Off on Furlough: Leaves Tract Society Work for a Time

Rest is not quitting
The busy career;
Rest is the fitting

Of self to its sphere.”

The summer of 1852 found Uncle John again in his old home. His mother had gone far beyond her three score and ten years, and growing feebleness indicated that the end was not far away. The only child remaining with her was a daughter who from girlhood had been frail. It became a question whether duty did not require him to stay where he could smooth the last few months of a parent whose devotion to her children had been unsurpassed. Satisfied that maternal claims were for the present paramount, he dissolved his connection with the Tract Society, and waited tenderly on the failing steps of the mother till October, when he laid her down in hope by the good father’s side.

Friends in Poughkeepsie now insisted that there was work enough for him at home, and especially in the temperance line. In many places the so-called “Carson League” had been organized, the chief object of which was to suppress the unlicensed sale of intoxicating drink. This Society pressed him to become its agent in Dutchess County, to bring to justice offenders against law. It is needless to remark that this was vastly less congenial employment than telling “the old, old story of Jesus and his love.” But the evil to be fought was a crying one, and what right had any child of God to decline a service simply because it was disagreeable? He would be withstanding sin and Satan still. So he grappled with the whiskey power, and it never found in that region a foe who dealt it heavier blows, or one whom it was so difficult to scare or beat. As religiously as he ever went to his closet to pray he ferreted out law-breakers in saloons, and groceries, and taverns, and groggeries, nor rested till a number were inside of prison bars instead of liquor bars, and dozens more, alarmed, gave up the illicit trade. As might be expected, “certain lewd fellows of the baser sort” cursed and threatened and reviled. They hung him in ^’^^ in front of the County Court House with the inscription, “This is John Vassar and the Maine Law.” They prosecuted him in court on a charge of assault and battery because one day, in an earnest argument, he held a man for a moment by the arm, when he was about to turn away. They followed him on the streets in hooting rabbles. His life was more than once in jeopardy. One of these attempts to frighten, if not to injure him, let one who witnessed it oescribe — L. T. Perkins, Esq., of Brooklyn, N. Y., then a Poughkeepsie boy.

“One afternoon he came up Market Street to Main, and up Main to the Gregory House, followed by some two hundred angry men, many of them carrying clubs and threatening his life. He passed through the hotel by a back way, and came down Mill Street to our church, where the usual prayer-meeting was about to begin. I shall never forget the burning enthusiasm of the man as he spoke that night, or the fervor of his prayer. After the meeting I wanted to go home with him, being fearful that he might be harmed. I know it was absurd to think that my five-foot and hundredpound body could have done much toward protecting him, but I loved him, and so I wished to go along. As we were coming up the basement steps, our pastor. Rev. Thomas Goodwin, said, * Here, Brother Vassar, take this cane of mine; I can get along without it, and some of these men may be lurking along the streets and may fall on you.’ Uncle John just braced himself back, held up both hands, and said, ‘Brother Goodwin, the Lord has given me these hands for weapons, and they are all I need. If my Master wants John Vassar to-night, nothing can save him. If He does not, all these men combined can’t hurt him.”

For two years he thus pushed this work, during which time he saw his steadfast friend, the late George W. Sterling, sent to the State Legislature from the Poughkeepsie district, on a straight-out temperance ticket, and other triumphs Vv’on neither few nor small. Concerning these days this is about all the record we have from his own hand: “I look back with wonder to see how much the Lord has brought me through. Blessed be His holy name. I have visited the nineteen towns of the county, and some of them twice over. 1 have walked on an average twenty miles a day, and spoken publicly about every night. I believe some good has been done, but I take to myself no praise. I am an unprofitable servant anywhere, and far too little concerned for any good cause.”

Toward the close of these labors — in December, 1854 — he was married to Miss Harriet M. Brownson, formerly of Monticello, Sullivan County, N. Y., and at the date of the marriage a very active member of the Poughkeepsie church. In entering into this new relation it was understood that the remainder of his life was to be devoted to evangelistic labor, and that this labor would be likely to make of him literally a pilgrim and stranger, having no continuing city, no permanent or settled home. Animated by much of his spirit, the wife sought in nowise to hold him back, but at the first, as ever afterward, consented readily to such separations as long absences required, and such an increase of care and duty as they might bring. Bible work, in his native county, claimed his attention for six months or more. The object in securing him was to effect if possible an entrance into eveiy house of the county, and the putting of a copy of God’s Word in every home Vvhere it was not found. So thorough a canvass of that field no one man has ever made. From the shanties of the coal-burners on Fishkill Mountains, to the mansions of the wealthiest in the towns he went, and in almost eveiy instance was well received. A few, irritated by his ^ecnt temperance work, shut their doors in his face, but several such were melted when he promptly knelt down upon the stoop, and tenderly prayed that in turning him away they might not turn away his Lord. For Romanists who would receive no other, the Douay version was carried, and so in the autumn he was able to report that there were few families in all the district in which the Scriptures could not be seen.

The wide acquaintance thus acquired led the Dutchess Baptist Association to recognize in him the man above all others to undertake mission work within their bounds. This body embraced some twenty or more churches, and amid these for seven or eight years he now moved, aiding by prayer and exhortation in extra meetings, and especially in visiting from house to house. Here it was that he first took on himself the title of “Shepherd’s dog,” a title which thereafter clung to him, and by which he was almost as well known as “Uncle John.” It originated in the fact that he always and everywhere refused to be considered a preacher, declaring that it was his office simply to go around and seek out, and bring under the minister’s notice, anxious and troubled souls. These years were years of growth such as his own denomination had not known through that region for a long while, and never since has seen. The revival spirit went from church to church. Drowsy Christians started up where he came, as sleeping soldiers at bugle call. Formal professors thawed out into a spring-time of devotion as frozen clods thaw out when April winds breathe across the fields. Hundreds bowed as penitent sinners at the Saviour’s feet, and rose to walk in newness of life with their risen Lord.

Many who labored with him in these seasons have passed on with their brother toiler, and entered into rest. Others remain. Let them add their testimony here.

Rev. W. O. Holman, of Bunker Hill Church, Boston, writes:” I was studying for the ministry in the city of New York, and was supplying the Baptist church in Amenia, twenty-five miles east of Poughkeepsie, a church which was at the time pastorless, when our acquaintance began. A revival had broken out in our meetings, and Uncle John was soon on hand. One Sunday, while I was preaching, a short, thick-set man, with a genial countenance, came in. He took a seat near the pulpit, and putting his eyes intently on me kept his lips moving, as if in assent or prayer. At the close of the service he grasped my hand, and was so hearty and cordial and enthusiastic that I was almost repelled. He interested me nevertheless, and we were soon the best of friends. Blessed be God for the hour that brought us together. I have known many a good man after the flesh, but never another such as he.

“Together we travelled from house to house, over hill and dale, through cold and snow, rain and sunshine, seeking for sinners to lead to Christ. Never shall I forget his apt, earnest, pointed appeals. The fruit? of that meeting were glorious. Old feuds among

OFF ON FURLOUGH, 6i

believers were healed, and from fifty to seventy souls converted to the Lord. A year or more afterward I was ordained and settled at Poughkeepsie, and so became the pastor of Uncle John. There we worked together in a most blessed season in the spring of 1858. On a single Sabbath I was privileged to give the hand of fellowship to sixty-three new believers, many of whom still survive, and some of whom were permitted to drop the tear of affection over one who helped guide their returning feet to the Shepherd and Bishop of souls.

“The next August we went to Beekman, where there was a little feeble church, for a four days’ m.eeting. It was right in harvest-time, but the people flocked together, and the literal harvest was nothing alongside the harvest of souls which there was gathered in. The four days’ service ran into four weeks, and it really seemed as if Uncle John’s heart and head were in heaven, while his feet yet trod the earth. That community Vv’ill tell of his toils and travels, during those weeks, forever.

“Thence we went to Fishkill Plains and Shenandoah, and oh! the sweet wonders of redeeming grace that were displayed. Uncle John seemed divinely anointed. If ever soul revelled in the love of Christ, he did. He testified to every one who would listen by day, and then far into the night he would wrestle for anxious souls. Winter after winter in Poughkeepsie, during my five years’ pastorate, he would come home long enough to labor for awhile. God uniformly gave

His blessing, and the precious revivals of those early years are hallowed in my heart forever. Oh for one more hour with the dear old man, one more prayer together, one more exhortation, one Scripture exposition such as he used to give; but alas! we shall see his face and hear his voice no more.”

Rev. J. Donnelly, of Ionia, Michican, says: “In August of 1858 Uncle John came out to Beekman, where I, then a student at Hamilton was supplying the church. I shall never forget the day he came to my study. I was busy writing out a sermon for Sunday, and was about half done, when a rap at my door brought him in. Greetings were soon exchanged, a season of prayer followed, and in thirty minutes from the time he entered we were out calling and at missionary work. I did not see how I could go, at first, and leave my sermon unfinished. But I went. That sermon was never finished. Before Sunday came, ay, before the first night, there were anxious souls inquiring after Christ, and my subject had to be changed. Over forty-five persons, as the result of the work thus begun, were added to the church, and of the human agencies employed Uncle John must be accounted first. For what I then and there learned, for the breaking-in I received in the matter of dealing with souls, I have thanked John Vassar since a thousand times. During this revival I was much with him, and can testify that the last thing before his eyes closed was prayer, and the first when his eyes opened. After an experience of twenty years I am free to say that I never knew a man who prayed so much, and I never knew a man who lived so constantly in the sunshine of a Saviour’s presence and love. If ever a man lived Christ, it was John E. Vassar.”

Of these same meetings Rev. J. L. Benedict, of White Plains, N. Y., a college classmate of Mr. Donnelly, gives this account: On entering the village of Beekman on a visit to my friend, who was supplying the little church there, I did not know just where to find him; so, accosting a man who was nearing me and walking very fast, I inquired. The stranger thus addressed pointed out the place, and in the next breath said, “Are you a Christian, my young friend?” I answered that I hoped I was. A few more words passed, and then he went on, remarking that he was

* in a hurry to look up some sheep. ‘After greeting my fellow-student, and being introduced to the family in which he made his home, I remarked that I had just met a crazy man up the road in search of some sheep. The whole group laughed outright, and my friend said,

* Why, that was John Vassar, our county missionary; and the sheep that he is in search of are the Lord’s.* A few days afterward Uncle John wished me to accompany him to the old Fishkill church, a few miles below, where the venerable Elder Robinson had preached for many years. This aged minister was not friendly to protracted meetings, yet he and his church had confidence in Uncle John, and readily consented to open their house of worship for a week. The very first evening five young men rose for prayer, and within a month between thirty and forty made a public profession of their faith. One day I accompanied Uncle John in his visits, and we called at the house of Mr. S., where there were several young people, unconverted then. On our approach they ran into another room to get out of the way. He saw the movement, and went straight in where they were. Then, with all the tender sympathy of his great heart, he entreated them to yield to Christ, and falling on his knees pleaded for them separately each by name. Before we left the house they were in tears, and were praying for themselves. They all became living witnesses for Christ. During the course of the day we stopped under the shade of a large oak to rest, and while stopping there I took occasion to ask him if he always thus followed up those who sought to avoid him. He replied that he did not, that ordinarily it might irritate them, but that in cases where he believed the Spirit of God was working, and especially in revival seasons, he would so hunt them up.

“To make more clear his meaning he told me of an instance which occurred not long before, but charged me never to repeat it publicly, lest it should excite a lauq-h and divert attention from more serious concerns. Somewhere in a meeting he had met a young man troubled evidently about his salvation, and apparently more than half persuaded to settle the conflict by out-and-out committal of himself to the Lord. One day Uncle John felt the impression very strong that he ought to go and see this wavering soul. It was nearly noon, and the men on the farm were coming in from the field. All gathered around the table for dinner save the one that it was desired to reach. The father said that the son would probably be in presently, but he did not come. Uncle John feared that he was keeping out of the way purposely, and determined to go out and look him up. Through all the out-buildings he searched and called, but without success, and was about to give up the quest when he chanced to spy the door of a corn-crib open, and entering it, in a large hogshead he found the young man concealed. Climbing right over into it by the trembling, confounded, humiliated sinner’s side, he began to talk and pray, and there the penitent settled the question to be forever the Lord’s. Afterward he confessed to Uncle John that when he saw him hunting around he took a sort of malicious satisfaction in thinking he had evaded him. The devil was making his last effort to retain in his clutch a troubled soul. But when discovery came, then over the fugitive crept such a sense of shame, and meanness, and foolishness, and wickedness, as made him loathe himself, and prepared him to fall as a weak and guilty thing into the Saviour’s arms. Very distinctly Uncle John affirmed that it would not answer to so treat every case, and very solemnly he adjured me as a young preacher never to tell anything in preaching that would make men see me when they ought to see Christ, or think of my adroitness or shrewdness when they ought to be thinking of His love and grace. Then, having thus counselled me, he bowed under that grand old oak and wrestled for a blessing as once in the past Jacob did.

“More than twenty years have passed since I spent those three happy weeks with John E. Vassar, but I learned more practical theology, more about the working of God’s Spirit on the hearts of men, more about the way to deal with the impenitent or awakened, than in any like period of my life. Indeed, the keynote to my life-work in the ministry I got then and there.”

