A 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
OF THE FATE 
Amasa Converse, D. D. 
BY 
REV. L. P. YANI^I 
IN COMPLIAJ* 
I’KUflP A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
OF THK LATE 
AMASA CONVERSE, D. D. 
KY 
REV. L. P. YANDELL, M. D. 
IN COMPLIANCE WITH THE REQUEST MADE BY THE PRESBYTERY OF 
LOUISVILLE, AT ITS SESSIONS IN LOUISVILLE, APRIL 8. 1873. 
l.oriSVlLI.E, KY. 
*«7J Webb & Breeding, Printers, 77 Fifth Street, Louisville, Ky. DR. AMASA CONVERSE. 
A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
At the meeting of the Presbytery of Louisville 
in this city, on the 8th of April, the undersigned 
was appointed a committee to prepare a sketch of 
the life of the Rev. Amasa Converse, D. D. The 
subjoined memoir has been written in obedience 
to that order: 
The subject of this memoir was the oldest, 
but one or two,of the members of this Presby 
teTy. He had been nearly half a century 
a minister of the gospel, and a conductor of 
a religious newspaper, and at the time of 
his death he was one of the oldest editors 
in our country. lie lived in eventful times 
in the Presbyterian Church in the United 
States, and as editor was called upon to 
bear an active part in the stirring events. 
His intluence was felt in the great crisis of 
1837, and equally in that of 1861, which 
resulted in a second division of the Church. 
In both, his position was a trying one, but 
in both he acted with a firm moderation 
which, however it may have failed to satisfy 
the party passions of the time, has already, 
in the judgment of calm men, been justified 
by events. The record which he has 
left behind him is one that his family and 
Church will recur to with increasing satis- 
faction. 
His I 'it in ii y and Early Life. 
Amasa Converse was born in the town- 
ship of Lyme, New Hampshire, on the 21st 
of August, 1795. His father, Joel Converse, 
was a nutive of Thompson, Connecticut, 
and the youngest son of Deacon Thomas 
Converse, of that place. According to rec- 
ords preserved in England, his family is of 
Norman descent. The original name was 
Coigneurs. His remote ancestors came 
from Normandy to England about the time 
of the Norman conquest. The name was 
gradually Anglicised and abbreviated, and 
became Conyers. Subsequently it was 
changed to Converse, one branch of the 
family omitting the final e. Another is 
now represented by the Earl of Conyers, 
that branch having received the title of 
nobility not long after the Normans obtain- 
ed control of England. 
The ancestors of Dr. Converse came to 
America with fhe colony of Massachusetts 
Bay, about the year 1630, and their names 
are found in the records of some of the 
churches planted at that time, and also in 
the annals of the military expeditions of 
the colony against the hostile Indians. 
Edward Converse was a member of the First 
church of Charlestowm, and Col. James 
Converse had command of the garrison at 
Woburn, Mass., and defended the infant 
settlements against the repeated assaults of 
savages. 
The mother of Dr. Converse was named 
Elizabeth Bixby. She was a native of 
Woodstock, Conn., and was born in 1760, 
and died in 1850, at the advanced age of 
ninety years. Three of her brothers were 
revolutionary soldiers, and one of her sisters 
was still living in 1871, having liyed over a 
hundred years. Ilis father removed in 1788 
to Lyme, where he was born, in a house 
which still remains in possession of one of 
the family. The memory of his parents 
continued precious to him to the end of his 
days. They were pious, godly people, who 
bore their children before the mercy seat in 
the closet and in the worship of the family. 4 
Their example in all the relations of life 
was in harmony with their prayers, and 
gave force to the truths and sanctions 
of religion, which they endeavored to im- 
press upon the minds of their children. 
His father died of pneumonia in the seventy- 
third year of his age. 
The country into which his father had 
removed at the time of his birth was new ; 
primeval forests covered the hills, from 
which the farmers must draw their subsist- 
ence. “The trees were to be felled, and in 
June the underbrush was to be cut down 
with a brush scythe, preparatory to burning 
the surface over during the dry weather in 
July and August. This was followed by 
the clearing of the land, piling up and burn- 
ing the logs and large branches of trees 
which covered the ground, fitting it for the 
reception of seed for a crop of wheat. Here 
was work for boys and men, too.” Such was 
his employment in the month of September ; 
in the previous months of April, May and 
June, it was driving teams to plow the fields 
for corn, planting corn and potatoes, hoeing 
and gardening; and in July it was spread- 
ing the mown grass, raking the hay, and all 
the other labor required in carrying on a 
farm. He was put to work at the age of 
six or seven years, and before he was ten 
he persuaded his father to buy him a scythe, 
that he might help his older brothers in 
mowing. By such labors in summer, and 
oy similar labors in winter in the woods, 
r roviding fuel for the fires, it was that his 
constitution was invigorated in early life, 
: nd endued with strength to bear the toils 
of student life in subsequent years. 
He was not able to remember when or by 
whom he was taught his letters. The ear- 
liest lesson he could recall was at his 
mother’s knee, reading and spelling words 
of four letters. At the age of four or five 
years he was sent to the common district 
school, taught by a man who had a stiff 
leg. To compensate for his lack of activity, 
the schoolmaster kept at his side a switch 
long enough to reach across the school-room, 
and ready to be brought down upon the 
head or shoulders of any unlucky urchin 
who might be caught at play, or whispering 
to a school mate. “The discipline of these 
schools,” remarks Dr. Converse, “was stern 
to a degree which I would by no means rec- 
ommend.” And yet he adds that he found 
the lessons required of him less of tasks 
than a sort of game, in which he often ex 
celled his school-fellows. lie was taken 
from the summer school when seven years 
old to work on the farm, and at twelve he 
was kept from school a part of the winter 
to bear his part in such labors as were re- 
quired for the comfort of a farmer’s family 
in that season. He loved the school, and 
in order to enjoy its privileges, sometimes 
rose and went io the work assigned him be- 
fore day-light, that he might gain time to 
resume his studies in it at 9 o’clock. 
Aspirations for a College Education. 
In the days of his childhood, there was 
published in the village of Hanover, a 
newspaper called the Dartmouth Gazette, 
which had fifty two subscribers in his na- 
tive town. To save postage, the subscribers 
went, once a year, by turns to Hanover for 
their papers, and brought them to a store 
in the village, whence they were distributed. 
At the age of ten or eleven, he persuaded 
his father to let him go to the college for 
the papers when his father’s turn came to 
go or send for them. He was long- 
ing to see the college, described to him as 
a larger building than any in his native 
town, and especially to see how that myste- 
rious art, printing, was performed. He 
was accordingly put upon horseback at the 
proper time, and started off to find his way 
to Hanover; and he described in his old age, 
how, as he saw a student walking across 
the college campus, he “coveted the privil- 
ege and honor enjoyed by him, not then 
imagining that it would ever be his own 
good fortune to be a member of the col- 
lege.” 
He had now a genuine thirst for knowl- 
edge, and to meet its cravings was in the 
habit of borrowing all the books he could 
hear of, among which he seemed to remem- 
ber with peculiar pleasure “Addison’s Spec 
tator.” Sometimes, when thus absorbed in 5 
reading, his father would say to him : “My 
son, you must lay aside your book; we must 
go to work.” Occasionally he spoke to his 
father of his earnest desire to bo a scholar, 
but knew very well that his father was not 
able to defray his expenses at college from 
the products of a farm in that cold country, 
which required the labors of all his sons 
under the age of twenty-one to support his 
family, and keep the “wolf from the door," 
during the long, cold winter. 
But at the age of sixteen or seventeen he 
formed a resolution to make an effort to ob- 
tain a classical education. He knew not 
whero nor how to procure the funds neces- 
sary to accomplish his purpose. He had no 
rich friend to whom he might look for as- 
sistance. The wealth on which he expected 
to commence life, was a little more than a 
hundred dollars, which his father would be 
able to y ive him on his coming of age. But 
this would not defray his expenses atoollegc 
a single year. A small tract of wild land, 
in the neighborhood of his father’s, was 
offered for sale about this time, and he 
made an arrangement with his father for 
two years of his time, instead of the hun- 
dred dollars he was to receive, and pur- 
chased thirty acres of the land. In J une, he 
entered with his scythe nnd axe, accompan- 
ied by a cousin who had joined him in the 
purchase, upon the work of clearing his 
farm. In July, the season for making hay, 
tlie young laborers hired themselves to the 
neighboring farmers to obtain money to pay 
their board and purchase seed wheat to sow 
upon their “field of promise.” And so he 
took the first step towards entering college. 
The next step was to procure employment 
for the winter, and deeming himself “quali- 
fied to teach a good school,” he went to the 
Rev. Nathaniel Lambert, his pastor, for 
testimonials to introduce him as a school- 
master to strangers. After a due examina- 
tion as to his attainments in English gram- 
mar, arithmetic, penmanship, etc., Mr. 
Lambert gave him a certificate, commending 
him as entirely competent to fill the humble 
office to which he aspired. For this he paid 
him a fee of one silver dollar, nnd then rode 
to Bradford, Vermont, distant about fifteen 
miles from Lyme, and engaged to teach a 
district school for three months, at twelve 
dollars a month and board. That sum was 
then considered a good price for the services 
of a teacher. 
lie was now nineteen years of age, and 
toiling on in the prosecution of his plan of 
becoming a scholar. At the close of his 
school in March, he commenced the study 
of Smith’s Latin Grammar with a private 
teacher, and committed it to memory, (or 
such parts of it as pupils were then required 
to memorize) in ten days. He then went 
to Kimball Academy, at Meriden, and as he 
had studied only the grammar, the precepter 
very injudiciously gave him his first lesson 
in Virgil, which he was to study out alone, 
so as to give a good translation at the hour 
of recitation. His knowledge of the gram- 
mar was, of course, very imperfect, and so 
his lesson, though only five or ten lines, 
was mastered with so much difficulty, that 
he was strongly tempted to throw aside the 
grammar and dictionary and return to the 
farm, and make the cultivation of the earth 
the business of his life. Ilis pride, however, 
prevailed ; no difficulties must be permitted 
to turn him from his purpose. He rose 
early and applied himself earnestly to the 
task of making good sense of a few lines 
of the beautiful epic ; and in a few weeks 
he was able to translate the hexameters of 
the Mantuan bard with a good degree of 
facility. He was soon ahead of his towns- 
men, two young men who had commenced 
Virgil with him, and had the pleasure of 
proceeding alone, reciting daily as many 
lines of the ..Knead as he could construe. 
In these exercises he continued some three 
months, his field of wheat growing in the 
meantime, and ripening for the reaper’s 
sickle. 
He returned to Lyme in July, pale and 
emaciated from want of proper exercise, 
and went to work with his brothers making 
hay, in order to secure their aid in harvest- 
ing his crop of wheat. This secured and 
disposed of, he went to Dartmouth College 
and resumed his classical studies. In 6 
November he returned to the vocation of 
school-master, in which he spent three 
months, and then went to Phillips’ Acad- 
emy, in Andover, Mass. His account of 
the journey is interesting: “Early in April,” 
he writes, “having sent forward a trunk 
containing my scanty wardrobe, I started 
for Andover on foot, in company with Isaac 
Grant and Joel Hasford, two young men 
about my own age, who were going to Bos- 
ton as laborers. They had a horse to take 
to Boston, which we rode by turns, and tied 
at the side of the road to relieve one of the 
two foot travelers on their arrival. In this 
way we severally found relief from walking, 
and made our journey of a hundred miles 
in about three days.” 
He passed the winter profitably in this in- 
stitution, deemed at that time one of the 
best preparatory schools in New England, 
when his funds being exhausted, he made 
known his situation to the Principal, Mr. 
Adams. This worthy man procured for 
him a scholarship, but said to him at the 
same time : “Converse do you go home, and 
don’t you come back here until you look bet- 
ter than you do now.” He thought as many 
others did, that the student was the victim 
of consumption, but the disease proved to 
be dyspepsia, brought on by too intense ap- 
plication to study. It was February, the 
thermometer was below zero, and the roads 
were filled with drifted snow. The journey 
home must be performed on foot; but it 
was the very remedy needed in his case, 
and after three weeks at home he was ready 
to return to the Academy, from which he 
went, the following August, to Dartmouth 
College. 
In those days it was hardly considered 
proper for the son of a farmer, who had 
barely the means of a comfortable support, 
to aspire to the position of a college stu- 
dent. There had been only two or three 
such cases among all the young men reared 
in his native town. The son of a plain 
farmer in college seemed to be out of his 
place. Hence the colloquy between a ma- 
ternal uncle, Jonathan Bixby and himself, 
to the following effect: “Well, Amasa,” 
said his uncle, “I understand you are going 
to college.” He replied, “I hope to go.” 
And the uncle went on, “What are all you 
college-learned men going to do for a living? 
The farmers have to support them all. We 
have more lawyers than are needed already, 
and as many ministers as can be supported. 
How are all you learned men going to 
live?” He replied, “I am not at present 
concerned how they are to live. I want no 
bond from the farmers, obliging them to 
support me after I get through college.” 
Early Religious Impressions. 
Of his early religious impressions, Dr. 
Converse has left the following interesting 
history: 
“I was taught in my infancy to fear God 
and to offer to him a child’s prayer on re- 
tiring to bed. The instructions of a pious 
mother were daily repeated in my early 
childhood ; but for several years they seem- 
ed to make no permanent impression on my 
heart, which was alienated from God from 
my infancy. The exhortations of my father, 
and the hallowed lessons received from both 
my parents seemed to be lost upon me. I 
soon neglected the habit of prayer, and in- 
dulged the hope of the infidel, that the sanc- 
tions and doctrines of the Christian faith 
were a fiction. Yet I cannot say that par- 
ental piety and example were wholly with- 
out influence upon me. I recollect that in 
one'instance my father, when sick, fainted 
and fell to the floor while praying with his 
family. I feared that he was soon to die, 
and retired to a secret place to offer prayer 
that God would spare his life. His health 
was restored, and the impression made by 
this incident was soon effaced or disregard- 
ed. I was required to read the scriptures, 
and also to commit the Shorter Catechism 
to memory. But I felt little or no interest 
in what I read in the Bible, and my lessons 
in the catechism were irksome tasks. Both 
were neglected and discarded before I was 
sixteen years old, and I was captivated and 
led into known sin by associates addicted to 
profane swearing, card-playing, Sabbath- 
breaking, &c.” 
About the time he was entering Phillips’ 
Academy, he became acquainted with Mr. 
Asa Lord, of whom he speaks as “a plain 
man of superior understanding, whose 
Christian life commended religion to my at- 
tention more impressively than anything I 
had ever heard from the pulpit.” It sug- 7 
gested inquiry, “and inquiry led me,” he 
writes, “to see that I was living like an 
atheist, without God and without a hope in 
the world.” He became anxious and pray- 
ed much, seeking information in the relig- 
ious experience of others, but apparently 
making little progress, “at one time tempt- 
ed to renounce all belief in the doctrines of 
religion,” and again “amazed that God did 
not instantly sink me in_hell. Thus I con- 
tinued,” he writes, “for twelve months or 
more, thinking if I was rejected as a repro- 
bate, I would perish pleading foi mercy.” 
He continues his narrative thus : 
“One evening my fellow-students, think- 
ing probably that 1 was truly a Christian, 
were looking for me to conduct our weekly 
prayer meeting, which was numerously at- 
tended ; but I was not found till the services 
were commenced, and then wTas in the meet- 
ing, in the corner of a large school room, 
enjoying such a view of God, of his majesty 
and love as I had never had. I felt that if 
I were in hell, I would adore him and bless 
his name for his supreme excellence and 
glory. His perfections seemed inexpressibly 
lovely and glorious. The vision lasted per- 
haps an hour. I had then no hope that I 
was a converted man, or that my heart was 
changed. My ecstatic feelings were but for 
an hour or two, and then gradually sub- 
sided into the former state of doubt in re- 
gard to my spiritual state. But from that 
period I began to examine my feelings. I 
resolved to be a Christian—a resolution I 
had previously formed—though the world 
were in arms against me. I began to think 
that 1 loved God just as He was revealed in 
His Word ; that I took delight in his ser- 
vice, and that I would preach his gospel, if 
not prevented by some insuperable obstacle. 
After a few weekB, I had a conference with 
Rev. Drs. Porter and Woods, and was re- 
ceived as a member of the Congregational 
church connected with the theological semi- 
nary in Andover.” 
College and Seminary Life. 
He entered Dartmouth College in Sep- 
tember, 1818, at the age of twenty-three? 
when that institution was involved in a 
law-suit, the decision of which has since 
been quoted as a precedent in so many simi- 
lar cases ; with which the name of Daniel 
Webster is indissolubly associated. The 
decision was in favor of the old Board of 
Trustees, and so gratifying was the result 
to tne Faculty of the College that it was 
announced to the country by the roar ot 
artillery. While in college, young Con- 
verse devoted most of his time to the study 
of languages, which he preferred to that of 
mathematics. The winter vacations he 
spent teaching district schools, acquiring 
the means to continue his college course; 
but with this help added to his other slen- 
der resources, he could not have accom- 
plished his purpose without a loan of eighty 
or a hundred dollars a year from the 
American Education Society. By rigid 
economy, availing himself of every occasion 
to improve his exchequer, and working 
hard all the time, he closed his collegiate 
course with honor, receiving his diploma 
the day on which he was twenty seven 
years of age. 
