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Persecuting the Methodists
Wednesday, October 2. -- I walked to Sold Sarum, which, in spite of common sense, without house or inhabitants, still sends two Members to the Parliament. It is a large, round hill, encompassed with a broad ditch, which, it seems, has been of a considerable depth. At the top of it is a cornfield; in the midst of which is another round hill, about two hundred yards in diameter, encompassed with a wall and a deep ditch. Probably before the invention of cannon, this city was impregnable. Troy was; but now it is vanished away and nothing left but "the stones of emptiness."
Thursday, 3. -- I rode to Reading and preached in the evening. Observing a warm man near the door (he was once of the society), I purposely bowed to him; but he made no return. During the first prayer he stood, but sat while we sang. In the sermon his countenance changed, and in a little while he turned his face to the wall. He stood at the second hymn and then kneeled down. As I came out he caught me by the hand and dismissed me with a hearty blessing.
Friday, 4. -- I came to London. On Monday, 7, I retired to a little place near Hackney, formerly a seat of Bishop Bonner's (how are the times changed!) and still bearing his name. Here I was as in a college.
Twice a day we joined in prayer. The rest of the day (allowing about an hour for meals and another for walking before dinner and supper) I spent quietly in my study.