lion of the kitchen cabinet. But how to get rid of Tommy became at length a serious question. Just before returning to the city in the fall, he was sent with a note, from "the master," to a farmer, hard by, who gave him a trial, but finding that he was not capable of earning a living, or from some other cause, he soon dismissed him; and, Tommy, much to my dismay, found his way to our city residence. But as the developments of his character in civilized life, were not of the most encouraging nature, it was not a difficult matter for your grandfather to drive him from the premises. But there was another poor man, of whom I never speak or think, but with feelings of kindness and respect. His remains lie in Bellefontaine, and I have no doubt but that his spirit is happy in the presence of his God. He had lived a poor, but honest life in the west of Ireland, with his wife and children, until, like thousands of his countrymen, he was driven, by hardship and poverty, to seek a better future in this "land of the free and the home of the brave." In extreme poverty they arrived in St. Louis. Not so many in family as when they bade adieu to their native land, having buried one or two children on the banks of the Mississippi. They had all had "ship fever," and a more wretched looking family I had never seen. But notwithstanding their squalid poverty and wretchedness we found them industrious, good people, and Protestants, which was an unusual circumstance among this class of Irish. Your grandfather, who, in his charities, never seemed to forget that God caused his sun to shine upon the evil as well as the good, and who could not allow even a beast to suffer from want, took peculiar pleasure in ministering to the necessities of this virtuous family, and reaped the rare reward of a rich return in gratitude and love. Poor David appeared to look up to him as to a superior being, always addressing him as "Your honor," in the most respectful manner. One day as I was coming out of church I was attracted by the subdued look of this good man, whose tearful eyes were fixed on Rev. Mr. McPheeters and your grandfather, as they walked together down the aisle. I had a good excuse to stop as I was in the advance of my husband, and off to one side I saw him bow most reverently, as he said, "Your riverence"--"Your honor," and out of the abundance of his heart, while tears streamed down his honest face, he gave utterance to his feelings of gratitude to God, and to them, for the blessedness of this holy day. The pathos and eloquence of the sermon had completely overcome him. David was a farmer, and after having been in your grandfather's employ, at first one thing and then another, for a year or two, he finally accepted an advantageous offer, to take charge of a gentleman's farm, some eight or ten miles from the city; and we had heard nothing from the family for several months, when, one cold rainy day in autumn, a wagon was driven up to our front