hood, "the whole night was spent, he explaining to her the nature of the change she had met with, and she in turn urging him to seek for that which she had found. . . . My father did not, however, experience religion until some ten or twelve years after." The mother thus remained the religious leader of the household. In the enjoyment of her rich experience she prayed ardently that Albert might become a good and useful man. At the age of ten years the boy was deeply impressed on overhearing the conversation of his mother with an unconverted aunt. He was restless and unhappy until, a few days later, when "Brother Sam. Weeks preached at Mr. North's" and an invitation was given, he stood upon the bench to ask for prayers. Next morning had come the sense of freedom. "My evidence was clear as sunlight," he wrote, some years later; "nothing troubled me, but I moved around, on earth, to be sure, and yet in heaven. It literally seemed to me as if I was light as a feather." The Christian purpose formed at that time was never abandoned. Through the fluctuations of religious experience Albert Hunt was a Christian for over threescore years.

It may be inferred from his own words that his religious training was of the solid and sober kind, more common in those days than in these. He relates of himself as a boy, "I used to take Carvosso's Life, and, throwing myself upon the bed in my kitchen chamber, weep by turns for sorrow and for joy." When sixteen he was baptized and received as a member in "the old church" at Amenia, by the Rev. Daniel De Vinne. From one member of the household besides his mother he was sure to receive help-his sister Emily, five years his junior, of marked early piety, whose death at the age of nineteen was so bitter a grief as to make an era in his life. But his brother, Andrew J., older than himself by three years, had no sympathy with his religious desires. Albert was serious and earnest, even in boyish days; Andrew, one of popular social gifts and more careless habits. It was not until a strong word of warning had been uttered by the younger brother that he gave heed to deeper things. He became a preacher, a man of prayer and integrity, a leader by reason of strength of character and remarkable talents; to him Albert looked with un

bounded affection and admiration. In the mysterious extravagance of God twenty years of his fifty-seven were spent in a brave, pathetic fight against disease. But he made a deep mark on the character of many a man, on none more than that of his own brother.

Apart from the influence of the members of his own family on the youth of Albert Hunt, there was the community itself. Its first settlers had come from New England, and were lovers of learning, industry, and religious liberty. Their earnestness was shown in the early establishment of places of worship. In the old red meetinghouse Whitefield preached in 1770, and near there Freeborn Garrettson organized the first Methodist class of eight members about a score of years later. The society quickly gained strength. It had at various times such families identified with it as the Vails, the Havens, the Fosses, the Reynoldses, the Ingrahams, the Van Benschotens, and the Hunts. Well has the region been called "the old Methodist classic ground." Out of the needs of such a population naturally grew the famous Amenia Seminary. It was opened in 1835, and was soon put under the patronage of the New York Conference. Its trustees, teachers, and students came in part from these strong families of the neighborhood. The roll of its principals is a distinguished list of bishops and college presidents, then recent graduates of Wesleyan University. Joseph D. Hunt was one of the first and most loyal supporters of the seminary, and Albert entered as a student when eleven years old. The wholesome, busy, and happy life of an Amenia schoolboy was his-with brief intervals of absence-for about nine years. While still a student he taught penmanship. His parents were the confidential friends of the principals and their wives, and close association with these vigorous young minds deeply affected the growing lad. His ambition was kindled. His friends insisted that "it was evident enough to anybody who would be reasonable that Providence intended him for a merchant." But the boy himself, though obedient and loyal, yet could not-dared not-remain at home. His work as clerk in his father's store failed. He felt a claim, a divine call, as he believed, drawing him away to-he knew not what. One midwinter he left Leedsville, and after a short

business experience found the desire of his heart for a college education in process of fulfillment.

His good preparation enabled him to enter the sophomore class of Wesleyan University in the fall of 1848. The faculty was small, but in familiar contact with the student body. Albert Hunt became especially at home in the house of President Olin, who was then in feeble health, but whose "noble and commanding character was itself an inspiration to all the students under his charge." More than thirty years afterward Dr. Hunt recalled the vivid impression of Dr. Olin's majestic figure, trembling with excitement, as he delivered his last baccalaureate sermon. He mightily urged no easy-going, negligent, perfunctory life for those who sought the work of the ministry, but one of strenuous earnestness, a life inspired by high standards of scholarship-"Men who do not study are only less guilty than those who do not pray," said he-a life of valor, manliness, and consecration. Dr. Olin was a man of flavor as well as fire, and he became one of the first models of this earnest student. But, in spite of such helps, the young man thought college a hard place in which to live religion. He was accusing himself of pride and selfishness, worldliness, and a desire for worldly honors. To his comrades and professors, however, he seemed a "kindly, studious man of high ideals, his manner pleasant and winning;" or, as another puts it, "of a genial religious spirit, cheerful, charitable, sympathetic, energetic, and independent-greatly beloved-a scholar and a Christian."

