The third year on the district was similar to the preceding one, fraught with toil and responsibilities, but not without its spicery, which often did much to enliven the routine work required. One of the first things I did was to secure a horse and buggy. By using the carriage when the roads would admit of it I relieved myself of a good deal of horseback riding. During the winter and early spring no sort of vehicle could be used because of the bad, and sometimes dangerous condition of the public thoroughfares. Nor is the situation in this respect very much different at present from what it was forty years ago. Great changes have been wrought in other regards, but the roads, for the most part, remain the same, and will so continue through the centuries to come. I had a somewhat provoking experience, once upon a time, as I journeyed with my uncle from Troy to West Union, a distance of twenty-five miles. As the roads were exceedingly muddy I was concerned more than usual about a new suit I was wearing, having pinned the skirts of my clerical coat around my waist in order to keep them clean. We finally struck a place where the thin mud was half knee-deep to the horses. Midway in this mud-hole was a good-sized rock, but not being visible, my steed stumbled over it onto his knees, running his nose into the mud up to the eyes. When he went down I went over his head, and into the puddle face foremost. Fearing that the animal would get on me, I suddenly rolled over and then bounded to my feet. What a picture I presented! I am sure I was no subject for artist or poet. My sleeves were full of mud and water to the elbows, my hat and umbrella both were submerged, and, to add to my chagrin, when I looked up at my uncle, from whom I had a right to expect at least a little sympathy, he was lying over on his horse’s neck laughing his best. Going to a stream nearby, I took off my coat and plunged it into the water many times over, much like washing and wringing a bed quilt, until the worst of the mud was off. But such an experience was a mere incident with a mountaineer. When my clothes got dry and the mud was brushed off they seemed to be all right, and I went on with my work just as though the awful mix-up had not occurred. During the year a great sorrow came to the conference. On the 24th of January the news was flashed over the wires that Doctor Warner was dead. In the next week’s _Telescope_ “Delta” referred to the sad event as follows: