I had made an appointment to preach in the court-house at Reading, but the commissioner refused to give up the key, so a large number who had assembled were disappointed. There was in this town a deep-rooted prejudice against the Methodists, which continued for years. When I passed through Reading in 1810 with Bishop Asbury the boys laughed at us, and said, “There go the Methodist preachers.” They knew us by our garb, and perhaps thought it no harm to ridicule us. In 1822, when on Lancaster Circuit, I succeeded in planting Methodism in Reading, and formed the first class there, where I had been shut out a score of years before. This I considered quite a triumph. We then put up at a public-house, for there was no family to entertain us. Some young men rented the school-house for us to preach in, but we still met with much opposition and ridicule. There was a shop in the neighborhood of the school-house where some men used to meet together. One of the company, a young man, undertook to mimic the Methodists. He went on to show how they acted in their meetings. He shouted, clapped his hands, and then said he would show how they fell down. (The Methodists in that day would sometimes fall and lose their strength.) He then threw himself down on the floor, and lay there as if asleep. His companions enjoyed the sport; but after he had lain for some time they wondered why he did not get up. They shook him in order to awake him. When they saw he did not breathe they turned pale, and sent for a physician, who examined the man and pronounced him dead. This awful incident did two things for us. 1. It stopped ridicule and persecution. Sinners were afraid, and no marvel: “Behold, ye despisers, and wonder, and perish,” etc. 2. It also gave us favor in the sight of the people. They believed that God was for us, and if he would thus vindicate us we must be the people of God. Little do the present Methodists of Reading know of our early struggles and difficulties. Now they have two churches, Ebenezer and St. Paul’s, and Reading is the head of a district, which is not larger than my circuit in 1803. Harrisburgh was another of our preaching places. I was in the neighborhood of where Harrisburgh now is in 1793. It was then called “Harris’s Ferry,” from John Harris, its founder, whose grave is there. In 1803 it was a small place, and Lancaster was then the capital of Pennsylvania. We had very hard work to get a foothold in Harrisburgh. We preached mostly in German, and had only a small class in 1803. In my journal I wrote most discouragingly, as will be seen by the following extracts: “Friday, November 11, 1803, I preached to a few from Gal. vi, 9. Hard work in this town rowing against wind and tide; but I trust in the Captain of my salvation.” Again: “Friday, April 6, I preached in Harrisburgh. The people in this town are the next thing to inaccessible.”