CHAPTER II.
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nters Guilford Academy—Embraces Christianity among the Presbyteri- * :ans—Completes his Academic course. *- 2 Havine determined on my future course, I badefarewell to my mother, brothers, companions and neigh-SM bors, and directed my way to a noted Academy in Guil-xg &ford, North Carolina, under the direction of Doc. DavidCalfwell. Here I commenced the Latin Grammar thefirst day of February, 1790. With the ardor of Eneas’son, I commenced with the full purpose to acquire an a |education, or die in the attempt. With such a mind, a |every obstacle can be surmounted in the affairs of life. |I stript myself of every hindrance for the course—de-nied myself of strong food—lived chiefly on milk and- vegetables, and allowed myself but six or seven hours . ®ARTON W. STONE. 7 in the tetnty-idiee for sleep. By ®uch Inge templeapplication to study, as might be expected, I passedy several classes, until | came up with one of equalplication, with which I continued through the wholeour academic course. "When I first entered the academy, there had be 2en,and then was, a great religious excitement. Aboutthirty or more of the students had lately embraced re-ligion under the ministration of James McGready, aPresbyterian preacher of exceeding popularity, piety,and engagedness. I was nota little surprised to findthose pious students assembled every morning beforethe hour of regitation, and engaged in singing andpraying ina private room. ‘Their daily walk evincedto me their sincere piety and happiness. This was asource cf uneasiness to my mind, and frequently broughtme to serious reflection. I labored to banish these se-rious thoughts, believing that religion would impedemy progress in learning—would thwart the object I hadin view, and expose me: to the frowns of my relativesand companions. I therefore associated with that partof the students who made light of divine things, andjoined with them in their jests at the pious. For thismy conscience severely upbraided me when alone, andmade me so unhappy that I could neither enjoy thecompany of the pious nor of the impious. I now began seriously to think it would be better forme to remove from, this academy, and go to Hampden-Sidney College, im Virginia; for no other reason thanthat I might get away from the constant sight of reli-gion. I had formed the resolution and had determinedfo start the next morning, but was prevented by a verystormy day. I remained in my room during that day,and came to the firm resolution to pursue my studiesthere, attend to my own business, and let every onepursue his own way. From this I have learned thatthe most effectual way to conquer the depraved heart,is, the constant exhibition of piety and a godly life inthe professors of religion. gS BIOGRAPHY OF Having formed this resolution, I was settled for a‘short time, until my room-mate, Benjamin McReynolds,Pie young Virginian, politely asked me to walk ith him a short distance in the neighborhood, to heara certain preacher. I consented, and walked with him.A crowd of people had assembled—the preacher came—it was James McGready, whom I had never seenbefore. He rose and looked around on the assembly.‘His person was not prepossessing, nor his appearanceinteresting, except his remarkable gravity, and small‘piercing eyes. His coarse tremulous voice excited inme the idea of something unearthly. His gestureswere swt generis, the perfect reverse of elegance.Every thing appeared by him forgotten, but the salva-tion of souls. Such earnestness—such zeal—suchpowerful persuasion, enforced by the joys of heaven/and miseries of hell, I had never witnessed before._ My mind was chained by him, and followed him closelym™ his rounds of heaven, earth and hell, with feelingsmdescribable. His concluding remarks were address-ed to the sinner to flee the wrath to come without de-fay. Never before had I comparatively felt the forceof truth. Such was my excitement, that had I beenstanding, I should have probably sunk to the floor un-der the impression. | The meeting over, I returned to my room. Nighteoming on, I walked out into an old field, and seriouslyreasoned with myself on the all-important subject ofreligion. What shail Ido? Shall I embrace religionnow, or not? I impartially weighed the subject, andeounted the cost. If J embrace religion, I must incurthe displeasure of my dear relatives, lose the favor andeompany of my companions—become the object oftheir scorn and ridicule—relinquish all my plans andschemes for worldly honor, wealth and preferment, andbid a final adieu to all the pleasures in which I hadlived, and hoped to live onearth. Are you willing tomake this sacrifice to religion? No, no, was the an-swer of my heart. ‘Then the certain alternative is, you BARTON W. STONE. 9 must be damned. Are you willing to be damned—to be banished from God—from heaven—from all good—-and suffer the painsof eternal fire? No, no, responded my heart—I cannot endure the thought. After due deliberation, I resolved from that hour to seek religion at the sacrifice of every earthly good, and immediatelyprostrated myself before God in supplication for mercy. According to the preaching, and the experience of the pious in those days, I anticipated a long and pain- ful struggle before I should be prepared to come to Christ, or, in the language then used, before I shouldget religion. ‘This anticipation was completely realized by me. For one year I was tossed on the waves of uncertainty—laboring, praying, and striving to obtainsaving faith—sometimes desponding, and almost de- spairing of ever getting it. | | ‘The doctrines then publicly taught were, that man- kind were so totally depraved, that they could not be- lieve, repent, nor obey the gospel—that regenerationwas an immediate work of the Spirit, whereby faith and repentance were wrought in the heart. These things were pourtrayed in vivid colors, with all earnest- ness and solemnity. JVow was not then, the acceptedtime—now was not then, the day of salvation; but itwas God’s own sovereign time, and for that time the sinner must wait. ; ! In February, 1791, with many of my fellow students, I went some distance to a meeting on Sandy River, inVirginia. J. B. Smith, president of Hampden-SidneyCollege, Cairy Allen, James Blythe, Robert Marshall, and James McGready, were there. On Lord’s-day Pre- sident Smith spoke on these words: ‘‘ The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and, a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.’? In his descerip- tion of a broken and contrite heart, I felt my own de- scribed. . Hope began to rise, and my sorrow-worn heart felt a gleam of joy. He urged all of this charac- ter to approach the Lord’s table that day, on pain of his sore displeasure. For the first time, I partook of e % ’
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