repent of Adam's sin.

What a monstrous doctrine to teach a child! Can any mortal in this age of the world believe such nonsense, or perpetrate such a caricature of God? I wondered how the "Good Man" up in the skies on his great white throne in his beautiful city of gold, could be just and plunge a little child into hell and burn it for ever and ever because Adam ate fruit from the wrong tree! But I believed it then, because I was told so, and knew no better. I don't believe it now, and how any human being with the instincts of justice pertaining to the common brute creation can believe such a thing is a mystery to me.

As time went on I learned more about repentance, faith, conversion, baptism and the current theology of my time and environment. But I was ever anxious to escape from that dreaded hell that ever yawned before me in daytime and disturbed my dreams at night. The thought of it was a veritable nightmare to me. It destroyed the happiness of my early life. As a child I could not reconcile it with any conception of God's goodness or justice. I was often, in the silence of my heart, tempted to rebel against God and defy him. But I was afraid. My thought was to make the best I could of a bad situation, and at the earliest possible moment make good my escape. Perhaps this is as good a place as any to state the fact that my parents were members of the Baptist Church, and that in this faith I was brought up. However, I am glad to be able to state that they were much broader and more liberal in their views than many of their brethren. I do not wish to be unjust to this great organization; but it is necessary here to make some statements concerning its doctrine and practice, in order that my future relations to it may be the better understood—statements, the truth of which, all intelligent Baptists will testify to.

First, the Baptist Church is just as exclusive in its claim to being the only true, scriptural, orthodox, apostolic Church as are the Catholics, Episcopalians, or any other Christian body. But this applies only to their ecclesiastical organization, and not to the character of its membership.

Second, it does not hold that baptism is essential to salvation, but that it is to church membership. They do not baptize people to make them Christians; but because they recognize them as already being Christians, thru repentance, faith in Christ, and the regeneration of the Holy Spirit. Thus, they recognize the true Christian character of any and all others who furnish evidence of these fundamental characteristics of a Christian life, tho they do not recognize them as "church members," no matter to what other ecclesiastical organization they may belong. These statements are necessary to understand what follows.

Now in the country where I was brought up, in the time of my boyhood, there were but two churches,—Baptists and Methodists. In fact I was nearly grown before I knew there were any others at all. These churches were generally friendly—in a way. While there was occasional criticism of each by the other, and some controversy over doctrinal differences, there was no open warfare; and often members of each would attend and worship with the other.

As above said, I was anxious to make terms with God by repenting, being baptized, or anything else that would relieve me of that constant dread of eternal damnation that overshadowed my life.

Perhaps the reader has already surmised that I was brought up in the country districts. Our churches usually held services but once a month. But in the summer, when the "crops were laid-by," we usually had our "protracted meetings," usually lasting a week—from Sunday to Sunday—having two services a day at the church, with dinner on the ground "for all who came." This was the annual revival season, when sinners were "snatched from the eternal burning," back-sliders reclaimed and the cold and indifferent warmed up and aroused.

Well, the summer after I was twelve years old and had reached that fateful period of "personal accountability," at our protracted meeting, I wanted to go to the "mourner's bench," repent, join the church and be baptized, and thus make good my escape and my "calling and election sure." At this time I had no clear conception of the meaning of conversion. Somehow I identified it with joining the church and being baptized. Contrary to the teachings of my church—which at that time I did not understand,—to me, baptism was the main thing. I wanted to be baptized. But they told me I was too young,—and too small to go down into the deep water. This was a great disappointment. But I saw a ray of hope.

The next week the Methodist Church near our home had its protracted meeting and we attended. There I saw children, younger and smaller than myself go to the mourner's bench, join the church and be baptized,—by sprinkling. They even sprinkled babies. While I clearly understood that this was not true baptism, I also knew that many of the Methodists were considered truly good people, good Christians, and sure of heaven at death, notwithstanding their lack of true baptism. I therefore conceived the idea that after all, this sprinkling might possess some merit, at least provisionally; and I therefore insisted on being permitted to join the Methodist Church and be sprinkled for the time being, as a sort of emergency measure, until I should grow up to that age—and size—where I might join the Baptist Church and be baptized right. But this pleasure was denied me.

During the next two years I learned much; for I was a close student, altho only a child. My mind also underwent a considerable change. That constant and tormenting fear and dread of hell gradually weakened. In fact I was consciously growing more and more indifferent toward it. Yet I was not altogether uninterested. I had learned much more about the meaning of "conversion" as I saw it manifested in many, and sometimes violent, forms of demonstration. As I saw these I fancied that this was the kind of conversion I would like to have. I wanted to "get happy and shout" as some of the others did.

The time came for the annual protracted meeting at the church of my parents. At this meeting I found myself the object of considerable solicitude. I was now old enough to be converted, join the church and be baptized. They were all anxious that I be "saved." Of course I had to repent of my sins,—and also of Adam's. I was not so self-conscious of innocence now as I was a few years before. I really felt that I had something to repent of.

The preacher, and a good honest, sincere man he was, pictured the flames of hell and the torments of the damned with such power that I almost felt the warmth of its fires and smelled its fumes of sulphur.

I set out in earnest to repent of my own sins as well as Adam's. Repenting was very easy. I cried until the tears refused to flow longer. Believing was easy, for I believed it all. Being baptized was easy. But I had not yet been "converted." There was no miraculous transformation in me. I had not yet "got happy and shouted." I waited for it. My tears dried up. I still went to the "mourners' bench," but nothing came of it. I could not even cry. One day the preacher, noting my condition, had a talk with me. I told him my feelings, and he said I was converted. But I told him that no such change had come over me as the others told about, and that seemed manifest in their emotions and actions. Then he told me that as I was young and had never been a great sinner I could not expect that wonderful "experience" that often comes to the old and hardened cases. I was truly glad to hear it. I really felt saved. I had now escaped the devil. I had already learned the doctrine of "once in grace always in grace," and I felt supremely happy to think that after all I had now escaped from the "eternal burning" and was entirely out of danger. I joined the church and was baptized.

I have thus referred at some length to my childhood for two reasons: It will be seen later how some