*’He who could convert a hogshead into a Bethel was of the right stamp for a county missionary, and must have many imitators if the wanderers are to be brought nigh.’*

An aged woman, Mrs. A. B. Minor, of New Haven County, Conn., contributes these items, bringing out several characteristics of the man.

“One winter, when Mr. Vassar was assisting his nephew, then pastor at Amenia, N. Y., he came over to Sharon, Conn., not more than half a dozen miles away, where was then my home. For my unconverted son, about twenty years of age, he at once became interested, facing him with this question soon as they met, ‘Tell me, G., do you love the Lord Jesus?* From that interview my child dated his hope. He has been for eleven years now in the heavenly home, and I think with what joy he must have given welcome to the man who did so much to guide him there.

“There was another man in the neighborhood far from righteousness. Mr. Vassar went over to his house, and taking up a little child belonging there he said, * I love these little ones, and want their parents to bring them up for God.’ The stout-hearted father melted right down, and soon in our meetings his voice was leading us in prayer.

“Another aged man, very moral and upright, but long oppressed with the fear that he had been given over by God, was, under Mr. Vassar’s labors, led out into the light, and brought where he could praise and pray. So God blessed his efforts, and when I think of those days in ’58 and ’59, and ’60, and how the dear young people, as well as those older, were drawn toward him, and not only toward him, but to that Saviour whom he served, I bless God for ever having known him, and for the sweet remembrances that come rising up.”

Rev. G. F. Hendrickson, of Fairview, N. J., sends these recollections: “A week after accepting the pastoral care of the South Dover Church, in the spring of 1857, Uncle John as county missionary came upon that field. At once our meetings began to fill up, for he would pass no one without inviting him to the house of God. Many who rarely if ever attended church were through his efforts brought there, and a dozen or fifteen found Christ, some of whom are with him on the other side of time and death to-day. During these labors Uncle John was taken very ill; and it fell to my lot to nurse and wait upon him; and never did I see such faith and trust. Again and again he would say to us when recovery seemed improbable, * I shall not die, but live to declare God’s salvation.’ Often that sick-room was like the gate of heaven.

“Two years later he again aided me in what was the most powerful revival that church has ever known. Among ministers and members of our churches all through that region his memory will long abide a precious and sacred trust.”

Mrs. A. E. Beckwith, of Stissing, N. Y., gives these recollections and impressions of the period lying between 1854 and 1862: “It was a great pleasure to see Uncle John come into our home, for he always brought so much of heaven along. The all-absorbing passion of his soul was love to God and the perishing around him. In the winter of 1857-58 he began visiting in our neighborhood, and evening meetings at the school-house were begun. So intense was the interest developed that the services had to be removed to the church. The whole town of Stanford was aroused, and nearly two hundred are believed to have turned to God. Later, while Dr. Holman served as pastor, and especially in 1860 or 1861, a powerful religious awakening followed his visits and the preaching of the Word. He would take different localities day after day, appointing in each a meeting for the afternoon. One day — perhaps at one or two o’clock — he came hurrying into our house, asking for something to eat. His boots were all soaked with snow water, and he had eaten nothing so far that day. He had fasted till he could get an assurance of a blessing on the labor undertaken, and now it had been given. In these efforts of his he would kneel and pray with the anxious anywhere he found them, in the barn, the field, even in the snow along the road.”

Mrs. E. A. Ketcliam, of Dover Plains, N. Y., says: “The world has sustained a loss in his removal. The story of his life and labors, if it could be written, would prove a blessing to thousands. I remember with joy and thankfulness his labors in our church at different times. His last visit especially we all recall. He stopped at my son’s to dinner, and two little prayer-meetings were held in that single hour.”

Uncle John’s true yoke-fellow during this Dutchess County work was Rev. C. B. Post, of Dover Plains. With the exception possibly of his own pastor, and the compiler of this book, no other minister knew him during those years so well. He no longer shares in the struggles and victories of Christ’s militant Church, but Mrs. Post from her home near the “Golden Gate,” in the far West, sends these memorials of those years:

“It is nearly twenty-four years since he first came to our house, and during the seven years foUowng he and my husband labored together weeks and months in our own or other towns. Brother Vassar would commonly go first, talking and praying with the people; and when he saw the mercy-cloud beginning to gather, he would send for Mr. Post, saying, * Come, bishop, the Lord wants you to feed the sheep that He shall use me to bring together. ’

One winter, when comj’ng to labor with our own

church, a heavy snow-storm set in. It continued till

the roads were blocked. In this condition they kept

for several days. The people could not get out, and

meetings were not to be thought of. But he could not be snow-bound. He would flounder through the drifts somehow, often kneehng in them to thank God for mercies granted or plead with God for mercies needed.

