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Updated: May 10, 2025
And long before this time the two great antagonistic theologians may have clasped hands in heaven. The closing years of President Finney's useful life were indeed mellow and most lovable. In the days of his prime he had a commanding form, a striking face and a clear, incisive style of speech. Simple as a child in his utterances, he sometimes startled his hearers by his unique prayers.
With all my admiration of President Finney's character, I could not as a loyal Princetonian subscribe to some of his peculiar opinions. He wrote to me: "I think that there is no more important field of ministerial labor in the world.
Finney's teaching had not differed in any respect from the doctrine which she heard from her husband daily, a doctrine which she knew by experience did not save men from delusion and rancour. She still listened eagerly to hear of some provision made in the scheme of salvation against injustice and folly. Surely Finney would say something more. As it happened he did say something more.
Finney's turnip were printed in a newspaper. Some people said that they were what Henry Longfellow wrote on his slate that day at school. But this was not true. Henry's composition was not in verse. As soon as it was read to the school, he rubbed it off the slate, and it was forgotten. Perhaps you would like to read those funny verses.
Some time after the departure of the riflemen, a detail of eight or nine men from our company was ordered off towards the lake shore, and soon afterward another smaller one to Potosí, a little village four or five miles to the northward of Rivas, bearing orders to Captain Finney's rangers, who had gone to scout in that direction.
With the natural reaction from despair to hope many of us imagined ourselves converted, prayed and gave our experiences in the meetings, and at times rejoiced in the thought that we were Christians chosen children of God rather than sinners and outcasts. But Dr. Finney's terrible anathemas on the depravity and deceitfulness of the human heart soon shortened our newborn hopes.
They resembled each other in untiring industry, unflinching courage, unswerving devotion to the marrow of the Gospel, and unreserved consecration to the service of Christ. The secret of Finney's power was the fearless manner with which he drove God's word into the consciences of sinners high or humble and his perpetual reliance on the immediate presence of the Holy Spirit in his own soul.
When the day of Finney's preaching came, after her husband had gone to his afternoon work, she rode out of Kirtland. Since she had made up her mind to disobey she had said nothing further to Angel. Why inflict upon him the painful attempt to hinder her which his conscience would demand? The last snow-wreath had faded, but there was not as yet a bud or blade of perfect green.
Here they told me that Captain Finney's company, whilst riding into Obraja early in the night, had been hotly fired upon, and Captain Finney himself was brought off struck in the breast, wounded mortally. The riflemen had as yet made no attack, but awaited daylight. The number of the enemy was not known; though rumor placed it between one thousand and fifteen hundred.
"I can't, man. Don't ask me!" groaned Finney. "It's better that you should read it." Mrs. Finney's face expressed an agony of compassion as, still half clutching it, she held out a letter to Lansing. "John, oh, John," she sobbed; "remember, she's not to blame! She doesn't know." The letter, was in his wife's handwriting, addressed to Mrs. Pinney, and read as follows:
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