state of preservation, which he took great pleasure in showing to me.
The first was the old class book that I had given him at the time of the
organization of the class. It was a single sheet of foolscap paper,
folded together in book form, and stitched. The names upon it were
mostly in my own handwriting, and the Leader had carefully made his
weekly entries of present and absent, until the pages were filled. The
other object of interest was the old house, in which the first meetings
were held. Here we had seen remarkable displays of Divine power. And as
I now looked upon the old structure, the early scenes seemed to return.
I could again see the wide room, filled with rude seats, Brother Moul at
the door as usher, the crowds of people that thronged the place, the
groups of seekers at the mourners' bench, and the lines of happy faces
that were aglow with hallowed expressions of delight. I could again hear
the songs of praise as they rang out in the olden time, full and sweet,
filling the place with rarest melody. Nay, as I held communion with the
past, I seemed to feel the hallowed influences, that pervaded the early
worshippers, breathing through all my being, as of old, and even fancy
myself young again, and standing before the multitude as an ambassador
of the Master.

But the scene, like the visions of the night, soon disappeared, and I
turned sadly away, half regretting that I was no longer a pioneer, and
permitted to feed the hungry sheep in the wilderness.

Brother David Boynton, at this writing, remains on the old farm, which
has been growing with the passing decades, until the paternal acres
have become a large estate. Situated on a prominent highway, his house,
until the days of railroads, was the stopping place of all the preachers
who needed entertainment at either noon or night. Brother Boynton, in
the person of his son, Rev. J.T. Boynton, of the Wisconsin Conference,