Looking back from the sunset land; or, People worth knowing
h'-p^ ^/ iiii '' ^, /'' ^ '^^' " ,7"^ ' ' m9L.^\::^' m^ rf ■43r'^-*Ki yHi ^/■K -..S^h' /ff yf '<: '■^. ■V'{K hP l'i-.^'# \/r^ ^ '♦i« ^ 3 1822 01280 3623 >7,:.j\- X . ^'^:^^^-t^ ^%i // c:^-]'_\y Mh I / ^,. '\" ■fev^i^ ^^.^ \i:7: "/ M ^^>':''-^:K/'P^ >'>ma\ ^//. >^ '<., ^";a..-/I^' I LIBRARY J I UNlVfRStTrOF I I CALIFORNIA / F SAN DIEGO J / ^ Social Sciences & Humanities Library University of California, San Diego Please Note: This item is subject to recall. Date Due U.C.S.D. JANl Ofi ™q m; tW- Ih^lLidiuKAKV JjUi^ti^ ^f^lf: S2±Z D Urf- m QO /C/071 UCSD Lib. P r^ ^^^H 1 m . \»'«. ■ ' ^^^^^^H^^^l ^^^^^^^^^^^H 1 iV ■ A ^ i i / , ^ ! I / '' m ■',..^,{v' ■^'■:'y. 9 to"--.-' !i iAyd-CuO 6' MAC LOOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND PEOPLE WORTH KNOWING. Rev. N. R. Johnston. Oakland, California. 189S. To My Wife who has ever been my loving and faithful companion and indispensable co-vVorker in^ all life's toils, my wise counselor in times of doubt, my tender sympathizer in time of trouble, and who has lightened many of my burdens that I could not haVe borne alone, this book is most affectionately dedicated by The Author. PREFACE. Horace Greeley said that "no man should die without planting a tree or writing a book." I have planted many a tree and I have written much in various forms; why should I not write a book also ? The only apology I feel like making is that it has in it so much about myself. But if I had not written it the book would never have been written. If any apology is due to the reading public for the issue of such a volume at all, I have more than one. I owe it to others as well as myself to explain or account for several occurrences in my life as known to the church— events that were not understood then and that yet remain unaccounted for. And then I desire to leave on record a narrative of events that otherwise would be unknown to my survivors, and to leave behind me a testimony in behalf of truths which, however much neglected or despised, are the very truths of God. In no other way can I now be of use to my children and theirs .some of whom would know nothing of events recorded herein unless told to them by the writer. It is due to the reader to know that this volume was written when life's shadows were lengthening out rapidly. The first manuscripts were sketched hastily with the pencil on Chinese paper during the winter of 1896 and '97 when the writer was in his 77th year and in feeble health. Well did he know that the sands of Hfe were running nearly out. As the time was short no days nor even hours could be lost; and hence the entire work was done in haste as well as in the midst of many other labors all the time pressing their claims. The writer hopes therefore that the literary reader will be lenient in his criticisms of the book. It was written not .so much to please the lovers of literature as to benefit the friends of truth who will survive the writer. PORTRAITS N. R. Johnston Frontispiece Dr. J. R. WiLLSOX Facing page 65 Dr. R. J. DoDDS . .. Wm. Llovd Garrison Rev. Samuel May .. Rev. J. M. Armour .. Dr. R. G. McNiece .. Wendell Phillips .. Dr. S. O. Wylie . .. Corporal Divoll . .. Dr. R. a. Browne .. Dr. J. R. W. Sloane. Dr. Otis Gibson . .. Dr. a. M. Milligan. Rev. Geo. M. Elliott Dr. David Metheny. Wm. Still Rev. Jee Gam Rev. Chan Hon Fan. 189 200 204 209 240 257 277 36S 392 26 480 492 516 617 568 592 598 CONTENTS. CHAPTER. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII Page, Foreshadowings and Ancestry 9" Early Education ^^ A New Home in tlie West ^ At the University ^ Two YearsofaTeaclier's Life . . ... ' ' ' J Tlieological Studies ^ Summer Vacation The Third Year and Fellow-students 77 Response to Freedom's Call Fourth Year of Theological Study 1°° Licensure and Evangelistic Work •••;•• " '"^ The Fugitive Slave Law and the Underground^^ Railroad The Licentiate's Work and Jottings . . . • • • • ^3^ Home Again. Old Field Revisited Afflictions and Trials of Faith ^^o The Field. The Decision. The Ordination . . . i55 The Flock and the Shepherd's Work 162 The Field Widens , |^^ In Sorrow and in Straits ' ^ Church Work J^" Work for the Slave ^J^ Under the Father's Rod ^°^ Busy Days Work at Home and in the Courts 222 Eventful Days • J^ The Winter Is Past. Joyous Spring Comes ... 247 Wendell Phillips. Anniversaries 257 The Trumpet Blown. To Arms ! 265 Unexpected Call to Special Duties 275 "They That Go Down to the Sea in Ships" ■ • ' ^^ Among the "Contrabands" ^ The Spelling-book, the Bible, the Sword • 29O A Little Vacation. Fort Pulaski Taken 309 (vii) vin CONTENTS. XXXIII. "What Was Slavery, Uncle Tom?" 316 XXXIV. Homeward Bound. Pastoral Duties Resumed . . 325 XXXV.* Trials of Faith. Home Duties 333 XXXVI. War Problenns 342 XXXVII. Bloody Scenes. Pastoral Life. National Reform . 