|
by PAUL H. BOASE The "itinerancy," the traveling ministry of the Methodist Church, distin- guished the Methodist plan of church government from all other ecclesiastical systems on the American frontier. While most denominations employed mounted missionaries as evangelical emissaries to the West, only the Wes- leyans geared their entire program to an intricately developed circuit system, virtually compelling Methodist preachers to ride abreast of the westward bound pioneers. In sparsely settled regions, still without churches and schools, the itinerancy assured every cluster of cabins, however remote, the periodic services of a preacher who could minister to the sick, bury the dead, marry the lovelorn, exhort the faithful and faithless alike, sell books, tracts, magazines, and newspapers, and deliver messages, letters, and gossip from friends scattered across the frontier. NOTES ARE ON PACES 167-170 |
92 OHIO HISTORY
The church for its part guaranteed every
itinerant a circuit, its limits occa-
sionally well established, but on the
fluid frontier it was more often ill-
defined, compelling the circuit rider to
find many of his preaching points.
Benjamin Young's assigned
"circuit" in 1803 later became the state of
Illinois.1 Circuits were not
measured in miles but in the time required to
visit the ten, twenty, or thirty preaching
points. Usually traveling in pairs as
junior and senior, the itinerants
received a one-year appointment from the
annual conference to a roughly drawn
circuit which in succeeding years,
through population increase and the
successful labors of its preachers, might
constitute two or three circuits.
Occasionally an itinerant rode the same area
a second year; few enjoyed a three-year
tenure. Convinced that no minister,
including himself, possessed sufficient
talent to serve a church more than one
year without preaching "myself and
most of my congregation asleep,"2 John
Wesley successfully thwarted every move
to turn his itinerants into settled
parsons.
Happily for American Methodism, Francis
Asbury, the first bishop, trans-
planted the Wesleyan concept of the
itinerancy to the New World, powered
it with a hearty band of circuit riders,
and enforced a rigid, militaristic code,
requiring preachers of every rank to
carry the gospel to all frontiersmen in
or near the confines of their assigned
areas. As villages sprang up along the
frontier and churches acquired
sufficient wealth and strength to support a
full-time pastor, a few fortunate
clerics managed to pause temporarily at a
"station," but all considered
themselves traveling preachers, expected to take
their turns in riding the circuits, and
generally resigned themselves to an
earthly condition approaching perpetual
motion.3 A close study of the
itinerant plan--its potential rewards,
its political temperament,4 and its
inevitable hardships--furnishes an image
of the circuit rider, one eye on this
world and one on the next, often torn
between his drive for personal power
and his yearning for selfless service,
and provides as well a rationale for the
phenomenal growth of Methodism on the
frontier.5
The annual conferences, totaling nine
when the Ohio Conference first met
in 1812,6 usually consisted of three to
six districts, each subdivided into an
unlimited number of circuits, ranging
from five to twenty. Meeting at the
annual conference for a week, the
circuit riders presented their membership
and financial statements, submitted
their characters to the scrutiny of their
brethren, listened to their most
eloquent pulpit orators, subdivided and reor-
ganized the districts and circuits, and
formulated plans to capture additional
territory and membership for the church.
The conference adjourned on a
climactic note after the bishop assigned
each preacher to a circuit and a
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 93 presiding elder to each district. The itinerant then secured the circuit plan from his predecessor or the presiding elder, and set forth in search of his first preaching point. At the Ohio Conference of 1823 John Stewart heard his name read for the Muskingum Circuit. His traveling companion was Thomas Beacham, a novice serving his first year on trial. The two left the conference at Urbana, Ohio, about September 11 and ten days later held their first service at Putnam, Stewart's home on the circuit. Four weeks later, on October 19, after twenty-five stops and 160 miles of riding, they returned to Putnam, completing the cycle.7 At least four times during the year, Jacob Young, their presiding elder in the Lancaster District, called a quarterly conference for the membership of the Muskingum Circuit. At the following annual conference in 1824 John Stewart was eligible for election as one of the Ohio Conference's thirteen delegates to the quadrennial general con- ference, the highest tribunal of the church.8 |
|
94 OHIO HISTORY
The circuit itself was almost as
intricately planned as the larger over-all
church organization. As Stewart and
Beacham traveled the Muskingum Cir-
cuit, they were not limited to
twenty-five stops, but searched out every new
settlement for persons who leaned in the
Methodist direction, seemed without
ministerial care, or accidentally
crossed their path. Invariably, the circuit
rider concluded his sermon with an
exhortation to those wishing "to flee from
the wrath to come" to remain for
the organization of a class, the basic unit
in the local church. After hearing the
church rules, all who wanted to try
and be tried by the Methodists were
formed into a class under the leadership
of the most pious, energetic member.
Mitosis often occurred rapidly, classes
dividing and sub-dividing until the
cells thus formed developed sufficient
magnitude to support a full-time
preacher.
The class leader probably held the most
important position in the local
society. In addition to presiding over
regular class meetings, he visited each
member several times a year, conducted
religious exercises in the family
circle, and cross-examined each member
on his "state of grace" and his
progress in experimental and practical
religion. Indeed, he was regarded
as the pastor of his little flock. An
exchange of correspondence between John
Collins, the first Methodist to preach
in Cincinnati, and Samuel Williams,
distinguished secretary to Ohio's first
governor, Edward Tiffin, and probably
Ohio's leading Methodist layman during
the formative period,9 illustrates
the significance of the class leader.
Outlining the leader's task, Collins urged
Williams "to watch over every
member . . . instruct the ignorant, excite the
negligent, confirm the weak, comfort the
afflicted, admonish the disorderly."
The compensations to the church and to
the individual, Collins assured his
correspondent, compel a constant concern
for "every family where our sheep
reside--wait around the death beds of
the afflicted, and wipe the falling
tear from the faded cheek of the
departing soul--such kind attentions, often
win whole families--When you visit them
they meet you with a hearty wel-
come, and when you depart they follow
you with gratitude and thanksgiving
--O happy man."10
The society, if moderately large and
well established, might have in addi-
tion to the class leader a local
preacher or an exhorter, officers constituting
the local as contrasted with the
itinerant ministry. The exhorter, often a
former class leader who had demonstrated
more than average zeal, piety,
and skill as a public speaker, stood
just above the class leader in rank. With
the recommendation and consent of the
class, the circuit rider had issued the
man an exhorter's license, perhaps his
first step toward the itinerancy. The
local preachers included both recent
graduates of the exhorter's school and
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 95
seasoned circuit riders who for
marriage, financial embarrassment, or other
causes were forced to
"locate." While only the preachers, local and itinerant,
could take a text, the exhorters could
speak on repentance, faith, the love of
God, sin, or any other subject as long
as they avoided an interpretation of the
Scriptures.11 Often an
exhorter followed the preacher's sermon with a stir-
ring appeal to the mourners and the
unconverted, or with a slashing attack
he tongue-lashed the backsliders.
Frequently the local preacher plunged
into the wilderness and planted his
family deep within the frontier. By the
time the first regular itinerant
arrived, the local preacher had
organized a class and had prepared the mem-
bership for admission to the circuit.
Such was the case in Ohio when Francis
McCormick, an emigrant from Virginia and
Kentucky who had settled near
Milford, organized the first class in
the Northwest Territory, and welcomed
John Kobler, the first itinerant to form
a circuit in Buckeye territory. Like
many local preachers, McCormick started
as a class leader, which he said
"was of great service to me by
laying me under greater responsibility to the
Lord and his church." Humbly he
confessed his fear that the church had
advanced him beyond his ability.
"If I had known the talents necessary to
explain the Scriptures of Eternal Truth,
I think I should have objected to
getting a license to preach," and
remained an exhorter, he said.12
On each visit to the class or society
the itinerant in charge of the circuit
examined the character, conduct, and
devotion to duty of each class leader,
local preacher, exhorter, and member.
Those found guilty of violating the
rules of the church were either reproved
or brought to trial, depending on
the nature and frequency of the offense.
Members guilty of neglecting class
meetings without just cause were
expelled. Each class member in good stand-
ing received a ticket with a space for
his name, a printed Bible verse and
perhaps a few lines from a hymn. Only
those with an up-to-date ticket were
permitted to attend the class meeting or
the even more exclusive church
exercise, the love feast. This
testimonial service did for the larger group
what the class meeting accomplished for
the smaller. "In the love feast of
those days," wrote a reminiscing
circuit rider, "those present told in simple
language the innermost experiences of
their hearts and they were almost
always richly blessed."13 Efforts
to keep the love feast a Methodist affair,
however, became increasingly difficult,
prompting the Ohio Conference to
pass motions like the one in 1828
requiring the presiding elders "to furnish
their preachers with love feast
tickets," and urging a strict enforcement of
the law.14
Four years later, when James Quinn
traveled the Straight Creek Circuit
96 OHIO HISTORY in southern Ohio, he followed his usual custom of enforcing the rule on tickets. His tactics, while embarrassing, were also thrilling for his junior colleague, John G. Bruce. The circuit had called a love feast for nine o'clock on Sunday morning at their newly built meeting house, and since the public had assisted with the construction, the doorkeeper, directed to check the tickets, permitted members and non-members to enter. Observing the motley crowd, Quinn declared abruptly, "I never have held a love-feast contrary to the Discipline of the Methodist Church, and I never will." He immediately ordered his unprepared colleague to mount the pulpit and preach, which the young man recalled was a keen disappointment to the audience. Neverthe- less, Bruce observed, "Every departure from the rules in relation to class meetings and love-feasts must weaken us. A rigid adherence to rule made us what we were; a sinful neglect of rule has made us what we are."15 A circuit rider on the Zanesville District in 1845 echoed the Bruce warning, declaring it his conviction that unless action were taken "to wake up the ministry in our conference . . . it will not be long before Class meetings will be a dead letter amongst us."16 James B. Finley, Ohio's best-known circuit rider, concurred, refusing to "open doors" at love feasts and class meetings. "We were exhorted not to give that which was holy to dogs, or to cast our pearls before swine."17 In addition to class meetings and love feasts, the membership met their fellow Methodists on the circuit at least four times a year at the quarterly conference. These sessions were to the laymen, class leaders, exhorters, and local preachers what the annual conferences were to the circuit riders. Dur- ing the business session the presiding elder inquired about the behavior of all officers, conducting a far from perfunctory examination. Records of the |
|
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 97
conferences reveal numerous instances
of local preachers, exhorters, and
class leaders suffering the fate of
James Grant of the Burlington Circuit,
whose "character . . . being
called came up & could not pass nor his license
be renewed."18 At every session
the presiding elder asked two questions:
"Are there any appeals? Are there
any complaints?" Members or licensed
officers tried for misdemeanors and
expelled by their class or society often
appealed their cases.
The social and religious stimulation of
the quarterly conference probably
appealed to the average member, and on
the frontier, with its limited oppor-
tunities for fellowship, all keenly
anticipated a gathering of the faithful at
"Quart'ly Meetin'." As one
Ohio preacher put it:
While with venison and turkey,
Johnny cake and pone galore,
People everywhere were ready,
All the circuit folk to feed,
While they never turned a stranger
From the door who came in need.19
A rare volume by Engelhardt
Riemenschneider contains one of the best
quarterly conference descriptions. A
lad of twenty when he came to America
in 1835, he was converted by William
Nast, the well-known Ohio German
Methodist leader. The young convert
began preaching in 1839, was ordained
an elder in the North Ohio Conference
in 1842, and five years later received
an appointment as the presiding elder
of the North Ohio German District of
the Ohio Conference.20
Describing the excitement of the
quarterly conferences, Riemenschneider
remembered them as "real community
feasts," and the focal point for mem-
bers widely scattered across the
circuit. "The wife and children rode on
horses and the fathers walked beside
them. Those who had no horses often
carried the babies in their arms for
18-20 miles." Methodists who lived in
the selected location housed and fed
all, and when the regular sleeping quar-
ters were exhausted, the hosts made
"Methodist beds . . . by putting straw
on the floor and laying any bedclothes
available over it and so everyone had
a place to sleep."
