Mr. Hawker was walking one day on the cliffs near Morwenstow, with the Rev. W. Vincent,[*] when a gust of wind took off Mr. Vincent’s hat, and carried it over the cliff. Within a week or two a Methodist preacher at Truro was discoursing on prayer, and in his sermon he said: “I would not have you, dear brethren, confine your supplications to spiritual blessings, but ask also for temporal favours. I will illustrate my meaning by narrating an incident, a fact, that happened to myself ten days ago. I was on the shore of a cove near a little, insignificant place in North Cornwall, named Morwenstow, and about to proceed to Bude. Shall I add, my Christian friends, that I had on my head at the time a shocking bad hat, and that I somewhat blushed to think of entering that harbour, town and watering-place, so ill-adorned as to my head? Then I lifted up my prayer to the Almighty, that He would pluck me out of the great strait in which I found myself, and clothe me suitably as to my head; for He painteth the petals of the polyanthus, and colours the calyx of the coreopsis. At that solemn moment I raised my eyes to heaven; and I saw, in the spacious firmament on high, the blue, ethereal sky, a black spot. It approached, it largened, it widened, it fell at my feet. It was a brand-new hat, by a distinguished London maker. I cast my battered beaver to the waves, and walked into Bude as fast as I could, with the new hat on my head.” The incident got into _The Methodist Reporter_, or some such Wesleyan publication, under the heading of “Remarkable Answer to Prayer.” “And,” said the vicar, “the rascal made off with Vincent’s new hat from Bennett’s; there was no reaching him, for we were on the cliff, and could not descend the precipice. He was deaf enough, I promise you, to our shouts.” That Mr. Hawker was appreciated by some, the following note received by me will show:—