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ure, and every sound quickened his own desire. Often in his brief diary of events and books read, he breaks out "Shall I ever be in India? Can it be?" and one could not fail to see that this was the desire of his heart, driving him willingly forward. Yet his judgment assured him that the right course was to wait. Friends wished him to intermit two years, but he would consent only to leave the seminary for one. Whilst he was thus hasting, as if he had intimation that his time was short, one can easily imagine that different feelings prevailed in the hearts of his home: they are best expressed by the following passage from a letter of his father's:

BOSTON, July 15, 1856.

MY DEAR SON: I do not wonder that you begin to feel some solicitude, as to what disposition you should make of yourself for the coming year, if you do not pursue your theological studies, for a state of uncertainty is anything but pleasant. . . . I have thought a good deal of late about you, particularly since I received your letter which you sent to me just before you last came down. I have prayed much for you, and feel much for you, more than I have ever expressed. When you made known to us your intention to become a missionary of the cross, and to devote yourself to your Saviour in a foreign field, I felt that you had done so from a conviction of duty, and from love to our dear Redeemer, and I could not throw any obstacles in the way, however painful the thought might be that after a season we should be separated from you, perhaps for this life in respect to myself, it will only be for a short time. I have almost arrived at the common age of man, and if you remained in this country, I should be

quite as likely to be deprived of your society, as God might have employment for you in some distant portion of our own land; so that, on the whole, I could feel to rejoice that God had inclined your heart to enter upon the field of duty you have chosen. And now, my dear son, if you are convinced that God in his providence points out to you this way to glorify Him, let nothing hinder you from prosecuting your design: do what you can to qualify yourself for the work, but deliberately, and with no undue haste. I do not want you to hasten away before you are fully prepared: while this work of preparation is going on, you will undoubtedly have some trying seasons, a sense of duty and inclination may come into conflict, — you will have temptations, but look away from yourself to Him who redeemed you with His blood, and who will reward you for every act of self-denial you may make for Him, by imparting to you more of His grace, and giving you sweet peace, in the consciousness that, though you leave father, mother, brothers and sister, for His sake and the Gospel's, you will receive a hundred-fold in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting.

Affectionately yours,

CHARLES SCUDDER.

At the close of the year, in August, 1856, he went to Williamstown again, to be present at a Mission Jubilee, held in connection with the College Commencement, to celebrate the fiftieth year since Mills and his associates inaugurated the Mission movement beneath a haystack, in Sloan's Meadows. The ground where the haystack stood had been purchased for a Mission Park of ten acres, by the friends of the college, and it

was intended to hold the jubilee there; it was even proposed by the enthusiastic professor who was the chief mover, to have a Bungalow on the grounds, for the accommodation of the visitors. That, however, was given up, and the day proving stormy, the exercises were held in the church. Regular addresses were given, a number of missionaries spoke, and David, who had taken a lively interest in the affair, appeared with some ancient letters of Mills, together with the original constitution, in cypher, of the society formed by him. In a letter to a friend just sailing for India, he gives this brief account of his share in the proceedings:

“It rained all the time, hence the haystack was not resorted to, and we did not meet in the Bungalow as was expected. But the church was comfortable, and we enjoyed the occasion highly. It really passed off finely. Professor Hopkins's was the main address, and an able production. He brought in two of his hobbies, which limped slightly, a Mission Seminary in this country, as preparatory for a foreign field, where languages could be taught by returned missionaries, and lectures on the philosophy and character of different countries be delivered. Also his colonization plan, of sending out Christian farmers, mechanics, and so on, to work religion into the pagans. In the Alumni meeting next morning, a resolution was passed that proper measures be taken for the establishment of a Mission School as soon as thought advisable. So that may amount to something yet. In the midst of his speech, he said Let Mills speak for himself,' and sung out at the top of his voice, And we've a young brother from Andover come up to help us!' Whereupon, with stately step and solemn, I marched upon the stage and

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delivered the constitution into the hands of the chairman. He handed it to Dr. Cox to decipher, when we had quite an interesting colloquy. I then read a portion of the letters, and retired—a lion."

He visited New York again, when he found an opportunity to act as Bible colporteur in the neighborhood of Orange, New Jersey, whither he went, after a short visit home, in September, 1856.

CHAPTER V.

A YEAR OF EXPERIMENT.

[1856-1857.]

THE Bible agency was only intended to occupy a couple of months. The advantage which he anticipated from it was an increased facility of converse with the world, knowledge of men, and knowledge of himself. The life which he had led had brought him very little into contact with persons holding religious views different from his own, or with persons in a different order of society; he had in fact seldom been thrown. among strangers. If he was to be an efficient missionary, it was essential that he should learn, by practical experiment, how to deal with men; besides, the life which a student leads has a tendency to withdraw him from that sympathy with unintellectual people which is a requisite of successful ministry; many a theological student, brought face to face with a sleepy parish, has then to take his first lesson in the art of discovering men, — a lesson which ends usually in the equally valuable discovery of his own strength and weakness.

David had a special disability for such work as he undertook, in a shyness which made him retreat from the presence of a stranger; in a sensitive dread of contact with rudeness; in a stubborn, and somewhat surly moodiness, which, when on him, kept his mouth closed as if it were locked and the key thrown away; in an

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