# Robert Carter: His Life and Work. 1807-1889/Chapter 6

CHAPTER VI.
A cause very dear to Mr. Carter’s heart was that of the Bible Society. He writes in 1884: “In 1856 I was elected a manager of the American Bible Society, and shortly after a member of the Committee of Publication. It was my great delight to meet with the noble men who constituted the Board of the Society at that time. Most of them were silver-headed and prominent men. Governor Bradish was President of the Society, and was a most graceful presiding officer. James Lenox, Dr. Allen, President of the Girard College, and Dr. S. Wells Williams, have since occupied that position. The work of the Society has greatly increased, Its issues amount to a million and a half volumes annually. I have been on the Committee of Publication for twenty-eight years, and there has not been the slightest friction among us. One after another has passed away, and now I am alone. A new generation has occupied the place of those who sat with me when I first entered. And now my work is nearly done.”
In 1878 he was made one of the Vice-Presidents. He was regular in his attendance at the meetings of his committee, until the very last months of his life. It was often remarked by him, with great pleasure, that there were as many Bibles printed in three years of the present decade as were made in the first eighteen centuries of the Christian era.
​One of the closest friendships of his life was with another of the Vice-Presidents of the Society, A. R. Walsh, Esq., who was also an honored elder in the Scotch Church. He was a man of noble and generous character, “graced with polished manners and fine sense,” a thorough Christian gentleman. Their friendship was so close that they were often compared to David and Jonathan, Their duties in the eldership and other Christian work often brought them together several times a week, and the children of both families were often amused to note that after a meeting Mr. Walsh would accompany Mr. Carter to his door, and then Mr. Carter would see Mr. Walsh home, and then both would walk to a corner half-way between the two houses, and stand talking together until they reached a point where it seemed possible to them to break off their conversation. It was a great trial to both when Mr. Walsh removed, in his last days, to Stamford, Connecticut, but even separation did not cool their friendship, which burned with unabated ardor till death parted them.
William Henry Green, D.D., of Princeton, writes:—
“Mr. Carter was elected by the General Assembly in 1856 a member of the Board of Directors of Princeton Seminary, and he served faithfully in that capacity to the end of his life. It was part of his duty to attend the examinations from time to time. He always manifested a deep interest in the Seminary, even after his physical weakness prevented him from attending the meetings of the Board. He was at the time of his death the oldest member of the Board, and the one who had been longest in service. He established three prizes for excellence in Old Testament studies, which have been given annually since 1879 to the three students of the Seminary who prepared the best theses on some assigned subject.
​“Let me take this opportunity to express my personal grief, as well as my deep sense of the loss sustained by this Seminary and by the Church at large in his death. He was for thirty-three years a Director of this Seminary, and there was no one whose counsel and friendship were more highly prized. His wide influence as a Christian publisher has been extensively and powerfully felt for good, and will continue long after he has entered upon his reward. In all the spheres of Christian evangelical effort in which he held so conspicuous a place he will be sadly missed. My own past intercourse with him is one of the delightful memories which I shall continue to cherish.”
Another member of the Board, Rev. W. C. Cattell, D.D., thus writes:—
“Yes, I loved and honored Robert Carter. It is a delight to me to recall his precious memory. Though much younger than he I was next him in seniority among the directors of Princeton Theological Seminary, We were associated in the Board nearly thirty years. It was always like a benediction to look upon his face, dear precious blessed man. Few men have I loved so much, and so did all love him who knew him.”
Mr. Carter was one of the founders, in 1857, of the New York Sabbath Committee, a society which has done a great work for the consecration of our Christian Sabbath. For years he did yeoman’s service in this admirable institution, and at his death left but one survivor of the original Committee.
Indeed, it would be a difficult matter to give a list of all the benevolent institutions to which he belonged. A year or two before his death, one of his grandchildren jocosely remarked, “It seems to me Grandpa attends an annual meeting of some society every week ​in his life.” He gave to each earnest thought and liberal hand. Giving was to him one of the sweetest pleasures in life. He valued money, not for what it was, but for what it could do. He had to be a very undeserving petitioner whom he refused. The wonder was that he could grow in wealth, but “there is that scattereth and yet increaseth.” In his business, it was often said of him that he would rather give away his books than sell them, and only those who were constantly with him knew how perpetual was the giving out. It was no bare gift that he gave, for the giver always went with it in kindly love and sympathy. Those who saw what he gave would suppose he was a man of great wealth; those who noticed his manner of living would have thought him a man in limited circumstances, though he was always ready for any necessary expense. He was never of those who think that generosity consists in spending liberally on one’s self.
In 1861 his two elder sons graduated from Princeton Seminary. As the eldest was just twenty-two, he felt that they were too young to take up a pastoral charge, so he decided to take all his family to Europe, where they travelled for fifteen months. It was a most delightful tour, the only drawbacks being the constant anxiety caused by the war of the Rebellion in America, news of which was eagerly watched for, and the severe illness of his eldest son in Germany from Syrian fever, contracted while on a tour through the Holy Land. Several months of 1861 were spent in Scotland, where his sons attended classes at the Divinity Schools of the Free and United Presbyterian Churches in Edinburgh. On this trip Mr. Carter had even more delightful intercourse than before with clerical and other friends in ​Ireland and Scotland. Dr. Hall in Dublin, Dr. Cooke and Dr. McCosh in Belfast, Drs. Macleod and Macduff in Glasgow, and Drs. Guthrie, Candlish, Cunningham, John Brown, M.D., and many others in Edinburgh, extended the most cordial hospitality, and did everything that was possible to make his stay among them delightful. A large circle of friends gathered about him in Glasgow and Edinburgh, and his exceedingly social nature was gratified by the refined and intellectual society of the Scottish cities.
