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FORTY YEARS AGO (1833) BY REV. ELIJAH H. PILCHER
My chapel was the bar-room of a log tavern, with the bottles staring me in the face. But they did not adulterate the truth, though, probably some of the congregation who did not imbibe the spirit of the sermon, did imbibe the spirit of the bottles. This was on the 27th of January, 1831. I had the pleasure after a while, of seeing the bottles removed, and of delivering a temperance lecture in the same room, standing behind the bar, where the bottles had formerly been, they having now been removed. Jackson was a wild, rough, and very unpromising place to build a town, and the inhabitants were poor, and many of them very much dispirited, but they had no alternative but to stay there and shake it out. Many of them shook most fearfully. During this year I became acquainted with one of the wild Indians —who were no Indians at all—who threw the tea overboard in Boston Harbor. He resided on the Rouge, about sixteen miles out of this city. There was nothing of any particular interest about the man, except that he was one of the men who performed that daring act. He died in the summer of 1831, and I attended his funeral. His name was Maxwell.
ANECDOTE.
As an itinerant Methodist minister, one sees all phases of human society. Now he finds himself in refined and friendly society, and now among the illiterate and unfriendly. In one of my districts, a certain man took quite a fancy to me, and described what he regarded as my good qualities to his friend, and finished by saying, "besides all these he is a regular bred and born physicianer.
MICHIGAN
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