e.

A blunter Williams used to take me by the button on the street.

"Eleazar Williams," he would say, "do you pretend to be the son of the
French king? I tell you what! I will not let the name of Williams be
disgraced by any relationship to any French monarch! You must do one of
two things: you must either renounce Williamsism or renounce
Bourbonism!"

Though there was liberty of conscience to criticise the pastor, he was
autocrat of Longmeadow. One who preceded Pastor Storrs had it told about
him that two of his deacons wanted him to appoint Ruling Elders. He
appointed them; and asked them what they thought the duties were. They
said he knew best.

"Well," said the pastor, "one of the Ruling Elders may come to my house
before meeting, saddle my horse, and hold the stirrup while I get on.
The other may wait at the church door and hold him while I get off, and
after meeting bring him to the steps. This is all of my work that I can
consent to let Ruling Elders do for me."

The Longmeadow love of disputation was fostered by bouts which Ruling
Elders might have made it their business to preserve, if any Ruling
Elders were willing to accept their appointment. The pastor once went to
the next town to enjoy argument with a scientific doctor. When he
mounted his horse to ride home before nightfall the two friends kept up
their debate. The doctor stood by the horse, or walked a few steps as
the horse moved. Presently both men noticed a fire in the east; and it
was sunrise. They had argued all night.

In Longmeadow a man could not help practicing argument. I also practiced
oratory. And all the time I practiced the Iroquois tongue as well as
English and French, and began the translation of books into the language
of the nation I hoped to build. That Indians made unstable material for
the white man to handle I would not believe. Skenedonk was not unstable.
His faithfulness was a rock.

For some reason, and I think it was the reach of Pastor Storrs, men in
other places began to seek me. The vital currents of life indeed sped
through us on the Hartford and Springfield stage road. It happened that
Skenedonk and I were making my annual journey to St. Regis when the
first steamboat accomplished its trip on the Hudson river. About the
time that the Wisconsin country was included in Illinois Territory, I
decided to write a letter to Madame Tank at Green Bay, and insist on
knowing my story as she believed she knew it. Yet I hesita