I will insert here a letter that I wrote to Elder Gilbert Beebe just after my baptism, which tells the spiritual exercises which brought me to the church.

Herrick, PA., June, 1864.

To ELDER GILBERT BEEBE:

DEAR BROTHER: In the sweet peace and joy that are mine now it seems as though I can hardly take the time to write. I am continually looking back to consider the wonderful way in which I have been led from darkness to light. It is a way which I cannot yet fully understand, but what I do see of the Lord's marvelous dealings with me would require volumes if I could write them. In the last few days I have learned more, and more peace and happiness have been mine than in all my life before. I have dwelt in a place of broad rivers and streams. I have been kept in almost perfect peace, and have been made to drink of the river of God's pleasures. There seems to have been a kind of light thrown back from this present, which has shown me much in my past life as I never saw it before; and I must note down some of these memories while my mind is dwelling upon them.

I remember that in my childhood my mind was often engaged in thinking Of the immensity of space, and of what was before time began. Once I particularly remember, after an absorbing effort to reach with my imagination the boundary of space and the beginning of duration, lasting I do not know how long, I started back with a gasp as for breath, from the awful verge which my thoughts had reached, with a clear sense of an infinity beyond the utmost reach and comprehensi0n of my mind. I think that one baffled effort, and the awful sense of infinity I then had, has followed me to the present.

At the age of twelve years I had read the Bible through twice; but I could not think my reading of it was from a love of it as the Word of God, though much of it was very interesting to me. I think, with ambition, which seemed to me to be my principal motive, there was some feeling' Very early I began to study the distinguishing doctrines of grace, and especially the doctrine of election, not only in the Bible, but by reading whatever I could find on the subject. My principal object seemed to me to be able to argue with Arminians; and I never could comfort myself with the thoughts that I loved or understood the doctrine in any other way than intellectually, and because my parents believed it. Indeed I sometimes thought I was more an Arminian at heart than those I would argue With, and that I had far less ground for hope than they. Although I knew the doctrine was true, I had many troublesome thoughts about it, and sometimes my mind would rise up against it in spite of myself.

In childhood I was very fearful. Thunder and lightning were a terror to me. I was afraid to be alone in the dark. This fear left me, I cannot tell when or how. There was one period when I had a great apprehension of dying. How long it lasted I cannot remember. I have never before looked at those exercises of mind as I do now. I recall one instance, Out of many similar, when I feared to go to bed, lest I should surely die before morning. I took the Testament and went out, wishing it were morning. I think I felt that the Lord was angry with me; what other particular reason I had for that fear I cannot recall. It was terrible, a feeling of great blankness in the future, an indefinable dread of something from which there was no help.

I cannot now remember any time after the age of about ten years when I suffered so acutely from a fear of dying. But there was often that great blankness in the future, and an indescribable melancholy without a recognized cause, when I would feel like one of those dark November days, a dull leaden cloud over all the sky, and a dreariness over all the earth. It was not the absence of any particular enjoyment that I could name, but the impossibility of anything I could enjoy or delight in. My mood was not always so dark. I have had much cheerfulness in my life, and some hours of peace and joy, but my cheerfulness seems to have been circumscribed by this leaden cloud. My social and intellectual enjoyments were often keen, but the ultimate of all was this gloom. Those joys were not satisfying; they did not reach far enough. When I was at home, happiness seemed waiting for me somewhere else, and when away I wanted to get home again. And so I have wandered much, always busy, trying to do what I thought my duty, but finding no true rest or abiding joy. Thanks be to the dear Saviour, this cloud of gloom has gone, and I have found rest in his blessed name. How and why is a wonder tome. This new enjoyment I contemplate with increasing delight. It is perfectly satisfying. There seems no end to it, and no possibility of satiety.

