VOLUME 3 — BOOK V — CHAPTER XV
METHODISM IN THE MIDDLE AND NORTHERN STATES, CONTINUED: 1796 — 1804

The New York Conference — William Thacher — Billy Hibbard — His Humor — Early Life — Ministerial Toils and Successes — His Death — Experience of a Dutch Methodist, Note — Samuel Merwin — Sylvester Hutchinson — Ebenezer Washburn —William Anson on Grand Isle — Methodism at the Head of the Hudson — Among the Pennsylvania Mountains and Valleys, and New York Lakes — Ware and Colbert in the Wyoming Valley — Colbert's Hardships — Benjamin Bidlack — Outspread of the Church — Alfred Griffith's Trials — Progress in the Interior of New York — First Chapel of Genesee Conference — Lorenzo Dow — Colbert — Enlargement of the Field — Methodism in New York City — Statistics

The New York Conference was still an immense territory, comprising New England, west of the Connecticut and the Green Mountains, all the Methodist field of Canada, and New York along the Hudson and westward till it reached the incipient circuits, where the Itinerants from the Philadelphia Conference and from west of the Pennsylvania mountains were planting societies. At the beginning of this period there was nominally no New York Conference, its territory being included (by act of the General Conference of 1796) in the New England and Philadelphia Conferences; but by the General Conference of 1800 it was defined as including much of Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Vermont, Canada, and all New York east of the Hudson. It comprised during this period a host of able itinerants, many of whom have already been noticed. One of them, William Thatcher, has left as a description of its primitive meetings in an account of its session in 1797. "As it was," he says, "the first in which I was ever honored with a seat, I will give a brief account of it. About a dozen of us Methodist preachers, passengers from the East, landed at New York, and made our way to the old headquarters in John Street, bearing on our arms our saddlebags or portmanteaus [Oxford Dict. portmanteau n. (pl. portmanteaus or portmanteaux) a leather trunk for clothes etc., opening into two equal parts. — DVM]. We were horseback men. We did not use trunks for traveling in those days. Not a spice of dandyism was seen in all our borders any more than leaven in a Jewish Passover; we were all plain men, plain enough. We were welcomed into the little old parsonage in John Street by the venerable Thomas Morrell and Joshua Wells, ministers in the station. Wells took us as he found us, 'bag and baggage,' formed us rank and file, and placed himself as the captain, at the head of the company, (we were in Methodist preachers' uniform,) in military style. Our walk, especially through Chatham Street, seemed to attract attention and excite notoriety. We were soon disposed of: My home was with a good old Welsh brother in Henry Street, named John Davies. On June 19 a new scene opened to my view: a Conference at the old hive of Methodism, the old John Street Meeting-house, that holy place where I felt, eight years before, the Holy Ghost say to me, for the first time, 'Go thou and preach the gospel.' What a congregation of Methodist preachers! what greeting! what love beaming in every eye! what gratulation what rejoicing! what solemnity! The clock strikes nine. We are seated in the sanctuary, in Conference order, around the sacred altar, within which sits the venerable Asbury, Bible in hand. A chapter read, a hymn sung, we kneel. How solemn! how awful! how devout the prayer! What solemn 'amens' are responded! Inspiration seemed to pervade the whole. The prayer closed, we arise, and are seated. The secretary calls the list of names; each responds; and how interesting to hear my own name in that book of life. The various business of Conference now engages our prayerful attention, conducted by the bishop, our president; six hours each day for the transaction of the regular Conference business, from nine o'clock to twelve, and from three to six in the afternoon; each session opened with reading the Scriptures, singing, and prayer, and closed with prayer. I have attended Conferences for half a century since, and I do not believe that Methodism or our Annual Conference has deteriorated." [1]

Thacher was born in 1769, in the town of Norwalk, Conn. "I was born again," he writes, "on the 19th of June, 1790, in Baltimore, Md.; I then joined the Methodist Episcopal Church. My conversion was not a hope obtained, but a thorough work of grace, a bright witness of pardon, an overflowing love of God, shed abroad in my heart by the Holy Ghost, given unto me about nine o'clock that morning. Since then, a lapse of nearly sixty-seven years, I have never lost my adoption into the family of God." [2]

He began to preach in the city of New Haven in 1795. His family formed the nucleus of the Methodist Church in that community. He steadily persevered as a local preacher for two years, and in September, was admitted into the New York Conference, and ordained a deacon in June, 1799, by Bishop Asbury. Bishop Whatcoat ordained him elder in June, 1801. His first circuit was that of Litchfield, Conn. He labored very successfully, traveling about three hundred miles every four weeks. "So closely," he writes, "was my time employed, that it was about twelve weeks from the period I took the circuit before I could visit my wife and little son, whom I had left at the house of her father, in New Haven, and the last quarter of this same 'Conference year,' (as itinerancy was our glory,) my good presiding elder changed my field of labor to Pittsfield Circuit, in Massachusetts and Vermont, and I was another twelve weeks from my dear family. This circuit had then two hundred and fifty members. God was with me there, and the quarter was spent happily. In 1798 I was stationed on Redding Circuit, in Fairfield County, Conn., alone on a four weeks' circuit, one hundred and fifty miles round, with twenty-four appointments. I soon made it a two-weeks' circuit, preaching twenty-four times a fortnight, and then crossed the Housatonic River on a visit home to New Haven, fifteen miles east, on Saturday, and early on Sabbath morning started for my Sabbath forenoon appointment, twenty miles from my home. Then I was at home once a fortnight, after preaching twenty-four sermons in two weeks, and riding one hundred and eighty miles. This was my regular work for the nine months of my service on Redding Circuit. The time of Conference that year was changed from September to June."

In 1799 he was stationed on Pomfret Circuit, which was partly in Connecticut, partly in Massachusetts, and partly in the north of the state of Rhode Island, though it contained but one hundred and sixty members. In this field he had the happiness of witnessing a good revival, especially at Eastford, Thompson, Ware, and Brookfield. At the latter he formed a new class of seven members, which soon increased to twelve. Asa Kent, Isaac Bonney, David and Joshua Crowell, preachers who afterward entered the traveling connection, were among the fruits of this success. He subsequently labored in important appointments of the middle and northern states, down to 1846, when he was superannuated, after an itinerant ministry of half a century, lacking one year. He afterward resided at Poughkeepsie, N.Y., in a happy and sanctified old age, beloved by all who knew him, and shedding around the sphere of his retirement the bright and genial influence of a remarkably cheerful temper and joyous piety. During his long and laborious life he had been able, by rigorously economizing his time, to acquire extensive general knowledge and considerable proficiency in the original languages and exegesis of the Scriptures. His pulpit exercises were always lively, instructive, and impressive. The doctrine of Christian sanctification was his favorite theme. He died in his eighty-seventh year, triumphing over severe sufferings, and praising God to the end.

