mrs. eddy, by studdart kennedy

8/9/2019 Mrs. Eddy, by Studdart Kennedy

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92

E215k

Kennedy

Mrs.

Eddy

1253800

92

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PUBLIC

UBRAWf

f>


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HER

LIFE,

HER

WORK

AND

HER

PLACE

IN

HISTORY

by

Hugh

A,

Studdert

Kennedy

THE

FARALLON

TRESS

58

SUTTER

STREET

SAN

FRANCISCO

4,

CALIFORNIA,

u s. A.


8/529


9/529

FOREWORD

-

:

&

\

:

^UCi-f

t

V

K-

~

-

K

I.

A

NEW

ENGLAND

ANCESTRY

-*

c

-

- -

1

II.

EARLY

YEARS

.

13

III, GROWING

UP

26

IV. THE

LAST

YEAR

AT

Bow

35

V.

SANBORNTON

BRIDGE

41

VI.

GEORGE

WASHINGTON

GLOVER

52

VII.

CHARLESTON

-

60

VIII.

THE RETURN

TO SANBORNTON

- -

-

-

71

IX.

DANIEL

PATTERSON

82

X.

A

NEW

HOPE

96

XL

PHINEAS P.

QUIMBY

107

XII.

THE

LECTURE

AT

WARREN

119

XIII.

THE

TURNING

POINT

-

130

XIV.

SANBORNTON

REVISED

AND AFTERWARDS

-

-

142

XV. AMESBURY

-

- -

-

- - -

150

XVI.

A

SMALL BEGINNING

- -

-.

161

XVII.

MESMERISM

-

-

-

.

- -

- -

172

XVIII.

THREE

YEARS

182

XIX.

COMPLETING

THE

BOOK

193

XX.

"SCIENCE

AND

HEALTH"

-

.

-

-

- -

204

XXL ASA GILBERT

EDDY

-

214

XXII.

THE SECOND

EDITION

224

XXIII.

EDWARD

J.

ARENS

235

XXIV.

CONSPIRACY

TO

MURDER

244

4.(f

-

vn

FEB26MU


10/529

XXV.

MALICIOUS ANIMAL

MAGNETISM

-

-

-

25-1

XXVI

THE CHURCH

255

XXVII. BOSTON

269

XXVIII

THE

DEATH

OF GILBERT

EDDY

-

- - -

279

XXIX.

CALVIN FRYE

28

XXX. THE

RISING TIDE

-

294

XXXI.

THE

QUIMBY

MANUSCRIPTS

-

-

-

-304

XXXII

TREMONT

TEMPLE

- - -

- -

-

315

XXXIII.

THE

JOURNAL

-

-

324

XXXIV,

CHICAGO

331

XXXV.

"SCIENCE

AND

HEALTH"

AGAIN

-

339

XXXVI. COLLEGE

CLOSED

AND

CHURCH

DISSOLVED

-

-

347

XXXVII A

TROUBLED SCENE

-

- -

- -

.

359

XXXVIII

THE

BUILDING

OF THE

CHURCH

-

-

-

-

369

XXXIX.

PLEASANT

VIEW

-

377

XL.

DEFECTIONS

AND

LOYALTIES

-

384

XLI

LONDON

-

. -

*

.

392

XLII

Two

YEARS

-

-

-

-

-

-

.

400

XLIII

JOSEPHINE

WOODBURY

AGAIN

- -

-

-

410

XLIV.

WIDENING

RECOGNITION

- - -

-

-

417

XLV.

MARK

TWAIN

-

-

426

XL

VI

JOSEPH

PULITZER

.435

XLVII

THE

"NEXT

FRIENDS"

SUIT

-

-

-

-

444

XLVIII THE

CASE IN

COURT

AND

ITS

OUTCOME

-

-

454

XLIX.

THE

RETURN

TO

BOSTON

-----

466

L*

KEEPING

THE

FAITH

-

.

.

-

.

473

LI

THE END

AND

THE.

BEGINNING

-

-

-

.

432

INDEX

-

-

- *

-

.

.

,

.

437

vra


11/529

TRUTH

OR

TRADITION?

A

straightforward

and

factual

account

of

one

of

history

s most

colourful

characters,

or

another

excursion

into

calculated

fiction?

Immediately

the

biographer

lifts his

pen

to

write

the

life

story

of

Mary

Baker

Eddy,

he

is

confronted

with

two

urgently

sponsored

but

con

flicting

versions

of

Mrs.

Eddy.

There

is

the

first-sly-then-violent

demand

for the

legendary

creature

of

ecclesiasticism,

painted

from a

palette

of

disclosure,

suppression

and

distortion

to represent

an

oracular

but

pale

nonentity.

Then

there

is

thrust

upon

him,

by

her

avowed

and

unavowed

detractors,

a

villainess

made

equally

repellent by

a

different

admixture

of

the

same

colours

of

disclosure,

suppression

and

distortion.

The

clamour

raised

by

these contenders

is

so

great

as

to

divert

attention

almost

entirely

from

the

long-recognized

need

for

an

unslanted

record

of the extraordi

nary

figure

that

was

the

real

Mrs.

Eddy,

one

that

will

place

her in

true

historical

perspective

and one

that

will

live

because of its

authenticity.

"All

biographies

of

Mrs.

Eddy,"

as

my

husband,

the

late

Hugh

A.

Studdert

Kennedy,

has

observed,

"have

hitherto been

put

out

by

the

Church as

propaganda

in defence

of

Mrs.

Eddy,

or

they

have

been

vicious

attacks

on

her

by

her

antagonists.

Why

not

relate

the

whole

story

quite

simply,

as

in

the case

of

any

important

character,

and let

the facts

speak

for

themselves?

I have

always

felt

it was

something

very

like

presumption

on

our

part

to

attempt

to

steady

the

ark

of Mrs.

Eddy

s

life

story

by

suppression

of

relevant

information

especially

in

the face of

her

public

IX


12/529

proclamation

that

nothing

has

occurred

in

my

life s

experiences

which,

if

correctly

narrated

and

understood,

could

injure

me ."

1

As far

back

as

1914,

when he

set sail

from

England

to

become

Foreign

Editor

of

The

Christian

Science

Monitor in

Boston,

there

was close

to

Mr.

Kennedy

s

heart

the

desire

to

write

a

genuine

portrait,

one

so

un

tainted

by

either

apology

or

recrimination

as

to win

the

respect

and

in

terest

of

Christian

Scientists

and

non-Christian

Scientists

alike. But

years

were

to

slip

by

before

he

felt

ready

to

undertake

the

monumental

task.

It

was not

until the

Fail

of

1938

that

the work

began

in

earnest. Con

vinced that

such

a

book

could

go

out

with

the

goodwill

of

all

concerned,

Mr.

Kennedy

confided his

vision

to

his

friend,

Mr.

William

P.

McKenzie,

Chairman

of the

Board

of

Directors

of

The

Mother

Church.

"Now

is

the

time

for

collating

of

fact

and

the

retiring

of

falsehood,"

Mr,

McKenzie

was

to

write

enthusiastically,

and

"Whenever

you

come

here,

you

will

be

welcomed

and

have

any help

we

can

give,"

An

interview with the

Board on

October

10,

1938,

served to

highlight

the

need

for

total

independence

from

official

pressure

and

partisan

con

siderations

for

the

historian-

in

short,

the

demand

for

absolute

integrity

of

authorship.

When

Mr.

William

P.

Rathvon

asked,

"To

what

extent

will

you

have

us

interested?"

Mr.

Kennedy replied

:

"I

think

it

would

be

a most

dangerous

thing

for

the

success of

the

book if

you

had

anything

to

do with

it.

I

think

this

has

been

the

charge

against

all the

books

[the

biographies

of

Mrs.

Eddy].

They

have

been

procured

books

for

a

pur

pose.

-

.

.

I

want

your

help

and

approval,,

your

advice

and

recommenda

tions,

and

I

am

eager

to

give

the

fullest

consideration to

anything

you

have

to

say;

but I

must

safeguard

my

book

from

any

suggestion

that

it

has

been written

to order

or

is

in

any

sense

at

any

point

dictated

or

procured.

"

2

It

may

be

asked

why

the

Board

was

consulted at

all

The

vast

archives

of

The

Mother

Church,

the

First

Church

of

Christ,

Scientist,

in

Boston,

contain

most

every

document

of

importance

relating

to

the

life

and

work

*

Miscellany,

p.

298.

*

The

Board

s

official

transcript

of

the

conference,


13/529

of

its

founder,

Mrs,

Eddy,

either

in

original

or facsimile.

Mr.

Kennedy

felt

that

the

custodians

of

this

treasure

in

historical

material

would

hardly

expect

him to

make

bricks without

straw,

especially

when

the

only

sufferer

would

be

Mrs.

Eddy

s

memory,

and

he

entertained

the

sanguine

hope

that

they

would

welcome

an

opportunity

to correct

from

their

data

any

historical

inaccuracies

which

might

arise.

About

this

time

there

came into

Mr.

Kennedy

s

hands

authenticated

copies

of

all

the

documents

and

other

records

needed

for

a

full

and

rounded

biography,

the

absolute

reliability

of

which

was

attested

by

Judge

Clifford

P.

Smith,

Editor,

Bureau

of

History

and

Records

of

The

Mother

Church,

official

representative

of

the Board

and

generally

con

ceded

authority

on

the

incidents

of

Mrs.

Eddy

s

long

life

and

the

develop

ment

of

her

organization.

In

his letter

to

Mr.

Kennedy

of

December

1,

1938,

he

states

categorically

that the source

material

in

question,

even

in

most

of

its

detail,

is

authentic

and

that

"The

Mother

Church

has

most

of

the

documents which

are

quoted"

therein.

Thus

it

became

possible

to

do

the book

independently

of

officialdom,

yet

without

sacrificing

the

advantages

of

officialdom

s

resources.

The

lengthy

manuscript

was

completed

by

the

Fall

of

1939

and

copies

were

submitted

for

comment

to

several

whose

opinions

were

highly

valued.

To

Mr.

McKenzie,

the

author

wrote

:

"I

place

great

emphasis

on

the

obstacles

which

Mrs.

Eddy

had

to

overcome in

establishing

her

great

work,

for

I

want

quite

definitely

to

get

away

from

the

dangerous

pseudo-

serenity

which

pervades

some

previous

biographies.

The net

effect

of

such

an

attitude

[as

theirs],

as

I am

sure

you

will

agree,

is to

present

Mrs.

Eddy

not

as

one

like

Jesus

tempted

in

all

things

like

as we

are,

but

as

a

being

that

never

was

in

earth

or

heaven,

and

so

affording

the

ordinary

human

no

points

of

sympathy

or contact.

To me Mrs.

Eddy

is

nowhere

more vivid in

her

claim

to

what

men

call

grandeur

than in

just

this,

the

way

she

rode

the

storm.

I

come

back

to it

again

and

again."

If

there

was

any

lingering

doubt

as to

the fairness

of

the

biographer

who

would

bring

right

out

into

the

open

the

pertinent

facts

with noth-

XI


14/529

ing

at

all

withheld

it

was

dispelled

by

Mr.

McKenzie

s

response

on

reading

the

manuscript

: "I

think

the

strongest

feeling

that

is in

our

minds

is

that of

gratitude.

It

would

take

too

many

words

to

express

our

feelings,

and

srominent

men

of

learning.

On

the

roll of

the

company

were

such

names

is

Sir

John

Young,

Sir Richard

Saltonstail,

John

Endicott,

John

Win-

hrop,

and

many

other

well-known landowners

and

men

of

substance.

The

great

mass

of

the

new

colonists,

however,

were

yeomen

farmers

md

freeholders

from

East

and

South-eastern

England.

And

they

came

writh

their

livestock,

their

tools,

with

great

stores

of

supplies

and

goods

for

trading

with

the

Indians.

Above

all,

they

brought

with

them

the

Established

Church.

They

were

not

"Separatists"

in the

strict

sense of

the

word,

although

orthodox

England

may

so have

regarded

them.

They

greatly

desired

that

the

"English

form"

might

be

purified,

but

they

did

not

say

on

leaving

England,

as

did

>the

Separatists,

"Farewell

Babylon,

Farewell

Rome,"

but

rather in

the

words

of

one

of

them,

"Farewell

dear

England

Farewell

the

Church

of

God in

England

and

all the Christian

friends

there."

It

was

to a

ship

s

company

setting

out

for

this

New

England

that

John

Baker attached

himself

after

his

excommunication

at

Lyminge.

Meanwhile

throughout

all

the

years

stretching

back

into

centuries,

four other

families,

afterwards destined to

come

together,

were

moving

from one

generation

to

another

in

England,

the

Ambroses

of

Suffolk,

the

Goodhues of

Kent,

the

Chandlers

of

Hertfordshire,

and

the

Lovejoys

from

Buckinghamshire,

weavers

and

millers,

candle-makers,

blacksmiths,

people

of

much

solid worth

who

about

the

same time

and

for

the

same

reason as did

John

Baker

of

Lyminge,

decided

to throw in

their lot

with

the

Massachusetts

Company

and

seek a

larger

freedom

in

the

New

World.

Henry

Ambrose,

Nicholas

Goodhue,

John

Lovejoy

and William

Chandler,

all

set out

on the

great

adventure

about

the same

time.

Of the

ways

and

means

of

John

Baker s

journey

nothing

is

known.

What

time

of

the

year

or

hour

of

the

day

he left

the

little

village

where

his

people

had

lived

and laboured

for

so

long,

who,

if

anyone,

went

with

him,

where

he

took

ship

and

who were

his

companions

on

the

voyage,

there

is

no

record.

When next we

meet

John

Baker,

he

is

a freeman

of

Charles-

town,

a little

settlement

on

the other

side of

the

Charles

Estuary

from


24/529

Boston.

The

fact

that

he

was

registered

as a

freeman shows

that he

was

able

to

bring

some

small

fortune

with him and

so

had a status

above

the

hired

labourer

or

indentured white

servant,

large

numbers

of

which

came

out

with

every

company.

A

few

years

later

he

was

in

Boston,

had

evi

dently

put

his

substance

to

good

account

and

was

the

owner

of

a profit

able

grist

mill which

derived

its

power

from

the rise

and fall

of the

tides

among

the

fens

to

the

west

of

the

city.

He died in, 1684

full

of

years,

"well

loved and

worthy,"

as

may

be

gathered

from

the

Roxbury

church

records

wherein

he

is

referred

to

as

Father

Baker

and

described

as

"old

and

blind

and

godly".

But

while

John

Baker was

thus

prospering,

accommodating

himself

to

a

larger

freedom,

settling

himself

into

a

groove

which

no

Baker

seems

to

have

been

able to

tolerate

for

long,

the

religious

views

of

the

colony

were

not

being

allowed

to

remain

undisturbed.

Three

years

before

John

Baker

reached

Charlestown,

there

had

landed

in

Boston one

Roger

Williams,

a

scholar

of

Cambridge.

He

came

to New

England

not

at

all

with

the

moderate

hopes

and

demands

of

his

fellow

immigrants.

He

was

a

refugee

in

the

fullest

sense

of

the

word

from

the

tyranny

of

Archbishop

Laud,

and

he

threw

a

bombshell

into

the

settle

ment

of

Boston

by

insisting

that

religious

toleration,

far

from

being

merely

a matter

of

practical

expediency,

was

a

demand of

Christian

principle.

In other

words,

he

sought

to

defend

everyone

s

right

to

think

for

himself and

to

enjoy

in

so

doing

die

respect

of

his

fellows,

Williams

was

quite

emphatic

in

the

matter.

He

insisted

that

persecution

for

cause

of

conscience

was

"most

evidently

and

lamentably

contrary

to

the doc

trine

of

Christ

Jesus",

that no

one

should be

bound

"to

worship

or

main

tain

a

worship against

his own

conscience",

that

the

church

and

state

should

be

separated,

that

to

limit

a

choice

of

magistrates

to

church

mem

bers

was

like

choosing

a

pilot

according

to

his

"plan

of

salvation"

rather

than to

his

skill

in

seamanship,

and

finally,

that

the

magistrate

could

not

have

and should

not

have

"any

power

in

matters

of

conscience".

Such

a

thought

in

the

land

of

"the last

word

and

the

final

good"

was

indeed

a

square peg

in a

round

hole.

But

even

worse

than

Williams

was

8


25/529

Anne

Hutchinson.

That

a

man

should

hold such

views

was

bad

enough,

but

in

a

woman

they

were

simply baffling.

Moreover,

Mrs.

Hutchinson

was

clearly

no

fanatic,

but

a

woman

of

calm

judgement,

of

good

family,

"of

ready

wit

and bold

spirit,"

as

Governor

Winthrop

admitted

in no

little

dejection.

And

yet

here

she

was,

he

added,

"like

Roger

Williams

or

worse".

She

not

only

insisted

that

the

Holy

Ghost

"dwelt

in

every

be

liever",

but

stoutly

maintained

the

inalienable

right

of

private

judgement

in

religious

matters

against

all

authority,

ecclesiastical

or civil.

Such doctrines

cut at

the

very

roots

of

established

Puritanism,

and

so

in

the

end

both

Roger

Williams

and

Anne

Hutchinson were

banished.

Williams

was the first

to

go.

He

could not

return

to

England

where

Laud

was

dealing

more

hardly

than

ever

with

nonconformists.

He

had

no

choice

but to

go

out

into

the

wilds.

And

so,

when

the

glory

of the fall

had

well

passed

and

night brought

an

ominous

breath of

cold,

he

set

out

for

the

vast

.stretches

of

wooded

lands,

which

lay

then as

now at

the

head

of

Narragansett Bay.

The

winter which

followed was

one

of terrible

privation,

but

when

spring

came

again

he

had

gathered

five

companions

around

him,

and

together

they

founded

the

settlement

of

Providence.

That

was

in

1636.

Two

years

later,

Anne

Hutchinson

was

banished,

and

joined

Williams

in

the

Providence settlement.

Thereafter

for

many

years

a

steady

stream

of

people

who

chafed

under

the

ever-increasing

intolerance

of

the

Massachusetts

clergy

and

land

owners,

followed

the

two

pioneers

into

the

wilderness.

They

had

fled to

the

New

World

from

the

tyranny

of

Charles

I

and

Archbishop

Laud.

And

so

when

they

saw

the

same

"intolerable

errors"

"taking

root

down

wards

and

springing

upwards"

all

around

them,

they

picked

up

and went

out

once

more.

Throughout

the

seventeenth

century

the

settlement

of

Providence

(Rhode

Island,

as

it came

to

be)

and

later

New

Hampshire

were

havens

of

refuge

for all

who

could not

do

with

the

"form"

of

Massachusetts

and

longed

for

still

freer

and

more

individual

life.

This came

to

be

specifically

true of

New

Hampshire,

and

so

it is

not


26/529

surprising

that

the

Bakers

ultimately

found

their

way

there.

About

the

middle

of

the

eighteenth

century

a

great-grandson

of

old Father

Baker,

one

Joseph

Baker,

took

the

road

north and settled

in

Suncook,

now

Pembroke,

New

Hampshire,

Joseph

Baker

is

the

first

of

his

house of

whom

a

succinct

life

story

is

preserved,

He

prospered

greatly.

Like

so

many

other

of

the

pioneers

in

these new

lands,

he

had

a

considerable

knowledge

of

surveying,

Suncook

was

then

in

territory

claimed

by

both

Massachusetts and

New

Hamp

shire,

and

when the

dispute

came

up

for

definite

settlement,

Joseph

Baker

was

employed

to

survey

the

disputed

areas,

and

to

make

the

necessary

reports.

It

was not

an

easy

job,

especially

in

such

a

matter

where

feeling

was

likely

to

run

high,

but Joseph

Baker

acquitted

himself

well,

and,

later

on,

we

find him

becoming

a

selectman,

a

deacon of

his

church,

and

a

collector

of

taxes,

He

also

made a

happy

and

fortunate

marriage

to

Hannah

Lovewell,

daughter

of

Captain

John

Lovewell,

whose

name,

as has

been

seen,

was

a

household

word

throughout

New

England

as

the

hero of

Lovewell s

fight

in

the

Indian

Wars.