355 XXXVIII. Sad Events and Dark Shadows 367 XXXIX. In Sad Straits and Sadder Partings 376 XL. A New Home and a New Work 381 XLL Pleasant Recollections 396 XLII. Our New Field of Labor 408 XLIII. Geneva's Old Bell Rings Again 415 XLIV. In the Home Mission Field 429 XLV. Missionary Work among the Chinese in California 446 XLVI. Yo Semite Valley 461 XLVII. Mission Work.and a Missionary Tour 469 XLVIII. Lights and Shadows 484 XLIX. In Memoriam 491 L. Home Work Resumed 497 LI. Southern Missions Visited 507 LII. Selma and Beaufort 515 LIII. The Synod of 1889. Important Questions . . . .526 LIV. White Ribboners and Sabbath Workers 532 LV. From Ocean to Ocean 536 LVI. In Philadelphia as a Journalist 546 LVII. A Family Reunion 561 LVIII. New Home for Our Banner 572 LIX. Our Pacific Home Again 580 LX. Missionaries Sail for China. Days of Gladness . .591 LXI. A Chapter of Epistolary Gems 600 LXII. Nearing the Sunset 616 LOOKING BACK Som™ SUNSET LAND OR PEOPLE WORTH KNOWING. CHAPTER I. FORESHADOWINGS AND AnCESTRY. On the inner walls of our cottage home haug two old pictures and fine specimens of Scottish art, a Covenanter Conventicle and the battle of Drumclog. On other walls hang three life-size pictures of distinguished men, James Renwick Willson, William Lloyd Garrison, and John Brown. The first was my theological professor, a genuine Covenanter and zealous abolitionist. The second, as all know, was the worthy leader in the great anti-slavery struggle; and the third was the old abolitionist whom the Virginia slavehold- ers hung at Charlestown and "whose soul is still marching on." On another wall hangs a smaller picture, a portrait of the great anti-slavery orator, Wendell Phillips. And over there hangs an ideal picture of Mrs. Stowe's great hero, Uncle Tom, and beside him the little angel Eva saying to him, "What was slavery, Uncle Tom?" And yet an- other, a fine oil painting of an old castle, the artist being a Chinese young man, a Christian convert and now a mer- chant in San Francisco. Now if all these pictures be only (9) lO LOOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND. a slight index of the character of the writer, or if they even sHghtly foreshadow the character of this volume, the reader's fears may be excited already, and so perhaps he had better close the book and read no more lest afterward he may not know when to stop. A few years ago when in conversation with a daughter of old John Brown I unwisely asked her if on any occasion she had ever felt ashamed that her father died on the gallows. With an almost indignant expression she immediately re- plied, "Never, never for one moment!" And why should any descendant of the now honored martyr to freedom be ashamed ? Pride of ancestry may not be commendable, 3'et I confess that as a Covenanter I always shared my father's pleasure if nof pride when I heard him tell our friends that we were lineal descendants of Sir Archibald Johnston, or Lord War- riston, whom the enemies of civil and religious liberty in Scotland hung in Edinburg. Of such the world was not worthy. In the new world there are now multitudes of the descend- ants of Sir Archibald Johnston who cherish his martyr memory as sacred. Away back in the early years of the American Colonies three young brothers, all Presbyterians, came from Scotland and settled in eastern Pennsylvania. Their names were Samuel, Nathan, and Archibald Johnston. They were descendants of the martyr, but of what generation is not known now. Down through all the succeeding gen- erations these three names have been retained. The name of my father's grandfather was Nathan; his father's name, Samuel; one of his brother's, Archibald. Thus it is proba. ble that they all wished to cherish as sacred* the memory of their martyred ancestor; nor will it ever be forgotten so long as Christian men and women do not lose sight of the Cove- nanter's "old blue banner." FORESHADOWINGS AND ANCESTRY. II My father, Nathan Johnston, was born near Carhsle, Cum- berland County, Pennsylvania, in 1775. Though brought up on the farm with his father he subsequently became a tanner. In 1801 he was married to Mary Black, the daughter of James Black, an elder in the Presbyterian Church. She was born in York County, Pennsylvania, in January, 1782. When she was about twelve years of age the family removed to Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. She rode the en- tire distance over the mountains on horseback. They set- tled on a farm on a part of which the town of Blairsville is built and now in Indiana County. It was in this new home that the happy couple were married when she was nineteen years of age. After their marriage they resided at Armagh, Pennsylvania. Here, after the birth of their first child they united with the Presbyterian Church. Probably in the spring of 1805 Grandfather Black and family and my father with his small family removed to eastern Ohio, at that time almost an unbroken wilderness. They bought unimproved and adjoining lands in what is now Harrison County. They began by cutting away the forest