The family arrived in Glasgow on a Saturday, and on Sunday morning all desired to hear Dr. Norman Macleod. As Mr. Carter was not very sure of the locality of the Barony Church, he stopped a tall, stout gentleman at the corner, and inquired the way. He was beginning very courteously to give the necessary directions, when Mr. Carter exclaimed, “Why, Dr. Macleod!” “Why, Mr. Carter!” It was indeed the great preacher himself, who was on his way to exchange with a minister at Kelvin Grove; so if the party had not thus accidentally met him, they would have had their long walk to the Barony Church only to encounter disappointment. They turned about and accompanied Dr. Macleod to Kelvin Grove, where they heard from him a sermon he had preached a week or two before to the Queen at Balmoral. The next day he spent the entire morning with his American friend, talking over matters of Church and State that were of great interest to all. After this they met repeatedly, Dr. Macleod on one occasion coming to Edinburgh on purpose to spend the day with Mr. Carter. On another occasion Dr. McCosh came from Ireland for the same purpose.
There was no one in Edinburgh with whom Mr. Carter had so much delightful intercourse as with Dr. ​Guthrie. His wonderful geniality, his extraordinary conversational powers, were as remarkable as his great pulpit eloquence. His church was always so crowded that it was impossible for strangers to get admittance save by ticket, but Dr. Guthrie gave Mr. Carter a permanent order for admission, and he and his family attended Free St. John’s more than any other church in Edinburgh.
Mr. Carter gives the following account of a delightful trip on the Continent with Dr. Guthrie’s family.
“In August, one morning, I was leaving our lodgings, when I saw Dr. Guthrie and his son David approaching. They said they were going to the Evangelical Alliance in Geneva on the following Monday, and had come to bid me good by. They spread their map on my table, and showed me their plan and route. The Doctor then turned to me and asked, ‘Can you go with us?’ My wife joined them in urging me to go, and I went. We reached Paris on Tuesday evening. There were ten of us in all; most of them were of Dr. Guthrie's family. A more delightful company I never met. We were seated at the tea-table in the hotel, when a gentleman came behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. It was Dr. Macduff, author of many delightful books which I had published. I looked at him, and he said, ‘My wife is here, and would like to see you.’ He showed me his route, and I said I would diverge from the Guthrie plan for two or three days and go with him. Dr. Burns, brother of Mrs. Guthrie, and late Moderator of the General Assembly, also went with us, as it would give us an opportunity of seeing Basle and Zurich. I had thus the pleasure of becoming better acquainted with Dr. Macduff, who proved a most charming companion. After parting from him we rejoined the Guthrie ​party, and spent a night at Chur, the birthplace of Dr. Schaff. We then crossed the Alps by the Splugen Pass, and made our way to Milan, where we saw the finest Gothic cathedral in the world. Thence we went to Venice, and the Doctor selected for our guide an American who had been our representative in Trieste, but had been displaced, and as war was raging at home he went to Venice to act as guide to English and American travellers. We were so much pleased with him, and felt so much sympathy with him, that on parting we made up a purse for him. In our return to Switzerland we had passed the night in a diligence, and at break of day we alighted to walk a little There were some Italians—Waldenses going to the Alliance—pacing along with us, The Rev. Mr. Revell was among them, and as I had met him in New York we were very glad to meet again. He was engaged at that time in printing the Italian Bible, and the American Bible Society furnished the money for it. As I was on the Publication Committee of the Bible Society he was glad to report progress.
“At the meeting in Geneva I met César Malan, who kissed me on both cheeks. I invited him to dine with me, and he gave some account of his work. He was old, and much discouraged. I felt a warm sympathy with him. He did a good work. Merle d’Aubigné, whose History I had reprinted, received me also very affectionately, and introduced me to F. W. Krummacher, for whom he acted as interpreter. One evening Dr. Guthrie delivered a lecture, and at the close his daughter said to me, ‘There are two daughters of Edward Bickersteth here who have been parted from their escort. I will introduce you to them. Perhaps you will be pleased to accompany them to the entertainment in ​the Park.’ ‘I shall be delighted to do so.’ I found them charming company. They gave me an account of the last hours of their dear father, whom I used to think of as the beloved disciple, so meek, so gentle, so lovely. I little thought that a few years later I should publish ‘Yesterday, To-day, and Forever,’ the delightful work of their brother, and one of the most popular volumes I have ever issued. I was glad to be introduced to Tholuck, the Monods, and other celebrities of France and Germany. Dr. Baird was the only American there that was with me at the great Evangelical Alliance meeting in London in 1846, fifteen years before.
“After the meeting, our party went to Visp, the Gorner Grat, and Zermatt. We had a snowball party on the Gorner Grat, 10,000 feet high, while the valleys below were excessively hot. We saw the sun set on Monte Rosa, and the scene around was the most magnificent I ever saw. The good Doctor had some of the most sublime bursts of eloquence amid those glorious mountains. O, it was good indeed to be with him!”
Mr. Carter used often to relate the following incidents of this trip.
On one occasion Dr. Guthrie was about to cross a little foot-bridge which he thought of doubtful sound- ness. He had forgotten the German for “safe,” so he asked the guide in French, but he shook his head; then he asked him in English, with no better success. “I am going to try him with Scotch,” exclaimed the Doctor. “Is’t siccar, man?” “Ah, ja, ja, siccar!” responded he at once.
When they were crossing the Austrian frontier in going to Venice, the official who examined the passports was puzzled by Dr. Guthrie’s, on which were included the names of his party of eight, and, after trying in ​vain to comprehend it, he lost patience, and threw it on the ground. Dr. Guthrie drew himself up to the full height of his commanding figure, and, shaking his long forefinger at the man, he exclaimed, “If you treat me with indignity, Queen Victoria with a hundred thousand men will put me right.” The man did not understand a word that was said, but he could appreciate the attitude and gesture of the great orator, and he stooped very meekly and picked up the passport; the Guthrie party was set in a row, and the individuals pointed out in connection with their names on the paper, and the matter was soon straightened out. “Now, Mr. Carter, it’s your turn. You'll have to stand fire,” cried the Doctor. But Mr. Carter had no one but himself on the passport, so that there was no complication. The official glanced at it, attached his visé, and handed it back with a polite bow. “What’s the meaning of this?” exclaimed Dr. Guthrie. “Oh,” said Mr. Carter, “my honest face always carries me through.”
To return to Mr. Carter's own narrative:—
“After our return to Edinburgh I invited Dr. Guthrie and his family to tea. When the door bell rang, I went to the head of the stairs to receive the company. After entering the door, Dr. Guthrie looked up to where I stood, and said, ‘I have brought you an old friend whom you will be glad to see, Principal Cunningham.’ The latter had just returned to the city that day, and had gone to see Dr. Guthrie, who told him, ‘We are going to Mr. Carter’s to-night; will you go with us?’ That was the most delightful evening I spent in Edinburgh. The feast of reason and the flow of soul enraptured us all. We remember it the more vividly, as it was the last time we saw Dr. Cunningham in good health. He called on me afterwards, but he was un​strung and not like himself. A few days later I saw him at his house, but he was very low. I was there again, but did not see him. He was within ten hours of his last. He was an instrument of great good to his beloved country.
“One of the most interesting friends I met at this time was the gifted John Brown, the author of ‘Rab and his Friends.’ He took me into some of the queerest nooks of the Old Town, and threw a halo around them by his illustrations of ‘The Heart of Midlothian,’ old Davie Deans and his daughter Jeanie, Holyrood, the Castle, and other scenes famous in ancient story. He took me to the home of his venerable father, Rev. Dr. John Brown of Edinburgh, who had recently passed away, and showed me his valuable library, which was to be given to the Theological Seminary of the United Presbyterian Church. He took up an old Greek Testament, and told me the story connected with it. His ancestor, John Brown of Haddington,—one of the fathers of the Secession Church, the author of the Concordance that bears his name, and many other useful works, not the least the Catechism which has been studied by tens of thousands of children in Scotland and America, and the Self-interpreting Bible, which is yet an heirloom in many Scottish families,—was in early years a shepherd among the uplands of Scotland. He was fond of study, and in his spare hours had acquired some knowledge of Latin and Greek. He was anxious to procure a Greek Testament, and got some one to take his place for a day while he walked twenty-four miles to a town where he knew there was a bookstore. He walked all night, and reached the place where the store was, and was standing in front of it when the owner came and opened the door. He had ​his shepherd plaid around him, and looked very unlike a student. He inquired for a Greek Testament. He was asked if he wanted it for himself, and he answered, ‘Yes.’ ‘If you will read me a verse or two, I will give you the book for nothing. He read and translated, and the astonished bookseller gave him the book. Mr. Brown told me that there were six John Browns, all eldest sons, in regular succession, he being the fifth, and his son the sixth. The first was a custom weaver, and from him had descended a noble line of illustrious men. When I was leaving Edinburgh, John Brown was one of the last from whom I parted. A short time before his death, he sent me a loving message through my dear friend, Dr. Cuyler, who spent some happy hours with him.
“There were two brothers, William and David Dickson, of whom I have many pleasant memories. David was the City Treasurer of Edinburgh. He reminded me often of Apollos R. Wetmore, of New York. His life was consecrated to the good of his fellow men. He took me with him to the Magdalen Asylum, which he visited weekly. I addressed the poor women a number of weeks in succession. I never saw a more attentive audience. They were melted to tears. Such weeping overcame me, and I wept with them. We implored the blessing from on high, and it came. The dear Lord sought the lost, and found them there. At New Year the city authorities gave them a supper, to which I was invited. I addressed them very briefly, but as I was about to leave Edinburgh it was a parting address. After I sat down, I whispered to Mr. Dickson that I wished to retire. He said he would accompany me. When we reached the door I looked back and made a bow to them. They involuntarily rose in a mass and ​made a courtesy. It was a touching sight, and it was the last. After my return to New York I received a letter from them signed by all save five, whose names were written for them by the matron, thanking me for my interest in them. A letter came also, asking me if I could find Christian homes for them in our city. There had been a great work of grace there, and they were anxious to save the poor women from falling back into their old ways. I advised them to send them to Canada, and secure to them homes among the Scotch farmers there. They did so, and the result was most favorable. Many were plucked as brands from the burning.”
