Russell’s joy in the organ was unbounded, and the mother was more than repaid for her extra work by his pleasure and delight.  He immediately plunged unaided into the study of music, and he never gave up until he was complete master of the organ.  His was no half-hearted love.  The work and drudgery connected with practising never daunted him.  He kept steadily at it until he could roll out the familiar songs and hymns while the small room fairly rang with their melody.  He also improvised, composing both words and music, a gift that went with him into the ministry and which has given the membership of Grace Baptist Church, Philadelphia, many beautiful hymns and melodies.

Later he learned the bass viol, violoncello and cornet, and made money by playing for parties and entertainments in his neighborhood.  Years afterward, when pastor of Grace Church, and with the Sunday School on an excursion to Cape May, he saw a cornet lying on a bench on the pier.  Seized with a longing to play again this instrument of his boyhood, he picked it up and began softly a familiar air.  Soon lost to his surroundings, he played on and on.  At last remembering where he was, he laid down the instrument and walked away.  The owner, who had returned, followed him and offered him first five dollars and then ten to play that night for a dance at Congress Hall.

Martin Conwell, during Russell’s boyhood days, carefully guarded his son from being spoiled by the flattery of neighbors and friends.  He realized that Russell was a boy in many ways above the average, but his practical common sense prevented him from taking such pride in Russell’s various achievements as to let him become spoiled and conceited.  Many a whipping Russell received for the personal songs he composed about the neighbors.  But that was not prohibitive.  The very next night, Russell would hold up to ridicule the peculiarity of some one in the neighborhood, much to his victim’s chagrin and to the amusement of the listeners.  He was forever inventing improvements for the fishing apparatus, oars, boats, coasting sleds, household and farm utensils, often forgetting the tasks his father had given him while doing it.  Naturally, this exasperated Martin Conwell, who had no help on the farm but the boys, and the rod would again be brought into active service.  Once, after whipping him for such neglect of work—­he had left the cider apples out in the frost—­Martin Conwell asked his son’s pardon because he had invented an improved ox-sled that was of great practical value.

When he was fifteen he ran away again.  No friendly Deacon Chipman interfered this time, nor is it likely he would easily have been turned from the project, for he planned to go to Europe.  He went to Chicopee to an uncle’s, whom he frankly told of his intended trip.  The uncle kept Russell for a day or two by various expedients, while he wrote to his father telling him Russell was there and what he intended doing.  The father wrote back saying to give him