of Southerners—­wild fellows, who were not often seen in such places, among them the enthusiastic Kentuckian already alluded to.  Kavanaugh, after going through with the preliminary services, announced his text, and began his discourse.  He seemed not to be in a good preaching mood.  His wheels drove heavily.  Skirmishing around and around, he seemed to be reconnoitering his subject, finding no salient point for attack.  The look of eager expectation in the faces of the people gave way to one of puzzled and painful solicitude.  The heads of the expectant Southerners drooped a little, and the betting Kentuckian betrayed his feelings by a lowering of the under-jaw and sundry nervous twitchings of the muscles of his face.  The good Bishop kept talking, but the wheels revolved slowly.  It was a solemn and “trying time” to at least a portion of the audience, as the Bishop, with head bent over the Bible and his broad chest stooped, kept trying to coax a response from that obstinate text.  It seemed a lost battle.  At last a sudden flash of thought seemed to strike the speaker, irradiating his face and lifting his form as he gave it utterance, with a characteristic throwing back of his shoulders and upward sweep of his arms.  Those present will never forget what followed.  The afflatus of the true orator had at last fallen upon him; the mighty ship was launched, and swept out to sea under full canvas.  Old Kentucky was on her feet that night in San Jose.  It was indescribable.  Flashes of spiritual illumination, explosive bursts of eloquent declamation, sparkles of chastened wit, appeals of overwhelming intensity, followed like the thunder and lightning of a Southern storm.  The church seemed literally to rock.  “Amens” burst from the electrified Methodists of all sorts; these were followed by “hallelujahs” on all sides; and when the sermon ended with a rapturous flight of imagination, half the congregation were on their feet, shaking hands, embracing one another, and shouting.  In the tremendous religious impression made, criticism was not thought of.  Even the betting Kentuckian showed by his heaving breast and tearful eyes how far he was borne out of the ordinary channels of his thought and feeling.

He came to Sonora, where I was pastor, to preach to the miners.  It was our second year in California, and the paternal element in his nature fell on us like a benediction.  He preached three noble sermons to full houses in the little church on the red hillside, but his best discourses were spoken to the young preacher in the tiny parsonage.  Catching the fire of the old polemics that led to the battles of the giants in the West, he went over the points of difference between the Arminiau and Calvinistic schools of theology in a way that left a permanent deposit in a mind which was just then in its most receptive state.  We felt very lonesome after he had left.  It was like a touch of home to have him with us then, and in his presence we have had the feeling ever since.  What a home will heaven be where all such men will be gathered in one company!