Mr. Carter spent a month in his beloved Earlston, the place of his birth, and greatly enjoyed reviving old scenes and memories. He inquired of his old weaver friend what had become of the set of Rollin with which he had the adventure with the mad dog. He said that he would gladly have given him the book, but he had parted with it only the year before. A neighbor’s family had gone to Australia, and he had given them Rollin to beguile the tedium of the long voyage. Mr. Carter was greatly disappointed, as he would have valued the old book very highly.
Mr. Carter’s sons preached in the church of their forefathers. He greatly enjoyed the beautiful drives in lovely Berwickshire and the neighboring counties. One day he went to Kelso and saw Mrs. Duncan, his dear old friend. He also called on Dr. Horatius Bonar, but was told that Dr. Andrew Bonar was on a visit to his brother, and the two had gone to spend the day at Flodden Field; so he missed seeing them together, though he saw both afterwards in Glasgow and Edinburgh.
​In October, two delightful trips were made to the Scottish Highlands and English Lakes. A Sunday was spent near Balmoral, where the family attended service at Crathie, in the church in which the Queen worships when at the Highlands. They were seated in the gallery directly opposite the royal party, which consisted of the Queen and Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, Princess Alice with her betrothed Prince Louis of Hesse, the Duke of Argyle, and a number of distinguished men. Dr. Stuart of St. Andrew’s Church, Edinburgh, preached. Just as the service began, he found to his dismay that he had left his manuscript at his lodgings, and was obliged to preach a discourse which he had recently given to his own people, and which was fresh in his mind. It was a very earnest sermon on “Prepare to meet thy God,” and so impressed the mind of Prince Albert that he asked the preacher to lend him the manuscript, that he might read it over. This was but a short time before the Prince’s death. A few weeks later, Mr. Carter saw him lay the foundation of a new post office in Edinburgh in a severe storm, in which he caught the cold that led to his death.
About this time occurred the Trent affair, which at one time seriously threatened a war between England and America. Some of Mr. Carter’s Scotch friends were a good deal shocked to hear him declare that, dear as was the land of his birth, the land of his adoption claimed his allegiance, and in case of war he must immediately return to America. He tried in every way to study the things that make for peace, to pour oil on the troubled waters. At several public meetings he pleaded with the Christian people to use their influence to preserve the peace between Christian nations. ​On one such occasion the whole audience rose to their feet, exclaiming, “No war with America.” Dr. Norman Macleod wrote a paper for one of the magazines in which he urged a peace policy, and shortly after showed Mr. Carter a note from the Queen’s secretary, signed by her Majesty, in which she expressed her pleasure at the tone of the article.
On New Year’s day, 1862, Mr. Carter was invited to address Dr. Guthrie’s ragged schools at their festival. He was in the midst of his speech, and was giving an account of the career of his friend, Gen. O. M. Mitchell, the distinguished astronomer, when Dr. Guthrie himself entered the hall, and was received by the children with heartfelt applause. Dr. Hanna, colleague of Dr. Guthrie and son-in-law and biographer of Dr. Chalmers, whispered, “Mr. Carter, I wish you would begin that story over again, I want Dr. Guthrie to hear it.” The story is given here as Mr. Carter told it.
“In the summer of 1860 I visited Sharon Springs. One of the first to welcome me was a bright, noble gentleman, whom I knew by reputation, though I had never spoken to him before. We took a walk into the woods together, and had a delightful conversation. While we were gazing at the lovely scene before us, he turned to me and said, ‘Could we not have a daily prayer meeting here?’ I said I would be glad if we could. After discussing this matter for some time, we descended the hill and met some of the visitors, to whom we spoke of our plan; but the bathing interfered with it, and we had to give it up. This talk drew me to him tenderly, and I found a kindred spirit with whom I could commune lovingly. One evening we withdrew into a quiet place, where he gave me his history. I shall give it as nearly as I can in his own words,
​“I was born in Kentucky. My father died before I was three years old, and my mother when I was seven. To her I owe much, though she was taken so early from me. Some friends took me to Central Ohio and indentured me to a saddler to learn his trade. I had to split the wood, to kindle the fire, to cook the victuals, to wash the dishes, to sweep the house, and do everything that was needed. I had little time to learn the trade. But as I was a poor orphan, I bore all patiently and did the best I could. One day the mistress said to me, ‘Go and split the wood for the fire in the morning.’ I did so, and returned. ‘Did I not tell you to go and split the wood?’ she said. ‘Yes, ma’am, and I have done it.’ ‘You have not done it,’ she said. I left the room and went into the shop, and said, ‘I am going to leave you, sir.’ ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘I could live very happily with you, sir, but I cannot live with mistress. She has charged me with lying. My dear mother taught me never to be so mean as to tell a lie.’ ‘Well, go,’ said he, ‘you will soon be back.’ I went to my room, tied my little all in my handkerchief, and went out into the street. I saw at a little distance a man with a team. I went up to him, and asked where he was going. ‘To Cincinnati,’ said he. ‘Will you take me with you?’ ‘You cannot go, said he; ‘on the corduroy roads you would be shaken to pieces.’ ‘If you will take me, I will go. I will ride the off horse, will run errands, and do anything I can.’ ‘Well, come along.’ We were five days on the road; but he was kind, and aided me when we reached our destination in finding a good home, and work which I could do. The people with whom I lived were poor, but kind, and I was happy. After the labors of the day I used to lie down on the hearth, knock the nose off a pine log, and read and study.
