The lights and shadows of itinerant life : an autobiography of Rev. Simon Peter Richardson

Front matter

THE LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF ITINERANT LIFE:

An Autobiography

OF

Preface

The autobiography of the Rev. S. P. Richardson was written at the request of the North Georgia Conference. During the session of the Conference held at Athens, November 24, 1897, the following resolution was introduced and passed:

Whereas our brother S. P. Richardson, D.D., has had a wide and varied experience in the itinerant ministry; and whereas the biography of Methodist preachers has been the richest treasure in Methodist history:

Resolved, That Dr. S. P. Richardson be requested by this Conference to prepare for publication the story of his life, in the form of an autobiography.

This resolution was signed by J. V. M. Morris, George G. Smith, D. J. Myrick, and L. P. Winter. In accordance with the wish of his brethren, Dr. Richardson began at once "the story of his life." The following pages give us the result of his labors. He was spared by a kind Providence to finish this piece of work, and leave it for the guidance and help of Methodists. He died June 15, 1899.

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Introduction

The North Georgia Conference did a great deed when it asked Dr. Richardson to write the story of his life. His experience covers nearly sixty years of Methodist history, and embraces the most trying events that a great Church has ever been called upon to pass through. He has faithfully given us the facts in connection with his work. These will be useful for all time.

In many respects Dr. Richardson was the most marvelous man of this generation. His disposition, his mental aptitudes, his studies, all had a tendency to set him apart from other men. He did not act or think or speak like other men. Every act, thought, word bore the impress of his unique personality. It was his act that was done, his thought that was uttered, and his word that was spoken. He borrowed nothing, called no man his master, and served only Christ and his fellow-men. He was outspoken in his utterances, courageous in his statements, and charitable in his opinions. He

was true enough to Christ to mean what he said,

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x • Introduction.

and to say what he meant. He was brave enough to think for himself, and to speak what he thought. He was broad-minded enough in his notions of life and religion to be charitable even in the presence of narrowness and stupidity.

His social qualities were far beyond those of most men. He loved to talk, and he did so with good sense. Many a sad heart has been made bright by his words. Many a sinking spirit has been filled with new hope by his wonderful vision of "things not seen." Many a perplexed mind has found firm ground through his profound thinking about God and human life. He went through this life scattering joy and sunshine along his pathway, respected by old and young, and loved by all.

He was a profound and fearless thinker. He cared not for opinions because they were old, and had little respect for those whose claim was based on novelty. What he wanted and craved was the truth; it made no difference with him whether it was old or new. Accused of heresy and criticised for his freedom of thought, he faced every tempest and moved in triumph to the end of his life. He was the same brave, true, noble spirit, whether speaking in the

Introduction. xi

churches of the rich or standing on the floor of a little chapel in the mountains. He was too true to speak what he did not believe, and too honest to utter what he had not studied for himself. Many things hoary with age he did not believe, and he said so. Many things contained in no man's creed he did believe, and he preached as he believed. He loved the truth better than anything else, and sought by all the powers of his great mind to make that truth articulate to men.

He was a philosopher in the highest sense of the word. He grasped with clearness the best ideas of life, and reached heights in his thinking to which only a few are ever able to climb. He knew two things better than most men. One was his own religious bearings from a rational standpoint; and the other, the powers of his own luminous mind. The force of the first showed itself in his hatred of sin; that of the other, in thinking a Christ large enough to save the human race.

He possessed wit of a high order, and sarcasm that was like a consuming fire. The first made him the interesting talker and matchless preacher; the second made him the dread of litxii * Introduction.

tleness and the invincible antagonist. What he could not overthrow by the powers of his reason, he could easily burn up by the powers of his ridicule. How he was loved and hated! — loved by those who knew him best, and hated by those who either could not or would not understand him.

His last days were full of hope, and in his

dying hour he had the victory. Truly, it may

be said of him that a great man in our Israel

has fallen. The friend, that counseled in the

hour of sadness, is gone. The prophet, that

told anew the story of his Lord and his love, is

silent. The thinker, that blessed childhood

with a new meaning and forced into life the

power of a new impulse, sleeps with his fathers.

The heart of the man, who dared to say and to

do what was true for his people, is still forever.

The transcendent mind, that seemed to sweep

all the intellectual spheres, is no longer in its

home of clay, but at home in one "whose maker

and builder is God."

Dr. B. H. Sasnett has embodied Dr. Richardson's last words in a beautiful poem, published soon after his death in Macon, Ga. With it I close this Introduction:

Introduction. xiii

"It's Almost Morning Now."

It was toward the end of the earthly night,

The sands of life were running low; The dying saint caught glimpses of the light,

And said, " It's almost morning now."

Far from beyond the orient hills, a gleam

Had traveled to the world below; He saw the light long sought in prayer and dream,

And said, " It's almost morning now."

O saint of God, the mists and night are gone;

Peace, endless peace, enwreathes thy brow; O'er land and sea immortal light has shone,

And morning gilds the mountains now.

John B. Robins.

Athens, Ga.

OPENING STATEMENTS.

I have been requested by many friends, and by a resolution of the North Georgia Conference, to give to the Church a sketch of the incidents of my itinerant life. I have declined to do this in years past, for many reasons. It is one thing to relate an incident in the presence of interested friends, and quite another to put the same incident on paper. There have been many changes and incidents during my life that would be of interest to this generation. Many of these changes have taken place in other Churches, as well as in the Methodist Church ; whether for the better or the worse, I will not discuss at present.

I was born in what is known as the Dutch Fork, Newberry District, South Carolina, May 13, 1818. I have some knowledge of my ancestors on both sides for more than two hundred years. My grandparents on my mother's side were born in Hanover, and belonged to the German race. They came to South Carolina when young. In religion they were decided Lutherans. My paternal grandparents were English.

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xvi Opening Statements.

I was baptized in the Lutheran Church when a child. At that time there was no other denomination in the Dutch Fork. I knew nothing about other Churches, only as I heard of them through common talk. The Methodists were very much persecuted at that time.

I have prayed all my life; never sowed any "wild oats" ; never knew one kind of whisky from another — was opposed to whisky from a small boy. I was converted, and backslid many times before I joined the Church. My father moved to Georgia before I was grown. There I heard Baptists, Methodists, and sometimes Presbyterians preach. When about twenty years old I decided to join the Church. I knew little about creeds, but enough to know that I did not believe the Calvinistic doctrine. I joined the Methodist Church, in spite of all my early prejudices, because I believed the doctrines of that Church. When I united with the Church I gave myself entirely to its service, and have never refused to do anything required of me by the Church. I was appointed class leader and exhorter before my probation ended. I was licensed to preach by the Rev. J. B. Paine, presiding elder, and recom-

Opening Statements. xvii

mended for admission into the Annual Conference.

I went to school at a very early age. I cannot remember when I was unable to read; I always loved books. I was brought up without any deeprooted prejudices, and have always been able, more or less to judge of facts and evidence without partiality. I have always sought to know the truth, regardless of my environment.

After I was received into the Conference, I felt the need of higher educational advantages, but it was difficult to get suitable teachers, and more difficult to command their time for instruction. If I had to live my life over again, I would put emphasis on the study of my own language, and especially elocution.

My life has been subjected to continual changes from light to shadow, and from shadow to light again. I do not expect to escape the shadows until I reach that country where God is the light, "and there is no night there."

I superannuated at the close of the fifty-fourth year of my itinerant life. My farm was in quite a dilapidated condition, and I spent two years working on it. When I had just gotten comfortxviii Opening Statements.

m

ably situated, my house, library, and all were destroyed by fire. The property was not insured. I sold the land for what I could get, and am now living around among my children, having no permanent place of abode. My good wife still remains with me. We have reared and educated ten children, six girls and four boys. All of my boys are lawyers : one is judge on the Montgomery (Ala.) circuit.

Most men talk too much. The tongue is located in the brain, and charged with the responsibility of outwardly reporting the inner thought of the mind. It is often said, Be natural. That is right, but the finest marble, in its natural state, needs the incentives of the gavel and chisel. I studied Butler's Analogy and all the books I could get on the evidences of Christianity ; but I never read a book on the subject that did me any good, except "Evil Not of God," by Dr. Young. The Bible and my own personal experience are, to my mind, the strongest evidences of the truth of Christianity. I have some knowledge of atheism, polytheism, heathenism, Judaism, and Christianity ; some knowledge of science and metaphysics; and I also have some knowl-

Opening Statements. xix

edge of another fact — that "a little learning is a dangerous thing." The best way is to follow the cloud by day and camp at night under its watchfires. God knows all the way better than we do.

