wish, finally relinquished the employment
to take charge of the school at the Foundry,
of sixty boys and six girls. For this he had
board and lodging, and ten shillings a week.
He worked daily from five in the morning till
five at night. In the seven years that he held
this office, Told educated two hundred and
seventy-five boys, and sent them out to good
trades.

In the year 1744, Wesley preached at the
Foundry school on the text, "I was sick, and
in prison, and ye visited me not." This sermon
threw the morbidly conscientious man, for a time,
into a state of hopeless terror, because he believed
he had neglected a great Christian duty.
Two or three days after, a message came to the
school, asking some one of Mr. Wesley's people
to come to Newgate to see ten malefactors
then under sentence of death, who had been
"awakened," and wished some one with whom
to pray. One of these men, Lancaster, told
him he had been converted that morning at five
o'clock, and he should shortly be in paradise.
Two of the prisoners were respited, and these
two were unconverted. Lancaster thanked God
for having been sent to Newgate, and as his
irons were being removed, he prayed till the
sheriff shed tears. When the last man's irons
fell off, Lancaster clapped his hands together,
and cried out with joy: "Here comes another
of our little flock."

A gentleman present said, with sympathy,
"I think it is too great a flock for such an
occasion;" but Lancaster replied, rejoicingly,
"Oh no; there is room in heaven for us all."

Mr. Told gives a very terrible picture of the
executions in those days. (Who does not
remember the terrible gibbet of Hogarth, with
the hangman lolling on the top, smoking his
pipe, and lazily waiting for the death-cart?)

"This," says Told, "was the first time of my
visiting the malefactors at Newgate, and of my
attendance upon them to the place of execution;
and then it was not without much shame and
fear, because I clearly perceived the greater
part of the populace considered me as one of
the sufferers. When we came to the fatal tree,
Lancaster lifted up his eyes thereto, and said,
'Blessed be God,' then prayed extemporary in a
very excellent manner, and the others behaved
with great discretion. John Lancaster had no
friend who could procure for his body a proper
interment; so that, when they had hung the
usual space of time, and were cut down, the
surgeon's mob secured the body of Lancaster,
and carried it over to Paddington. There was
a very crowded concourse, among whom were
numberless gin and gingerbread vendors,
accompanied by pickpockets of almost every
denomination in London; in short, the whole
scene resembled a principal fair, rather than an
awful execution."

Just after the bodies had been cut down, a
party of sailors arrived, armed with truncheons,
and inquired of one of the few remaining
bystanders—an old woman who sold gin—where
the surgeon's mob had taken Lancaster's body to.
They then went and demanded it, and carried
it in procession round Islington and Shoreditch,
and from there to Coverley's-gardens, where,
getting tired of their work of philanthropy, they
left the body, by common consent, on the step
of the nearest door. This produced a riot, the
noise of which brought the old woman of the
house down stairs. To her horror, the corpse
was the body of her own son.

Silas Told seems to have done great good
in Newgate, where he formed thirty-six felons
and debtors into a religious society. It was
in the midst of a season of great mental
agony that Told saw the visions that finally
completed his conversion. How extremes
meet! They remind us vividly of the visions
of St. Francis of Sales. The scene of the
event was a secluded field between Ratcliff-row
and the Shepherd and Shepherdess, where
the unhappy man had been wandering, wishing
himself a cow or a dog, and hoping that some
chance footpad would murder him.

"On a sudden," he says, "in the twinkling of
an eye, a hand struck me a weighty blow on the
top of my head, which in some measure affected
my senses; but I instantly found myself crying
with a loud voice, 'Praise God, praise God,'
and, looking up, I beheld the ethereal universe,
replete with the glory of God; and that glory
of such substance and palpability, I thought I
could have laid hold of it with my hand. This
attended me for the space of a minute; but was
succeeded by an uncommon thick darkness,
through which a black dart, as if it was shot
from the hill near Islington, pierced its way,
and, with wonderful swiftness, entered my heart.
I did not feel any pain thereby; but it was
followed with these words, 'This is one of your
old delusions.' As I looked up, the heavens
were unclosed about a mile in length, as it
appeared to my mortal eyes, and tapered away
to a point at each end. The centre of this
awful and sacred avenue was about twelve feet
wide, wherein I saw the Lord Jesus standing
in the form of a man, holding both his inestimably
precious hands upright, and from the
palms thereof the blood streaming down; floods
of tears gushed from my eyes, and trickled down
my cheeks. I said, 'Lord, it is enough!' nor
have I once doubted since, but that I was freely
justified at that time."

In 1767, Mr. Told visited the infamous Mrs.
Brownrigg, then in Newgate under sentence of
death for flogging to death her apprentice-girl,
Mary Clifford, in Fleur-de-Lis-court, Fetter-lane.
She had been a great hypocrite, and had a
reputation in Fetter-lane as a religious character.
She said to Mr. Told:

"About ten years ago, when I had six small
children about me, I walked closely in the ways
of God, never being able to accuse myself of
negligence or inattention, rising at five o'clock
in the morning, and being at Bow-churchyard,
in Cheapside, at six o'clock prayers. Then,
Mr. Told, I was very happy in my God, who
manifested himself to me, so that I walked
steadfastly in the light of his blessed countenance