​“There was a gentleman near us who took some notice of me, took me to his house, and showed me his library. How delighted I was to see so many fine books! He asked me to take one and read it, and come back and take another. This opened a new door to me. I began to study mathematics. I drew my diagrams on the hearth, and worked them out, and went on till I learned a great deal. My good friend watched me lovingly, and every now and then examined me and gave me encouragement. One day he said to me, ‘How would you like to go to West Point in the State of New York, where young men are educated at their country’s expense to do service afterwards?’ I asked him whether I was prepared to go there, and he answered, ‘Yes.’ I sewed a piece of linen and made a knapsack into which I put my clothes, got my credentials, and started for Sandusky, two hundred miles off. I walked part of the way, sometimes got a ride, and at length reached the lake. A steamer was up, as they said, and I went on board and asked the captain if he would take me to Buffalo. He told me what the fare was. ‘But, I said, ‘I have no money.’ ‘Then you cannot go.’ I answered, ‘The weather is fine, I can sleep on deck, and I will help in kindling fires or doing anything else.’ He took me. This was in 1825. The Erie Canal was not quite finished. I walked one hundred miles to a point where boats were running. I went to a boat and asked the captain to take me to Albany. He told me the fare, but I said to him, ‘I will run errands, help the cook, and do anything else I can.’ He took me, and treated me kindly, and when we were approaching Albany I said to him, ‘You have been-very kind; I will show what my business is here.’ I had sewed my ​credentials on the inside of my vest. I undid the sewing and showed him them. ‘How did you get them? Our most influential young men have difficulty in getting such appointments.’ I gave him my story. ‘I will see you down to West Point.’ He took me to a steamer, and paid for my passage, and so I made my way there.
“It was a hot day in the middle of summer when I climbed the hill at West Point. There were others on the same errand, but they were genteelly dressed and rather elbowed me out. When we reached the Academy, there was a door standing open, and a number of us entered a large room. With my knapsack on my back, in my homespun garb, I felt a little depressed, and sat down by the door. A patrol paced backward and forward, and each time he came to the door he gave me a pleasant look. After a while a bell was rung and my fellow travellers rushed out to dinner. As I had no money I sat still. When the patrol came up, he said, ‘Never mind, you will dine with me to-day. I shall soon be through.’ Soon after he came and said, ‘Come along. We shall dine, and you will sleep with me to-night.’ He was a fine, generous youth, the son of Fulton, who ran the first steamer up the Hudson to Albany, and he proved a true friend. After dinner he said, ‘The examination begins to-morrow; I will get a list of candidates.’ He did so, and we found my name was not on the list for next day, but the day following. ‘That is good,’ he says. ‘You will see to-morrow how the examination goes.’ Next day he took me to a room where there were a number of benches and a platform a little raised from the floor, and, behind, a blackboard hanging on the wall. I thought that was a picture turned to the ​wall to keep it nice; but I soon found out its purpose, and thought it a great improvement on my old hearthstone at home. I took a back seat, and soon the benches were filled. A silver-headed venerable gentleman came and took his seat on the platform. He took a roll, and called a name, and gave a problem to be solved. A young man went forward and made sad work. Another came, and did better, but the most of them signally failed. After all had been examined, the gentleman called out to me, ‘What is your name?’ I told him. He looked at the list, and said, ‘Your turn is to-morrow, but it may spare your feelings if I give you something to do now.’ He gave me one problem, and then another, and I quickly worked them out, and then he asked me, ‘What school did you attend?’ ‘I never went to school, sir,’ I said. ‘Who taught you?’ ‘I never was taught, sir. ‘Where did you learn what you have been doing just now?’ ‘I learned lying on the hearth by a wood fire in Ohio.’ ‘You may come to-morrow.’ I went through my course there with credit and profit.
“But I must pass over many years. I became a Professor in a Western college, had a wife and six children, had a good library, a fine apparatus, and was a very happy man. One day I was seated in church, when I heard a footfall approaching the door, which stood open. I looked out and saw a friend making signs that I was wanted. I slipped quietly out, and, behold, the college building was in flames. My furniture, books. apparatus, were burned up. I had recently imported some apparatus, from Europe, and owed four hundred dollars. In sore perplexity, I applied to a friend at Cincinnati for a loan of two hundred dollars to take me to Boston, where I ​proposed to deliver a course of lectures to relieve my perplexity. He was ready to lend me the money, but doubted the wisdom of making the attempt. I took with me some letters of introduction, and started on my way. When I reached Boston and delivered my letters, I was told that it was the fag end of the season, that the people were sick of lecturing, and it would be in vain to try. I asked if I could secure a lecture-room, and as there was no difficulty about that, I engaged a room, printed my advertisements, posted them myself, and quietly awaited the issue. When the evening came I went to the hall, but there was not a person there. I looked at my watch, and found it wanted twenty minutes of the time appointed. When the hour arrived there were about eighty present. I had no apparatus, with nothing but my rod in my hand, but with a full heart, I delivered my lecture. Many of my hearers at the close rushed up to me and said, ‘If you will lecture on Tuesday night, you will have a full room.’ Editors of the leading newspapers were there, who pledged themselves to do me justice, and they did. On the Tuesday night the crowd was so great, that I had to walk on the backs of the pews between the heads of the people to gain the desk. I delivered my lectures there, and repeated them in Lowell, and returned home with two thousand dollars in my pocket.
