The title to this chapter bears about the same relation to its contents as the name of one sermon does to the other twenty in a given volume. I gave it this title because it must have some heading; everything has a heading. Graves have headstones.

No greater variety of character exists on the frontier than elsewhere, but peculiar cases come to the surface oftener. Those women living in the woods, who belonged to the "Church of God," are good illustrations. They had some peculiar ideas about the Scriptures, but it was much more refreshing to the missionary to find peculiar views than none at all. I often introduced myself to them with a text of Scripture, and tried hard to induce them to move into the next village for their children's sake. It was a much better place morally, although but a mile distant. But the influence of an organized church, with a good building and Sunday-school, made a greater difference than the distance would seem to warrant. One day, as I was passing their home, I shouted out, "Up, get you out of this place; for the Lord will destroy this city!" The next day I was off on my way to the other side of the State. As my journey well illustrates the difficulties of travel in a new country, I will describe it.

At my first change of cars, I found that my train was delayed by a fire along the track, so that I could not make my next connection with a cross-country train. This troubled me, as it was Friday, and the young minister whom I was about to visit was doing manual work on his church building, and would probably be ill-prepared to preach himself. I telegraphed him, and was just turning away when my eye caught sight of a map, and I noticed that the road I was on and the road he was on, although a hundred miles apart where I was then, gradually approached until within thirteen miles of each other, one hundred miles north. Remembering that a stage crossed at this point, I started on the late train, which, like a human being, seldom makes up for lost time, and was dropped into the pitch darkness about eleven P.M. The red lights of the train were soon lost in the black forest; I felt like Goldsmith's last man.

Two or three little lights twinkled from some log cabins. A small boy, with a dilapidated mail-bag and a dirty lantern, stood near me. I asked him if there was a hotel in town.

He said, "Yep."

Would he guide me to it?

"Yep."

I next inquired whether the stage made connections with the train on the other road.

"Wal, yes, it gineraley does."

"Why, does it not to-morrow?"

"Guess not.""Why?"

"Cos' of the ternado."

"Tornado?"

"Yes; didn't ye know we had a ternado?"

"No."

"Well, we did, ye know; tore the trees up hullsale, and just played Ned. Rain cum down like suds."

"Well, can I get a buggy or wagon?"

"Guess not; both out in the woods; can't git home."

I felt sick at hearing this; for how to get across with two grips filled with books, theological books too, troubled me. I slept little. My room was bare; the rain pattering on the roof, the mosquitoes inside, and my own thoughts, routed me out early Saturday morning. I was pleased to find that the man had returned with the wagon, and after much persuasion, I engaged him for five dollars to take me across.

We started off with an axe. The old settlers laughed at our attempt, but we were young. Over the fallen trees we went bumping along; but, alas, we tried too big a maple, and out came the reach-pole and left us balanced on the tree. After a tiring walk through the "shin-tangles"—that is, ground hemlock—we reached the road, and mounted bareback. We met some commercial travellers cutting their way through, with a settler's help, passed a horse and buggy (minus a driver), with a bottle of whiskey in the bottom. We then had the good fortune to borrow a single wagon of a minister, who lived near on a farm. Our horses had to walk in the water by the edge of the lake, and the leeches fastened on them by the dozen. Finally we met the stage, and knew our way was clear. We were drenched with the rain, but it was clearing, and so we cheered up.

I asked the stage-driver whether I could catch the train.

He said, "Well, if ye drive, ye can."

The emphasis he put into the drive made us whip up. Presently the village could be seen, a half-mile away. The engine was on the turntable. How fast it went around! I was getting nervous. I asked the man to get my grips out, while I got my ticket; and rushing into the office, I snapped out, "Ticket for ——!"

The man turned his head with a jerk, and stared at me so intently that I thought something was wrong. So I said, "What time does the train start?"

"In about an hour."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I felt like Sir Francis Drake, when his vessel seemed to be going over in the Thames. "What! have I sailed the ocean," said he, "to be drowned in a ditch?" So, I thought, "Have I come a hundred miles out of my way, to miss the train?"

I boarded the cars, cleaned my valises, and found the color running from my book-covers. My boots were like brown paper, so sodden were they. I dried myself by the stove; but my troubles were not over. The train-boy called out the station at the water-tank. The rain was pouring down; I was in for it again; so I walked down between the freight cars, went to the hotel and dried myself again, and, after dancing around the room on one foot to get my boots on, I started off to find my man.

He was out of town! Expected home with a funeral soon. I was foolish enough to make myself known as soon as he got off the cars, and he coaxed me into taking charge of the funeral. Then for the third time I was soaked, as we stood in the new cemetery, while a hymn of six verses was rendered. But what flattened me worse than all was that the young man had not received my second telegram, which I sent to relieve his supposed excited feelings, and had not been troubled in the least, but was going to make Fred. Robertson ("who being dead yet speaketh") do duty for him. Tired out, I flung myself on a bed, and slept in spite of—well never mind what. I had to change quarters next night, for I was not so sleepy.I received a letter from the student who had taken my charge, saying, "—— is burnt to the ground, and all north of the railway." In an instant there flashed on my mind the words of the woman: "Up, get you out," etc. The same words came home to the women as they saw their homes going up in smoke.

"What did the elder say?" said they to one another.

The excitement of the fire brought on brain fever in the case of the youngest child.

On my return, while trying to comfort the little one (who we thought was dying), and telling her about heaven, she cried out in her feebleness, "I don't want to go to heaven! I want to go to Injeanny."

And, sure enough, she got well, and did go to "Injeanny."