About this time I was invited to go to a parish in Plymouth, to a church where sacramental teaching was the rule.  The incumbent was evidently as much dissatisfied with the state of his congregation as I was with mine.  He wanted something new, and I thought I did likewise.  Accordingly I went and preached in his pulpit, and the word spoken produced a marked sensation.  My sermon brought to the vicar’s mind many truths he had heard and loved in early days, and for this reason he urged me to stay and preach again.  Then, to my surprise.  He invited me to leave Cornwall and come to Plymouth. in order to take a district in his parish, that I might help him occasionally in his church.  This was altogether such an unsought-for thing, and so unexpected, that I took time to consider.  The next day I told him that I could not entertain his proposition, and that for three reasons:—­

1.  I said, “I am sure that the Bishop would not consent.”
2.  “I have a debt laid on me by my patron for nearly 3,000 l.,
which I spent in building the church for him.”
3.  “I am responsible for a debt of 300 l. as security.”

He still urged it, and said he would go and see the Bishop, and speak with him on the subject.  In his zeal he set off that very morning.  The Bishop at first said flatly, “No;” and then, upon further inquiry, recalled the word, and said, “You may try it if you will.”  He returned in the evening with this information, which surprised me greatly.  But what made me wonder still more, was the receipt of two letters the next morning by the same post—­one from London and the other from Paris, releasing me from the responsibility of the two debts; and this without any request on my part.  The three difficulties, which were like mountains before me only three days before, were now removed.  I did not know what to say, and therefore determined, in all haste, to go home and consider the step.

When I had related these astonishing circumstances to my dear wife, we agreed to go together to consult with Mr. Aitken.  On arriving I said to him, “You must please to sit still and hear all before you speak.”  Then I told him of the invitation to go to Plymouth, the result of the preaching, the unexpected proposal to remove thither, the Bishop’s answer, and the remission of the 3,300 l.

“Now,” I continued, “what do you say?”

“You must go, my brother,” he replied; “for you will never make Catholics of the Cornish people:  the Methodist mind is far too deeply rooted in them.”

Our friend’s decision was firm; and so there remained nothing for us to do but to follow it.  The novelty of the proposition, and the surprising circumstances connected with it were exciting, and took away our thoughts for the time from the place which was to be left.  When the decision was given and accepted, then Baldhu seemed to lift up its voice, and urge its claims.  Certainly it was a strong tie which bound us to this place; but nevertheless,