Source - Texas Methodist historical quarterly, Volumes 1-2

[Horace Bishop's recollections of the Methodist Conference held in 1868
 at Springfield.]

THE CONFERENCE OF 1868.

(reminiscential. )

I think it was the 15th of October. I know it was in the twilight of the day. 
I had left my home near Butler in Freestone County the same morning. On the 
way I had fallen in company with J. B. Philpott my personal friend, and for 
many years a pillar of the church in the Fairfield Circuit. The Northwest Texas
Conference was to convene in its third Annual Session at Springfield. When we 
rode in front of the church John F. Neal, Preacher in Charge, was standing at 
the door. He shook hands cordially and said: "Brother Bishop, you go to Brother
Henry's tonight, and tomorrow to Brother Sanders Walkers." "Where does Brother
Henry live?" "Only four miles north of Springfield." Brother Philpott would 
stop with his son-in-law and daughter, Plr. and Mrs. Joe Tyus. I was riding a
very large sorrel horse named Kuklux. He was so named for several sufficient
reasons. One was I was partial at that time to a secret organization which 
bore that euphonious name. Another was the horse was tall and fleet of foot,
two characteristics of the secret Order. Kuklux soon brought me to the home of
Col. John B. Henry. The largest house in Limestone County, and built for his 
friends. Supper was in progress when I reached the place. Numerous guests were 
spending the night. Sister Henry, known to all as Aunt Sallie, was presiding 
with that unrestrained voice, sprightliness, and humor which rendered her so 
universally popular. Col. Henry, a portly gentleman of about fifty-five (I
thought) was welcoming all and interested in all. Fountain Pitts Ray was seated
at the supper table and doing his share of the talking. As I went into the 
dining room I heard Aunt Sallie remark: "I reckon we can say 'dog-it' as much 
as we please, just so we don't say 'dog-gone it.'" Brother Ray said, "Yes, be 
as rough in that way as you feel like." "Well," said she, "what sort of a man 
is Bishop Doggett, anyhow?" He replied, "He is an Old Virginia Gentleman." 
"Well," said she, "we will see in the morning."

Col. Henry had rented the hotel in Springfield, and was giving free 
entertainment to many preachers there besides what he was doing at home that 
night. The next morning he and his wife moved in to town for the Conference 
session. I stopped at Brother Sanders Walker's, three miles from town.

The church was a framed structure, and at that time counted a large auditorium.

A norther had come on during the night and the weather was cold. Two or three
panes of glass had been knocked out of the windows on the north side, and the
stove pipe (beause of an accident to the flue) was hastily thrust through a
south window. Our Old Virginia Bishop was suffering from cold and imagination.
He feared pneumonia, far away from Richmond, Va., and other railroad points. 
In his subsequent write-up he said the house was full of cracks. He further
alluded to the inadequacy of their resources to fulfill the hospitable 
ambitions of the people. He wrote for "The Baltimore Methodist." That paper 
then had a large circulation in Texas; for was not Doctor Bond its Editor? And 
what Southern Methodist would fail to patronize his spicy, witty, and 
belligerent paper? So we read Bishop Doggett's strictures on the ability of 
Springfield to entertain a great Annual Conference. A reply was soon 
forthcoming. "The house was a good framed house. There was not a crack in it.
Everyone except the good Bishop was pleased, &c., &.c" When

the fierce blasts from the north hit the old gentleman he had failed to 
observe that they came, not through cracks, but holes. So we had a tempest in
a teapot.

When Ientered the Conference room the Bishop had just begun his opening 
address to the Conference. He was a striking figure, about medium height, 
rather slender with blue eye3, grey hair, massive forehead and smooth features.
I scanned him closely. The address was very brief, after which he read the 
historic conference hymn, "And are we yet alive, and see each other's face?" A 
fervent prayer followed, then a hymn and then another prayer led by Thomas 
Stanford, the Nestor of the body. Then F. P. Ray called the roll of the 
Conference and John S. McCarver was elected Secretary with F. P. Ray and J. 
W. Durant, L. E. Lay delegate, assistants.