I now go back to my childhood. I cannot remember when I first saw myself a sinner, but it was very early. I had an inner consciousness that a more Vain, selfish, deceitful boy never lived. Even in particular instances, when I knew that I appeared to be better than others, I felt that I was Worse. I never used profane language, nor did any one at our home, and there was a solemnity about sacred things there which gave us all a kind of reverence for them. But I could not feel that I was any better on that account. The same words or actions which appeared good in others, in me appeared to spring from motives which made them bad. When my conscience prevented me from doing or saying any particular wrong to which I was tempted, I felt about as guilty at seeing the capability of doing it in my heart as though I had done it. How I envied others who, I thought, never could think such wickedness, but who were honest enough to act out whatever they thought, and whose worst actions were good in comparison with my thoughts.

The oppression of this feeling of wickedness has at times been very great. The consciousness of the utter depravity of my nature has followed me all my life, but I think there was a peculiar and aching sense of guilt in my childhood which did not follow me, though when it left me I cannot tell. Heretofore I have regarded it as one of those things that pass away with childhood. I have always felt that I must get better in order to obtain the favor of God, no matter how much I was convinced that it was impossible for one t~ do so. I have made many resolutions to think and act according to the strictest rules of right, but have failed to keep them. My utter inability to change myself seems to have been forced upon me, item by item, slowly but surely. After the performance of an action in which it has seemed I might take most pride, and which others would approve, windows have been opened into the depths of my soul, and motives shown to me which have dissipated my pride in a moment. There have been times when my whole past life has risen up before me, a continuous train of evil, without one good thought or action to relieve the dreary monotony. I think that of late I have ceased to regard with any real complacency anything I might do, however laudable it might appear. I have always thought much of the fleeting nature of earthly things, and have realized very clearly the certainty of death, and the vanity of all pleasures that belong only to earth.

These thoughts have, I know, controlled my ambition and my desire for earthly fame, and have mitigated the bitterness of regret for the loss of earthly hopes. I have been conscious of a kind of satisfaction when suffering the keenest stings of humbled pride, as though it were well deserved and appropriate. It has seemed to me that earthly sorrow and misfortune were necessary in order to prepare me to receive and enjoy true happiness.

I have thought much about heaven, but could never feel that I could be happy with the holy beings who must inhabit that world of glory unless I was greatly changed myself. I think I have most earnestly desired and longed for that change, whatever it might be, and have had some hope that it might be given me, or that it might be mine at death. I have not thought much about hell, especially since my early youth, but the thought of banishment from the glory of his power has made me tremble. I cannot say that I have prayed, but I have tried to pray that the Lord would forgive my sins.

Thank God, the change has come in this life, but how different from what I looked for. My nature is not changed, nor my natural propensities eradicated, but it seems that a new love, and new desires have been given me, which are separate and diverse from all others. I am still conscious of being unfit by' nature for the society of holy beings, but I long for it. I am happy with the saints here, and I know I shall I~ happy with them in heaven, if such should be my happy lot. What to be blessed with the fullness of love, to be forever with be free from everything unholy.

It is impossible to give more than a hint at the various exercises of mind and conflicts which I had as I went on thinking of these things day after day, trying to think of some way in which I could bring the doctrine of grace to apply to my own ease and condition. I think that i have seen "men as trees walking," since I was about ten years of age.

When about the age of 20 I joined awhile in Methodist prayer meetings with the students at the seminary where I was attending. I was told that I ought to join the church, but this I could not do. They urged me to get religion, but I did not know how. The good works by which they told me I could get it I thought would be very evil works in me. After this time my sister Bessie joined the Old School Baptist Church at Vaughan Hill: I was very glad. I had always loved to hear the old Baptists preach, and did so whenever I could. For six years I have lived where there are none since I have been engaged in practicing law. In April, 1868, I united with the Presbyterian Church in Wilkes-Barre, where I live. I can hardly tell why I did so. I thought if I made a public profession of my desire to be a Christian it might help me, The preacher was one who had advocated sound doctrine, but he soon showed he could also advocate error and I became tired of that. I was called upon to speak in prayer in public. That I could not continue to do,--I, who had seldom lifted my voice above a whisper when alone, and that only in broken exclamations for help. It was too much. My sufferings in many ways cannot be told. There were times when I seemed to be on the border of despair. One severe trial was when I visited my father's home; he said to me, "You have professed to be a follower of Jesus. Do you feel like speaking in prayer?"

