor to the skies:
Unsullied you display your lively bloom,
Unmingled you present your sweet perfume.
"'Ye winds that waft the fragrant spring,
You, whispering, spread His name abroad,
Or shake the air with sounding wing,
And speak the awful power of God:
His will, with swift obedience, you perform,
Or in the gentle gale or dreadful storm.
"'Ye radiant orbs that guide the day
Or deck the sable veil of night,
His wondrous glory you display,
Whose hand imparts your useful light:
Your constant task, unwearied, you pursue,
Nor deviate from the path your Maker drew.
"'O Lord! thy grace my languid heart can raise,
These dissipated powers unite,
Can bid me pay my debt of praise
With love sincere and true delight:
Oh! let thy power inspire my heart and tongue,
Then will I, grateful, join Creation's song.'
"Leaving company almost entirely, and not going into society except on certain occasions, to please my friends or escape reproach, I gave myself up to solitary meditation and to the inward and undefined strivings of my being. In this state of spiritual disquietude, I felt no impulse to attend a church. I was most at home when alone. I heard divine voices where there was no man to act as medium or interpreter. At a funeral, I recollect having assisted in singing, and to have heard from Elder Moulton a sermon that impressed me, he being a man of considerable spiritual power, and one for whom I had particular respect. I heard him also a second time after this, when he most deeply affected my mind. I sometimes repaired to the forest for the express purpose of coming to God in prayer, but for some time was restrained from speaking aloud or kneeling on the earth. My heart was often eased in weeping; and though I had no form of prayer, I believe I prayed as really, as acceptably, as ever I did. Is it not a strange doctrine, so generally promulgated, that sinners, previous to conversion, ought not to pray? To me it is a dark doctrine. The Scriptures do not intimate it. My experience, the divine command, and common sense oppose the dogma. The fact that men are morally weak and sinful, is itself a sufficient occasion for prayer.
"One Sunday, without the knowledge of our family, I went about two miles to attend a Methodist meeting, in which several spoke, and spoke well. Mrs. John Gilson, a little, delicate woman, with much diffidence arose to speak. Her wisdom and manner won my heart, and her message, which was particularly to me, seemed to carry the evidence that it was from God. I could never forget it. I knew she was my friend, and believed that she spoke for my good, and I would have rendered her my thanks at the close, but for the restraining power of a sentiment common to me, which was, an unwillingness to disclose to any one my deepest emotions. We had been taught by some, that before we could attain salvation, we should be willing to be damned and lost. I never had this willingness. But, in candor, I must say that my sense of guilt was so deep that I felt I had merited the sentence to be finally uttered against the impenitent."
The reader will perceive that the thread of this journal is drawn from such portions of Mr. Badger's early life as seem most directly to express its various moral phases. From other points of experience, it is natural to suppose, much was omitted, the main purpose being that of tracing the moral history of his mind through the years of his youth. I think I never opened a journal that contained throughout a plainer natural impress of truth and reality.
[CHAPTER IV.]
CONVERSION.
"Repent ye therefore and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out."—St. Peter.
To every work there is a crisis which openly exhibits success or failure. To every growth there are certain perceptible changes by which we note the progress from incipiency to the mature state. There is a symbolical new birth in nature when the rose-tree blooms, when leafless wintry trees are green with foliage and white with blossoms. Summer is a regeneration in the state of the earth, and it is none the less so because we cannot point out the moment, hour, or day, in which the actual summer assumed its effective reign. None fail to see the difference between June and January. If in July you meet the bending lilac, it silently tells you of all that March, April, May and June have done for it. So man's moral periods are marked. The soul in its struggles after divine life, through penitence and faith, reaches a crisis of victory and development of holy purpose, principle and power, which the church has generally agreed to call conversion, and for which we know no better name.
The journal of Mr. Badger, which refers to this epoch of his spiritual history, is headed with a poem on Christ, of which we have space for only a few lines:
"Oh! glorious Father, let my soul pursue
The wondrous labyrinth of love divine,
And follow my Redeemer to the cross.
Nailed to the cross—his hands, his feet, all torn
With agonizing torture!
Stupendous sacrifice! Mysterious love!
He died! The Lord of life—the Saviour died!
All nature sympathizing, felt the shock.
The sun his beams withdrew, and wrapt his face
In sable clouds and midnight's deepest shade,
To mourn the absence of a brighter sun—
The Sun of righteousness eclipsed in death!
A short eclipse. For soon he rose again,
All glorious, to resume his native skies!
Oh, love beyond conception!
In silent rapture all my powers adore."
In the religious experience of Joseph Badger, as intimated by this poem, Christ with him is always the central sun, the presiding power.
"I do not think," says Mr. B., "that persons can tell their religious experience, if their change is real and they have fully felt the effects of love divine. They are led to say with St. Peter, that it is 'joy unspeakable and full of glory.' Human language cannot describe the fulness and sweetness of the religion of Christ. Viewing the invisible depth of its wealth, how faint are our descriptions? How weak our best comparisons, and the metaphors by which we attempt to represent it! The soul which has become a partaker of the divine nature, of its love, is ever ready to exclaim—'The half had never been told me;' yet words, and other imperfect signs, will easily indicate the presence of the reality enjoyed.
"Eighteen hundred and eleven! that memorable year will never be forgotten by thousands now living, on account of the victorious spread of the Gospel in North America. Generations yet unborn will trace the pages of ecclesiastical history with anxiety and delight, to learn what transpired among their ancestors during this year. But how soon, when a heavenly influence is in the ascendant, some counteracting power will enter the field with ruinous violence! The cruel war soon succeeded, and devastation spread her vermilion garb over our happy and enlightened land.
"As I have already alluded, in a former chapter, to the feelings of moral conviction that wrought in my breast, I will only say that they began with this year, and were of a kind neither to be drowned nor driven away. Not for Adam's sins, or the sins of our fathers, did I feel condemned; it was only for such as belonged to me. Light had come and I had chosen darkness. I therefore cast no reflections on any class of persons, as the Gospel, conscience, and the creation, seemed to unite in proclaiming—'Thou art the man;' and under a sense of my ingratitude to Jesus, the sinner's Friend, I felt to add my hearty Amen, and say, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.'"
In the pride of philosophical speculation, there are knowing ones who rob the rich idea of God of personality; also, in the attempts to deify the sacred parchments of Palestine, others unwittingly superannuate the Holy Ghost, driving us all to live solely upon ancient words—words that were undoubtedly its breathings when spoken. But one page from the journal of such an experience as that of Mr. Badger is better than all learned theory. Every page referring to his mind's exercise abounds in feeling—earnest, real feeling. He believes in the God of action, who converts the repentant soul by his holy, actual agency; in Jesus he believes as the lone sinner's Friend and Saviour; in the Holy Spirit he confides, not doubting its real striving in his own heart; in the oracles of prophets, of Jesus, and of the apostles, he holds unwavering faith that they are God's real, eternal word; whilst his frequent and many tears in private attest his deep sincerity in seeking his soul's salvation. He recognizes the supernatural, the miraculous, in the conversion of the sinner; and whatever we may concede to the rationalistic statement on this subject in our severely philosophical moods, it is certain that the miraculous statement is the one which more than it concentrates the diviner charm and the more commanding energy. It has ever been so; the statement wearing the outward miraculous hue, is the strong one—the one that holds the element of triumph; and though we do not hold that any work of God with man violates the constitution and laws of the human mind, it would have struck us with diminished effect had St. Paul, before Agrippa, discoursed on the accordance of his conversion with some a priori argument for an abstract Christianity, or of its accordance with his own nature, and with all nature. This intellectualizing on great vital facts, whatever may be its philosophical merits, can never come up to the bold and picturesque sublimity of the words—"At mid-day, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me; and I heard a voice speaking unto me and saying, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" Such passages reach the soul in every clime, as abstraction never could; and from the reverence we have been accustomed to pay to universal convictions, and from the effect of such eloquence on our own feelings, we believe that mankind have not been fools in the cherishing of faith which brings Divinity into active and wonder-causing contact with humanity. If we have a God in our faith, let us have one who can do something, say something, and impart something to them who ask him, and not a tender abstraction who has no thunder for transgressors, and who is so lenient and plausible that no lawless spirit shall regard him as any essential obstruction in his way. Characters of most energy always grow up under the faith of God's omnipotence, of his awful majesty, beautified by justice and love.
The youth of this memoir looked around upon the dark world, and upward to the great God for his spirit's rest, and searched through the labyrinth of his own conflicting emotions to find a rock for his feet. Often his "eyes were rivers of waters;" and, "as I looked around for comfort, every place revealed some circumstance that gave to grief a keener edge." He is now so deeply touched by the Holy Spirit that nothing filled him with delight like the tender portraiture of the love of Christ; the profane word was now a loathed and jarring discord in his ear; the songs of the wicked deepened his sadness, and often did he repeat to himself, in tears, the well-known lines, "Alas! and did my Saviour bleed!" which he tells us had the power to penetrate his heart of hearts, whilst the most secret and hidden recesses of the wild witnessed his humble thank-offerings of praise and contrite confessions of sin. Without a minister to aid him, and without the sustaining sympathy of a single human creature, he continued to wage his warfare with the powers of darkness. A young man, alone, with resolves and feelings unknown to man, longing for the clouds of his being to disperse, and for the influx of the immortal light to crown his life! This spectacle, however it may strike the mere formalist and the seeker of material good, is one which, to us, joins with myriads of heart-histories in different climes, to attest the derivation of the soul from God, to declare its yearnings and struggles against the obstacles of sin and sense, that it may regain the atmosphere and light of its native original heaven.
Contrary to the customs of his family, he went, once in a great while, to the Methodist meetings, a denomination whose power to reach the popular mind all over the world is known and honored. At one of these meetings, July, 1811, the persons present supposed, from his former reputation for rudeness, that he was there perhaps to criticise derisively their humble manner of worship. When Mrs. Tilden arose and said, "The eyes of the world are upon us, and if any came here to feast upon our failings, or to spy out our liberties, let us starve them to death, by living such lives that they can find no action of which to speak reproachfully"—after a few moments, he arose and said:
"I very much regret that any of my neighbors and friends should, for one moment, imagine me as an enemy, or suppose that I came here to ridicule what may pass before me. Far be it from my mind. I believe religion is what all men need to make them happy in time and eternity. With all my heart I wish you well and hope you will go on your way rejoicing."
This was the first time he had spoken in public, and though the object of his remark was merely to furnish a gentlemanly apology for being present, it caused the religious people much joy, as they saw him sit down in tears; and ever after his companions regarded him differently, all of whom were startled with surprise, and some wept as they heard his words.
"One of my young friends, a respectable young man, conversed with me on the subject. I stated to him all I had said, and in part I manifested my feelings to him with some degree of boldness. He expressed a fear that I would become deluded, though, by the way, he had never manifested a fear of the kind when we used to dance, play cards, and spend the Sabbath together in the reading of novels. 'About the things of religion,' said he, 'it is not well to be in haste. It is a subject which needs the greatest deliberation.' With this I agreed. He further remarked, 'If a person thinks of such things, it is not best to give expression to such thoughts, because people will talk about it, and you,' continued he, 'are already a subject of conversation. Many are concerned for you, and wish your society, and you know it is a disgrace for us to go among those foolish and ignorant Methodists.' By these remarks, coming from a particular friend, I was embarrassed, but soon learned that I must leave all, and part with my dearest companions for Christ; that two masters it was impossible to serve; and in my indecision I seemed to hear a voice as from heaven, saying, 'Choose ye this day whom ye will serve,' impressing my mind with the idea that then was the time for me to secure an interest in the Great Redeemer. Great things of eternity were continually resting on my mind; the saints, as they had opportunity, began to talk with me, of which I was glad, though to them I did not say much, as I was resolved that others should not know my feelings; even if I were ever so happy as to feel my sins forgiven, I was determined not to say much about it to others, and certainly not to make such an ado over it as many did.
"I was in search for a great and sudden change. About August 1st, 1811, I felt impressed to retire and unbosom myself to the Eternal God, and cry once more for mercy. Walking through the woods to a large valley, I there, by a murmuring brook, fell on my knees and gave vent to my burdened heart in prayer. For a moment my soul felt delivered of all her griefs, and for a few moments I sung and praised God in that delightful place with all my heart; but doubts arose, and as I cast over the scene the eyes of reason, my little heaven vanished, and I remained in silence. I began to fear that I was walking by the light of imagination, and was warming myself by sparks of my own kindling.
"I began to be more familiar with the saints, sometimes revealing to them in part my determinations, and always gaining strength by so doing. I had not the same consciousness of sin as before. At times, before I was aware of it, my mind would be soaring above on heavenly things; the Scriptures would beautifully open to my mind, and glorious would seem the things of religion; yet I scarcely dared to rejoice. I derived much benefit and instruction from the conversation of the saints, and though I asked their prayers, I neither united with them in prayer, nor kneeled according to their custom. The narrated experience of others aided me some, and as all my Christian friends advised me to pray, I again kneeled in the solitude of nature to invoke divine aid, when the reflection that I was in the presence of an Omnipotent God sealed my lips in silence. Almost fearing that my performances were but mockery, I felt inclined to despair. The next day gleams of hope entered my mind; and on Sunday, hearing many speak of the power of God, and of trials they had passed through, in a manner, some of them, that exactly expressed my feelings, I took courage, because there were others in whose Christianity I had confidence, who felt in some respects as I did. Moved, as I think, by the Spirit of God, and from a high state of mental resolve, I arose and told the assembly that I was determined to seek my happiness in religion, in which alone I believed it could be found. Many of the saints praised God aloud, and my soul was filled with joy and peace that were unspeakable. My love to the faithful was far superior to anything that ever before had dilated my heart. On my return home the very winds that waved the trees, and the streams that flowed through the quiet valley, seemed unitedly to speak my great Creator's praise. The fear of man now vanished, and a holy boldness moved me to speak to all around me of the beauties of my Lord. My soul overflowed with love to my greatest enemies, and my wonder was that the chief of sinners did not behold the glory of God, and unite to exalt his name. Through the night my soul was exceedingly happy, and the next morning I thought the sun was never before so richly laden with the glory of God. I had never known so happy, so pleasant a morning.
"Though I did not then suppose myself converted, I now think, from an analysis of my feelings, that I enjoyed something of the converting grace of God, for the following reasons:—1st. I had a witness in my own soul that God was my friend. 2d. I felt a vital union with all the saints, without respect to name, age, or color. I loved them, and could say, They are my people. Some who were poor and ignorant, whom I had formerly despised, I was able to embrace as my best friends. 3d. I felt a particular regard for every creature and object God had made, and a tenderness even to the lowest animal forms—as nothing seemed unincluded in the bond of love that united me and all things to Him. 4th. For the chief of sinners I felt particular love, regarding such as brethren in nature, and I greatly wished them to share in the peaceful wealth of the Gospel. 5th. My former ways in which I had sought happiness, now seemed to me as worthless and vain. Indeed I abhorred them.
"My freedom from the former oppressive gloom, the fulness of the tide of joy that was rising in my breast, at times startled me with the apprehension that as I was not converted I ought not to feel so light and so free, and my embarrassment was increased by the circulation of the report among the people that I was converted. They began to call me brother, which also seemed quite too much for me; and as I could not feel that I had experienced the change as usually described, I began to fear that I was deceived, which caused me much trouble and induced me to be silent for some time, as I was unwilling to discourage or to deceive others. Although I never had so much confidence in dreams as some, yet at this time the glory of God was beautifully revealed to me in night visions, and through them my mind was relieved of many doubts and fears, and again partook of the inward peace which the world in its greatest ability is unable to give. For several weeks, however, I kept my joys to myself, saying nothing in meeting and little in private, as I was determined not to deceive others, as I might in case my joys should prove unreal. Employing myself constantly in reading the Scriptures, that I might walk understandingly, my mind for several weeks was swallowed up in the interest their pages revealed, which unfolded a glory and beauty I cannot describe. In my retired moments, I held sweet communion with God, and, notwithstanding the shadows of doubt that crossed my mind in solitude, I was truly led from glory to glory.
"I heard others tell the day and the hour when the change was wrought in their hearts. Herein was my greatest trouble. My experience was not like others, nor indeed what I supposed it would be. I knew of several times when my mind was relieved of all its oppressions, but as I could single out no one of them and call it conversion, I concluded that the whole together was conversion. Though continually thirsting for new evidence, for which I was much drawn out in prayer, and selecting the most retired places for holy meditation, I pondered, like Mary, these things in my heart. Some conversations about this time, proved beneficial to me; especially was my soul refreshed by the dreams and night visions that came to me, making it seem ofttimes as though angels were hovering over my bed, and my apartment as filled with the divine glory. I was many times ready to say, I know that my Redeemer liveth."
In this manner Mr. B. records the operations of his youthful mind in seeking to solve the most serious of all problems—his soul's salvation. One perceives the presence of much self-distrust, much repentance; and an abundance of sympathetic sensibility to whatever is morally powerful and affecting in religion. Perhaps some have already taken it for granted that this youth of overflowing energy, lonely meditation, earnest prayer, and self-questionings, was wholly moving on the tide of popular instruction, or that he fell as melted lead or iron, into the moulds of theological teaching already prepared. This view is suddenly dispersed by all that is known of the man, and by the facts of the narrative itself. Do not sin and conscious alienation from God afford good cause for weeping? Are not the elements of the soul itself good reason for prayer, for deep desire and aspiration after a union of spirit with Him who is its Parent source and the glorious Perfection, of which it now has clear and happy glimpses? That work was unable to absorb his mind, that society could not get very near his heart, that his food even became tasteless, and his home a scene of mourning, are facts that hail from certain states of mind that have their deep significance, and which, in India and Persia, as well as in the American wilderness, have their numerous representatives.
He speaks of a time of religious interest when his father felt the need of something; more than Deism as a support to his mind; also of his becoming deeply interested in the ministry of Mr. Farewell, a Universalist minister; of his reading with great zeal the writings of Winchester, Dr. Hunting, Ballou, and others of the same faith, often spending whole nights in writing and study; books which, at his father's request, he also studied; and though for a time embarrassed by the philosophical arguments of Mr. Ballou on the Atonement and other topics, he discarded them ere long, with an earnest decision as opposed to the religious experience which gave him joy and hope, and as contrary to the plain teachings of the Scriptures. At this early day Universalism was indeed a bold extreme, it being little else than Calvinism benevolently applied to human destiny; and its strongly controversial and undevotional character was poorly adapted to a welcome in hearts that were glowing with the sacred enthusiasm of religious love. One evening he offered some speculative conversation in relation to the being and attributes of Satan, which so hurt the minds of the converts that he resolved no longer to harbor these negations, the dwelling upon which so much discorded with the happy feelings inspired by their simple faith and humble worship.
The Methodist denomination, at this time very spiritual and very prosperous in the province, was with him a favorite, though for reasons independent of the dictation of persons or of circumstances, he did not become a member of their society in his town, a fact which did not at all interfere with the entire freedom and cordial fellowship they mutually enjoyed. A Methodist Discipline is kindly offered him. He gladly reads, and commits it mostly to memory. But there is something in this young man that questions the Discipline and the ministers who explain it; that regards it as formal, and in many respects unlike the Scriptures; that quietly declines making it the groundwork of a faith and a sectarian position, though he does not break the happy concord about him by obtruding open controversy. He joined no sect.
"I wondered," said he, "that saints cannot all be one. I thought it strange that the affectionate names of 'Brethren,' 'Disciples,' 'Christians,' 'Friends,'—golden names that I found scattered through the New Testament, were not sufficient without the sectarian names under which the denominations were marshalled. This was a great mystery to me. I knew of none at that time who adopted the name of Christian as their only designation; but young and ignorant as I then was, I thought I beheld something more glorious than anything at which either myself or others had as yet arrived. My trials in pondering over these things were great. There were others who agreed with me in ideas of liberty, that were far greater than anything within the limits of the Discipline."
At a time when the righteousness of sectarianism was undisputed, when no voices from the pulpit were pleading for the true catholicity of the Christian faith, and when his associates were moved along by emotional ardor, was it not a strong, clear-sighted, original force of the young man that paused to ask, Why this formality and narrowness of creed? Why these many sectarian names? Why is the unity of the religion of Jesus broken by sects? These indeed were great questions for a young man in 1811; and in resolving them into a principle of action without relinquishing an iota of the faith and piety that had inspired him with hope, and joy unspeakable, he has given to the world an early proof of the superiority of mind of which his maturer years were the exhibition. The multitude, yielding to the enthusiasm of great moral excitement, often float along as flood-wood. He so controlled the current that bore him, as to be his own man, free from the despotism of any sectarian platform.
Through the spring and summer of 1812, his mind steadily poised on heavenly things, and anxious to do what the will of God in Christ required, he made the subject of baptism a topic of study.
"I searched the New Testament, as I was determined to know all that it said on the subject. I first became satisfied from the Scriptures, and secret prayer, that baptism was an institution of the Redeemer. 2. That it was enjoined on all believers in the Son of God. 3. That the mode practised in primitive days was going down into the water, and coming up out of the water after being buried therein. Although I was so clear relative to these three ideas, I often wept and cried to God in secret places in view of my unworthiness; but I received a glorious answer that in this institution of outward acknowledgment and obedience, I ought to follow the examples of Him who is the Way, the Truth, and Life. One evening when my mind was much tried on this subject, I prayed to God that if it was my duty to be baptized, I might dream of pleasant water. That night when locked in sleep I dreamed of riding on the most beautiful stream that I ever had seen; also of being immersed in the pure and tranquil element, whilst the divine glory shone around as a sacred enchantment. When I awoke my heart was filled with love divine, and I believe that, had there been an administrator present, I should hardly have waited for the day-dawn. These feelings I kept to myself; and, as I could not think of any administrator, or fix on time and place, I continued in this way till the first of September.
"I then went to Hatley to attend a general meeting, and a glorious time it was. Here I first saw Elder Benjamin Page, from Vermont, who preached a very instructive and refreshing discourse from Rom. 8: 21. 'Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.' Here I became acquainted with many of God's people whom I had not known, and in their spirituality and freedom I saw what more accorded with my existing ideas than I yet had seen. Nearly two hours Mr. Page spoke again from Isa. 33: 2. It was a glorious time, as was also the evening meeting, in which many participated. The next day we all parted with tears of joy, never expecting to meet again on earth. As I was about to leave, I took Elder Moulton by the hand and asked him if he would come to Compton and preach, to which he replied that he would whenever I desired him, inquiring at the same time if there were not some in our vicinity who would like to receive baptism, saying, 'I have thought for some time that I should have to go there to administer this ordinance'—a remark that gave to my former impressions a new evidence of my present duty. We agreed upon the time; I made the appointment and longed for the day to come; but the morning that brought me this new responsibility was not wholly without clouds, as the cross appeared great and fears arose. In spirit, I said,—
"'Jesus, my Lord, my Life, my Light,
O come with blissful ray;
Break radiant through the shades of night,
And chase my fears away.'
In a trembling and prayerful state of mind I went to church, where I found a large concourse of people in attendance, to whom Elder M. preached words of life. Among the many that were moved to speak in honor of the Redeemer, I arose, expressed my love to God and the saints, inviting my young companions to a rich and costly repast, without money and without price. Here every doubt was removed. Here I gained strength. The glory of God filled my heart. My father being present, Elder M. asked him if he was willing that his son should go forward in baptism, to which he replied that he was perfectly willing that Joseph, in things of religion, should act according to his own conception of duty. This gave me additional joy. I had chosen a pleasant stream, the Coatecook river, as the place where I preferred to receive baptism, to which locality we walked, two and two, in large procession, the distance of half a mile, singing the praises of God as we advanced. This day, Sept. 29, 1812, will be held in everlasting remembrance by me. My father sat upon his horse a few rods above me, in the water, so as to have a fair prospect. I was informed by the spectators who stood near him, that when I went into the water the tears flowed freely from his eyes. Under the smile of clear skies, of a quiet surrounding nature, I was baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The hearts of the brethren on shore appeared full of joy, and some voices of acclamation were heard. It seemed, indeed, as though the heavens were opened, and the Spirit was hovering on the assembly. Some praised, others wept, and a sweet peace and calmness filled my soul. As I ascended from the water, I sung the following lines with the Spirit, and I think with the understanding also:
"'But who is this that cometh forth,
Sweet as the blooming morning,
Fair as the moon, clear as the sun?
'Tis Jesus Christ adorning.'[10]
We returned singing; and truly, like the Ethiopian worshipper, we 'went on our way rejoicing.' From this time, I felt that I was newly established in God's grace. I had more strength to withstand temptation, more confidence to speak in the holy cause of the Redeemer. Here, with the Psalmist, I could say, 'How love I thy law; it is my meditation all the day.'
"'Let wonder still with love unite,
And gratitude and joy;
Be holiness my heart's delight,
Thy praises my employ.'"
Thus reads the narrative of such outward and inward facts as belong to the early religious history of Joseph Badger. Its component parts are, deep feeling, much thought, temporary doubting and despondency, penitence, inward aspiration, prayerful reliance on God, and at last a wide Christian fellowship, untinged by sectarian preference, and a conscious peace and joy in God. Through the many changes of theory, each winning admirers and having its day; through the stormy excitements of the religious feeling in the world, Mr. B. always retained his equilibrium and his constancy. And why? Because he laid his basis not in dogma, not in speculation, but in experience. By this he held his course, it being an anchor in the sea-voyage of life, a pole-star to the otherwise doubtful wanderings of the world's night. What can we or any one know of Divinity, except what we hold in our inward consciousness and experience? Nothing else. Words do not reveal holy mysteries. The soul must have God in its own life, or He is a mere intellectual conception, a mere word. We admire the poetic, marvellous vein that enables one to linger upon a beautiful dream. The young man, already rich in the Spirit's baptism, saw sacred value in the outward form, in the pure Scripture symbol. Earlier than the dates of Christian records in Palestine, did the religious feeling of man, in different climes, select water as one of its best formal expressions; and, though not heretofore inattentive to what theological controversy has said on the subject, we should say it is as well to stake one's duty now on a beautiful dream, as on all the light engendered by the ablest controversy ever held by polemic divines. The Coatecook and the Jordan are, through faith, equally sacred, as it is the Spirit that sanctifies. What can surpass in beauty and loveliness, the idea of the grand baptismal scene of the sacred river of Judea? We imagine the numerous multitude walking silently thither through the overshadowing woods, and in anxious, reverent musings, standing upon its banks. We feel the thoughts of penitence, the gleams of hope, half shaded by melancholy, as they here stole into the hearts of Abraham's dejected sons; and with them we muse upon the expected Christ of their deliverance, whom they daily hoped to see. We gaze upon the form of one whose moral and physical beauty it had delighted the eyes of the most beautiful to have seen; and as the waters glide by him on either side in graceful loveliness,—as the yellow sunbeams here and there rest calmly upon the shaded current, we see him meekly bowed into the genial waters; and what artist shall ever picture the beauty of the ideal in our minds when we view the circling dove from on high hovering upon the Saviour's breast, and the golden stream of light through the opening heaven descending upon his brow? Formal baptism, thus honored and glorified, remains a permanent institution of religion and of the Christian Church.
[CHAPTER V.]
CALL TO AND ENTRANCE UPON THE MINISTRY.
"But rise, and stand upon thy feet: for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee."—Acts 26: 16.
With these words of a high mission Mr. Badger's journal opens, and how well does it accord with the idea of divine agency in placing moral lights in the world, and with what to him was a common thought, the unequalled greatness of the minister's station. More than once or twice have I heard him say to the young man who was publicly receiving the honors of ordination, or of a conferential reception, "You are called, my brother, to fulfil the duties of the highest station ever occupied by a human being. No station on earth is so great in its nature, and so responsible in its duties, as that of the Christian minister;" and more than once, in the quiet social circle, and when alone, heard him say: "I would not exchange the joys and trials and honors of the Christian ministry, for the throne of the ablest king on earth." And this was the settled, serious feeling of his mind. He recognized God in the call of the true minister, not leaving the sacred choice at the mercy of family policy, of individual ambition, or the efficiency of college endowment.
"In ages past," says Mr. Badger, "God has seen fit to raise up, qualify, and send forth ambassadors to the people. He has frequently sent angels with celestial messages to men. Men also have been employed in the same work, have received the word from Him and declared it to the people. Aaron, Moses, Jeremiah, Isaiah and others, are striking illustrations of the truth that God has appeared unto men to make them ministers and witnesses of those things they have seen, and of those which he shall reveal unto them. John said, 'We speak the things we do know, and testify the things we have seen.' The Gospel is not something learned by human teaching, as are the mathematics and divers natural sciences. St. Paul was nearer its fountain-head and true attainment when he said, 'I neither received it from man, neither was I taught it but by the revelation of Jesus Christ.' 'Wo is unto me if I preach not the Gospel.' Neither reputation nor worldly recompense prompted the apostolical preaching. 'We preach not ourselves, but the Lord Jesus Christ.' 'Freely thou hast received, freely give.' The Gospel is not an earthly product, but a divine institution for divine ends. The preaching of it, therefore, is the highest possible work, demanding the greatest deliberation and integrity. Its effects are either 'a savor of life unto life, or of death unto death.' How delightful also is this employment, as it brings life, light and comfort to all who yield to its elevating, enlightening and purifying power."
These passages, written in the early years of his ministerial life, at once recalled the second sermon[11] that the writer of this ever heard him preach, founded on the heroic text of St. Paul, "I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ,"[12] in which he announced the Gospel as a divine science, as a refining power, as according with human nature and its wants; and, indeed, as "the only perfect science of human happiness known on earth." Such is the supremacy he unwaveringly gave to Christ, to his Gospel, and to its genuine ministry.
The feeling that drew the mind of Mr. Badger into the ministry, was an early one, having birth almost contemporaneously with the deep strivings of his mind already narrated in the previous chapter. It was the highest aspiration of his youth. Often, when at work, as early as the autumn of 1811, then nineteen years of age, his mind scarcely within his own control, he was frequently in a preaching frame, and often fancied that he was speaking to audiences of people on the attractions of Christ; so thoroughly was his mind engrossed in these meditations, that he often spoke several words before being aware of it, and not unfrequently did he find himself suffused with tears. "I had at this time," says Mr. B., "no idea that I should ever be a minister."
"As soon as I had myself partaken of the pardoning love of Christ, I felt as though all others should be sharers in eternal life. In prayer, my mind was drawn out for all men, for the chief of sinners. My mind was quickly weaned from earthly delights, and all my powers were devoted to spiritual interests. The few good ministers I knew I esteemed as the best and happiest of human beings; and, as the harvest seemed great, I often prayed that the Lord would send forth more laborers into the field. I thought if I were in such a minister's place I would go to the ends of the earth to sound the message of redeeming love. It was in the midst of such meditations that, in the first of the year 1812, all at once the idea broke into my mind that I must leave all and preach Christ. My soul shrunk away from the overpowering greatness of the thought, which I immediately banished from my mind; but with its banishment there came a gloomy despondency, as through the winter I continued at times to be exercised with the spirit of a station, which I supposed I never could fill.
"In the spring I went into the woods to make sugar, a business much followed in that country. Night and day for several weeks I was here confined, a scene that might once have been gloomy, but now was delightsome, as I enjoyed much of God's presence in my secret devotions. I kept my Bible with me, had some opportunity of reading, which I eagerly improved with the greatest satisfaction. Here my mind was again powerfully exercised in relation to preaching; these impressions always brought with them the greatest solemnity. At such times I sought the most retired places I could find, wishing that I might hide, as it were, 'in the cleft of the rock,' as the sacred vision passed before me. I said, 'Lord, who is sufficient for these things?' and with Jeremiah I was constrained to say, 'I cannot speak, for I am a child.' While these things like mountains were rolled upon my mind, I frequently spent the greater part of the whole night in prayer, in which I asked that I might be excused, and that these things might be taken from me. Hours in the lonely woods I passed in tears, and none but the angels witnessed the action and utterance of my grief. Once I opened my Bible wishing to know my duty, and the first words I beheld were, 'The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved;' language that impressed me with the great importance of the present time as an opportunity to lay up treasure in heaven; to call the attention of men to their salvation, before the lamentation of the prophet should become their sad and unhopeful song. From the depth of my spirit I said, Oh! my soul, can I be excusable for my silence, when I behold the dark tide of sin on which myriads are rushing to eternal wo? Hearing the voice of Heaven perpetually resounding 'Why will ye die?' and beholding the crimson tide of the loving, dying Christ, that ever spoke of mercy, whilst angels appeared to my view as waiting and longing to rejoice over one repenting sinner, I said, Can I refrain from warning men of their danger, from inviting them to the Christ of their deliverance? For several days the above named scripture occupied my mind, and I was satisfied that God was drawing me into the ministry by these impressions, and soon I was willing to leave all, and suffer the loss of all things for Christ.
"Late in the spring I left my retirement, with a countenance wan and fallen, and a heart filled with 'wo is me if I preach not the Gospel.' I was silent, no company seemed agreeable, and to no one did I confide my feelings. In the summer of 1812, I searched the Scriptures, and often did my mind so extensively open to an understanding of what I read, that I was impressed to communicate what I felt and what I saw. On some particular passage my mind would rest for several days at a time, and ideas of which I had never before thought, would present themselves. Well do I remember the great power in which the words of the apostolical commission came to my mind: 'Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature;' words that seemed night and day to sound as a voice of thunder through my spirit. I regarded this as the divine voice; as Job says, 'God thundereth marvellously with his voice.' From all the scripture I read I gathered something that taught me the moral situation of mankind, God's willingness and ways for saving them, also my own duty to my race. Remarkable dreams at this time united with other evidences to confirm me in my duty, as often in the midnight slumber I dreamed of speaking to large assemblies in the name and spirit of the Lord. Frequently, under these exercises, I spoke so loud as to awaken the people in the house, and sometimes awoke in tears calling on sinners to repent and embrace the Saviour. When sleep departed from my eyes, as it frequently did, I would spend most of the night in prayer to God. Often could I say, with the weeping Hebrew prophet, 'Oh, that mine head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night.' But none, except those who have passed through similar trials, can understand the peculiar experience touched upon in these last paragraphs."
The passage of men, called in any divine way, from worldly business into the work of reclaiming souls from sin, cannot be as smooth and easy as the passage one makes from a machine-shop to a counting-room. Fashion and custom may render it so, but these are far from being God's prime ministers. Is there no preparatory process by which the spirit of the prophet is stirred to its depth? Did not the fine nature of Jesus undergo temptations and trials in the wilderness for forty days before he entered upon his public mission? Did he not there feel the grandeur of his mission, when he foresaw the cost of all that the world and its ambition holds dear, as the result of his future procedure? He casts the worldly crown beneath his feet, and steadily fixes his eye on the immortal good of the world as his end. The coarser heart of Arabia's prophet also sought solitude as its home ere it gave to the East its lasting oracles. The question of the calculating European and New Englander, as to which one of his family he shall select with whom to stock the sacred profession, never came from the land of inspiration and of divine missions. He that was too dull to be a rogue, or a successful practitioner in law, medicine or merchandise, the old maxim thought to promise best for the pulpit. No such plottings had aught to do in the election of this young man. It was warm from his heart, was seasoned in prayers, baptized in tears, and cherished in sleepless night-watchings and lonely meditations. Preaching skilfully, learned as an art, may be had almost as cheaply as Parisian dancing; but the living word that "breaketh the rocks in pieces" never comes in it.
Mr. Badger attended meetings through the summer, heard, when they had no minister, one of John Wesley's sermons read, as dictated by the discipline; mingling with others his own voice of exhortation and prayer. The eyes of all were soon fixed upon him, and the brethren began to complain of his disobedience to the heavenly vision long before he had intimated to any one the state of his mind. Some assured him confidently that they had an evidence from God that it was his duty to preach, and that their meetings were impoverished by his unfaithful withholding. "This," says he, "I could not deny." Though encouraged by the kindred sympathy of Mr. Gilson, who narrated to him his own trials before entering the ministry, though finding a response to his own conviction of duty in the hearts of all the spiritually minded about him, he did not immediately or hastily go forth in ministerial action and armor. He waited the call of circumstance and occasion. His journal narrates a most beautiful visit he had at the house of Capt. Felix Ward, where the conversation was wholly devoted to religion; where scripture inquiry, prayer and holy song united to enlighten their minds, and to lay the basis of a valuable lasting friendship; and though strangers to each other, the family spoke of him afterwards as one whom they then believed would be a chosen vessel to bear the honor of God before the Gentiles. "I thought," says Mr. B., "I scarcely ever saw a house so full of the glory of God."
But particular occasion calls. In June or July, 1812, persecution arose in Ascott, which drove from the province two successful ministers, Messrs. Bates and Granger, because they would not swear allegiance to King George, which they boldly affirmed that they would never do. Thanking God that they were counted worthy to suffer for Christ, they meekly submitted to the persecution that seized them as prisoners in the midst of a happy meeting, and that drove them, after a lengthy arbitration, back into their own country, the State of Vermont.
"When I heard of this circumstance," says Mr. B., "my heart, filled with love for the dear converts and brethren who were bereaved of their pastors by the counsel of the ungodly, caused me to feel my responsibility anew; as I was a citizen of the country, knew the manners and customs of the people, and could easily take a position from which the same persecuting powers could not drive me. My heart, like David's, began to burn with a holy resolve to go forth into the field, and take the place of my injured brothers."
Though a stranger in the town of Ascott, where these events occurred, (a town about twelve miles from Compton,) he started on Saturday, near Sept. 1st, to attend with them a general meeting of which he had previously heard, and as he was riding through a space of woods, it suddenly struck him that Mr. Moulton would be absent, and that he should be obliged to speak; and the hundreds who remember the simplicity and naturalness of the texts from which he almost invariably preached in after life, will see something characteristic in the passage, Heb. 13: 1, that came at once to his mind, "Let brotherly love continue." Hesitating for a time whether he would proceed or return, as he was satisfied that he should meet this great duty if he proceeded, he went forward, found a large audience assembled and no minister present. As he entered, all eyes were attracted to him, and though many present regarded him as one whom the Holy Spirit had called to preach, he remained through the meeting in silence, except at the close he owned his disobedience, and received from several present warnings to be faithful hereafter. In personal figure Mr. B. was a noble and commanding man, one that could not pass among strangers without drawing to himself a marked attention.
Saturday evening he was invited to pass at Mr. Bullard's, where they spent part of the evening in singing, and hours, he says, upon their knees in prayer,—an evening by him never forgotten, as the Holy Spirit consciously filled their hearts with joy. "I thought then," says our youth, "I never saw so happy a family. Oh, what a glorious age will it be when the principles of pure religion shall pervade the world!" On Sunday they repaired to the place of worship, where "Mr. M. most beautifully described from James 1: 25, the perfect law of liberty. Many were in spirit refreshed, and indeed we sat together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus." As the Lord's Supper was not then administered, another appointment was made, and from the happy influences of this meeting with saints, Mr. B. returned home "in the power of the Spirit," firmly resolved to do all that duty might ever require. He again returned to Ascott to attend the appointment made for the communion, where Mr. M. gave an able discourse on having "a sound mind," and where, for the first time in his life, he partook of the symbols of Jesus' truth and dying love. He says:
"I trembled at the thought of attending on so sacred an ordinance, and with so holy a band of brethren; but as I could not feel justified in the neglect of the privilege, I came forward in the worthiness of my Lord, and I believe with his fear before my eyes. A deep solemnity rested on the whole assembly, and our souls, at the close, were seemingly on flame for the realms above. I was never happier in my life at the close of a meeting.
"Mr. M., having appointments over St. Francis River, wished me to take a journey with him. I complied. We crossed the river, visited several families, had one meeting; then passing up the river to Westbury (eight miles), through a woody region mostly, we arrived in the afternoon much fatigued, as we had to encounter the buffetings of a violent storm. On our way, I had fallen back and rode several miles alone in the most serious meditations. I clearly saw the hardships of a missionary life, and felt that I must enter the field. We found a loving company of brethren, who received us kindly, and who appeared to be steadfast in faith. We held several good meetings in the place. Some were baptized. I also made the acquaintance of Mr. Zenas Adams, a young minister who had just begun to preach. This journey increased my confidence, as Mr. Moulton was a discerning man, and qualified both from knowledge and sympathy to assist young ministers. The conversations with Mr. Adams were also advantageous. He was but a few months my elder.
"I had now arrived at a crisis in which I must earnestly dispose of every practical objection. I had said, 'I am a child—I cannot speak.' I was but twenty years of age; I thought my friends might be unwilling. Soon, however, my father gave me my freedom; and I felt that there was much meaning yet in the good scripture which saith, 'It shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak.' I plead a comparative illiteracy, as the minister is ordained to teach, and ought to command the various resources of knowledge. This objection also fled before that potent scripture, James 1: 5, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.' I was satisfied of this, that if God had called me to the work, with health, youth, and industry on my part, He would give me every necessary qualification. As swimming is learned by swimming, and agriculture is acquired by its active pursuit, it struck me that fidelity in the new work would secure the only effectual skill in conducting it. I thought of a kind father's house, of my loving parents who had watched over my childhood, of the four brothers and four sisters with whom I had lived in the greatest friendship; and I did not omit to think of the needful renunciation of worldly prospects, and of the censures I should get from some, and the various treatment I had reason to expect from the world if I went out as a faithful, uncompromising ambassador of Christ. To take the parting hand with my dear relatives, and to live in the world as a stranger and foreigner, called up many painful emotions in my breast as I glanced into the uncertain future. Still no tide of emotion could carry me back in my purposes, and with much feeling I felt to say:
"'Farewell, oh my parents, the joy of my childhood,
My brothers and sisters, I bid you adieu!
To wander creation, its fields and its wildwood,
And call upon mortals their God to pursue:
When driven by rain-drops, and night shades prevailing,
And keen piercing north-winds my thin robes assailing,
And stars of the twilight in lustre regaling,
I'll seek some repose in a cottage unknown.'
"Through all my discouragements and melancholy hours, interspersed throughout nearly a year's continuance, there were times when the sweet peace of God grew conscious in my heart, and always did this passage bring with it a cheering light, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world!" I felt that it was mine, that it was for me, and for all true ministers through time, as well as for the worthier ones who carried the Master's truth through suffering and trial over the earth. Feeling now that the time had come when I must venture forth, and finding that nothing among the armory of Saul would suit my form or answer my purpose, I concluded that no other way remained for me but to rely on 'the mighty arm of the God of Jacob,' under whose name I would fight the battle of life. In the latter part of October, 1812, on a pleasant Sabbath morning, while the people were gathering from every direction for meeting, the following passage came with power to my mind, and as no minister was present that day, I knew I could offer no good excuse for a refusal to speak. Phil. 2: 5. 'Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.' On this text, on this very glorious theme, my public life began, and doubtless in a weak, broken, and trembling manner. I have often thought of my first text, and have endeavored to make it my motto for life, for it is on the idea here advanced that the vital merit of ministers and Christians must forever depend. How important that the Gospel minister should have the mind of Christ! How can he otherwise preach Him to the world? How may he penetrate the centre of other souls and hold up the living evidence of Christianity without it? How important that all Christians have His spirit and temper! For it is this that directs, this that supports, this that adorns the child of God."
"But when the echo of the first effort came back from the community, 'Joseph Badger has become a preacher,' a sentence then in everybody's mouth, I was greatly mortified, particularly when the invitations came to me before the week had ended, to go and preach in different parts of the town. I complied as far as practicable with these requests, and our meetings were thronged with people who came to hear the new minister, the young man—young, indeed, in a double sense,—in years and in experience. Perhaps never before did surrounding circumstances unite to render me more thoroughly conscious of my weakness, dependence, and inefficiency. I spent much time in secret prayer, and in pensive meditation, and the cry I once before had made in the anticipation now arose with redoubled energy, 'Lord, who is sufficient for these things?' More than ever did I begin to fell the worth of souls by night and by day; and through the bodily fatigues to which my labors subjected me, the sense of responsibility and insufficiency that weighed upon me, my mind was somewhat shaded with melancholy, and often did my heart find relief in tears."
"The next Thursday evening after my first sermon, I attended a Conference, where I met Mr. Gilson, a well-known minister. He appeared much rejoiced at what he called 'the good news,' and insisted that as there were many present, I should occupy the desk as the speaker, and give the introductory sermon. This, to me, was a great cross, particularly so as one of my brothers was present. After enduring for a time the conflict of feelings, which may be easily imagined, I went forward in prayer, then arose to speak from 1 John 5, 19th verse: 'And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness.' In speaking, I had a good time, and both branches of the subject, which run over the ground occupied by saints and sinners, seemed to have a good effect; it inspired joy in the one, and awakened solemnity in the other. Mr. G. approbated my discourse, but I felt much mortified that I, a mere lad, was called out to set my few loaves and small fishes before the great multitude."
[CHAPTER VI.]
PUBLIC LABORS IN THE PROVINCE.
"From this time, I continued to improve my gift in public speaking, in this and other neighborhoods of the town. Feeling much friendship and care for the brethren in Ascott, I spent as much time as my business would allow among them, which was to my instruction and comfort, as there were in that place many faithful and experienced Christians. As I had some leisure, and found it duty to visit the neighboring towns, I thought it would be proper to have something to show, upon my introduction to strange communities, what my character and standing were at home. As I felt commissioned from God's throne, I saw no necessity of applying to men for license or liberty to preach, and therefore only sought a confirmation of my moral character. It would indeed be an absurd mission that did not include the liberty of fulfilling the duty imposed. Thus 'I did not go up to Jerusalem to those who were Apostles before me,' though I conferred much with 'flesh and blood.' I submitted this question to Mr. John Gilson, who as a minister was highly respected. He concurred with me in opinion, gave me a letter stating that my moral and Christian character was good, and that the religious community believed me to be called to preach the Gospel. This was singular, as I was not a Methodist, and was in no way pledged to their peculiar doctrines. We always had, however, a good understanding, and it was with tears that I parted from them. Since then I have often met them with joy, and they are still dear in my memory.[13] For one year from the time I began to preach, this was all the letter I had, whilst with solemn joy I went through the region of Lower Canada to preach, experiencing the mingled cup of joy and trial common to a missionary life, which was my heart's choice.
"In the winter of 1812 I made it my home in Ascott, attended school some, but, so far as scholarship is concerned, to little profit, as my mind was subjected to impressions that constrained me to leave school and preach Christ. In the early part of the winter, I concluded to visit Shipton, on a preaching tour of about sixty miles, with Zenas Adams. He was a well-informed young man, who had commenced preaching a few months earlier than myself. We started on foot, and travelled along with mind and conversation seriously imbued with the spirit of our calling, to the appointments we had made, where we met large assemblies, who had convened to hear what the boys could say. Brother A. spoke mostly on this tour. We attended meetings in Brompton, Melbourne, Shipton, and other places, meeting kind receptions and gentle treatment from many good Christians, and short answers from some of our enemies. At Shipton we were joyfully received by Capt. Ephraim Magoon, in a manner never to be forgotten by me; also were we kindly greeted by many other good friends. We passed several days in this place, which laid the foundation for a long acquaintance, and for my subsequent labors in that community."
The following paragraph is so characteristic of Mr. B., that no one can fail to see the man as present in the youth. It was in sudden emergency that the energy and creativeness of his genius were always manifest. Though naturally diffident, no one ever saw him in an emergency that proved greater than his own mind. His dignity, firmness, composure and aptness at such times, were always striking and heroic. In a crisis, who ever saw him at a loss?
"On our return, at a meeting held at Mr. Hovey's, whilst Adams was preaching, a British officer came in. When the sermon was ended, I arose to speak by way of exhortation. It was a solemn, weeping time, and I observed the officer to shed tears. When the meeting was dismissed he made known to us his business, informing us that Esquire Cushing had sent him to arrest us, and to bring us before him for examination, as it was a time of war between two nations, and we were strangers. 'But as for myself,' he kindly observed, 'I am not concerned about you, and if you will agree to call on Esquire C. to-morrow, I will return home;' to which we agreed, exhorting him to repent. The next day we called at Esquire Cushing's tavern (for his were the double honors of landlord and magistrate) and ordered refreshment. At evening we were formally summoned into his presence. I walked forward and Adams fell in the rear, in order that I might act as the chief speaker. Mr. Cushing then exclaimed, with all the harsh authority a British tyrant could assume 'What's your business in this country?' I replied, 'To preach Christ's Gospel, sir.' 'By what authority?' 'By the authority of Heaven, sir.' At this the old man began to look surprised and beaten, thinking that I probably knew his character too well for him to succeed in this sort of treatment; and my friend Adams, constitutionally mild and retiring, began to take courage. He then observed, 'How came you in this country?' 'My father purchasing a large tract of land in the town of Compton, brought me into this country when nine years old, and, sir, I have as good a right here as you or any other man.' 'Have you taken the oath of allegiance?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Let me see your certificate,' added he. I presented it; it was read and returned. 'Are you a son of Major Badger, of Compton?' 'I am, sir.' 'Well, you'd better be at home than to be strolling about the country.' 'I thank you, sir, I shall attend to what employment I think best, and shall visit what part of the country I please.' Here I was dismissed, and I conclude he thought me a saucy fellow.
"Next poor Adams had to walk up. He came forward with a calm and delicate countenance, clothed in the sweet temper of the Lamb. The blood which had forsaken his beardless face, now returned, and adorned his cheeks with their accustomed bloom, as he stood before a 'beast of the deep,' who possessed much of the spirit that prevailed in his mother-country during the reign of Queen Mary, who caused her own beautiful cousin, Lady Jane Grey, to ascend the scaffold at the age of seventeen to suffer death for her religion. Brother Adams had taken the oath of allegiance, but as he could present no certificate he experienced some difficulty and suffered much abuse. But his soft answers served to turn away wrath. As I knew him I spoke in his favor, and after a short time we were dismissed. The next morning, after paying an extravagant price for poor, and to us disagreeable entertainment, we departed, rejoicing that we in our youthful days were counted worthy to suffer for Jesus' sake.
"This journey was very beneficial to me. Here a friendship was formed between brother Adams and myself which has never since been destroyed. He was an excellent young man, and had not at that time joined the Methodist connection. After a most agreeable acquaintance for more than one year, it was heart-rending to part with him. I found that he was resolved to join the Society, and that he was very anxious that I should. We conversed on the measure lengthily. I proposed to him that we would travel at large, and not be confined to sect or party, but preach a free salvation to all who would hear us. He said that his confidence was so small, that he thought it best to preach upon an established circuit, where he should be sure of a living and where he should have homes to receive him. I replied, that I could not fear to trust in God for a living; that the faithful minister would never starve; and that if I could not get further on my way, at any time, I would go home and resume my daily toil. I saw that he was set on going to Conference; he also saw that I had a permanent dislike to the Bishop's power, and that I would not become subject to the Methodist laws. We did not longer urge each other, but parted in love. I walked with him half a mile, when he started, and I felt the trial of our parting to be great. We kneeled in the woods with our arms around each other, and when we had prayed and bathed each other's bosoms in tears, we arose and parted with affectionate salutation, never expecting to meet again on earth. He went to unite with the American Methodists, and I, more from duty than inclination, remained among enemies in Lower Canada, to stem the torrent of opposition alone.
"In the month of January I left school, rode to Hatley and Stanstead, on the shore of Lake Mogogue, where I spent certain days, and attended several meetings. The greater part of the winter, when out of school, I spent at Ascott, Compton, and Westbury, where I had good times, though mingled with trials and temptations. The first day of January, 1813, was a very glorious time at a general meeting in Ascott. Mr. Gilson, and a colored man by the name of Dunbar, who was both a godly man and a faithful preacher, were our principal speakers. In the month of March I took a journey to Shipton alone, where I enjoyed a glorious meeting, and made an engagement to return in the spring.
"During this month, my eldest brother came four miles to hear me preach. He requested me to make an appointment at his house, which was near my father's residence; and but few of our family had ever heard me speak. His house was one where I had attended many balls and had met assemblies for vain recreations. The audience to whom I spoke was composed of my parents, brothers, sisters, neighbors, and my fellow youth, who had been my old companions in sin—circumstances that rendered my cross very great. My father's presence made my embarrassment much greater, as I knew the critical cast of his mind, the extensive reading and education by which his intellect was enriched. I observed that my father selected a seat with his back towards me. Excessive as my cross was, I could not be reconciled to this. I arose and presented him my chair, and when he had again taken his seat, I read a hymn from the Methodist collection, which was sweetly sung by the young people, my brother serving as chorister. After prayer and the second singing, I announced my text, at which every countenance fell, a general surprise being visible all around, and the young people appeared as solemn as if the day of doom had dawned. I believe I have intimated heretofore that, as a town, the people were irreligious. My text was Matt. 23: 33. 'Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers! how can ye escape the damnation of hell?' My text was harsh, but my discourse was mild. I first noticed the natural qualities of serpents and vipers that constituted the analogy of the passage, and that furnished the reason of their being so called. Second, I described what I considered to be the damnation of hell. Third, I endeavored to show how we might escape this, and the necessity of improving a present day of grace. I then addressed myself to the assembly in the following order: 1st, to my parents; 2d, to my brothers and sisters; 3d, to the young people; 4th, to the neighbors. This was indeed one of the most affecting scenes I ever had witnessed. When I came to address the young people in relation to our former sports in that room, and to express my regard for them, and to tell them of the new and better inheritance I had discovered, some wept aloud, and at the close several said 'Pray for me.' I name this circumstance, as it was the first time my parents ever heard me preach, and it being a time deeply impressed on my own memory. After this I rode four miles, and preached in the evening at Mr. Benjamin Sleeper's, in whose house a most beautiful child lay dead, and which on the following morning received its burial."
I find, on another page of his journal, that the sermon here spoken of bears date March 23d, 1813.
"I now began to reflect on the situation of the people at Shipton, and felt it my duty to return to them, as in that and in several adjoining towns there was no minister. I accordingly made preparations and started, April 1st, 1813. On the way I spoke several times, to good assemblies; arrived on the 6th, and found from multitudes a joyful reception. A reformation immediately began among the youth, and the spirits of the aged pilgrims revived like the golden life of a second summer. This, to me, was an evidence I could not doubt, that it was under a heavenly guidance that I had come to Shipton. I made it my home at Capt. Magoon's, where I enjoyed, with the aged people, many very happy hours; they were indeed the excellent of the earth, and I hope their numerous kindnesses to me may receive a thousand-fold reward.
"In the month of June, I made my first visit to Ringsey, to which place I was invited by Col. Bean, one of my father's particular acquaintances, likewise one of the principal men in this community. Though invited on a personal visit at his house, which was about sixteen miles distant, I found, on my arrival, a multitude assembled, to whom I spoke, under the conscious aid of the higher power. Several dated their conviction from this meeting, and through all the town the reformation spread. After speaking to them a few more times, I returned to Shipton; and in a few weeks visited them again, where I found several happy converts and many whose heart-cry was for mercy. Thus the work spread until it was thought that upwards of one-half of the grown people had experienced religion; I say experienced religion, for religion is not a matter of theory but of life. Its home is not in the dry speculation of the brain, but in the field of experience. Religion in theory is like the pictures of trees and flowers; they may win the eye and the fancy; but these pictures do not blossom, nor grow, nor bear fruits. The juices of life flow in the roots and branches of everything that grows.
"Col. Bean, my good friend, whose house was always to me an agreeable home, and some of his children, found peace in Christ. He continued a shining light until his death, which was about one year after. The many pleasant days and nights enjoyed with him and his agreeable family afford pleasure in their recollection; and though these cheerful scenes are not to be recalled, I trust they may be resumed in a better state of being.
"The latter part of August I was invited to attend a meeting in the upper part of the town of Ringsey, a place whose inhabitants were said to be remarkably hardened and wicked. I thought a place like this should not be shunned by a minister whose commission it is to seek the lost. At the time appointed there was a general attendance. I had rode a long distance, and both myself and horse were very much fatigued. I had no attention whatever paid me as to refreshment, nor did their sense of civility or bowels of compassion disturb them with a single thought about the needs of the faithful animal that had done its part in helping them to a minister, and that stood very patiently by the side of the fence. I stood, a stranger, in the midst of glaring spectators. I recollect that when walking through the assembly, I felt an emotion of tenderness and solicitude for them that nearly impelled me to tears. I spoke to them from Zech. 9: 12, and, if ever the Being who gave me my mission assisted me in fulfilling it, it was then. Though very feeble in health I spoke to them over one hour, and the power of God came down upon the assembly, and many wept aloud. At the close I gave opportunity to any who wished me to pray for them to indicate their mind by rising, when the greater part of the assembly arose. The cry was audible and general, 'What shall I do to be saved?' In my closing prayer I could scarcely be heard. Though late, I mounted my horse, and rode nine miles to Shipton, where, at the house of Mr. Heath, I was kindly treated. But I was so weary and exhausted that I retired without refreshment, and did not visit Ringsey again for several weeks, leaving them to work out their own salvation. I then proceeded up the St. Francis river about seventy miles, to the town of Dudswell, where I found a happy circle of Christians. When I again returned to Ringsey the scene was wonderfully changed. Old and young flocked into the streets to meet and welcome my return. I could not pass a house where I was not urged to go in. I occasionally spoke to them during my stay in that country. Truly in this place were the songs of the old and the young mingled together.
"In the month of August, we held at Shipton a general meeting. Mr. R. Smith preached a very interesting discourse on Saturday, from Gal. 3: 26: 'For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.' Sunday morning Mr. Avery Moulton spoke from Acts 3: 22: 'A prophet shall the Lord your God raise up.' Mr. J. Gilson next addressed the assembly from 2 Kings 5: 13. After him I endeavored to speak from Zech. 9: 17: 'For how great is his goodness, how great is his beauty!' Several happy converts were baptized at this meeting by Elder Moulton.
"From this we appointed a general meeting to be held at Ascott, on the 8th, 9th, and 10th of October. It being a time of war between two powerful nations, our situation was rendered very unpleasant in many respects. Our provincial officers were much opposed to our travelling from town to town, and our brethren in general refused to bear arms. This enraged the officers. They frequently sent spies to our meetings to see if we prayed for the king and if we preached against the government, as we afterward learned. One of the officers once accosted me in these words: 'Well, Mr. Badger, I understand you do not pray for the king!' 'You are mistaken, sir, I do pray for the king.' 'But how do you pray for him?' 'I pray that he may become converted, and be a child of God.' 'Ah! but that won't do; you ought to pray for the success of his arms.' 'I do, sir, pray for his arms, that his swords may be beaten into ploughshares and his spears into pruning-hooks. This is the best prayer I can make in his behalf.' He did not seem to like my answer, but said no more to me.
"The October meeting coming off at this time, made no small stir among the people, and the wicked, as of old, 'took counsel together against the Lord, and against His anointed.' As they had been successful in driving two good preachers out of the country, they were now emboldened to make a strong attempt, first to frighten us out of the country, and should they fail in that, which they did, to disturb our meetings as their next best stroke of policy. They issued warrants for nine of us, myself and two other ministers, and six of the leading members of our churches. We were arrested on the first day of our meeting, which had opened under promising auspices, as enemies to the Government. I had an insight into their methods before any part of their plot was executed; for as I was on my way the morning of the 8th, and within eight or nine miles of the meeting, an officer with whom I was acquainted, hailed me from his house and observed if I would wait a few moments he would be my company. As we rode along I drew from him a development of the whole plot, and at that time I became his prisoner. The greatest fear I had was this, that the meeting would be essentially disturbed. The prisoners were to be delivered and have their trial at Mr. Stone's tavern, one mile from the place of the meeting, at the same time that it was in progress. When I arrived at the place where the congregation was to convene, I called, found several preachers present, and some brethren to whom I related the whole of what was about to transpire. Some were filled with fear. I advised them to discover no alarm, but to go on composedly with their meeting, provided there should not be more than ten persons left, after the rulers should have sifted the audience in their legal network, and to pay no attention whatever to us who were absent, except to remember us kindly in their prayers; and away I went to stand in the presence of authority. Soon, however, I was favored with the company of brother Amos Bishop, a faithful minister of the Gospel. He came in rejoicing that he was counted worthy to suffer for Jesus' sake. Our trial formally opened on Friday noon, but not much was done. At evening I obtained a room in which to hold meeting, thinking that inasmuch as the legal process was tardy, the ministers present could make no better use of their leisure time than in preaching Christ to all who would become our hearers. Seats were prepared, and the neighbors flocked in. I then walked into the somewhat spacious bar-room to invite the honorable court to attend, a body composed of three magistrates, viz.: Pennoyer, Nichols, and Hyat, who were at the time merrily passing the glass. Making to them as courteous an address as I was capable, in which I stated the superlative worth of the religion of Christ in the soul, I gave them an invitation to be with us. They did not make much reply, but stood by the door, as we learned, where they could hear the communications of the meeting. Never did we enjoy a more glorious time, never did we realize the divine presence more joyfully than here under keepers. Many brethren came to see us, their eyes filled with tears, whilst our hearts overflowed with joy.
"Saturday morning I arose very early and obtained permission to visit my brethren at the general meeting on condition that I would return at nine o'clock. I enjoyed my visit there; but what most affected me was this. Just as the sun had begun to brighten the eastern sky, after I had started, I met my oldest sister and my brother's wife, who had heard of my bonds, and hastened with eyes and hearts full of sympathetic concern for my welfare. They had arrived at the place the night previous, and were at that early hour hastening to the lodgings of their poor brother Joseph in afflictions. When I saw them I could not refrain from tears. They brought me money and articles of clothing, which were acceptable to me at that time. They tarried through the meeting and returned home.
"At ten o'clock the court sat, and the whole scene together was one at which the student of human nature might have sat with amusement, scorn, edification, and pity. False witnesses arose as in ancient days. I say false witnesses, because they proved so before the court. They stated that we had opposed our brethren in bearing arms, that we had spoken diminutively of the British king, topics on which the public speakers present had been silent. Finally, at the close we were bound over for our appearance at court, which sat at the Three Rivers, and only twenty-five minutes were granted us in which to procure bondsmen. This we utterly declined doing. I told them that I knew the character of the cause in which I was called to suffer; that for me the Stone Jug had no terrors, and that if I must occupy its walls, I should trust that the same God who heard Paul's prayers and songs at midnight, would also be my friend. At this a captain was ordered to take charge of me. Bishop answered rather independently, and asked Esq. P. to be his bondsman, but at length informed them that he despised their power. At this we were companions. Many present who were at first our enemies, came to me in tears, and offered to be our bondsmen. A captain who had carefully observed all that had transpired, came and offered to pledge his farm for me. At this, sympathy became contagious, and the spectators, who had thus far been watchfully silent, began to damn the squires, two of whom were now observed to stagger, having taken too much whiskey to retain a respectable command of their persons. One of them took me aside, told me that he found no cause against me, that it was the others who had caused them to bind me over, that he had always been my friend, and would attend meeting the next day. The poor fellow fell from his horse on the way home, and broke his shoulder, which for weeks prevented him from leaving his house. Esq. P. the following day was found in the road drunk; and thus ended the suit. These events were not ineffectual. Our keepers, on seeing the agitation of the people, and the increase of our friends, on Monday morning, by the advice of Captain Ward, dismissed us, and told us to go about our business. This was a day of glad news to the brethren, who in trembling fear and faith, had borne us in their prayers to the Invisible King; and now having a little leisure, I improved it in visiting my friends at Compton. I had not seen my father's house for months. I spent some time with them very agreeably—relived past scenes in conversation—bade them an affectionate farewell and again went to Shipton.
"In the latter part of the year 1813, when on my return from Shipton, my father sent me word that unless I could tarry several days, he wished me to send an appointment and preach at his house. This to me was welcome tidings, as I had long been waiting with hopeful anxiety for this opportunity to open. I sent an appointment, which soon spread over the town. No travelling minister had at this time ever preached at my father's house, and a large multitude assembled, probably under the impression that there was something new in the circumstance. Oh, how solemn, how memorable the scene! I had long been absent from home among strangers, had passed through a trying experience in which friendship and hatred had largely commingled, and now, at the invitation of a kind father, I stood amidst my relatives, brethren and old acquaintances, to speak freely on whatever I felt to be dear to the hope and salvation of man. I spoke from Mark 5: 19. 'Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee.' After the assembly had dispersed, my father and myself spent a great part of the night in conversation on the things of the kingdom, in which he rather favored the doctrine of Universalism. I had an agreeable visit of a few days, and went rejoicing on my way. I name these circumstances as they belong to the time I first preached at my father's house.
"At Shipton and vicinity, we had through the fall and first part of the winter, golden seasons, and many were added to the church of God. Party rage seemed to die away, and persecution greatly subsided. I now began to feel a dismission, so far as my labors and responsibilities were related to this region of country; and in casting my eye over the world as my lawful field, I longed to visit other lands, and carry to distant parts the unsectarian message of Repentance, Faith, and Love. During the winter I made several visits at Stanstead, a town lying on the eastern shore of Lake Memphremagog, where I saw a few persons converted, and where, with the saints of the Most High, I took sweet counsel. Also had many useful meetings in my father's vicinity.
"In the spring of 1814 I found my health exceedingly poor. Many thought I was inclining to the consumption. As the roads were exceedingly bad in the spring season throughout the province, I resolved to make but one general visit in each particular place where I had preached, unless particular impression should otherwise direct me, and then journey to the land of my nativity, to the New England sea-coast, around which my feelings of friendship and reverence warmly clustered, almost taking in the scenery of New England as a vital part of my filial feelings. Accordingly, as soon as the going became settled, I started on my farewell visits through the North country. Hundreds flocked together in the several towns where my appointments had been sent, to hear my farewell discourses; and unegotistically do I record the simple fact that my audiences wept as I told them my work with them was done, and that in other lands I must go and publish the same salvation in which they rejoiced. Many said, from the poor health I was in, they were satisfied they should never see me again. This was indeed a solemn time to me. I made my intended visit, and left Shipton on the 5th of June. Many of the aged saints and the warm-hearted young people came together at an early hour in the morning to bid me adieu. When ready to leave, I sung a few verses of a missionary hymn, which thus commences:
"'Farewell, my brethren in the Lord!
The Gospel sounds the Jubilee;
My stammering tongue shall sound aloud,
From land to land, from sea to sea.'
Some united in the song, others were prevented by the fulness of their emotion. At the close, we kneeled together in prayer; and it was with a heavy heart that I offered to them my parting hand. Never can I forget the kindness and friendship of this people. They contributed largely to my necessities, welcomed me to their homes, and upheld, with their prayers, my feeble hands. Returning to spend a few days at my father's house, I found on parting, the strength of the social and filial ties that bind the heart of man to its home. When, after prayer, I gave my hand to my father, he could only utter 'God bless you,' such were his emotions, and a wordless silence, accompanied by tears, was my mother's benediction. When I rode away, I felt myself dead to every earthly prospect, to every worldly enjoyment, and from the dearest friends on earth cut off. Yet there was a holy sunshine falling down upon my clouds, that gave to my sinking spirit its needful consolation. It is usually thought that the situation of a youth cut off from his friends is a trying one, especially so if called to the ministry. It is not only in parting with friends and in renouncing worldly prospects, that the spirit is tried; the life of a missionary, who is a man of God and faithful, is exposed to a thousand sufferings and dangers. Missionaries often go forth as the chosen organs of different denominations, whose denominational interests they plead, and from whom they receive a pledged support. I had aspired to be a missionary of another school, a missionary to men and not from men, having only the Gospel of the world's salvation to uphold, looking on high for the mission, and to the just and careful operations of His providence for all necessary support. For one so conditioned to consider the awful and immense responsibility he assumes before God, to think of the account he must soon render of his stewardship, is enough to humble him in the dust. Yet when, on the other hand, the faithful minister has a view of the everlasting inheritance that appears to the eye of faith, from the future compensations of His love, he can say, with the great missionary of the Gentiles, 'I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.' Perhaps this contemplation is not capable of a statement more just than that which it finds in the olden words:
"'What contradictions meet
In ministers' employ;
It is a bitter sweet,
A sorrow full of joy.
No other post affords the place
For equal honor and disgrace.'"
With these lines the nobly expressed narrative of Mr. B., so far as it relates to his early ministerial labors in the Province, closes. A few other documents lie before me, several letters from the hand of Mr. Z. Adams, his colleague for a time in the labors and trials of his early ministrations, several letters of commendation from churches with whom he had labored, and from influential ministers with whom he had associated. These letters from Mr. A., though wearing the sallow impress of time on their forms, are fresh with the ardor and devotedness of what never grows old, the earnest heart; and what is peculiar to all these letters from the churches is this, that, after the usual commendatory expressions relative to moral and Christian character, they invariably speak of the success of his ministry among the people. There are also a few letters from him to his father and brothers, written during the period of his ministerial labors of 1813-14, that are unfeignedly rich in the spirit of self-sacrifice, firm faith in his mission, and a fine feeling of love and kindness to all his relatives, a quality flowing through all the correspondence I have seen, addressed to relatives. A long catalogue of names, dated Dec. 20, 1813, shows the number of persons in different towns who were converted under his ministry; and though the evidences at hand indicate for them a general stability of principle and aim, one name, from the first column, must appear to great disadvantage in a future chapter, for it would be equal to a hunting excursion in the forests of antiquity, to find in any country a more unreasonable persecutor, on a limited scale, than was Capt. Moor, in the month of September, 1815.
Joseph Badger was a man who could never endure dulness. Lifelessness and inactivity, in fine, all the brood of stupid demons, he had a magical power to disperse. They fled at his entrance. He would have life and interest, and no man could better create them, by awakening readily the resources of all around him. Thus far we only see the young man of twenty, but the same inherent traits of his whole life are conspicuous. He awakens community wherever he goes. He calls out opposition, creates strong friends and enemies, concentrates attention, brings himself into trying emergencies, which call out his various facility of tact and successful management, his firmness and self-composure. Having set his mind and heart on the persuasion of men to repent and to seek salvation, he carries a multitude along to this end. But what is most rich, is the deep evangelical element, in which all his powers are immersed; his constant, prayerful, weeping solicitude for souls. I know not where to go to find these holy elements in a more abundant, pure, and I will add, in a more natural state, than they appear in Mr. Badger's early life. His enthusiasm was not rash or fanatical. The fire of his heart blended with the light of his brain. His eye was always as calm as it was penetrating. It combined the glow and the calmness of the night-star. Almost at the risk of presenting too much of a good thing, I venture to quote a mere fraction of some of these letters, each line of which is so fully alive with the sincerity and earnest faith of the writer.
"Shipton, May 11th, 1813.
"Dear Parents,—I assure you it is with pleasure I once more attempt to write you. I arrived on May the 6th, very much fatigued. I walked twenty-one miles without refreshment, which was too much for my nature. I was unable to preach for some days. My greatest pain was to see the inroads made by the enemy into our little church whilst I was absent, and the spirit of persecution that rankles in many hearts. As I view souls united to eternity, and see that some are hewing out to themselves 'broken cisterns,' and giving way to 'seducing spirits,' in the doctrine, 'Ye shall not surely die,' I am led to mourn."
"It is surprising to view the beauties of creation, in which we see how everything is formed for the use and comfort of man. Yet how sadly they abuse the great profusion of His blessing. 'What more could He have done for His vineyard than He hath done for it?'—Isaiah 5: 4. Whilst I meditate on the extent of His goodness and long suffering, on the cross of Him who died for all, and then think of the wickedness that abounds, I am obliged to mourn. Oh my loving parents, may we be wise for both worlds, for time and for eternity! I have had serious thoughts of late why it was that my father did not write to me. As I am here in the wilderness without any relatives or connections, I thought that love for me would have led him to seek my enlightenment if I am in darkness, he being acquainted with the Scriptures; and if I am right, I thought he would wish to give me encouragement. My love to all for their kindness.
