as many went from his own town; but he always stoutly swore he would never be found among the fools who were running to turn Methodists. Indeed it was equally contradictory to his practice, as well as profession, to be found among those who followed the gospel of Christ; but on hearing the particularly pleasing mode of singing at church, which was much spoken of, his curiosity was excited, and he said he did not know but when next P—n-feast came, which was half way, he might go and hear the singing; but not without some imprecation, that he would never hear a word of the sermon.
He lived about six miles distant, and when P—n-feast came, dining with a party, instead of sitting to drink he came to the afternoon service, merely to hear the singing at the church, with a full resolution of keeping his vow, and exciting every word of the sermon.
He was a large fat man, and it was a hot summer’s day, he came in sweating and wiping, and having with difficulty found admission into a narrow open pew, with a lid, as soon as the hymn before sermon was sung, which he heard with great attention, he leaned forward, and fixing his elbows on the lid, secured both his ears against the sermon with his fore fingers. He had not been in this position many minutes before the prayer finished, and the sermon commenced, with an awful appeal to the consciences of the hearers, of the necessity of attending to the things which make for their everlasting peace; and the minister addressing them solemnly, “He that hath ears to hear let him ear.” Just the moment before these words were pronounced, a fly had fastened on the carbuncled nose of the Inn keeper, and stinging him sharply, he snatched one of his fingers from his ear and struck off the painful
