The former of these, was at a place called Rose-in-vale, in the same parish, on the lawn of the chief parishioner.  He was an uneducated man, who had risen from the rank of a common miner to that of a mine captain.  Being very shrewd and clever, he had succeeded in accumulating a considerable sum of money; and though he and his wife had a very large house, they chiefly occupied two of the smallest rooms.  “Them fine things up in the parlours,” he said, he “made no ’count of;” indeed he was anything but comfortable or easy in his state apartments.  Being the wealthy man of the parish, he sat on Sunday in the large square pew; but beyond giving personal attendance, and that very regularly, I do not know what other heed he gave, either to the service or the sermon.

During this summer he invited me to give “a preaching” in his garden.  Accordingly, on a fixed day, I went, and tried to speak, but found it most difficult to do so.  I know not why; but again and again I felt as though I had lost the thread of my discourse and was rambling—­that I was at a loss for words, and could not hold the attention of the people.  Perplexed, and greatly discouraged, I was not sorry when the time came to conclude; therefore I did not invite the people to remain for an after-meeting for prayer.  Several persons came up and asked me why I had dismissed the assembly.  “Ah!” I replied, “because there is no power.  I could not get on at all!” They were surprised, and said they thought that I had been helped more than usual, and were quite sure that the Lord was working among the people.  However, the congregation had gone now, and could not be recalled.  This only made me feel more distressed than before.

The feeling was very strong with which I had been so burdened while speaking; and, to add to my perplexity, I observed three coast-guard men, who had come some five or six miles, behaving badly, and laughing all the time (as I thought) at my discourse, to the great discomfiture of my preaching.  Open-air addresses were not common in those days, and for a man to set up (as some said) and pretend to be a second Whitfield or Wesley, was bad enough, but to fail was most humiliating!

Three years after this, I was travelling outside a coach, when a rough sailor-looking man came climbing up to the top, although he was told that there was no room.  “Never mind,” he said; “I will sit on the boxes.  I want to talk to this here gentleman.”  So saying, he perched himself on the luggage, and offered to shake hands with me.  “Do you know me?” I asked.

“Oh yes, bless you, of course I do!  Don’t you remember three coast-guard men at Captain O—­’s garden?”

“Yes,” I said, “indeed I do, and am not likely to forget them easily; they behaved so badly, and disturbed me so much.”