Public Room'； as our little chapel was called； lay at the farther extremity of the dreary street。
We attended this place of worship immediately on our arrival； and my Father； uninvited but unresisted； immediately assumed the administration of it。 It was a square； empty room； built； for I know not what purpose； over a stable。 Ammoniac odours used to rise through the floor as we sat there at our long devotions。 Before our coming； a little flock of persons met in the Room； a community of the indefinite sort just then becoming frequent in the West of England； pious rustics connected with no other recognized body of Christians； and depending directly on the independent study of the Bible。 They were largely women； but there was more than a sprinkling of men； poor； simple and generally sickly。 In later days； under my Father's ministration； the body increased and positively flourished。 It came to include retired professional men； an admiral； nay； even the brother of a peer。 But in those earliest years the 'brethren' and 'sisters' were all of them ordinary peasants。 They were jobbing gardeners and journeymen carpenters； masons and tailors； washerwomen and domestic servants。 I wish that I could paint； in colours so vivid that my readers could perceive what their little society consisted of； this quaint collection of humble； conscientious； ignorant and gentle persons。 In chronicle or fiction I have never been fortunate enough to meet with anything which resembled them。 The caricatures of enmity and worldly scorn are as crude； to my memory； as the unction of religious conventionality is featureless。
The origin of the meeting had been odd。 A few years before we came； a crew of Cornish fishermen； quite unknown to the villagers； were driven by stress of weather into the haven under the cliff。 They landed； and； instead of going to a public…house； they looked about for a room where they could hold a prayer… meeting。 They were devout Wesleyans； they had come from the open sea； they were far from home； and they had been starved by lack of their customary religious privileges。 As they stood about in the street before their meeting； they challenged the respectable girls who came out to stare at them； with the question； 'Do you love the Lord Jesus； my maid？ Receiving dubious answers； they pressed the inhabitants to come in and pray with them； which several did。 Ann Burmington； who long afterwards told me about it； was one of those girls； and she repeated that the fishermen said； 'What a dreadful thing it will be； at the Last Day； when the Lord says； 〃Come； ye blessed〃； and says it not to you； and then； 〃Depart ye cursed〃； and you maidens have to depart。' They were finely…built young men； with black beards and shining eyes； and I do not question that some flash of sex unconsciously mingled with the curious episode； although their behaviour was in all respects discreet。 It was； perhaps； not wholly a coincidence that almost all those particular girls remained unmarried to the end of their lives。 After two or three days； the fishermen went off to sea again。 They prayed and sailed away； and the girls； who had not even asked their names； never heard of them again。 But several of the young women were definitely converted； and they formed the nucleus of our little gathering。
My Father preached； standing at a desk； or celebrated the communion in front of a deal table； with a white napkin spread over it。 Sometimes the audience was so small； generally so unexhilarating； that he was discouraged； but he never flagged in energy and zeal。 Only those who had given evidence of intelligent acceptance of the theory of simple faith in their atonement through the Blood of Jesus were admitted to the communion； or； as it was called； 'the Breaking of Bread'。 It was made a very strong point that no one should 'break bread'； unless for good reason shown until he or she had been baptized； that is to say； totally immersed； in solemn conclave； by the ministering brother。 This rite used； in our earliest days； to be performed； with picturesque simplicity； in the sea on the Oddicombe beach； but to this there were； even in those quiet years； extreme objections。 A jeering crowd could scarcely be avoided； and women； in particular； shrank from the ordeal。 This used to be a practical difficulty； and my Father； when communicants confessed that they had not yet been baptized； would shake his head and say gravely； 'Ah！ ah！ you shun the Cross of Christ！' But that baptism in the sea on the open beach was a 'cross'； he would not deny； and when we built our own little chapel； a sort of font； planked over； was arranged in the room itself。
Among these quiet； taciturn people； there were several whom I recall with affection。 In this remote corner of Devonshire； on the road nowhither； they had preserved much of the air of that eighteenth century which the elders among them perfectly remembered。 There was one old man； born before the French Revolution； whose figure often recurs to me。 This was James Petherbridge； the Nestor of our meeting； extremely tall and attenuated； he came on Sundays in a full； white smockfrock； smartly embroidered down the front； and when he settled himself to listen； he would raise this smock like a skirt； and reveal a pair of immensely long thin legs； cased in tight leggings； and ending in shoes with buckles。 As the sacred message fell from my Father's lips the lantern jaws of Mr。 Petherbridge slowly fell apart； while his knees sloped to so immense a distance from one another that it seemed as though they never could meet again。 He had been pious all his life； and he would tell us； in some modest pride； that when he was a lad； the farmer's wife who was his mistress used to say； 'I think our Jem is going to be a Methody； he do so hanker after godly discoursings。' Mr。 Petherbridge was accustomed to pray orally at our prayer…meetings； in a funny old voice like wind in a hollow tree； and he seldom failed to express a hope that 'the Lord would support Miss Lafroy' who was the village schoolmistress； and one of our congregation； 'in her labour of teaching the young idea how to shoot'。 I； not understanding this literary allusion； long believed the school to be addicted to some species of pistol…practice。
The key of the Room was kept by Richard Moxhay； the mason； who was of a generation younger than Mr。 Petherbridge； but yet 'getting on in years'。 Moxhay； I cannot tell why； was always dressed in white corduroy； on which any stain of Devonshire scarlet mud was painfully conspicuous； when he was smartened up； his appearance suggested that somebody had given him a coating of that rich Western whitewash which looks like Devonshire cream。 His locks were long and sparse； and as deadly black as his clothes were white。 He was a modest； gentle man； with a wife even more meek and gracious than himself。 They never； to my recollection； spoke unless they were spoken to； and their melancholy impassiveness used to vex my Father； who once； referring to the Moxhays； described them； sententiously but justly； as being 'laborious； but it would be an exaggeration to say happy； Christians'。 Indeed； my memory pictures almost all the 'saints' of that early time as sad and humble souls； lacking vitality； yet not complaining of anything definite。 A quite surprising number of them； it is true； male and female； suffered from different forms of consumption； so that the Room rang in winter evenings with a discord of hacking coughs。 But it seems to me that； when I was quite young； half the inhabitants of our rural district were affected with phthisis。 No doubt； our peculiar religious community was more likely to attract the feeble members of a population； than to tempt the flush and the fair。
Miss Marks； patient pilgrim that she was； accepted this quaint society without a murmur； although I do not think it was much to her taste。 But in a very short time it was sweetened to her by the formation of a devoted and romantic friendship for one of the 'sisters'； who was； indeed； if my childish recollection does not fail me； a very charming person。 The consequence of this enthusiastic alliance was that I was carried into the bosom of the family to which Miss Marks' new friend belonged； and of these excellent people I must give what picture I can。
Almost opposite the Room； therefore at the far end of the village； across one of the rare small gardens （in which this first winter I discovered with rapture the magenta stars of a new flower； hepatica）a shop…window displayed a thin row of plates and dishes； cups and saucers； above it was painted the name of Burmington。 This china…shop was the property of three orphan sisters； Ann； Mary Grace； and Bess； the latter lately married to a carpenter； who was 'elder' at our meeting； the other two； resolute old maids。 Ann； whom I have already mentioned； had been one of the girls converted by the Cornish fishermen。 She was about ten years older than Bess； and Mary Grace came halfway between them。 Ann was a very worthy woman； but masterful and passionate； suffering from an ungovernable temper； which at calmer moments she used to refer to； not without complacency； as 'the sin which doth most easily beset me'。 Bess was insignificant； and vulgarized by domestic cares。 But Mary Gra