RECOLLECTIONS OF A 
 RED-HEADED MAN 
 
 IRAM.BOSWELL
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFOKK1A 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 /\ \
 
 Recollections of a 
 Red-headed Man 
 
 BY 
 IRA M. BOS WELL 
 
 "A glad heart maketh a cheerful countenance.' 
 "A cheerful heart is a good medicine." 
 
 i 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1915 
 The Standard Publishing Company
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 To Transylvania, the oldest university west of the 
 Alleghanies ; and to the multitude of Alumni who have 
 made her name honorable in every calling and profession 
 of life; and to the Professors who have so efficiently 
 exercised themselves in their noble calling, this little 
 volume is lovingly dedicated by the author in apprecia- 
 tion of the benefit derived while a student in her classic 
 halls.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 I. 
 MY FIRST AND OTHER PANTS 17 
 
 II. 
 CHILLS 24 
 
 III. 
 SWIMMING 28 
 
 IV. 
 RED HAIR 38 
 
 V. 
 CALLED TO PREACH 53 
 
 VI. 
 MY FIRST CHRISTMAS IN THE UNIVERSITY 62 
 
 VII. 
 THE HOUSE OF BISHOPS 70 
 
 VIII. 
 STUDYING NATURAL SCIENCE 76 
 
 IX. 
 
 AN INVITATION TO DINNER 81 
 
 5
 
 6 CONTENTS 
 
 X. PAGS 
 
 JUST BECAUSE I AM RED-HEADED 87 
 
 XI. 
 TWENTY MILES FROM A RAILROAD 98 
 
 XII. 
 
 SOCIAL LIFE IN THE UNIVERSITY 110 
 
 XIII. 
 VACATION EXPERIENCES 122 
 
 XIV. 
 ORATORY IN THE UNIVERSITY 133 
 
 XV. 
 ONE MORE WORD AND I AM DONE.. . 141
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 It is good to be born. This statement 
 will not be contradicted except by some dis- 
 putatious dyspeptic, whose morbific diges- 
 tive apparatus transforms him into such an 
 advocate of the objective case as to make 
 it impossible for him to agree even with the 
 food he eats. This is a good and beautiful 
 world and I am glad I was born into it; so 
 were the human sharks, who live on the 
 little fish, glad that another sucker was 
 born. Our start in life depends upon our 
 birth; but life in its enjoyments and useful- 
 ness depends in no small degree upon the 
 liver, and the liver depends upon the life. 
 
 To begin these recollections with my 
 birth may seem trite and unnecessary. My 
 only excuse for so doing is, that is when 
 and where I got my start in life. I have 
 always looked upon my first birthday as 
 the most important, and, taking every- 
 thing into consideration, the most necessary 
 one in the long and eventful series. With- 
 out it the others would have been impossi-
 
 8 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ble, and these recollections would have been 
 lost to the world. When I was born I was 
 too young to understand this, and conse- 
 quently did not appreciate the importance 
 of the occasion. Had I known I was to 
 write these recollections, I would have im- 
 proved my opportunities then and since; 
 and not only would I have had more 
 recollections, but what in many cases is, 
 perhaps, mere hearsay, would be knowl- 
 edge. I am satisfied that few know just 
 when and where to draw the line between 
 early recollections and family traditions. I 
 take this position because my observation, 
 not experience, has shown me that in later 
 life so many have difficulty in drawing the 
 line between fancies born in the imagination 
 and facts belonging to real experience. 
 Among this class are those natural-born 
 musicians who blow their own horn and 
 play their own lyre. Most of these are 
 like the trombone-player in the band which 
 was leading a funeral procession. In the 
 midst of the most beautiful and solemn 
 part of the music he suddenly let out a blast 
 which came nearly stampeding the proces- 
 sion. When the bandmaster demanded the 
 reason for such an unseemly effort he ex- 
 cused himself by saying: "A horsefly lit on
 
 INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 my music. I thought it was a note, and 
 determined to play it, if it burst my 
 horn." 
 
 I blush to admit that unbiased and re- 
 liable witnesses testify that I spent the day 
 of my birth in contemplative silence, refus- 
 ing to speak to any one. I admit that such 
 behavior was not becoming in the honoree 
 of such an event, but, in extenuation of my 
 failure to do the polite thing, I plead igno- 
 rance, inexperience, and the further facts 
 that I had never read a subscription-book 
 on "Etiquette," nor taken a course in a 
 correspondence school on "How to Behave 
 in Polite Society." 
 
 I started in life just where every other 
 man except Adam started; but there were 
 many advantageous circumstances that were 
 peculiar to me. For these circumstances 
 nor for my start In life do I claim any credit 
 or praise. I am glad of this, for it has 
 been hard enough for me to pay for all the 
 other things I have gotten credit for since 
 my birth. I had nothing whatever to do 
 with selecting the place and date of my 
 birth, nor the choosing of my father and 
 mother. I am profoundly thankful that 
 these matters were taken entirely out of my 
 hands. When I was a baby children did
 
 10 INTRODUCTION 
 
 not have as much to do with the control of 
 parents as now. I rejoice at this, for I 
 tremble to contemplate what might have 
 been the consequences had I been consulted. 
 I was too young and inexperienced to take 
 a wise interest in such matters. I have 
 made so many mistakes since then that I am 
 satisfied that I would have made a botch of 
 the whole thing. Besides, I might have 
 decided not to have been born at all, which, 
 of course, would have ruined my whole life, 
 and materially reduced the world's supply 
 of red hair. 
 
 I was ushered into this world not quite 
 thirteen months after the South, personified 
 in Lee, returned her unbroken and un- 
 stained sword to its historic and honorable 
 scabbard, never to be withdrawn save to 
 protect the downtrodden of the earth or to 
 defend the "Stars and Stripes" from being 
 torn by foreign foes or desecrated by the 
 polluting touch of ungrateful traitors. My 
 people my kinsfolk and the people of my 
 native State had returned from battlefields 
 where they had proved their valor and sus- 
 tained their honor, and were patiently, loy- 
 ally and heroically rebuilding their ruined 
 homes, reclaiming their wasted fields, and 
 recovering their lost fortunes, before a
 
 INTRODUCTION 11 
 
 Southern mother held me in her arms, 
 taught me to love the old South, to have 
 hope in the New South, and to be true to 
 our reunited country. I am thankful that 
 the beautiful, tender and patriotic stories of 
 the "Stars and Bars" and of the thin, hun- 
 gry, ragged regiments of "Gray" told me 
 by my parents always increased my love for 
 the "Stars and Stripes"; for did not my 
 ancestors brighten those stars with heroic 
 deeds and make red those stripes with their 
 blood? 
 
 I was born neither in a cabin nor a pal- 
 ace, but in a home. It was a comfortable 
 cottage, owned by my father, and situated 
 in one of the most beautiful little cities God 
 ever smiled upon. The memories of my 
 youth are mixed with the odor of roses 
 and magnolias, with songs of mocking-birds 
 and floods of sunshine, and, better still, with 
 kisses from lips that are now singing with 
 the angels. Had the wisdom of Solomon 
 been mine, and had it been in my power to 
 select my parents, I could not have made a 
 better choice. My continual and earnest 
 desire is that my life be worthy of them. 
 Sweet as chimes at eventide are the recol- 
 lections of my home. The memories of 
 those beautiful, far-off days are like echoes
 
 12 INTRODUCTION 
 
 "That touch and thrill the listening heart, 
 And make a thousand memories start 
 From valleys slumber-bound." 
 
 Like the mocking-bird's serenade that used 
 to waken me in the early morning, they 
 awaken the vanished moments that lie 
 asleep upon the trundle-bed of long ago. I 
 am a child again. All day long, without a 
 care, I romp beneath soft Southern skies. 
 The sun is set, the shadows creep along the 
 ground, with fluttering, rapid wings the 
 swallows circle above the housetops and dip 
 into the open, hospitable chimneys. The 
 stars merrily twinkle their good-night kisses 
 to me as I go into the house to find mother. 
 I always found her. My supper over, I 
 kneel at her side. With her hand upon my 
 head, she teaches me to say: 
 
 "Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 And pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep; 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take." 
 
 A few minutes more and my tired little 
 limbs rest in slumber's sweet repose. As I 
 sleep, guardian angels, with faces like fa- 
 ther's and mother's, bend above my pillow. 
 Ever have their dear faces been my light; 
 their blessed hearts, my comfort, and their 
 noble lives, my strength and example. 
 
 There is no better place on earth to be
 
 INTRODUCTION 13 
 
 born than Columbus, Mississippi. True, 
 that is the only place I was ever born, but 
 I was born there. I am glad the stork 
 took me to my native city. I would as 
 soon be a man without a country as not to 
 have been born in my native State. It is 
 worth being twins just to get to be born 
 there twice. Columbus is noted for her 
 beautiful homes, her shaded, flower-bor- 
 dered streets, and her cultured, refined and 
 intelligent citizens. It is indeed a famous 
 city. Her fame, however, does not rest 
 alone upon the fact that I was born there. 
 One of her principal streets is the old "Mili- 
 tary Road," cut in 1815 by General Jackson 
 on his way from New Orleans to the Presi- 
 dency. In 1540, De Soto, on his way to 
 his grave in the Mississippi, crossed the 
 Tombigbee River at this place. Little did 
 these two great men, as they blazed their 
 way through the trackless wilderness with 
 axes, realize that in the years to come, not 
 far from the place where, perhaps, their 
 roads crossed, would a baby be born who 
 was to blaze his way through the world 
 with his hair. 
 
 Besides being the place of my birth, 
 Columbus is unique in another thing. It 
 was here that the good women, whose loved
 
 14 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ones had been offered as a sacrifice upon 
 the altar of war, strewed flowers upon the 
 graves of the Blue and Gray alike. This 
 act of heroic impartiality was the first of 
 its sort in the history of the world. The 
 soldiers of the North were in command of 
 the city. Tears still trembled upon the 
 sorrowing eyelids of the South. The 
 wounds of war were still bleeding through 
 many thousand crimson lips. At first some 
 difficulty was encountered by the women in 
 getting permission to decorate the graves of 
 the Confederate soldiers as the officer in 
 command of the Federal troops feared a 
 riot might result. Permission, however, 
 was finally granted. When the roses and 
 lilies had been lovingly strewed upon the 
 graves of their loved ones, these noble 
 women, whose crushed hearts went out in 
 sympathy to the lonely, sorrowing hearts 
 of their sisters on the other side of the 
 struggle, turned from their own sad graves 
 and placed lilies and roses upon the graves 
 of the soldiers of the army that had brought 
 them defeat and devastation. That was a 
 victory. The glory of it will never be for- 
 gotten, but will forever be among the most 
 precious treasures of the South. There was 
 no spirit of riot or revenge there, and when
 
 INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 the commander saw the magnanimous un- 
 selfishness of the true Southern heart, he 
 ordered the soldiers, who were there with 
 loaded guns to quell the expected riot, to 
 fire a salute of honor over the graves of 
 the Confederate dead. His was the heart 
 of the soldier. The superb act of these 
 women has been immortalized in verse by 
 the Northern poet, F. M. Finch. 
 
 "By the flow of an inland river, 
 
 Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
 Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, 
 Asleep in the ranks of the dead: 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day, 
 Under the one, the Blue, 
 Under the other, the Gray. 
 
 "These in the robings of glory, 
 
 Those in the gloom of defeat, 
 All with the battle-blood gory, 
 In the dusk of eternity meet: 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day, 
 Under the laurel, the Blue, 
 Under the willow, the Gray. 
 
 "From the silence of sorrowful hours, 
 
 The desolate mourners go, 
 Lovingly laden with flowers, 
 Alike for the friend and the foe: 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day, 
 Under the roses, the Blue, 
 Under the lilies, the Gray.
 
 16 INTRODUCTION 
 
 "Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 
 The generous deed was done; 
 In the storm of the year that was fading, 
 No braver battle was won. 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day. 
 Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
 Under the garlands, the Gray. 
 
 "No more shall the war-cry sever, 
 
 Or the winding river be red; 
 They banish our anger forever 
 When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day, 
 Love and tears for the Blue, 
 Tears and love for the Gray. 
 
 "So with an equal splendor 
 
 The morning sun rays fall, 
 With a touch impartially tender, 
 On the blossoms blooming for all. 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 Waiting the judgment-day, 
 Broidered with gold, the Blue, 
 Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 
 
 "So when the Summer calleth 
 On forest and field of grain, 
 With an equal murmur falleth 
 The cooling drops of the rain : 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 Waiting the judgment-day, 
 Wet with the rain, the Blue, 
 Wet with the rain, the Gray."
 
 I. 
 
 MY FIRST AND OTHER PANTS. 
 
 Long before my mustache had pushed 
 itself into the public eye, or had done any- 
 thing to merit being called down, I fell in 
 love. But with no desire to pluck the tini- 
 est feather from the busy wings of Cupid, 
 nor to take the exquisite and illusive tickling 
 from the dart of that daring and paradox- 
 ical little god, who transforms the cob pipes 
 of old bachelors into rattlers and turns the 
 love of old maids from cats to cradles 
 that little god who builds homes out of 
 hearts, gilds a cabin into a palace, strews 
 the path of youth with roses, and mellows 
 old age with music, I unhesitatingly assert 
 that the most thrilling and impressive ex- 
 perience in a boy's life is not his first love 
 affair, but his first pair of pants. Few can 
 remember the first time love entered their 
 hearts, but no one forgets the first time he 
 enters pants. 
 
 Looks have much to do with a boy's 
 
 falling in love, but with pants it is different. 
 2 IT
 
 18 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 The material out of which the pants are 
 made is not material to him, and the cut of 
 the pattern cuts no figure with him, regard- 
 less of the figure he cuts in the pants. 
 Pants is pants. A little boy, who lived not 
 far from me, got his first pair of pants a 
 week or two before I got mine. They were 
 the first pair of reversible pants I ever saw. 
 They almost discouraged me, as I was 
 afraid the style might become epidemic in 
 my neighborhood. It was said that his 
 mother laid him down on the cloth and cut 
 the pants to fit. He always looked as if he 
 had just had a fit. The only way you could 
 tell which way he was going when he was 
 standing still was to note which way his 
 toes were pointing. You could not tell by 
 his face, for every time he would look down 
 he would think he was going the wrong 
 way, and would turn his face the other di- 
 rection. He frequently made himself dizzy 
 trying to adjust his face to his pants a per- 
 formance that resembled a dog trying to 
 catch up with his tail. Many times his 
 mother could not tell whether he was re- 
 turning from school or just starting. But 
 he was proud of his pants. Notwithstand- 
 ing their twinlike appearance, they had two 
 advantages. If he put them on wrong side
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 19 
 
 before, he did not have to take them off; 
 and his mother often got out of the notion 
 of whipping him by the time she located the 
 proper place to apply the slipper. 
 
 One day my mother sent to a Mrs. 
 Smith's to borrow a pair of her son Billy's 
 pants to use as a pattern for a pair for me. 
 Mother tried them on me to see about the 
 fit. She saw about it; for I had one when 
 she made an effort to extract me from the 
 pants. I did a Marathon all over the house, 
 up stairs and down stairs. Running sort of 
 ran in our family. I was some runner when 
 I had an incentive. Mother was some in- 
 centive. She was some runner herself. It 
 was not long before I found myself in her 
 lap with my body bent at a right angle 
 just the right angle for the proper applica- 
 tion of a slipper. As I now recall the mat- 
 ter, those were the warmest pants I ever 
 wore. At the time I wished that Billy was 
 in them and I was in a cooler pair. Since 
 then I have often heard of the seat of war, 
 and I am satisfied now those pants contained 
 one. The first time I heard a band play 
 "A Hot Time in 'the Old Town To-night" 
 I was convinced that my mother originated 
 the tune the day she played upon my anat- 
 omy with her slipper, only the words of my
 
 20 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 song would have been "A Hot Time in 
 Billy's Pants To-day." 
 
 Like most of the mothers of that day, 
 my mother had rather old-fashioned notions 
 about the fit of a boy's clothes. She always 
 insisted on my having them large enough 
 to allow for my growth. Her allowance was 
 rather liberal. She seemed to think that if 
 they should fit me when they were new, I 
 would burst them before they were worn- 
 out. This economic principle of hers kept 
 me a year behind my clothes. By the time 
 they would fit me they were worn-out. I 
 really think I stunted myself trying to grow 
 fast enough to catch up with my clothes. 
 The only parts of my body that did their 
 duty in the growing line were my feet. 
 They rather overdid the thing. It made 
 no difference how big I got my shoes, they 
 were too little for me before they quit 
 squeaking. By the way, I wonder what 
 has become of all the squeaks they used to 
 put in boys' shoes? I suppose they are with 
 the dear old copper-toed, red-top boots. It 
 made no difference how hard I tried, I 
 never caught up with my clothes. 
 
 One of the first resolutions I formed 
 was to use the first money I could get to 
 buy me a suit of clothes that would fit my
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 21 
 
 body and meet the requirements of my 
 rather exuberant taste. When I was about 
 fifteen years of age the janitor of our church 
 gave up his job, and I secured it. The 
 treasurer of the church was in the clothing 
 business. I was in luck. He was to keep 
 the money, and when there ;vas sufficient 
 to my credit I was to select a suit of clothes 
 and have them all to myself. 
 
 Caesar was no more elated over crossing 
 the Rubicon than was I the Saturday night 
 I went down to select my suit. The clerk 
 that sold me the suit earned his money. I 
 was hard to satisfy, but by bedtime I had 
 all selected and concealed in my room. I 
 slept about as well that night as a boy 
 usually does the night before the circus 
 comes to town. That was one Sunday morn- 
 ing I did not have to be called. I was up 
 before the worm had fallen a victim to the 
 early bird. When I got into my clothes and 
 looked in the mirror, the object that con- 
 fronted me was as gorgeous as a peacock. 
 Narcissus was no more pleased with his 
 reflection in the stream than I with mine in 
 the mirror. My straw hat was the color 
 of a ripe strawberry. My coat and vest 
 were green, and my pants were a delicate 
 cream. My head swam for joy. The room
 
 22 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 was too small for my glory, so I went out 
 into the back yard to practice for my grand 
 entrance to the breakfast-table. 
 
 Pride comes before a fall. My fall was 
 a climb. In the egotism of self-satisfaction 
 I had forgotten to take into consideration 
 our old family dog. Tige and I had been 
 brought up together. We had almost eaten 
 out of the same plate, but he failed to recog- 
 nize his old friend. My suit was too much 
 for him, and he treated me as a stranger. 
 His greeting, while strenuous, was not cor- 
 dial. I soon saw he was in no humor for 
 argument, and I was forced to take refuge 
 on top of the flower-pit. There I roosted 
 until his continual racket woke up the 
 family. They rescued me. When they got 
 a good view of me and my clothes, Tige's 
 remarks seemed simple and gentle com- 
 pared with what they had to say. My 
 father's oration was hardly compatible with 
 a Sabbath morning and his position as an 
 elder in the church. 
 
 Tige's real name was Adah, but, because 
 of her unladylike behavior, I decided to 
 give her a fictitious name in order to pro- 
 tect her reputation. 
 
 This experience with my first selection 
 of a suit did not create any prejudice in
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 23 
 
 my heart against clothes, but it did to a con- 
 siderable degree subdue my taste. From 
 that day I ceased to be so tropical in the 
 selection of my clothes. But I must confess 
 that no suit has ever given me the pleasure 
 that one did when I first put it on.
 
 24 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 II. 
 
 CHILLS. 
 
 Besides spring fever and falling in love, 
 I had all the other diseases to which a boy 
 is heir. However, as well as I now recall, 
 none proved fatal. In this regard I was 
 more fortunate than a painter that used to 
 live in my town. He fought in the Civil 
 War and was a brave soldier. One day 
 some one asked him whether or not he was 
 wounded during the war. "Yes," was his 
 reply, "I was wounded seven times, and six 
 of them was fatal." What I missed in 
 fatality I made up in number and variety. 
 However, I had rather have divers diseases 
 than fatal ones. They are more easily 
 cured. If I should catalogue all the dis- 
 eases I had when I was a boy, it would read 
 like a medical dictionary or a hospital pro- 
 gram on a parade. At one time it seemed 
 that I would soon exhaust the catalogue, 
 and no doubt I would have done so, had 
 not a large number of new diseases been 
 invented or imported. By the way, diseases
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 25 
 
 are the only thing the Republican party has 
 never put a tariff on. They have made up 
 for this oversight by putting the tariff on 
 medicine and coffins. 
 
 My hospitality toward all the ills of the 
 flesh was so noted that I was always one of 
 first to entertain any disease that came to 
 town. I got so I felt slighted and lone- 
 some if there was not something the matter 
 with me, and my folks would think that if I 
 was not sick, I was seriously ill. I am glad 
 to say I never had any bones broken. How- 
 ever, I did crack my voice trying to lift a 
 tune, and I frequently strained my veracity 
 handling excuses for the non-performance of 
 my daily chores. The nearest I ever came 
 to going into the show business was when a 
 spell of colic made a contortionist out of me. 
 My mother hardly ever locked me up that I 
 did not break out with something. While it 
 is true that I had the habit of taking every 
 disease that came along, I can not say that 
 I enjoyed any of them. I found smallpox 
 to be a humorous disease without being the 
 least bit funny. 
 
 But the meanest and most contemptible 
 thing I had when I was a boy was chills. I 
 have no respect for chills. I have tried 
 them and know what I am talking about.
 
 26 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Take my advice and have nothing to do 
 with chills. They will disappoint you. As 
 soon as you think they are your friend, they 
 will shake you. They are the earthquakes 
 of the human body, and will shake all the 
 sympathy out of your system. They will 
 make you a terror to the beauty doctors, 
 and dislocate your disposition. They stick 
 to you like poverty, and are as hard and 
 costly to get rid of. Like poverty, they 
 seem to descend in some families from gen- 
 eration to generation. They won't make 
 you any more friends than will poverty, and 
 they frequently cause you to shake off the 
 friends you do have. 
 
 I had chills for several years. I felt a 
 little selfish and unappreciative continually 
 having chills, when there were scores of 
 chill tonics advertised by the people who 
 manufactured them as being sure cures for 
 chills. They may have cured chills of their 
 troubles. All that tackled me seemed to be 
 healthful. However, they never cured me of 
 chills. I do not know what they put in the 
 tonics, but I am satisfied they used a good 
 deal of lie in the printer's ink when they 
 advertised. 
 
 The most radical treatment I took was 
 a liver-pad. I did not particularly fancy its
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 27 
 
 odor, still it did not enter my head that it 
 would be serious. The minute I put it on 
 I began to lose my friends. Even the 
 druggist who sold it to me seemed anxious 
 to be rid of me before other customers came 
 into his store. My appearance in a crowd 
 always meant the disappearance of the 
 crowd. No one knew I was wearing a 
 liver-pad, hence everybody looked upon me 
 with suspicion. My immediate family, of 
 course, knew it, but they never took me to 
 their bosom as in the farmer days, and 
 were unanimous in their opinion that I 
 should sleep in the woodshed. The Board 
 of Health looked as if they wanted to 
 quarantine me, and the undertaker seemed 
 to think I had cheated him out of a job. 
 Thinking the absent treatment would be 
 efficacious, I finally threw the pad away; 
 but for a long time I found the words of 
 the poet to be true: 
 
 You may air all your clothes, 
 
 And bathe as you will ; 
 But the scent of the liver-pad 
 
 Clings to you still.
 
 28 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 III. 
 
 SWIMMING. 
 
 All my time, however, was not taken up 
 taking down medicine. Like most normal 
 boys, I hunted and fished, played ball and 
 hookey, went to Sunday school and the 
 circus; but I never learned to swim that 
 is, with my whole body. My head could 
 always swim. Perhaps I am the only boy 
 that ever grew up in Columbus that did not 
 learn to swim. Most of them naturally took 
 to water, but not to soap. The mothers of 
 most of the boys I knew had to whip them 
 into the bath-tub, and whip them out of the 
 swimming-hole. 
 
 We were surrounded by swimming-holes. 
 Blue Rock, just above the county bridge 
 across the Tombigbee, and Gravel Hole and 
 Sand Hole, a little farther up the river, 
 near the island, and the one near the fish- 
 trap in Luxapalila Creek, were the most 
 popular when I was a boy. Most any after- 
 noon in the summer they were like glove- 
 cases full of undressed kids.
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 29 
 
 On the bluff above the river between 
 Blue Rock and Gravel Hole there used to 
 be an artesian well, all that was left of the 
 old Simon's mill. They had torn the old 
 mill down before my time, but had for- 
 gotten or failed to pull up the well. It 
 was, as I now recall it, a twelve-inch pipe 
 extending about thirty inches above the 
 ground, with a hole near the top to allow 
 the water to escape. By placing your hand 
 over the hole the water would run over the 
 top, and you could bury your face in the 
 clear, cold water and drink. How good that 
 water was, only a thirsty boy with his face 
 hot and flushed from the race for the first 
 drink, can know. It used to refresh me 
 clear down to the stone bruise on my heel. 
 How like the old well are the springs of 
 kindness that refresh our bruised hearts and 
 weary souls after the hard knocks and 
 bumps which life and unappreciative livers 
 so often deal us. 
 
 On both sides of the road of deep sand 
 over which we had to go to reach the old 
 fish-trap there grew in wild profusion a 
 speary cactus, which we called "prickly 
 pear." Those of us who were not too old 
 went barefooted and always kept in the 
 middle of the road to avoid the cactus.
 
 30 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 But, in order to have fun, some of the older 
 boys, who wore shoes, would bury cactus in 
 the sand. It was selfish fun, and all on the 
 side of the fellow with shoes. The boy 
 with spears from the cactus in his feet 
 never joined in the laugh. 
 
 The world is full of fellows who laugh 
 and live on the hurt of others. I have 
 always enjoyed fun, and I love to laugh; 
 but I never enjoyed fun that hurt the other 
 fellows, nor found it opportune to laugh 
 when others cried. Life's road has enough 
 thorns in it without burying more to wound 
 the feet of the tired pilgrim, and the one 
 who laughs along the way, gathering noth- 
 ing but flowers of pleasure, will find thorns 
 enough without my scattering any more. 
 There is sufficient wholesome fun in the 
 world for us to get our share without 
 wringing laughter from the tears of others. 
 Give me mirth and money with no stain of 
 blood from another's bruised and murdered 
 joys and hopes. 
 
 I am no poet. The following lines make 
 the confession superfluous. However, I 
 offer the poem, not as evidence of my not 
 being a poet, but to show what Luxapalila 
 Creek seems to me as I look back through 
 the years that lie between now and the time
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 31 
 
 I used to try to fish and swim in its hos- 
 pitable waters. If these lines do not tell 
 the truth about the creek, it is the years 
 that lie and not the author. 
 
 'Tis sweet to stand at close of day 
 And watch the lights and shadows play 
 On Lux'palila's lovely banks, 
 Where lilies grow in fragrant ranks, 
 And waters eddy 'round the knees 
 Of shady, silent cypress-trees. 
 
 On every side sweet jess'mine dwells 
 And perfume shakes from yellow bells; 
 With crimson wings the redbird cleaves 
 A path of flame through the willow leaves, 
 While in the waters, cool and deep, 
 The shadows of the landscape sleep. 
 
 His blazoned armor all aglow, 
 The dragon-fly flits to and fro; 
 The swallows skim along the stream, 
 Their ebon pinions all agleam 
 With drops of water, jewels rare, 
 Quivering in the golden air. 
 
 The mocking-bird's last serenade 
 
 Sounds from the beech-tree's cooling shade, 
 
 And just beyond the water-mill 
 
 Is heard the plaintive whip-po'-will, 
 
 While close beside the old mill-race 
 
 The bullfrog sounds his tuneful bass. 
 
 The evening shadows softly lie, 
 
 A holy silence from the sky, 
 
 On Lux'palila's dark'ning stream, 
 
 And the rising moon, with silver gleam, 
 
 Shoots through the shadows, soft and bright, 
 
 Swift arrows from her bow of light.
 
 32 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 My mother was a most peculiar woman. 
 She would never obey me, but insisted on 
 my obeying her. Such a situation would be 
 very embarrassing for some children I 
 know. I feel sorry for parents whose chil- 
 dren are too strict with them. My mother 
 had a very stubborn disposition. When I 
 went barefooted, notwithstanding my plea 
 that my feet would get just as dirty the 
 next day, she made me wash them every 
 night before I went to bed, and when I 
 would elude her vigilance and slip into bed 
 with my feet carefully deposited in a chair 
 so as not to get the sheets dirty, she would 
 pull me out and make me wash them. I 
 frequently, in my sleepy resentment, wished 
 I did not have feet, but I got some comfort 
 by thinking what a time I would have if I 
 were a centipede's little boy. It is strange 
 how much comfort we get out of the mis- 
 fortunes of others. Somehow mother was 
 never afraid of me, nor was she too up to 
 date to discard that old-fashioned motto: 
 Spare the slipper and spoil the boy. Many 
 a boy has been cured of what might have 
 been a fatal ailment by the skillful and 
 opportune application of a slipper poultice. 
 A slipper is often a boy's best friend. I 
 have known several that possessed warm
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 33 
 
 and lively souls, and personal contact with 
 their activities has left its impress. Even 
 after I was big enough to wear suspenders 
 and take personal interest in keeping my 
 ears clean, my mother still took a great 
 deal of interest in me; and never seemed 
 satisfied unless she knew where I was going 
 and where I would be when I got there, 
 and had some idea of what I was doing 
 when I reached where I was going. She 
 would not often let me go where I was 
 going unless she knew I could do what I 
 was going to do, if I went where I was 
 going to go. 
 
 The above is one reason why I never 
 learned to swim. When I would ask her 
 to let me go in swimming with the boys, 
 she would ask me if I could swim. I would 
 answer in the negative. Then she would 
 look at me, and while her hand rested upon 
 the sewing she was doing for some member 
 of the family, perhaps a jacket for me, she 
 would say: "No, you can't go this time. 
 Wait till you learn how to swim." With 
 rebellious heart I would go out into the 
 front yard to wait for the boys to come by 
 on their way to the fish-trap. Soon they 
 would come trooping by. What a merry 
 crowd they were and how lustily they would
 
 34 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 yell, "Come on, Peckerwood, let's go in 
 swimming." But I would choke back my 
 tears, and with a brave voice say, "Nope." 
 "Why?" would come the response, as a 
 crowd of insinuating eyes and sarcastic 
 smiles would show through the palings of 
 the fence. "Because I don't wan'ter," would 
 be the reply, all the time the desire in my 
 heart branding as false the words on my 
 lips. With a laugh and a shout they would 
 rush on their way, flinging back at me as 
 they ran, "You can't; you are tied to your 
 mammy's apron-strings, that's why." When 
 they were gone I would throw myself down, 
 dig my toes in the dirt, beat the earth with 
 my fists, and in my bitter disappointment 
 and misunderstanding cry out against the 
 tyranny of my mother, and try to break the 
 apron-strings. There was treason in my 
 heart against the best friend and the wisest 
 counselor a boy ever had my mother. 
 Anarchy reigned and bade me overthrow 
 the government of my queen, untie or break 
 the apron-strings and disobey her laws. But 
 her loving fingers had tied the strings 
 around my heart with a love-knot, and the 
 harder I tried to untie them the tighter they 
 tied. These strings were always long 
 enough to let me go where there was good,
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 35 
 
 clean, wholesome fun, and no boy ever had 
 a happier childhood; but they were too 
 short to allow me to go where she thought 
 there was any physical or moral danger. I 
 now know she knew best what was good 
 for her boy. Her laws were born in love 
 and executed with an eye single to the wel- 
 fare of her children. If she made mistakes, 
 they were mistakes of overcautious love. 
 
 Those apron-strings belonged to the 
 apron she wore when she toiled to make 
 my childhood happy and my manhood 
 worthy. I have seen them in the kitchen, 
 I have seen them when fever burnt my little 
 body, and when I was tired and she took 
 me in her lap I could feel the apron-strings 
 as my arms went around her waist. Yes, I 
 was tied to my mother's apron-strings. I 
 was sometimes ashamed of it when I was 
 a boy, but I am proud of it now. When I 
 left home to make my own way in the world 
 I could always feel the tug of my mother's 
 apron-strings, pulling and keeping me tied 
 to home and its helpful influences, and as 
 long as they pulled I could never get far 
 from that which is pure and sweet and good 
 in life. 
 
 Mother used to meet me at the gate 
 when I went home. But when sickness laid
 
 36 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 a heavy hand upon her and took her 
 strength, she first met me at the door, but 
 later on she waited for me in her big arm- 
 chair. The last time I went to see her she 
 had gone home before I could reach her, 
 and her body waited in the casket beneath 
 the flowers. The apron-strings still tie me 
 to her just as tight and strong as when I 
 was a little boy, but they do not hurt me 
 now. God pity the child whose mother has 
 no apron-strings, or who, if she has them, 
 has failed to tie them hard and fast about 
 the hearts of her children. 
 
 The world is fast ; I'm weary of its pace, 
 
 And long to see my darling mother's face. 
 
 A picture of that face, most wonderfully fair, 
 
 Is hanging in my heart in its frame of silver hair. 
 
 That face that used to bend so gently o'er my bed, 
 And soothe with mother-patience my little aching head. 
 How often when a child I have dreamed and waked 
 
 with fear, 
 But I found the loving face of my precious mother near. 
 
 And when through sore temptations I have wandered 
 
 in the night, 
 
 That face has been a beacon to lead me back to light. 
 And since like gay-winged birds my childhood days 
 
 have flown, 
 With Jacob I have often laid my head upon a stone. 
 
 And when soft-fingered Sleep has closed my tired eyes, 
 God dropped his golden ladder down through the dark- 
 ened skies,
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 37 
 
 And angels soft descending with outstretched wings of 
 
 white 
 Would change to glorious day-songs my sorrows of the 
 
 night. 
 
 Then my heart would fill with joy as I listened to their 
 
 song- 
 May God forgive the error, if what I say is wrong^- 
 But among that band of angels there were none that 
 
 could compare 
 With the face of dear old mother and her crown of 
 
 silver hair. 
 
 Yes, mother, I am weary of the world and all its show ; 
 Come now and sit beside me as you used to long ago; 
 Place close upon my cheek, with its marks of worldly 
 
 care, 
 Your face with all its wrinkles and your wealth of 
 
 silver hair.
 
 38 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 IV. 
 RED HAIR. 
 
 As these are the recollections of a red- 
 headed man, I think it proper that some- 
 thing should be said about hair in general 
 and red hair in particular. Without hair, 
 history would indeed be a bald subject. 
 Hair and civilization are very closely rela- 
 ted, as much so as clothing and civilization: 
 for they both perform the same office, and 
 desire for either is a proper indication of a 
 rise in the scale of being. Just as Samson 
 lost his strength with the loss of his hair, 
 will civilization cease with the passing of 
 hair. Blessings and honor have been heaped 
 upon the man who makes two blades of 
 grass grow where once only one grew; 
 but immeasurable wealth and untold honors 
 await the man who can produce a hair-re- 
 storer that will restore hair that has with- 
 drawn from view, or that will induce a new 
 growth to appear. Color will not be con- 
 sideration. It is hair that is wanted. 
 
 A learned writer says: "The Argonautic
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 39 
 
 Expedition (1263 B. C.) forms a sort of 
 separation point between the fabulous and 
 the authentic." This is as much as to say 
 that Grecian civilization had its birth about 
 the time search was made for the "Golden 
 Fleece." Many attempts have been made 
 to explain this beautiful myth. Some think 
 it had reference to the raw silk of the East; 
 others, that it refers to the custom of col- 
 lecting the gold that washed down from the 
 side of the mountains by placing sheepskins 
 in the beds of the streams; and still others, 
 to the beautiful sunlight. My own opinion 
 is that "Golden Fleece" refers to red hair. 
 We all know that raw silk, fine gold and 
 sunlight are beautiful and poetic expressions 
 often used when referring to red hair. I 
 think the myth had its foundation in the 
 following version of the story, which I offer 
 as my contribution to "subjective history." 
 Pelias was a bald-headed old king, who 
 in his later days became somewhat civilized. 
 He then became ashamed of the nude con- 
 dition of his head. He objected to wearing 
 his hair after the style of the split skirt, and 
 longed for a wig. Red hair being then, as 
 now, the most beautiful and suitable for 
 civilized man, he attempted to scalp Jason, 
 who was possessed of an abundant crop of
 
 40 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 "Golden Fleece." Like all red-headed men, 
 Jason was able to take care of himself. He 
 slew Pelias, and from that day to this the 
 baldheads have had it in for the redheads. 
 
 In beginning these recollections I said it 
 was good to be born. I now add that it 
 is better to be well born, and better still to 
 be born red-headed. I speak from personal 
 experience; for I was born red-headed, and 
 have never gotten over it. Unlike a bald- 
 headed man, I have held my own. Being 
 a birthday present, I have never desired to 
 get rid of it, and on account of its color it 
 has been of considerable use to me. Red- 
 headed men, like poets, are born, not made. 
 This can not be truthfully said of all red- 
 headed women. Most red-headed men get 
 their red hair from some ancestor, but a 
 great many women get theirs from some 
 drugstore or hair-house. They may say it 
 is false. I agree with them. 
 
 For some reason, men are prejudiced 
 against red hair, and some go so far as to 
 say they had rather be bald-headed than 
 red-headed. They should be patient and 
 give nature a chance to do her complete 
 work. They have their rathers, and if they 
 will only possess themselves with patience, 
 the baldness will soon work through and
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 41 
 
 show on the outside. Good heads, like 
 good books, ought to be red. 
 
 In the color of my hair I am strenuous. 
 The fact is, if to be red-headed is a sin, I 
 am afraid I have committed an unpardon- 
 able one. But if red hair is a sin, I am not 
 to be held responsible; for it would be a 
 case of being born in sin, a matter of hair- 
 edity. When I was a child an artist wanted 
 me to sit as model for an angel. My pretty 
 face and long red curls were angelic, but 
 pay, persuasion nor punishment could make 
 an angel of me, not even a model for a pic- 
 ture angel. I doubt if there be any red- 
 haired angels outside the realm of art. I 
 am glad I have red hair, and plenty of it. 
 I am glad it is genuine red. I never liked 
 faded hair, nor a head with a big cleared 
 place on top and just a fringe of red hair 
 around the outer edge of the clearing. One 
 looks as if he tried and couldn't, and the 
 other, that he couldn't, if he tried. I 
 heard of a bald-headed man, a good many 
 years ago, who had a little hair just above 
 each ear. He was riding on the train, and 
 behind him was a man from the great State 
 of Texas. Every few minutes the bald- 
 headed man would reach up and scratch 
 first above one ear, then above the other.
 
 42 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 This performance made the Texan nervous. 
 Finally he reached the end of his endurance, 
 and, reaching over, touched the bald- 
 headed man on the shoulder and said: "See 
 here, pardner, if you will drive them up in 
 the clearing, I will help you kill them." I 
 do not tell this story because it is new or 
 original, but because it comes under this 
 head. 
 
 I like red hair, but I draw the line on 
 red whiskers. When I was a very little 
 boy I used to say when I grew up I wanted 
 to be a great big man and have whiskers 
 that would drag the ground. However, that 
 was before I knew that my whiskers would 
 have to be the same color as my hair, and 
 long before I had any full realization of 
 color values, and before I had personally 
 felt the prejudice of others against red hair. 
 The full force of what I would look like 
 with red whiskers came to me one day when 
 I saw a man from the country with a shock 
 of red hair and whiskers to match. It was 
 a hairassing sight. The whiskers began at 
 one ear and ran their fiery course clear 
 around to the other. He was riding a tan- 
 colored mule, and looked like the sun, 
 mounted and ready for his diurnal race 
 across the skies. It was the smashing of
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 43 
 
 one of my childhood ambitions. Then and 
 there I determined never to have whiskers, 
 and have escaped only by a close shave. 
 
 I have been frequently asked, "What 
 makes your hair so red?" My usual answer 
 is, "Blushing at the fool questions asked 
 me." This answer may not be scientific, 
 but it is simple and very satisfactory to me. 
 Sometimes I say: "My dear sir, the color 
 of my hair is perfectly natural to the hair 
 itself. From the day of my birth to the 
 present there has not been an infinitesimal 
 deviation in the shade of a single hair from 
 the standard of redness. I conclude, there- 
 fore, that it is, as I have said, naturally 
 red. From my study of hairological chro- 
 matics I have come to the conclusion that 
 this natural condition of color is caused by 
 the pigmentary contents of the cellular tis- 
 sue of the hair follicle. This follicle is, as 
 you know, a bulbous depression in the cutis. 
 In my case this colorific oil is blood red." 
 However, this nearly always brings on an 
 argument, and the world knows that red- 
 headed people are constitutionally opposed 
 to any sort of controversy. To be perfectly 
 frank, I do not know just what makes it so 
 red. The first time I ever saw it it was 
 just as red as it is now. Red hair seemed
 
 44 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 to run in our family. At least, it did when 
 any member of the family got after me. 
 Strange as it may seem, if it did run, it was 
 fast. Color is caused by the vibration of 
 ether. The longest and slowest vibrations 
 make red. It may be that some heads are 
 so superior to others that light lingers 
 longer about them and strokes them with 
 long and tender touches as if loth to leave. 
 Candidly, the best explanation I can give 
 for my red hair is that one of my ances- 
 tors had scarlet fever and it settled in my 
 hair. 
 
 The man who is so unfortunate as to 
 have any other hair than red has one advan- 
 tage, he can mix and mingle with multitudes 
 and scarcely be noticed, but red hair attracts 
 immediate attention wheresoever it may go. 
 It is prominent among a few and can not be 
 lost in a host. It is impossible for a red- 
 headed man to pass through this world 
 without having to run the gauntlet of all 
 the eyes and tongues in the neighborhood. 
 He is like a red flag in a pasture full of 
 bulls. From my youth up I have been a 
 target at which every archer seemed to 
 think himself predestined and foreordained 
 to shoot. Few of them have ever run the 
 risk of falling from grace. So, do not
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 45 
 
 blame a red-headed man for being a porcu- 
 pine. His quills are the arrows which have 
 been shot into him. These arrows reach 
 the quick in thin-skinned people, and they 
 are always sore and sensitive. I have been 
 through it all. For a long time such things 
 raised my temperature to that of a pepper- 
 box. When I first entered school I felt it a 
 matter of duty to at least try to lick any and 
 every one who had anything to say regard- 
 ing the color of my hair. I made many 
 manly efforts. Such tactics, however, were 
 not pursued by me to the end of my first 
 school year. I was in the repair-shop too 
 often to make it profitable, and I got licked 
 with such Russian regularity that I was 
 neither a comfort to myself nor an honor 
 to my family. A strange thing happened 
 in one of my encounters. I went into the 
 fight with two blue eyes and came out with 
 two black ones. I never had a very long 
 nor prominent nose, but it was exceedingly 
 pugnacious. When I got into a difficulty I 
 could not restrain it from jamming itself 
 against my adversary's fist. It did not hurt 
 the fist, and to protect my nose I decided to 
 trust no longer to brawn, but to brains. I 
 soon learned to smile when an arrow hit 
 me, pull it out, increase it to a harpoon, and
 
 46 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 let the sender have it back. I always select- 
 ed a vital spot. 
 
 One of the earliest recollections of my 
 childhood is of a man saying to me, "Sonny, 
 run home and tell your pa he can cut down 
 his grocery bill by putting you on a stump 
 and letting the peckerwoods feed you." If 
 his statements were true, red hair might 
 solve the problem of the high cost of living. 
 I did not run home, but I did then and there 
 hope he would not die until I grew up and 
 was big enough to whip him. In strange 
 places and among people I had never seen 
 before I have been embarrassed by hearing 
 on all sides from certain fellows such ex- 
 pressions as these: "My! look at that 
 head." "Behold the king of the pecker- 
 woods." "Did you say 'fire'?" "Send in the 
 alarm." If a healthy, robust idea should 
 by accident stray into the head of one such 
 fellow as these, it would die of the blues 
 from sheer loneliness and lack of exercise. 
 How do you think you would feel if some 
 fellow pretended to use your head as a 
 cigar-lighter? When I have attended church 
 I have had those by whom I took my seat 
 complain of the sudden rise of tempera- 
 ture, and they would, with much smiling at 
 their originality, begin to fan themselves
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 47 
 
 most vigorously. I took my sweetheart to 
 church one night, and two of my rivals sat 
 down just behind me, and opened up a 
 blacksmith-shop, using my head for the 
 forge. 
 
 One day before I was old enough to 
 vote, I went to Natchez, Mississippi. On 
 my way uptown from the depot I passed by 
 a dealer in second-hand humor. There are 
 a host of such dealers in the world. This 
 one was of that age when the sap begins to 
 flow through the head, and is often mis- 
 taken for mental activity. His sign was a 
 chestnut with a worm rampant. As I was 
 peaceably passing by, this excavator of 
 "Prehistoric" wit called out, "Where is the 
 white horse?" Quickly turning, I replied, 
 "I am a stranger in your city and do not 
 know where the white horse is, but if I 
 were looking for a jackass, and had a hal- 
 ter, I would put it on you, provided I could 
 get it over your ears." Untrue to his kind, 
 he did not kick. 
 
 Some time after this I was in Little 
 Rock, Arkansas. The next morning after 
 my arrival I was arrested. The only charge 
 against me was that I was red-headed. I 
 came very nearly forsaking my colors and 
 making a run for safety. I was so humil-
 
 48 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 iated and despondent that I was on the 
 verge of dyeing, or, worse still, trading hair 
 with a bald-headed man. They arrested 
 me on account of my head. It seems that 
 a fellow in another part of the State had 
 been up to some meanness and skipped out. 
 The only thing they had by which to iden- 
 tify him was his hair. It was red. They 
 telegraphed it all over the State. The 
 news, not the hair. Every time a stranger 
 who happened to have red hair took off his 
 hat in an Arkansas town the police depart- 
 ment got busy. It looked every day as if 
 they were having a torchlight procession. 
 
 While in Little Rock I attended the 
 theater one night. My seat was in the front 
 row on the first floor, counting from the 
 ceiling. As soon as the curtain went up, a 
 lady came out before the footlights, looked 
 in my direction, and went into ecstasies, 
 dramatically exclaiming: "The moon, the 
 moon, oh, the beautiful moon!" In the 
 midst of her rhapsody a gentleman of such 
 flannel-mouthed Irish variety that a drink 
 of water would have made him shrink, 
 rushed upon the stage and called out so that 
 everybody in the house could hear him: 
 "Hush up, you fool! That's no moon; 
 that's a red-headed man in the loft."
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 49 
 
 On a number of occasions the color of 
 my hair has been of peculiar benefit to me. 
 What success I have attained, what things 
 I have accomplished, and what heights I 
 have climbed, have resulted from the color 
 of my head. My hair has just naturally 
 headed me that way. Samson's strength 
 was in the length of his hair, but mine is in 
 the color. While in the university I was 
 asked to speak at a Bryan rally. It was 
 the night before the election of 1896. The 
 hour was 12 P. M. I claim, therefore, to 
 have made the last speech of that remark- 
 able campaign. My youthful appearance, 
 the lateness of the hour, and the further 
 fact that I was introduced as a student of 
 the university located in that city, caused an 
 immediate stampede for the door. Only a 
 minority got up to leave, however, as the 
 majority had been put to sleep by the pre- 
 vious speakers. Before they reached the 
 door I called out: "Fellow-citizens, hear my 
 explanation. From the color of my head 
 you think I am a 'Gold Bug,' but I am not. 
 My head may appear like unto gold, but it 
 bears false witness as to my heart. Don't 
 blame my head; it was born that way, and 
 I can't change it unless I dye." This halted 
 them, and they took their seats. I must
 
 50 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 have made a good speech, for the next 
 morning when I went to the polls to cast 
 my vote, a fellow, who approached me as 
 if he were laying a snake rail fence, and 
 whose breath smelt like a distillery running 
 overtime, took me by the hand and said: 
 "Shake, pardner; I'm drunk, but you are a 
 
 of an orator. You can have my vote 
 
 for Congress." Poor fellow! When I 
 looked at his dirty, disheveled hair and 
 soiled clothes, I decided not to make the 
 race for Congress with him as my sponsor, 
 and as no one else has ever offered to vote 
 for me, I have never made the race, and my 
 seat in that august body is occupied by some 
 other millionaire, whitewashed object, polit- 
 ical accident, or patriot. 
 
 On the 4th of July, 1899, I delivered a 
 patriotic address in Mississippi to an audi- 
 ence of several thousand. Many of them 
 had small flags pinned to their waists and 
 coats to indicate their patriotism. I told 
 them I needed no flag to show my patriot- 
 ism, for I was the flag incarnate. "Yes," 
 said I, "I am a white man, the blood in my 
 veins is blue, and my head would make the 
 reddest stripe on the flag cry, 'Hold, 
 enough !' ' 
 
 In my public speeches I have often se-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 51 
 
 cured the immediate attention of my audi- 
 ence by some reference to the color of my 
 hair. I was always ready with it. A lady 
 who had heard me on several occasions re- 
 marked that one objection to me was that 
 I never made a speech without bringing in 
 my head. I plead guilty, but immediately 
 exonerated her head from having anything 
 to do with her tongue. She is not lonesome. 
 Scores of heads, if arrested with the tongue 
 and charged with particeps criminis, would 
 have no trouble in proving an alibi. In the 
 firm of Head & Tongue, Head is too often 
 the silent partner. Though my tongue 
 stays out a good deal, and is generally 
 pretty busy, I nearly always send my head 
 along as chaperone. It is my deliberate 
 opinion that many a man's tongue has gone 
 to our State Legislature, and even to Con- 
 gress, and his head never heard of the 
 election. I am also fully persuaded that a 
 goodly number of preachers have never 
 understood that their call was not to their 
 tongue alone, but also to the head and 
 heart. Too many people work overtime 
 with the tongue and let the head overdo 
 the vacation business. I have often been 
 struck with the strange phenomenon of the 
 head being sound asleep and the tongue
 
 52 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 suffering with an almost incurable case of 
 insomnia. "What God has joined together, 
 let no man put asunder," is wholesome 
 doctrine and "very full of comfort." 
 
 I am a Shriner. I was born with a fez, 
 and have only to tie on the black tassle. I 
 wish to apologize to any bald-headed reader 
 who feels hurt because I prefer red hair to 
 no hair at all. I admit that a bald head 
 is better than no head. In fact, they have 
 many advantages. Barbers can cut their 
 hair with sandpaper instead of scissors, and 
 they furnish excellent pasturage for flies 
 in the good old summer-time. For orna- 
 mental purposes they are without equal for 
 front-seat decoration at vaudevilles. We 
 should discredit most jokes about bald 
 heads. As a general thing, there is nothing 
 in them. If a man wishes to wear his hair 
 decollete, that is his business, not mine. 
 However, I am too modest to wear mine 
 cut as low as some I have seen. Ingrowing 
 hair may not be as painful as ingrowing 
 nails, but it is more observable to the 
 general public.
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 53 
 
 V. 
 CALLED TO PREACH. 
 
 From red hair to real religion is no 
 very long jump. However, until I turned 
 the tide of public opinion it was generally 
 believed that red hair tended more toward 
 perverseness than preaching. This slander- 
 ous suspicion still lingers in the heads of a 
 large number of well-meaning but deluded 
 people. They still believe that red hair 
 and high temper are twins. I have seen 
 men who wore wigs, and women who wore 
 rats, with more temper than possessed by 
 the fellow who, if evolution be true, might 
 have descended from a flamingo. If I 
 could remove the above-mentioned suspicion 
 from the heads of the aforesaid people 
 without cracking their skulls, I could dem- 
 onstrate to the scientist that such a thing as 
 a vacuum does exist in nature, provided the 
 people who hold such opinion are a part of 
 nature. There is another class holding the 
 same view, but as they at times show some 
 signs of intelligence I do not think they are
 
 54 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 hopelessly lost to further enlightenment. 
 At the risk of doing violence to their cha- 
 otic gray matter, I am going to attempt the 
 enlargement of their information. 
 
 Not many red-haired people are found 
 in our asylums and penitentiaries, and only 
 a few dye. They do not feel lonesome 
 among statesmen, patriots, philanthropists, 
 politicians, preachers, and professional base- 
 ball players. Among the most noted war- 
 riors they are found to be the bravest of 
 the brave; and among runners, the swiftest 
 of the swift. If all the great men and beau- 
 tiful women of the past and present should 
 remove their hats at the same time, there 
 would be a blaze of glory all along the 
 line. It would be a torchlight procession 
 from Eden to the author of these recollec- 
 tions. The biography of the red-headed 
 men and women of the past could well be 
 called "Beacon-lights of History." 
 
 However, that I may do no violence to 
 history, I am forced to admit that those 
 who knew me best when I was a boy 
 thought me too full of mischief to ever be 
 a missionary. But you can never tell how 
 good looking a boy is by counting his 
 freckles. My father was an elder of the 
 church, and when we had no preacher he
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 55 
 
 would do the preaching. He always stood 
 on the floor just in front of the pulpit. 
 When he did, the future preacher in me 
 would get the upper hand of my fear and 
 caution, and I would slip away from mother 
 and climb up into the pulpit. Standing where 
 he could not see me, I would imitate his 
 every movement, much to the delight of the 
 young people and the mortification of my 
 family. An old maid, who used to sit near 
 the front, never failed to express her desire 
 to kill me. I am extremely thankful that 
 she failed to carry out her desire; for, if 
 she had, it would have humiliated me at 
 the time, and mortified me to this good 
 day. After services, and we were at home, 
 my father violated the "Sabbath" by run- 
 ning a tannery. I helped him. I would 
 hold him in his chair and furnish the hide 
 while he did the tanning. 
 
 When I was about fourteen years of age 
 it was decided to have the young men and 
 boys of our church lead the prayer-meetings. 
 I accidentally overheard some of the sisters 
 discussing the new plan. Among them was 
 the before-mentioned old maid. They said: 
 "John [he is my brother, and a few years 
 older than I] will lead, but as for that Ira 
 don't mention it." Right then I deter-
 
 56 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 mined to fool them. The night John was 
 to lead he could not be found anywhere. 
 The next Wednesday night was my time to 
 lead. Without John's knowledge, I bor- 
 rowed his best tie and tallest collar. For 
 many days I studied my subject. When the 
 night arrived I timed my arrival at church 
 so as to have the crowd a little uneasy 
 and give the know-it-alls a chance to say, "I 
 told you so." Upon my arrival, with my 
 Bible under my arm, I marched down the 
 aisle, took my seat and called for a song. 
 I then turned to my father and said: 
 "Brother Boswell, lead us in prayer." The 
 old maid like to have fainted. She would 
 have, but her curiosity kept her from it. 
 The prayer-meeting was a success, and as 
 soon as the benediction was pronounced, the 
 good sisters rushed up to me and said: "Oh, 
 Ira, you must lead lots of times." Stretch- 
 ing myself to my full limit, and assuming 
 all the dignity possible, I replied: "Not on 
 your life. Get John; I heard what you 
 said." 
 
