ng. He never
failed to lift up his voice against sin, when he saw it. He was terrible in
his indignation against wrong, and had an iron grip for the throat of him
who trampled on the helpless. Better meet a lion robbed of her whelps than
him, if you had been stealing the bread from the mouth of the fatherless.
It required all the placidity of my mother's voice to calm him when once
the mountain storm of his righteous wrath was in full blast; while as for
himself, he would submit to more imposition, and say nothing, than any man
I ever knew.

"But while sensitive to the evils of society, he felt confident that all
would be righted. When he prayed, you could hear in the very tones of his
voice the expectation that Christ Jesus would utterly demolish all
iniquity, and fill the earth with His glory. This Christian man was not a
misanthrope, did not think that everything was going to ruin, considered
the world a very good place to live in. He never sat moping or despondent,
but took things as they were, knowing that God could and would make them
better. When the heaviest surge of calamity came upon him, he met it with
as cheerful a countenance as ever a bather at the beach met the incoming
Atlantic, rising up on the other side of the wave stronger than when it
smote him. Without ever being charged with frivolity, he sang, and
whistled, and laughed. He knew about all the cheerful tunes that were ever
printed in old 'New Brunswick Collection,' and the 'Strum Way,' and the
sweetest melodies that Thomas Hastings ever composed. I think that every
pillar in the Somerville and Bound Brook churches knew his happy voice. He
took the pitch of sacred song on Sabbath morning, and lost it not through
all the week. I have heard him sing plowing amid the aggravations of a 'new
ground,' serving writs, examining deeds, going to arrest criminals, in the
house and by the way, at the barn and in the street. When the church choir
would break down, everybody looked around to see if he were not ready with
Woodstock, Mount Pisgah, or Uxbridge. And when all his familiar tunes
failed to express the joy of his soul, he would take up his own pen, draw
five long lines across the sheet, put in the notes, and then to the tune
that he called 'Bound Brook' begin to sing:

'As when the weary trav'ler gains
The height of some o'erlooking hill,
His heart revives if, 'cross the plains,
He eyes his home, tho' distant still:

Thus, when the Christian