New York- a bright, active youngster, a close scholar, and a genial and intelligent companion, always busy, and ready to turn his hand to anything that turned up, either when school kept, or the vacation occurred, but always seeking to be useful. His after life turns out to be just what such a youth gave promise of. He is at home in the pulpit, the Senate chamber, or the large political convention, as well as active in the real agricultural improvements which are most sure to enrich and develop the State of his adoption. We have not seen him since he was a young man, but the youth is still fresh in our recollection, and having taken a 'liking' to the boy, we note with feelings of pleasure his career of honor and usefulness through life."

CHAPTER III.

False Theories-Club Life-Westward, ho! — Wisconsin Prairies— Codding, the Abolition Orator- The Home of the BadgerA Volume-A Return East -A Student in Auburn Theological Seminary-First Call to Preach- Union Village, New YorkMy Mother's Death.

FIFTY years ago seems to have been the period not alone of agitation, but of wild theories as to abstinence and privation, to insure a clear brain and the good of an ambitious student. I fell into the procession so far as to enter upon an almost insane extreme in abstinence and physical infliction in Oneida Institute, to attain the greatest good in the briefest period. This was the personal diary resolve: "To escape dullness and promote mental activity with a moral purpose, I abjure high living, the use of coffee and tea, vacate the feather bed, and take up a club regimen where butter and meat are unused, and the hard bed, made by a blanket on a board, shall be my couch. My place I will take as cook, steward, etc., in rotation, and, to save time, will in my turn read while others at the club eat, that we may become more proficient in history, and find themes for discussion outside of dissipating gossip." This is the sequel: The cost of living was reduced to a dollar a week; but the experiment of German scholars, pacing up and down in their halls, without fire, and the theories of bran bread philosophers, are not held to be cardinal virtues in a scholar. After such a régime as led to unpadding the bones, making more than a few hours' continuous sleep a condition of pain, bringing feeble nerves and a weak digestion, there was a demand for outdoor life and the practices of wiser men were adopted after severe delusive trial.

At this crisis, I wrote I could not indulge in a season at Saratoga, and was vain enough to think that I could speak to edification, and that with a dash of an "unfledged reformer" in a heroic role, I might rattle the bones, seemingly very dry, in the valleys of

conservatism. At this time, I made public profession of religion, which was a surprise amidst spiritual iceberg surroundings of a circle of sceptics, where I took up an affirmative defense of the orthodox system. I look back with pleasure on this yielding to conviction of duty, stimulating to a higher life, and preparation for public service. I soon found myself deprecating the yellow trash literature, in the hands of so many students, and advocating the claims of good books, and passing out the publications of the American Tract Society for sale or gift, under a system of colportage. Through my friend, J. M. Clark, I was introduced to the head office in New York, from which I received tempting offers to remain in New York, declining which, I was allowed to be an assistant to my friend, Clark, then at the head of colportage in Wisconsin. With him I found what I coveted-independent humble service in out-door life on what was then the frontier.

WESTWARD, HO!

This was in the summer and fall of 1844, and my first visit to Wisconsin, then a territory. Chicago was not then reached from the East by a railroad, and the staunch steamer "Madison," which was our craft from Buffalo, encountered a rough passage described and known ad nauseam. Nothing seemed to gain a hearing save politics, Polk and Clay being the presidential candidates. Boat discussion prompted the wildest bets, cool men putting up all their money on the result. In one instance, a lady in tears called me aside, saying that her husband had asked for their all, one thousand dollars in gold, which he staked on Polk's election. I had spoken in a social religious meeting in the cabin, and was urged to break up the bet. This was my desire, so I said, "Wait until we reach Cleveland," which we did, and, going ashore, I found that Polk was the victor, and returned to the boat with news which saved the family from penury, for the Clay men were ardent and confident.

