I wrote to tell them that nothing would please me better than a service of plate for communion with the sick.  They bought this, and had a suitable inscription engraved, and then placed it under a glass shade in the Town Hall, on a certain day for inspection.  Hundreds of people came to see the result of their penny contribution.  After this public exhibition, the communion service was sent to me with a letter, written by a leading man in the place, saying, “I was one of the instigators of the opposition to your work here; but the very first evening you spoke in the school-room I was outside listening,’ and was shot through the window.  The word hit my heart like a hammer, without breaking a pane of glass.  Scores and scores of people will bless God to all eternity that you ever came amongst us.”

The revival in this proverbially wicked place, created such a stir that the newspapers took it up, and thought for once that I “was in the right place, and doing a good work!” The member for the borough sent me twenty-five pounds, “begging my acceptance of the trifle.”  Who asked him, or why he sent it, I do not know; but the Lord knew that we needed help.  More than this, the vicar of the adjoining parish, who used to be very friendly with me in my unconverted days, but who had declared his opposition pretty freely since that time, sent me a letter one Sunday morning by private hand, to be delivered to me personally.  This I duly received, but expecting that it was one of his usual letters, and knowing that I had visited some persons in his parish who were anxious, I thought I would not open it until Monday, and so placed it on the mantelpiece.  A friend who happened to come in, noticing it there, said, “I see you have a letter from the Prebendary; I dare say he is angry with you.”

“I suppose he is,” I said; “but it will keep till tomorrow; and I do not care to be troubled with his thoughts to-day.”

“Oh, do let me open it,” said my visitor; “I shall not be here to-morrow, and I should like to hear what he has to say.”

With my consent he opened it and read, “Dear old Haslam, you have done more good in that part of my parish where you are working, in a few weeks, than I have done for years.  I enclose you a cheque for the amount of tithes coming from there.  The Lord bless you more and more!  Pray for me!”

It was a cheque for thirty-seven pounds.  The next morning I went over to see my old friend newly-found, and to thank him in person for his generous gift.  Poor man, I found him very low and depressed, and quite ready and willing that I should talk and pray with him.  I sincerely hope that he became changed before I left the neighbourhood, but I never heard that he declared himself.

By this time, while I was still in Tregoney, Mr. Aitken had found his way to the village where my family were lodging, and he was preaching at the church with his usual power and effect.  Night after night souls were awakened and saved.  The vicar’s wife was in a towering rage of opposition.  Poor woman! she declared that she “would rather go to Rome than be converted ;” and to Rome she went, but remained as worldly as ever.