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Another Ninety-mile Journey

 Monday, March 6 (London).--I took horse about seven o'clock. The wind being east, I was pleasing myself that we should have it on our back; but in a quarter of an hour it shifted to the northwest and blew the rain full in our face; both increased so that when we came to Finchley Common it was hard work to sit our horses. The rain continued all the way to Dunstable, where we exchanged the main road for the fields; which, having been just ploughed, were deep enough. However, before three we came to Sundon.

Hence, on Thursday, 9, I rode to Bedford and found the sermon was not to be preached till Friday. Had I known this in time, I should never have thought of preaching it, having engaged to be at Epworth on Saturday.

Friday, 10.--The congregation at St. Paul's was very large and very attentive. The judge, immediately after the sermon, sent me an invitation to dine with him. But having no time, I was obliged to send my excuse and set out between one and two. The northeast wind was piercing cold and, blowing exactly in our faces, soon brought a heavy shower of snow, then of sleet, and afterward of hail. However, we reached Stilton at seven, about thirty miles from Bedford.

Rest was now the more sweet, because both our horses were lame. However, resolving to reach Epworth at the time appointed, I set out in a post chaise between four and five in the morning; but the frost made it so bad driving that my companion came with the lame horses into Stamford as soon as I. The next stage I went on horseback; but I was then obliged to leave my mare and take another post chaise. I came to Bawtry about six. Some from Epworth had come to meet me, but were gone half an hour before I came. I knew no chaise could go the rest of the road, so it remained only to hire horses and a guide.

We set out about seven, but I soon found my guide knew no more of the way than I. However, we got pretty well to Idlestop, about four miles from Bawtry, where we had just light to discern the river at our side and the country covered with water. I had heard that one Richard Wright lived thereabouts who knew the road over the moor perfectly well. Hearing one speak (for we could not see him), I called "Who is there?” He answered, "Richard Wright." I soon agreed with him, and he quickly mounted his horse and rode boldly forward. Tne northeast wind blew full in our faces; and I heard them say, "It is very cold!" But neither my face, nor hands, nor feet were cold till between nine and ten when we came to Epworth; after traveling more than ninety miles, I was little more tired than when I rose in the morning.

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