“Once when talking with our Sunday-school about the death of his little son he said, ‘When I laid Johnny down out of my arms into the arms of the dear Saviour, this world and I forever parted company.* We all believed that utterance was true, and felt persuaded that the partnership there and thus dissolved had never since been renewed.

“He once gave me an idea never to be forgotten. Something was being said about ill-treatment which he had encountered, on a certain visit. He quickly replied, ‘A sinner cannot abuse old John Vassar. The poor lost soul! oh, how I love him!’

“A marked trait in his character was his love for God’s ministers. No unjust or severe criticism ever escaped his lips. They were the Lord’s chosen messengers, and he loved them for the Master’s sake. The affection between him and Mr. Post was mutual and very strong. It is no less strong now that they see the King in His beauty, and are forever with the Lord.”

Of this same period Mrs. Sarah L. Lyon, Poughkeepsie, tells: It was in the early part of March, 1860, that this man of God was directed to my father’s house. The winter had been unusually severe, so that the drifts of snow yet lay over the fences, and the road leading up over the hill to our home was fairly blocked. We were therefore surprised to see a stranger on foot pushing along it, and finally making for our door. As he came nearer he was recognized as John Vassar, of temperance renown. To my mother he was a welcome visitor, but not to me. I would have escaped the interview but for the importunity of my mother, who said, ‘Stay and listen to a man who has travelled through this snow knee-deep to do us good.’ I tried to repulse him when he began to plead with me, by talking of universal salvation, which in my impenitence I had tried to find safety in; but his clear reasoning quickly swept such arguments away. Then he asked us to kneel while he poured out his soul in prayer. And such a prayer we never heard. We were all melted down. His visit was short, but it was wonderful. Three of our names were added to the list that he called his * dear children in Christ Jesus,’ and a fire of sacred love was kindled in our hearts, never, we trust, to go out. The home-roof of my childhood was long since exchanged for another, to which I have ever esteemed it an honor to give him welcome, and under which children now gather who have been taught to rise up and call him blessed.

“The benediction was not confined to our household. A revival in the neighborhood broke out, which spread wide, and proved lasting; and many, I believe, will, to and through eternity, sing love’s redeeming song from the work then and there done by this good man.”

Another says: “I cannot now name the date, but about twenty years ago Mr. S. was drawing a load along the road when he met a stranger, who stopped and said, * What may I call your name, sir?’ The one addressed replied, ‘My name is S. ’ * Ah, you are a deacon in the church here, are you not?’ was the response. ‘I am, sir,’ was the answer. * Well, deacon,’ said the stranger, ’ my name is Vassar — John Vassar; now, is your wife a Christian?’ * I am sorry to say that she is not.’ * Have you any objection to my calling and conversing with your family?’ * Not the least, not the least.’ ‘God bless you, Brother S. Good morning.’ Uncle John passed along, and the deacon went on and turned into a field with his load. He had not gone more than thirty rods when the thought came to him, * How is this? Here is a stranger more concerned for the salvation of my household than I am. This is not right. This won’t do.’ Mr. S. jumped off his load, unhitched the horses from the sled, tied them, and started for the house. He arrived just in time to hear the prayer. That load was not moved again for six weeks. Mrs. S. was converted, and forty-two others united with the Kent and East Fishkill Church.”

For obvious reasons the following touching statement is given without its author’s name:

“Uncle John came to my father’s house for the first time more than a quarter of a century ago. My father was at that time an inebriate, and our home was suffering under the blight of rum. His coming was the beginning of better days. It resulted in the conversion cf the father and all seven of us children. Two of the children are now in the ministry, two others, together with the parents, have died in hope, and we are waiting for a happy family reunion on the river’s other side.

“P’ifteen years later, in company with my brother, he visited the same house, and that interview resulted in the salvation of the man and his wife then living there.”

Of these days an army friend has this to say:” He was never happier in his life, he has told me, than when wading through the snowdrifts from farm to farm in old Dutchess County.

“How vividly I recall the play of countenance, the animation of voice, the gesture with which, night after night, with all the camp around us asleep, he poured out the narrative, while I lent him a charmed ear, and laughed and cried together.

“He had scores of stories to tell. One of his experiences during this period, as he related it, I vividly remember. I will give only its main features, not attempting to repeat his words.

“He went to one place which had long been under the blight of spiritual declension, and where among the youth of the community there was not a single professing Christian. He was informed that the leading spirit in the social life of the place was a young wman — that her influence was commanding, and that it was used against religion. If she could be won to Christ, a great point would be gained. So Uncle John went to see her first. As soon as she understood the object of his visit, she rudely refused to listen to him, and bade him begone forthwith without another word. He left her, and went calling elsewhere. And presently about everybody he met treated him coldly. At a number of houses he was denied admission, in one instance with violent words. He did not know what to make of it. But the explanation soon came out. The young woman he had first visited, in her extreme anger at him, had declared that he had offered her an insult, and the falsehood was going the rounds, and was everywhere ahead of him.

“This fact, he said when he first discovered it, seemed to him the most mysterious providence he had ever heard of. ‘O Lord, what does it mean V he cried in dismay. His work was completely blocked. There was no help for it; and he had to go. Wondering greatly, but submitting, he went to another field some distance away, and began laboring there. He had been there awhile, and was seeing hopeful signs of good, when one evening as he was holding a meeting in a school-house, he heard a large, heavily-loaded sleigh drive up and stop at the door. When the door was opened, there appeared a party of some twenty young people, with the young woman before mentioned at their head. Mr. Vassar’s first thought was that they had come to mob him or do him harm of some sort. They came in, the whole company, all strangers, and the silence that followed was broken by the young woman standing forth and saying, in a trembling voice, * Mr. Vassar, I have brought these friends of mine with me to hear me ask your forgiveness for the great wrong I did you when you were in our place. Telling that lie was the meanest thing I ever did. That I could tell it, and that I felt like telling it, for such a cause, showed me as I never saw it before, the wickedness of my heart — my state as a sinner. It has led me, I trust, to ask God’s forgiveness, and I hope that for Christ’s sake he has heard my prayer. Will you forgive me, too?’”

To all these memories of twenty years ago we might add dozens treasured up in our own mind, for from 1856 to 1862 we labored together in full half the towns of the county we called home. Although settled in the pastorate at Amenia, we went as other ministers around did at that time, to help in neighboring churches as occasion might require. Again and again in these campaigns we have known him to walk twenty miles in a single day, looking up wanderers or seekers, and then come into the evening service showing no sign of weariness in motion, or look, or voice.

Once in trudging along in a snowy road he was overtaken by a gentleman in a sleigh, who was personally a very estimable man, but not a Christian. He knew Uncle John by sight, and like many others did not admire him, but rather regarded him as fanatical or half insane. Whether to ask him to ride or not was the question in his mind. Courtesy said “Yes;” prejudice said “No.” Courtesy carried the day, however, and the invitation was given. An opportunity like that never was allowed to slip. The ride was not accounted of so much consequence, but there would be such a chance to press home truth as the Master had that clay at the well of Jacob. It was embraced to the uttermost, and one man heard that hour salvation urged as he certainly never had heard it urged before. What the immediate effect was is not known, but a few months later this wayside hearer, then in the very prime of life, came to know experimentally the m.eaning of those words, “If any man be in Christ he is a new creature.” Immediately after old things had passed away the two men met at church, and, deeply moved, clasped hands as brothers beloved in the Lord. The circumstances must be very, very peculiar if they ever hindered him from pressing religion on the mind. He was not indelicate, or rude, or blustering in approaching men, but he remembered that one divinely inspired had said, “In season, out of season, reprove, rebuke, exhort,” and so he could not stand “on the proprieties,” as many do. Near Fishkill he once made a call that seemed at first inopportune. A young man had just entered the house, who war soon to be married to an excellent Christian daughter in the home. The prospective husband claimed no hope in the Saviour. Either accidentally or purposely, we know not which. Uncle John was shown into the room where the parties were. He took in the situation at a glance, but, not in the least disconcerted, pressed on one of his two hearers the claims of God, and finding him more than half persuaded to accept of Christ, he closed the interviev, by proposing that the lady should herself then and there kneel and present the case of her friend to God. For a moment maidenly delicacy led her to hesitate; then seeing his evident concern they all bowed together, and she pleaded for the salvation of the man with whom she was to walk the pathway of life. He was soon a partaker of her faith and trust, and stood beside her a fellow-laborer in the Church of Christ.

One day, while walking from Poughkeepsie to Pleasant Valley, he overtook a man driving an ox-team along the road. Walking on together in conversation it was but a minute or two before the Name that is above every name was on the lips of Uncle John, and the subject ever uppermost was broached. With the utmost frankness, and with a trembling voice, the man declared that for weeks he had been secretly trying to grope his way to God. He had said nothing to any one, and no one had said anything to him. All was uncertainty with him and gloom. That Saviour who “must needs go through Samaria” so long ago, because there was a lost soul waiting to hear words of life, sent the right man to this inquiring soul that day. Uncle John knew how to meet a case like that. His words fitted that penitent’s wants as the notch in the arrow is fitted to the string of the archer’s bow. The mode of a sinner’s acceptance was seen that very hour. By the roadside they knelt in prayer together, and then they parted, this convert, like one in the olden time, going on his way rejoicing.

Hardly had they separated before Uncle John saw a man ploughing in a field some distance from the highway. All aglow with the recent interview the question started, “May I not find yonder another such a case? Who knows?” Across the lot he hurried, and strange as it may seem, he did find another soul anxious and ready to accept of Christ. In the freshly turned furrows the two knelt, and either then or very soon afterward the peace of God entered this heart too.

In this town of Pleasant Valley he saw some wonderful triumphs of redeeming love. His old friend, Rev. B. F. Wile, of the Presbyterian Church, often had him, for a week or two, when he was not otherwise engaged, to aid him in some of those times of ingathering which that church so signally enjoyed.

In the little Baptist church at Salt Point, in the same town, there were in those far-off years seasons of greatrefreshing. Amid them some who are with their Lord now, and some who on earth are useful still, started for the kingdom and the crown.

In the autumn of 1862 the section of country around Carmel, Putnam County, N. Y., enjoyed Uncle John’s labors for some weeks, a very minute and interesting account of which has been furnished by Rev. J. J. Townsend, now of Chester, Vermont, at that time studying for the ministry, but at home on a visit. Only some extracts from it can be given.

The evening following Uncle John’s arrival in the neighborhood, I had an engagement to lecture in the Nichols school-house, and he met me there. After my little talk he followed in exhortation and prayer. At the close of the service he said, ‘You are just the young man I am looking for. Come with me. The Master has work for you.’

“The next night we took another neighborhood, he first thoroughly canvassing it by day. The house was crowded. I preached, and he followed in an exhortation the most solemn and subduing I ever heard. The Master was there, and sinners were crying for salvation before the meeting closed.

“There were eight of these school-districts within the bounds of the Carmel church. From one to another of these we went, and he from house to house. God triumphed gloriously. The whole field glowed with religious life. The meetings grew so large that they had to be carried to the church. Pastor Clapp then supervised, or, as Uncle John said, became

* Major-General.’

“For three months we were together thus by day and night. One day, while out on our rounds, we saw a man in the field husking corn. Uncle John said,

* Let us kneel down here and pray, and then go after him.* We did so. Soon as we began to talk with him we found out that he was a man at whose house we had just called. He had a wife and three children, and none of them entertained a hope of pardoned sin. He was invited first to attend the meeting. He refused flatly, declared he was a Universalist, but admitted that he never prayed. Then Uncle John poured out upon him all the truth of God. I never saw him more valiant for his Master, and think it was one of his grandest hours. With tears streaming down his cheeks

So UNCLE JOHN VASSAR.

the man said, ‘Pray for me,* and down among the stalks we all three bowed, and all three prayed. He and three others from his family were soon in the kingdom.

“This scene is one of many. Strong oaks on every hand bowed before the mighty on-movings of God’s all-conquering grace.

“We one day met a man on the road, resting his team, who, on being approached, loudly avowed himself an infidel. So tremendous was the pressure under which Uncle John put him that in five minutes, with wonder and penitence written on his face, he gladly bowed to have prayer offered in his behalf, and on arising and parting he said, ‘I need this Saviour, and will seek him.’

“One evening, as we were going into meeting, we met a gentleman near the door. Uncle John addressed him courteously, and said, ‘My dear friend, do you love Jesus?’ Said the gentleman, ‘I do not know that that concerns you, sir.’ * Oh, yes, it does,* said Uncle John; ’ in these days of rebellion does it not concern every citizen as to which side every other citizen may take? How much more when a world is in rebellion against God should we be concerned to know who is on the Lord’s side.* The man’s lips were sealed. Before the meeting was over he rose and asked the prayers of God’s people. And thus it was in every case. I certainly saw him personally address hundreds, and in no solitary instance was he repulsed.

OFF ON FURLOUGH. Zi

‘For myself I can say that this three months’ tuition in the school of Christ, with John Vassar as tutor, has been worth more to me in winning souls than any like period of my life. His religion was not that of sentiment, but a soul-subduing force, fed at the fountain of almighty and undecaying promise, and it helped me to heights before unknown.

