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 to understand what a temptation it was to a man of his egotism to display all his honours to the best advantage.

His habit of reflecting on William Huntington, of talking about William Huntington, his extraordinary character and experience, became to himself and to his followers an idol, which, if he truly was what he believed himself to be, must be shattered, and shown to be vanity. Romaine, who knew and appreciated him, when he had read the first part of "The Bank of Faith," made this prescient remark, "Self must be abased." And this was now about to be fulfilled in Huntington's last experience.

Among the people who attended his ministry was a certain Lady Sanderson. She was the daughter of one Lord Mayor, and the wife of another. Sir James Sanderson, her husband, was mayor in 1792, and for the support then afforded to Pitt's Government against the rising revolutionary spirit was created a baronet. This lady was a clever, engaging little woman, neat and careful in her ways. She was fond of hearing sermons, visiting prisons, and looking after orphans—in fact, she was both religious and philanthropic. To such a person it was a new sensation to go and hear the famous Coalheaver. She went in a slightly mocking spirit, as suited a person of her discernment, but somehow returned in a very different frame of mind. No doubt the preacher, with his power of spiritual analysis, had awakened some unusual thoughts concerning her own fair profession.

After several visits to Providence Chapel, she sent her serving woman to Mr Huntington's house to ask an interview, which was immediately granted. Notwithstanding his numerous engagements and love of meditation and retirement, the thought of this interesting little widow was continually before him, so that he frequently mentioned her in the letters he wrote during that month of July 1803. Poor man, all he was thinking of was the glory it would be to draw into the Gospel net this "lady of title" — for thus, in his old serf spirit, he writes when speaking of her.

However sincere Lady Sanderson may have been at first, it was clear in the end that it was not so much the preacher as the man who had fascinated her. The strong, deep-hearted coalheaver, so rough in his manners, so blunt in his talk, so genuine in his kindness, so spiritual in all his thoughts, had a wonderful attraction for