Captain

Lovewell was

killed

in

battle,

and

the

"Song

of

Lovewell

s

Fight"

became

one

of

the

folk

songs

of

the

day.

Hannah

Lovewell

brought

Joseph

Baker

two

hundred

acres

of

good

farm

land,

and

into

his

home a

remarkable

character.

She

inherited all

her father s

courage,

and

stories

of

her

fearlessness

where Indians

were

concerned

were

recounted

by

New

England

firesides

long

after the

Indian

menace

had

ceased* She was

the

mother

of

eleven

children,

and

like

all

New

England

mothers

of

those

days

her

work

was

never

done.

Meanwhile,

her

husband was

becoming

a

figure

of

some

importance,

not

only

in

thf

little

town

where

they

lived

but

in

the

state,

or

province

as

it

was

then,

of his

adoption.

In

1758,

Governor

Banning

Wentworth

of

New

Hampshire

appointed

Joseph

Baker

Captain

of

the

militia.

It

was

in

those

days

a

more

than

ordinary

trust*

The

fourth

and

final

strug

gle

between

die

French

and

English

for

supremacy

in

North

America

had

reached

its

most acute

stage.

The

French

had

overrun

the

Ohio

valley,

and

this

together

with

the

building

of

Fort

Duquesne,

where

10


27/529

Pittsburgh

now

is,

clearly

revealed

their

intention to shut off

the

English

from

the

Mississippi

valley

and

confine

them

to the

Atlantic Seaboard.

New

England

colonists

were,

to an

ever

larger

extent,

taking

part

in

these

wars,

and

the

experience

thus

gained

was

fitting

them

for

the

great

struggle

for

independence,

which,

at

the

time

when Joseph

received

his

captain

s

commission,

was

less

than

twenty

years away.

When this

strug

gle

did

come,

Joseph

Baker

marched

with

the

rest.

He

was

also

a

member

of the

local

Committee

of

Safety

and

a

delegate

to

the Provincial

Con

gress

of

New

Hampshire.

It was

probably

at

the

close of

the

Revolutionary

War that

Joseph

Baker

s

eldest

son,

also

named

Joseph,

moved

across

the

Merrimac

River

and

settled

in

Bow.

There

in

the

uplands,

high

above the river

valley,

he

had

acquired

his

five

hundred

acres,

and

now

set about the

great

task of

clearing

the

land.

There

he

married

Marion

Moor

McNeil.

Ultimately

Scots,

both the

Moors and

the

McNeils

had

come

to

New

England

by

way

of northern

Ireland

from the

county

Antrim,

and

they

brought

with

them

all

the fire

and

fight

in

religious

matters

for

which

Ulstermen,

even

then,

were well

known.

Mark

Baker,

Mary

Baker

s

father,

was

their

younger

son.

Meanwhile,

through

the

years

since

their

arrival

in the

New

World,

the

Ambroses,

the

Goodhues,

the

Lovejoys

and

the

Chandlers

had

been

coming

together.

In

sharp

contrast

with the

Bakers,

the

Ambroses

and

the families

that

went

to

their

making

were

a

mild

and

peace-loving

people.

If the

Bakers

were

all

Michaels,

the

Ambroses

were all Gabriels.

They

united

as did

all

New

England

in

those

days

on

the basis

of

religion,

but

their

approach

was that

of

the

meek

rather

than

the

mighty.

It

was

Nathaniel

Ambrose,

Mary

Baker

s

grandfather,

who

after

serving

faith

fully

in

the

Revolutionary

War,

devoted

all his

savings

from

his

calling

as a

carpenter

to the

building

of

a

meeting-house

in

Pembroke,

New

Hampshire.

It

survived

for

many

years

as

"the

Ambrose

meeting-house".

Nathaniel

Ambrose

married Phebe

Lovejoy,

whose

family

on both

sides,

the

Lovejoys

and the

Chandlers,

had

for

many

generations

enjoyed

a

special

reputation

for

"gentle

godliness".

It

was

of

the

first Chandler

11


28/529


29/529


30/529

Gault,

were

much

together.

She

was "a

devout

and

pious

woman",

and

the

two

would

frequently

and

regularly

meet

and talk

over

religious

mat

ters

and

pray

aloud

together*

As

runs

one

account

of the

matter

which

seems to

be

traditional,

"During

these

meetings,

Mrs.

Baker

many

times

told

her

neighbour,

Mrs.

Gault,

that she

felt

herself

to

be

a

most

wicked

woman,

because

of

the

strange

thoughts

she

had

regarding

her

youngest

child,

which

was

yet

unborn. She

told

Mrs.

Gault

that

she

could

not

keep

her

thoughts

away

from

the

strong

conviction that

this

child was

holy

and

consecrated and

set

apart

for

wonderful

achievements,

even

before

her

birth.

She

said,

*I

know

these

are

sinful

thoughts

for me to

entertain,

but

I

cannot

shake

them

off/

Then

these

two

devout

women

would

talk

the

question

over

and

pray

together."

1

However

this

may

be,

there

can

be

no

doubt

that

between

the

little

girl

Mary

and

her

mother,

there

existed

from

the first

dawnings

of

the

child

s

consciousness

a

more

than

usually

deep

spiritual

bond.

Abigail

Baker

was

in

every

sense

of

the

term

a

mother in

Israel

Writing

of her

many years

afterwards,

Mrs,

Eddy

said,

"Of

my

mother

I

cannot

speak

as

I

would,

for

memory

recalls

qualities

to

which

the

pen

can

never

do

justice."

8

She

seems

to

have

been

a

remarkable

woman,

not

only in point of

culture,

but

because

of

a

certain

calm

and

patient

wisdom

which

rose

serenely

above

the

many

besetments

of a

working day

and

was

found

almost

mystically

at

hand

when

help

was

needed*

She

was

well named

Abigail,

for

between

her

and

her

namesake

in

Israel

there

was

a

bond

clear

enough.

The

"iron-willed"

Mark

Baker,

unrelenting

Calvinist as

he

was,

must

often in

spite

of

himself

have

called

her

blessed*

She

had

a

way

of

softening

the

rigours

of

his

faith

without

hurting him, and,

with

a

fine

heresy

in

the

presence

of

which

the

voice

of

protest

was

often

stopped,

"dwelling

on

the

all

embracing

love

of

God"

in

an

age

committed

to

the

"horrible

decree"

of

predestination,

as

John

Calvin

rightly

called

his

own

tenet

All

his

long

life

Mark

Baker

was

a

veritable

Boanerges

in

matters of

religion.

Instant

and

effective

in

argument,

he

found the

task

of

convinc*

*

Adtm

Dickey;

Memoirs

of

Mary

Baker

Eddy,

pp.

133-4

*

Retrospection

and

Introspection,

p.

3.

14


31/529

ing

a

waverer

or

confronting

a

backslider

particularly

congenial

to

him,

while

he

gloried

in the

sternness

of his

faith,-.

and,

in-:

its

demands for

scrupulous

obedience.

"My

father

s

relentless

theology",

Mrs.

Eddy

wrote

of

him

many years

afterwards,

"emphasized

belief

in a

final

judgement

day,

in

the

danger

of endless

punishment,

and

in

a

Jehovah

merciless

towards

unbelievers."

1

But

if

Mark

Baker

was a

true

Baker,

Abigail

Ambrose was

a

true

Ambrose.

If

the

church

militant was

most

in

evidence

in

Mark,

the

"earnest

of

things

hoped

for"

was the

prevailing

spirit

of

Abigail.

If

Mark

was

wont

to

get

up

and out

and

shake

the

dust

from

off

his

feet,

Abigail

was

wont

simply

to

stand,

for

she

could

not

otherwise

"so

help

me

God".

,

It

might

seem

at

first

difficult

if

not

impossible

to

-fashion

from

such

stuff

a

home

characterized

by

"the

open

hand",

and

at which

"the

needy

were

always

welcome",

and

pervaded

by

a

love

long

remembered

by

its

children.

Abigail

Baker

did

it,

but

the

adjustment

demanded

in

the com

ing

together

of

these two

heritages

was

tremendous,

only

exceeded

in

difficulty

by

the

task

of

making

the

adjustment

in the

soul of a

single

individual.

That

adjustment,

the

little

girl

who

had

been

named

Mary

was

des

tined to

undertake

and

carry through

with

portentous

effect.

As

we

have

seen,

she

was the

youngest

of sk

children.

Three

brothers,

Samuel,

Albert,

and

George

Sullivan,

and

two

sisters,

Abigail

and

Martha,

awaited her

in the

farmstead at

Bow. The

three

boys

at

any

rate

and

possibly Abigail

were

old

enough

to

take

note

of it

all

and

to

receive

the

new

sister

with

that

eager

interest and

competition

in

affection which

in

large

families

seems

only

to

increase with

each

new

arrival.

If

the

little

girl

was

to

be

spoiled

she

was

destined

to

it.

From

the

first

she

seems

to

have

been

regarded

as

a

much-prized

possession

by

all

the

family,

but

especially

by

the

old

grandmother,

who

had named

her

Mary.

Grandmother

Baker was

a

typical

New

England

grandmother.

If

Abigail

was

the

mother

of

her

children,

Grandmother

Baker

was

the

Mother

Emeritus,

and

the same

gracious spirit

which

gave

her the

naming

of

the

youngest

child

consigned

that

child

specially

to

her care. It

was

1

Retrospection

and

Introspection,

p.

13.

15


32/529

Grandmother

Baker who

rocked

Mary

s

cradle

in

those

first

few months

as she

sat

by

the

open

window,

and it

was

Grandmother

Baker

who,

later

on,

took

the

child

on

her

lap,

and

told

her wonderful

stories

of

her

people,

about

the

Indian

wars and

other

wars,

of

the

mighty

deeds

of

mysterious

ancestors

who

far

away,

and

longer

ago

still,

had

done things

worthy

of

remembrance.

Like

all

families

that

have

wandered

far

from

their

homelands,

the

Bakers

were full

of

traditions,

some

of

them

well

founded,

others

not

so

well.

In

her

book,

Retrospection

dnd

Introspection,

Mrs.

Eddy

recalls

how

among

her

earliest

recollections

was

a

great

sword

in a

brass scabbard

which

her

grandmother

told

her had been

given

to

one of

her

ancestors

by

Sir

William

Wallace.

It

lay in

an

old

chest in the garret

at

Bow,

along

with some worn

leather-bound

books

and

papers

yellow

with

age,

telics

from the

Moor

household,

which

Marion

Moor

McNeil

had

brought

with

her,

many

years

before,

when

she

was

married

to

Joseph

Baker,

Grandmother

Baker had

many

other

tales

to

tell

Mary.

She

showed

her the

old

newspapers

which Mrs.

Eddy,

with

all

the

vividness

of

a

child

hood

memory,

recalls,

contained,

among

other

things,

stories

of

Valley

Forge, of

the

surrender

of

Lord

Cornwallis,

of

Washington

s

farewell to

his

troops,

and most

vividly

remembered

of

all,

"a

full

account

of

the

death

and

burial

of

George

Washington".

Among

the

papers

in

the

chest

were

"certain

manuscripts containing

Scriptural

sonnets,

besides other

verses and

enigmas

which

my

grand

mother

said were

written

by

my

great-grandmother",

1

It

was

the

cherished

conviction

of

Grandmother

Baker that

Hannah

More

was in

some

way

among

her

forebears,

but,

inasmuch as

Hannah

More

lived

and died

a

spinster,

this was

clearly

one

of the

traditions

not

so

well

founded*

But

there

had

been

no doubt

in

the

mind

of

the

little

Mary

Baker,

That

her

grandmother

told

her

so

was

enough.

There

was,

moreover,

the

poetry

in

her

great-grandmother

s

own

writing

to

prove

it,

No

portrait

or

description

of

Mary

as

a

little

girl

remains,

but

from

descriptions

of

her

in

young

womanhood

and

some

incidents in

her

child

hood

it

is

not

imagining

too

much

to

picture

her

as

a

child of

more than

*

Retrospection

and

Iatros|>ection,

p.

I*

16


33/529

ordinary

beauty,

with

large

blue-gray

eyes,

a

singularly

clear

skin-

she

never

lost

that and

an

abundance of

curly

chestnut

hair.

She was

a

happy,

eager

child,

one

who

gave

the

impression

at

all

times

of

listening

with

all her

ears,

and

her

family

early

came

to

learn

that no

conversation

was

really

over

her

head.

She

did

not

always

get

things right,

but,

right

or

wrong,

she

always got

something,

and

she

had

a

way

of

putting

frag

mentary

sayings

and

vivid

expressions

to

strange

and

unexpected

uses.

Like

most

children

she

loved

long

words

-she loved

them all her

life

but

as a

child

it was

specially

noticeable,

and she sometimes

brought

them

out

with

telling

effect.

One

instance,

which

is

traditional,

is

worth

re

calling.

Mark

Baker,

as

has

been

seen,

was a

great

man in

a

dispute.

At

no

time

was

he

more

in

his

element

than

when

elucidating

some

matter

of

"strange

doctrine"

or

preparing

with

the

help

of "Priest"

Burnham

from

across

the

river

to

administer a

"seemly

rebuke"

to some

recalcitrant

church

member.

Priest

Burnham

was

a

man after

Mark

s

own heart. Like

Sarah

Battle in

Lamb

s

famous

essay

on

Whist,

he

really

enjoyed

"the

rigour

of

the

game".

It

would

almost

seem

that

he

must

have

felt

grateful

to backsliders

for

the

satisfaction

their

summary

confounding brought

to

him.

Mark

Baker

felt

very

much

the

same.

