VOLUME 3 — BOOK V — CHAPTER V
METHODISM IN THE MIDDLE AND NORTHERN STATES, 1792 — 1796

Paucity of Documents in the Middle States — George Pickering — His Spartan Character — Ezekiel Cooper — His Labors — His Character — His Passion for Angling — John McClaskey's Rank and Services — Lawrence McComb's Character and Labors — Dr. Thomas F. Sargent — His Labors — His Death in the Pulpit — Thomas Morrell — A Successful Failure — He Founds Methodism in Chatham, N. J. — Itinerant Labors — Asbury's Tea — Morrell's Triumphant Death — His Appearance and Character — Ware Itinerating among the Tioga Mountains — On the Hudson — Trials of the Itinerancy — A Suffering Preacher — Success — Colbert among the Wyoming, Tioga, and Cumberland Valleys — His Hardships — Henry B. Bascom — Asbury among these Valleys — Thomas and Christian Bowman — Thornton Fleming — Methodism in the Lake Country of New York — Valentine Cook — A Student at Cokesbury — Power of his Preaching His Sufferings — His Farewell Sermon — Results — Extension of Methodism in the Middle States — Its Singular Introduction into Southold, L. I. — Statistics

Methodism, in its denser communities of the Middle and Northern States, though prosperous during this period, presents few of those salient events which mark its history in its remoter fields. It was here established in a well defined and somewhat cultivated territory, and was comparatively tranquil. The journals of Asbury record, as we have seen, but passing allusions to it, and, though its ministry embodied a majority of the leading men of the itinerancy, yet were they singularly indifferent to any record of their great work. Of no section of the Church have we fewer published accounts than of the vigorous societies and powerful men of the middle states, and the historian, in gathering together the scattered fragments of his materials, must feel painfully that he can construct of them no narrative commensurate with the importance and traditional estimation of this portion of the denomination.

At the beginning of the period George Pickering appears on the Dover Circuit, Del; and though he had, as already intimated, a brief previous training in the itinerancy of the South, yet he legitimately belongs at this time to the Methodism of the middle states, being not only a laborer in its field, but having entered the Church and begun to preach in Philadelphia. He was born in Talbot County, Md., in 1769, converted in St. George's Church, Philadelphia, when eighteen years old, and almost immediately began his public labors. In 1790 he was received on probation by the Conference. He lived to be the oldest active preacher in the itinerancy, and in his semi-centenary sermon remarked: "When I joined there were but about five conferences, two hundred and twenty-seven traveling preachers, forty-six thousand white, and eleven or twelve thousand colored members. Five or six only of those ministers are now living, and I only continue in the itinerancy. I am now an old man, and shall not labor much longer with you; but go on, my brethren, preach Jesus, preach with the Holy Ghost. Preach to the people the blessed doctrine of holiness, it is the only thing that will bind the Methodist Church together. Pray for me, my brethren, and the blessing of an old man be upon you." He said this in 1840, in the far East, where he then stood a pillar of New England Methodism, and a patriarch of the denomination, venerated through all its borders.

George Pickering was a rare man in all respects. Any just delineation of him must comprehend the whole man, for it was not his distinction to be marked by a few extraordinary traits, but by general excellence. In person he was tall, slight, and perfectly erect. His countenance was expressive of energy, shrewdness, self-command, and benignity; and in advanced life his silvered locks, combed precisely behind his ears, gave him a strikingly venerable appearance. The exactitude of his mind extended to all his physical habits. In pastoral labors, exercise, diet, sleep, and dress, he followed a fixed course, which scarcely admitted of deviation. In the last respect he was peculiarly neat, holding, with an old divine, that "cleanliness comes next to holiness." He continued to the last to wear the plain Quaker-like dress of the first Methodist ministry, and none could be more congruous with the bearing of his person and his venerable aspect. His voice was clear and powerful, and his step firm to the end.

His intellectual traits were not of the highest, but of the most useful order. Method was perhaps his strongest mental habit, and it comprehended nearly every detail of his daily life. His sermons were thoroughly "skeletonized." His personal habits had the mechanical regularity of clock-work. During his itinerant life he devoted to his family, residing permanently at one place, a definite portion of his time; but even these domestic visits were subjected to the most stringent regularity. During fifty years of married life he spent, upon an average, but about one fifth of his time at home, an aggregate of ten years out of fifty. This rigor may indeed have been too severe. It reminds us of the noble but defective virtue of the old Roman character. If business called him to the town of his family residence at other times than those appropriated to his domestic visits, he returned to his post of labor without crossing the threshold of his home. In that terrible calamity which spread gloom over the land — the burning of the steamer Lexington by night on Long Island Sound — he lost a beloved daughter. The intensity of the affliction was not capable of enhancement, yet he stood firmly on his ministerial watchtower, though with a bleeding heart, while his family, but a few miles distant, were frantic with anguish. Not till the due time did he return to them. When it arrived he entered the house with a sorrow-smitten spirit, pressed in silence the hand of his wife, and, without uttering a word, retired to an adjacent room, where he spent some hours in solitude and unutterable grief. Such a man reminds us of Brutus, and, in the heroic times, would have been commemorated as superhuman.

He pretended to no subtlety, and was seldom, if ever, known to preach a metaphysical discourse. The literal import of the Scriptures, and its obvious applications to experimental and practical religion, formed the substance of his sermons. Perspicuity of style resulted from this perspicacity of thought. The most unlettered listener could have no difficulty in comprehending his meaning, and the children of his audience generally shared the interest of his adult hearers. Bombast and metaphysical elaborateness in the pulpit he silently but profoundly contemned as indicating a lack both of good sense and disinterested purpose in the preacher. It has been said that a man of few words is either a sage or a fool. George Pickering was seldom, if ever, known to occupy three minutes at a time in the discussions (usually so diffuse) of the Annual Conferences, and the directness of his sentences and the pertinence of his counsels always indicated the practical sage.

Almost unerring prudence marked his life. If not sagacious at seizing new opportunities, he was almost infallibly perfect in that negative prudence which attains safety and confidence. No man who knew him would have apprehended surprise or defeat in any measure undertaken by him after his usual deliberation. His character was full of energy, but it was the energy of the highest order of minds, never wavering, never impulsive. He would have excelled in any department of public life which requires chiefly wisdom and virtue. As a statesman, he would always have been secure, if not successful; as a military commander, his whole character would have guarantied that confidence, energy, discipline, and foresight which win victory more effectually than hosts.

In combination with these characteristics, and forming no unfavorable contrast with them, was his well-known humor. I have already attempted to account for the prevalence of this trait among the early Methodist itinerants. It seemed natural to the constitution of Pickering's mind. In him, however, it was always benevolent. It seldom or never took the form of satire. It was that "sanctified wit," as it has been called, which pervades the writings of Henry, Fuller, and other old religious authors in our literature, and the smile excited by it in the hearer was caused more by an odd and surprising appositeness in his remarks or illustrations, than by any play of words or pungency of sentiment.

The moral features of his character were pre-eminent, yet they blended too much into a whole to admit of individual prominence. No one virtue stood out in relief amid a multitude of contrasting defects. Had he lived in the days of the Roman Commonwealth he might have competed with Cato for the Censorship; not so much, however, from his rigorous construction of the morals of others, as by the rigorous perfection of his own. He had an unwavering faith in the evangelical doctrines. "Christ, and him crucified," was the joy of his heart, the ground of his hope, and the theme of his preaching. His zeal was ardent, but steady, never flickering through fifty-seven years of ministerial labors and travels. It gave peculiar energy to his discourses. For more than half a century his armor was never off; but he was always ready for every good word and work. He was incessant in prayer, and who ever heard from him a languid supplication? He continued to the last the goodly habit, common among his early associates in the ministry, of praying after meals in any company, however casual or vivacious the circle. He was a man of one work, the ministry of reconciliation; and of one purpose, the glory of God. We shall soon meet him again in his Eastern field.

Ezekiel Cooper was, down to our own day, one of the representative men of Methodism, and was particularly prominent during most of the present period by his superior abilities in the pulpits of New York and Philadelphia. Like Wells and Pickering, he became one of the founders of the Church in New England, lived long enough to attain the distinction of being the oldest member of any Methodist conference in the western hemisphere, and only one survived in the old world who had preceded him. He was born in Caroline County, Md., February 22, 1763. His father was an officer in the Revolutionary army. Freeborn Garrettson came into the neighborhood, as we have seen, and proposed to preach. The soldiers were at that time upon duty; they were drawn up in front of the house, and formed into a hollow square, while Garrettson stood in the center and addressed them. During his sermon his attention was attracted by the thoughtful aspect of a boy leaning upon a gate, and apparently absorbed in the discourse. That boy became the distinguished evangelist, Ezekiel Cooper.

He commenced his itinerant ministry in 1785, on Long Island Circuit. In 1786 he traveled East Jersey Circuit. There were then but ten Methodist preachers in the entire state, and only about twelve hundred members; but when he died New Jersey had become an annual conference, with one hundred and forty preachers, and more than thirty thousand members. After 1785 he traveled successively Trenton, N.J., Baltimore, Annapolis, Md., (two years,) and Alexandria, D. C., Circuits. We miss him in the Minutes of 1792, but in 1793 he reappears in them as presiding elder of Boston District, which comprehended the whole Methodist field in the eastern portion of New England, taking in the province of Maine, and extending to the mouth of the Providence River. His word was in great power, and often characterized by profound theological exposition, such as interested New England taste by its logical acumen, while it smote the conscience by its hortative force. He left the East in one year, and labored at Brooklyn and New York. He spent four years in Philadelphia and Wilmington, two at each respectively, and in 1799 took charge of the book business of the Church as "editor and general agent." His abilities for this office were soon shown to be of the highest order. He gave to the "Book Concern" that impulse and organization which has rendered it the largest publishing establishment in the new world. After managing its interests with admirable success for six years, during which its capital stock had risen from almost nothing to forty-five thousand dollars, he resumed his itinerant labors, and continued them in Brooklyn, New York city, Wilmington, Del., Baltimore, etc., for eight years, when he located. He remained in the latter relation during eight years, when he re-entered the effective ranks, but was soon afterward placed on the supernumerary list in the Philadelphia Conference. He continued, however, for many years to perform extensive service, traversing many circuits, visiting the Churches, and part of the time superintending a district. During the latter part of his life he resided in Philadelphia.

His personal appearance embodied the finest ideal of age, intelligence, and tranquil piety. His frame was tall and slight, his locks white with years, his forehead high and prominent, and his features expressive of reflection and serenity. A wen had been enlarging on his neck from his childhood, but without detracting from the peculiarly elevated and characteristic expression of his face. He was considered by his ministerial associates a "living encyclopedia" in respect not only to theology, but most other departments of knowledge, and his large and accurate information was only surpassed by the range and soundness of his judgment. He sustained a pre-eminent position in the Church during most of its history.

One of his brethren, who followed him to the grave, wrote: "After becoming superannuated he labored extensively in the work, preaching at camp-meetings, quarterly-meetings, and other occasions, with great power and success. He continued to preach occasionally, till near the close of life, with general acceptability and profit to the people. His sickness was rather short, nor could I learn that his sufferings were very severe. When asked respecting his state of mind, he invariably answered, 'Calm and peaceful.' On one occasion, after having been engaged in prayer some time, he broke out in praise, and shouted, 'Halleluiah! halleluiah!' for about a dozen times. On a subsequent occasion his joy was greatly ecstatic, and he praised God aloud. For a few days before he died he said little, but was calm and peaceful, till on Sunday, the 21st of February, 1847, the weary wheels of life stood still at last, and he sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. He was a man of respectable connections, with a mind disciplined in early life, of great logical and argumentative powers, fully stored by reading and observation, and a most powerful antagonist to those who would encounter him. In the defense and publication of truth he never shrank or faltered, and as he was a companion and fellow-laborer with Jesse Lee in New England, he was often called upon to contend against the errors of the times both in public and private. He fell in his Master's service, and entered upon his reward, aged eighty-four years, and in the sixty-second of his ministry." [1] "He became one of the most able pulpit orators of his day. At times an irresistible pathos accompanied his preaching, and, in the forest worship, audiences of ten thousand would be so enchanted by his discourses that the most profound attention, interest, and solemnity prevailed. In public debate he possessed powers almost unequaled, and he seldom advocated a measure that did not prevail. He always treated his opponents with great respect, and the preachers called him Lycurgus, from his great knowledge and wisdom. He became very frugal and saving, which was probably caused by his long life of celibacy; but this frugality did not seem to arise from an avaricious spirit, for he was liberal to the poor, especially poor widows. His estate was valued at fifty thousand dollars, and the part left to benevolent objects, it is said, failed of its good mission in consequence of an imperfect codicil. He was known as a great angler; like Isaak Walton, he carried his fishing-tackle with him, and was ever ready to give a reason for his recreation. Bishop Scott says that his walking-cane was arranged for a fishing-rod, and he always had on hand scriptural argument to prove that fishing was an apostolical practice. On one occasion, when he returned from an excursion without catching anything, a preacher was much disposed to laugh at his poor success. 'Never mind,' said the reverend old angler, 'although I have caught nothing, while watching my line I have finished the outlines of one or two sermons.' So his time had not been idly spent. He published but little, except his long sermons on the death of Bishop Asbury and John Dickins. They are biographically valuable, but his talent as a preacher very evidently exceeded his ability as an author. He lived to see the population of our country multiply from three to twenty millions, and the membership of his Church increase from fifteen thousand to more than a million. When he entered the ministry (1784) there were only eighty-three ministers in all the conferences; at his death they had increased to five thousand." [2]

John McClaskey's name has repeatedly appeared in our narrative. During these times he was leader, as presiding elder, of a host of powerful men on the Philadelphia and New Jersey districts, the latter including all the state and a part of that of New York. He also occupied the stations of Baltimore and Philadelphia at intervals of this period. He was one of the Methodistic apostles of his day. He was born in Ireland in 1756, came to America when about sixteen years old, and settled in Salem, N.J., was converted in 1782, and shortly after began to exhort, and, later, to preach "with uncommon success." [3] Full of zeal and Irish ardor, he joined the itinerant band in 1785, and the next year was admitted to the Philadelphia Conference. Down to 1790 he labored in New Jersey, and, with Abbott and others, extended the Church over most of the state. He continued to be one of the most prominent evangelists of the middle states till 1814, when his health failed, and he fell, with a triumphant death, at the head of the Chesapeake District. His last sermon, preached at Church Hill, Queen Anne Circuit, was from Isaiah lxi, 1-3, and was peculiarly solemn and powerful. After suffering severely he died at Chestertown, Md., on the second of September, 1814. In his last sufferings he was heard often to sing

"Surely Thou wilt not long delay;

I hear his Spirit cry,

'Arise, my love, make haste away,

Go, get thee up, and die.'

He held a high rank among the many gifted preachers which Ireland has given to American Methodism, and was a natural orator, with a fervid imagination, a warm heart, and a singular readiness of speech. "He had but to open his mouth," says one of his contemporaries, "and right words and right thoughts flowed forth unbidden." [4] His enthusiasm in the pulpit frequently rose into sublime and irresistible power. His voice had uncommon sweetness, and he could command it as a flute or a trumpet. His aspect and mien were noble. "John McClaskey," says the same authority, "was stationed in New York when I joined the Conference, and it devolved upon him to deliver an address to the young men after they had been examined. That address, I well remember, appeared to me exceedingly appropriate and impressive. He dwelt with much earnestness on the importance of adhering rigidly, in our preaching, to the great truths of the Gospel. 'You may be tempted,' said he, 'to think that you must go on and leave first principles;' and he then related an anecdote of one preacher having said of another that he 'told old Adam's story too much;' 'but,' he added, 'you must not fail to tell old Adam's story; you must bring out the great fundamental doctrine of man's depravity, or you cannot hope that souls will be saved by your preaching.' I was exceedingly impressed on that occasion by his personal appearance. He was a very large, portly man, of full face, ruddy complexion, fine countenance, and his raven black hair parted, and hung down loosely upon his shoulders. John Brodhead, Peter Moriarty, and several other fine-looking men were sitting with him, and, as I looked at them with no small degree of admiration, I could not forbear to say within myself; 'With such men we can take the world.' He was undoubtedly regarded as among the most forcible and able preachers we had among us in his day. He exerted great influence upon the general affairs of the Church. His sound judgment and great wisdom rendered him an excellent counselor, and his uncommon energy rarely failed to accomplish any purpose to which his efforts were directed." Like not a few of the itinerants of that age, and especially the Irish ones, he was habitually genial, and addicted to humor in spite of his ministerial toils and sufferings, and also a constitutional tendency to occasional depression. "He knew how to give and take a joke as well as any other man."

Lawrence McCombs began his travels at the beginning of this period, a youth of twenty-three years, full of strength and ardor. He was born in Kent County, Del., in 1769, joined the Philadelphia Conference in 1792, and traveled Newburgh Circuit, which extended from the southern boundary of New York to beyond Albany, and, including the whole range of the Catskill Mountains, stretched away into the valley of the Wyoming. "His power of physical endurance," remarks one of his friends, "may be inferred from the fact that, while traveling this immense field, he preached twice nearly every day of the week, and on each Sabbath either three or four times. To reach the villages and little settlements dotting the country his traveling was all on horseback, and through a region whose extensive wildernesses were, for the most part, the undisturbed abode of the wolf and the panther. Here this intrepid young man urged his way over mountains, and through valleys, stirring the community wherever he came with hymn and sermon, until the wilderness and solitary place were made glad. His popularity became almost unbounded, and, from the very commencement of his ministry, crowds attended his appointments. There were few church edifices, and his preaching during the milder season was chiefly in the fields." [5] His subsequent labors, for more than forty years, were in New England (for five years) and the middle states as far as Baltimore. He became one of "the giants of those days." "No hostility could intimidate him in the course of duty, nor could any provocation betray him into petulance or resentment. His perceptions were quick and clear, and his judgment sober and impartial. He had a fine imagination, which, being restrained and regulated by his admirable taste, gave beauty and warmth to all his pictures. His personal appearance was very imposing. In stature he was full six feet in height, with a finely developed form, though not corpulent; the breadth of his chest indicated the prodigious strength which enabled him to perform his almost gigantic labors. The general expression of his countenance betokened intelligence, gentleness, and energy, while his full, frank face was illumined by his ever kindling eye. His voice was full, clear, and of great flexibility, sweeping from the lowest to the highest tone, and modulated in the most delicate manner, in beautiful harmony with his subject. In preaching in the field, which was his favorite arena, I used to think he was quite an approach to Whitefield. Such was his known power at camp-meetings that the announcement that he was to be present on such an occasion would draw a multitude of people from great distances. I have never witnessed such an immense throng on any other occasion as I have known him at such times to address; but those who stood at the greatest distance from him could hear every word with perfect distinctness, and the most profound attention and solemnity usually pervaded his audience. McCombs was always an active and influential member of the Conference. With the founders of the Church he had been in intimate personal relations, having been admitted by them to the work within eight years after the Church was organized upon an episcopal basis. Enjoying the fullest confidence of these men, and of the first bishops, who afterward manifested their confidence in him by soliciting his counsel, it was not strange that his opinions were regarded by his Conference with the profoundest respect. Many of his most intimate friends in the ministry, including Ware and Morrell, had been active soldiers in the war of the Revolution, and brought a spirit of heroism with them into the ministry, which accorded well with the spirit of his other colleagues — Garrettson, Cooper, and many more — who were no less intrepid as standard-bearers in 'the sacred host of God's elect.' Outliving these in effective service, McCombs was, in some respects, the link by which the first and third generations of preachers were held together. He therefore the more readily secured that confidence to which he was so well entitled by his high ability, his sterling integrity, and his manifold sacrifices in aid of the cause." [6]

He had his faults, however. A high authority remarks that "he was a man of genial and cheerful spirit, and greatly enjoyed society; though there was a tendency, in the latter part of his life, to melancholy and impatience. Nor was it easy for him to learn that lesson, which all must learn who live to old age, 'He must increase, but I must decrease.' As a preacher, he had great power over the masses. He dealt much in controversy, but was not a close thinker, and his style was diffuse, and even wordy. [7] As he warmed in speaking he had a singular habit of elevating, I think, his right shoulder by sudden jerks. He wore his hair combed smoothly back, and, being long, it fell somewhat upon his shoulders. His countenance was of an open and benevolent expression. His whole appearance was attractive and impressive, suggesting repose of mind, sympathy, self-possession, and authority." [8]

Dr. Thomas F. Sargent was also one of the chiefs of the ministry of these times. One of his most intimate itinerant associates says: "His stature was about six feet, his figure portly and imposing, his features were handsome, and the whole contour of his countenance indicated a natural nobility and generosity. He appeared like one born to command. When I was stationed in Philadelphia, and by circumstances thrown a good deal into his company, I had the means of forming a full appreciation of his character, and I have seldom known a nobler or truer man, or one more firm in principle, frank in manners, or honorable in conduct. He had a lofty sense of honor, and an absolute loathing for everything mean or despicable. Like many combining such traits, with the elements that contribute strength of character, he sometimes expressed himself strongly and warmly in regard to anything reprehensible. It is not therefore to be wondered at that he sometimes made enemies; but, on the other hand, he secured warm and enduring friendships, for his affections were as strong as his sentiments were noble, and his manners frank and cordial." [9]

His sudden death in the pulpit startled the whole Methodist public, for he was generally known. "For some weeks before the awful event," writes his wife, "the Lord was drawing him very near to himself; and preparing him for his great change. He was always kind; but there was now an unusual kindness and tenderness to the children and myself; and uncommon fervor and unction attended his prayers both in the family and in public. His preaching is much talked of; especially his Christmas morning sermon. His prayer in the family that morning will never be forgotten. O, my dear children, let us take comfort, and follow him, as he followed Christ! On Sabbath morning he rose as usual, and then breakfasted. Just before going to church he observed that his breakfast did not set well. We went, however, and Brother Elliott preached, and your father made the concluding prayer, which was most comprehensive and delightful. He ate a very light dinner, and observed that, as he had to preach at night, he would not go out in the afternoon. I went, and took the four youngest children with me. When we returned he was lying on the sofa. I said to him, 'Why, dear, I find you where I left you.' He replied, 'Yes; but I have not been here all the time. I have been preparing to preach. I wish you would hurry coffee; I think it will help my head, which aches.' We soon had coffee. He drank two cups, ate but little, and said, on rising from the table, 'Don't hurry yourselves; I'll go on to the meeting.' " [10] Soon the melancholy tidings were brought to the door that he was taken sick in the church. The family hastened thither, but found him stretched on a pallet, below the pulpit, dead.

