Life of Heber C. Kimball, an Apostle. Orson F. Whitney

      "We traveled on the ice up to Whitehall, a distance of one hundred and ten miles, where, spring being open, he traded his sleigh for a wagon and proceeded to West Bloomfield.

      "He built an academy in West Bloomfield, also two tavern stands and several private dwellings; he made nearly all of the edge tools, such as scythes, augers, axes, knives, etc., also plow-shares and agricultural implements, for the country around, to a distance of fifty or sixty miles; and sometimes he had eight forges employed at once.

      "He continued living in West Bloomfield during the 'last war' with England, which place was on the thoroughfare between Albany and Buffalo, on what was called 'the public turnpike,' and on which the soldiery passed during the war (1812-15). It was flourishing times, there being plenty of business and money, and most men in business became involved, so that when the war closed bankruptcy became common, as every merchant, tavern-keeper and grog-shop had a banking establishment, and issued 'shin-plasters' from one cent up to five dollars.

      "My father lost the greater portion of his property, which broke him up in that place. He then moved two and one-half miles east, half way between East and West Bloomfield, where he bought a farm of a Mr. Stewart, near a small lake called Stewart's Pond; on this farm there was a little improvement. Here he established blacksmithing, built a large tavern stand, barns and other out-houses, and once more set out an orchard of various kinds of fruit trees.

      "This was in the year 1816, which was called the cold season; the same year that the black spot was seen on the sun. The following year we had little to subsist upon; for some three weeks we gathered milk weeds, and boiled and ate them, not having salt to put on them. It was with difficulty that bread could be procured."

      Evidently the elder Kimball was a man of force and energy, qualities which his son Heber inherited, and in turn transmitted to his posterity. The Kimballs, with scarcely an exception, are, in this respect, of just such sterling stuff as their sire and grandsire, and invariably "show the mettle of their pasture," as colonizers, wherever their lot is cast.

      The limited amount of schooling that Heber received in these days of his childhood and early youth, extended from his fifth to his fourteenth year, and was of the quality usually found in the primitive village schools of the day. He was not an ardent lover of books, but drew his lessons from life and nature in all their multiplied and varied phases. It was "about the time of the great eclipse in 1806" that he commenced going to school. The eclipse he "remembered well," as his father was about starting on a journey, but was obliged to wait on account of the darkness.

      At the age of fourteen he was put to work in his father's blacksmith shop, and acquired a knowledge of that useful trade. When he was nineteen, his father having met with further reverses, he was thrown entirely upon his own resources, and now began to taste the first bitter experience of his life.

      He was a singular compound, in his nature, of courage and timidity, of weakness and strength; uniting a penchant for mirth with a proneness to melancholy, and blending the lion-like qualities of a leader among men, with the bashfulness and lamb-like simplicity of a child.

      He was not a coward; a braver man probably never lived than Heber C. Kimball. His courage, however was not of that questionable kind which "knows no fear." Rather was it of that superior order, that Christ-like bravery, which feels danger and yet dares to face it. He had all the sensitiveness of the poet—for he was both a poet and a prophet from his mother's womb—and inherited by birthright the power to feel pleasure or suffer pain, in all its exquisiteness and intensity.

      Hear his own pathetic story of his early hardships:

      "At this time, I saw some days of sorrow; my heart was troubled, and I suffered much in consequence of fear, bashfulness, and timidity. I found myself cast abroad upon the world, without a friend to console my grief. In these heart-aching hours I suffered much for want of food and the comforts of life, and many times when two or three days without food to eat, being bashful and not daring to ask for it.

      "After I had spent several weeks in the manner before stated, my oldest brother, Charles, hearing of my condition, offered to teach me the potter's trade. I immediately accepted the offer, and continued with him until I was twenty-one.

      "While living with my brother, he moved into the town of Mendon, Monroe, County, New York, six miles north of Bloomfield, towards the city of Rochester, where he again established the potter's business."

      Here Heber finished learning his trade and commenced working for wages. Six months later he purchased his brother's business and set up in the same line for himself, in which he prospered for upwards of ten years.

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

      A ROMANTIC EPISODE—HEBER'S MARRIAGE WITH VILATE MURRAY—A SOLDIER AND A FREE MASON—HIS STERN ARRAIGNMENT OF THE ANCIENT ORDER—DEATH OF HEBER'S FATHER AND MOTHER.

      Meanwhile, the sun of love dawned on his horizon. In one of his rides he chanced to pass, one warm summer day, through the little town of Victor, in the neighboring County of Ontario. Being thirsty, he drew rein near a house where a gentleman was at work in the yard, whom he asked for a drink of water. As the one addressed went to the well for a fresh bucketful of the cooling liquid, he called to his daughter Vilate, to fetch a glass from the house, which he filled and sent by her to the young stranger.

      Heber was deeply impressed with the beauty and refined modestly of the young girl, whose name he understood to be "Milaty," and who was the flower and pet of her father's family. Lingering as long as propriety would permit, or the glass of water would hold out, he murmured his thanks and rode reluctantly away.

      How suggestive this incident, of Whittier's pretty tale, "Maud

       Muller:"

      "Thanks" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught

       From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

      It was not long before he again had "business" in Victor, and again became thirsty (?) just opposite the house where the young lady lived. Seeing the same gentleman in the yard whom he had accosted before, he hailed him and asked him for a cup of water. This time the owner of the premises offered to wait upon him in person, but Heber, with the blunt candor for which he was noted, nearly took the old gentleman's breath by saying, "if you please, sir, I'd rather My-Laty would bring it to me."

      "Laty," as she was called in the house, accordingly appeared and did the honors as before, and returned blushing to meet the merriment and good-natured badinage of her sister and brothers.

      She, however, was quite as favorably impressed with the handsome young stranger, as he with her. More visits followed, acquaintance ripened into love, and on the 7th of November, 1822, they were married.

      Vilate Murray—for that was her name—was the youngest child of

       Roswell and Susannah Murray. She was born June 1st, 1806, in Florida,

       Montgomery County, New York. At the time of her marriage she was only

       in her seventeenth year.

      The Murrays, like the Kimballs, were of Scotch descent, and came to America during the Seven Years' War. As a race they were gentle, kind-hearted, intelligent and refined. Through many of them ran a vein of poetry. Vilate herself wrote tender and beautiful verses. She was an ideal wife for a man like Heber C. Kimball, by whom she was ever cherished as the treasure that she was.

      Heber was now past twenty-one, and fast developing into as fine a specimen of manhood as one might wish to behold. Tall and powerful of frame, with piercing black eyes that seemed to read one through, and before whose searching gaze the guilty could not choose but quail, he moved with a stateliness and majesty all his own, as far removed from haughtiness and vain pride, as he from the sphere of the upstart who mistakes scorn for dignity, and an overbearing manner as an evidence of gentle blood.

      Heber C. Kimball was