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A Backsliding Innkeeper

Some miles short of Lincoln, our postboy stopped at an inn on the road to give his horses a little water. As soon as we went in, the innkeeper burst into tears, as did his wife, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly. "What!" he said, "are you come into my house! My father is John Lester, of Epworth." I found both he and his wife had been of our society till they left them. We spent some time in prayer together, and I trust not in vain.

Saturday, September 4.--l went on to Bath and preached in the evening to a serious but small congregation, for want of notice.

Sunday, 5.--At ten we had a numerous congregation and more communicants than ever I saw before. This day I cut off that vile custom, I know not when or how it began, of preaching three times a day, by the same preacher to the same congregation; enough to weary out both the bodies and minds of the speaker as well as his hearers. Surely God is returning to this society! They are now in earnest to make their calling and election sure.

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