University of Virginia Library

38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.

On reaching Vincennes our party, as others, were quartered
upon the citizens; and such kindness as belongs preeminently
to the West and South was bestowed upon us
during the week of the convocation.

Vincennes has been the scene of many meetings, civil,
political, ecclesiastical, and military; to say nothing about
Frenchified-Indian-councils and Indianised-French-dances,
and other odd things produced by this amalgamation of the
red and white savages. But now it was the theatre of
two remarkable exhibitions,—the gathering of a Protestant
council, and the erection of a Papistical cathedral!—strange
meeting of light and darkness. And both professed to be
for the propagation of the religion of Jesus Christ.

Now, whether the simple shining of truth in the reading
and preaching of a vernacular Bible, and in the good lives
and examples of puritanic Christians, and without aid from
the civil arm, and without a base indulgence of men's evil

passions and propensities, shall be more potent than a tradition,
dark, bewildering, and uncertain, delivered by doctors
and professors of the faggot and the thumb-screw, admits
a question; but, judging from the success that has
always attended the affectionate embraces of the old woman
with the scarlet mantle, and especially when seated amid
“the wimples and crisping-pins,” the roasters, and boilers,
and toasters of the Inquisition,—from the efficacy of sweet
doses and sugared cups and intoxicating bowls of indulgences
granted to the saints and holy ones, it is more than
likely that the great crowd of such as “love darkness” and
“the wages of unrighteousness,” and “prefer the pleasures
of sin for a season,” will—(and are not such the δι Πολλοι)
will become militant, and on earth triumphant members of
the Holy (?) Catholic (??) Church (???)

In vain, while looking at the sacred walls of the cathedral
rising brick by brick, did I severely chide my antagonist
feelings as heretical pravity; in vain recall the oft-repeated
remark, that we were in the nineteenth century, the age
of courtesy, and charity, and light, and wisdom, and oh!
of ever so many first chop good things beside; in vain remember
that human nature had been gradually refining ever
since the days of Judas Iscariot, till it was now ten per
cent. per annum better and more spiritual and heavenly-minded;
yea, poor sinner that I was, in vain I said this is
the march of mind, and that I was, poor sneaking doubter,
in danger of falling into the rear of my age! Nothing
would do—but my historic readings kept intruding in the
most impertinent and unbecoming manner; and I was abominably
harassed with the fables of the Vaudois—and
Huguenots—and Jerome—and Huss—and St. Bartholomew's,
and Irish, and other massacres, and all such ridiculous
things! Nay, I was plunged most unreasonably
into nasty dungeons, and saw racks, and halters, and augurs,—and,
silly creature, I imagined an auto da fe! and

heard shouts and groans! and smelled incense, faggots and
gunpowder! and even Te Deums for the death of ungodly
heretics wickedly killed by the state, contrary to the entreaties
of the Holy Church! Alas! reprobate that I was,
for reading books proscribed by that Church!—and all those
books got up by folks worthy of no credit—enemies of the
Church and of the Pope,—and who would wickedly tell
when they were tortured, and refused to be damned for
ever by escaping from prison, gibbets and stakes!

And then I said, Oh! you unreasonable man, has not
the Holy Catholic Church long since given up her bloody
persecuting principles, and resolved never to do so again,
if we will only take on her yoke—until she gets the power?
Alas! I thought of political mottos used as ornaments[9] to
secular newspapers, such as “Power steals from the many
to the few;” and of that narrow, bigotted puritanical sentiment,
“The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately
wicked;” and so I turned to contemplate

THE PROTESTANT CONVOCATION.

And I could not but feel grateful to the rightful Head of the
spiritual Church, that here was a little band hated of Rome
and Oxford. For with the men of this conference the true
light had travelled thus far westward, and we hoped it
might shine out far and wide over the noble plains, and
dispel the gloom of the grand forests—since the march of
the mind is only an evil without the march of the Bible.

This Protestant assembly was a gathering of delegates
principally from the land of Hoosiers and Suckers; but
with a smart sprinkling of Corn-crackers, and a small chance
of Pukes from beyond the father of floods, and even one or
two from the Buckeye country. These were not all eminent
for learning, and polish, and dress, wearing neither

gowns nor cocked-hats; although some there were worthy
seats in the most august assemblies any where, and however
distinguished for wit, learning, and goodness. Most
of them, indeed, carried to excess a somewhat false and
dangerous maxim: “better wear out than rust out,”—since
it is better to do neither. And worn truly were they, both
in apparel and body, as they entered the town on jaded
horses, after many days of hard and dangerous travelling
away from their cabin-homes, left far behind in dim woods
beyond rivers, hills and prairies.

And what came they together for? Mainly, I believe,
to preach, to pray, to tell about their successes and disappointments
and encouragements—their hopes, and fears,
and sorrows—to rectify past errors, and form better plans
of doing good for the future—to see, and encourage, and
strengthen one another. Business, in the semi-politico-ecclesiastical
sense, they did little—for of that was but little to do.
And there were few causes of heart burning and jealousy.
No richly endowed professorships, no a là mode congregations
were found in all their vast extent of diocesses—
no world's treasures or places to tempt to divide, to sour!

Truly it was a House of Bishops, if not of Lords: if by
a bishop is meant one that has the care of many congregations,
an enormous parish, abundant religious labours, and a
salary of one or two hundred dollars above nothing. In
the midst of so fraternal and cheerful a band of misters and
brothers, I was constantly reminded of an old saying; “Behold!
how these Christians love one another!” What could
exceed their cordial and reciprocal greetings at each arrival?
What their courtesy in debate? What the deep interest in
each other's welfare?—the lively emotions excited by their
religious narratives and anecdotes? And then their tender
farewells! To many the separation was final as to this
life—but why should that make us sad? They who find

heaven begun on earth, meet beyond the grave, and there
find heaven consummated!

Brother Shrub and myself were entertained, during the
convention week, at the house of a medical gentleman,
eminent in his profession, but addicted, it was said, to profanity
in ordinary conversation. Without a premonition, no
suspicion of so blameworthy a practice could have arisen in
our minds; for no real Christian ever showed guests greater
courtesy, or seemed so far from profaneness than our gentlemanly
host. He did not even annoy us with lady-like
mincings, putting forth the buddings of profanity in “la!
me!—good gracious!” and the like.

But on Sabbath night, our conversation taking a religious
turn, the subject of profane swearing was incidentally
named, when I could not resist the temptation of drawing
a bow at a venture; and so I said:

“Doctor, we leave you to-morrow; and be assured we
are very grateful to Mrs. D. and yourself; but may I say
dear sir, we have been disappointed here?”

“Disappointed!”

“Yes, sir, but most agreeably —”

“In what, Mr. Carlton?”

“Will you pardon me, if I say we were misinformed,
and may I name it?”

“Certainly, sir, say what you wish.”

“Well, my dear sir, we were told that Doctor D. was not
guarded in his language—but surely you are misrepresented
—”

“Sir,” interrupted he, “I do honour you for candour; yet,
sir, I regret to say, you have not been misinformed. I do,
and, perhaps, habitually use profane language; but, sir, can
you think I would swear before religious people, and one of
them a clergyman?”

Tears stood in my eyes (the frank-heartedness of a

gentleman always starts them) as I took his hand, and replied:

“My dear sir, you amaze us! Can it be that Doctor D.,
so courteous and so intelligent a man, has greater reverence
for us than for the venerable God!”

“Gentlemen,” replied the Doctor, and with a tremulous
voice, “I never did before see the utter folly of profane
swearing. I will abandon it for ever.”

Reader, are you profane? Imitate the manly recantation
of my estimable friend, Doctor D.

During the week, in company with some clergymen, we
visited the grave of a young man, who, unavoidably exposed
to a fatal illness in discharging his missionary duties,
had died at Vincennes in early manhood, and far away
from his widow-mother's home. Deep solemnity was in
the little company of his classmates as they stood gazing
where rested the remains of the youthful hero! Dear
young man, his warfare was soon ended—and there he lay
among the silent ones in the scented meadow-land of the
far west! He heard not the voice of the wind, whether it
breathed rich with the fragrance of wild sweets, or roared
around in the awful tones of the hurricane, sweeping over
the vastness of the measureless plains! Nor heard he the
sighs of his comrades—nor saw their sudden tears wiped
away with the stealthy motion of a rapid hand!

To him that visit was vain; not so to us, for we departed,
resolved ourselves to be ready for an early death. And
since then several of that little company of mourners in a
strange land have themselves, and before the meridian of
life, gone down to the sides of the pit!

Are you ready, my reader?

Time is a price to buy eternity!