We went to Newbern, N. C., and on Sunday had four sermons: Thomas Lasley preached at sunrise from Gen. xlix, 10, “The scepter shall not depart,” etc.; Bishop Asbury at eleven from Heb. xii, 1, 2. The race, the witnesses, the judge, and the prize, were the topics he dwelt upon. At three Bishop M’Kendree from Jer. iv, 14, “O Jerusalem,” etc. Brother Merritt at night from 1 Tim. ii, 22, “Flee youthful lusts,” etc. On Friday Bishop M’Kendree left us to go direct to Norfolk, and Bishop Asbury and I went out of our direct route to Edenton. We borrowed two horses, that our tired animals might rest, and arrived at Edenton after dark. Well might Mr. Asbury inquire, “Are we riding for life?” It was exceedingly cold, and I suffered severely. We stayed at William Hankins’s. In the evening I walked to the church and preached, and in returning took a cold that had like to have cost me my life. On Sabbath there was a tremendous snow-storm. So after all our pains the bishop preached to only six men and twelve women. In the evening I preached to the Africans. We never forgot these sable children. During this route I suffered more than the martyrs. For a fortnight I had high fevers every night; and then riding all day in the cold, my sufferings were intolerable. I became so weak that I had to be helped on to my horse, and then, though I could hardly sit upon him, rode thirty and forty miles a day, with cold winds beating upon me. Bishop Asbury describes our route: “My flesh complains of cold riding and the labor of preaching. May I be made perfect through sufferings! Saturday brought us through rain and snow, without eating or prayer, to William Birdsong’s. On Monday, February 5, we wrought our solitary way through the woods to Allen’s bridge. The Widow Pennington received us. Her husband is dead, she is sick, her children irreligious. O misery! O mercy!... We have passed like a mail through South and North Carolina. I solemnly sympathize with my dear Brother Boehm. He has suffered greatly in his journey; an awful cough and fevers. Lord, what is life?” From this I think the bishop doubted my recovery. My sufferings can never be told. The day we rode to Petersburgh we stopped to rest in the woods, and I lay down upon a log, for I was too weak to sit up. The time came to start, and I told the bishops (Bishop M’Kendree had now rejoined us) to go on and leave me there. I felt as if I would rather die on that log than go on. They were all attention and full of sympathy. Bishop M’Kendree prepared me a little medicine, and I drank it, and then ate a little. They lifted me from the log on to my horse, and in this plight I rode to Petersburgh. When we arrived there, about sundown, I was so weak they had to lift me from my horse and carry me into the house. The ride was most tedious and painful. At Petersburgh we found a kind home at Sister Harden’s.