“Doctor you can just walk up as far as the works!” we said to the Presiding Eider last Saturday morning. “And Bro. Gray of Ml Notoriety will meet you there with a horse.” So they “cut off* and we took the wagon road. It was cool and clear, with a breeze stirring that was bracing and healthful. Passing the furnace, we travel on till we came to the head of “Johnson’s Crook” and at the foot of Lookout Mountain. Now we are a distance from home about four miles and have yet to go three or four more to reach New Salem where the quarterly meeting is to be held, in the bounds of Lookout mission. All those who have ever traveled up the mountain know that it is quite a task, but we clambered up, after taking considerable time. Now that we are on top we have a commanding view of the country below. The scene is so grand that we are at a loss to find words adequate to describe it Where is the atheist that can stand on these lofty mountains and look abroad through such labyrinths of grandeur and beauty such overwhelming manifestations of creative power without acknowledging the might that brought about such perfection. The beauty of the morning lent to the sublimity of the scene, for the sun rode up the blue sky and unrolled its soft tinted pinions of purple and gold, and the wind fluttered down and blew upon the flowers that bloom below, the breath of whose sweetness is out on the air, while a single white cloud, on the white wing of peace, floated off in the West.  Far down the glen we heard the bells of the bovines with their clatter and bang as they browsed in the forest that stretched out below like a green expanse. These fair sunny glades and cool gushing fountains and winging birds all make us adore the great creator of the universe. A few minutes after reaching the summit we were at the little church where the meeting was to be held.

Bro. Keith preached to a small congregation a very interesting sermon. After the sermon the quarterly conference convened on a large chestnut log that lay near the church. These brethren are disposed to follow the ancient landmarks of methodism. During the meeting we heard real good preaching by the elder. We listened to this good man while he seemed to stand in the presence of God, where blazes a splendor beyond the shekinah, and stood at a mercy seat more pure than the gold lid of the ark of the covenant, and it sparkles with more precious blood than ever flowed beneath the knife of a Levitican priest. It is sweet thus to listen to the Gospel of the Son of God, and to commune with his saints.

We met at this meeting Bro. Moore, the preacher in charge of this work, who is an unassuming Christian gentleman. Also, many of our friends of other days, among whom were the Grays, Moores, Boatmanns, Ellisons, and many others. It was quite a pleasure for us to meet these friends, for memories of the past came crowding up at the sight of these good people, both religious and social. How sacred are the ties of friendship! They are so dear that nothing but death is capable of severing them. We form attachments—make friends and associates in this life; we leave, pass through new sorrows and new joys, meet the stem realities of life, then we return to our former friends and they receive us kindly and our old affection rekindles and we love again.

We ate chicken and supped coffee with John Gray and Bill Boatman, and felt like we wanted to go back again to see those kind people.

Late Sunday evening we dropped down the mountain in company with Bro. Hale and part of his family, arriving at home about the time the bats begin to fly round and round.

J. A. Darr, Editor

Former Methodist Minister

Submitted by Sonny McMahan

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