"He put me into a bed, with a looking glass in my hand, and covered me all over. Then he asked me whom I had a mind to see; and I said, 'My mother.' I presently saw her with a lock of wool in her hand, standing just in the place, and the clothes she was in, as she told me afterwards. Then he bid me look again for the man that was missing, who was one of our neighbors. And I looked and saw him riding toward Idle, but he was very drunk; and he stopped at the alehouse and drank two pints more, and he pulled out a guinea to change. Two men stood by, a big man and a little man; and they went on before him, and got two hedge-stakes; and when he came up, on Windle Common, at the top of the hill, they pulled him off his horse, killed him, and threw him into a coalpit. And I saw it all as plain as if I was close to them. And if I saw the men, I should know them again.
"We went back to Bradford that night; and the next day I went with our neighbors and showed them the spot where he was killed, and the pit he was thrown into; and a man went down and brought him up. And it was as I had told them; his handkerchief was tied about his mouth, and fastened behind his neck."
Is it improbable only, or flatly impossible, when all the circumstances are considered, that this should all be pure fiction? They that can believe this, may believe a man's getting into a bottle.
Monday, July 27.--l preached at Staincross about eleven; about five, at Barley Hall; the next morning at Sheffield. In the afternoon I rode on to Matlock Bath. The valley which reaches from the town to the bath is pleasant beyond expression. In the bottom of this runs a little river, close to which a mountain rises, almost perpendicular, to an enormous height; part is covered with green, part with ragged and naked rocks. On the other side, the mountain rises gradually with tufts of trees here and there. The brow on both sides is fringed with trees, which seem to answer each other.
Many of our friends were come from various parts. At six I preached standing under the hollow of a rock, on one side of a small plain, on the other side of which was a tall mountain. There were many well-dressed hearers, this being the high season; and all of them behaved well. But as I walked back, a gentleman-like man asked me, "Why do you talk thus of faith? Stuff, nonsensel" Upon inquiry, I found he was an eminent deist. What, has the plague crept into the Peak of Derbyshire?
Thursday, August 13.--l took a walk through Boston. I think it is not much smaller than Leeds, but, in general, it is far better built. The church is indeed a fine building. It is larger, loftier, nay, and rather more lightsome, than even St. Peter's at Norwich; and the steeple is, I suppose, the highest tower in England, nor less remarkable for the architecture than the height.
Saturday, November 14.--l spent an hour with a little company near Grosvenor Square. For many years this has been the darkest, driest spot of all in or near London. But God has now watered the barren wilderness and it has become a fruitful field.
Preaching at Deptford, Welling, and Sevenoaks, in my way, on Thursday, December 3, I came to Shoreham. There I read the celebrated Life of St. Katherine, of Genoa. Mr. Lesley calls one "a devil of a saint": I am sure this was a fool of a saint; that is, if it was not the folly of her historian, who has aggrandized her into a mere idiot. Indeed we seldom find a saint of God's making, sainted by the Bishop of Rome.
Friday, 25 (London).--We began, as usual, at four. A few days since, one who lived in known sin, finding heavy conviction broke away and ran out, she knew, not whither. She met one who offered her a shilling a week to come and take care of her child. She went gladly. The woman's husband hearing her stir between three and four began cursing and swearing bitterly. His wife said, "I wish thou wouldest go with her, and see if anything will do thee good." He did so. In the first hymn God broke his heart and he was in tears all the rest of the service. How soon did God recompense this poor woman for taking the stranger inl