"WATTER GRUEL."
He was one day walking several miles to a preaching appointment, in company with another brother who was going to the same place. On the way his friend's nose began to bleed, and they had to stop, though the man's nose still kept on bleeding. Abe tried to stop it: he put a cold stone to the man's neck, held his arms up over head, and resorted to a variety of acknowledged remedies, but with very little effect. "What mun I do, Abe?" said the man. The little Bishop thereupon proceeded to give him his advice. "I'll tell the' what to do," said he; "thaa mun strike at th' rooit" (root) "o' th' evil; thaa lives o'er high; thaa should try watter gruel for six weeks, and thaa'd cure that nose, that's haa I do." A burst of laughter from both hastened the cure, and on they went again with the journey. There was in this quaint remark of his just the slightest reference to the poor fare on which he had many a time set out on a long journey and a hard day's work in the cause of his Divine Master; often enough dear old Abe was like brave Gideon of old, "faint, yet pursuing."
He used to say when he met people who carried their troubles in their faces, "Yo' ha' no need to pull such lang miserable faces, raand 'um up a bit! What! are yo' gotten on dark soid o' th' hedge? Yo' mun flit into th' sunshine, there's plenty o' room." And what a blessing it would be if people who nurse their sorrows would begin to count and cherish their joys instead; the world, and especially the Church, would be full of bright faces and happy hearts.