It was quite impossible to go on preaching, so I gave out a hymn, and then went in among “the slain of the Lord.”  After about an hour, some one suggested that we should go to the school-room; as it was getting dark.  The clergyman of the parish was on horseback in the lane close by, watching proceedings.  I asked him if we could have the use of the school-room.  “Oh yes,” he said; “yes, certainly—­certainly—­anything.”  He seemed very frightened.  The men and women in distress of soul were led to the room, crying and praying as they went.  When I reached the place, I found it impossible to get in, far it was already full, besides a throng standing at the door.  I was taken to a window at last, and getting in through that, I stood on the schoolmaster’s table, which was near.

Against the wall the men had, in miners’ fashion, set up with clay some candles, which were beginning to bend over with the heat of the room.  The place was densely packed, and the noise of the people praying for mercy was excessive.  I could do no more than speak to those who were near me round the table.  As they found peace one by one and were able to praise God, we asked them to go out and let others come.  In this way the meeting went on till ten o’clock, when I left; and it continued to go on all night and all the next day without cessation.  It will scarcely be credited, but that same meeting was prolonged by successive persons without any intermission, day and night, till the evening of Sunday, the eighth day after it began.  This kind of thing was not unusual in Cornwall, for we had the same in our school-room at Baldhu for three days and nights; but eight days is the longest period of which I have any personal knowledge.

I went again and again to see how they were going on; but the people were too absorbed to heed my presence; and those who were then seeking mercy were strangers to me, and had not been present at the service on the previous Saturday.

CHAPTER 15

Drawing-Room Meetings, 1852-53.

From that time I did not confine myself so much to my own church, but frequently went out to preach in other places, as opportunities occurred; and these were, for the most part, brought about by remarkable and unsought-for incidents.

One Sunday a lady and gentleman came to my church from one of the neighbouring towns; they were professors of religion, and members of some Dissenting body.  My sermon that evening was upon wheat and chaff—­the former was to be gathered into the garner, the latter burned with fire unquenchable.  I said that we were all either one or the other—­to be gathered or burned.  They went away very angry, and complained one to another of my want of charity; they also remarked that I took good care to let the people know that I was not amongst the chaff which was to be burned.  The arrows of the Lord had evidently found them, and had pierced the joints in their harness.  They could not sleep all night for anger and distress.  In the morning the gentleman rose early, and before breakfast had his horse out, and galloped over eight miles to see me.  He came with the intention of finding fault, but instead of this he burst into tears, and told me that he was the greatest of sinners.