We tried to break into new ground. About ten miles from Wilmington was Sharpless’s rolling mill. We got a foothold, and formed a society, and a church was afterward built in the neighborhood. When we first preached there some tried to mob us. They gathered around the door and tried to rush in and seize us. I was preaching, and Brother Hunter was with me. There was a strong man who stood at the door with a stone in his hand and took sides with us, and threatened to knock down the first man who touched us. So he frightened the rowdies, and we preached on unmolested. He was a large Irishman, and one reason he interested himself so much on our behalf was that Brother Hunter was an Irishman, and he was determined that his countryman should not be abused. When on this circuit several years after I became acquainted with Abram Sharpless, the owner of the works. He was an orthodox Quaker, a man of wealth and great business talent. We put up with his foreman, and Mr. Sharpless furnished plenty of food for our horses. Mr. Sharpless when eighty years of age spoke to me of the great change that had taken place among his workmen. Of their sobriety and industry since the Gospel had been introduced among them he said that previous to the preaching there on seventh day his hands would be dissipated, and no better on first day. On second day he would have to send after them to get them to work, and then they were not worth much. He said it was very different now. All he had to do was to tell his people what he wanted done, and how, and it was accomplished. I then asked him if we might not conclude that the influence of the Gospel had produced this great change. He heartily assented. This was acknowledging a great deal for an old Quaker. In 1790 my old schoolmaster left Lancaster, and I did not know where he had gone. One Sabbath in July this year, while preaching in German in a barn in Likens’s Valley, I saw an intelligent-looking man viewing me intently through his spectacles. I wondered who it was, and where I had seen him. Behold, it was my old schoolmaster, that I had not seen since I was his pupil eighteen years before. We greeted each other with tears, and talked of bygone days and scenes. He was a Lutheran, and used to read the burial service at funerals when the minister was absent. He became a minister, and was pastor of a church west of the Susquehanna. I never saw him afterward, but I never can forget Henry Rossman, my old schoolmaster, to whom I am so deeply indebted, especially for my knowledge of the German language. It was not till 1807 we got a permanent foothold in Lancaster. It was very hard soil for Methodism. Twice we made a beginning, but failed, and for several years the place was abandoned. We had no preaching there, only an occasional sermon.