 My mother's heart was set on my being 
 a preacher, and there was a sort of hazy 
 idea in my own mind that I might enter the 
 ministry some day. Fortunately, when I 
 moved to Memphis they put me to work in
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 57 
 
 the church. If there is any preacher in a 
 boy, church work will bring it out. I never 
 met a finer set of young people than were 
 in the Linden Street Christian Church. 
 Church work was a pleasure. What de- 
 lightful days those were. The memory of 
 them is like the rich, sweet music of chimes 
 that keep the air tremulous with melody 
 long after the bells are stilled. During 
 those delightful days it was pressed in upon 
 me that I should devote my life to my fel- 
 low-man, doing the work my Elder Brother 
 left for me to do. In other words, I felt 
 my call to preach. It was not a call like 
 Brogan had. Brogan was full of the ego- 
 tism of ignorance, which he mistook for 
 sanctification. He thought he was an ex- 
 horter, but he was an exhauster. One night 
 he gave the following account of his call: 
 "I was a bad man, brethren and sisters a 
 gambler and a drunkard. For twenty-five 
 years the Lord chased me, trying to get me 
 to preach. But I would not do it. At last 
 he got me in a corner and I had to preach 
 or kill myself. I made up my mind to kill 
 myself. So I got my pistol and Bible, and, 
 after telling my family good-by, went down 
 into the woods. I read a chapter, prayed, 
 put the pistol to my head, but before I could
 
 58 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 pull the trigger the Lord said: 'Brogan, 
 Brogan, do thyself no harm.' I sprang to 
 my feet, shouting and promising God to 
 surrender and preach." I always have 
 doubted that story; for, notwithstanding 
 God's seeming lack of judgment and skill 
 in chasing Brogan twenty-five years, I am 
 satisfied he knew no bullet would have hurt 
 his head. At the meeting where he told 
 this story he was remonstrated with for 
 calling on three or four to pray at the same 
 time, and then making so much noise him- 
 self as to make it impossible to hear the 
 others. He was told he could not edify 
 the church that way. "I don't want to edify 
 the church," was his enlightening reply; "I 
 want to edify the Lord." 
 
 There was nothing mysterious about my 
 call. I saw that men were needed. I felt 
 that I was one of the men needed; and 
 friends, whose judgment I highly esteemed, 
 told me I was fitted for the work, and if I 
 would go to college and prepare myself, I 
 would do good. I responded to the call of 
 duty, and believe it was the call of God. 
 
 I was in business and gave it all up. It 
 is no small thing for a young man to change 
 his whole course and purpose of life. Not 
 until I had bought my ticket and was sitting
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 59 
 
 on my trunk on the platform of the old 
 Memphis & Charleston depot did I fully 
 realize the step I had taken. I had been 
 with a crowd of young people at the home 
 of one of my dearest friends until after 
 midnight. From there I went to the depot. 
 It was a lonesome wait. As I sat there lis- 
 tening to the "chug, chug" of the steam- 
 pump and the dismal, mournful complaint 
 of the steam as it escaped through the whis- 
 tle on the locomotive, the world suddenly 
 grew big, and I was alone. I was never 
 so lonely as then. The old life was gone, 
 the new life was yet to come. In the gloom 
 the faces of my old friends seemed to mock 
 me. They smiled and changed, and drifted 
 out into the darkness. Some of them have 
 never come back, some look down from be- 
 yond the stars, and some, like the daguer- 
 reotypes of old, require peculiar angles to 
 bring them out. There were no new ones 
 to take their places, and my whole life 
 seemed empty. How long this feeling pos- 
 sessed me I do not know, but, in spite of 
 my depression, there was no regret in my 
 heart that the step had been taken, and 
 there never has been any. 
 
 After what seemed to be an age the 
 darkness began to lift. It was the raising
 
 60 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 of the curtain for the beginning of a new 
 act in the drama of my life. A reddish 
 glow made itself seen above the rim of the 
 eastern horizon and beneath the brim of 
 my derby. Porters, travelers and other 
 human beings were soon in evidence. The 
 busy rumble of trucks was heard on the 
 platform, trunks and hat-boxes were put 
 aboard, the conductor gave his signal, and 
 I was off for the University. A day's visit 
 was made in Chattanooga, and again I was 
 on my way to Lexington, Kentucky. I ar- 
 rived late that afternoon, and went imme- 
 diately to the home of the president of the 
 College of the Bible. What a delightfully 
 charming old man I found him to be. He 
 was clean, clean through. Robert Graham 
 was a man whose very presence was a bene- 
 diction. The boys called him "Daddy 
 Graham" because he took a fatherly interest 
 in us all, and we loved him. 
 
 On my way to Lexington I was greatly 
 impressed with the beauty of the blue-grass 
 region. It was my first experience with 
 that famed country, and I was astonished 
 at the large weeds which the farmers al- 
 lowed to cover their broad and beautiful 
 acres. Later I was informed that my 
 weeds were hemp. Two boys on their way
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 61 
 
 from the great State of Georgia to enter 
 the University came to the conclusion that 
 the hemp was the famous blue-grass about 
 which they had heard so much.
 
 62 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 VI. 
 MY FIRST CHRISTMAS IN THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 The first Christmas eve I spent in the 
 University was very mild, and at bedtime 
 a drizzling rain was falling. During the 
 night there was a sudden and decided 
 change in the temperature. The rain 
 turned into snow, and everything began to 
 freeze. We were awakened during the 
 night by the popping and crashing of the 
 limbs of the trees out on the campus. The 
 next morning we were greeted on every side 
 by a scene of wonderful beauty. It was 
 like an enchantment. The rocks and trees, 
 hedges and bushes, fences and houses 
 everything was covered with transparent 
 silver. When the sun broke through the 
 clouds, ten thousand thousand fairy suns 
 burst from the heart of the ice in glad re- 
 sponse, dazzling the eyes with their glorious 
 brilliancy. Every bush was aflame with 
 beauty and every tree was transformed into 
 giant clusters of blazing gems. Had the 
 rainbow been frozen and flung broadcast
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 63 
 
 over the earth, the carnival of color could 
 not have been more gorgeous. It looked as 
 if dust from the celestial walls had been 
 caught by the Frost King and frozen into 
 jewels. Icicles, great and small, shot 
 through with the splendor of every con- 
 ceivable gem, glittered and sparkled along 
 the eaves of the houses, and the most deli- 
 cate and intricate laces had been woven by 
 the fingers of the frost fairies and hung 
 along the telephone and telegraph wires. It 
 was an anthem in color. 
 
 But with all this marvelous beauty there 
 was terrible destruction. Telephone poles 
 were broken and the wires mixed in hope- 
 less confusion. Shade-trees were denuded 
 of their limbs, blockading the sidewalks and 
 narrower streets. Trolley-wires were broken 
 and the entire street-car system had nervous 
 prostration. 
 
 The warmest-looking thing on the cam- 
 pus that morning was my head. Early in the 
 morning I started downtown. Up to that 
 time my feet had dwelt together in love and 
 unity, and my control over them had been 
 perfect. For some reason they decided to 
 take different routes. So secretly was this 
 decision resolved upon, and so suddenly 
 and energetically was it executed, I was
 
 64 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 compelled to sit down at once and with con- 
 siderable force and determination in order 
 to regain control over my rebellious and 
 scattered members. 
 
 One of the boys, while walking in front 
 of Morton's bookstore a few days later, 
 lost his balance, and his feet, going straight 
 in front of him, struck the heels of a lady 
 who was walking just ahead of him. Nei- 
 ther being able to keep up with their feet, 
 both sat down. He sat on the ice, she sat 
 in his lap. The gallant student, taking off 
 his hat, exclaimed: "Keep your seat, 
 Madam. Excuse me for having nothing 
 better than my poor, miserable body to 
 place between you and the cold earth." All 
 honor to the University. Sir Walter Ral- 
 eigh was outclassed by a wearer of the 
 
 'crimson." 
 
 My first Christmas in the University 
 was one of the most delightful days I ever 
 spent. The names of most of those with 
 whom I went, carrying cheer and help to 
 the poor and sick, have faded from my 
 memory, but I shall never forget the joy 
 we got from our missions of mercy. One 
 picture will remain with me always. It is 
 a room on the third floor of a business block 
 on Main Street. A crowd of happy young
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 65 
 
 women were standing just inside the door 
 and two strong young men are handing a 
 big basket, heavy with good things, to two 
 old women. One is sitting at a sewing-ma- 
 chine, one hand on her work; the other 
 hand is brushing tears from her wrinkled 
 cheeks. The other woman is standing in 
 the middle of the room with some sewing 
 in her hands, the tears falling unheeded 
 upon her work. Tears and smiles mingled 
 together on their drawn, wrinkled faces.. 
 They were sewing to pay for their Christ- 
 mas dinner, and there was more in the 
 basket than they could earn in a week by 
 sewing. They could not say a word. At 
 every effort to thank us they would choke, 
 and have to give it up. But their tears and 
 smiles were more eloquent than any words 
 could have been. 
 
 One of the boys spent that Christmas 
 with some of the members of the church on 
 which he practiced once a month. Out of 
 respect to the ministry, he was asked to sit 
 at the head of the table and carve the tur- 
 key. Previous to this he had never so 
 much as carved a sausage. Nevertheless, 
 he grasped the knife as if he were chief 
 butler in the dormitory of the Bible College 
 and one of his daily and special duties was
 
 66 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 carving turkeys. He made a heroic but 
 fatal lunge at the bird. The knife flashed, 
 the turkey slid out of the dish and rolled 
 under the table. As the turkey hit the 
 floor the diners rose to their feet. The 
 carver, embarrassed and excited, and mis- 
 understanding their alarm, in a loud voice 
 cried out: "Brethren and sisters, please be 
 seated. Don't be afraid; the turkey can't 
 get away; I have my foot on him." 
 
 Like the laws of the Medes and Per- 
 sians, the bill of fare at the dormitory was 
 never changed. The lack of change in the 
 bill of fare was caused by the lack of change 
 in the boarders' pockets. For the price 
 paid, better board could not be had any- 
 where. We knew nothing about the high 
 cost of living, nor the cost of high living. 
 The food was good, wholesome, well 
 cooked and plenty of it. However, a change 
 now and then was a very agreeable break in 
 the gastronomic gymnastics of the boarders. 
 This change in the natural order of things 
 took place on Thanksgiving. All who lived 
 in the dormitories recall with pleasure their 
 happy experiences there, and are still aston- 
 ished at the maximum amount of gravy the 
 cook used to get from a minimum amount 
 of beef.
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 67 
 
 During Christmas week my roommate 
 and I missed our supper at the dormitory, 
 and had to eat at a downtown restaurant. 
 The bill of fare was better, but the bill for 
 the fare was bigger. We had called on 
 some young ladies, and did not leave in 
 time for supper at the dormitory. It was 
 reckless to stay so long, but we had two 
 excuses. We were enjoying the young 
 ladies' company, and, besides, we thought 
 we might receive an invitation to supper. 
 
 When we left, my roommate said to 
 me: "Have you any money? If so, let me 
 have it." As it was after banking-hours, I 
 had only a dime, which I at once let him 
 have, refusing to take his note or to charge 
 interest. Several blocks were walked in 
 silence, when he gave me a most cordial in- 
 vitation to take supper with him. I accept- 
 ed, and in a few minutes we entered a 
 restaurant on Mill Street and ordered a 
 simple meal. We enjoyed it. The only 
 drawback was a boil, which, fortunately for 
 me, was located on my roommate. Several 
 times we expressed the wish that some of 
 the dormitory boys could see us putting on 
 style. There is no great pleasure in being 
 distinguished, if there be no one to see 
 your distinction.
 
 68 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 When the supper was ended, my room- 
 mate walked over to the cash-register artist, 
 and asked the amount of his bill. "One 
 dollar," was the reply. The toothpick fell 
 from my host's mouth as he turned to me 
 and said: "Bee, he says it is one dollar." 
 Calming myself, I said: "What is that to 
 me? Am I not your invited guest?" My 
 roommate had forty cents, and my dime 
 made a sum total of fifty cents in the treas- 
 ury. He looked through all his pockets at 
 least five times, and at last turned and said: 
 "Bee, have you any money about you?" 
 He was fighting for time. We both knew 
 I had no money, but my hands started on 
 what we both knew, a priori, to be a fruit- 
 less search. Five times I went through my 
 pockets, seriously and earnestly, but there 
 was not the suspicion of money to be found. 
 There was not even the odor of money, 
 no, not a cent. With a pained expression 
 on his face, my host, with a faint hope that 
 he misunderstood, again turned to the cash- 
 ier, and said: "How much did you say?" 
 "One dollar," was the calm reply as he 
 edged between us and the door. "He says 
 one dollar, Bee," my host whispered to me 
 in a tone of chagrin and disgust. Away 
 went our hands again on a fruitless search.
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 69 
 
 All this time the proprietor was gazing 
 upon us as if we were giving a sleight-of- 
 hand performance or an exhibition of 
 delsarte. Exhausted with the strenuous but 
 hopeless search for money, my host handed 
 the cashier his fifty cents, turned to the 
 proprietor, and said: "We are students in 
 the Bible College of the University. I 
 thought I had enough money to pay for our 
 suppers; but fifty cents is all I have, and 
 that fellow says it is one dollar. Here is 
 my watch. Keep it until I call and pay 
 the balance." "Keep your watch," said the 
 proprietor; "we don't sell suppers on time. 
 You can stop in any time and pay the bal- 
 ance." 
 
 Down in our hearts we were glad none 
 of the dormitory boys saw us in the restau- 
 rant. To be extinguished is not so bad 
 when no one sees your extinction. After 
 leaving the restaurant we walked some dis- 
 tance in silence. Finally my host put his 
 hands on my shoulders and said: "Bee, 
 wasn't it awful? But there is one conso- 
 lation." "What is that?" I asked. "I will 
 not have to have that boil lanced. Under 
 the strain of the excitement it broke." "So 
 did we," I replied, and we continued in 
 silence to the dormitory.
 
 70 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF BISHOPS. 
 
 The comradeship of college life is one 
 of its most valuable assets. There is a 
 charm about it that lasts as long as the 
 memory of college days lasts. I had many 
 dear friends in the University, but I can 
 not mention them all in these "Recollec- 
 tions." However, I am going to tell about 
 one organization of which I was a member 
 "The House of Bishops." It was an 
 unique club, but nothing like as theological 
 as its name would indicate. It was not an 
 ecclesiastical organization at all, but a 
 social club, composed of the following fel- 
 lows: Howard, Gano, Jesse, Dick, Ben, 
 Newt, Charlie, Russ and the writer. 
 
 It had its Genesis one night at the 
 Phoenix Hotel while a few of us were en- 
 joying the unusual experience of a six 
 o'clock dinner at that well-known hostelry. 
 Its Judges were many, and those who 
 thought it exclusive were ready for its 
 Exodus at any time. Its Leviticus was not
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 71 
 
 completed at once, but was a matter of 
 growth. 
 
 When completed, its laws were as hard 
 to change as those of the Medes and Per- 
 sians. These laws were very simple. Its 
 membership was not to be increased and 
 there were no officers. Every man was 
 equal. We were to meet once a week to 
 enjoy a banquet which was to be given by 
 one of the Bishops. The amount to be 
 expended upon the banquet was limited. 
 We were to give five dollars apiece to any 
 and every Bishop when he married. At 
 that time there was no especial demand for 
 us in the matrimonial market, and each of 
 us thought our five dollars safe. But since 
 that law went into effect all the Bishops 
 have married. We have all spent our five 
 dollars and received them back again. In 
 all but two of the homes thus formed has 
 been heard the music of prattling tongues. 
 
 The supreme object of the "Bishops" 
 was to have the best possible time consistent 
 with our calling and purpose in life and 
 we had it. Howard broke the law as to 
 banquets once at his boarding-house. It 
 was a most elaborate spread. The big 
 mahogany table was surrounded by the 
 "House of Bishops." Howard, the gray
 
 72 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 matter of whose head was even then stretch- 
 ing his scalp too fast for his hair to keep 
 up, was at the head of the table, if a round 
 table can have a head. Dick, with a hatband 
 bigger than his waistband, and a head full 
 of brains; Charlie, and the musical-fingered 
 Ben; Newt, with the valedictory as good 
 as won, and Russ, with athletic and de- 
 clamatory medals; big-bodied Gano, with 
 heart as big as his body, and mind as big 
 as his heart; scholarly Jesse, full of fun 
 and fact; Graham, handsome, polished and 
 brainy these were all there. 
 
 Yes, I, the "fiery-crested orator," was 
 there. But why mention it? I was like a 
 blind man in an art gallery or a deaf man 
 at a band concert. I was hungry, but un- 
 able to eat. From the table I was to go 
 to the platform to contest for a medal. For 
 fear of spoiling my oration, I spoiled my 
 supper. I know now that one supper in 
 the stomach is worth two medals in the 
 hands of the judges. I lost out in the con- 
 test, and when the "Bishops" came upon 
 the platform to console me, I answered, 
 "Yes, but I would not mind it so much if I 
 had not lost my supper as well." I will 
 never again let a possible medal spoil a 
 positive supper.
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 73 
 
 The serenades do you remember them, 
 boys? Gano and the "golden fleeced" were 
 not allowed to sing on these occasions. 
 Often did this crowd gather on the steps 
 of "Morrison Chapel" and sing until "the 
 clock in the steeple struck one," and the 
 police department threatened to strike ten. 
 One night when Gano and I were requested 
 to swallow our voices, we got our revenge. 
 I could, in those days, imitate to perfection 
 the barking of a small dog. The best be- 
 loved of one of the "Bishops" was being 
 regaled with "Sweet Antoinette." At the 
 most touching part, when the tenor was in 
 his most intense distress, I began to howl 
 like a dog in great pain. From howling I 
 was driven to loud barking by the strenuous 
 commands of Gano to hush up and go 
 home. Still I barked, much to the confusion 
 of the vocalists and the strangulation of 
 the tenor. Gano seized a brick and threw 
 it upon the pavement with great force, 
 whereupon I began to yelp like a dog which 
 had just awakened from dreams of weiner- 
 wursts and frankfurters. Every dog within 
 a radius of ten blocks took up the chorus, 
 and the singers scattered in every direction; 
 but the dogs continued barking till broad day- 
 light.
 
 74 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 The last time the "Bishops" were 
 together was in April, 1898, at Junction 
 City, Kentucky. All were there except 
 Jesse. The occasion was my birthday. I 
 was preaching there at that time, and the 
 church entertained the "Bishops" in my 
 honor. Since that gathering two of the 
 boys have gone home Ben and Charlie. 
 Charlie was the first to go. He was a 
 prince among men. No man was hand- 
 somer. An Australian by birth, he had to 
 an unusual degree the musical voice of that 
 land of the Southern Cross. The alphabet, 
 under the magic of his charmful voice, be- 
 came a poem and a song. His future was 
 bright in its prospects. He enjoys a bright- 
 er present. 
 
 Who could know dear little old, fun- 
 making, mirth-provoking, dark-eyed Ben, 
 and not love him ? Cultured, well educated, 
 strong minded, he was a most agreeable 
 companion. His heart was so full of music 
 it ran out of the ends of his fingers. He 
 composed "Come, Boys, and Sing to Old 
 K. U." for the "Bishops," but it was too 
 big for us, so we gave it to the University, 
 His sweet voice no longer falls upon our 
 ears. He is in the better land. 
 