The

very

word

backslider

would at

any

time

galvanize

him

into

satisfying

action. And so

whenever

Priest

Burnham

crossed

the river and

drove

up

the

hill

from

Pembroke

to

the Baker

farmstead,

he

was

sure

of

a

welcome.

There were

other

disputes

of

an

entirely

secular nature which

Mark

Baker

was called

upon

to

settle.

He was

known

as

a

man

who

loved

an

argument

too

much

not

to

see

fair

play,

and

he

set

his

face

sternly

against

bad

language

and

against

any

display

of heat

calculated

to

impair

the

satisfying

unfoldment

of the

theme.

Mary

was

often

the

silent

observer

and auditor

of

these

battles of

words.

Her

sisters,

Abigail

and

Martha,

or

the

boys,

would

probably

not

have been admitted

to

the

parlour

where

they

took

place,

but

Mary

was

still

so

small that

she

was

overlooked.

And so

it

happened

on

one

occa

sion,

when

a more

than

usually

heated

argument

was under

way

between

two

farmers

who had

brought

their

case

to

Mark

Baker

for

arbitration,

17


34/529

that

one

of

the

disputants

raised

his voice

beyond

the

point

at

which

Mark

usually

intervened

with

some

restraining

order.

On

this

occasion

he did

not

intervene,

and

Mary

from her

corner

became alert and

anxious,

At

last she

could

bear

it

no

longer,

and in

a

sudden

lull

remarked

quietly

but

firmly,

"Mr,

Bartlett,

why

do

you

articulate

so

vociferously?"

There

was

silence

for

a

moment,

and

then

everyone

burst

out

laughing,

and

it

was

not

long

before

the

matter

was settled

and

all concerned

were

discussing

good

humouredly

the

child

s

quaint

speech.

It

passed

into

a

"family

saying",

and

years

afterwards

whenever

discussion

ran

too

high

the

spell

could

at

once

be

broken

by

some

reference

to

Mary

s

quiet

rebuke.

It

was

not,

however, only

in

the

matter of

quaint

speeches that

Mar^

began

to stand

out

in the

family

circle. She had

queer

ideas

about

animals.

Incidents

that

the

rest

of

the

farm household

took

inevitably

as

a matter

of

course,

occasioned

her

deep

concern whether

the horses

were

too

cold

in

the

snow,

or the

hens

were

warm

enough

at

night,

or the

ducks

dis

tressed

because

the

pond

was

frozen.

Grandmother

Baker did

her

best

to

comfort

the

little

girl,

assuring

her that

God

"cared

for all his

creatures",

but

Mary

was

never

quite

assured,

and

one

chill

evening

in

November,

her

brother

Albert

found her

singing softly

to

the

pigs

at

the

other

side

of

the

pasture

wall because she

felt sure

they

were

lonely,

Abigail

Baker,

it

is

to

be

imagined,

must

often

have

wondered

-as she

recalled her

talks

with

Sarah

Gault at

these

traits of difference

in

her

youngest

child* None of

her other children

had

made

problems

of

such

matters as

lonely

pigs,

inadequately

warmed

horses,

or ducks

barred

from

the

enjoyment

of

their natural

element

by

the

forces of nature.

Yet to

Mary

they

were

quite obviously

real

problems.

Such fancies

are

not

uncommon

with

sensitive

children,

and

it

is

doubtful

if

they

would have

been

even

remembered if it

had

not

been

for

another

development

which

brought

no little

perplexity

to

Grandmother

Baker

and

Abigail,

and

deep

concern

to

Mark,

"Mary

s

Sayings"

had

always

amused

him,

even as

they

often

puzzled

him,

but

the

story

he

was

to

hear

now

from

Abigail

about

Mary

s

hearing

a voice

calling

her

seems

18


35/529

to

have

filled

him with

a

doubt

which

bordered

on

fear.

To

the

solid,

intensely

concrete

mind

of

Mark

Baker,

in

spite

of

the

fact

that he ac

cepted

the

story

of

Samuel

in its

entirety,

there

could

be

nothing

but

"something wrong",

when told

of

Mary

s

"voices".

Whatever

the

actual

explanation

may

be, the

account

of

the

matter

given

by

Mrs.

Eddy

herself

in

her

book,

Retrospection

and

Introspection,

1

is

her

honest

recollection

of

the

matter,

undoubtedly.

Whether Mrs.

Eddy

in

childhood

heard

the

voice

of

God

by

audible

sound,

in

any

literal

sense,

is

surely

irrelevant

to

the

question

of

her

own

personal integrity

and

irrelevant

to

the

larger

question

of

whether

she was

divinely

ordained

to

be mankind

s saviour

in

this

age.

But it is

interesting

enough

to

warrant

some

consideration

here.

Surely

with

all

the

marvels

/hich

tax

our

credulity

anew

each

day,

only

the

reckless

or

the

incorrigi-

4y

ignorant

would

deny

the

possibility

of

such

supernormal

occurrences

is

Mrs.

Eddy

describes from

her

childhood,

although

conservatism would

prompt

the

average

reader

to

a few reservations.

Fairness demands

that

allowance

be

made for

the

inevitable

infusion

of

biblical

concepts

and

comparisons

by

this

narrator of

pious

bent.

"Many

peculiar

circumstances

and

events,"

Mrs.

Eddy

writes in

later

rears,

"connected

with

my

childhood

throng

the

chambers

of

memory."

ITien

she

goes

on to

recall

having

heard

a

voice

during

her

eighth

year

railing

her

repeatedly,

and

of

having

gone

to

her

mother

only

to

be

told

that no

one had

called. She recites

that

her

cousin,

Mehitable

Huntoon,

overheard

the voice

on

one

occasion and that

her

mother

was

troubled

by

their account of

the

strange

phenomenon.

Steeped

as

she

was

in

scriptural

lore,

it is

not

surprising

that the

then

little

Mary

and

the later

Mrs.

Eddy

sought

an

explanation

in

the

story

of

the voice

of the

Lord

coming

to

Samuel.

The

sincerity

of

this

colourful

account cannot

be

questioned,

but

many

will

challenge

the

reliability

of

human

recollection

in

such

things.

Psychologists

insist

that

everyone

is

subject

to

paramnesia,

the

uninten

tional

falsification

of

memory,

and

few

are

likely

to

concede Mrs.

Eddy

to

be

the

world

s

sole

exception

to

this

universal

tendency.

For

those

who

cherish

the

prophet

version,

the

voice

will

come

three times

and will

thus

*

Retrospection

and

Introspection,

pp.

8-9.

19


36/529


37/529

Mary

was

an

eager

repository

for

Albert

s

learning.

How

early

the

two

began

that

"discursive

talking",

which

Albert

alludes

to

in a

later

letter,

it is

not

possible

to

say,

but

if

the

boy

is,

as

he

clearly

was,

father to the

man,

the

future

lawyer

and

congressman-elect,

Albert

Baker,

friend

and

law

partner

of Franklin

Pierce,

was

ready

to share

what

he

knew

with

an

audience

always ready

to

ask

questions.

