Richmond now has a population of more than thirty thousand, an area of more than three thousand acres, one tenth of which is devoted to public parks.

During the first half century of the settlement public libraries multiplied throughout the Whitewater district and many homes were possessed of collections of standard and high-class literature.

The Lyceum became popular, and posted courses of lectures by such gifted men as Edward Everett, Bayard Taylor, George William Curtis, Doctor Hall, Wendell Phillips, and Park Benjamin. Concerts were also given by Ole Bull and Annie Louise Carey.

This tranquil region gave to the state four governors: Wallace, Noble, Ray, and the great war Governor, Oliver Perry Morton, afterward U. S. Senator.

General Lew Wallace, brevetted on the field after the capture of Ft. Donaldson, and subsequently author of "Ben Hur"; Dr. Edward Eggleston; James Whitcomb Riley; William M. Chase, America's great portrait painter; Eads, who engineered the building of the St. Louis Bridge and the Mississippi Jetty; Honourable George W. Julian, member of Congress: all were Whitewater boys.

But of those born in the Whitewater district there is none nobler, none worthy of more enduring fame than he who for Christ's sake lost his life, to find it again multiplied by the number redeemed through his ministry.

In his letter Mr. Nicholson writes:

DEAR FRIEND:

In response to thy request I may say, in 1870, I purchased the property No. 132 South Ninth Street, Richmond.

Alexander Chapman and family lived in a plain two-story brick house, No. 124, north of us, there being only a small brick cottage between us.

I had not previously been acquainted with Alexander Chapman. At that time Wilbur was engaged in selling milk, delivering it to customers from his wagon.

Peddling milk at eleven years of age! Yes, and selling newspapers, and working for a confectioner, and keeping books, and doing all kinds of work to earn a little something that he might relieve the strain upon his father, and to speak of it often thereafter in public addresses for the encouragement of boys that were passing through a similar struggle!

Yet it must not be supposed that his home was one of poverty. It was quite the contrary.

Charles White, who recently died, was an intimate boyhood friend of Wilbur and has left this record:

I have seen statements about Dr. Chapman's early life that would lead one to believe that his parents were very poor. This is not correct. There was indeed the brief period of disappointment and struggle; but Mr. A. H. Chapman always maintained income and the family lived very comfortably, and abundantly supplied.

After a few rapid changes this vocation finally assumed the form of the Insurance Adjustor, an office never accorded except to men of the highest intelligence and integrity. In opulence or stress the family enjoyed the most cordial social standing in the best homes in Richmond.

Mr. White refers also to the "milk business" in a way that implies less of hardship than might have been supposed:

He never "peddled milk on a cart" as has been said. For about a year he lived at "The Greenway Dairy"-just south of Richmond, one of those model Whitewater farms, the pride of the county, as a member of the Pyle family who conducted it. They were expert horsemen and their stud always embraced driving and saddle horses of superior merit. Wilbur did deliver milk for them but behind as fine coach horses as any high stepper that ever crossed Fifth Avenue.

Dr. Chapman from imperishable memories has drawn for us a picture of his boyhood home:

My own experience in connection with my early home was unique. My father was in more than comfortable circumstances; and the earliest memory of my boyhood is associated with the comforts that in those days would be considered wealth, but in the light of the vast fortunes which men are able to acquire to-day, it would be looked upon as little more than a fair competency.

I think that for myself, at least, it was the good Providence of God which changed the fortunes of my father, and compelled me to experience what was certainly discomfort and, I might almost say, the hardship of life.

By one of those reverses of fortune, so often experienced in American business life, my father's property was swept away; and I can to this day recall how the location of our home was changed from one part of the city to another, and the house in which we dwelt, instead of being commodious, was extremely small.

I have always felt that by this experience my ministry has been enriched; and when I have preached to others concerning the disappointments of life, I have remembered the pained expression of my father's countenance when he realized that his wife and children must battle more strenuously, and bear heavier burdens than he had ever meant them to bear.

I also recall how my mother, with her naturally sunny disposition, greeted reverses with a smile and filled the rooms of our smaller home with the music of the hymns she sang.

I have a most beautiful memory of family worship; of the Sunday afternoons when as a household we read God's Word together and sang the hymns of the church; and the influence which has been exerted on my life by this memory has been very great.

My mother died when I was little more than a child, and my father soon after was called Home, but as I look back on my boyhood trials, I can see how God used them to help me on.

I can see my mother sitting one day at the window, her work in her hands, and her children playing at her knees, when, dropping the work which was occupying her mind, and folding her hands, with upturned face, she began to sing softly

"Come thou fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing thy praise."

In after years I heard Patti sing. I stood one whole night waiting in line to buy a ticket which would admit me to the great music hall in Cincinnati where this queen of singers was to render her part of the Oratorio of the Messiah; but Patti made no such impression upon me as was made by my mother.

My mother went home to God when she was little more than a girl; but I can still feel her kiss upon my cheek, and in memory I often hear the words of counsel she gave to me on the last night she spent on earth.

When she was gone my father had a mother's tenderness added to a father's strength, and when just in the prime of life he passed over to the other shore, I was left with a memory which has enriched my life beyond my power to express.*

In this retrospection the lines are softened and the darker memories sunk into oblivion.

The tribute paid to his parents shows how deep and abiding were the impressions, and such hallowed memories enabled him to portray with singular accuracy the beauty of a Christian home.

His mother died on Tuesday, October twenty-ninth, 1872, a little more than thirty-five years of age. Wilbur was but four months past his thirteenth year. Only those who have had and loved such mothers can sound the depth of their bitter loss. Many a time, in after years, his eyes would fill when the soloist sang:

O mother when I think of thee,
'Tis but a step to Calvary,

Thy gentle hand upon my brow

Is leading me to Jesus now.

Many a wild and wayward son under such awakened memories has returned to God.

Fortunate indeed is the boy who, when the mother is no more, has a sister that in some measure can fill the mother's

*From the Preface of "When Home Is Heaven," published by Fleming H. Revell Company, New York.

place. Such was Wilbur's sister Ida and she but two and a half years older than he.

"Too much credit," writes Charles White, "cannot be given to this daughter and sister for her unwearied watchfulness over the younger sister and three brothers. She early became the dependable housekeeper, the motherly resort of the children for every childish wish or woe, the adept and busy needlewoman for mending and patching, darning, and what not; and a pastry cook forsooth, who transcended in skill any French chef that ever wore a white cap"-and then, with a touch of tenderness, he adds "she was a dear and good friend to her brother's playmates.'

Ida, with a charming modesty, cannot be allured into the confession of any merit accruing to herself; but, with all spontaneity, she delights to accord to "Willie" his constant loving, brotherly spirit. Concerning herself the most she could be induced to say is this:

There was only two and one half years difference in our ages, and after mother died we both always tried to do what we could for one another. We were good chums always. He was always very thoughtful and kind and the best brother ever.

Happy memories drifting down through fifty years!

To Ida, now Mrs. W. H. Thompson, and to "Eddie"-as Wilbur always affectionately called his younger brotherwe are indebted for an account of adolescent activities that define for us a sturdy, typical, all-around American boy. Once he wandered away and was lost in the forest, and a searching party went after him "with lanterns and horns and bells."

He was a fine ball player, an expert kite flyer, and he had a consuming passion for "the old swimming hole" about