In the early days of Methodism, meetings for preaching and prayer were held regularly about Bristol, and usually well attended. The people who had frequented these meetings had repeatedly observed a dog that came from a distance; and as at the house to which he belonged the Methodists were not respected, he always came alone. At that time, the preaching on Sunday began immediately after the church service ended; and this singular animal, invariably attending on those occasions, received the name of the "Methodist Dog." He was generally met by the congregation returning from the church, and abused and pelted by the boys belonging to that party. His regular attendance had often been the subject of public debate; and, merely to prove the sagacity of the animal, the meeting, for one evening, was removed to another house. Surprising as it may seem, at the proper and exact time he made his appearance. A few weeks after, his owner returning intoxicated from Leeds market, was drowned in a narrow shallow stream; and from that day the "Methodist Dog" ceased to attend the preaching. Concerning this odd fact, a good Methodist (John Nelson) used to say, "The frequent attendance of this dog at the meeting was designed to attract his master's curiosity, and engage him thereby to visit the place; where, hearing the gospel, he might have been enlightened, converted, and eternally saved. But the end to be answered being frustrated by the master's death, the means to secure it were no longer needful on the dog's part."
THE TWO GATES OF HEAVEN.
"God," says St. Pierre, in his Harmonies of Nature, "God has placed upon earth two gates that lead to heaven; He has set them at the two extremities of life—one at the entrance, the other at the issue. The first is that of innocence; the second, that of repentance."
GIBBON'S RETORT ON THE PHYSICIAN.
A good story of Gibbon the historian is told in Moore's Memoirs. Gibbon and an eminent French physician were rivals in courting the favour of Lady Elizabeth Foster. Impatient at Gibbon's occupying so much of her attention by his conversation, the doctor said crossly to him, "Quand milady Elizabeth Foster sera malade de vos fadaises, je la guérirai." [When my Lady Elizabeth Foster is made ill by your twaddle, I will cure her.] On which Gibbon, drawing himself up grandly, and looking disdainfully at the physician, replied, "Quand milady Elizabeth Foster sera morte de vos recettes, je l'immortaliserai." [When my Lady Elizabeth Foster is dead from your prescriptions, I will immortalize her.]
TRUMP CARDS.
Mrs. Bray relates the following instance of the power of a ruling passion or habit, concerning a Devonshire physician, boasting the not untradesmanlike name of Vial, who was a desperate lover of whist. One evening, in the midst of a deal, the doctor fell off his chair in a fit. Consternation seized on the company, who knew not whether he was alive or dead. At length he showed signs of returning life; and, retaining the last fond idea that had possessed him at the moment he fell into the fit, he exclaimed, "What is trumps?" A bon-vivant, brought to his deathbed by an immoderate use of wine, after having been told that he could not in all human probability survive many hours, and would die before eight o'clock next morning, summoned the small remnants of his strength to call the doctor back, and said, with the true recklessness of a gambler, "Doctor, I'll bet you a bottle that I live till nine!"
PERSUASIVENESS OF WHITFIELD.
Benjamin Franklin, in his memoirs, bears witness to the extraordinary effect that was produced by Whitfield's preaching in America, and tells an anecdote equally characteristic of the preacher and of himself. "I happened," says Franklin, "to attend one of his sermons, in the course of which I perceived that he intended to finish with a collection, and I silently resolved he should get nothing from me. I had in my pocket a handful of copper money, three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As he proceeded, I began to soften, and concluded to give the copper. Another stroke of his oratory made me ashamed of that, and determined me to give the silver; and he finished so admirably, that I emptied my pocket wholly into the collector's dish, gold and all. At this sermon there was also one of our club, who, being of my sentiments regarding the building in Georgia (the subject of Whitfield's appeal), and suspecting a collection might be intended, had by precaution emptied his pockets before he came from home. Towards the conclusion of the discourse, however, he felt a strong inclination to give, and applied to a neighbour who stood near him to lend him some money for the purpose. The request was fortunately made to perhaps the only man in the company who had the firmness not to be affected by the preacher. His answer was: 'At any other time, friend Hodgkinson, I would lend to thee freely; but not now, for thee seems to be out of thy right senses.'"