My first four years as a preacher were spent in the old Georgia Conference, which was divided in

1844. The Florida Conference was organized in

1845, and embraced all of middle and east Florida and thirty counties of southern Georgia, from Fort Gaines in the west to Mobley Bluff on the east to Ocmulgee River. I remained in the Florida Conference until 1865, when I accepted the General Agency of the American Bible Society for Alabama and west Florida. I continued in this agency eight years; then served four years on the Union Springs District. Bishop Pierce invited me to return to the North Georgia Conference, not to fill any special appointment, but he assigned me to the Rome District.

I have been at both ends of the line. When I was a young man, the brethren complained of having young, inexperienced men on the circuits; when I became old, the station preferred an active young man. I soon grew out of the first complaint, but the only way out of the second was to superannuate out. The Author.

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF ITINERANT LIFE.

Chapter I

Reception into the Conference — The Preachers — Incidents of First Year's Itinerant Life on Telfair Circuit.

I was received on trial into the Georgia Conference, held in Mulberry Street Church, Macon, Ga., December, 1840. Bishop Andrew presided. I was entertained at the home of Colonel Hardeman, who lived in Vineville, which was only a small village at that time. He was a prince in Israel, always ready for every good word and work.

Everything about the Conference was new and strange to me. Bishop Andrew was in the prime of Hie, and a grand preacher. He never indulged in science, metaphysics, or abstractions, but preached right on to salvation and heaven. He gave to everything and prayed always. He never professed holiness, but lived it. He was one of the purest men I ever knew.

The next man that claimed my special attention was the Rev. Louis Myers. He looked like the patriarch of the Conference. He spoke just what he thought to the bishop and Conference and everybody else. He had been a power in his day, but was then old and superannuated

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He was dressed in the full Methodist preacher uniform of that day. The peculiar manner in which the preachers were dressed arrested my special attention. All wore straight-breasted or scytheblade coats, and large white cravats tied around the neck. Many of them had no collar that showed above the cravat.

The Church of that day put much stress on the manner of dress, both of men and women. It may be regarded as a small matter; but fashion wields a powerful influence for evil in the Church of this day. Next to whisky and tobacco, it is one of the greatest burdens the people of this generation have to bear. All were clean-shaved. Dress and whiskers were important things in the Church then. The Florida Conference refused to receive a prominent physician into its membership until I promised that he would cut off his whiskers. The Conference of this age, in dress, has no likeness to the Conference of that age.

The Conference at that time had a score of representative men. Dr. Pierce was in the prime of his great life. He was a fearless preacher and a wonderful declaimer. His appeals were like a cyclone. Drs. Evans, Means, Parks, Anthony, Glenn, George F. Pierce, and Judge Longstreet came into the Conference, and were in my class. Old brother Lane, of New York, was at that Conference — a plain, modest old gentleman looking after the Book Concern and papers. If I had the ability I would like to say a few things about those self-sacrificing, great, and good men. With such leaders, no wonder the Methodist Church made such progress in that generation.

Dr. Means was just coming to the front as one of Georgia's pulpit orators. I heard him preach at that Conference from the text, "Behold the Lamb of Cod, which taketh away the sin of the world." It was not long before he reached the skies, and with wonderful ease and grace stepped from planet to planet, showed how they all moved around the sun, their common center, from which they all received their light and heat. Then he applied the analogy, how all Christian truth revolved around the Lamb of God, how all hope and faith of an endless life centered in Christ. The preachers shouted, the Church rejoiced, and the orator gained a glorious victory for Christ. It may be insisted, "Let the preachers preach the gospel" ; but is not the gospel a chord that vibrates in harmony with earth, seas, and skies? David said, "The heavens declare the glory of God."

G. F. Pierce was full-fledged, and was coming to the front. He had a face and eye of the finest mold. Born an orator, he seemed as much at home in cloud and sky as at evening's quiet twilight on earth. I saw him once when he placed one foot on the Alps and the other on the

<£ Lights' and Shadows of Itinerant Life.

Andes, and swept the whole circle. He was a great man all around and everywhere. He was a stranger to vanity, and seemed to be an entire stranger to his own greatness. God who made the dove and the wren also made the eagle. I have heard Bishop Pierce preach when he looked as if he had just bathed in the river of the water of life and was baptizing the congregation with the very dews of heaven.

John W. Glenn was a thinker, a statesman, and sometimes crushing in debate. He understood the doctrines of Methodism, and knew how to preach them.

James E. Evans had a fine personal appearance, and a voice as soft as a flute's. He was a man of great sympathy. His appeals had a wonderful effect in moving the masses. He seemed to be in his native element when in the midst of a revival. Thousands were converted and brought into the Church by his preaching. He was often spoken of for bishop.

