CHAPTER IV.

"We are ministers of a cross omnipotent, preaching a Saviour who can know neither failure nor defeat." Our New Departure.

THE fifth Henry of England, the most illustrious of the Plantagenet kings, victor of Agincourt and conqueror of France, lay a-dying in the royal chateau of Vincennes. Pure, open-hearted, courageous, and magnanimous, his young but eventful life was slowly ebbing away under the fell touch of a mortal disease. With everything to live for —with youth, and power, and a loving bride; idolized by his subjects, feared by his enemies, a sovereign who at thirty-three had filled the record of a reign "splendid beyond precedent; vigorous, statesmanlike, momentous to the destiny of Europe"--this conqueror and hero serenely waited his end, calmly yielding to the call of a Sovereign mightier than earthly kings. The last communion over, the dying monarch bade the waiting priests chant together the seven penitential Psalms of David. Low and clear, like the notes of a holy requiem, the solemn chant rose above the bed of the fast-failing king. As their calmly modulated voices intoned passage after passage, the royal Henry closed his eyes as if in sleep, but as the words, Build thou the walls of Jerusalem" fell upon his ear, half raising himself on his couch and with the old imperious gesture he bade them stop. "I declare to you on the faith of a dying man," he said, elevating his clear and commanding voice, that it hath been my fixed purpose to deliver Jerusalem from the infidels, had it pleased my Creator to lengthen my days.” Then, as the sinking August sun streamed with a sunset glory through the windows of the old chateau, tinging with its rays the saddened faces of weeping queen, robed priests, and loving courtiers, the brow of the dying hero seemed

transfigured as if with the divine radiance of an immortality more glorious than that of earthly fame or conquest. The last strains of the penitential chant floated out through the open windows, and, as if borne on the wings of sacred song, Henry the Fifth, King of England, Heir and Regent of France," the Unconquered King, the Flower and Pride of all Chivalry," passed to his eternal home conqueror of two kingdoms, but, more glorious far, conqueror over himself, triumphant even in death.

"We must not think," says old Jeremy Taylor, "that the life of a man begins when he can feed himself or walk alone, when he can fight or beget his like, for so he is contemporary with a camel or a cow; but he is first a man when he comes to a steady use of reason according to his proportion, and when that is all the world of men cannot tell precisely.'

The briefless barrister, the patientless physician, the unsettled clergyman, the profitless bread-winner of whatever degree alike sigh over their seemingly harsh lot; but each day as they neglect to help themselves they sink only deeper into the ruts of inaction. The story of Hercules and the wagoner, so familiar to every schoolboy, is sufficiently suggestive as with our own shoulder to the wheel the imbedded cart moves from the clogging mire. But of still more divine significance appears that kindred fable of Hercules and Antæus. Pitted against each other in mortal struggle, the heaven-sent messenger and the earth-born giant wrestled for many an hour, each succeeding struggle apparently unavailing, and the mighty son of Jupiter seemed doomed to defeat and death. Suddenly, as by a Jove-given inspiration, the toiling Hercules, desisting from vain attempts to overcome the giant on his native earth, raised him high in air and flung him toward the heavens. Thus wrested from his earthly foothold, where lay all his strength, the once invin

cible Antæus lost his earth-born power and died in the clutch of his conqueror. Our unmanly repinings at our lot, our earth-cloyed struggles with our sins and weaknesses always end in our defeat. Lift them up, battle with them in God's free air, take them toward heaven, and they fall conquered and overcome. Upon the pages of the journal of the young preacher whose life-work is here sketched, nothing is more noticeable than his trusting dependence upon heavenly aid joined to his own earnest and determined efforts. Such a journal, prepared solely for the writer's own eyes, carefully and jealously guarded from other readers, must of necessity contain the writer's inward thoughts, desires, and aspirations, and even in the earliest entries appear the unmistakable signs of that determination to wisely preach and devoutly live, showing that even now the youth had become a man, making, as old Jeremy hath it, "a steady use of reason according to his proportion"; and between the lines may be read the germ of that desire to "build the walls of Jerusalem" that with his advancing years developed into his earnest and unceasing yearning for a more coherent and efficient organization of the Church he held so dear.