The conference, usually lasting from
Saturday afternoon until Monday
morning, opened with a preliminary
session, considered as merely a period
of preparation. But since all had been
praying for "an outpouring of the
Holy Spirit," wrote
Riemenschneider, "there was often a spiritual awakening
in this service that made the faces of
those present shine with a holy joy." A
business session intervened, followed
with a sermon by the circuit rider or a
98 OHIO HISTORY
local preacher. The inevitable call for
penitents closed the sermon, and
around the altar "one heard not
only weeping but also the shouts of joy of
the souls newborn." Sunday,
however, was the long-awaited day, and at the
morning service the presiding elder was
expected to preach his most power-
ful sermon--no twenty or thirty minute
homily, but one "full of thought and
of unusual length." Following the
sermon the ordained elders served com-
munion and in the afternoon the faithful
gathered for the love feast. After
two more services, one on Sunday night,
and another on Monday morning,
the faithful departed for their homes,
"strengthened by their having assem-
bled together."21
The culmination of the year's activities
for all Methodists, but particularly
for the circuit riders, occurred at the
annual conference. This meeting pro-
vided the itinerants a welcome
opportunity to meet their comrades once
again, to sing and pray together, and to
hear the best sermons of their breth-
ren. For men stationed deep in the
wilderness this session afforded an
excellent outlet for religious,
political, and gregarious drives. Alfred Brun-
son, a circuit rider from the Western
Reserve, recalled the jubilant mood of
his normally dour traveling companion at
the anticipation of an annual
conference. "I heard him say once,
when in such a glee on his way to Con-
ference, that he should weep in
loneliness for two weeks after he got home,"
but "was willing to have the dumps
for a month . . . for the sake of the
pleasure he enjoyed at one
Conference."22 William Simmons agreed, writ-
ing to his father from the Ohio
Conference at Mansfield in 1831 about the
"annual refreshing to my Soul. . .
. Here my commission appears to be
renewed and I go to my work with renewed
vigor."23
Although inspiration proved vital,
church business, conducted behind
closed doors, constituted the principal
purpose of the gathering. Local
preachers, laymen, and those on trial,
although permitted to attend the con-
ference during religious services,
remained outside in what they "jocosely
called the lower house" during the
business sessions.24 The Ohio Conference,
from its inception in 1812, conducted
its sessions according to a rudimentary
but adequate set of nineteen
parliamentary rules, adopted by the Western
Conference in 1810, and revised by the
Ohio in 1840. At an early session
each conference established by vote the
"barr of the conference," often "a
line running parallel with the stoves,
across the church," describing the legal
area for the transaction of church
business.25
Following preliminaries, the conference
moved to answer the disciplinary
questions relative to the spiritual and temporal
condition of the church and
its ministers. The first twelve
questions dealt with the status of each preacher,
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 99
whether received on trial, admitted to
full connection, elected deacon or
elder, located, deceased, or retired.
Questions nine, ten, and eleven often
created the greatest excitement, since
they concerned the annual inquiry into
each itinerant's character, and the
names of those expelled or withdrawn
"from the connection." In a
reference to this inquisition an itinerant wrote
in his journal during the Ohio
Conference of 1846: "The characters of the
preachers undergo a most rigid scrutiny
but they seem to shine like gold tried
in the fire."26
Occasionally, the metal of the circuit
rider proved somewhat less precious
than gold, and in these instances the conference
either performed the alchemy
or cast the itinerant aside. As we shall
observe later, the formal church trial
was one method of removing offenders,
but all submitted to an investigation
and those who possessed traits of
character or personalities and behavior
unsuitable to the itinerancy, were
rejected or relieved. The case of Thomas
Hurd, admitted to full connection in
1842,27 illustrates one of the less harsh
methods of dealing with undesirables. In
1849 Hurd's presiding elder, Jacob
Young, accused the itinerant of being
"rash, restless & uneasy about his
quarterage." The proceedings,
written in the "shorthand" of the conference
secretary, stated that Hurd "found
out that a sister had not paid her quar-
terage, he said he would go and get it.
Better not said a friend; her husband
is rather ill natured. Hurd replied if
he says anything to me I will Knock
him into a cocked hat." The
itinerant had also spoken tactlessly about his
hosts on the circuit. "After having
spent a night with a worthy Gentleman,"
Young reported, "he went elsewhere
& being asked how he fared, he replyed.
Well, they fed me on Corn bread &
Catts ear's." Other conference members
supported Young's judgment, and so on a
motion, Thomas Hurd was "lo-
cated," but not expelled from the
ministry.28
The Ohio Conference of 1830 tried to
force William J. Thompson to retire
as a way of depriving him of a circuit
and the opportunity to preach. Bitterly
he expressed his disappointment to one
of his friends. "While I was waiting
to hear my appointment from
conference," he wrote to James B. Finley,
"my farm rented out, and my shop
partly broken up, arangements made to
travle, and nothing to do, but set out
after one days notice, I received a line
from my P Elder, I was supurannuated, as
the best thing he could do for
me." Suspecting a complaint or
plot, he soon discovered some ministerial
members who considered him "so
particular about fashions, dress, quar-
terage,... or something, that altho' my
preaching was good, I could not get
along among the people." In
defense, Thompson asked, "How can a preacher
get along among a fashionable people,
while he obeys our discipline . . .
100 OHIO HISTORY
when some of our more popular preachers,
will conform to fashions, and
bring a daughter . . . to camp-meeting
topped off with seven combs in her
hair? These men can get along," he
charged, "while an old fashioned
preacher, who has been labouring,
suffering and sacraficing to support
Methodism, ever since they were in their
cradles . . . must be sent home."29
Thompson finally won a year's reprieve, receiving
an appointment to the
Miami Circuit in 1830, but the following
year, like Thomas Hurd, he suf-
fered the fate of the
"located."30
Naturally, the doctrines the circuit
riders preached enjoyed careful con-
ference scrutiny, and ideas failing to
square with the Discipline and the
Articles of Religion prompted an
advisory session. In 1846 the Ohio Confer-
ence cautioned William Langarl that
"it would be very determental to his
ministerial influence and to the cause
of God among us, for him to continue
to preach . . . on the second
advent." The conference, therefore, advised him
"to abstain from advancing his
favourite views . . . where judicious brethren
. . . advise him against it."3l
James Gilruth, esteemed physically as the
strongest circuit rider in Ohio,
received similar treatment. Before his con-
version the Lawrence County citizenry
feared him. Afterwards, the camp
meeting folk, often distressed by the
rowdies whom they quaintly described
in Biblical language as "lewd fellows
of a baser sort," welcomed Gilruth
as a counter threat to the toughs.32
Undeterred by Gilruth's physical prowess,
the 1849 Ohio Conference charged him
with "desseminating doctrines con-
trary to our first and second articles.