trees and building small log cabins for present use. After some years, when sufficient lands were cleared out, my father planted a large orchard, opened a tan yard and built a good-sized "hewed log house." Here I was born October 8, 1820, the youngest of a family of eight children, seven sons and one daughter. The three first sons were John Black, Samuel Power, and James Stewart. The three next sons all died in infancy. The seventh child was a daughter, Mary Jane; and the youngest son, Nathan Robinson. The first name was for my father, the second in honor of a much beloved uncle, Robert Robin- son, who married my mother's sister; and my parents all their lives called me Robinson, the n being silent. It is not designed to make these pages a genealogy or a history of either ancestors or descendants, yet as the writer 12 LOOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND. is the only surviving member of his father's family it is due to those who may read these pages in coming years that the thread of the narrative be broken for a little and that a few items of tradition or unwritten history be given here. My great-grandfather, Nathan Johnston, and his wife, Blizabeth Power, were killed by the Indians in the time of the old French war in Pennsylvania, and under these circum- stances. Many of the settlers had taken refuge in a fort at ■or near the present site of Shippensburg; but sometimes when the danger seemed to be slight some of them visited their new farms to look after their stock or growing crops. Taking his wife and seven children he went to his farm, seven miles distant, to care for his growing corn and stock. Fearing that they might be attacked by the Indians in the night, the parents put the children to bed in the haymow in the barn, while they themselves slept in the house. One morning before sunrise the children were startled by the crack of two rifle shots almost at the same moment. Samuel, the oldest boy, hastily looking out between the logs of the barn, saw his mother near the house fall dead, and saw the Indian run and scalp her. What had been done by the other gun he did not know then. The mother was thought to have been shot while in the act of holding a ewe sheep that her lamb might suck. As soon as the Indians had fled, the boy being too much frightened to risk the danger of going to the house, left the other children concealed in the barn, and fled to the fort to report to the inmates. When some of these went to the place, they found the dead body of the husband and father in a grove not far from the house, and in the kneeling posture beside the trunk of a fallen tree. Evi- dently he had been shot while engaged in morning secret prayer. His son Samuel probably never forgave the Indians their bloody deed, but may have always cherished the spirit of FORESHADOWINGS AND ANCESTRY. I3. revenge. As the hostilities between the whites and Indians continued a long time, on one occasion he had an oppor- tunity to kill an Indian. A company of the warriors had invaded the country at night, killed some of the people, and carried away much booty. The next day a company of the whites, mostly farmers, armed themselves, got on the trail of the fleeing Indians, and late in the night came upon them when fast asleep around their camp-fire on low ground,. According to previous arrangements the whites quietly took their position on higher ground and almost surrounding the camp-fire and the sleeping warriors. Each man took aim at his picked Indian. At the signal given by the captain they all fired at the same moment. The Indians who were not killed seized their blankets, guns, etc., and in flight attempted to escape. One of them was met face to face by my grandfather, Samuel Johnston. A hand-to-hand fight- ensued. The Indian, who would not be taken prisoner, was killed. The victor became possessor of the spoils, and brought home all worth possessing. My father fell heir to the In- dian's powder horn and shot pouch. They were beautiful specimens of art, and I had expected to inherit them, but they were given to his grandson, Nathan M. Johnston, who bore my father's name. I found them in his possession long years after the death of the donor. I tried to be reconciled' when I considered that they were only relics of war, of cruel and revengeful war against a race as noble by nature as the noblest savages, and who, if Christians had dealt justly and kindly with them, offering them the gospel of the Prince of Peace instead of the revengeful sword, might have been partakers with us of the blessings of salvation. Indeed, with honorable exceptions the history of the aborigines of our country is but the history of wrongs endured by the redmen — wrongs inflicted by both government and people- 14 I.OOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET I.AND. who profess to believe in the Golden Rule as well as in the gospel of peace. Until several years after all their children were born and