From Boston I went to Portland, where I had a similar talk with that most amiable and excellent man, the late Dr. Nichols, who labored under a similar disqualification, owing to a similar misapprehension of what was required for extemporaneous speaking, either on the platform or in the pulpit.  I told him the story, and urged the same considerations; but he, like Mr. Pierpont, only smiled,—­compassionately, as I thought, and rather as if he pitied the delusion I was laboring under.  Yet within two years both of these remarkable men became free and natural spontaneous speakers, and both acknowledged to me that they had always misunderstood the difficulty.  Dr. Nichols began afar off, as I suggested, in the Sabbath school; and Mr. Pierpont, after making two or three attempts in a small way, which were anything but satisfactory to himself,—­as I told him they would be for a while, if he had the true stuff in him,—­was at last surprised into doing what he believed to be impossible, by the merest accident in the world; after which he had no further trouble.  It seems that he had engaged to supply a neighboring pulpit,—­perhaps that of his son John, who was newly settled at Lynn.  He thought he had his sermon in his pocket; but, on entering the pulpit, found that he had either left it at home or lost it on the way.  What was to be done?  Luckily, he had just read it over the night before, and was full of the subject therein treated.  Remembering what I said, as he told me himself, he determined to go to work, hit or miss, and either make a spoon or spoil a horn.

The result was, that, after a little hesitation and floundering, he got fairly in earnest, and threw off a discourse which so delighted those who were best acquainted with him, that they stopped round the door to shake hands and congratulate him.  He had never preached so well in all his life, they said.  This settled the question forever; and from that day forward he began to believe that anybody who can talk in his chair can talk standing up, after he has got over his first impressions, and all the better for having a large auditory, with upturned faces, before him; so that he became at last, and within a few years, one of the finest pulpit orators of the day, and one of the best platform speakers, though not, perhaps, what the multitude consider eloquent; for, at the best, he was only argumentative and earnest and clear and convincing, in his highest manifestations.

Of his career after this, I cannot say anything as I wish, without the risk of saying too much.  He had one of the wealthiest and most liberal congregations of New England.  He was their idol.  He was in every way most agreeably situated, with a large family flowering into usefulness about him, and hosts of friends, enthusiastic and devoted.  Nevertheless, believing that, as a servant of God, he had no right to preach smooth things where rough things were needed, and that acknowledging other people’s transgressions