the stranger. He had besides my money, my watch and other articles, amounting in all to forty dollars. In about two hours, my friend appeared with my portmanteau, and with thankfulness I supplied my wants. I tarried in Cleaveland one day, and on Tuesday, the 20th of Aug. set sail in the Nicator for Buffalo. We had a fair wind, and a prosperous voyage; but the company were profane and wicked. Thursday, I landed at Buffalo, went to Hamburg where I had left my horse, and the six days following, attended meetings in Hamburg, Eden, Boston, Concord, and Ellicottsville. Some of these seasons were refreshing. Several, who had been living without God and without hope in the world, were made to feel their poverty, and desired the prayers of christians in their behalf. After this, I visited Elder J. Folsom, of Boston, who was nigh unto death; and for the last time, enjoyed his society. To me it was an impressive and memorable season. Elder F. had been a faithful and spiritual watchman. I mourned in the certain expectation, that soon he would leave the care of Zion; and as I looked upon the companion of his youth, and their numerous family, all my sympathies were awakened. His soul was happy, and he rejoiced in God. With the firm and blessed hope of meeting him in the land of immortality and eternal bliss, I pressed his pallid hand, and bade him adieu.* From Boston I went to Attica, where the second session of the Holland Purchase Y. M. commenced on the 31st of Aug. 1822. Several discourses were delivered, and followed by animating exhortations. A comfortable season was enjoyed, but nothing special occurred. In Elders' Conference, a resolve was passed, advising our preachers and brethren not to connect with masonic lodges. I did not vote for this resolve with the Conference, because one of our *A few months after this, Elder Folsom left the world in the triumphs of that faith, he had so often recommended to others. His funeral sermon was preached by Elder R. Carey, one of his spiritual children. His death was lamented by hundreds of the church of Christ, but they mourned not as those without hope. preachers, whom I thought one of the best, was a free mason; and I concluded if masonry was not good he would come out from it. After the close of the yearly meeting, I continued my journey toward Junius; and on the way, preached once in Covington, thrice in Richmond, once in Gorham, thrice in Benton, twice in Milo, and attended eight meetings in Wayne. The Lord blessed some of these seasons with his presence; and I trust some fruits of the same will appear in the day of eternity. In Milo, many seemed resolved to submit to Jesus, and several mourners desired the prayers of saints. On Monday, Sept. 9, I arrived at my father's dwelling, but found it empty. My father was absent on a visit to his relatives in Connecticut, and my two eldest brothers were living in an adjacent neighbourhood. As there was no friend to welcome my return, I walked out over the places that had been familiar to me, to indulge the solitude of my feelings, and reflect upon the changing scenes of time. Here, was the place where I mourned my wretched state, when unreconciled to God. There, beneath the shade of that wood, I supplicated Heaven's mercy; and there despaired, fearing my day of grace was over, and my state unalterably fixed. But O the change, since that distressing hour! Bless the Lord, that my soul ever experienced it. Here, when the wo' was laid on me if I preached not the gospel, I walked on the banks of this little rivulet, and wept, saying, "Lord, I am a child, how can I go?" There, while on my knees, beneath the boughs of that whitewood tree, I resolved to obey the Lord, and be an exile and a wanderer in the earth to preach the gospel of Christ. Here, stood the dwelling, in which I bowed, on the morning of my departure, with my parents, sister and brothers, and for the last time, heard my dear mother's voice lifted to God in prayer. But the flames have consumed every vestige. Here my mother, trembling, gave the parting hand, while the tears that rolled down her cheek, bespoke the parting severe. Here she cast the final look upon her beloved son as he went out of sight; then returned to her cottage, to see him no more in time. Now she is gone;-that bosom is heaved by affliction no more. Though the falling tempests beat upon her silent mansion, and winter's rude whistling winds pass over it, yet her repose is undisturbed. But where are those two little motherless children-Rosanna and Jeremiah? Once they had a mother's care; now they are confided to the protection of strangers! But reflection reminds me, that they are under the care of my heavenly Father, who is able to make even this affliction work for their eternal good. And as for myself, I am an exile; still but a child of sixteen; strewing my tears from place to place; wearing out my life, and exposing myself to a premature death for the welfare of my fellow mortals-who for this, often