 Charlie and Ben each left a wife and
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 75 
 
 little boy. May the memories of the fathers 
 ever be a rich legacy to the mothers and 
 their boys. In the beautiful cemetery in 
 Lexington the bodies of our comrades lie 
 beneath the blue-grass, while the silent 
 statue of Henry Clay through storm and 
 shine watches over them. 
 
 In October, 1909, after a separation of 
 eleven years, eight of the "Bishops," with 
 the widows of the two who have gone on 
 ahead, sat down to dinner together in the 
 Fort Pitt Hotel, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. 
 We shall never all be together again in this 
 life, but we may all sit down under the 
 shade of the trees by the side of the river 
 which flows from the throne of God, and 
 renew the friendships formed in the dear 
 old days we spent together in the Univer- 
 sity.
 
 76 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 VIII. 
 
 STUDYING NATURAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Next to a stolen conversation with a 
 Hamilton College girl, the most enjoyable 
 thing in the University was Professor Fair- 
 hurst's department. Not much can be said 
 as to his good looks. His wife evidently 
 took him "sight unseen." It is also conceded 
 that as a singer he could never be a star of 
 the first magnitude. His voice was like a 
 soprano automobile horn. As a scientist 
 he should have known that the mouth was 
 made to talk through, but for some reason 
 he made constant use of his nose in his 
 vocal exercises. What he lost in voice cul- 
 ture and beauty of facial expression, he, 
 without doubt, made up in knowledge of 
 all the branches of his department. He 
 had no use for a text-book of any sort, ex- 
 cept to indicate the lesson for the next day. 
 He was a text-book in himself. Many of 
 his students, from mere absorption, became 
 text-books, bound in calf. The Professor, 
 besides being a past master in science, was
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 77 
 
 a man of keen wit and always had on hand 
 a bountiful supply of wholesome humor. 
 He took a real interest in the boys, and all 
 the boys loved him. 
 
 The student who kept his mind awake 
 came from his room full of science and 
 good humor. No doubt there were some 
 who sat for months in his department with- 
 out any special benefit, but it was no fault 
 of the Professor. You can not hang pic- 
 tures on a wall that will not hold nails. 
 While I was preaching in Meridian, Miss- 
 issippi, a young lady informed me that a 
 certain young man had said that he enjoyed 
 hearing me preach, but that I made no 
 impression on him, as everything I said 
 went in one ear and out the other. I told 
 her to inform the young man that I was 
 not to be held responsible for absence of 
 anything in his head to stop what went in 
 his ears. The condition of that young man 
 was the condition of many in the Profess- 
 or's classes. He often told some fellow, 
 who failed to hold much science in his head, 
 that he must have been the little boy that 
 got a bean in one ear and his mother poured 
 water in the other to wash it out. Many 
 are the memories, and as delightful as 
 numerous, that come to me when I recall
 
 78 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 the hours spent in his classroom. His reci- 
 tations and lectures would cure the worst 
 case of blues or swelled head the University 
 could boast. You need not expect me to 
 recall for your edification any of the science 
 I got there. You can find that on my 
 library shelves, well preserved in text-books 
 and "Organic Evolution Considered." 
 
 While studying the circulation of the 
 blood, a frog was needed to demonstrate 
 the matter. He offered to take a frog in 
 lieu of a recitation, and would let a big, 
 fat one count perfect. Next day one of the 
 boys came in with two palpitating, plump 
 ones. The class greeted the delivery of the 
 frogs with loud laughter and applause. 
 "That's right, boys, laugh now," said the 
 Professor, "but when examination day rolls 
 around you will wish you had more than 
 two frogs to your credit. If you wish to 
 pass, some of you had better put in all 
 your spare time between now and examina- 
 tion day catching frogs." When that day 
 did come, boys all over the room could be 
 heard saying: "A frog, a frog, my kingdom 
 for a bushel of frogs." 
 
 During one of his lectures he noticed 
 one of the boys had his feet upon the top 
 of the bench just in front of him, the hollow
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 79 
 
 of the instep resting on the rail. The boy 
 was somewhat famous in the University for 
 the size of his feet. Suddenly stopping his 
 lecture, he said: "Young fellow, are your 
 heels on the floor?" Needless to say, they 
 were soon there. 
 
 The class in mineralogy was standing its 
 examination at the close of the session. One 
 of the boys asked to be excused from the 
 room. "Have you answered all the ques- 
 tions?" was the reply. "Yes," said the 
 student, with a smile of great self-apprecia- 
 tion, "I stood your examination in fifteen 
 minutes." "You surprise me," said the 
 Professor; "I did not think it would take 
 so long to empty that head of yours." 
 
 One "First Day of April" his classes 
 all ran on schedule time. While the class 
 in "Physics" was taking its medicine there 
 came a lusty rap at the door. "Come in," 
 called the Professor. After a short period 
 of silence there came another rap, more 
 lusty than before. "Didn't you hear me?" 
 he called; "I said, 'Come in.' ' Again 
 there was silence, followed by a still more 
 lusty rap. This time he walked over to 
 the door and opened it. No one was there, 
 but tied to the door-knob was a most dilap- 
 idated specimen of cur dog. He was, or,
 
 80 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 rather, had been, white and shaggy, but 
 had the appearance at that time of having 
 been used as a mop and never dry cleaned. 
 "Well," said the Professor, as he closed 
 the door, "some fool has been here and 
 left his business card." 
 
 During the cold weather some of the 
 boys had a custom of coming to his room 
 to keep warm. One of these fellows was 
 about six feet long and of the circumference 
 of a fishing-pole. If umbrella covers had 
 feet to them, he could have used them for 
 stockings. His arms were slightly curved 
 and his legs more so. One day he and 
 several others were standing around the 
 stove, and the Professor asked them to be 
 seated. All sat down except the tall, thin 
 man. Several times the request was made 
 for him to be seated, but he continued to 
 stand. At last the Professor called out: 
 "Say now, young man, why don't you sit 
 down? Can't you see the stove is warping 
 you all out of shape?" 
 
 A rather impertinent and inquisitive 
 young fellow called out one day during a 
 session of the class in zoology: "Say, Pro- 
 fessor, how long can an animal live without 
 brains?" "I don't know exactly," was the 
 reply; "how old are you?"
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 81 
 
 IX. 
 
 AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 
 
 During my college days I preached 
 twice a month for a church about fifty miles 
 from the University. There was a woman 
 in the church who was always asking me 
 when I was going to take a meal at her 
 house, but she would never ask me to take 
 a meal there. She was a spare woman, 
 such a woman as most any church can spare. 
 Her continually asking me why I never did 
 a thing she never asked me to do began to 
 get on my nerves, and I decided I would 
 call what I thought was an effort to get 
 credit for hospitality without paying the 
 price. So on the following Sunday after my 
 decision, when she extended the customary 
 bi-weekly invitation, I immediately accepted. 
 Though surprised, she seemed delighted. 
 
 Next Saturday I arrived in the town 
 and got one of the town members to drive 
 me out to the home of the hospitable sister. 
 Her home was about three miles from town. 
 The brother was a big, fat, jovial sort of 
 
 6
 
 82 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 fellow, and joked me a good deal about my 
 prospects for dinner. He was the brother 
 that guyed me one day in a crowd for being 
 a little man. He said: "I am a whole lot 
 bigger man than you are." I told him that 
 that depended upon whether he ran the 
 tape-line around his waist or head. How- 
 ever, he had a good horse and soon drew 
 up at the big gate. I bade him good-by and 
 started for the house. He started for home. 
 It was nearly dinner-time, and I saw as 
 soon as I entered the house that there had 
 been no special plans made for dinner in 
 that house that day. A preacher gets so 
 he can read signs in a home just as the 
 astronomer reads them in the skies. 
 
 Knowing that the friend who had 
 brought me was getting farther away all 
 the time, and that, if I wanted any dinner 
 that day, I had to act with promptness, I 
 said: "Is this the day you are expecting me 
 for dinner?" With a look of pained sur- 
 prise and injured innocence, she replied: 
 "No, brother; did you think it was?" I was 
 forced to confess that I did so think; but 
 I could plainly see there was another 
 "think" coming to me, and that "think" 
 would have to hurry or I would have to use 
 "Christian Science" and give my stomach
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 83 
 
 absent treatment to satisfy my appetite. I 
 said I was sorry I had made the mistake. 
 She said she was too. "Where is your hus- 
 band?" I asked. "Gone to Stanford," was 
 the reply; "and I was so anxious for you 
 to eat with us when he was here." "Well," 
 I said, "we can wait dinner on him. When 
 will he return?" "Oh, not till night, and 
 he will be so disappointed not to eat with 
 you." The situation was getting more des- 
 perate every moment, and I was too hungry 
 to wait until night for something to eat. 
 "Excuse me," I said, as I dashed out of the 
 house and rushed over to the side fence. 
 The brother who had brought me out was 
 not yet out of sight. The road made a 
 curve after leaving the front gate, and after 
 running for some distance came back toward 
 the side of the house. I climbed upon the 
 fence and began to yell with all the strength 
 
 of my lungs : "Oh, Brother B , oh, 
 
 Brother B , come back and get me 
 
 quick." The sister came out in the yard, 
 and said: "Never mind, brother, don't 
 worry; if it is a horse you need, I will lend 
 you one." The horse was refused, and I 
 started out to look for a dinner. About a 
 mile and a half from there was the home 
 of an aged mother in Israel. Her home
 
 84 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 was the preacher's home. Like the good 
 woman of the Bible, she had a room for 
 the prophet. 
 
 Hers was a beautiful home. The big 
 brick house was surrounded by a lawn of 
 blue-grass, but the deep green of the grass 
 showed only in patches here and there 
 through the snow. The whole place had 
 about it the air of hospitality. Even the 
 bare-limbed trees seemed to extend their 
 long, brown arms in welcome. My knock 
 on the door was answered by the dear old 
 grandmother, whose highest social ambition 
 was to entertain "her ministers." All min- 
 isters were hers. "Have you had dinner?" 
 I asked. "No, but why ask?" I told I had 
 not had any, and was looking for a place 
 to get a square meal. She asked me in, 
 and informed me that I could have a square 
 meal there any time of day I wanted it. 
 
 While waiting dinner on her daughter 
 and her husband, who had gone to town 
 that morning, we sat by the glowing fire 
 and talked. /The aged grandmother sat by 
 the fire in her big arm-chair, while her little 
 four-year-old grandson played with his toys 
 upon the floor. - Her hair was like fine-spun 
 silver in which were caught the soft, sweet 
 shadows of life's evening tide. His was
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 85 
 
 like fine-spun gold in which was caught the 
 sunshine of life's early morning. She was 
 memory, he was hope. She talked of the 
 flowers of the past that had bloomed and 
 faded, but had left their fragrance to re- 
 joice her declining years. He played upon 
 the floor, his smiles and gleeful shouts 
 strange promises of coming sobs and sor- 
 rows. Every now and then he would leave 
 his play, crawl up into his grandmother's 
 lap, put his arms around her neck and kiss 
 her aged, wrinkled cheek. With trembling 
 hand she would brush away her tears, and 
 the lips of memory would snatch sweetness 
 and strength from the lips of hope. Such 
 is life shadow and sunshine, sobs and 
 songs, memory and hope. /May we all so 
 live as to sanctify memory and glorify hope. 
 One of the boys, who preached for a 
 church about sixty miles from Lexington, 
 was sick and had to send another young 
 preacher to fill his appointment. He arrived 
 Sunday morning and went from the depot 
 to the church. When the services were 
 concluded, many shook hands with him, but 
 no one asked him home to dinner. He was 
 hungry and had spent all his money reach- 
 ing the appointment. Something had to be 
 done, and done at once. Drawing himself
 
 86 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 up to his full height and assuming all the 
 dignity possible, he walked up to a gentle- 
 man and said: "Come and go home to 
 dinner with me." "Where do you live?" 
 was the reply. "Oh, in Lexington." With 
 a laugh the gentleman said: "I guess you 
 had better go home with me to dinner." 
 He went. Another boy, finding himself in 
 a similar fix at a country church, selected 
 the one who looked as if she would have 
 the best dinner of any, walked up to her and 
 said: "I beg your pardon, but are you the 
 sister that asked me to go home to dinner 
 with you?" "No," she replied, "I am not 
 the one, but I can ask you. Will you go 
 home to dinner with me?" He thanked her 
 for the invitation, and, like the other fellow, 
 went. The above and the following will 
 show that I was not the only student preach- 
 er who had trouble with his commissary de- 
 partment. This one went out some distance 
 in the country during his vacation to hold a 
 meeting. After his first sermon an old lady 
 came up to him, and in a high-pitched voice, 
 with a strong nasal tone attached, said: 
 "Well, brother, you must stay with us 
 some. I told them when they was a-gettin' 
 up this meetin', that I was perfectly willin' 
 to bear my part of the burden."
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 87 
 
 X. 
 
 JUST BECAUSE I AM RED-HEADED. 
 
 There was a certain fellow in the Uni- 
 versity whose head was as hairless as an 
 egg and as empty as a toy balloon with a 
 pin-hole in it. He was agent for a joke 
 factory that went into bankruptcy at the 
 time the discontinuance of the building of 
 the tower of Babel threw so many people 
 out of employment. The hair that should 
 have been on his head was usually on his 
 jokes. His jokes would have made a better 
 appearance if they had been treated as the 
 farmer down in Mississippi told my wife 
 his butter had been treated. Among the 
 good things he said in favor of his butter 
 was that it had been haired. When asked 
 for an explanation he replied: "Well, you 
 see, it is this way: my wife always runs a 
 fork through it to get all the hairs out." 
 One day the fellow who had received absent 
 treatment for hair was telling how he got 
 away with a red-headed man. Being in 
 the crowd, I took it that he was talking for
 
 88 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 my benefit. "It was this way," he said; "a 
 red-headed fellow said to me, 'Hello, 
 friend, you were not around when they were 
 giving out hair, were you?' 'Oh, yes,' I 
 said, 'I was there, but there was nothing but 
 red left and I would not have it.' ' "You 
 are mistaken, friend," was my reply; "you 
 refused the red hair when people of good 
 taste were clamoring for it, because you 
 were absent when they were distributing 
 gray matter." 
 
 I came very nearly being the cause of a 
 riot in Hamilton College one day, and all 
 because of the color of my hair. I roomed 
 directly opposite the college. The lady who 
 had the front room next door to mine, re- 
 joiced in the possession of a lamp with a 
 large red shade. Late one afternoon one 
 of the girls remarked that she saw the red- 
 headed student sitting at his window. An- 
 other one said that she was mistaken; that 
 the lady had lit her lamp with the red 
 shade. The discussion grew warm, and 
 soon a large number of the girls were in- 
 volved in the debate. Fortunately, the 
 supper-bell called them from hair to hash, 
 and the riot subsided. 
 
 Just after dark one evening I met a fel- 
 low in front of my house,, who seemed to
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 89 
 
 be in trouble. Approaching him, I inquired 
 as to his trouble and offered him my ser- 
 vices. He informed me that he lived in one 
 of the suburbs, and had been trying for ten 
 blocks to get on a car that would take him 
 home, but for some reason he had failed to 
 get one to stop. I guided him to a proper 
 place, and waited for a car, promising him 
 that I would see that he got on the right 
 one, and would instruct the conductor to 
 put him off at his street. While waiting for 
 the car he recognized me, and said: "Pard- 
 ner, you are a preacher, ain't you?" "Yes," 
 I replied. "Well, I declare, you are a 
 preacher, and I am- drunk; and you are 
 going to put me on the car and tell them 
 to put me off at the right place?" I agreed 
 that he had things correctly sized up. 
 
 "Well, all I gotta say is that it is a 
 
 nice thing for you to do," he said as he 
 leaned on me for support. "No," he con- 
 tinued, "that ain't what I wanted to say. 
 Yes, it is, but that ain't the way I wanted 
 to say it." 
 
 One day while I was serving the church 
 in Lebanon, Kentucky, a woman street 
 preacher was delivering a tirade against 
 everything she could think of and many 
 things she never thought of very much.
 
 90 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Most of her remarks, however, were di- 
 rected toward preachers and saloon-keepers. 
 I had taken my stand in a doorway of one 
 of the stores. Some one said to me: 
 "Brother, she is giving you preachers a 
 plenty." A fellow, standing on the walk 
 just in front of me, turned and carefully 
 examined me from foot to head. Having 
 completed his examination, he asked: 
 "Pardner, are you a preacher?" "Yes," 
 was the reply, "I am." "Well, I am a 
 
 saloon-keeper; and she's giving us , ain't 
 
 she?" "It looks that way to me," was my 
 reply, as with blushing head I walked away. 
 The chairman of one of our State mis- 
 sionary conventions, in introducing me to 
 the audience, said among other things: 
 "While in the University I lived in constant 
 fear most of the time. You see, our red- 
 headed brother, who is to speak to us now, 
 had a room in the dormitory just beneath 
 mine, and I was in constant dread of his 
 setting fire to the building and burning me 
 up." I began my speech by saying: "Our 
 chairman was about the greenest specimen 
 that ever entered the University. He was 
 that green he had to be posted to keep the 
 cows from eating him. I thank him for 
 what he has said. A light breaks in upon
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 91 
 
 me and reveals that which at the time was 
 hidden. I noticed the frightened look upon 
 his face, but never dreamed that I was the 
 cause of it. However, his fears were 
 groundless, and, had he come to me, I 
 would have set his mind at ease. I could 
 have proved by a unanimous vote of the 
 student body that there was absolutely no 
 danger: for it would have taken a six 
 months' experience in a dry-kiln before he 
 could have scorched, much less burned up." 
 
 This reminds me of another chairman. 
 His name was Hill, and a fine fellow he 
 was. He introduced me to a large Chris- 
 tian Endeavor session in the Colosseum in 
 New Orleans, by saying I was from Miss- 
 issippi, and that the red hills of the State 
 were no redder than my hair. I replied 
 by saying: "If it were not for the nearness 
 of the chairman, I would be thinking of 
 the 'green Hill far away.' ' 
 
 I stuck my head in the ticket window at 
 Campbellsville, Kentucky, one day, and 
 called for a ticket to Dyersburg, Tennessee. 
 The agent was a friend of mine. He gave 
 me the ticket and said he had a favor to 
 ask of me. Of course I put myself at his 
 service. I was always rather reckless in 
 granting favors. He had a lady friend,
 
 92 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 she was going the way I was, and he wished 
 me to see that she made proper connection 
 with the train going south from Louisville. 
 I wanted him to introduce me at once, but 
 he was too wise for that. Had he done so, 
 I think I would have managed to have been 
 accidentally left in Campbellsville. As I 
 walked up and down the platform, visions 
 of female youth and beauty floated before 
 my eyes, but there was no floating on the 
 part of the lady in question. It would have 
 taken a derrick to float her. The train 
 waited sometime at the station. That train 
 never was in a hurry. Anticipation was al- 
 most consuming me. Finally the agent took 
 me into the car, passed by all the good-look- 
 ing young ladies, and stopped at a coach pew 
 that was full of woman. She was a flood 
 of fat and nearly overflowed the bench. I 
 was afraid I would have to meet her on 
 the installment plan. We are an extrava- 
 gant people. There was enough waist about 
 that woman to have made extra large twins. 
 What a waste of material was there in the 
 material of that waist. 
 