A memorable character entered the ministerial ranks in 1798, Billy Hibbard, still familiar to the Church by his extraordinary wit, his devoted life, and useful labors. When his name was called in the Conference as William Hibbard, he gave no response. The bishop asked him if this was not his name. "No, sir," he replied. "What is it, then?" rejoined the bishop. "It is Billy Hibbard." "Why," said the bishop, with a smile, "that is a little boy's name." "I was a very little boy when my father gave it to me," replied Hibbard. "The Conference was convulsed with laughter," says Boehm, for many of them knew him. When his character was examined, as was customary, it was objected to him that he practiced medicine. "Are you a physician, Brother Hibbard?" inquired the bishop. "I am not," he replied; "I simply give advice in critical cases." "What do you mean by that?" asked the bishop. "In critical cases," said Hibbard, "I always advise them to send for a physician."

His humor seemed not to interfere with, but to enhance his usefulness. It attracted hearers which perhaps nothing else could bring within his influence. His meetings were usually thronged. A tenacious Quaker hung about him, charmed with his conversation, but not venturing to attend his preaching, objecting that the custom of "Friends" required him to wear his hat in the congregation. Hibbard sent him a hearty invitation to come and wear his hat, or two of them if he wished, offering to lend him his own for the purpose if the good man would accept it. He could resist the charm no longer, went, and became a zealous Methodist, and a useful class-leader.

Hibbard was born in Norwich, Conn., February 24, 1771, of parents who observed the early religious strictness of that commonwealth, and trained him in the doctrines of the Puritan faith. In very early life, his singularly constituted mind became absorbed in religious meditation; and notwithstanding a constitutional and exuberant flow of humor, he was plunged in profound melancholy. He needed more benign views of theology than his education afforded him. "I read the Scriptures," he says, "with great attention, and in private I would weep and mourn for my sins. I had some fears that I should not find mercy at last: nevertheless, I prayed heartily that the Lord would spare my life until I could completely repent. At one time I felt encouraged, that if I were faithful, I should repent enough by the time I was thirty years old. Now the most of my nights I spent in weeping; my pillow and my shirt-collar were often wet with tears, and I would rise early to wash my face, for fear some one would discover that I had been crying, and ask me what was the matter." This mental agony increased fearfully, till it became a parallel almost to that under which the sturdy spirit of the author of the Pilgrim's Progress suffered. Not comprehending the doctrine of "justification by faith," he was engaged in a vain endeavor to wash away his sins by the tears of repentance alone; but, as he attempted to estimate the number and enormity of his offenses, an almost hopeless period seemed necessary for the task. "I began to conclude," he writes, "that I should not get through my repentance until I was fifty or sixty years old." As he ruminated over the dreary catalogue, he sunk into utter despair. "I found," he says, "to my unspeakable grief and dismay, that I was altogether unholy in my nature; my sins had corrupted every part, so that there was nothing in me that was good; I was a complete sink of sin and iniquity. I looked to see if there was no way to escape; if God could not be just and have mercy on me; but no, my sins were of that nature that they had made my nature sinful. I cried out when alone, 'O wretch that I am! I undone forever! all my hopes of obtaining mercy, and getting to heaven at last, are gone, and gone forever! and it is all just and right with God.' Still, it is a little mercy to me that I am not killed and damned outright; I may live here a while, but then, at last, I must be damned; and to pray for myself will do no good; there is no mercy for me; I can do nothing that will make amends for my sins; they are past, and cannot be recalled. O wretch that I am! I have undone myself, and am undone forever!"

Such was in those days the experience of many an anxious mind, misguided by a theology the metaphysics of which obscure the clearest and most gracious light of the divine promises. Such despondence must soon terminate in insanity, or a favorable reaction. Happily for young Hibbard, the latter was the case with him. On a Sabbath day, the quiet beauties of which looked more "dismal than a shroud," he read in his Bible of "the sufferings of Christ, and had an impression to go into secret and pray." His anguish followed him to his closet; but the impressions of the truths he had been reading were vivid. They embodied themselves, as in a vision, to his troubled mind; and he saw, as it were, "Jesus Christ at the right hand of God," looking down upon him with compassion. His despair gave way to faith; "and now," he writes, "I could see the justice of God in showing mercy to me for the sake of his Son Jesus Christ; and not only to me, but to all that would come to him, forsaking their sins, and believing that his death and suffering were the only satisfactory sacrifice for sin. I felt a sudden sense of the impropriety of my offer to be damned for the good of others, though I had no condemnation for it; but the love of God in Christ, and of Christ in God, so completely overcame me that I was all in tears, crying Glory! glory! glory! Beholding the glory of God by faith was a rapturous sight! But soon it was suggested that I must open my eyes on creation; and feeling an ardent desire for company to encourage me in this worship of God, it appeared that, on opening my eyes, I should see some. I opened my eyes, therefore, while on my knees; and behold! all nature was praising God. The sun and firmament, the trees, birds and beasts, all appeared glowing with the glory of God. I leaped from my kneeling posture, clapped my hands, and cried Glory! glory! glory! heaven and earth are full of thy glory!"

Such was Hibbard's experience at twelve years of age, and such is an example of the ordinary experience of the early Methodists, indeed, of most earnest minds. It is characterized by much feeling, and distorted and often despondent views of the divine method of human recovery, but also by profound scrupulousness, conscientious estimates of sin, and, at last, by transforming faith in Christ.

This happy state of mind continued till it was interrupted by the dogma of pre-reprobation, which was suggested to his meditations by the speculations of his neighbors; for it was then tenaciously held as an essential doctrine of the popular faith. From this terrible fallacy he at last recovered, but not till he had passed through sore mental conflicts, and received, as he supposed, special illuminations of the Spirit on the subject. He at this time anticipated vividly the doctrines of Methodism, and waited prayerfully till their promulgation should reach his neighborhood. Several years, however, elapsed before a Methodist itinerant appeared there; and during this interval he had been induced, by the example of Christians around him, and the opinions of the pastor of the village where he now resided — who approved of dancing — to attend balls, and to plunge into all the youthful gayeties of the vicinity. He lost the devout and peaceful frame of mind which he had attained through such an ordeal of mental suffering.