We landed at Milwaukee, not the beautiful city of to-day with more than two hundred thousand people - then of seven thousand. The most striking facts were fifty lawyers; also, bands of redmen, painted, and low-necked ponies loaded with pappooses, peltry and baskets. I became a correspondent of the New York Tribune, and sent such florid descriptions of the great country to be, that what I

wrote in letters and of facts, the State printed into a little work, "The Home of the Badgers," to induce emigration to the State. Certainly the people came, and have made a grand State of nearly two millons of people. My destination was Prairieville, distant from the lake, at the home of Jonas M. Clark, to be his lieutenant with his books as my health would admit. Arriving at night in the little town, in my anxiety to see a real prairie, I took a long stroll after daylight to see a virgin realty only as yet read of, detailed my adventure at a late and delayed breakfast, and earned a laugh for a model tenderfoot. There were only fenced farms near, but take these away and houses, and you have our "unshorn gardens," a definition which was a delight to my romantic fancy. Afterward I saw them really flat, in other places the billows of the sea; even a marsh prairie fire, a sight worth a thousand mile trip. I was lost in sight of the now beautiful college town of Waupun, having the light of distant prairie fire and the guide of an Indian hunter, to the site of a saw-mill and a farmer's hospitable roof. An open winter was one of almost fathomless mud, and the malaria was conducive to ague, only kept away by medicine. I have never yet seen a person in a real ague shake.

It was a time of great religious activity and excited discussions on temperance and slavery. Independents and users of a free lance were in demand by the masses, while bright minds, able speakers and abundance of funds, contributed to a political evolution.

Hon. Edward D. Holton, of Milwaukee, still an eminent, good citizen of that city, was then a young orator. Hon. Charles Durkee became a radical Territorial delegate in Congress and United States Senator, while Ichabod Codding made the circuit of the counties as one of the most effective orators of the country. I drop a tear to his memory, and express my admiration for his talents, the companion and peer of Lovejoy. It was of him that Stephen A. Douglas said, "There would be no amusement in debating with him on the prairies of Illinois." In a true emotional mood, he made many weep; in a story there was great merriment, and in denunciation of wrong there were the deep tones of indignation. Missouri slave owners, then in Wisconsin, secretly held their servants, and fleeing fugitives were common. This is a sample of the orator, Codding:

"Would you secrete or turn back the escaped?" was the burn

ing question. The Bible and human instincts were the basis of appeal, and the comparison was the supposition of your child captured by the Indians. The infant is kidnapped, and after years of anguish is given up as lost. Then comes a secret history as to the lost child. "Now the captive is in a wigwam, unable to flee. The father watches for the absence of the braves, and in the dead of night grasps his long-lost boy from the savages. He mounts the swiftest pony! What! Steal a horse? No! Take one, as the drowning cling to a floating plank! In his flight God shields. him from bullets, covers his head, and home is reached. The mother weeps, and kisses her boy; the neighborhood is roused with joy over the rescue. Hark! In the dull prayer-meeting there is praise hallelujah; except when the good deacon hints about taking property, and snatching the boy from the family; don't say what he might do; but 'the Constitution calls on us to send back niggers.' The old mother says they were stolen and the white thief is no better than an Indian kidnapper. Ah, Deacon, would you send them back?'" shouts Codding. There is silence. "I poll the house. All who would send back the white boy, rise." None! Now, what better before God is a white boy than a black one?" Silence again! "All who would send back a panting, fugitive black man, rise." None! "I have won my case. Slaveholding is man-stealing, and tested by the heart, there is only one throb in all ages." This is but the outline of a speech given with the finest imagery and deepest pathos. "Politic lips belie the heart. Throw away your party shackles! Send Durkee to Congress-an Abolitionist, Holton, to Congress-sponsors at the baptismal font when Wisconsin comes into the Union." Durkee was elected.

6

During my visit to the Territory I met the Rev. John Lewis, of New Diggings, whose wife was the daughter of Harlan Page, both of whom were from New York City, and most devoted in their work. Their experiences were as thrilling in story as their labors were salutary in restraint, and elevating in a society where few of the delights of home were possible. In my review of life I count no labor so much appreciated, or affording me so much satisfaction as my service with the now lamented Lewis, and for a people exposed to the temptations of camps and strolling outcasts. Remembrance of home and the finer instincts asked for counsel to the dying, and a funeral service. On one occasion, while Rev. Mr.