Now peep again into the Magic Mirror. And this time I would like my Oldham readers to step to the front. See, there is a little boy about six years old playing at the door of a house. An old clergyman is passing, and stops to speak to the child. "Where is your father, Daniel?" he says. "Gone to chapel." "And your mother?" "She's gone too," answers Daniel. "And you shall go too, my boy. You must not miss seeing this great man, John Wesley," says the clergyman, as he takes the child's hand and fades away from our picture. But see, there is another coming! It is the inside of a chapel, and people are everywhere; in the galleries, in the aisles, in the communion rails, everywhere. On the pulpit-stairs some one has found room for a little child. Why, it is Daniel, and there is the kind clergyman standing near. See, the preacher has finished, and is coming down from the pulpit, he is lifting up the little child and is kissing him. Now, he has passed into the vestry, and the picture has gone. That, my young Oldham readers, was the opening of Manchester St. Chapel on Good Friday, 1790, when Mr. Wesley was nearly ninety years old. At Hull, Birmingham, Wednesbury, Chester, Manchester, Liverpool, all places where the Methodists had been most cruelly treated, Mr. Wesley and his followers were now most kindly welcomed. You remember how Mr. Wesley and his brother had been shut out of the churches, very few clergymen allowing them to preach in their pulpits. This, too, was all changed. Those of you who live in Hull will like to know that John Wesley, when he was eighty-three, was invited by the vicar to preach in your beautiful High Church. If any of you have not been inside--but surely all my Hull readers have--pay it a visit, and just fancy you see that bright-eyed, silver-haired old man, with a voice that had lost little of the strength of youth, preaching to the crowds that thronged the hallowed place. If those old grey walls could speak, we might know John Wesley's very words. He preached again at night, and though so old, was unwearied with his work. He went on to Beverley that same evening, and the next day travelled seventy-six miles, preached at Malton, Pocklington, and Swinefleet, and went to bed without feeling the least bit tired. Wonderful John Wesley! God-blest John Wesley! [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXVII. Beverley friends.--Copy of a letter John Wesley wrote to them.--Mr. Wesley's last visit to Beverley.--What took place in the red-roofed inn.--A race.--A lost ten minutes. YOU, who live in Beverley, will be glad to hear that Mr. Wesley did not pass by your dear little town. Indeed, there is a house in Norwood where he most probably stayed, and certainly visited; the home of Mr. and Mrs. Barton. You shall see an exact copy of a letter he wrote to these friends. It has never been printed before, so you are the first of the public to see it. It is addressed thus: