" Lastly, he remembered
that by-and-by the day broke, and Christian cried, "He hath turned
the shadow of death into the morning." He remembered all this; he
could connect his trouble with the trouble of others; he could give
it a place in the dispensation of things, and could therefore lift
himself above it.
He had now been in Manchester a fortnight, and his little store had
dwindled down to five shillings. It was Saturday night. On the
Sunday, as his last chance, he meant to write to Mr. Bradshaw. He
went out on the Sunday morning, and had persuaded his wife to
accompany him. They entered the first place of worship they saw. It
was a Methodist chapel, and the preacher was Arminian in the extreme.
It was the first time Zachariah had ever been present at a Methodist
service. The congregation sang with much fervour, and during the
prayer, which was very long, they broke in upon it with ejaculations
of their own, such as "Hear him, O Lord!"--"Lord have mercy on us!"
The preacher spoke a broad Lancashire dialect, and was very dramatic.
He pictured God's efforts to save a soul. Under the pulpit ledge was
the imaginary bottomless pit of this world--not of the next.
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