Produced by Roger Taft (RogerTaft at Cox.Net)







A U T O B I O G R A P H Y

O F

Z.  S.  H A S T I N G S



W R I T T E N   F O R    H I S    B O Y S

HARRY
PAUL
OTHO
MILO

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Effingham
Kan.

Christmas, 1911

Dear Paul,--

I am sending to each of the other boys a copy of my Autobiography
like this I send you.  I hope you will be interested in it;  read it,
preserve it, and give it to some of your children, to be read and
handed down and down until the second Adam comes the second time.

I am sure I would be glad to have something of this kind from my
father, even from his father's father's father's, etc., back to
father Adam, the first Adam.

Z. S. Hastings



C H A P T E R    O N E

Birth.  Name.  Parent's Religion.  Blood. Ancestor's
Religion and Politics.  First Recollection.  Father's
Family.  From North Carolina to Indiana

I was born March 15th 1838 at a place now called Williams in Lawrence
County, Indiana.  When the day came for me to be named, mother said,
"He looks like my brother Zachariah," but father said, "He looks like
my brother Simpson."  "All right", said mother," we will just
christen him Zachariah Simpson."  And that is my name unto this day.

Now, when mother said 'christen' she did not mean what is usually
meant by christening a babe, for if she had they would have had to
take me to a river, for mother and father both believed, when it came
to baptizing, that is required much water.  Mother, when baptized,
was dipped three times, face first, and father once, backwards making
in each case an entire submerging or an immersion.  Religiously mother
was called a Dunkard and father was called a Baptized Quaker.  "Now",
said father, one day to mother, "this out not to be, we are one in
Christ, let us be one in name."  "All right," said mother, "let us
drop the names Dunkard and Quaker and simply call ourselves Christians."
"Just so," said father, "but we must live Christians as well."  And
they did.

There runs in my veins both English and Irish blood.  On the paternal
side I can only trace my ancestors back to the early Quakers of
Baltimore.  On the maternal side I know less, for it is only said
that my great grand-mother was a handsome, witty, Irish-woman.  For
some reason, I know not what, I have always liked the humble, honest,
witty Irish people, be they Catholic or Protestant.

As far back as I can trace my ancestry they were religiously Quakers
and Politically Whigs.  More recently however, we are religiously,
simply Christians, politically prohibition Republicans.  I do not
boast of my ancestors, boys, for they were humble, yet,

     "Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
     'Tis only noble to be good."

The first thing that I can now remember was, when I was two and one-half
years old, in the fall of 1840, when General William Henry
Harrison was elected the ninth president of the United States.  It
was on the occasion of a big rally day for Mr. Harrison when I, with
my parents, stood by the road-side and saw in the great procession
going by, four men carrying a small log cabin upon their shoulders,
and in the open door of the cabin sat a small barrel of hard cider.
The rally cry was "Hurrah for Tippecanoe and Tyler too."

My father and mother were there, because they were Whigs, and I was
there because father and mother were there.  There is a great deal in
the way a child is brought up.  O, that the children of our beloved
land be brought up in the way they should go!  O, that it could be
said of all parents that their children are brought up in the nurture
and admonition of the Lord;  that is could be said of all teachers of
our great country as it was said of the great lexicographer, Noah
Webster:  "He taught thousands to read, but not one to sin."  It is
said boys, that the training of a child should begin a hundred years
before it is born.  I do not know about this, but I do know that the
proper training should be kept up after it is born.  Will you see to
it, that you do your part well?

My father's family consisted of seven children, of whom I was the
fifth child.  Three brothers, Joshua Thomas, William Henry and John
Arthur, and one sister, Nancy Elizabeth, were older than I.  One
sister Charlotte Ann, and one brother Rufus Wiley, were younger.  My
father's name was Howell Hastings, my mother's name was Edith
Edwards.  Father and mother were both born in North Carolina; father
in 1905, mother in 1808.  They were married in 1826.  My two older
brothers were born in North Carolina.  The rest of us were born in
Indiana.  The parents, with their two little boys came to Indiana in
1830.  They made the entire trip in a one-horse wagon; crossing the
Cumberland Mountains, and passing through the states of Tennessee,
Virginia and Kentucky.  Of course they had but little in their wagon;
a box or two containing their wearing apparel, and a little bedding,
and also a little tin box containing just one-hundred dollars in gold
coin and a few valuable papers, which was kept, locked and hidden, in
one of the larger boxes.  This hundred dollars was all the money
father had except what he had in his pocket purse, which he supposed
would be enough to meet the expenses of the trip.

All went well for about two weeks when a man, traveling on horseback,
overtook them, who slackened his gait and traveled along with
them, forming an acquaintance.  He said to them that he too, was
going to the far west (Indiana was called the far west then), to seek
his fortune.  He was very kind, helpful and generous; and traveled
along with them for two days, but, on the third day morning, when
father awoke, his fellow traveler was gone.  Father and the man had
slept under the wagon.  Father usually slept in or under the wagon
while mother and the little boys would sleep in the house of some
family who lived by the road-side.  Just as they were ready to start
that morning, mother said to father, "Have you looked to see if the
tin box is safe?"  "No" said father.  "Well, you better look," said
mother.  Father looked among the stuff in the big box where they had
kept it, but it was not there.  The man had stolen it and all that
was in it.  The kind family, whose hospitality mother had shared
during the night, kept her and her children in their home while
father and the husband of the home and an officer of the law spent
two days hunting for the thief, but could not find him.  So, father
and mother had to pursue their journey without their little tin box
which was the most valuable of their temporal assets.  A man that
steals, should steal no more.

In due time, (1830) father and mother with their two little boys,
Thomas and Henry arrived in Lawrence County, Indiana, and settled in
the rich valley of the east fork of the White river.  Father's oldest
brother, Arthur D. Hastings, Sen., had preceded father a few years to
the new state, and was ready to greet and assist his brother to make
a new home.  Uncle Arthur was one of God's noblemen, an honest,
leading citizen, and devout Christian.  He lived on the place he
first settled about sixty years, and died there in 1886 at the
advanced age of 85 years.  Although I had many uncles, Uncle Arthur
was the only one I ever saw.

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C H A P T E R    T W O

Indiana.  The Stars fall.  Move.  Texas.   The flood of
1844.  First School.  White River's Pocket.  No
Nimrod.  A Fish Story.  Clarksburg.

At the time of father's arrival, Indiana was only 14 years old and
contained about 300,000 inhabitants.  Its capital city's first Mayor
was inaugurated two years before I was born and three years after the
stars fell.

In 1842 when I was about four years old my parents sold out and moved
down the river five or six miles and bought a new, larger and better
farm with a large two story hewed log house and a big double log
barn, and a good apple orchard.  The farming land was bottom and lay
along the river.  Here we had some sheep and cattle on a few hills
and some hogs in the woods, that got fat in the winter on white oak
acorns and beech nuts.  And here we had a large "sugar orchard" as
the Hosiers called it--hard maple trees by the many from which, in
the early spring, flowed the sweet sap by the barrels full which we
converted into gallons of maple syrup, and into many cakes of maple
sugar.

It was while we lived here, when I was six years old, there was the
greatest flood, known to me, since the days of Noah.  I remember it
well.  You too, my boys, will never forget the year when I tell you
it was the same year, 1844, in which your best earthly friend was
born, your mother.  But I did not know anything about her until
twenty years afterwards.

The flood was great.  All the lower lands were under water.  Mr.
Greene's, the ferryman, our nearest neighbor's family had to go in a
canoe from the door of their kitchen to their smoke house to get
meat.  All our cattle and hogs were in the stalk fields near the
river, and all were drowned, except one large, strong cow which swam
more than one half mile, almost in a straight line, and was saved.
We could see the cattle huddled together on a small island knoll away
down in the field next to the river.  The poor creatures would stand
there until the rapidly rising waters would crowd them off the knoll,
and then they swam until exhausted and overcome by the great
distance, and turbulent waters when they would go down to rise no
more.  I was the first to see the cow which swam out.  Looking down
through the orchard where the waters were swimming deep, I saw the
end of her nose and the tips of her horns above the water.  Slowly
she came, almost exhausted.  But finally she found footing where she
could stand and then the poor creature stood and bawled and bawled
for quite a while, and then walked to her young calf which was at the
barn on the hillside.

About this time I attended my first school and my teacher was my
cousin, Arthur D. Hastings, Jr., who lived to a good old age, and
died September 15th, 1906 within a little more than a stone's cast of
where he taught.  My first and only textbook at school for a year or
more was Webster's blue back Spelling book.  It had both Spelling and
Reading in it.  I learned all from end to end.  The teacher said I
ought to have a reader, so farther bought for me, McGuffey's second
reader; as soon as I got hold of it I ran with it to the barn loft
and sat down on the hay and read all that was in it before I got up.
The next day the teacher said I ought to have a higher reader, so
father bought for me McGuffey's fourth reader, the highest that was,
and these two readers were all the readers that I ever read.  Grammar
was not so easy.  My text-book was Smith's.  I would start at the
first of the book, and get about half through at the end of the term.
This I did for a half dozen years or more.  Finally when I started to
high school I took up Clark's grammar and finished it.

But, to go back a little, father after the great flood, went down to
Texas and bought several hundred acres of land and came back and sold
his farm intending to move to Texas, but changed his mind and sold
his Texas land for a song in the shape of a beautiful colt.  This
colt grew into one of the prettiest and best horses your grandfather
ever had.  But remember it cost hundreds of acres of land which are
worth thousands of dollars now.  It was like paying too much for your
whistle.

If we had gone to Texas, boys, I do not know what might have been but
I do know now that you are and that you have one of the best mothers
that lives.  Often have I heard her pray with tears in her eyes that
you and all the boys might be saved from the use of tobacco and
strong drink.

Father next turned his attention towards securing a home in the
pocket of the White River, which he did by buying a farm in Daviers
County on the border of Clark's Prairie and adjoining the village of
Clarksburg, which is now the city of Oden.  At the time of our
removal to Clarksburg I was about nine years old.  We liked our new
home.  At this time Daviers County was a wilderness of brush, trees
and swamps, with plenty of wild game,--deer, coons, opossums,
squirrels, turkeys, ducks, quails, snowbirds, and of wild fruits,
grapes, plums, crab-apples and strawberries.  And of fish of all
kinds, nearly.

I never was much of a Nimrod.  Many times I saw deer, and once when I
had a gun upon my shoulder, but I did not take it off.  Early one
morning a flock of thirty or forty wild turkeys came within a rod or
two of the kitchen window, but when we opened the door instead of
coming in, they flew away.  Some days after that I heard turkeys
gobbling in the woods, and I took the gun and went where they were
and shot one dead.  Happened to hit it in the head.  Once I shot a
crow and killed it.

One day I shot and killed four or five squirrels.  Often I trapped
quails and snow birds.  The biggest fish I ever saw caught I did not
catch.  Brother Henry, who was nine years older than I, caught it.
It was a cat-fish, and Henry and a boy named Billy James, who was
less than six feet tall, ran a pole through the fish's gills and
carried the fish between them suspended from the pole which was
rested upon the boys shoulders, and the fish was so long that its
tail tipped the ground as the boys walked.  Now, this is the biggest
fist story I ever tell, except the Jonah story, and I believe both.

We liked Clarksburg because it was a good place for schools, Sunday
Schools and churches.  I hardly remember the time when I was not in
school, Sunday School and church.  I think to this day these are good
places for boys to be.

My parents were always anxious to have their children in school and
made many sacrifices to this end; as a result their five boys all
were public school teachers before they were out of their teens.

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C H A P T E R    T H R E E

Certificate.  School.  Tophet.   Father's death.
Spirit Rappings.

At the age of seventeen, I sought the county school examiner that I
might procure a license to teach.  I found him at his school
teaching.  He had me wait until noon, then we went to the woods close
by.  It was a warm beautiful day, and the examiner sat on one end of
the log and I on the other.  Then the questioning commenced.  Why he
even asked what reading was, and although I had been reading for ten
years I could hardly tell.  He asked me how far it was from Dan to
BeerSheba, and then laughed at me because I did not know.  He asked
me if I had never heard the phrase "from Dan to BeerSheba."  I told
him it seemed to me that I did once hear an old preacher say
something about a young man named Dan who was handsome and strong,
but he got into a pretty dangerous place one time among some lions,
but he came out all right, the preacher said, because he would never
drink beer or wine or whiskey or anything that would make a man
drunk.  I do not think the examiner ever heard that story before, so
he quit asking such irrelevant questions and got to business, asking
about vowels and consonants, and accent and emphasis, curves and
loops, Tories and Whigs, order and discipline, etc. etc. until he
said that will do, and wrote me out a certificate to teach.  That
county examiner was my oldest brother, hence the fun.  From then on,
I was a public school teacher for about 15 years.  I stood the test
many times in Indiana, Missouri and Kansas, to secure a teacher's
certificate, but never failed to get the first grade.  Of course, I,
in the meantime, spent about three more years at school.  My
popularity as a successful teacher came at once, even at the first
term, so much so that they sent for me to come and teach for them in
a place called Tophet.  Boys, if you do not know what that means look
it up in the dictionary.  The place was so bad, that teachers for
several years had not been able to teach to the end of the term.  The
bad boys and girls would run the teacher off.  I knew all this.  And
instead of going with a rod, as other teachers had I went with love
and firmness determined to win right in the start the respect and
confidence of the big boys and girls.  I succeeded.

The first death to occur in my father's family was the death of my
father himself.  In the early fall of 1854 father's health began to
fail.  The disease was dropsy.  Dr. Sam Elmore, the resident
physician of Clarksburg did all he could, faithfully attending father
all the fall and winter up to the day of his death.  But about one
week before death, the doctor requested that we send for Dr.
McDonald, who lived in Newberry, a town about eight miles away.  This
we did, and Dr McDonald, a skillful and learned physician, came to
see father twice that week.  The last time was on the day before
Christmas.  When he left to go home, he requested us to let him know
father's condition the next day after noon.  The next day was
Christmas.  Father seemed much better all afternoon.  Many friends
and neighbors came in to see him.  He talked more than usual.  The
day was a cold, dark, drizzly one.  We had no telephones then, so on
horse back in the afternoon, through cold and sleet, I made my way to
tell the doctor how father was.  The errand was not hard for me,
because I loved my father and he was better, I thought, and I wanted
to tell the doctor.  As soon as I entered the doctor's office, I
said, "Father is better."  The doctor asked me several questions
about him which I answered.  He then turned to get some medicine and
as he turned I saw him shake his head negatively.  He gave me a
little phial filled with medicine and told me to give father two or
three drops every two or three hours and added, "If your father is
better in the morning, let me know."  I went home with a sadder heart
than I had when I came to the doctor's, for I do not think the doctor
thought that father was better.  And so it proved for when I returned
Mother said father had seemed better all afternoon, so much so that
his friends, and even my oldest brother and sister, (who were now
married, and lived, the one three miles distant, the other one mile),
had returned home to take rest.

But now, (it was about dark when I returned) said mother, "he seems
to be much worse, you would better go for your brother and sister."
So I went at once the one mile and the three miles, and sister and
her husband, Mr. Chas. R. Reyton, went at once and not long
afterwards brother and his wife and their two little children and I
returned, and we all stood around the bed of death.  Father said but
little, but finally said to all.  "Come near."  We did so, and he
said, "Good bye, it is but a little distance between me and my
eternal home, and I can soon step that off."  He closed his eyes and
was dead.

It was almost midnight, Christmas day, 1854.  He went at the early
age of 49 years, 7 months 23 days.  I was a little more than sixteen
years old.  My youngest brother, and the youngest child of the
family, Rufus Wiley, was a little over five years old.  Youngest
sister, Charlotte Ann a little over thirteen.

Father was a quiet, peaceable, Christian man, with a good many of the
Quaker ways about him.

The spirit-rappings, which originated with the Fox family of N.Y.
eight or ten years before, were still exciting the people in southern
Indiana.  It so happened that a Mr. Wilson, a learned justice of the
peace, lived in Tophet, at the time I taught school there, and was a
medium.  I boarded and lodged at his house a part of the time.  Let
me state a few facts and these occurred in my experience while there.
That rapping kept up, especially if you paid any attention to it,
more or less, day and night.  Every afternoon and evening after
school, when I returned to my boarding place, I could hear the
rapping on my chair, or desk, or somewhere in the room.  Or, if out
of doors, on some object near me.  If out after dark that rapping was
sure to get directly between me and the door.  Was it good or evil,
saint or sinner, I knew not.  I could explain nothing.  I could
believe nothing.  I could lay hold of nothing.  I could let go of
nothing.  I only heard rapping.  And it made no difference whether
Mr. Wilson, the medium, was at home or not, the rapping went on all
the same.

One long afternoon as I was sitting at a window reading a book, Mrs.
Wilson was sitting across the room at another window, busy at work
and at the same time humming a tune.  All at once, that rapping
commenced, on a cupboard standing in the corner, in a clear, distinct
musical way, so much so that it attracted my attention from my
reading and Mrs. Wilson saw me looking towards the cupboard.  She
said, "Lizzie, is that you?"  There came a loud, distinct rap.  As
much as to say yes.  Then Mrs. Wilson said, "Can you beat (play) that
tune I was humming."  I suspect Mr. Hastings would like to hear it."
At once the beating (rapping) commenced and continued for quite a
while.  It sounded very much like the tapping of a drum.  It played
the tune.  I do not think that I ever listened to any music with so
much interest and curiosity as I listened to that rapping.

One embarrassing and annoying part of the rapping was every night,
when I would retire to my bed that rapping would keep up its rapping
upon the head board of my bed, both before and after I would blow out
the light.  When I found out they called it Lizzie I would say,
"Please Lizzie, let me o to sleep."  And it would cease, and I would
sleep.  To confess, boys, I often felt a little scared, especially
when out of doors in the dark and that--what shall I call it?--
thing got to rapping upon something between me and the door.

I could tell you other stories about these rappings but they are too
incredulous to believe.  As I said before, I could explain nothing
nor can I yet.  I simply heard the rappings, under the circumstances
as I have related.

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C H A P T E R    F O U R

Leaves Home.  In St. Louis.  On the Mississippi River.  From
Lagrange to Lindley.

Few boys live through their teens who do not want to take a wild
goose chase to see the world.  I was no exception.  So after bidding
my mother, brothers, sisters, farewell on my 19th birthday, with
mother's blessing, in the company with Dr. Sam Elmore, his wife and
little boy, I started for north Missouri.  The first night we spent
at Washington, Ind.  This was the first time I ever stopped as a
guest at a hotel.  The next day we secured passenger tickets on the
Ohio and Mississippi Rail Road to St. Louis.  This was the first time
I had ever rode on railroad cars.  Away we went over rivers and
rivulets, hills and hollows, through farms and towns, woods and
prairies.  I thought we would never stop.  I was seeing the world.

But finally we stopped.  And someone said, "St. Louis."  I stepped
out and the first thing I saw was the "Father of Waters".  Now, I
tell you boys, the Mississippi is a big river.  We had to cross in a
ferry boat.  There was no Ead's bridge there.

When we landed on the Missouri side and stepped out on the wharf
there were, on all sides, mules, negroes, drays, drummers, porters,
beggars, fakers, yelling, moving, jostling, huddling, crowding.  Why,
I felt that to be in such a place was dangerous to be safe.

The doctor had been there before, I had not.  I noticed he pressed
ahead, so I followed.  Finally we reached the Planter's House, and I
cast my eye up to the upper story and thought, "O my, I cannot sleep
up there, it will make me dizzy and I will fall out."

We sought a steamboat to go up the Mississippi and the earliest one
we could find would not start for two days.  But we bought tickets
which entitled us to lodging and board on the boat, so we took our
places on the boat, and staid with it until it landed us at Lagrange,
our destination.  The name of the boat was "Thomas Swan."  I never
traveled in any nicer way than on a large fine steam-boat--board
and bed and everything clean and good, interesting and pleasant.

The first night, when I went to bed, I put my boots and clothes where
I supposed I could easily find them the next morning, but when
morning came I could find everything except the boots.  I found, in
the place where I had left the boots, an old pair of slippers.  (The
slippers were nice and clean, however.)  I thought some scamp had
stolen my boots, and left for me his slippers.  I did not know what
to do.  I was afraid to wear the slippers lest someone would accuse
me of stealing them.  But I finally dared to put them on and step
into the cabin parlor and at the far end I saw fifty or more pairs of
boots, and all well cleaned and blackened.  I shyly approached a big
black man who was sitting by the boots and dare to ask him if he had
my boots there.  He said, "What's de number, please?"  I said,
"Number seven."  "Yes sir" he said and picked out a pair for me.  (I
noticed by this time that all the boots were numbered with chalk.)  I
saw at once that the boots he picked out were not mine, and said,
"These are not my boots."  "Dat's number seven, sir, de number of
your berth."  I said, "You are mistaken, my birth is the 15th of
March."  "O dat so."  "Your number fifteen," said he, and picked up
the boots chalk marked 15.  They were my boots.  I took them and
started to walk back with them in my hand to my berth, the number of
which was 15.  The negro said, "Say, mister, I usually get a dime."
I said, "Excuse me,", and paid him a dime.

Do you see, boys?  Yes, we see that the boy who afterwards became our
father was green.  Of course, I was green.  All things are green
before they are ripe.

In the next day or two we landed at Lagrange, Missouri, a small town
above Quincy, Ill.  There the doctor had two horses and a buggy.  The
doctor, his wife and boy rode in the buggy, driving one horse, and I
rode the other horse, and in this fashion we made our way westward
for four days, passing through the towns of Lewiston, Edina,
Kirksville, Scottsville, until we arrived at Lindley, a small town on
Medicine Creek in Grunday County.