I sometimes felt that I had been left to my own evil heart in uniting with that church, both to break down my pride, and to show me more decidedly that I was helpless and worthless, and to have all shadow of doubt removed as to where the true church of God on earth was. It Was not long before I saw clearly where it was not. I looked in vain for brotherly love, for union and fellowship among the members, and for all that should characterize those who are members of a gospel church, as I saw it in the New Testament. But I felt that they were all better than I, although my standing in the community, and in the church was good. They could talk of temporal things, but seemed to have no inclination to speak of spiritual things, which I was more interested in. The preaching, which I had thought sound in doctrine, seemed to grow less and less so, until I could not listen to it with any satisfaction.

At last I became very hungry to hear true preaching of the gospel. Last summer Elder Gilbert Beebe came to my father's house to preach the funeral sermon of my oldest brother, who had been killed in Missouri in the war. Many things he said tended to comfort me some, and to strengthen my hope that I might sometime be a subject of grace. During the past winter there were heavy troubles at home on account

of sickness. I was there much of the time and think I felt some trust in the Lord for myself and others, which he only can give, I talked some, especially with my sister Bessie, but could not feel as I wanted to. My brother Warren, who was not expected to live, experienced a bright hope, and I could rejoice with him. In March I was in Washington with my brother James, and while there I met Elder Wm. J. Purington, and talked very freely with him. I told him I had not taken communion with the Presbyterian Church in some time. He afterward, in a letter, advised me not to do so any more, but to take the first opportunity to talk with some gospel church, intimating that he hoped I had been exercised by the Spirit. I felt certain he was deceived in me, and it seemed that I ought not to talk any more with Christians in regard to my own case, for my troubled state of mind, and what I knew and felt of the truth led them to have a hope for me for which there was no foundation.

For months the Bible and old volumes of the "Signs of the Times" were my only reading, except what was necessary in my business. I could see things in each which seemed to express my feelings, but still my' soul refused to be comforted. One evening, as I lay listening to a friend who was reading in the Psalms, I felt a peace and rest so unusual that I noticed it, but did not think of taking any hope on account of it. The next morning, as I walked to my office, thinking of these things, as I was most of my time, I thought of that peaceful state of mind that I had the last evening, and wondering what it meant. I asked myself: "Will I ever know anything?" Then the words were in my mind, "Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness.

They were very familiar to me; yet now they appeared new and full of life. I had always thought one must be good before he could hunger and thirst after righteousness. Now I saw that a man hungers after something he does not have. I have no righteousness; I want it; I long for it; I am the hungry man. Perhaps I am one for whom Christ died. All this was instantaneous, and the last sentence seemed to stop and be repeated with a certainty as though the word "perhaps" did not belong there. In an instant I was so glad I did not know what to do. I was truly glad, for the first time in all my life I said to myself perhaps I am one for whom Jesus died, though I had thought perhaps I might be. But now the word was am. And for the first time I was glad with that kind of gladness. Every gladness I had ever had from childhood had with it the suggestion of an end. It would end some time. But this I felt would never end. In two or three hours it was, or seemed to be, gone, in a way I shall soon tell; yet that same gladness reaches back to this time, and I have a remembrance and a taste of it now as I write.

I seem to have stopped walking, and to have been standing for some time, looking away into infinite distance, but I do not know how long I was there. "Thou hast put gladness in my heart." I went into my office and began writing to sister Bessie, to tell her of my gladness. When my pastor came in, as he and other preachers occasionally did, I said at once: "Why, Doctor Hodge, for the first time in all my life I have a hope," and I went on to tell him the wonderful gladness which had been given me. I had been a member of his church about a year, and we had been quite intimate. When I had told him how I felt, he said, "I am glad for you. That is a very happy state of mind; and now all you have to do is to go on in the line of your duty and all will be well."

Immediately I began to question: My duty; my duty! I have never done my duty. I have never done One thing to merit this hope. It cannot be that I have a hope. This does not belong to me. ! tried to keep it, but it began to slip away. In the course of two or three hours it seemed to be gone. My letter to my sister could not tell of the gladness that had come like sunshine into my heart, but into that, and into my own thoughts the questioning and heart searching went. I had always felt that before I could have a true hope, I must have a view of God, and of my condemnation under his holy law, and of Christ's sacrifice, in some way different from what I had ever had, and that I must come to him with a singleness of desire, and with a knowledge of what I wanted, and with a hungering and thirsting after righteousness. I could see nothing in my experience equal to what I thought this must be. If I had ever truly hungered, and had truly felt my condemnation, I certainly should be able to avoid all sin, and to pray with a single desire; whereas it sometimes appeared as though I saw more evil within me when trying to pray than at Other times. I thought that perhaps my great desire for a hope and for the favor of God were the cause of my taking these things to myself, which did not belong to me.

I decided to go to the Warwick Association in Warwick, N. Y., and have a talk with Elder Trott, whose writings I had read in the "Signs," with great appreciation. Although certain that I had no true experience, I wanted to talk with some church. I knew that Christ was able to save even me, if I would go to him; but I could not tell how to go, or where to find him. Yet it seemed to me if I could hear the preach: ing I loved, and see the enjoyment of Christians, I would feel better, and if they would give me some corner in the church, that I would rest, and just trust myself to the Lord. Then again I thought it would be the worst thing I had ever done if I should say anything that would make them willing to admit me.

A friend at the Association expressed, as my sister had done before, a confidence in the reality of my experience. I could not feel that it was so, yet I felt somewhat enlivened. On the second day of the Association a lady came from a distance, who had never heard an 01d Baptist preach. She was seeking the church of God, and felt that she had found it in the people at Warwick. She was baptized on the last day, and I thought it the most beautiful scene I had ever witnessed, but felt more alone than ever. I listened eagerly to all the preaching, but none of it came to me as my own, or with power, except one text: "Thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left." I had opportunity to talk with several, and among them Elder Trott, whom I regarded with almost reverence on account of what I had read of his writings. He advised me to tell the church my feelings and exercises, and let them judge of my experience. "You know," he said, "they are the judges." I saw that most of them had a hope for me, but I felt as though I had deceived them. Although I had decided to act upon the advice Of Elders Trott and Beebe, and receive the ordinance of baptism if the church accepted me, I was really distressed at what I was going to do, and resolved to explain this feeling to the church, and charge them to judge with great care. And yet, I thought, suppose they should say this is an experience of grace; what would I do! So in this great trouble and conflict of mind, with many other perplexities and anxieties of soul weighing upon me, I sank into sleep.

On Saturday morning about three o'clock I was awake and thinking of these things as usual. One by one my doubts and perplexities came before my mind and were removed. Passages of scripture and points of doctrine with which I was familiar had new meanings for me. I seemed to be thinking with wonderful ease, and with a certainty as to the correctness of my thoughts which was new to me. What was explained to me in that hour it would take long to tell. Suddenly I was conscious that I had been lying in perfect peace and rest. I was thinking so easily, and saw things so clearly that I thought I would take up the things that had troubled me so much and think them over. I looked about me for them, but they were all gone beyond my reach. I seemed to see them in the distance around me, as Christian in "The Pilgrim's Progress," after he had passed through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, saw the evil things that had tormented him, but they were far off, and came not nigh. Not a trouble was in sight. I saw no reason for the peace and calm which possessed my mind, but there it was, and I knew it was the "Peace of God, which passeth all understanding." How good and sweet it was, after all these weary, restless years. How my glad heart went out in love and gratitude to the dear Lord. I thought of the words of scripture, "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is staid on thee, because he trusteth in thee." I had tried so long, so many weary years, to stay my heart on God, that I might have that perfect peace, but had never been able. Now, without an effort of my own, and in an unexpected moment, and in an unexpected way, the Lord had done it. I had done nothing to merit it; I was no better than I was yesterday. It was so wonderful; I could see no reason in myself for it. It passed my understanding.

I thought, "Can I ever sin again, in heart or word or act ?" It seemed impossible. Can I ever tell any one how to get this peace, or that he himself can Obtain it, when it had come to me as the wind, blowing where it listeth. For I knew then nothing I had ever done, nor any sermon I had ever heard, nor anything that anybody had ever said to me, had been the means by which that peace had come to me. All that day I was like them that dream. Peace flowed in my heart like a river. My mouth was filled with laughter, and my tongue with singing. I could not yet understand what reason I had for feeling so, and occasionally a momentary trouble would come over me because I did not have my doubts and afflictions any more. But even that could not hurt me. I was led and controlled by a blessed spirit of peace.

On Sunday morning I awoke about the same hour, three o'clock, and found myself still with him, my restfulness and delight still greater. I never can express the trembling joy that overflowed my soul as the assurance grew stronger and stronger that I had found my Saviour, or had been found of him.

On that morning, Sunday morning, June 12, 1864, Elder Harding preached in Wallkill Meeting House, near Middletown, N. Y., from Isa. 55:13, telling much that was delightful for me to hear. I told the church a little of my feelings and was received. Instead of having to tell them of doubts I could tell them of a precious hope, but seemed able to tell them only a little. There was no hurry or excitement about me that day. In the afternoon I was baptized by Elder Gilbert Beebe in a little lake in the cemetery at Middletown. I had often thought that if such a thing should ever be, it would be a very exciting time for me, but I was never so calm before. The crowd that stood quietly by, and even the beautiful address to which we listened, claimed my attention less than the beautiful clouds, and a little sunfish playing in the water at my feet. The sermon of Elder St. John, from Luke 18:29, 50, and the address of Elder Beebe in giving me the right hand of fellowship, were listened to with more pleasure than can be expressed. My delight at getting into the church knew no bounds.

Preaching was a new thing to me. I found that after all my fancied knowledge of true doctrine, I was a perfect child in my ignorance of spiritual things. I first knew really what prayer was; it was breathing within me. I first knew what faith was; I stopped looking away somewhere for the Lord, and trying to form an adequate conception of him in my mind; and acknowledged his glorious presence, and saw by faith my precious and glorious Redeemer. I have only once seemed to see a vision, and that was hardly with my mind. On Monday morning the moment I woke a doubt seemed to arise within me. It had the appearance of a terrible black thing rising out of darkness. I shrank back and cried in my soul, "0 Lord, I cannot contend with this." Instantly I saw the appearance of a hand reach out over it and crush it back into darkness again. The black thing appears to me to be composed of all doubts and questionings that can ever rise up in the mind against the truth, and even against the experience of grace, and the existence of God. I was not left to try my strength with it; and I felt that moment that I would never have that peculiar temptation again. I feel so yet.

It was a privilege for which I was, and am, very thankful, to spend those few days with those who have been taught of God. On Monday I left them, but peace went with me. My joy and wonder continually increased, as new things were revealed, and glorious things were unfolded to my spiritual understanding, every revelation renewing and strengthening my assurance, that I had found my Beloved. I could not bear to have my thoughts diverted from my new-found treasure, but kept it closely grasped by them, as though afraid it might suddenly vanish, as though, indeed, it could not be a reality, but only a dream.

And so I have gone on till now. Today I have felt as though I ought to write some of my former exercises, lest in this new life I might forget them. I have done so hastily and meagerly. But I cannot keep long from the contemplation of this new joy, and from the new beauties I see in the Bible, and from talking with my home folks here at my father's, who are now dear to me in a new sense. In a few days I must return to my place of business, where I shall be alone, but for the presence of him who I know will be with me, and who I trust will hide me in the secret of his presence from the pride of men. Though far from those with whom I have a name and an inheritance, still may I trust that the Lord will abundantly satisfy me with the provisions of his house. Let me always ascribe praise to him who sitteth on the throne of his holiness, and whose mercy endureth forever.

WILKES-BARRE, PA., July 26, 1864.

Dear BROTHER BEEBE: As I look over this it appears to me as though but little has been told, and that in a very inadequate manner. I have not succeeded in telling what I want to, and sometimes I feel as though my experience amounts to but little anyway in comparison with that of others; except the last part, in which I think I cannot be mistaken.