Thomas Morrell is one of the most familiar names in our early records, as an able preacher, an itinerant of long and very general service, and a traveling companion of Asbury. He was born in the city of New York, November 22, 1747. [11] His mother was a member of Embury's first class; but the family removed early to Elizabethtown, N. J., where there were no Methodists, and joined the Presbyterian Church. At the very outbreak of the Revolution young Morrell harangued his fellow-youth of the town on the news from Lexington and Concord, formed a company of volunteers, and he them to the army. He was honored by Congress with commissions as captain and major. He was severely wounded in the battle of Long Island, and shared in other hard service of the war. Dr. Murray, a distinguished Presbyterian pastor at Elizabethtown, who preached his funeral sermon, and learned his history by frequent conversations with him in his latter years, says that "on the fatal 2th of August, 1776, he and his company were in advance of the main army on the Heights of Flatbush, and received the first attack of the British. As the result of the battle, three thousand freemen were either killed, wounded, or made prisoner. Morrell's company was nearly cut to pieces, but few of them remaining. He himself lay wounded on the field, having received a ball in his right breast, which passed through his body about an inch above his lungs, fracturing his shoulder-blade, and a lighter wound in his hand. As the enemy came up in pursuit of the flying Americans, he called to the commander of the advanced body to send a man to take him off, a he was severely wounded; when, instead of assistance, several muskets were leveled and fired at him in a moment. He fell, feigning himself dead, and they passed on. Shortly afterward he was taken from the ground by a young volunteer, and was carried on a hurdle [Oxford Dict. hurdle = a portable rectangular frame strengthened with withes or wooden bars, used as a temporary fence etc. — DVM] to New York, and thence to his father's house in Elizabethtown by six soldiers, permitted by Washington himself to perform this kind service. On the approach of Lord Cornwallis to Elizabethtown he was removed to New Providence, to the house of the Rev. Jonathan Elmer, where, by the blessing of God accompanying medical skill and attention, he finally recovered. Before the wounds received at Flatbush were entirely healed there was sent to him a commission as major of the Fourth Jersey Regiment of the Continental Army, commanded by Colonel Ephraim Martin and Lieutenant Colonel Brearly. He accepted the appointment, and was out through nearly the whole campaign of 1777. On the 11th of September of that year he was at the battle of Brandywine, one of the hottest engagements of the whole Revolution. He belonged to the division which guarded the passage of Chadsford with great gallantry, but which eventually gave way under the furious assault of Knyphausen. In this engagement the regiment of Major Morrell suffered most severely. It was on this bloody day that Lafayette received the wound in his leg that sent him halting to his grave. At this time Major Morrell's health seemed to be rapidly declining; but such was his ardor in his country's cause that he could not bring himself to retire from active duty. And; notwithstanding his great feebleness, we find him, on the night of the third of October, marching to the attack of Germantown. The attack commenced on the morning of the fourth, at the dawn of the day, and the battle raged with great violence nearly to its close. Major Morrell was in the hottest of it. And, though not entirely successful, this engagement gained for the army of Washington unfading laurels. Here closes the major's military career. His health being now so much reduced as to disqualify him altogether for active service, Washington reluctantly gave his assent to his retirement, regretting to part with so skillful and brave an officer. After thus serving his country, amid perils by sea and by land, by night and by day, for nearly two years, he retired to his father's house in Elizabethtown, and again engaged with him in mercantile. pursuits." [12]

He always retained the friendship of Washington, and personally conducted, as we have noticed, the official interview of the Methodist bishops with the great first president in 1789, in which the denomination was the first of American Church to recognize publicly the new government.

Notwithstanding the piety of his Methodist mother, Morrell continued unconverted till about his thirty-eighth year, when John Haggerty, one of the noted itinerants of the time, entered Elizabethtown, and, inquiring for a lodging place, was directed to the home of the Morrells as the only one in which a Methodist might find a welcome, for no society had yet been formed in the town by the denomination. Young Morrell had heard his mother relate wonders of the early struggles and successes of her people in New York, and the youth listened with eager interest to the sermon of Haggerty under his own father's roof, "It was from the text, 'God so loved the world,' etc. He was awakened under it, and after a few months was converted. The foundation of Methodism in Elizabeth was laid at that time, and it continues still to prosper there notwithstanding formidable obstacles. Haggerty was the first Methodist preacher Morrell ever heard. At his earnest solicitation, about three months after his conversion, the latter abandoned a lucrative business, 'and commenced preaching in different places, his appointments being made by Haggerty as he passed round the circuit.' One of his first efforts as a preacher was made 'at the house of his uncle, at Chatham, Morris County, N. J. Having been its officer in the army of the Revolution, and for several years subsequently a merchant in Elizabeth, he was widely known, and a very large assembly convened to hear the 'major' preach, especially as he had joined the sect everywhere spoken against. This was his third or fourth effort, and was, by himself; deemed an utter failure. He then concluded that he was not called of God to preach, and would not make the attempt again. Early the ensuing morning, while at breakfast at his uncle's, there was a knock at the door. A lady entered, desiring to see the preacher of the previous evening. In a few moments another came, and then an old man upon the same errand, all of whom had been awakened under the sermon deemed by him a failure. They had come to learn the way of salvation more perfectly. The doctrine to them was new, as they had been brought up under Calvinistic influences. He of course recalled his purpose to preach no more, and was encouraged to go forward. [13]

There were probably no Methodists in Chatham at this time. This successful "failure" of Morrell's sermon founded its Church. The local historian says that 'very soon afterward there was a society of Methodists there, and some time previous to 1790, probably about 1786 or 1787, they projected a chapel; but their number being small, and their means limited, they were led to accept a proposal made by persons not members of the society, but who appeared friendly, and who offered to assist them in building the structure, provided it should be free to all denominations. To this the Methodists consented, one person giving timber, another boards, etc., and the house was accordingly erected. The society held their public service in it for a considerable time; but in the course of years the free enterprise resulted in disputes, and at length the house was pulled down. Brainerd Dickinson was the leader of the first class, and the chief man in the society for a number of years. He was a Revolutionary soldier, and served in the battle of Monmouth. He died about 1819.