The afternoon of the first day of the four days referred to above,
was cold and stormy.  So I rode in advance, inquiring at every house
for lodging for our company, but was denied.  I passed one house
however--it looked so small I thought there would not be room enough
for all, but the doctor called when he came to it, and received a
favorable answer.  I turned back and the man said, "I have plenty for
your horses to eat, but no place for them only to tie them in an open
shed.  Our house is small but only three of us and four of you
perhaps we can get along."  The doctor said, "We will stay."  The man
was good but the accommodations were bad.  The house was a small
one-roomed log cabin.  Two beds and a narrow space between them fully
occupied one half of the floor space.  A the other end of the room
was a large fireplace with a bright, cheerful, warm, comfortable
fire, so much so that we could sit back against the beds, which we
all did, and were comfortable except the woman of the house, who was
in one corner of the fireplace getting supper.  I do not mean that
the woman was in the fire but nearby.  You know that the Greek word
eis according to some theologians means nearby.  But the bread in the
skillet was under the fire and over the fire for there were live
coals above it and live coals beneath it.  The meat in the pan was on
top of the fire.  I never ate better bread and meat.  I was hungry.
After supper I began to wonder and worry about where I would sleep,
and one of mother's proverbs came to my mind, "Do not worry child,
God will provide."  Then I remembered that God had provided for many
such occasions but he really did it through Mother.

Soon a little trundle bed was drawn from under one of the large beds,
and it just filled the space between the two larger beds.  The little
boy of the house was put in the little bed and the good lady of the
house told me that I would have to sleep with the little boy in the
little bed.  I said, "All right."  An opportunity was given and I
retired.  Although I was a boy under twenty I was several inches
longer than the bed, but I managed to get between the two end boards
and slept.  Whether pushed under the larger bed during the night, I
know not.  The next morning at daylight I was still between the two
big beds, but I had not grown in length any during the night the end
boards were in the way.

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C H A P T E R    F I V E

From Lagrange to Lindley, continued.  In a murderers bed.
Maple sugar.  Philosophy and Morality.  Dr. Elmore shot.  More
philosophizing.  Firsts.  Baptist College.  Pikes Peak or Hell.

I got up early and took a walk, (the weather had moderated) to see
the world.  I felt just a little bit homesick.  The next evening we
stopped for the night at a large public house and they put me in a
large upper room where a murderer had slept the night before.  I
slept.  Here let me state this was not the only time I was the next
to sleep in a bed where a murderer had slept.  A few years after
this, during the awful war of the rebellion, I was late in the night
getting into the City of Vincennes, Indiana and called a hotel for a
bed.  I was told there was but one empty bed, and it had just been
vacated by a murderer.  He became uneasy and left; the officers in
pursuit of him came to the hotel, and searched his bed, but he was
gone.  I said to the landlord, "Do you suppose the officers will come
back to search that bed again?"  He said he supposed not.  I told him
that I would occupy it.  The bed was still warm.  I have seen, boys,
about as much of the world as I want to see.  I would not go fifty
miles to see the Rocky Mountains or the Jerusalem that now is.

The third night we staid with a farmer who, that very night, has a
maple sugar stirring off, and we had a good time, but the horse I
rode was so tall he could not get through the stable door and he had
to be tied out all night.  The next day we arrived at Lindley, where
I made my headquarters for almost five years.

But before I proceed with the story of my life chronologically, let
me philosophize and moralize a little as suggested to me by my own
experience in both young life and old life.

     What, from a worldly, physical, selfish stand point, do you
     consider,

          1. The best thing in this life.

          2. The most convenient thing in this life.
                  Answer:  1. Good weather and good health.
                           2. Money

     What, from any stand-point, do you think is the best
             thing in this life?
                  Answer:  Christianity.

     What, from any stand-point, do you think is the worst
             thing?
                  Answer:  Sin.

Now, in my old age I do not wish to live my life over again, but I
can see where I might have done better especially as it relates to
the questions above.  I might have taken more advantage of the good
weather and avoided the bad.  I might have taken better care of my
health.  I might have secured a little more money for the rainy days.
I might have wedded myself more closely to Christianity, and have
divorced myself more fully from sin.

But I am now in my old age content--am ready, and resting in the
hope of the glory that shall be revealed.  God is good.  My counsel
to my children and to all young people for many years has been,
briefly stated:

     Take care of your health.
     Take care of your money.
     Take care of your religion.

But, to return to Lindley, Missouri and to the 19th year of my age, I
find myself, Dr. Elmore, wife and boy, stopping with my brother Henry
and his young family.  Brother Henry is nine yeas my senior.  He
lives to this day.  He had, a year or two before, moved to that
place.

The next morning after we arrived in Lindley, Dr. Elmore was fixing
the shaft of his buggy when his revolver fell from his pocket, was
discharged and shot him in the breast, the ball ranging upwards and
lodged in his shoulder.  He soon got well, but the ball is with him
to this day.

I never owned a gun, a dog, a fiddle, a pocket knife, a razor, a
pipe, a cigar or cigarette, a plug of tobacco, or a hug of whiskey.
I never had any use for these things.  I do not wholly condemn all
these, but I do think the world would be better and safer without
guns, dirk knives, dogs, tobacco, and strong drink.

During my stay of almost five years in Grundy and Sullivan counties,
Mo., I spent the time in teaching and attending school.  The
principal events of my life were my second birth, my first sermon, my
first convert, my first funeral, my first marriage, (I mean the first
marriage I ever solemnized), my first religious debate and my first
vote.

I taught in both Sullivan and Grundy counties.  I soon gained the
same popularity as a teacher that I had in Indiana.  I never sought
schools.  They always sought me.  I attended the Baptist College in
Trenton one year.  It was a very pleasant and profitable year of my
early life.  It was before the war when the general talk was about
slavery and a probable war.

One day I and a young friend, chum and class-mate, a son of a Baptist
preacher, were studying our lessons under a large beech tree in the
college campus.  My mate said to me, "Hastings, aren't you an
abolitionist?"  I said, "Yes, I am."  "I believe all men ought to be
free."  He answered, "I thought so, and so am I and my father too."
"But I want to admonish you not to talk it so much."  The admonition
was well given, and well taken, for the forebodings of the day were
that not talk but action would be the right step.  And so it was, for
it was not long before the whole country was in an awful fratricidal
war.  The like of which, I hope our country will never see again.

It was during this year the great migration took place to Pike's Peak
for gold.  Nearly every day the streets would be full of covered
wagons bound for Pike's Peak.  I noticed on one wagon written in
great red letters, "Hastings, bound for Pike's Peak or Hell."  It was
the noon hour, and I said to the other boys, "There is a Hastings in
this crowd, and I am going to find him."  I went into a grocery store
where many of them were buying provisions.  I soon picked him out, a
tall good looking fellow, then besides he swore a great deal which
tallied with what I saw on the wagon, so I stepped up to him and
said, "Is your name Hastings?"  He answered with an oath that it was.
I said to him, "I see from what is written on your wagon that you are
bound for Pike's Peak or Hell."  Without waiting for him to reply, I
further said, "I think from the way you are going, and the way you
talk, you will probably get to both places."  At first he looked like
he was going to hit me, and then he smiled and said, "You don't
swear?"  I said, "No, nor do I think you ought to swear."  He said,
"Probably I ought not."

Then I told him my name was Hastings too.  He shook hands with me and
we had quite a visit.  But he swore no more in my presence.  We could
trace no kinship, and I was a little glad of it.  I do not think any
man is totally depraved, but some are very nearly so.  There is less
excuse for swearing than almost any other sin.

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C H A P T E R    S I X

Conversion.  First sermon.  Funerals and Weddings.

From my earliest childhood I have attended Sunday Schools and church
services.  I have believed that God is, that Jesus Christ is the son,
and that the Bible is true.  Years before I became a Christian I had
desired to be such and worship God with other Christians.  But I did
not know which church to join.  Mother said, read the Bible and
learn.  One leader said do this, another said do that.  No two
agreed.  I did not know what to do to become one among the
Christians.  I prayed to God but if God spake to me in an audible
voice I did not know it.  But these thoughts ran through my mind.  I
believe and that far is all right, because the Bible so teaches and
so do all the churches.  It ran through my mind that I ought to tell
somebody else besides God that I believe, so one day I went down
town, where there were quite a number of people worshipping God, and
they said they were Christians.  I said I believe too, and publicly
confessed and told all the men that I believed in God and that Jesus
Christ was God's son.  They all, both men and women seem glad and I
was told that all the churches, as well as the Bible, taught that
that was right.

Then again, in my mind, I realized that is was a shame and was sorry
that I had sinned against God and neglected to turn to him.  So, I
determined to sin no more but from henceforth to obey God and follow
the Lord Jesus always if possible until death.  The Bible approved of
that procedure, all the churches preached that was right.

Then it ran in my mind that I ought to be baptized and in order to be
safe and right, I asked that I might in my baptism be submerged in
water and raised up, for the Bible seemed to talk that way, and all
the churches said that that way would do.  So, I asked a man whom the
good people of all the churches so far as I knew, call the Bishop B.
H. Smith (no kin to Joe Smith), to baptize me.  He did so my
immersing me in Medicine Creek in Grundy County, Mo., and raising me
up, I came walking up out of the water calling on the name of God.
This occurred on the 18th day of September 1858.  Ever since then, a
half century and more I have been serving, God, keeping his
commandments, following his Son, my Load and Master, and praying
always.  Now all this the Bible teaches, and so do all the churches.
Now what church do I belong to?  You tell.  Will I be saved?  You
say.  Why cannot we all, Christians, take the Bible at what it says,
and what all churches approve and be one church?  You answer.  You
know we need not worry about the God side.  He will do all things
right.  It occurred to me that what I did to become a Christian was
that which Christ referred to in his conversation with Nicodemus.

In a few months after my second birth, I commenced to preach the word
of Gospel and chose for my first subject, "Promise to Abraham."  To
my surprise when I had finished I had spoken nearly an hour and a
half.  I told all I knew from Abraham to Christ.  I have preached for
fifty years since then, and while I have learned more, I have never
at any one time preached so long.

It took me, however, a long time to get down to the regulated time of
forty or forty-five minutes.  I always had too much to tell.  This
sermon was preached sometime in the summer of 1859.  One thing I
regret, yes--there may be many things,--but I wish I had kept the
dates of things, such as converts, baptisms, funerals, weddings, etc.
But of these things I kept no account.

A few years ago I tried to recall the number of weddings, and I got
up among the hundreds, and got lost and gave it up.  And I am sure
that the funerals were as many or more than the weddings.  As a
matter of fact I always had many calls to weddings and funerals.  I
have married all kinds of people, of various ages, nationalities and
religions.  Among them octogenarians, negroes, and Mormon.  Some had
been married from one to five times before.  But I never hear of but
two couples who, after I had married them, were divorced.  Nor did I
every marry any that had been divorced.

I have preached the funerals of many, Saints and sinners, people of
various ages, nationalities and creeds.  I have baptized believers
ranging from nine to seventy-two years of age.

Although I have been preaching for over fifty years, my preaching has
been usually on Sundays.  I was a Sunday preacher.  I never gave
myself wholly to preaching for a livelihood.  Yet, except the last
ten or twelve years, I have missed but few Sundays.

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C H A P T E R    S E V E N

Prof Ficklin.  Geometry.  Bethany, Vir.  Ordination.  First
convert.  First funeral.  First wedding.