“Here,” said Mr. Carter, “the narrative of my honored friend ended. I tell it to you boys, to encourage you to faithful efforts to improve and develop yourselves. This man, who rose from obscurity entirely by his own efforts, with the blessing of God, is now one of the most learned men and eloquent orators of our day, holding large audiences of our most ​cultivated people spellbound while he discourses to them of the wonderful facts of astronomy. Of late a fearful storm of war has swept over our land. The whole country has been moved to its depths, and the brilliant lecturer is now leading one of our armies to save his loved land.”
A year later, Mr. Carter had to add to this narrative these words: “Of those who fell in that struggle, no nobler spirit winged its flight to the home where there is no war than that of General Mitchell. What a scene must have opened before him when those glorious orbs of light, which he studied so ardently here below, burst in all their majesty before his astonished vision!”
The winter and spring of 1862 Mr. Carter spent in Italy with his wife and daughter, while his sons visited the Holy Land and Egypt. Three months of this time he spent in Rome, where he fairly revelled in the scenes familiar to him from his classical studies. Every spot was to him hallowed ground, from its associations with
“The dead but sceptred sovereigns who still rule Our spirits from their urns.”
He was perfectly indefatigable in his researches into the haunts of antiquity and verse, and was ever ready with an incident or a quotation for each scene.
Mr. Carter writes the following incident, which occurred at this time:—
“One afternoon I was walking up the street that leads to the Pincian Hill, the great promenade of the Romans, a gentleman whom I supposed to be an Englishman was walking alongside of me. I bowed and said, ‘Good day, sir.’ He answered courteously. We entered into conversation. He was a physician who had spent seventeen years in Rome, and he gave me a rather dark picture ​of the Papal government. When we reached the brow of the hill, we saw seats along the side of the walk. On one of these there were three gentlemen dressed as priests of high rank, and as we approached one of them rose up and took me by the hand, addressing me pleasantly. It was Archbishop Hughes, and I was glad to meet him, as it was the first year of our sad war, and I was anxious to converse with him about the state of affairs. We had a long and interesting conversation, and when I bade him good-by, I turned to descend the hill. I found my friend the physician waiting for me, apparently in some trouble. ‘What is the matter?’ I asked. ‘I made a mistake,’ said he, ‘and have been talking too freely. I heard that there was a Scotchman here who had gone to New York many years ago, and had married a Yankee wife, who had made him as much a Yankee as herself, and I thought you were the man.’ ‘What changed your opinion?" I asked. ‘He was not a Catholic, as you apparently are. Two of these gentlemen were Cardinals; the third one who talked to you I did not know, but I supposed you were a Catholic, else he would not have received you so cordially.’ I relieved his mind by assuring him that I was the man he described, and as good a Protestant as himself. Bishop Hughes did receive me kindly. He told me he could open any door to me in Rome, and would be glad to do anything to give me pleasure. One day, after a long discussion of various difficult questions, I quoted two lines,
‘Not greatly to discern, not much to know, Mankind was made to wonder and adore.’
‘You are acquainted with my old friend, Young,’ said he. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I studied Young’s Night Thoughts by the firelight till I made large portions ​of them my own.’ He told me he did the same when he was a boy, and that they had been his vade mecum ever since. I could not help loving the man who had drunk with me at the same spring in life’s morning. We had so much common ground on which to stand, that we touched little on those points in which we differed.”
There was not much civil or religious liberty at that time in Rome. There was no Protestant church allowed within the walls. There was a very ritualistic Episcopal church outside the Porta del Popolo, and just inside was a church where Cardinal Manning preached every Sunday afternoon. It was a common saying among the English residents that the high church rector brought them to the gate of Rome, and Cardinal Manning opened it and took them in. Mr. Carter greatly enjoyed hearing Cardinal Manning, and went quite regularly for a while, at times when there was no Protestant service. The Free Church of Scotland was trying to establish a mission in Rome, and had sent there the Rev. Mr. Lawton, an able and interesting preacher, who held services in his own apartments, he having chosen a large and pleasant parlor with this object in view. The services were very simple and delightful, Mr. Lawton appropriately choosing the Epistle to the Romans as the subject of his sermons. The audience were constantly reminded of the apostle who had “dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all who came in unto him.” As the little conventicle was held only on sufferance, though the authorities doubtless knew of its existence, it was thought best not to call attention to it by singing, and the congregation was requested to enter and retire in little groups of twos and threes. All this ​added a little spice of interest and adventure, appealing to the imagination, and seeming to connect the worshippers with those who eighteen centuries ago had worshipped in the Catacombs under the ban of those in authority.
