Russell H. Conwell | Page 9

mental force, he would study intently the printed page, and then closing

his eyes, repeat it word for word, even giving the punctuation marks.
With the other pupils, Salina Cole was not so successful, but with
Russell Conwell, the results were remarkable. It was a faculty of the
utmost value to him in after years. When in military camp and far from
books, he would recall page after page of his law works and study them
during the long days of garrison duty as easily as though the printed
book were in his hand.
But the work was of more value to him than the mere mastery of
something new. It whetted his appetite for more. He began to want to
know. School became interesting, and he plunged into studies with an
interest and zest that were unflagging. And as he studied, ambitions
awoke. The history of the past, the accomplishments of great men
stirred him. He began to dream of the things to do in the days to come.
Outside of school hours his time was filled with the ordinary duties of
the farm. In the early spring, the maple sugar was to be made and there
were long, difficult tramps through woods in those misty, brooding
days when the miracle of new life is working in tree and vine and leaf.
Often the very earth seemed hushed as if waiting in awe for this
marvelous change that transforms brown earth and bare tree to a vision
of ethereal, tender green. But his books went with him, and in the long
night watches far in the woods alone, when the pans of sirrup were
boiling, he studied. So enrapt did he become that sometimes the sugar
suffered, and the patience of his father was sorely taxed when told the
tale of inattention.
It was during those long night watches that he learned by heart two
books of Milton's "Paradise Lost," and so firmly were they fixed in the
boyish memory that at this day, Dr. Conwell can repeat them without a
break. Many a time as the shadows lightened and the dim, misty dawn
came stealing through the forest, would the small boy step outside the
rude sugar-house and repeat in that musical, resonant voice that has
since held audiences enthralled, Milton's glorious "Invocation to the
Light." Strange scene--the great shadowy forest, the distant
mist-enfolded hills, the faintly flushing morning sky, the faint splash of
a little mountain stream breaking the brooding stillness, and the small

boy with intent, inspired face pouring out his very heart in that
wonderful invocation:
"Hail, holy light, offspring of Heaven, Firstborn Or of the Eternal,
co-eternal beam, May I express thee Unblamed? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity--dwelt then in
thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate! Or hear'st thou, rather,
pure Eternal Stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God as with a mantle
didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the
void and formless Infinite!"
Later in spring there was plowing, though the farm was so rocky and
stony, there was little of that work to do. But here and there, a sunny
hilltop field made cultivation worth while, and as he followed the
patient oxen along the shining brown furrow, he looked away to the
encircling hills so full of mystery and fascination. What was there?
What was beyond? Then into the the morning and well into the
afternoon they pried and labored. They dug away earth and exerted to
the utmost their childish strength. Charles would soon have given up
the gigantic task, but Russell was not of the stuff that quits, and so they
toiled on. The father and mother at home wondered and searched for
the boys. Then as they began truly to get alarmed, from the woods to
the south came a crash and roar, the sound of trees snapping and then a
shock that made the earth tremble. The rock had fallen, traversing a
mile, in its downward rush to the river bed. Flushed and triumphant the
boys returned, and the neighbors who had heard the noise, when it was
explained to them, went to see the wreckage. It had dropped first a fall
of fifteen feet, where it had paused an instant. Then the earth giving
way under its tons of weight, it had plowed a deep furrow right down
the mountain side, dislodging rocks, uprooting trees, until with a
mighty crash, it struck the borders of the stream where it stands to this
day, a monument to boyish ingenuity and perseverance.
But of all the mischievous pranks of these childish days, the one that
had perhaps the greatest influence on his