rance. More Comfortable
Home. Death of his Father. Love of Fashionable Amusements. Meets his
Future Wife. Is Married. Tribute to his Wife. Her Father and Mother.

During early life I was much given to abstraction of thought, and I am
still down with the same disease. From morning till night, between the
plow-handles or swinging the maul, I was absorbed in reflection. My
reading and other studies raised many questions that I sought to find
out. Natural philosophy and the elements of astronomy were subjects of
peculiar delight, and would cause me to become oblivious of all
surroundings. This frequently got me into trouble. It vexed my father
very much that my mind was not more on my work, and he had but little
patience with me. When about the house I would often realize that I had
been told to do something, and I would start at once about it, and
perchance when I came to myself I would find that I was at the barn or
spring, wholly forgetful of what I had been told to do. On one occasion
I was told to go to the lot and catch a horse and come to the crib, and
my father would put the sack on for me, and I was to go to mill. I went
and caught the horse, got on and went, but when I arrived the mill was
in ashes; it was just through burning. On my return I saw that my
father was not as serene as a May morning. But not till he spoke of it
did I discover that I had gone off without the sack. I at once taxed my
eloquence to give a glowing account of the fire, and thus divert his
attention from my neglect.

Many a time have I acted ridiculously on account of this absorption of
thought. While at Eminence College, there was a public exhibition one
evening in the chapel. A few minutes before it began I went into the
room of Prof. Henry Giltner, just across the hall from the chapel, and
here I saw McGarvey's "Commentary on Acts" for the first time. I
thought I would look into it for a moment before the exercises should
begin; and that was the last I thought of the exhibition till some one
came into the room just before its close, hunting for me.

One more instance of this nature must suffice. About 1872, I was
holding a very successful meeting at Burksville, on the Cumberland
river, and while I was preaching one night there came up a terrific
thunderstorm, with vivid lightning and hard rain. A young man occupied
a front seat who had just been reclaimed from a life of sin, and who is
now a preacher. I had a faint recollection of see