“I went there and heard him for the first time in the spring of 1840, I suppose it was. I was, like everybody else, perfectly carried away with him. I soon formed his acquaintance, and, after he got to the new church on the Circle, became a member in the great revival of 1842. I was a printer when he delivered those lectures to young men, and in the course of printing them (I was at work in the shop where they were published) I was much in contact with him. They were published by the old jobbing house of E. Chamberlain, who was afterwards a bookseller here. The _Indiana Farmer_ was printed in the office where I worked, published by a Quaker named Willis. Mr. Beecher was really the life and soul of it—wrote all the articles in it that were good for anything. I frequently assisted him in reading proofs. He had no practical experience as an agriculturist, except that he was thoroughly alive to every new thing. He took great pride in raising flowers, and his garden was full of plants that had never been seen here before. During his revival meetings—I think as much to test my sincerity and earnestness as anything else—he invited me to come to his house at five o’clock in the morning and breakfast with him. It was a winter morning and before daylight. Mrs. Beecher and the children were up, everything in perfect order, and breakfast ready. He called his wife and children together for family worship, and spoke and prayed in simple words. It seemed to me the most beautiful and touching thing I ever saw in my life. Mr. Beecher, I thought, was even then broad in his ideas and the most industrious man I ever knew. For a time he lived in one side of a little one-story house in the alley half a square north of Washington Street, between East and New Jersey Streets, in the rear of where the Jewish Synagogue now stands. I think there were three rooms. At another time he occupied a house that stood near the southeast corner of Pennsylvania and New York Streets. He has told me that during a malarial season he preached when he could hardly stand up, and, making his way home, would, on entering his door, fall from exhaustion.” [Illustration: The Church at Indianapolis.] Another writing to us says: