The next day Wesley rode to Bandon; but, for four hours in the afternoon, the mob of Cork marched in grand procession, and then burnt him in effigy. The day after, May 22, the mob and drummers met at the house of John Stockdale, the tallowchandler, whom they had nearly murdered twelve months before, and whose wife was then abused most brutally. The mayor was sent for, and came with a company of soldiers. Addressing the mob, he said: “Lads, once, twice, thrice, I bid you go home; now I have done”; and away he went, taking the soldiers with him. Of course the “lads” knew how to interpret his worship’s sham loyalty, and, accordingly, at once proceeded to smash all Stockdale’s windows. On the following day, May 23, the infuriated crowd still patrolled the streets, abused all that were called Methodists, and threatened to murder them, and to pull down their houses. On the 24th, they again assaulted Stockdale’s dwelling; broke down the boards he had nailed up against his windows; destroyed the window frames and shutters; and damaged a considerable part of his stock in trade. On the 25th Roger O’Ferrall put up an advertisement, at the public Exchange, to the effect that he was ready to march at the head of any rabble, and to pull down all the houses that harboured “swaddlers.” During this week of misrule and terror, in which not Mr. Crone but king Mob was mayor of Cork, Wesley was peaceably preaching in the town of Bandon; but, on the evening of Saturday the 26th, with a congregation in the main street, twice as large as usual, he was disgracefully interrupted. When he had preached about a quarter of an hour, a drunken clergyman, with a large stick in his hand, placed himself by the side of Wesley, and began a preconcerted disturbance; but, before he had uttered a dozen words, three resolute women seized him, pulled him into a house, expostulated with him, and then dismissed him through a garden, where the poor maudlin priest, who had intended to stop Wesley’s mouth, fell in love with one of Wesley’s admirers, who, in order to extricate herself from his brutal embrace, had to repel force by force and to cuff him most soundly. Thus the parson was got rid of, leaving behind, however, three young gents—his friends—all armed with pistols, more dangerous than even his reverence’s shillalah; but the belligerent youths were quietly arrested, by others of Wesley’s audience, and were taken away with more civility than they merited. And, then, to complete this fantastic display of Irish bravery, the last hero in the plot came on with the utmost fury; but “a butcher of the town, not a Methodist, used him as he would an ox, bestowing one or two lusty blows upon his head, and thus cooled his courage. So,” says Wesley, “I quietly finished my discourse.” The next day, Sunday, May 27, Wesley preached thrice in Bandon, and wrote a letter to the mayor of Cork, the conclusion of which is worth quoting:—