teaching in Tophet, I boarded with a Methodist man. He too, was kind and generous to a fault. All he charged me was nothing. He said it was worth more to have me live with his boys than it cost to board me.

Teachers were elected to teach by ballot. There was an election called, and several soldiers, who were at home on furlough, were there, also others. They got into a wrangle about soldiers voting. They came to blows. Just then a messenger came up on horseback, at full speed, and cried out that Lincoln was assassinated. I never saw such a sudden and marked change come on a company of men as came then. The whole crowd soldiers, and others, the young candidates for the school with the rest, came close together like stricken brothers and wept even to tears. Not a word was said for several moments until they began to leave for home, the director said, men we have not voted yet. So they turned in all together without a word and voted and went home. This was early Saturday forenoon April 15th, 1865.

On another occasion I was a candidate for the teacher's place in a district where every family, except one, were Irish Catholics. The exception as a Methodist. The Methodist man was chairman of the school board. The election was called for one o'clock P. M. The leading spirit of the district was a large, old, fine looking Irishman, who had been educated for a priest. That day (it was in the spring), there was a log rolling on the leader's farm, and every man in the district was a Catholic except the chairman and myself. I was a stranger, had never been in the district before. But the Irishmen had heard of my success as a teacher in Tophet, and on their coming down to the school house after dinner to vote the leader shook hands with me and turning to the men he said, "Men, let's be after voting for the tall sapling and get back to the logs." They all voted and I received every vote but one and that was the chairman's vote. In this school, I would every morning as had been my custom elsewhere, read a small portion of the Bible, without word or comment, and offer a short prayer for God's blessing upon us through the day. I never had better behavior or as little trouble with any other school as I had this term with these Irish Catholic children.

The Catholics, however, generally oppose the public reading of the Bible and prayer in the public schools. I kindly asked a good Catholic friend one day why they opposed the reading of the Bible. I said, "The Bible is a good book." "Just so," he replied, "too good a book for the common people to read." "Ah, I think not. God has nothing too good for his children," said I. The teacher, however, that reads and prays should be a good teacher.

Referring to the fact that these voters seemed to recognize me as soon as they saw me, though they had never seen me before, reminds me that has been my experience generally through life. I never could account for people, who had only heard of me, knowing me upon first sight, unless it was because of my long black beard and porcupinish hair. There was one exception to this, however, when I was taken to be quite another person. This I must now tell.

One year I went with Elder Joseph Wilson to a church in Lawrence County, Indiana, called White River Union, to help him hold his yearly protracted meeting. It was on Sunday morning. The elder and I were seated on the rostrum when a woman and her little daughter came in and taking seats, looking up at us, when the child pointing at me whispered to her mother, "See Papa." The woman looked and thought, (so she said afterwards)—why, sure enough." I did not think he was coming. Upon second thought she knew it could not be he, for he would not be in the pulpit. The fact was that the woman and her child both thought at first without doubt that I was the husband and the father, simply because I looked like him. The name of this family was Malott, and the husband was doctor. I did not get to see him. I wish I had. I would like to see the man that I look so much alike, and even his wife and child could not tell the difference. Perhaps I could see myself then as others see me, which I, nor, any man has ever yet been able to do.

No two men or any two things are exactly alike. Nor should we always judge a man by his looks.

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C H A P T E R T E N

Brother John. Washington, Ind. An accident. An incident.
Indianapolis, Hiram. Garfield.

I must tell you one other story, boys, about how I was not known. Upon my arrival from Missouri to Indiana I went at once to your Uncle John's. They did not know I was coming. This was in the fall of 1861. Brother John had not yet returned from his school. When he did come he stopped at the woodpile and commenced to cut wood for the next day. His wife stepped out on the porch and said, "John, come in, there is a man here who wants to stay all night." "Well," said brother, "let him stay." And he kept on cutting wood. But he finally came in. I arose and said, "how do you do, sir?" He said, "Howdy." I said, "I want to stay all night." He said, "Alright, be seated." I sat down. He said, "Are you traveling?" I said, "I have been." He said, "Where are you from?" I said, "I am from Missouri." He asked, "From what part." I told him. "Why," he said, "I have two brothers living there." I thought he was mistaken, I had forgotten myself. I said, "What is the name?" He said, "Hastings." I said, "I know a W. H. Hastings there." He said, "Why, that is my brother. I also have a younger brother there, Z. S. He is a teacher and they say he has gone to preaching." I said, "Sure, I don't think he is there now."

Well, we sat there for half an hour, he asking about his brother and Missouri, and the war, and I telling what I knew. Finally his wife said, "John, don't you know that boy?" I arose and he arose and said, looking at his wife, "Know that man?" "Why, should I know him?" I extended my hand and said you ought to know me. He hesitatingly took my hand and said, "Who are you?" I said, "I am you brother, Z. S." He said, "Impossible, this cannot be Simp." (When I was a child at home, they called me Simp.) I replied, "Yes I am Simp." We could hardly make him believe.

How wonderful is life. How little we know. How much of the little we seem to forget. Yet someone says we never forget anything. I expect to know more, and know it better, in the life to come. This brother John was a grand old man, but he has been sleeping in the grave ever since Nov. 3, 1891. His good wife also sleeps. But they left one daughter and three sons, who are, at this writing, noble citizens in Daviers County, Indiana.

I was chosen President of the County Teachers Association and elected as first assistant principal to teach in Washington, the county seat of Daviers County, Ind. This town was a little city of about four thousand. It is now a beautiful city of ten or twelve thousand. While there I preached in the court house and organized a small congregation which met to hear me preach and worship in observing the Lord's Supper, on each first day of the week. Now we have a large congregation with a great church building costing many thousand dollars.

While teaching here a very sad accident occurred one Saturday. One of my pupils and a boy pupil from the room adjoining my room, taught by a lady teacher, were playing in an old barn with the barrel of an old army musket which had neither lock nor stock. The boys had the gun barrel lying horizontally across the top of a barrel, and in their play they would place percussion caps upon the nipple of the gun and strike them with a piece of iron to hear the explosion. It was my boy's time to strike the cap and just as he struck the other boy was passing in front of the muzzle of the gun, and the