He continued in this backslidden state for some time, when, at last, a Methodist evangelist reached the village. His mind was reawakened by the new preaching, and, passing through another inward conflict, similar to that already described, he emerged into a still clearer light, and settled habits of piety, embracing heartily the doctrines of the new sect, though, as he had removed to Norway, Conn., and there were no Methodists within twenty miles of him, he did not yet join their communion. While waiting their arrival in the place of his new residence he felt impressed with the anticipation that it might be his duty to join their humble ministry, and preach the great truths which sustained his own soul. He resolved to begin by "exhorting," and held occasional social services in the houses of his neighbors. After two or three of these meetings he found that many persons were awakened, and thirteen professed to be converted. Removing from Norway to Hinsdale, he had more access to the Methodists, and now cast in his lot with them. Providential encouragements to devote himself more entirely to religious labors occurred. His wife, who had disliked somewhat his sturdy religious seriousness, became converted. He was induced, by peculiar circumstances, to discourse for the first time from a text at a tavern, and found afterward that an old man was converted under the sermon, who, in a few months, died in hope. His stepmother was led by his guidance into the way of life. "She never had a witness of her acceptance with God," he says," but now stated to me her distress of mind. And we sat up all night to weep and talk and pray together, and it pleased God to make her strong in faith and joyful in hope. It was about two o'clock in the night when the Lord made her soul to rejoice in God her Saviour. Then we were so happy we wanted no sleep, but only to rejoice in the Lord. Thus we spent all the night. Glory to God! this season was sweet to my soul." He now labored more abundantly, and resolved to enter the itinerant ministry; but he desponded under the consciousness of his defects. "My way was open," he writes, "but my weakness almost discouraged me at times, for I had not then heard the good effect my weak sermons had, so that I began to grow gloomy and discouraged, until I attended the quarterly meeting in Pittsfield. At the prayer-meeting in the evening it was proposed to have a local preacher deliver us a sermon. He was a stranger to me; and as he appeared to be a solemn, gracious, good man, I was much pleased with the hope of a good time; but when he commenced his discourse, I perceived he was a weak brother. And as he progressed I was confirmed that he was very weak; and before he was done I concluded that he was weaker than I was; and surely, I thought, if I were as weak as he was, I would never attempt to preach again. Well, our meeting closed, and I went to my lodgings with a sad heart, to think no good was done that night. But next morning, to my surprise, I heard that five persons who heard our weak brother the night before were converted. I said nothing; but hid my face in my hands, and thought, truly these are thy marvelous works, O Lord! Thou dost make use of things which are not to bring to naught things that are. Well, I must take courage, and if I cannot shine in gifts, let me shine in humility, and adorn myself in a meek and quiet frame of mind, which is an ornament, in the sight of God, of great price."

I have been the more minute in these quotations, because they present an interesting illustration of the power and working of the religious sentiment, under divine influence, in a robust but untutored mind. This process of spiritual experience resulted in the development of a beautiful moral character, full of religious sympathy, of affectionateness, of devout simplicity, and sanctified zeal; a zeal that labored mightily, and endured most formidable hardships throughout a ministerial career of most half a century.

In 1797 he was directed by the presiding elder to labor on Pittsfield Circuit, Mass., which he traveled till the spring of 1798. He was then transferred to Granville Circuit, Mass., until the Granville Conference of 1798, when he joined the regular itinerant ministry, and was appointed to Dutchess Circuit, N.Y. While on the Pittsfield and Granville Circuits his labors were remarkably successful; more than one hundred persons were awakened; not a little persecution beset his course; but he became confirmed in his devotion to the work of the ministry. In 1799 he was sent to Cambridge Circuit, which was chiefly in New York, but comprehended also several Vermont towns. He began now to experience some of the privations of the early itinerancy. He had to remove his family, including three children, one hundred and fifty miles, among entire strangers, and without money to support them. During the preceding nine months he had received but eighty-four dollars, and for twenty months his salary had been one hundred and thirty-three dollars. Nearly all his own property had been expended. His thoughts under these accumulating trials, recorded in his own simple language, afford an interesting illustration of his character. "I looked at my call to this work to be of God. And I said in my heart, and to my dear wife, to God I will look for support. My wife encouraged me to suffer with patience. She often said, 'If we can do our duty to God here, and be a means of saving some souls, and get to heaven at last, all our sufferings will work together for our good.' Ah, thought I, you are a dear soul; what husband would not want to live at home, and enjoy the society of such a wife! But the Lord calls me to leave wife and children, and for his sake I give up all."

He passed over his circuit, preaching daily, witnessing the conversion of souls, and seeking a home for his family; but finding none for many weeks, he writes: "Well, thought I, the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but I have not even a log-house. I am now tasting of my Master's fare. He suffered this for the good of souls; and O what an honor, that I may suffer a little with my Master! So I went on cheerful, trusting in the Lord. We had refreshing seasons; many were awakened, and, I trust, converted. Our circuit at that time was five hundred miles around it, and for me to preach, as I did, sixty-three sermons in four weeks, and travel five hundred miles, was too hard. But I cried unto the Lord, and he heard me; for as my day was, so was my strength."

Such were the trials of the primitive preachers, trials which, as we have elsewhere remarked, either drove them from the field, or made them heroes; their successors may well blush to repine at their more fortunate lot. About three hundred persons were converted during his travels on Cambridge Circuit. The indomitable Henry Ryan shared its labors, and they pushed the battle to the gates." Violent persecutions opposed them; Hibbard writes: "Brother Ryan was in good health and high spirits for this great work. The persecution in Thurman's Patent, where we had lived, was truly grievous. Many young people that experienced religion were turned out of doors by their parents. Some of them were whipped cruelly. Two young women were so whipped by their father that the blood ran down from their backs to their feet, and he then turned them out of doors, and they walked fifteen miles to a Methodist society. When they recovered of their wounds, some of our sisters informed me that they had many scars, some five inches long. Their two young brothers, one fourteen, and the other twelve years old, had both experienced religion, through the instrumentality of the Methodists, and suffered in like manner. It astonished me that a father of ten children, eight of whom had experienced religion, should drive six from his house, and whip these two boys, for no other crime, in reality, than because they worshipped God with the Methodists."

These persecuted children agreed to visit and pray with their enraged parent together at a given time. "With hearts all engaged in prayer for their father, they entered his house, and, in the most affectionate manner, made known to him their tender regard for his precious soul. The power of God rested on them, insomuch that the old man was not able to answer them. He threw himself upon the bed, and made a howling noise, while they prayed. The poor old man could not arise from it. Something rendered him helpless, insomuch that he was not able to whip his boys any more for worshipping God. He lived in this helpless state eight years afterward. From this time the persecution began to cease in this part of the circuit."

At the New York Conference of 1800 Hibbard was appointed to Granville Circuit, Mass. His subsequent circuits were, 1801, Long Island; 1802, Dutchess and Columbia, N.Y.; 1803-4, Dutchess; 1805-6, Croton, N. Y., with a congenial colleague, the quaint John Finnegan; 1807-8, New Rochelle, N. Y. In 1809 he reentered New England, and was the colleague of Isaac Candee on Redding Circuit. Their labors were unusually successful; extensive reformations prevailed, and about three hundred persons were converted. In 1810 he was on Courtland Circuit, N.Y., with Ezekiel Canfield, and 1811-12 at Rhinebeck, N.Y. At the Conference of 1813 he was again returned to New England, and appointed to Pittsfield Circuit, Mass. He was sent to this circuit also in 1814, but with the understanding that he should accept a chaplaincy in the army if an opportunity occurred. He did so, and as war then raged on the northern frontier, he was appointed to a regiment, and was with the troops some time in the neighborhood of Boston. "Not long after I returned home," he says, "I had the satisfaction to hear of forty-three, who were in our regiment, that had experienced religion, and joined our society."