On quitting college, he resumed his work 
as a teacher, and reopened a select school 
in Chelsea; taking charge afterwards, of 
the San 'erson Academy at Ashfield, from 
which, at the close of the year, he went to 
Princeton to enter upon the study of theol- 
ogy. A few months after entering the 
seminary, his health failed him. In con- 
nection with his illness, he speaks with 
great feeling ot the venerable Dr. Alexan- 
der, who “visited him and was very atten- 
tive to his wants during his sickness, and 
when he was able to ride, furnished him 
with his horse and carryall, in which he 
was accustomed to ride.” He thought his 
physician drugged him too muc h with laud- 
anum, and ventured to omit part of his 
prescriptions. For this, the doctor very 
naturally reprimanded him; but he replied 
that the opiate “made him stupid, and that 
if this was to be his last illness, he did not 
wish to go out of the world in a state of 
insensibility.” The answer of the physician 
was one which he was not likely to forget: 
“Young man,” said he, “by neglecting my 
prescriptions, you have put your life in 
peril; and what is of more importance, you 
have imperiled my reputation.” 
On recovering his health, he went to his 
friends in Ashfield, and renewed his tlieol- 8 
ogical studies; and while there, at a meeting 
of the Franklin Association of Congrega 
tional ministers, was examined in reference 
to his qualifications for the ministry, and 
licensed to preach as a probationer. He 
returned, in November, to Princeton, with 
the view of prosecuting his studies ; but 
Dr. Alexander, “who acted the part of a 
father to him, seeing how feeble he re- 
mained, advised him to seek a milder cli- 
mate and go to work as a preacher, adding 
encouragingly, “You have learning enough 
to be engaged in your vocation.” 
who, a few months after the profession of 
his faith in Christ, became a minister in 
the Presbyterian Church.”* 
Another prominent member of the bar 
became anxious concerning his spiritual 
state about the same time. He had “an- 
nounced profanely, at a public dinner, that 
neither he nor his family would be taught 
by a Yankee.” A few weeks later, he 
came to the young preacher, inquiring 
“what must I do to be saved?” aDd finally, 
was received into the church with his wife, 
bringing his children to'be baptized. 
Other instances of hopeful conversion 
were witnessed in the community, in the 
course of a few months, and the church was 
encouraged to hope for greater blessings. 
But there was no systematic arrangement 
in the church for the support of a Presby- 
terian pastor. Nothing of the sort had 
ever been attempted. The people were 
accustomed to listen to ministers, who pro- 
claimed that “they did not preach for 
money ” It was unpopular to attempt to 
raise a support for the family of a minister, 
and few would dare to circulate a subscrip- 
tion for that purpose. The roads being 
bad in winter, and most of the houses of 
worship in a dilapidated condition, a 
preacher during three or four months of 
the year, was restricted to a few churches. 
He could see, therefore, no prospect of 
support, or permanent usefulness among 
this people, though he rejoiced in the evi- 
dences of progress in religion, which he had 
witnessed among them. For ten years he 
had been fighting the hard battle of life, 
toiling for bread in his preparation for 
college, and four years in college, and then 
in the theological seminary till health and 
strength broke down. He now wanted a 
permanent resting place, and a field where 
he might toil with the hope of doing good 
in the Lord’s vineyard. 
Evangelistic Labors in Nottoway Co., 
Va. 
He took the advice of his venerable 
friend, and went to Virginia. Arriving at 
his place of destination in Nottoway coun- 
ty, he made arrangements with Dr. Wm. J. 
Dupuy for board in his family, and the use 
of a horse, and opened a school, which 
grew upon his hands ; rode much on horse- 
back, and preached occasionally to a vacant 
church in the neighborhood. His health 
rapidly improved under his changed mode 
of life, and wishing to devote himself to 
the work of the ministry, after looking 
about sometime for a vacant church, ac- 
cepted from the Young Men’s Missionary 
Society of Richmond, the office of evangelist 
for the counties of Nottoway and Amelia. 
Here he entered zealously upon his work, 
and a few months later, at the request of a 
little church to which he preached, was or- 
dained, by the Presbytery of Hanover, a min- 
ister of the gospel. Entering thus fully upon 
his mission, in the thirty first year of his 
age, he was full of confidence in the power 
of truth, but with “little hope of being 
useful unless he could compel men to inquire 
for it, and make the great themes of revela- 
tion the subjects of earnest inquiry and 
thought.” 
Among those who early connected them- 
selvee with his little church in Nottaway, 
he speaks of Peter R. Bland, “a lawyer, 
*This faithful servant of God removed, a few 
years later, to the neigborhood of Belmont, 
Tenn., and was received into the Presbytery of 
Memphis. After more than twenty years of 
pious labor, during which his house was the seat 
of an elegant hospitality, he was called to his 
rest, leaving a cherished name in all the churches 
to which he had ministered. 9 
Ilis Life-Work Commenced. 
Such were the views he entertained near 
the close of the year 1826, when solicited 
to take charge of the editorial department 
of the Family Visitor, commenced in 1822, 
and the Literary and Evangelical Magazine, 
conducted heretofore by the late Rev. John 
Holt Rice, D. D. Thinking that he could 
accomplish more with his pen than he 
could as a preacher with a weak voice and 
impaired health, he was prepared to listen 
to the overtures made him. 
After taking the best counsels he could 
obtain, with his fathers and brethren in 
the ministry, he made a contract with Mr. 
Nathan Pollard, the proprietor of both 
publications, on terms to give him an 
equal right in the editorial management of 
the publications ; took an affectionate leave 
of his growing charge in Nottoway, and 
commenced his work as an editor about the 
20th of February, 1827. 
He was aware that the office was heavily 
in debt when he entered it, but he was not 
aware of the perplexing difficulties and 
labors to be endured in efforts to remove 
those debts. Many subscribers were de- 
linquent in their payments ; the patronage 
of the office was not sufficient to meet the 
current expenses of publication ; and while 
the religious press was regarded as the 
right arm for the Southern Church, there 
was not enough strength to wield that arm 
with effect, or to remove the obstacles which 
paralyzed its influence. 
