ROBERT STRAWBRIDGE, the apostle of Methodism in Maryland, is a name prominent in the early annals of American Methodism. We are indebted to Ireland for Robert Strawbridge as well as for Philip Embury. I heard Strawbridge preach at my father’s house in 1781, and am the only man now living that has a personal recollection of him. Though I was then quite small, his image is still before me. He was a stout, heavy man, and looked as if he was built for service. My father was much pleased with him and his preaching. He was agreeable company, full of interesting anecdotes. Many times I have been to the old log meeting-house he erected in Maryland, concerning which so much has been said and written, and around which so many interests cluster. He died in August of the same year I heard him, and his spiritual son, Richard Owings,[2] preached his funeral sermon from Rev. xiv, 13. No monument marks the place where his dust is sleeping. I hope this will not be said after the celebration of the first centenary of American Methodism, for his name will be prominently connected with it. Another of these pioneers was BENJAMIN ABBOTT, who early visited my father’s house. He was indeed a son of thunder, and preached with exceeding power. This was the only ministerial tour he made through Pennsylvania, and he went like a flame of fire. My father had a very exalted opinion of Mr. Abbott, and felt it an honor to entertain him as his guest and listen to his powerful sermons. Mr. Abbott wrote his life, and in it he describes his visit to my father’s, his preaching, and the wonderful results that followed. I prefer he should give it in his own peculiar style. “At Boehm’s we found a large congregation. When I came to my application the power of the Lord came in such a manner that the people fell all about the house, and their cries might be heard afar off. This alarmed the wicked, who sprang for the doors in such haste that they fell over one another in heaps. The cry of mourners was so great that I thought to give out a hymn to drown the noise, and desired one of our English friends to raise it; but as soon as he began to sing the power of the Lord struck him, and he pitched under the table, and there lay like a dead man. I gave it out again, and asked another to raise it. As soon as he attempted he fell also. I then made the third attempt, and the power of God came upon me in such a manner that I cried out and was amazed. I then saw that I was fighting against God, and did not attempt to sing again. “Mr. Boehm, the owner of the house, and a preacher among the Germans, cried out, ‘I never saw God in this way before.’ I replied, ‘This is a pentecost, father.’ ‘Yes, be sure,’ said he, clapping his hands, ‘a pentecost, be sure.’ Prayer was all through the house, up stairs and down. I desired Mr. Boehm to go to prayer. He did so, and five or six of us did the same.