 Now, I have no objections to fat people. 
 They are more to be loved than thin ones; 
 because there is more to be loved. But 
 this woman would have bankrupted a Mor-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 93 
 
 mon elder. Besides herself, she had seven 
 boys. They ranged all over that end of 
 the car and from the age of six on up to 
 whatever age was necessary for the oldest 
 one, there being no twins. 
 
 When we reached Louisville I gathered 
 up my own traps, the lady's hat-boxes, suit- 
 cases, etc., and, bending under my burden, 
 started through the waiting-room of the 
 Union Depot. I was young then, and timid. 
 The expressions of amusement and pity on 
 the faces of the crowd embarrassed and 
 puzzled me. But I understood it all when I 
 reached the door and looked back. The chil- 
 dren were strung out one behind the other, 
 and the lady of the flesh brought up the rear 
 like Mahomet's mountain following the 
 prophet. The children had been taught to 
 take off their hats in the house and every 
 last one of them was red-headed. 
 
 During my younger days I held a revi- 
 val in a small town in Mississippi, and made 
 my home at the leading hotel in the village, 
 which was run by a member of the church. 
 Near the public square, in front of the post- 
 office, was a horizontal bar. This bar was 
 very popular with the merchants and cus- 
 tomers when there were no dog-fights or 
 games of marbles to attract their attention.
 
 94 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 One day the crowd called on the "parson" 
 to show what he could do. I had not been 
 out of college very long, and could do more 
 real stunts on the "pole" than in the pulpit. 
 I swung on my knees, my arms, and the 
 small of my back. When I went to dinner 
 my hostess said: "What have you been 
 doing over in town, brother?" "Nothing; 
 why?" was my answer. "My porter came 
 home a few minutes ago, and told us that 
 you got up on that acting-pole and went 
 round and round so fast you looked just 
 like a rosebud." That was one time I 
 could have passed for an American Beauty. 
 Not far from this place, a few years 
 later, I had an experience which, if I had 
 not been born red-haired, would have made 
 me red-headed. I was holding a camp-meet- 
 ing. The tabernacle was a big affair that 
 seated about twelve hundred people. It 
 would seat more, if some of them stood up. 
 The floor was covered with sawdust, and 
 made a most hospitable asylum for dogs 
 and fleas. The tabernacle was pretty well 
 filled at every service. I hesitate to state 
 the number of dogs that attended the meet- 
 ing. However, as most of the people in 
 that section of the county came, most of the 
 dogs came also. Of course each dog
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 95 
 
 brought his fleas with him. There was 
 such a general distribution and mixing of 
 fleas that when the meeting came to an end 
 no one could tell whose fleas from whose. 
 Whatever may be true as to "hookworms" 
 in the South, none of those fleas were 
 afflicted with them. 
 
 I never could understand why dogs have 
 such a desire to attend meetings. My 
 preaching always seemed to have peculiar 
 attraction for them, and they have been a 
 source of great annoyance to me. Once a 
 little dog sat down in the aisle in front of 
 the pulpit and looked up at me in such an 
 appreciative way that I got nervous and 
 asked some one to remove him. No one 
 undertook the job, so I stepped down out 
 of the pulpit, caught him back of the neck, 
 walked to the door, and pitched him out in 
 the yard. When I returned to the pulpit 
 and looked down, there he sat. But he was 
 not alone, but had brought another one 
 with him. 
 
 One day at the camp-meeting I mentioned 
 above, an old farmer sat on the front seat 
 in the tabernacle, and under the spell of my 
 eloquence fell into a trance. Some rude fel- 
 lows said he was asleep. He was smoothly 
 shaven except for a long fringe of whiskers
 
 96 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 under his chin. His elbows rested on his 
 knees, his head in his hands. His or some 
 other fellow's hound came through the 
 tabernacle on a tour of inspection. When 
 he saw the calm, peaceful face of the farmer 
 he stopped and wagged his tail most 
 heartily. Suddenly his head shot forward, 
 and his long, moist tongue swept the 
 farmer's face from the hair under his chin 
 to the hair above his forehead. The spell 
 of my eloquence was broken. The farmer 
 sprang to his feet, and, with a well-placed 
 kick, sent the hound about five feet in the 
 air. I say five feet. That may be a little 
 extravagant, but I know he went up four 
 feet in the air. The ungenerous response 
 of the farmer to the affectionate greeting 
 of the dog disgusted him, and with a yelp 
 of dismay he lit out for home. I was 
 sorry, for there was much similar work for 
 that hound to do that day. 
 
 This spectacular duet of the farmer and 
 the hound came very nearly breaking up the 
 service. It had a most demoralizing effect 
 on the young people in the audience; and 
 the young man who was leading the singing 
 with his cornet, and who sat on the platform, 
 and had watched the whole performance 
 with intense interest, laughed so heartily
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 97 
 
 that, there being no back to his bench, he 
 fell over backwards, and wedged himself in 
 between the pews, and I had to stop preach- 
 ing long enough to pull him out.
 
 98 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 XI. 
 
 TWENTY MILES FROM A RAILROAD. 
 
 For several days during December, 
 189 , I could be seen walking about the 
 campus of the University with my hands 
 shoved down into my pockets, my chin 
 drawn down between the ears of my collar, 
 my eyes squinted, and my tongue asleep. I 
 had a bad case of the blues, and could have 
 said with Antonio: 
 
 "In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; 
 It wearies me; you say it wearies you. 
 But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
 What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
 I am to learn; 
 
 And such a want wit sadness makes of me, 
 That I have much ado to know myself." 
 
 While in this condition I was made a 
 proposition to teach in one of our small 
 colleges, which I accepted without asking 
 where the town was in which the college 
 was located. When I learned that it was 
 twenty miles from a railroad my resolution 
 to go was considerably shaken; however, I 
 stuck to my agreement, and have never re-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 99 
 
 gretted it. The little town was a county- 
 seat, so called, perhaps, because so many of 
 the citizens of the county sat down there 
 to whittle, when they were not too busy 
 playing checkers or trading horses. The 
 college building was a large brick structure, 
 situated in the best part of the town. The 
 town itself was beautifully situated on a 
 slight elevation, which sloped in every direc- 
 tion, affording good drainage. It was a 
 clean little town. Her people were cul- 
 tured, cordial and charming. 
 
 I was to begin my work in the college 
 the first of the year. Much to my delight, 
 a friend of mine in the University asked me 
 to go home with him for the Christmas 
 holidays. He lived ten miles beyond the 
 little town, and not in the direction of a 
 railroad. But a home such as his, with its 
 comforts, its cheer, its good things to eat, 
 and its love, does not need a railroad close 
 to it. Some of my happiest days were spent 
 in his home, and I love it. 
 
 The last twenty miles of our trip from 
 Lexington was made in an old-fashioned 
 stage-coach the sort with a big body, 
 swung on leather straps. It had a huge 
 leather boot on the back to carry freight. 
 On the high seat in front, by the driver's
 
 100 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 side, was the man who gave the people 
 along the road notice that we were coming. 
 This was done with an old-fashioned stage- 
 horn. The night I made the trip there were 
 twelve passengers inside the coach and 
 twelve on top. The four big, strong horses 
 swung us along at a rapid rate. Half-way 
 to our destination four fresh horses were 
 put to the stage, and in a short time we 
 were in the little town where I was to do 
 my first teaching. Next morning my friend 
 and I, with several other fellows, started 
 for his home, ten miles farther from the 
 railroad. The pet, poetical name of my 
 friend was "Bull." 
 
 I began my work in the "College" the 
 first of the year. I taught from eight o'clock 
 in the morning until four in the afternoon. 
 From six until half-past six I read Greek 
 with the Principal. Every morning I re- 
 cited Hebrew to him, and every afternoon 
 from four until half-past four I read, or, 
 rather, tried to read, Arabic with him. 
 After the class in Arabic we cut the wood 
 to be burnt in the four rooms of the build- 
 ing, and also swept out these rooms and the 
 chapel. For exercise we built the fires 
 every morning. I preached nearly every 
 Sunday. Many times I have ridden horse-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 101 
 
 back forty-five miles from Saturday morning 
 until Sunday afternoon, preached twice, and 
 received the munificent sum of one dollar 
 and thirty-five cents, and had fully thirty 
 cents after paying for my horse. I know 
 what it is to feel like thirty cents. 
 
 My first appointment was about four 
 miles from the "College." The thermom- 
 eter registered eight degrees below zero. I 
 walked to this appointment Sunday morning 
 and back home that afternoon. As my 
 traveling expenses were nothing, I came out 
 even financially on the trip. 
 
 One Sunday night I went home from a 
 church in another part of the county with 
 one of the brethren. The next morning at 
 the breakfast-table the young hopeful of 
 the family, as soon as he spied me, set up 
 a series of yells that were worthy of twins, 
 and refused to be comforted. His father 
 insisted on knowing the cause of the dis- 
 turbance. "You said you were going to 
 bring the preacher home with you I" "Why, 
 this is the preacher," said the father. "No, 
 it ain't, either," he yelled, "he ain't got no 
 whiskers." 
 
 One of my regular appointments was 
 with a delightful little church about four 
 miles from the "College." I preached
 
 102 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 there on Saturday afternoon and Sunday 
 morning once a month. One Saturday I 
 was advised not to make the trip, as it had 
 rained hard the night before and the creek 
 which was between me and the church was 
 out of its banks and was dangerous to 
 cross. I borrowed a small gray filly, how- 
 ever, and determined to make the effort. I 
 know better now than to try to fill an ap- 
 pointment on a filly when the creek is too 
 well filled. She was exceedingly frisky and 
 rather uncertain. The man that owned her 
 would let anybody ride her in order to save 
 the expense of having her broke to the 
 saddle, and I was willing to ride anything 
 that any one would let me have, in order 
 to cut down expenses and to keep from 
 being broke. When I reached the creek, 
 which was after several very exciting excur- 
 sions into the woods on either side of the 
 road, I found it full and overflowing, and 
 rushing like a mill-race, but I started boldly 
 in. When about midway of the stream I 
 was forced to stick my feet straight out in 
 front of me. This forced the filly to kick 
 straight out behind her and toward the 
 skies. But for the fact that I grew sud- 
 denly very fond of the filly and quickly em- 
 braced her around the neck, I would have
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 103 
 
 been thrown into the water, and these rec- 
 ollections would be anything but dry. Fi- 
 nally, after much excitement, and when I 
 had come to the conclusion that there was 
 nothing in the universe but water, and that 
 was full of filly, she got her head turned 
 upstream, and went kicking and plunging 
 up the creek for about twenty yards. By 
 that time I was in the saddle, and headed 
 her toward the bank. In a few minutes I 
 was on the side of the creek toward the 
 church, but too wet to be in a good humor 
 and too cold to be happy. While I sat 
 there trying to think of words, not incom- 
 patible with my calling, that would express 
 my opinion of horses in general and a cer- 
 tain filly in particular, it suddenly occurred 
 to me to imagine the impression I would 
 have made on some of the members, had 
 they seen me in the creek. The very 
 thought was so ludicrous that I burst into 
 a loud laugh. This relieved my feeling, 
 but frightened the filly, and she lit out up 
 the road like a quarter-horse. I had on a 
 long overcoat, which had during the previ- 
 ous performance become unbuttoned, and 
 as the filly went up the road my coat 
 streamed out behind like a flag in a stiff 
 breeze. Every time the filly jumped the
 
 104 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 coat-tail popped, and every time the coat- 
 tail popped the filly jumped. I was in 
 despair; for I knew that one or the other 
 had to wear out before the filly would 
 come down to the dignified pace befitting 
 the calling of her rider. I wanted the filly 
 to wear out first, as I never desired to ride 
 her again, and I did not know where I 
 could get another coat that I could wear as 
 long as that one. About half a mile from 
 the creek there was a sharp turn in the 
 road, and as we swept around it we passed 
 a member of the church going to town. His 
 horse made frantic efforts to get through 
 the fence in its commendable desire to give 
 us the entire pike. As we passed I waved 
 my hand and my coat-tail at him, but, as 
 the filly had a pressing engagement down 
 the road, I did not stop to shake hands. 
 
 When I reached the church I found no 
 one there. On account of the rain, they 
 did not expect me. Wet and tired, I rode 
 over to the home where I was to spend the 
 night. It was my first visit there, but by 
 no means the last. It was one of the best 
 homes in the county and one of the finest 
 families in the State. The head of the 
 house was a . -good man, and exceedingly 
 well-to-do, but was peculiar in that he spent
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 105 
 
 very little on himself. His wife offered 
 me his Sunday suit, but I refused it. After 
 that the best she could do was to give me 
 a pair of low quartered shoes not mates 
 and without strings, dry underclothing, 
 white yarn socks, and a pair of blue linen 
 pants about four inches too short. Fortu- 
 nately, my Prince Albert was dry. When 
 I came down into the parlor clad in blue 
 linen pants four inches too short, low 
 quartered shoes, white yarn socks, and a 
 Prince Albert coat, I made an impression 
 on that family they have never forgot, nor 
 have I. 
 
 Next day my clothes were dry and I 
 reached church without any serious acci- 
 dent. After services I made an effort, diffi- 
 cult but successful, to mount my unregen- 
 erated steed. Close to the church was a 
 large, open, grassy space. Over near a 
 high fence a number of the brethren and 
 sisters, with their children, had gathered 
 to watch with pride their pastor's skill in 
 horseback-riding. This pride had been 
 greatly augmented by the thrilling recital 
 of the brother who had met me on my way 
 from the creek. I drew the lines tight, put 
 one foot in the stirrup, but just as the other 
 foot went up into the air, the filly lit out.
 
 106 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 The manner in which I had drawn the 
 bridle-reins caused her to go in a circle. 
 Around and around we went, filly and 
 pastor, the former making a circle with 
 four feet on the earth, the latter describing 
 a circle with one foot in the air. Men, 
 women and children sought places of safety. 
 The smaller ones went through the cracks 
 in the fence, but the larger ones got stuck. 
 Some went over the fence, some took to 
 the bushes, and some went under the 
 church. Finally I got into the saddle, and 
 a gray streak, trimmed with red, went down 
 the big road at a rate of speed altogether 
 out of harmony with the peace and quietude 
 of the "Sabbath." 
 
 One of the most faithful members of 
 this church was a young fellow about my 
 age. He had sandy hair and rode a sandy- 
 haired mule. He lisped the member, not 
 the mule. One Sunday I arrived early at 
 the church, and while talking to one of the 
 elders, my sandy-haired friend rode up, 
 hitched his sandy-haired mule, and joined 
 in the conversation. As he did not shake 
 hands with the elder, nor speak to him, I 
 concluded he did not know him. I immedi- 
 ately introduced him, but, as I had forgot 
 the elder's name, I did not call it. "Oh,
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 107 
 
 yes," was the reply, "that's all right, but I 
 know him real well; he's my father." 
 
 One Sunday morning while preaching in 
 this church I noticed a large, fat woman in 
 the audience. She was a stranger, and 
 was seemingly most deeply interested in 
 my sermon. After the services she shook 
 hands with me most cordially, and attempt- 
 ed to press something into my hand. I let 
 her press. It felt like a five-dollar bill. It 
 felt that way, not because I knew how a 
 five-dollar bill felt, but because I was in 
 such urgent need of a piece of money that 
 would feel like a five-dollar bill. I thanked 
 her most profusely, and could hardly wait 
 to get out to where I had my horse hitched 
 to see just what it was. At last I got my 
 horse between me and the crowd, and my 
 five-dollar bill turned out to be a small 
 pink tract on "How to Obtain the Blessing 
 of Entire Sanctification." I refused then, 
 and I refuse now, to say just what I 
 thought. 
 
 I regret to say that the pink tract was 
 never read. No doubt you would be sur- 
 prised to learn how blue a pink tract can 
 make a preacher, and how nearly a tract 
 on sanctification can come to spoiling, tem- 
 porarily, what sanctification a fellow has.
 
 108 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 My feelings in the matter can be better ap- 
 preciated when I inform you that I have 
 ridden horseback eighteen miles, preached 
 two sermons, and received several hearty 
 congratulations. I once rode ten miles, de- 
 livered a lecture on "The Life and Labors 
 of Paul," for which I received one dollar 
 and twenty-five cents, one dollar of which 
 sum I paid for my horse. I agreed to 
 preach once a month, for one church, at 
 the enormous salary of twenty-five dollars 
 per year. I received a little more than 
 seventeen dollars for the year's work, gave 
 them three extra months in an effort to 
 collect the balance, and paid more than ten 
 dollars' horse-hire reaching the appoint- 
 ment. I preached once a month for three 
 months for one church, and received my 
 pay from one of the elders as follows: 
 "We are much obliged." Such pay helps 
 the heart, but it is rather hard on the 
 stomach. However, I do not regret a sin- 
 gle experience, and I am glad I never re- 
 fused to preach my best, even when my 
 pay was the poorest, and that I never re- 
 fused to go, pay or no pay. The people 
 were not to blame. They had never been 
 taught to pay. They were not stingy. 
 Their homes were always open to me, and
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 109 
 
 they gave me the best they had. I was 
 treated like a prince. Somehow they 
 seemed to think that the gospel was free, 
 and they did not wish to interfere with the 
 established custom of keeping it free.
 
 110 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 XII. 
 SOCIAL LIFE IN THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 While a part of the great ocean of life, 
 colleges and universities are to a consider- 
 able degree land-locked seas. They have 
 their calms and storms; their hidden rocks 
 and harbors of safety; their big and little 
 vessels, some for work and some for pleas- 
 ure; their pirates and discoverers; their 
 freighters and dreadnaughts ; their disman- 
 tled ships and those that safely make the 
 port. Yet the university waters are not 
 entirely isolated. The ebb and flow of the 
 great outside ocean are felt on their shores. 
 Blasts from the furious ocean storms stir 
 the sails of the ships within the harbor, and 
 wreck some of those that venture too near 
 the storm-tossed ocean without. Wreckage 
 from the ocean drifts into the sea and dis- 
 ables some of the weaker vessels, while the 
 stronger ones use the winds to fill their sails 
 for great voyages. Some of the boys be- 
 come mere stowaways or roustabouts on 
 these vessels, or become masters of tramp
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 111 
 
 ships that never affect the world for real 
 worth, while others become masters of 
 splendid ships which enrich the world with 
 their merchandise and discoveries. 
 
