One evening in the summer of 1850, John Brown, whom I had known in Springfield, Mass., as a successful wool merchant, surprised us by calling, and relating his troubles.

"I," he said, "through misfortune or mismanagement, have lost the fortune which I amassed in 25 years. In trying to retrieve, I shipped my stock to Europe, but after staying there about four months I sold it so low that my loss, including the expense of the trip, left me stranded. My ardor for the slave has not in the least abated, and through the assistance of Gerritt Smith I have taken up land and am building a home over in North Elba, I am a sort of instructor to the colored folks of Smith's Wild Wood Colony.

"I have several colored men working for me in clearing up and planting, and they work well. I brought along some blooded cattle, pigs and hens, and finding many hard maples on the place, which produce sap for sirup, we feel quite independent. Two of our heifers have come in and we have plenty of milk, so I tell my wife if we have not crossed the Jordan into the land of milk and honey, we have crossed the Connecticut into the land of milk and maple molasses. Now I must be going in order to reach home before dark."

"Stay, Mr. Brown," I said, "why, we have not visited at all yet."

"I know, Mr. Thompson, but I came just to let you know where we are, and if you will come to see us we will treat you to fried chicken, boiled potatoes, hot corn bread and fresh butter. Will you come?"

"Surely; how far is it, John?"

"About 25 miles up the mountain, and 10 miles down; but I am still good for four miles an hour. Say, Mrs. Thompson, set on something for me to eat, the very best you have, for the Bible says, 'Be not slow to entertain strangers for thereby you may be entertaining angels, unaware.'"

Soon after, early one morning, we saddled our horses and rode over to call on our new neighbors, when Brown would hear nothing but that we must stop with them overnight, and although we all visited, cooked, ate and slept in the same room, we did enjoy ourselves.

Before retiring, we all knelt in family worship, when Brown prayed so clear and fervent that no one could doubt his faith in the loving Father, who he believed was listening.

Ruth, Brown's eldest daughter, and her husband, Henry Thompson, were with them, and several of the younger children. Oliver, one of those killed at Harper's Ferry, recently, was then about 10 years old.

After supper, Brown and I climbed onto the great rock, beside where his body now lies, when he revealed to me his disconnected plans of venturing into a slave state and arming negroes who could fight for their own liberty.

"But," said I, "the law gives those Southerners the right to hold slaves."

"What law?" he exclaimed as he extended his lower jaw defiantly and repeated, "What law? Jesus defined laws as the will or mandate of Jehovah. If you call the conclusions of an assembly of men today which another assembly of men tomorrow can prove to be felonious, law, then John Brown is an outlaw; but if the Saviour's definition, 'Love the Lord, thy God, with all thy mind and soul, and thy neighbor as thyself,' is law, then John Brown is a law-abiding citizen, and will, if needs be, die for those who are in bondage, who have committed no crime."

Then raising his tall form and moving slowly to and fro in the moonlight on the great rock, he continued in a soft tone.

"God calls every man and woman to duty and requires a response according to their individual ability. I feel that I have had a call to open the gate of freedom to the slaves in this, Columbia. This call is not a direct communication from God, but more in the line of duty. I am somehow impressed that I am the man to answer this call, for, when I pray for guidance, the echo seems to come back, 'Your strength is sufficient.' When you and I were boys, Dan, we read of famous persons whose characters glittered before us, but we somehow overlooked the fact that duty and praise do not travel hand in hand, but rather, that duty treads the thorny way and fame creeps softly after.

"Not only is this God's law, but it coincides with experience. Disappointment mingled with failure seems to be the earthly lot of man, and yet it is not failure. When the morn of eternity dawns, and you and I shall stand to be judged according to our past records, what will be more glorious than that we meet failure in trying to accomplish good? I know that slavery is a sin, and, if needs be, I will die for the cause."

Of course, I saw Brown occasionally during the next nine years, but I have no time this evening to relate his wildcat crusades in Kansas and Missouri, so we will pass over to the closing days of his life.

Oliver, Brown's youngest son, grew up on the North Elba farm, and through him I was kept informed concerning Brown's border free-booters until Brown came and took him to the Kennedy Farm near Harper's Ferry.