In the long winter vacation of his sophomore year he taught at the academy in Goshen, Conn.; the other two winters of his course were similarly spent in Rhinebeck, N. Y. While teaching young children in the Ellerslie school house he made his home at the residence of Miss Mary R. Garrettson, the only child of Freeborn Garrettson. She became to him a second mother and Wildercliffe a second home. His historic sense was stirred by the relics of the house-the antique furniture, the portraits of Garrettson and his wife, then passed away, of Asbury and of Chancellor Livingston, the brother of Mrs. Garrettson. The traditions of other days were worthily maintained by "Lady G."—as he happily called his hostess—

who made the home so much a rendezvous for the strong personalities of the Church that what Asbury had called "The Travelers' Rest" Gilbert Haven named "the Methodist Mecca." Miss Garrettson was a little woman with a 66 mind of great vigor and extraordinary versatility," brilliant, generous, cheerful. And her character was transfused with a spiritual temper, sweet and wholesome to the last degree. In her home, as Albert Hunt said, "piety, intelligence, and politeness were not strangers." This "blessed woman, who has done so much," he wrote, "to make me what I am," pointed out his faults, cultivated him in conversation, taught him to love more deeply nature and good books. Here he fell under the spell of Bushnell and of the Port Royalists; here he met many a person of strength and note; here he learned that touch of old-school courtesy which added charm to his dignity. In this congenial home the young schoolmaster during these two winters came to a larger life. While his spiritual struggles were not calmed, while he still deplored his "proud, envious, jealous heart" and longed for purity, he felt among the literary, and social, and religious privileges of Rhinebeck an intimacy of communion with God to which he had been a stranger since leaving home. Well might he say, "I cannot begin to conceive what my life would have been if I had not known Miss Garrettson and the friends I have met at her home." In the "tabernacle room" at Wildercliffe he wrote his first sermon. It was from the text, 1 Pet. v, 6, 7, "Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you." The topic was the duty of humility and resignation to God. The preacher was not yet licensed. For some years he had been asking himself whether it was his duty to preach. After the first few sermons he dared to say, "The ministry is my calling." On January 18, 1851, he received his license from the Rhinebeck Quarterly Conference. Years after he wrote:

Phineas Rice was the presiding elder, and, as though it were only a week ago, I can see just his expression when he said, "I know you, my boy, it's the money you are after." It was his quaint way of letting me know that he appreciated the sacrifices I was supposed to be making

in becoming a minister. . . . Then he said to the brethren, "If you want to ask the boy any questions, you can do so. I have known him from his cradle. He is dyed in the wool!" No questions were asked, and so the solemn ordeal was ended.

Endowed with this new authority, and graced by the refining influence of this rare home, the young man returned and finished his college course in 1851-the valedictorian of his class of twenty-three. Among the men of his day—and there were giants-he was not hidden by any lack of mental or moral height.

For four years after graduation he remained as an instructor at his alma mater. The first year he was tutor in logic and rhetoric; the second, tutor in mathematics, assisting the new president, Augustus W. Smith, LL.D.; and from 1853 to 1855 adjunct professor of moral science and belles lettres. His weak lungs forbade him for a time to think of preaching regularly. As a teacher he was strict in his requirements for others, and applied the same high standards to himself. He believed that a Christian's influence in college depended very much on his scholarship. Such influence he coveted, desiring only sincerity more. "Popularity is nothing," he said, "where 'the true' must be sacrificed to gain it." The one aspect of his work which was remarkable was the religious. His own spiritual life was not yet mature, but it was intense. "There is much of the 'subjective' about me, perhaps too much," he confessed. He spent much time in prayer and in fasting. And this, it must be noted, was not to gratify any ascetic taste or selfish spiritual desire. His energy was devoted to Christian labor, not exhausted in Christian rapture. With all his activities he found time for personal work among the young men whom he fondly loved. The "revival of 1852" did not come without his faithfulness. By prayer, by friendly counsel, by judicious and patient appeal, one after another of those he coveted for his Master were brought into a Christian life. He prayed the catalogue through. Humbly grateful for one, he devoted himself with fresh faith to others. The endeavors and success of this hot-hearted young tutor stand almost without parallel.

Meanwhile, he was still unsettled about his life's direction.