He had heretofore had no experience in 
this kind of work, but he was learning 
very fast. He had been in the office but a 
few weeks when he saw, as he thought, 
that an earnest appeal should be made for 
the only religious paper then published in 
the Southern States, with an honest state- 
ment of its financial condition, to create an 
interest umong its friends to relieve it from 
embarrassments which threatened its utter 
ruin. But his partner in the work would 
not have such a statement made to the 
public. He said it would ruin he credit 
of the office. After a few months he 
stated to Mr. P. that this connection with 
the office as Editor must close ; at the same 
time he offered him his services as a trav- 
elling ageDt to make collections for him. 
Mr. Pollard answered that if he left the 
editorial charge, he would discontinue the 
paper and close up the concern. 
Dr. J. II. Rice was called for counsel in 
the business, who earnestly entreated him 
as a son in the gospel to continue in the 
charge of the papers. As the result of re- 
peated conferences, he consented to purchase 
the publications. The sale of the publica- 
tions to Mr. Converse waH ma'ie on the first 
of July, 1828. He had then been connect 
ed with them one year and about five 
month. His loss by his partner’s failure 
had been about twenty-five hundred dollars. 
He now engaged openly and earnestly in 
efforts to increase the circulation of the 
weekly paper, having transferred to it the 
subscribers to the magazine, the publication 
of which was suspended at the close of this 
year. 
On the 10th of December, 1828, he mar- 
ried Miss Flavia Booth, in Brunswick, 
Virginia, a descendant of an old family of 
good repute from Massachusetts. He en- 
dowed his accomplished wife with his 
“worldly goods,” which, as he expressed it, 
“were worth nothing.” It is true he had 
about eleven hundred and fifty subscribers 
tOj a weekly journal, but they were “not 
half enough to meet the current expenses 
of its publication. Still, with such a wife 
for his companion, to counsel and encourage 
him, he adds, “the want of gold or silver 
could not make me either miserable or very 
poor.” He redoubled his efforts to increase 
and extend the circulation of his paper, 
called the Visitor and Telegraph, the 
North Carolina Telegraph having been 
united with the Visitor in 1827, and in 
three years he found his subscription list 
increased to more than three thousand. It 
now afforded him a competent support, with 
a prospect of becoming remunerative. 
The Division of the Presbyterian 
Church. 
“But at this period (in the words of Dr. 
Converse) the discussion of questions on 10 
which the Church divided in 1741, was re- 
vived in the Northern churches, and many 
copies of a Northern paper, advocating the 
stricter views of what was called the Oil 
School party, were circulated in the South- 
ern Church. In this way, there was a 
check made to the growing success of my 
labors as an editor. 
“It is proper to state in this connection, 
that there were diverse elements united by 
compromise in the Presbyterian Church in 
1704 and 1705, when the first Presbytery 
was formed. There was the old side which 
adhered to the strict interpretation of the 
Westminster Confession; and the new side 
which claimed more liberty in the interpre- 
tation of the Westminster Standards. The 
new side became the majority about the year 
1740, and a few years later founded Prince- 
ton College. These parties separated in 
1741, and after seventeen years were again 
united. 
“In 1831 and 1832 new issues had arisen. 
For many years the Presbyterian Church 
had aided the work of Foreign Missions in 
connection with the American Board, but 
as early as 1831 a Presbyterian Board was 
formed, and earnest efforts were made to 
carry on the work of missions both at home 
and abroad, under the direction of Presby- 
terian Beards. 
“On one side it was contended that all 
the benevolent operations of the Church 
should be conducted by ecclesiastical boards 
formed by her judicatories; and on the 
other, it was maintained that education for 
the ministry and missions should be carried 
on by voluntary societies in connection 
with Congregationalists, as they had been 
for some twenty years, especially as both 
sides in our Church had united in forming 
plans of union with Congregational Asso- 
ciations. 
“There were also questions connected 
with the doctrines of the atonement and 
the subject of slavery, on which the two par- 
ties in our Church were antagonistic to each 
other. Among such diverse elements in the 
Church, and so many conflicting ooinions 
on topics of great interest and importance, 
it is not surprising that there should be 
controversy, and that good men, in the 
heat of debate, in their zeal for what they 
cone ived to be truth and right, should fall 
into error. 
“The world has been admonished by the 
oldest controversy on record that the ser 
vants of God are tempted to sacrifice char- 
ity and lose their temper (as Job’s friends 
did) in their zeal for truth ; but the ad- 
monition does not appear to have been duly 
regarded in the Church.” 
He endeavored, up to the year 1837, he 
writes, to maintain a conservative, neutral 
ground ; but such a course “was not satis- 
factory to zealous men on either side,” and 
the exscinding act of the General Assembly 
that year, left, as he thought, no ground 
for neutrality. Four Synods, containing 
some five hundred ministers, and as many 
or more congregations, were out off from 
the Presbyterian Church, without trial or 
citation to trial, the accusers being also 
judges in the case. Believing this to be in 
violation of the constitution of the Church, 
he took strong ground against it. The con- 
troversy that ensued in the religious news- 
papers was long and acrimonious, “editors 
refusing to exchange the common courtesies 
of life with brethren whom they once rec- 
ognized as personal friends.” Pastors from 
the pulpit exhorted their flocks against sup- 
porting a paper opposed to the “reform.” Dr. 
Plumer, then preaching to one of the 
churches in Richmond, issued a prospectus 
for a new paper to defend the “reform 
measures.” The war went on, and in its 
progress the subscription list of the Tele- 
graph was greatly changed, many old sub- 
scribers quitting it, and many new ones 
coming to its support. The paper was still 
self-sustaining, but it appeared advisable 
to the editor to accept a proposition 
from Philadelphia to unite with it a 
religious paper printed there, and issue it 
in that city. Accordingly, in January, 
1839, he shipped his printing press and the 
furniture of his office to Philadelphia, and 
on the 9th of that month reached the city 
with his family. The united paper, the 11 
Telegraph and Observer, was soon is- 
sued, and its patronage steadily increased 
for a time. 
The Anti-Slavery Agitation. 