 The "University," while a small ocean 
 within itself, had its waters constantly dis- 
 turbed by the wind and traffic of the outside 
 world. Our professors kept abreast of the 
 times, our platform had on it the best lec- 
 turers before the American public, and the 
 social life of the fashionable world had a 
 most intimate connection with the Univer- 
 sity's "Four Hundred." I regret to state 
 that many of those who reached "four hun- 
 dred" on the social ladder, never climbed 
 much higher than "seventy-five" on the 
 class ladder. The greater the grace exhib- 
 ited by them in their social functions, the 
 greater the grace necessitated on their be- 
 half in the classroom by their teachers. 
 
 On the morning of the inauguration of 
 Governor Bradley of Kentucky, as was my 
 daily custom, I attended chapel services in 
 historic old Morrison Chapel. I had on 
 my best clothes. The shine on my shoes 
 rivaled that on the crown of Professor Mil- 
 ligan's head; my black cutaway coat had a 
 tail to be proud of, and my pants were still 
 warm from the tailor's iron. I was, in
 
 112 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 fact, the latest thing in clothes that morn- 
 ing. So late, indeed, that I came nearly 
 being too late for chapel exercises. 
 
 From chapel I went to Professor Ellet's 
 room to spend an hour in fruitless endeavor 
 to follow him in his matchless flights of 
 geometrical eloquence. In the midst of his 
 oration, when he had just projected a line, 
 one end of which was fastened to the horns 
 of Capricorn and the other end tied to the 
 trident of Neptune, and was preparing to 
 bisect it with another line starting from the 
 helmet of Mars and ending I have never 
 learned where, there came a loud rap on 
 the door which' awakened every member 
 of the class. The rap startled the Professor, 
 and he accidentally cut his line on the 
 glittering sword of Perseus. He found the 
 end of his line, tied it to the tail of the 
 Bear, and opened the door. I may be 
 mixed in these lines, but I was busy studying 
 astronomy among the twinkling stars of the 
 heavenly faces of the earthly bodies of our 
 co-eds. During the study I had fallen 
 asleep. The knock on the door called me 
 to earth again just as Venus and I were 
 drinking from the Milkaway with the Great 
 Dipper, and Aurora was making glorious the 
 dawn of a new day when Eros would be
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 113 
 
 king. After the Professor opened the door 
 and had exchanged a few words with the 
 author of the disturbance, he turned to the 
 class and informed me that I was wanted 
 in the hall. As I went out I was fully 
 aware that the eyes of every young lady in 
 the class were full of admiration and the 
 heart of every young man full of envy. My 
 sartorial effect on that class was something 
 of which to be proud. 
 
 In the hall Ash Brook was waiting for 
 his prey. During vacation Ash sold fruit- 
 trees and lightning-rods. This, and other 
 graces not necessary for me to mention here, 
 earned for him among the student body the 
 honorable title of "The Defender of the 
 Truth." He began at once a recitation of 
 his troubles. He was going to the inaugural 
 ball at Frankfort; he had ordered a pair of 
 black trousers for the function, but the 
 tailor had disappointed him; it was nearly 
 time for the train to leave, and he must 
 have my black trousers at once. For a 
 short time there was an animated discussion, 
 but eventually we were seen to enter the 
 dormitory and go into the room of a "Bibe" 
 who had left his door unlocked. In a short 
 time Ash was seen hurrying across the cam- 
 pus, and I, his victim, was left standing in
 
 114 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 the middle of the room, holding in my 
 hands a pair of tan-colored trousers, terri- 
 bly warped, and bagged at the knees. My 
 humiliation was great. Putting them on was 
 a necessary performance. I was several 
 blocks from home, and could not afford to 
 fail to report back in the classroom. Geom- 
 etry, like smallpox, is a thing a man gets 
 enough of the first time. "Marks" with 
 both indicate whether or not you have 
 passed. My only showing to be "marked" 
 sufficiently to pass was to get perfect in 
 attendance. 
 
 Whatever may have been true as to the 
 relative length of heads, Ash's legs were 
 shorter by about three inches. Worse and 
 more of it, he was bowlegged. It was one 
 of the unsolved problems of the "Univer- 
 sity" whether the parenthetical expression 
 of his legs was caused by the excessive 
 weight of his generosity or from using a 
 keg for a hobby-horse before his legs were 
 properly set. However, whatever may have 
 been the solution of the problem, I, a dis- 
 ciple of Euclid, very nearly dislocated my 
 knee-joints in my efforts to get into those 
 trousers. I have heard of people taking 
 off their hats to those who got the best of 
 them, but I thought I was going to be com-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 115 
 
 pelled to take off my knee-caps in acknowl- 
 edgment of the superiority of those trousers 
 to all my efforts. I rejoice to say that I 
 reached the class before adjournment, but 
 my name was Ichabod my glory was de- 
 parted. The tan trousers failed to make 
 connection with my patent-leather shoes, and 
 their disgraceful curve forced my compan- 
 ionable knees far apart. It is needless to 
 say that when I entered the room I received 
 an ovation. That night in Frankfort a pair 
 of black trousers "danced till the break of 
 day," but in Lexington a pair of tan pants 
 hung on my wall like a great wish-bone. 
 
 Speaking of pants recalls the fact that 
 pants are very useful and often exceedingly 
 hard to get. No one more fully realized this 
 than did I when I was in the "University." 
 While Newt and I were roaming out on 
 North Broadway, near Sixth, there came a 
 great stringency in the money market which 
 seemed to localize itself in our room. About 
 the best we could do was to keep ourselves 
 in coal and our landlady in good humor. 
 This not only necessitated our wearing our 
 pants, but also our coats, longer. 
 
 There was in the firm one real good 
 pair of pants. They did double duty. 
 About the time these were demanding the
 
 116 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 company of an overcoat, Russ entered the 
 "University" and moved his trunk to our 
 room. He brought a fresh supply of money, 
 a part of which was immediately invested in 
 a new pair of pants. 
 
 The pants had not been in the room 
 many days before I received an invitation 
 from a young lady, living on High Street, 
 to attend a social gathering that night at 
 her home. "We are going to have a good 
 time and plenty of ice-cream and cake," 
 she said, and added, "Now, be sure to 
 come, and don't fail to bring Mr. Newt." 
 I was expecting her to invite him, and 
 tried to head off the invitation, but failed. 
 However, I promised to be there, and to 
 deliver her invitation to Newt. Also I in- 
 sisted that it would not be at all necessary 
 for her to say anything to him about it. I 
 knew he loved ice-cream and cake, and, 
 being fully aware of how seldom such table 
 comforts came our way at the boarding- 
 house, I felt very sorry for him. I also 
 loved ice-cream and cake, but was too un- 
 selfish to feel sorry for myself, so I at once 
 made up my mind to let Newt stay at home. 
 Besides, I did not want him to feel sorry 
 for me. Frequently I find sympathy embar- 
 rassing, and I am so timid that embarrass-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 117 
 
 ment frustrates me so "I have much to-do 
 to know myself." After supper the night 
 in question, when I returned to my room I 
 was dismayed to find Newt with the pants 
 on, calmly sitting by the fire. For a moment 
 I was completely rattled, for he had on the 
 only pair of pants fit for social functions 
 other than lawn or skating parties or such 
 other outdoor gathering as would call for 
 an overcoat. The question which agitated 
 the gray matter under my copper-colored 
 dome was how to get the pants without re- 
 signing from the "Ancient Order of George 
 Washington" and unduly arousing the sus- 
 picion of the owner of the pants. In a care- 
 less sort of way I informed him that I had 
 to fill an important engagement and the 
 pants, and if it would not inconvenience him 
 too much, I would be pleased to exchange 
 pants with him. Without manifesting much 
 concern, I began my toilet, and by the time 
 I was ready for the pants the pants were 
 ready for me. 
 
 After I had the pants on and securely 
 fastened, I began to enlarge upon my en- 
 gagement. I told him where I was going 
 and all about the refreshments. This ex- 
 cited him, and a number of times he ex- 
 pressed disappointment and amazement at
 
 118 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 not having received an invitation. My 
 heart went out to him in his trouble, but 
 my legs stayed in the pants. There is a 
 great deal of such sympathy in the world. 
 I completed my toilet at last, and as I went 
 out the door I called: "Oh, by the way, 
 Newt, the young lady told me to be sure to 
 insist upon your coming." There was the 
 noise of an overturned chair, and as I went 
 out the gate, lowering any track record ever 
 made in the "University," the door opened 
 and above the clatter of my heels I heard 
 the command: "Bring my pants back here 
 at once." But I was going too fast to stop 
 without tearing the pants, and, besides, I 
 recalled the old proverb, "If the pants fit 
 you, wear them." 
 
 Professor Teufelsdrockh was not mis- 
 taken when he said: "Clothes give us in- 
 dividuality, distinction, social polity." In- 
 deed, in the eyes of many, clothes are the 
 man. It is not what is in the clothes, but 
 what is on the man. The eyes of many 
 seem to be closed to all but clothes. Two 
 of the "University" boys Russ and Dick 
 had been to Salvisa to fill the former's 
 appointment, and on their way back were 
 forced to remain in Lawrenceburg for sev- 
 eral hours. They took advantage of the lay-
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 119 
 
 off to attend the exercises at a barber-shop. 
 It was sort of a skin game. Russ was a 
 rather handsome fellow in those days, and, 
 with his new suit on, his six feet of athletic 
 young manhood was exceedingly attractive 
 to the bootblack. The shine artist had just 
 polished his shoes and was at work on 
 Dick's. Looking up, he said: "Who's dat 
 young fellow over dar?" "That is a young 
 preacher from the Bible College at Lexing- 
 ton," replied Dick. "No, sir, boss, he's no 
 preacher; he's a gen'leman." 
 
 He was not mistaken as to his being a 
 gentleman. Among all the students in the 
 "University" with whom I came in contact, 
 and they were hundreds, I am certain that 
 outside of one select circle but few failed to 
 measure up to the standard of a gentleman. 
 There was one "select circle," however, 
 numbering nearly fifty, that could not count 
 in all their crowd one gentleman. A single 
 gentleman was not permitted among them. 
 Had he been permitted, he would not have 
 remained single long. They were the girls 
 of the "University," and their crimson 
 cheeks were the college colors. 
 
 For the benefit of the better informed 
 readers, the writer desires to state that he 
 is well aware of the fact that "pants" is
 
 120 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 considered inelegant in Boston. No, not the 
 article itself, but the word. In naming 
 this garment I should say "trousers." But 
 I object; for if this should become the uni- 
 versal custom, what would become of our 
 old friend, the joke about the dog's lungs 
 being the seat of his pants? Confidentially, 
 let me say that if the seat of the dog's pants 
 was as dilapidated as the seats in most of 
 the pants in the room of the writer, during 
 the stringency in the money market referred 
 to above, the dog would die of a hole in 
 his lungs. 
 
 On one occasion a very charming young 
 lady was gracious enough to invite me to 
 her coming-out party. (Excuse the digres- 
 sion, but every time I see a lady in one of 
 these up-to-date, down-in-the-neck, split con- 
 traptions I am in mortal terror for fear 
 the party will come out. It is my opinion 
 that such dresses are in poor taste, even if 
 they do at times show good form.) On 
 my way to the function I stepped into a 
 florist's to get a few dozen roses. Down 
 in Mississippi, when I was a boy, if you 
 asked some one for a rose, you would be 
 given a pair of scissors and an invitation 
 to go out in the yard and help yourself. 
 So you can see how wholly unprepared I
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 121 
 
 was for the ordeal through which I was to 
 pass. With joy in my heart and a quarter 
 in my pocket, I asked the florist for a 
 dozen pink rosebuds. It was fortunate 
 I said "buds." "I have no buds," he an- 
 swered, "but I can let you have some full- 
 blown roses." Something in his look or 
 tone prompted me to grasp "buds" and 
 , swing on to them. "I am sorry," I replied, 
 "but let me see the roses." With that he 
 set out a jar of as beautiful roses as ever 
 [I saw. I can not explain it, but somehow 
 [he looked more like a man behind a gun 
 [than a man behind the roses. With great 
 iemphasis on "buds" I said: "Those are 
 "beautiful, but I prefer 'buds'; however, 
 what are they worth?" "Twelve dollars 
 per dozen," was his calm reply. I grew 
 suddenly dizzy. Every rose in the jar 
 seemed to grin at me as it nodded me a 
 heartless good-by. However, I rallied, and, 
 grabbing at "buds" with greater desperation 
 and determination than any love-sick girl 
 ever swung on to another girl's "bud," I 
 steadied my voice, and, with my quarter 
 clinched in my hands, I bowed and backed 
 out of the store, saying as I went: "Thank 
 you, sir, they are indeed beautiful, but I 
 prefer 'buds.' "
 
 122 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 XIII. 
 VACATION EXPERIENCES. 
 
 My first vacation after entering the 
 "University" was spent in Memphis. Such 
 was the confidence of the members of the 
 Linden and Mississippi Avenue Churches in 
 the ability of the Bible College to make a 
 preacher out of raw material in one term 
 that I was not simply invited, but almost 
 forced to occupy their pulpits. Newt suf- 
 fered from the same confidence, as did 
 both congregations. A few Sundays after 
 our arrival I preached my first sermon in 
 the Mississippi Avenue Church. The ther- 
 mometer stood at 100 in the shade, but I 
 stood 150 in my Prince Albert. The con- 
 gregation has been too charitable to say 
 what they stood. 
 
 My aim was to preach about twenty-five 
 minutes. The text of my sermon was, 
 "Prepare to meet thy God." The context 
 was everything I could think of, and more 
 things than I had ever thought of before. 
 I heard one of the boys preach on this same
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 123 
 
 text, in the colored church on Constitution 
 Street in Lexington. When he finished 
 his discourse an old deacon came forward, 
 looked with compassion upon the brother, 
 and said: "Breth'en and sisters, we come 
 out here, this mornin' to heah a serment. 
 Our young brother has preached on 'Pre- 
 pare to meet thy God,' but I is satisfied none 
 of us have come prepared to heah sich a 
 serment." I am persuaded that the con- 
 gregation that heard me was in a similar 
 state of mind. After what seemed to me 
 an hour, and, no doubt, to the congregation 
 a foretaste of eternity, I looked at the 
 clock. To my horror, it had marked off 
 only ten minutes. My situation was des- 
 perate. I had reached the most important 
 and interesting part of the sermon, the con- 
 clusion; but I felt compelled to make that 
 sermon at least fifteen minutes longer. My 
 heart melted within me. My body had 
 long before this melted within my Prince 
 Albert. Had my flow of words equaled 
 my flow of perspiration, I would be still 
 running a race with Tennyson's "Brook." 
 After several times "repeating for the sake 
 of emphasis," and when I had told all I 
 knew, all I thought I knew, and many 
 things I knew I knew nothing about, I once
 
 124 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 more ventured to look at the clock. The 
 hands had not moved a second, but had 
 "stopped short never to move again." For 
 some reason, it could never afterwards be 
 made to keep time. For nearly sixty min- 
 utes I had made a windmill of myself, and 
 I have ever since been thankful that there 
 was no "Don Quixote" in the audience, 
 reckless enough to assault me. 
 
 The following Sunday, Newt preached 
 his first sermon from the same pulpit. His 
 notes were distributed over several pieces 
 of paper. His thoughts were distributed 
 over the interim between the Garden of 
 Eden and the last "Amen" of "Revelation." 
 The day being excessively hot, he endeav- 
 ored to use a large palmetto fan. In the 
 midst of one of his finest flights he used his 
 fan too vigorously, and his notes flew some 
 on their own account. It was an unusual 
 but interesting sight to see several deacons 
 chasing sermon notes, while the preacher, 
 like a "bird with a broken wing," fluttered 
 around the pulpit. 
 
 Two or three Sundays after this Newt 
 went down in Mississippi to preach for a 
 small congregation not far from the Ten- 
 nessee line. A friend went with him, and 
 when the collection was being taken, to
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 125 
 
 stimulate the brethren to give liberally, 
 dropped a silver dollar in the basket. The 
 deacon carefully examined the dollar, and 
 then called to the deacon on the other side 
 of the church: "Come on back, brother, you 
 needn't go any further; we've got enough; 
 save the rest for the next preacher." I was 
 the next preacher, and "the rest" was nearly 
 enough to pay street-car fare over and 
 above my railroad expenses. A short time 
 afterwards the brother who was respon- 
 sible for our preaching in that church com- 
 mitted suicide. As there was no apparent 
 cause for such a rash act, and as he made 
 no explanation about it afterwards himself, 
 there were some who said it was because 
 of the sermons he heard. They argued that 
 he had never done such a thing before, that 
 the deed was committed shortly after hear- 
 ing the last sermon, and that they had felt 
 a similar inclination immediately after hear- 
 ing us. 
 
 During this vacation I preached one 
 night in the Methodist Church in Horn 
 Lake, Mississippi. There was a fairly 
 good audience. (It was my first sermon in 
 that community.) I made a great effort, 
 taxing my lungs to their fullest capacity. 
 Only one in the audience went to sleep, but
 
 126 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 he snored with such vociferous variations in 
 every known and unknown key on the 
 scale of sound that no one else could sleep. 
 As he was the man who had invited me 
 down there to preach I was greatly dis- 
 gusted at his unctuous disregard of my most 
 frantic pneumatic efforts, which were al- 
 most sufficient to puncture my inner tube. 
 Singing the last song waked him up, and as 
 soon as the benediction was pronounced, he 
 came forward, grasped my hand, and in a 
 loud voice exclaimed: "Brother, I never en- 
 joyed a sermon so much in all my life." I 
 was glad he slept; for he was the only one 
 in the audience to compliment the sermon. 
 This reminds me of another compliment. I 
 have an aunt, who is now well on towards 
 her eighty-sixth birthday. For many years 
 she has been very deaf. When I first began 
 my ministry, I attempted to fill the pulpit 
 of our church in my home town. My 
 mother, who was too ill to attend the ser- 
 vice, asked Aunt Eliza how she liked the 
 sermon. "It was splendid; Ira is a great 
 preacher, Jane," was her reply. "Did you 
 hear him, 'Liza?" asked my mother. "No, 
 Jane, not a word; but he looked like he was 
 preaching a big sermon." Moral: If your 
 ears can not compliment a fellow, give your
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 127 
 
 eyes a chance. Moral No. 2 : If you can 
 not preach, look as if you can. By the 
 way, you can make your own and the life 
 of every other fellow much more enjoyable, 
 if you look for the pleasant rather than 
 the unpleasant thing as you journey along. 
 I have made it a custom to turn everything 
 I hear about me into a compliment, if it is 
 possible to do so. It makes me so much 
 happier, and I never found pleasure in 
 being unhappy. It may sound strange to 
 you, but I have found some people that are 
 never happy unless they are miserable. 
 They will go out of their way, and jump 
 over banks of roses, to land in a briar 
 patch. Others ignore the scratch of the 
 thorn in their enjoyment of the perfume 
 and beauty of the rose which blooms just 
 above the thorn. Some will not eat cab- 
 bage for fear of the snake they think is in 
 it, while others kill snakes to get the cab- 
 bage. A man and his wife were walking 
 through a lumber-yard. The husband said, 
 "Wife, isn't that an awful odor?" "I 
 rather like it," she replied. "Like it, wife? 
 What is the matter with you?" "Nothing; 
 I have always liked the smell of fresh sawed 
 lumber." "Oh, I am not talking about 
 lumber; just turn this way, and smell this
 
 128 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 old pond." "Smell it yourself," she an- 
 swered; "I prefer to smell the lumber." 
 Friend, you are the boss of your own nose: 
 do not complain at the rottenness of the 
 world because you keep your nose over a 
 stagnant pond when there is a yard full of 
 fresh sawn lumber all around you. 
 