Mr. Carter met an old friend who had visited his store in New York, the Rev. Mr. B―. This gentleman had some years before been on board the ocean steamer “Amazon” when she was burned at sea, and had escaped in a lifeboat. He had written a little tract giving a description of the burning, and making an application by warning sinners to flee from a similar peril. Before coming to Italy, he had had this tract translated into Italian, and brought a large number of copies with him for distribution as he travelled. As he went about Rome, he gave away a number of these leaflets, handing one to his landlady, another to a soldier in the Lateran palace. In St. Peter’s, he entered into conversation with a priest, and handed him one of the tracts. The next day an officer entered his rooms, and said that he and his package of books must go at once to the police court. Arrived there, he was accused of circulating Protestant tracts. “You are mistaken,” said he, “there is nothing controversial in these tracts. There is nothing in them but what Protestants and Catholics alike believe. It is a simple appeal to sinners to flee from the wrath to come.” “No cavilling, sir,” said the judge. “You cannot be allowed to stay longer here. You must take the first steamer that leaves Civita Vecchia, and after you get on board, your tracts will be restored to you.” In vain he protested that he had a written permit to stay in Rome for a month. Go he must, and go he did.
One of the most delightful episodes of this journey ​was a Sunday spent with the Waldenses at La Tour. One Friday evening in Milan, it was discussed whether the Sabbath should be spent in Genoa or Turin, when suddenly Mr. Carter looked up from the map which he was studying to propose that a little longer journey should be taken, and that they should go up among the Vaudois. This was decided by acclamation, and Saturday evening at seven found them at Pinerolo. Mr. Carter went out to seek a carriage to take the party to La Tour. While he was examining a vehicle, a pleasant-looking gentleman, dressed in black, came up and asked in English if he could be of any assistance as interpreter. They fell into conversation, and the gentleman proved to be one of the professors from the seminary at La Tour, come down to preach in Pinerolo the next day. He said, “Shall I introduce you to one of our pastors, who is going up on the diligence?” and presented Professor Tron, who extended a cordial welcome to the valley. The diligence started on, and shortly after the carriage for Mr. Carter’s party was ready. That evening ride through the twilight into the beautiful region, hallowed by so many sacred associations, was one never to be forgotten. Arrived at the little inn at La Tour, it was found to be lighted from garret to cellar; the host and hostess came out with a hearty welcome, as if to invited guests. “Here is a room for Monsieur and Madame, here one for Mademoiselle. This one we have made ready for the young gentlemen.” “But,” said Mr. Carter, “there must be a mistake. We had not engaged rooms.” “O, but the Professor has been here, and told us about you, and the rooms are all ready, and supper is on the table.” This simple hospitality was very grateful, after months of travel among strangers of another faith.
​In the morning, the Professor came, and led the party to Sunday school, which was held in the church, and was participated in by all the congregation, old and young. Afterwards came the church service, and at the end of the sermon the clergyman called upon a boy in the audience, who rose and gave a very full account of the discourse. After a little, the pastor told this boy to be seated, and called upon another, who took up the subject where the first had left off. The service was conducted in French. At that time theological students had to be sent to Geneva to be educated, as there was no seminary for them at home. The people seem to speak and understand it as well as their native Italian. They are very simple and friendly in their manners, and salute all passers by with a cheery “Bon jour.”
Professor Tron came towards evening, and took the family out for a walk through his most interesting valley. He pointed out a cave in the mountain side where a large party of Vaudois had hidden themselves from their Savoyard pursuers, who built large fires in the entrance, and suffocated the unfortunate refugees. In another direction was a mountain into whose rocky fastnesses the small army of the Waldenses had fled from their pursuers, who set guards at nightfall around their place of refuge, thinking that in the morning they would fall an easy prey. It was bright moonlight, and it seemed impossible that they should escape, but in the night a thick fog enveloped them, and the Vaudois, knowing every footpath, were enabled to slip through their enemies’ lines and escape, Such narratives, told upon the very spot where the events occurred, were of thrilling interest. Mr. Carter plied his informant with questions of the past and present. He was delighted ​to hear the name of his dear old friend, Mr. Lenox, constantly and gratefully mentioned. “Mr. Lenox did this for us.” “Mr. Lenox gave us that library.” It was a great pleasure to Mr. Carter to have this familiar intercourse with the descendants of those “who kept the truth so pure of old.”
Professor Tron said that the Waldenses had lost a good friend in Count Cavour, and gave an instance of his favor to them. The Piedmontese constitution forbade the printing of Bibles or other books without the imprimatur of a bishop. The Vaudois were accused of violating the law, but Cavour decided that, as they had no bishops, their pastors were bishops. Thus the door was opened for their publications.
The two following Sabbaths were spent in Geneva, where the family attended Dr. Malan’s church. This venerable man impressed all who saw and heard him by the earnestness and spirituality of his appearance and words. His noble and beautiful face, with the long white hair falling upon his shoulders, and the tenderness of his speech, made him appear like the beloved disciple in his last days at Ephesus. On the second Sunday, there was a communion service, and the general audience retired before the ordinance, leaving only about a dozen people besides the American visitors. Dr. Malan whispered to his session about providing seats “pour les étrangers.” In addressing the communicants, he spoke some words in English at the close, and in the prayer added some petitions in English. When the bread and wine were distributed, he directed the elders to carry them to the strangers first. The whole service was very simple and beautiful, and especially appropriate, because there were so small a number present,—scarcely more than the little company who first partook ​of the feast in the upper chamber in Jerusalem. After service, Mr. Carter’s oldest son, who was just entering the ministry, was presented to Dr. Malan, who, placing his hands upon the young man’s head with manifestation of deep feeling, said, “My dear brother, you have chosen the grandest and noblest of all callings, and may the blessing of the God of Jacob ever rest on you and on any church of Jesus Christ to which you may be called to minister.”
