calling a council to ordain
the Reverend Cecil Grey a missionary to the Indians.

It was a novel thing, in spite of the noble example that Roger
Williams had set not many years before; and the summons met with a
general response.

All the churches, far and near, sent delegates. If one could only have
taken a peep, the day before the council, into the households of that
part of New England, what a glimpse he would have gotten of Puritan
domestic life! What a brushing up there was of black coats, what a
careful starching and ironing of bands; and above all, in Cecil's own
neighborhood, what a mighty cookery for the ordination dinner the next
day! For verily the capacity of the clerical stomach is marvellous,
and is in fact the one thing in theology that does not change. New
departures alter doctrines, creeds are modified, but the appetite of
the clergy is not subject to such mutations.

The morrow came, and with it the expected guests. The meeting house
was crowded. There were many ministers and lay delegates in the
council. In the chair sat a venerable preacher, not unknown in the
records of those days,--a portly man, with a shrewd and kindly face.
Sterner faces were there also. The council wore a grave aspect, more
like a court of judges before whom a criminal is cited to appear than
an assembly of clergymen about to ordain a missionary.

After some preliminaries, Cecil was called on to give a statement of
his reasons for wishing to go as an evangelist to the Indians. He rose
before them. There was a singular contrast between his slight form and
expressive features and the stout frames and grim countenances of the
others. But the graceful presence of the man had in it a quiet dignity
that commanded the respect of all.

In obedience to the command, he told how he had thought of the unknown
tribes beyond the Alleghanies, living in the gloom of paganism and
perishing in darkness, till an intangible sympathy inclined him toward
them,--till, as it seemed to him, their great desire for light had
entered into and possessed him, drawing him toward them by a
mysterious and irresistible attraction. He felt called of God to go
and minister to their spiritual needs, and that it was his duty to
leave everything and obey the call.

"Is this all?" he was asked.

He hesitated a moment, and then described his vision in the wood the
morning of his wife's death. It made a deep impression on his hearers.
There was scarcely a man