John P. Duncan was the sweet singer of the Conference. Uncle Allen Turner was a man of stern piety. His religion reached all the way through to his beard and the cut of his coat. Parkes and Anthony were material out of which martyrs are made. They are all gone. I venerated and loved them, and hope to meet them all again on the other shore.

Nearly all the preachers of that day traveled on horseback and moved their families in covered wagons. The Georgia Conference extended from the Blue Ridge to Key West — the territory now embraced in three Conferences. This wonderful Conference (to me) closed, and I was appointed junior preacher on the Telfair Circuit, under Claiborne C. Trussell, one of the purest and best of men. Our circuit extended from Dublin down the Oconee River to the Altamaha, and up the Ocmulgee to Hawkinsville, and across the country back to Dublin.

During Conference I looked around among all the preachers to find a model I thought I could imitate, but in vain. I was forced to fall back on my own individuality. I did not then have, and never had, sense enough to preach when I had nothing to preach. The Church and preachers were much opposed to written or read sermons. In self-defense I have always had to write my sermons, and often to rewrite them many times, which I now have no reason to regret. I would say to the young men, Write and rewrite your sermons. The sermons will be better, and you will be wiser. A man never knows how little he knows until he puts his thoughts on paper. The man who writes his sermons is like the workman who puts a part of his earnings in the savings bank : he always has some cash on hand for emergencies. Don't try to read and preach at the same time. If you read, read ; and if you preach, preach.

6 Lights m and Shadows of Itinerant Life.

I left Macon in company with brothers Choice, Gordon, and Dr. Steel — all intelligent companions. We stopped that night with a well-to-do brother. The preachers were full of the happenings at Conference and their new fields. I was as sad as the grave — had waked up to all the sober realities of my situation and of my utter want of ability tomeet my obligations and the expectations of the Church. I left the company after supper, and went out in the dark to pray, kneeling in the corner of the fence. The dogs found me, and I was forced to get on top of the fence, but saw I was not safe from the pack of fox hounds. I took refuge on a shed built over some potato banks. The boys were roused, and here they came with a torch, exclaiming, "We've got him!" They supposed the dogs were barking at a negro thief who had come to steal their potatoes. You can better imagine how the boys looked than I can write it when thev saw it was the young preacher on the shed instead of the negro. They drove off the anxious dogs, and helped me down. By this time the preachers and family were all out on the front piazza, and when the boys gallanted me up they were convulsed with laughter. But there was a nice young lady who looked at me as if I were intensely green.

We reached Dublin Saturday night. There were many good Methodist families in the town, but I never met a colder reception. Let me say in this connection to the brethren : You have the entire man — his youth and inexperience, his fullgrown manhood and old age — to provide for. A Church that has no young men to preach will soon have no old ones. Be kind to the young men ; they will not be young long. I was anxious to leave Dublin ; was sorry to part with my preacher companions, but we separated there. It was about sixty miles to Jacksonville, the county seat of Telfair county, and at the other end of the circuit.

I left Dublin the next morning. It was intensely cold. I had to travel that lonesome way alone. I saw only a few log cabins, and they were far apart. I saw no place where I could stop for dinner. Late in the afternoon I called at a house and asked to spend the night. The man of the house told me that his chimney had fallen and friends had come to see him and he had no room, but four miles beyond I would find a place to stay. There was no house between the two. Tired, cold, and hungry, with my faithful horse in the same fix, I traveled on until dark overtook me. The man had told me nothing about Gum Swamp, the headwaters of little Ocmulgee River. The water was up, covering all the swamp from shore to shore. The swamp is a dense forest of tupelo gum. I could see by starlight this thick forest, and supposed I was lost. I had no matches. If I ventured in I might be drowned ; to lie out was to

