Text from Challen's Monthly, February 1858, pages 69-78. This online edition © 1998, James L. McMillan.

THE subject of this sketch is well known to many of my readers, and if we shall succeed in giving an outline of his character, we shall not fail to interest them. There is much of great value in the personal history of a man who has sacrificed ease and fortune for the honor of God and the best interests of humanity, and in these money-loving days, and amidst the elbowing for office and its spoils, so characteristic of them, we take special pleasure in turning away from the earthworms and the more destructive moles, which are boring in every direction to disembowel the hidden treasures for which they labor, to look upon a genuine man, with the image and superscription of his original greatness, to a large extent stamped upon him. It is like turning away the eye from the boiling, seething, racking clouds of a summer night, to look upon the evening star, clearing a space for herself and raining down her blessed influences upon the earth below.

A few days since, I stepped into the studio of a poet-painter, and it so happened that a gentleman of some note was sitting for his portrait. The artist was giving some of the last touches upon the face of the picture. I was so situated that I could observe the effect of his pencil, and learned more of the skill of the limner in a single hour, than I had hitherto done in a lifetime. The outline of the face was as perfect as it could be, and the attitude and general expression admirable; and the artist had seized upon a characteristic circumstance in the life of the person who was before him, which would give an historical interest to the picture. But, until the last touches of his pencil passed upon it, the picture was imperfect. It was wanting in life and unity. These touches, slight and almost imperceptible, gave it force, animation, and compactness. It

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seemed no longer a painting, but a translation of the original to the canvass, with all that was idiomatic and ethereal in the subject. And I could not but be struck with the close resemblance there is between a good portrait and a good translation.

In reading and studying the Greek of the original Gospels, a thousand beauties, unknown to the mere English reader, are seen; but owing to the imperfection of our language, or the point from which we view the subject, or the difference there is between the idioms of the two languages, it is almost, if not quite, impossible to transfer them in a new translation. It requires something of the skill and taste, the nice and keen appetite, the love of the beautiful and the true, of an artist, to do the work well. I shall never look upon a portrait again without observing the light and shade and finishing touches, which my friend so happily caught and transferred to the canvass. Shortly after, I peeped into a window and saw two portraits from another artist, but turned away with disgust. The life-touches were all wanting. It was paint, paint, and nothing more.

Now if I can only draw the outline of my subject, so as to enable the reader to recognise the original, and with the use of light and shade, and a few touches of the pencil, to bring out its otherwise hidden beauties, I shall be content.

Silas was about five feet and seven inches high, I should judge; and, though now upwards of sixty years old, he is as straight as an Indian, and in gait and manner very much like one of those dwellers in the forest. He was admirably formed for strength and activity, and had wonderful powers of endurance both for action and suffering. I have often wondered if he was ever weary--never did he appear so to me. When others were flagging and ready to give up, he was just beginning to summon his powers; and, after others had left the field, he would stay to conquer a peace, and he always did it when he stayed. His head is not a large one, but his brain is exceedingly active. The forehead has not much width, but considerable height, and the organs of benevolence and veneration are quite large (as phrenologists would say). If I recollect right, there is not a wrinkle in his forehead; and, when the sun falls

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upon it, it gleams in the light and is truly beautiful. His eye is black, and covered with long lashes, and shaded with a lofty brow. It is the eye of fire--a speaking eye-- which seems to have drunk in the beams of the sun. His mouth (I am sorry that he has lost his teeth--some of them at least--and, either from the want of time, or because he thought they would be troublesome, or perhaps his abhorrence of the artificial, he could not be persuaded to supply the deficiency) is an expressive one, and formed for command. He always speaks like one having authority. His cheek-bones are high, and the skin adheres closely to the muscles of his face. Skin dark and swarthy, but always looks healthy. He loves the open air, the sunny fields, and the great highways of life, and is constantly on horseback, or in the public vehicles, pursuing unremittingly his appropriate work. He is no loiterer, but labourer. No "dumb dog that will not bark." He belongs not to the canine species at all. He is eminently human in all his feelings and pursuits--his habits and instincts. He is "homo," and that is saying much for him--a man every inch of him-- no one could mistake him for anything else.

His dress is always neat and becoming, and I believe he can keep it cleaner and newer a greater length of time than any man of my acquaintance. I suppose that he has not passed a day unshaven for forty years, and as regular as the morning comes he performs (with as much devotion as a Mussulman) his ablutions from head to foot. He is to all intents and purposes a lover of water and cleanliness with him is a part of his religion. The reader will pardon me, but I am just now reminded that once sleeping in the same room with him, he arose early to attend to this part of his morning service, and as he was careful not to disturb my morning nap, and was anxious to perform his work with as much skill and dispatch as possible, he carefully lifted the full basin from the stand to place it on the door, when, by some unaccountable slip of his fingers, it fell, breaking the bowl and deluging the room. I think it must have been the first and the last time that such a misadventure ever happened to him. His surprise and horror--his sudden exclamation and laugh--the attitude of wonder and amazement, mingled with

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the loss of both water and basin, I shall never forget. If Wilkie had been present to have witnessed the scene: he would have immortalized it on canvass beyond all doubt. He recovered however from his embarrassment, and managed to go through with his ablutions. Much of his good health is owing to this habit, in addition to his glass of salt and water, which daily and duly accompanies it.