Mr. Converse now flattered himself with 
prospects of peace after the angry storm 
through which he had passed. But the 
prospect was delusive. The elements of 
another storm were gathering all along the 
horizon. Soon after settling in Philadel- 
phia, the Rev. Albert Barnes called on him 
and informed bim that he was writing a 
book on the subject of slavery, and the 
editor saw at once that he was destined to 
meet this question not only in the press and 
in piivate circles, but in all the judicatories 
of the Church. He attempted to dissuade 
Mr. Barnes from writing his book, telling 
him plainly that, in his opinion, no one 
was qualified to write on slavery who had 
not lived at least five years in a slave-hold- 
ing community, but he got no thanks from 
the great commentator for his friendly ad- 
vice. 
The discussions on this subject in the 
Church, continued for many years, brought 
him in conflict with those whose fanatical 
views or feelings disposed them to disregard 
the teachings of the Bible, and who main- 
tained that “if the Holy Scriptures sanc- 
tioned slavery, they could not b received 
a* a revelation from God,” that there was a 
higher law which they found in their spec- 
ulations about the nature of things. Such 
was the reasoning of the late Albert Barnes 
on this question. 
One side became fanatical and assumed 
the ground of rational infidelity (if infi- 
delity ever can be called rational). But 
the war of words went on, on the ground 
assumed by the higher law party, till at 
length it kindled the fires of fanaticism in 
the General Assembly of the New School 
branch of the Church, where it prompted 
the majority to adopt measures in 1857 
which exscinded the Southern Church no 
less effectually than was the excision made 
by the acts of 1837 ; and then in 1861 it 
burst upon the country like the pent up 
fires of a volcano, sweeping millions to un- 
timely graves, before the tempest subsided 
and the country was restored to peace. 
In reverting to these scenes, Dr. Converse 
recalled some personal incidents that may 
be of interest. This mania, rising and 
spreading on every side in the Church, gave 
him no prospect of peace in his position as 
an editor. As early, perhaps, as 1846 or 
1847, he received a formal visit from sev- 
eral prominent ministers of Philadelphia, 
who sympathized with the Abolition party. 
They came for the purpose of persuading 
him to renounce the conservative princi- 
ples he held, and change the character of 
the Christian Observer, and make it the 
supporter of their moderate anti-slavery 
opinions. “They had expected,” they said, 
“when they requested him to take charge 
of their paper, that he would advocate their 
views and opinions.” One of their num- 
ber, the Rev. Dr. Phelps, read him a docu- 
ment pointing out what he and they con- 
ceived to be wrong in the character of the 
Observer, and prescribing the course 
which it ought to maintain in the future. 
At the close of their fraternal criticisms 
and counsel, the Rev. Albert Barnes asked 
him in tones of harshness, which seemed 
to indicate displeasure, “Will you promise 
to conduct the Observer in the future in 
accordance with our views ?” 
lie r plied in substance that as long as 
he conducted the paper, it would be devoted 
to the defence and diffusion of truth, and 
of the principles which the best interests of 
the Church required. 
The brother who read the document con- 
taining the friendly remonstrance and 
counsels then asked, “Will you publish this 
letter for us in your paper ?” 
“Yes, if you desire its publication,” h« 
replied, “and I will answer it.” 
A copy of it was never furnished for 
publication. 
Another incident of the same kind is 
narrated. In a brief notice of Mrs. Har- 
riet Beecher Stowe’s work, “Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin,” he mentioned some of the author’s 
caricatures of the blacks and whites, and 
spoke of it as “one of the great hobbies of 12 
1852.” The remark gave offence to a 
brother minist r (the Rev. Dr. Brainerd) 
who, meeting him at Presbytery a short 
time after, said to him by way of admoni- 
tion, “If you speak of my friend, Mrs. 
Stowe, in this style, 1 shall have to call at- 
tention to the matter in some of the 
papers.” 
“Very well,” he replied, “the columns of 
the Christian Observer are open to you.” 
A Disastrous Fire. 
In the midst of this excitement, and 
while the anti-slavery party were endeav- 
oring to supersede his paper, which they 
had failed to make the advocate of their 
cause, his publication office took fire, and 
was destroyed, with nearly all its contents. 
The cry of fire waked him from sleep about 
midnight, July 5th, 1854. Hastening with 
his oldest son to the place of the disaster, he 
reached the fire just in time to see the 
burning ruins of a block of twenty build- 
ings, and to hear from policemen and fire- 
men on the ground that nothing had been 
saved from his office, lie “re urned to his 
residence, retired to his chamber and slept. 
At daylight,” he adds, “I returned to the 
smouldering ruins, and was again told by 
the firemen that nothing had been saved 
from my office.” This seemed to him very 
much like the beginning of financial ruin. 
He had left his ledger aDd books contain- 
ing the accounts of thousands of subscribers 
on his desk, and his office was not insured. 
He relates that “as his children assembled 
that morning, having their Bibles to read 
at family worship, the sight of the Bible 
suggested the thought, and he remarked, 
‘If the fire has consumed all our worldly 
goods in the office, God has left us some- 
thing better—infinitely greater riches in 
His Holy word.’ ” 
An hour or two later in the day he was 
greatly relieved to learn that his books had 
been saved. A gentleman who was using a 
part of Mr. Converse’s office at the time, as a 
matter of economy, seeing the building on 
fire, had burst open the door, entered the 
office full of smoke, and in the dark had 
fortunately laid his hands upon them, and 
carried them to a place of safety. “To 
others, this incident,” he remarks, “may 
seem too small a matter to be worthy of 
note ; but I recognized in it the hand of 
God, enabling me to prosecute my work as 
an editor, and educate two of my sons who 
were pursuing their course of studies at 
college.” 
War of the Abolitionists Against the 
Observer. 