I had never seen such a body of men before. I was acquainted with two or three 
of them. There was S. C.Littlepage, who had been my pastor during the year 
previous to the one then closing and who was a charter member of the body. He
was my ideal preacher then. Years of observation and fellowship have confirmed 
my opinion of his greatness in the pulpit. Then there was my Pastor, Brother 
Thos. G. Gilmore, Sledgehammer, he was called and he well deserved the name.
Grizzled, stiff hair, blue eyes, protruding upper lip, despising everything 
that smacked of softness or needless self-indulgence, demanding that Methodists
obey the discipline or take the consequences, powerful in the pulpit and out 
of it, but warmhearted and sympathetic after all, misunderstood in life because
of his stern loyalty to his conceptions of duty, he lived hard and died poor. 
Thank God, there will be a day of vindication. I can not forbear giving a 
sample of him. While preaching, on one occasion, he quoted the scripture, "No
man say that Jesus is the Lord by the Holy Ghost." "This text," said Gilmore, 
"knocks Campbellism in the head. A preacher of that persuasion called out, 
"Charity thinketh no evil." Gilmore fastened his eyes on him, knit his brow 
for a moment, then said. "The voice of a fool is like the crackling of thorns
under a pot," says the wise Solomon. Of cuurse it goes without saying what 
followed. When he returned to that appointment that preacher was dead. The 
boys said he died of mortification.

Well, Gilmore was there, and McCarver was there. He had licensed me to preach
a few months before. He was low in stature, but large in circumference, the
very opposite of Gilmore in appearance. His deep blue eyes always got little 
and very piercing while preaching. He had come from Arkansas during the last 
year of the war, and had taught a school at Auburn in Ellis county for several 
months previous to the organization of the Conference at Waxahachie in 1866.
He had volunteered in the Confederate Army, was made a Brigadier, and commanded
a Brigade at one of the great fights in Tennessee, I think, at Shiloh. He was 
raised a Presbyterian of the old school, when called to the ministry he had 
repudiated Calvinism and become a Methodist Itinerant. He always regretted 
joining the army. He thought he had acted unwisely. Though braver man never 
went on the battlefield. But his sphere was in the ministry. At times he was a
great preacher, and it was not uncommon that men and women should be overcome
by his preaching and fall unconscious on the floor. His voice was musical and
well modulated. Those who knew him only in later years, did not know that he 
had been a Prince and a great man in Israel.

But look at that small, slender, dark haired, keen eyed man, so often on the
floor, only to say a word or two, but who is heard and heeded every time he 
speaks. That is him now. "Bishop, one year ago there were no candidates for 
admission; we appointed the first week in March as a week of fasting and prayer
that God would call labourers into the harvest. Eight have answered 'here am 
I, send me.' I think our prayers have been heard on high." "Who is it talking 
that way?" "That is Lewis B.Whipple, easily the leader of the Conference." He 
is a Northern man by birth but came to Texas in early life and is Southern in 
his sympathies. If there is a man in the Conference who can beat Bishop 
Doggett preaching. Lewis Whipple is the man."

Littlepage told me that. I heard him the next Sunday afternoon. I was not swept
off my feet, but I could give you an outline of the sermon now after forty-one 
years have passed. Two years after this Conference he died of pneumonia. He 
was then stationed in Waxahachie, and his body sleeps there under a modest 
monument.

But there is another striking figure, a man splendidly built from the ground 
up. Black hair, dark eyes, dark complexion, voice a little hoarse from overwork
in the pulpit. Ho too has been through the army, has led a cavalry company, 
has never shirked a duty nor dodged a bullet, a friend of humanity, a 
benefactor of every man who needed his counsel or help, a genius in 
organization and work, a preacher of no small ability, whose unhappy going out
in darkness shall not prevent me from paying tribute to one of nature's 
noblest sons, W. G Veal. The church owed him much. The Conference policies 
were shaped by his ekill and energy for many years. He always walked with a
limp, a cane swung over his left arm. He had been wounded in battle. When 
Whipple passed away, Veal was the undisputed leader of the Conference. But 
there stands on the floor now, another, whose face speaks benevolence, whose 
voice is soft as sympathy itself, whose record through a long and eventful 
life in Arkansas and Texas has been above suspicion, who is always wise 
because he is always loving and kind, who hatei nothing but sin and fears none 
but God, Presiding Elder, station preacher, circuit rider, member of General 
Conference half a dozen times, Curator of the University, father cf a numerous
family, but whose house has always been a private orphanage. (What makes the
tears blind my eyes as I write?) That is Thomas Stanford, who was never great
in anything, but far above the ordinary, in everything, and therefore was a
great man and hero.

