that amongst all my imperfections, and the many wrecks I endured, I maintained my character as an enterprising contractor and an honest man. The reader will also pardon me for fishing out this one compliment, inasmuch as I have said so many hard things against myself for I will assure him that every scrub cannot procure a contract of such magnitude, and especially without much capital.

It is an old saying, that a man's character, like his shadow, will always be present with him, and often in advance, prefiguring the man, especially if there is anything mean about him. But I presume

I have often found a greater share of confidence with the public than I was entitled to; and it is now a wonder to me how I should be able to set so much work into immediate operation with means so limited. But I entered into this, as heretofore, in the full belief that there was a fortune of money at the end of the job, which, according to contract, would be reached in a few months. Accordingly, I set many mills in operation, within the three different States, for the purpose of sawing timber. I then proceeded to Morgan County, Virginia, a mountainous and almost solitary region, bought a large quantity of well-timbered land, and proceeded to build a steam saw-mill on it. There was not a school-house, or a place of public worship within ten miles of it, except one church in Maryland, and only here and there could be seen a miserable log cabin. But, solitary as it was, in the short space of

five weeks I had one of the most splendid steam sawmills. I ever saw, with three sets of saws in active operation, and far exceeding the steam mills I built in Maryland. In addition to this, I had put up a dwelling-house, shanties, stables, etc.; and where, but a few days before, was the solitary retreat of the deer and other wild animals, now was heard, both night and day, the puffing of a steam-engine, and the teeth of the greedy saws, devouring and dividing the stately old oak that for centuries had been unmolested. Although this appeared as a magic scene, sprung up in a day, I will assure my reader that it was not brought about without untiring industry, and not without many difficulties, which I need not here relate.

It was now late one Saturday evening, in the month of August, 1841, that my mill had been faithfully tried during the day, and had given great satisfaction to all that witnessed its operation.

Now the birds had all gone to their rest,

The deer and the owl and the bear,

And the men, with repose to be blest,
Did all to their shanty repair.

But my heart was filled with delight as I conversed with my principal machinist, General Crosby, of New-York, who expected to leave the Monday after for home, having finished his work. I think I addressed him in nearly these words: "Now, general, I have this mill in the most successful operation, my family are safely housed, and everything is going on

just to suit me." Vessels were coming in from Port Deposit, landing timber at D. C., preparatory for the reception by the canal boats to carry it to its destination. All other mills, and everything around me seemed ready, like the ships of Solomon, to bring treasure into my pocket. And truly it was no vain picture. Though, in taking a retrospect of the past, many shipwrecks and disappointed hopes were brought to my mind, yet all seemed now prosperous. But I could not see the invisible hand of Providence, that was then already attaching wings to my glowing prospects. To all human appearance an independent fortune was almost within my grasp. Four months, at most, would bring me into the possession of it.

"On each condition disappointments wait,

Enter the hut and force the guarded gate."

But before we retired to rest, it was resolved that on the morrow we should take a ride, not to the house of worship, but to the fashionable scene of banqueting and revelry at Berkley Mineral Springs. These springs, the Saratoga of Virginia, were at the distance of about eleven miles. The holy Sabbath morning came, and all preparations were made to cut as respectable a swell as possible. While breakfast was getting ready, I washed off my carriage and gave directions to have a pair of well-mated horses harnessed in order for the occasion.

Perhaps, in this part of my journal, it would be well to acquaint the reader with some of my moral

and religious notions, that had followed me through life, while doing the work of a Gentile. I think I must have been about thirteen years old when my mother was converted and united with the Methodist Episcopal Church. Soon after, several of my kinsmen and neighbours were happily converted to God, and united with the same Church. There was also a reformation, or an excitement, among the little boys and girls, and I was in the number. Many of us were serious, and instead of playing at noon at school, we would retire to the forest or to a barn and hold a prayer-meeting. At meetings, I would weep and be melted into tenderness. I was very particular every night and morning, as I went to fodder the cattle, to kneel down on the hay-mow and pray. I pursued this course about two months. About this time some of my cousins of my age came from a distance to see us. Accordingly there was a party made by Mrs. James Campbell, of Litchfield, for the little boys and girls. It was to be at her house on a certain evening. I was among the number that met there, and was so delighted with the society that I neglected to kneel that night in prayer. The next morning I had still less disposition to bend the knee; and from that time I do not think I offered up a single prayer to God until I was forty years old, except in case of a thunderstorm. But at such times, no sooner had the thunder ceased than prayer was laid aside, and all serious thoughts and promises vanished with the clouds. I

do not think that I had any religion or any change of heart at that time, but I was serious and convicted of sin. These impressions were written upon my heart while it was yet tender, but afterwards gradually wore off--measurably at least. In after years I frequently attended quarterly meetings and camp-meetings, where I witnessed mighty displays of the power of God. I saw many stout-hearted sinners brought prostrate to the earth. I had no doubt then, neither have I ever entertained any since, that it was the power of God manifested in them. I always believed in the reality of religion, and in the necessity of a change of heart from nature to grace. I had also a historical faith in the great scheme of human redemption and salvation through Jesus Christ. In short, I was a Methodist in theory, though very far from being one in practice. I always pretended to regard the Sabbath, and seldom did any business on that holy day.

I advocated Methodist doctrine when I had anything to say about it. My knowledge of the Bible was very limited, as I but seldom read it. I had committed to memory a few disconnected passages of Scripture, merely for purposes of argument, but could not tell where any of them were recorded. I was always pleased to see Christians walk uprightly, and hated to see any one backslide. My principal reading was the politics of the day. When about sixteen years old, I heard Lorenzo Dow preach at a camp-meeting, from Eccl. xi, 9; and the text