erson had writhed under conviction a week or two they
began to come out, and I said: 'Perhaps I will get out'; and that
thought produced in me a sort of half-exhilaration of joy. I stayed to
the inquiry meeting, felt better, and trotted home with the hope that I
was on the way toward conversion. I went through this revival with
that hope strengthened; but it did not last long."

It is evident from this chapter that if we would understand Henry Ward
Beecher and the influences that went to the formation of his character
and to the success of his life, other things than parentage, home,
school, or nature must be taken into the account. The vast things of
the invisible realm have begun to speak to him, and his nature has
proved to be peculiarly sensitive to their influence.

He is thus early groping, unresting, and unsatisfied; but it is among
mountains, and not in marshes or quicksands. Some day these mountain
truths, among which he now wanders in darkness, shall be radiant in his
sight with the Divine Compassion, and his gloom shall give place to
abiding love, joy, and peace.

It was in 1827, and Henry was fourteen years old, when he entered the
Mount Pleasant Institute. "He was admitted to the institution at a
price about half the usual charge, for one hundred dollars per year.
His appearance was robust and healthy, rather inclined to fulness of
form, with a slight pink tinge on his cheeks and a frequent smile upon
his face. In his manners and communications he was quiet, orderly, and
respectful. He was a good-looking youth." This is the testimony of
one of his teachers, Mr. George Montague.

"I think he must have been fond of children, for he was always ready
for a frolic with me. I don't remember how he spoke, except that he
talked a good deal and was full of life and fun." So says a friend in
whose home he boarded, in a letter written during the past year.

No place could have been better fitted to the condition of the boy, as
he then was, than the one chosen. He was tired of the city with its
brick walls, stone pavements, and artificial restrictions, and longed
for the freedom and the freshness of the country. Amherst at that time
was only a small village, fighting back with indifferent success the
country that pressed in upon it from every side, and offering this
city-sick lad, almost within a stone's throw of the school, the same
kind of fields and forests that were around him at Litchfield, and
sp