And so

with

the

old

grand

mother

s

valiant

stories and

the

mother

s

simple

faith,

and Albert

s

un

folding

record,

"new

every morning,"

and her

own

forever

questions,

the

little

girl

had

much

to

do

and

many

things

to

straighten

out.

One

thing

especially

began

to

trouble

her

about

now,

the

question

of

religion,

she

later

writes.

From the first

moment that

she

was able to

apprehend

anything

of

the

matter,

Mary

seems

to

have

taken

her

religion

seriously.

Hers

was

a

serious

day

and

religion

was

the

most

serious

topic

in

most

households

of

that

day.

But

as a small child her

approach

to

it

was

not

at all

the

accustomed one.

The

unquestioning

acceptance

of

a

tutored

attitude

not

only

did

not commend

itself

to

her,

but

never

seems

to have

occurred

to

her

as

anything

like

what

should

be

required.

She

devoted

herself

obediently

to

the

task

of

learning

the

Westminster

Cate

chism,

and

actually

could

say

it

by

heart

before

she

was

ten.

She

went

to

church

and

Sabbath school and

sat

or

knelt

with

due

devotion

through

the

prayers

and

Bible

reading

with which Mark

Baker

exercised himself

and

his

household,

morning

and

evening.

But

such

fulfilling

of all

right

eousness was not

at

all

enough

for her. To her brothers

and

sisters,

and

even to

Mark

himself,

the due fulfilment of such

obligations

constituted

the

essential

part

of their

religious

life.

To

Mary

they

were

only

inci

dents.

As

far

as

the

Bible

was

concerned, she

not

only

listened

dutifully

to

what was

demanded

of

her,

but

she

was

actually

found

studying

it

at

all

times with

absorbed

interest.

This,

combined

with the

fact

that

while

she

was

willing

and

eager

to

believe

in

the love

of

God,

she

did

not

seem

to

be

at

all

reconcilable

to

the

wrath

of

God,

caused

Mark

no

little

misgiving.

The wrath

of

God

was,

of

course,

his

great

standby.

The love

of

God

was

well in its

way,

but

the

wrath

of

God was

the

real

thing,

and

Mary

s

apparent

conviction

that

the

care,

which she was

convinced

from


38/529

her

grandmother,

God

bestowed

on

lonely pigs

and

cold

horses,

must

be

extended

to

all

men

regardless

of

sect,

Mark Baker viewed

with

increasing

disquiet.

Already,

as

he saw

it,

he

had

had more than his

share

of

trouble

with

his

children

in

this

matter

of

religious

conviction or

lack

of

it.

Up

to

die

time

that

he

began

to

be concerned about

Mary,

none

of

them

had

made

any

formal

profession

of

faith,

and

Mark

was

not

only

greatly

troubled

but

completely

at

a

loss

to

understand

what

it

could

mean.

To

him

religion

was

essentially

a

grand

thing,

a

mighty

exercise,

an

exulting

and

exalting

conflict,

with

enemies

worthy

of

his

weapons.

He

could

not

understand

any

man worth

the

name not

being eager

to

throw

his

hat

in the

ring

and

go

to

it.

With

backsliders to

be

found

in

every

community

and

grand

differences

of

doctrine

constantly

arising,

any

failure

to

take

advantage

of

such

opportunities

was

to

Mark Baker

simply incomprehensible.

It

was

not

that

his

children,

but

especially

his

sons,

were

in

any

sense

of

the

word

irreligious

or even

lax

in

the

meeting

of

their

religious

obliga

tions.

On

the

contrary,

they

all

seem

to

have

been

even

scrupulous

in

doing

so.

Only

they

had

never

"found

religion"

in

die

almost

unctuous

fullness

of

that

term,

as

Mark

had

done,

Mary

had

always

been his

hope.

True,

her

exceptional

devotion

occa

sioned

him

some

uneasiness.

The

stories

Abigail

told

him,

from

time to

time,

of

long

Bible

readings,

of

prayers

carefully

written

out

and

com

posed,

of

brave

determinations on

the

part

of

his

small

daughter

to

emulate

her

hero

Daniel,

and

pray

seven

times

daily

with

her

face

towards

the

east,

all

this

was not

as it

should

be.

Abigail

does

not

seem

to

have

been

troubled

by

it.

Neither,

it is

to be

imagined,

would

Mark

have

been

had it

not

been for

Mary

s

growing

tendency

towards

restless

inattention,

if

not

open

dissent,

whenever,

in

their

discussion

of

religious

matters,

he

touched

upon

the

subject

dearest

to

his

own

heart,

the

great

doctrine of

"unconditional

election".

Predestination,

endless

punishment,

inexorable

decrees.

Many

a

time,

no

doubt,

had

he

and

Priest

Burnham

rejoiced

over

them

together.

Mary

obviously

shrank

from

them*

Naturally

joy

loving

and

light

hearted,

as

one

contemporary

has

described

her,

she

seems

to

22


39/529

have

rebounded

from

the

grave

and

distressful

view of

things,

as

Mark

would

have

them,

with a most

unseemly

ease.

There

was

nothing

morbid

in

her childish

devotions. No doubt she

shared

in the "luscious

gloom"

of

the

period,

and could

sigh

with the

best

of

them

over "withered

joys"

and

"perished

hopes",

over

graveyards

and

upturned

sods

and

what

not.

But

when

faced

with a

real

issue

such

as

her

father

was

propounding

to

her

so

vigorously,

she came out

every

time

quite

emphatically

on

the side

of

the

cared-for

animals,

rather than

that

of

the

eternal

punishment

of

unbelievers.

It was

clearly

her

father s

duty

to

do

something

about

it.

Mary

was

in

her

twelfth

year

when

they

finally

came

to

grips.

Mark

was

satisfied that

it

was

about

time

that

she

made

a

formal

profession

of

faith,

and,

after

the fashion

of those

days,

he

felt

that

it

was

laid

upon

him

to

prepare

her

for

the exercise

and to see to

it

that

she

was

"sound

in doctrine

and

of

good

understanding".

This

brought

the

matter,

the

whole

question

of

predestination

and

the

"horrible

decree"

of

endless

punishment,

right

out

into

the

open

between

the

two, Mark

quickly

found

his

worst fears confirmed.

To

his utter

perplexity,

he

discovered

that

the

doctrines

that

filled

him

with

such

exaltation,

aroused

in

his

daughter

nothing but

dissent.

She

was

unwilling

to

be

saved,

if

hei:

brothers

and sisters were

to

be

doomed

to

perpetual

banishment

from God.

Nothing

that

Mark Baker

could

say

or

do would

change

her. He

spoke

of

the final

judgement

day,

of the

dangers

of

endless

punishment,

and

of

a

God

utterly

merciless

towards

unbelievers.