I have been back at my business about a month, a Solitary but a very happy Old School Baptist. My peace and comfort have been almost unbroken, except by the continual evidences of my sinful heart. Even these however, have been made to strengthen, rather than weaken my trust. When my evil disposition, which I almost thought the word of peace had put down forever, first manifested itself after I had received my hope in Jesus, I was startled, shocked, and for a while I feared and grieved very much. I said to myself, "I am a sinner yet! My hope is not good, and I can never have another, for this is the only way." In an instant the words came-to me, "He is the end of the law for righteousness." And I was comforted. But oh, how humble I was before the Lord.

Thus my dear Saviour was near me to keep me from falling, teaching me that in his righteousness I had hope. My hope seems to have grappled a very solid rock, and all the troubles that can surge around me, and even the greatest of all sorrows on account of sin, however much they may toss me, do not seem able to shake or disturb the deep gladness of my soul, any more than the winds can affect the depths of the ocean. My joy cannot be accounted for by any of the circumstances of my life. The earth did not give me that hope, and cannot take it away.

I have been led into the knowledge of the scriptures as much as is for my good. Sometimes when seeing so much in them which I cannot understand, I have prayed that they might be opened to me. But when light falls upon one passage of scripture, it almost dazzles me. ! What would I do if the whole scriptures were opened before me at once!

One evening, while reading in Hebrews, feeling lonely, and wishing for the companionship of some of the Lord's people, it was suddenly shown to me that I had come unto Mt. Zion, and unto the city of living God, the heavenly Jerusalem; and for a time I felt that I was in the general assembly and church of the First Born, and could reach out my arms with equal love to all the redeemed, whether in heaven, or still on earth. It was a glorious joy. I cannot have much greater, ! think, while in this world. It was the first time I had really felt what it is to be a fellow-citizen with the saints, to be one with the household of God, part here and part above, but all having one delight, one blessed work, singing praises to our dear Redeemer.

It is a delightful thing when We have had new experiences and new thoughts in regard to divine things, so incomprehensible, so wonderful, to our minds that we almost hesitate, and but tremblingly accept the joy they bring, lest they may be only our own dreamings, so slow are we to believe that the Spirit would show the things of Jesus to such as :: we; how surprisingly delightful to see or hear the same experiences and thoughts expressed by others whom we never saw or heard before, far more clearly than we could have expressed them.

May grace be with all those who love the Lord in sincerity, and may peace and joy and love with faith abound unto all the saints.

Your brother affectionately,

SILAS H. DURAND.

Copied by S. H. D., March 2, 1915.

How clearly every thought and feeling and word and incident comes before me now, after so many years. How much I felt I knew, and how little I knew. On Sunday morning of the day I was baptized, Elder Harding said while preaching, "A minister of the gospel may not only be left t° doubt his call to preach, but his call by grace." At the dinner table where he and other ministers were, I called attention to this, and said to Elder Harding and the others, "Do you think it right for one who has such hope as we have to talk that way? I feel that I am done with trouble. The only trouble of any account is because of sin, and I am clone with Sin." Elder Beebe quietly remarked, "You will know more some time than you do now," and they all smiled, but I knew that I was done with sin. Oh, if I could only have seen along the terribly dark and crooked path I was to walk in the years that were then before me, but now have gone by, how could ! have lived! But they were right. I do know more now than I did then. It seems to me a wonder that I have been kept from outreaching transgressions, and have retained the fellowship of the church.

During the few days at Middletown my mind was as one in a dream. I was talking or singing all the time. The scriptures were in my heart and in my mouth, but I do not know that I opened the Bible during the two or three days. On my way to my father's home I stayed all night at a friend's. When I lay down I saw a Bible on a stand and took it up, saying to myself, "Well, I will see what this says." I opened and began to read where it first opened: "When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion we were like them that dream: then was our mouth filled with laughter and our tongue with singing. Then said they among the heathen, The Lord hath done great things for them. The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad."

