gious connexions are sometimes subject. Intensely miserable, beyond the power of any man adequately to describe, is the condition of a gospel preacher when church controversy rages, and the fire of contention cannot be put out. Perpetuated controversy spoils the temper, in numerous instances destroys personal friendship, fearfully interrupts devotion, miserably hinders ministers in their proper studies, makes men either firebrands or time servers in the pulpit, pleases the devil, maims and distorts Christianity, embitters existence, and makes even good men in the vigour of life sometimes long for death as the only relief from the intense miseries of their situation. Mr. Wesley was not far from the truth, when he said, "Lovers of debate do not love God."

D

CHAPTER V.

I

HEREFORD.

slept in

In ad

WAS stationed here in 1827. This country is remarkable for lofty hills and magnificent prospects. It is equally famed for apples and pears, cyder and perry. We had good congregations, but were a people little noticed by the Herefordshire public. Notwithstanding the general hospitality of the Wesleyans in this circuit, and some evidences of good arising from my preaching, I was not comfortable. The journies were long. We had a horse, but we had also much walking; I nineteen different beds every six weeks! dition to this, I found I was not popular as a preacher. My superintendent was a reading, thinking, clever man; his sermons were well studied, and he took with the people. He was praised, and I was, by some at least, despised, and perhaps I deserved to be so. I read extensively, but did not make a sufficiently careful preparation for the pulpit. The only time I seemed to please the whole congregation was, when I preached two school sermons from copious notes: I made an impression, and got a capital collection. Foolish was

I, when knowing that I could take hold of a congregation by using notes, I should have conducted my discourses on the extempore plan.

To the drudgery of getting a sermon by heart, I never did and never could submit; but knowing the common and prevailing dislike to papers in the pulpit, (a dislike which is no compliment to the good sense of those who cherish it, and which has been the cause of congregations, for centuries, having their time not unfrequently wasted by listening to incoherent harangues of no real benefit to any body,) I preached extempore. As I have in readiness for printing four lectures on pulpit eloquence, I shall now forbear to make extended remarks on a pulpit practice which has done serious mischief to the Christianity of Great Britain. I am not denying that a good man may occasionally extemporize, or that a man possessing very superior powers may not frequently do so; but that a pious (!) abhorrence of notes should coerce ministers, and young ones too, into the practice of extemporizing without any respect to mental peculiarity-fitness or unfitness, or to the fact that some men do fifty times more good with notes than without them, is a thing to be deplored, to be mourned over, and protested against. But as some of my readers will not relish my strictures on ways of preaching sermons, I will, for the present, drop the subject, and say a little about

BOILING EGGS.

I lodged one night at a farm house where I had

preached. The situation was very lonely. At night, from the numerous trees and very profound solitude, it was quite gloomy. The family, with myself, sat round the fire. Everything was old fashioned-a thatched roof, queer old fireplace, ricketty doors, antiquated furniture, everything seemed to throw you back to the reign of George II., or thereabouts. We formed a considerable semicircle, father, son, granny, old uncle, the servant maid, and myself. The cloth was laid for supper, I was invited to take eggs. All right; we chatted away. The wind began to bluster, and the rain to patter against the old casement; a storm came on, and continued. I looked at my company. I thought on the awful tales I had read in my boyhood about deep glens and haunted houses, and ghosts and robbers. The good woman of the house said, "How long would you like your eggs boiled ?" "Three minutes and a half," said I. She then told me to look at the clock, and when they were done to shout aloud and tell her. agreed to do so. Instanter, I began a narrative,— "Ah!" said I, "this awful night reminds me of a thing I will tell you. The family of sitting around the fire as we are: the darkness outside was black and terrible, the wind roared, the rain and hail beat furiously against the window, the house dog whined and was frightened. Suddenly all was still as death,-footsteps were heard!" [Here I perceived my companions round the fire were terribly alarmed, gaping and staring at me and at one another, and changing colour.]

I

were

"Yes," I continued, "footsteps were heard!”—at this instant I gave a tremendous shout. They were all terrified, and exclaimed, "O, dear, dear sir, what can be the matter ?" "Matter ?" said I, looking at the clock, "the eggs are done, and you told me to shout."

Now, reader, you may think all this was very frivolous and foolish, and in a minister unbecoming; but take my reflection. Such is the degeneracy of human nature, that the passion of fear is often more easily excited in us by imagination and the world. and Satan and evil men, than by Almighty God himself. Could we produce the same impression on sinners as I did on this family, by reminding them that the Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven with his mighty angels in flaming fire, taking vengeance on them that know not God and obey not the gospel, it is reasonable to think that the work of conversion and enlarging the churches would proceed with rapidity, to our great joy and rejoicing. Not that I think, for a moment, that fear is the only passion to be excited. Conversions to God have taken place where hope has been much exercised. In the case, however, of men excessively hardened and treating God's invitations and promises with contempt, an appeal to fear seems the last resort. After I had made the above experiment on the fears of the family, we read the Scriptures, prayed to our God, and went to bed.

In this circuit I had, not a fair, but foul specimen of the danger of reading on horseback. At that time, I had got a new edition of the works of