Some five years before this time, in the year 1856, I had come from England with my parents, and had settled near Woodstock, Upper Canada. Very early in life in the old town of Pickering, Yorkshire--where I was born in 1840--I was the subject of deep religious impressions. But it was not until some time later that I was savingly converted to God. About the time of my leaving school, a very pious young man, by the name of George Piercy, belonging to my native town, desired to go as a missionary to China. His friends gave him no encouragement. But, overcoming all difficulties, he finally did go. I shall never forget the effect it had upon my heart. I admired his piety and zeal, even though I had not as yet made definite decision for Christ, and thought that if he could leave a comfortable home and influential friends there must be an inspiring motive. Later on, when the call came to my own heart, I understood what the inspiring motive was. There were two or three circumstances which were strangely used by the Spirit of God leading up to my conversion. When crossing the Atlantic Ocean we encountered terrible storms and were in great danger of shipwreck among the icebergs. The goodness and mercy of God in preserving us and bringing the ship safely to land moved me to gratitude and thanksgiving. Later on I suffered from sunstroke, which resulted in a long illness, and while recovering I had leisure for more serious thoughts concerning the future. Some time after this, while wrestling with some companions, I was thrown violently to the floor, breaking my leg. The month in bed which followed the accident gave me another season for reflection, and led me to resolve to live a Christian life. But, like many a sick-bed resolution, this was only made to be broken. During the autumn a camp-meeting was held near Woodstock, and though at first I made light of it all, I attended, and my conscience was still further aroused. The Methodist church in the town had just passed through a most blessed season of revival. Some of the young men had united in a praying band, and they invited me to go with them to their meetings. Such a spirit of trifling worldliness and carelessness had taken possession of me that I would rather have kept out of their way. But I was so struck by their earnestness and devotion that I consented to go. On the way up the street, while others were discussing the results of the elections which had just taken place, the leader, and one of the most devout among them, Mr. A. Peers,[3] breaking in upon the conversation, said: “Here we are, fellow-travellers to eternity.” “Eternity! Eternity!” I thought, “I am not prepared for eternity.” The words haunted me like a refrain. Conscience repeated them in my ears. The meeting from beginning to end seemed especially for my benefit. The prayers, the testimonies, the songs were all the voice of God to my heart.