A man comes in on a crutch. One leg is misshapen and distorted. He has rather
rough features and no one would take him to be great intellect. He is not; but
he has traveled hard circuits when those now called hard, would be counted 
"kid glove" appointments. He has slept on the ground with his saddle for his 
pillow and his blanket his only bed and covering. He has heard the war whoop
of the Comanche by day, and at night has lain awake and listened to the 
imitations of the hooting of owls and howling of wolves. No settlement on the 
frontier is too remote for him to visit, and no time of the moon too dangerous
for him to brave the risk of savage raids. He does not dream that he is a hero.
The name of him is Benjamin Kemp.

There is another prominent figure. I think he is still living, but I have lost
track of him. He stands up in the aisle much of the time. He wears a shawl 
instead of an overcoat (a fashion then). His eyes are a study, although crossed
they are very expressive, there is an air of abandon about him that causes 
some to wish he were more devout, his voice goes out with a sort of non-
chalance that makes a similar impression, he is withal a ventriloquist. But he 
is a student and a courageous character. He is a wit as well as a smart 
theologian. He can write and preach a good sermon of his own, or if you preach
a good one can take it along with him and use it on occasion. At bottom he is
a sincere, religious, loyal Methodist preacher. He was on the Lampasas Circuit
(Comanche Indian country) last year, and Bishop Doggett will appoint him 
Presiding Elder of the Lampasas District. He will go and do good work for two
years there, and then locate and by and by become a great geologist. You know
his name, W. F. Cummins.

That square built man across the aisle from us is W. L. Kidd. He is the only
college graduate in the Conference. His friends think that he is not 
appreciated. He is sent to poor circuits and fares hard as if he were only 
ordinarily equipped for the work. He is a student and a fine thinker, but has
the notion that a man should not prepare his sermons. Hence he frequently
fails to preach well. But at times he is a fine preacher. He is a bachelor
now. He will marry and locate when he is about fifty years old. I once had the
temerity to intercede for Lorenzo Kidd with Bishop Marvin. The Bishop taught
me a lesson. "We educate our young men that we may have their services on the
hardest works. If they imagine that their college degree entitles them to rich
charges with high sounding names their education has misled them. It is poor 
encouragement to a Bishop to send a man to an important point, to say that he
has failed on weaker charges. I shall never knowingly give a man what is 
called a good appointment, who has failed on a smaller work. The only fear I
have about our colleges is that the young preachers will be taught that they 
are entitled to soft places. If education eliminates the heroic element we 
would better continue our policy of training them in in the ministry, not for 
it."

The Bishop's ideas might be considered with profit now.

Jesse Boyd is just in front of us. He is a good preacher and a great exhorter.
By and by the boys won't know what that means. But Jesse Boyd knows. He can
call mourners and men and women will respond with a rush. He is a whole 
campmeeting by himself. He and J.C.S.Baird will be sent to the Centerville 
Circuit this year. Baird will become a fine preacher and fill some important 
stations, locate, move, move to Oklahoma, be readmitted and die in the harness.
Boyd will live on and preach all the time, have hundreds of conversions, die 
in a cabin home, and enter into the Palace of the King. His widow will live in 
poverty and blindness, with a grand daughter, her only income being the annuity
sent to her from the Conference collections, by the Board of Finance. She and
Uncle Jesse are together now.

There goes a man of medium size and squarely built who has been a local 
preacher most of his life but joined the Conference a year or two ago. It is
Brother Carpenter. He is said to be a good preacher; he is surely a devout man.
His face has the appearance of kindliness. His mouth is drawn down a little on 
one side and his fair complexion has been bronzed by exposure. Two years hence 
Bishop Marvin will appoint him Presiding Elder. He will by and by superannuate 
and retire to his farm five miles east of Belton. His relative, C. R. Wright, 
now a lad in kilts will go to Vanderbilt, come to Texas, be sent to Belton and
wait with him as he passes away, then bury him with the church ceremony. Two 
comparatively young men come in and sit together just in front of me. Says the
elder, "I have come to this Conference hoping to find the true Methodist 
spirit where the appointments are made on merit without any wire working." "I
hope we will find it that way but I doubt it," said the other. They are W. R.
D. Stockton and George W. Graves. Graves was a charter member of the body. 
Stockton transferred from the Rio Grande Conference a year ago. He is very
popular. He has been stationed in Helena, a little town in West Texas. He held 
a great meeting there and there were many conversions. Among them was a 
remarkable case. A certain man rose early in the morning and went to the 
nearby saloon and got drunk and whipped his wife before breakfast. The men of 
the town heard her screams for help and took him down to the river and dipped 
and ducked him until he was sobered. They exacted a promise to remain sober 
under penalty of drowning. He shaved and put on clean clothes and went to the
eleven o'clock service and heard Stockton preach; went forward as penitent, 
professed religion, offered himself for membership in the church and the same
afternoon Stockton immersed him at the very spot where the boys had ducked him
in the morning. When Stockton told me of this he said that was one time he
went down into the water cheerfully. Next year Stockton will be stationed in 
Belton, will complete a quadrennium there, then go to Waco station, then be 
made Presiding Elder and after years of service will die in Belton. His wife 
will precede him to heaven. One of his two daughters will become the wife of 
W. L. Nelms, the other will marry H. B. Henry.

Graves has come to Conference through tribulation. He has had to sit down on 
the swollen Brazos and spend two or three day building a raft on which he can
take his wife and baby, Marvin, across. I think it was the Brazos but it has
been a long time since he told me of that trip. He will be sent to Springfield 
Circuit, to Waxahachie District, to Georgetown District, to Georgetown Station, 
to Gatesville Distirict and will at last pass to his reward from Georgetown.
He had a very large family who honored their father and mother. But the size of
that family made it hard to place him in his later years. Brethren did not 
remember, or perhays they had never known. For when he went up to his home 
there were but few who had known his early experiences. When this scribe told 
in the Bishop's council some of Graves' history Bishop Fitzgerald wept, and
gave him a district. Another Bishop refused to listen to the story and gave 
him a small circuit. He died very poor, but rich in faith. He invested the 
wealth of his personality, influence, and effort, in the education of his 
children. They are respected and honored citizens, and his life history is a
heritage of which they may well be proud. Sometimes I think that Bishop? may
make mistakes. The best way to take care of the church is to provide for the
church's servants.

A sprightly boy may be more pleasing to a lot of half grovvn kids than a 
venerable man of years. I think that Methodism ought to set an example, to
others by refusing to listen to that senseless clamor. The half baked theology
that is sometimes heard in High steeple, may please better than sound doctrine
from a veteran but the pleasing may not be profitable after all.

But I will not croak; I know George Graves was a good man, a good preacher, 
and ought to have had a good appointment. "It will all come out in the wash."
Now after forty-one years have passed I would a long ways rather take my 
chances in our system than among any congregational crowd that ever prated 
about mutual rights and personal liberties and were dominated by a self-elected
boss. Yet even with us there may be bears in the bushes lying in wait for the
kids who say: "Go up thou bald head." A small man, almost diminutive both in 
size and voice slips about the room. His name is Drury Womack. He has been on 
a hard circuit down in the Bedi country, and he will go to another hard one. 
He don't expect anything else. He has two sermons which are famous in the 
Conferene. One is on the Text: "Remember Lott's wife." I heard him preach on 
that text at Butler last year. The other is from Jeremiah, "If thou hast run 
with footman and they wearied thee what wilt thou do when thou contendest with
horses?" I never heard that one. His friends thought highly of it. He served 
the church for many years. I suppose he never had an appointment that paid him
more than three hundred dollars. But he raised a family, lived honestly and 
died happy. He had a nephew, R. B. Womack who traveled in Ellis county good 
circuits. He was strong though not a brilliant preacher. He was strong though 
not a brilliant preacher. The church prospered under his ministry. His wife 
generally went with him. They had no children and this was not impractical 
under such circumstances. Then there was a young man named Hale. He was on the
Covington Circuit, where there was another College in the Incubator. But it 
died a hatching. He came in an elegant buggy. He was dressed with remarkable 
care and was a young man of great promise. We hoped much for his future. Bishop
Doggett sent him to Weatherford Station, where the next Conference would be 
held. He did well, but became discouraged and located. It was a great grief to
us. Bishop Wightman tried in vain to dissuade him. He was a good preacher, and
his social qualities fitted him for the pastoral work remarkably well. He went
to New Orleans, studied medicine, became a physician, married well and we sawe 
him no more. I have heard from him as a useful man in New Orleans. But I am not
discussing the Weatherford Conference, if I were I might tell about Hale and 
Bishop being rivals in love and a rich cattle man taking her away from either 
of us.

The one connectional man it Conference was Doctor John, a small man in nothing
but physical stature. It was my first sight of him. He represented the 
Christian Advo cate, published in Galveston. He also made a missionary address
on Saturday night. No sketch of him is needed here. The hitory of Texas can 
not be Wxitten without his name appearing often.

Three transfers have arrived. James Peeler, inventor of the Peeler plow, and 
terror of evil doers. Hatchet face, retreating chin and forehead, ringing 
voice, he can put more into a few short crisp sentences than any man I ever 
saw. It would require an entire article to sketch his checkered life. There is
T. W. Hines, now on the Chatfield Circuit, bat growing into leadership. He 
will one day be an energetic and earnest Presiding Elder, then superannuate 
and pass away a victim of tuberculosis. There is Uncle Billy Vaughan. They
call him "The Inspired Idiot." I wish "they" had half as much sense as he has.
His wife sits beside him. They have just come from Alabama and are on the 
Peoria Circuit. I will not sketch him now. Hear him preach and stay on the 
seat if you can. I can't and I don't care. Anybody that can sit still under 
the spell of his eloquence is coldblooded. A grey haired man walks in with a 
new cane in his hand. He always has a new cane which he gives to some special
friend. He cuts them and shapes them to suit his taste. He is superannuated.
He professes sanctification. He was here before Springfield was, before there 
was a Waco he slept on the bank of the Brazos near the Waco Spring and dreamed 
of the conquest of the country for his Lord, while the Indians howled and 
hooted in the near by woods. He can't preach any more now, but he can tell his
experience in the Conference love feast and shout while Brother Vaughan 
preaches. He has a son living now in Georgetown who is a faithful member of 
his father's church and is worthy of his sire, Jos. P. Sneed. It as at this 
Conference that Henry W. South, explained in no mild terms his reason for not 
going to the San Gabriel Circuit, here Union men and Republicans were in the 
ascendency and the hot blooded Kentuckian who had been in the storms of forty-
four, did not relish their company. It was here that I met for the first time 
John P. Mussett, in whose presence today I take off my hat. On Friday afternoon
J. Fred Cox preached. Neal sent me into the pulpit with him. His text was. 
"Prove all things, hold fast that which is good." He read the sermon. It was 
good, but I was sorry he read it. After service, he Dulled my hand under his 
left arm and held it there as we walked to his Conference home. He introduced
me to Aunt Mollie, not old then but so kind and good to all that she was 
called Aunt Mollie by many folks, and I took supper with them. Then began a 
friendship which was not interrupted until the angels came for him. I have been
lonesome ever since he went away and Sam Wright moved to California. I count 
it among the greatest honors of my life to have had the uninterrupted and
unrestricted confidence and sympathy of two such men. (Sam P. was not with us
then.) Now a little sandy haired man, with a paper collar on (those travesties
had just been invented) rose to make his report. He had been on the outside
row. He said we had to have an outside row, or the next one would be outside.
Far out in the Comanche country he had traveled. He brought, as usual, a good 
report. I never knew him to bring any other kind. Of course the work was hard,
he had traveled far and near, had small salary, a few conversions, but he had 
opened up in the territory, and reported what was going to occur rather than 
what had already happened. But Peter Gravis is a seer. Gifted with remarkable
eloquence, caring nothing for hardships, with unflagging zeal and devotion, 
when he get3 old and blind, he will still be cheerful and hopeful and will 
pass into the heavens with victory on his lips. That man next to the front 
bench seems to be a giant. Tremendous frame, strong hard features, complexion
both dark and bronzed by exposure. There is no foolishness about William Monk.
His life has been invested in the work and he will never shrink from any duty.
But you won't get him to laugh much. The problems of the ministry look too 
serious for that. He has been on the Owensville Circuit and Robert Crawford 
says he can preach as well as Doctor Lovick Pierce. But the way to hear him at 
his best is to follow him at a short distance as he rides through the woods and
preaches to the ^timber and the angels. (Monk lingers still, feeble, faint'but'
pursuing.) But who is Robert Crawford anyway?/Contemporary and close friend of 
Fowler, Ruter and Alexander. He has been Missionary to the Negroes this year. 
He has been directed by Bishop McTyeire to take charge of their interests and 
see that they were guided safely into £the C. M. E. church. Scallawag and 
carpetbaggersjtre plentiful and Robert Crawford is the man to circumvent them. 
He will finish this work in a year or two and then superannuate and live near
Owensville for a few years, befriend every preacher and good man and good 
cause for a decade, then join with joy the ranks of the other Pioneers beyond 
the great divide.

