was eighteen miles to Chillicothe.
Arriving at the hotel, the people were getting ready for meeting. On
questioning them where they were going, the landlord replied:

"To the Christian Church. Will you not go along with us?"

On asking my name he said:

"O yes; I have seen your name in the _Christian Evangelist._ You have
been preaching in Illinois. I will introduce you to our preacher, and we
will make an appointment for you this afternoon."

This landlord was a brother to that Congressman Graves that shot Cilley,
a member of Congress from Maine, in a duel with rifles, at Washington.
The people described "mine host" as one of "fighting stock "; and spoke
of him as being as thoughtful of the comfort, health and welfare of his
slaves as of his own children. To me he seemed simply a genial, jovial,
friendly and traditional "Boniface," chiefly intent on furnishing
comfortable fare and an enjoyable place for his guest.

By the members of the Christian Church I was kindly received, and was
invited to take dinner with the preacher. After dinner two brethren came
in, to whom I had been introduced at the meeting-house. After some
desultory talk, they asked me:

"_Are you an abolitionist_?"

I was both angry and confounded. I had never in my life made myself
conspicuous in this controversy that was going on between North and
South, and why should I be insulted with such a question. I did not
answer yes or no, but proceeded to give my views on the subject in
general. They listened and remarked that they did not see anything
offensive in such views; then made this apology for their seeming
rudeness: An old man, a preacher, whom they called Father Clark, had
come from Pennsylvania to Chillicothe to live with a married daughter,
and had said something concerning slavery offensive to the people, and
they had called a meeting of the citizens, and he had been driven out of
town and ordered never to return. They had, furthermore, resolved that
no abolitionist should thereafter be allowed to preach in the city.
These brethren explained that, as I would be called on and interrogated
by a committee, they thought it would be better that this should be done
by friends, than that I should be questioned by strangers.

"_Are You an Abolitionist_?"

I was angry with myself for having consented to preach a sermon after
being met with such a question. But by mine host, Bro. Graves, I was
treated with the most frank and manly courtesy, al