"Your prayerful servant,
J. Badger."
"Stanstead, July 16, 1814.
"Dear Father,—According to my expectation when at your house, I started on my journey to the southward, preaching on my way; Friday at Derby, Saturday at Holland, Sunday at Major Stewart's, in Morgan, where I met a large concourse of people, among whom were eleven young persons from Derby, who were deeply awakened to a sense of their danger whilst out of Christ. To their ardent solicitation for me to return to Derby, I have yielded, which makes it expedient for me to tarry one week more. I do not enjoy very good health, but my mind is happy. I feel that at most a few more rolling suns will bring me to the fair city of Rest. Each beating pulse but leaves the number less. Had I time I would gladly ride to Compton to see you. But it is wholly uncertain when we again shall meet. I ofttimes think of you all. My love to relatives and inquiring friends.
"'From all that's mortal, all that's vain,
And from this earthly clod,
Arise, my soul, and strive to gain
Sweet fellowship with God.'
"I subscribe myself a Disciple of Christ, or a Friend to Mankind.
"J. Badger."
"Ascott, July 27, 1813. (In haste.)
"Dear Brother,[14]—Since I have seen you I have preached in Compton, Ascott, Westbury, Oxford, Brompton, Ringsey, Shipton. I am in great haste on my return. I have been comfortable as to health, though much fatigued. I have felt the waters of salvation to flow sweetly through my soul. Give yourself no trouble if you hear I am taken up. You know the animosities that war engenders. The God who delivered Daniel, and who protected our fathers, has promised to shield me whilst in the way of my duty. Keep free from all strife, deny self, live in peace with all men. I still feel it my duty to employ all my abilities in holding up Christ to a dying world. My love to parents and brethren."
These extracts show the spirit with which his whole early life was imbued, and they accord well with the journal he wrote a few years later. One vital life pervades them all. Whilst the war was desolating the country, filling the minds of men with anger, jealousy, and irreverence to humanity, he, the heroic young soldier of the Cross, was successfully pouring into their hearts the great lessons of Reformation, Unity, and Peace. Such a ministry at such a time appears to the eye of history as a rainbow arching the black region of cloud and storm, or as life-clad rivers that flow along through the desert regions of the earth.
[CHAPTER VII.]
TOUR TO NEW ENGLAND, AND PUBLIC LABORS.
With good recommendations, and with the fruits of a not very ordinary experience for one so young, he starts for his native land. What sect does the young preacher hail from? From no sect. He hails from the church of experienced believers, whose test is religion, not theology. Love to God and peace with men are the cardinals of his platform, and such was the persuasion of his eye and presence, that his credentials are very seldom disputed. Nothing in the form of sectarianism hedges up his way or impedes his success. If difficulties at any time thicken in his path, he knows what to do with them.
Let us pause a moment to look at the theological latitudes and longitudes of the self-taught young man at this time, before he leaves to carry his message towards the regions of sunrise in the more intelligent east. In theology he has acknowledged no human master, has sat at the feet of no Edwards, Channing, or Wesley, nor read in musty dogmatical lore what he shall publish as the essential doctrine. The following views, however, may be gathered from the various utterance of his mind, expressed as occasion called, without the intention of making a system. 1. That man bears a living relation to God; that he may now as of old come to him confidingly, and seek effectually for wisdom and salvation. 2. That the being of God is One; that his influences are constantly felt in the moral world, promoting the joy and life of his people, and subjecting the sinful to the solemn conviction of their sin and danger. 3. That Regeneration is the want of all men; that all may, like the prodigal of Scripture memory, return to their Sovereign Father. 4. That the Scriptures are the great storehouse of sacred wisdom; that through them the will of God is infallibly revealed. 5. That Jesus is "the sinner's friend," the Son of God, the centre of Christianity, and that his Gospel is of celestial birth and mission; "the power of God unto salvation to all that believe." 6. That experience is the basis of religion; that the only authorized test of fellowship for the church is Christian character. 7. That no sect in Christendom, as such, is the church of God; that the church is everywhere composed of such only as have passed from death unto life. 8. That sectarian names do not fit the catholicity of the institution; that the names "disciples," "brethren," "friends," "Christians," are the better designations. 9. That human creeds, traditions, "doctrines and commandments of men," are abolished in the light and authority of the Gospel. 10. That sons of God are freemen, owing no allegiance to Pope, Bishop, Prelate, or Council. These views all fairly reside in the writings which unfold this early period of his life; and when we consider the exceeding scarcity of liberal thought in the religious world at so early a day, and the isolation of his position from the most active and enlightened minds on the continent, his stand in the church and the world becomes a wonder, only to be solved by the recognition of the original and superior intellect that gave him intuitive insight into the right and wrong of whatever problems may have won his earnest attention. The liberality of many is but a mere scepticism of thought. His liberality was a part of the most devoted labor and unabated zeal. It was one with prayer and tears. Now, in this last day, (1854,) with all that learning and comprehensive thinking have done for us, where and what are the heights of liberality occupied by the theological reformers whose names have gone abroad as being wider than their denominational platform? As we glance along the sparse population of these plateaux, we observe among others, the names of Bushnell and Beecher, the former with certain acute philosophical powers, the latter with a bold dramatic energy of speech, each exposing himself in a degree to the censure of that large class who dread all innovation made upon the time-honored landmarks of the Fathers, who are alarmed at new roads, even though they are more direct, convenient, and comely. But neither of these gentlemen has gone so far as did this youth in the wilderness of his adopted country. Neither has altogether practically forgotten the claims of sect and of creed; and the view that holiness of life and purpose is the indisputable claim to fraternity independent of dogma, which is their highest idea, was his constantly practised principle long before the world had heard of new and old school in the contentions of orthodox sects. Open now his first letters of commendation and you will see that the fraternities that authorized them ignored sectarian names, simply styling themselves "The Church of God in this place." In liberality, I do not see that the best part of the Christian world now are, either in theory or practice, at all in advance of his position in 1813. That his peace principles did not allow him to pray for bloody victories, or to strengthen the king's arms by his influence over the people, there is pretty good evidence. He and his brethren drank too deeply at the wells of religion to engage in the destruction of their fellows.
To return. The young man, now nearly twenty-two years of age, intent on the duties and trials of a missionary life, starts for his native New Hampshire, improving every opportunity on the way, where circumstances united with his own impressions in producing the conviction that good might be done. Without abating his own labor, he depends continually on divine assistance, believing that he enjoys the advantage of the real presence of the One who said, "Lo! I am with you alway;" and before undertaking any important cause, or plan of action, he seeks illumination in secret prayer, then follows the leading impressions of his mind. He diligently studies the Scriptures, observes nature, and discriminates the strong points and peculiarities of the different characters he meets, for which he seemed to possess an intuitive power that received no assistance from the later inductions of phrenology, or the didactic lessons of physiognomy. He could, without rules admitting of statement, readily discern the character of an audience, the kind of discourse fitted to their capacity and wants, and most easily did he arrive at this kind of knowledge by a brief social contact with individuals. No nature perhaps ever had a greater power of adaptability to the many-phased character of mankind and surrounding circumstances, than his. But for the present, indeed for the several years of his early ministry, the central element of his life, the one that ruled all others, was his earnest, hearty, prayerful devotion to the holy mission of saving human beings from sin, and of bringing them into living union with God and with Christ. Along the meanderings of this current let us therefore follow the course of his narrative, which at this time unfolds itself in a series of letters, hastily and unelaborately written to some friend whose name does not appear; perhaps to Z. Adams, or to some other young minister interested in his welfare.
"Dear Friend,—I rode from Stanstead, where I had enjoyed several good meetings, across the line into the State of Vermont, where I had several more in Derby, Holland, and Morgan, but soon returned to a little village on the line, and on Stanstead Plain, where there were prospects of good being done. It was here that I met Mr. Roswell Bates, who became my company, as he was going to the town of Woodstock. Leaving the line about July the 16th, we passed through Rigah, Browning, and Wheelock, holding several meetings at the last named town, in which the spirits of many appeared to gather new courage and joy. I then rode to Danville, and remained several days, in which time I had the pleasure of seeing some who had been for months cold in their affections, quickened and newly determined in the cause of life. We then rode to Peacham, then to Newbury, Bradford, and Corinth, where we separated, Mr. B. going to Hafford and I to Strafford. Here I was greeted by a happy band of brethren, with whom I held several meetings, and remained several days. Crossing the Connecticut river over into Lyme, thence through Dorchester to Hebron, thence to Bridgewater, I arrived next morning, which was Sunday, at New Hampton, and was kindly received by Wm. B. Kelley, Esq., a distant relative, by whom I was politely introduced to the clergyman of the place. With him I passed a half hour very pleasantly; we repaired to the church together, as the people began to assemble. I occupied with him a seat in the desk, and listened with a degree of satisfaction to what he communicated. When we returned to his house, he insisted on my speaking in the afternoon, and in vain did I urge the excuses of a long journey and much fatigue. He gave me a Bible and a Concordance, saying that I had three quarters of an hour in which to prepare, and left the room. We again repaired to the church, and contrary to the order of the morning, I was assigned the right-hand place in the pulpit. I spoke to these strangers in the same freedom to which I had ever been accustomed, and reserved nothing of the divine counsel made known unto me; the word seemed to have some direct effect; the people appeared to hang with solicitude on the truths advanced, and many wept under the exhibition of the love and pardoning grace of Jesus Christ. The next day I heard a young man, Mr. John Swett, who, much to my joy, was wholly engaged in the work of the Lord—a work already commenced under his labors. At the request of my friends, I gave out an appointment, at which there were three ministers, Mr. Hillard, the aged priest to whom I had been at first introduced, Mr. Daney, whom I had never before seen, and Mr. Swett, my new acquaintance. I scarcely ever found greater liberty in speaking. Priest Hillard at the close arose and gave me his approbation, inviting me again to call on him; others also spoke on the goodness of God, as experienced by them. Bidding them an affectionate farewell, I was, in about four hours, at my native Gilmanton, whose citizens and scenes I had not known for the space of four years.
"Here I had great joy, mingled with sorrow—joy to meet my sister, Mrs. Cogswell, and other relatives; sorrow to learn that in their plans of happiness, religion and reconciliation to God were not the essential part. Capt. C., who did not usually go to the Free Church, wished me to permit him to make an appointment in that place, to which I gave consent. Accordingly, on the next Lord's day, at half-past ten o'clock, I met a large congregation at the Free Church; and at five o'clock, P. M., spoke to a full assembly at the house of Capt. Cogswell, each audience being probably attracted in part by curiosity. At the former meeting, my mind was constrained to weep over the people, who also wept under the message I delivered them. Many serious exhortations were given; many expressed the fulness of their joy in Christ. Wishing to see men and women stand upon some positive decisions in regard to their salvation, and knowing the good influence which a public expression of secret resolves has upon the subsequent action of man, I proposed that such of the assembly as felt the worth of religion, and desired to enjoy its heavenly light and consolation, would signify the state of their minds by rising up. Very few kept their seats; and I have reason to think that many were strengthened for life. Many invitations were given me for new appointments. At 5 o'clock at Capt. C.'s, there were many Calvinists present, who with the rest, seemed to mingle with their critical aspect considerable true religious feeling. Perhaps my preaching called out more criticism than it would otherwise have done, on account of my manner being wholly extemporaneous, and my sentiments not being formed from Calvin or any sectarian creed. My grandmother[15] was present; she seemed much pleased, and after meeting said to me, 'It is a wonder and a mystery to me how you talk as you do without having any of it written. Two of my family have got to be preachers, William C. and yourself. He learned to preach at the institution, but who in the world ever learned you up there in Canada?' I believe I told her that the Being who needed ministers had much to do in making them, which seemed to be a new idea in these parts.
"I then went to New Durham to visit my relatives, but spoke frequently before my return. On my way back, at a very good meeting about two miles from the place of my other appointments in the town, a young lady whom I baptized in February of the next year, was there permanently and effectually impressed with the need of salvation through Christ. She continued from that time to be drawn into nearness and union with Jesus, whose power over the heart no one can measure. After this meeting I returned to Gilmanton. As my sister was somewhat out of health, and travelling was recommended as her best restorative, I favored her desires to visit her parents in Canada, whom she had not seen for six years: and taking a carriage suited to the journey, conveyed her to my father's house in Compton. Our parents were overjoyed to see us. The next morning early I returned to the States, rode to Glover, Greensborough, and Montpelier, attended a quarterly meeting, with several other appointments, and returned to the Province in about seven days. Meeting my sister at Stanstead, where my elder brother according to agreement had brought her, I again set out for Gilmanton, where I arrived after an absence of about four weeks. On my way east I passed through Cabot and Danville, where I held several meetings; but when passing through New Hampton I met Rev. Mr. Hillard, who informed me that he intended to go to Toronto to preach, and should be happy to have me supply at his church during his absence. I accordingly left an appointment.
"Here, my dear friend, you have a brief account of my journeyings for the space of two months and a few days, in which time I have travelled 770 miles. Here in good old New England scenes, I at times revive the lights and shades of my early days, but the work of salvation is one that overlays in interest all reverie of the mind, and I shall hasten to give you a further account of the work of God in my next, hoping that from former friendship, my hasty letters will be interesting to your delicate and studious mind.
"Yours, in the truth,
J. Badger.
"Sept., 1814."
Here I would observe, that the manuscript from which the events of these several months are chiefly known appears to be copies of letters, several of which were addressed to one person, whose name may have been upon the outer leaf of the scroll at first, but which I do not find in the letters themselves. As his present history is reflected in these, I offer them, with all the variety of incident which a man of his peculiar cast of character would very naturally call out. These "scratches," as he labelled them, appear to have been kept as a means of reënlivening past scenes, should he ever wish to write their history.