He belonged to one of the best families in his native state, all the members of which are wealthy, and some of them have occupied the highest positions in the state which the country could give them. He was bred a lawyer, and had in the early part of his public life been returned to Congress as one of the most popular candidates in his district, and there is no office which he might not have reached in the government, if he had been ambitious of fame or place.

He became, in the prime of life, a member of the Baptist Church, and a zealous and devoted Christian. When the principles of what is known in the west as "The Reformation" were being plead and propagated in his native state, he early embraced them, and soon commenced a public advocate, and has continued day and night for thirty years to proclaim them to the world with wonderful success. All considerations of ease and affluence--of fortune and fame--were at once forgotten, and whilst the other branches of the large family to which he belongs have pursued these with encouraging success, he has devoted all to Christ and his cause. A more noble sacrifice--a purer whole burnt-offering--never has been made in modern times by any one in our horizon.

Nearly every state in the west and south he has visited in the prosecution of his work; and, with the most untiring efforts, he has pursued it, in all seasons of the year, by day and by night. He has given himself wholly to the ministry of the Word, and the number of his converts may be computed by the thousand in every section of the valley of the Mississippi. And still he "is at it, and always at it," and this is the true secret of his success.

Alas! how the labor of this servant of Christ ought to put to shame those who, with equal ability and better education,

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and with all the requisite talents for usefulness, are staying at home "minding their stuff"--seeking after wealth or fame, and only willing to labor where the emoluments are of the most tempting character.

Should not the example of this veteran in the cause have its effect? If any reader of this sketch is implicated in the above charges, at once let him buckle on the armor, draw the sword of the Spirit, and enter into the field for life and for self-sacrifice! The times demand it at your hand. The rewards are certain and eternal. And what does the world over you in comparison with the enjoyments which spring from a life of active service in the cause of Christ, and the crowns and kingdoms which await us in the future?

Silas is not a logician. Its rules he understands, but the activity of his mind, and the eagerness with which he pursues his subject, will not admit of their exercise. When he announces his theme and lays down his premises, his hearers might reasonably suppose that he would give them a close, compact, and studied discourse. But this he seldom if ever does. His sermons are fragmentary and piebald, one of them often containing matter for a dozen good ones. He reminds me of an old blunderbuss, filled with powder, and armed with shot, and slugs, and spikes, and all sorts of deadly missiles, and dealt out with unerring aim and deadly certainty. He makes the "Volscians flutter," and throws death and disaster into the ranks of the enemy. His execution is terrible.

It matters not how one fights, if he always wins. And he is a good soldier who never has lost a battle. And thus, whether in the open field, or keeping the enemy at bay; in single combat, or holding the gate, he is a most dauntless soldier. He reminds me of Horatius when the Tarquin invaded Rome in Rome's brightest day:--

"Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor
And the poor man loved the great;
Then lands were fairly portioned,
Then spoils were fairly sold;
The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old."

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Much of that heroism and courage are his which the old Roman exhibited on the occasion referred to.

When, to prevent the enemy from entering Rome, the bridge over the Tiber was to be destroyed, and three men undertook the task of keeping in check thirty thousand at the gate, Horatius said:--

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed you may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in bay.
In yon straight path a thousand
May well be stopped by three;
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?"

Such is the manhood and devotion of this soldier of the cross. His loss will be sorely felt among us, whenever it shall occur. It seems almost a pity that such men had not the years of Methusaleh [sic! Methuselah] upon their heads, or at death they had the power of inaugurating others with a double portion of their spirit.

But few men could infuse so large a portion of his own spirit over an audience as he. He himself becomes the symbol of the Gospel he preaches. The stream of eloquence which gushes irregularly from his heart, floods the assembly; and when he says to the listening crowd, "Who would not be a soldier of the cross?" it seems a shame--a sin--it betrays the heart of a coward---to keep back; and all say, "Whoever remains, I will not: I will become a soldier, and stand by the king and the constitution."

It is this strange power over his audience which he wields equal to any one we have ever known. It is not so much what he says, as the manner of saying it. Not the light which he sends into the loop-holes of the understanding, as the red-hot sparks he throws into the hearts of the people, that sets them in a blaze. What other men by a course of reasoning will do, he accomplishes by a single bound.

He has a quick appreciation of the wants and circumstances

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of his audience; and his side-hits and chance blows never fail to do their work. Ere you are aware of it, you receive a blow underneath the harness, about the region of the heart. Thus a stranger, whom he has never seen before, he reads through at a glance of his quick eye; and in the most adroit, simple, and happy manner, attacks, detects, and probes; and yet the man will be utterly unconscious of any personal attempt on the part of the speaker in addressing him. He sees his own face as in a glass. He looks into his own heart perhaps for the first time, and sees, as with a prophet's eye, the "chambers of imagery" there, and the abominations which are practised therein.

Such a hearer is sure to depart from the house with an arrow infixed in the region of the heart, to be carried with him through life, or soon to be made a captive by the power of divine truth.

He has considerable skill as a writer. He seems indeed like another man when he wields the pen. All then is orderly and grave, sometimes quite logical; but still superfused with his own warm and earnest spirit. But he needs the presence of an audience to call out the resources of his intellect, and to move them by the impassioned oratory which he wields.

His piety is free from all presence and show. It is pure and lively and constant. No great elevation of spirit amounting to transport, and no depression which leads to despair. It is eminently devotional and scriptural. His mind is susceptible of great and lasting attachments, and his heart overflows with generosity and benevolence. He is the friend of the poor--a pleader and a patron of the orphan. His labors in their behalf are a beautiful symbol of his Christian charity, and one of the most unmistakable proofs of his devotion to the cause of the Redeemer. His name and his deeds will be held in everlasting remembrance.

Educational interests always found in him a warm and a ready friend; and nothing delighted him more than to see young men of promise giving themselves to the ministry of the word, and in opening means for their equipment, encouraging them in their work.

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His mind is free from jealousy and envy, and the petty spirit of rivalry which too often is seen, and which, like flies in the precious nerd of the apothecary, pollute and defile it. He rejoices in the gifts which the Master bestows upon his servants, and feels himself enriched by them as if they were his own. This is a beautiful trait of character, and never fails to win the admiration and secure the attachment of all who know him. There are many anecdotes told of him, all of which are truly characteristic of the man, and some are quite amusing. A friend of mine and a fellow preacher was once laboring with him at a meeting, whom he requested to preach, when perhaps the public mind was directed to Silas as the proper person to officiate on the occasion. The brother at first refused, and as a chief reason for so doing said that he was utterly unprepared, and did not know what subject to choose. But Silas insisted upon it that he must preach. "Well," said he, "if I must, I will preach one of your sermons." "You can't do it," said Silas, and we think he said truly. "Well," said he, "I will try." He selected one of the favorite themes of Silas, and being almost unconsciously a good imitator, he naturally fell in both with the matter and manner of the hero of this sketch, and it was so like all his trains of thought and modes of expression, and awakened such deep and warm sympathies in his heart, that he was perfectly carried away with it, and when the preacher descended the pulpit, he took him warmly by the hand and complimented him by saying, "You never did so well in all your life." The compliment (though not intended) was due as much to the hearer as to the preacher, who had given such a perfect duplicate of his sermon, both in spirit and in manner. Perhaps no one could have succeeded as well as the person referred to in giving so admirable a daguerreotype discourse, as he possesses rare powers of imitation, and easily catches, like the mocking-bird, any notes which are floating in the air--especially if pleased with them. Of course the matter of the sermon was his own, but the manner and spirit belonged to Silas.

At the close of a life devoted to the cause of Christ, he can look back with pleasure over the field he has passed, the good

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he has done, the crosses he has borne, the trials he has survived, and the temptations he has overcome. And with the hope of the resurrection of the just, and the reward of the faithful, close his eyes on all that is earthly and perishable.

What to him the wealth, the ease, the honor and the distinctions to which he might have aspired and which he might have won, to the peace of mind, the purity of heart, and the abiding consciousness of his acceptance with God, which he now enjoys.

Men may be fascinated with the pleasures of sense; allured up the dizzy height of worldly ambition; maddened to excess in their grasp of power, in the great scramble for position and place, and die at last as the fool dies, unhonored and unwept, and, which is more to be deprecated--unsaved.

But who would not choose the "better part," and the life of toil which accompanies it, with Silas; and the rewards which shall follow, to all the tempting baits, and sordid joys, and cankering cares, and bitter disappointments, which attend upon those who "mind earthly things?"

It may not be our good fortune to see again on earth this eminent servant of Christ; but I hold him in kind remembrance, and hope to meet him when the "heavens shall be no more." And I cannot think but that the King will bestow upon him, and all such, high honors and rich rewards; who instead of courting "the pleasures of sin for a season, choose rather to suffer affliction with the people of God;" and who instead of preaching themselves, have preached Christ Jesus the Lord; and who, disdaining the tricks of the orator and the logic of the schools, have aimed to reach the heart and the conscience, and win souls to Christ by the truth as it is in Jesus. In reviewing the life of this eminent servant of Christ, we cannot but be struck with that singleness of purpose which marked his career. With him the life of an evangelist was one of toil and privation, and sufficiently important to engross all his thoughts, summon all his energies, and exhaust all his resources. He made it his care, his only care. With something of the spirit of the ancient prophet be had his "burden"

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to carry, and he summoned all his strength for the task. Never faint or weary, never desponding or timid. He had his mission to fulfil, and nothing but death should divert him from it. Earnestness of spirit he possessed beyond any one of all my acquaintance. It sat like a gem of wondrous brilliancy in his soul, absorbing all the light within. It was as the eye of the eagle, drinking in the rays of the sun, ere he fell with deadly swoop upon the prey beneath. This was the secret of his success. And it is the secret of the success of all who have done much in the cause of Christ. I commend the life of Silas to all who desire to serve their day and generation faithfully, by the will of God.

James Challen

Note: Challen mentions in a footnote that Silas "has died since this sketch was written."