. . . For saying that Jesus Christ was
not God. Second, for saying that God was
in him and working by him as
he did by Moses as an agent." After
long and detailed deliberations, the
conference decided Gilruth's errors were
largely semantic, and declared him
"not guilty of actual heresy."33
Through this experience, however,
Gilruth recognized the potential hard-
ships a circuit rider faced while
awaiting the final decision. The conference
made no provision for restoring the lost
wages of a man placed on trial, so
Gilruth submitted a resolution in 1850,
the year he left the Ohio Conference,
that a preacher accused and suspended,
but finally acquitted, "be allowed
his Quarterage & other expenses, the
same as if he had remained in the
regular work."34
Until 1856 the financial returns offered
little stimulus, since all preachers,
from the bishop to the rawest novice,
enjoyed the same salary schedule: $100
for single and $200 for married men,
plus expenses and a small stipend for
children under fourteen.35 The
true salary, however, depended on the gen-
erosity, wealth, and vigor of the
circuit, and in 1822 the Ohio Conference
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 101 |
|
could list only twenty out of approximately ninety preachers who were paid in full. The total salary deficiency for that year amounted to $4,448.04.36 With bitter irony James B. Finley assailed Methodism's so-called "free Gospel." For too many, he complained, this meant "one that costs them nothing; and, humiliating as it may seem, we have heard some thank God for it."37 He could recall a few of his colleagues who "managed, maneu- vered, and speculated with such admirable, productive skill as to amass property." The majority, he insisted, "live poor, die poor, and leave their families to the charities of the Church. Some I know who have spent a fortune for the privilege of traveling circuits, at a salary of twenty-five dol- lars a year, while their wives lived in log-cabins, and rocked their children in sugar-troughs."38 Understandably, the married itinerants found that two or more could |
102 OHIO HISTORY
hardly survive on twice as much--even
when fully compensated. The confer-
ences understood, however, reluctantly
accepting the married and discourag-
ing the single from changing their
state. James Quinn, himself a married man
who may have fared better than some of
his brethren,39 nevertheless recog-
nized the severe financial torment of
his married colleagues. He tried in vain
to persuade Ralph Lotspeich, the weeping
prophet,40 to "try it a little longer;
trust in the Lord--may be matters will
get better; the people will certainly
lay it to heart." But Lotspeich was
adamant, declaring that the church would
never in his time support a married
preacher, and then turning away, said
Quinn, he "wept, and I wept too,
for the same feelings were struggling in
my own breast. We prayed and parted, and
I saw his face no more."41
Even single preachers, comprising the
largest contingent, were susceptible
to financial privation. The ill-fated
William O'Conner, a twenty-four-year-
old bachelor, who entered the itinerant
ranks in 1840 "in good health and
in debt for my horse," confessed to
his presiding elder that at year's end he
had accumulated a $47 debt and had yet
to pay for his horse. "The question
now," he wrote, "is how shall
I get out of debt and out to the west."42 During
his first year he served with two
colleagues, but apparently the resources
around their Eaton Circuit were
insufficient to support three preachers.
O'Conner's appeal, however, fell on
sympathetic ears and the following year
he went to Athens, Ohio, where he must
have stabilized his financial position.
At the next conference his wish to go
west was fulfilled in his transfer to the
newly formed Texas Conference, but
misfortune dogged his trail, and while
riding his first Texas circuit, he was
"cut down by the withering influence of
disease."43
Some circuit riders, like Finley's
brother John, tortured themselves by
seeking secular means of support.44
Those who possessed sufficient education
sometimes supplemented their incomes by
teaching. A few left the itinerant
ranks permanently for the teacher's
desk; some long enough to recoup losses
suffered on the circuit. One preacher's
son described his circuit-riding
father's practices: "His custom was
to preach until his pecuniary resources
failed, and then betake himself to
school-teaching until his purse was replen-
ished, then to the circuit again."45
In his early years on the circuit Alfred
Lorrain also found a measure of
financial independence by teaching and
preaching simultaneously. His school
salary of four hundred dollars af-
forded him security, but the pittance of
less than ninety dollars he received
from the church was the more highly
prized. "It was the most beautiful
money I had ever received," said
Lorrain. "It looked pure and holy--the
wages of the Lord."46
|
Attempting to solve his financial crisis by combining two positions nearly proved disastrous for Jacob Young. Determined to give his sons the formal education he had been denied by the church, he soon found himself three hundred dollars in debt. Since the Ohio Conference of 1823 opposed his request for a temporary leave of absence, he purchased the necessary equip- ment on credit and pursued a business career on his "rest days," which happily for laboring preachers placed them in no danger of a trial for Sabbath-breaking. Unfortunately, his sermons soon became "both dry and dull," and his congregations, he admitted, "soon began to complain--as well they might. They said I had given way to a craving desire after riches." Stung by these accusations, wrote Young, "I spent hours, every week, in lonely groves, mourning like a dove and chattering like the crane."47 Some preachers discovered a potential source of income in their skill as physicians of the body as well as the soul. A few Ohio circuit riders like James B. Finley, S. A. Latta, and Werter R. Davis had received formal medical training. All itinerants were expected, according to William I. Fee, "to carry ... remedies appropriate for the treatment of the common diseases of the country, and, among others, the lancet. Bleeding was regarded as the sovereign remedy in those days for fever and ague."48 The circuit riders' journals and letters reveal a more than average interest in remedies. James Gilruth noted in his diary for January 27, 1835, "Read Physic till sunrise," |
104 OHIO HISTORY
and the following day he "studied
Medicine till 9." A few months later he
purchased Robert Thomas' Modern
Practice of Medicine for three dollars.49
Among James B. Finley's papers is a
notebook filled with prescriptions for
all manner of diseases, including
"disentory or diareae, constipation, dis-
peptia, acid on the stomach, directions
for making the 'best parragoric,' for
Sprains, Rheumatism, sprain on a horses
legg, for Chronick deseas of the
Blader, for Collara Morbis, for Dropsey,
for collora, anti collora pills, a
salve for cancer," and many others
not in his handwriting, indicating that he
systematically collected frontier
concoctions, many as frightening as the
maladies they were designed to relieve.
His cough medicine consisted of a
handful of hops, a half pound of sugar,
and a quarter ounce of cayenne
pepper mixed with a quart of water and
boiled down to a pint, strained, and
served by the tablespoonful three times
daily.50
Finley's parents had planned a medical
career for their son, who did com-
plete his training and was admitted to
practice in 1800. In a modest self-
appraisal Finley decided he would have
"made a respectable physician for
the times," but the Indians, his
dog, and gun held "more charms . . . than
anatomy, surgery, and
physiology."51 Nine years later the irresistible call
to the ministry supplanted the hunter's
life and precluded any resumption of
a full-time medical career. His interest
in medicine persisted, however, and
in the spring of 1831 he received a
ticket of admission to the Cincinnati
Academy of Medicine for their summer
lectures and examinations."52 On at
least two occasions Finley received
offers to collaborate in pharmaceutical
ventures. In 1846 one of his Eaton,
Ohio, neighbors wrote enthusiastically
about a medicine he had discovered and
would be willing to manufacture for
twenty cents a bottle if Finley and an
unnamed "gentleman in Columbus"
would furnish the capital. Apparently
each was to share a third of the profits.
The inventor anticipated a favorable
outcome, "as you [Finley] are known
all over this Western Country and that
would recommend it."53 Three years
later an Iowan who had discovered a cure
for diarrhea, all kinds of cholera,
fever, ague, chills, and typhoid fever
suggested that he, Finley, and a reli-
gious physician might open a shop in
Ohio and share the profits from the
sale of his elixir.54 Whether
Finley ever supported or profited from the sale
of any potions is not known. Most
circuit riders unquestionably considered
any recourse to medicinal cures as
supplementary to their prayers for the
infirm and expected no additional
remuneration. Any impropriety in the
use of drugs would probably have come to
the attention of the Ohio Confer-
ence, as Lemuel Lane discovered in 1817.
Described as an ideal circuit rider with
a "constitution like elastic steel,"
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 105
young Lane entered the Ohio itinerant
ranks in 1814. He traveled the barren
stretches of northern Ohio and as far
east as the Chetauque Circuit in the
vast Ohio District before receiving an
assignment in 1816 to form the first
circuit around Mansfield. He was
apparently successful in most respects,
"dreaded no danger,"
"formed a full four week's circuit," and carried the
Lord's battle even to the barroom in the
largest of Mansfield's six log
houses.55 Shortly before the
Ohio Conference of 1817, Lane's presiding
elder received a letter from William
Armstrong of West Union, accusing
the itinerant of selling medicinal
nostrums at exorbitant prices, and prescrib-
ing a worthless remedy for Armstrong's
sick child. The five dollars Lane
charged for twenty-five packages of a
potion he considered "very beneficial
to females for Certain Complaints"
struck Armstrong as the height of ingrati-
tude, since he and his wife had
entertained Lane for several days and had
even paid his laundry bill.56
By the time the Ohio Conference met in
Zanesville on September 3, 1817,
Lane had apparently built an undesirable
medical reputation and conse-
quently faced a church court on five
counts:
1 In practicing Medicine without
sufficient knowledge.
2 In violating a statute of the State of
Ohio, by administering medicine without
authority.
3 In receiving exorbitant pay for his
vegitable preparation, &c after imposing
them on people.
4th In practising the Science of
Midwifery without skill.
5th In stubbournly persisting in the
above practices after he was admonished &
advised to the contrary by his presiding
Elder.
Lane confessed his guilt, begged the
conference for clemency, and
"pledged himself to lay aside the
Study and practice of Physic entirely also
the Science of Midwifery &c and
devote himself entirely to the Work of the
Ministry."57 He was continued on
trial and remained in the ministry until
1819, when he located and his name
disappeared from the published Minutes
of the annual conferences.58
Most circuits did attempt to provide
support for their pastors, making it
less necessary for them to seek
adventitious employment. A few like the
Burlington Circuit hoped to save their
itinerants from embarrassment by
requesting the bishop "to send
their Circuit no more preachers than they are
able and willing to support."
Moreover, both the Fairfield and Burlington
circuits devised disciplinary machinery
to punish classes and class leaders
deficient in their collections.
Agreeing, as one of them put it, to "bare with
|
the [class leader] for a Season," they warned him to produce the funds or suffer removal from office. Classes were likewise notified that insufficient contributions would bring a reprimand from the quarterly conference, and "if they repent not they shall be left out of the plan of the Circuit."59 The records of the Pickaway Circuit reveal how meticulously accounts were kept. On one side of the page the steward listed the contributions of the eighteen classes in the circuit, totaling $71.87 1/2. Opposite were the following dis- bursements:60 To cash paid John Collins [presiding elder] for his expences $ 0.37 1/2 To his share of Quarterage 6.00 To cash paid Jacob Young [senior preacher] for expences 1.50 To his share of Quarterage 41.75 To cash paid Benamin Cooper [junior preacher] for his expences .62 1/2 To his share of Quarterage 20.87 1/2 To cash paid for wine .75 Total $71.87 1/2 |
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 107
A legitimate source of income, in
addition to his "quarterage," was the
commission each preacher received from
the sale of religious books, tracts,
and newspapers. Indeed, a solemn duty of
every itinerant, inaugurated by
John Wesley and spelled out in detail by
the general conference of 1800, was
"to see that his circuit be duly
supplied with books." Thus, with saddlebags
bulging, they became in all areas the
principal agents and peddlers for all
the publications of the Methodist Book
Concern. First organized in 1796 in
Philadelphia and later moved to New
York, the publishing house eventually
established a western branch at
Cincinnati in 1820 under the direction of
Martin Ruter.61 Three years
later his optimistic note to Samuel Williams
revealed his understanding of the
itinerant's role as book agent. "Our
Church has already spread more books in
the Western Country than all other
denominations, but," he added
hopefully, "this is not half so much as will
be done in future."62
The phenomenal growth of the Western
Christian Advocate, the official
organ of western Methodism, published at
Cincinnati, confirmed Ruter's
enthusiastic prediction. By 1840, six
years after its first issue, the Advocate,
due in large measure to itinerant
salesmanship, had become one of the state's
leading periodicals, boasting 15,000
paid subscriptions.63 To assist the cir-
cuit riders in securing new readers, the
Methodist Book Concern sent all
preachers the names of current
subscribers within the bounds of their circuits.