"After attending several meetings in Gilmanton, I went on to my appointment at Newhampton, and met a very large congregation who had come out to hear the new preacher. The people thinking me a missionary direct from college, readily swallowed the doctrine of a free, universal salvation, designed for and offered unto all men, and many rejoiced in the liberal view I presented. I felt at this time, very much the weight of the cause, and spoke with great freedom on the true mission of the Gospel to our lost world. It may be thought by some that courtesy should have dictated an acquiescence in the formality and doctrine that reigned about me. But I felt constrained to speak from my own soul and the word that burned in my own heart. I did so. Many of the silent kindled anew with ardor, their tongues were unloosed, and some praised God aloud. In the afternoon I had a glorious time, concluding my sermon with the most earnest warning to the people. This change in their accustomed routine for Sunday called out many remarks, some saying one thing and some another. One said, 'He preaches just like a damned Freewiller, and if Mr. Hillard lets him preach there again, I will neither hear nor pay him in future.' Nevertheless, I had several invitations to preach again. In the evening I spoke at Mr. Kelley's, to about 200 hearers, on Monday, P. M., at Lieut. Sinkter's school-house, to an audience of entire strangers. In that vicinity were many Freewill Baptists, few of whom, however, saw fit to attend. Priest Hillard's deacon came to me at the close of meeting, with considerable emotion, and said, 'I know the joyful sound of which you have spoken. I am satisfied God has called you to preach the Gospel. I want you to preach at my house this evening,' and accordingly gave out the appointment. There are always some discerning spirits among the people, who, sooner than others, look into the nature and meaning of things. One of the Freewill members, a lady, remarked when she got home on the character of the meeting, saying, 'The deacon will get joked this time with his missionary or I am deceived.' At evening the house was crowded, the Freewill brotherhood having waked up to an interest in what was occurring. At the time I did not know as there was one anti-Calvinistic mind in the house, but resolved, as a dying man, to do my duty without shrinking. I arose to speak from Mal. 4: 2: 'Unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings,' and felt, as I progressed, the love of God in my soul. Many of the young people wept aloud, the Freewill brethren began to assist, and before the meeting broke up the power of God was so strikingly displayed that the deacon, unexpectedly to all, fell prostrate on the floor. A haughty young woman, whose hair was wrought into a profusion of curls, came forward and kneeled down, bathing her curls with tears as she cried for mercy. The argument on this occasion, though no doctrine was discussed, was one that the deacon was unable to resist, for he fell as many as five times under the power of God. The house seemed filled with divine glory. The congregation broke up about one o'clock at night. The next day I went from house to house praying and conversing with the people. I found that many were seeking Christ, and that a thoughtful solemnity was resting even on the minds of children.
"The next evening our meeting was no less powerful. Not less than twice did the deacon fall to the floor; one man who had fallen away from the Christian profession, lay for some time speechless, and the young lady spoken of before, came out bright and clear in the expression of her change. She then walked through the assembly, taking her mates by the hand, and warning and inviting them to flee to Christ, made a deep impression on the assembly. One other made profession of being translated from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light. In this state of affairs I left Newhampton to attend other appointments, which required some eight or nine days, and from the good attention paid to the word and its effect on the people, I began to think that my mission to New England was not in vain."
Passages like these will doubtless meet with a variety of tastes, and be subjected to different constructions. The effects of a great immediate power that followed the preaching of Abbot, Whitfield, and others, seeming for a time to irresistibly sway the subject, has been variously explained, or, perhaps, more properly, has never been explained to the full satisfaction of the thoughtful. There is something certainly in the nature of the theme; for who was ever struck speechless and nerveless by a political appeal, or a literary, philosophical, or financial address? To make the least of it, these phenomena show a wild, mighty vigor in the darkly oppressed religious element within, or the same amount of zeal on finance or the election of candidates would produce equal results. Whether the Holy Ghost be present or absent, the man whose word and personal presence palsies a beastly sinner or formal deacon, so that he can neither move nor speak, is himself no weak formalist; no wavering, half-and-half man, who lives on plausibility and apology. This much is certain, that he carries a conquering force, if the effect be of him; if not of him, if he is right in the declaration "not unto us" be the glory, a similar conclusion follows the admission of his instrumentality. We love harmony; and in the great harmony that the soul should enjoy genuine thunder will prove no essential discord. We enjoy quietness; but of the two, we say by all means give us the preaching that knocks men off their seats, to that which never moves them. But how comes on Newhampton?
"I continued my visits to Newhampton for the space of three months. Some twenty of the youth were hopefully converted; I think I never saw converts of greater strength. But oh! what trials awaited some of this number! The first that came forward in this reformation had much persuasion to resist. Her father was an open enemy to religion, her mother was very pious, but wholly bound up in Calvinism, and the young woman was determined to be free and not be entangled with any yoke of bondage. A number of times was she threatened to be turned out of doors. She wished baptism; but being unordained I could not administer; and, as she was unable to join Mr. H.'s church, out of preference to the church of the first-born, she had to go against the current, which is never a bad sign, as dead fish invariably move along with the stream. Many wished to be baptized, and Mr. H., thinking it a good opportunity to gather additions to himself, began to raise all his forces against me, spreading defamatory reports to sour the minds of the people, intending to drive me out of the place. I was reminded of the stanza:
'They hate the Gospel preacher,
And cry out, a false teacher!
A wolf! an active creature,
Will pull our churches down.'
He found fault on several points of doctrine. We held together several conferences, public and private. He indeed stirred up the devout women and all his party to opposition, and not a little to my grief we had to say—Farewell to the reformation. He proselyted five young converts, whose happy condition, I fear, became like that of the fish which glide pleasantly down the river Jordan into the Dead Sea, which is called immediate death; for they soon grew formal and lifeless in the atmosphere of the church. 'How is the fine gold become dim!' But what of our deacon? you will say. Why this, that after falling beneath the power of God so many times, after giving me a letter of commendation extolling my character, and the power and usefulness of my ministry, after I had labored night and day, and God had visited his family in the conversion of three of his children, he 'lifted up his heel against me.' In whom then shall the Gospel minister trust? In God, and in Truth. At this declension I sorrowed with a bleeding heart. You can judge of my feelings. I gave out an appointment, administered as good advice as I knew how to the converts, preached on Sunday, took a letter of commendation signed by Elder Heart,[16] in behalf of the church, and bade them adieu. December 2, 1814."
It would seem that young Mr. Badger was not exactly a safe hand to trust with the direction of church machinery, where doctrine, devotion and preaching were respectably stereotyped, where all things were smoothly continued. His steam and individuality were rather hazardous elements in the temple of forms. "Priest Log" had been a safer priest.
He also narrates his success in Gilmanton, where several young persons and some of his own relations "bowed to the mild sceptre of mercy." His cousin, who came out in this revival, he says was the first of his relatives with whom he had felt a union in the Gospel, that as he had been educated under the theology of Calvin, he was besieged with entreaty to join them. "But," says Mr. B., "he still walks in Gospel liberty; I pray that he may be preserved blameless, and prove a thorn to the clergy whilst he lives." He compares the policy of his opponents towards his cousin to the barbarian usage of slaying prisoners when the prospect of being overcome grows certain. Extracts of other letters here follow.
"After I left Newhampton, December 2, I went to Meredith, and attended the ordination of Mr. John Swett.
Here I find a page erased, but as it is legible and very characteristic, I venture to transcribe.
"Here I was introduced by some of the brethren present for ordination. The ministers with whom I was acquainted seemed willing to ordain me, provided I would 'consent to walk on two legs,' taking the church of God for the one and the Freewill society for the other. This statement, substantially, was from Rev. E. Knowlton, of Pittsfield. This saying of Solomon immediately came to my mind, 'The legs of the lame are not equal;'[17] and considering the Freewill society as inadequate to the church of God, I concluded that, carrying out the figure, one had better go through the world hopping than limping, and I asked wherein one could be the loser, provided he went as fast on one limb as others did on two. I said to them, that if I could not have their approbation on the ground that I belonged to the church of God, without the addition of their wooden staff, I would much prefer to stand alone. They accused me of being on the common. I answered that I was born there; that I much preferred it to a barren pasture, or a pit wherein is no water; that I meant, through divine grace, to stand where I had received the Lord Jesus, and that if the church of God, unsectarianized, is the common, I would be content with it till the arrival of the time when there shall be 'one fold and one shepherd.'
"Here I had to stand alone, whilst my heart bled to see the superstition and bigotry of those who profess to be free; and, I say it reluctantly and with sorrow, I have seen as much bondage, and have met as bad treatment from those who claim to be Freewillers, as ever I did from the more stiff-necked and stoical of the sects. To have the clearest proofs of belonging to the body of Christ, of having the sanction of Him who calls men to his ministry, and to have undisputed standing among good men is not enough. Party must be worshipped. This more and more convinces me that it is well to abandon the doctrines of men and all unscriptural names, to be disciples not only in name but in practice. I am also sorry to say that I have discovered the same spirit among those who are called Christians. But I will leave this subject, praying that God will help us so to run that we may obtain."
Rather difficult, was it not, to get this young man into a net? He stands yet erect upon his mission, prays, weeps, preaches by night and by day; and old men and young, mothers and maidens, acknowledge his right to lead them in the "new and the living way" by falling into his line of march, and finding words of life in his speech. This refusal to pledge himself to creed and sect, grew out of nothing unsocial, for his whole being was social and brotherly. Interest could not so have dictated. An innate greatness of mind it was that gave him this high position for a young man as early as 1814, aided no doubt by the free and generous impulses of the religion of Jesus, which, in his experience and in his Testament, alike declared the oneness of the body of Christ, and of whatever is essential and saving. This position seems not to have hindered him; the faithful still rally under the banner he bears. Mr. Badger was a man of great facility for carrying his points, having a persuasive eye, will, and speech; nor is it at all surprising that among his early commendatory letters, there should be some from clergymen of different denominations; one I remember signed by three class leaders, in the Province of Canada, and others from those who had obeyed his call to the new life, and to whom he became as an apostle and father.
At Gilmanton, Barnstead, Stratham, Portsmouth, Rye, Northampton, he held forth in the name of the victorious Christ; and though there is no record of dogmatic speculation and "disputations of science," the fires of reformation were kindled, the young convert and the steadfast believer rejoiced together, bringing forward their golden treasures, not from the cold chambers of the intellect, but from the mines of the soul, as wrought by experience and refined by the agencies of the Holy Spirit. One more touching paragraph from this letter, we cannot withhold. Those who recollect the calmness and the pensive music of the pine-grove, its unison with the deeper feelings, will vividly realize the passage which refers to the lonely and dependent spirit which there sought relief in prayerful utterance.
"How many trials I have passed through during these four months! I well remember the sad feelings of my heart as I was riding from Rye to Portsmouth, across a pine plain, whilst I meditated on my mission and present lot in the world. Leaving my horse, I retired into this still grove, where none but the heavenly powers could hear the expression of my burdened soul. As I considered my situation, a feeble youth, hundreds of miles from home, among entire strangers, and bound by solemn duty to the world of dying sinners, I was constrained to weep before my God in this wilderness. Here I sought his aid. How oft, on that journey, did I weep for miles, as I rode the streets. Angels! ye are witnesses to the sleepless nights that passed away as I thought of the unreconciled state of mankind, and of my duty to them. Here, my loving friend, you have a brief account of what I have seen the last four months. I have reason to praise my Redeemer. Like Mr. Dow, I can say, 'What I have seen I know, what is to come I know not.' O my friend, strive to make a good improvement of these memories, and if we never meet again in time, may the Lord prepare us to meet in His kingdom of glory. Yours in the Truth, as it is in God's dear Son,
"Jan., 1815.
Joseph Badger."
Rightly did the poet say,—
"Who never ate his bread in sorrow,
Who never spent the darksome hours,
Weeping and watching for the morrow;
He knows ye not, ye heavenly Powers."
The prophet, in all ages, to whom God gives the tongue of flame, must at some time have known the holy baptism of inward sorrow.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
ORDINATION AND PUBLIC LABORS.
The churches and communities in which he had given proofs of his ministry, began to call for the ordination of Mr. Badger. Before me this moment is the call of the church in Gilmanton, dated Dec. 4, 1814, which reads as follows:
"This certifies that Joseph Badger has been preaching several months past in this and adjacent towns with much success, and in this place souls have been converted to God. He has the approbation of the church in this place, as a Christian and a Preacher of the Gospel, and we believe it would be for the glory of God for him to receive Ordination.
"Signed, in behalf of the Church,
"Jasper Elkins,
"Frederick Cogswell,
"Daniel Elkins."
Rev. N. Wilson, of Barnstead, after making strict inquiry and satisfactory examination, in answer to the requests from the people, wrote to brethren in the ministry all about, to attend on the occasion at his residence, Jan. 19. The call was obeyed by the presence of seven ministers and a multitude of people. Rev. Wm. Blaisdel delivered the discourse, from 2d Tim. 4: 2, who, with W. Young, J. Boody, J. Shepherd, N. Wilson, J. Knowles, N. Piper, were the persons by whom the different parts of the services were performed. It will be understood by the reader that this ordination demanded no sectarian acknowledgments; that it left the tree unbent. "I was considered by them," says Mr. B., "as free indeed. No discipline was urged upon me but the Scriptures, and no master or leader but Christ. This, to me, was a solemn day, and long to be remembered." He was now relieved of many embarrassments under which he had formerly labored in not being able to administer the ordinances.
He still persevered in his labors through towns adjacent to Gilmanton, and "many of the youth," he tells us, "fled to the Shiloh for salvation and rest." On Jan. 29, he delivered a sermon on Baptism, in the Free Meeting-house, Gilmanton, and in the extreme cold, "under the keen eye of the north-west, which surveyed them critically," he baptized two persons, Mr. F. Cogswell and Miss Lydia Levy. Satan, he thinks, began about this time to exhibit himself as a persecutor, having an interest now, as of old, in the assemblies of the saints. Feb. 4th, he baptized two others in Alton, three others on the 10th at Gilmanton, and large congregations waited upon his ministry. By the regular clergy and their united influence, his movements were often opposed. Among the reports that clerical policy caused to arise, he records the following chapter:
"Badger is going about making and baptizing converts, and leaves them on the common. He has no discipline nor articles of faith. He throws away the holy Sabbath, alleging that it is done away in Christ. He says that he is not called to preach law, but gospel; therefore he casts the law of God away. He says there is no divine authority for infant sprinkling; that if we take it from circumcision, it can have, like its prototype, but a partial application to human beings. He also teaches that it is right for sinners to pray; and has said that the clergy are the greatest evil that ever happened to New England, because they keep the people in gross ignorance, because they do not admit to their pulpits many Gospel ministers, and because they are always the first to cry out against Reformation.
"'And when a soul engaged,
Exhorts the young or aged,
The clergy cry, enraged,
They'll pull our churches down.'"
How many such things the devil enables blind men to throw into the way of truth! but such is the power of Jesus' name, that no soldier of his cross is ever slain so long as he battles for the right."
