At the opening of the conference Bishop Asbury, in a very appropriate manner, introduced the new bishop to them. The preachers received him joyfully. Every member, one after another, went forward and gave the bishop his right hand, and bade him welcome. The scene was beautiful, and to Bishop M’Kendree it was as refreshing as the dews of heaven. Sixteen were received on trial, among others the excellent and eloquent William Capers. They are all dead. Nine deacons were ordained and six elders. There were nearly seventy preachers, and the sweetest spirit prevailed. In connection with the conference they held a camp-meeting. I had never thought of attending a camp-meeting between Christmas and New Year’s. I wrote thus: “My heart feels united to my southern brethren in the bonds of a peaceful Gospel.” Peace and harmony continued throughout the progress of the conference; preaching, praying, exhortation, shouting, crying, rejoicing. There were about forty or fifty converted. There were quite a number of tents and fifteen cabins, and about a thousand people attended every day. On the last day of the year a love-feast was held, and it was a precious time both with preachers and people. Bishop Asbury preached at noon from 1 Peter i, 10-12, “Of which salvation the prophets have inquired,” etc. It was a masterly sermon, delivered to three thousand people. We had the sacrament in the evening. There was over three thousand increase in the South Carolina Conference during the year. It was a glorious year for the South. There was a noble class of men in this conference who helped lay the foundation for the future prosperity of Methodism in the South, James Jenkins, Hilliard Judge, Lewis Myers, Daniel Asbury, and many others that we might name. CHAPTER XXI. NORTHERN TOUR—VIRGINIA AND BALTIMORE CONFERENCES. On Monday, January 2, 1809, we left for the Virginia Conference. In crossing Cashaway Ferry we just escaped drowning. It was most providential. We were oft in perils on the land and on the water. Part of our journey was on a muddy road, through a forlorn-looking tract of marshy country. No wonder Bishop Asbury said in reference to it, “My limbs, my patience, and my faith have been put to a severe trial.” Fayetteville was one hundred and thirty miles from Camden, the route we took. “We had a cold, fatiguing ride, especially for Father Asbury, who certainly is astonishingly supported under almost incredible toil for a man upward of sixty-three, amid perpetual exertion of body and mind and constant affliction.” So I wrote fifty-five years ago, when I witnessed him in labors more abundant, and his martyr sufferings which he bore with a martyr spirit.