It further agreed to "allow agents
twenty-five cents commission for each sub-
scriber, new or old, who takes the paper
a full year, and ten percent on
fractions of a year." On the back
of a circular sent to Levi White, the senior
preacher at Eaton, Ohio, were the names
of seventy-four subscribers to the
Advocate and seven to Methodism's newest journal, the Ladies
Repository.64
For "their trouble" as book
salesmen, they were allowed a commission of
"not less than fifteen, nor more
than twenty-five per cent., upon the wholesale
price."65 Clearly, a
circuit rider who peddled books and newspapers dili-
gently could add considerably to his
meager salary,66 which perhaps inspired
a writer in the Methodist Magazine to
predict failure for preachers whose
incentives were pecuniary. "A just
suspicion of this motive will destroy your
dignity and usefulness," he
warned,67 reminding the itinerant to make his
primary task the winning of souls.68
The conference, fully aware of the
sacrifices and hardships of the itiner-
ants and their dependents, established
its own social security program.
Indeed, it would be surprising if this
meticulously organized church failed,
even in the beginning stages, to care
for the needy. As early as 1796 the
general conference established the
Chartered Fund, supported by voluntary
108
OHIO HISTORY
gifts, "for the
distressed travelling preachers, for the families of travelling
preachers, and for
the superannuated, and worn-out preachers, and the wid-
ows and
orphans."69 The several annual conferences shared in the
interest
accumulated in the
Chartered Fund, and equally in the profits of the book
concern. Recognizing
the need for local action, the Ohio Conference estab-
lished in 1840 the
"Preachers' Relief Society," open to any person contribut-
ing one dollar or
more annually. The members were further urged to secure
additional funds
"in a discreet manner . . . by urging the friends of the
Church and of the
Ministry to cherish it with liberal benevolence."70 Occa-
sionally a book the
conference published helped to swell the account.71 Other
sources included the
"fifth collection,"72 and an offering noted regularly in
the journals in some
such manner as the following: "The Conference directed
that the collection
taken this morning be given into the hands of the Com-
mittee on Necessitous
Cases--to appropriate as they may judge best among
those for whom it was
collected."73 Then, each year the bishop asked Ques-
tion 14: "What
amounts are necessary for the superannuated preachers; and
to make up the
deficiencies of those who have not obtained their regular
allowance on the
circuits?" In 1841 the answer was $7,812.20. Question 15
followed: "What
has been collected on the foregoing accounts, and how has
it been
applied?" In the early years all of the collections on each circuit
appeared in the Minutes,
but after 1840 only the general sources. To meet
the deficit of 1841
the following collections appeared:
Circuits and stations 406
32
Am't in the hands of
stewards last year 2
12
Collections at sundry
places at the Ohio Conference 108
38
From the Preachers'
Relief Society, Ohio Conference 58
77
Book Concern 700
Chartered Fund 69
Error, amount not
accounted for 5
31
Total $1,349 90
The conference then
faced the insoluble problem of dividing $1,349.90
among those who
needed $7,812.20. Either through generosity or error they
overspent the income
by one cent, and thirty-six persons or families shared
amounts ranging from
$70.18 to $7.41.74
Clearly, all circuit
riders had to be self-sacrificing, dedicated men to
endure the itinerancy
at its best, and a few, like Benjamin Lakin, seemed
almost wholly
unconcerned with temporal fortunes. Moreover, in most in-
stances the
itinerants seemed to accept their appointments cheerfully, subli-
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 109
mating most of their worldly ambitions
to goals they considered eternal.
Some, however, were sufficiently mortal
to slight the tenth commandment
when they observed others with less
talent and little more devotion appointed
to the so-called "easier"
circuits, perhaps to a new station, or the presiding
eldership and a step toward the
episcopacy. The concept held by those who
pictured the church fathers as accepting
their appointments without question
or complaint,75 is hardly confirmed in
the letters, diaries, and memoirs of
even the most devoted. The shake-up
occurring inevitably at the annual con-
ference provided ample grist for the
political mill, and an air of excited
expectancy gripped the itinerants during
the reading of the answers to the
last question: "Where are the
preachers stationed this year?"
Final appointing power lay with the
bishop, or, if he were unavailable,
with the presiding elder. All members
enjoyed the privilege of applying
persuasion, but when the bishop issued
an order to an elder, or an elder to a
deacon, or a deacon to a probationer,
the junior in rank was expected, on
threat of disciplinary action, to
comply. Thus Francis Jennings' apparent
escape from ecclesiastical punishment,
after his refusal to ride his assigned
circuit in 1837, is surprising, but was
due perhaps to his excellent excuses
or to his skill in political
maneuvering. In a letter to James B. Finley, a
member of the bishop's cabinet, Jennings
rationalized his dereliction: poor
health, a "laborious circuit of 23
appointments," and a people who made no
provision for his family. Finally, he
accused the conference of treating him
"badly." "I have traveled
5 years. I never flenched. . . . I feel as strong a
desire to travel as I ever did, and to
die in the work, but my family holds a
station in my affections, too strong to
see them doomed to misery."76
While reading the Jennings letter Finley
may have recalled his own bitter
experience. At the Ohio Conference of
1812 Bishop Asbury expressed his
willingness to hear any special requests
the preachers had concerning their
appointments to particular areas. Finley
responded, asking that he receive
an appointment to the western part of
Ohio, nearer his home and family. He
had been traveling in east central Ohio.
When the bishop read the appoint-
ments, Finley found to his sorrow that
he had been transferred a hundred
miles further east. He recovered
sufficiently to shout "Amen!" but his heart
was not in the "So be it!"