8 Lights mand Shadows of Itinerant Life.

freeze. Putting my saddlebags on my shoulder and my umbrella under my arm, I went forward. The virgin ice was on the surface of the water. Sometimes up and sometimes down, I went on and on. I did not know whether I was going up or down stream or across. I heard a dog bark on the other side, and I am sure no angel's voice will ever sound more welcome to my ears. I felt that I was still in the land of the living. At last I reached the open water. There was now but one alternative, and that was to reach the other shore. My faithful horse groaned deeply, but made the landing. The swamp was about three hundred yards wide. I often passed that way when the water was down. There were many roads and great washouts. If I had diverged to the right or left that would have been the end of my travels. After getting to the other shore I saw a light in the distance. I made my way to it through the tall saw palmetto, over logs and brush. When I reached the house an old gentleman came to the door and asked who I was and where I was from. When T told him I was from Dublin, he said, "Across the swamp, and not drowned?" I told him I was almost drowned and frozen. He was a good old Scotch Presbyterian elder. His children were Methodists. His son helped me to get off my boots, and I soon put on dry clothes. I kept my clothes dry. After supper and prayers, I was soon in bed and forgot the most eventful day in my life, for I never had a more horrible experience than in that dreadful swamp that night. Blessed sleep ! It makes us forget the dangers of the past and hides the future from our fears.

I reached Jacksonville the next day, and met a kind reception at the home of Major Dobson, a noble man whose heart was larger than his purse. I stayed around among the families, when invited — had no permanent place. Having no news from brother Trussell, I had no plan of the circuit, and was obliged to stay. Finally we heard from him and the cause of his delay. He always moved his wife and four children in a rockaway, and took along his feather bed. The Georgia railroad was being built. His wife and children had never seen one. To gratify them he drove up to one of the stations. Old Bob was perhaps as pious as any horse, but when he saw the engine coming, puffing and blowing, he ran away, lamed brother Trussell, and tore things up generally. This left him and his vehicle in a dilapidated condition, and it took more than a week to make repairs. At last he drove up, but there was no parsonage and no house or furniture. The brethren decided to build. They cut and peeled pine poles and built a shanty with dirt chimney, unplaned plank floor, no ceiling overhead, and only one door. In this shanty good, patient sister Trussell and her four children lived, cooked, ate, and slept in the same room, while brother Trussell rode the circuit. He was gone sometimes for two weeks. There were many rich and well-to-do Methodists all up and down the Ocmulgee and Oconee rivers, who lived in fine houses.

I suppose there were not a half-dozen parsonages at that time in the Georgia Conference. I lived single for six years, and for over thirty years after I was married I lived in only one parsonage, and an inferior one at that. We hear Catholics, Episcopalians, and Presbyterians talk about the claims of their Churches. What have they ever done for the moral and religious uplifting of the masses of the people of this great nation? To-day you may travel a thousand miles across the continent and not find, outside of the towns and villages, a single Catholic, Episcopal, or Presbyterian church. It may be replied that the country was already preoccupied ; but were not the towns also preoccupied, and are not the souls of the country people as precious as the souls of those in town? The Primitive Baptists preached in the country a gospel -that had no moral effect upon the lives of the people. The nation to-day owes more to the self-sacrificing labors of Methodist preachers than to all the other Churches combined — a debt of gratitude it can never pay.

In 1842 good brother Crumley lived in a tent at the camp ground with his good wife, while he preached the gospel to the negroes and rich planters of Glenn and Camden counties.

The first year of my itinerant life was one of more shadows than lights. On my first round many came out to see me because of my youthful appearance, among the number a rich old infidel. On my second round his son, a prominent man and Methodist, took me to church in his carriage. After preaching, he proposed that we go round and dine at his father's. When the old captain saw us coming, he remarked that the devil was still in me — he could see it in my eye, and he would prove that I had never been born again. He came out and met us very roughly, and continued his insults at the table by informing me that he said grace when he killed hogs. I replied that he had better say it then than not at all. His son and grown-up daughter left the table; his wife frowned at him; a visiting lady sat silent. He continued his offensive remarks until the old Adam or something else came very near proving the old captain's prediction; but the mortification of the family caused me to hold in. As soon as dinner was over his son said the carnage was ready, and, bidding the old man a kind good-by, we left. The son was much offended at his father's conduct. If he had been drunk, it might have been accounted for ; but he was sober, and there was no cause for his strange conduct. The lady visitor was the principal of the female school in Jacksonville, and a stanch Methodist. The next day I passed by the old captain's on my way to Jacksonville. I met him. His whole demeanor was changed. He invited me to his house, but I declined further hospitality. When I reached Jacksonville the whole scene was explained. The lady principal came up and blessed me, said that she had prayed for me, and told me all about what the old captain was trying to do to prove I had never been born again. She said he was the worst defeated man she ever saw — that he went to his room and had no more to say. It is one thing for a man to know that his religion is on trial, and quite another thing to be tried when he doesn't know he is on trial. The old captain was always my friend after that. If I had yielded to my temper, he would have thought he had gained a great victory for infidelity.