An incident of my boy-hood has just come into my mind.  When an apprentice boy, I was at work with my “boss” on a house in Torringford, very near the residence of Rev. Mr. Mills, the father of Samuel J. Mills the missionary.  This was in 1809, fifty-one years ago.  This young man was preparing to go out on his missionary voyage.  How wickedly we are taught when we are young!  I thought he was a mean, lazy fellow.  He was riding out every day, as I now suppose, to add to his strength.  An old maid lived in the house where I did who perfectly hated him, calling him a good-for-nothing fellow.  I, of course, supposed that she knew all about him and that it was so.  I am a friend to the missionary cause and have been so a great many years.  How many times that wrong impression which I got from that old maid has passed through my mind, and how sorry I have always been for that prejudice.  The father of Samuel J. Mills was a very eccentric man and anecdotes of him have been repeatedly told.  I attended his church the summer I was in Torringford.  He was the strangest man I ever saw, and would say so many laughable things in his sermon that it was next to impossible for me to keep from laughing out loud.  His congregation was composed mostly of farmers, and in hot weather they appeared to be very sleepy.  The boys would sometimes play and make a good deal of noise, and one Sunday he stopped in the middle of his sermon and looking around in the gallery, said in a loud voice, “boys, if you don’t stop your noise and play, you will certainly wake your parents that are asleep below!” I think by this time the good people were all awake; it amused me very much and I have often seen the story printed.  Many a time when I think of Mr. Mills, an anecdote of him comes into my mind, and I presume that a great many have heard of the same.  He was once traveling through the town of Litchfield where there was at that time a famous law school.  Two or three of the students were walking a little way out of town, when who should they see coming along the road but old Mr. Mills.  They supposing him to be some old “codger,” thought they would have a little fun with him.  When they met him one of them asked him “if he had heard the news?” “No,” he says, “what is it?” “The devil is dead.”  “Is he?” says Mr. Mills, “I am sorry for you—­poor fatherless children, what will become of you?” I understand that they let him pass without further conversation.  He was a good man and looked very old to me, as he always wore a large white wig.

CHAPTER VII.

REMOVAL TO NEW HAVEN.—­FACTORY AT BRISTOL DESTROYED BY FIRE.—­OTHER TROUBLES, ETC.