It was not until the spring of 1823 that grandfather moved to Johnstown. It was then a dense forest. With the aid of his sons he cleared a patch near a spring as was then the custom and built a two story hewed log house. It must have been a fine one in that day. Nearly a century later a passing train set fire to it and removed the landmark to my great regret as I was then planning to restore the old log house. Several years after its erection, it was sided with walnut siding and so does not have the appearance of a log house. A long one story frame addition at the northeast and extending north was occupied by my parents as their home (and in which my three brothers and two sisters were born) until they built the old home on North Main street in 1861. A portion of the one story addition was removed years ago and converted into a dwelling which today stands at the junction of the Utica road and the road leading to New Way, one half mile east of Johnstown and now owned by Harvey Baker and H. D. Payne.

My great-grandfather, my grandfather and all of their people were devout Old School Baptists or Primitive Baptists, sometimes rather appropriately called Hard Shell Baptistc for they were hard set in their convictions. My grandfather began preaching in 1811 or when 30 years old and for over 60 years was a traveling evangelist or itinerant preacher, I have his Bible which he purchased in 1810. In his ministry which for length of years and for good accomplished is seldom equalled. An old history of Licking County published in 1875 says there is no such record in Ohio. He rode horseback for 50 years and when rheumatism uninvited came, undaunted, he mounted an old high two-wheeled sulky or cart and traveled over Ohio, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Pennsylvania and Maryland. He received no salary, he expected none, only a place to sleep and a bite to eat. He went from home to home, community to community, exhorting the unconverted to accept Christ as their Savior and expounding the doctrines of his church and faith; comforting the sick and distressed and ministering to their welfare. Who is there who would care today to follow the example of my meek and lowly old grand sire and disciple of the Nazarene? That he made an impress on the people who saw and heard is certain, for 50 years after his voice was stilled there remained those who had not forgotten him in other states. More than once while living in Washington I met some one who inquired about him. Congressman Brown of West Virginia and his mother then past 80 asked him to be sure and inquire of me if I was related to an old Baptist preacher from Ohio by my name who used to visit her home when she was a little girl. I quote from a letter dated June 30, 1911 from Governor John J. Cornwell of West Virginia whom I count my good friend-- "I spoke to my mother who is 80 years old and was raised a few miles down the river below Romney about meeting you and she asked me to inquire whether your grandfather was an Old School Baptist preacher from Ohio. She has a very distinct recollection of an old gentleman by your name who used to visit her grandfather Monroe. She remembers his appearance but not his first name. Would like to have you meet her as some of her people married into the Ashbrook family, am sure she could recount many things that would interest you.”

On those itinerant trips of my grandfather which were continuous for over 60 years, he would be absent from home for months. No communication of any kind could well be had with his faithful wife who was at home caring for a large family. Their faith was in the mercy of the God they loved and served as they worried not. When he would come home for a short time he wove woolsey to clothe his children for he was an expert weaver, while his wife replenished his scant wardrobe and then he set out again. His bent was not to make and save money but to save souls. Such a life of Christian service is too wonderful to believe in this day and age.

In 1828 grandfather decided Johnstown must have a church home. Until that time religious services were held in the homes of the elect. On and from the soil of his first 50 acres he made the brick.

The site is still well marked with brick dust hue. On a prominence near the Hartfort road just north of Johnstown, the first church in northern Licking was erected of brick made and laid with his own hands and by the help of his sons who like their father were devout Baptists. When the membership of this church dwindled to five of my old aunties, the church lot was deeded to one who later for a paltry sum sold it to John Mark Wright who tore the old church down and from the brick erected one mile away a very comfortable home which ought to endure for another century. It still grieves me sore to think of what seems desecration to destroy that old church and that I do not possess it just as it was upon the sacred ground.

In this old church, when at home, he preached for 50 years. One son Tunis followed the example of his father and became a preacher and with Elder Tussing and Elder Hanover and others filled the pulpit while grandfather was away. Most folks today think 20 minutes ample for a sermon and a half hour tedious. They should hark back to the days when my grandfather mounted the high pulpit, adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat ant blowed his nose on a red bandanna, read two lines of a mournful song, removed the tuning fork from his vest pocket, got the tune and sang it through two lines at a time. Then he would offer a short prayer of a half hour, recite the scripture, sing another two line song and start in. When he reached the thirdly and began to warm up, his coat would be removed, a little later off would come collar and tie and then his bony fist would pound the little old round pulpit top as he sent home with startling fervor the awfulness of the hell fire and brimstone that awaited the ungodly. A recess would be taken of an hour for dinner served in the church or church yard and then two hours or more of the only brand of true religion. I say this not to be funny or sacreligious but as a true recital of those old school Baptist days. It has been said that I sometimes nod in church. If so perhaps the spell of my childhood days still lingers.

My grandmother, a sweet old saint, aged 86 years, 7 months and 25 days fell asleep in the room where I was born, Jan. 1, 1871. On New Years Day, she began that new life where all tears are dried and love and joy reign supreme. Had she lived four more days my grandparents would have enjoyed 69 years of sweet companionship together.

I heard my grandfather preach his last sermon in the church he built and dedicated; it was in Jan. 1875. He was then 93 years and 4 months old. He lived his last days with Aunt Julia Gates and died in her home. 1 remember well that I called upon him with my father the day before he died. He was lying in bed suffering no pain, just worn out, patiently waiting, happy that the end was near. He sang, (he had a good voice) and recited several chapters of the Psalms, his favorite book. He could recite scores of chapters of the Bible. He never read the Bible in the pulpit but recited it. He had a strong, firm, fine face as his picture elsewhere found will reveal. He died Jan. 24, 1877 aged 95 years, 4 months and 1 day. Shortly after his spirit took its flight, the bell of the Baptist church down town (his old church never had a bell) where my parents worshiped for 50 years and where today with my little brood, 1 try to carry on each Sabbath under discouraging conditions, tolled his departure. I recall as yesterday how we all gathered in the parlor of my old home and listened in awe and veneration, counting the years as the bell tolled his age and that someone then remarked that bell would never toll so many years again, and it never did. My father was in his 94th year when he left us but the custom of tolling the bell had then passed into disuse. The funeral was held two days later in the old brick church conducted by Rev. Tussing who performed like service for one uncle and five aunts. At his funeral were nine of his children, the eldest aged 74 and the youngest, my father, aged 53. His obituary will be found later in these printed pages. His tired old body was laid by the side of his wife on the highest prominence in Green Hill Cemetery. His eldest son, Jonathan, sleeps to his right, his daughter, Julia, to his left, 4 other daughters and one son are near as are more than three score of his descendants. A Scotch marble shaft imported from the land near where his ancestors embarked points to his eternal home and at its base is appropriately inscribed, "Asleep in Jesus."