After adjournment, as the chastened novice
headed toward his new circuit, he met
Asbury, and could not refrain from
remarking that if the bishop answered
prayers so contrarily, he would
receive no more from him. Asbury smiled,
Finley remembered, and re-
marked cheerfully, "Well, be a good
son in the gospel, James, and all things
will work together for good."77
110 OHIO HISTORY In 1846 James Gilruth, one of Finley's preachers on the Zanesville Dis- trict, likewise discovered the inflexibility of the itinerant program. One of Gilruth's colleagues, Philip Mutchner, wrote to Finley with uncharitable glee that Gilruth had "requested the old King78 to give him a circuit the coming year some where near home stating that his present Circuit is so far . . . that it Keeps him so much of his Time between both that he is under the necessity of neglecting both his Family and the Circuit." The "old King," according to Mutchner, summarily informed Gilruth "that if he intended to be a local preacher there was but one way to it and if he intended to be an Itinerant |
|
he need not expect any such appointment as he requested." The monarch appointed Gilruth to the same unsatisfactory circuit for the following year.79 As he wrote his memoirs some thirty-eight years later, John Stewart re- called his mental torment in 1834 when he received a difficult and, in his opinion, an unfair appointment. He had purchased a suitable home for his |
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 111
large family within the bounds of a
circuit his presiding elder had promised
him, but when the bishop read the
appointments, Stewart heard his name
called for the Adelphi Circuit, "a
move of about one hundred miles, and a
large, rugged four weeks' circuit of
twenty-eight appointments." "I was
driven to my wits' end to be reconciled;
but," he declared proudly, "I never
had rebelled and I determined to go to
my work and not let any body know
that it was not just the work that I
desired." He neither asked for nor
received an explanation from his
superior, but in subsequent years, as a
member of the bishop's cabinet, he
discovered that "circumstances" often
dictated last minute changes. "The
system of Methodist Church polity,"
Stewart concluded, "is one of
mutual sacrifice."80
The sacrifices, however, were often
intermixed with political expediency
and deft maneuvering by both laymen and
ministers. James E. Gray, in the
biography of his father, indicates that
circuit riders sometimes fell victim to
the sins of jealousy and envy,
particularly during the reading of the appoint-
ments. His father, Gray was sure, was
less susceptible than most, but suffered
on at least one occasion from the
ambitions of a colleague. In 1841 the con-
ference assigned Gray to Norwalk, one of
the most desirable churches in the
conference, the center of Methodist
learning during that period.81 James
McMahan, one of the first preachers in
the Western Reserve, and a politically
powerful member of the conference,
"felt aggrieved," according to Gray,
"that father, a young man, should
have been promoted over him to the best
appointment." McMahan, therefore,
complained in person to the bishop, and
received the coveted charge the
following year, while Gray found himself in
a less prestigious post at Ashland.82
William Herr endeavored to secure his
appointment to Asbury Station in
Cincinnati by writing a
"confidential" letter of application to two of the lead-
ing laymen. Addressing "Brothers
Williams and Killrath," the ambitious
preacher suggested that if a change were
contemplated, he felt sure his
appointment would be "highly gratifying"
to the membership, and he would
esteem as a great favor "any
interest you can make in my behalf, by memo-
rializing the Bishop &c. &c."83
The reply was circumspect and evasive and
indicated that many were under
consideration. Assuring Herr that his name
was in the hopper, they nevertheless
felt it unwise to give him "any direct
encouragement."84 Herr
failed in this endeavor, transferring to Springfield,
while Asbury Lowry won the Cincinnati
appointment.85
Samuel Clarke also suffered thwarted
ambitions because of his undesirable
personality traits and a failure to
manage his personal finances. His succes-
sor at Hillsboro, William D. Barrett,
wrote to James B. Finley with less than
112 OHIO HISTORY
Christian charity about Clarke's plight.
The appointment of S. A. Latta to
the position of presiding elder, Barrett
reported, "will be a damper to poor
Sam'l Clarke[.] he has been allmost
frantic with the Idea of being a P.E.
He was confident that you would
recommend him to the Bishop so I am told
--what a pity greate men should be thus
choped off at the knees--I wish
you would write to him and request him
to come and pay his debts in this
place, it is doing us much injury &
caused me much uneasiness."86
A series of letters between James B.
Finley and one of his "problem"
preachers, Werter R. Davis, later a
founder and leader of Kansas Methodism,
demonstrates the intense, bitter feeling
generated by rivalry for the better
circuits and stations. As a recruit with
more formal training than most pro-
bationers, Davis attended Kenyon College
and held an M.D. degree from
the Ohio Medical College, advantages the
Methodist hierarchy sometimes
considered impediments. Admitted on
trial in 1835 and to full connection
two years later, the
twenty-seven-year-old itinerant, probably a Finley con-
vert, intermixed reminiscence with
grievance in a letter to his spiritual father.
"I . . . call to mind the time you,
with a skilful hand, sliped the Gospel
harnass upon me . . . when but a
beardless boy; the bones [s]carsely hard
within me." Then, revealing the
real purpose of his letter, Davis complained
that the harness was now too small.
Extending the figure, he went on: "I
have been trying to peale bark with my
teeth going on two years; and my
gumbs begin to get sore; I thought that
you supposed ... the blind-bridle was
not a good one, and on that account the
young horse had become a little
fractious; But that was not what was the
matter, the coller was a little to
tite sometime, so I could not pule
good."87 Subsequent letters indicated the
primary cause of Davis' distress: the
quality of his appointments failed to
meet his expectations. Finley offered
words of sympathy and praise, but
hastened to remind the young preacher
that in Methodism the itinerant ac-
cepted his assignments without question,
a practice he had followed for forty
years. "I have gone whare I was
sent, without Murmuring, and thought any
place in Gods vineyard was good anough
for me. Now it remains for you
young men to step forward."88
Davis endorsed the Methodist plan, but
still thought a more equitable
distribution a necessity. A few select
men, "these pets," enjoy all "the fat
places," he said, while "some
of us that have been knawing the bones should
have some of the meat." "But
no," he continued, documenting his case,
"there is George C. Crume who out
of fourteen appointments has received
nine stations and two of his circuit
appointments were at his own request ...
in order to be at home," and
"John W. Weekley who has traveled but one
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 113
circuit I believe for ten years."
Joseph M. Trimble, "the Governor['s] Son,"
and the seceders who joined the southern
church after the separation in 1844,
enjoyed better appointments than he.
