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diff --git a/75741-h/75741-h.htm b/75741-h/75741-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb8833d --- /dev/null +++ b/75741-h/75741-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23277 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of On Both Sides of the Sea, +by Elizabeth Rundle Charles +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.gothic { + font-family: 'Old English Text MT', 'Old English', serif; +} +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75741 ***</div> + +<h1> +<br><br> + On Both Sides of the Sea:<br> +</h1> + +<p class="t4"> + A STORY OF<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2 gothic"> + The Commonwealth and the Restoration<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + A SEQUEL TO<br> +<br> + "THE DRAYTONS AND THE DAVENANTS"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + <i>BY THE AUTHOR OF</i><br> +<br> + "Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family."<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + NEW YORK:<br> + DODD, MEAD & COMPANY,<br> + PUBLISHERS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +CARD FROM THE AUTHOR. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +"The Author of the Schonberg-Cotta Family +wishes it to be generally known among the readers of +her books in America, that the American Editions issued +by Mr. M. W. Dodd, of New York alone have the +Author's sanction." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + Contents<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + Chapter<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + I. <a href="#chap01">Olive's Recollections</a><br> + II. <a href="#chap02">Olive's Recollections</a><br> + III. <a href="#chap03">Lettice's Diary</a><br> + IV. <a href="#chap04">Lettice's Diary</a><br> + V. <a href="#chap05">Olive's Recollections</a><br> + VI. <a href="#chap06">Olive's Recollections</a><br> + VII. <a href="#chap07">Olive's Recollections</a><br> + VIII. <a href="#chap08">Olive's Recollections</a><br> + IX. <a href="#chap09">Notes by Magdalene Antony</a><br> + X. <a href="#chap10">Lettice's Diary</a><br> + XI. <a href="#chap11">Lettice's Diary</a><br> + XII. <a href="#chap12">Lettice's Diary</a><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t2"> +On Both Sides of the Sea. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> + +<p class="t2"> +ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER I. +<br><br> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</h3> + +<p> +Since England was, such an event was +never witnessed within sound of her +seas, as that which darkened London on +the fatal 30th of January, 1649. +In the recollection of such moments it is difficult +to disentangle feeling from fact, what we saw with +our eyes and heard with our ears from what others +told us, from what we saw with the imagination +and heard with the heart. +</p> + +<p> +In my memory that day lies shrouded and silent, +as if all that happened in it had been done in a city +spell-bound into silence in a hushed, sunless, +colorless world, where all intermediate tints were +gathered into funereal black and white, the black of the +heavily-draped scaffold and the whiteness of the +frosty ground from which it rose into the still and +icy air; whilst behind the palace slept, frost-bound, +the mute and motionless river, imprisoning with +icy bars the motionless ships. +</p> + +<p> +From early in the day the thoroughfares and +squares and open gathering-places of the city were +filled with the Commonwealth soldiers. I remember +no call of trumpet or beat of drum; only a +slow pacing of horsemen, and marching of footmen, +silently, to their assigned positions, the tramp +of men and the clatter of the horse-hoofs ringing +from the hard and frosty ground, and echoing from +the closed and silent houses on the line of march. +</p> + +<p> +It was no day of triumph to any. To the army, +and those who felt with them, it was a day of +solemn justice, not of triumphant vengeance. To the +Royalists it was a day of passionate hushed sorrow +and bitter inward vows of retribution; to the +people generally a day of perplexity and woe. +</p> + +<p> +Old Mr. Prynne, who owed the king nothing, as +he said, but the loss of his ears, the pillory, +imprisonment, and fines, had pleaded for him +generously in the House, before the House had been +finally "purged." +</p> + +<p> +And the most part of the men, and well-nigh all +the women, I think, would have said "Amen" to +Mr. Prynne. If the king's captivity and trial and +condemnation had been a solemn drama enacted to +win the hearts of the people back to him, it could +not have been more effectual. Political and civil +rights, rights of taxation and rights of remonstrance, +seemed to the hearts of most people to become mere +technical legal terms in the presence of Royalty and +Death. Pillories and prisons were dwarfed into +mere private grievances beside the scaffold on which +the king, son of so many kings, kings of so many +submissive generations, the source of power, the +only possible object of the dreadful crime called +treason, was to die the death of a traitor. +</p> + +<p> +The trial brought out all that was most pathetic +in royalty and most noble in the king. The haughty +glance which had been resented on the throne, was +simply majestic when it encountered unflinchingly +the illegal bench of judges on whom his life depended. +</p> + +<p> +The Parliament, mutilated to a remnant of fifty; +the High Court of Justice, who could not agree +among themselves, whose assumption of legal forms +sounded (to many) like mockery, whose trappings +of authority sat on them (many thought) like +masquerade-robes, were a poor show to confront with +that lonely majestic figure defying their sentence +and their authority, a captive in the ancient Hall +of Justice from which, throughout the centuries, +not a sentence had issued save by the sanction of +his forefathers. +</p> + +<p> +The royal banners, which drooped from the roof +above him, taken from his Cavaliers at Edgehill, +Marston Moor, and Naseby, seemed to float there +rather in his honor than in that of his judges. +Many felt that adversity had restored to him his +true royalty, and that he sat far more a king now, +arraigned at the bar, than when, eight years before, +at the last trial those walls had witnessed, he sat as +a helpless spectator of the proceedings which brought +Strafford, his greatest minister, to the scaffold. +</p> + +<p> +It was well for his adversaries that those days of +the king's humiliation were not prolonged. Irrepressible +veneration and pity began to stir among +the crowds who beheld him, and the cries of +"Justice! justice!" were changed more than once into +murmurs of "God save the king." +</p> + +<p> +But the pity was a slowly-rising tide of waves +now advancing and now recoiling. The determination +for "justice on the chief delinquent" was a +strong and steady, though narrow current; and it +swept the ration on irresistibly to its end. +</p> + +<p> +The soldiers, foot and horse, had taken up their +position. My brother Roger and Job Forster were +posted opposite Whitehall. Roger waved his hand +as he passed our windows. His face, as was his +wont in times of strong emotion, was fixed and +stern. He was riding in a funeral procession, which +for him led to more graves than one. +</p> + +<p> +At ten o'clock His Majesty walked through +St. James's Park to Whitehall, passing rapidly through +the bitter cold, under the bare branches of the silent +trees, through a crowd in appearance as cold as +silent. His face, men said, was calm and majestic +as ever, although worn; his beard had become +gray, and his form had a slight stoop, although +he was not fifty years of age, but his step was +firm. He disappeared through the Palace gates, +from which he was never to step forth again. Then +followed six hours of suspense and terrible expectation, +the crowds surging uneasily to and fro, unable +to rest, repelled and yet attracted by the terrible +fascination of the empty, expectant scaffold, whose +heavy funereal draperies fell from the windows of +the Banqueting Hall on the frosty ground beneath. +There were whispers that the ambassador of the +United Provinces was pleading not hopelessly with +Lord Fairfax; that the Prince of Wales had sent a +blank letter signed by himself, to be filled with any +conditions the Commons chose to demand; but that +the king had burned this letter, and refused the +ministrations of any but the clergy of the Episcopal +Church of the realm;—so that if he was indeed +to die, it would be as a martyr to the rights of the +Crown and the Church. +</p> + +<p> +And through these soberer reports ever and anon +rose wild rumors of approaching deliverance, of +risings in the Royalist counties, of avenging fleets +approaching the Thames, of judgment direct from +heaven on the sacrilegious heads of the regicides. +</p> + +<p> +But to us who knew of the purpose which had +been gathering force in the army since that +prayer-meeting at Windsor six months before, those +mid-day hours were hours not of doubt or suspense, +but of awful certainty, as minute by minute the +hour approached when that scaffold was to be empty +no more. +</p> + +<p> +We knew that within the still and deserted halls +of that palace, the king was preparing to meet his +doom; and (all political questions and personal +wrongs for the time forgotten) from a thousand +roofs in the city went up prayers that he might be +sustained in dying, and might exchange the earthly +crown which had sat on his brow so uneasily, for +the crown of life which burdens not, nor fades away. +</p> + +<p> +At length three o'clock, the moment of doom, +came. "It was the ninth hour," as the Royalists +loudly noted. Save the guard around the scaffold, +and those who attended his dying moments on it, +none were near enough to hear what passed there. +It was all mute; but the spectacle spoke. In most +royal pageants, the thing seen is but a sign of the +thing not seen. In this the thing to be seen was +no mere sign, but a dread reality, a tremendous +event. The black scaffold, the wintry silence, the +vast awe-stricken crowd gazing mute and motionless +on the inevitable tragedy; a few plainly dressed +men at last appearing on the scaffold around the +well-known stately figure of the king, richly arrayed +"as for his second bridal;" "the comely head" +laid down without a struggle on the block "as on +a bed;" the momentary flash of the axe; the +severed head raised an instant on high as "the head +of a traitor;" a shrouded form prostrate on the +scaffold;—and then, as good Mr. Philip Henry, +who was present, said, "at the instant when the +blow was given, a diurnal universal groan among the +thousands of people who were within sight of it, +as if with one consent, such as he had never heard +before, and desired he might never hear the like +again, or see such a cause for it." +</p> + +<p> +The multitude were not left long to bewail their +king. One troop of Parliament horse rode instantly, +by previous order, from Charing Cross towards +King Street, and another from King Street towards +Charing Cross; and so the crowd were scattered +right and left, to lament as they might each man +under his own roof, and to read in secret the +"Eikon Basilike," which it is said the king +composed, copies of which were distributed under his +scaffold, and will, doubtless, be reverently treasured +in every Royalist household; not in the library, but +in the oratory, beside the Bible and the Prayer-book, +enkindling loyalty from a conviction into a +passion, deepening it from a passion to a religion, +while they compare the king's trial to that before +the unjust judge of old, his walk to the scaffold to +that along the Dolorous Way, his sayings to those +last words on which dying men and women have +hung ever since. +</p> + +<p> +Every one knows the heaviness with which even +a day of festivity closes, when the event of the day +is over. The weight with which that fatal day +closed it is hard for any who did not feel it to +imagine. +</p> + +<p> +Scripture words repeated with ominous warning +by ministers, Presbyterian and Episcopal, echoed +like curses through countless hearts: "I gave them +a king in my anger and took him away in my +wrath." "Who am I that I should lay hands on +the Lord's anointed?" +</p> + +<p> +Death gave to the king's memory an immaculateness +very different from the technical, "the king +can do no wrong of the ancient constitution." +</p> + +<p> +And even with those whose resolution remained +unwavering to the last, this was not the time for +speech. The extremity of justice had been done, +there was nothing more to be said. It would have +been an ungenerous revenge far from the thoughts +of such regicides as Colonel Hutchinson and General +Cromwell to follow it with insulting words, and +their own self-defence they were content to leave to +events. Mr. Milton's majestic Defences of the +English People came later. +</p> + +<p> +Ours was a silent fireside that winter night, as +Roger, weary and numb, came at last to warm +himself beside us. +</p> + +<p> +As lie entered, I was saying to my husband, "The +terrible thing is, that he who lived trampling on the +constitution and the rights of conscience, seems to +have died a martyr to the constitution and +conscience, doomed by a few desperate men." +</p> + +<p> +"We must concern ourselves as little as possible, +sister," Roger said very quietly, "with what seems." +</p> + +<p> +"I fear this day will turn the tide against all for +which you have fought throughout the war." +</p> + +<p> +"The tide will turn back," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"But what if not in our time?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"Then in God's time, Olive," he said; "which +is the best." +</p> + +<p> +But he looked very worn and sad. I repented +of having said these discouraging words, and weakly +strove to undo them as he asked me to unlace +the helmet which his benumbed hands could not +unloose. +</p> + +<p> +"I would rather a thousand times," I said, "have +you with Colonel Hutchinson, and General Cromwell, +and those who dared to do what they thought +right in the lace of the world, than with those who +thought it right yet dared not do it. The nation will +recognize their deliverer in General Cromwell yet." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know that, Olive," he said; "but it +will be enough if General Cromwell delivers the +nation." +</p> + +<p> +"At least the generations to come will do you all +justice," I said. +</p> + +<p> +"I am not sure of that," he said. "It depends +on who writes the history for them. There is one +Judgment Seat whose awards it is safe to set before +us. Before that we have sought to stand. That +sentence is irrevocably fixed. What it is we shall +hear hereafter, when the voice of this generation +and all the generations will move us no more than +the murmur of a troubled sea a great way off, and +far below." +</p> + +<p> +Yet he could not touch the food we set before +him; and as he sat gazing into the fire, I knew +there was one adverse verdict which he knew too +well, and which moved his heart all the more that +it had not been able to move a hair's breadth his +conscience or his purpose. +</p> + +<p> +Many sorrows met in Roger's heart, I knew, that +night; the pain of pity repressed driven back on +the heart by a stern sense of justice; the pain of +being misjudged by some whom we honour; the +pain of the resignation of the tenderest love and +hope; the pain of giving bitter pain to the heart +dearest to him in the world. But one pain, perhaps +the worst of all, he and men who, like Cromwell +and Colonel Hutchinson, had carried out that day's +doom fearlessly before the world because in +unshaken conviction of its justice before God, were +spared—the enervating anguish of perplexity and +doubt. And this, perhaps, is the sorest pain of all. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</p> + +<p> +"'The space between is the way thither,' Mr. Drayton +said. It may be; it ought to be. But +<i>is it</i>? That seems to me precisely the one terrible +question which, when we can get cleared, all life +becomes clear in the light of the answer, but which it +is so exceedingly hard to have cleared. +</p> + +<p> +"The days, as they pass, whether clothed in light +and joy, as the old time at home was when I had a +home, and a mother, and so many hopes—or in +darkness that may be felt, as so many of these later +days have been to me, are indeed surely leading us +on to old age, to death, to the unseen world, and +the judgment. But are they indeed leading us on +to new youth, to changeless life, to heaven, and the +King's 'Well done?' +</p> + +<p> +"If I were as sure of the last as of the first, for +me and mine, I think (at least there are moments +when I think) I would scarcely care whether the +days were dark or bright. For life is to be a +warfare. All kinds of Christian people agree in that. +And having learned what war means, I do not +expect it to be easy or pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +"But I am not sure. For myself or for any one. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger thinks the execution of the king was a +terrible duty. I think it was almost an inexpiable +crime. +</p> + +<p> +"Olive, I know, thinks I am breaking plighted +faith, and betraying the most faithful affection in +the world in parting from Roger. Mistress Dorothy +thinks I am fulfilling a sacred duty, doing what was +meant when we were commanded to pluck out the +right eye. As to the pain, I am sure she is right. +If I could only be as sure as to the duty! For if +it is right, it must be good, really, in the end for +him as well as for me. How, I cannot imagine. For +it seems bad as well as bitter for me. And Olive +says it will be bad and embittering for him. +</p> + +<p> +"Happy, happy people, who lived in the old days +of dreams, and visions, and heavenly voices, saying, +'This is the way; walk in it;' when God's will became +manifest in pillars of fire and cloud, in +discriminating dews and fires of sacrifice, and such +simple outward signs as poor perplexed hearts like mine +can understand. +</p> + +<p> +"Holy people say these days of ours are in advance +of those, that the light has increased since +then. I suppose it has, for holy people, who have +grown up to it, and have eyes to see those inward +leadings, and ears to hear those inward voices, which +to me are so dim. But I feel as if I were still a +child, and would fain have lived in that simple +childhood of the world, when God spoke to men in +plain ways as to children. +</p> + +<p> +"Since I came here, I saw at the door of one of +the churches a very awful piece of sculpture of the +souls in purgatory, all aglow with the fires in which +they were burning, stretching out piteous hands +through iron bars for help and prayers from those +still living on the earth. +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy was with me, and she clasped +her hands over her eyes in horror, as she turned +away. +</p> + +<p> +</p> + +<p> +"But to me it did not seem so horrible. At least +not for the souls in purgatory. If there were a +purgatory. Because the thought of its being +purgatory, must take away all that is unendurable out +of the anguish of the flames. There are hearts on +earth tormented in fires as real. But the sting of +their anguish is, they cannot be sure they are +purgatorial fires. The anguish is clear enough. If we +could only be as sure as to the purification. That +the pain is from the remedy, not from the disease; +that the flames are on the way to heaven, not mercifully +confronting us on the other way to turn us back. +</p> + +<p> +"It always seemed as if, by Roger's side, I should +have grown good like him. How am I to grow good +without him, severing myself from him? Oh, +mother, mother! why must you leave me just now, +when no one else in the world could have told me +what to do. Because, while loving me more than +yourself, you loved God's will far more than my +pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +"But Mistress Dorothy says, when I am tempted +with 'vain reasonings' and 'debatings of the flesh,' +I must go back to the first sacred impulse, when, by +my mother's death-bed, I felt the death of the king +for whom she would have died must place an +impassable barrier between me and those who slew +him, or consented to his death. +</p> + +<p> +"First thoughts, says she, are often from above; +second thoughts from within or from below. And +if we endure to the end, third thoughts will come +crowning the divine impulse of the first with a calm +divine assurance. +</p> + +<p> +"I will try to endure to the end. At least I will +wait. +</p> + +<p> +"To strengthen my resolve, let me go back to +that sacred impulse, and through all it led to, up to +this day. +</p> + +<p> +"It was during those terrible days of early January, +when hope and fear had passed, with uncertainty; +and I sat by my mother's bedside, all my heart +and soul absorbed in watching her depart, and in +relieving any suffering or supplying any want for +her so fast passing away from all suffering and from +all our service. +</p> + +<p> +"The east winds were careering across the Fens, +and broke fiercely against the old house, and one +night there was a crash of the great scarred elm-tree +falling close outside the windows. But she heeded +it not; and I remember feeling a strange kind of +despairing triumph over all the violence of the +elements. They might rage as at the Deluge; but +they could neither hinder nor hasten the slow, silent +progress of the awful power which was silently +removing her from us. +</p> + +<p> +"Before, in days of doubt and hope, I had been +wont to watch the winds with a kind of superstitious +solicitude, as if there were some mysterious +sympathy between nature and men, and the ravings +of her storms had been ominous of evil to us. But +now that spell seemed broken. The sympathy +between us and nature ceased with death. To her it +was natural, a link in her endless chain of ever-recurring +changes. To her, life and death were but as +day and night, bright or dark phases of her ceaseless +revolutions. She could see her children die as +calmly as her suns set. To us death was unnatural, +a convulsion, a horror, a curse. The terrible thing +which seemed to assimilate us to her, in reality +rent us from her sphere altogether. A week before, +when we began to fear there was danger, I trembled +at the wind wailing in the dead branches of the elms, +or at a bird beating its wings against the window. +Now that she was dying, I could have smiled at an +earthquake or a tornado. +</p> + +<p> +"All the outward and visible world, the terrors +of its stormy nights as well as the sweet familiar +delights of its dawns and days, seemed to lie outside +me like a world of shadows, as for the first time +I learned in my inmost heart that we are but +strangers, not belonging to it, but passing swiftly +through. As I gazed into the eyes which so soon +were to cease to be the portal where my soul could +meet hers, my own body seemed to become a mere +phantasm, the innermost shell of this world of +phantasms, where we stay a little while, to read its +lessons and experience its changes, and then vanish, +we from it and it from us. It was not so with the +conflict then going on about the king. There, +consciences were concerned, and right and wrong. And +by her dying bed, right and wrong seemed the only +realities left. I dared not break on the calm of her +spirit with one word that might recall the conflicts +of parties. Thus Love itself severed her spirit from +me before death had sealed her eyes. And this was +terrible beyond all. For as I sat there, the conviction +became clearer and clearer that to put the king +to death was crime, a crime she would have abhorred, +a crime which, if he persisted in the doing it, +must sever me from Roger. +</p> + +<p> +"But alas, when Death came, this was all terribly +reversed. +</p> + +<p> +"When the feeble voice which had called on the +Heavenly King, and the eyes whose tender smiles +for me had changed at the last into the awed yet +joyful intensity of the gaze with which her spirit +seemed to welcome heaven and enter it, the whole +unseen world seemed to vanish from my heart with +her, and nothing was left but the eyes which could +never look at me, and the lips which could never +speak to me more. +</p> + +<p> +"For this horror I was wholly unprepared. I +thought, when she went, she would have left me +standing, if but for one never-to-be-forgotten +moment, on the threshold of an opened Paradise! She +left me shivering on the brink of an impenetrable +darkness. I could not feel even on the brink of an +abyss. To have believed in an abyss even would +have been an infinite relief. The horror was whether +the darkness hid anything, whether there was a +beyond at all. +</p> + +<p> +"Could it be, indeed, that all, absolutely all, any +one saw of death was just the heaving breast, the +labouring breath, the few, faint, intermittent sighs; +all which, in all animated creatures, marks the +dissolution of natural life, and nothing to mark the +distinctive, continuing, spiritual life of man? +</p> + +<p> +"Was faith, then, to step so absolutely alone, +unlighted by the least glimmer of the old familiar light, +into the unknown? +</p> + +<p> +"No one else around me seemed to experience +this terrible darkness. +</p> + +<p> +"They recalled the last words she spoke; they +spoke of the pure raiment, clean and white, in which +her spirit was clothed, of the golden streets she was +treading, of the 'harps of God' to which she was +listening. But the words fell altogether outside me, +like some sweet, pathetic story of faëry or romance, +such as she used to tell me. +</p> + +<p> +"I, too, from my childhood had delighted in those +fair pictures of a Paradise beyond the grave, of the +city with gates of moon-like pearl, and walls of +radiant gems; of trees whose leaves were healing and +whose fruit was life; of waters clear as crystal, able +to satisfy immortal thirst. I had delighted in those +pictures, my fancy floating on them as on the +glowing clouds of twilight, caring not to discriminate +what was cloud, what were the bright glorified +heights of earth, and what were heavenly, enduring +stars; caring not to separate symbol from fact. +</p> + +<p> +"But now all this was changed. What were fair +pictures to me, brought face to face with this visible, +terrible fact, that the spirit which had been my +guide before I could remember, that my mother +herself had gone where no cry of passionate entreaty, +no tender ministry of love could reach, no agony +of prayer avail to win the faintest sign that she +heard, or cared, or existed? +</p> + +<p> +"A few hours since she had said, 'Throw my +warm old mantle round thee, Lettice, the nights are +chill.' She had taken food from my hands, and +murmured, smiling, 'Once I gave it thee.' And +now the farthest star that sent the faintest ray from +the utmost verge of the world, was near, compared +with the impassable gulf of distance between her +and me. What were fair visions of angels to me? +What had they been to the Magdalene of old? If +she lived, she was the same loving, tender saintly +mother still, unlike any one else in the universe; +not a white-robed angel lost in an overwhelming +multitude of other white-robed angels, singing. +</p> + +<p> +"My heart ached, and cried to heaven for one +word, one syllable, one touch, to show that she was +there. Would God give me instead, only fair pictures +of an innumerable multitude far off, serenely +singing as if they had not left any on earth bitterly +weeping? +</p> + +<p> +"I scarcely dared to think those thoughts, much +less to utter them, until one day, the dreadful day +when we left the house with the precious burden +through which she had been all she was to me, and +returned with nothing, the passion of my grief +overcame me. +</p> + +<p> +"Olive and Dr. Antony had left. Mistress Dorothy +was standing on one side of the fire, in the +wainscotted parlour which they had reserved for +me. +</p> + +<p> +"It was not her wont to dwell much on symbols +and pictures, whether painted with words or colours. +And seeing me sit with clasped hands in a kind of +stupor, for I could not weep, she said, not in a tone +of consolation so much as of rebuke,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Child, sorrow not as those without hope. It +is a sin. Thy mother is with God.' +</p> + +<p> +"There was something in her words which went +more to my heart than all the tenderest consolations +had done. They did not seem said so much to +comfort me, as simply because they were true. +</p> + +<p> +"'If I could hope, I would not sorrow,' I murmured. +</p> + +<p> +"'There is much reason to hope,' said she. 'Papists +even have been saved, I doubt not, at least +before the Reformation. And Lady Lucy was not +a Papist. I doubt not that the Spirit of God dwelt +in her as his temple. The Lord, indeed, of old +suffered neither idol nor trafficker in his temple. But, +mayhap, the traffickers are worse than the idols. +And, indeed, dear heart,' she concluded, 'I do think +sometimes we Protestants are like the later Jews, +if the Papists and the Papistically inclined are like +the earlier. We have cleared out the idols; but +we keep the tables of the money-changers, mayhap +the basest idolatry of all.' +</p> + +<p> +"She had entirely misunderstood my perplexity. +That she should imagine my mother's title to +blessedness required defence to me, would have stung +me to an indignant reply at other moments; but I +was too cast down to be angry, and I only said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'It is not of my mother I doubt, but of heaven; +of everything. It seems as if all my old faith had +vanished like a dream.' +</p> + +<p> +"I scarcely thought of the weight of my words, +until their own echo startled me; and I trembled at +what effect they might have on Mistress Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +"But, to my surprise, her first words, spoken as +if to herself, were,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Thank God; the good work has begun.' Then +laying her hand with unwonted tenderness on mine, +she said, 'The tempter is cruel, dear heart; he is +cruel indeed. But fear not, poor, torn, forsaken +lamb. The eye of the Shepherd is on thee, and none +shall pluck thee out of His hand. The tempter is +cruel, not because he is strong, but because he is +weak; he rages, not because he is victorious, but +because he is vanquished; vanquished on behalf of +all the flock, vanquished for thee, since the Lord is +leading thee. His first lesson is ever to show the +emptiness and the darkness; and He has shown thee +this. Do not strive to hasten His handiwork by +blending it with thine. Give thyself up to Him to +be poor and blind, to walk in darkness, to have no +light, as long as He wills. He will lay His hands +on thee when the hour is come. He has begun, and +He will finish. But thou must tread this part of +the way alone. Take heed how, by conferring with +flesh and blood, thou break the silence He is making +in thy heart. Hitherto thou hast been dreaming. +We are near waking when we dream that we +dream."* +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +* These words are in "Novalis."—Editor. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"And she left me alone. But although she did +not say so, I knew she would go and wrestle for me +alone till I had won the victory. +</p> + +<p> +"There was help in the thought. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet, I could not think she was altogether right. +I could not think all my former life a dream; that +all the prayers which, childish and weak as they +might have been, had helped me to bear painful +things and to do difficult things, were delusions; or +that the thoughts I had had about God's +loving-kindness, and the joy in His works, were unreal +fancies, that came not from Him. I could not give +the lie to all that had been heavenly and holy in my +efforts and aspirings. I could not draw a sharp +border-line between one part of my life and the +other, and say, Beyond that all is heathendom, +where no God is; and here God begins. It seemed +to me either He had been always with me and was +near me now, or all was delusion, and I could never +reach Him. Besides, it was of my mother my heart +was full, not of myself. And the words of Mistress +Dorothy which remained with me were,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Thy mother is with God.' +</p> + +<p> +"They turned the current of my thoughts from +the future state to the Living Presence. Fancy, +being of the brain, lay dumb and motionless, her +fairy wings folded, as I think they ever must be, +at the touch of real sorrow. Imagination, being +of the heart, after vainly striving to penetrate to +the heart of things, sank, dazzled by the impenetrable +darkness, blinded by the ineffectual effort to +gaze into the blank out of which she could avail to +shape nothing but emptiness and darkness, no form +and no light,—the bare negation of all she knew. +</p> + +<p> +"Then Faith, turning away from the sepulchre +with its impenetrable darkness, looked up into +heaven, and listening, heard the living words,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Thy mother is with God.' +</p> + +<p> +"Dust to dust; spirit to Spirit; love to Love; +weakness with Power; the mortal with the Eternal. +The thought did not bring a softening gush of +tenderness, but a solemn repose of awe; a silence, a +hush, a subjection, in which my poor, weary, tossed +heart seemed to gather strength. +</p> + +<p> +"The words were the last with me at night; +they made a calm in my heart, and I slept. They +were the first with me in the morning; and through +the days they rose from my heart like a prayer. +</p> + +<p> +"Strong in that calm, on the Sunday after her +chamber had been made empty, I ventured into it +alone, to read the service for the day once more +where I had read it so often to her. I came to the +Apostles' Creed. The snow lay on the ground, +hushing the earth with a death-like hush. All the +world, seen and unseen, earth and heaven, seemed +to me full of silence. I could only think of heaven +itself as a vast snow-white mountain of God, silent +and spotless, where the white-robed angels silently +came and went on ministries of mercy, and the +white-robed human creatures neither came nor +went, but rested and adored, absorbed in the +unutterable light around them. +</p> + +<p> +"Silence in her death-chamber; silence on the +cold snowy earth; silence in the pure light of +heaven; silence in my heart. +</p> + +<p> +"But as I sat there, a little robin came and +perched on the snowy window-sill, turning his +quick eyes from side to side, as if looking for the +crumbs my mother never let me forget to scatter +for him. Then he hopped off to a neighboring +spray, and poured out a brief happy carol there, +leaving the print of his pretty crimson feet on the +snow. +</p> + +<p> +"The silence of the earth was broken by his song. +</p> + +<p> +"There was still a Master's table from which the +crumbs fell for him. +</p> + +<p> +"The silence in my heart was broken by the rush +of tearful recollection his little song had brought, +and I wept and sobbed as if my heart were breaking. +Yet through all I felt it was not breaking, +but being healed, as never before. +</p> + +<p> +"For a word came to me which seemed to change +the silence in heaven and earth into music. +</p> + +<p> +"'I believe in God the Father Almighty, and in +Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord.' +</p> + +<p> +"The Father and the Son. +</p> + +<p> +"This is the fountain-truth of Christianity. This +is God. No mere solitary immutable Unity, but +the living, eternal communion of Eternal Love. +Not merely immutable, incomprehensible Being; +but ever-creating, all-comprehending Life. +</p> + +<p> +"This is Eternal Life; the fruitful source of all +life. This is Eternal Love, not an attribute +without object, but the Father and the Son eternally +loving—the loving rejoicing fountain of all love +sending forth the Spirit of power and love. +</p> + +<p> +"This is heaven. Where the Father and the +Son abide, and the holy angels and the redeemed: +not absorbed in the contemplation of far-off separate +light, but folded into the communion of eternal +present love. '<i>That the love wherewith Thou hast +loved Me may be in them and I in them.</i>' +</p> + +<p> +"God is called the Father, not in condescension +to our understandings, because a human father's +love is the best image human creatures can have +of Him, but because He is the eternal Father, and +the love of the Father and the Son is the root and +bond of all creation. +</p> + +<p> +"Heaven is called the Father's house, not because +a human home is the purest picture our poor dim +hearts can form of heaven, but because it is the +Father's house—the parent-home and sacred health +of the universe. +</p> + +<p> +"And therefore the immortality of pure human +love, of all that is truly human (not a perversion +of original humanity) is ensured not by an Almighty +Fiat, not even fundamentally by the incarnation of +the Son in whom God is manifest to us, but by the +very nature of God. +</p> + +<p> +"It was to this love my mother had been taken +up, and into the unutterable fulness of this +joy—'My joy'—the joy of the Son. What images +could be glowing enough to picture it? +</p> + +<p> +"If the heavenly visions of the Apocalypse had +been blotted out to-day, it seemed to me as if they +must have sprung up spontaneously around the +Apostles' Creed to-morrow. +</p> + +<p> +"Living fountains of water, trees of life and +leaves of healing, gates of pearl and walls of +precious stones, raiment white as the light, rivers +bright as crystal, harpers with the harps of God, +songs like the sound of many waters; the very +pavement which the feet of the 'many sons' were +to tread, the sea by which they stood, radiant with +combinations of glory impossible on earth, 'water +mingled with fire,' 'pure gold like transparent glass,'—what +are these but faint pictures in such colors +as earth and earth's skies can furnish of the +unutterable joy enshrined in the words, '<i>I in them, and +thou in Me;' 'Thou hast loved them as thou hast loved +Me?