On the 15th day of March, 1859 I was asked how old I was.  I replied
'Ego sum viginti unum.'  You see at that very time I was attending
Prof. Ficklin's High School in Trenton, Missouri, and I tried to put
into practice my Latin.  My studies at that school were Latin,
Astronomy and Geometry.  Geometry was my favorite study and I was
happy to have Joseph Ficklin as my teacher, for he was one of the
best mathematicians in the world.  The books in the library on
Mathematics alone covered all of one end of his study.  He became the
author of a series of text books on mathematics from a book on mental
arithmetic to a book on Trigonometry and calculus.

As well as I loved geometry I had to leave school before I finished
it.  Like many another poor boy, my money gave out.  The hardest
practical geometrical problem that ever came to me in after life was
this:  I wished to divide a piece of land which in shape was a
trapezoid.  This trapezoid had two right angles, and the parallel
sides were respectively 170 and 120 rods in length.  The shorter of
the other two sides was 160 rods in length.  Now the question was, at
what point in the line of the side 160 rods in length should a line
start, running parallel with the parallel sides of the land to the
opposite side, so as to divide the land into two equal parts?  I have
never been able to solve this problem, nor could the surveyor I had
employed, but two of my boys, before they were as old as I was when I
wanted to solve it, solved it.  So you see each generation becomes
wiser than the preceding one.  This is well, provided the wisdom is
such as to direct all knowledge into the ways of righteousness.

I had to quit school before I had finished all my studies, but had it
not been for the war which came in 1861, I perhaps would have been a
graduate of Bethany, Vir. University.  For the good, rich brethren of
the country in which I commenced to preach had a habit of helping
young men to an education, who were called to preach, and who bode to
be a success.  But the war coming on, spoiled all these plans for me.
But I will not express regrets for who would dare to complain when he
has placed himself to be lead by the hand of the Almighty.  As it is
it may be far better than it might have been.

It was decided that I ought to be set apart to the work of an
Evangelist (preacher) in the church of God, and on the 6th day of Aug.
1861, during a district meeting of churches at Lindley, Grundy County
Missouri, I was ordained to the Christian ministry, by the laying on
hands, fasting and prayer.  Brethren John R. Howard, David T. Wright,
Benjamin F. Smith, D. W. Stewart, and R. M. Sharp participating.

My first convert was a slave woman, who, hearing me preach, believed
and was baptized.  She was accepted of God, for before him a poor
slave woman at her master's feet is as precious in his sight as the
queen on her throne.  God is no respecter of persons.

My first funeral was on the occasion of the death of a dear little
child, only a few months old, the first born of young parents.  But
the sermon was easy, for has not the Saviour said, "Of such is the
Kingdom of Heaven."

My first wedding was when, after I had finished a term of school, one
of my school boys, a young man, came to me and said he wanted me to
marry him to one of my school girls, a young lady.  I said, all right
I will do that.  The arrangements were made.  Afterwards I got to
thinking about it, I did not know how it was done.  I had been to but
very few weddings in my life, and I had not noticed particularly how
it was done.  So, I went to an old preacher who, I knew, had married
many people, and asked him how it was done.  He said it was easy,
just get the parties together and talk to them very solemnly a little
while about marriage and getting married and then tell them to join
their right hands and ask each a solemn leading question, and if each
said yes, then pronounce them husband and wife, and the thing is
done.  So I went away and formulated in my mind the solemn words to
say and the solemn questions to ask.  This ceremony proved to be very
acceptable and popular, and during all these fifty years or more I
have been using the same ceremony and asking the same questions, with
but very little variation.

But I must confess when the time came for this first wedding, and I
had arrived at the place and saw the many guests with their wedding
garments on, I began to feel that it was not so easy a job after all.
In fact, I felt a little scared.  And then to add embarrassment to
fright, another one of my pupils, a young man both older and taller
than I, came to me while we were in the midst of the crowd, awaiting
the coming of the bride and groom.  Stooping over he said in a
whisper to me, "Please stand up."  I, thinking that he had some
message that I out to hear, quietly arose at once, (for he was one of
my best friends) when he began to unfold a large, long paper and read
aloud to me some lingo of my duties, responsibilities and procedures.
But just then the bride and groom were coming, and I said to my
friend, "Be seated, sir, you are a little too late with your lingo."
The joke had the effect of remove my embarrassment and fright, and I,
with ease proceeded with the marriage ceremony and the wedding was
most beautiful.

---0---



C H A P T E R    E I G H T

First vote.  Oldest brother.  War.  Return to Indiana.  In
Tophet again.  First Baptism.  Clarksburg meeting.

About this time I was, the first time privileged to exercise my right
as a voter.

The question was whether the state of Missouri should secede from the
union.  Brother and I voted in the negative.  Then during the same
year, 1860, November the 6th, we were privileged to vote for a
President of the United States.  The candidates were A. Lincoln, S.
A. Douglas, J. B. Breckenridge and John Bell.  Brother voted for Bell
for he thought Bell was the only one that would save the union.  I
voted for Douglas because I thought his election would save from the
impending war.  The manner of voting was then quite different from
what it is now.  The judges of election sat in the school house by a
lower open window and the voters would file up to the window on the
outside.  For instance when I appeared at the window to vote, a judge
from within asked, "What is your name?"  I replied, Z. S. Hastings.
"For whom do you vote," asked the judge.  I vote for Stephen A.
Douglas," was my reply.  The judge then said in a loud voice, "Z. S.
Hastings votes for Stephen A. Douglas."  The clerk recorded it.  That
was all.  The next president I voted for was Abraham Lincoln.  And,
as it is said, of some Democrats who are still voting for Thomas
Jefferson, I am still voting for Abraham Lincoln, that is to say,
these Democrats are still voting for some of the principles that were
taught by Thomas Jefferson, and I am still voting for some of the
principles held by Abraham Lincoln.  Among them the rule which is
called Golden and is found the Book.  This rule is not an "iridescent
dream" with me.

My oldest brother Joshua Thomas Hastings was a home guard soldier and
a teacher in Bolivar, Missouri, when the battle of Springfield was
fought and General Lyon was killed.  After the battle the Home Guards
and Union men in general in that part of the state, had (using a war
word) to skedaddle for their lives.  My brother tried to make his
escape to Kansas but three times was arrested by confederate scouts.
Once, in a road, sheltered on either side with hazel brush and a
thick undergrowth of other bushes, the leader of the band, who seemed
to want to befriend my brother, whispered to him, that a majority of
them (there were six or eight of them) had voted to kill him.  "Now"
said he, "jump for your life,"  As soon as said, brother leaped into
the brush like a wild deer,--bang, went the cracking of half a dozen
or more guns, but each shot missed except one, which just grazed the
top of his shoulder.  My brother then determined to return back to
Bolivar, and with his family return, if possible to Indiana.  In this
he was successful.

At this time our mother and two sisters were living in Allen County
Kansas.  Brother had not been back in Indiana long until he helped to
raise a new company for the war and with it went into the union army.
But in less than a year he was taken sick and died in an army
hospital at Henderson, in Kentucky, November 14th, 1863.

In the meantime I too had returned to Indiana, and, with brother's
wife, went to him, when hearing he was sick.  We were with him only
about three hours before he died.  At the end of the next two days we
returned with him to our old home in old Clarksburg, (now Oden)
Daviers County, Indiana, where, the next day, we buried brother by
the side of our father, who had been buried nine years.  This was the
second death in father's family.  Brother was a good man, a scholar,
a soldier, and a teacher.  He gave his life upon the altar of his
country at the early age of thirty-six.

War is a great evil, dreadful, fearful, terrible.  O, for the time
when "nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall
they learn war any more!"

Upon my return to Indiana, after an absence of nearly five years, I
was quite a different person, in many respects, from what I was when
I went away.  I had grown in length to be six feet and two inches
tall and the hair of my head and the beard of my face was as black as
jet, the one standing on its ends, the other full and hanging six
inches or more in length.  Besides had I not been born anew and was
now a new creature?  Old things had passed away.  Yet I went back to
my old place of teaching, Tophet.  With preaching added to teaching,
there again I taught the urchins and preached to the sinners.  And at
this writing 1911, there is a new name, a new people (a converted
people), a house of God and many worshippers of the Most High God.
Surely the world doth grow better.

At the Owl Prairie where I hoed corn when I was a little boy and
fished in the canal, I was called to take charge of a protracted
meeting, and at this meeting I had my first baptism.  Heretofore I
had always insisted on someone of experience to doing this.  The
baptism took place in the West Fork of the White River.  Owl Prairie
is now the city of Elnoa with two railroads, and churches and
schools.

My next attendance at a protracted meeting was to help Thompson
Little.  This meeting was held at old Clarksburg on the very site, in
a new church building, where I went to school when quite young and
where I appeared in my first effort as a public speaker.  It was a
recitation and commenced the way:

     "'Tis a lesson you should head,
     If at first you don't succeed
     Try, try again."

Well, at this meeting I preached and seven young people came forward
at one time and gave me their hands and made the good confession.  It
was the greatest number that ever came forward at any one time upon
my invitation.  These seven were all my old playmates and
schoolmates.  It was a good meeting.

---0---



C H A P T E R    N I N E

Generous friends.  Christian, Catholic Methodist, $1.50 $1.00
$0.00  A hawk story.  April 15, 1865.  All Irish but one.  The
Bible in school.  Not Papa.

During this period of my life, which included the latter part of the
Civil War, I was occupied mostly at Christian Liberty, and
Washington, Daviers County, Ind., both teaching and preaching.  A
part of the two years following this was spent in school at
Indianapolis and Miram, Ohio.  At Christian Liberty, my church house
and school house were in the same yard.  On the first day I occupied
the one and on the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days, I
occupied the other.  And on the seventh day I rested.  That is the
way teachers and preachers work.  I am not a sabbatarian.

At Christian Liberty which was a country place I made my home for
almost four years in the family of W. A. Wilson.  He was a well-to-do
farmer and had an interesting family.  He was a good man, but
somewhat peculiar.  For instance, as fast as I earned money teaching
he would borrow it, giving his note drawing legal interest, and when
the note was due he would pay it with the identical money he had
borrowed.  He would also pay the interest.  I asked why he did that,
"O" he would answer, "I always like to have money in my pocket."
"Then besides," he would add, "a young man ought to have his money at
interest."  Mr. Wilson was a Christian and very generous and kind.
He only charged me $1.50 per week for board.  I also boarded at
another period in my life in a Catholic family named Wade, for three
years.  They, too, were kind and generous, charging me only $1.00 per
week.  The father and mother were old and allowed me all the
privileges about the home as I were a son.  More than that:  they
allowed he all the liberty of a Protestant Christian, telling me to
read my Bible as much as I pleased, and if I wished to offer thanks
at the table to do so.  This I did and they their crosses.

One Saturday, when sitting in my room in the spring of the year,
looking out of the open door I saw what not one boy in a million,
perhaps, ever saw.  A large chicken hawk made a dive down in the yard
at an old hen and her brood of little chickens.  Mrs. Wade heard the
noise and dashed out through the open door, and threw her apron over
the hawk, and caught it and choked it to death.

One winter when 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.

---0---



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 gun fired,
tearing the poor boy in front almost in two parts, killing him
instantly.  It was very said indeed!

