Pine Grove, Lawrence Co., O.

Tuesday, Nov. 5th, 1872.

Dear Sister:

I hope before you read my letter you will look at the heading, and see if it does not sound well enough for the rural home of some poet. How much more romantic than the undignified, boorish appellation, Blue Run! Though why it should be called "Pine Grove," I cannot tell; since there is no pine tree that I know of within miles, and all the grove there is is composed of little scrubby bushes, such as you will always find covering hills about a furnace. But the name is pretty and poetical (if it isn't appropriate), and makes such a lovely heading for any kind of a letter, especially a ---- letter, you know! So I won't quarrel with the man who possessed so small a share of consistency and common-sense as to bestow so euphonious a name upon so ordinary-looking a place, but rather feel grateful to him for the unusual share of Love for the Beautiful which he possessed.

I received a letter mailed at Portsmouth, Oct. 31st, on yesterday, and dated Oct. 30th (year unknown). The writer, whoever he was (for no name was attached to the manuscript), evidently presumed on a familiarity of acquaintance with me, calling me a "full-grown infant," "a Weenty Teenty chap," and so forth, at which vulgar appellations my sense of dignity was naturally much wounded. From some expressions in the letter, I gathered that the writer was a school-teacher in Scioto Co. (I could not well infer it from the handwriting, which was anything but complimentary to the honorable body of teachers in that county), and rather desirous of displaying what learning he possessed. He talked about "macadamized Highways" (poor Adam!), "the programme of existence," an "unequaled, unexcelled, and unexceptional epistolary," etc., -- phrases which might well turn a less philosophical brain than mine. As I cannot approve of anonymous correspondence, I think I shall follow the example of our Magazine Editors under like circumstances -- put all such contributions in the waste basket.

I have been all around my circuit now, and understand just what kind of work I have. Nearly every appointment (9 in all) is at a furnace; and the only really intelligent men to be found, with scarcely any exception, are the managers, clerks, etc., at the furnaces. The people are deplorably illiterate, and not one of my congregations is half so intelligent, I am pretty sure, as that at Blue Run. Scores cannot read, and a still larger proportion cannot write. The literary character of the people may be inferred even from their names. Here are a few: Puthoff, Betts, Storsh, Dressell, Clutts, Deerfoot, Blankenship, Reichart, Secrist, Cisler, Geesekemeyer, etc. (You must pronounce them as best you can). I have been visiting some, and an incident or two may not be uninteresting. At the house of one of our members, the woman asked me on what circle Bro. Postle was this year? (Bro. Postle traveled this work 3 years ago). At another place, Mr. Betts', I found a girl laid up with the inflammatory rheumatism. The house was very dirty (the most of them are), and the old folks were Baptists. One of the daughters, a big, fat, married woman, with a squalling infant, was waiting on her sister. They all seemed pleased to see me, and tried to make themselves as agreeable as possible. Somehow our conversation was turned to the Catholics, who are as thick as blackberries here. Mrs. Wooten (the married daughter)

told how a Catholic woman once said to her that her little baby which had died without being sprinkled with holy water, had gone to torment. Mrs. Betts was perfectly indignant. "I'd 'a mashed her mouth," she broke in. "O mother," said Mrs. Wooten, "you don't know what you'd 'a done." "Yes, I would," said Mrs. Betts, "I couldn't 'a holp it." Both those women were members of the Church, and no doubt thought they were producing a favorable impression on me by their emphatic denunciations of Popery.

We had Quarterly Meeting last Saturday and Sabbath. One of the stewards, Bro. Payne, staid with me all night at Bro. Sillbaugh's. (More names for you). Sunday morning I handed him the Bible that he might conduct family worship, supposing he had more learning than the ordinary class. He opened the Bible, and began reading right where he opened it, no doubt thinking that was as good a place as any other. Unfortunately he happened to fall into the midst of those dry, genealogical records in 1st Chronicles. The 1st verse read, "So all Israel were reckoned by genealogies." The last word was a "jaw-breaker" for Bro. Payne, and he called it something like geologies. By the time he had stumbled over five or six verses, describing the names of the principal men who dwelt at Jerusalem, he discovered that he had got into a wrong place, and closing the book, said, "Let us pray." But he did not make a botch in the prayer. These poor, illiterate, ignorant, hard-featured, sooty-faced men can offer up some of the most powerful and intelligent and earnest prayers I ever listened to. I find I shall have to remodel entirely my style of preaching to suit the people. Philosophy makes them nod, and metaphysics puts them right to sleep. Yet there are excellent people here, and I am really having a good time among them.

Bro. W. C. Amos, Manager of Etna Furnace, who was converted four years ago under Bro. T. G. Wakefield's preaching, has more religion than any other man I believe I ever knew. He recognized me when he first saw me, from my resemblance to Wm., whom he had seen at the S. S. Convention in Ironton. He said when Wm. got up to read, he thought to himself, "I bet there's not much in you," but before he finished he changed his opinion decidedly for the better. He went around to Bro. Postle, and wanted to know who that was? Bro. Postle told him, and said, "there was no discount on him."

Not the slightest pleasure I have on this work, is occasioned by the privilege of being with Bro. Lewis, and of hearing him sing. When he sings in the Revivalist at our meetings, I never feel like singing with him -- I only want to sit and listen and laugh. He is a good man, and passes through toil and hardship in his efforts to build up the church, such as many a one in the Ohio Conference would shrink from. He also possesses an inexhaustible fund of good humor, and is very agreeable company.

Please direct to >>> Pine Grove,

Hanging Rock,

Ohio,

I am your aff. brother,