</i>' +</p> + +<p> +"I began to understand how my mother could +be still <i>herself</i>, no tender touch of the old familiar +affection lost, yet full of a joy which must +overflow in the new song. +</p> + +<p> +"For as I listened my heart recognized a distinction +in the music. +</p> + +<p> +"Not like an angel's her heart; not like an +angel's was her song. +</p> + +<p> +"The pathetic human tone should never vanish +from the songs of the redeemed. The agony of +redemption, the rapture of reconciliation, should +never be forgotten there. +</p> + +<p> +"To all He is the Father of Spirits. To each +of the lost sons He is the Father who saw him +while a great way off and ran and fell on his neck +and kissed him, and said, Rejoice with me, for this +my son was lost and is found. +</p> + +<p> +"To all He is the Eternal Son. To us He is the +Son who became the Lamb, who bore our sins and +carried our sorrows, and redeemed us to God by +His blood. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose my face shone with something of the +joy in my heart, for Mistress Dorothy said solemnly +to me that evening, as she bade me Good-night in +my room, 'Has the tempter departed, and have the +angels come and ministered to thee?' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I told her something of the new light in +which the old truths had come to me in my mother's +chamber. She seemed to take hope concerning me, +but not without fear, and questioned me as to whether +I had experienced this and that, and through what +instruments this deliverance had come. +</p> + +<p> +"I could only say, 'I think it was thou, Mistress +Dorothy, and the Apostles' Creed, and the robin +redbreast.' She looked doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +"'I never heard of any being led in such a way +as that,' said she, 'and I cannot quite make it out. +Doubtless, however, the Word of God is still His +Word if it be written on the Pope's mitre, much +more in the Apostles' Creed. Only be sure it is a +Word from Him thou art resting on. Nothing else +will stand when the heavens and the earth are +shaken. And as to the robin,' she added, 'no doubt +the Almighty once used ravens; and He might use +robins. I have hope of thee, dear heart, but I +would fain be more assured. I never heard of any +soul being brought into the fold by such a way +before.' +</p> + +<p> +"But do any two wandering souls come back by +the same way? +</p> + +<p> +"It seem as if the ways back were countless as +the wanderings: the Door is one, being the One +who stands there to let us in. +</p> + +<p> +"Nor am I sure that that was my first coming to +the fold. +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me as life were in some sense one +long course of conversion, one series of translations +from darkness to light. Is not the sun always +converting the sun-flowers by shining on them? +</p> + +<p> +"Once and for ever in one sense; day by day in +another. +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me as if every fresh sorrow or joy +opens new depths in our hearts, which must be filled +with fresh springs of the living water or else +become empty and waste; as if every new revelation +of life needs to be met by a new and deeper +revelation of God. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"That Sunday, so full of peace to me, was the +28th of January. +</p> + +<p> +"On the 30th the fatal scaffold stood outside the +Banqueting Hall, and the king was led forth to die +the death of a malefactor, in the presence of his +people and of all the nations. +</p> + +<p> +"On the evening of the next day the news reached +Netherby. +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy entered my room after I had +laid down to rest. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is done!' she murmured under her breath. +'They have laid their hands on the Lord's anointed. +The irremediable crime is committed.' And then, +as usual with the Puritans in moments of strong +emotion, falling into Bible language as into a +mother-tongue, 'The crown is fallen from our heads,' she +said; 'Woe unto us that we have sinned!' +</p> + +<p> +"I could not speak. +</p> + +<p> +"'Before the windows of his palace!' she continued, +'at mid-day, in face of heaven and of all the +people.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And not a voice to plead for him,' I said; 'not +one arm lifted to rescue!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Of what avail? the Ironsides were there,' she +replied bitterly. 'They girded the scaffold like a +wall of brass. They would not suffer the poor +people to come near enough to listen to a word from +the dying lips of their king.' +</p> + +<p> +"My eyes met hers. +</p> + +<p> +"'The Ironsides were there!' it was all I could +say or think. For before me rose the figure of +Roger Drayton on horseback amongst his men, stern +and motionless, his soul masked in iron more rigid +than his armour, not suffering the grief and pity at +his heart to relax one muscle of the rigid resolution +of his face. +</p> + +<p> +"And between him and me for ever that scaffold +and the shrouded corpse of the martyred king! +</p> + +<p> +"I had, as it were, been living in heaven with her +who was at rest there; and now the words came to +me with a terrible desolation, 'I am no more in the +world, <i>but these are in the world</i>.' Around her, rest, +and peace, and songs of joy. Around me crime, and +separation, and the terrible necessity to resolve. +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy spoke again, and her voice +trembled,— +</p> + +<p> +"'This is no longer a home for thee or for me, +dear heart. I feared that thy joy had been sent +thee to arm thee for some uncommon woe!' +</p> + +<p> +"'No more a home for me, indeed,' I said; 'but +how no longer for thee?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I told my brother long since that if ever this +crime was consummated, and neither he nor Roger +lifted up their voices against it, I could not sleep +another night under his roof, lest I should seem to +embrue my hands in sacred blood. It is not for us +to be like Pilate, languidly washing our hands of +the crime we or ours might have averted.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But whither will you flee?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'I have a small tenement at Kidderminster, +where godly Mr. Baxter dwelleth, a man who is as +true to his king as to his God. There, if thou wilt, +shall be a shelter for thee and me. It will be no +palace, but the best I have shall be thine; and with +Mr. Baxter's ministry that may suffice us both.' +</p> + +<p> +"The generous offer touched me; but I felt that +my father's home was the only one for me, now +that Roger's way and mine must part for ever. +</p> + +<p> +"She shook her head when I said so. +</p> + +<p> +"'Thy father is among papists and idolaters,' she +replied. 'It is written, "He that loveth father or +mother more than me is not worthy of me."' +</p> + +<p> +"'If my father is in a place of peril,' I said, 'all +the more my place is by his side.' +</p> + +<p> +"She was silent some minutes; her eyes cast +down, her lips set, and her hands grasping each +other. +</p> + +<p> +"'Child, thou art right. The heart is deceitful +above all things. I thought I was pleading for God, +and I was pleading for myself. I will take thee to +thy refuge in France, and then I will go to my house +alone. Canst thou be ready by to-morrow? I have +vowed never to sleep nor to break bread under this +roof again.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The sooner the better,' I said; for I felt as if +nothing but the overhanging shadow of that dreadful +scaffold could strengthen me for the sacrifice. +I dreaded lest time might make the treason against +the king sink in my eyes into a mere political +error, and my own departure seem more and more +like a treason against those to whom I owed so +much, and whom I loved so well. +</p> + +<p> +"I spent the night, under Mistress Dorothy's +direction, in packing the few things I might carry +with me. +</p> + +<p> +"In the morning, when Mr. Drayton's step was +first heard on the stairs, Mistress Dorothy went out +and followed him into his room below. For a few +moments they were alone; then I heard her step +re-ascending the stairs. It was not brisk, as was +her wont, but slow, like the tread of an aged person. +She re-entered the chamber, looking very white. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is settled, child,' she said. 'My brother +will not hinder us.' +</p> + +<p> +"She would not be present at the family-prayer +that morning, nor at breakfast, true to her vow. +</p> + +<p> +"Immediately afterwards, Mr. Drayton requested +an interview with me in his room. +</p> + +<p> +"'My child,' he said, laying his hand on my +shoulder, 'conscience is sacred. Are you sure that +in this deed you are obeying, not my sister's +conscience, nor even your mother's, but your own?' +</p> + +<p> +"The question opened a labyrinth I could not +disentangle. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is so difficult to tell what is our own and +what we inherit,' I said. 'My mother was my +conscience, and I believe I am doing what she would +have desired. Politics she said women must leave +to men. But loyalty was like religion or affection. +To the king every subject is personally related as +to a parent or to God. That is what she believed +and I believe. I dare not debate with myself. I +dare not reason about what I feel to be a crime, or +remain with those who sanction it. I dare not, +Mr. Drayton, trust myself any longer to all that tempts +me to stay.' +</p> + +<p> +"He walked up and down the room once or twice +with hasty steps. +</p> + +<p> +"'Then, my child,' he said at length, 'neither +dare I debate with thee nor hinder thee. I have +loved thee as I love Olive, and hoped to have a +right to call by a name as dear. But if thou wilt +go, God forbid I should make my house a prison. +By noon, an escort shall be ready to convey thee +and my sister to the coast.' +</p> + +<p> +"He was as good as his word. By noon we had +left the old house. By the morrow we were on the +sea on our way to France. +</p> + +<p> +"In the dusk, before we sailed, a boat came to +the ship's side, and a tall, muffled figure sprang on +board. Of what happened, from the time the vessel +began to toss on the short waves, I knew not +much, buried in cushions among the luggage. But +when the French coast was within reach, and we +were waiting for the tide to enter the harbour of +Calais, there was some little stir about a boat +putting off from the ship; and as I lay gazing towards +the harbour, I saw this boat struggle through the +breakers to a point of rock, where one of the crew +sprang on shore. +</p> + +<p> +"The next morning we landed. We were met +by the keeper of a hostelry, who courteously told +us that our apartments were ready. And on the +morrow, as I was sitting alone after breakfast, whilst +Mistress Dorothy had gone to make preparation +for our journey, there was a clatter of a horse's feet +in the court-yard, and in a few minutes my father +strode into the room and bade me welcome. +</p> + +<p> +"'But by what miracle, father, couldst thou know +we were here,' I said; as soon as I could speak for +his kisses and my tears. +</p> + +<p> +"'Didst thou not know? No miracle; only +Roger Drayton riding through the night to tell me.' +</p> + +<p> +"It was Roger, then, who had crept on board in +the dusk, whose boat I had watched struggling +through the breakers to the coast. And I dared +not trust myself to ask where he was or when he +would depart! +</p> + +<p> +"'A brave and gallant gentleman he is,' said my +father; 'a thousand pities such should lend their +swords to traitors.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I began to tell him of all Mr. Drayton's +goodness, and how Mistress Dorothy had undertaken +the voyage in her motherly care of me. +</p> + +<p> +"At that moment she re-appeared, and my father +poured out his thanks. +</p> + +<p> +"But she was very reserved and grave. +</p> + +<p> +"'Sir Walter,' she said, at last. 'Little thanks I +deserve for bringing this innocent lamb hither. I +have seen awful things to-day. At the door of a +church I saw a number of frightful images in a cage, +standing in painted flames, and stretching out their +hands through the bars, begging for money to buy +them out of torment. And while I was looking on +this, a procession of boys and men, in white clothes, +passed me, bearing aloft something under a canopy, +and wherever it came the people fell on their knees +and worshipped. I asked a sober-looking woman +what it was, and as far as I could understand she +said it was "our Lord." They thought they were +carrying God. I had heard much of Papistry, +but I had not thought to come to places like Gaza +and Ashdod almost within sight of England.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It was the Host, good mistress Dorothy,' +replied my father, explanatorily; 'the Holy Sacrament. +Doubtless there is superstition in their +reverence. But I must not forget my message from +your nephew. Roger Drayton desires to know +whether you will be ready to sail under his care +to-night.' +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Dorothy gave a questioning glance at +me, and hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"'Let us persuade you,' my father said, 'to tarry +awhile with us.' +</p> + +<p> +"'God forbid, Sir Walter,' she replied, 'that I +should tarry a night longer than I need, among +these Philistines. And God forgive me,' she added +solemnly, 'for bringing this lamb of the flock +among them.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Must I then tell Mr. Drayton you will accompany him?' +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy hesitated again. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is a sore perplexity,' she said, at last, 'to +have to choose between this land of idolaters and +the company of those who, kith and kin of mine +though they be, have embrued their hands in sacred, +though I may not say innocent blood.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Had Roger Drayton aught to do with that +monstrous iniquity?' my father exclaimed fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +"'Alas, was he not one of General Cromwell's +Ironsides?' replied Mistress Dorothy. 'The heart +of youth is too easily misguided.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ay,' said my father, with a strong Cavalier +oath, 'and woe to those who misguided them—the +quiet and sober Presbyterians and Parliamentarians, +who made a breach in the dykes, and now wonder +to see the country flooded by the ocean.' +</p> + +<p> +"Again Mistress Dorothy had to lift up her +voice in testimony; and in the midst of it Roger +Drayton entered. The three chief elements of the +civil war were comprised in the little English +company gathered in the chamber of that Calais +hostelry. +</p> + +<p> +"My father, sorely irritated by what he considered +Mistress Dorothy's Puritanical cant, lost all +control of his temper. There were high and fierce +words; and bitter epithets were freely exchanged. +I only remember that in the end Mistress Dorothy, +after embracing me with many a warning word, +decided to depart with Roger, and that throughout +it all Roger said not one intemperate or uncourteous +word, bitterly as my father assailed him and +those whose honour was dear to him as his own. +</p> + +<p> +"When Mistress Dorothy and Roger had left, +my father, after some rapid pacings of the room, and +some severe soliloquising on the state of England, +gradually become cooler, and then his courtesy +returning he said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Ungracious return I have made for their +generous kindness to you, Lettice; stay, and make +ready for the journey, while I go and see if I can do +anything for that fiery old lady. It would disgrace +us if she were not well-sped on her homeward way. +And I know the outlandish ways of this place better +than they do.' +</p> + +<p> +"I went to the window, saw him join them, +watched them cross the court, and then sank down +in a chair and hid my face in my hands, and was +weeping vain and hopeless tears when the door of +the room opened gently, with the quiet words, in +Roger's voice,— +</p> + +<p> +"'My aunt left her mantle.' +</p> + +<p> +"I rose and he came to my side. +</p> + +<p> +"'I had not meant this, Lettice,' he said, 'yet you +need not have fled without one farewell. Your +convictions are as sacred to me as yourself.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I knew it,' I said, scarcely knowing what I said. +'I was not afraid of you but of myself.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice,' he said, 'it cannot be always so. It is +impossible that such a difference can separate us +forever. I must hope. If, as I trust, General +Cromwell saves our England and makes her noble and +great as ever she was before, say I may hope.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What can I hope?' I said. 'Can I believe a +thing a crime, and look forward to not always so +believing it? Right and wrong are right and wrong +for ever.' +</p> + +<p> +"I think I never saw on his face such a look as +then. Reverence, and honour, and love, and grief. +I shall never see such a look on any face again. But +he only said very softly,— +</p> + +<p> +"'And love is love for ever.' +</p> + +<p> +"There was a faltering in his tone which made it +like an appeal, and I answered,— +</p> + +<p> +"'For ever!' +</p> + +<p> +"He wrung my hand once and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +"I scarcely know if after all I should not have +called him back, but for the memory of that look. +</p> + +<p> +"Better to be separated from him all my life than +to be dethroned from his heart by one wavering or +unworthy thought or word. Yet even that dread +scaffold seems sometimes a shadowy ghost to part +love like ours. I would (at times) it were some plain, +homely woman's duty that separated us instead. +Then there might be heart-breaking, but scarcely +this heavy mist of perplexity and doubt. +</p> + +<p> +"I have to say to myself again and again, as if the +words were a spell,— +</p> + +<p> +"'It is not politics that part us, but right and +wrong; what my mother would surely have deemed +a monstrous crime. And dare I deem it less?'" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER II. +<br><br> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</h3> + +<p> +The next morning, the 31st January, the +nation awoke a Republic. The king had +died "a traitor" (they said) "to the +nation;" and in the space before his scaffold +it had been proclaimed, that whoever presumed +to call his son, Charles Stuart, king, was a traitor +to the Commonwealth. It was a strange, dreary +dawning. As I opened my casement and looked +across the black frozen river to London Bridge, +with its "Traitor's Gate" and the towers of Southwark +rising above from the marshy flats beyond, to +the one long cold bar of brazen light which parted +the dark clouds on the horizon from the heavy vault +of snowclouds above, everything seemed hard and +metallic—the heavens "iron and brass," the waters +steel, the earth and her living creatures motionless, +rigid, as if turned to stone. +</p> + +<p> +What kind of a day was this to be? The king +was dead; though the remains of the Westminster +Assembly, and many of the Independent ministers, +and well-nigh all the Parliament had protested +against his execution, and well-nigh all the nation +bewailed him. The king was dead. What authority +had sentenced him? and what power was to +rule in his place? Half, at least, of the nation +looked on his death as a murder—but there was to be +no mourning; the rest, as the terrible but victorious +close of a terrible conflict—but there was to be no +triumph. +</p> + +<p> +No funeral pomp was to darken the streets that +day, as for a king slain. No triumphal procession +was to make them festive, as for an enemy vanquished. +It was to be a day without mark or sign; and +yet since England was first one nation surely such +a day had never dawned on her. "The first day of +freedom, by God's blessing restored," said the +Commonwealth coins; the first day of England's +widowhood, said the Royalists, widowed and orphaned at +one blow. +</p> + +<p> +Yet there was no disorder, no interruption of +employment. The sounds of day began to awake +in the busy city, the cries of countrymen bringing +their vegetables from the fields, the ringing of the +hammer on a forge near our house, the calls of the +bargemen and boatmen locked in by the ice; and +then, as the day went on, all distinction of sound +lost in the general hum, like the sound of many +waters, which marks that a great city is awake and at work. +</p> + +<p> +Looking westward, I could see the gardener +sweeping the snow from the walks in the gardens +behind Whitehall, as if no terrible black scaffold +had that day to be taken down in front. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, I suppose, in well-nigh every heart, man or +woman's, in London that morning, the first conscious +thought was, "the king is dead;" all the more +because there were few lips that would have uttered +the words. +</p> + +<p> +"What are we to do to-day, Leonard?" I said, +when we had breakfasted. +</p> + +<p> +"Do! dear heart," quoth he; "it is not thy wont +to need thy day's tasks set thee by any." +</p> + +<p> +"Nay; but to-day seems like a work-day with +out work, and a Sabbath without services," I said. +</p> + +<p> +"There will be a service," he replied. "The great +Dr. Owen is to preach before the Parliament in +St. Margaret's Church." +</p> + +<p> +"The Parliament!" I said; thinking pitifully of +the fifty members who still bore the name. +</p> + +<p> +"You scarcely recognize the Rump as the Parliament," +he said, answering my tone rather than my +words. +</p> + +<p> +"I scarce know what to recognize or reverence," +I said. "I was wont in the old days at Netherby +to think I had politics of my own, and would have +belonged to the country party by free choice, if all +around me had deserted it. But since our own +people have split and divided into so many sections, +I begin to fear, after all, it was nought but a young +maid's conceit in me to think I had any convictions +of my own. Aunt Dorothy and the Presbyterians +think the killing of the king a great crime; my +father and the old Parliamentarians think the forcible +purging of the Parliament a manifest tyranny; +Roger and the army think these things but the +necessary violence to introduce the new reign of +justice and freedom. But I know not what to believe, +or whom to follow. What is to come next? Who +are to rule us? We must have some to honour and +obey; if not the king, and if not the Parliament, +then whom?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sweet heart," said he, "if the government of +the three kingdoms has been resting on thy +shoulders, no wonder thou art cast down and weary. +But thou and I are among the multitude who are +to be governed, not among the few who govern. +Let us be thankful, as good Mr. Baxter saith, for any +government which suffers people to be as good as +they are willing to be. And let us be willing to be +as good as we can. That will give us enough to do." +</p> + +<p> +"But," I said, "all these years we have been +learning that the country is as a great mother who +demands fidelity from her most insignificant child; +that Liberty is no mere empty name for schoolboys +to make orations about, and Law no mere confused +heap of technicalities for lawyers to disentangle, but +simple sacred realities mothers are to teach their +children to reverence; that the glory and safety of +a nation depends on their political rights being +sacred household words. We have been taught to +look to Jewish and Roman matrons as our examples. +Are we to unlearn all this now, and go back +to the old saws we have been taught to think selfish +and base; that politics are to be left to rulers, and +laws to lawyers, and our liberties and rights to +whoever will defend or trample on them?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not go back, I think," he said gently, looking +a little surprised at my vehemence; "only go +deeper. Some precious rights, I believe, have been +won. Let us use them. That is the best way to +secure them. We are free to do what good we can, +to unloose what burdens, and to hear and speak +what good words we will. Let us use our freedom. +No one can say how long it may last. This morning +I must go to visit Newgate, and other gaols, in +which there has been much sickness. For although +the prisons are no longer filled by the Star Chamber, +or the High Commission, they are unhappily still +kept too well supplied by a tyrant more ancient +and more universal than these. Moreover, Olive," +he added, "there is still one sect not tolerated. The +number of the imprisoned Quakers is increasing; +and in Newgate there is one poor Quaker maiden +whom I think thou mightest succour. A few days +since thou wert desiring a maiden to wait on the +babe. This Quaker maiden is a composed and gentle +creature, and with kind treatment, such as she +would have from thee, might, I think, be led into +ways which seem to us more sober and rational." +</p> + +<p> +My husband's words opened a prospect of abundant +work before me. Already we had four washing-women +of four different unpopular persuasions. +</p> + +<p> +And I would have preferred choosing a nurse for +the babe, on account of her qualities as a serving-wench, +rather than as a Confessor. Moreover, what +he intended to be re-assuring in his description, +alarmed me rather the more. For of all fanatics, I +have found gentle fanatics the most incorrigible, +and of all wilful persons, these whenever "discompose" +themselves, or put themselves wrong by losing +their tempers, are certainly the most immovable. +However, I repressed such selfish fears as quite +unworthy of Leonard Antony's wife. And, accordingly, +when he returned from the gaol, I was quite +prepared to welcome the Quaker. And so I told +him as we joined the sober throng who were going +to hear Dr Owen preach at "Margaret's" before +the Parliament. +</p> + +<p> +A scanty Parliament indeed! No Lords, and +about fifty Commons; and among them scarce one +of those whose words and deeds had made its early +years so strong and glorious. +</p> + +<p> +Hampden lay among his forefathers in the church +of Great Hampden; Pym among the kings in +Westminster Abbey. Denzil Hollis and Haselrigge had +been expelled from it; old Mr. Prynne, who had +been liberated by its first act, had vehemently +denounced its last; even the young Sir Harry Vane +had for the time deserted its austere counsels. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless the congregation was great and +grave. And when Dr. Owen spoke, he led our +thoughts at once to spheres compared with whose +sublime chronology the length of the longest +Parliament is indeed but as a moment. He came of +an ancient Welsh ancestry; his bearing had a courtly +grace; his tall and stately figure had the ease and +vigor of one used to manly exercises; his voice +was well-tuned, as the tones of one who loved +music as he did should be; his eyes were dark and +keen. +</p> + +<p> +To the death of the king on that dreadful +yesterday he barely alluded. There was neither regret +nor triumph in his discourse. His exhortations were +addressed not to the vanquished, but to the victorious +party. If he alluded at all to the oppressions +and vices of the late government, it was in order +to conjure those now in power not to tread in their +steps. His text was: "Let them return unto thee; +but return not thou unto them. And I will make +thee unto this people a fenced brazen wall: and +they shall fight against thee, but they shall not +prevail against thee: for I am with thee to save +thee and to deliver thee, saith the Lord." +</p> + +<p> +God's judgments, he said, are a flaming sword +turning every way. Not in one of these ways, but +in all, He resists those who resist them. "How +do we spend our thoughts to extricate ourselves +from our present pressures! If this hedge, this +pit were passed, we should have smooth ground to +walk on; not considering that God can fill our +safest paths with snares and serpents. Give us +peace; give us wealth; give us to be as we were, +with our own, in quietness. Poor creatures! suppose +all these designs were in sincerity; yet if +peace were, and wealth were, and God were not, +what would it avail you? In vain do you seek to +stop the streams while the fountains are open; turn +yourselves whither you will, bring yourselves into +what condition you can, nothing but peace and +reconciliation with the God of all these judgments +can give you rest in the day of visitation. You +see what variety of plagues are in His hand. +Changing of condition will do no more to the +avoiding of them, than a sick man turning himself +from one side of the bed to another; during his +turning he forgets his pain by striving to move; +being laid down again he finds his condition the +same as before. +</p> + +<p> +"It was nothing new," he said, "for the instruments +of God's greatest works to be the deepest +objects of a professing people's cursings and +revilings. <i>Men that under God deliver a kingdom may +have the kingdom's curses for their pains</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"Moses was rewarded for the deliverance of +Israel from Korah by being told 'ye have killed +the Lord's people.' Man's condemnation and God's +absolution do not seldom meet on the same person +for the same things. '<i>Bonus vir Caius Sejanus, sed +malus quia Christianus</i>.' What precious men should +many be, would they let go the work of God in +their generation! +</p> + +<p> +"Yet be tender towards fainters in difficult +seasons. God's righteousness, His kindness, is like a +great mountain easy to be seen. His judgments +are like a great deep. Who can look into the bottom +of the sea, or know what is done in the depths +thereof? When first the confederacy was entered +into by the Protestant princes against Charles V., +Luther himself was bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +"It is by a small handful, a few single persons—a +Moses, a Samuel, two witnesses—He ofttimes +opposes the rage of a hardened multitude. His +judgments ofttimes are the giving up of a sinful +people to a fruitless contending with their own +deliverers, if ever they be delivered. God, indeed, +cannot be the author of sin, for He can be the author +of nothing but what hath being in itself (for He +works as the fountain of beings). This sin hath +not. It is an aberration. Man writes fair letters +upon a wet paper, and they run all into one blot; +not the skill of the scribe, but the defect in the +paper, is the cause of the deformity. The first +cause is the proper cause of a thing's being; but +the second of its being evil." Not, I understood +him to mean, that sin is natural, but that the +faculties of nature are perverted. +</p> + +<p> +Then he fervently warned against fear of man, +covetousness, ambition; against turning to "such +ways as God hath blasted before our eyes, +oppression, self-seeking, persecution." +</p> + +<p> +And at the close he said, "All you that are the +Lord's workmen, be always prepared for a storm. +Be prepared. The wind blows; a storm may come." +</p> + +<p> +Opinions about the sermon were various. On +the whole I think it was hardly popular. Some +said it was pitiless, that the harshest of his enemies +would not have grudged one generous word for the +fallen king. Others deemed it half-hearted, and +declared that if John Knox, or one of the mighty +men of old, had been in the pulpit, they would have +made all true hearts thrill, and all false hearts +tremble at the sentence of terrible justice just executed. +</p> + +<p> +"What was thy mind about it, Olive?" my +husband asked, when he, and Roger, and I had +returned to the quiet of our little garden-parlor. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought Dr. Owen very wise," I said, "in +that he directed his discourse to those who were +there to hear. I never could see the profit of +denunciations of Popery addressed to those who hate +it enough already; or of arguments addressed to +Arminians who are not present to be crushed; or +of railing at people who will not come to church, +for the edification of those who do. It set me +questioning myself whether God is indeed at work +among us, and praying that if He is, none of us +may mistake His hand." +</p> + +<p> +"May it but have set every heart on the same +questioning!" said Roger. "How can any call +those words of Dr. Owen's an uncertain sound?" +he added. "To me every tone was as clear as the +trumpet-signals before a battle. God has sent you +deliverance, has sent you a deliverer, he seemed to +me to say, as Moses to Israel in bondage, as Luther +to the Church in bondage. All depends on whether +we acknowledge him—not, indeed, as to the Promised +Land being reached at last, but everything as +to when it is reached, everything as to our reaching +it at all. Events seem to me constantly saying +to us, '<i>If ye will receive it, this is Elias which was +for to come</i>.'" +</p> + +<p> +The revenges of the Commonwealth were few. +Three Royalist noblemen beheaded without torture +or insult in Palace Yard. As far as Oliver +Cromwell's rule extended there was not one barbarous +execution. Baiting was not a sport he encouraged, +whether of bulls and bears or of men. +</p> + +<p> +During the ten years of the Commonwealth, the +pillory, the whipping-post, the torture-chamber, were +scarcely once used, and not one Englishman suffered +the savage punishment awarded to traitors. +</p> + +<p> +It was difficult to see what most men had to +complain of. Good men of every party but one, the +Royalist Episcopal, were encouraged. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, from every party rose murmurs of +discontent. Before the king had been executed +four months, General Cromwell had to subdue +opposition in the Parliament, the city, among the +peasantry, in the army itself. +</p> + +<p> +Roger grieved sorely at what he deemed the +blindness of the people. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Baxter preached and wrote against General +Cromwell and his measures, at Kidderminster, to +Aunt Dorothy's heart's content, propounding twenty +unanswerable queries to show why none should take +the "Engagement to the Commonwealth now established +without King or Lords," and having in reserve +twenty other queries equally unanswerable. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Hutchinson, the Republican, forbore not +to exhort and rebuke him, seeing, as Mistress Lucy, +his stately wife, said, how "ambition had ulcerated +his heart." +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Rich, Commissary Staines, and Watson, +made a design on his life. The Council would have +punished, but the General pardoned them. Men in +general were indeed moved by such generosity. +But it could not "blind" the penetrating eyes of +Mistress Lucy Hutchinson, or of Mr. Baxter. If +Oliver did magnanimous deeds in public, it was "to +court popularity;" if little kindly acts in private, +it was "to cajole weak members." If his plans +succeeded, it was a "favor of fortune." If his +enemies were vanquished, it was because they were +"slaves or puppets," whom he, with marvelous +prescience, had "tempted to oppose him for the +easy glory of knocking them down." If he pleaded +with almost a tearful tenderness against the +coldness of old friends, it was "dissimulation;" if he +sought to approve himself to good men, it was +"because his own conscience was uneasy." If he +disregarded their opinions, it was because he was +"inflated with pride, or hardened to destruction." +</p> + +<p> +Yet Roger thought much of this misapprehension +would pass away. It was, he hoped, but the +dimness natural to the twilight of this new dawn. +</p> + +<p> +The greatest dangers to the new liberty, he +thought, were from the hopes which it had created. +</p> + +<p> +The first time this danger opened on me was from +a conversation between Job Forster and Annis +Nye. +</p> + +<p> +The gentle Quaker maiden had been installed for +some weeks as the nurse of baby Magdalene, who +seemed to find a soothing spell in her still serene +face, and quiet even voice. +</p> + +<p> +As yet, no unusual or alarming symptoms had +appeared in Annis, nothing to indicate her being +capable of the offence for which it was said she had +been cast into prison, which was that, one Sunday, +she had confronted a well-known Presbyterian +minister in his pulpit, at the conclusion of a sermon +against "the Papal and Prelatical Antichrist" and +in a calm and deliberate voice had denounced him +in face of the indignant congregation as himself a +"false priest," "hireling shepherd," and "minister +of Antichrist." +</p> + +<p> +Yet there was something in her different from +any one I had yet seen. You could by no means +be always sure of her responding to converse on +good things; but when she did, it was like some +one listening to a far-off heavenly voice and echoing +it, and very beautiful often were the things she +said. +</p> + +<p> +Her neglect of ordinary gestures and titles of +respect seemed in no way disrespectful in her. "Olive +Antony" and "Leonard Antony" from her soft voice +had more honour in them than titles at every breath +from ordinary people, and when she called us "thou" +and "thee," even the bad grammar which accompanied +the custom had a kind of quaint grace from +her lips. If asked her reasons for these customs +she gave them. These customs were false, she said; +a hollow compliance with the hollow world. The +honour was rendered universally, and therefore +insincerely; and to call a single person "you" was an +untruth which "led to great depravation of +manners." Having given these reasons, she never +debated the point further; they satisfied her; if they +did not satisfy you, she could not help it. +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally there was inconvenience arising from +the difficulty of knowing when any command might +cross the non-observances she held sacred. +Nevertheless, her presence had a kind of hallowing calm +in it which compensated for much. +</p> + +<p> +My husband had sympathy with her sect on account +of their large thoughts of the love of God to +mankind. And he said we ought to wait to see +what portion of divine truth or church history it +had been given to the Quakers to unfold, he sharing +Mr. Milton's belief, that truth is found on earth but +in fragments either in the world or the church. So, +for the sake of my husband, and the free development +of church history, and a growing love to the +maid, I continued to accept from Annis such services +as her conscience permitted, and to make up the +deficiencies myself. +</p> + +<p> +Job Forster, who, for Rachel's sake, had much +reverence for feminine judgment, had frequent +converse with Annis when he came to solace himself +with our little Magdalene. For between him and +the babe there was the fullest confidence and love, +the little one never seeming more at home than in +his brawny arms. +</p> + +<p> +Job thought Annis "a woman of an understanding +heart," and had hopes of reclaiming her from +the error of her way. He did not for a long time +discover that Annis was the most patient of listeners +to his arguments simply as the Cornish cliffs are +patient with the beat of the waves; and that when +she "dealt softly" with him, it was not because she +was convinced by his reasoning, but because she +compassionated his blindness. +</p> + +<p> +It was, therefore, with some surprise that I found +him one April evening in 1649 listening with +indignant gesticulations to Annis, as she stood, with +clasped hands and eyes looking dreamily forward, +repeating in a low monotonous voice, like a chant, +the words,— +</p> + +<p> +"Woe unto those that build with untempered +mortar! Woe unto those that would build the +temple of the Lord with the dust of the battle-field! +Woe to those who run to and fro and cry, Lo +here! and Lo there! The kingdom of God cometh not +with observation, not with observation. The +kingdom of God is within you, within you, within!" +</p> + +<p> +Her voice died away into a sigh, and I confess it +moved me not a little. +</p> + +<p> +But Job, on whom the words came in the heat of +debate, was by no means calmed thereby. +</p> + +<p> +"It is no fair fight, Mistress Olive," he said, +appealing to me; "she does not know when she is +beaten. Only yesterday, she quite gave in, and had +never a word to say, and to-day it's all to be begun +over again. It's them poor honest fellows down in +Surrey she means, and it's a sin to cast up all those +Bible texts at them as if they were blinded persecutors, +instead of poor true men striving to hasten the +coming of the Kingdom. Mistress Annis," he +concluded, for there was something in her which +compelled from others the titles she refused to any, "did +I not give you chapter and verse until you had never +a word to gainsay? Is it not written so plain, that +he who runs may read, that the Jews are to go in +and possess the land, and did I not show thee that +the Saxons are the lost tribes, the descendants of +the Jews?" +</p> + +<p> +But Annis had meekly resumed her knitting, and +simply said,— +</p> + +<p> +"A concern was upon my spirit regarding thee. +I have spoken; the rest belongs not to me. There +is the Power and the Anointing. But these are not +with me." And she relapsed into silence. +</p> + +<p> +"That is her way, Mistress Olive," exclaimed Job, +much ruffled. "You shall be judge if any rational +discourse can proceed on such principles. You +bring forth Scripture enough to silence a council of +rabbis—to say nothing of reasons. She listens as +patient as a lamb, has not a word to answer—and +this is the end." +</p> + +<p> +Annis made no defence, she only said,— +</p> + +<p> +"I had hopes, Job Forster, thee had been reached. +But it seemeth otherwise." +</p> + +<p> +For if Annis heeded not the arguments of others, +neither did she rely on her own. Her confidence +was not on the power of her words, but on the +Power in and with them. But this Job did not +perceive. +</p> + +<p> +"Reached!" he exclaimed, looking hopelessly at +me. "She speaks of me as if I were a babe in +swaddling-clothes; and I old enough to be her +grandfather." +</p> + +<p> +"What was the matter in debate?