Haggerty kept Morrell hard at work on the circuit, moving rapidly himself; and announcing appointments for the young itinerant, who followed fast after him. He was received by the Conference in 1787, and appointed to Staten Island Circuit, which included his native town. He subsequently labored in the cities of New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Charleston. It was near the end of 1791 that he left his station at New York to accompany Asbury to the South. His experience as a soldier gave zest to the adventures which he had to share with the bishop on this tour. "He used," says one of the Church chroniclers, "to relate an amusing anecdote that occurred during his travels with the bishop. Tea was not as plenty [plentiful] then as now, and many families did not use it, and some who were in retired places had never seen any. Even the great Valentine Cook, when he went to Cokesbury College, had never seen any tea, and as he looked a little pale, some one inquired what was the matter. He said he did not think the broth (the tea) agreed with him. Bishop Asbury used to carry it with him in a paper in his saddle-bags. Morrell and he put up in a retired place as they were on their journey, and as the bishop was fatigued, he felt that a little tea would refresh him, and, as the family had none, he took the paper from his saddle-bags and reached it to the woman of the house, requesting her to make some tea. When they sat down to the table she brought it on. She had boiled the whole of it, thrown away the juice, and spread the leaves all out on a plate, and said, 'Help yourselves to tea.' "[14]

Morrell had worked excessively hard before leaving New York with the bishop; when he went there he found but three hundred members, and left more than six hundred; but he had overtasked his strength, and was now taken by Asbury to the South to save his life. He was left by the bishop at Charleston, and made an effective stand against the hostility of Hammett, publishing an able pamphlet in reply to his attacks on Asbury and Coke. Coke, Asbury, and Wesley became his correspondents, and he stood forth now among the foremost men of American Methodism, occupying the most important stations of the Church till 1804, when, his health again failing, he was compelled to retire to Elizabethtown, where, however, he continued to labor as a supernumerary, "preaching as often as when he traveled," for sixteen years, and building up the denomination in all that region.

He lived to an extreme age, with the veneration of his fellow-citizens and his Church, as veteran both of the Revolution and of Methodism. On the 1st of January, 1838, he wrote in his journal the grateful testimony of a happy old man and a trustful saint: "Through the tender mercy of God, I have lived to see the beginning of another year, being now ninety years, one month, and nine days old — a longer period than any of our family have lived. I have many things to be thankful for — my life being prolonged to so advanced an age, having the faculties of my mind in perfect exercise, my health tolerably good, sleep sound, appetite good, my wife in health, my children all religious and in health, my son successful as a preacher, my soul devoted to God, and plenty of temporal things. Would to God I was more thankful, more holy, more heavenly-minded. This morning I have devoted my soul and body to God; and though I am unable to preach as formerly, yet I am endeavoring by grace to walk with God. The Church here is in a low state. Lord, revive thy work in my soul, and in our and the other Churches, for Christ's sake. Amen and Amen."

On the 9th of the following August he died with the "full assurance of hope." Shortly before expiring he exclaimed, "Though I walk through the valley and shadow of death I will fear no evil, for the Lord is with me." "Why do you weep?" he said to his sobbing wife, "I am going to glory!" "I have gotten the victory," He later exclaimed, and died faintly uttering "All is well!"

Like most of the early Methodist preachers, formed on the model of Wesley and Asbury, he was a man of thoroughly defined habits and character. He was an early riser, scrupulously temperate and frugal, and punctual to preciseness. "He never put off the work of one day to another, or of one hour to another. Hence every thing around him and belonging to him was in order. It was also one of his standing rules, to owe no man any thing but love; and, at the hour of his departure, there was not probably a man living to whom he owed a penny. In his person he was very neat. He suffered nothing to come under his eye which he did not scrutinize, and from which he did not draw some useful lesson. He possessed great energy and activity. He never desired rest on this side the grave. As long as he could ascend the pulpit, he preached the Gospel. He was always occupied with something; and hence, to the very last, he was cheerful. He carried with him, down to extreme old age, the freshness, buoyancy, and energy of youthful feeling, and the entire capability of attending to all his business with the utmost punctuality and accuracy. He was a pungent, practical, and at times a powerful preacher. And when he denounced the wrath of God against the impenitent, he did it with an authority and power which spread awe and solemnity over the whole assembly. In feeling, and doctrine, and Church polity, he was a decided Methodist; but toward other evangelical denominations he was as liberal as the Gospel which he preached. He was, in fine, a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of faith. His appearance was unique and striking. He was rather short in stature, but strongly built. His neck was short, his head not large, his eye bright and blue, his lips thin, and his whole appearance indicative of much more than ordinary firmness. He always wore a covering on his head, like a smoking cap, from beneath which his hair fell gracefully on his neck. For his age his step was quick, and his conversation vivacious. He always appeared as if dressed for company. He wore a long frock-coat buttoned to his chin, and, without the least ostentation, was a man of the old school. His memory was retentive to the last, and his senses seemed unimpaired by years, so that, when in the humor of talking, he would give the most truthful and thrilling narratives of the various scenes, military and missionary, through which he had passed. Up to a short time before his death he was not only an interesting, but an amusing companion." [15]

Thomas Ware was active in the itinerancy during our present period. After spending a part of 1792 on Staten Island Circuit, then reaching far into New Jersey, he was appointed presiding elder on the Susquehanna District, a vast and rugged field, comprising six large circuits. Between two of these circuits, Flanders and Wyoming, he says "the way on the Susquehanna was dreary enough; and from thence to Tioga all but impassable, especially in winter. The first time I attempted this tour in the winter, when I came to the mountain through which the river passes, the road being full of ice, it was impossible to keep it; so I had no alternative but to turn back and take the ice in the river. I was afterward told that it was believed no person had ever passed the dangerous defile in this way before. In several places there were chasms in the ice of several feet in width running nearly across the river, occasioned by the waters falling until the ice, resting upon the ridges of rocks underneath, was broken. Over these my horse had to leap. But a greater danger arose from the wearing of the ice by the current below, so that in some places it was plainly to be seen. Protected by a kind Providence, however, I passed safely through. At this time none seemed to care for those poor people in the wilderness except the Methodists."

And yet the self-sacrificing evangelists who were bringing to them the Gospel, had to bear not only the hardships of the wilderness, but no little hostility and persecution. They broke their way effectively, how ever, into all those mountainous regions, and have left their shining trails almost everywhere among them.

In 1793 Ware took charge of Garrettson's great field, or, at least, the northern part of it, then called the Albany District. "It was," he writes, "immensely large, and the country principally new. Accommodations for the preachers were, for the most part, poor, and the means of their support extremely limited." While passing through one of the circuits, soon after he came on the district, he called at the preacher's house, who happened at that time to be at home. It was near noon, and he, of course, must dine there. The poor itinerant had a wife and seven children; and their bill of fare as one blackberry pie, with rye crust, without either butter or lard to shorten it. After they had dined, and Ware was about to depart, he put a few dollars into the hands of his suffering brother, who, on receiving them, sat down and wept so heartily that Ware could not avoid weeping with him. "The Lord was with us," he adds, "in a very glorious manner, at some of our quarterly meetings, during the first quarter; and there appeared to be a general expectation that he would do still greater things for us throughout the vast field we had to cultivate. Here, as in Tennessee, there were multitudes of people wholly destitute of the Gospel, until it was brought to them by the Methodists."

There were many small settlements without any religious provisions whatever till the itinerants reached them. They flew from one to another, preaching continually, and in our day we see the results of their labors and sufferings in prosperous Churches, studding all the "parts of four states" which, says Ware, were "embraced in my district." He had a corps of indomitable men under his command, such as Hezekiah C. Wooster, Elijah Woolsey, Aaron Hunt, James Coleman, Shadrach Bostwick, John Finnegan, and many others — men who could not fail to awaken a sensation of public interest, favorable or hostile, wherever they appeared. Through incredible labors and sufferings they were now laying the broad foundations of Methodism along most of the extent of the Hudson. "Here," writes Ware, "I experienced, for the first time in my life, what Milton means by 'joint-racking rheums.' " "Although most of the preachers on the district were young in years, or the ministry, or both, and a heavy tide of opposition bore down upon us, yet under the direction of our divine Guide we were enabled to stem the torrent; and at the end of each year we found that we had gained a little, and had acquired some more strength and skill to use the weapons of our spiritual warfare. At some of our quarterly meetings the sacred influence was so evidently present that it neutralized all opposition, and we seemed, as the boatman descending the Mohawk in time of flood, to have nothing to do but to guide the helm."