He received letters of sympathy from 
many conservative men, but the radicals 
continued their war upon his paper, and his 
position as editor was a trying one. The 
unceasing efforts of the abolitionists to 
supplant the paper upon which the support 
of his family depended, brought to his 
mind the wrords of the prophet: “Take 
ye heed, every one, of his neighbor, and 
trust ye not in any brother; for every 
brother will utterly supplant, and every 
neighbor will walk with slander.” A pro- 
position was made to buy the Observer ; 
but the proposition wTas accompanied by a 
“promise,” which sounded to him very 
much like a threat, that if he declined to 
sell, another paper wrould be started. A 
brother whom he greatly esteemed, (Dr. 
John C. Smith, of Washingt in City,) wrote 
him a letter full of kindly sentiments, 
earnestly exhorting him to yield to the 
wishes of this party, and warning him that, 
if he did not surrender to them the control 
of the religious press in Philadelphi, uhe 
was a ruined man." Nevertheless he de- 
clined the offer, for “it was repugnent to 
my manhood,” he writes, “to accept an 
overture from Christian brethren who were 
holding a threat as a rod over my head, to 
punish me in case I refused their offer, 
And besides, I deemed that I was acting 
for thousandi of patrons who, I had 
reason to believe, would not take such a 
paper as the leaders in the negotiation pro- 
posed to publish.” To his friend, Dr. Smith, 
he wrote in reply to his friendly warning, 
that he was not contending with his 
brethren for gold or silver, but for some- 
thing far more precious, and that if he was 13 
a ruined man he would pray, with David, 
that “he might fall into the hands of the 
Lord, and not into the hands of men.” 
The promised rival in due time was 
started, and the two papers went on side by 
side for a number of years, the Observer 
continuing to gain new subscribers, and 
»fiord support to the family of its pro- 
prietor. Meantime, the Kansas question 
mingled fresh materials with the elements 
of strife, kindling the smouldering embers 
of the abolition controversy into a flame. 
The election of Lincoln followed in 1860. 
It seemed impossible any longer to keep 
political discussions out of the church. 
While the Kansas struggle was going on, 
collections had been taken up on the Sab- 
bath in some churches to aid immigrants 
going to that territory, and to purchase 
fire-arms to drive out settlers from the 
South. The crisis had at length come. 
The right of seceding from the Union, 
which hud been claimed and threatened by 
a large convention of politicians at Hart- 
ford, Connecticut, during the war of 1812, 
was carried out by the South, in the winter 
of 1860-61. I)r. Converse, as a young man, 
had been of the party who affirmed the 
right of Secession in 1812, and he was 
ready to affirm it in Philadelphia in the 
maturity of his age, and in the face of 
threats of violence. At a meeting of some 
thirty clergymen for the discussion of the 
subject, he relates that he was “distinctly 
advised by one of the junior doctors pres- 
ent, that the publication of opinions 
affirming that right might cost him his 
life.” 
“Madness,” he writes of these times, 
“ruled the hour. The parties had become 
hostile to each other, and in Philadelphia, 
it became dangerous to advocate the rights 
of the minority, and the doctrine of peace, 
in opposition to the majority. 
“pelf-constituted committees orspieswere 
appointed to report the private conversa- 
tions of their neighhers, if opposed to the 
views of the majority. The strife of words 
had proceeded too far to be settled by 
written constitutions, laws, compromise or 
arguments. The appeal was to the sword, 
the majority had become intolerant, re- 
ligion and i olitics were strangely inter 
mingled in the partisan contentions of the 
day, and while these elements of strife were 
raging in the war of words, devices were 
perfidiously employed by Mr. Wm. II. 
Seward, Mr. Lincoln’s Secretary of State, 
to provoke the forces of the seceded States 
to fire on Fort Sumpter, a Fort of the U. 
S., near Charleston, S. C., erected for the 
defence of that city, and thus initiated the 
civil war. The perfidious management of the 
Secretary succeeded. Fort Sumpter was 
obliged to surrender after a protracted 
bombardment, though not a man was killed 
on either side in the fight. The confeder- 
ates had fired first, and captured a Fort of 
the U. S. That was enough to arouse the 
North to arms. The war clamor prevailed. 
“The state of partisan feeling in Philadel- 
phia, in the spring and summer of 18G1, 
rendered it a very undesirable place of 
residence for an editor, who resolved to 
maintain his right and the liberty of the 
press. The cries for war against the South 
were mingled with the prayers of the 
Sanctuary, and the services of the Sabbath, 
and it was dangerous to publish facts, or 
advocate the principles of peace, and the 
sacred duties of religion, in the face of a 
community where the minds of the unedu- 
cated masses of the people were nearly all 
enlisted for the coming conflict, by the 
rousing cry ‘to arms, to arms,’ reiterated 
by leaders or those aspiring for popularity 
under the specious names of ‘Liberty’ 
‘Free Soil,’ and ‘Patriotism.’ 
“The columns of the Christian Observer 
were repeatedly assailed by ‘the war 
shriekers,’ and efforts were made to tor- 
ture the remarks of the editor into some- 
thing which savored of treason Ilis life 
was threatened by some of the self styled 
patriots who had been roused to action. 
“Not heeding such threats,” he says, “for I 
did not believe myself in danger of violence, 
I quietly pursued my work, hoping that 
this storm of passion might subside. To 
many in the city I had been personally 
known for years, not only as an editor, but 
as a minister of the gospel of Christ, and 
hud been repeatedly heard as a preacher in 
some twenty or more of their churches. 
I could not, therefore, think tl at my life 
was in peril among a civilized Christian 
people, though 1 entertained and expressed 
opinions opposed to the views of the ma- 
jority on tne absorbing question of the 
war.” 
At last, on the 22d of August, 1861, 
Mr. 8evaid “rang his little bell,” and Dr. 
Converse was arrested. His paper was 
suppressed, his property seized, and the 14 
earnings of a lifetime almost entirely swept 
away. The marshall who had orders to 
arrest him declared, it is said, that “a 
strange, unaccountable feeling came over 
him in the presence of the venerable ser- 
vant of Christ,” and though he knew that 
was he liable to a severe reprimand for dis- 
obeying orders, he declined to take him into 
custody. 
The Closing Years of his Life. 
