the boys," the excess of
wickedness I saw had an opposite effect, and I came out at last a
preacher.

The next year we moved to Floydsburg, sixteen miles from Louisville,
because, as I did not stay in the store, but did the hauling back and
forth, it was a better location for us. It is an old town, in which my
maternal grandfather lived before I was born, in which I spent much
time before I was old enough to work, and around which cluster the
earliest memories of life. It was once a place of large business, on
the main road from Henry and adjacent counties to Louisville, and in
ante-railroad times a large amount of wagoning was done through the
place. At certain seasons great droves of cattle and hogs were driven
through it, and everything was lively; besides, it had a good trade
with the country around. But the Louisville & Lexington Railroad, which
runs within a mile of the town, killed it as dead as an Egyptian mummy,
because all this through business was taken by the railroad, and the
surrounding trade went to the stations or to the city. It is,
therefore, a quiet, undisturbed little place to live in, if one is not
dependent upon making his expenses there. Most of the old citizens,
business men of its prosperous days, have passed away, and the town has
the appearance of being at their funeral.

As far back as I recollect, and I know not how much farther, it had in
it one church, built of stone, small, and with a roof as sharp as the
best presentations of Methodism that were ever set forth in it. About
1850, this ancient structure was replaced by one of brick, of good
size, but poorly furnished. This is the only church that has ever been
in the place; and while the people have been unusually quiet and moral,
they have never been burdened with religion. There is a graveyard in
the rear of the house, opened, perhaps, when the first building was
erected, and in this silent spot sleep many of my friends and
relatives. I have never thought it made much difference where one is
buried--and in this I suppose I agree with most Protestants--but it is
one proof of the improved taste of the age to see the care now taken of
our cemeteries. Such places were unknown when I was a boy and where I
lived, and even yet, outside of our cities and larger towns, they are
too rare. Every village should have a neat and well-kept cemetery, to
take the place of the neglected old burying-grounds where,

"Each in his narrow cell forever l