“As we parted, he to return to his home, and I to go back to Hamilton, after a season of delightful prayer he said, * Good-by; God bless you. Keep looking up, my boy, keep looking up.’

“When John Vassar was removed from the high places of the field, truly a great man had fallen in Israel. He to whom the King holds out the sceptre, as with him, is an irreparable loss to any church, any community, or any age.”

Now, what do all these toils and triumphs represent? They represent homes made happier; hearts blessed with a heavenly peace; the wicked turned into penitents; sick-beds solaced with comforts such as earth is powerless to give; graves that had otherwise been hopeless bordered with a brighter than noonday light; a stubborn, unbelieving world yielding converts to the Church; a quickened Church shedding on the world a brightness like that of the resurrection morning.

Conversion must be recognized as a constituent power of history. That deep sorrow for sin, that clear and shining sense of God’s forgiveness, that unearthly peace and joy, that glowing love for Christ and for His saints, that glad hope of heaven, that desire to do others good which we call “experience” and the world calls “delusion,” all lay at the bottom of that man’s life who rang out the old ideas of Greece and Rome, and rang in a new age; they all lay at the bottom of that man’s life who lifted his hand in the face of papal Europe and gave the signal for its disruption; they all lay at the bottom of that man’s life who in a corrupt nation and a degenerating Church more than a century ago cried, “The world is my parish,” and went out to awaken it. And revivals, what are they but renewals of the apostolic age? Even among good men there is a tendency to let the heavenly fire die out — to let the immortal vitality and infinite resources of our holy religion go unfelt and unseen. Christ’s churches forget that they are to subdue the world, and quietly settle into their quarters, and then God sends some man with clarion call to bid the slumbering host bestir itself. Doubtless there will be in all such awakenings some extravagances. This world is full of weak, ill-balanced, blundering folks. Either they must go unsaved, or else a miracle more stupendous than was ever wrought must keep them from acting extravagantly. The second supposition is improbable. The first may God avert. The composure of death is worse than the exuberance of life. And we may be sure that without these arousings that old Christianity which gave the world apostles, and missionaries, and martyrs, will be replaced by another which will give it only formal church-goers.

Nor is it any argument against such seasons of quickening as the few last pages have been dealing with, that much of their early promise seems to be blasted, and drop fruitlessly away. That is always so with the literal bud and bloom which May days bring. Multitudes of people are naturally unstable, and their instability will be likely to affect the religious life more or less. We question whether there is any ground for the prevalent idea that persons converted in revivals are less likely to “hold out,” or “hold on.” That will depend on what they have to “hold on” to. If it is nothing but a mere stir of the sensibilities, of course they will drop away. A very sober Christian scholar says, “Let the spring come, though it bring weeds, and let us neither nurse the weeds nor frost-bite the wheat in our impatience to keep them down.” It might be added, moreover, that much which accompanies a revival of religion is not of itself religious, and it will drop away as the husk drops from the ear of corn when ripe; and much more that is religious is not lost when it seems to be, but simply takes on another shape. Fruit-trees shed their sheets of blossoms, and for a space thereafter they m.ake but very little show. Ignorant cavillers might sneer and say that their May wealth of promise and beauty was a short - lived thing. Exactly. But on those twigs whence the bloom has fallen is forming and maturing what is of far greater worth. And when the more manifest tokens of a religious awakening disappear and the tongue of unbelief talks merrily and flippantly about the change, in many a soul there is quietly developing a devout, consecrated, active life. Anyhow, many an eye running over this page will look back through mists of glad tears to such times of grace and mercy, and many a heart will plead for their repetition. Indeed who is there that under these recitals of conquering love is not impelled to cry, “Send as Thou wilt, O Lord, only let Thy saints not slumber, nor sinners perish in their sins “? For us as Christian individuals and churches to go year after year, and see no lives regenerated, no hearts blessed with an unearthly peace, “is it not like standing among the gilded bottles of a dispensary, while death is desolating the town and your skill is inapt and your remedies impotent to save a single victim?”

We enter on no defence of modern revivals here. Less than this in passing, however, we could hardly say.

But by this time some one is ready to ask, what was meant by heading this chapter “Off on Furlough “? They reasonably and naturally ask, where the furlough for Uncle John has come in? Well, if by furlough is signified resting spell, he has not yet found it, nor did he ever find it till the last months of life were being spent. But these varied engagements and miscellaneous services came in after retiring from his first Tract Society labors, and before returning to its en.ploy.

When his work in the Dutchess Association closed he had sixteen years yet to stay on earth. They were the most eventful and fruitful of his life. He goes to work now on a broader field. We will follow him there.