Dr. Malan had long been a correspondent of Mr. Carter. In one letter, which has unfortunately been lost, he gave many interesting reminiscences of the Haldanes and their evangelical work in Geneva and Montauban, which was blessed to the conversion of Malan, Merle d’Aubigné, Gaussen, and the Monods. He also dwelt very affectionately and enthusiastically on the character of Dr. John M. Mason of New York, who was with him in Paris in the early years of the century. Dr. Malan invited him to go to the theatre to see some brilliant performance. Dr. Mason declined, saying that he did not think it right. Dr. Malan said that he could see no objection to going where they were not known, and where their example could do no harm. Dr. Mason replied, “My Christianity knows no geography.” Dr. Malan added, that his views in regard to amusements and to observance of the Sabbath were revolutionized by his intercourse with Dr. Mason.
Shortly after his return to America, in August, 1862, Mr. Carter received the following letter from Dr. Guthrie, with whom from that time he kept up a regular correspondence until his death, when Mrs. Guthrie took up the pen, and was henceforth Mr. Carter’s most regular correspondent in Great Britain. Her first letter is also ​inserted here with her husband’s, though it is of a much later date.
Dr. Guthrie’s letter bears date September 4, 1862:—
“Your letter was a great pleasure to all of us, and all the more after the distress into which we were thrown after the most painful rumor that one of your sons had been lost in the Jordan. It was some little time after this appeared in the newspapers until we heard of it. I clung to the hope that it might not be your son, although it was stated to be a young student by the name of Carter from New York, and we knew that your sons were at the time specified in the Holy Land. Still I assure you we were very happy and thankful to learn some time before receiving your welcome letter that it was none of yours who had been drowned while bathing in the Jordan.
“How well I would like to see you again! We go over often our travels with you, and recall with pleasure the intercourse between our two families. I hope we shall meet again on earth; meanwhile may we be making daily progress to that better land where they meet to part no more…
“What is to become of your country? In some respects the providence is as dark and terrible as the thunder-cloud which has been flashing and pealing over this house for the last two hours. As you will remember, I never anticipated any other result than that which has happened. Be they right or wrong, men fighting for what they consider independence, with their wives and children at their back, are hard to subdue. And in the accounts from America, how often do I wish that God would step forward and put an end to the horrors! We are all greatly distressed about America, and our only comfort is the hope that the blot of slavery will in the end be washed out. It is sad to think, however, that should be done by tears and blood, although perhaps not much to be wondered at. It is a blessed thing to know that God reigneth supreme over men, with all their folly and ​madness. One would otherwise have no hope for the better times that are in store for this distracted world.”
1 Salisbury Road, March 11, 1873.
Dear Mr. Carter,—Among the hundreds of letters which I have been receiving these last sad weeks of tender sympathy for me and mine, and of the appreciation of the worth and dying testimony of my dear husband, none certainly have touched my heart more than yours; for not content with loving thoughts of your suffering friend on his dying bed, you follow up these by a substantial proof of your friendship in destining so large a sum as one hundred pounds to do with as he thought proper.
Now, since the Lord has called him to a higher stewardship, I shall gratefully accept your gift, dear Mr. Carter, as it will enable me to contribute more easily (as I would ever wish to do) to the many noble objects the Master has honored his servant to further by his means as well as his advocacy while on earth.
You will be glad to know how wonderfully the Lord has sustained me. From the first to the last of Dr. Guthrie’s illness, I have seen that the sickness was unto death. I have cast my burden on the Lord, and He has sustained me. You know how I am blessed in my family, all doing well in the world, respected and respectable. And then the widespread tide of sympathy and kind attention, from the Queen down to the poorest in the land, is very soothing to my stricken heart. David sends you by this post a pamphlet containing any particulars you might like to know of the last hours of your dear departed friend, which you will please accept from me instead of a letter from Charles, which I am sure he would have gladly written, and may still by and by. I have with me my son Thomas and his wife, from Buenos Ayres; so the house does not look so desolate, though, alas! none can take the place of its head.
The Lord spare you and bless you, dear Mr. Carter, and ​your family, to serve His cause, and bless the world as you have done for many a day, and at last grant you an abundant entrance into His kingdom above, to join the ransomed throng who have already beheld their blessed Lord and Saviour.
Yours with much esteem,
Anne Guthrie.
Dr. and Mrs. Guthrie, with their youngest son Charles, had made all their arrangements to visit America in the summer of 1867, and were to be Mr. Carter’s guests. They came as far as Queenstown, but the motion of the steamer had so bad an effect on the action of the Doctor’s heart that he was obliged to give up the voyage, to the sore disappointment of his many American friends. His son made the journey alone, and won many friends in this country, who still remember him with cordial interest. He visited Mr. Carter in New York and in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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