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"There was no debate!" said Job, still agitated. +"Debates are only possible with people who are +amenable to Scripture and reason. I was but speaking +of the peasants at St. Margaret's Hill in Surrey, +and the great work they are beginning there." +</p> + +<p> +"What great work? Is there some great preacher +risen among them?" I asked, thinking he meant +some great work of conversion. +</p> + +<p> +"There is a prophet among them, mistress," said +Job solemnly, "by name Everard, once in the army. +The work may seem small to the eye of flesh. As +yet they are but thirty. But the Apostles were but +twelve. And soon they may be thousands." +</p> + +<p> +"But what is the work?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"Simple work enough," he replied mysteriously. +"They began with digging the ground, and sowing +beans therein." +</p> + +<p> +"Surely none will gainsay them," I said, "if it is +their own ground they are digging. But what is +to come of beans except the bean-stalks?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is not exactly their own ground," Job replied; +"it is common-ground. And they invite all men +to come and help them to make the barren land +fruitful, and to restore the ancient community of +the fruits of the earth, to distribute to the poor and +needy, and to clothe the naked. Gospel words, +Mistress Olive, and gospel deeds, let the Justices +say what they may." +</p> + +<p> +"The Justices interfered, then?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"Doubtless," he replied. "Justices do, in all the +books of the martyrs I ever read. Justices are a +stiff-necked race." +</p> + +<p> +"And so it ended?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"So it began, Mistress Olive," Job replied +mysteriously. "The country-people also were blinded, +and two troops of horse were sent against them. +They were brought before General Fairfax. Master +Everard spoke up to him like a lion, and told him +how the Saxon people were of the race of the Jews, +how all the liberties of the people were lost by the +coming of William the Conqueror, and how, ever +since, the people of God had lived under tyranny +worse than their forefathers in Egypt. But that +now the time of deliverance was come, and there +had appeared to him a vision, saying, Arise, dig and +plough the earth, and receive the fruits thereof, and +restore the creation to its state before the curse." +</p> + +<p> +"What does General Cromwell say?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"He has not yet got the light," replied Job. +"But his eyes will be opened, for he is of them +that sigh and cry for the iniquities of the land. The +light must be flashed a little stronger in his face, +and he will see." +</p> + +<p> +"But the General is taking away oppression; he +has destroyed slavery," I said. "And there are so +many curses, Job, besides the thistles and thorns. +Yet even our Lord took them not away. How can +these thirty countrymen hope to do it by sowing +beans in the Surrey commons? Our Lord did not +take hard things away. He changed them into +blessings. The sweat of the brow, the thistles and +all; even death." +</p> + +<p> +"That is what I was trying to explain to Mistress +Annis," replied Job. "There are the Two Kingdoms. +One cometh not with observation; the other +cometh like the lightning which lighteneth from one +end of heaven to the other." +</p> + +<p> +"But I do not see how digging up the Surrey +sand-hills is like either," I said. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Job, shaking his head pitifully; "I +daresay not, Mistress Olive. Others must do their +part of the work first. There are the 'men as trees +walking' and there is the 'shining more and more.' But +I did think Mistress Annis would have had +understanding. For these country folk were like to +those she calls Friends. They would not take arms +to defend themselves against the powers that be, +but would wait and submit. And when asked why +they did not take off their hats to General Fairfax, +they said, Because he was their fellow-creature." +</p> + +<p> +But not even this orthodoxy as to "hat-honour" +moved Annis. +</p> + +<p> +"Not with observation," she said; "not in bean +fields, nor battle-fields, nor in king's palaces. Within +you—within!" +</p> + +<p> +Job rose, and gently laying little Magdalene in +my arms, took his hat, and went away without +further farewell. +</p> + +<p> +"She will not see the Two Kingdoms," he +murmured. "This generation will have to be roused +by louder voices. The foxes must be hunted with +beagles of other make. Those who will not wake +at the lark's singing will be startled when the +trumpet peals. Five Monarchies," he added, turning to +us from the threshold; "Two Kingdoms and Five +Monarchies. Four have been, and are not. One is +yet to come; cut out of the mountain without +hands—to crush the remnants of the four and fill the +world. Take heed that ye fail not of the signs of +its coming." +</p> + +<p> +Job's words made me uneasy. They seemed to +betray a subterranean fire of wild hopes, and wild +distrusts, and tumultuous purposes, which might +burst up beneath our feet any day anywhere is a +volcano of wilder deeds. +</p> + +<p> +"What does Job mean," I said to my husband +afterwards, "by his Fifth Monarchy and his Kingdom +coming like the lightning, and his 'beagles to +hunt foxes'?" +</p> + +<p> +"He means precisely what is endangering the +Commonwealth most of all at this moment," my +husband said. "So many evils have been removed, +that sanguine men think it is nothing but +faint-heartedness in the leaders which suffers any to +remain. Now that the Star Chamber and the persecutions +are suppressed, they seem to think it is only +Cromwell's half-heartedness that prevents the devil +being suppressed also, instantly, with all his works. +Now that fines and persecutions are swept away, +and the laws which sanctioned them, and the men +who made the laws; what, they think, is to hinder +poverty being swept away, and unaccountable +inequalities of station, and avarice, and luxury, +and waste, and want, and all the old tangle of +too much toil for some and too much idleness for +others? But we must see after this. There are +mischief-makers abroad. 'Free-born John Lilburn' +is scattering fire-brands from his prison in the +Tower, about England's 'new chains;' and we must +not suffer Job Forster to be among his victims. +To-morrow we will tell Roger of the danger, that he +may counsel Job." +</p> + +<p> +But on the morrow it was too late. In the night +(the 23th of April) there was much stir in the city; +sudden sharp alarms of trumpet and drum, and +galloping to and fro of horsemen, not on parade. +</p> + +<p> +A troop of Whalley's regiment, quartered at the +Bull Inn, Bishopsgate mutinied; why, it was not +clear, but with some vague intention of bringing in +swiftly the thousand years of liberty and universal +happiness. +</p> + +<p> +General Cromwell and Lord Fairfax extinguished +the fire for the time. Five ringleaders were seized +and condemned, and out of them one, Sergeant +Lockyer, was shot the next day in St. Paul's +Churchyard. +</p> + +<p> +They were practical times. It mattered very much +what people's opinions were about prophecy, when +they expressed them by insurrections and mutinies. +</p> + +<p> +But, naturally, executions did not alter the +convictions of the people who believed the prophets. +</p> + +<p> +Of all the assemblies the old church and the +houses round the churchyard had witnessed, I think +there had scarce been a sadder than when young +Trooper Lockyer was led out there to die. No +crime was laid to his charge, but this unpardonable +military crime of mutiny. He was but twenty-three. +At sixteen he had joined the army of freedom, +and had fought bravely in it seven years. +Blameless and brave, all the fervour of his early +manhood had burnt pure in aspirations for a Kingdom +of God on earth, a free and holy nation, where +the poor and needy should be judged and saved, +and deceit and violence should cease, and the +oppressor should be broken in pieces. And thousands +with him had prayed for it by the camp fires at +night, and had fought for it on many battle-fields +by day for seven years. And the poor and needy +had been saved, and deceit and violence avenged, +and many oppressors broken in pieces. The Bible +had promised it, and with prayers and strong right +arms they, the army of freedom, had done it. But +the Bible promised more. One set of workers after +another had been set aside, they thought, "as doing +the work of the Lord deceitfully." They were +prepared to do it thoroughly—to pray and fight on till +every wrong in England was redressed, and every +chain, new and old, was broken, till every valley +should be exalted, and every mountain and hill +should be laid low, when avarice with its base hoards +of gold, and ambition with its lordly palaces, should +vanish, and every home in England should be a +home of plenty and of well-rewarded toil; the +praises of God going up from every holy city and +happy hill-side through the land, till the whole earth +stopped to listen, and the thousand years of the +better Eden began. +</p> + +<p> +And for hopes such as these young Trooper Lockyer +was led out to die; for carrying out a little too +swiftly what all Christian men hoped to see; for +"doing the Lord's work," "not deceitfully," but too +hastily, at the wrong time, and not altogether in +the right way. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing new to him in facing death. +He stood to receive the fatal volley; and when he +fell, the great crowd of men and women broke into +bitter weeping and bewailed him. +</p> + +<p> +That Saturday and Sunday were sad days in the +city. There was a sense of hushed murmurs and +tears all around us among the people. We knew +the corpse was being solemnly watched night and +day with prayers weeping in the city. The death +of the king, alone and gray-haired, had smitten the +people with awe; the execution of this brave young +soldier touched them with a passionate reverence +and pity. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing was to be seen of Job during those days. +Roger had seen him once; but he looked gloomy, +and would be drawn into no discourse. He was +among the watchers over the dead, nursing wild +hopes of the Fifth Kingdom, and bitter distrusts of +those who hindered its coming. +</p> + +<p> +On Monday the feeling of the people manifested +itself in a solemn procession passing through the +city to Westminster. +</p> + +<p> +Ceremonial, funereal or festive, was so foreign to +our Puritan people, that the few occasions on which +the irrepressible feeling burst forth into such +manifestation had a terrible reality. +</p> + +<p> +A soldier's funeral is heart-stirring enough at any +time; but to me, scarce any procession, before or +since, seemed so moving as this which bore Trooper +Lockyer to his grave in Westminster Churchyard. +</p> + +<p> +There were none of the rich or great among them. +First, a hundred men, five or six in file. Then the +corpse of the poor brave youth, with the sword he +had long used so well, stained now with blood, and +beside it bundles of rosemary, also dipped in blood. +Then the horse he had ridden to many battle-fields, +moving uneasily under his heavy mourning +draperies, and beside it six men pealing on six +trumpets the soldier's knell. Behind, thousands of men, +marching slow and silent in order like soldiers. +And after all a crowd of mourning women; all, men +and women, with bunches of black or sea-green +ribbon on their hats and breasts. +</p> + +<p> +At Westminster they were met by thousands +more, "of the better sort," it was said. And so +the young man died, for trying to fulfil men's best +hopes at a wrong time and in a impracticable way, +and was buried, not without honour. +</p> + +<p> +The crime was not one which moved men to +vengeance. The doom was one which moved men +much to pity. +</p> + +<p> +So the fire went on spreading in the army. On +May the 9th, the mutinous sea-green ribbons +appeared among the soldiers at a review in Hyde Park. +</p> + +<p> +General Cromwell with one of those speeches of +his which critical gentlemen pronounced so confused, +but which those to whom they were addressed +found so plain, made the men in general understand +that to be a soldier meant to obey commands. If +they declined to obey, they should receive arrears +of pay and be dismissed. If they decided still to +be soldiers, they must obey, or suffer the penalties +of martial law, under which they had put themselves. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose his words told, as usual, for the sea-green +ribbons disappeared, and no further mutiny +followed in London. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Mr. John Lilburn, for whom General +Cromwell had once pleaded with so vehement a +passion when he was Mr. Prynne's servant in danger +of the pillory and the whipping-posts, continued +to disperse his incendiary pamphlets from the cell +to which he had been committed in the Tower. +And at length the news came that the conflagration +had burst out in the army in three places at once, +two hundred mutineers at Banbury, at Salisbury a +thousand, in Gloucestershire more. +</p> + +<p> +Job Forster had gone westward within those +weeks with scarce a word of farewell to any. With +a grave and glooming countenance, and avoiding all +discourse. We feared sorely to hear that he was +among the mutineers. +</p> + +<p> +On Sunday, May the 14th, Roger called to bid us +farewell, ready booted and spurred to ride off with +Fairfax and Cromwell and their troops for Salisbury, +to quell the mutiny there. +</p> + +<p> +It was an uneasy Sabbath for us who were left +behind. John Lilburn was in the Tower, and +somewhere around the Tower were dwelling the +thousands of grave and determined men who had borne +Trooper Lockyer to his grave scarce a fortnight +before. And the only voice which seemed able to +command the stormy waves was out of hearing, +heartening his men on their rapid march through +Hampshire towards Buckinghamshire, Berkshire, +Oxfordshire; as they tracked the mutineers +northward till they came on them at midnight taking +uneasy rest at Burford. +</p> + +<p> +But London remained quiet, to all outward +seeming. Whatever vows were being made in homes +where the "Eikon Basilike" was being read secretly, +with a passionate devotion, together with the +proscribed liturgy, the hopes cherished were of a +"blessed restoration" and "vengeance on bloody +usurpers;" or, on the other hand, in homes where +Trooper Lockyer was the martyr, and the hopes +were of a speedy millennium with vengeance on all +who hindered it,—they did not disturb the quiet of +that Sabbath. Leonard and I went to the morning +exercise in "Margaret's," and the preaching in the +abbey, and Annis to her obscure meeting of Friends. +And little Magdalene welcomed us back with +crowings "significant" (we thought, as my Diary +records), "of a remarkable vivacity of intelligence." And +as in the evening we looked on the Lent-lilies +and primroses Aunt Gretel had sent from Netherby, +making the little garden behind the house faintly +represent the woods and fields, it seemed to us that the +city had even more than its usual Sabbath stillness, +while we listened to the evening family psalm rising +from the open lattices of many houses around us. +</p> + +<p> +Yet all through that Sabbath-day those who were +keeping the peace with their good swords for us, +were chasing the mutineers from county to county +and from town to town, making meanwhile such +Sabbath melodies in their hearts as best they might. +</p> + +<p> +The story of the pursuit I heard afterwards from +Job. All through the Monday the chase went on. +</p> + +<p> +"We thought to cross into Oxfordshire at +Newbridge, and join our fellows at Banbury," said Job. +"But they had been before us? the bridge was +guarded. We had to double and swim the river. +By this time it grew dusk, and when we reached +the little town of Burford on Monday evening it +grew dark. At the entrance of the street we made +a halt. Little welcome had we found at town or +village. The name of him who was chasing us had +been our shield and boast too long not to weight +against us now. +</p> + +<p> +"For the first time these two days since first they +came nigh us, we missed the tramp of the horse in +pursuit. Some of us hoped they were off the scent. +Others knew better than to think the General was +to be baffled so. We knew his ways too well. But +be that as it might we were fain to stay. The +horses stumbled and would not be spurred further. +We had to cross fifty miles of country that day, to +say nothing of doublings. We turned the poor +brutes out to grass in the meadows by the river, +and, wet and weary as we were, turned in to get +such sleep as we might. +</p> + +<p> +"Running away is work that breaks the heart +of man and beast, and Oliver had not used us to it. +</p> + +<p> +"But as midnight boomed out from the tall old +steeple, we found what the silence of the pursuers +had meant. +</p> + +<p> +"They had been lying quiet in ambush outside +the town. On they came, clattering into the +narrow streets, with the old cries we had joined in +with them so long. It was enough to make any +man's heart fail to have to go against the old +watchwords, to which we had charged and rallied scores +of times together. But worse than all was Oliver's +voice. Few of us could stand that. It had been +more than a thousand trumpets to us for years. A +few desperate shots were fired, and all was over. +We were caught and clapped up together to await +the sentence. We went to sleep thinking we might +yet be the Lord's handful to bring in the +Millennium. We woke up and found we were nothing +better than a lot of traitorous mutineers. +</p> + +<p> +"Two days of waiting followed, and they finished +the work for most of us. Some still braved +it out, and talked of martyrdom, and of paving the +way to the Kingdom with our corpses. But the +greater part were downcast and heart-stricken, and +in sore bewilderment of soul. We minded Oliver's +prayers before so many battles, and the cheer of his +voice in the fight, and his thanksgivings afterwards; +and how he had praised the Lord and praised us, +and made as though he owed all to us, while we +felt we owed all under God to him. We minded +how he had never thought it beneath him to write +up to Parliament to claim reward for any faithful +service of any among us, and had never claimed +honor or reward for himself. More than one among +us minded how a glance from his eye singled us +out, and had made our hearts swell like a public +triumph, though not a soul saw it besides; how it +had been enough reward for any toil to know that +the General knew we had done our best. All of +us had heard his cheery voice joining in joke and +laugh, and more than one had heard it in low tones +beside the dying, breathing words which could +make a man brave to face the last enemy of all. +</p> + +<p> +"And now his eyes had rested on us in grave +displeasure, and grieved disappointment. He had +thought we knew him, his sorrowful eyes had said; +he had thought we could have trusted him to do +the good work, and would have helped him in it. +</p> + +<p> +"The Royalists hated him, good Mr. Baxter and +the Presbyterians distrusted him, but he had thought +we knew him! +</p> + +<p> +"And so we did! And before those two days were +over, there were many among us who would have +asked no better from him or from Heaven than +that we might have one chance of following him +to the field, and showing how faithful we could be +to him again. +</p> + +<p> +"So we came to the Thursday. The court-martial +sat and gave sentence. Ten out of every +hundred of us were doomed to die. We were taken +up to a flat place on the roof of the old church to +see our comrades shot in the church-yard and to +abide our turn. Cornet Thompson came; he and +his brother had been at the bottom of it, and he +had no hope of pardon. But he spoke out bravely, +and said that what befell him was just; God did +not own the ways he went; he had offended the +General; he asked the people to pray for him; he +told the men who stood ready with loaded guns, +when he should hold out his hands to do their duty. +I suppose he gave the sign. I was too sick at heart +to look. But the volley came and he fell. Next +came two corporals—made no sign of fear, said no +word of repentance, looked the men in the face till +they gave fire, and fell. Then came Cornet +Dean—confessed he had done wrong, after a short pause +received pardon from the generals. And so we, +standing sentenced on the roof of the old church, +waited what would befall us next. +</p> + +<p> +"The shooting was over. Oliver had us called +into the church. There he preached us a sermon +none of us are like to forget. Not long nor under +many heads, but home to every heart. Some say +the General is blundering in speech, and no man +knows what he would say. We always knew. And +all I knew of the sermon that day, is that +blundering or not, he made us all feel we had +blundered sorely as to the Almighty's purposes—blundered +as to him. There were silence enough in the +old church that day, but for the weeping. The sobs +of men like some of ours are catching to listen to; +Oliver's Ironsides are not too easily moved. But +that day I believe we all wept together like +children. We had lost our lives and we had them given +back to us; we had lost our way in the wilderness +and we had found it again. We had lost our leader +and we had found him, and it will be hard if any +noisy talker, free-born John Lilburn or other, tempt +us to leave his lead again. We Ironsides are not +going to use our Captain as the children of Israel +used their Moses. Thank God, we have another +chance given us, and we are ready to follow him to +Ireland, or to the world's end. +</p> + +<p> +"The General is breaking the chains fast enough, +and opening the prisons, and breaking in pieces the +oppressors. And God forbid we should hinder him +again. And as to the millennium, the Lord must +bring it about in His own way, and in His own time. +I for one will never try to hurry the Almighty +again, nor the General." +</p> + +<p> +The Surrey labourers went home to sow beans in +their master's fields. The army Levellers, after +being sent for a while to the Devizes, were restored +to their own regiments, and were eager to prove +their fidelity to General Cromwell by following him +to the new campaign in Ireland. +</p> + +<p> +It rejoiced me to hear that Dr. John Owen was +going to Ireland as General Cromwell's chaplain. +His strong calm words were such as were able to +move and to quiet men like the Ironsides, who were +not to be stirred with zephyrs, or quieted with sweet +murmurs as of a lady's lute;—words plain and +strong as their own armour. The sound of a +trumpet was in them, Job said, and the voice of +words. +</p> + +<p> +Often and often his words echoed back to me as +we heard them before the Parliament in St. Margaret's, +on the day of humiliation, the 28th of February. +</p> + +<p> +"How is it that Jesus is in Ireland only as a lion, +staining all His garments with the blood of His +enemies, and none to hold Him out as a lamb +sprinkled with His own blood to His friends? Is it the +sovereignty and interest of England that is alone +to be there transacted? For my part, I see no +further into the mystery of these things, but that I +could heartily rejoice that, innocent blood being +expiated, the Irish might enjoy Ireland so long as +the moon endureth, so that Jesus Christ might +possess the Irish. In this to deal faithfully with the +Lord Jesus—call Him out to the battle, and then +keep away His crown? God hath been faithful in +doing great things for you; be faithful in this one, +do your utmost for the preaching of the gospel in +Ireland."* +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* "On the sinfulness of Staggering at the Promises." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And again in the great sermon on the shaking of +heaven and earth, on the 19th of April. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord requireth that in the great things He +hath to accomplish in this generation all His should +close with Him; that we be not sinfully bewildered +in our own cares, fears, and follies, but that we may +follow hard after God, and be upright in our generation. +</p> + +<p> +"God does not care to set His people to work in +the dark. They are the children of light, and they +are no deeds of darkness which they have to do. +He suits their light to their labour. The light of +every age is the forerunner of the work of every +age. +</p> + +<p> +"Every age hath its peculiar work, hath its peculiar +light. The peculiar light of this generation is +the discovery which the Lord hath made to His +people of the mystery of civil and ecclesiastical +tyranny. +</p> + +<p> +"The works of God are vocal-speaking works. +They may be heard, and read, and understood. +Now what, I pray, are the works He is bringing +forth upon the earth? What is He doing in our +own and the neighbouring nations? Show me the +potentate on earth that hath a peaceable molehill +to build a habitation upon. Are not all the +controversies, or most of them, that are now disputed in +letters of blood among the nations somewhat of a +distinct constitution from those formerly under +debate? those tending thereof to the power and splendour +of single persons, and these to the interest of +the many. Is not the hand of the Lord in all this? +Is not the voice of Christ in the midst of all this +tumult? What speedy issue all this will be driven +to, I know not: so much is to be done as requires +a long space. Though a tower may be pulled down +faster than it was set up, yet that which hath been +building a thousand years is not like to go down +in a thousand days. +</p> + +<p> +"Let the professing people that are among us +look well to themselves. 'The day is coming that +will burn like an oven.' Dross will not stand this +day. We have many a hypocrite yet to be uncased. +Try and search your hearts; force not the Lord to +lay you open to all. +</p> + +<p> +"Be loose from all shaken things. You see the +clouds return after the rain; one storm on the neck +of another. 'Seeing that all these things must be +dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be +in all holy conversation?' Let your eyes be +upwards, and your hearts be upwards, and your hands +be upwards, that you be not moved at the passing +away of shaken things. I could encourage you by +the glorious issue of all these shakings, whose +foretaste might be as marrow to your bones, though +they should be appointed to consumption before the +accomplishment of it. +</p> + +<p> +"See the vanity and folly of such as labour to +oppose the bringing of the kingdom of the Lord +Jesus! Canst thou hinder the rain from falling? +Canst thou stop the sun from rising? Surely with +far more ease mayest thou stop the current and +course of nature than the bringing in of the kingdom +of Christ in righteousness and peace. Some are +angry, some are troubled, some are in the dark, +some full of revenge; but the truth is, whether they +will hear, or whether they will forbear, Babylon +shall fall, and all the glory of the earth be stained, +and the kingdoms become the kingdoms of our Lord +Jesus Christ."* +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* "On the Shaking of Heaven and Earth." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On the 7th of June, Dr. Owen preached again at +"Margaret's" before the Parliament, on the great +thanksgiving day, when the city feasted the +Parliament, and distributed £100 to feast the poor. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Gretel and my father, who had come up +from Netherby, heard him, with us. About the +same time, Annis Nye returned from one of the two +"threshing-floors,"* where the "Friends" had been +suffered publicly, by "searching words," to sift the +chaff from the wheat; and a "prelatical" friend of +ours came in to tell us of his having joined in the +ancient Common Prayer at St. Peter's Church on +Paul's wharf, and heard good Archbishop Ussher +preach. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* These two threshing floors are first spoken of a few years +later, in 1655. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Whereon Aunt Gretel, who (believing far more +in the power of light than in that of darkness) was +ever wont to be seeing the clouds breaking, before +others could, remarked to me,— +</p> + +<p> +"Surely, sweet heart, the years of peace are +already in sight. Quakers, Prelatists, and Puritans +free to do what good they can in their different +ways, what is that but the lion lying down with the +lamb?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, sister Gretel," said my father, "lions and +lambs have lain down together in cages, with the +keeper's eye on them, many a time before now, +when they were well fed, and could not help it. It +remains to be seen what they will do when the +keeper's eye is removed. General Cromwell saith +all sects cry for liberty when they are oppressed, +but he never yet met with any that would allow it +to any one else when they were in power." +</p> + +<p> +And as we passed the kitchen door on our way +upstairs, we heard sounds of scarcely millennial +debate. +</p> + +<p> +I am afraid Annis Nye had been taking a feminine +advantage of the failure of her antagonist's +cause to remind him how she had forewarned him. +For Job was saying,— +</p> + +<p> +"Convinced we are not to look for the Fifth Monarchy +because we poor soldiers blundered about the +ways and the times! As little as a man would be +convinced the sun was never to rise because some +idle watch-dog waked him up too soon by baying +at the moon. Moved from the error of my ways! +Moved at farthest from the First of Thessalonians +to the Second. Not a whit farther. But that folks +should call themselves Friends of Truth, who are +not to be brought round by chapter and verse, is a +marvel. General Cromwell knows what he is about +in letting such have their 'threshing-floors.' There +are those that think another sort of threshing-floor +might be best to sift such chaff away. Eden is +before us, Mistress Annis; before as well as behind. +And the best Paradise is to come." +</p> + +<p> +"The lion and the lamb are scarcely at peace yet, +sister Gretel!" said my father. +</p> + +<p> +But when we were all seated together in the parlour +that evening, my father said,— +</p> + +<p> +"How many hearts, like Job Forster's, have +believed they saw the breaking of the dawn, which +was to usher in the golden age, when it was only +the breaking forth of the moon from the clouds, or +perhaps only the deepening of the darkness, which +they thought must be the darkest hour preceding +the dawn. The Thessalonians of old; the early +Church in her persecutions; Gregory the Great at +the breaking up of the Empire; the Middle Ages +in the year One Thousand, with a trembling +expectation which led men, not indeed to sow beans on +commons to make the whole earth fruitful, but to +sow nothing, believing that earth's last harvest was +at hand." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet were they far wrong?" said my husband. +"The moonlight and the morning both draw their +light from the sun. The dawn shows that he is +coming, but all light worth the name testifies that +he is. In the moon, which dimly lights our night, +it is already day. So that the moonlight, in truth, +is as sure a promise of the day as the dawn." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER III. +<br><br> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</h3> + +<p> +"<i>Rouen</i>.—We have not yet been able +to enter Paris. The city is in great +excitement with the wars of the Fronde. +The queen-mother, Anne of Austria, +and the young king Louis XIV., have been compelled +to fly to St. Germains. It is strange to be +exiled from one Civil War to another. The French +Court is so poor in consequence of these tumults, +that they have had to dismiss some of their pages; +and it is reported that our own youngest princess, +Henrietta, was obliged to stay in bed to keep +herself warm for lack of fuel to light a fire. +</p> + +<p> +"I have not had to wait long for the fulfilment +of my murmuring wish, that some simple, homely +woman's duty were separating me from Roger, +instead of a political crime. +</p> + +<p> +"When my father returned from paying such +farewell courtesies as he might to Mistress Dorothy, +he said, fixing a penetrating look on me (who, if I +cast down my eyes, could not hide from him my +eyelids swollen with weeping),— +</p> + +<p> +"'Master Roger Drayton was longer than need +be in fetching Mistress Dorothy's mantle. I trust, +Lettice, thou gavest him no cause.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I told him all, as well as brief words +might tell it. +</p> + +<p> +"'Thou hast done well,' said he. 'Could I think +daughter of mine would have felt otherwise to one +of those who have made England a reproach and a +curse on the earth, I would sooner she had died. +For to eternity my curse would rest on her, and +never would I see her face again.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then seeing me grow pale, he added, in a cheery +voice,— +</p> + +<p> +"'But what need to speak of curses? Thou art +a true maiden, Lettice, as true as fair. And many +a hand there is that would be glad to be linked with +this little hand, none the less that it has rejected a +traitor.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I gathered courage once for all, and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Father, they were good as angels to mother +and to me. I shall always love them better than +any in the world, save thee; I shall always think +them holier and wiser, and more true and good than +any in the world, save mother. For my sake, father, +say no ill of them. It wounds me to the heart. +And, father, say no more of any other wooer. I +will live for thee and for no other.' +</p> + +<p> +"He was not moved as I hoped by my pleading. +He only smiled and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'No need for me to say anything of other wooers, +child. They may speak for themselves. But +as to living for me, I fear thou wilt find me a rough +old tyrant enough to live with, say nothing cf +living for. See already, when I meant to cheer thee +I have made thee weep. Maidens are mysterious,' +he added, going to the window and whistling +uneasily. Then returning, he laid his hand kindly on +my shoulder, saying, 'Come, come child. Thou +shalt be as good to me as thou wilt. And I will +say as little evil of any thou carest for as I can, +though as to picking my words it is what I am +little used to. Only no tragedy, Lettice, and no +heroics! Your mother knew I had no capacity for +the heroics, and she never troubled me with them. +I knew that she loved the mountain-tops, and now +and then I should hear her singing there as it were +like a lark or an angel. But she never expected +me to climb. She had her divine songs, and her +heroic epics, and her lays, and her romaunts, and I +loved her all the better for them, but to me she +always talked in prose, so that we understood each +other. Thou and I will do the same." +</p> + +<p> +"And then the horses were ready, and we rode +away together to Rouen. +</p> + +<p> +"But his words are very mournful to me. Are +only the streets and market-places, as it were, of +our souls to be open to each other, and the inmost +places, the hearth and the church, always to be +closed? +</p> + +<p> +"Yet there is a kind of unreasonable consolation +in the prohibition of my father's as to Roger. It +is a terrible strain to have to keep that door closed +myself; whilst, at the same time, the barrier of +another's will seems less impenetrable than that of +my own purpose. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>May</i> 3<i>rd</i>.—I am not sure that my father's words +were not the best medicine in the world for me. It +is so much better to have to meet others than to +expect them to meet us. +</p> + +<p> +"I have not to erect my cross into an idolatry, +serving it with a ritual of passionate kisses and tears. +I have to carry it; and to do my work carrying it. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Si tu crucem portas; ipsa te vicissim portabit</i>,' +saith my mother's A Kempis. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I indeed ever prove that? Not as a +sufferer only, but as a conqueror? Then how? Not +surely by looking at my cross, but by bearing it. +Not by bearing it with downcast eyes, but with +eyes upward to the redeeming Cross now empty;—to +the living Conqueror who once suffered there! +</p> + +<p> +"<i>May</i> 4<i>th</i>.—Mistress Dorothy left a sermon of +Dr. Owen's with me. It was preached on occasion +of a Parliament victory over the king at Colchester +and Romford. She asked my forbearance with the +occasion. 'Not difficult to exercise (I said), since +victor and vanquished, King and Parliament, are +both banished now before this new usurpation.' +</p> + +<p> +"I read it with interest. Little of the cant some +think characteristic of the Puritan speech there. +Dr. Owen calls Colchester, Colchester, and not +Gilead or Manasseh; and England, England, not +Canaan; and Naseby, Naseby, not Jezreel or +Armageddon; and his enemies their own English +names, not bulls of Bashan, or Amorites, or +Edomites, or Hagarenes. +</p> + +<p> +"But it is for what he saith therein on trouble, +that she gave it me. The text is the prayer of +Habakkuk the prophet upon Shigionoth. Shigionoth, +saith the doctor, means 'variety, a song in +various metres.' 'Are not God's variable dispensations +held out under these variable tunes, not all +alike fitted to one string? Are not several tunes +of mercy and judgment in those songs? "<i>By +terrible things in righteousness wilt thou answer +us</i>." Nothing more refreshes the panting soul than an +"answer" of its desires; but to have this answer +by "<i>terrible things</i>"—that string strikes a humbling, +a mournful note. +</p> + +<p> +"'We are clothed by our Father in a party-coloured +coat; here a piece of unexpected deliverance, +and there a piece of deserved correction. The +cry of every soul is like the cry of old and young +at the foundation of the second temple. A mixed +cry is in our streets. +</p> + +<p> +"'A full wind behind the ship drives her not so +fast forward as a side wind that seems almost as +much against her as with her; and the reason, they +say, is, because a full wind fills but some of her +sails, which keep it from the rest that they are +empty, when a side wind fills all her sails, and sends +her speedily forward. +</p> + +<p> +"'Labour to have your hearts right tuned for +these variable songs, and sweetly to answer all +God's dispensations in their choice variety. It is +a song that reacheth every line of our hearts, to be +framed by the grace and Spirit of God. Therein +hope, fear, reverence, with humility and repentance +have a space, as well as joy, delight, and love, with +thankfulness. +</p> + +<p> +"'That instrument will make no music that hath +but some strings in tune. If, when God strikes on +the string of joy and gladness, we answer +pleasantly; but when He touches upon that of sorrow +and humiliation, we suit it not; we are broken +instruments that make no melody unto God. A +well-tuned heart must have all its strings, all its +affections, ready to answer every touch of God's finger. +He will make everything beautiful in its time. +Sweet harmony cometh out of some discords. +When hath a gracious heart the soundest joys, +but when it hath the deepest sorrows? When +hath it the humblest meltings, but when it hath +the most ravishing joys? +</p> + +<p> +"'In every distress learn to wait with patience for +the appointed time. Wait for it believing, wait +for it praying, wait for it contending. Waiting is +not a lazy hope, a sluggish expectation. +</p> + +<p> +"'Ye must be weary and thirsty, ye must be led +into the wilderness before the rock-waters come. +Yet (to those who wait) they shall come. Though +grace and mercy seem to be locked up from them +like water in a flint, whence fire is more natural +than water,—yet God will strike abundance out of +Christ for their refreshment with His rod of mercy. +</p> + +<p> +"'He would have His people wholly wrapt up in +His all-sufficiency. Have your souls never in spiritual +trial been drawn from all your outworks to this +main fort? God delights to have the soul give up +itself to a contented losing of all its reasonings +even in the infinite unsearchableness of His goodness +and power. Here He would have us secure our +shallow barks in this quiet sea, this infinite ocean +whither neither wind nor storm do once approach. +</p> + +<p> +"'Those blustering temptations which rage at +the shore, when we are half at land and half at sea, +half upon the bottom of our own reason and half +upon the ocean of Providence, reach not at all into +this deep. Oh, that we could in all our trials lay +ourselves down in these arms of the Almighty, His +all-sufficiency in power and goodness. Oh, how much +of the haven should we have in our voyage; how +much of home in our pilgrimage, how much of +heaven in this wretched earth!' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Words of strong consolation, Dr. Owen, to +reach even to us 'malignant' exiles in this foreign +land. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>May</i> 4<i>th</i>.—It was well I copied these words out; +for my father, seeing the superscription of the +pamphlet, grew very fierce at it, called it a firebrand +and a seditious libel, and bade Barbe, our servant, +light her next fire therewith. +</p> + +<p> +"And to-day he hath brought me the 'Icon Basilike,' +daintily bound like a missal. +</p> + +<p> +"'Here is reading fitter for a loyal maiden,' quoth +he. Since which I have done little else but lament +ever the sorrows and heavenly patience of His +Sacred Majesty. +</p> + +<p> +"If Olive and the rest could but see this, they +would surely be melted to repentance, and enkindled +to counterwork their sad misdoings. And who +shall say any repentance is vain? +</p> + +<p> +"My father is full of hope at present. We have +had fearful accounts of the disorders in the city of +London and in the army; the very strongholds of +the rebels. The whole country seems to be in a +blaze. Executions, funeral processions in honour +of the people executed, mutiny suppressed only by +the strongest measures. Surely this tumult must +spend itself, or exhaust the nation soon. And, as if +smitten with madness, they say the substance of +the army and its greatest chiefs are to depart for +Ireland, leaving this half-suppressed conflagration +behind them. +</p> + +<p> +"These things nourish great hopes among us. +</p> + +<p> +"Meanwhile, from Scotland there are the most +encouraging tidings, the whole nation seeming to +be awaking to their duty. His Majesty the young +king will depart before long, to be a rallying point +for this reviving loyalty." +</p> + +<p> +<i>August</i> 20, <i>Paris</i>.—The tumults of the Fronde are +over. The French Court has returned to Paris, and +it is my work at present to give as much a look of +home as I can to these four or five great rooms on +one floor of an hotel belonging to one of the ancient +decayed nobility, where we are to make our sojourn. +(<i>Abode</i> is a word I will never use in relation to this +land of our exile.) +</p> + +<p> +"These rooms open into each other, and command +an inner courtyard, where a fountain flows all +day from a classical marble urn held by a nymph. +The cool trickle is very pleasant to hear in this +great heat. On this nymph and on other classical +statues, the cook of the French family who live +below us irreverently hangs his pots and pans to dry +singing, meanwhile, snatches of chansons, which +end high up in the scale, with all kinds of +unexpected and indescribable flourishes. +</p> + +<p> +"Our family is enlarged. Besides our own cook, +we have a French waiting-maid, who also does work +about my rooms. She has wonderfully lissom fingers, +turning everything out of her hands, from my +coiffure to my father's chocolate, with a finish and +neatness which give to our little household arrangements +such a grace and order as if we had a splendid +establishment. Indeed, few of our fellow-exiled +have the comforts we have. Our revenues come to +us regularly, my father knows not (or will not know) +how. But I feel little doubt to whose hands and +hearts we owe them. They enable us to keep +something like an open table in a simple way for our +countrymen, so that we hear much of what is +going on. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 26<i>th</i>.—Our rooms do begin to have +something of a home feeling. My youngest brother, +Walter, has joined us. Roland, now our eldest, is +not hopeful as to the king's prospects while Oliver +Cromwell lives, and has offered his sword to the +Spanish Court. But Walter is a marvellous solace +and delight to us. He was always the gayest and +lightest-hearted of the band of brothers, and (except +Harry) the kindest and gentlest. In all other +respects he resembled my mother more than any of us. +The bright auburn hair (such a crown, when flowing +in the Cavalier love-locks); the soft eyes. And, +next to Harry, he was most on her heart. In a +different way—Harry as her stay and rest; Walter as +her tenderest anxiety. So much she thought there +was of promise in him, yet so much to cause +solicitude. None amongst us were so moved in +childhood by devotional feeling. As a child, he said +lovely things to her, having an angelic insight, she +deemed, into the beauty of heavenly truth. She +would weep in repeating these sayings, and say she +feared ('but ought to hope') it betokened early +death. But this passed away with early childhood. +As a boy, he was the merriest, and, in some ways, +the wildest of all; the oftenest in difficulties, though +the soonest out of them. But she had ever the +strongest influence over him. And up to her death, +although he had done many things to make her +anxious, he had done nothing to make her despond. +</p> + +<p> +"In her last illness she spoke of him more than +of any one, and charged me to care for him. +</p> + +<p> +"And now he is once more at home with us, and +seems to cling to me with much of the fond reverence +he had for her. In the twilight on Sundays +he likes me to talk of her, and sing the heavenly +songs she loved. +</p> + +<p> +"And for his sake mainly I tune my lute, and +sing old English songs, and learn some new French +ones, and mind the fashions of the Court; not that +for my own sake I like to have ill-made or +miscoloured clothes. (I think, too, there is one who +would care; and whether he ever see me again or +not, I have a kind of self-regard due to him. Who +can tell if Oliver might repent, or die, and England +be England once more?) +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 27<i>th</i>.—This day my father has presented +me to a sweet aged French lady, Madame la Motha +St. Rémy. She knew my mother, in long past days, +at the English Court, and for her sake has welcomed +me as a child (having none of her own), embracing +me tenderly, kissing me on both cheeks. A most +lovely lady, with a sweet grandeur in her demeanour, +which made me feel as if I had been given the +honour of the Tabouret at Court, when she seated +me on a low seat beside her, clasping my hands in +hers. +</p> + +<p> +"When we were left alone together, after some +conversation on indifferent topics, pushing my hair +back from my forehead, she said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'The same face, my child! but different tints; +and a different soul. More colour, I think, without +and within. The brown richer, the gold brighter, +the eyes darker, and a look in them which seems to +say, life will not easily conquer what looks through +them. Of colour here,' she said, stooping and +kissing my cheek, 'perhaps I must not judge at this +moment. Pardon me, my child, that I spoke as +if I was speaking to a picture. When we see the +children of those whom we loved in early years, we +see our youth in their faces. To me thou art not +only Mademoiselle Lettice, thou art a whole lost +world of love and delight. When I look at thee I +see not thee only, I see visions and dream dreams. +Ah, pardon, my child, I have made thee weep; I +have brought back her image indeed into thine +eyes.' +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me of her, madame,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"How shall I tell thee of her? She was a +St. Agnes—a beautiful soul lent for a season to this +world never belonging to it. Some called her an +angel; that she never was. When first I knew her, +she was simple, joyous, guileless as a child, but +always tender, with tears near the brim, a heart +sensitive to every touch of delight or pain; not strong, +radiant, triumphant, like the angels who have never +suffered.' +</p> + +<p> +"'She had suffered even then,' I said, 'when you +knew her, madame?' +</p> + +<p> +"'She never told thee? Ah then, perhaps, I +make treacherous revelations. What right have I +to lift the veil she kept so faithfully drawn?' +</p> + +<p> +"'You can tell me nothing of my mother, madame,' +I said, 'which will not make her memory +more sacred.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Again, that look is not hers! Your face +bewilders me, my child. This moment soft like hers; +now all enkindled, full of fire; to do battle for her, +I know,'—she added. 'But, as thou sayest, there is +nothing which needs to be concealed.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Madame,' I said, 'her life belongs to me, does +it not? any recollection of her is my legacy and +treasure. I also may have to endure. Most women +have.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It was my brother, my child,' she said. 'The +sorrow was half mine, which perhaps gives me some +right to speak. He was in the embassy in London, +and I, recently married, was there also. They loved +each other. They were all but betrothed. But +they were separated. Calumnious cabals, I know +not what. The misery of these things is, that one +never knows how they go wrong. A bewildering +mist, a breath of gusty rumour, and the souls which +saw into each other's depths with a glance, which +revealed to each other life-secrets in a tone, which +were as one, which are as one, lose each other on +the sea of life, drifting for ever further and further +apart, beyond reach of look, or tone, or cry of +anguish. So it was with them. He came back to +France, bewildered, despairing; sought death on +more than one battle-field; at last found it. And +then we learned how true she was to him; what a +depth of passionate love dwelt in the child-like +heart. But two years afterwards your father +entreated and your grandfather insisted, till at length +she yielded and was married. They thought the +old love was dead. But when I &aw her afterwards, +pale, meek, and passive, like the ghost of herself, I +thought it was not the love that was dead, but the +heart.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But her heart was not dead, madame,' I said. +'She loved us all at home with a love tender, and +living, and fervent as ever warmed heart or home.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Without doubt, my child,' said madame. 'Duty +was a kind of passion with her always. She was +ardent in goodness, as others are in love. There is +the passion of maternal love, and there is the flame +of devotion. A great passion may leave fuel for +other fires in a pure heart, but it leaves no place for +a second like itself. But why should I speak to thee +thus? thou who art but a child. After all, have I +been a traitor?' +</p> + +<p> +"'It is my English fairness and colour, perhaps, +which make madame think me younger than I am. +Do not repent what you have told me; I may need +such memories yet to strengthen me.' +</p> + +<p> +"She smiled, one of those smiles which always +bring youth into the faces that have them; a smile +from the heart, which lit up her dark eyes so that +my heart was warmed at their light—and turned +the wrinkles into dimples, and seemed to bring +sunshine on the silky white hair. +</p> + +<p> +"'No, no, my friend,' she said, 'thou wilt never +suffer as she did. Thou wilt conquer thy destiny.' +</p> + +<p> +"'She conquered,' I said; 'she was the joy and +blessing of every heart that knew her.' +</p> + +<p> +"'As to heaven and duty, yes, my child; she was +a saint. But thou wilt conquer as to earth also; I +see it in thine eyes.' +</p> + +<p> +"How little she knows! +</p> + +<p> +"This history has made so many things clear to +me. I know now what my mother meant when she +said I could never save Sir Launcelot by marrying +him, unless I loved him. I know now how it was +she bore so passively some things which I could +have wished otherwise at home. She felt, I think, +that, give what she might in patience, and duty, +and loyal regard, she could not give my father what +he had given her. And therefore, perhaps, she could +not, as he said, help him to 'climb.' She could +come down to him in all loving, lowly ministries +and forbearances; but love only (I think), in that +relationship, can have that instinctive sympathy, +that secret irresistible constraint which, with a +thousand wilfulnesses and blunderings, yet could have +drawn his soul up to hers. When so much of the +strength of the nature is spent in keeping doors of +memory rigidly closed, perchance too little is left to +meet the little daily difficulties of life with the play +and freedom which makes them light. And this +awakens a new strong hope in my heart, binding +me as never before with a fond, regretful reverence +to my father. Something she has left me to do. +</p> + +<p> +"Something, perhaps, which she could never have +done for him. I (so far beneath her!) may, by +virtue of there being no locked-up world of the past +between us, help a little more to lead him to those +other heights which he protested to her he could +never climb. By virtue, moreover, of not having to +stoop from any heights to him, but being in the +valley with him, so that I can honestly say and feel, +'we will try to climb together.' +</p> + +<p> +"For in this at least I am sure the Puritans are +right. The up-hill path is no exceptional +supererogatory excursion for those who have a peculiar +fancy for mountain-tops; it is the one necessary +path for every one of us, and it is always up-hill to +the end; the only other being, not along the levels, +but downward, downward, every step downward, +out of the pure air, out of the sun-light; downward +for ever! +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 23<i>d</i>.—To-day I kissed our queen's hand. +She embraced me, and said gracious words about +my mother. She was in deep mourning; and with +her was the little Princess Henrietta, a child cf +marvellous vivacity and grace. Her Majesty +graciously have taken me into closer connection +with her Court, and with the French Court also. +But my father seems not solicitous for this. He is +all the more an Englishman for being an exile; and +he misliketh their Popish doings, and some other +doings of which probably the Pope would disapprove +as much as the Puritans. He saith the French +courtiers, many of them, seem to think of nothing +but making love, without sufficiently considering +to whom; not making love and settling it once for +all like reasonable people, but going on making it +the amusement of their lives all the way through, +which is quite another thing. And he thinks the +less I hear of all this the better. +</p> + +<p> +"He saith, moreover, that the company around +the young king, if fit enough for His Majesty and +for young men like Walter, who 'must sow their +wild oats on some field,' is not the fittest for me. +</p> + +<p> +"But it seems to me I should be ten thousand +times safer in such company than Walter, impetuous +and gay, and easily moved, and with no great love +in his heart to keep it pure and warm. I would I +could find him some such French maiden as Madame +la Mothe must have been when she was young. +Are these wild oats, then, the only seeds in the +world that yield no harvest? My heart aches for +Walter in that bad world where I cannot follow +him, and whence he so often comes back flushed, +and hasty, and impatient, and unlike himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Last Sunday we attended the English service, +which our queen has obtained permission to be held +in a hall at the palace of the Louvre. Bishop Cosins +officiated. +</p> + +<p> +"It was the happiest hour I have spent in this +strange land. The sacred old words, how they come +home to the heart. Not heaven alone is in them; +but England, home, childhood. +</p> + +<p> +"Unhappy Puritans! to have banished the old +prayers from parish-church, hall, and minster. +</p> + +<p> +"Unhappy Papistical people! to banish them into +a dead ancient language. The other day I went +with my father into the Cathedral of Notre Dame. +The priests were chanting in Latin at the altar. +Those Catholic children can have none of the +memories so dear to us of the gradual breaking of the +light into the dear old words, as in our childhood +we wake up to them one by one to see they are not +music only, but words: to find a joyful significance +in each sentence of the creeds and hymns and +prayers. +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder what they have instead? +</p> + +<p> +"<i>September</i> 8<i>th</i>.—To-day Madame la Mothe came +into my bed-chamber. Seeing the little table with +the picture of the Crucifixion my mother loved, +resting on it, and her Bible and A Kempis on it (with +the 'Icon Basilike'), she crossed herself and +embraced me, pointing to the picture. +</p> + +<p> +"'It was my mother's,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Had she then come back to the Church?' +</p> + +<p> +"'She was always in the Church, madame,' I +said; 'she was no Sectary.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Excuse me, I do not understand your English +terms. I mean the true, the ancient Church,' she +rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +"'My mother believed ours to be the ancient +Church, madame,' I said. 'We are not mere +Calvinists or Lutherans.' +</p> + +<p> +"'No doubt, my child, I would not give you +offence; but it is not to be expected a Catholic +should recognize those little distinctions among +those we must consider heretics. You understand, +I mean no offence, it is simply that I am ignorant. +Perplex me not with those subtleties, my child; I +ask, can it be possible that thou and thine are +returning to allegiance to His Holiness the Pope, and +the holy Roman Church?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Our Church does not indeed acknowledge the +Pope, madame, nor the Roman Church,' I said, trying +to recall some of the debates I had heard on the +matter, which had in itself never much occupied +me. 'We are English, not Roman. But I have +heard our chaplain speak with the greatest respect +of some popes who lived, I think, a little more than +a thousand years ago, and say he would gladly have +received consecration from them.' +</p> + +<p> +"'No doubt, my friend, no doubt,' said madame, +becoming a little excited, 'but the priests of to-day +cannot be consecrated by popes who lived a thousand +years ago. I would ask, are any of you willing +to return to the popes of to-day? We used to +hear your Bishop Laud well spoken of, and were +not without hopes of you all at that time. It was +once reported he had been offered a Cardinal's +hat—of course on conditions. Have you advanced a +little nearer since then? Are you coming back to +the fold in earnest?' +</p> + +<p> +"'To the Pope who lives now, madame?' I +said; 'I do not think the archbishop or our chaplain +ever dreamed of that. Our chaplain was always +hoping the Church of Rome would come back +towards us.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Towards you! towards heresy, my child! +You speak of what you know not,' she replied, +waving her hands rapidly, as if to brush away a +swarm of insects. 'Any one of us, our priests, +His Holiness himself may indeed move towards a +Protestant, as the good Shepherd towards the +wandering sheep, to bring it back. But the Church, +never! She is the rock, my friend, on which the +world rests. She moves not. The world moves, +the sand shifts, the sea beats, but she is the rock.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But, madame, pardon me,' I said, 'the +chaplain thought the Church of Rome <i>had</i> changed. +There is a Rock, he thought, on which all the +Churches rest. All we want (he said) is to remove +some accumulations with which the lapse of time +has encumbered this rock; and then he thought we +might all be one again.' +</p> + +<p> +"'My child,' she replied, 'the Church does not +move; but most surely she <i>builds</i>, or rather she +grows. She is living, and all things living grow. +She is as one of our great cathedrals. Age after +age adds to its towers, its chapels, its side aisles. +Heart after heart adds to its shrines. But it is still +one cathedral. We do not need to hunt out obsolete +books to see if we are building according to the +oldest rules. New needs create new rules. When +we want to know what to believe, we do not need +to send for antiquaries. We do not need to grope +back among the far-off centuries and see what those +excellent popes, of whom your good chaplain spoke, +said a thousand years ago. We have a living Pope +now. He is the vicar of Christ; we listen, he can +speak, he can teach, he can command. We do not +need to go to ancient worm-eaten books for our +creeds. They were living voices in their age, and +spoke for it. We have the living voice for our age, +and we listen to it. Tell me then, quite simply; +are your English people, or any of them, coming +back to the true ancient Catholic Church?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Many among us have sighed for a union with +the rest of Catholic Christendom,' I said. 'Our +chaplain used to speak much of it. We are not of +the sects, he said, who have overrun Germany and +other Protestant countries, Lutheran, Zwinglian, +Calvinist, Huguenot. He used to speak much of +their errors. One or two little concessions, he said, +and all might be one again.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Concessions from us, my child!' said madame, +shaking her head. 'What would you have? The +doors of the Church stand open. You have but to +enter. The arms of His Holiness are outstretched. +You have but to fly to them. You have pardon, +welcome, reconciliation, not a reproach for the past, +all forgotten! What would you have more?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Madame,' I said, 'we think we <i>are</i> in the +Catholic Church.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, my charming child,' she said, smiling +compassionately. 'I see it is in vain to speak of these +things. In your island you have the ideas of an +island. You have so many things to yourselves +that you think you may have everything to +yourselves. You have your constitution, your seas, +your mountains and plains, your clouds, your skies, +all to yourselves. But the Catholic Church! Ah, +my child, that is impossible; you are a remarkable +people, and have remarkable ambitions. But there +are things possible and things impossible. You +cannot have a Catholic Church all to yourselves. +It is not a thing possible.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then the slight excitement there had been in +her manner passed away, and she said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'My child, we will not perplex ourselves much +with these difficult things. I have a very holy +cousin among the ladies of Port Royal. Perhaps +one day I may introduce her to you. For women, +happily, if they can help to welcome each other +within the sacred doors, have not the keys to close +them. And with regard to thy mother, all this has +nothing to do. Heavenly beings are not subject to +earthly laws. And that among the heathen there +were such, my director assures me there is no doubt. +I trust even there were such among the Huguenots; +for some of my ancestors were unhappily 'gentlemen +of the religion.'" +</p> + +<p> +"'Did any of them suffer in the St. Bartholomew?' +I asked; 'and do you know if any among +them took refuge in London?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I have heard there is one of their descendants +established in London as a physician,' she said. +</p> + +<p> +"'I know him, madame,' I said. And it made +me feel a kind of kindred with the gentle French +lady that a connection of hers, however remote, +had married Olive. +</p> + +<p> +"But this evening, when Barbe, the waiting-woman, +was arranging my hair, and I was consoling +her with telling her some of Dr. Owen's +thoughts about sorrow (for Barbe has lately lost +her mother, and is a destitute orphan, and has had +a sorrowful life in many ways), she said, in a choked +voice,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, if mademoiselle could only hear the minister +at the prêche. For the people of the religion +are allowed to meet again, in a quiet way.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You belong to the religion then, Barbe?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Without doubt, mademoiselle. Have not my +kindred fought and been massacred for it these +hundred years? This is what made me so glad +when the chevalier engaged me to wait on +mademoiselle. I knew at once it was the good hand of +God. For the English are also of the religion, my +father said; and although they have sometimes +perplexed our people by promising much and doing +little for us, we always knew these were mere Court +intrigues; and that in heart we were one.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But, Barbe,' I said, with some hesitation, wishing +not to mislead, nor yet to pain her, 'we are not +exactly of "the religion." The English Church is +not like yours. We are not Calvinists. We have +bishops and a liturgy, and have changed as little as +possible the old Catholic ritual.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, what does that matter?' replied Barbe, +unmoved; 'to each country its customs! These +little distinctions are affairs of the clergy. They +aro not for such as me. And I have known from +my infancy that the English are Protestant. They +do not acknowledge the Pope nor the Mass. They +do not burn for these things; on the contrary, they +have been burned for them. They may, indeed, +have their little eccentricities,' continued Barbe +charitably. 'Bishops even, and a Book of +Prayers! Do they not live on an island? Which in +itself is an eccentricity. But they are Protestant. +I have always known it, and now I see it. +Mademoiselle does not go to Confession; she does not +adore the Host. Every morning and evening she +reads her Bible in her own language. She consoles +me with the excellent words of a Protestant minister, +as good as we hear at our prêche. Therefore +mademoiselle is doubtless of "the religion." And +to me it is a privilege, for which I thank God day +and night, that I am called to wait on her.' +</p> + +<p> +"It is very strange how differently things look +a little way off. Neither Barbe nor Madame la +Mothe seem able even to perceive the differences +which to us have been so important. In spite of +all I can say, Madame la Mothe regards me as +outside; 'very good, very dear, very charming,' but +still outside; as a heretic, as a Huguenot. And in +spite of all I can say, Barbe regards me as within; +of her community, of her Church, of her religion, +of her family; as a sister. +</p> + +<p> +"What are we to do? +</p> + +<p> +"We offer our hands courteously to all the ancient +Churches. And they turn scornfully away, saying, +On your knees, as penitents, we will receive you, +but, otherwise, never! You are outcasts, prodigals, +in the 'far country.' +</p> + +<p> +"On the other hand we turn away from the new +Protestant Churches saying, In some respects you +are right, but you have lost the ancient priesthood +you have rent yourselves from Catholic antiquity. +And nevertheless they persist in embracing us, in +calling us kindred, sisters and brethren. +</p> + +<p> +"What are we to do? +</p> + +<p> +"In England it was in comparison easy. We had +things to ourselves. Across the seas, where these +foreign Churches loomed on our vision in rocky +masses through the mist and distance, it was easy +to maintain our theory about them. But here, +where we are amidst them, and Churches break +into communities of men and women, it is difficult +to continue stretching out peaceable hands to those +who scornfully pass by on the other side, and not +to clasp in brotherly greeting the hands held out in +welcome to us. Barbe and her Huguenots (since they +have will it so) I must then acknowledge as kindred. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet whether they heed or not, I must and will +also honour as our brethren every Catholic who is +just, and good, and Christian. Their treasures of +goodness are ours, in as far as they are our delight +and our example, and none can deprive us of the +possession. +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me, if the English Church shuts her +heart against the Protestants on one side, and the +Roman Church on the other, her fold becomes the +narrowest corner of Christendom a Christian can +creep into. But if, on the contrary, she stretches out +her hands to both, bound on one side by her creeds +and liturgies to the Catholic past, and on the other +free to receive all the truth yet to be revealed in +the free Word of God, what field on earth so fertile +and so free, enriched by all the past, free to all +the future? +</p> + +<p> +"It is those who exclude who are really the +excluded. The more our hearts can find to love and +honour, the richer they are. +</p> + +<p> +"The outlaws, I think, in God's Church are not +those who are cast out of the synagogue, but those +who cast others out." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +At five o'clock on the evening of the 10th of July, +1649, the trumpets sounded again in London streets, +not for a soldier's funeral, and not for a triumph, +but for an army going forth to war. To battle with +a whole nation in insurrection, or rather in tumult; +every man's hand practised in cruel and treacherous +warfare against every man through those blood +stained eight years since the massacre of 1641, now +all combined against the Commonwealth and Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +With hopeful hearts they went forth with Cromwell, +as Lord-Lieutenant. +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time General Cromwell had taken +on him much show of outward state. But men said +it seemed to fit him well, as I think state must which +grows out of power, like the pomp of summer leaves +around massive trunks. He rode in a coach drawn +by six gray Flanders mares; many coaches in his +train; his life-guard eighty gentlemen, none of them +below the rank of an esquire; the trumpets echoing +through the city, stirring the hearts of the Ironsides, +who, when he led them, "thank God, were never +beaten." His colours were white, as of one who +made war to ensure peace; who was going not as +a soldier only and a conqueror, but as a ruler and +judge to bring order into chaos, and law into +lawlessness. This state beseemed the occasion well. +</p> + +<p> +The army went with a good heart, and in unshaken +trust that he was leading them to a good work, and +that it was "necessary and therefore to be done;" +the most part, like Roger, proud of being the men +who had never mistrusted him; a few, like Job +Forster, all the more eager in their loyalty for the +shame of having once mistrusted; and many, like +the chief himself, all the stronger in this and every +work for sharing his conviction that all earthly work +(to say nothing of pleasure), compared with the +inward spiritual work from which it drew its strength, +was only done "upon the Bye." +</p> + +<p> +But we women who watched them go, looked on +them with anxious hearts. They were plunging +into a chaos, which for hundreds of years no man +had been able to bring into light and order. What +they would do there seemed doubtful; who would +return thence terribly uncertain; that all could +never return terribly certain. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Bridget Cromwell, then young Mistress Ireton, +and many beside, could the veil have been lifted, +would, instead of festive white banners, have seen +funeral draperies, and for the call to arms would +have heard the trumpets peal for the soldier's knell. +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Lucy Hutchinson needed not to speak +scornfully of the fine clothing which became General +Cromwell's daughters "as little as scarlet an +ape." They did not wear it long. And indeed +holiday garments at the longest are scarcely worn +long enough in this world for it to be worth while +that any should envy or flout at them. +</p> + +<p> +For the rest, the Lord-Lieutenant's life was no +holiday; nor did he or his Ironsides look that it +should be. Not for merry-making or idling, he +thought, but "for public services a man is born." If +victories and successes came, "these things are to +strengthen our faith and love," he said, "against +more difficult times." +</p> + +<p> +We are always in a warfare, he believed; the +scenes change, but the campaign ends not. +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. John Milton wrote of him: "In a short +time he almost surpassed the greatest generals in +the magnitude and rapidity of his achievements. +Nor is this surprising, for he was a soldier +disciplined to perfection in the knowledge of himself. +He had either extinguished, or by habit had learned +to subdue, the whole host of vain hopes, fears, and +passions which infest the soul; so that on the first +day he took the field against the external enemy he +was a veteran in arms, consummately practised in +the toils and exigencies of war." +</p> + +<p> +The portion of the army which went before the +General gained a victory in July over the Marquis +of Ormond, who was besieging Dublin; so that +when Oliver landed, with hat in hand, and spoke +gently to the people in Dublin, and told them he +wished, by God's providence, to spread the gospel +among them, to restore all to their just rights and +liberties, and the bleeding nation to happiness, many +hundreds welcomed him and vowed they would live +and die with him. +</p> + +<p> +Three letters are preserved among my old Diaries +which came to us during that Irish Campaign. One +was from Job not long after the storming of Wexford. +</p> + +<p> +"We have had to do '<i>terrible things in righteousness</i>,'" +he wrote. "For years the land has been +like one of the wicked old Roman wild-beast shows +in the Book of Martyrs; the wild beasts first tearing +the Christians in pieces, and then in their fury +falling on each other. This the General is steadfastly +minded shall not any longer be. Whereon all the +people of the land have for a time given over +rending each other in pieces, to fall on us. We, how +ever, praised be God, are not, like the ancient +Christians, thrown to the wild beasts unarmed, nor +untrained in fighting. For which cause, and through +the mercy of God, the wild beasts have not slaughtered +us, but we not a few of them. And the rest +we hope in good time to send to their dens, that the +peaceable folk may have rest, may till their fields in +peace, and may have freedom to worship God. +</p> + +<p> +"For peaceable folk there are in the land. It has +lightened my heart to find that the natives are not all +savages, like the Irish women with knives we found +on the field at Naseby. Many of the more kindly +creatures, well understand fair treatment, and generously +return it. Their countenances are many of them open, +and their understandings seem quick, to a marvel, +for poor folks who have been brought up without +knowing either the English tongue or the Christian +religion. It seems as if they had been seduced with +evil reports of us; for at first they ran away, and +hid themselves in caves and dens of the earth, +whenever we came near them. But since they understand +that we are no persecutors nor plunderers, +the common people begin to come freely to the +camp, and bring us meat for man and horse, for +which we pay. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord-General is very stern against all misuse +or plundering of these poor folk. Two of ours +have been hanged for dealing ill with them; which +was a wonderful sight to the natives, and hath +encouraged them much. +</p> + +<p> +"The storm of Tredah was no child's-play. The +Lord-General offered the garrison (mostly Englishmen) +mercy. 'But if upon refusing this offer, what +you like not befalls you,' he said, 'you will know +whom to blame.' They refused mercy. Wherefore, +after winning the place by some hard fighting +(being once driven back, a thing we were not used +to), the garrison had justice. They were three +thousand. Scarce any of them survived to dispute +on whom to lay the blame. It was not so bad as +some of the things Joshua had to do; the judgment +not going beyond the fighting men. But praised +be God, that for the most part it pleases Him to +work his terrible things by the stormy winds, the +earthquakes, and pestilence, and not by the hands +of men. +</p> + +<p> +"The General saith, 'I trust this bitterness will +save much effusion of blood, through the goodness +of God.' +</p> + +<p> +"And truly, after Tredah, few garrisons waited +for our summons, and fewer still refused the +Lord-General's mercy. We had but one piece of +storming work since then. That was at Wexford. There +was some confusion; the Lord-General wishing to +save the town from plunder. His summons by +words scorned, he summoned them by batteries. +Then the captain would have yielded the castle, +and the enemy left the walls of the town, whereon +our men got the storming ladders, and scaled the +walls. In the market-place there was again a hot +fight, and near two thousand of the enemy fell; +some were drowned in trying to escape in boats by +the harbour. A notable judgment, we thought, for +some eight score of poor Protestants, who had been +sent out not long before in a ship into the harbour, +then the ship scuttled, and they left to sink; also +for other Protestants shut up in one of their +mass-houses, and famished to death. +</p> + +<p> +"Since then the enemy has been scattered before +us like dust before the whirlwind. Their strong +places yield to our summons one by one. Please +God we may have no more of the work of the +whirlwind and pestilence to do! For these poor +towns, on the day after the storming, with the +blackened walls and the empty houses, from which +the poor foolish folks have fled away into the fields, +are a sad desolation to behold. It hath cast some +little light on the slaying of the women and little +ones in the Bible; in that when the men are slain, +the lot of the widows and orphaned little ones is +sure to see. But war is not peace; and they who +try to mix up the two, most times but put off the +peace, and in the end make the war more cruel. +The surgeon who laid down his knife at every groan +of the patient, would make a sorry cure. The +Lord-General has great hope of yet bringing the land to +be a place for honest and godly men and women to +live in, which, they say, it hath not been since the +memory of man. But one thing will by no means +be suffered; and that is the Mass. Some say this +is cruel mercy (since the deluded people hang their +salvation on it); and that it is contrary to the +Lord-General's promises of freedom of conscience. But +liberty to think is one thing, and liberty to do +another. The poor folk may believe what lies they +will; but that they should be suffered to act +falsehoods in the sight of a godly Church and army is +an abomination not to be borne." +</p> + +<p> +The letter from Roger came later. In it he wrote +much of the Lord-Lieutenant. It was dated +February, from Fethard in Tipperary, which, with Cashe, +and other towns in the west, had lately come under +the Commonwealth. +</p> + +<p> +"Six months since," Roger wrote, "only three +cities were for the Commonwealth—Dublin, +Belfast, and Derry, and Derry besieged. The Lord +Lieutenant stormed two, after mercy refused, with +severity of the severest—Tredah and Wexford, +since which, none but have yielded in time to avoid +the same fate: and in a little while, we have good +hopes, if matters go on as they have, not a town or +a stronghold will be left in the enemy's hands. +The misery and desolation of the country is sore +indeed; but it has not been the fruit of only these +six months' war. Scarce, I think, of the terrible +eight years' tumult since the massacre of 1641; +rather, perhaps, of no one can say how many +centuries of misrule, or no rule at all. +</p> + +<p> +"The people united at first against us; loyal +Catholics of the Pale, disloyal Catholics beyond +the Pale, Presbyterian Royalists, and Papists of +the massacre. Now their union seems crumbling +to pieces again, being founded, not on love, but on +hatred; and out of hatred no permanent bonds can, +I think, be woven, even as my Lord-Lieutenant told +them last month in his Declaration. +</p> + +<p> +"Divers priests met at the Seven Churches of +Clonmacnoise, on the Shannon, to patch up this +crumbling 'union' against us, if they could. Upon +this was issued the 'Declaration for the Undeceiving +of Deluded and Seduced People;' wherein the +Lord-Lieutenant told these clergymen many things +which, perhaps, they thought little to the point, +but which to him (and to us) are the root of all +things, and therefore must naturally be to the point, +especially when it is a question of uprooting. +</p> + +<p> +"'The terms "laity and clergy,"' he said, 'are +dividing, anti-christian terms. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Ab initio non fuit sic</i>. The most pure and +primitive times, as they best know what true union +is, so in all addresses unto the churches, not one +word of this. +</p> + +<p> +"'The members of the churches are styled +"brethren," and saints of the same household of +faith; and although they had orders and +distinctions among them for administrating of ordinances +(of a far different use and character from yours), +yet it nowhere occasioned them to say <i>contemptim</i>, +and by way of lessening or contra-distinguishing, +"laity and clergy." It was your pride that begat +this expression; and ye (as the Scribes and +Pharisees of old did by their "laity") keep the +knowledge of the law from them, and then be able in +their pride to say, "This people that know not the +law are cursed." +</p> + +<p> +"'Only consider what the Master of the apostles +said to them—"So shall it not be among <i>you</i>: whoever +will be chief shall be servant of all." For He +Himself came "<i>not to be ministered unto but to +minister</i>." And by this he that runs may read of what +tribe you are. +</p> + +<p> +"'This principle, that people are for kings and +churches, and saints are for the pope and +churchmen, begins to be exploded. +</p> + +<p> +"'Here is your argument. "The design is to +extirpate the Catholic religion. But this is not to +be done but by the massacring and banishing or +otherwise destroying the Catholic inhabitants; ergo, +it is designed to massacre, banish, and destroy the +Catholic inhabitants." This argument doth agree +well with your principles and practice, you having +chiefly made use of fire and sword in all the changes +in religion you have made in the world. But I say +there may be found out another means than +massacring, destroying, and banishing, to wit, the Word +of God, which is able to convert. +</p> + +<p> +"'Therefore in these words your false and twisted +dealing may be discovered. Good now! Give us +an instance of one man, since my coming into Ireland, +not in arms, massacred, destroyed, or banished, +concerning the massacre or destruction of whom +justice hath not been done or endeavoured to be +done. +</p> + +<p> +"'If ever men were engaged in a righteous cause +in the world, this will scarce be second to it. We +are come to ask an account of innocent blood that +hath been shed. We come to break the power of +a company of lawless rebels, who, having cast off +the authority of England, live as enemies to human +society. We come, by the assistance of God, to +hold forth and maintain the lustre and glory of +English liberty; wherein the people of Ireland, if +they listen not to seducers such as you are, may +equally participate in all benefits; to use their +liberty and fortune equally with Englishmen, if +they keep out of arms.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then the Lord-Lieutenant offers peace, their +estates, and fortunes, to all except the leading +contrivers of the Rebellion, to soldiers, nobles, gentle +and simple, who will lay down arms and live peaceably +and honestly; and promises justice on all soldiers +or others who insolently oppress them. +</p> + +<p> +"The which (Roger wrote) we have hopes the +people will listen to; and so, some ringleaders +being banished, some of the murderers of the +massacre of 1641 having after fair trial been hanged, +this terrible war end in order and blessing to all +who will be orderly. It hath been no beating the +air, this campaign in Ireland. Of courage there is +no lack among this people. And many of ours +have suffered by the country sickness, which, with +the famine, came in the train of such wild lawlessness +and fierce factions as have long desolated this +unhappy country. The Lord-Lieutenant himself +has been but crazy in health, and has been laid up +more than once. But, as he said, <i>God's worst is +better than the world's best</i>. He writes to the +Parliament that he hopes before long to see Ireland no +burden to England, but a profitable part of the +Commonwealth. And we are not without hope +that our rough work here has ploughed up the land +for better harvests than it has yet yielded." +</p> + +<p> +Then, some weeks later, another letter from Job +to Rachel, mentioning the storming of Clonmel +on the 10th of May, 1650, after many hours fiery +fighting. +</p> + +<p> +"Against the stoutest enemy," Job writes, "we +have yet encountered in Ireland. Not that the +Irish are enemies to be despised. Their faculty for +fighting seems of the highest, indeed it seems their +taste, and the thing they like best, since they are +always ready, it seems, to be at it at the shortest +notice, and for the smallest cause, or none—which +is not the way of the Ironsides. We are peaceful +quiet men, as thou knowest, and went into the +fighting, not for the love of it, but for the love of +what they would not let us have without fighting. +Which is a difference. +</p> + +<p> +"It is said our Oliver hath permitted such officers +as lay down their arms to gather regiments of such +as will join them and to cross the seas to Spain or +France, there to fight for whoever will pay them, +They say 45,000 of these Kurisees are going. +Which seems to me pretty nearly the worst thing +human beings can do. Worse than slavery, inasmuch +as it must be worse for men to sell themselves +than to be bought and sold. Who can say what +such courses may end in? For the Almighty does +not buy his soldiers; He has no mercenaries. But +the devil has. And he pays; though not as he +promises. However, no doubt the country is better +without them." +</p> + +<p> +We thought again often of Job's words, when +three regiments of these "Kurisees" were found, +in after years, massacring and torturing the peaceable +Vaudois peasants in their valleys, in the pay of +the Duke of Savoy, doing some of the direst devil's +work that perhaps was ever done on this earth. +</p> + +<p> +This letter reached us at Netherby, where about +this time our little Dorothea was born. +</p> + +<p> +I remember well how it cheered my heart as I sate +at my open chamber-window in some of the soft +days which now and then break the sharpness of +our early spring, and are as like a foretaste of heaven +as anything may be, to think that perchance the +long night of tumult and disorder which had hung +over that distracted land was passing away, and a +new kingdom was arising of liberty and righteousness +and truth. +</p> + +<p> +Our little Magdalen (Maidie) playing at my feet +with the first snowdrops she had ever seen, and the +baby Dorothea (Dolly) asleep on a pillow on my +knee. Spring-time, I thought, for the earth, and for +these darling; and for the nations. When <i>life</i> is +given, who minds through what throes or storms? +</p> + +<p> +The old home was much changed by the absence +of Aunt Dorothy. I missed the force of her +determined will and her sharp definite beliefs and +disbeliefs. The music seemed too much all treble. I +missed the decisive discords which give force and +meaning to the harmonies. There seemed no one to +waken us up with a hearty vigorous No! +</p> + +<p> +In the village, too, her firm straight-forward +counsels and rebukes were missed. Aunt Gretel and +my father seemed to have grown quieter and older. +Forcible, truthful, militant characters like Aunt +Dorothy's make a healthy stir about them, which +tends to keep youth alive in themselves and those +around. They are as necessary in this world, where +so much has to be fought against, as the frosts +which destroy the destructive grubs. The foes of +our foes are often our best friends; and none the +less because they are the foes of our indolent peace. +</p> + +<p> +My father had been, moreover, not a little +shaken by the loss of his arm. He had withdrawn +from war and politics, and had thrown himself with +new vigor into his old pursuits, investigating the +earth and sky and all things therein. +</p> + +<p> +But the more we stay together the more needful +we all grew to each other. Maidie especially so +twined herself around her grandfather's heart, that +we made a compact to spend the larger portion of +the years henceforth together; we with them in the +summers at Netherby, and they with us in the +winters in London. In this way, moreover, my +father would be able to attend the meetings and +weekly lecturings of the association of gentlemen, +for the prosecution of the "new experimental +philosophy," which met during the Commonwealth +chiefly at Gresham College, and was, after the +Restoration, incorporated as the Royal Society. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy's absence, with the cause of it, +was much on my mind during those quiet spring +days. Every error, she thought, had seeds of death +in it, and carried out to its consequences must lead +to death; therefore no error ought to be tolerated. +This perplexed me much, until I learned a lesson +from the old beech tree outside my chamber window. +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Gretel," I said one day as we were sitting +there quietly with the babes, "I have learned a +lesson which makes me glad." +</p> + +<p> +"From whom?" said she. +</p> + +<p> +"From that old beech-tree," I said. "The old dead +leaves are hanging on it still. Now, if the world +were governed on Aunt Dorothy's principles, strong +winds would have been sent to sweep every one +of them away weeks ago. But God carries on his +controversy with dead things, simply by making +the living things grow. The young leaves are +pushing off the old, one by one, and will displace +them all when the hour is come when all things are +ready. It seems as if the old things hold on just +as long as they have any life left in them +wherewith to serve the new." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that is it, sweet heart," she said as if +assenting to what she had long known. "I, at least, +know no way of fighting with what is wrong, like +helping everything good and true to grow." +</p> + +<p> +So April grew into May. The snowdrops, hawthorns, +and blue hyacinths, and all the early flowers +were lost in the general tide of colour and song +which suffused the earth. These "first-born from +the dead" were succeeded by the universal +resurrection which they prefigured and promised. +</p> + +<p> +The first forerunners of spring which come one +by one, like saints or heroes, bearing solitary +witness to the new kingdom of life, which meanwhile +is secretly and surely expanding round their roots, +had fought the fight with snows and storms, had +borne their testimony and then had vanished in the +growing dawn of the year. +</p> + +<p> +A thousand happy thoughts came to me as I +wandered in the old gardens, and sat on the old +terrace, with Aunt Gretel and Placidia, while +Placidia's little Isaac and our little Maidie played +around us; and none of them were happier than +those suggested by little Isaac himself. Again +and again he recalled to me Aunt Gretel's words, +"The good God has more weapons than we wot +of, and more means of grace than are counted in +any of our catechisms and confessions. The touch +of a little child's hand has opened many a door +through which the Master has afterwards come in, +and sate down and supped." +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if the child were ever leading his +mother on (all the more surely because so +unconsciously to him and to her,) opening her heart to +love, and, what is not less essential, opening her +eyes to see the truth about herself. For it in not +only through their trustfulness and their helplessness +that little children are such heavenly teachers +in our homes. It is by their truthfulness, or rather +by their incapacity to understand hypocrisy. They +are simply unable to see the filmy disguises with +which we cover and adorn our sins and infirmities. +The disguises are invisible to them. They +see only (and so help to make us see) the reality +within; and thus confer on us, if we will attend, +the inestimable blessing of calling our faults by +their right names. +</p> + +<p> +I remember one little incident among many. +</p> + +<p> +I was sitting by the fireside in the Parsonage +hall, and had just finished reading a letter from +Roger, and telling my father about the Irish war. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a conflict between light and darkness," said +my father. "And the Mornings of the Ages do not +dawn silently like the morning of the days, but +with storms and thunders, like the spring, the +morning of the year." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, I looked out through the door to +the sunshine. Placidia was sitting at the porch at +her spinning-wheel, Maidie at her feet pulling some +flowers to pieces with great purpose and earnestness, +singing to herself the while, when little Isaac +came running to her across the farmyard hugging a +struggling cackling hen, which he plumped in a +triumphant way into Maidie's lap. "I give it you, +Maidie," said he, "for your very own." But Maidie, far +more overwhelmed by the hen than by the homage; +began to cry; whereon Placidia, leaving her +spinning-wheel, rescued the hen and Maidie, and said— +</p> + +<p> +"I was very foolish, Isaac. You should ask me +before you give presents. Maidie is too little to +understand hens. If you wanted to give her anything, +you should have asked mother." +</p> + +<p> +"But I was afraid you might say no," said Isaac. +"And I had been planning it all night. I thought +it would be so nice for Maggie." +</p> + +<p> +"Maggie is a very little girl," rejoined Placidia; +"and if you wanted to give her something, a very +little thing would please her quite as much. There +is your little gilt bauble, that you used to play with +when you were Maidie's age. It is of no use to +you now, and it would be nice for her." +</p> + +<p> +"But," said Isaac scornfully, "that would not be +giving, that would be only <i>leaving</i>. I want to give +Maidie something. And I love Maidie dearly, and +and so I want to give her the nicest thing I have. +Don't you understand, mother," he continued, in +the eager hasty way natural to him, knitting his +brows with earnestness. "I want to <i>give</i> something +to Maidie. There is no pleasure in throwing +old things away, to Maidie or any where else. It is +giving that is so pleasant." +</p> + +<p> +The colour came into Placidia's face. She said +in a hesitating way,— +</p> + +<p> +"But the hen will lay ever so many eggs, Isaac. +You could give Maidie the eggs, and keep the hen, +which would lay more." +</p> + +<p> +"But I want the hen to lay the eggs <i>for Maidie</i>," +he replied. "I have thought of it all. It is a great +pity you don't understand, Maidie," he continued, +seriously appealing to Maidie's reason in a way she +could not at all appreciate. "It is the prettiest +hen in the yard, and she will give you a new egg +every morning, and it would be your very own, +and you could give it Aunt Olive yourself." +</p> + +<p> +But this extensive future was entirely beyond +Maidie's powers of vision. She shook her head, +apparently hesitating between encountering a fresh +assault from Isaac and the hen, and sacrificing the +precious bits of flowers she had so diligently +pulled to pieces and thought so beautiful; until at +length, as Isaac again approached, terror won the +day, and gathering up her treasures as best she +could, in her lap, she fled to me for protection, and +hid her face in my skirt. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a great pity Maidie cannot understand," +murmured Isaac in the porch, not venturing, +however, to follow and renew his homage. "But +mother, don't you understand?" +</p> + +<p> +It is not the mother, it was the child that did +not understand. But she made no further explanation +nor opposition. She only said softly,— +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, Isaac. You shall have the pleasure +of giving. You shall keep the hen for Maidie, +and give it her when she is old enough to know +what it means." +</p> + +<p> +She would not, for much, that her child should +see into the dark place he had revealed to her in +her own heart. So ennobling it is to be believed +incapable of being ignoble. +</p> + +<p> +I seemed to see the mother, through the coming +years, led gently away from all that kept her spirit +down, and on to the best of which she was capable +by the hallowing trust of the child. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to me that a conflict between light and +darkness was going on in the quiet parsonage at +Netherby, as well as on the blood-stained fields in +Ireland. +</p> + +<p> +And I thought that hour had witnessed one of its +silent victories. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IV. +<br><br> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</h3> + +<p> +<i>September</i> 1649, <i>Paris</i>.—'Put not your +trust in princes.' +</p> + +<p> +"The young king hath left for Jersey; +whither further, time will show. Regret +at his departure by this hollow French Court is scarce +even feigned. Walter is gone to join the gallant +Marquis of Montrose. And perilous as the enterprise +is, it is a kind of relief to us; so far greater +seem to us the perils of the king's idle court than +those of the field. +</p> + +<p> +"We are not made to feel so very welcome here as +to make our lives a festival. Cardinal Mazarin, who, +with the Queen-Mother, ordereth all things (the +king, Louis XIV., being but a boy of eleven or +twelve years of age), lets it be seen but too plainly +that they would not be sorry to see the young king, +and even the Queen Henrietta herself (though a +daughter of France), translated to any other asylum. +His Majesty but lately dismissed some Commissioners +from Scotland (where they had the grace to +proclaim him in February). They were Covenanted +persons, and made so much parley as to the +conditions on which they would be subject to him, +that it seemed as if their true purpose was but to +make him subject to them. The negotiations were +broken off all the more abruptly, in consequence of +the over-zeal of some followers of the gallant +Marquis of Montrose, who assassinated the Ambassador +of the 'Parliament' at the Hague. This deed +made the Scottish Commissioners more stiff in their +ways, so that their Commission ended in nothing. +My father, with the most zealous of the king's +followers, much misliketh these dealings with men +'whose very Covenant (saith he) constitutes them +rebels.' +</p> + +<p> +"'If the Scottish people are happy enough to get +their king back,' he protests, 'after basely selling +his father (of sacred memory), they must take him +as a king, not as a scholar or slave of their arrogant +preachers. Otherwise, better remain king of his +faithful exiles here, of loyal Jersey and the Isle of +Man (which the noble Countess of Derby still holds +for him), and bide his time.' +</p> + +<p> +"For my father liketh not subtleties, and the +double ways of Courts. The Marquis of Montrose +(with his followers) he thinks well-nigh the only +Scottish man worthy the name of loyal; he who writ +on his master's death— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'I'll sing thine obsequies with trumpet sounds,<br> + And write thine epitaph in blood and wounds.'<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>October</i> 15<i>th</i>.—Good Mr. Evelyn, who came to kiss +the king and the queen's hand (an honour few covet +now), hath brought us heavy tidings to-day of a +dire massacre at Tredah in Ireland; the flower of +the Marquis of Ormond's army cut off, and such a +panic struck through the land that one stronghold +after another has yielded. It was Cromwell's doing. +When will the awful career of this man of blood be +brought to an end? Not a few among us think he +must be master of some dread sorceries. How else +should he cast his wicked spells around the good +men who, alas! follow him? +</p> + +<p> +"Some even think there are mysterious allusions to +him in the Book of the Revelations. Certain Greek +figures there, which are also letters, being capable, +if ingeniously taken to pieces and put together +again, of being made to spell the number of his +name, or the name of something belonging to him. +Of this I cannot judge, not knowing Greek. And +I think it scarce wise to build too much on it, because +I understand these same figures have been diversely +applied before by various interpreters to their +various enemies. And perhaps it is better (at least +for people who do not know Greek) to wait until +the prophecies are fulfilled before they thus interpret +them. It would be a pity (if we should, after all, +be mistaken) to find we had been misapplying the +Holy Scriptures into a vocabulary for calling people +ill names withal. That this terrible man is, +however, indeed as a terrible 'Beast,' trampling on +kings and peoples and nations, 'dreadful and +terrible and strong exceedingly, having iron teeth, +devouring and breaking in pieces, and stamping the +residue with his feet,' no Royalist can doubt. +</p> + +<p> +"This loss of Tredah, good Mr. Evelyn saith, +forerunneth the loss of all Ireland. His Majesty, +when he heard of it, is reported to have said, 'Then +I must go and die there too.' But these +melancholic and heroical moods, my father saith, do not +last long with His Majesty. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Jan.</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1650.—A day ever to be remembered +with fasting, and weeping, and bitter lamentation. +</p> + +<p> +"So I wrote this morning, and just after, sweet +Madame La Mothe came to bid me to a fête. She +came into the room in a glow of kindly animation +with the pleasure she hoped to give me, but started +appalled at my robe of deep mourning (which of +late, at my father's wish, I had lightened), and the +grave face which too unfeignedly accompanied it. +</p> + +<p> +"'My child,' she said, 'what new calamity? Thou +shouldst have let thy mother's old friend share it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'No new calamity, madame,' I said; 'or, at +least, a calamity always new until it is expiated. +This is the anniversary of the martyrdom.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The fête of a martyr, my friend?' said she +'I thought your English Church had no martyrs, +or, at least, no calendar. Besides, we keep our +martyrs' days as festivals.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Scarcely, madame,' I said, 'when only a year +old. It is the day of the death of our martyred +king.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah!' she said, drawing a long breath. 'Doubtless +the death of the late king of England was a was +a sad tragedy. All the Courts of Europe acknowledged +it to be so. Most of them went in mourning +at the time.' +</p> + +<p> +"But she was evidently much relieved. +</p> + +<p> +"'It matters not, my loyal child!' she said. 'To-day +you shall devote to your pious lamentations. I +will defer the little fête I promised myself on your +account till to-morrow.' +</p> + +<p> +"And with an embrace she left me. +</p> + +<p> +"But I think scarcely anything before has made +me feel so much what it is to be an exile. To her +the sovereign for whom we have willingly sacrificed +so much, and were ready to sacrifice all, is merely +'the late king of England;' the anniversary of his +martyrdom is no more than that of St. Pancras or +St. Alban; and an ample lamentation for his death +is a Court mourning! +</p> + +<p> +"My father commended me for my loyal black +draperies. But when Barbe began and concluded +our dinner with the meagre soup which I thought +the only fare appropriate for such a day, he looked +a little anxiously for something to follow; and +when nothing came, and I reminded him what day +it was, and asked him to finish with a grace he +said a little hastily,— +</p> + +<p> +"'The grace at the beginning is enough, I think, +child, when the end follows so close upon it.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then when Barbe had withdrawn, he went to +the window looking into the court and whistled a +cavalier tune; and then, checking himself, threw +himself into a chair, and murmured,— +</p> + +<p> +"'It has a fearful effect on an English gentleman's +brain to be shut up for months in streets, like a +London haberdasher. With such a life one might +sink into anything in time; a Roundhead—a +Leveller—anything! No wonder the Parliament found +their adherents in the towns.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then moving uneasily again to the window, he +said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice, can't you get some fellow to stop that +doleful broken-nosed woman from everlastingly +letting the water drop out of her pitcher? It is +enough to drive a man crazy. It is like a +perpetual rainy day, and takes away the only comfort +one has left in this den of a place, which is the +weather.' +</p> + +<p> +"I persuaded him to listen to a little of the 'Icon +Basilike' to soothe him. But he even took +exception to His Majesty's words. At length he +cried,— +</p> + +<p> +"Lettice, my child, prithee stop. It is very +excellent, but it is very dismal. I suppose His Majesty +did write it all, poor gentlemen, though how he +could find it a comfort I cannot imagine. However, +there is no saying what a man may be driven to +comfort himself withal, if kept months together in +one chamber. A day makes me feel like an idiot.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I took my embroidery, and sought to +tempt him to converse. +</p> + +<p> +"But he only went from one melancholy topic to +another—the assassination of Dr. Dorislaus at the +Hague ('a disgrace to the good cause,' he said); the +folly of listening to Covenanting Scottish men; the +incivilities of the cardinal and the French Court; +the baseness of the Spanish Court in calling the +young king the Prince of Wales, and scarce receiving +his ambassadors except as private friends. The +only topic which he seemed to dwell on with any +satisfaction was the wickedness of Cromwell and +the Ironsides, which he said was too bad to be +tolerated long even in such a wretched place as +Puritans and Papists had made of this world. But on +this it gave me no delight to hear him expatiate, +which he noticed with some irritation, saying,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Between your loyalty, and your objection to +hear things said against the rebels, Lettice, and +that confounded woman who can never get her +pitcher emptied, and Cardinal Mazarin, it is really +no easy thing for a man to keep up his spirits.' +</p> + +<p> +"And he paced out of the room, leaving me alone. +Thereupon, I went faithfully over the bitter steps +of the 'dolorous' way trodden by those royal feet so +recently; the while I thought how good Mistress +Dorothy was doubtless keeping a Puritan fast at +Kidderminster on the same occasion; and my heart +wandered involuntarily to other sorrows of a dolorous +way not yet finished, and I hugged my crosses +until I felt rather like celebrating my own martyrdom +as well as the king's. Thus I wept much, and +was beginning to feel very wretched, and to hope I +was the better for it, when my father returned. +</p> + +<p> +"His countenance was lightened, and he kissed +me very kindly on the cheek. +</p> + +<p> +"'Poor pale child!' he said. 'Well, it can't be +helped. I hope the fasting does thee good. But it +does me none. It makes me, not a saint, but a sour +old curmudgeon; as I have proved pretty forcibly +to thee, sweet heart. It never suited me when +things were cheerful. I always told your mother +I could never take it up until she found some +Protestant Pope who could grant dispensations when +necessary. And now that everything is dismal, it +is a great deal more than I can bear. So, my dear, +I have told Barbe to bring me the remains of that +venison pasty and a flask of Burgundy. And I feel +better for the thought of it already. The times are +altogether too melancholic for fasts, Lettice. Fasts +are all very well for comfortable cardinals like this +Mazarin, who know they can dine like princes +to-morrow; but not for poor dogs of exiles, who may +have to dine with Duke Humphrey any day without +getting any benefit out of it for body or soul.' +</p> + +<p> +"Barbe duly appeared with the pasty and the wine, +and as I sat beside my father the words came to +me, '<i>Be not as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance</i>,' +and a chill seemed to pass away from my heart. I +began to wonder whether, after all, I had been +keeping the right kind of fast; and I said something +cheerful to my father. +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, sweet heart,' he replied, 'the fast seems +to do thee no harm. What wast thou doing while +I was away?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Reading the Acts of the Martyrdom,' I said. +'Going over the king's parting with the royal +children, and his walk from St. James's to Whitehall +through the biting frost, and what he said to Bishop +Juxon on the scaffold, and his taking off the George, +and all.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But, dear heart,' said he, 'that is all over! To +whom dost think it does good for thee to cry over +it all again? Not, of course, to the king, who is +on the other side of it; nor to the queen; nor to +the young king, who seems able enough to take +consolation in one way or another. To whom, then? +Because if it is only to thyself, it seems a great deal +of pains to take. There are so many people suffering +now, whom one might perhaps comfort by weeping +with them, that life seems to me scarce long +enough to weep for the sorrows of those who weep +no more.' +</p> + +<p> +"'He spoke diffidently, as if on ground on which +he felt his footing doubtful. And when for a while +I did not reply, he rejoined,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Do not speak if it troubles thee, child. Never +heed an old Cavalier's confused thoughts. I know +there are mysterious rites which only the initiated +understand.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Father,' I said, drawing close to him, and +sitting on a footstool at his feet. 