baptized my parents continued in the membership of the Presbyterian Church. My three brothers also were members of the Beechspring Presbyterian Church, Reverend James Rea pastor. Before these years the denomination in the United States had used the Psalms of the Bible in worship. As in the Beechspring church many were opposed to the introduction of "Watt's Psalms" or hymns of any kind, these were introduced gradually and cautiously. Bible songs were used during both forenoon and afternoon services until after the second sermon, when a hymn or one of "Watt's Psalms" was sung. After a while only hymns were sung. The change was the occasion of no little opposition. Some of the families never gave up the Bible Psalms in family worship. A little incident which I remember of hearing my father tell may amuse the reader. When the hymns were first introduced, books were very scarce as well as very costly. The pastor was almost the only one who had a copy of the liymn-book; so the lines had to be read that the people might sing. My father was the precentor. He stood in the pulpit and used the minister's book when reading out the lines. One day he came to a verse from which one or two lines were lost. The precentor turned around to the pastor and called his attention to the omission and asked what he should do. "Oh, just make a line and read it!" He did so, read it out as if it were in the book, and the people sang it, supposing it to be part of Dr. Watt's poetry. About this time the question of slavery began to agitate the churches. The question was twofold — whether chattel slavery was a sin "par se" or not, and whether slaveholders should be admitted to church-membership or retained in FORESHADOWINGS AND ANCESTRY: 15 "her fellowship. At this time the whole Presbyterian Church in both the north and the south, all one body as yet, fel- lowshiped slaveholders. Very few saw any impropriety in it. Even the pulpits justified it. Not a few ministers in the Presbyterian Church apologized for it or defended it by the Bible. In the south many ministers held slaves, few if any objecting to it. Nathan Johnston was one of the few early abolitionists and soon became so dissatisfied with his church because of her position on slavery that he became restless and was thinking of withdrawing from her fellow- ship. It is probable that his friends thought to allure him into pohtics, for previously they had nominated him on the Whig ticket for the State Legislature. At the election his competitor, a Democrat, was chosen by a majority of one. This occurred probably before I was born, or when I was only a child. I never knew of it until I was a young man; and I have often regretted that when I had the opportunity I did not talk with my father about it. And I have some- times thought that if the majority of one had been in favor of the Whig candidate and my father had gone into the Leg- islature, he never would have become a Covenanter. Civil ofhce and pohtical dissent are not twin brothers. That one ballot seemed like a lot determining the future of the un- successful candidate. "The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord." About this time a few Covenanters settled in the neigh- borhood and agitated the question of slavery and the duty of withdrawal from a slaveholding church and from an anti-Christian government whose Constitution was full of pro-slavery compromises. How much influence the early Covenanter settlers had upon the mind of Nathan Johnston and his wife and three sons is not known to the writer, who at that time was only a small child, but most probably they had much. Whether or not, we find this anti-slavery Pres- 1 6 I<OOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND. byterian attending the Covenanter "society meetings," as the prayer-meetings were called. Meanwhile it is probable the family had been attending occasional preaching by Covenanter ministers sent as supplies to the praying society; and perhaps this had helped to swell the tide of influences leading to a change in their church relations. The next time we hear of Nathan Johnston is when on a two days' journey on foot to attend a communion in one of the Covenanter congregations in the vicinity of Pittsburg. Here he was received into the fellowship of the Reformed Presbyterian Church which had never opened her doors to slaveholders, and whose members would not swear oaths of allegiance to the Constitution or Government, nor accept of oiflce or the ballot in a political society that disregarded the rights of God and trampled upon the rights of man. It could not have been very long after this change that my two oldest brothers, John Black and Samuel Power, followed the example of my father and united with the Covenanter Church. My mother, however, and her third son, James Stewart, were slow to give up the hymns and to leave the mother church, and did not for some time, but after a while, becoming so imbued with anti-slavery and Covenanter truths they gladly joined the ranks of the abolitionists and political dissenters. For the entire family the change must have been a severe ordeal. Almost all the family connec- tions on both sides of the house, from grandparents down, were Presbyterians. Most of them were men and women of warm piety and great worth. Devoted to the church of their fathers, they grieved at the departure of loved chil- dren and grandchildren. These, however, could not forget the words of the Master, "He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me." These events all occurred during the years of my early childhood. I had no knowledge of them afterwards except FORE9HADOWINGS AND ANCESTRY. 