The fellowship of the brethren I left behind was sweet. Those who looked on were compelled to say, “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.” There was as little jealousy and self-seeking and rivalry in the conference as I ever found anywhere. We all were poor, and could sing like the old Methodist pioneer on his four weeks’ circuit:
“No foot of land do I possess,
No cottage in the wilderness;
A poor wayfaring man,
I lodge awhile in tents below;
Or gladly wander to and fro,
Till I my Canaan gain.
“Nothing on earth I call my own;
A stranger to the world unknown,