and then crumpled it in the palm of my hand, inwardly saying, “Hast thou found me, oh! mine enemy?” No rash answer, however, was given.  This question of duty was certainly assuming grave aspects.  For four years it had haunted me at every turn.  And even in the wilds of Wisconsin it was still my tormenter.  Like Banquo’s ghost, it would not down at my bidding.  I now tried to look the question fairly in the face, and make the decision a final one, but found it exceedingly difficult to do so.  To yield after so long a struggle, and especially to surrender all my fondly cherished plans for the future, appealed at first to my pride, and then to what I conceived to be my temporal interests, and the appeal for a moment seemed to gain the ascendency.  But how then could I answer to God? was the startling question that burned into my soul at every turn of the argument.  In the midst of my embarrassment the thought was suggested, “It is only until Conference, and then you can return and resume your business.”

Catching at this straw, thus floating to me, and half believing and half hoping that three months of my incompetency would satisfy the church and send me back to my business again, I consented to go.  Leaving my temporal interests in the hands of my father, I hastened to make the necessary preparations for my new responsibilities.  The outfit was provokingly limited.  The horse and saddlebags, the inevitable Alpha, if not the Omega, of an Itinerant’s outfit, were wanting, as such conveniences had hardly, as yet, found their way to the northern portions of the Territory.  But in their place were put good walking ability and a small satchel.  A few pieces of linen, a few books, but no sermons, were put into the satchel, and I was immediately stepping to the measure of the Itinerancy.

My first point of destination was Fond du Lac, the residence of the Presiding Elder, where I must necessarily report for instructions.  The walk of twenty-two miles, with no other companion than a plethoric satchel, passing from hand to hand as the weary miles, one after another, were dismissed, was not the most favorable introduction to my “new departure,” but, bad as it was, I found relief in the thought that my Eastern friends, who had so kindly and repeatedly proposed to give me a comfortable seat somewhere in the New York Conference, were in blissful ignorance of the sorry figure I was making.  Whether Jonah found his last conveyance more agreeable than the first, I cannot say, but certain it is, I found my first entrance upon the Itinerancy a tugging business.

I reached Fond du Lac before nightfall, and was hospitably entertained.  Notwithstanding the cordial reception I received, however, from both the elder and his good wife, I felt embarrassed by the searching look they occasionally gave me.  Whether it was occasioned by my youthful, green or delicate appearance, or my light, feminine voice, I could not divine.