My Uncle Drummond rose and laid his hand on my head—not as Mr Digby used to do, as though he were condescending to a little child; but as if he were blessing me in God’s name. Then he said, in that low, soft, solemn tone which sounds to me so very high and holy, as if an angel spoke to me:—“Cary, dear child, the whole thing depends—your soul and your eternity depend—on whether you trust the Lord Jesus.” Then he went out of the room, and left me alone, as if he wanted me to think well about that before he said anything more.
I think something is coming to help me. My Uncle Drummond was late for supper last night—a thing which I could see was very unusual. And when he did come, he was particularly silent and meditative. At length, when supper was over, as we turned our chairs round from the table, and were sitting down again to our work, my Uncle Drummond, who generally goes to his study after supper, sat down among us.
“Young people,” said he, with a look on his face which it seemed to me was partly grave and partly diverted, “considering that you are more travelled persons than I, I come to you for information. Have you—any of you—while in England, either seen or heard anything of one Mr George Whitefield, a clergyman of the Church of England, who is commonly reckoned a Methodist?”
Angus made a grimace, and said, “Plenty!”
Flora was doubtful; she thought she had heard his name.
I said, “I have heard his name too, Uncle; but I do not know much about him, only Father seemed to think it a good joke that anybody should fancy him a wise man.”
“Angus appears to be the best informed of you,” said my uncle. “Speak out, my boy, and tell us what you know.”
“Well, he is a queer sort of fellow, I fancy,” said Angus. “He was one of the Methodists; but they say those folks have had a split, and Whitefield has broken with them. He travels about preaching, though, as they do; and they say that the reason why he took to field-preaching was because no church would hold the enormous congregations which gathered to hear him. He has been several times to the American colonies, where they say he draws larger crowds than John Wesley himself.”
“A good deal of ‘They say’,” observed Uncle Drummond, with a smile. “Do ‘they say’ that the bishops and clergy are friendly to this remarkable preacher, or not?”