Sometimes I have known the children of the school commence crying for no ostensible reason; when a few words about the love of God in giving His Son, or the love of Christ in laying down His life, would prove enough to kindle a flame, and they would begin to cry aloud for mercy forthwith.  I have seen a whole school of more than a hundred children like this at the same time.  An awakening of such a character was generally a token of the beginning of a work of God, which would last in power for four or five weeks, if not more; then the quiet, ordinary work would go on as before.  Sometimes, for no accountable reason, we saw the church thronged with a multitude of people from various parts, having no connection with one another, all equally surprised to see each other; and the regular congregation more surprised still to see the unexpected rush of strangers.  After a time or two we began to know the cause, and understood that the coming together of the people was by the Spirit of the Lord, and so we prepared accordingly, expecting a revival to follow.

On these occasions it was very easy to preach, or pray, or sing; we had only to say, “Stay here, or go to the schoolroom;” “Stand and sing;” or, “Kneel and pray;” and it was done at once:  such was the power of the Spirit in melting the hears of the people into entire submission for the time.

CHAPTER 9

The Visitor, 1851.

In the midst of these things, we had a scene quite characteristic of Cornwall, which was the funeral of my late gardener and friend, John Gill.  This man’s conversion, it will be remembered, was the event by which it pleased God to bring my religious state to a crisis.  After my sudden exit from John’s cottage, which I have already described, he continued to pray for me, as he said he would, until the following Sunday, when he heard of my conversion.  Then he praised God, and that with amazing power of mind and body for a dying man.  Day by day, as his life was prolonged, he was eager to hear of the progress of the work.

At last the day of his departure arrived, and he was quite content and happy to go.  A large concourse of people assembled at the funeral, dressed in their Sunday best.  They gathered by hundreds in front of John’s cottage, several hours before the time fixed for the service.  During this interval they sang hymns, which were given out two lines at a time.  Then they set out for the church, singing as they went along.

In the West it is not the custom to carry the coffin on the shoulders, but by hand, which office is performed by friends, who continually relieve one another, that all may take part in this last mark of respect to the deceased.  At length, they arrived at the “lych” gate, and setting the coffin upon the lych stone (a heavy slab of granite, put there for the purpose), they sang their final hymn.  At the conclusion of this, I came out with my clerk to receive the funeral party and to conduct them into the church.  After the service I was about to give an address, when I was told that there were more people outside than within the church.  In order, therefore, not to disappoint them, we came to the grave-side in the churchyard, and from thence I addressed a great concourse of people.