THE NEW WITNESS INTRODUCED.  
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the western part of the State of New York was a new country, by which I mean—one recently settled, and comparatively a wilderness. At the close of the Revolutionary War, which secured to the former British Colonies independence, the people of the new-born nation found their country and themselves impoverished. Manufactures owing to the narrow and selfish policy of England toward her colonies (that policy had been to discourage the colonies from manufacturing, least they should compete with the manufactures of England) could scarcely be said to have an existence. Commerce, owing to the fact that the new nation had not yet established a commercial standing in the world, afforded little opportunity for American activity. Moreover, the American people themselves, of that generation, because of the conditions which had surrounded them in the New World, were neither skilled artisans capable of competing with the British workmen in manufacturing, nor had they the cunning that comes by training, which qualified them for immediate success. What they did possess was sturdy physical frames—constitutions unimpaired either by the excesses practiced among barbarians, or by the vices which abound in older civilizations. They possessed strong hands, superb courage and simple tastes, and with these they entered into that almost boundless empire of wilderness to the west of them, to make homes for themselves and their children.
 
Looking from the standpoint of our modern life, which knows so much of ease and comfort, the lot of these pioneers was a hard one. The soil which their rude shares upturned to the sun was indeed virgin and fertile, but before it could be cultivated it had to be cleared of its heavy growth of timber and underbrush, and with the means then employed, to clear a farm was well-nigh a life's labor. Each pioneer with the help of a few neighbors—which help he paid for by helping them in return—built his own house, his barn, his sheds, and fenced his "clearing." Each family within itself was practically self-supporting. The hum of the spinning-wheel, the rattle of the shuttle and the thumping of the loom was heard in every home, as wool and flax were converted into fabrics to clothe the family; and every pioneer cultivated such a variety of products that his farm and his labor supplied his wants and those of his household. Happily for their contentment, the conditions in which they lived rendered their wants but few.
 
In settling the wilderness the pioneers were not disposed to crowd each other. They settled far apart. It often happened that a man's nearest neighbor would be two or three miles away, so that the country for a long time was but sparsely settled. Towns were few and far between, and were only slowly built up. No such mushroom-growth of towns was known as that which characterized the settlement of the great prairie states in subsequent years. A few families settling on a stream furnishing water power for a grist-mill, or at some point on lake or stream frequented by the Indians for the purpose of trading their furs, formed the nucleus of these towns, and soon school-houses and churches increased their attractions.
 
It was a simple, honest life these pioneers led. A life full of toil; for it was a stubborn fight they had with the wilderness to subdue it. And yet their very hardships tended towards virtue. A busy life in honorable pursuits can never be a vicious one; and the constant toil of these men in wood and field so kept hands and head employed that there was left no time nor opportunity to pursue evil. Their amusements were few and simple, consisting in the main of the occasional gatherings of neighbors for social enjoyments—the love of youth and maiden seeking its legitimate expression in that companionship which alone satisfies the hunger of the heart, I doubt not, was the incentive which brought about these gatherings—at least their frequency; and the old, well pleased to see their own youth reflected in that of their sons and daughters, looked on with unconcealed delight.
 
Not only was this life in the wilderness favorable to morality, it contributed equally well to the cultivation of the religious sentiment in man. Man is by nature a religious animal, and where natural conditions prevail instead of artificial ones, true to his nature, man inclines toward a religious state of mind. There is something in the awful stillness of the wood that says to man—"God is in this solitude!" The murmur of the brook splashing over its pebbly bed, and the mournful sighing of the winds through the tree tops, whisper to his spirit the fundamental truth of all religion—"God lives!" The stars looking down through the trees or mirrored in stream or lake bear witness to the same great truth; while the orderly course of the seasons, bringing with such undeviating regularity seed time and harvest, the period of summer's growth and winter's rest, accompanied by the fact of the sun shining for the wicked as for the good, and the rain falling upon the just and the unjust alike, gives ample evidence of God's interest in the world he has created and of his beneficence and mercy towards all men.
 
When conditions were so favorable for the development of natural religion, it is not surprising that profound interest was manifested also in revealed religion. Especially when we remember that these pioneers of the wilderness were but from one to three generations removed from ancestors who had left the Old World for the express purpose of worshiping God according to their understanding of that same revealed religion. That skepticism of the eighteenth century which in some quarters had such a baneful influence upon religious belief was scarcely felt in these settlements remote from the old centers of the New World civilization. These men of the wilderness believed the Bible and looked upon it with the reverence worthy of men descended from Protestant fathers who had in their system of theology made it take the place of pope and church, and established it as their sole authority and infallible guide in the matters of faith and morals. While many of them refused to identify themselves with any of the various sects about them, or subscribe to their creeds, they were profound believers in the word of God, and often confessed this short creed which they duly impressed upon their descendants: "I believe in God, in the Bible, and in a state of future rewards and punishments."
 
There was no lack of zealous churchmen among the pioneers, sectaries who taught special forms of faith and contended for the necessity of particular dogmas and formulas with all that ardor and narrowness of view that usually characterizes the sectarian mind. Their contentions for the correctness of their respective creeds were not always free from bitterness but for all that the Protestant sects recognized each other as parts of a great universal church, and occasionally would so far put away the differences of creed which separated them as to unite for the purpose of holding union protracted meetings for the conversion of unbelievers.
 
During the continuance of these meetings the minister avoided preaching any doctrine except such as could be accepted by all the sects—evangelical doctrine. Professedly their sole effort was to lead the unconverted to believe in and accept Christ, let them join what sect they pleased. Usually matters went on very agreeably until the converts made by these united efforts began to express their preference for one or the other of the different religious sects. Then would break out those fierce sectarian struggles for advantage which have ever been so disgraceful to Protestant Christendom. The good feeling temporarily exhibited during the union meetings nearly all disappeared, and by the fact of its vanishing impressed an observer with the idea that all along it was more pretended than real. Sectarian zeal was unbounded in its efforts to secure as many of the new converts as possible to its own particular denomination. There was a cry of lo here and of lo there, not unfrequently accompanied with remarks of detraction about the opposing sects. The priests, each jealous for his own church, contended fiercely with one another, so that they who ought to have been the most exemplary in that conduct which makes for peace on earth and good will towards men, were often the most to be blamed for stirring up contention.
 
Such a wave of religious fervor brought about in the manner above set forth, and attended with results described, passed over the western part of the State of New York in the winter and spring of 1820. The movement at that time was of unusual interest, first on account of its extent, and second on account of the intensity of the religious excitement produced. It can well be imagined that with these two conditions existing, the bitterness among the sects taking part in the movement would be correspondingly great when it came to dividing up the spoils. By which I mean when the converts made by a unity of effort began to file off some to one sect and some to another. Such was the case. Presbyterians opposed Methodists, and Methodists Baptists; and Baptists opposed both the other sects. All was strife, contention, confusion, beneath which Christian charity and good will to man—these weightier matters of the law—were buried so far out of sight that it might be questioned if they ever existed.
 
Standing somewhat apart from, but watching with intense interest this religious excitement, and wondering greatly at the confusion and strife attendant upon it was a lad fourteen years old.[1] He was born of parents numbered among the pioneers of the wilderness, and up to that time had lived with them surrounded by the conditions already described in the first part of this chapter as so favorable to morality and the developmen............