Mary

stood

her

ground.

But

she

sank

physically

under

the

struggle.

She

could

not

sleep

at

night,

and

grew

worried and anxious.

Whether

Abigail

actually

intervened

at

this

point,

it

is not

possible

to

say,

but

that

something happened

to

awaken

Mark

to

a

sense

of

what

he

was

doing,

is

certain.

For

the next

time

we

see

him,

he

is

rushing

from

the

house

towards the

stable,

hitching

a

horse

to the

wagon,

and

driving

recklessly

down

the hill

towards

Pembroke

to

fetch the

doctor.

The

story

seems

to

be well

founded that

someway

down

the road

he

met a

neighbour,

who hailed him

with

concern,

asking

him

where

he

was

going

in

such

a

hurry.

But

all he

got

for

an

answer,

as Mark

23


40/529

urged

his

horse

to

greater

efforts,

was

the

agonized

shout,

"Mary

is

dying."

But

Mary

was

not

dying.

And

although

the old

doctor,

who

knew

Mark

Baker,

declared

she

had

a

fever,

and

must be

kept

quiet,

he

made

it clear

to

a

much

chastened

and

sobered

Mark

that

there

must

be an

end

to

his

great

missionary

work.

The

old

doctor

guessed,

but

it

was

Abigail

Baker

who

really

understood,

and

in

her

handling

of

a difficult

situation

disclosed

a

rare

sympathy

and

wisdom. At

a

moment

when a

mother

s

advice

to

submit or

compromise

would

have

been

easy

to

give

and

obvious,

Abigail

refrained.

She told the

child

simply

that

God

would

guide

her

and

make the

way

clear

for

her.

Writing

of the

incident

many

years

afterwards,

Mrs,

Eddy

says

:

"My

mother,

as

she

bathed

my burning

temples,

bade

me

lean

on

God

s

love,

which

would

give

me

rest,

if I

went

to

Him

in

prayer,

as

I

was

wont

to

do,

seeking

His

guidance.

I

prayed;

and

a

soft

glow

of

ineffable

joy

came

over me.

The

fever

was

gone,

and I

rose

and

dressed

myself,

in

a

normal

condition

of

health,"

1

And

then

she

goes

on to

relate

how

from

that

moment

the

horrible

decree

of

predestination,

the

dread

of

the

day

of

judgement,

and

of

a

God

"merciless

towards

unbelievers,"

"forever

lost its

power."

But

the

small

heretic

had

to

go

through

one

more

ordeal

before

she

could

reckon

herself

to have

won her

first

great

battle

for

freedom*

She

loved her

church

and

was

not

at

all

averse

from

her

father

s wish

that

she

should

become

more

closely

united

with

it.

But

not

at the

expense

of

her

convictions.

How

the

gap

was

finally

bridged

is

best

told

in

her

own

words.

Writing

of

her

examination

before

die

church

members,

she

says;

"The

pastor

was

an

old-school

expounder

of the

strictest

Presbyterian

doctrines.

He

was

apparently

as

eager

to

have

unbelievers

in

these

dogmas

lost,

as he was

to

have

elect

believers

converted

and

rescued

from

perdi*

tion;

for

both

salvation

and

condemnation

depended,

according

to

his

views,

upon

the

good

pleasure

of

infinite

Love.

However,

I

was

ready

for

his

doleful

questions,

which

I

answered

without

a

tremor,

declaring

that

1

Retrospection

and

Introspection,

p.

13

24


41/529

never

could

I

unite with

the

church,

if

assent

to

this

doctrine

was

essential

thereto."

1

She

then

goes

on

to

relate

what

followed,

how

she

stoutly

maintained

that

she

was

willing

to trust

God

and

take

her

chance of

spiritual

safety

with

her

brothers

and

sisters, not

one

of

whom

had

taken

the

step

she

was

taking,

even

if her creedal

doubts

left

her

outside

the

doors.

Nonplussed

for

a

moment,

the

pastor

tried

another

way;

he

asked

her

to

tell

him

when

she

had

experienced

"a

change

of

heart",

to

which

the

child

could

only

tearfully

reply

that

she

could

not

remember

any precise

time. The

pastor,

however,

insisted

that she

had been

truly

regenerated,

and

begged

her

to

say

how she

felt

when

the

light

dawned

upon

her.

"I

replied",

Mrs.

Eddy

has

written,

"that

I

could

only

answer

him

in

the words

of the Psalmist

:

"Search

me,

O

God,

and

know

my

heart:

try

me,

and know

my

thoughts

:

and

see if

there

be

any

wicked

way

in

me,

and

lead

me

in

the

way

everlasting."*

This

was

so

earnestly

said,

so

the

story

continues,

that

even

the oldest

church

members

wept.

After

the

meeting

was

over,

they

came

and kissed

her,

while to the

astonishment

of

many,

the

old

pastor

relented

and

re

ceived

the

little

girl

into

communion

and

her

protest

along

with

her.

So

was

the

first

victory

won,

and

it

is

perhaps

significant

that it was

won without

compromise

and

without

bitterness,

with

"satisfaction and

tears

of

gratitude",

achieved

no one

knew

how,

as the

final outcome.

*

Ibid.,

p.

14.

Ibid.

p.

14.

25


42/529


43/529

the

war

of

revolution,

he

was

working

on his

uncle

s

farm

at

Chelmsford,

a

little

town

not

far from

Concord,

Massachusetts,

and

on

the

historic

day

of

April

19, 1775,

when

the

British marched out

of

Boston

to

take

possession

of

the

stores and

arms

at

Concord,

the

news

reached

young

Pierce

as

he

was

ploughing

in

the

field.

"The

British",

shouted

a

passing

horseman,

"have

fired on

the

Americans

at

Lexington

and

killed

eight

men."

Like

so

many

others,

young

Benjamin

did

not hesitate

a

moment.

"I

stepped

between

the

cattle,"

he

writes,

"dropped

the

chains

from

the

plough,

and

without

any

further

ceremony,

shouldered

my

uncle s fowl

ing-piece,

swung

the

bullet-pouch

and

powder-horn,

and hastened

to

the

place

where

the

first

blood

had

been

spilled.

. .

.

Next

morning,

I

enlisted

in

Captain

John

Ford

s

Company,

which

was stationed

at

Cambridge."

The

end

of

the war

found

him

covered with

honour,

but

"destitute of

money",

so when

he

was

solicited

by

one Colonel

Stoddard

to

explore

lands

which

he,

Colonel

Stoddard,

owned

in New

Hampshire,

he

ac

cepted

gladly

and went

on

his

journey.

It

was

on

his

way

back

from

this

expedition

that

he

made

the

quick purchase

just

mentioned

of

a

log

hut

and

fifty

acres

of

land

at

Hillsborough.

In

this same

log

hut,

some

twenty

ye

mrs. eddy, by studdart kennedy

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