NEAR HARPER'S FERRY.

Anna, Brown's oldest daughter by his second wife, returned from Maryland about the last of October, 1859, when at her father's request she sent for me and gave me all the particulars concerning their rendezvous at the Kennedy Farm and their contemplated raid on Hall's Rifle Works at Harper's Ferry.

The next day, after promising my pets, my wife and Vida, that I would not join the mutineers, as Vida liked to call them, I left for Washington, and was soon in consultation with John Brown in the attic of the little house on the Kennedy Farm, where Anna had, as Brown said, acted as his watchdog, entertaining and detaining all strangers until he or his men could disperse or prepare.

I soon discovered that his attitude toward universal freedom had not abated, and that all his men, including three sons, had become much like him, as, at the prayer meeting in the little church nearby and the family altar, they often chimed in "Amen." As I think of them now I can truthfully say I never saw a band of men more Christianized in their expressions than those, for John had instilled into their minds his theory that the world was to be benefited by the struggle they were about to begin.

One day Oliver, his father and I walked down to Harper's Ferry, and while returning in the evening, Oliver and I pressed him for an explanation of the course he would pursue when he had taken possession of the arms at the Rifle Works, as the slaves would be useless at first, but he had none—he seemed to rely implicitly upon God and the Northern abolitionists to see him through.

Suddenly stopping us under the dark shadowy trees, and laying one hand on Oliver's shoulder and the other on mine, he said low and earnestly: "I do not know where I shall be when that beautiful moon has made its journey around this world once more, but one thing I do know and that is this: through my ceaseless efforts I have corralled the slave holders until now I have them in a trap. If my efforts are not impeded the slave will eventually free himself. If they are, and I am destroyed, the North, through sympathy for me and justice to the slave, will continue my cause until the bondmen are free. So you see I have them in a trap, but my aim is to avoid a bloody war, for the families in the South are as dear to me as those in the North, but slavery is a sin and must cease. Soon this generation will be passed, other men our lands will till and other men our streets will fill. When we are all gone the South as well as the North will speak kindly of him who dared to oppose his country's unjust laws."

All of Brown's men as well as myself considered the Harper's Ferry raid an unwise move, but to Brown, human life seemed a secondary matter, as compared to the continuation of national sin.

The last evening I stayed at the Kennedy Farm. After a supper of corn cake and molasses, Stephens and Tidd, who had melodious voices, sang "All the Dear Folks at Home Have Gone" and "Faded Flowers." Their voices echoing softly down the glens where the tree of freedom was about to appear rooted and nourished in the blood of those brave helpless invaders. Oliver Brown, noticing my emotion, gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder, saying, "Now we will all join in with father, 'Nearer my God to Thee,'" which we did before kneeling together for the last time at that strange family altar.

When I left for the North next day, the understanding was that the raid would not take place until about November 1st, but condition made it expedient for them to move at once, which they did.

I arrived home the 17th of October, and after supper I saddled the horses, when my wife, Vida and myself ran up the mountains at a spirited canter, arriving at the Brown Farm in the dark. In the small frame house we found his wife, Mary, and three of his daughters, Anna, Sarah and Ellen; Mary, the wife of Oliver; Henry and Ruth Thompson and several neighbors.

All listened in silence, while I related the incidents of my visit at the Kennedy Farm, but, of course, none of us knew that Brown had already taken possession of Harper's Ferry, that Oliver and Watson had been killed, and that the old man was holding out so grimly in the engine house.

About ten days later the exaggerated telegrams concerning Harper's Ferry were afloat which set us all agog, but not until Friday the 21st did we get a copy of the New York Times, of the 18th, which I took up to the Elba home, and we all listened while Annie read it through, then for several moments all remained silent, as we thought father and all were dead.

Later we learned that the father was alive, but Watson and Oliver were dead, and that Owen was missing, which was considered equivalent to being dead.

John Brown's trial ended October 21st. On November 2d he was sentenced to be hanged, which execution was carried out December 2, 1859.

Of those missing, Cook and Haslet were captured, and we took it for granted that Owen and the other three for whom there was a reward offered had been killed at the Ferry, but not reported.