In 1815 he was sent to Litchfield Circuit, Conn., and labored with more than even his usual success. About six hundred persons, it is estimated, were converted; and as many joined the Congregational Churches; an impulse was given to the cause of God in every direction through the region of the circuit. In 1810-17 he labored on Granville Circuit; 1818, Chatham, N. Y.; 1819-20, New York city, with Aaron Hunt, Samuel Merwin, Laban Clark, and Tobias Spicer; 1821, Petersburgh, N.Y.; 1822, Dalton, N.Y. Having ruptured a blood-vessel while preaching in New York city, his health had declined so far by this time that he was compelled to retire into the ranks of the "superannuated or worn-out preachers," where he remained three years, but we find him again in the field in 1826, when he was appointed to Petersburgh; 1827-8, to Salisbury; and 1829, to Tyringham.

Being still subject to inflammation of the lungs, and worn out with infirmities and years, he now returned to the superannuated ranks, where he continued till his death. He had labored in the Church about fifty years, devotedly and successfully. He died in 1844, in great peace, and in the forty-sixth year of his itinerant ministry. "When asked by a son in the gospel, how he felt in view of death," he replied, "My mind is calm as a summer eve;" and when again asked if death had any terror, he answered, "No, surely!" [3]

Methodism, while adapted to all classes, had peculiar adaptations to the unlettered and neglected masses. Its simple doctrines were intelligible to their comprehension, and its energetic economy reached them in whatever recesses of obscurity. At the same time its living agents were a providential counterpart to these adaptations. Many of its preachers seemed to have been raised up exclusively for the poor and illiterate, and the peculiarities which might have interfered with their usefulness in higher spheres secured them greater success among men of lowly life. Hibbard was an example of this remark. His memoirs abound in striking instances of the power of his ministry; even his humor, sanctified as it was, had its good agency; the hardest and the rudest characters yielded to his influence. [4]

Hibbard was a very genial mind, humorous, amiable, without learning, yet abounding in intelligence, fond of anecdote, and exceedingly happy in telling one; surprisingly apt in laconic remarks, richly endowed with the spirit of piety, ever ready for religious conversation, a thorough lover of his country, and staunchly republican in his politics; a tireless laborer in the pulpit, and one of the most useful men in our early annals. His love and devotion to the Church were enthusiastic. He died soon after its division by the separation of the Methodists Episcopal Church South, and, it is said, that event broke his spirit, and hastened his death.

Samuel Merwin will not soon be forgotten among the Methodist societies of the Atlantic States from Canada to Maryland. Dignified in person, powerful in eloquence, generous in spirit, and mighty in labors, he was one of the most popular preachers of his day. He was born in Durham, Conn., September 13, 1777. His early education was strictly religious, and it is said he was from childhood the subject of deep spiritual impressions an explanation, in part, of the remarkable force of his, religious principles and address in subsequent years. While quite young his conscience was awakened under a funeral discourse; and it is believed that he was converted at this time, but, for lack of suitable guidance, relapsed into a state of carelessness, till the Methodist ministry came to his place of residence, then at New Durham, N.Y., where he was again thoroughly awakened and soundly converted. Glowing with joy and the zeal of a new life, he soon began to exhort on those social religious occasions with which Methodism abounds, and which have eminently tended to draw forth the talent of its young men, and thereby to recruit its ministry. When not yet twenty years of age he was dispatched, by a presiding elder, to labor on a part of the Delaware District, N. Y., and in the year 1800 was received as a probationer at the New York Conference. And now commenced that career of ministerial labors and successes, extending through about forty years, which has rendered his name familiar through our northern and middle Churches. The long catalogue of his appointments is a significant memorial of his services. He was sent, in 1800, to Long Island Circuit; 1801, Redding, Conn..; 1802, Adams, Mass.; 1803, Montreal, Canada; 1804, New York city; 1805, Redding, Conn., with Peter Moriarty; 1806, Boston, Mass., with Peter Jayne; 1807, 1808, Newport, R. I; 1809, Bristol and Rhode Island; 1810, Albany Circuit; 1811, Schenectady; 1812, 1813, Albany city; 1814, Brooklyn, N. Y.; 1815-1818, presiding elder of New York District; 1819, New York city; 1820, Albany city; 1821-1823, New Haven District; 1824, 1825, Baltimore; 1826, 1827, Philadelphia; 1828, 1829, Troy, N. Y.; 1830, 1831, New York city; 1832-1835, New York District; 1836, New York city; 1837, 1838, Rhinebeck, N. Y. He departed to his rest in peace, at Rhinebeck, N. Y., January 13, 1839.

It will be inferred, from the important posts assigned him, that he was a chief among his brethren. His person was large and commanding, and his voice musical and strong, swaying the greatest assemblies. Exceedingly graceful in his movements and lively in his affections, he was a perfect Christian gentleman. He possessed superior powers of government, and discharged the functions of the presiding eldership with special ability. The invaluable talent of reconciling discordant brethren or societies was his in a rare degree, and the kindly, sympathetic spirit which usually accompanies that talent characterized him everywhere, and imparted to his ministrations a richly consolatory character. His pulpit appeals were accompanied by a flowing and sweeping eloquence, sometimes rising to wonderful power and majesty, and the living evidences of his usefulness are yet found throughout the whole extent of his pastoral labors. His brethren of the New York Conference say of him, "Samuel Merwin loved his Church, and was most ardently devoted to its interests. Wise in counsel and skilled in execution, he was always ready to step forward in defense of its rights: he was the friend of all its literary and benevolent institutions; to support them he gave his influence and his money; his voice, too, was often heard, powerfully and successfully pleading their respective claims. But he has gone, and 'precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.' " It is to be regretted that our records allow not of a more adequate sketch of such a man.

Few men were more prominent in the service of the Church during this period than Sylvester Hutchinson; but as he located the next year after its close, the Minutes give him no other record than his appointments. [5] Yet he traveled seventeen years in New Jersey, Maryland, New York, New England. He died in 1840, and was buried at Hightstown, N.J. "In 1800," says one of our authorities, [6] "he was stationed in New York city, with Jesse Lee and John McClaskey, who were giants in those days. In 1801 he was the traveling companion of Bishop Whatcoat. In 1803 he was the successor of Shadrach Bostwick, as presiding elder on the Pittsfield District. Among the preachers under his charge, at that time, were the youthful and eloquent Samuel Merwin; Martin Ruter, who was then also in the morning of life, and in after years fell a martyr to the work in Texas; Seth Crowell, with a clear, logical head, and a warm heart; Luman Andrus, amiable, and of a sweet disposition; William Anson, rejoicing that he was counted worthy to suffer in a cause so good; Henry Eames, with his warm Irish heart; Elijah Chichester, like Elijah of old, faithful to his God, and faithful to others." When he traveled Pittsfield District, Hutchinson was the presiding elder of the youthful Elijah Hedding, afterward bishop. Hedding always spoke of him in the highest terms. "The district," says Bishop Clark, in his Life of Hedding, "was of gigantic proportions, and the presiding eldership no sinecure [Oxford Dict. sinecure = a position that requires little or no work but usually yields profit or honor. — DVM] in those early days. It embraced New York city, the whole of Long Island, and extended northward, embracing the whole territory having the Connecticut River on the east and Hudson River and Lake Champlain on the west, and stretching far into Canada. It embraced nearly the whole territory now included within three annual conferences. Hutchinson was a man of burning zeal and indomitable energy. Mounted upon his favorite horse, he would ride through the entire extent of his district once in three months, visiting each circuit, and invariably filling all his numerous appointments. His voice rung like a trumpet blast; and with words of fire, and in powerful demonstration of the Spirit, he preached Christ Jesus. His appointments show the rank he held in the ministry — the profound confidence his brethren had in him. He was a small man, but had a very strong voice, and seemed never to be wearied; he lived in the Spirit, and was constantly ready for every good word and work."

With such itinerants were associated in the northern field, in these years, many congenial and mightier men: Garrettson, Bostwick, Arnold, Jewel, Draper, Crowell, Sawyer, McClaskey, Morrell, Ostrander, Michael Coate, Jayne, Moriarty, Ryan, and others, who have already received or will hereafter claim our attention. The revivals, which have been noticed, as prevailing in the South and middle parts of the country, extended up the Hudson and spread westward to the New York Lakes, and eastward over New England, greatly recruiting the societies and the ministry. Joseph Sawyer, whom we shall soon meet in Canada, preached, in 1798, a discourse of great effect in Petersburgh, N.Y., under which Ebenezer Washburn, a school teacher, was awakened. He hastened to the nearest society, in Hoosack, and joined it. His wife and several of his neighbors were converted, and they formed the first class in Petersburgh. Washburn became one of the. holiest and most useful of the early itinerants. He began his successful career by exhorting among his neighbors, and it was not long before he reported thirty converts on the Petersburgh Mountains. This was the beginning of nearly half a century of ministerial labors, sufferings, and triumphs.

Before the end of our period Methodism was successfully planted in Troy. A class was formed there as early as 1801, but it had nearly expired, when, in 1804, John Wright, a lay Methodist, moving to the city, inquired for his brethren, and found "a small company worshipping in a private house." [7] In three or four years they were able to build a humble temple in State Street. It became the headquarters of a "charge," including Troy, Albia, West Troy, Lansingburgh, and Brunswick, but for twelve or fifteen years the whole membership hardly exceeded one hundred. Troy now gives name to a powerful Conference.

In 1802 William Anson was sent to plant the Church on Grand Isle, in Lake Champlain. He extended his circuit to other islands, and even into Canada, and at the close of the year reported more than a hundred Church members. Anson joined the Conference two years before going to Grand Isle, and spent them in hard work in Canada. He was twenty-three years in the itinerancy. In 1823 he was compelled by enfeebled health to retire from effective service, and was returned supernumerary. He sought repose on his farm, at Malta, Saratoga County, N. Y. In the spring of 1847 he was attacked by paralysis, and rapidly declined in body and mind until he died on the 17th of July, 1848. He joined the itinerant ministry when it was beset with privations and imposed labors which tried the souls of the bravest men. "He had his full share of hardships," say his co-laborers, "but never flinched." He was the "pioneer of Methodism in many places, and carried the proclamation of free salvation into the wilderness of Vermont, northern New York, and Canada, and often from house to house." His piety is pronounced "undoubted," his integrity "sterling," and his talents respectable." "He was laborious and useful, and his preaching plain and powerful." The name of such a man should not be allowed to perish.

Before the end of the century Methodism had got a permanent footing in Warren County, near the head of the Hudson, a locality then called "Thurman's Patent." Josiah Woodward and Samuel Crane, with their families, formed the nucleus of the society which gave origin at last to the "Old Thurman Circuit." The first information they ever received of Methodism was the news of the drowning of Richard Jacobs, who, as we have seen, perished in Schroon Lake, while traversing, as an evangelist, this distant wilderness. His death led to inquiries about the "new sect;" the settlers were excited with curiosity to see and hear an itinerant. Henry Ryan arrived there in 1798, and lodged with Crane. Woodward invited him to preach at his neighboring house. Ryan stayed long enough to form a class, comprising these two families, seven members in all. The little society was attached to the nearest circuit, and supplied with preaching once in four weeks. Another class was soon formed at Johnsburgh, "and thus Methodism was introduced into that town." [8] Subsequently "Thurman's Patent" became "Thurman Circuit," extending through ten towns, and comprehending all the Methodism in that region; it has, still later, grown to half a dozen circuits. The early itinerants had hard fare in this wilderness. One of them says, "it then embraced a newly-settled country, rough and poor. The accommodations for a preacher's family, and their means of support, were very scanty. The only place I could obtain for a residence consisted of one room, having only one small window. The room was so small that it could contain only our bed, a table, three chairs, one chest, and two trunks. On one side of the fireplace was a little closet, which contained our table-dishes and some of our provisions. This room served us as our parlor, dining-room, kitchen, and bedroom; and it was also my study. But we were not much mortified to appear thus poor, for many of our neighbors around us were poor also, and we appeared as well as a large portion of our brethren on the circuit. There was at that time very little money circulating in these parts. On this account, our contributions consisted principally in such articles of provision as our friends could spare. All the support I received from the circuit, during the whole year, amounted to only eighty-five dollars; perhaps one half of this was cash." [9]

Meanwhile the denomination was extending its lines in the interior regions of the Pennsylvania Mountain valleys and New York Lakes. Ware's modest ministry there, as presiding elder, was like "the still small voice," in contrast with the tempestuous eloquence of his predecessor, Valentine Cook; but the contrast was salutary, and perhaps needed, for the scenes of excitement which had prevailed through these wildernesses required his tempering counsels and example. In the spring of 1797 Colbert returned to the Wyoming Valley, and went preaching from settlement to settlement, attended by the old hardships and demonstrations of his ministry. He reached the extremity of his circuit and wrote, "Thus have I got on the frontiers of Wyoming once more, on my way to Tioga. Hard times I now expect." He had them fully up to his expectation, in his mountain lodgings, his long and stormy journeys, his small log-cabin congregations, sometimes so disturbed by the crying of children that he could hardly hear his own voice. His journals are a curious record of the primitive life of these regions. "I have had," he says, "a very disagreeable ride from Bennet's, to where a few women had gathered for preaching, but was called off; before I began, to a woman in the neighborhood who was sick, therefore I neither preached, prayed, nor exhorted, but chose to ride until ten o'clock at night in preference to staying in the filth among children, cattle, hogs, and, no doubt, an army of fleas." On his way from this place to another appointment he writes, "The wind was blowing, the lightning blazing, the thunder roaring, and the rain so pouring down that I could not see to escape the timber that might be falling around me. I was wet enough when I reached my appointment, and found it hard to get a dry corner to stand and preach in." He goes to Canandaigua, Seneca Lake, etc., and encounters similar difficulties. "A man," he says, needs to have a good constitution and a large stock of patience to travel this circuit. May the Lord bless me with the latter!" He was sick also with chills and fever, the effect of his exposures, but drove on in his work. "The people," he says, "called to hear preaching in the forenoon. I did not feel able to sit up, but wishing them to hear something, in the name of the Lord I made an attempt to preach, but found myself unable, and had to lie down, desiring the friends to hold a prayer-meeting. After several of them had prayed I made a second attempt, and was enabled to preach and meet two classes. In the afternoon I rode to Robert Alexander's, and found Alward White preaching. I gave an exhortation after him, and have reason to be thankful that I feel better than I did in the morning." He hardly names the places where he thus preaches and suffers; most of them had yet no names, but they were on the old Seneca Circuit. The chronicler of the Church there says: "The brave hearts that stood it out, and buffeted the dangers and difficulties of the country when it was a frontier, must have the Gospel, and our old itinerants were the men to carry it to them. They could shake and burn one day, and encounter the storm and mud, and preach in open, comfortless log 'pens' the next, for the sake of Christ and souls. So did the heroic Colbert. The labor was hard, the sacrifices great, and as to pay, he says nothing about it. The probability is that he received little more than his board and the keeping of his horse." [10] Upon closing his labors upon the circuit he makes the following record: "I have traveled from the 20th of May to the 12th of September on Seneca Circuit, in Ontario and Onondaga Counties, in the state of New York; among the lakes Canandaigua, Honeoye, and Crooked Lake, west and southwest, and Cayuga, Owasco, and Skaneateles, east and northeast of the Seneca Lake. The inhabitants are principally immigrants from the New England States, the older settlements in the state of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, and, toward the Honeoye, some are from Maryland. Hamilton Jefferson has been my colleague, a man high in the esteem of many of the people. The people generally have been raised under a Calvinistic ministry. Some who joined us appear to be much alive to God. In many places the people are extremely ignorant, and in others they are well informed. Truly I can say that since I have been in this country my life has been one continual scene of toil." Bad as these scenes were, they were an improvement on what he had witnessed in his former travels here. Numerous societies were now organized, the beginning of the Methodism that now flourishes in all the region like its rich harvests. The circuit extended from the Skaneateles to the Canandaigua Lakes. Colbert names but two small villages upon it, Geneva and Canandaigua, and in neither of these had he yet permanent appointments."

In 1798 he was again on Wyoming and Northumberland Circuits. The Conference rightly judged that he was the man for the mountains. The next year this interior field was rearranged, the northern portion being connected with a district that comprehended Albany and the Mohawk region, under the presiding eldership of William McLenahan. There were three circuits: Seneca, with Jonathan Bateman for preacher; Tioga, with John Leach and David Dunham; Wyoming and Northumberland, with James Moore, Benjamin Bidlack, and David Stevens. These evangelists did valiant service; Bidlack especially was a noted hero, and was here in his own field. He had been in the Revolutionary army, being at Boston when Washington took command, and at Yorktown when Cornwallis surrendered; had been noted "for fun and frolic," for his love of strong drink and "good fellowship," and yet had a singular reverence for religion. He would attend gravely the preaching of the early evangelists, however drunk he might be at the time. "He sometimes sung with great gusto, and even raised the tune, when he could hardly stand without holding on to something." He once appeared in the congregation with his usual gravity, but with a bottle of rum in his pocket, its long neck visible to all around. Anthony Turck, a Dutch itinerant, fiery with zeal, and "bold as a lion," saw him, and poured forth a terrible denunciation against drunkenness. The congregation were alarmed, for they knew Bidlack's courage; but he trembled under the word, and "instead of resenting the attack, went home stung with remorse." He publicly confessed his vices, repented, became a Methodist, and, before long, was traveling with the itinerants, one of their most flaming fellow-laborers. He was a superior singer, an important advantage in the early ministry, and a preacher of acknowledged talents. "Bidlack has become a Methodist preacher rang through the country, and stirred up a mighty commotion." He was a gigantic man, over six feet high, with broad shoulders, and strong limbs. He became at last the venerated "Father Bidlack," with white flowing locks, a face full of generous character, and universally beloved of the people. He died, in the peace of the gospel, in 1843, aged eighty-seven years.

In 1800 Wyoming and Northumberland were attached to the Philadelphia District, under the presiding eldership of the veteran Joseph Everett, already familiar to us, while Oneida and Cayuga, Sencea and Tioga were connected with the Albany District. Asa Smith, Bidlack, and Gruber were among the evangelists. "The word of God mightily grew and prevailed this year" throughout these regions, and the first meeting-house in Wilkesbarre was erected. The next year Owen was back again in this his old territory, where he had labored for about ten years. The evangelical blacksmith was in full strength, and kept all around him in motion. "Indeed" says the local historian, "he had been hammering upon the consciences of the people of Wyoming, as an exhorter or preacher, ever since the summer of 1788, and either the people did not consider him worn out, or they were not consulted in the appointment."

The field continually enlarges during the remainder of this period; its ministerial laborers multiply, and church edifices begin to appear; but the evangelists still have to endure many of their early sufferings. About the close of the period Alfred Griffith, who still survives, was sent, with Christopher Spry, to the Wyoming Circuit. "The circuit," says his biographer, "like all others in that day, was large, and the fare poor and coarse enough. The only drink they had besides water was coffee made of buckwheat bread. The process of making this drink was to hold a piece of buckwheat bread, called a slapjack, in the fire in the tongs till completely charred, and then to boil it in an iron pot. The liquor thus obtained, sweetened with maple sugar, received from Griffith the name of 'slapjack coffee,' and by this designation came to be generally known. As to eating, from early in June till autumn, except when on the Flats, they had not a morsel of meat of any kind. Poultry could not be raised, nor pigs, nor sheep, for as soon as anything of the sort made its appearance it was carried off by the foxes, the bears, the panthers, or the wolves. If now and then a man was found bold enough to attempt to keep a hog, the pen was built just at the front door of the cabin; and if he owned a calf it was brought up and tied behind the house every night, and the guns kept loaded and at hand to drive off or kill the invading panther or wolf. As they rested at night on their bearskins, or deerskins, they frequently heard around them the wailing scream of the panther or the howl of the wolf; and the sight of the bear was more common than that of a pig or a lamb. The sleeping was as poor in some instances as the eating and drinking. About fifty miles from the Flats lived a humble family, whose house was both stopping place and church for our young itinerant, who had for his bed, when he remained over night with them, the frame of an old loom, across whose beam were laid slats, and on the slats a bear-skin or two. These, with a pair of clean sheets, which were kept exclusively for the preachers, and a few superincumbent duds, constituted the sleeping apparatus." [11]

This was probably an extreme case; but it indicates the general hardships of these most devoted and most successful apostles of modern Christendom. They prepared better things for their successors.