 Some time during April, 189 , I re- 
 ceived a communication from the church at 
 Texarkana, stating that I had been recom- 
 mended to them as a proper man to fill 
 their pulpit during the summer. They also 
 desired to know what sort of a preacher I 
 was, and what I thought I was worth per 
 month. I wrote them that I was surprised 
 that any one would recommend me, as I 
 had only preached nine times; that, if I 
 knew what sort of a preacher I was, I was 
 too modest to tell them,' and that I had 
 never put a price on my ability. I might 
 have told them what I was worth by the 
 year, but the amount seemed too small to be 
 divided by twelve. To my astonishment, I 
 received a call, and the promise of fifty 
 dollars per month. I accepted, and began 
 my work there on the first of May. 
 
 On my way down the train stopped for 
 a short time in Little Rock. To get a little 
 fresh air, and to give my mind a vacation
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 129 
 
 from its constant contemplation of the im- 
 mensity of that fifty dollars per month, I 
 went out on the back porch of the Pullman. 
 As soon as I got there a "gentleman" said: 
 "My friend, won't you smile with me?" I 
 am nearly always in a good humor, and 
 never neglect an opportunity to smile, so I 
 immediately responded: "Why, of course, 
 I am always glad to smile with any me." I 
 had hardly finished my reply, when the fel- 
 low poked a bottle at me nearly half as 
 long as his arm, and said: "Help yourself; 
 smile as often as you want to." Excusing 
 myself by saying that I did not know before 
 what an Arkansaw smile was, and that I 
 never indulged in such smiles, I beat a hasty 
 retreat into the car. After my berth was 
 ready, and we had left Little Rock far 
 behind, I could not sleep for thinking of 
 bottled smiles bottled in bond and Ar- 
 kansaw. Maybe the man who drank it 
 smiled. Of course the saloon-keeper who 
 sold it, and the distiller who made it, and 
 the people who were willing to get the 
 revenue from it, smiled. No doubt the 
 demons in hell smiled as men drank the 
 stuff that makes demons on earth, and 
 transforms homes into hells. But there are 
 no smiles on the face of the man who, while 
 
 9
 
 130 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 filled with it, takes the life of a friend or 
 an enemy. There are no smiles on the 
 faces of broken-hearted wives and mothers, 
 nor do they show through the tears of starv- 
 ing, ragged children. That was not a bottle 
 of smiles. It was full of shrieks and sobs, 
 cries of despair and ravings of desperate 
 men and women, and moans of dying hope. 
 There were no smiles there that play on 
 the lips of babes and beautify the face of 
 old age; but it was filled with painful pov- 
 erty that steals smiles from the lips of 
 childhood and robs old age of its joy. If 
 there were smiles in that bottle, they were 
 stolen from babes and brides and mothers; 
 they were smiles that mocked peace, enticed 
 virtue, and snared youth to debauchery and 
 old age to disgrace. Oh, the pity that the 
 sunshine, which smiled o,n the field of grain, 
 should be brewed into bottle of disaster, 
 and not baked into bread of prosperity! 
 Upon my arrival in Texarkana I was 
 surprised to find no delegation of church- 
 members at the depot to meet me. I did 
 not know so much about those things as I 
 do now, and perhaps my estimation of my 
 own importance may have been a little 
 excessive. Being anxious to look as much 
 like a preacher as possible, I went at once
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 131 
 
 to the best hotel in the city, and adorned 
 myself with my Prince Albert coat and the 
 most approved ministerial expression. With 
 my ministerial coat on and with my voice 
 far enough down in my throat to satisfy 
 the most orthodox, I went into a barber- 
 shop and deposited myself in a chair. The 
 colored barber lathered my face, and, while 
 stropping his razor, said: "Boss, how long 
 has you been in our town?" "Not very 
 long," I answered. "Yes, sah," he con- 
 tinued; "how does you lak our town?" "Oh, 
 pretty well, pretty well," was the reply, in 
 a voice which had its habitation in the 
 region of the diaphragm. "Dat's right, 
 boss, dat's right," exclaimed this tonsorial 
 son of Ham, "but you would lak Hot 
 Springs a heap better; dere's lots more 
 sportin' characters dere." 
 
 While in Texarkana I administered the 
 ordinance of baptism for the first time. 
 Here, also, the first response was made to 
 my appeal at the conclusion of my sermon. 
 A gentleman, aged about fifty, came for- 
 ward one night, gave me his hand, and 
 informed me that he wished to put his mem- 
 bership in the church. I was very much 
 excited and got things a little mixed. I told 
 the audience that the man was a very great
 
 132 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 sinner, that he had wandered away from 
 the church, and had come to ask forgiveness 
 and to be received again into the fellowship 
 of the church. All the time I was talking 
 the brother was making motions and signs 
 for me to stop, but the more the brother 
 motioned, the more and the worse I said. 
 Finally, in a desperate effort to stop me, he 
 got me by the coat-tail and pulled me out 
 of the pulpit. He then informed me that 
 I was mistaken in my estimation of him; 
 that he was not a bad man, and was not 
 coming to confess his sins, but to place his 
 membership in that congregation. I went 
 back into the pulpit, apologized, told them 
 I was greatly mistaken in the man, and for 
 them not to believe anything I had said 
 about him. However, after knowing him 
 better, I think I was mistaken when I was 
 mistaken. 
 
 I worked hard and faithfully for four 
 months, and in September returned to Lex- 
 ington and again entered the "University. 1 *
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 133 
 
 XIV. 
 ORATORY IN THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 No educational institution has a more 
 substantial right to boast of her public 
 speakers than the "University." She has 
 produced a number of truly great orators; 
 and a host of speakers, who rise above the 
 average, made their debut in "Morrison 
 Chapel." At least two things operate to 
 produce this happy result: The "University" 
 students are taught something to say, and 
 they have boundless opportunities to say 
 the something they are taught. The pro- 
 fessors come in personal contact with the 
 students and encourage all their efforts at 
 oratory. It is a matter of no small pride 
 to all of us, that, whether our college mates 
 went out as preachers or lawyers, they have 
 taken honorable rank in the pulpit or at 
 the bar. While standing in a jewelry store 
 some years ago, in Port Gibson, Mississippi, 
 a neatly dressed darky, about thirty years 
 old, entered, shook hands with me, and 
 said: "Doctor, I have great confidence in
 
 134 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 your ability, and I would like to get you 
 to help me." I was agreeable, and told 
 him I would be glad to render any assist- 
 ance in my power. "I am a graduate of 
 Alcorn College, and have great confidence 
 in your ability," he continued, "and I want 
 you to help me." I again indicated my 
 willingness to render all the aid in my 
 power, and asked him what I could do for 
 him. To this he replied: "Well, I have 
 great confidence in your ability, and need 
 your help. I have not known the pardon 
 of my sins more than three months, and 
 have been made chairman of the board of 
 deacons of the Baptist Church. Now, what 
 I want to know is, how to functiate my 
 capacity." The "University" teaches her 
 graduates how to "functiate their capacity," 
 and there is not a place on the earth where 
 the sun shines 365 days in the year where 
 they are not found "functiating their capac- 
 ity" in the varied vocations that engage the 
 attention of civilized men. 
 
 From opening day in September to clos- 
 ing day in June, oratory of every brew is 
 on tap in the "University," and nearly every 
 matriculate is a faucet. They are getting 
 ready for the contests. The three principal 
 contests are "The Transylvanian Gold
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 135 
 
 Medal," "Representative in the Intercolle- 
 giate," and "Representative in the Chau- 
 tauqua Contest." I entered all three, and 
 lost the best two out of the three. I won 
 the "Transylvanian" ; but had it not been 
 for the decision of the judges, I would have 
 won the other two, and on the same ground 
 might have lost the one I did win. 
 
 The honorable title "Fiery-crested Ora- 
 tor" was conferred upon me by one of the 
 students of the "University," who lived in 
 Logan Hall, ate graham bread and sor- 
 ghum, studied hard, and was honor man of 
 his class. It was given in the fierce heat 
 of a controversy carried on through the 
 columns of one of our college papers. 
 Forged in the heat of controversy, and 
 hurled with all the force of his mighty 
 pen, it stuck. The "Fiery-crested Orator" 
 has always felt satisfied with the title, and 
 also with the result of the controversy. 
 
 The day following one of the contests, 
 which was lost by the "F. C. O.," I was 
 accosted by a gentleman as I was on my 
 way to town, who asked me whether or not 
 I was a "University" man. Being answered 
 in the affirmative, he said: "How about the 
 contest last night? Is the fellow that won 
 a good speaker?" "Be sure he is," was
 
 136 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 my reply; "he is more than good, he is fine; 
 he beat me." I have never been able to 
 figure out where the comfort and glory 
 come in from diminishing the strength and 
 skill of the fellow that licked me. When 
 I am licked I desire that it be fully known 
 that it took some man to do the job. 
 
 For at least a month before these con- 
 tests come off the "University" is as full of 
 orators as a calendar of dates or a dormi- 
 tory boarder of prunes. The very air of 
 the campus is malarious with eloquence; 
 and oratory becomes epidemic. To appre- 
 ciate this you must bear in mind that before 
 the final contest in "Morrison Chapel" there 
 are several primary contests for each event. 
 These are open to any and all who wish to 
 enter. From the close of classes to the 
 closing of the big front doors, every room 
 in the two main buildings is windy with its 
 orator; and the orators are at it again from 
 the opening of the doors next morning until 
 Bill rings the big bell for chapel. During 
 recitation hours each of the many society 
 halls resounds with such agonies of elo- 
 quence that the busts of Cicero and Demos- 
 thenes weep for the laurels of the Forum 
 and Mars' Hill. The rooms in the dormi- 
 tories are full of oratory all day long and
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 137 
 
 far into the night. Those who pass along 
 North Broadway at night can hear these 
 orators pouring forth eloquence to the stars 
 from various places of advantage on the 
 classic porch of "Morrison Chapel." So 
 moving are these efforts that in the spring 
 the trees on the campus fill their trunks and 
 leave. 
 
 Besides the contests mentioned above, 
 there must also be counted the numerous 
 declamatory contests; the orations, declama- 
 tions and debates in the literary societies 
 every Friday night; the platform full of 
 Washington Birthday orators; the semi and 
 final open sessions of all the societies; class 
 day orators; intersociety and intercollegiate 
 debates; and last, but not least, the final 
 exercises of all the departments of the 
 "University." 
 
 The contests and open sessions held in 
 "Morrison Chapel" are high festivals. The 
 finest orchestra in the city is secured. Every 
 seat in the chapel is taken. The auditorium 
 is filled with expectancy, enthusiasm and 
 carbon dioxide. The band plays; the ora- 
 tors, escorted by their ushers, march upon 
 the platform where Andrew Jackson and 
 Marquis de la Fayette have spoken, and 
 Albert Sidney Johnston and Jefferson Davis
 
 138 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 have said their pieces, and the champions 
 of the orators endeavor to outdo each other 
 with applause for their favorites. It thrills 
 me now to think of it all. 
 
 Before and after each speech the ushers 
 mingle with the audience to get whatever 
 is to be sent up to the orators. This is 
 done so that those who wish to send up 
 bricks can deliver them without danger of 
 injuring the furniture or walls of the chapel. 
 Sometimes books and flowers are sent up, 
 but generally the orators are snowed under 
 with notes. They are written by friends 
 and foes, the former to encourage, but the 
 latter to discourage the speaker. It is an 
 unheard-of thing for the friends of one 
 orator to interfere with another orator 
 while he is speaking, but they are justifiable 
 in getting him rattled before he speaks, and 
 guying him after his oration is ended. To 
 those who are not in the atmosphere of 
 these occasions, this may seem a little hard, 
 but the boys never so considered it. To the 
 contrary, it put them on their mettle; and, 
 besides, these contests were all a part of 
 their preparation for the real contests of 
 their public life. 
 
 On one of these occasions, just before 
 the contest began, the four orators of the
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 139 
 
 evening were waiting in the anteroom for 
 the time to arrive for them to go upon the 
 platform. One of the speakers, whose liver 
 was somewhat out of order, took some liver 
 pills from his pocket and put them in his 
 mouth. One of his competitors, observing 
 the performance, asked what he was taking. 
 "Liver pills," was the reply. The ques- 
 tioner, whose mind was on his oration, un- 
 derstood him to say "delivery pills," and 
 asked him how many were a dose. "From 
 two to four," was the reply. The questioner, 
 whose voice was dry and husky from the 
 constant flow of hot air, sometimes mis- 
 taken for eloquence, through his wind-pipe, 
 said: "Well, I am in a pretty bad fix; let 
 me have six of them." He received them, 
 slowly chewed and swallowed them. Soon 
 the band began the grand march, and the 
 orators marched upon the platform and 
 took their seats. He of the husky voice 
 was the last speaker. The room was close 
 and warm; and before his time came an un- 
 seemly commotion began to make itself felt 
 beneath his vest. At last the time of his 
 triumph arrived. Believing himself a cer- 
 tain winner, he arose filled with ambition, 
 hope and "delivery pills." The commotion 
 under his vest became more unseemly. With
 
 140 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 face as pale as ashes and in a voice agoniz- 
 ing in its despair, he exclaimed: "Ladies 
 and gentlemen, before the dawn of history 
 you will have to excuse me; some enemy 
 has done this." With that he rammed his 
 handkerchief into his mouth and made for 
 the fresh air. 
 
 He afterwards insisted that had it not 
 been for the "delivery pills," he would have 
 won the medal for oratory. However, it 
 was generally conceded by eye-witnesses 
 that he was entitled to a medal for speed.
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 141 
 
 XV. 
 ONE MORE WORD AND I AM DONE. 
 
 One day a rather bright young fellow 
 was sent to the board to solve a problem. 
 His place at the board was near the stove, 
 and the stove was red hot. Toward the 
 latter part of the recitation hour the pro- 
 fessor, addressing him, said: "Are you 
 done, Mr. Smith?" "One side of me, Pro- 
 fessor," was his immediate reply. I am 
 nearly done, and with the telling of two 
 more little stories I shall be completely done. 
 
 While visiting a member of my congre- 
 gation one day, in a certain Kentucky town, 
 I was much interested in watching a little 
 child crawling about the room. He was a 
 bright, beautiful boy, and as happy as a sun- 
 beam in a garden of roses. On a table near 
 the window was a handsome candelabrum. 
 The refracted rays of its prisms fell upon the 
 carpet like broken bits of rainbow; and with 
 thoughtless glee the little fellow crawled over 
 the floor, catching with eager fingers the bits 
 of colors. When he would open his fingers
 
 142 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 and find no pieces of rainbow there the joy 
 would die from his face and tears would 
 start from his eyes; but as soon as he would 
 look around and see the colors still scattered 
 over the floor he would smile again and con- 
 tinue his chase. Finally, worn out with going 
 from one bright spot to another, he fell 
 asleep among his illusive pretties. There 
 were tears on his lashes, and the smile had 
 faded from his lips. It was a beautiful pic- 
 ture, but a sad one. Sad because it was a 
 miniature of the life of many thoughtless 
 people, who, chasing the gay, bright pleas- 
 ures of life, fall asleep at last, empty-handed, 
 empty-hearted and unfitted to die. They are 
 Lorenzos, pleasure-seekers, who, spending 
 their lives devouring the apple of pleasure, 
 come at last to the grave, ashes on their lips 
 and a tasteless core in their hands. Life is 
 duty, not pleasure. We should see how much 
 we can put into life, not how much we can 
 get out of it. 
 
 "O ye Lorenzos of our age ! who deem 
 One moment unamused, a misery 
 Not made for feeble man ! Who call aloud 
 For every bauble driv'd o'er by sense ; 
 For rattles, and conceits of every cast, 
 For changes of follies, and relays of joy, 
 To drag your patient through the tedious length 
 Of a short winter's day Say, Sages ! say,
 
 A RED-HEADED MAN 143 
 
 Wits, Oracles ! say, dreamers of gay dreams ! 
 How will you winter an eternal night, 
 Where such expedients fail?" 
 
 I have seen the bright, happy side of 
 life, and I have seen the dark, sad side. I 
 have been with my friends in the green pas- 
 ture and beside the still waters, and I have 
 gone with them through the valley of the 
 shadow of death. But in it all some of the 
 saddest have been the sweetest. Little 
 Lois lived with her parents on the side of 
 the great hill which overlooked the city. 
 She was six years old and was in the pri- 
 mary department of the Bible school of the 
 church for which I ministered. One Sunday 
 afternoon, while playing with some matches 
 near a pile of straw, she was fatally burnt. 
 The night her spirit left her burnt, pain- 
 tortured body, she clasped her little hands 
 and said: 
 
 "Now I lay me down to sleep; 
 I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep; 
 ' If I should die before I wake, 
 
 I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take." 
 
 Then she stopped, and, calling to her 
 father, asked: "Papa, did you say go 
 straight on ahead, and I would find every- 
 thing all right?" "Yes," said her weeping 
 father. Then her little hands fell by her 
 sides as she finished:
 
 144 A RED-HEADED MAN 
 
 "God bless papa and mamma, 
 And make me a good little girl." 
 
 And now good-by. Let us take God 
 as our companion, keep straight on ahead, 
 and may he make us good men and women 
 is the sincere prayer of the author of this 
 little book, who has found more pleasure 
 than pain, more roses than thorns, more 
 kindness than harshness, more good than 
 evil, sunshine behind every cloud, gold in 
 all the dross, triumph in every struggle, 
 strength in weakness, glory in defeat, smiles 
 in every sorrow; in fact, has found this 
 present world, interpreted in the light of 
 God's word, a glorious prophecy of a better 
 world to come, and who is glad that in the 
 distribution of hair he received an abundant 
 supply of red.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 001 034 573 4