'I know no +mysterious sanctuary which we cannot enter together. +We will go everywhere together, will we not? I +think your kind of fast seems the Bible kind. I am +sure any fast which leaves the head bowed down +like a bulrush, cannot be the right kind. And if we +live till this day next year, I will try and find out +some sorrowful people whom our sympathy might +comfort, and our bread might feed. And that will, +surely, not make either of us of a sad countenance.' +</p> + +<p> +"'He smiled, and began to tell me what he had +seen in his absence. And as he kissed me to-night, +he said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice, child, what didst thou mean by our +going everywhere together? I am not such a +heathen as to hinder thee from being as good as thou +wilt. I lived too long with the sweetest saint on +earth for that.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I meant that we will both try to be as good as +we can,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'True, true,' he said; 'but a man's goodness is +one thing, and a young maiden's another. A +Cavalier's virtue is to be brave and loyal and true, +generous to foes, faithful in friendship, and (as far as +possible), in love, faithful to death to the king. For +a few slips by the way, if these things are kept to +in the main, it is to be hoped there is pardon from +a merciful Heaven.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And a young maiden's goodness?' I said. He +hesitated,— +</p> + +<p> +"'All this of course, and something pure and +tender, and gentle and heavenly, beside. Ask thine +own heart, child!' he added; 'what do I know +of it?' +</p> + +<p> +"'All this, father,' I said, 'and no failures by the +way? Is that the difference?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Nay, saucy child, never flatter thyself,' he said. +'Thou hast perplexed me too often by thy pretty +poutings and elfish tricks and wilful ways, that I +should say that.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I ventured to say,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Are the Cavalier's slips by the way forgiven +if they do not ask forgiveness, and do not try to +mend?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Come, come, I am no father-confessor to meet +thy pretty casuistry,' he said; and then gravely, +'Many of us do ask forgiveness. God knows we +need it. And when an honest man asks to be +forgiven, no doubt he means to do better.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then where is the difference?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Belike,' he said thoughtfully, 'belike there +might be less! So, good-night, child! I trow thou +never forgettest thy prayers. And I suppose there +is something left in them of what thou wast wont +to ask when I used to listen to thee a babe lisping +at thy mother's knee; "Pray God bless my dear +father and mother and brothers, and make us all +good, and take us to Thee when we die." That +prayer is answered, surely enough, for two of us. +Try it still, child; try it still.' +</p> + +<p> +"Words which made me go to rest with little temptation +to be, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>April</i>.—The gallant Marquis of Montrose has +landed with foreign recruits in Caithness, to venture +all for the king, in fair and open war. The king, +meanwhile, has been entertaining Commissioners +from the Covenanting party, who hate Montrose to +the death; writing secretly to assure the marquis +of his favour, and openly receiving the marquis's +mortal enemies. My father is sick at heart, he and +many other of the noblest of the Cavaliers, at these +courtly double-dealings. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>May</i>.—My father came in to-day sorely dispirited. +</p> + +<p> +"'There,' he exclaimed bitterly. 'A letter from +Walter. He is safe, poor boy, in some desert +mountain or other, among the wild deer and wild men. +But the best of us is gone; the only Scottish captain +I would have cared to serve under, Montrose, +debated at Invercarron in the Highlands, his foreign +hirelings a hundred of them killed, and the rest, +with the Highlanders, scattered; the marquis +himself taken by those "loyal" Covenanters and hanged +at Edinburgh! +</p> + +<p> +"'He died the death of a hero,' he pursued, after +a pause; 'it might be well if we were all with him, +away from these fatal clever tricks of policy. The +king's most faithful servant hanged at the Tolbooth, +and the king going to Scotland hand in glove with +the canting hypocrites who murdered him; making +promises without stint, and meantime encouraging +his old followers by promising never to keep them! +How can any man know what promises he does mean +to keep? A curse on this hollow French Court, +and all that comes of it! It would take little to +drive many of us back to our English homes, to the +farm and the chase, and let these Puritans and +politicians hunt each other as they please.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But the brave marquis?' I said, wishing to +turn him from bitter thoughts on which I knew he +would never act. +</p> + +<p> +"'Deserted by his men, changing clothes with a +poor country fellow; taken in this disguise by the +enemy, delivered up to General David Lesley, +dragged about from town to town, and exhibited +to the people in his mean dress, in the hope he +would be insulted. But the poor common folk +jeered him not—they pitied him; so that in this +Lesley's malice was disappointed. Then taken in +an open cart through Edinburgh, his arms tied to +the sides of the cart, his hat taken off by the +hangman, and so dragged in base triumph through the +streets of the city. He gave the driver money for +conducting what he called his triumphal car. Then +persecuted and cursed in the form of prayers, by +ministers and men calling themselves judges, for +two days, and at last hanged on a gallows thirty +feet high, with the book recording his deeds around +his neck; a more honourable decoration, he said, +than his Order of the Garter which he lost in his +last battle. One thing only of the traitor's doom +was spared him. They did not torture him, but +hanged him till he was dead. His limbs were +quartered. When they threatened him with that, he +said he would he had flesh enough to be distributed +through every town in Christendom, as a testimony +of the cause for which he suffered. A brave end; +no death on a victorious battle-field more worthy +of a loyal gentleman!' +</p> + +<p> +"'But the king will never trust himself with +Montrose's murderers?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'He will go with them immediately,' was his +reply, 'accepting all their conditions, spite of all +that Mr. Hyde and other counsellors, who love +him and love truth, can say. Not one of his old +friends and counsellors permitted to be with him, +nor one who fought for his father against the +Parliament, without taking the Covenant. And he is +to take the Covenant himself. How is it he cannot +see (as Mr. Hyde says), that "to be a king but in +name <i>in his own kingdom</i>, is a far lower degradation +than to be a king but in name anywhere else?" How +is it he cannot see, that promises made to be +broken, ruin the soul in making and the cause in +breaking? But it is all the Queen Mother's doing, +and those hollow French Papistical ways. Tossed +to and fro between Papists and Covenanters, what +can a sanguine and good-natured young king of +twenty do?' +</p> + +<p> +"Thus having relieved himself by some hearty +abuse of the French politicians and the Scottish +preachers, my father's loyalty began to blaze bright +again, and he concluded,— +</p> + +<p> +"'And we shall have to go to him, and get him +out of his Covenanting jailers' hands as best we +may.' +</p> + +<p> +"So His Majesty has landed in Cromarty, having +to sign the Covenant before they would suffer him +to tread on Scottish ground. He is being led about +listening to sermons containing invectives on his +father's tyranny, his mother's idolatry, and his own +malignity; rebuked by preachers on their knees, in +humble postures, but in very plain terms. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>July</i>.—A letter from Mistress Dorothy, full of +hopeful expectation, rejoicing that the best hopes +are entertained of His Majesty's salvation, +temporal and eternal. She understands that he is +desirous of being instructed in the ways of the +Lord, listens with marvellous earnestness to +gospel sermons in which he and his are not spared, +and has already signed the Solemn League and +Covenant. The only thing to be wished, saith +she, is that the instructions could have preceded +the signing. Marvellous, she thinks, are the ways +of the Almighty; that 'out of the ashes, as it +were, of the late king, who, whatever his +excellences, it could not be denied had prelatical +predilections and prejudices strongly opposed to the +Covenant, should spring a young monarch of so +docile a disposition and so hopeful a piety, for +the everlasting sanctification and benediction of +the three kingdoms.' +</p> + +<p> +"My father gave a low significant whistle when I +read him this passage. +</p> + +<p> +"'Poor Mistress Dorothy!' he said; 'and poor +young king!' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>July</i> 3.—Another letter from Mistress Dorothy, +in a strain unusual with her, speaking of increasing +infirmity, and hinting that she may not be able +to write often again to me. It is only me, saith +she, to whom she does write. By my father's +permission I have written to tell Olive. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 14.—Oliver Cromwell is on his way to +Scotland. There will be fighting. The king and +the Covenanted Scottish Puritans against the +Ironsides and the uncovenanted English Puritans! A +strange jumble! My father is set on going, to take +his share of the fighting. He is to leave me under +the care of Madame la Mothe, who has designs of +making me acquainted with some of her friends of +Port Royal. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 16.—My father has left to-day. +</p> + +<p> +"'Don't turn Puritan or Papist, Lettice,' he said, +'and do not forget thy old father in thy prayers.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Nor you me, father,' I whispered, 'in yours.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The men the fighting, and the women the +praying, is an old soldier's rule,' he said. +</p> + +<p> +"'But not ours, father,' I said, half afraid to say +so. 'There must be quiet times before the +and after them.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not very quiet,' he said, 'where Oliver is. +However, there is always quiet enough for old Sir +Jacob Astley's prayer—or the publican's;' he added +reverently. +</p> + +<p> +"And with a kiss, and a blessing in a faltering +voice, he was gone. +</p> + +<p> +"Never so entirely bound to each other as the moment +before parting; never so free from heart-barriers +as when time and space are about to interpose +their impenetrable barriers between us. +</p> + +<p> +"This feeling must be a promise, not a terrible +mockery. Surely it must mean that the barriers +are made of corruptible things, the bonds of the +incorruptible." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +When we came back to London from Netherby, +my husband and I, Maidie and the babe and Annis +Nye, on the 31st May 1650, the whole city was +awake and astir with the triumphal welcome of +Oliver Cromwell on his way home from the Irish +war. In Hyde Park the Train-bands and salvoes +of artillery; through the streets eager crowds +thronging around him, shouting welcomes, as he +rode to the royal lodgings the nation had assigned +him in "the Cockpit" at Whitehall, whither +Mistress Cromwell and her daughters had moved (not +very willingly, some said) a few weeks before. +</p> + +<p> +In a short time Roger came into the house. +</p> + +<p> +"At last the nation acknowledges him, Roger!" +I said; "and now, we may trust, the wars are over, +and we may begin to reap the fruit." +</p> + +<p> +"Always hoping still, Olive!" he replied, with +a quiet smile. "Always thinking we are getting +out of the Book of Judges into the Book of Ruth; +out of the 'Book of the wars of the Lord,' into the +greetings of the reapers and the welcome of the +gleaners. Not yet, I am afraid. The Scottish +Covenanters are even now making ready to welcome +their Stuart king; and that matter will have +to be settled before there is peace." +</p> + +<p> +"But, meantime," I said, "it must cheer the +Lord-Lieutenant's heart to be thus received." +</p> + +<p> +"I am not sure, Olive," he said. "I just heard +that a person said to him, thinking to please him, +'What a crowd to see your lordship's triumph!' +but that he replied, 'There would be a greater +crowd to see me hanged.'" +</p> + +<p> +"I do not believe that, Roger," said I. "I do +not believe his is a heart not to be stirred by a +people's welcome." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps it was stirred, Olive; only a little more +deeply than to a ripple of pleasure. Perhaps he +thought of the poor peasants trying to till the +Millennium in on the Surrey hills, and the poor +soldiers trying to fight it in at Burford, and of the +mutiny in Bishopsgate Street among his bravest +troopers, and of the many who began the struggle +at his side now in deadly opposition to him; and +of that ancient crowd whose hosannas and +palm-branches were so quickly changed." +</p> + +<p> +"Roger," I said, "you and General Cromwell +have been wanting us and <i>home</i>! It is not like you +to look in this melancholic way on things." +</p> + +<p> +And I took him into the nursery to see Maidie +and the babe; a sight which, my husband used to +say, I superstitiously thought a charm against +well-nigh any despondencies. +</p> + +<p> +Maidie had forgotten him, and went through a +number of pretty, shy, feminine tricks, before she +would be coaxed to come near him. The plain +Ironsides' armour was not so attractive to her as +would have been the Cavalier plumes and tassels. +Her approval, however, once won, she became +completely at her ease, subjecting Roger entirely to her +petty tyrannies, and making the room ring with her +merry little voice; while the babe looked on, serious +and amazed, expressing her sympathy in the festivities +by senselessly crowing, and by vainly endeavouring +to embrace her own rosy toes, as if she had +been a benighted baby of the Dark Ages, instead +of an enlightened infant of the Commonwealth. +</p> + +<p> +So we talked no more politics that evening. And +in the morning, Roger's views of the world seemed +to me more hopeful. Indeed, there was work to be +done, and so no more time for despondency; a +bitter root which needs leisure to make it grow. +</p> + +<p> +In June, General Cromwell was appointed +Captain-General of the Forces instead of General +Fairfax, and set off at once with his troops for Scotland, +Roger and Job Forster among them. +</p> + +<p> +My husband also accompanied them. +</p> + +<p> +My father soon afterwards took Aunt Gretel to +pay a visit they had been desiring to make to +Germany ever since the Thirty Years' War had ended +(in 1648); two years before. +</p> + +<p> +Early in August, a letter came from Lettice +Davenant, telling me that, from a letter she had +received, she thought ill of Aunt Dorothy's health, +and deemed that she stood in need of succour and +sympathy, which, rigid to her vow, and all its +consequences, she would never ask. +</p> + +<p> +If this was true, there was no time to be lost, +Nor was there anything to detain me from Aunt +Dorothy. The old house at Netherby was, for the +time, deserted, and London just then, in the sweet +summer time, seemed to me a wilderness and +solitary place. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, our departure was made all the easier, +in that it gave me an opportunity of doing a +kindness to one of my husband's prison friends, good +Dr. Rich, an ancient clergyman whom Leonard had +found in gaol on account of his having given aid to +the Royalists, and to whom, being now liberated +but deprived of his benefice, our house might offer +a welcome asylum. Dr. Rich was a sober, devout, +and learned gentleman; a man who dwelt much in +the past, and was more interested in the present as +illustrating the past, than for its own sake. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing gave him more satisfaction than tracing +the pedigree of doctrines, heterodox or orthodox, +to the primitive centuries, in which he assured us +were to be found the parents, or the parallels, of all +the heretics and sectaries of our own day, from the +monks to the Quakers; including the Fifth Monarchy +men, who, he declared, were nothing but a +resuscitation of certain deluded persons called +Chiliasts, who had been convincingly refuted by I know +not how many Fathers. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime (the fifth of the revenue of his benefice, +allowed to deprived ministers by the Parliament, +being but irregularly paid), Dr. Rich, Mistress Rich, +and his eleven children found a parallel in their own +circumstances to the primitive poverty of the +earliest centuries too obvious to be pleasant; and it +was a delight to be able to offer them a home under +the guise of taking care of our house in our absence. +</p> + +<p> +He was a man at all times pleasantly easy to +practise upon with little friendly devices, having +little more knowledge than the birds of the air as +to the storehouse or barn whence his table was +supplied, and being always diverted by a little subtlety +from the perplexing cares of the present to the +perplexed questions of a thousand years ago. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, with little parley, or preparation, +Dr. Rich and his family were lodged in our house, +and we were ready to depart. If Aunt Dorothy's +stronghold was to be entered, it must be by +surprise or storm; surrender was not in her +dictionary, much less entreaties for succour. +</p> + +<p> +We set off, under the care of our serving-man, +Annis and I with Maidie and the babe, our cavalcade +consisting of three horses, one carrying Annis +on a pillow behind the serving-man; the other (a +sober old roadster) bearing the babes in panniers, +and me enthroned between them; the third, a +pack-horse, with our luggage and provender for the way. +</p> + +<p> +This mode of travelling was neither swift nor +exciting. It left me much leisure to meditate by +what subtleties I might avoid encounters between +Annis and Aunt Dorothy, should Aunt Dorothy be +sufficiently well for her orthodoxy to be in full +force. +</p> + +<p> +To forewarn Annis was only to bring on the conflict +I dreaded with more speed and certainty; to +tell her a road was dangerous being the first step +towards convincing her it was right. +</p> + +<p> +To forewarn Aunt Dorothy, on the other hand, +was equally perilous. So I came to the conclusion +that I could only let things take their course. +</p> + +<p> +For without Annis I could not have come at all. +Her care of the babes was pleasant. Her quiet, +firm will, her stillness, and her sweet even voice +kept them serene. They were as content with her +as with me. She seemed to grudge no weariness +or toil for them, and her temper was never ruffled. +Her dainty neatness and cleanliness were like +perpetual fresh air around them; and, moreover, my +heart was tender to the orphan maiden with a heart +so womanly, and a belief so perilous, in the midst +of a rude world, which might crush her delicate +frame to dust, yet never bend her will a hair's +breadth. +</p> + +<p> +The points at which she and her sect came into +antagonism with the rest of the world were scattered +all over the surface of every-day social life; +and to her every one of these became, when assailed, +no mere outwork, but the very citadel of her most +central convictions, in which, for the time, all the +forces of her mind and heart were gathered, and +which she could no more voluntarily yield than +could voluntarily cease to breathe. +</p> + +<p> +It was a serious responsibility to have the charge +of a person, every one of whose minutest convictions +was to her essential as the distinctive +conviction of each sect to its members, and whose +convictions crossed those of the rest of the world, +not only in what they profess in church on Sunday, +but in what they practise at home every hour +of every day. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this all. If Annis's resistance had been +merely passive, there might still have been hope of +escape. +</p> + +<p> +But not only did all the world believe the Quakers +wrong; they believed all the world wrong. Nor +only this. They believed themselves commanded +jointly and severally to set all the world right, a +conviction which, under no conceivable form of +government, is likely to lead to a tranquil life. +We could never tell at what moment Annis might +feel moved to tell any peaceful Presbyterian minister, +in the gentlest tones, that he was "a minister +of Antichrist;" or any strict Precisian matron, who +would no more have indulged in a feather than in +an idol-feast, that she was "swallowed up with the +false and heathen customs of the world," in calling +a single person you; or in "idolatrously naming +the second or third day after the hosts of heaven." +</p> + +<p> +However, the duty had been assigned me by my +husband, and was bound fast on me by the pity and +love I felt for Annis. This did not hinder her being +a far more anxious charge to me than my babes. +</p> + +<p> +On the occasion, however, we owed a brotherly +welcome to her. +</p> + +<p> +We were benighted on the Surrey hills, to which +we had turned aside with a view of lodging at a +friend's house. +</p> + +<p> +The babes began to mewl and be weary. The +place was solitary, sandy, with sweeps of barren +heath. It was St. George's Hill, and I began to +recall wild stories of the poor peasants "called +Saxons, but believing themselves Jews, and +inheritors of the earth," who had tried to dig the +wild moors into millennial fertility a few months +before, and had threatened park palings;—so that +I should have half feared to ask shelter had any +human dwelling appeared. Yet to camp on the +wilds, with two young fretting babes, even on an +August night, was unwelcome. +</p> + +<p> +As I was plodding on, seeking to soothe the infant +in my arms, and singing soft songs to Maidie, a wild +figure issued forth from a hollow tree, at sight of +whom my heart stood still. He was clad in leather +from top to toe. +</p> + +<p> +But his carriage was grave, not like a plunderer, +and he accosted me soberly, though without any +titles (as Mistress or Madam), calling me "friend" +and "thou." +</p> + +<p> +At once Annis recognized him, calling him +"George," and greeting him as one she honoured. +</p> + +<p> +After a brief conference with her, he came and +bade me be of good cheer, there were some of the +Children of Light dwelling not far off, to whom he +would take us for shelter. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes we came to a humble cot in a +hollow of the downs, where, without many words, +we found kindness and hospitality worthy of any +mansion; the good woman preparing food and fire, +so that the babes were soon quiet and asleep, while +far into the night they entertained us with heavenly +discourse, which was more restful than sleep. The +goodman told us how, "when after Everard and +Winstanley and their promised millennium had +failed, he had gone back hopeless and dispirited to +his old toils for a froward master, working early +and late taking rest, knocked about by his master +for an idle knave, jeered at by his mates for a +lunatic, earning with all his toil scarce enough to +still the hungry cries of his babes; the world, dark +enough before, made dark as night by the putting +out of the glory of the kingdom, which was so soon +to have made it day. ("And," said the good-wife +with moist eyes, "too oft with a sour word from +me.") How then, when he was feeling like one +forsaken of God and man, George Fox, the man in +leather, from among the woods where he passed +much time in solitude with his Bible, but lately +battered and bruised by a mob in a market-place, +where he had exhorted the people against false +weights, had come to him like Elijah from the +wilderness, and had told him of the universal free +grace of God to all mankind, of the <i>kingdom within</i>, +and the Light within, and the Spirit within, and the +one Priesthood of the Eternal Intercessor, and the +way of stillness and simplicity by the rivers of the +valleys, and the true language of Thou and Thee, +and the sin of war, and of all false words and looks; +and how, at last, looking for the Lord within his +heart, he had found in Him both the kingdom and +the garden, and rivers of water in a dry place." +</p> + +<p> +After him spoke George Fox himself. He could +not have been more than six-and-twenty; but I +confess his discourse came to me with marvellous power. +</p> + +<p> +The words were sometimes confused, as if they +were burst and shattered with the fulness of the +thought within them. Something of the same kind +we had noticed of old in Oliver Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed like one looking into depths into which +he himself only saw a little way, and by glimpses; +like one listening to a far-off voice, which reached +his spirit but in broken cadences, and our spirits +still more faintly, through the echo of his voice. +Yet he inspired me with the conviction that these +depths exist, and this music is going on; a conviction +worth something. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke somewhat of his early life—of his father, +Christopher Fox, a weaver of Drayton-in-the-Clay +in Leicestershire, whom the neighbours called +Righteous Christer; of his mother, an upright woman, +and "of the stock of the martyrs;" of the "gravity +and staidness of mind" he had when very young. +How he sought to act faithfully inwardly to God +and outwardly to man, and to keep to yea and nay +in all things. And how men said, "If George says +Verily, there is no altering him." +</p> + +<p> +He felt himself "a stranger in the world," and +when others were keeping Christmas with jollity +he kept it by giving what he had to some poor +widows whom he visited. +</p> + +<p> +Yet in his youth "strong temptations came on +him to despair." He went to various ministers (he +called them "priests"). But none helped him. +One "ancient priest" reasoning with him about the +ground of hie despair, bid him "take tobacco and +sing psalms." But "tobacco he did not love, and +psalms he was not in a state to sing." +</p> + +<p> +When he was twenty-two (in 1645), as he +approached the gate of Coventry, "a consideration +arose in him that all Christians are believers, both +Protestants and Papists," and that "if all were +believers then they were all born of God, and passed +from death to life, and that none were believers but +such; and that being bred at Oxford or Cambridge +was not enough to qualify men to be ministers of +Christ." +</p> + +<p> +The "darkness and covetousness of professors" +troubled him sorely in London and elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Then (said he), it was "opened in him," that "God +dwelleth not in temples made with hands; but in +people's hearts." +</p> + +<p> +This seemed at first to him "a strange word," +because both priests and people call their churches +"holy ground" and "dreadful places," and temples +of God. +</p> + +<p> +He ceased to go near the priests, and wandered +about night and day, in "the chase," in the open +fields, and woods, and orchards with his Bible; until +finding no help in man, at last he heard a voice +which said, <i>There is one, even Christ Jesus, that can +speak to thy condition</i>." "<i>He on whom the sins of the +whole had been laid; He who hath the key, and openeth +the door of light and life</i>." There were "two thirsts +in him, after the creature and after the Lord, the +Creator." At length, "his thirst was stilled in God," +his soul was "wrapped up in the love of God," and +when storms came again, "his still, secret belief +was stayed firm; and hope underneath held him +as an anchor in the bottom of the sea, and +anchored his immortal soul to Christ its Bishop, +causing it to swim above the sea (the world), where all +raging waves, foul weather, tempests, and +temptations are." +</p> + +<p> +He "found that his inward distresses had come +from his selfish earthly will, which could not give +up to the will of God," and that "the only true liberty +is the liberty of subjection in the spirit to God;" +and "his sorrows wore off, and he could have wept +night and day with tears of joy to the Lord, in +humility and brokenness of heart." +</p> + +<p> +As I listened to him, my thoughts ebbed and +flowed within me. At one time he seemed a daring +self-willed youth, setting his judgment against the +world; at another, as a simple lowly child who had +<i>listened to God</i>, and must obey Him and none else; +again, as one who might have been a poet, or a +discoverer of great secrets of nature—so inward and +penetrating seemed his glimpse into the heart of +things; and again, as a reformer to break in pieces +the empire of lies throughout the world. +</p> + +<p> +"I saw," said he, "that there was an ocean of +darkness and death; but <i>an infinite ocean of light +and love which flowed over the ocean of darkness</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Again, "one morning as I was sitting by the fire, +a great cloud came over me, and a temptation beset +me; but I sate still. And it was said, '<i>all things +come by nature</i>,' and the elements and stars came +over me, so that I was in a manner quite clouded +with it. But as I sate still under it, and let it alone, +a living hope arose in me, and a true voice, which +said, <i>There is a living God who made all things</i>. And +immediately the cloud and temptation vanished +away, and life rose over it all; my heart was glad, +and I praised the living God. After some time I +met with some people who had a notion that there +is no God, but that all things come by nature. I +had a dispute with them, and made some of them +confess there is a living God. Then I saw it was +good I had gone through that exercise." +</p> + +<p> +His search into the reality of people's beliefs led +him among strange people, some who held that +"women have no more soul than a goose," whom +he answered in the words of Mary, "My soul doth +magnify the Lord;" others (Ranters) whom he went +to visit in prison, who blasphemously held +themselves to be God. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," said he, "after a time was I come up in +spirit into the Paradise of God. All things were +new; and all the creation gave another smell unto +me than before, beyond what words can utter. The +creation was opened unto me, and it was showed +me how all things had their names given them +according to their nature and virtue." +</p> + +<p> +Again, "while I was in the Vale of Beavor, the +Lord opened to me three things, in relation to those +three great professions in the world, physic, divinity +(so called), and law. He showed me that the +physicians were out of the wisdom of God, by which +the creatures were made, and so knew not their +virtues; that the priests were out of the true faith +which purifies and gives victory, and gives access +to God; that the lawyers were out of the true +equity. I felt the power of the Lord went forth +unto all, by which all might be reformed; if they +would bow to it. The priests might be brought to +the true faith, which is the gift of God; the lawyers +unto the true law, which brings to love one's neighbour +as oneself, and lets man see if he wrongs his +neighbour he wrongs himself; the physicians unto +the wisdom of God, the Word of Wisdom, by which +all things were made and are upheld. For as all +believe in the light, and walk in the light, which +Christ hath enlightened every man that cometh into +the world withal, and so become Children of the +Light and of the Day of Christ;—in His Day all +things are seen, visible and invisible, by the divine +light of Christ, the spiritual heavenly Man by whom +all things were created." +</p> + +<p> +Very strange words those seemed to me for so +young a man. At first I felt disposed to turn from +him as one full of an amazing self-conceit, lifting +himself up above all in church and the world; but +I remembered what my husband always said about +trying to find the real meaning of all men. And as +I sate still, and thought, a strange depth opened in +those words. Something true, real, and eternal (I +thought he meant), some divine meaning lay at the +root of all human works, and states, and callings. +By this they stand, and live; By departing from +this they become hollow, and at last crumble away, +by returning to this they are reformed. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke also of the whole of nature and history +as being repeated in the wonderful world within +us. How the spirit has its Egypts and its Sodom, +and its wildernesses and its Red Seas; its Paradise +and its mountains of the Lord's House; its Cains, +and Esaus, and Judases. "Some men," said he, +"have the nature of swine wallowing in the +mire. Some the nature of dogs, to bite both the +sheep and one another. Some of lions and of +wolves, to tear, devour, and destroy; some of +serpents, to sting, envenom, and poison; some of +horses, to prance and vapour in their strength, and +be swift in doing evil; some of tall sturdy oaks to +flourish and spread in wisdom and strength. Thus +the evil is one in all, but worketh many ways; +therefore take heed of the enemy and keep in the +faith of Christ." +</p> + +<p> +These thoughts in him were no mere visionary +meditations, revolving on themselves. The strange +thing in him was the blending of far-reaching +mystical thought with direct and most practical +action. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord," said he, "commanded me to go +abroad unto the world, which was like a briery +thorny wilderness; and when I came in the Lord's +mighty power with the word of life into the world, +the world swelled and made a noise like the great +raging waves of the sea. Priests and professors, +magistrates and people, were all like the sea when +I came to proclaim the day of the Lord among +them, and to preach repentance to them." +</p> + +<p> +His preaching places were no secluded chambers, +or conventional religious assemblies, but the +market-place, the "sitting of justices to hire servants," +schools, firesides, sea-shores where wreckers watched, +and, at times, the very "steeple-houses" where the +"false priests" seemed to him "a lump of clay set +up in the pulpit above a dead fallow ground." +</p> + +<p> +By preaching repentance he did not mean crying +out in general that sin was evil. He meant, like +him who preached in the Desert of old, pointing +out to each man, and class of men, their particular +sins, telling magistrates to judge justly, tradesmen +to have no false weights and measures, Cornish +wreckers to save wrecked ships and shelter wrecked +men, masters not to oppress servants, servants to +serve honestly, soldiers to do violence to no man, +excisemen to make no inequitable demands, +"priests" to speak the truth. +</p> + +<p> +And the results of his preaching were two-fold: +everywhere priests, excisemen, soldiers, masters, +tradesmen, and magistrates were enraged, seized +him, beat and bruised and trampled on him, threw +him into prisons; and everywhere some ministers, +soldiers, tradesmen, and magistrates, and even his +jailers listened, gave up their false weights, or +unjust dealings, and sought to live uprightly before +God. +</p> + +<p> +After this discourse there was silent prayer, and +the good couple insisted on yielding up their own +bed in the upper chamber to Annie and me, and +the babes. But it was far on in the night before I +could sleep. And in my sleep I had strange confused +dreams of John the Baptist in the wilderness; +of a madhouse, full of Quakers clothed in camels' +hair with leathern girdles; and of the world shining +in a wondrous light, neither of sun nor moon, which +made it like Paradise. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning the poor people of the house set +us on our way with great loving-kindness, and I +had much ado to make them take any recompense. +And I have always been thankful that through this +interview I learned to distinguish those whom +many confound—the Ranters, Fifth Monarchy men, +and other lawless fanatics—from the true Quakers, +or (as they would be called) "Friends of truth." +</p> + +<p> +After that we had no adventures until we +reached Kidderminster. +</p> + +<p> +Our way lay past many ruins of unroofed cottages, +with their blackened walls deserted and bare; +gardens of herbs running wild, and orchards still +flourishing, and overhanging with pleasant fruit; the +open and broken casements of the charred and +ruined homestead; here and there a stately castle +or mansion battered and breached by cannon, +while choice flowers still bloomed in patches on +the trampled terraces or round the broken +fountains, where fair hands had tended them. +</p> + +<p> +In the heat of the day we rested. But wondrous +pleasant were the sights we saw and the sounds we +heard as we journeyed through the land through +those summer morns and eves; the pleasant old +country, well-watered everywhere with broad still +rivers among the meadows, and little talking brooks +among the woods, orchards, and corn-fields; and +soft waving sweeps of hill and valley, all smooth +and green, as if the waters of the great sin-flood +of old had never torn and convulsed them, but only +gently heaved and rippled over them. And as we +neared Kidderminster, far off on either side rose +two ranges of hills, with blue peaks pointing to the +sky like church-roofs, the Malverns and the hills of +Wales. +</p> + +<p> +Again and again, now, as I read godly Mr. Bunyan's +Pilgrim's Progress, pictures of what I saw on +that journey in old England rise before me—the +"river with the green trees on its banks;" the +"meadow curiously beautified with lilies, and green +all the year long;" the "tempting stile into +Bypath Meadow;" the "hills with gardens and orchards +and fountains of waters;" the "delicate plain called +Ease;" the valley of humiliation, "green through +the summer; fat ground, consisting much in +meadows," with its "pleasant air;" the "fruit-trees, +with their mellow fruit, which shot over the garden +walls;" the Delectable Mountains, not too high and +savage for the shepherds to fold their flocks thereon. +I can remember, also, many a Hill Difficulty, up +which our horses slowly toiled, and Sloughs of +Despond through which they struggled. But the +"valley of the shadow of death" had nothing +outward in that pleasant land to picture it. Out of +the dark and rugged depths of his own despair, +John Bunyan created a landscape he never could +have seen. +</p> + +<p> +I was the sole observer of these things among +our little band: the babe saw little but me; Maidie +saw nothing of hills and woods, the wild roses and +honeysuckles we gathered for her were the channels +through which the beauty of the world stole into +her heart, as it did, making her clap her hands and +laugh with delight as we rode; the serving-man, +being a Londoner, thought scorn of the woods and +lanes as very barbarous and ill-made places +compared with Cheapside with its wares and signs; +and Annis, if she saw the outward world at all, +beheld it but as the mystical mirror of the world +within, the waters of quietness and trees of +healing among which her spirit dwelt. +</p> + +<p> +And so at last, on the seventh day after leaving +home, we came to a valley on the slopes of which +rise the houses of Kidderminster, on each side of +the river Stour—"the church on the brow above +the water," as they say the name signifies in the old +tongues, British and Saxon, which were spoken +when first men began to make houses there. +</p> + +<p> +Rich old English names; every name (like the +old minsters of our land) in itself a poem, with +histories imbedded in every syllable! +</p> + +<p> +Fondly we transfer the familiar old words to new +places in this New World. But here alas, as yet, +they are no living, growing words,—only poor +pathetic relics or arbitrary symbols; at least, until +generations to come shall have breathed into them +the new significances of a new human history. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER V. +<br><br> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</h3> + +<p> +It was evening when we entered the old +town of Kidderminster. As we rode +along the street to Aunt Dorothy's house, +many of the casements were open to let +in cool summer evening air; and from one and +another, as we passed, rose the music of the psalm +sung at the family-worship, the voices of the little +ones softly blending with the deeper tones of the +father and mother, or the trembling treble of age. +</p> + +<p> +It was a heavenly welcome; and, by an irresistible +impulse, I dismounted, for, wearied as I was +with the journey, I felt it a kind of irreverence not +to walk. It was like going up the aisle of a great +church. The whole town seemed a house of prayer. +</p> + +<p> +None of these sweet musical sounds, however, +came out of Aunt Dorothy's windows as, at length, +we stopped at her door; although the casements +were open. But, as we paused before trying to +enter, I heard the cadences of a soft voice reading +in an upper chamber. I tried the latch, found it +open, and, softly mounting the stairs, through a +bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar, I saw a grave +man, habited like a minister, with a broad collar, +and closely-fitting cap on his head, sitting at a table +with an open Bible before him. By his side stood +a little serving-maiden, whom at the moment he +was questioning in simple language, in a calm, +persuasive voice and with a remarkably clear utterance, +while she answered without fear. His form was +slight, and his gait slightly stooping; his face worn +and grave, yet not unfrequently "tending to a +smile," and always lighted up by his dark, keen, +observant eyes. This, I felt, could be no other than +Mr. Baxter. Altogether the face made me think +of portraits of saintly monks, worn with fasting and +prayer, save that the eyes were quick and piercing +rather than contemplative; as if he saw, not dreams +and visions of Christendom in general, but just the +little bit of it he had to do with at the moment, in +the person of Aunt Dorothy's little maid. When +the little maid had answered, he turned with a look +of approval to some one out of sight, whom I +knew must be Aunt Dorothy. Judging from the +fact of the catechizing being held in her chamber, +that she would be equal to seeing me, and that +therefore I had better appear in an ordinary way, I +crept softly down-stairs again, and knocked at the +house-door. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy was much moved at my coming; +although in words she only vouchsafed a grave +remonstrance. And I was no less moved to see how +feeble and shrunken she looked. She had been +much enfeebled by an attack of low fever and +although professing to make little of it, like most +people unaccustomed to illness she believed herself +much worse than she really was, and had, dear soul, +gone in spirit pathetically through her own funeral, +with the effect so solemn an event might be hoped +to have on the hearts of her misguided kinsmen and +kinswomen. +</p> + +<p> +"Olive, my dear," she said to me, on the morning +after our arrival, after directing me where to find +her will, and a letter she had written, "thou wilt +find I had not forgotten thy babes, nor indeed any +of my kindred, unnatural as no doubt they think +me. I wish the letter to be given to your father at +once, immediately after all is over. My example +and arguments have had little weight; but it may +be otherwise then. I have no physician but good +Mr. Baxter, who is physician both for body and +soul to his people. He hath endeavoured to +reassure me; but I know what that means. And +yesterday he gave me his 'Saint's Rest,' which, of +course, is only a considerate way of preparing me +for the end." +</p> + +<p> +All through that week Aunt Dorothy continued +marvellously meek and gentle, her grave eyes +moistening tenderly as she looked on the babes. She +commended Annis as a maiden of a modest countenance +and lowly carriage. (I had not ventured to +inform her of Annis's peculiar belief.) She spoke +tenderly of every one, and agreed as far as possible +with everything; which last symptom I did feel +alarming. +</p> + +<p> +The kindness and sympathy of the neighbours +were so great, that it seemed to me their evening +psalm was only the musical Amen to the psalm they +had lived all day. One brought us possets, another +dainty meats, another confections for the babes; +others would watch in the sick-chamber at night; +another sent for the babes to play with her own, to +keep the house quiet. If we gave thanks, they said +Mr. Baxter "thought nothing of godliness which +did not show itself in goodness." Another told us +how Aunt Dorothy had been borne on their hearts +at the Thursday prayer-meeting at Mr. Baxter's; +and more than one came to "repeat to us Mr. Baxter's +last Sunday sermon;" repeating Mr. Baxter's +sermon (he only preached one on Sunday) being a +great ordinance at Kidderminster. Never before +did I understand so fully what the meaning of the +word church is, or the meaning of the word pastor. +Before I came to Kidderminster I had thought of +Mr. Baxter as a godly man, rather fond of debate, +and very unjust to Oliver Cromwell (as I still hold +him to have been). After staying there that week, +I learned that if the joys of fighting (syllogistically) +were his favourite recreation (which, in spite of all +his protestations, I think they were, for a true +Ironsides' soul dwelt in that slight and suffering body); +his work was teaching little children, seeking the +lost, bringing back the wandering, supporting the +weak,—all that is meant by being "shepherd" and +"ensample" to the flock; going before them in +every good and generous work, going after them +into every depth of misery, if only he could bring +them home. +</p> + +<p> +As I sat by the window of the sick-chamber where +I could see Mr. Baxter's house on the opposite side +of the street, with the people going in to consult +him, the poor patients sometimes waiting by twenty +at a time at his door, and a pleasant stir of welcome +all down the street when his "thin and lean and +weak" figure passed out and along, Aunt Dorothy +loved to discourse to me of him. She told me how +in his childhood he had lived in a village called +Eaton Constantine, near the Wrekin Hill, in a +rustical region, where Ave Marys still lingered with +paternosters in the peasants' prayers; where the +clergyman, being about eighty years of age, with +failing eye-sight, and having two churches, twenty +miles distant, under his charge, used to say the +Common Prayer without book; and got "one year +a thresher, or common day-labourer, another a tailor, +and after that a kinsman of his, who was a +stage-player and gamester, to read the psalms and +chapters." Mr. Baxter's father, "having been addicted +to gaming, had entangled his freehold estate; but +it pleased God to instruct and change him by the +bare reading of the Scriptures in private, without +either preaching or godly company, or any other +books, so that his serious speeches of God and the +life to come very <i>early possessed his son with a fear +of sinning</i>." For reading the Scripture on the +Sundays, when others were dancing, by royal order, +round the May-pole, he was called a "Puritan." +</p> + +<p> +Good books were the means of Richard Baxter's +early teaching, though when his "sincere conversion" +began he was never able to say. One of these +books (to Aunt Dorothy's perplexity) was by a +Jesuit; another was "Sibbes' Bruised Reed," +brought by a poor pedler and ballad-seller to the +door; another was a "little piece" of Mr. Perkin's +works, which a servant in the house had. For all +that while (Mr. Baxter had told her) neither he nor +his father had acquaintance with any that "had +understanding in matters of religion, nor ever heard +any pray extempore." Their prayers were chiefly +the Confession in the Prayer-book, and one of +Bradford, the martyr's, prayers. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Baxter deemed his own sicknesses and +infirmities to have been among the chief means of +grace to him. "The calls of approaching death on +one side, and the questioning of a doubtful +conscience on the other hand, kept his soul awake." +</p> + +<p> +His doubts were many; for instance, "whether a +base fear did not move him more than a son's love +to God," and "because his grief and humiliation +were no greater;" until, at last, he understood that +"<i>God breaketh not all men's hearts alike</i>; that the +change of our heart from sin to God is true repentance; +and that he that had rather leave his sin than +have leave to keep it, and that had rather be the +most holy, than <i>have leave</i> to be unholy or <i>less</i> holy, +is neither without repentance nor the love of God." +</p> + +<p> +His diseases were more than his doubts, and his +physicians more (and belike more dangerous) than +his diseases. He had thirty-six physicians, by whose +orders he took drugs without number, which, said +he, "God thought not fit to make successful;" +whereupon at last he forsook the physicians +altogether. Under which circumstances he had doubtless +reason to count it among his mercies (as he did) +that he was never overwhelmed with "real +melancholy." "For years," as he said, "rarely a quarter +of an hour's ease, yet (through God's mercy) never +an hour's melancholy, nor many hours in the week +disabled from work." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Baxter's being so much indebted to good +books as his teachers and comforters, was perhaps +partly the reason why he wrote so many. Of his +"Saint's Rest" he himself said: "Whilst I was in +health I had not the least thought of writing books, +or of serving God in any more public way than +preaching; but when I was weakened with great +bleeding, and left solitary in my chamber at Sir +John Cook's in Derbyshire, without any acquaintance +but my servant about me, and sentenced to death +by the physicians, I began to contemplate more +seriously on the everlasting rest which I believed +myself to be on the borders of." He originally +intended it to be no more than the length of one or +two sermons; but the weakness being long +continued, the book was enlarged. The first and last +parts being for his own use were written first, and +then the second and third. It was written with no +books at hand but a Bible and a Concordance, and +he found that "the transcript of the heart hath the +greatest force on the hearts of others;" and for the +good he had heard that multitudes have received +by that writing, he humbly thanked "Him that +compelled him to it." +</p> + +<p> +A history which interested me much; for I +delight to think of books I love as growing in this and +that unexpected way from little unnoticed seeds, +like living creatures, not as constructed deliberately +from outside, like a thing made by hands. Doth +not John Milton say that a good book is "the +precious life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and +treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life; so +that he who destroys a good book commits not so +much a murder as a massacre, and slays an +immortality rather than a life." +</p> + +<p> +Much also Aunt Dorothy had to say of Mr. Baxter's +good works; how out of his narrow income he +contrived to send promising young men to the +university, and to relieve the destitute without stint, +"having ever more to give," he said, "as he gave +more;" how he had been the physician of his people, +fighting against their sicknesses as well as their +sins; how the old were moved by him, who had +never been moved before, and little children were +stirred by his eloquent entreaties, and trained by +his patient teaching, so that they brought the light +of love and godliness into many a home which +before had been all darkness. +</p> + +<p> +She said Mr. Baxter was wont humbly to attribute +the wonderful efficacy of his ministry to many +causes rather than to any peculiar power in his +words; to the following among others:—. +</p> + +<p> +1. That "the people had never had any awakening +ministry before, and therefore were not sermon-proof." +</p> + +<p> +2. The infirmity of his health. That "as he had +naturally a familiar, moving voice, and doing all in +bodily weakness as a dying man, his soul was more +easily brought to seriousness, and to preach as a +dying man to dying men." +</p> + +<p> +3. That many of the bitter enemies to godliness, +"in their very hatred of Puritans," had gone into +the king's armies, and "were quickly killed." +</p> + +<p> +4. The change made in public affairs by the +success of the wars; "which (said Mr. Baxter), +however it was done, and though much corrupted by +the usurpers, yet removed many impediments to +men's salvation. Before, godliness was the way to +shame and ruin; but though Cromwell gave liberty +to all sects, and did not set up any party alone, by +force, yet this much gave abundant advantage to +the gospel; especially considering that godliness +now had countenance and reputation also as well as +liberty; and such liberty (even under a usurper) as +never before since the gospel came into the land did +it possess. And" (said he) "much as I have written +against licentiousness in religion, and the power +of the magistrate in it, yet, in comparison of the rest +of the world, I think that land happy that hath but +<i>bare liberty to be as good as they are willing to be, and +toleration for truth to bear down her adversaries</i>." +</p> + +<p> +5. Another advantage was the zeal, diligence, +the holy, humble, blameless lives, and the Christian +concord of the religious sort. +</p> + +<p> +6. The private meetings for prayer, repetitions, +and asking questions, and his personal intercourse +with every family apart. +</p> + +<p> +7. Being able to give his writings, and especially +a Bible, to every family that had none. +</p> + +<p> +8. That the trade of the weaving of Kidderminster +stuffs enabled them to set a Bible on the loom +before them, wherewith to edify one another while +at their work. For (thought Mr. Baxter) +"free-holders and tradesmen are the strength of religion +and civility in the land, and gentlemen (<i>idle</i> men, +I think he meant) and beggars the strength of +iniquity." +</p> + +<p> +9. His own single life, "enabling him the easilier +to take his people for his children." +</p> + +<p> +10. That God made great use of sickness to do +good to many: and then of Mr. Baxter's practice +of physic; at once recovering their health and +moving their souls. +</p> + +<p> +11. The quality of the wicked people of the place, +who, "being chiefly drunkards, would roar and rave +in the streets like stark madmen, and so make that +sin abhorred." +</p> + +<p> +12. The assistance of good ministers around. +</p> + +<p> +To these things, and such as these, said Aunt +Dorothy, Mr. Baxter loved to attribute those +conversions which "at first he used to count up as +jewels, but of which afterwards he could not keep +any number." +</p> + +<p> +All this made me greatly desire the time when I +might hear Mr. Baxter preach; and, at last, on the +second Sunday after our arrival, Aunt Dorothy +insisted on my going to church. +</p> + +<p> +The only perplexity was Annis Nye. However, +I trusted that Aunt Dorothy's subdued frame of +mind, and Annis's being busy with the babes or in +the kitchen, would avert a collision. +</p> + +<p> +The sermon went far to explain to me Kidderminster +and Mr. Baxter. But no written words will +ever explain to those who did not hear them what +his sermons were. +</p> + +<p> +The pulpit was at once Mr. Baxter's hearth, his +throne, and his true battle-field: the central hearth +at which the piety of every fireside in Kidderminster +was weekly enkindled; the throne from which +the hearts of men and women, old men and little +children, were swayed; the battle-field where he +fought, not so much against sectaries and misbeliefs, +but against sin and unbelief. He was at home there, +close to every heart there; yet at home as a father +among his children. All that he was, turn by turn, +through the week—pleading, teaching, exhorting, +consoling, from house to house—he was in the +pulpit altogether; but with the difference between +glow and flame, between speech and song; between +a man calmly using his faculties one by one and a +man with his whole soul awake and on fire, and +concentrated into one burning desire to save men +and make them holy; with a message to deliver, +which he knew could do both. His eye enkindled, +his face illumined, his whole emaciated frame quivering +with emotion as he leant over the pulpit, and +spoke to every heart in the church. +</p> + +<p> +"Though we speak not unto you as men would +do that had seen heaven and hell, and were themselves +perfectly awake," he said. But it seemed to +me as if he <i>had</i> seen heaven and hell (or rather <i>felt</i> +them); and as if, while I listened to him, for the +first time in my life, my soul was "perfectly awake" +all through. +</p> + +<p> +And of all this, the next generation, and those +who never heard him in this, will know nothing! +Instead, they will have one hundred and sixty little +books and treatises, out of which they may vainly +strive to piece together what Mr. Baxter was during +those fourteen most fruitful years of his ministry +at Kidderminster. But even if they could put +the fragments together right, they would only have +created an image of clay. And most likely they +will piece them together wrong (as I did before I +knew him). And then they will wonder at the +clumsy image, and wonder what gentlemen of the +neighbourhood, trained in universities, in courts, +and in armies, and at the same time the poor +weavers of Kidderminster, and the nailers of Dudley, +who clustered round the doors and windows when +he preached, could find in his words so beautiful +and so moving. +</p> + +<p> +Most words, written or spoken, are perhaps more +spoken to one generation than men like to think. +If the next generation read them, it is not so much +as living words to move themselves, but as lifeless +effigies of what moved their fathers. But with +great orators this must be especially the case, and +with great preachers more perhaps than with other +orators. Nor need they complain. Their words +reach far enough, moving hearts whose repentings +move the angels in the presence of God. They live +long enough: on high, in the deathless souls they +awaken; on earth, in the undying influence from +heart to heart, from age to age, of the holy lives +they inspire. +</p> + +<p> +The large old church was thronged to the extremity +of the five new galleries which had been built +since Mr. Baxter preached, to accommodate the +congregation. +</p> + +<p> +When he ceased speaking, there was a long hush, +as of reluctance to supersede the last tones of that +persuasive voice by any other sound. +</p> + +<p> +And as the congregation gently dispersed, that +sacred hush seemed on them still. They were +treasuring up the words wherewith they would +strengthen themselves and each other during the +week; the housewife keeping them in her heart +like a song from heaven; the weaver, as he worked +with his open Bible before him on the loom, seeing +them shine on its verses like the fingers of a +discriminating sunbeam. +</p> + +<p> +As I came home, I remember feeling not so much +as if I had been in a church where something good +had been said, as in a battle-field where something +great had been done. Death-blows had been given +to cherished sins; angels of hell had been despoiled +of their false "armour of light," and compelled to +appear in their own hideous shrunken shapes; +hidden faults had been dragged from their ambush in +the heart, and smitten; the joints of armour, deemed +impervious, had been pierced at a venture; the +powers of darkness had been defeated by being detected; +the powers of light had been aroused, refreshed, +arrayed in order of battle, and sent on their +warfare, strengthened and cheered, as the Ironsides by +the voice of Oliver. A battle had been fought, and +a campaign set in order, and the combatants inspired +for fresh conflicts. As those living words echoed +in my heart, all the conflicts of armies and +politicians seemed mere shadowy repetitions (like the +battles in the Elysian shades) of that eternal +essential conflict between good and evil waged +unceasingly within and around us. +</p> + +<p> +I remember that Aunt Dorothy's first words to +me, when I returned, sounded as if they came up +to me on a sunny height, from a strange voice in +some dim region far below. +</p> + +<p> +She said,— +</p> + +<p> +"Olive, dear heart, it rejoices me that you have +such a discerning young woman to serve you. She +is, I deny not, a trifle rustical, and needs instruction +as to gestures and forms of address, but, at +least, she is able to perceive how sadly poor +General Cromwell has been seduced from the ways of +humility and uprightness, and has failed in +protecting the people of God." +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, these words were not without +something consolatory in them for me. Much as Aunt +Dorothy and Annis had, belike, misunderstood one +another as to what they meant by the "people of +God" whom the Captain-General failed to protect, +it was evident they were still so far on friendly +relations with each other. And it was also plain to +me that Aunt Dorothy's militant faculty (and +therefore she herself) was recovering. +</p> + +<p> +A very opportune improvement. For on the +following day came letters from Roger and Job +Forster announcing the battle of Dunbar, which those +who fought it looked on as an act of the great +warfare between good and evil, as truly as any of +Mr. Baxter's preachings. In which belief Aunt +Dorothy and Mr. Baxter agreed with them; but +not as to the sides on which the combatants were +ranged. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The first letter from Dunbar was from Roger, +dated September 2nd:— +</p> + +<p> +"A word to thee, Olive, my sister, by the post +who is to carry letters for the Lord-General. Ill +news travel fast, and if such have reached thee +before these, I would have thee know, though our +case is low enough, our hearts are not daunted. +</p> + +<p> +"I write in my tent on my knee—wind and rain +driving across this wild tongue of land, dashing the +waves against the rocks, whistling through the long +grasses of the marshes, as in the sedges by old +Netherby Mere. Nothing to do but to keep our +powder dry, if we can, and pray. +</p> + +<p> +"The enemy think us caught in a worse Pound +than my Lord Essex at Fowey. Even the General +thinks little less than a miracle can save us. But +maybe the miracle is wrought already in the courage +of our men, without a grain of earthly food to +sustain it; the miracles of the New Covenant being, +for the most part, inward. +</p> + +<p> +"For months we have been watching them up +and down the hills and the shores round Edinburgh, +yet never able to tempt them to a battle. And now +they deem us trapped and doomed, which may work +to better purpose on them than our challenges. To +all appearance their boastings are justified. +</p> + +<p> +"The ships we hasted into this 'trap' to meet +(sorely needing fresh victuals), are nowhere in sight. +Through his knowledge of the country, the enemy +has possessed himself of all the passes between us +and England. His army is on the bill above us, +twenty-three thousand strong, with veteran +generals, threatening to sweep down, and with 'one +shower, wash us out of the country.' +</p> + +<p> +"We with but eleven thousand to meet them. +Many of ours lying sick in the town of Dunbar. +</p> + +<p> +"In all Scotland not another stronghold is +ours. +</p> + +<p> +"Among them is the shout of a king, 'a Covenanted +king;' whatever strength may lie in that! +Many of their soldiers godly men and brave. +</p> + +<p> +"I think we shall not be suffered to dishonour +the good cause or the General by lack of courage. +But victory is not in our hands. And what may +be in God's, I am no prophet to tell. +</p> + +<p> +"Between us and England an army twice our +number. Between England and the old tyranny, +as we deem, nothing but Oliver and his eleven +thousand. A thought to nerve heart and hand. +</p> + +<p> +"'We are sensible of our disadvantages,' as the +General saith. 'But not a few of us stand in this +trust, that because of their numbers—because of +their confidence—because of our weakness—because +of our strait, we are in the Mount, and in the +Mount the Lord will be seen; and that He will find +out a way of deliverance and salvation for us.' +</p> + +<p> +"The sea and the waves roaring, but as yet, God +be praised, no man's heart failing him for fear. +Farewell! Whatever comes to-morrow I would +have thee know we are not dismayed to-day." +</p> + +<p> +And, enclosed, a few lines from my husband:— +</p> + +<p> +"This campaign has been one of more occupation +for the leech than the soldier," he wrote. +"The wild weather, and food not of the best or +most plentiful, with lying out on the wet moors, +always restlessly on the watch for battles which +never came, have shattered the troops more than +many a hard fight. Sickness is on all sides. The +Captain-General saith the men fall sick beyond +imagination. He himself has not escaped. The +foe I fight with has left me little intermission. +The prospect of a battle, such as hangs over us in +the thousands gathering on Doon Hill through the +day, and now ready to sweep down the slopes, +seems proving already to some a better physic than +any of mine. A wound is doubled when the spirit +is wounded, and half healed when the spirit is +cheered. +</p> + +<p> +"Never fear for me, dear heart; I know I am +where my task is set. And I keep as well as men +for the most part do who have plenty to do and +hope in doing it." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Ah," sighed Aunt Dorothy, "snared in their +own net at last! Did not Mr. Baxter write to the +well-disposed in the sectarian army, warning them +of the sin of going to war against the godly in +Scotland; 'for which, O blindness!' quoth he, 'they +thought me an uncharitable censurer.' Remarkable +providence!" she concluded; "to have actually +run of their own free will into a place which +as if it had been ordained from the beginning to be +just such a trap." +</p> + +<p> +"Had we not better wait till we see whether +they get out, Aunt Dorothy?" said I. +</p> + +<p> +"Get out, child?" said she, fierily; "I think +better of them, with all their transgressions, than +to believe they are bad enough to be suffered to +prosper in their evil ways! Mr. Cromwell himself +was, or seemed to be, in the Covenant once." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +But that very evening flew through the land the +news of Dunbar victory: these letters having been +delayed by coming round through London. The +Scottish forces were totally routed. As Mr. Baxter +said, "Their foot taken, their horse pursued to +Edinburgh; when, if they would only have let +Oliver's weakened and ragged army go, or cautelously +followed them, it would have kept their peace +and broken his honour." +</p> + +<p> +For neither Mr. Baxter nor Aunt Dorothy thought +it at all a "remarkable providence" that Oliver and +his army had thus escaped. It was plain, on the +contrary, she thought, to all right-thinking people, +that their successes, so far from proving them right, +only proved that they had gone too far wrong to +be corrected. +</p> + +<p> +A few days afterwards arrived a letter, sent me +by Rachel Forster from Job. +</p> + +<p> +It began:— +</p> + +<p> +"See Psalm 107. (<i>O praise the Lord, all ye nations; +praise him all ye people.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>For his merciful kindness is great towards us; and +the truth of the Lord endureth for ever. Praise ye the +Lord</i>).* We sang it on the battle-field yesterday. +The shortest psalm that is. Made on purpose, +belike, for such a service and such a congregation. +For we had no time for more. We sang it, Oliver +and the foremost of us, on the halt, before the rest +came up for the chase. The music rolled up grand, +like the sea, from the hollow of the brook against +the hill of Doon. We had cause to sing it, and the +whole land hath cause. Never better. Do thou +sing it, dear heart, at Netherby, and let Mistress +Olive sing it, and the babes listen, and Mistress +Annis (if she will unlearn her perverse ways); 'old +men and children, young men and maidens.' For +their 'covenant with death' is broken. The snare +is broken, and we are delivered. And not we and +England only, but all the godly throughout the +three kingdoms; if they will but see. Surely they +must see; kirk-ministers and all, 'spite (as the General +saith) of all their sullenness at God's providences, +and their envy at Eldad and Medad and the Lord's +people who prophecy; their envy (saith he) at +instruments, because things did not work forth their +platform, and the great God did not come down to +their thoughts.' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* In Mr. Rous's version:— +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> + "O give ye praise unto the Lord,<br> + All nations that be;<br> + Likewise, ye people, all accord<br> + His name to magnify.<br> + For great to usward ever are<br> + His loving-kindnesses;<br> + His truth endures for evermore,<br> + The Lord O do ye bless."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"They hung above us on the hill of Doon, twenty-three +thousand strong, all through the night. A +wild night it was; the waves roaring, the cold rain +driving across the tongue of land where they thought +us trapped. But we prayed, and watched, and kept +our powder dry, which was as much as we could do. +We had some scant shelter under tents and walls. +They, poor souls, had none; and before dawn they +put out all their matches but two to a company, and +lay down under the corn-shocks. Oliver did not +wait for them to burst on us; nor for the morning +to break. We did not wait for his word to be on +the alert. A company of us were in prayer at three +o'clock, with a poor cornet (one of the Eldads and +Medads), when Major Hodgson rode past and stopped +to join, and found strength in it, as the day proved. +</p> + +<p> +"We were to have charged before they woke. +But there were delays in getting all the men +forward. So before we had gathered we heard the +enemy's trumpets wake up one by one in the dark, +along the hill-side. Then the moon broke from a +cloud, and, with the first ray of dawn, made light +enough to see where we were going, when at last +all the men came up, and the trumpets pealed out +all along our line with the English battle-shout, and +the great guns. +</p> + +<p> +"Their cry and ours met: '<i>The Covenant!</i>' and +'<i>The Lord of Hosts!</i>' And with it we and they +met, met and closed in death-grapple for +three-quarters of an hour; company to company, man to +man. Once we were pressed back across the brook +in the hollow, their horse charging desperately. +No hearing the winds and waves roar then. Then +we charged back, horse and foot,—such a charge +(many say) as they never saw—back again across +the hollow of the brook. That charge was never +returned. We heard Oliver's voice, '<i>They run, I +profess they run!</i>' And then the sun broke across +the field, and with it again Oliver's voice, '<i>Let God +arise, and let his enemies be scattered.</i>' +</p> + +<p> +"And scattered they were. Three thousand dead +in the hollow of the brook. (Three thousand whose +hands we would fain have held as brothers. God +knows how Oliver entreated them sore, and how +they gave us hatred for our love.) Ten thousand +prisoners. The rest flying right and left through +the land. An army gone in an hour. +</p> + +<p> +"An army of brave Scottish men, godly men +many of them doubtless; ministers there in store to +bless them (no Eldads and Medads, but covenanted +kirk-ministers), all swept away like the chaff of the +summer threshing-floor. +</p> + +<p> +"Will they not yet see? Not our courage did it; +they were brave as we. Not our numbers; theirs +doubled ours. Not our field: they chose it. The +passes of the hills were theirs. What then? Can +any fail to see? The lie that is among them makes +them weak, the false oaths to a false Covenant sworn +at their command, against his will and conscience, +by the poor, false, young Stuart king. The +difference is the difference in our battle-cries. '<i>The +Covenant</i>,' good once (far be it from us to speak scorn +of it), good twice, but not good always; strong +against one evil yesterday, not strong against all +evil for ever. And '<i>The Lord of Hosts</i>,' Almighty +against all evil for ever. Not His own Covenant +even, as far as it is but written in stone; much less +theirs, though signed with their blood; not His own +Covenant, though 'confirmed by an oath,' so much +as <i>Himself</i> living to confirm the oath. +</p> + +<p> +"As the Lord-General saith, 'What He hath done, +what He is to us in Christ, is the root of our comfort; +in this is stability; in us is weakness. Faith as an +act yields not perfect peace; <i>but only as it carries +into Him who is our perfect peace</i>. Rest we here, and +here only.'* +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* "What God hath done, what He is to us in Christ, is the +root of our comfort: and this is stability; in us is weakness. +Acts of obedience are not perfect, and, therefore, yield not +perfect peace. Faith as an act yields it not; but only as it +carries us into Him, who is our perfect peace, and in whom +we are accounted of and received by the Father even as Christ +Himself. This is our high calling. Rest we here, and here +only." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Truly soldiers have cause to sing the 109th +Psalm who have such a General to lead and speak +to them; although, in the eyes of the kirk, he be but +an Eldad. I trust I meddle not with things too +high for me after the lesson I have had. Often, +dear heart, I long for thee, and thy comfortable +speech and smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Master Roger and I talk over many things by +the camp-fires when most are asleep; we knowing +old Netherby, and thee, and so many other things +the rest know not. He is heavier and graver than +I would see him, save where there is work to be +done. +</p> + +<p> +"I doubt there is somewhat gnawing, without +noise, as worms and blights do, at his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"There was the pretty lady at the hall, now among +the Hivites and Perizzites (so to speak) in France. +I know nothing, but that he never speaks of her and +hers. And they were aye together, he and she and +Mistress Olive, in the old days. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor brave young heart, mine is sore for him +many a time. It is not all who get such plentiful +wages beforehand as I, Rachel, in thee." +</p> + +<p> +Which last sentence Rachel had annotated with,— +</p> + +<p> +"The goodman means no harm, Mistress Olive. +But on that matter he could never be brought to +see plain, say what I would." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next Sunday a Thanksgiving was appointed +by the Parliament ("the Rump") for the victory +of Dunbar. This Mr. Baxter openly disregarded; +using his influence, moreover, to persuade others to +do the same. He did not hesitate in his sermon to +warn his hearers of the sin of fighting against a +loyal Scottish Covenanted army; while, at the same +time, he blamed the Scots themselves for "imposing +laws upon their king, for forcing him to dishonour +the memory of his father, and for tempting him to +take God's name in vain by speaking and publishing +that which, they might easily know, was +contrary to his heart." +</p> + +<p> +So, in the afternoon of that Sabbath which +Mr. Baxter refused to make a day of thanksgiving to +Kidderminster, I held a private thanksgiving service +in my own chamber. +</p> + +<p> +At first, in my solitude, my spirit was too busy +with protesting against Mr. Baxter to be at leisure +for praise. +</p> + +<p> +At the doors of some of the houses opposite, quiet +groups of weavers were gathered, in their Sunday +best. In all the town, Mr. Baxter rejoiced to think, +there was not one Separatist. The Quakers (he +fondly believed) he had silenced, at a discussion +held in his church. One journeyman shoemaker, +indeed, had turned Anabaptist, "but he had left the +town upon it." +</p> + +<p> +No "Eldads and Medads" had troubled Kidderminster +with irregular prophesying; "for," said +Mr. Baxter, "so modest were the ablest of the people, +that they were never inclined to a preaching way, +but thought they had teaching enough by their +pastors." +</p> + +<p> +"Among all these busy brains and stirring +hearts," I thought, as I sat at my window, "not +one that differs from Mr. Baxter; while Mr. Baxter +differs in so many directions from so many people +that fifty books have been written against him." +</p> + +<p> +The thought of a whole town walking on such a +narrow path, step by step after Mr. Baxter, with +those fifty precipices and "bye-paths" on all sides, +had something appalling in it;—appalling in its +monotony, and in its precariousness. What kind +of a place would England be to live in if it were all +brought to this Kidderminster standard? Not very +pleasant certainly for any journeyman shoemaker +who was unfortunate enough to turn Anabaptist! +Perhaps in the end a little wearisome even for +Mr. Baxter himself, when no one was left for him to +silence. +</p> + +<p> +I need not have perplexed myself with such +speculations. Long before the experiment reached that +stage, Mr. Baxter's own eloquent voice itself was +silenced, and his faithful words made doubly +precious to his flock by the prohibition, on peril of +imprisonment or fine, of ever listening to them again. