1743. Saturday, January 1. -- Between Doncaster and Epworth I overtook one who immediately accosted me with so many and so impertinent questions that I was quite amazed. In the midst of some of them, concerning my travels and my journey, I interrupted him and asked, "Are you aware that we are on a longer journey; that we are traveling toward eternity?" He replied instantly, "Oh, I find you! I find you! I know where you are! Is not your name Wesley? Tis pity! Tis great pity! Why could not your father's religion serve you? Why must you have anew religion?" I was going to reply, but he cut me short by crying out in triumph, "I am a Christian! I am a Christian! I am a Churchman! I am a Churchman! I am none of your Culamites"; as plainly as he could speak; for he was so drunk he could but just keep his seat. Having then clearly won the day, or as his phrase was, "put them all down," he began kicking his horse on both sides and rode off as fast as he could.