aim the vile weapons of slander and detraction. Often I lack the necessaries of life-but immediately something whispered, Hush! David. Shall mortal man complain? Thou hast received thy pension, a hundred fold in this life, with persecution, which is a part of thy salary; therefore thou art blessed. Cast thine eyes above; there thou hast an Almighty Friend; there is thy inheritance and thy treasure. And as thy day is, shall thy strength be.' Peace flowed into my soul; and I exclaimed, Lord Jesus, thy will, not mine, be done. Help me in patience to possess my soul, and make me useful in thy vineyard, the little time thou shalt allot to me in this vale of tears. When in death's cold arms I fall, though it be in some distant land, far from my native soil, be thou my friend and accompany me through the gloomy vale. May my flesh rest in hope; and in the morning of the resurrection, have an entrance into the celestial city, where thy soft hand shall wipe away all tears, thy children be united in one, and with their harps all tuned, sing that song which never ends. CHAPTER IX. A journey to Connecticut.-Another to Upper Canada: and the particulars of my travels to the age of seventeen years. FROM the commencement of my travels, I had often wished to visit my relatives in Connecticut, and according to the grace given me, preach the gospel in that section also. Now the long desired opportunity presented, and I concluded after visiting my brothers to depart immediately. With them, I enjoyed a solemn interview; preached once in Junius, and thought the prejudice of some of my opposers was removed. My eldest brother accompanied me to Galen, where we attended monthly conference with the church. Here, I had the satisfaction of seeing one, that had been awakened in my last meeting in this place, now rejoicing in God. On Sunday, Sept. 15, I attended two meetings in Galen; then left my brothers and several others in tears, and the same evening went to Mentz. The next day I rode forty miles, and held a meeting; but had a dull, trying time. The day following, I reached Brookfield, and was welcomed by my friends with expressions of surprise and gladness; for having heard that I had been assassinated, they expected to see my face no more. I attended three meetings with them, in which we were blessed with the smiles of the Saviour. On Friday, I rode thirty miles through the rain to Cherry Valley, and appointed a meeting in the evening at the Academy. Many of the villagers, excited by curiosity, came out to hear the "little stranger;" and by the weeping of some, and the seriousness of all, it seemed that good was done. Saturday, after travelling forty miles, I again found myself nearly destitute of money. My supper was given me, and in the morning I paid my last money for the night's lodging, and left a vest as security for my horse-keeping, till my return. Proceeding on my way twenty miles to Greenville, I saw a congregation coming out of a school-house, and was impressed to kneel on the green and pray. This I did, and found access to the throne of grace. The people soliciting an appointment, I tarried the afternoon, and preached to several hundreds. The Lord opened the hearts of some, and they communicated about three dollars. Thus did kind Heaven again supply my necessities. Monday, I crossed the North river at Hudson, and preached at Mr. Perry's tavern in Egremont, Mass. A young man of the family, manifested a desire to seek an interest in the dear Redeemer. They kindly gave me entertainment; and in the morning, after praying with them, I left them in tears. At evening, I came to the dwelling of my grandfather Marks in Burlington. As both he and my uncle Marks were of the Episcopal church, but myself a member of a dissenting, consequently an unpopular order, I had prepared my mind for a cold reception. But in this, I was happily disappointed; they received me affectionately, gave me much good instruction and wise counsel, exhorted me to be humble and faithful, and discharge my duty in the fear of the Lord. I found my grandfather to be a man of experience in the things of God, and possessed of that charity which suffereth long. He despised a profession without experimental religion, a form without the power of godliness, and a ministry without holiness of heart and communion with God. My uncle also was as a father in the gospel to me; and time passed pleasantly in the society of his family. Ten years. had elapsed since I had seen these kind relatives, and now the privilege of visiting them and the places of my early childhood, which time had almost obliterated from my memory, was sweet to my soul. In Plymouth, I visited the grave-yard, and beginning to search among the white marbles for my brother Jeremiah's grave, soon espied his name on a white stone at the head of a little mound; and, with much emotion, read the following lines, which the passing years had erased from my memory: "Short was my life, and sweet the date- |