Thus deprived of the means of providing 
for the wants of his family, and denied the 
right of expressing the convictions of his 
understanding and his conscience at the 
North, he turned his thoughts once more 
towards his old home in Virginia. He 
was successful in finding a path south- 
ward and by the middle of Sep- 
tember, less than a month after his 
paper was suppressed in Philadelphia, the 
Christian Observer reappeared in Rich- 
mond. In that beleaguered city he labored 
during the war, writing, preaching, visiting 
the hospitals and prisons, conversing and 
praving with the sick, the wounded and the 
dying of both armies, accomnlishing there, 
it may be, the greatest work of his long 
and useful life. With the close of the un- 
happy struggle, came another reverse in 
his pecuniary affairs. Like most of those 
around him, he found nearly all his earth- 
ly possessions gone, and at the age of three 
score years and ten, had to begin life again 
almost as poor as when he commenced it in 
the same place, a youmr man, forty years 
before. His printing uffice, however, escaped 
when Richmond was burned; and with a 
consciousness that he had suffered his losses 
in “liberty’s defence,” he “bated not a jot 
of heart or hope,” but resolved to enter 
the field as a journalist once more ; and so, 
without available means enough to defray 
the expenses of the office for a single week, 
before money had begun to circulate in the 
devastated city, “before mail routes were 
reopened or postoffices established, and be- 
fore any other weekly paper in the South- 
ern States” was started, he again issued the 
Christian Observer. The faith which had 
supported him in the midst of so many 
other troubles, and which finally sustained 
him in a dying hour, rose with his increas- 
ing trials, and he felt assured that he 
should not want. He was inured to labor 
and to hardship, and the prospect of an old 
age of toil gave him no concern; but 
rather it was the fulfilment of a wish he 
had often expressed, that it might be his 
privilege to wear out in the service of his 
Master, and not be doomed to rust out. 
In 1869, Mr. Logan, who had become 
editor of the Free Christian Common- 
wealth, wrote to Dr. Converse, proposing 
to unite his paper with the Christian Ob- 
server ; and an arrangement to that effect 
having been made, Dr. Converse removed 
to Louisville in August of that year, and 
commenced the publication of the paper 
under its present name of the Christian 
Observer and Commonwealth, in this city, 
lie was then seventy-four years of age. Ills 
new home proved to be to him all that was 
promised. His enterprise prospered beyond 
his most sanguine expectations. In a few 
years he was able to pay off a debt of be- 
tween eleven and twelve thousand dollars, 
by which it had become embarrassed in 
consequence of the war. Its subscription 
list continued to increase, and he had the 
satisfaction of seeing it, under his direc- 
tion, grow to be the leading religious news- 
paper of the Southwestern States. 
His children had grown up around him, 
and his sons were aiding him in conducting 
his paper. Three of them had become or- 
dained ministers of the gospel, two were at 
the bar, and all, with their sister, were 
members of the Church. “His last days1” 
one of his friends has remarked, “were his 
best days.” 
His old age was green and vigorous. The 
number of the Observer which announced 
his death, contained several articles from 
his Den. His last effort was to write to an 
absent son. After finishing his letter, he 
took it to the postoflice to insure its going 
off by the early morning mail. The night 
was cold, and though the distance was short, 
he came home with a severe chill upon him, 
which proved to be a precursor of pneumo- 15 
nia. After kneeling down with Mrs. Con- 
verse, as was his custom, and invoking the 
blessing of God on his Church, his country, 
and his family, he retired to bed greatly in 
disposed. He sank slowly, but steadily 
under his disease, and after an illness of 
less than four days, expired, as stated by a 
son who watched by his bedside, “without 
a murmur of complaint or repining, and 
without a single groan, so calmly and 
peacefully that it seemed like a child drop- 
ping into sweet slumber.” He died at 10 
o’clock, Monday morning, December 9, 
1872, in the seventy-eighth year of his age. 
His last words were “I shall not want.” 
The last article wdiich he wrote for his pa- 
per was on “the Providence of God,” and 
this he left unfinished. His last act was an 
act of prayer, and his last words, just 
quoted, were expressions of confidence in 
that Providence by which he felt that all 
his steps had been directed. His end was 
peace; and looking over the record of his 
life devoted to the service of the Master and 
the best interests of his fellowmen, wre may 
with truth, exclaim: 
“Servant of God, well done I 
Rest from thy loved employ ; 
The battle fought, the victory won, 
Enter thy Master’s joy.” 
The Character of I>r. Converse. 
The character of Dr. Converse is one 
upon which the m nd dwells with eminent 
satisfaction. His industry, evinced early 
in life and continued down to the evening 
w hen he left his house for the last time ; his 
perseverance in the face cf difficulties, his 
devotion to principle, his mingled modera- 
tion and firmness, his love of knowledge, 
are qualities which should be held up for 
imitation to the young men of our country, 
who, like him, are beginning life poor. 
His Christian example was not less ad- 
mirable. While the gentleness of his man- 
ner, his great courtesy, his respect for the 
opinions and feelings of others, gave the 
idea of a yielding temper, he had in his 
nature a firmness of purpose equal to any 
moral pressure that ever was brought to 
bear upon it. 
lie was eminently a man of faith and 
prayer, and devotion to duty. When Rich- 
mond fell, and the Confederate army was 
retreating, Sunday morning, one of his sons 
said to him that he meant to follow it. “No, 
my son,” he replied, “not on the Sabbath 
day. Wait till morning, and then decide 
on the path of duty.” In every event, it 
has been said of him, he saw the hand of 
God. Even when most pressed by business, 
he still found time to visit his closet, and 
regularly as the morning came round, spent 
a season there in secret communion with 
God, before going to the work of the day. 
And morning and night he called his family 
around him, each member with Bible in 
hand, each in turn reading a few verses, 
and all uniting with him in fervent en- 
treaties at the throne of grace. The widow 
of this great and good man and six of the 
eight children born to them, survive. In 
his good name and godly example tney 
have a legacy which is above riches. 
L. P. Yandell.