a second delay. Again recovering, and following the father's fortunes, the son, the subject of the work, is at last introduced.

The great-grandfather of our hero must be brought in just long enough to answer one question. He was once asked, "How did you educate four sons at Yale College, and give each a profession?" His reply was, "Almighty God did it, with the help of my wife." The grandfather (of our hero) was drowned while some of his children were still young. His widow, committing their babes to the God of the fatherless, especially offered for His service, a son named Samuel John. He became a minister, and for many years was settled in Torringford, Connecticut. He was eminent for his ability and character. Mrs. Stowe said of him—"He was one ingrain New Englander. Of all the marvels that astonished my childhood, there is none I remember to this day with so much interest as Father Mills." This was the name by which he was extensively known. His wife was a woman exemplary and devout.

Being assured that the three preceding generations were commandment-keeping, we shall see how the Lord showed mercy unto the fourth. Almighty God and a true mother secure for many a man's sons, not only education, but large efficiency and honor.

The seventh child, born April 21st, 1783, in this Torringford home, was a son, named after his father, Samuel John. The child grew to be a mighty instrument in God's hand, which He in His wisdom selected, knowing the fineness of the material with which he dealt. That we too may know something of the tempering of the steel, we are permitted a reverent glance into that pious mother's bosom. Before the birthday came she continually dedicated the little life beneath her heart to the God who is pleased to accept such gifts. During all his childhood he received the most careful Christian training. Nourished in such a home-garden, and shined on by such mother-light, we cannot wonder that the child grew toward the Sun, and that the roots of religious character struck deep and spread wide.

When but a little child he showed an unusual concern of conscience. At fifteen the town in which he lived was greatly aroused and revived. His friends and acquaintances received the blessing, and he was deeply interested, but the revival passed, leaving him with a bitter, rebellious feeling in his heart.

About this time, one fine cold winter morning, a merry sleigh load drove from his father's house. He, with his brothers, sisters and cousins, about eighteen in all, went to spend a few days with his uncle in West Hartford. Samuel had recently come into the possession of a fine farm. He was gay and ambitious. His companions fearing his good fortune might make him feel a "little too high minded," sought to tease him. The evening before their return, after eating nuts and apples, they agreed to have a little singing. They struck up "Hark, from the Tombs a Doleful Sound," to the tune, Bangor. They sang it slowly and solemnly, now and then casting at him glances from their mischievous eyes. He sat a silent listener, while their song, sung in fun, made an earnest impression of which he could not rid himself.

Soon after his farm was sold, and at eighteen he determined to go to Litchfield and study in the Academy. As he was leaving home, his mother's anxious heart could not let him go without enquiring for his soul's health. Other mothers know the pain she suffered, when he told her "for two years I have been sorry God ever made me." She replied to him as her wise heart prompted her, and sent him on his way. She went where all mothers of boys must so often go, to her knees, alone with God.

He had not gone far on his journey when he met a Friend. It was the Good Shepherd, whom that mother's urgent prayer had sent searching for the wanderer. It was as if he had met Christ in his path. He looked up at the great trees and down at the blossoms, and in everything saw God. He became so impressed with the perfections of the Holy One he had so long resisted, that he lost sight of himself. He sat down in the woods to wonder and to pray. It was not until some time after that he realized any change in himself, and not until he returned from Litchfield did his father perceive it. His conversion was thorough. Not only was he turned about,—his face God-ward instead of self-ward,—but he was impelled toward "those sitting in darkness." In his childhood, from his mother's lips, he often heard stories from the lives of Brainerd, Eliot, and other missionaries. He heard her prayers for them and their great undertakings. Once he heard her say, "I have consecrated this child to the service of God as a missionary." Now it was his joy to follow those noble examples, and to fulfill his part in the plans of God and his mother for him. His parents approved of his determination, though the thought of separation tore their hearts. His mother said to him, "I cannot bear to part from you, my son." When he reminded her of her vow, she burst into tears, and never after made complaint. To his father he said that he could "not conceive of any course of life in which to pass the rest of his days, that would prove so pleasant, as to go and communicate the gospel of salvation to the poor heathen."

This desire to spread the Gospel grew to be a sublime purpose, and from it he never wavered. He set about his plannings, with this supreme end in view. Thanking God for his own salvation, he laid his life in God's hand, imploring Him to use it for those who had as yet no knowledge of that mercy. The Lord took him from the plough, as he did Elisha. He left the field for the college.

CHAPTER II.

He entered Williams College in the spring of 1806. During his first visit home in June, he connected himself with his father's church. A college course means to some young men four years of frolic, or worse. To others it is an opportunity to cram knowledge, that shall by-and-by astound the round world and they that dwell therein. To one, at least, it was the time for choosing "smooth stones" for his combat with the giant adversary, whom he was brave enough to meet alone, if need be, "in the name of the Lord of Hosts."

As a scholar he was not brilliant, but as a Christian he was "a bright and shining light." To serve God was the highest aim of his life. First of all, he served Him upon his knees. He used to pray often and earnestly, alone and with others. He pursued his studies for the after use he might make of them, not for his own accomplishment. As he visited his friends in their rooms, and walked with them through the groves, the subject dearest to his heart was oftenest the theme of his conversation. To one friend he said: "Though you and I are very little beings, we must not rest satisfied till we have made our influence extend to the remotest corner of this ruined world."

His life was so consistent, his disposition so sweet, his manners so winning that every one was his friend. Those who had been unfaithful to their vows were reproved, and those opposed to religion were induced to follow his example. During his first year there was a revival, which seemed to come in answer to his earnest prayers. Many of his comrades became Christians, and so earnestly that they laid aside or sanctified their old ambitions, and prepared to spread through the earth the fire kindled by this devoted youth.

A mission band of boys were examined as to their knowledge of Samuel Mills. "Where was he born?" asked the leader. "Under a haystack!" replied a small boy. Had the question been, Where was the American Board of Foreign Missions born? the answer would not have been so far from the way. Its baptismal naming came some years later, but under a stack of hay in a meadow, near Williams College, it was born, nursed and prayed over.

About fourteen years earlier foreign missionary organization had begun across the