We have already noticed the extraordinary rise of Methodism in the Wyoming, Cumberland, and Tioga regions, and the outspread of the Hudson River District, by Garrettson and Ware's itinerants, to those then remote fields — the labors of Anning Owen, Nathaniel B. Mills, and William Colbert. [16] Ware's trials among the Tioga wilds were fully shared by his associates. Colbert set out from the General Conference of 1762 for this wilderness, confronting wintry hardships most of the way, and arriving at Nanticoke, in Wyoming Valley, by the second of December. The next day he writes: "This morning set off for Tioga; got to Lackawanna in the afternoon, where I fed my horse at Baldwin's tavern, on the bank of the Susquehanna. I traveled on, thinking that when I got to Dalytown I would get some refreshment for myself; but I was so unfortunate as to wander into an uninhabited wilderness, till the gloomy wings of starless and moonless night began to cover me. I was miles from the habitation of any human being, in the cold month of December, surrounded by howling, ravening wolves and greedy bears. Inferring from several chunks [extinguished firebrands] lying by a brook that some solitary traveler must have taken up his lodging here, and that there could be no house near, I turned my horse about and measured back my weary steps the rough and solitary way I came. And through the merciful providence of God I returned to the settlement and got a night's quarters at one Scott's, where I thought myself well off in getting a little Indian bread and butter for my supper. After some religious conversation, and prayer with the family, I lay down in a filthy cabin to take a little rest, after a day of hard toil. May the Lord enable me, with true Christian patience and magnanimity of soul, to endure all the hardships incident to traveling life among the hideous mountains before me!" The next day, being impatient, he says, "to see Dalytown, I set out without my breakfast. But, O perplexing! I missed my way again; and after traveling up a lofty mountain found the road wound around down the river, and it brought me in sight of the house I left. I then attempted to keep the river side, but this was impracticable, so I had to turn back again, glad enough to get out of the narrows. This morning break fasted on a frozen turnip. I called at a house, wanting something for me and my horse; but the uncomfortable reply, 'No bread,' again was heard. However, here I got something for my horse, and at a house a little distance off I got something for my almost half starved self at the moderate price of a fivepenny bit. So strengthened and refreshed, I crossed a towering mountain to Dalytown, that long desired place. But how am I mistaken! Instead of finding a tavern here, where man and horse might be refreshed, the ideal Dalytown vanished, and the real one — a smoky log-cabin or two — heaved in view. I lodged at old Mr. Jones'. The old man I met by the way; the old woman and a girl were at home. I spent the evening very agreeably with them, reading the Life of John Haime. May I never murmur at a few hardships in such a work! [17]

The next day he traveled on, sleeping at night in a wretched cabin, with his head "in the chimney-corner." On the following day he "set off;" exclaiming, "It is really hard times with me. I had to sell one of Wesley's funeral sermons for sixpence that I should have had elevenpence for, to help pay my reckoning. I rode six miles before I got anything for my poor horse. At Wigdon's, at Meshoppen, I called for something for my horse, and some smoky, dirty corn was brought. But as for myself; I thought I would wait a little longer before I would eat in such a filthy place. I talked to the filthy woman, who was sitting over the ashes with three or four dirty children in the chimney-corner, about the salvation of her soul. She was kind; she took nothing for what I had; so I proceeded on my journey, and arrived at Gideon Baldwin's, the lowest [furthest south] house on my Tioga Circuit. They received me kindly, and got me something to eat. I have traveled over hills and mountains without breakfast or dinner."

He had thus broken his way through about twenty-five miles, over mountain barriers, almost without food, to the mouth of the Wyalusing. He had now got fairly on his circuit, and bravely went through its labors and privations, fording streams, living on the poorest fare, preaching in cabins, sometimes with "part of the congregation drunk," at others "with children about him bawling louder than he could speak," and receiving, for the four months of his toil, "three dollars and fourteen cents." Ware reaches him ready to share his trials. "We rose early," writes Colbert, "and got into a boat at New Sheshequin, going down the river, which ran through the mountains at all points of the compass, till dark, when we stopped at a cabin by the river side. Here we could get no straw to sleep on; however, Brother Ware fixed himself on a chest, with a bunch of tow for his pillow, and I suppose thought himself well off. For my part, I had to get the hay out of the boat for my bed, part of which a passenger begged." "Though the life of a Methodist preacher is very laborious and fatiguing," he adds, "it is what I glory in!" Such are mere examples of the primitive itinerancy of Methodism in the wilderness; but through such struggles has come the prosperity of later years. The Church is now ineradicably planted throughout most of these valleys. Churches, schools, comfortable houses, all the blessings of advanced Christian civilization, enrich their romantic scenery; and from them have gone forth some of the ablest preachers of the denomination. Its most celebrated American pulpit orator, long a laborer in its institutions of learning, and a bishop in its Southern section, received his first effective religious impressions at one of the humblest appointments of Colbert's Tioga Circuit. [18]

Colbert passed to the Wyoming Circuit, and had similar, if not as severe trials there. From Wyoming he went to Northumberland Circuit. The local Church historian says: "For several months he continued to pass regularly around 'Northumberland and Wyoming.' The Northumberland Circuit at this time seems to have embraced the whole country from the Susquehanna to the Allegheny Mountains, including the Bald Eagle and Juniata countries, Penn's Valley, Buffalo Valley, and the settlements on the West Branch, penetrating in the wilderness as far north as Loyalsocks. This was an ample field, but it was thoroughly explored by the hardy itinerant, who for his labor received little or nothing more of pecuniary compensation than simple sustenance. And the men who were engaged in this toilsome and self-denying work literally 'had no certain dwelling-place.' They no sooner had formed a few acquaintances than they were ordered to another field — a few 'rounds' only, and they were off, hundreds of miles, to some new and strange country." [19]

Asbury appreciated such men. From not only a sympathy with their sufferings, but a real relish for their heroic kind of life, he seemed ever anxious to get among them, and in 1793, as we have seen, he plunged into these Pennsylvania valleys on his northward tour, accompanied by some of the nearest preachers on his route. Colbert exulted in the visit, "very much rejoiced to see four preachers in this part of the world." Only about five years had passed since Anning Owen, "the blacksmith" and itinerant preacher, had formed the first Methodist society of that region at Ross Hill, Wyoming [Valley of Pennsylvania — DVM]. Methodism had fought its way steadily from valley to valley. One hundred and seventy-seven members had been reported, and two circuits organized and supplied with itinerants, who kept the trumpet of the Gospel sounding through all the mountains, though, as Asbury wrote to Morrell, from Wyoming, at this visit, "our poor preachers keep Lent a great part of the year here. Our towns and cities, at least our Conferences, ought not to let them starve." They saved much of the rude population of that early day, and prepared the way for the reception of new settlers, some of who came from the older fields of Methodism, and were fitted to fortify the incipient Church. Thomas and Christian Bowman were examples. Both were local preachers; the first appeared in these regions in 1792, the second in 1793; and both kept a "prophet's chamber" for the itinerant, and opened their homes for preaching till they could build a chapel on their own land. They resided at "River Creek," on the Northumberland Circuit, a place "quite famous for Methodism," and whither Colbert always wended his way with delight. The itinerant, on his first visit, says he "preached in the woods to a few people who came out." A descendant of the Bowman family writes, "that Christian Bowman had moved into the neighborhood from Northampton County, Pa., four miles below the Water Gap on the Delaware, and, with his family, located at the place here mentioned. He arrived in April previous. It was almost an unbroken wilderness; he was one of the first pioneers. Here he erected a tent as a temporary shelter while preparing and gathering materials for the new log-house. There was then no house or other building in which to preach, and Colbert's sermon, preached under the tent, was the first ever delivered in the neighborhood." Colbert was "a born pioneer;" he could not long remain in any one place. Thornton Fleming, a similar evangelist, came along through these yet obscure wildernesses as "elder," and bound on an evangelical exploration of the interior and western parts of New York, "the Lake country." Colbert hailed him with gladness, and they went onward rejoicing and preaching together. Colbert thus becomes transferred temporarily to a new scene, and we can trace him for some time founding societies in that beautiful and flourishing region, now the garden of both the state and the Church, but then dotted with a few settlements "scattered through the wilderness; the hardy settlers sharing the country with the aboriginal inhabitants." He gives us glimpses of the country, which are now surprising. "By the time I rode from Geneva to the ferry on Cayuga Lake I was very hungry. I stopped at the house on the west side of the lake and asked for something to eat, but they told me they had no bread. A pot of potatoes being on the fire, I was glad to get some of them. But, to my great satisfaction, while I was sitting by the potato pot a man came in with a bag of wheat flour on his back. I now procured some bread to eat, and some to take with me, and it was well I did, for when I crossed the lake to Captain Harris', where I lodged, and took supper, they had no bread." "So it was then," adds the chronicler, "in a country where the people now live on the finest of the wheat, and all have an abundance. In 1793 bread was scarce, and in some cases not to be obtained." Colbert returned; but in the year 1794 we find Fleming commanding a district with two long circuits, called Seneca and Tioga. Nova Scotia, with its corps of eight preachers, is also named as pertaining to his district; but the relation of that distant province to it could have been only nominal.

Another notable itinerant appears in this field in 1794 and 1795,Valentine Cook, whom we shall soon hail again in the far West. While Asbury was passing through these valleys he wrote to Morrell that he "had found a vast body of Dutch there," and wished him to dispatch Cook to them, because he could preach in their language. Cook appeared upon the scene, in Wyoming [Valley], in the stormy month of December, 1793, while Colbert retreated to his former field on the Western Shore of Maryland, but to return again in due time. Colbert had spent about a year in sounding the alarm through most of the vast territory comprised within Tioga, Wyoming, Northumberland, and the lakes, "with the greatest zeal and diligence." His success was not satisfactory to him; but the Methodists of our day, in all these prosperous valleys, should gratefully commemorate him as their chief founder. "His seemed to be the work of preparing the way, others entered into his labors." [20]

Valentine Cook now went over the country rousing all its settlements. He was one of the wonders of the primitive Methodist ministry. He was born among the western mountains of Virginia, in the "Greenbriar Country," now Monroe County, about 1765, became a famous hunter, but, having a mind of unusual vigor, devoted himself to study, as far as his local means would admit, and acquired the Greek and Latin languages, and such a knowledge of the German as to speak and preach in it with great fluency. A Methodist itinerant reached the mountains, and young Cook was converted. His father violently opposed him, but he at last prevailed, and introduced family worship into the cabin. Cokesbury College had been opened, and, by the aid of his reconciled father, he made his way thither in 1786, and studied diligently between one and two years. "The habits," says his biographer, "which he there formed were never abandoned. He continued to prosecute his literary, scientific, and theological studies, amid all the changes and vicissitudes to which he was subjected throughout the whole period of his subsequent life."

In 1788 he joined the itinerant ministry, and traveled extensive circuits in Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania, until 1793. In 1794 and 1795 he had charge of the Philadelphia District. In 1796 and 1797 he was appointed to the Pittsburgh District. In 1798 he was sent as a missionary to Kentucky. Few men of his day had more power in the pulpit. A godless hearer remarked, "that he could listen to the Rev. Mr. _____ all day, and sleep soundly all the following night;" but added, "I never get a comfortable night's rest for at least a month after hearing Valentine Cook preach one sermon. He always says something that I can't forget." He was once preaching on the words, "Because there is wrath, beware lest he take thee away with a stroke; then a great ransom cannot deliver thee," when a hearer arose in the congregation, and exclaimed, under great excitement, "Stop! stop till I can get out of this place!" Cook immediately paused, and said, "Let us pray for that man." The man started from his place, but "just as he reached the outskirts of the assembly he sank to the earth, and began to cry aloud for mercy." Valentine Cook literally preached the Gospel "with the holy Ghost sent down from heaven" The historian of Methodism in these wildernesses of Pennsylvania and New York, says, "he had the reputation of a man of learning, and no one doubted that he was a man of decided talents. His sermons took the citadel of the heart by storm. The people in multitudes flocked to hear him, and the power of God attended his preaching in a wonderful manner. When the writer first came to Wyoming [Valley], in 1818, there were many people scattered through the circuit who were converted by his instrumentality, and who regarded him as almost an angel. There are still lingering a number who remember him well, although most of them were mere children when his powerful voice echoed among the valleys and mountains of Northern Pennsylvania and Southern New York. Among the anecdotes which we recollect to have heard of the effects of his powerful sermons, was one concerning a certain Presbyterian deacon. The deacon went out with the multitude to hear the great Methodist preacher. He preached in a grove, and the mass of people waved and fell before his tremendous oratory like the trees of the forest before a terrible tempest. The good deacon began to feel nervous; he thought he would fly, but found his limbs not strong enough to carry him away. He held up by a tree until the excitement had in a manner subsided, and then returned home, resolved fully never to put himself in the way of such strange influences again. 'Why,' said he to his good wife, 'if I had undertaken to get away I should certainly have fallen my whole length on the ground.' Under the impression, or pretending to be, that a sort of charm or witchery attended Cook's' preaching, he could never be prevailed upon to hear him again.

Methodism extended rapidly, under the labors of such men, among the new settlements east of the Cayuga, and between the Cayuga and Seneca Lakes. A circuit was this year formed, called after the latter. In the present day, with the hardly surpassed improvements and intercommunications of this part of New York, we can hardly credit the Methodistic traditions of those early times: the poor fare of the preachers, the hard struggles of the infant societies, the long journeys through forests and over streams and mountains (some times on foot for twenty-five or thirty miles) to hear Colbert, Cook, Fleming, Brodhead, Turck, Smith, and other itinerants at quarterly meetings, and the vast sensation which spread out from these occasions over the new country, stirring up the scattered population to favor or hostility. A letter from Cook to James Smith, one of his preachers, remains, in which he says: "I have now walked near sixty or seventy miles, and am within ten miles of the head of the lakes, at Mr. Weiburn's, who, I somewhat expect, will lend me a beast, as I am obliged to leave my horse with but small hopes of his recovery. Yesterday I walked upward of thirty miles in mud and water, being wet all day without; yet heaven was within. Glory to God! I had three tempters to encounter, the devil, the mosquitoes, and my horse; and the rain and my wet clothes were my element, and God my comforter, and victory my white horse. Hitherto, O Lord, hast thou been my helper, and I trust thou wilt save to the end. Brother Fleming is to take my appointments through Tioga. I mean to overtake him if possible, and get him to attend the quarterly meetings downward in my stead, and so return to the Lakes Circuit in a few weeks, all which I shall have to do afoot if I can't get a horse. You can fix your circuit as you think best, but only appoint for yourself till I come myself, or send one. If Brother Fleming's horse should not be recovered I shall have to go on. My trials are furious, but I am not discouraged." Our local authority says that "his fervent prayers, his powerful sermons, his great meekness and charity, and his profound knowledge of men and things, carried a mighty influence, and made deep and abiding impressions. All felt that a great man had made his appearance in the humble garb of a Methodist preacher. His work was to save souls. He took no reward for his services; his friends at the South replenished his wardrobe as occasion required. Having completed his three years of hard work among the mountains and valleys of the wild Susquehanna and the northern lakes, he recrossed the Alleghenies." [21]

