Here in the low, long hall I held forth on the following Sabbath.  The position was an awkward one.  The table stood in the middle of the hall, reaching from one end to the other.  The congregation was seated on each side in long rows.  The preacher stood at the head of the table and threw his message along the narrow defile, greatly to his own annoyance, if not the discomfort of the people.  To me the task was exceedingly disagreeable.  My thin, feminine voice seemed to spend its volume before it had reached the middle of the line.  Then, my rapid manner of speaking seemed to send the words in wild confusion into the distant part of the hall.  But I soon learned to gauge my voice to the place, and, thereafter, I enjoyed unusual freedom of speech.

At the close of the services, the table was spread for dinner.  I was assigned the head of the table, with the President of the Association at my right, and the Vice President at my left.  Both of these gentlemen were decidedly Infidel in their views, and have since become somewhat distinguished as champions of Unbelief.  They always treated me with courtesy, however, and sought to make my visits agreeable.

It was their custom to bring up some item in the sermon as the subject of discussion at the table.  These discussions often became animated.  But, having been somewhat schooled in that line of things, I always required a definite statement of position on both sides before any discussion could be had on the point assailed.  This precaution kept the coast clear, and made these table conversations profitable.  The President repeatedly expressed his gratification with the conversations, and also with the religious services of the day.  And on one occasion he took the freedom to say, “Though I am not a believer in Christianity, yet I think there is nothing in the world that can so effectually harmonize the views and blend the sympathies of the community as these religious services.”  I took the occasion to suggest to him that his admission carried with it a complete vindication of the claims of religion and a proof of its Divine origin.

On another occasion, as I was mounting my horse to leave, the President expressed a wish that I would visit Fox Lake and establish an appointment in that village, assuring me that he had friends there, very intelligent people, who would receive me cordially and appreciate my labors.  I enquired whether there were not religious services established already in Fox Lake.  “Oh! yes,” he replied, “but they are not up to the times.  They are conducted by a Local Preacher from Waupun, a gentleman whom I greatly respect, but he is quite antiquated in some of his views.”  I enquired if he was free to state what these views were.  He replied:  “Why, sir, he retains the old notion that the world was made in six days.”  “Well, was it not, Judge?” “Why, certainly not,” he answered, “any man at all abreast with the times knows better than that.”  Willing