We have had occasional glimpses of the progress of the denomination in the more northern portions of these interior regions. After the creation of the Delaware Circuit in 1794, at the sources of the Delaware, and comprehending the country between the Susquehanna and the Catskill Mountains, no new circuit is recorded till 1798, when Chenango appears, comprising the extremes of Otsego, Herkimer, and Tioga, and the Chenango and Unadilla valleys. Mohawk and Cayuga, and Oneida are reported the next year, the former detached from Herkimer, with one hundred and eighteen members. Oneida has less than thirty. In 1800 the great revivals, prevailing in most other portions of the Church, wept over all this section; the societies rapidly enlarged, and nearly sixteen hundred members were reported from westward of the Albany and Saratoga Circuits. Powerful itinerants were traversing the country under McLenahan — Turck, Bidlack, Morris, Willy, Newman, Vredenburgh, Gruber, and others, and this year the first Methodist chapel within the limits of the Genesee Conference was erected at Sauquoit. "At the laying of the foundation stone the late Kirkland Griffin, Esq., then a member of this society, but now a saint in heaven, knelt and offered up prayer to God. The work progressed, and when the house was ready to be raised, brethren and sisters in large numbers, considering the sparseness of the population, came together; the latter furnishing, in true temperance style, cake and cheese as the most appropriate refreshment. Before the raising was commenced, Lemuel Smith, a located preacher, gave out a hymn, which all present cordially united in singing, when, with great ardor and appropriateness, he addressed the throne of grace. After the building was up, and before the persons present separated, there were again singing and prayer directed by the same individual. The house thus erected has probably been the spiritual birthplace of more than a thousand souls; and how many have been blessed and comforted and sanctified within its sacred walls eternity alone can determine. With the exception of perhaps one log chapel, it was the first Methodist meeting-house erected in the state of New York west of Albany. The first sermon preached in it was delivered by Bishop Whatcoat, the House being then in an unfinished state." [12] It has since given place to a more substantial edifice.

In 1802 Colbert became presiding elder of the Albany District, which took in all this county. His stentorian trumpet resounded all over it. The famous and erratic Lorenzo Dow broke into the region and worked mightily with the circuit evangelists. "He is tall," writes Colbert, "of a very slender form; his countenance is serene, solemn, but not dejected, and his words, or rather God's words delivered by him, cut like a sword. At night Lorenzo Dow delivered one of the greatest discourses I ever heard against atheism, deism, and Calvinism. He took his text in about the middle of his sermon. Brother Covel arose after him, and said that a young man desired the prayers of the preachers. Several others desired to be prayed for, and at length there was a wonderful display of divine power in the large congregation, beneath the boughs of the trees and the starry heavens."

He speaks of another discourse by Dow, in the woods, by candlelight; "a powerful sermon," under which "many were brought to cry for mercy." Colbert continued, through most of these years, to labor indefatigably in founding the Church throughout the interior parts of the state; he returned, in 1804, to Maryland, and took charge of the Chesapeake District. In this year we find Methodism well organized through all this new country, though strangely enough divided in its ecclesiastical arrangement. Black River, Western, and Herkimer Circuits are on Albany District, under Elijah Woolsey, and in New York Conference; Wyoming is on Susquehanna District, under James Smith, in Baltimore Conference; the remaining circuits, no less than eight in number — Chenango, Westmoreland, Otsego, Pompey, Cayuga, Ontario, Seneca, and Tioga — form the "Genesee District," under Joseph Jewell, in Philadelphia Conference. To many elder Methodists of the region, this bare catalogue of names will have a peculiar significance. We see already the forthcoming of the renowned "old Genesee Conference," and the mighty Methodism of interior and western New York. It was even now preparing to move westward of the Genesee River, where David Hamlin, a lay Methodist settler, is (in 1804) reading Wesley's sermons on Sundays to his neighbors in his own cabin, and waiting and watching for the coming of the itinerants. Of several of the stalwart evangelists who founded Methodism in these wilds I have already given some account of Owen, Mills, Colbert, Cook, Ware, Gruber, and Bidlack; but of most of them we have no other information than the vague but grateful traditions of the people, and the allusions of our early records. Anthony Turck was a rough German, who labored mightily for ten years, and died in the itinerancy, "a holy man," say the old Minutes; "indefatigable and successful;" James Paynter, a good preacher, a man of few words, exceedingly grave, yet as amiable, a great laborer, from these valleys to the valleys of Western Virginia; after preaching forty-eight years he died in Maryland, exclaiming, "I am not afraid to die;" Alward White, thirty-nine years in the ministry, a modest, unassuming, but acceptable preacher; Cornelius Mars, called "thundering Mars," for his manner of preaching; John Brodhead, of note in New England, now a young man of extraordinary power in the pulpit; he "hurled thunderbolts," says one of our authorities; Roger Benton, a "short, thickset man, a most excellent preacher," singularly "modest and meek," with a stentorian voice; he early broke down under his labors and exposures, and died in peace; "a better man I never knew," says one of his friends; John Leach, "a pious, circumspect man," of short and afflicted ministry, who died in "great peace" in New Jersey, in 1802; James Moore, an Irishman of very precise manners, of shrewdness, and good preaching talents; David Stevens, from Baltimore, who "labored incessantly for the salvation of souls for thirty years, and," say the Minutes, "died full of faith and the Holy Ghost " in Maryland, 1825; James Polhamus, who spent twenty-six years in the ministry, popular, useful, a "great exhorter," his "appeals overwhelming, and "revivals following him wherever he went;" James Smith, called "Irish Jemmy," a "good preacher, but a little queer;" Morris Howe, "a great exhorter," twenty-seven years in the itinerancy, and spoken of as a very pathetic preacher; Robert Burch, brother to Thomas Burch and his equal in the pulpit; excessively social, and abounding in Irish wit and true piety; Jonathan Newman, a great laborer, somewhat eccentric and vacillating, but honest and zealous, with a heavy voice, "capable of an immense compass; when he was fairly under way he slightly drew one corner of his mouth in the direction of his ear, and rolled out peal after peal like the roaring of distant thunder;" Timothy Dewy, one of the founders of Methodism in New England, as well as New York, eccentric, firm to obstinacy, a grappler of theological problems, a great reader, and, it is said, "a profound thinker," often a tremendous preacher, "ardently pious, a true-hearted Methodist, never moved by temptations to forsake the Church, although these were numerous and urgent; a great and good man." These are but a portion of the primitive corps; their names are still precious to the elder Methodists that linger in the scenes of their hard toils. They were soon to be followed by men more familiar to our memory — Draper, Lane, Jewell, Ensign, Vannest, Puffer, Paddock, Bigelow, Chamberlayne, Fillmore, Lanning, Seager, Grant, Harmon, Mattison, Luckey, Peck, and other founders of the vigorous Conferences that now embody so much of the Methodism of interior New York and Pennsylvania.