The foregoing was an accident.  The following was in incident.  One
cold, snowy, stormy, wintry morning while we were at breakfast at my
boarding house in Washington, at once we heard a wonderful crashing
noise of many things fall upon the porch floor and then rush through
an open door of a little room that stood at the end of the porch.  My
host ran out and closed the door and what do you think was caught?
Not less than nine quails.  We had pot-pie for dinner.  The remnants
of that pot-pie left over, served for dinner more or less for nearly
a week until I became very tired of pot-pie.  And so changed my
boarding place and boarded with an old, well-to-do retired Hoosier
farmer and his wife.  The wife was a most excellent cook.  Elder
Howe, who had traveled over nearly all the states as an evangelist,
says no people excel the Hoosiers for their hospitality and god
things to eat.

It was about this period of my life that I attended school at the
Northwestern Christian University at Indianapolis, Indiana, and later
at Hiram, Ohio, 1865-1866.  My teachers in Indianapolis were
President Benton and Prof. Nushour, and Dr. Brown.  At Hiram, Errett,
Burnett, Milligan, Anderson and Atwater.  It was here I saw and heard
General Garfield deliver an address.  He was a great and good man.
The most scholarly, pure minded and devout man I ever saw were
Milligan and Anderson.

Prior to my attendance to the schools mentioned above I had seen but
few of our great teachers and preachers.  I had supposed the
differences between what they knew and what the ordinary teacher and
what the ordinary preacher knew was almost infinite in their favor
and that their ability to tell it was very superior but, on becoming
acquainted with them, I found they knew nothing more about the unseen
world, heaven or hell, or sin and its forgiveness, or death and
salvation, than the simple scholar and devout student of the Bible.
Now do not think, Boys, for a moment that I am opposed to higher
education, and University training.  All these things are a great
help and blessing to any person, provided, he or she accepts that
wisdom that comes from God through His Bible.  No man knows anything
beyond the horizon of the present, except what God's Bible reveals.
And faith here becomes the only means by which this knowledge is
obtained.  But this is not to be wondered at, for is it not a fact
that we are dependent on faith for nearly all knowledge.  Faith is
the greatest principle in the world, unless it is love.  And faith is
simply belief.  Happy is the man who believes all things and proves
all things, and holds fast to all that is good.

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C H A P T E R    E L E V E N

A meeting.  Go to Kansas, 1967.  Nine Mile House.  Do Stones
grow?  On the shelf.  The Spencers.  The Johnsons.  Brother
Rufus.  March 15, 1868.

During the holidays of the year I was in school in Indianapolis I
held a good meeting at Christian Liberty where I had taught and
preached for a number of years.  Many hearing, believed and were
baptized.  It was at this place afterwards that I preached my
farewell sermon to old Indianans before going to Kansas.  There were
a great many people at this meeting.  Among them a Methodist preacher
who, being free to address the people, complimented me by saying that
I had not only been a faithful servant of God among my own people but
also among all people.  He also said that while I left many friends
in Indiana I would make many in Kansas.  I am happy to say, I have
found it even so.  That preacher after ran for Governor of Indiana.

I was doing so well and had so many friends in Indiana that I had
about abandoned the idea of going to Kansas, but mother, two of my
brothers and my two sisters, were already in Kansas and were pleading
with me to visit them at any rate.  So about the first of July, 1867
I took a train from Washington, Indiana, to St. Louis, Mo, and from
there I boarded a steamer for Leavenworth, Kansas, where I landed on
the tenth of July, 1867.  Our steamer, however, had made a landing
early in the morning at Wyandotte to unload some railroad irons for
the second road in Kansas.  While there I steeped off on the muddy
shore remarking that that was the first time I had ever dotted Kansas
soil with my feet.  "Well sir" said an old darky standing by, "this
as a mighty big dot where you step off."  I do not know to this day
whether he meant the track I made or the town.  Kansas City, Missouri
was not big enough to stop at then, but it is the big dot of the West
now.  At Leavenworth and everywhere the yards, gardens, road-sides,
fields, all looked barren and dead as if a fire had ran over them.
The grass-hoppers had just left.

My brother Henry lived west of Leavenworth city in what was called
the Nine Mile House.  My brother, younger brother, Rufus, and two
sisters, Mrs. Dotson, and Mrs. Sears, lived near Grasshopper Falls
known now as Valley Falls.

Of course I had not been in Kansas very long until it was known that
I was a young preacher.  And I was called upon to preach the funeral
of a most excellent lady, Mrs. Roach, who had died in the
neighborhood of the Nine Mile House.  This was the first time I ever
preached in Kansas.  It was only a few days after this that I
attended a meeting held by Brethren Dibble and McCleary, a few miles
west of the Nine Mile House at a place called NO. 6 and here I was
invited to preach.  I did do it, taking for a subject, "Growth."  I
remember saying in order to growth there must be union, for
separation is death.  Even rocks grow, but, separated into stones,
they ceased to grow.  Good, old, devout, scholarly brother Humber was
there, and kindly criticized my sermon by saying he did not believe
that rocks grow.  I have never preached that sermon since, but I
still think rocks do grow.

From that time, 1867, I was a faithful Sunday preacher, more or less
in Kansas until I was nearly sixty years old, when I became so infirm
that I submitted to a place on the shelf, where I am still waiting
for transportation to the skies.

But I am not dead yet, so I will go back and tell the rest of my
story.  So many new friends in Kansas came about me soliciting me to
stay, and teach and preach, that I agreed to do so for one year at
least.  Among these friends there were none better than Mr. Charley
Spencer of Round Prairie.  He secured for me the school at a larger
salary than I had been getting in Indiana.  I also had the privilege
of preaching in the lower room of the Masonic building.  To Mr.
Spencer I preached the gospel, and taught his children to read.

He believed and was baptized, and his children grew up to be wise
and good.  His son, Hon. Dick Spencer now a leading lawyer of St.
Joseph, Mo. learned his A. B. C. at my knees.  It was also here
during this year that I had the great pleasure and joy of baptizing
my youngest brother, Rufus, into Christ.

In the meantime it was here I formed the acquaintance of the Johnson
family, Mrs. Emily Johnson, the aged mother and six noble sons, W. L.
David, W. H., J. E., J. C., and M. S.  These were all good citizen
and Christians.  The youngest of whom, M. S. whose wife I baptized,
became an able preacher of the Word, and is to this day, preaching
somewhere in the state of Oklahoma.  The third son, W. H. was
widower, and, with my help to solemnize the contract, he took a
second wife.  This wedding took place on the hill across the creek
from at Joseph McBride's residence (for the bride was his daughter),
and this was my first wedding in Kansas.  Of the weddings that
followed this I will not attempt to tell you, for they are too many
to be enumerated in a short story of an old preacher's life.

These Johnsons all sold their possessions in Leavenworth County and
at the suggestion of Pardee Butler, moved north into Atchison Co. and
settled in a new community called Pardee Station.  The Johnsons
earnestly solicited me to follow them to their new place and teach
and preach in a large new school house that had been erected at the
station.  So in the spring, 1868, I visited Pardee Station, and
preached.  It happened that this Sunday was the 15th day of March,
and consequently my thirtieth birthday anniversary.

This was the first time I ever preached in Atchison County.  It was
here and at this time that I met Elder Pardee Butler for the first
time in life, and his family, consisting of his wife, two sons George
C. 15 years old and Charley P. 9 years old, and a little grown
daughter Rosetta, 23 years old of whom I will speak more fully later
on.

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C H A P T E R    T W E L V E

South Cedar.  An aged Methodist.  A quick Irishman.  Webster's
blue back spelling book.  The world was not turned upside down,
but the door turned on its hinges.

The school board at Pardee Station was not ready to give me an answer
about school, so I left them, promising the Johnsons that I would
return in the fall.  I had a call to go to South Cedar in Jackson
County and teach and preach.  This I did during the spring and summer
and after the close of my school in July and August I called
Evangelist J. H. Bauserman to come and help in a protracted meeting.
He came and the meeting started off nicely, but on the second or
third day, Brother Bauserman was called home on account of his wife's
severe sickness.  He could not return, but I went on with the meeting
and it proved to be one of the best meetings I ever held.  Quite a
number believed and were baptized.  The meeting was held in a large
natural grove near where there was much water, and was lighted with
great torch lights.  At nearly every service people would come
forward and make the good confession, and often were baptized the
same hour, even the same hour of the night.

One day an old man, seventy two years old, and six feet four inches
tall, a Christian in the Methodist church for many years, came to me
and asked me if I would baptize (immerse) him and let him remain in
the Methodist church.  I said, "Certainly, I will baptize any man who
wants to be if he believes in the divinity of Christ."  He was
baptized (immersed) and was a happy man.

At another time when I had baptized some, and was coming up out of
the water, I said, "If anyone else is ready to obey his Master I will
gladly bury him with his Lord in Baptism."

An Irishman, who had been faithfully attending the preaching pulled
off his coat, and came down into the water, meeting me, he took me by
the hand and lead me back into the deeper water.  When I asked him if
he believed with all his heart that Jesus Christ is the Son of God,
he answered, "Yes, for--today."  I dipped him, and he came up out of
the water a happy man.

My school here was very pleasant in almost every respect.  Only one
incident occurred that was otherwise, and that turned out well.  A
family of one brother and two grown sisters had only one speller
between them.  I complained and sent word several times to their
father that he ought to get a speller for each of his children.  So
one day at noon he came over to school and took up a book and sat
down by me with the open book and said, "One book is enough for
three.  I can see and so can you so could another on the other side
of me.  One book is enough for three, I shall buy no more books."  "I
see," I said.  "Goodbye" he said, and off he went.  After that I had
the brother sit between the two sisters and all study from the same
book.  Now at this time McGuffey's spellers were the only spellers
used in all the schools.  Webster's had been out of use for almost a
generation, but, in about a week after this father had called at
school, as stated above, he went at Atchison City and somehow and
somewhere he found and procured three new Webster's old blue back
spelling books, and his children brought them to school to use.  When
I saw them I said, "Sure, these are the best books ever made,--the
very kind I studied when I was a boy.  Maybe your father can secure
enough for the whole school.  And since one is enough for three, it
would not take so many."  "There is only this trouble.  Until we can
make the change, you three will have to be in a class by yourselves."
So I kept the brother and two sisters in a class, with their blue
back spellers, to themselves.  But, listen, in about a week more the
class of three came to school each with McGuffey's speller.

Sometimes the best way to overcome an adversary is to agree with him.

One Saturday evening I went across to North Cedar to preach and when
I got to the school house, while there was a large crowd in the yard
waiting to hear me, the door to the school house was locked and the
trustees said, it should not be opened for me to preach.  An old
disciple of Christ, who lived nearby, said that I was welcome to
preach in his house.  I said to the crowd, "If you will follow me
over there, I will preach."  Nearly everyone followed.  I simply
preached the truth, Christ, and in my sermon referred to that text
which says something about "These that have turned the world upside
down are come hither also."

Well, the next morning the world had the same side up as before only
that school house door had turned on its hinges and was wide open for
me to come in and preach.  Which I did, morning and evening, and was
invited back again and again.

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C H A P T E R    T H I R T E E N

Holton.  Netawaka.  All said, "Amen."  Farmington.  Married.
Our home.  Little Wiley Warren.

While teaching and preaching here on South Cedar I began preaching on
Sundays at Holton.  I preached in the school house, court house, or
any empty room that might be found that was suitable.  I found
suitable headquarters for my stay in the hospitable home of an old
disciple of Quaker origin whom everybody called Uncle Tommy Adamson.
He was a true lover of God.

The Presbyterians kindly offered me their house to occupy when they
were not using it.  My recollection is, that theirs was the only
church in the town at that time.  The Methodist, who like we had been
preaching in the school house about this time, possibly a little
earlier, had erected a new, brick church building.  Well, the gospel
was preached and a number seemed interested and brother J. H.
Bauserman State Evangelist was called to help in a meeting and the
results was, as usual, some hearing, believed and were baptized.  At
the close of the meeting the converts were left pledged to meet on
the Lord's Day to worship God.  And I promised to meet with them
every two weeks to preach to them and worship with them.  This I did
for a year or two, going afterwards on the Central Branch as far as
Netawaka and then across on a public hack.  For I soon returned to
Pardee Station (Farmington).

Speaking of Netawaka, reminds me of being called there in later life
to marry a young Methodist gentleman to a young Mormon lady.  And
this reminds me that I have married people of nearly all creeds,
colors and nationalities.  So of funerals.  The Mormon preacher was
at the Netawaka wedding, but I did not know it until the wedding was
over.  To this day I do not know why I was called to this wedding.  I
was never treated more kindly and hospitably at any other wedding.
And here let me say that the money I have received for weddings and
funerals, I think is more than I ever received for preaching.

In Netawaka on that day, in the afternoon, I attended the Mormon
public worship.  There were about sixty present, and they, except the
groom and his bride, were old people and foreigners.  Although the
preacher was present there was no preaching.  It was a social, song
and prayer service, and every man and woman took a part except the
newly married couple.

When all had had their turn, an elder, (the father of the bride)
looked at me and said, "Brother you have plenty of time, if you have
anything to say, say it."  This was very unexpected to me, but I
stood up and said, "Brethren, if you will allow me to call you
brethren, this is the first time I ever attended your services, and I
must confess that the service, as it seems to me, is much like the
old fashion services of the Methodist and disciples that I attended
when a little boy with my mother, and I feel very comfortable and
much at home.  They all said "Amen."

From South Cedar I returned to Farmington and found a nine month's
school waiting for me at fifty dollars per month.  So I accepted the
work and continued it for five years at an advanced salary of sixty-five
dollars per month.  In the meantime, June the 28th, 1870, I was
married to Miss Rosetta Butler who still lives to bless my life, and
is still a true helpmeet in my old age.  Shortly after our marriage
we begin the erection of a new, farm home for ourselves about one-half
mile west of the station.  It was not long until we had a home,
not a palace, but a home though humble, yet tidy, convenient and good
enough for a queen, as in fact, it was occupied by a queen.  Nor do I
think, boys, could anything but compliments be placed by our old
neighbors upon the way things were kept all about our farm when you
were there.  Do you remember the old Farm?  And let me say just here
that while God has always been good to me and comparatively my whole
life has been a happy one no period of it was more happy, more
hopeful and sweet than the few years in our old home where I was the
head, your mother the queen and you children were about our knees.

For just twenty-five years we (wife and I) lived at Farmington.  This
is just half of the life of my man-hood days.  Here all our children
were born.  By us no threshold was ever crossed more than this one.
No paths were ever trodden more frequently than the paths to the
well, the barn and the post-office, and the church.  No neighbors
were ever so long ours in kindness and love.  No birds ever sang so
much and sweetly as those in the very trees that had been planted by
our own hands.  And no home was ever more truly dedicated day by day
to Almighty God upon bended knee and in the reading of His word.

Do you remember the old home, boys?  But life is not always
sweetness.  It cannot be, under the present sin-curst environments.
The first bitter experience and great sorrow that came to us, was
when death came our way on the 21st day of July 1877, and took away
our fourth little boy whom we had called Wiley Warren.  He was only 1
year, 6 months and 17 days old.

I had preached the funerals of many little children before the death
of our little boy, and had thought that I knew how to sympathize with
parents who had to bury their children, but I did not.  If I were not
an old preacher I would like to say now what I have said often when
younger, that everything else being equal, an old preacher is better
to preach, and do pastoral work for a congregation than a young one.

---0---



C H A P T E R    F O U R T E E N

110 years.  28th of June, 1884.  4 and 3.

Closing school at Farmington in 1873, I quit teaching and took up
farming and preaching, as I had teaching and preaching until the year
1907 when I retired at the age of 70.  So then I attended school off
and on 10 years, taught 15 years, farmed 35 years, preached 50 years,
working in the aggregate 110 years in a life of 70.  The explanation
is that some people can do two things or more at one and the same
time.

On the 28th of June, 1884, indicating just exactly fourteen years of
our (wife's and my) married life, our youngest child was born.  In
the meantime during these fourteen years to us (wife and me) were
born seven children viz: Harry H. April 3rd, 1871.  Paul P. October
22nd, 1872.  Otho O. April 8, 1874.  Wiley W. January 4th, 1876.
Clara C. September 24th, 1877. Edith E. January 31st. 1881, Milo M.
June 28th 1884.  Do you notice that the above children each has
double initials.  This happened so with the two first, with the
others it was purposed so.  All of these children were born in the
same home, Farmington, Atchison County, Kansas.  But now the parents
are together, alone and lonesome.  Not a child near, only in memory.
Yet the seven are.  Four are here--  In St. Louis, Harry.  In
Prescott, Paul.  In Independence, Otho.  In New York, Milo.  In
Heaven three.  Little Wiley went on the 21st day of July 1877.  Jesus
said of him, "Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."  Edith when on the
8th day of November, 1902.  Elder H. E. Ballou said of her: "Fallen
Asleep."

Miss Edith Hastings, daughter of Elder Z. S. Hastings, granddaughter
of Pardee Butler, November 8th, 1902.  Age twenty-one years.  Was
born of water and of the Spirit February 2, 1894.  F. M. Hooton,
minister of the house at Pardee, in which her father and grandfather
preached and which services in memoriam were held.  Dear old house,
if thy walls could speak how many, how many things thou woulds't say.
Thou woulds't tell what we can feel, but cannot speak of or write of.
Dear, pure Edith.  Ten days of unalarming illness--sudden death.  A
surprise to all but her.  A great shock.  Did the Lord tell her
"tonsillitis" is something fatal?

"May heaven's blessings rest on the family, noble, useful family.
Earthly home is sad now.  Heavenly home still nearer and dearer.  And
on the church she loved, on the Senior C. E.--we will not forget her
pure sweet talks there--on the Junior C. E. she organized and
superintended until death.  On her assistant superintendent and bosom
friend, Miss Maude Tucker.  On the school she taught, on students of
county Normal at Effingham, who loved her, on one noble young student
of Drake University who came to sit among the mourners as though he
was already one of the family.  All love her at Drake--Yes
everywhere."

Clara went on the 23rd day of May, 1906.  Mrs. Prof. J. W. Wilson
said of her:

     "A Beautiful Life"

Clara C. Hastings was born at Farmington, Kansas, Sept. 24, 1877.
Married June 28th 1905.  Died May 20th, 1906.  Graduated from the A.
C. H. S. in the class of '98 and later completed the teachers' course
in Drake University, Des Moines, Iowa.  Taught nearly two years in
primary grades at Maxwell, Iowa.  Resigned during the second year to
stay with her parents after the death of her sister Edith.  Spent one
year in Muscotah, Kansa, as primary teacher.

"On June the 28th, 1905 she married Charles G. Sprong, and their
married life was one of happiness, with every prospect of happiness
and usefulness before them.  On May 12, 1906 twin daughters came to
bless their home.  Four days later little Edith died and on May 23,
Clara closed her eyes on all things earthly and her Heavenly Father
called he home.  A bereaved husband, a father, mother, four brothers
and numerous friends mourn her loss.  Her life was short but well
lived, for she spent it in doing good.  A kind smile and a kind word
for everyone was characteristic of her.  Many evidences of her love
and sympathy for others were shown at the funeral by the expressions
of sympathy from the little children and aged alike.

When all hope of life was abandoned and it was thought best by
friends to tell her the end was near, her husband gently reminded her
of little Edith in heaven, and told her she would soon be with her.
Although a little surprised for she thought she was better, she said
it was all right if it was God's will.  Her last hours were spend in
comforting those left behind and many loving messages she gave them
that will be a comfort to them and a help to lessen the sting of
death.  Her bright mind was active to the last.  She called for paper
and pencil and named over many friends to whom she wished messages
sent.  Repeating with her father the Lord's Prayer, and telling them
not to mourn for her, her bright pure life closed. She died as she
had lived--a Christian.  The funeral services were held at the Potter
church, conducted by Rev. Hilton of Atchison.  The floral tribute was
beautiful.  A large number of people were present, but owing to the
distance a great many were unable to attend.  Those from Effingham
were Hiss Speer, Emma Ellis, Ollie Wilson, Mabel Weaver, Nellie
Grable, Mrs. J. W. Wilson, Mollie Campbell, J. W. Campbell and Ertel
Weaver.

Evangelist Frank Richard wrote of her:  "The memory of such a life is
as the lingering twilight after the golden sun has set.  It is the
precious memory of a life service.  Service to her was a genuine
pleasure.  For her Master she served whose guiding hand she trusted.
Her life was genuine, sweet and gentle.  A deep religious fervor
characterized it throughout.  Pious, consecrated and devout she was.
Her services in the church were highly appreciated.  She loved the
church.  Her splendid counsel and example were of inestimable worth
to the young people both in and out of the church.  In her home the
sweetness of her life was a constant pleasure to her friends and
loved ones.  To permeate the home with a Christian spirit was to her
a high aim."

The weight of sorrow brought on us by the death of these two noble
daughters is still so heavy as to bring tears to our eyes and sadness
to our hearts.  But we hope in God.

Little Ethel, one of the twins, still lives with her father and a
kind step-mother.  May the mantle of her dear mother's goodness fall
upon her and she grow up to be good and happy.

---0---



C H A P T E R    F I F T E E N

Places.  "Uncle Daniel."  Will Price.  Visit Ind. 1881.
Return.  Golden Rule.

But to return a few years in the events of my humble life, I find
that I attended my first State Teachers' Association in Kansas in
1869.

After I quit teaching I took up regular farming but kept up Sunday
preaching all these many years.  Preaching at Farmington, Pardee,
Pleasant Grove, Crooked Creek, Lancaster, Wolf River, Holton, Whiting
Goff, Round Prairie, Valley Falls, Atchison, Hiawatha, Highland,
Netawaka, Corning, Dyke's School House, Topeka, Winthrop, Winchester,
Easton, Nortonville, Effingham, Muscotah and Williamstown.  Of course
I did not preach regularly very long for many of these places but
simply made evangelical visits.  But for some of them I preached
regularly a number of years.

I preached in Wolf River in Brown County for two years.  Every
preacher likes to have wherever he preaches a place, or home, he can
call his headquarters.  Well, at Wolf River Daniel Miller's home was
my home.  Uncle Daniel Miller (everybody called him Uncle Daniel) was
a devout disciple, and one of the most charitable and hospitable men
I ever knew.  Uncle Daniel was a well-to-do farmer and many were the
poor who received from his charitable hand wood, hay, corn, meat,
potatoes, apples and money.  And, if the preacher's sum was lacking
he footed the bill.

I remember one Sunday morning after the sermon I had a double wedding
which I solemnized in one ceremony, and Uncle Daniel had no bill to
augment that day.  I usually received for preaching from $5 to $10
per day.  But that day I had more than twice that amount.

Many years after the wedding referred to above, I saw a notice in the
newspaper that the Hon. Will Price, candidate for the senate, would
speak in Woodman Hall.  I attended the meeting.  The speaker came to
me and taking me by the hand said, "Elder, how-do-you-do?"  I said,
"How do you do?  But I do not know you."  He said, "Do you remember
the double wedding on Wolf River some years ago?"  "Yes," I said,
"But you are certainly not the young, bashful, scared, Will Price of
that event."  "I am he" he said, and sure enough he was he.  But now,
so different, large, handsome, wise and brave.  All boys ought to
grow to be men, for men are what we need in this old, sinful,
abnormal world.

In 1881 after I had been away from old Indiana my native home for
about fourteen years, I returned and visited the scenes of my early
life.  Many were the changes--a passing of the old, and a coming of
the new, bringing to me a mingling of sadness and gladness.  Sad,
that so much I loved before and gone.  Glad that so much new had come
that was good.  Everywhere I had been known I was greeted with much
love, respect and honor.  So I was constrained to preach again at the
old altars.  And one young man even persuaded me to marry him to a
pretty girl because he said he wanted to marry her and she was
willing.  So I preached again at old Liberty where I had preached and
taught more perhaps than at any other place in the State.  I took for
my subject "Unbelief." using as a text the prayer of the poor man
whose son had a dumb spirit,--"Lord, I believe.  Help thou mine
unbelief."  But, where all may seen to be gladness and joy and faith,
sin, or its effect, is always lurking around somewhere nearby.

As I was preaching I recognized in the back part of the audience a
man with tears in his eyes.  He was a strong intelligent man of the
community.  He was about my age and fifteen years before this time,
when we were both younger I heard him confess with his mouth that
Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and I with by own hands baptized him
into Christ.

After the sermon as he came to me, I said, "Sir, what mean these
tears, are they tears of joy or tears of sorrow?"  He answered,
"Tears of sin, I suppose, for while I was listening to you preach I
was only wishing that I could have the strong faith which you seem to
have."  He had lost his faith by forgetting his first love.  "He that
loves not, obeys not.  Not everyone that saith to me, Lord, Lord,
shall enter into the kingdom of Heaven, but he that doeth the will of
my father, which is in Heaven, Jesus."

Notwithstanding the many attractions of interest, love and friendship
among my relatives, and friends of old Indiana I had not been there
four weeks until my heart was fully set to return to Kansas.  And why
not?  Had I not left there a dear wife and five little children?
Count, boys, how old you were then.  Clara and Edith also.  Edith was
less than a year old.  But I had fondled her so much upon my knees
and call her by "Great Blue Eyes" and sang to her so much

     "Baby Bunn baby bunn
     Great Blue Eyes
     Looking now so merry
     Now so very wise."

That upon my return home on the night train, when on entering the
home in the darkness of the night, that I might not frighten anyone I
call out, "Where are my big blue eyes?"  Little Edith being awake and
hearing me, cried out at once, "Papa, Papa."

Upon my return home I resumed my work.  Crooked Creek was one of my
regular places for preaching quite a while.  I remember preaching
there a sermon on the Golden Rule so called.  In my discourse I used
the same basic principles and words that Christ used in his Sermon on
the Mount.  But afterwards a certain disciple said, "It is no use to
preach that way, for no one can live up to such teaching."  But it
turned out in a few years afterwards that that disciple made, (and is
to this day) one of the most faithful, obedient and sacrificing
members of the Church of God.  Thus it seems that the Word preached
may kill or make alive.  In this case it seems to have done both.

In the labors of my life as a preacher, my work was mainly confined
to the churches, and not to the world.  I knew nothing however but to
preach the gospel and teach the word.  So I think the gospel is the
power of God to salvation to both saints and sinners.

At another place one had heard, believed and wanted to be baptized,
but her husband said, "He who baptizes my wife endangers his life."
I said to the believer, "I will risk it."  I baptized her.  In two
weeks I preached again and at the end of the sermon that poor man
came to me and said, "I have been wrong.  I want to confess Jesus and
be immersed."  I baptized him.  Some years after that I preached the
funerals of both.  Their lives had not been perfect but in their
deaths there was hope.  We live by hope.  We are saved by hope.  Let
us hope in God.  Hope is one of a trio of the greatest principles in
the world.

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C H A P T E R    S I X T E E N

Politics.  Topeka.  A vote.  A snow storm.  Sister Lottie.
Whiting.  Pleasant Grove.  Atchison.

There are many pleasant things connected with preaching and sometimes
things are not so pleasant.  Of course, the most pleasant of all to
the true, conscientious preacher, is turning many from wrong to
right, to salvation from sin and all its consequences.  To know that
you have preached righteousness and lived a life worthy of imitation,
fills the cup of joy to overflowing.

While I have been teacher, farmer and preacher for years and years
and at one time was elected to a State office, I never was a
politician in the first sense of the word.  Unfortunately the bad
sense of the word has become the first.  There is a meaning in
politics in which all may be and should be politicians.

After I had taught and stood in the front rank of teachers, I thought
I was entitled to be superintendent of schools, but because I would
not stand as a politician in its bad sense I was turned down.  Turned
down because while right prevailed, wrong did much more prevail at
that time.  It was in the time of the saloons.

But they say it is a poor rule that does not work both ways.  So
without my seeking or asking for it, in the fall 1875 I was nominated
and elected to the office of State Representative: and this because I
was a politician in the true and better sense of the word, a
Christian gentleman and pure statesman.  And yet, it was the time of
saloons.  And yet, again righteousness did abound but sin did much
more abound.  I wondered why I was chosen, until a friend explained
it was because they wanted to give credibility to the ticket.  To
this day, I do not know whether it was a compliment or not.  But is
made no difference, it was at the State Capitol with over a hundred
other law-makers in the session of the centennial year, and enjoyed
it.  For I found many good men and learned gentlemen not a few.  And
was honored by being placed at the head of the education committee
and placed on two or three other committees also.  Among the many
votes and things I did, I shall always remember with pleasure and
pride one.  I was one of the six first to case a vote for the first
temperance resolutions.  I have lived to see temperance prevail and
the saloons to go.  The above is briefly the political paragraph of
my life story and I am willing that it may go up to the Judge of all
the earth.

While in Topeka I found but one family who were simply disciples of
Christ, but the Baptist disciples of Christ invited me to preach in
their house which stood near the Capitol building.  Neither the
church building nor the Capitol building was completed at that time.

At the close of the legislature a free excursion to the Rocky
Mountains was offered to all the members, but I declined to go, for I
was anxious to go home to a loved wife and four little boys whose
names I remember were Harry, Paul, Otho and Wiley.  I always was a
great lover of home.  The way it turned out I was truly glad that I
did not go to the excursion, for at that time, on the 27th day of
March, 1876, there fell the greatest snow-storm I ever saw in all my
life.  And the excursionists were snowbound in the Rocky Mountains
many days.  Here in Kansas the snow drifted, in many places, from
fifteen to twenty feet deep, and it was almost May before the roads
were passable to the city of Atchison, and many other places.

On the 21st day of this snowy month of March my youngest sister, Mrs.
Charlotte Ann Sears departed this life, at her home near Logan,
Kansas, aged 34 years, 9 months and 18 days.  She was the sister
playmate of my childhood days, being about three years younger than
I.  Years afterwards I visited her grave in the cemetery near Logan
and the next day preached in the church building of the town, on the
Christian's Hope.  This was the third death of my father's family,
counting father himself.

I was the first to preach at Whiting, preaching in a large upper
room, until the disciples who had been called together built a house,
and dedicated it to God.  In this house, I continued to preach.  That
house stands unto this day and the disciples still worship there.
Among the many that were there then whom I remember favorably and
with pleasure remain but few, among them the efficient and scholarly
Dr. Woodell.  But the Doctor now, like the writer of these lines, is
old and near the end.

Goffs too, was another place where I was the first to preach,
beginning in the school house and ending in a new church building,
where the disciples worship unto this day.  The pleasant recollection
of the names of Brockman, Springer and others will always be
associated with my remembrances at Goffs.  It is said that we never
forget anything.  I believe this only in part.  I think the bad will
be forgotten while the good will be remembered forever.  Even the
good Lord has promised that he will remember our sins no more.  So I
think He will let us forget the bad forever.

So, too, Pleasant Grove, a country church just south of Effingham one
of the best country churches I ever knew, is where I preached from
the beginning, (I mean my beginning in Kansas) regularly for many
years.  It was in the spring of 1868 that two brothers, John and
Jacob Graves, of Pleasant Grove came to Round Prairie where I was
teaching and preaching to hear me, and invited me to Pleasant Grove.
I never found a better preacher's home then the home of Jacob Graves.
Good man, he has gone to this reward in the skies.  Brother John
Graves still lives and stands among the first on the list of my old
friends, and in the estimation of all as one of the best men in the
world.

When I think of the fellowship, the kindness, the friendship and the
love of the disciples of Christ, I think and know that His
Christianity is the best thing in the world, and the only thing, as
an organization, that is absolutely necessary for a man to join.  In
an early period of the church in Atchison I frequently preached in a
small upper room which would seat about 50 people. This hall was
furnished us free by Gen. W. W. Guthrie.

I remember being in the city one day and remained until evening to
see the fireworks.  As I was going down town I met a man who said to
me, "Brother, where are you going."  I told him.  He said, "Well, you
turn around and go with me to prayer meeting, and then we will have
time to see the fireworks."  I asked, "Where is the prayer meeting?"
The answer was, "In the little upper room where you have preached.  I
turned around and went, and I still think it is a good thing to do--
to turn around and go to prayer meeting.  When we got to the place of
prayer, the minister, M. P. Hayden and three women were there.  With
our augmentation there were, in all, six.  But we felt, before the
service was over, that another was present, even He who said, "When
two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the
midst of them."

Atchison has a congregation now of a hundred times six.  Some of whom
are my children in the gospel.  I always fell especially proud of
John A. Fletcher and his wife because they are so good, and because I
taught them their letters, baptized them, and married them.  This was
at Farmington.  And many others at Farmington were mine by teaching,
preaching, marrying and burying.  I lived, taught and preached longer
at Farmington than any other place.  I had in one family seven
weddings, and almost as many funerals.  Over in the Pleasant Grove
neighborhood I had nine wedding in one family.  Some, of whom at this
time, are my door neighbors and seem like my own children.

