Some time after I joined the Church in Whitehaven, Bro. Geo. Sinclair was urged to hold an open-air meeting in the village of Frizington in the Cleator Moor district. While conducting that meeting he met with some opposition from a schoolmaster connected with the Methodists. Mr. Sinclair appeared to better advantage in a debate than he did as a preacher, and the opposition only helped his meeting. He continued these meetings for a number of Sunday evenings in succession, and got a good hearing. Just then something came in his way which caused him to go from home. He came to me and said, "James, I have to go from home, and these are good meetings and they must be kept up; you must try what you can do to keep them going till I come back." "I have never delivered a regular Gospel address," I said, "and I fear that I am not equal to that task." "You know the great facts of the Gospel," he said. "Yes," I replied, "I am thankful to say that I do." "And you know what men have got to do to be saved?" "Yes," I said, "I know that too." "Then," he said, "you must go and tell the people, as best you can, till I come back." I consented and made up my mind to try what I could do next Sunday evening. I selected a New Testament conversion from the Acts of Apostles. I made myself as familiar with the story as I was able to do in the time I had to give to it. I could have repeated it from memory or paraphrased it in my own words. I then noted down what I considered the main points in the narrative. I numbered these points so that I might more easily remember how many there were of them. I determined, if possible, to put these points before the people in the order in which I had noted them. Last of all, I committed my notes to memory, and asked God to help me when the hour of action came. I did not speak without notes, but no one saw my notes. My notes were in my head and in my pocket - not in my hand. I got through with that meeting as well as I expected. The people paid good attention, and I did not feel greatly disappointed.

But the unexpected happened next. A young Methodist stepped into the circle beside me just as I finished speaking. He said that he wished to say something. He briefly stated the great change which had passed over him, that he now loved God and believed in Christ; that he now loved the things which he used to hate, and hated what he used to love. He then added with considerable emphasis: "I am all this without baptism." "Well," I replied, "you are a fit subject for baptism now, it is your next duty; we baptize a man because that change has passed over him, not to produce it." I have seldom seen a look of as great surprise as came upon that young man's face when I made my reply. He seemed to be in no way prepared for it. He stammered out, "You have a good foundation to begin upon, then." "Of course we have," I said; "what made you doubt that? You must have been thinking about what you were going to say yourself and not paying attention to me." I felt for the young man as he left the ring and went into the crowd, in which there was a murmur of disapprobation.

That was my first Gospel meeting. I mean the first at which I was the only, or even the principal speaker. It is somewhere about fifty years since then. But how many times during the fifty years I have had to check people for the same mistake which that young Methodist made, I do not know - scores of times at any rate; and not always young persons either, but often persons of considerable religious experience from whom we had a right to expect better things.

I continued these Sunday evening meetings for some weeks. An incident of some interest should be mentioned here, as it occurred after one of these meetings. Along with a number of friends who had come with me, I was returning from one of those meetings, trying to reason out some points of difference with one, John Black. John was of Scotch parents, but was brought up in Cumberland. This was the third time I had been in Cumberland, the first time I was only a boy, and each of the times I knew John Black and his younger brother William. I knew all the family, of course, but I knew John and William best, John being just about my age and William a little younger. They had both turned their attention to religion about the time I did. Both men were in earnest and they had both a fair education. They were interested in me and I was interested in them, and wherever we met the points on which we differed were talked over. Though fifty years lie between, some of my conversations with these men are as clearly before me as if they had taken place yesterday. Some time before this John was inclined to come our way, but William and another friend managed to put him past it. Shortly after that William and that friend joined us. But though they had managed to hinder John they could not bring him with them when they came. Well, I have said that I was returning from one of my first Gospel meetings talking with John Black; passing along we came to an old quarry where a quantity of water had accumulated. John stopped and said, "See, here is water, what doth hinder me to be baptized?" I replied, "If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest." John made the good confession, and we turned aside into the quarry. We put off our outer garments and went into the water in our flannels, and I baptized him. We put off our wet under-clothing and put on our outer shell. The women wrung our wet things and took them under their shawls (the shawl was much in evidence in those days), and we resumed our journey. William Black was at work on a pit engine that night. We had to pass within three or four hundred yards of where William was at work. And knowing that he would not be very busy, and thinking the news too good to keep till morning, John and I and another friend or two called in to see William. It did my heart good to see the hearty hand-shake of these two brothers as they knew that they were again to stand shoulder to shoulder in the same religious cause.

William Black was one of the finest young men I ever knew, but he died quite young. Many incidents connected with him crowd upon my memory; I must mention one or two of them before I drop him out of my story. The Blacks were Presbyterians, and they, like ourselves, went to Whitehaven to worship, there being then no place nearer. One Sunday William and I foregathered on our way home. As we walked together he informed me that he had asked a certain local preacher about baptism. That preacher had spoken to him in much the same way that the other local preacher had spoken to me. That is, he said, "If you think it is right get baptized, but if you do not think that it is right, it makes no matter about it." William seemed rather inclined to accept that. We were passing a farmyard while William was telling me what the preacher said. There was a heap of turnips lying in the farmyard.

"What are these in that heap?" I asked. "Turnips," he said. "Yes, if you think they are turnips, William, but if not, just you think that they are potatoes and they will be potatoes." "Nay, nay. Jim," he said, "they will be turnips whatever you think." "Yes, Will, and God commanded baptism or He did not, whatever you think; and if He commanded it, it is right, no matter what you think, and if he did not command it, it is wrong, and your thinking will not alter it." "You are right, Jim," he said, "it must be as you say." "Then, Will, think it out; did God command it? or did he not? settle that question for yourself." He was not long after that until he came; how far I helped him I do not know.

When William was baptised, his brother John was in the house that night when he went home. John said, "Now, Will, you have gone and got baptized, how much are you better than I am?" "I have this advantage at least, Jack," he replied, "I dare read all the New Testament now, you dare not."

John Black was the first person that I baptized. He was faithful to Christianity as found in the New Testament all his life. He died in Australia a few years ago.