"Why," I said to myself, "this is just what I have been feeling for three days, and here it is in the Bible." Then I knew the Bible as I had never known it before. From that time I had it whenever I could, and in six weeks I had read everything that was in it, not in order, but as I felt, first the Psalms, then the Gospels, then Isaiah, and so on, Once during that time I called upon two sisters, members of the same church I had before been with. One of them asked, 'What are you reading now?" I hesitated a moment, then said, "To tell you the truth I am not reading anything but the Bible." "Oh, you are trying to be very good, now you have got to be a Baptist." "No," I said, "I am reading it because I prefer it to any other book." "Oh," she said, "I do not believe anybody would rather read that than a novel. Of course I read the Bible night and morning because it is my duty, but I would rather read a novel." "Why," the elder one said, "I like to read the Bible sometimes"; and even then I was hungry to get to reading the dear book again.

The subject of salvation by grace, and my wonderful experience of it, were uppermost in my mind nearly all the time, and I cared little to talk of anything else. It was all so new and so wonderful. And the scriptures were constantly showing me some new and wonderful thing. I had read a great deal in the Bible all my life, but now I was reading it with a new feeling, as being personally interested in what it contained. It was mine. The precious things it told about were for me. Sometimes it seemed as though some one was talking to me out of its pages. I kept on reading it as one would dig and work over the soil in his garden if he knew there were diamonds hidden all over it within six inches of the surface, or as a hungry man would watch for crumbs of bread that lay scattered about.

In the office, on the street or in the parlor, this was the one thing I cared to talk about. I remember of saying to a company of friends once, "You undoubtedly think it strange that I should bring forward this subject of religion here. I know it is not customary, and is deemed out of place in a social company like this, but your preachers tell us it is the most important thing in the world, and now it is so to me. Compared with this subject of Jesus and his salvation, I cannot think of any other subject as of any special importance." How little I knew then of the possibility of such changes in my mind as I have since then experienced. But I am thankful for that sweet childhood season of joy and confidence in the dear Saviour.

I could find few in my town that seemed to fully understand and respond to my experience. There was one, an Episcopalian woman, to whom I could talk freely of what I had felt. But all were very kind and friendly, and many seemed to feel that I had met with a change in my mind. I tried to find any throughout the country who understood how I felt, and was very glad when I found some I enjoyed visiting.

I went on in my business as a lawyer, but seemed to have little interest in it. I tried to do well what I had to do, but my Bible was at hand all the time, and open before me a good deal of the time. I also read in old volumes of the "Signs of the Times," which my father had together, and also in the hymn book. I was often surprised to my own thoughts and feelings in letters published years before, and also in the Bible. One night, alone in my office reading in the scriptures, I all at once realized, as I read, that Abraham had felt as I, then, and that I had the experience of Abraham. Those old t and holy men, it had always appeared to me, were far above where could even hope to reach, and now I felt that I was sitting down with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in gospel experience and rest. unspeakably holy feeling I can never forget.

I expected to continue all my life in the practice of the law, and am not conscious of any thought that I would ever leave it. I do not remember that it ever occurred to me during those two months that I should ever have to preach. Yet the subject of preaching was much in my mind. A few days after my baptism I rode a short distance with Elder St. John, who was going to an appointment. I asked him if a preacher of the gospel now ever could feel as Paul did that he was sure he should come unto them in the fulness of the blessing of the gospel of Christ. I do not remember that he answered. The Sunday night of the day I was received in the church, they had a conference meeting, and I remember with comfort now the joy I had in being there with the church, and the sweetness I felt in speaking to them of Isa. ~6:1-4, and telling them that for years I had tried to trust in the Lord in order that I might feel that perfect peace, and I had never been able, and that now the Lord had given me that trust, and had staid my mind on him, and I was kept in perfect peace.

The next week was the meeting of the Chemung Association with the Asylum Church, to which my father and mother, two brothers and sister Bessie then belonged, and of which, a year after, eleven members of our family were members. At the close of that session of the association I was called upon to speak in conference. I felt a comfort in speaking to the dear brothers and sisters of what the Lord had done for me. I learned long afterward that Elder Conklin, a name never to be forgotten by those who knew him, said to my father, "Brother Durand, your son will have to preach." How little I then thought that such a thing could be. But the subject of preaching was much in my thoughts. As I drove an elder from our house to the meeting, I said, "Elder _________, how does a man feel who is called to preach?" His reply startled me. "Now don't be thinking of that. There's too many preachers now." Less than two years after that he left the Old Baptists.

