Whether he stopped at one bottle or not, I cannot tell; but late on Saturday night, as he was going home, he was thrown from his horse and killed. That was at the end of the eighth day.
Whether these dreams and visions were the cause or effect of the people's sensitive state, I do not know; but certainly they were very impressible, and even the cold and hardened amongst them were ready to hear about the mysteries of the unseen world. I attributed this to the spiritual atmosphere in which they were then living.
CHAPTER 12
Billy Bray, 1852.
After the events narrated in Chapter 10, and when all the people who dwelt on the hill on which the church was built were converted, there came upon the scene a very remarkable person, who had evidently been kept back for a purpose. This was none other than the veritable and well known "Billy Bray."* One morning, while we were sitting at breakfast, I heard some one walking about in the hall with a heavy step, saying, "Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!" On opening the door, I beheld a happy-looking little man, in a black Quaker-cut coat, which it was very evident had not been made for him, but for some much larger body. "Well, my friend," I said, "who are you?"
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* See "The King's Son; or, Life of Billy Bray," by F. W. Bourne. ___________________________
"I am Billy Bray," he replied, looking steadily at me with his twinkling eyes; "and be you the parson?"
"Yes, I am."
"Thank the Lord! Converted, are ye?"