FRIDAY, May 27.  Get to Oakland in the evening, and stay all night at Rogan White’s tavern.  Two hundred and eighty-six miles from Columbus to Oakland.

SATURDAY, May 28.  Come to Brother James Abernathy’s in a hired hack, ten miles; and in afternoon come three miles to Brother Thomas Clark’s, where I have night meeting and stay all night.  Fine day.

SUNDAY, May 29.  Come to Brother Zachariah Hendrick’s, where I have meeting.  Speak from John 1:17.  In afternoon come through the mountain top to Sister Eve Idleman’s, where I stay all night.  Frost this morning.

MONDAY, May 30.  Visit our old and blind Sister Parks; read for her and pray with her.  Come to Enoch Hyre’s and stay till after dinner.  I then go to Brother John Judy’s, where I stay all night.  Leave appointment to preach his deceased wife’s funeral on Sunday, June 26.

TUESDAY, May 31.  Call at Philip Kesner’s; at Samuel Kesner’s; cross the mountain and call and get dinner at George Cowger’s; then stop awhile at Philip Emswiler’s; exchange a few pleasant words with friend Peter Warnstaff as I pass by his house; and get to Brother John Fulk’s in evening, where I stay all night.  Fine, pleasant day.

WEDNESDAY, June 1.  Come by Michael Wine’s; dine with him; then come across the mountain home.

From this time to the memorable day of his martyrdom there is nothing in the Diary demanding special notice.  Notice has already been taken of his calling at George Cowger’s on the South Fork in Pendleton County, West Virginia, on his way home from this his last journey.  At Mr. Cowger’s, while at the dinner table, he said:  “I am threatened; they may take my life; but I do not fear them; they can only kill my body.”  This they accomplished.

WEDNESDAY, June 15, 1864.  He went to a blacksmith’s shop a few miles away from home; had Nell shod; and on his return was killed by, it is supposed, some concealed person or persons on a ridge of timber land a few miles away from home.  Some account of his funeral has already been given in the introduction to this work.  His body, when discovered, showed that it had been pierced by several bullets.  But a smile rested on his face.  The writer’s own eyes witnessed this.  It may be that this smile was the reflection of the joy that thrilled his soul as he stepped out of his broken tenement of clay into the presence and light of his Redeemer.  Stephen’s living face was as the face of an angel.  Brother Kline’s dead face was the face of a saint—­no, not the face of a saint, but the face of the earthly casket in which a saint had lived, and labored, and rejoiced; and out of which he stepped into the glories of the eternal world.  Amen!

He Died at His Post.

[Said to have been composed by Brother Kline on the death of Joseph Miller, who died while on a visit to Ohio.]

  Away from his home and the friends of his youth
  He hasted, the herald of mercy and truth,
  For the love of his Lord and to seek for the lost
  Soon, alas! was his fall, but he died at his post.