But I will not weary the reader with my mental wanderings; they are doubtless wearisome enough, and yet they were terribly real to me Although I have used but a few pages of paper in hinting at them, they caused me to lie awake through many a weary night.
Still no help came.
I went to a church one Sunday night. There was nothing of importance that struck me during the service, save the reading of one of the lessons. It was the story of the youth who was possessed with a devil, which the disciples could not cast out. The minister was, I should think, a good man, for he read it naturally, and with a great deal of power; and when he came to the part where Jesus came and caused the evil spirit to come out of him, my heart throbbed with joy. Was there hope for me? Was Jesus Christ still the same wonderful power? Was He here now—to help, to save?
That was at the end of three months.
I went home and prayed—prayed to be delivered from the evil power which chained me.
I might as well have turned my thoughts in another direction for all the
good I could see it did me. The old numbing feeling still possessed me.
My little spark of faith began to die. It was foolishness to think of
God, I said.
A week later, I walked in Hyde Park. An evil influence seemed to draw me in the direction of the Marble Arch. I had not gone far, when I met Voltaire. I knew then that I was more in his power than ever. He did not speak—he only looked; but it was a look of victory, of power.
I got into Oxford Street and got on a 'bus. Mechanically I bought a paper, one of the leading dailies. Listlessly I opened it, and the first words that caught my eyes were "Reviews of Books." I glanced down the column, and saw the words, "David Elginbrod," by George Macdonald. "This book is one of remarkable power," the paper went on to say, "and will appeal to the highest class of minds. Its interest is more than ordinary, because it deals with the fascinating subjects of Animal Magnetism, Mesmerism, and Spiritualism. Moreover, Dr. Macdonald shows what enormous power, for evil or for good, may be exerted by it; indeed, the principal characters in the story are so influenced by it, that the author is led to make quite a study of these occult sciences."
I did not read the review further; what I had read was sufficient to determine me to buy the book. Accordingly, on my arrival in the City, I obtained a copy; and then, with all possible haste, I made my way home, and, throwing myself in a chair, sat down to read it.
I did not cease reading until I had finished what I regarded then, and still regard, as one of the finest religious novels of the age. This may seem to many extravagant praise; but when I remember the influence it had on my life, I feel inclined to hold to my opinion.