I wanted to see the people and especially the church and Sunday-school at
this outpost. Now one can go out there by rail, but that is prosaic. It is
not apostolic; those apostles tied on their sandals, girt up their
garments and walked. But I found I couldn't do that way, for there was the
big Cumberland to cross and several creeks, not to speak of "runs,"
"branches" and mud-holes. The circuit riders? Yes, they went on horseback;
that must be my way, so I consulted Brother Tupper and he borrowed Mr.
Perkins's horse, noted as being an easy-going roadster. Easy? Well, I do
suppose the horse was all right, but I must indulge in one groan. It was a
long time since I had been on horseback. I wanted to go to the stable to
get on, but the young man insisted on bringing the steed down to the hotel
as soon as he had his feed, and in due time he came, a tall fellow, and I
doubted my ability to get my foot up to that stirrup, and somewhat whether
I could boost myself over into the saddle if I did; so I quietly and
gently coaxed him up to the piazza and actually succeeded the first time
trying. How many of the gentlemen, sitting in their Sunday best on the
piazza, smiled, I do not know--I didn't dare to look. I know I sat up ever
so stiff and tried to look just as if I had been a circuit rider for forty
years or so.

I must cross the river to begin with. Now they hadn't given me any whip
and I didn't dare ask the owner of the horse--"Colt, gone four"--he said,
for a whip or even a switch, but I wondered what I would do if the animal
should take it into his head to turn around or do something awkward right
in the middle of the river. I didn't want to get off, for I must get on
again. As good luck would have it there was a kind-eyed man sitting on a
stone by the riverside, and I asked him to get me a stick. He gave me one
he had in his hand and I felt better.