In 1796 he took his leave of the country in a farewell sermon, at a quarterly meeting in Wyoming Valley. It was one of his great occasions. His text was Acts xx, from the 17th verse to the close of the chapter. One of his hearers pronounced the discourse "the most wonderful sermon he had ever heard." "All were melted down, and sighs, groans, and sobs filled the house. The people wept, the preacher wept; and after the sermon a hearty squeeze of the hand of the man of God, with a convulsive utterance of 'Farewell,' was responded to in a most dignified, affectionate manner by the preacher. 'Farewell, brother, farewell, sister; God bless you; be faithful; we shall meet in heaven.' The text was applicable. He left, and they of the valley saw his face no more."

The Minutes of 1796 reported three circuits in this westernmost region of the Northern Methodist field: Wyoming [Valley] with two hundred and twenty-one members, Tioga with one hundred and thirty-eight, Seneca with two hundred and fifteen. It was yet "the day of small things;" the Church was feeble but the Country was new. Methodism was securing and breaking up the fallow ground, and today we witness the growth of both the Church and the country, "shaking like Lebanon."

The denomination extended into many new parts of these Middle States during the present period. The migration of Methodist families, especially of local preachers, founded it in many communities which it had not before reached. The itinerants were incessantly ramifying their circuits to new appointments. In the principal cities it was full of vigor. Philadelphia had reported, in 1792, but three hundred and twenty-eight members; in 1796 it reported five hundred and forty-four. New York had advanced from six hundred and forty-one to seven hundred and eighty-six. Its second or Forsyth Street Church was thronged, and it was already projecting a third, on Duane Street, which was begun in 1797. Little impression had been made on Albany, but it was surrounded by Methodist labors, and was the head of a circuit which reported three hundred and thirty-seven members. Garrettson had dedicated, in 1791, a small church, about thirty-two by forty-four feet, in the city, on the corner of Orange and Pearl streets, but it did not become a station till 1798. Meanwhile ministerial explorations were going on in all the more northern regions. One of the explorers, Richard Jacobs, sacrificed his life, in his mission, in 1798. He belonged to a wealthy congregational family, of Berkshire County, Massachusetts, which had cast him out and disinherited him at his conversion to Methodism. "With his young wife he was thrown penniless upon the world." He joined Garrettson's famous young band of northern pioneers, and, in 1796, left his family at Clifton Park, to make an expedition as far as Essex and Clinton Counties, proclaiming the Gospel among the scattered settlers of that remote region. Many were awakened and converted at Elizabethtown, and, promising them a pastor, he pushed along the western shore of Lake Champlain, preaching as he went, till, joined by a lay companion, he proposed to make his way back to his family, through the Schroon woods to the head of Lake George. For about seven days the two travelers were engulfed in the forests, suffering fearful privations, and struggling against almost insurmountable obstructions. "Their provisions failed; they were exhausted with fatigue and hunger; and, at last, in trying to ford the Schroon River, Jacobs sunk beneath the water and was drowned. All his family," adds the narrator of the sad event, "were converted, three of his sons became ministers, and two of his daughters married Methodist preachers." [22]

There were about forty Methodists in the village of Brooklyn, the germ of a rich harvest; and there were now at 350 on Long Island. Methodism was extending from town to town on this beautiful island. It was introduced, in 1795, into Southhold in a manner so singular that tradition still commemorates the event as a "special providence." A devoted Methodist woman, by the name of Moore, had removed thither from New York city, and, having no satisfactory means of grace, united with two other ladies to meet on Monday evenings and pray, especially that a faithful minister might be sent to them. On her knees, with this supplication, far into the night, the solitary Methodist felt that she received an answer, which seemed to say, "I have heard their cry and have come down to deliver them." She arose with the assurance that He who had taught her to pray for daily bread, had heard this infinitely more important call: At this very time Wilson Lee, whom we have seen heralding the truth in the middle, southern, and western states, had conveyed his trunks on board a vessel at New London, Conn., for New York. He had completed a successful preaching tour in New England, but contrary winds detained him. It is recorded that on the night of Mrs. Moore's prayer he felt an unusual agitation of mind, and a strong impression that he should hasten to Long Island and proclaim his message there. He could not banish this suggestion. He found the next morning a vessel at the wharf about to leave for Southhold, and immediately departed in it. He knew no one in the place, but on arriving and making inquiry he was directed to Mrs. Moore's house. She had never seen him, but readily recognized him, by his appearance, as a Methodist preacher, and invited him with the welcome, "Thou blessed of the Lord, come in." "They mutually explained the circumstances which have been briefly related, and rejoiced with exceeding great joy. A congregation was gathered, and Lee preached to them with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven. A class was soon formed, and Methodism was planted there, and has continued until this day. There was something very singular in all this." [23] From the labors of good Captain Webb to the present time, Methodism has found a fertile soil on Long Island, yielding in our day a harvest of 15,000 members, with 60 pastors.

At the close of the present period there were in the Middle States more than 11,600 Methodists. Delaware reported 2,228; Pennsylvania, 3,011; New Jersey, 2,351; New York, 4,044.

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ENDNOTES

1 Letter of Wm. Livesely to the author.

2 "The Methodist," New York, June 16, 1866.

3 Minutes of 1815.

4 Rev. Dr. Laban Clark, in Sprague, p. 126.

5 Rev. Dr. Kennaday, in Sprague, 211.

6 Kennaday.

7 Clark says, "A Frenchman, after hearing him preach, exclaimed with great enthusiasm, 'Dat man's tongue is hung in the middle, and goes at both ends.' The foreigner was converted, and became a Methodist preacher."

8 Bishop Scott, in Sprague, p. 214.

9 Rev. Dr. Holdich in Sprague, p. 261.

10 Letter to her son Rev. T. B. Sargent.

11 Sprague, p. 147.

12 Sprague, p. 147.

13 Atkinson's "Methodism in New Jersey," p. 318.

14 Wakeley's Lost Chapters p. 377.

15 Murray in Sprague, p. 149.

16 Vo. ii, p. 333.

17 Peck's Methodism, p. 41.

18 Bishop Bascom. The place was called "Captain Clark's," and was at "Old Sheshequin."

19 Peck's Methodism, p. 56.

20 Peck, p. 72.

21 Biographical Sketch of Rev. Valentine Cook, A. M., by Rev. Dr. Stevenson, p. 20. Nashville, 1858.

22 Peck, p. 89.

23 Wakeley's Lost Chapters, p. 406. Bangs also relates the incident in his History of the Church.

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