Once in my early days I went to the theater in Philadelphia. I had heard much of the theater, and I wanted to see what it was. I got along very well until mimic thunder and lightning was brought in to illustrate the play. When I saw and heard this I was shocked. It seemed to me so irreverent and presumptuous that I thought the Almighty in his displeasure would send real thunder and lightning to terrify those imitators. I expected to hear the deep-toned thunder, and to see the vivid lightning flash over my guilty head. I prayed, and promised God, if he would only spare me to get out of the house and return safely home, I would never enter such a place again. That was my first and last visit to the theater. RELIGIOUS EXERCISES. My early advantages for religious instruction were great. I was “brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” Morning and evening the old family Bible was read, and prayer was offered. My father’s voice still echoes in my ears. My mother, too, had much to do in moulding my character and shaping my destiny. One evening as I returned home I heard a familiar voice engaged in prayer. I listened: it was my mother. Among other things, she prayed for her children, and mentioned Henry, her youngest son. The mention of my name broke my heart, and melted me into contrition. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I felt the importance of complying with the command of God: “My son, give me thine heart.” There lived in my father’s family a wicked man who had a peculiar hatred against the Methodists, and he prejudiced me against them by his misrepresentations. This had a soul-withering influence on me. I lost my tender feelings, and neglected the means of grace. “One sinner destroyeth much good.” Sinners enticed me to sin and I consented. In the year 1790, when I was about fifteen, I went to learn the milling business, and worked in a grist mill. There I had no religious counsel or example. What a critical period it is when a young man leaves home! I went into bad company, supposing my father would not hear of it; but I was mistaken. He did hear of my conduct, and came to see me. When I saw him I suspected his errand. A guilty conscience needs no accuser. The plain, solemn, and affecting reproof he gave me at that time had a wonderful effect upon me. His quivering lip, tearful eye, and tremulous voice showed how deeply he felt for me. Shame crimsoned my cheeks. His counsel was not lost, but it terminated in deep conviction for sin. My soul was burdened, and, almost in despair, I prayed, “Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive; Let a repenting rebel live. Are not thy mercies large and free? May not a sinner trust in thee?”