"What always grieved me most, was the deceitfulness of men, not their frank opposition, nor even honest violence. When I was present, nothing adverse would be said; but soon as I was absent, all these things would be heaped on the tender converts. Some, in sarcastic restlessness, said that if the people loved the Lord as well as they did Badger, heaven would be their surest inheritance. Others cried, 'a wolf in sheep's clothing;' but as crossing and mortifying as such things were, they did not move me, for I comprehended their origin, and had counted the cost before I entered the Gospel field. My hands were also upborne by the humble prayers of faithful ones. In defiance of all these things, Zion progressed, children within her gates were born, calls for preaching were continual, and doors of usefulness were daily opening."
"My sister at this time, wife of Capt. P. Cogswell, was dangerously ill, and her thoughts turned upon her everlasting welfare. She conversed with me about dying, wept often when speaking of pure religion, and asked my prayers. She wondered often why I tarried so brief a time with her; but could she have seen my work before me as it was, and known the feelings of my heart, wonder could have had no place in her mind. My eldest brother, who came from Vermont to visit my sister, and another brother from Boston, whom I had not met for two years, who was on his way to Canada, met me at Gilmanton. In parting with them, the most vivid picture of past associations, my parents, youthful mates and sister, whom I had not seen for eight months, came before my mind; and after our separation, a sad and lonely feeling, which words cannot describe, lingered like a cloud upon my way as I contrasted my wandering condition among strangers, and my constant exposure to persecution, with the quiet homes my relatives enjoyed. I said to myself, Here I am, a poor child, wandering about the world among strangers, spending what little property I have, my bodily strength almost worn out in preaching, between two and three hundred miles from home; and whilst I am thus, they are crowned with the honors of this life, and no shaft of sectarian malice is ever hurled at them. In these meditations, though I profusely wept, my spirit gathered up its energies and found solace in the following stanzas:
"But cease, my heart, no more complain,
For Christ has said 'tis his command;
Those who from pleasures here refrain,
'I'm with them till the world shall end.'
"Then shall I say to friends, Farewell!
Whilst they may heap their golden toys,
Christ's beauties to the world I'll tell,
And seek for heaven's substantial joys.
"And when the sun and moon shall fall,
And Nature's beauties each decay,
Christ's merits I will then extol,
When all my tears are wiped away.
"Transporting thought of joy sublime,
This prompts my soul to spread His fame;
Oh, come, my friends, unite in time,
And love the glorious Saviour's name."
"At Alton I preached Sunday, the 12th inst., baptized one young man; on the 17th inst. (Feb.), I baptized two others in the same place. Our meeting, we thought, was glorious, and as we repaired to the bank and beheld the pleasant stream gently pursuing its native channels, the streams of life did sweetly flow to cheer our drooping souls. The 22d, on a pleasant moonlit evening, I baptized another young man, after making a few remarks on the ready submission to this ordinance, as illustrated in the instances of the eunuch and the jailer.
"March the 3d, 6th, 25th, and 27th, were seasons of baptism. I then returned to Alton, found the saints steadfast, again preached, and on April 4, baptized two others. I then returned to Gilmanton, baptized brother John Page,[18] Jr., on the 6th, and Joseph Cogswell on the 16th. The glory of God seemed to shine around us. Then returning to Alton, we again had happy seasons from the refreshing Fountain of Life. Two more were here baptized. Oh, what happy, what blissful seasons my soul has known in these earthly regions!—seasons that cannot be otherwise than had in everlasting remembrance by many. The trials, though great, are past; but the hope of meeting the loved ones in God's holy realms, fills my heart with lively joy."
About this time, letters from him appeared in the Herald of Gospel Liberty, the first religious newspaper published on the continent of America, and it is believed to have been the first in the world that was exclusively devoted to religious ends. It was published in Portsmouth, N. H., by Rev. E. Smith. It was ably edited, and was devoted to Religious Liberty, and to the independent discussion of Religious Truth.
In Vol. VII, No. 12, he says:
"With great pleasure I inform you that the God of love is reviving his work in Alton. I have been laboring there for several weeks past, in which time many of the backsliders in heart have returned to the stronghold; also several of the youth have become lovers of Jesus."
After speaking in detail of various conversions and baptisms, he says:
"My heart is encouraged to spread the fame of our glorious and ascended Lord. O that professed followers of the Lamb would stand together. How should we then see the powers of darkness give way! How would the fog and smoke of papacy be dispersed. How would the adherents of Calvin be confounded, as the church of the First-born should appear terrible as an army with banners! O Lord, let thy kingdom come! Let thy glory arise! Let the whole earth be filled with thy knowledge."
This is a fine specimen of his youthful enthusiasm and abandonment to the work of the ministry. Any one can see a full presence of heart and soul in all that he does, which lends to his pages the inspiration of honest aims, earnest effort, a most confiding and fervent piety; nor can we fail to see that the pure fire of religion burned quite constantly on the altar of his active spirit. There was much of true divine life in the kindling energies of his speech.
In Vol. VII, No. 14, in a letter dated Gilmanton, March 7, 1815, he says, after speaking of the prosperity that pertained to Alton, Barnstead, Pittsfield and Gilmanton, towns included in the voluntary circuit of his labors:
"Never since my labors in the Gospel commenced have I felt more like going 'forth weeping,' than for five weeks past. Feb. 22d, I baptized one, March 3d, one, March 6th, another. I pray the Lord may add daily to their numbers such as shall be saved."
"Gilmanton, April 17, 1815.
(P. 682.) "The news of the prosperity of Zion is the most delightful that ever saluted my ears. Therefore am I desirous, as the Psalmist said, to 'make known His deeds among the people,' that my brethren may share in the blessing, while 'angels rejoice over one sinner that repenteth.' Some who have been for weeks and months in a lukewarm state, have felt a resurrection in their minds; but what most delights me is that many of the once haughty youth have bowed the knee to Christ, and confessed him to be Lord, to the glory of God the Father. My satisfaction is also greatly increased to see them advance into duty and walk in Gospel order."
He touches in this letter very finely on the character of Mr. Page, whom he baptized on the 6th, a school-mate with him, a man of excellent character from his youth, well-informed and influential; though strictly educated in the puritanical ideas of the society of Rev. J. Smith, he came forward before a large assembly and acknowledged the unsatisfactory character of the Calvinistic teachings; and the same day he submitted to baptism from the hand of one whose excesses in boyhood he had himself effectively rebuked.
Returning to his own manuscript I copy from a letter belonging to the month of May, in which he speaks of spending the time up to the 10th at Barnstead and Lower Gilmanton; of going to New Durham on the 10th, where he met the church of God at the house of Mr. Wiley, and for the first time met with Elder Wm. Buzzel, whom he found alive in the cause of Reformation. In the afternoon he preached to them from John 10: 9. "I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture." He says:
"The Lord's table was then set, and our hearts were solemn whilst we participated of the sacred symbols. We felt the holy presence of Him who is with his church to the end of the world. I then returned to Alton, the 11th went to Barnstead, where I was much edified in hearing aged Christians bring out the stores of their spiritual experience; the 12th rode to Elder Wilson's much fatigued, being exposed to storms by night and by day. Thanks to Him who preserves his creatures; and now that the winter is past, and nature is gay with flowers, I would welcome, in a spiritual sense, the sentiments of the Jewish wise man, 'Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.' Oh, that 'at evening time'[19] light might increase until the shades of night are dispersed from the minds of the people.
"The 13th, met the church at Mr. Wilson's, where a number were added; the 14th being Sunday, we met a large assembly of attentive people. At noon we repaired to the water for baptism; in the afternoon we administered the communion to a large number of brethren in Christ. It was a solemn time. Oh, that the youth who then heard might seek the Lord and make his Son their friend; and in this place may the works of evil, the doctrines of men, be destroyed, and a people zealous of good works be raised up. But with a heart overflowing with friendship to dying men, I should close this letter. Attend me, Virtue, through my youthful years! Oh, leave me not to the false joys of time, but to endless life direct my steps! May, 1815.
"The 19th of May I attended meeting at Candia, was there invited to visit Deerfield, and gladly embraced the opportunity of speaking to that people. For the youth my mind was much drawn out; and though I had not the least idea when I came that I should tarry in Deerfield, the prospect of the good that might be done, induced me to make arrangements for staying in that place. On Friday evening I spoke at Rev. Peter Young's, on Sunday at the Baptist meeting-house, at which time many dated their particular convictions. On the way to my evening appointment, I was surprised by the call of a gentleman, who, very well dressed and of respectable appearance, came out of his house and moderately advanced toward me. I paused, and setting my eyes steadfastly upon him, soon observed that trembling had got hold of him. He said, 'Mr. Badger, I wish you to attend meeting at my Hall. My wife is very anxious to hear you,' and many other words of persuasive tendency. I was satisfied that he had a death wound,[20] which to me was a source of new courage; I went on to my appointment, held meetings every day through the week, and some were daily delivered from the reign of darkness and of sin. On Saturday I returned to the gentleman's Hall, which indeed has ever since been a place of public worship, and met a multitude of people. This meeting will be had in everlasting remembrance. The gentleman who had invited me, and several others, fell on their knees some time in the afternoon, and continued in prayer until about ten in the evening. The 'new song' was sung by many, and from that time, the gentleman, his family, and even premises, seemed converted, for his house is as a sacred Bethel."
The young minister, not knowing in his ardor and youth, that this human world is an old, a tough, a wise, and a most lasting fact, that bends but temporarily to the new influence which seems for the time to mould its form, penned the conviction that soon the Angel of the Apocalypse would fly through the midst of heaven proclaiming that "the kingdoms of this world are become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ." Rapid was the spread and victory of the word preached. Over one hundred were converted in this town of Deerfield, and not unfrequently did he baptize twelve and sixteen a day. One evening, as the moonlight shed its silver upon the flowing stream, he baptized fourteen persons, who arose from the pure element to walk in newness of life, in the purity of which the graceful currents are evermore the eloquent symbol. He speaks of a fashionable clergyman who honored them by his presence, and who, in criticism, compared their appearance to a general training. "I conjecture," says Mr. B., "we might have had too much fire for him;" and finding an analogy in the fear which forest fires cause among certain of its denizens, he proceeds in the same energetic narration, rejoicing that there is a gentle and a searching fire by which sinners here may be gloriously consumed. Jesus came to kindle such fire, whose vital heat is love, whose aspiring flames are truths that both brighten the earth and reflect upon the clouded canopy. He acknowledges the faithful coöperation and labor of Rev. Peter Young, a resident of Deerfield. The energy, decision and success, which belonged to the public life of Mr. Badger, must, in the ordinary course of things, have called out much opposition, particularly as he did not walk in time-hallowed routines, but created, through the force of his character, and his peculiar abilities, the popularity that attended him.
"Notwithstanding," says Mr. B., "God has so wonderfully favored the people, the three characters who always persecute religion continued their old employment. Whenever you see persons engaged in persecuting religion, you will always find them one of the following classes, viz.: the superstitious, the wicked, or such of the very ignorant as do not comprehend what belongs to good manners. Here the superstitious cried delusion, the wicked threatened to unite in violent mob parties, and the exceedingly foolish were thrust forward as the instruments of the first-named class. Malevolent and silly reports were spread, but every attempt of this dissipated crew seemed to work against them, enough so as to fulfil the saying of the Psalmist, 'His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon his own pate;'[21] which leads one to think that it is unnecessary to take much pains to detect the wicked, because they very soon detect themselves. 'The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made; in the net which they hid is their own foot taken.'[22] Solomon, who closely observed the events of the world, also had occasion to say, 'He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it.'"[23]
In Volume II, No. 14, of the Herald of Gospel Liberty, is a letter from his pen, dated at Deerfield, June 28, 1815, which reports the success of the reformation in that place, in a manner that so perfectly agrees with the foregoing, I find no occasion to present any of its paragraphs. Not to Deerfield was this reformation wholly confined, as he often visited Nottingham, Lee, Newmarket, Stratham, Exeter, Kensington, Candia, Allenstown, and other places. He says:—
"In Nottingham many were made happy in the love of Christ. Here I baptized many. One afternoon, as a large assembly were gathered by the water-side, where eight persons received this ordinance, I observed three young men jump from the shore upon a rock that lay in the midst of the stream, and the spectacle of these unconverted young men standing upon a rock produced an association of ideas that led me to feel much for them; in praying I spoke of them, and was impressed to say that something solemn awaited them soon. In a few days one of the number, in much agony of mind, fell beneath a fatal disease, which deeply impressed the old and the young.
"On the first day of the week, I had, by the request of several gentlemen, an appointment at the Square. A few individuals, being such as they were, strove to effect a disturbance, and in a glance you will perceive the ingenuity of their plot. They hired an old man who once had been a professed preacher at Dover, but who had been turned out for his debaucheries, to enter the meeting-house before me and to occupy the time with religious services. Although it is said that the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light, it must be owned that they sometimes get defeated. Even from eight different towns the congregation was collected, the appointment being quite generally circulated. As I rode to the place, I heard the bell ring about ten o'clock, and hastening as quickly as possible to the Square, the people, who were coming from every direction, seeing me ride up, thronged about me; some of them, having been in the church, knew the attempted order of the day. One said, 'The devil is in the pulpit;' another said, 'The devil has taken the meeting-house before us, and you had best not go in.' I answered that if the devil was in the house I was bound to see him, and prevailed on the people to go in. As I entered the door, I saw the rough clergyman standing with his hymn book in his hand ready to open the meeting. As I ascended the stairs he began to read the hymn. I sat contented until he had finished the reading, then introducing myself to the assembly, inquired concerning the time when my neighbor's appointment was given out; the answers enabled me to say to him kindly, 'As my appointment is previous to yours I should esteem it a privilege to improve a part of the day.' He roughly responded, 'You can speak after I have done;' and then arose abruptly, placing himself in a position to pray as soon as the singers had concluded the music. During the repeat of the last line I asked of him the privilege of speaking a word to the people on the circumstances of the day, to which he answered, 'You must be short.' I then apprised the audience, that as my appointment was contravened by another, my meeting would in ten minutes begin in Mr. Nealey's orchard; and bidding the gentleman of the pulpit good morning, advanced to the pleasant grove about fifteen rods distant, accompanied by all the assembly save the clergyman and his five employers, to whom he read the notes he had written. On leaving the church I began to sing a popular hymn, in which I was joined by the choir who accompanied me; and after a hasty but comfortable arrangement of seats, with the azure heavens for my sounding-board, and a large box for my pulpit, I spoke to the hundreds before me from Gen. 49: 10. It was free air. Between thirty and forty spoke after the sermon, so that without a minute of vacation, the meeting continued five hours. The opposers were put to shame, and ever since has that meeting-house been free. Nottingham, therefore, by many events is kept in my memory."