Monday, 21. -- I rode on to Bandon. From three in the afternoon till past seven, the mob of Cork marched in grand procession and then burned me in effigy near Dant's Bridge.

Wednesday, 23. -- The mob was still patrolling the streets, abusing all that were called Methodists and threatening to murder them and pull down their houses, if they did not leave this way.

Thursday, 24. -- They again assaulted Mr. Stockdale's house, broke down the boards he had nailed up against the windows, destroyed what little remained of the windowframes and shutters, and damaged a considerable part of his goods.

Friday, 25. -- One Roger O'Ferrall fixed up an advertisement at the public Exchange, that he was ready to head any mob, in order to pull down any house that should dare to harbor a swaddler. (A name given to Mr. Cennick first by a popish priest, who heard him speak of a child wrapped in swaddling clothes and probably did not know the expression was in the Bible, a book he was not much acquainted with.)

At this time God gave us great peace at Bandon, notwithstanding the unwearied labors, both public and private, of good Dr. B -- -, to stir up the people. But, Saturday, 26, many were under great apprehensions of what was to be done in the evening. I began preaching in the main street at the usual hour, but to more than twice the usual congregation. After I had spoken about a quarter of an hour, a clergyman, who had planted himself near me with a very large stick in his hand, according to agreement opened the scene. (Indeed his friends assured me he was in drink, or he would not have done it.) But, before he had uttered many words, two or three resolute women, by main strength, pulled him into a house; and, after expostulating a little, sent him away through the garden.

The next champion that appeared was one Mr. M -- -, a young gentleman of the town. He was attended by two others with pistols in their hands. But his triumph too was but short; some of the people quickly bore him away, though with much gentleness and civility.

The third came on with greater fury; but he was encountered by a butcher of the town (not one of the Methodists), who used him as he would an ox, bestowing one or two hearty blows upon his head. This cooled his courage, especially as none took his part. So I quietly finished my discourse.