"It is this odious cast in the ministry
that I am honestly tangling to get out
of, and out of it I must come by the
grace of God, for submit to it I cannot,
and will not, and Sir, your generous
heart will not crush me now."89
Whether his appointments over the
following seven years improved mark-
edly is difficult to determine.90
In 1852 Davis once again accused Finley of
treating him unjustly in throwing his
influence against Davis' election as a
delegate to the general conference and
in his appointment to the presiding
eldership.91 The following
year he sought greener pastures in the West,
transferring to the Missouri Conference
and a pastorate in St. Louis and
subsequently to the chair of natural
science at McKendree College. Five
years later he became the first
president of Baker University at Baldwin,
Kansas, a post he held from 1858 to
1862. After the Civil War, in which he
held a colonel's rank in the Sixteenth
Kansas Volunteer Cavalry, he returned
to the ministry, serving fourteen years
as a presiding elder, and was three
times elected a delegate to the general
conference. Perhaps his best claim
to lasting fame was as the father-in-law
of the world-renowned and eloquent
Bishop William Alfred Quayle.92
Dissatisfaction with appointments was
not confined to the so-called "boys"
in the conference. Even the venerable
John Sale, received on trial in 1795
and long considered a "Father"
in both the Western and Ohio conferences,
eyed with suspicion the motives of his
colleague John Collins, likewise a sire
in the two conferences.93 "I have a very unpleasant lot,"
Sale wrote Finley
two years before his death, "have
had my 3rd Q[uarterly] M[eeting] and
have only reed about $50 in truck trade
& money but why should a living
man complain, if I could believe I was
sent to that c[ircui]t with a pure
motive I should feel resigned however I
might call in question the judgment
of Mr. Collins in that but when I view
the Conduct of that man I am aston-
ished that the Bishops thus yield to him
and keep him in those stations he
chuses I will say to the injury of the
good cause."94
Laymen also raised their voices to
influence the appointments, even though
they realized, as one put it, "that
applications to the Conference for particular
ministers, but seldom receive any
consideration."95 But judging from the
volume of correspondence and requests
James B. Finley received each year,
the laymen were not averse to trying.
Few were as colorful in their requests,
however, as Finley's brother John, who
wrote from Piqua requesting "a
Boanerges the ensuing year--one who will
pass over Jordan, break down
114 OHIO HISTORY
Jericho, climb over the Alps, go through
the Straits of Gibralter and Charyb-
dis, quench the violence of fire, raise
the dead, put to flight armies of the
aliens, defeat the devil, triumph over
darkness, work by the plumb and
square, bring forth Judgment unto
victory, and spread light and truth in every
direction."96 Most were
like the layman who did not want "what the world
calls a great preacher. . . but a plain
old fashioned Methodist preacher that
will visit the Brethern and know them
when he meets them and generally
'Feed the Flock of Christ.'"97 On
the other hand, Henry Wilson of Newark
decided that their "situation . . .
requires a preacher of some good qualifica-
tions and standing as a speaker."98
Occasionally, a group like the nineteen
members of the Cermantown stop-
ping point on the Greenville Circuit,
wrote to the conference "Fathers &
Brethren" in praise of their pastor
and requesting his services for another
year. They admitted that "some . .
. find fault with him, & thus they do with
all other men. Some have an idea that
his preaching is too loud--some too
plain--some too long, & some object
to his fluent & refined language, saying
that it savors of pride. These charges
we are willing to let go for what they
are worth, as we find his persecutors,
generally among those that are emulous
of his talent." Their preacher,
John A. Baughman, was returned for another
year.99
Recommendations and condemnations,
financial reports and church trials,
retirements and locations, all liberally
intermixed with rumors and half
promises helped to raise the conference
temperature to feverish levels as the
time neared for the answer to the
ultimate question. Observers often at-
tempted to describe this final
conference scene, its solemnity sometimes
broken as men watched their fortunes
rise or fall. When James V. Watson,
a married itinerant who hoped to remain
in southern Indiana, suddenly found
himself headed toward White Pigeon in
the Michigan District, he relieved
his frustration by climbing on a chair
and shouting at the top of his voice,
"Will anybody tell me where on
earth White Pigeon is?"--to which the
bishop replied coolly, "You will
find it in Michigan, Brother Watson," and
then continued as if nothing unusual had
occurred.100 An allegorical descrip-
tion in verse entitled "Reading the
Appointments," obviously the work of an
itinerant, must have delighted and
stirred the risibilities of the most somber
circuit rider as he supplied the real
names and places:
I was sitting in a wing slip, close
beside the altar rail,
When the Bishop came in softly, with a
face serene, but pale
THE FORTUNES OF A CIRCUIT RIDER 115
And a silence indescribably pathetic in
its power,
Such as might have reigned in Heaven
through that "space of half an hour,"
Rested on the whole assembly, as the
Bishop rose and said:
"All the business being finished,
the appointments will be read."
"Troubled Waters--Nathan
Peaceful"--how that saintly face grew red,
How the tears streamed through his
fingers as he held his swimming head;
But his wife stooped down and
whispered--What sweet message did she bear?
For he turned with face transfigured as
upon some mount of prayer.
Swift as thought in highest action,
sorrow passed and gladness came
At some wondrous strain of music breaking
forth from Jesus name.
"Grand Endeavor--Jonas
Laggard"--blessed be the Lord, thought I
They have put that brother Laggard where
he has to work or die,
For the church at Grand Endeavor, with
its energy and prayer,
Will transform him to a hero or just
drive him to despair.
If his trumpet lacks the vigor of the
Gospel's charming sound,
They will start a big revival and forget
that He's around.101
Just as the conference had opened with
an emotional rendition of the hymn,
And are we yet alive,
And see each other's face,
so they often adjourned with another
Wesleyan hymn,
And let our bodies part, to different
climes repair;
Inseparably joined in heart
The Friends of Jesus are.
Each circuit rider secured his circuit
plan, wished his comrades Godspeed,
and plunged into the wilderness "to
bear messages of mercy to their dying
fellow-men."102 Facing
him was a new year of forming classes, building
societies, conducting love feasts, quarterly
conferences, and camp meetings.
Inevitably many sought out virgin soil,
leading the cutting edge of civiliza-
tion, even as did George Callahan, John
Kobler, and Robert Manley when
they moved across the Ohio River to
plant Methodism in the Northwest
Territory.
THE AUTHOR: Paul H. Boase is chairman
of the department of speech at Oberlin
College.
This is the fourth article of his we
have pub-
lished in recent years on the Ohio
circuit rider.
|
by PAUL H. BOASE The "itinerancy," the traveling ministry of the Methodist Church, distin- guished the Methodist plan of church government from all other ecclesiastical systems on the American frontier. While most denominations employed mounted missionaries as evangelical emissaries to the West, only the Wes- leyans geared their entire program to an intricately developed circuit system, virtually compelling Methodist preachers to ride abreast of the westward bound pioneers. In sparsely settled regions, still without churches and schools, the itinerancy assured every cluster of cabins, however remote, the periodic services of a preacher who could minister to the sick, bury the dead, marry the lovelorn, exhort the faithful and faithless alike, sell books, tracts, magazines, and newspapers, and deliver messages, letters, and gossip from friends scattered across the frontier. NOTES ARE ON PACES 167-170 |