ttle girl that brought the good news from the
village. Right in the midst of the crowd is Mr. Wesley, telling these
country-people the story of the Cross.

Now that picture has gone too.

Should we not have liked to have been at that service?

I will tell you what Mr. Wesley said about it.

[Illustration: "In the midst of the crowd is Mr. Wesley, telling these
country-people the story of the Cross."--_Page 124._]

"It was a hot summer day, and we could see the blue, blue sky through
the leaves of the old sycamores, which shaded us from the heat. Just as
I began to preach, a little bird perched on a branch close by and began
to sing. I went on preaching, but its song did not end, it sang on and
on, and not until the service was quite over did it cease. It was the
best music for such a church and such a congregation, no harp or organ
ever sounded half so sweet."

From Westmoreland, where this happened, to Cornwall is a long way, but
not too far for Mr. Wesley and his horse. He used often to ride sixty
miles a day; and most of his reading, and the composing of his sermons
was done while he was on horseback. He travelled in this way for more
than forty years, and must have gone over 100,000 miles.

In Gwennap, a place in Cornwall, Mr. Wesley found a lovely out-of-doors
sort of chapel. Some of my readers will have seen the Happy Valley at
Llandudno; I think the Gwennap chapel must have been something like
that, only a great deal bigger. This is what Mr. Wesley wrote about his
first service there:

"I stood on a wall, in the calm, still evening, with the setting sun
behind, and a great, great multitude before, behind, and on either hand,
sitting on the hills all round. All could hear quite distinctly, when I
read to them Christ's own words: 'The disciple is not above his Master,'
and 'He that taketh not his cross and followeth after Me is not worthy
of Me.'"

Must it not have been a wonderful sight?

Like other places, Cornwall did not always give a kind welcome to the
Methodists; indeed, they had sometimes to put up with very rough
treatment. Often they had to go without food, and the hard floor was
their only bed.

Once, at a place called St. Ives, Mr. Wesley and his helper, Mr. Nelson,
slept on the floor for a whole fortnight. One of them had an overcoat
rolled up for a pillow, and the other a big book. They used to get very
sore, and sometimes could not sleep for the pain in their poor aching
bones. But thes