RED RIVER.

In the month of January, 1845, I made my first visit to the people on Red River. Some of my acquaintances had emigrated to that region, and had written to me, stating that a number of members and friends of the Presbyterian church were already in that country; and that if some of our ministers could go and labor for a time among them, their hearts would be strengthened and encouraged, infant churches might be organized, and a foundation laid for extensive permanent good.

On landing at Shreveport, about seven hundred miles. above New Orleans, I was astonished to learn that the American settlements on Red River were already so extensive. While I was there, a steamboat, loaded with cotton, came down from a point some four hundred miles higher up on the river; and the oldest merchants in Shreveport — that is, those who had been there seven or eight years were expressing their amazement at the rapidity with which the American settlements were extending west.

I was led to the reflection, that we should look with much indulgence on the mistakes of English travellers, and travellers from the eastern sections of our own country, concerning the condition of the west, when we find that its growth and advancement outstrip the

conceptions of those who have been born, and have spent all their days, in its bosom.

Much of the population in this part of the country was from the extreme south Georgia, Alabama, and South Carolina. Many of them were religious people, of highly cultivated minds, and ardent piety. Not a few of them were the acquaintances and personal friends of John C. Calhoun. Their admiration and esteem for the great statesman were wonderful not as a politician merely, but as an eminently good man. Repeatedly was I assured by them, that we, who know the honorable senator only as a political man, know but little of his sterling worth, compared with those who have had access to his society, as a citizen at home, a neighbor, and a member of the church of Christ.

While laboring at Shreveport, I was called on by a Baptist preacher, who told me that he lived in Texas, and that he would be pleased to travel with me, if I would consent to spend some time in that republic; and as he was well acquainted with the country, and the roads were few and obscure, he could be serviceable to me as a guide. I accepted his kind offer, and set him a time when I would meet him at Greenwood, within four miles of the Texas frontier. At this period, Texas was no part of the American Union. When the appointed time had come, my Baptist preacher met me at Greenwood; and we started for his home, which was at the distance of eighteen miles. We passed the broad lane, cut through the tall timber, which showed the boundary line between the United States and the young republic; and after swimming some streams, and traversing divers canebrakes, we

reached the house of my friend in safety. Many of the neighbors were assembled, according to an appointment previously made; and on that night I had the privilege, for the first time in my life, of preaching the gospel beyond the limits of the United States.

Early the next morning, my friend and I set out for Marshall, the county seat of Harrison county, Texas. It was eighteen miles; yet he uttered no word of reluctance about going so far; and the country was so new and pathless, that I should scarcely have found the way without a guide. When we had gained an eminence that overlooked the town, the Baptist preacher reined up his horse, and took a survey of the prospect before us. It was not very promising. The buildings were mostly small log houses, covered with clapboards ; and the bushes were growing all over the public square, and along the streets. "Stop," said he; "there is not an ear of corn in this place." I did not, at first, comprehend his meaning, and asked what it was that he had remarked. "There is not one ear of corn in this place. We cannot find accommodation even for our horses. Come, let us go back. I have an appointment for the Sabbath in my neighborhood. Our people will be glad to hear you preach. Come, let us go back."

"I think I am too old a soldier to adopt that course," was my reply. "I have been on many a hard campaign; and I think I must go down into the town, and see who live here, before I can consent to leave the neighborhood."

"Very well," said he; "if that is your determination, I will go with you." So on we rode into the public square of the town of Marshall.

After reconnoitring for a little time, we entered a

lawyer's office, that bordered on the public square. He was from the state of Georgia. His name was William Pinkney Hill. I told him that I was a Presbyterian minister; and that I had come to visit them, and would be pleased to have the opportunity of preaching to the people of Marshall and the vicinity. He received me in a manner the most gentlemanly and cordial, expressed a high degree of satisfaction that I had come on such an errand, and said he would forthwith take measures for having a congregation assembled on the next day. Moreover, he kindly invited me to make his house my home while I should remain in the country, which invitation I very gladly accepted; and, truly, I found it a most delightful home. Yes, the recollection of the interesting and worthy family into which I was thus introduced, has often, in succeeding years, awaked in my soul the most lively and pleasing emotions.

In this neighborhood, at that time, resided also Mr. Van Zandt, the former minister from Texas to the United States. From him, and from his family, I received many kind attentions. Other names, and other families, occur to my mind, that might, with much propriety, be mentioned here, were it not for swelling the record beyond the intended bounds. I must not, however, omit the mention of a young lawyer, whose state of mind interested me greatly. He was possessed of a fine intellect, good habits, and a warm heart. He was a native of New Hampshire, and, after completing his education, had gone to Texas, hoping to earn a livelihood by the practice of the law. He had been successful. His worldly prospects were now very flattering; and, like "the younger son, in a

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far country," he began to call to mind the privileges of his father's house. He attended our meetings, and appeared to take a lively interest in the preaching of the gospel. I first noticed the expression of deep and strong emotion in his countenance when the following appeal was made, near the close of a sermon : "It is true, friends, that your country is yet new. night draws on, you still hear the howl of the hungry wolf, and that howl is answered by the shrill scream of the fierce panther; and brief is the space since your hills and valleys echoed the wild yell and the ominous warwhoop of the savage and hostile Indian. Yes, your country is yet new. Its inhabitants are thinly scattered here and there, mostly strangers to each other; and the church of the blessed Savior has scarcely begun to put on a visible form among you. But this land is Immanuel's land. It has been given to Christ in the covenant of redemption, and it will yet be filled with his glory. The beautiful house of God will rise in your village, and its tall spire will point to that heaven that is above. The Sabbath bell will swing its loud summons over these plains, and glad multitudes will assemble and worship God. Here the long table will be spread, in commemoration of the Savior's dying love; and thousands will join their voices, and send up hallelujahs to the Lamb that was slain." While these and similar thoughts were expressed, the countenance of the young lawyer evinced strong feeling, and his eyes were dimmed with tears. Not long afterwards, I was walking slowly in a small path near the outskirts of the little town, when I saw the young lawyer approaching. It was evident that he wished to speak with me. I at once afforded him the opportunity.