Weary working for ducats makes them thrice welcome," said the old Venetians, and there was close figuring in that humble Portsmouth home on the question of ways and means, when the father's income was fluctuating and the son's was so precarious. But neither father nor mother ever faltered in keeping simple faith with their boy, by hearty approval, by words of encouragement, by pinching economy, and by such help as was possible to them; thus, unconsciously perhaps, following out the precept of old Roger Ascham: Let fathers bestow their children upon that thing whereunto nature hath ordained them most apt and fit.' In July, 1836, was made the young man's first visit to Boston-no inconsiderable journey in those days of stages, post-roads, and tedious travel, and one even as memorable as is the first pilgrimage of faithful Moslem to the sacred

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Mecca. The newly-fledged minister found an unspeakable enjoyment in mingling with his brethren and elders of experience and renown, and to stop at "Brother Abel Tompkins'" or to call at the Trumpet office formed a part of his daily duty joyfully followed out. Here he would meet with and listen to those three fathers in the faith, Ballou, Streeter, and Balfour; with Whittemore and Thayer, and Williamson, King, and Paige, Bacon, Austin, Adams, and others of the earnest and honored ones of the Church, many of whom have long since obeyed the divine call, Come up higher."

It is with no small amusement in these days of rapid transit and far-reaching trunk lines, that we read, as he records with many details, how he took his "first ride in the steamcars" on the short railroad then running from Boston to Lowell, and one of the wonders of the city and the day. Summing up his sensations after a minute description, he concludes: "I like the speed with which the cars move, but am not at all fond of the tremendous racket they make." It is also curious to read, secure in our dependence upon a fully equipped fire department, of his attendance "with Brother King and Father Streeter at a meeting of a little society composed of Universalists and called the 'Fire Society,'" the object of which association was mutual assistance in case of fire. "If any member's house or place of business takes fire, the other members repair there at once and assist in removing the goods and chattels. During the long evenings they meet once a month to transact business, and then have a discussion of some religious topic followed by singing." O tempora, O mores! Imagine the "boys" of to-day who run with No. 6," in some country-town, or the more admirable human machines who work the steamers" in our large cities, spending their off-moments in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, in discussions on original sin and the law of sacrifice! This Boston visit with the opportunities it offered, and which were gladly improved, was indeed an episode in the life of the young aspirant, and

he returned to his home with a mind stored with pleasant memories and much food for reflection.

Though fellowshipped in the summer of 1836, the "call ' and settlement" were not at once forthcoming. "Everybody must wear out one pair of fool's shoes, if not more,' runs the old adage, and the elders who govern church matters always hesitate before giving the pastorship of their church into untried hands, preferring that some other society shall supply the first pair of shoes, and therefore many an earnest young preacher spends his first months in erratic cruising among the churches ere he finds the desired haven.

"Itinerating" then through the summer of 1836, the face and form of the young preacher began to grow familiar to the Universalists of Exeter and South Newmarket, Great Falls and Rochester and Lamprey River, and no man ever found him deficient in word or act, be it to preach the word to the people or to valiantly defend his Christian faith even in the camp of the enemy.

In December he again found himself at the teacher's desk as master" of the school at Portsmouth Plains, but early in January he gladly retired from this position to preach regularly for a few months for the society in Exeter, N. H. Even in this temporary engagement appears the indisposition of the elders and deacons to depend entirely upon the efforts of a young and inexperienced preacher, for this entry appears in his journal: “Brother R—— and I have had some talk about my coming here. He seems to talk as though he wishes me to engage to preach my own sermons half the time, and to read some one else's the other half. This I have very decidedly stated I am not willing to do." Consenting to supply for the Exeter parish he writes: "It is settled that I am to go to Exeter for the present. I go somewhat fearful, I must say, as to my success, but I go trusting in the Lord. Upon Him do I depend for wisdom to guide me and for strength to sustain me. O may He grant me this needed wisdom and strength. May He clothe me in the whole armor of the Gospel, and send me forth to