In this place a revival began at once; and every day we had people crying for mercy, very much in the way they did in Cornwall.  Among others, there came to the church on Sunday afternoon, a tall Yorkshireman, in his working clothes.  He stood under the gallery, in his shirt sleeves, with a clay pipe sticking out of his waistcoat pocket, and a little cap on his head.  I fancy I can see him now, standing erect, looking earnestly at me while I was preaching, with his hand on one of the iron supports of the gallery.  As the sermon proceeded he became deeply interested, and step by step drew nearer to the pulpit.  He seemed to be altogether unconscious that he was not dressed for a Sunday congregation, or that he was the object of any special notice.  After the sermon he knelt down in the aisle, and there he remained.  I was called out of the vestry to go to him, but could not get him to say a word.  I prayed by his side, and after some time he groaned out an “Amen,” then he got up, and went towards the door.  I followed him, and saw that instead of going along the path, he made across the graves in the churchyard, to a particular one; and then he threw himself on the ground, in vehement and convulsive emotion.  He said something about “Edward,” but we could not distinguish what it was.  The sexton said that this was his son Edward’s grave.  Poor man! he was in great sorrow; but he kept it all to himself.  He then went home, and shut himself up in his own room.  His daughter could do nothing with him in his distress.  We called several times to see him in the course of the evening, but in vain.

The next morning I called again, when his daughter told me that he had gone out early, and had not returned to breakfast.  She appeared to be in a good deal of trouble, and said she had been to his mine to inquire for him, but that he was not there.  All day long we searched for him.  Some looked in the woods, half-expecting they might find his body on the ground, or hanging from a tree; while others inquired in every direction, with increasing anxiety, till the evening.  Then, as we were returning home in despair and disappointment, whom should we see in the green lane between the vicarage and the church, but our friend.  He was looking into the shrubs as if watching something; and when we came up to him, he turned to us with a radiant smile, and said, “The Lord is ‘gude.’”

I said, “You are right, He is so.”

“Yes, I am right, all right! thank God!  Think of that!  He saved me this day!”

“Are you coming to church to-night?”

“Oh yes, certainly I will be there.”

“But,” I said, “have you been home yet?”

“Oh yes, sir, thank you; my girl knows all about me.”

That man was so manifestly changed, and so filled with the Spirit, that his old worldly companions were afraid of him.  The publican of the inn he used to frequent was particularly so, and said he was frightened to be in the same room with him.