1 7 as I learned them from ray parents and brothers. And though I was baptized in the Presbyterian Church, yet after childhood all the home influences tended to take me into the Reformed Presbyterian Church. About as far back as I can remember, the Greenfield congregation was organized, my father being one of the elders. Soon afterwards he traveled east and canvassed some of the city congregations for funds to help to build a good brick church. My first pastor was Rev. WiUiam Sloane. He was installed probably when I was about nine years of age. He was a profound theologian and a good man, but I think I feared him more than I loved him, for as I now remember him he lacked the power to please boys; yet the fault may have been all my own. In later years, however, Father Sloane became very dear to me. But more of this farther on. My father was a delegate to the Synod of 1833 in Philadelphia at the time of the "New- Light division," as it was afterwards called. Much as he loved some of the brethren who went into that defection he had no sympathy with the sentiments or actions of those who practically abandoned the testimony of the church and went into the government and into politics. At that time I was only twelve years of age, but well do I remember how the congregation was agitated and how my father's mind was engrossed in the question on which the church was divided. I often heard him describe the scenes that occurred in the old Cherry Street church when the actual separation took place; and probably these things had much to do in causing my early prejudice against the "New Lights;" and I am not sure that I ever got rid of it. I can not close this chapter without saying more about those who loved me and to whom I owe so much. Chief among these of course were my father and mother. I know they were not perfect, but just as well do I know that few sons are blessed with better parents. My father had only 2 1 8 LOOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND. an ordinary education, but he was a great reader and a man of far more than ordinary intelligence. As a father he was faithful. Compared with my mother, however, I can re- member him as almost stern in government and severe in discipline. She was peculiarly amiable in disposition and mild and gentle in discipline. He taught me theology; she taught me to pray. He taught me my duty, and urged me to do right; her mother's love and her beautiful example were an inspiration to me. His word was law; probably her known wish was a stronger incentive to loving obedience. He loved me, I know, and he used to call me his "little Benjamin," but he knew my faults better than I knew my own, and he seemed so much greater and better than I that my love to him was more like reverence and fear to dis- please. Yet I know that I loved him. Well do I remember that in my boyhood I rarely ever was happier than when he took me with him when he went a-fishing. I was proud of my father, and I thought it quite an honor to be his sole companion when we two, father and I, went ambling down our beautiful Brush Run. And many a good lesson was taught me in those happy hours — happy hours of boyhood long past but never forgotten even in gray hairs. I should have said before this that my father was a great lover of music, and probably he was regarded in early life as a good musician. This is indicated by the fact that he was so long the leader in the congregational singing. I remember his voice as clear and melodious. He often sang in his sleep. In the night I was occasionally awakened by his singing. The words could not be distinguished. He never sang the tune more than once; and it was not any tune I had ever heard before, and my mother said she had never heard it before. It resembled a church tune and was ex- ceedingly beautiful. I think the voice and tones and expres- sion were clearer and sweeter than when he was awake. FORESHADOWINGS AND ANCESTRY. I9 Sometimes when in a still hour of the night I was waked out of sleep by the singing, it seemed as music by some angel voice, and I was sorry that it ceased so scon. In the morning he had no recollection of his singing, nor of any dream connected with the music. Only One knew where was the spirit of the singer. In early life he