July 30th I went to Middletown, about 150 miles. I had questions to ask Elder Beebe about many passages of scripture as we rode on Sunday morning to meeting at New Vernon. His answers were very satisfying. The last question was concerning the rest that remaineth to the people of God. Before he could answer that we were at the meeting house. To my surprise he took that for a text. I wondered because I thought a preacher must have his subject well thought out and arranged in his mind before he could venture to preach. His sermon seemed to me very clear, and I was lost to present things as I listened to the glorious truth of salvation, and saw how contrary to that truth were all the religious societies and systems with which I had so lately been connected. When he concluded his sermon he asked me if I had anything to say. My mind was full and I was instantly on my feet, telling how clearly I saw that the modern missionary system was contrary to the Lord's word, and that the Lord would in his own way, by his own power and grace bring all his chosen ones to himself. In a short time I came to myself, and hurriedly and in a good deal of consternation and confusion of Mind sat down. It seemed to me I had brought a reproach upon the sacred cause I so much loved. Riding home with Deacon Hiram Horton, who was one of the best and most spiritual of men, I tried to find out whether he thought it was wrong for me to have spoken. His reply was to remind me of what I had said to him seven years before of Elder Beebe's preaching, that it was like apples of gold in pictures of silver. I concluded he thought I had disgraced the church by speaking. It was some days before I was relieved of that painful burden. In the afternoon Elder Beebe called on me again, but I had resolved not to speak any more.

My peace and comfort continued from the day before I was baptized unbroken for three or four weeks. The sins which had so long weighted me down were gone, and I looked for no more trouble of that kind. ' But one day in an instant I saw that I was a sinner yet. My nature all at once appeared to me most vile and hateful. My thought was in this form: "My hope is not good, for I am a sinner yet; and I can never have another hope, for there is no other way of Salvation." My feeling was as though I was over a bottomless abyss, and about to fall. Instantly the words were in my mind, "Jesus is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth" Salvation was in that precious word. I was saved by it. But oh, how humble I was; lowly, how self-loathing. What a wonderful change that short experience had worked in me. My self-confidence had received a terrible blow. I have since then had more terrible experiences of the awful power of sin, and longer continued before deliverance came, but stands out in my memory more distinctly than that first conflict.

I called one evening on a former school friend, who was from an illness. He was a most intellectual man, and a scholar. He asked me to tell how I came out of the Church. In reply I told him much of my spiritual exercise of which had the effect of separating me from their doctrine and order institutions, so that I had no difficulty in separating from them, retaining their esteem. He listened with such interest, and made responses that I thought he had the same experience I had. So I began to talk of the Bible, which was so dear to me. Soon he restless, and finally said somewhat excitedly, "I believe in election much as you do, but God elected those who he foresaw would be obedient." "But," I replied, "that would be according to their foreseen. And Paul says: 'Who hath saved us and called us with holy calling, not according to our works, but according to his purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ before the began.'" "It does not mean so," he replied. "If I thought it so I would not believe the Bible." I went away with my head

I felt such sadness and wonder that I could not make him see what so plain to me, I had not yet learned that I could not tell the secret to any one who had not learned it from him already. Jesus healed any he said, "See, thou tell no man," but the more charged them the more a great deal they published it. Yet not one them has ever disobeyed that command, for while those who are desire to publish and tell abroad the good news, no one the blessed truth but those to whom the dear Saviour has himself it. His sheep hear his voice and his alone.

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At one time during the summer I had a great trial of mind concerning my right to be a member of the church of God. I felt so vile, so lacking in every grace, so unworthy of any favor from a holy God, was tempted to believe I had deceived myself and the church. The next time I met Elder Beebe It took him aside and said, "Did you have fellowship for me when you baptized me?' "Why, my child," he said, "I should not have baptized you if I had not." I was greatly encouraged. I thought I was alone in that peculiar temptation. I did not then know that almost every one, if not all, who are called by have some such seasons of doubt concerning their experience.