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C H A P T E R    S E V E N T E E N

T. B. McCleary.  1888 Sunday schools.  Giants.  Deaths.  John.
Elizabeth.  Effingham, 3-1-1885.  A fire.

That man I met going to prayer meeting was J. B. McCleary, with whom
I am at the present time associated in the Eldership of the church at
Effingham.  We have known each other all these years since.  Brother
McCleary is my senior exactly nine years to a day.  For many years we
have been eating birth-day dinners together, first at his house and
then at mine, until his good wife died.  Since then we have always
tried to have brother Mc. To eat with us.  And my good wife has for
nearly forty years prepared a chicken pie for my birthday dinner.

The year 1888 brought to both me and my dear wife a weight of
sadness.  My good old mother passed away from the home of here
youngest son in Harper County at the advanced age of four score
years, two months, and twenty-six days.

Zettie's beloved father departed this life at the age of three score
and two years, seven months and ten days, from his home one mile east
of Farmington.  Why sadness?  These loved parents had lived to good
old ages.  Aha!  This sadness will work out for us an eternal weight
of gladness someday.

The story of my life would not be complete if I did not add the part
I have taken in the general or union Sunday School work of Atchison
Co.  The Atchison Country Sunday School Union Association was
organized at Muscotah in the year 1870.  I was present.  This
association has held an annual Convention each year since its
organization and I have missed but two meetings.  No one has been
more faithful in attendance than that.  Then with few exceptions I
have always had a place on the programs.  For five terms, or years I
was secretary and for two, president.  But, for leadership and
faithful, untiring service in this great work, the need of praise
must go to Issac Maris of the Seventh day lane.  In all the work of
the Bible Schools of this country I have always felt, during these
four decades, that it was an honor t try to stand as a second to
Issac Maris is a friend.  In all my life's labor as a Sunday School
worker I have associated with no one so long and pleasantly as a
coworker as Isaac Maris.

I must tell you just one instance of our lives.  Mr. Maris is two
years older than I am, and two inches taller, he being 6 feet, 4
inches and I 6 feet and 2 inches.  Well, brother Maris and I attended
together a district Sunday School Convention in the city of Horton.
The first evening was the children's hour.  Many children were there,
seated on the front seats of the large hall.  E. O. Excell was
leading the children in song.  Brother Maris and I were seated just
behind the children when one little fellow was overhead to say to
another, referring to us, "Who am them two big fellows?"  His
seat-mate replied, "Don't you know them fellows? They are two Sunday
School giants from Atchison country."  We took that and still take it
as a great compliment.

In the fall of 1891 the sad intelligence came to me from Indiana that
my brother John A. Hastings was dead.  At his death he was fifty-nine
years and fourteen days old.  Brother was a good man, a devout
Christian.  Of his family still living there are one daughter and
three sons, all noble, Christian citizens of Washington, Indiana.
One of the boys is a newspaper publisher, the other two are able
lawyers.

A few years later my oldest sister Nancy Elizabeth who lived in
Oregon, passed away at the age of 62 years, 2 months and 10 days.  Of
her family only one son, Reuben Edgar Peyton is living.  He lives at
Peyton, Oregon.  At this writing I have only two brothers left.  One,
Henry, about ten years my senior, the other, Rufus, about ten years
my junior.

In the fall of 1894 I was elected a trustee of the Atchison county
High School, and made secretary of the Board, and held this position
for six years being elected the second time.  That same fall we sold
our farm, 130 acres just east of Farmington for $5,500 and bought a
farm 80 acres, just east of Effingham for $4600, and moved to it on
the 1st day of March, 1895.  At this time only three of our children
were at home, Clara, Edith and Milo.  Harry, Paul and Otho were off
doing for themselves.  Harry had attended school at Holton and
Lawrence.  Paul had graduated at a Business College in Kansas City,
Mo.  Otho had graduated at the county High School.  The girls and
Milo each afterwards graduated at the County High School, and the
girls attended school at Drake University, and Milo graduated from
the State Agricultural College at Manhattan, Kansas.

On the night of the same day I was elected trustee, the High School
burned to the ground.  We could see, the next morning, from
Farmington, where we then lived, the flames and smoke still
ascending.  The first thing after the fire was for the Board to
secure a place or places to continue the school.  A mass meeting was
called in the Presbyterian Church.  I attended the meeting and was
called to the chair.  Through the energy, enthusiasm and sacrifice of
the citizens, especially Mr. Frank Wallack, the resident member of
the board and Principal Mr. Hunter, Assistant Prin. J. W. Wilson, and
the suggestion of Pres. Snow of the State University, who happened to
be present, the school was running the next day in the churches and
suitable vacant rooms that could be found in the town.

The new board was organized the 1st Tuesday in January, and the first
business of importance was the securing the insurance money, and the
building of a new house.  There was some delay, caused by not being
able to adjust matters with the insurance companies, and collect the
money.  Finally, however, every cent was collected and a new building
was erected and stands to this day, and Atchison Country has a high
school second to none in the state.

Our move from Farmington to Effingham was the only move we had ever
made.  It being only six miles, it was suggested that we move
everything worth moving, which when accomplished proved to be a task
of fifty-two wagon loads.

---0---



C H A P T E R    E I G H T E E N

Effingham, Church.  S. S. Muscotah.  1899.  Second visit back
to old Indiana.  The Captain.  Return to Kansas.  St. Louis.
Return.  Clara.  Home.  Waiting.

Our reasons for locating at Effingham were, the civility of the town,
the beauty of the country, and the advantage of the High School.
True, there was no congregation of Christians, nor ever had been
except those with human named added, but my life up to this time, for
thirty-five years had been spent in trying to persuade Christians to
be one, and organize simply as Christians.  So I concluded I would
continue to do the same thing in Effingham.  Please note that I never
use the name disciple or Christian in any sectarian sense.  Well, I
had not been here long until I found Christians who invited me to
preach in their meeting houses when not occupied by themselves.
Notably among them were Uncle Ben Wallack, of the Lutheran church,
and William Reece of the South M. E. Church.

Few, if any disciples in the movement for unity, had ever preached in
Effingham.  I had been called several times to the town to preach
funerals, but that was all.  So I commenced preaching in the Mr. E.
Church South on Sundays and having preached a few times, I requested
that at our next meeting all disciples or Christians, (I use these
names as synonyms) who were not members of any congregation, to
remain after the sermon.  This they did, and I addressed them in the
substance as follows: "Beloved disciples of Christ, for such your
action proves you to be, my purpose in requesting you to remain today
is to get better acquainted with you, and possibly organize ourselves
into a church of Christ.  In order to further carry out these
purposes, I will, by you permission ask each a direct question and
take your names, thus enrolling you as members of a church of Christ
in Effingham.  So I took paper and pencil in hand and asked each one
the same question, viz: "Are you a Christian?" and took the name of
each.  The answer of each one to the question was simply "yes."
except one lady who said, "Yes, in the Baptist church."  I said, "All
right, let me take your name and since there is no Baptist Church in
Effingham, you go along with us, without the Baptist name."  She
consented, and she is to this day a member in good standing and full
fellowship and nearly all her children have become Christians too.

There was enrolled 32 names that day, and this was the beginning of
the Christian church in Effingham.

From this number myself, Henry Shell, Sr., and J. W. Jones were
elected Elders and brethren J. W. Wilson, J. M. Shell and C. M.
Gregory were elected Deacons.  This was in the month of May, 1895.  I
preached on for sometime, but the infirmities of the flesh and old
age creeping upon me I had to give up preaching.  So for about 12 or
15 years I have preached but little.  Indeed for many years before I
quit preaching I preached under a great weakness of the flesh.

In the meantime the observance of the Lord's Supper was kept up each
Lord's Day, and a Sunday School had been organized with the M. E.
South Christians and ourselves working together, by electing Prof. J.
W. Wilson as Superintendent.

In the summer of 1895 Evangelist O. L. Cook held a meeting of fifteen
or twenty days under an arbor on Main Street.  At that meeting the
number of members was increased to seventy, and the church and Sunday
School were more fully organized, and have been meeting regularly on
the Lord's Day, and are at this time meeting in their own brick
veneered building, on Elizabeth Street.  All these years I have had
the honor and responsibility of being the Senior Elder.

From the beginning to the present, 1911, there have been 448 added to
the church roll.  At present the church owes nothing and is having
preaching all the time by Frank Richard, an able and conscientious
minister of the Gospel.  The church, by removals, decrease almost as
fast as it increases.  The membership at this writing is about 150.

Muscotah is a thriving little city just west of Effingham.  There are
but few disciples there except those in the churches of the town.  I
have preached there a few times.  Once the funeral of a little girl,
name Clara Hastings, but she was no kin to us.  At other times the
funerals of a very aged man and wife named Mooney.  The wife was an
own niece of Alexander Campbell.  She was a very good and learned
woman.

In 1899 with Clara who was in her 22nd year, I made a second trip
back to old Indiana.  It had been eighteen years since the other
trip.  The eighteen years had made many wonderful changes.  So much
so that I felt almost like a stranger in a strange land.  Had it not
been for the sweet, bright, joyful, spirit of the dear daughter that
accompanied me, the trip would have hardly been tolerable.  O, the
joy of the father whose sons and daughters rise up in his old age and
bless and honor him!  It was on this very visit when Captain
Hastings, hearing me talk of my boys and girls, said to me, "Cousin
Simpson, I see that you, like your dear old mother, love your
children.  I never knew a mother that loved her children more than
she did."  "True, Captain", I said, "I have always like the extremes
of age, the young and the old, and of course I like my own children.
I think when they were little about my knees was the happiest period
of my life."

We returned home to dear old Kansas--to our home near Effingham, but
it was not like it was at the first return eighteen years before when
the buildings were in their home nest, and great blue eyes were
looking out for me.  But now some had already flown and others were
about ready.  True, your dear old mother was there, and Edith too,
and Milo were there but in three short years Edith took her flight in
company with the angels to the skies to return no more.

In 1904 your mother and I went to St. Louis to see the World's Fair,
and to attend the National Convention of the disciples of Christ.  We
made our home at Harry's and so enjoyed the wonderful sights at the
Fair, and feasted upon the rich spiritual things of the Convention.

Once again we, (your mother and I this time) returned to our humble
home.  Do you know, boys, that there is no place like home?  Well,
this is true, if home is home.  But I declare to you when it comes to
taking your place at the old dining table and all the places on each
side of its full length are empty and only the two end places are
occupied, it is lonesome.  Only one more leaving and this was true of
your father and mother's table.  For when Clara on the 28th day of
June, 1905 the thirty-fifth anniversary of her father and mother's
marriage and the twenty first anniversary of her brother Milo's
birth, was married to Mr. Charles G. Sprong, the last place of the
children was vacated, and we were left alone.

But the heavier weight of sadness and sorrow did not come until,
within less than a year from Clara's happy marriage, death came for
her.  And she was accompanied by the angels into the unseen world of
Glory.

In our lonesomeness we exchanged our farm home for a home in
Effingham, and moved to it September 19th, 1907.  And here I rest,
trusting and hoping in God.

Some day when I cannot, will you please fill out the blanks below and
that will be the beginning of the end.


Z. S. HASTINGS.

Born March 15th, 1838

Died ________ ____ ______.







End of Project Gutenberg's Autobiography of Z. S. Hastings, by Z. S. Hastings