was a violinist and excelled on the instrument. I do not know at what time of life or why he ceased to play, but as long back as I can remember he had no violin of his own in the house. When I heard him play, it was when a neighbor or friend would bring an instrument to him and ask him to play. He seemed familiar with it. I was always charmed almost to an ecstasy when I listened. To this day it seems as though I have never heard such exquisite music. But then I was a boy and ray father was the player. Since his death, now fifty years ago, I have often wondered why he ceased to play, and what had become of his old violin. When I could have learned I did not think to ask, and now no one survives to tell me. Yet I have tried to account for it. From my first recollection he always seemed to be a man of a sad heart. Financial reverses, sore family afflictions, severe sickness, from which he did not expect to recover, subsequent feeble health, troubles in the church, and other causes, must have greatly changed his mode of life. When two of his sons wished to go to college, he made distribution of his little property, and, giving the farm into the charge of the second son, he spent his remaining years in retire- ment except when he attended church courts or visited friends. Most of his time was spent in reading. During his last years he read all through the "Comprehensive Com- mentary," Matthew Henry and Scott's notes. I can not doubt that all through those years the divine Spirit was pre- paring him for the higher life into which he was permitted to enter in his seventieth year. 20 LOOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND. But what shall I say of my mother ? Her love to me was so tender and sweet I always wanted to be with her and learn from her lips and receive her benediction. When I now look back upon her character and mode of life, she seems to me as perfection or an angel of mercy through whom from God I received all the good he could bestow upon one so incapable of appreciating or receiving his pre- cious gifts. I know that to me she was one of God's choicest blessings. I can not love him sufficiently for giv- ing me such a mother. Under God her influence in molding my character was all-powerful. If it had not been for her there were many temptations I never could have resisted. And all through my life until she passed beyond the veil which hid her from my mortal vision, her prayers were a benediction to me and mine. Next to this mother, affectionate mention must be made of my sister. I had but one; I never wanted another. It always seemed as though I had no love to share with another. Being nearly three j^ears older, in my childhood she was my teacher, my example, my guardian angel, my idol. We played together, we worked together, we hunted eggs together, and we gathered apples together. When I began to go to the old log schoolhouse, nearly two miles away, she led me by the hand or wailed on me when I lagged behind. At noon when the children ate lunch under the shade trees, she gave me my share and the best out of the little dinner basket. If at play or at any time I got hurt, my sister was my surgeon. If I cried, Mary Jane would say, "Don't cry, Robinson, it will soon get well." I am not sure, but I think I never refused to do what she told me to do. She was to me an angel of light. In her I saw nothing but perfection. And as long as I was a minor at home, as far as I now remember, this sisterly influence over me never weakened. And I leave on record my testimony FORi^SHADOWINGS AND ANCESTRY. 2l that under God and my parents I owe more to her for early rehgious and formative influences than to all others all through life. God pity the boy that has no such sister. I have no remembrance of my brothers until after they were young men. The youngest of the three, James S., was over fourteen years my senior. The first I remember of him and the oldest, John B., was when they were students at college. Samuel P., the second, was the farmer at home. The first I can remember of him was when I was eight years old, when he brought home his beautiful young wife, Ellen Thompson. On subsequent pages I will have occa- sion to speak of these good brothers again. All these, father and mother and brothers and sister, and all their life companions, have passed on before, saved as I hope by the blood of the Ivamb, while of my father's family, only wife and I remain to mourn their loss. Is the hope of a joyful family reunion in the Father's house the privilege of one who hopes he can say, "Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God ' ' ! CHAPTER II. Early Education. Does the character of an education depend upon whether the schoolhouse is made of bricks or of logs? If it does, mine must be peculiar, for all the years of my common-school training were in a log schoolhouse. The first was nearly two miles from home. My sister was my guide and guar- dian. In Ohio in those days there