The Church was greatly fortified in New York city during this period. In 1797 there were nearly eight hundred members crowded in the congregations of John Street and Forsyth Street. They were compelled to erect another temple. "An admirable site" was obtained on Duane Street, and George Roberts laid the cornerstone of the edifice on June 29, 1797. He continued to preach there in the open air standing on the foundation stones, for several weeks. "Mighty displays of the power of God," says the chronicler, "have been witnessed within its hallowed walls. There are those who are scattered all over the country, and many in heaven, who look back to the Old Church as their spiritual birthplace. When God writeth up the people, it will be said that this and that man were born here. Bishop Asbury preached his last sermon in New York in this honored temple." [13] In 1800 Jesse Lee says in his journal: "It is now thirty-two years since our society built a place of worship in this place, and they have been increasing and multiplying ever since. We have now five houses of public worship. The first is commonly called 'The Old Church,' (John Street,) the second is called Bowery, (Forsyth Street,) the third, North River, (Duane Street,) and the fourth is called the Two-Mile-Stone, being two miles from the center of the city. The fifth is the African Church, which was erected by the people of color for themselves to worship in, yet they are to be governed by the Methodists in all their spiritual matters. This church was built the latter part of last year. Three traveling preachers are stationed in the city, and are assisted by several local preachers." The Two-Mile-Stone Church was in the Bowery, two miles from the old City Hall, which stood on the corner of Wall and Nassau streets. The family of Gilbert Coutant, long a venerated citizen, was the germ of this society, forming its first class. Seventh Street Church sprung from it.

The city churches were supplied throughout these years by distinguished preachers: Roberts, Lee, Wells, Beauchamp, McClaskey, Sargent, Michael Coate, Hutchinson, Morrell, Ostrander, Snethen, Merwin, and others. They presented also a strong array of official laymen, many of whom were practical evangelists, and not a few of whom have left families representative of the denomination among their fellow-citizens. Hick, Arcularius, Staples, Chase, Russell, Disosway, Smith, Mercein, Suckley, Coutant, Dando, Bleecker, Mead, Carpenter, are but a few of the memorable names of the times. At the close of the period there were more than a thousand (1,018) Methodists in the city. Brooklyn had but seventy-three; Philadelphia reported more than fourteen hundred. [14]

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ENDNOTES

1 From his MSS. Wakeley's Lost Chapters, p. 490.

2 Letter from him to the writer.

3 Minutes, 1845.

4 It would not be deemed compatible with the dignity of history to narrate some of the incidents of his humble memoirs; but as my pages aim at the best possible illustration of the primitive character and influence of Methodism, I insert an instance which exemplifies his influence over an untutored family. It is an account of the testimony of a converted Dutchman, given in a love-feast, about the present period. Hibbard writes: "He said, 'Mine dear brethren, I want to tell you some mine experience. When the Metodists first came into these parts I tot I was doing bery well, for mine wife and I had two sons, Ned and Jim, and we had a good farm that Neddy and I could work bery well, so I let Jim go out to work about fourteen miles off from home. But de Metodists come into our parts, and Neddy went to dare meeting, and he got converted, and I tot we should all be undone; so I told Ned he must not go to dese Metodist meetings, for so much praying and so much going to meeting would ruin us all. But Neddy said, "O, fader, I must serve de Lord, and save my soul." But, I said, you must do de work too. So I gave him a hard stint on da day of dare meeting; but he work so hard dat he got his stint done, and went to de meeting after all. While I set on my stoop and smoked mine pipe, I see him go over de hill to de Metodist meeting, and I said to my wife Elizabet, We shall be undone, for our Ned will go to dese meetings; and she said, "What can we do?" Well, I said, den I will stint him harder; and so I did several times when de meeting come. But Neddy worked hard, and sometimes he got some boys to help him, so dat he would go off to de meeting while I set on mine stoop and smoked mine pipe. I could see Ned go over de hill. I said one day, O mine Got! what can I do? dis boy will go to dese meetings, after all I can do. So when Ned come home, I said, Ned, you must leave off going to dese meetings, or I will send for Jim to come home, and turn you away. But Neddy said, "O, fader, I must serve de Lord, and save my soul!" Well, den, I will send for Jim. So I sent for Jim; and when he come home, den I heard he had been to the Metodist meeting, where he had lived, and he was converted too. And Ned and Jim both said, "O, fader, we must serve de Lord, and save our souls!" But I said to mine wife, Dese Metodists must be wrong; da [pronounced "day"] will undo us all, for da have got Ned and Jim both. I wish you would go to dare meeting, and you can see what is wrong; but Ned and Jim can't see it. So de next meeting-day de old woman went wid Ned and Jim, but I set on mine stoop and smoked mine pipe. But I said to mineself, I guess dese Metodists have got dare match, to get de old woman, and she will see what's wrong. So I smoked mine pipe, and lookt to see dem come back. By and by I see dem coming; and when da come near, I see de tears run down mine wife's face. Den I said, O mine Got, da have got de old woman too! I tot I am undone, for da have got Ned and Jim, and de old woman; and when da come on de stoop, mine wife said, "O we must not speak against dis people, for da are de people of Got." But I said nothing, for I had not been to any of de meetings, so I was in great trouble. But in a few days after I heard dat dere was a missionary going to preach a little ways off; so I tot I would go, for I tot it would not hurt anybody to go to his meeting; and I went wid Ned and Jim and mine wife, and he preacht; but dare was noting done till after de meeting was over, and den dare was two young men in de toder room dat sung and prayed so good as anybody, and da prayed for dar old fader too. And many cried, and I tot da prayed bery well. After dis I was going out of de door to go home, and a woman said to me, "Mr. _____, you must be a happy man, to have two such young men as dem dat prayed." I said, Was dat Ned and Jim? She said, "Yes." O, I felt so mad to tink da had prayed for me, and exposed me before all de people! But I said noting, but went home; and I went right to bed. But now mine mind was more troubled dan ever before, for I began to tink how wicked I was to stint poor Neddy so hard, and try to hinder him from saving his soul; but I said noting, and mine wife said noting; so I tried to go sleep; but as soon as I shut mine eyes I could see Neddy going over de hill to go to his meeting after he had done his hard stint, so tired and weary. Den I felt worse and worse; and by and by I groaned out, and mine wife axt me what's de matter. I said, I believe I am dying. She said, "Shall I call up Ned and Jim?" I said, Yes. And Jim come to de bed, and said, "O fader, what is de matter?" I said, I believe I am dying. And he said, "Fader, shall I pray for you?" I said, O yes, and Neddy too. And glory be to Got! I believe he heard prayer; for tough [pronounced "toe"] I felt my sins like a mountain load to sink me down to hell, I cried, O Got, have mercy on me, a poor sinner! and by and by I feel someting run all over me, and split mine heart all to pieces; and I felt so humble and so loving, dat I rejoice and praise Got; and now I am resolved to serve Got wit Ned and Jim, and mine wife, and dese Metodists.' "

5 The Minutes give short obituaries of all who died members of Conference. Wakeley gives some details of Hutchinson's life in the "Lost Chapters," which should be corrected by Atkinson's "Memorials of Methodism in New Jersey."

6 Wakeley, p. 288.

7 Park's Troy Conference Miscellany, p 48.

8 Autobiography of Rev Tobias Spicer, p. 33. New York: 1831.

9 Spicer.

10 Peck, p. 133.

11 Rev. Dr. Nadal, in "Ladies' Repository."

12 Rev. Dr. Paddock, in Christian Advocate, 1840.

13 Wakeley's Lost Chapters, p. 496.

14 But the Minutes do not show the fact, for the city appointments extended into the adjacent country.

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