but the dear man was much put out, and evidently very sorry that he had asked me to come and disturb his millpond. Indeed, he said as much; so I concluded my visit the next morning.

Going through the village, I heard that the meeting on the previous evening was continued till two o'clock in the morning, and that it was announced there would be one in

the chapel that evening.

As the Church refused the bless

ing, there were others who were happy to receive it.

I returned home sooner than I was expected, and told my people, at the evening meeting, the things I had seen and heard; and they "glorified God."

CHAPTER XIX.

A Mission in the "Shires."

1853.

T the time of which I am writing, twenty-six or twenty-seven years ago, special services for preaching were not called by the name of "Missions." I think that word has been derived from some Roman Catholic perverts, who made aggressive efforts in London, which they called "Catholic Missions." From them it has been adopted by some who love to copy Rome and Romish phrases. Strange infatuation, by which these Romanizers in vain court a Church which despises them, and gives them neither place nor quarter! However, the word is now well understood, and its meaning is plainer than any definitions of mine could make it.

My first journey to "foreign parts" (as the Cornish call it) was to a town in Devonshire, where I stopped three or four days. The day I arrived I preached in the church, because it was the regular evening service; special services were not then known, unless it was for some Missionary Society, or other such advocacy. The idea of preaching to awaken souls, was considered very strange and fanatical. The church I preached in had high pews, which prevented my

seeing the occupants. I was told that it was full, and certainly there were faces visible here and there; but the whole congregation was so still, that the dropping of the proverbial "pin" might have been heard. It was all very chilling and dead, no “Amens !" or "Glory!" as in Cornwall; indeed, the stillness had such an effect upon me, that I found it difficult to get on. After making two or three hard appeals, and meeting with nothing but silence for a response, I concluded, and came away much disappointed and disheartened. However, the next morning, the vicar showed me some beads, feathers, and flowers which had been left in the pews of the church. So I found that the shots had hit somewhere, or something.

Walking through the town in the course of the day, a tall mason, with a large whitewash brush in his hand, came running after me (not to whitewash me) but to ask the question, which he did most eagerly, "Are you the man that preached last night?"

I said, "Yes, I am."

"Oh," he replied, "will you preach to-night?"

I answered him somewhat doubtfully, "I suppose not," for the vicar did not know what excuse there could be for my preaching a second time.

He continued, "Will you come to my house and preach this evening? I have a good large room at your service, and can promise you a congregation."

I assented; so we fixed the time, and made all other necessary arrangements. On coming down in the evening, I found my mason friend had invited his neighbours, and finding more had promised to come than his room would hold, he had opened the folding doors between two rooms upstairs, taken down three large bedsteads, and having borrowed forms and chairs, he was able to accommodate seventy people. As many as this came, and more,

THE CONVICTS AT PORTLAND.

163

for men and women stood on the stairs and landing besides.

We sang heartily, and after prayer I felt a little more at home than I had done on the previous evening; but it was not up to Cornwall yet! In my address I had liberty and power to hold the people, and we had some conversions that evening, and the following one also. My mason friend was greatly cheered and revived, and from this time began preaching himself, carrying on meetings in various cottages and farm places.

From there, I went on into Dorsetshire, and arrived at the vicarage to which I was going, rather late on Saturday night, very tired; so much so, that I was glad to go to bed as soon as possible. On Sunday morning I went to church. and preached to a large congregation, the words which God gave me. On coming out, the vicar's wife said, "If I had sat up all night telling you about the people, you could not have preached more appropriately; indeed, I am sure that some of them will think that I told you what to say."

It was so, for this same lady was charged with telling me to put before some of the congregation things which her husband dared not! In the evening the church was crammed to excess, and the people were most attentive and eager. Some of them could scarcely restrain their feelings, so powerfully did the Word come home to them. At the conclusion of the service, I announced that I had come there to preach every night for the week, and would visit them during the day. Accordingly in the morning I called at several cottages, in one of which King George the Third used to attend a prayer-meeting with the country people.

In the afternoon I went to the convict prison at Portland. It was sad to look upon the prisoners clanking about in their chains, many of whom were employed in making a

road to the sea. I could not help saying to the chaplain, who was walking with me, "What a picture is that! It is exactly how Satan employs unbelievers to make their own road to hell. As such, they are condemned already, because they do not believe in Christ; and for the same reason, their sins not being pardoned, they are bound in chains."

"Well," said the chaplain drily, "that seems all clear and scriptural. Would you like to speak to them?" "Yes," I said, "I should."

He then made a sign to the warder, who commanded that the convicts should give attention, and the order was at once obeyed.

Standing on the bank, I spoke to them as they were assembled before me; but instead of telling them of the devil and chains, as the chaplain expected, I spoke of God's love to sinners, and said that "chastisement and sorrow's were not sent in anger, but in kindness. God is angry when the wicked are allowed to go on unpunished; but when punished in this world, it is not for expiation of sin (for only the blood of Jesus can do that), but for the purpose of awakening and humbling the transgressor, that he may with contrite heart return to the Lord, who alone is able to deliver us from sin and from Satan's power. 'It is good,' said the Psalmist, 'that I have been afflicted: before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept Thy word.'"

Many of the men were so affected, that they sobbed aloud, and I could scarcely refrain from doing the same thing myself. After this I prayed that the word spoken might be blessed to those who had heard it, and then took my leave. It was not easy to dismiss this sad scene from my mind, nor have I ever lost the impression it made upon me.

We had a very good time that evening in the church, and there was much power and blessing. At the close of the service, I gave out that I would preach again the following