I was silent. I had heard many sermons from deans and dignitaries,—all well-fed men, and every man jack of them after promotion from the Whigs,—and these sermons had left my heart as untouched as that of the wild Indian of North America. But this was different. After a while, Overton continued,—
“As this Jesus called all manner of men to follow Him,—the greedy tax-gatherer, as well as Peter the poor fisherman, and John the gentle and studious youth,—so He called me; and, like the tax-gatherer, whose stony heart was melted by the voice of Jesus, I say with tears, ‘My God! I follow Thee!’”
We had now approached the corner of the field, and involuntarily stopped. I said to him blunderingly,—
“Shall you take orders?”
“No,” he replied. “I do not aspire to open my mouth as a teacher—I am not worthy; but a few of the humblest people about here—I have been in this place for some time—come to me on Sundays, in the forenoon, to ask me to speak to them. They are day-laborers, hostlers—the kind of people I once fancied to be without souls. I speak to them, not as a preacher and teacher, but as a brother and a friend. It is now time for them to assemble.”
I saw, sure enough, a number of poorly-dressed rustics coming toward the field. They came by twos and threes, the women mostly with children in arms, or hanging to their skirts. When all had arrived, there were about thirty men and women. They seated themselves on the grass, and I along with them, and, in some mysterious way, I felt, for the first time in my life, that the plowman was my brother, and the kitchen wench my sister.
When they were all seated, Overton took from his pocket a small Bible, and read the Sermon on the Mount. The people listened reverently. He gave them a short discourse, suited to their understanding, and then read to them a simple hymn, which they sang with fervor.
I listened with a strange feeling, half pain, half pleasure, half satisfaction, half dissatisfaction. I wished for Daphne’s sweet spirit to be near me. It came to my mind how like was this meeting of the poor and unlearned to those held by the Carpenter of Nazareth on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. The hymn echoed sweetly over the green fields; it was a part of that great antiphon with which Nature replies to the harmonics of the Most High. The quiet scene, the woods, the fields, the kine in the pasture near by, all seemed one in this act of worship. But presently my soul was distracted by what I saw on the highway close by us. A handsome traveling chariot, followed by a plain post-chaise going Londonward, stopped. Out of the chariot stepped Lady Arabella Stormont, and, through an opening in the hedge, she entered the field. After a considerable interval, Mrs. Whitall followed her; and, after a still longer one, Sir Thomas Vernon.
“Will you speak to me?” Page [225]