At a social party to which I was invited at Leeds, consisting of
preachers and leading members of the church, one man, a preacher, got so
drunk, that he became a most distressing spectacle. I cannot describe
his mishaps. There were others who ought to have committed themselves in
the same sad way, for they drank as much, and even more, but they had
stronger constitutions, or were better seasoned.
At Liverpool, my first station, every one on whom the preachers called
in their pastoral rounds, asked them to drink. Even Dr. Raffles, the
popular Congregational minister, had wine and cakes brought out, when I
and my superintendent called on him one morning. Wine and cakes, or
cakes and spirits, were placed on the table by all who were not too poor
to buy such things, and even the poorer members contrived to supply
themselves with rum or whisky. And all expected the preachers to drink.
And the preachers did drink. Mr. Allin, my superintendent, was not by
far the greatest drinker in the Connexion, yet he seldom allowed the
poison placed before him to remain untasted. I was so organized, that I
never could drink a full glass of either wine or ale without feeling
more or less intoxicated, and for spirits I had quite a distaste; so
that I was obliged to take intoxicating drinks very sparingly.
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