Now there is another giant on the floor, but his bow has lost its strength. It
is Mordecai Yell. He is a native Tenne£seean, has been a member of the 
Tennessee Conference and a useful Presiding Elder before he transferred to 
Texas, and has repeatedly filled that important office here. He is palsied now,
in hand and voice, but unwavering in his faith and loyalty. He is up to ask 
for a superannuated relation. He has been a very strong character and has 
often antagonized people in and out of the church, but his name goes on the 
roll of honor without a stain. He will go to his little place across the 
Navasota from Springfield, remain a while, thence to the town of Calvert, 
terminus to the H. & T. C. Railway, where he will serve faithfully for a short
time. Then move with the terminus to Groesbeck, then later to West Texas, in 
the Cuero country, whence he will ascend to his great reward.

A singular character is now asking for a supernumerary relation. It is Reuben
Long, (Bishop Doggett stops in his excellent and hospitable home) first a 
preacher, then because of failing health becoming for a brief time a farmer, 
then a druggist, lives n Springfield, will move with the town to Mexia and 
pass from there to his home above, leaving a numerous family in the church, to
follow him to the better land. His wife will survive him until these lines are
written, and we hope for many more years. Solomon Yarbrough, in his day a 
great revival preacher and evangelist in new territory, sits over there on the
south side by the smokine stove. He will receive one or two more appointments
and then retire, on the supernumerary list, to his good farm and comfortable 
home near Waxahachie. No man ever heard him make a report without bragging on
his wife, who was worthy of all his praise. Their children and grandchildren,
by their lives, honor their memory.

A very large man, with face covered with whiskers, somewhat grey, is now 
talking in a very nasal tone or rather twang. He was on the Grandview Circuit 
(I am not sure of the name but I am of the territory). He has a large family,
and is poor. George Marchbanks, a noble layman of Waxahachie has given him a 
farm in the cross timbers. Like some other preachers it has taken all he has
made preaching to keep up his farm, and he is going to sell. He is Uncle Jimmy 
Jones. Bishop Dcggett will appoint James M. Jones Presiding Elder of 
Springfield District. The Bishop will also appoint Brother Gilmore and Horace 
Bishop to the Fairfield Circuit. Uncle Jimmy will pass through and press 
Brother B. into service as a traveling companion to Centerville, where he will
hold a turbulent session of Quarterly Conference. When the local brethren 
become boisterous, he will tell them: "Brethren, this must be stopped. If you
don't respect this chair ril vacate it." Next day he will preach on Caleb and
Joshua and J. W. Durant will shout (It was a splendid sermon).

A blind man applies for admission. He preached the other night. Andrew Davis, 
Local Elder, concluded the service. McWilliams preached on faith. I recall Ihe 
exhortation, but little of the sermon, save that it was made up almost entirely
of accurate quotations from the Bible. He has spent his life in the M. E. 
Church. He has fought our discipline all over Arkansas. Now he subscribes to 
it, is admitted into Conference, serves a part of one year, breaks down and 
dies in the faith. His family will be conference claimants for many years. But
we can afford it.

Oscar M. Addison is local now, for a year or two. So is Andrew Davis. But J. M.
Johnston is still vigorous. He has been P. E. on the outside row. He is said 
lo be a good preacher, and a tireless worker. He will not remain on the
effective list but two or three years when he will superannuate and we will 
see but little more of him. His record is on high. Samuel D. Akin was 
transferred last year to Northwest Texas Conference and appointed President of
Chatfield Male and Female College. There was also a college of large 
pretensions at Port Sullivan. Northwest Texas inherited all the rights,
privileges and hereditaments of that great institution from the Old Mother,
when the Conference was divided. The rights, benefits, rnd hereditaments 
remained after the school passed away. Some of them still linger in memory.

Chatfield M. and F. C. survived its competitor and sister school two years and 
was gathered to its fathers. I sometimes visit the cemetery. Dr. Akin continued
active long after this idol of his heart was laid low. He was a scholar, a 
Christian, and every inch a gentleman. He undertook to revise and condense 
Fletcher's Checks; but those polemics passed with the passing of higher 
Calvinism, which the checks did much to destroy. Doctor Akin could not 
reuvjenate them. He lived poor, died happy and went to Heaven. He left a noble 
Christian wife and splendid family, among them the wife of our noble 
superannuated Brother John F. Neal. John R. White is there too. He is the man
who once instructed Dr. Summers. When T. 0. S. asked him how he would teach 
the Gospel to a Comanche Indian, J. R. W. replied kill him first and teach 
afterwards. He is not loth to carry cut that program, at least the first
feature of it. An eld bald man of slender figure and striking presence
preaches tonight. He has moved almost unnoticed on the Conference floor but 
the preachers have crowded around him during the recess. His text is "He that
dwelleth in the secret Place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of 
the Almighty." (I have the substance of that sermon also laid away, and profit
by it on occasion.) It is Jerome B. Annis. The many Amens heard during the
discourse attest the interest of the brethren. This afternoon, Cummins preached
. He has evidently read Marvin's great book just published, "The Work of Christ
." Cummins could not get away from it. It was a fine sermon, so Brother 
Stanford said. Tomorrow night Uncle Dick Thompson, a visilor from Trinity (now
North Texas) Conference preaches. He will stir the brethren by saying that 
there was a possibility of our Lord yielding to the temptation of the devil.

I don't know what Uncle Dick thinks in 1909, but I suppose he is of the same
mind. Sunday at eleven, of course the Bishop preached, and Littlepage recanted
his formula mentioned in the first part of this paper. He thought after 
hearing him that it was useless to sugest that any one could beat the Bishop.
If you want his sermon I can give it to you, although I did not think of taking
a note Ambassador for Christ was his theme. My friend (now gone on) Maj. Beaton
who had come from Corsicana to Springfied to hear him said it was worth a 
Pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

Of the eight brought up for admission, J. M. Lewis withdrew his applicatin 
bcause of failing health, and returned to his home in Robertson County. J. D.
Shaw's name brought by W. G. Veal was rejected, because he was not present to 
stand his examination. He came in two years later. You know the rest. J. M. 
Vinson discontinued at the end of his first year because of ill health.
Hilliard B. Smith remained in the Conference several years and loctaed. I 
think he is still living, an honortd and useful local preaher. A. A. Cornell 
continued in the Conference for several years, transferred to Louisiana, where 
he was a useful Presiding Elder. I have lost sight of him. J. F. Hines did
well for a long time. He retired broken down in health and passed away to his
bright reward. J. C. S. Baird has been mentioned above.

The last one writes this paper. It is quite likely that I have failed to 
"mention some very worthy names. If I had the minutes before me, possibly, I
could recall the presence of each of those men who in 1868 planned to go with 
advancing civilization until our territory from Georgetown to the north line 
of the State and from the Trinity to the Colorado and Big Springs was 
evangelized and christianized. I have written the whole from memory. Some of 
the facts may be inaccurately stated. But they are taken from the record as I
read it on my brain, written there not with pen and ink, or pencil but with 
the stylus that writes indellibly those things that interest and affection
engrave upon everlasting pages.

It was a small body of men. But their purposes were great and their plans were
comprehensive, and well matured. John F. Neal, our host, was every thing 
required to make an elegant entertainer and gentleman. A tipsy man remarked 
as Neal passed by, "There goes the cleanest man I ever looked at." And he was
and is. We all were grieved when he was permanently disabled from the active
ministry, for a good man, a good preacher and a faithful pastor was missed
from the itinerant ranks when Neal retired. He lives and honors the church by 
a spotless life.

On Tuesday night the Bishop read the appointments. Before reading he gave us 
an eloquent address. I could not then see how any preacher should fail to go 
to his work. But when I was bidding the brethren good-bye, there were some
murmurings. However, all went to work and the next fall we met at Weather 
ford, a little frontier village, subject to Indian raids every full moon. We 
lost eleven horses, but no lives from their depredations the next fall, during
the session of the Conference.

Horace Bishop.