were only six months public school in the year, three months in winter and three in summer. If more were desired, the parents would employ a teacher for what was called a "subscription school." In winter the schools were crowded, many of the scliolars being adult young men and young women who cou'd not attend in the summer. The facilities were very limited, and often the teachers inferior. In the old schoolhouse I re- ceived about all that was ever taught, a superficial and limited knowledge of reading, writing, geography, arith- metic, and a little of English grammar. A scholar that had "ciphered" through the book — and only one was used — and who could "parse" a little, was ready to graduate from the log-cabin school. None but men ever taught in winter; in summer, sometimes a woman. My first teacher was a young woman who taught a summer "subscription school." My sister took me with her, probably more for company than with the expectation that I would learn much. Here I learned my alphabet at least. It was pasted on one side of a wooden paddle, a la mode. About the only thing I can remember of my teacher is when at noon playtime I got a (22) EARLY EDUCATION. 23 thorn in my foot, my sister ran and brought her to take it out. She set me up on a stump near by and pulled out the thorn. Among the teachers well remembered was a Meth- odist local preacher. Most of the families in the district were either Covenanters or Presbyterians. According to the custom of the times, it was his duty to hear the Shorter Catechism recited once a week b}' all the children who had learned or were learning it. of the rattan or the ferule. Some of them kept a rod in the hand or under the arm much of the time, to have it ready for use any moment. Sometimes it was used with great severity. Fortunate was the boy who e.scaped without a whipping. I must have been a favored pupil or a very good boy, for the only time I can remember of being punished was when I courted the rod. A boy had in some way dis- pleased the master. He either had no rod or wished a larger one. Many of the boys thought the punishment would be unjust. Thomas Ford and I were sent out to bring in a rod. He climbed into a beech tree and cut a long and slender branch, measuring probably eight or ten feet. When it was trimmed up I carried it to the master, handing to him the large end, while the other was still outside the open door. This was our way of expressing our disapproval of the threatened punishment. The master was angry. Using his pocket-knife he cut the unwieldy rod into two pieces, threw out the larger part, and with the other gave each of us two or three heavy strokes. Probably we de- served it, but as it was what we expected, and as we knew we had the sympathy of the other boys, we tried not to wince, and we went to our seats thinking ourselves heroes. If I may digress a little I will say that even in those days I saw a little of the evil of depending upon the rattan for school government, and I am glad to be able to say that years afterwards, during a vacation in the Theological Semi- nary, I taught in that same old schoolhouse and governed the school, I think successfully, without the use of the rod. I may not deny the right of the teacher to use corporal punishment if he use it properlj^ but I would advise him to suspect his fitness to be a teacher if he can not govern with- out the rattan or the ferule. If any reader had a similar experience he will excuse me for alluding to the difficulties under which I began the study EARLY EDlJCATIO^f. 25 of Latin. It was some time in the winter of 1830 and 1831, when I was a httle over ten years of age. My brother J. B. was then in Pittsburgh with a few others studying theology with old Dr. John Black. He and another student, John Wallace, were also teaching a select school for boys. As he was keeping house, probably he or my parents wished me to be with him and to be helpful in his family. My father went with me in our midwinter journey to Pittsburgh. Here I went to school with the two theologians and studied the common English branches. Probably my brother wished me to be a preacher some day; and so he put me at the Latin grammar which I was expected to study morning and evening and recite to him at home. I do not know how much of the grammar I mastered, if any at all, but I re- member that after a while my teacher had me trying to read in his old Historia Sacra. With the coming of spring I became homesick; I wanted to see my mother. The session of theological study being closed, I think Thos. SprouU and several others were licensed by the Pittsburgh Presby- tery. My brother Samuel being there on a visit at the time, I returned home with him, and the Latin grammar was left behind, and its Amo, Amas, Amat, etc., all forgotten. A summer or two afterwards, when I was eleven or twelve years of age, I again took a few lessons in Latin grammar, this time with my pastor. Rev. William Sloane. I suppose