heard. I had an old temperance song book from which I borrowed some
extracts and appropriated them as my own. I swung my arms a little and
with my finger pointed out the points. I stepped around a little and
tried to stamp to make them believe that what I said was true. As I
advanced and became more interested I spoke loud, to let them know it was
I, and that I was in earnest. I admonished them all to let whisky alone.
Told some of its pernicious effects; how much money it cost, how many
lives it had taken, how many tears it had caused to flow and how many
homes it had made desolate.

When I came away I was pleased with myself, and thought I had made quite
a sensation. A few days afterward I met my friend, William Beal, and
asked him how the neighbors liked the temperance meeting. Of course, I
was anxious to know what they said about my speech. He told me the old
lady said I was "fluent and tonguey," that I was like a sort of a lawyer,
she named, who lived at Dearbornville. I knew this man well, and hadn't a
very good opinion of him. But what she said was not so much of a breaker
as what the old gentleman said, for I considered him in many respects a
very intelligent man. He came here from Westchester County, near
Peakskill. He owned the farm and lived on it (I have seen where he lived)
which was given to John Spaulding for the capture of Major Andre. His
occupation there was farming and droving. He drove cattle to New York
city in an early day, when that great metropolis was but a small city. I
have often heard him tell about stopping at Bullshead. He said that was
the drovers' headquarters. I know he was worth ten thousand dollars
there, at one time; how much more I cannot say, but somehow his thousands
dwindled to hundreds and he came here to seek a second fortune.

Of course I thought a man of his experience was capable of forming a
pretty correct opinion of me. He said, "Who is he? His father brought him