“Well, thought I, this is too bad. But how for the morning? Bishop Asbury rises at four—two hours before day—and what shall I do for a fire then? No light wood, and nothing dry. But it occurred to me that the coals put in the midst of the simmering wood might dry it sufficiently to keep fire and prepare it for kindling in the morning; so I gave it up. But then how might I be sure of waking early enough to kindle a fire at four o’clock? My usual hour had been six. And to meet this difficulty I concluded to wrap myself in my overcoat, and lie on the bed without using the bed-clothes. In this predicament I was not likely to over sleep myself on so cold a night; but there might be danger of my not knowing what hour it was when I happened to awake. Nap after nap was dreamed away as I lay shivering in the cold, till I thought it must be four o’clock; and then creeping softly to the chimney, and applying the breath of my live bellows, I held my watch to the reluctant coals to see the hour. I had just made it out, when the same soft accents saluted me: ‘Go to bed, sugar, it is hardly three o’clock yet.’ “This may do for the first night, and the last was as follows: It had rained heavily through the night, and we slept near enough to the shingles for the benefit of the composing power of its pattering upon them. It was past four o’clock and the bishop was awake, but ‘Billy sugar’ lay fast asleep; so he whispered to Brother Boehm not to disturb me, and the fire was made. They were dressed, had had their devotions, and were at their books before I was awake. This seemed shockingly out of order, and my confusion was complete as, waking and springing out of bed, I saw them sitting before a blazing fire. I could scarcely say good-morning, and the bishop, as if he might have been offended at my neglect, affected not to hear it. Boehm, who knew him better, smiled pleasantly as I whispered in his ear, ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ The bishop seemed to hear this, and closing his book and turning to me with a look of downright mischief, had an anecdote for me. ‘I was traveling,’ said he, ‘quite lately, and came to a circuit where we had one of our good boys. O, he was so good! and the weather was as cold as it was the other night at Brother Hancock’s, and as I was Bishop Asbury, he got up in the bitter cold at three o’clock to make a fire for me; and what do you think? He slept last night till six.’ And he tickled at it as if he might have been a boy himself. And this was that Bishop Asbury whom I have heard called austere, a man confessedly who never shed tears, and who seldom laughed, but whose sympathies were, nevertheless, as soft as a sanctified spirit might possess.”