I made little progress, however. I not only walked about three miles to recite to him at his home, but was attending the common school at the old log house about^half way between the two homes. And as the boy of the Latin grammar had no brains to spare, nor any classmate, nor a very merry teacher, it is quite probable that he was more interested in the schoolhouse exercises or on the playground. And it is not very probable that his Latin teacher would report to the boy's parents that some day he would be a likely candidate 26 LOOKING BACK FROM THE SUNSET LAND. for the Latia chair in some university. This much I re- member, however, that at the close of that term of school, work on the farm and in the tan-yard was resumed, and Latin paradigms all forgotten until six or seven years afterwards, and elsewhere. Little knowledge of the Latin had been acquired, but memory, a mental faculty of the greatest importance, had been educated somewhat. It was probably the next winter or summer after my private lessons to my pastor that he taught a term or two in the public school, or perhaps a subscription school, a fact which indicates that his salary was insufficient. Some of his oldest children attended the school, among whom was the second son, Renwick, afterwards. Rev. J. R. W. Sloane, D. D., and now among the celestials. It was during these years, while his father was my pastor, that between Renwick Sloane and Robinson Johnston grew up a friendship, and, at least on the part of the latter, a warm affection which never died out but grew into the still stronger principle or grace of brotherly love which continued until his Master released him from his labors on earth. His oldest brother, John M. Sloane, of Oakdale, Illinois, was the oldest of the family, and is now the only survivor. Of Renwick Sloane we will hear more after a while. The first school at which I remember to have been fond of study and began to see the importance of education, was at New Richmond, Ohio, to which town my parents moved for the time, partly, I suppose, that my sister and I might attend the school. It was a private academy taught by Rev. J. C. Tidball, a Presbyterian minister, without charge. His assistant was his younger brother, David. Except pri- mary algebra, all my studies were common English branches. In these I recited to the assistant, a superior teacher; and though I was only a boy of fourteen or fifteen years, I then formed for David Tidball an attachment that in after years J. R. W. Sloane, D. D. CHAPTER III. A New Home in the West. Near the time of our return to the old home on Brush Run — it was in the autumn of 1836 — my brother James, then living in Logan County, Ohio, visited his family friends, •bringing with him his newly married wife, Mary Hyndman. During their visit it w^as arranged that 1 should go as soon as practicable to live with him. He was then engaged in merchandising in a "country store" in the village of New Richland, near one of the head streams of the Miami River. It was within the bounds of Miami Congregation of which my brother, John B., was pastor. Whether my parents and my brother James then intended me to become a busi- ness man, I do not know; nor do I remember that I had any well-defined purpose of my own, but whatever may have been their design God had other purposes, as subse- quent events showed. Having returned to our old farm home, preparations were made for my departure to western Ohio. But before I write further of it I must linger to see what I was about to leave behind. Here was my birth- place. Here were my early childhood associations; and, still better, all that made it to me sweet home. The farm life, with its work among the animals and in the woods and fields and meadows, did much to shape my mode of thought and my character. Like much of the country around, the farm itself was beautiful. The little stream, called Brush Run, with its several branches, ran through its entire length. The valley was wide, and on the meadows (28) A NEW HOME IN THE WEST. 29 had b^en left t ) grow a large number of sugar maple trees, which every spring were a source of both pleasure and profit. This httle valley with its rich soil and abundant crops of hay and corn, was bordered by hillside grain fields and pastures and forests, the whole making a picture of such beauty that it left its deep iippression upon my memory. The brooklets flowing into the larger stream, the hills, the forests, the whole landscape, than which, as memory has it painted, none beheld since was more beautiful, must have done much to cause that imperishable love of the country and admiration of landscape and mountain scenery that has possessed me all through my life, and has been the source of my highest terrestrial enjoyments. It is God- given; and I can not suppress the hope that it will ever be a source of delight in the "better country," whose rivers and trees and mountains will be illumed by the Sun of Righteousness. 