e
writer of this too imperfect Sketch.

Sanders.

He belonged to the Church militant. In looks he was a cross between a
grenadier and a Trappist. But there was more soldier than monk in his
nature. He was over six feet high, thin as a bolster, and straight as a
long-leaf pine. His anatomy was strongly conspicuous. He was the boniest
of men. There were as many angles as inches in the lines of his face.
His hair disdained the persuasions of comb or brush, and rose in tangled
masses above a head that would have driven a phrenologist mad. It was a
long head in every sense. His features were strong and stern, his nose
one that would have delighted the great Napoleon--it was a grand organ.
You said at once, on looking at him, Here is a man that fears neither
man nor devil. The face was an honest face. When you looked into those
keen, dark eyes, and read the lines of that stormy countenance, you felt
that it would be equally impossible for him to tell a lie or to fear the
face of man.

This was John Sanders, one of the early California Methodist preachers.
He went among the first to preach the gospel to the gold-hunters. He got
a hearing where some failed. His sincerity and brainpower commanded
attention, and his pluck enforced respect. In one case it seemed to be
needed.

He was sent to preach in Placerville, popularly called in the old days,
"Hangtown." It was then a lively and populous place. The mines were
rich, and gold-dust was abundant as good behavior was scarce. The one
church in the town was a "union church," and it was occupied by Sanders
and a preacher of another sect on alternate Sundays. All went well for
many months, and if there were no sinners converted in that camp, the
few saints were at peace. It so happened that Sanders was called away
for a week or two, and on his return he found that a new preacher had
been sent to the place, and that he had made an appointment to preach on
his (Sanders's) regular day. Having no notion of yielding his rights,
Sanders also inserted a notice in the papers of the town that he would
preach at the same time and place. The thing was talked about in the
town and vicinity, and there was a buzz of excitement. The miners,
always ready for a sensation, became interested, and when Sunday came
the church could not hold the crowd. The strange preacher arrived first,
entered the pulpit, knelt a few moments in silent devotion, according to
custom, and then sat and surveyed the