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was a slumbrous unanimity by any means +the danger England had then to dread. +</p> + +<p> +As I opened my Bible and read the Dunbar Psalm, +and sought to make melody with it in heart, my +quiet chamber seemed to become a side chapel of a +vast cathedral. I felt no more alone. A thousand +services of song seemed going on around me. From +Dr. Jeremy Taylor silenced in Wales, and good +Bishop Hall near Norwich, and numerous little +companies in old halls and manors, meeting secretly +to use the Liturgy banished from churches and +cathedrals. From these same ancient churches and +cathedrals, where hundreds of "painful ministers," +like Mr. Baxter, Joseph Alleine, or John Howe, +were leading the devotions of the people in psalms +more ancient than any Liturgy, and prayers new as +every morning's mercies. From Puritan armies in +Scotland, covenanted and uncovenanted. From +meetings of Quakers, many of them in prisons. +Beyond these again, from Lutherans and Calvinists in +Protestant Europe; and doubtless also from countless +devout hearts in Catholic cathedrals and convents. +And farther off still, from the Puritan villages +in the wilderness on the other side of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +At first this concourse of sounds scarce seemed a +concert. Babel has smitten men with deeper +divisions than those of speech. Too many of the +prayers sounded terribly like anathemas. Too many of +the psalms like war-cries. +</p> + +<p> +Until, as I still listened, the roof even of this vast +cathedral of Christendom seemed to melt away into +the firmament of heaven. Then I found that there +was a height whence all discords, which were not +music, fell back to earth, and whence all the discords +without which music cannot be, flowed up in one +grand River of Praise, in at the Gates of Pearl. +</p> + +<p> +The burden of the song seemed simply that old +prayer, "Our Father which art in heaven." +</p> + +<p> +But from the crystal fiery sea into which that +river flowed, rolled back, as in an echo of countless +ocean waves, the antiphon,— +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord God +Almighty. Just and true are Thy ways, Thou King +of Saints!</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Then the thought came to me, "Mr. Baxter, however, +with all his moderatings and balancings cannot +antedate these harmonies. Aunt Dorothy says +he believes he has found the exact middle point +between every extreme—Calvinism and Arminianism, +Episcopacy, Presbytery, Independency. But, +unfortunately, to other people it is but a point. Aunt +Dorothy cannot quite balance herself on it. It is +certain the whole world cannot. It is doubtful if +any one can, except Mr. Baxter." +</p> + +<p> +The harmony is made, not by each trying to learn +the whole, but by each keeping faithfully to the +part given him to learn and sing, though the part +be only a broken note here and there. +</p> + +<p> +And I thanked God that all the efforts of the +worst men, or the best, to anticipate that majestic +anthem of conflicting and embracing sound by a +thin unison of voices, had never succeeded, and +never could succeed, as long as men are men, and +the second Man is not St. Paul, or Apollos, or +St. John—but the Son of Man; the Lord from heaven. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Paris</i>, 1650, <i>September</i>.—It is a new world in +which I find myself, here, in the hotel of Madame +la Mothe. Save Barbe and myself, not one +Protestant is of the circle. +</p> + +<p> +"The loneliness is sometimes oppressive, courteous +as all are. It is not so much the condemnation +of Protestant England, as an unfortunate island +shattered from the rest of Christendom by the +earthquake of the Reformation, which makes me feel how +far off we are from each other, as their incapacity +to comprehend the divisions which are convulsing +our country. 'From shattering to pulverizing, the +process is but natural,' a good priest said the other +day. They seem to look on us as the dust of +a ruined Church; and between one atom of dust +and another—between atoms Episcopal, atoms +Presbyterian, and atoms Independent—they have no +sunbeam strong enough to distinguish. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Paris, October</i> 1<i>st</i>.—This morning Madame la +Mothe, always anxious for my welfare, and now +and then awakening to spasms of conviction that +my welfare means my 'conversion,' took me to hear +an excellent priest, called Singlin, preach. +</p> + +<p> +"'I do not go often myself, my child,' she said, +'because the power of M. Singlin's sermons is +redoubtable. They sweep people away from transitory +ties, like a torrent. Now, while M. la Mothe +lives, this is a danger to which I scarcely venture +to expose myself. He is, as you see, more aged +than I am. And what could he do without me? +When I married him, I was a child; he a man of +high reputation, who had made his mark in the +world. It was considered a brilliant destiny for +me. It has been a tranquil and a happy destiny. +He was ever to me the most considerate of friends, +guiding me through the temptations of the world +like a director, generously providing me with the +pleasures suited to my age, and consoling me like +an angel when our only child died. I could never +abandon him now.' +</p> + +<p> +"Many things were strange to me in these words. +This married life seemed so strangely dual, instead +of one. She spoke of him rather as leading on than +going with; rather as providing her joys than +joining in them; rather as consoling her griefs than +sharing them. And as strange seemed to me this +mingled, love and dread of M. Singlin's sermons. +</p> + +<p> +"We dressed, and set off for the church. +</p> + +<p> +"'Surely, Madame,' I said, as we walked through +the streets, 'no good man would advise you to +abandon home and M. la Mothe?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No, certainly,' she said; 'not advise. But he +might make me feel the world so hollow and +momentary, all its relationships so transitory, that an +irresistible attraction would draw my heart from +the world, like that of the young lady you see on +the other side of the street, Mademoiselle +Jacqueline Pascal. And what comfort, then, would my +husband have in my going through life, by his side +indeed, but as a machine wound up to its work, +with the spirit elsewhere!' +</p> + +<p> +"And she pointed out to me a maiden habited +much like a nun, moving silently along with +downcast eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"'See, my child,' she whispered, 'one of the +trophies of M. Singlin's eloquence, or, at least, of +the doctrines he enforces. A young person of good +family, daughter of M. Etienne Pascal, counsellor +of the king. At thirteen she was a poetess. She +charmed the Queen, Anne of Austria, and the Court, +by her verses on the birth of the Dauphin, his +present Majesty. She captivated all by the point of +her repartees. At fourteen she won from Cardinal +Richelieu her father's pardon for some political +offence, by her marvellous acting in a drama. Her +brother, Blaise, works miracles of science—literally +miracles. He has weighed the air, and made a +machine which calculates. She is beautiful, +accomplished, not yet twenty-six; the most brilliant +prospects open to her; the only unmarried daughter of +an indulgent father who loves her tenderly. She +hears M. Singlin. His words give the seal to her +vocation. She renounces everything—the Court, the +world, the family as far as she can, her genius, her +wit, herself.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You mean she renounces her genius by +consecrating it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I mean she <i>renounces</i>. Hereafter God and the +Church may consecrate. But who can say? What +are our talents to Him? His Providence can +destroy a navy by a whirlwind or by a little worm. +Henceforth she reads only books of devotion and +theology. She writes no more poetry. She denies +herself the manifestation of her dearest affections. +Until her father freely consents to her profession, +she yields, indeed, so far as to remain in his house. +But she makes her home a convent, her chamber a +cell. She spends the day there in solitude—last +winter without a fire, bleak as it was—reciting +offices, reading books of piety. She only joins the +family at meals. And of the meals, as far as possible, +she makes fasts, refusing to warm herself at +the fire. Charity alone, and devotion, bring her out +of her retirement. When her sister's child was +dying of the small-pox she nursed it night and day +with devoted tenderness. She would, doubtless, +have done the same for the child of a beggar; so +entire is her consecration. Soon, no doubt, such +piety will vanquish all objections; her father will +yield (if he lives), and she will enter Port Royal. +And this is one result of M. Singlin's eloquence, +and of the power of his doctrine. You will confess +it is a power, beneficent indeed, but formidable. +</p> + +<p> +"'Formidable indeed, Madame,' I said, shuddering, +for I thought of my own father. 'Fire, I think, +to the brain, and frost to the heart.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Alas, my child!' she said; 'how should you +understand what is meant by genuine Vocation, or +a thorough Conversion?' +</p> + +<p> +"To me, indeed, this seemed not conversion; but +annihilation. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"We were silent some way on our return from +the church. +</p> + +<p> +"'You were arrested,' said Madame la Mothe. +</p> + +<p> +"'It reminded me of a Puritan sermon I once +heard in England,' I said; 'speaking of the world +as a "carcass that had neither life nor loveliness." Only +M. Singlin seemed to include more in what he +meant by the world than the Puritan did.' +</p> + +<p> +"'That is what I should expect,' she replied. +'The higher the point of view, the more utter must +seem the vanity of all below. Does he not make +life seem a speck of dust, its history a moment? yet +each speck of dust on the earth a world, and +each moment a lifetime, as to its issues, radiating as +these do through eternity!' +</p> + +<p> +"When we came back, Madame la Mothe gave +an ardent account of the sermon to an Abbe, a +cousin of hers, who happened to be visiting at the +house. +</p> + +<p> +"To my surprise, he solemnly denounced the +recluses of Port Royal, with M. Singlin and their +directors. He called it a conspiracy. +</p> + +<p> +"He said: 'A renegade Capuchin has (as they +confess) been the means of the conversion of their +adored Abbess, Angélique Arnauld. The Arnauld +family, the soul of the whole thing, were Protestants +in the previous generation; and (as the Spaniards +say) it takes more than one generation to wash +the taint of heresy from the blood.' +</p> + +<p> +"At this point Madame la Mothe considerately +introduced me. +</p> + +<p> +"'With the Protestants we are on open ground, +he said, bowing graciously to me. 'Mademoiselle +will understand I spoke ecclesiastically. But these +Jansenists are conspirators. They are digging mines +underneath the altar itself. However, the Pope +lives, and the Order of Jesus is awake. We shall +see which will perish—the sanctuary, or the mine +which was to explode it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Is it true,' I asked Madame la Mothe +afterwards, 'that the Abbess of Port Royal owed her +first impulse heavenward to a Protestant?' +</p> + +<p> +"'They have told me, indeed, it was a renegade +monk who so moved the young Abbess' heart,' she +replied. 'The miserable being, it is said, spoke +so forcibly on the blessedness of a holy life, and on +the infinite love and humiliation of our Lord in His +incarnation.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Perhaps, then, he knew the blessedness of a +holy life,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'He was a wretched fugitive, escaping from his +convent, my child,' she replied, a little impatiently. +'But what of that? Was not Balaam one of the +prophets?' +</p> + +<p> +"Two things, however, give me a kind of mournful +consolation. +</p> + +<p> +"One is, that, deny it as they will, there is an +undying link between the holy people of Port Royal +and those of the Protestant Church. I like to think +that. Not only has their piety a common source in +the same Sun, but it was enkindled by the touch of +a poor heretic hand they would refuse to grasp in +brotherhood. They will have to grasp that poor +hand by-and-by, I like to think; and then, not +reluctantly! +</p> + +<p> +"And the other consolation is, that divisions are +not confined to Protestants; a consolation both as +regards the Roman Catholics and ourselves. For +it seems to me, wherever there is thought there +must be difference; wherever there is life there must +be variety. Life and sin; these seem to me the chief +sources of religious difference. God only knows +from which of these two fountains each drop of the +turbulent stream flows. Life, which must manifest +itself in forms varied as the living, varying as their +growing; sin, which adds to these varieties of +healthy growth the sad varieties of disease, +infirmity, excrescence, or defect. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Paris, October</i> 2<i>nd</i>.—A battle at Dunbar, on the +coast of Scotland. +</p> + +<p> +"Another defeat. 'A complete rout,' my father +says in his letter, which is very desponding. He is +very indignant with the Scots, who will not let the +king's 'loyal servants and counsellors' come near +him, or even fight for him, but drag him about like +a culprit and preach sermons to him, 'once,' he +says, 'six in succession.' (And, here, His Majesty +had not the reputation of being too fond of sermons.) He +is also grieved with the king himself; at his +signing the Covenant, at his publicly condemning +his royal martyred father's acts, and his mother's +religion; and, above all, at his suffering himself to +be conducted in state into Edinburgh, under the +gate where were exposed the dishonoured remains +of Montrose, who so gallantly died for him not six +months before. 'Nevertheless,' he concludes, 'we +shall all die for him when our time comes, no doubt, +as willingly as Montrose did. And after all, the +true mischief-makers are the priests. From the +Pope to the kirk preachers, not a disturbance in the +world but you find them at the bottom of it. Let +all the theologies alone, sweetheart. One is as bad +as another. Say thy Creed; keep the Commandments; +pray the Lord's Prayer. And remember +thy old father.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>January, Chateau St. Rémi</i>.—We have come to +M. la Mothe's country chateau for the Christmas. +</p> + +<p> +"The Abbey Church of Port Royal des Champs +is our parish-church. Madame la Mothe often takes +me there. +</p> + +<p> +"The first morning after our arrival she took me +to the edge of the Valley of Port Royal. +</p> + +<p> +"It is rather a cup-like hollow in the plain than a +valley among hills. Its sides are clothed with a +sombre mantle of ancient forests,—at the further +end sweeping into the plain into which the valley +opens. A broad rich plain with rivers, woods, +corn-fields, now ploughed into long brown ridges for +sowing; towns, villages with spires and towers, all +stretching far away into a blue dimness. +</p> + +<p> +"The recluses who occupied Les Granges, the +abbey farm on the brow of the hill where we stood. +must find their prayers helped, I think, by this +glimpse into the wide world of life beyond. The +nuns at the bottom of the valley must lose it. +</p> + +<p> +"The valley was entirely filled by the convent. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is like a vase carved by the Creator Himself +for the precious ointment whose odour fills all His +house,' Madame la Mothe said. +</p> + +<p> +"To my unaccustomed eyes it was more like a +prosperous village than a monastery. +</p> + +<p> +"In the midst, the great tower of the church; +close to it, the convent itself, with its lofty roofs, +arched windows and gateways, turrets and pinnacles; +around, the infirmary, surgery, weaving-houses, +wash-houses, bake-houses, wood, corn and +hay stacks, the mill and the mill-pond, and +fish-ponds; the new and stately hotel which is the +retreat of the Duchess de Longueville, with the +residences of other noble ladies; and beyond, the +kitchen-gardens and meadows divided by a winding +brook from the 'Solitude,' where, amidst groups of +ancient trees, and under the steep slopes of the +wooded hill, the nuns repair for confession and +meditation. Even then, on that winter-day, I thought +I perceived the gleam of their white dresses among +the trees. +</p> + +<p> +"As we look, Madame la Mothe told me some of +the scenes which had been witnessed there within +the last fifty years. +</p> + +<p> +"Not fifty years since, the abbey had been a +place of restless gaiety and revelry. Light songs +and laughter might have been heard echoing among +the woods, when the child Angélique Arnauld was +appointed Abbess. +</p> + +<p> +"She then described the great king Henri Quatre +with his courtiers invading the valley in the +eagerness of the chase, and the child Abbess with her +crozier in her hand marching in state out of that +grand arched gateway at the head of her nuns, and +warning His Majesty from the sacred precincts; the +king gallantly kissing the queenly child's hand, and +obeying her behests. +</p> + +<p> +"Then the renegade Capuchin, finding one night's +shelter in the abbey on his flight to a Protestant +country, preaching in that church of the 'blessedness +of a holy life and the love of Christ,' so as to +awaken the young Abbess in her seventeenth year +to the vision of a new world and a new life, which, +in a subsequent sickness, deepened into thorough +conversion to God. +</p> + +<p> +"The 'Journée du Guichet,' when the Abbess +Angélique began her attempts to reform and seclude +the nuns by refusing to admit her own father within +the grating; by the long fainting-fit with which her +resistance ended, showing him what the effort cost +her, and convincing him of her sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +"The reform of Port Royal. Its growing reputation +for sanctity. The mission of the young Abbess +to reform other convents; the thronging of +new nuns under her rule, until the valley (then +undrained) became too small, health failed, and all the +community had to remove for fifteen years to Paris. +</p> + +<p> +"The arrival of the Abbess Angélique's brother, +M. Arnauld d'Andilly, and the other recluses, to +take up their abode at the deserted abbey, then half +in ruins, the meadows a marsh, the gardens a +wilderness. The draining of the marsh and rebuilding of +the abbey by the hands of these gentlemen, working +to the sound of psalms. +</p> + +<p> +"The return of the Abbess Angélique, with her +long train of white-robed daughters, welcomed with +enthusiasm by the peasants. The one meeting of +the recluses and the nuns, eighteen of them of the +Arnauld family; as the brothers led the sisters into +the church they had worked so hard to restore, and +then retired to the abbey farm, to see each other +no more except at the church services through a +grating. +</p> + +<p> +"As I looked down, nothing struck me so much +as the stillness. To the eye, the valley was a place +of busy human life. To the ear, it was a solitude. +No discordant noises came from it, no hum of cheerful +converse, nor voices of children at play. The +nuns have large schools, which they teach most +diligently and intelligently; the best ever known, it is +said. But the children are accustomed to play, each +by herself, quietly. The nuns think they like it as +much,—after a little while. They are also never +allowed to kiss or caress each other. Caresses might +lead to quarrels, and are, besides (the nuns think), +a weakening indulgence of emotion. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope they often read the little ones the gospel +which tells how the Master 'took the little children +in His arms.' They must need it. +</p> + +<p> +"The stillness had a sacred solemnity; but there +was something of a vault-like chill in it, which crept +over me like a shadow, as we descended the steep +path, strewn with moist dead leaves among the +roots of the leafless trees. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like better to have seen Port Royal +when, as in the wars of the Fronde a year or two +since, it became a refuge for the plundered peasants +of the neighbourhood, the infirmary filled with their +sick and aged, the church with their corn, the sacred +napkins for the altar torn up to bind their wounds. +</p> + +<p> +"Through the grand arched gateway we went +into the inner court, and thence into the church, +where the nuns were chanting the service. +</p> + +<p> +"Their music seems all kept for the church. Sin +and eternity! These two thoughts seem to hush +all the music at Port Royal, except such as goes up +to God. It was a solemn thing to hear the hundred +voices joining in the severe and simple chants to +which they tune their lives so well. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Madame la Mothe was pleased to see me moved +as I was by it. +</p> + +<p> +"'In England, you have scarcely a choir like +that,' she said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Not quite,' I replied; yet not to mislead her +with false hopes as to me I could not help adding,—'With +us the singers are not gathered into a choir, +but scattered through the Church; in scattered +Christian homes throughout the nation. And the +pauses of the psalms are filled up by family joys +and sorrows, and by the voices and laughter of little +children; which, it seems to me, make the psalms +all the sweeter and truer.' +</p> + +<p> +"But more solemn than this general assembly it +was to me to see, as I have this evening, while I +was in the church alone, that motionless, white +robed, kneeling figure keeping watch in the dusk +before the 'Sacred Host' on the altar. One silver +lamp radiated a dim and silvery light into the +recesses of the empty silent church; the lamp never +extinguished, the prayer never ceasing. +</p> + +<p> +"That kneeling worshipper seemed to me herself +a living symbol and portion of the Perpetual living +Sacrifice, in which the One sacrifice unto death is +for ever renewed; as Christian heart after heart is +enkindled to love, and sacrifice, and serve; as the +Church, redeemed by Him who offered Himself up +without spot to God, offers herself up in Him to do +and suffer the Father's will, to drink of His cup and +be baptized with His baptism; His living body, +the fulness of Him that filleth all in all.' +</p> + +<p> +"As we came up the hill my heart was full of +that thought. We turned and looked back over +the valley. The massive towers threw long shadows +over the meadows, silvered with dew and moonlight. +The broad lake shone, like the tranquil lives +of the sisterhood, mirroring the heavens. +</p> + +<p> +"On the other side, on the brow of the hill, the +lights of Les Granges showed where the recluses +were keeping their watch. A deep-toned bell from +the abbey church struck the hour. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, in the deepened hush of silence which +followed, the soft chant of the nuns came stealing +up the slopes. As we listened, it seemed to be +answered from above by the deep music of men's +voices from Les Granges. +</p> + +<p> +"We listened till the last notes died away. I +never heard church music which so moved me as +those unconscious antiphons, where the two sides of +the choir could not hear each other, whilst we heard +both. It made me think of so many things: of the +many choirs on earth who sing a part, and cannot +hear or will not recognize each other's music, while +God is listening to all; of the two sides of the choir +in heaven and earth; and of the voices in the +higher choir which I should hear no more on earth. +</p> + +<p> +"I felt lifted into a higher world. And we two +walked home in one of those restful silences which +sometimes say so much more than words. +</p> + +<p> +"It broke a little rudely on this when, at the +gate of the chateau, M. la Mothe's servant met us, +exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, madame! M. le Comte is much agitated. +He says it is ten minutes after the time when +madame brings him his posset.' +</p> + +<p> +"We hastened into the salon. M. la Mothe was +indeed much agitated. +</p> + +<p> +"'Pardon me, my friend,' she said; 'I am ten +minutes late.' +</p> + +<p> +"He pointed to the clock. +</p> + +<p> +"'Ten, madam!' he exclaimed. 'Fourteen and +a half, at the least! when the physician said every +minute was of consequence. But we must bear it, +no doubt. Neglect is the portion of the aged. +And madame has her salvation to accomplish, +no doubt! In my youth married women accomplished +their salvation in accomplishing the comfort +of their husbands. But times change. In a few +months I shall, no doubt, be beyond the reach of +neglect; and then madame can accomplish her +salvation without further interruption. Heaven grant +it may prove your salvation after all! Those +learned gentlemen, the Jesuits, think otherwise, and +they have great saints among them.' +</p> + +<p> +"I shall never forget the sweet humility with +which she acknowledged the justice of his +reproaches, and tact and tenderness with which she +soothed his feeble irritability into tranquillity again. +</p> + +<p> +"'You mean well, no doubt, my poor friend!' +he said at last, with a lofty air of forbearance; +'and no doubt we shall not soon have such an +omission again. +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, my child!' she said to me, as she came +into my room afterwards; 'if you had only known +how good he was, and how patient with me, when I +was wild and young! These little irritations are not +from the heart, but from the brain, which is +over-tasked and tired. He had no sleep last night on +account of the gout, and I read aloud to him romances, +insipid enough, I think, to send me asleep in a house +on fire. But they had no effect on him, the pain +was so acute.' +</p> + +<p> +"The tears came into my eyes. She thought +nothing of her own fatigue. +</p> + +<p> +"'You need not pity me,' she said, with her own +bright smile. 'I am an easy, happy old woman, far +too contented, I fear, with the world and with my +lot in it. If I have any virtue, it is good temper; +and that is scarcely a virtue, not certainly a +grace—indeed, merely a little hereditary advantage, like +skin that heals quickly.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I was not pitying you, madame,' I ventured to +say; 'I was only thinking how much better God +makes our crosses for us than they make them even +at Port Royal.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Alas, my child!' she sighed; 'there is no need +for the holy ladies and gentlemen of Port Royal to +make their own crosses. The Jesuits are preparing +plenty of crosses, I fear, for them. But do not, I +entreat you, dignify such little prickles as mine +by the name of crosses.' +</p> + +<p> +"I made no answer, save by kissing her hand. +For I thought her crosses were none the worse +discipline because to her they seemed only prickles; +and her graces all the more genuine and sweet +because to her they seemed only 'little hereditary +advantages.' +</p> + +<p> +"It is such a help to 'crosses,' in the work they +have to do for us, when they have no chance of +looking grand enough to be set up on pedestals and +adored; and it is such a blessing for 'graces' when +they are not clothed in Sunday or 'religious' +clothes, so as to have any opportunity of looking +at themselves at all. +</p> + +<p> +"Good temper, kindliness, cheerfulness, lowliness, +tenderness, justice, generosity, seem to me to lose +so much of their beauty and fragrance when they +change their sweet familiar home-names (which are +also their true Christian names) for three-syllabled +saintly titles, such as 'holy indifference,' or 'saintly +resignation,' and pace demurely about in processions, +saying, in every deprecatory look and regulated +gesture, 'See how unlike the rest of the world +we are!' +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>When saw we Thee an hungered?</i>?'—how much +that means! It was not so much, I think, that the +'righteous' had not recognized the Master in their +acts, as that they did not recall the acts. They did +not recognize the sweet blossoms of their own +graces, because His life had gone down to the root, +and flowed through every stem and twig of everyday +feeling, and overflowed in every bud and blossom +of every-day words and works, as naturally +and inevitably as a fountain bubbles up in spray. +It was not His presence they had been unconscious +of, but their own services. For it seems to me just +the acts religious people least remember that are +the most beautiful, and that Christ most remembers, +because they flow from the deepest source; not +from a conscious purpose, but from a pervading +instinctive life. +</p> + +<p> +"In such unconscious acts the noble men and +women of Port Royal are rich indeed. I love, for +instance, to think how M. de St. Cyran, when himself +a prisoner in the Bastille, sold some of the few +precious books remaining to buy clothes for two +fellow-prisoners of his—the Baron and Baroness +de Beau Soleil—and said to the lady who undertook +the commission for him, 'I do not know what is +necessary, but some one has told me that gentlemen +and ladies of their condition ought not to be seen +in company without gold lace for the men and black +lace for the women. Pray purchase the best, and +let everything be done modestly, and yet +handsomely, that when they see each other they may +forget, for a few minutes at least, that they are +captives.' Madame de Beau Soleil's beautiful 'worldly' +lace will perhaps prove a more religious robe for +M. de St. Cyran than his own 'religious habit.' +</p> + +<p> +"The selling of the church plate at Port Royal +to relieve the poor is certainly as much a religious +act as the buying it. The voluntary desecration of +their church into a granary, to save the corn of the +poor peasants from plunder during the wars of the +Fronde, was certainly a true consecration of it. +The lovely wax models which the sister Angélique +makes to purchase comforts for our Royalist +countrywomen, heretics though she believes us to be, +seem (to us at least) a labour of love sure not to be +forgotten above. The delight in acts of kindness +to others, for which Blaise Pascal is said to torture +himself by pressing the sharp studs of his iron +girdle into the flesh, may prove to have been more +sanctifying than the pain by which he seeks to +expiate it. The homely services which Jacqueline +Pascal rendered her little dying niece on the nights +she spent in nursing her through 'confluent smallpox,' +may prove to have been more 'divine offices' +than those she spent so many nights, half-benumbed +with cold, in reciting. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"And so, after all, from the most self-questioning +religious life, as well as from the lowliest life of +love that scarcely dared call itself religious, may +come that same answer of the righteous. He who +scarce dared lift his eyes to heaven, saying with +rapture, 'Was it indeed Thee to whom I gave that +cup of cold water?'—and the austere Puritan +(Catholic or Protestant, saying), 'Was it indeed +the <i>feeding</i> and <i>clothing</i>, those little forgotten acts +of kindness I thought nothing of, that were +pleasing Thee?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i>.—I wonder what Olive is doing and +learning. These misunderstandings of God and of +one another perplex me at times not a little. I +wonder if she has any perplexities of the same kind +in England? +</p> + +<p> +"This morning Madame la Mothe told me a beautiful +saying of M. Arnauld d'Andilly, brother to +the Mère Angélique, when some one was exhorting +him to rest, 'There is all eternity,' he replied, 'to +rest in.' +</p> + +<p> +"This evening I repeated this to Barbe. She +replied: 'It reminds me of a saying of a good +pastor of ours, who said, when some one tried to +comfort him in severe sickness by wishing him +health and rest, "Mon lit de santè et de repos sera +dans le ciel."'* +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Told of M. Drelincourt, pastor of Charenton, who died +in 1669. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The two sides of the choir again!—taking up +the responses from each other without knowing +anything of each other's singing! How wonderful +it all is! This deafness to each other's music; these +misunderstandings of each other's words! this +deafness to what God tells us of Himself in the +Gospels, and in the world; these misunderstandings of +Him! And His patient listening, and understanding +us all! +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VI. +<br><br> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</h3> + +<p> +As Aunt Dorothy continued to recover, I +knew the dreaded clash of arms with +Annis Nye could not be long delayed; +and I had been casting about in my +mind for some means of settling Annis for the time +elsewhere, when the storm burst suddenly upon me. +Maidie and I had come from a ramble near the +town; Maidie enraptured with her first experience +of the treasures of the woods, having that day +discovered that in the autumn the trees drop showers +of inestimable jewels in the form of spiky green +balls, which, when opened, proved to be each a +casket containing a glossy, brown lump of delight, +called in the tongues of men a horse-chestnut, but +in the tongue of Maidie having no word adequate +to express its beauty and preciousness. I was +bringing home a store of these treasures in a kerchief; +while Maidie held my hand, discoursing, like a +person just entered on a fortune, as to how much of +her wealth she would bestow on Annis, and how +much on Aunt Dorothy; baby she considered not +able to appreciate; but in time, perhaps, she might +grow up to it, and then she should have her share. +</p> + +<p> +But at the door Aunt Dorothy met us, pale and +agitated. +</p> + +<p> +"Child!" she said, in the tone of one deeply +wronged—"Olive! I did not look for this from +thee!" +</p> + +<p> +In her hand was a sheet of writing. She gave it +me with a trembling hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Read it, Olive," she said. "It is from George +Fox, now in the House of Correction at Derby! +a person concerning whom no sober person can +entertain a hope, save that he may be mad. And it +is sent to your maid Annis Nye; and is by her +acknowledged. He is a Quaker, Olive! One of that +mad sect opposed to all rule in Church, Army, and +State. I knew the perilous latitude of thy husband's +courses. I had even fears as to his being entirely +free from Arminian heresies; but this, I confess, I +had not looked for from thee!" +</p> + +<p> +We came into the parlour; and while I was reading, +Maidie took advantage of the silence to display +her treasures. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor innocent!" said Aunt Dorothy, taking her +on her knee, and kissing her. "Poor innocent +lamb! entrusted to a very wolf in sheep's clothing. I little +thought to live to see this! Pretty! yes, pretty, +my lamb!" she added, absently, as the little hands +were held up to her with the new wonders. +</p> + +<p> +But this reception of her treasures was far too +absent and parenthetical to satisfy Maidie, who +slipped off to the ground, and, calling on Annis, was +making her way to the kitchen, when Aunt Dorothy +anticipated her by closing the door and planting +the little one summarily on the table, with an +injunction to be quiet. +</p> + +<p> +"The moment is come!" she said, solemnly, to +me. "This house shall never be profaned by the +presence of a person who calls Mr. Baxter a 'priest,' +his church a steeple-house, and George Fox a servant +of the Lord." +</p> + +<p> +"She is fatherless and motherless, Aunt Dorothy," +I said. "What would you have me to do? She +cannot be turned houseless on the world to starve." +</p> + +<p> +"Let her go to her Friends, as she calls them," +said Aunt Dorothy—"her 'children of light!' Alas +for the land! there is no lack of them. Although +in the town Mr. Baxter has silenced them, by a +remarkable discussion he held with them in the church, +I doubt not they lie, like other foxes, in the holes +and corners of the hills around. Although, in good +sooth, the safest and mercifulest place for Quakers, +in my judgment, is a prison, where they cannot +spread their poison, or make everybody angry with +them, as they do everywhere else. And to the +inside of a prison, it seems, the maid is no stranger +already. I am no persecutor, Olive. But when +people scatter fire-brands, the only mercy to them +and to the world is to tie their hands. Do you +know," she added, "for what George Fox is in the +House of Correction? For brawling in the church; +in a solemn congregation of ministers, soldiers, and +people, which had assembled to hear godly Colonel +Barton preach!" +</p> + +<p> +"Is Colonel Barton a minister?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"Belike not," she replied, a little testily. "I am +not for defending Colonel Barton, nor the times, +nor the ways of those in power ('in <i>authority</i>' I will +not call them, for authority in these disorderly days +there is none). But there are degrees in disorder. +Colonel Barton preaching in the pulpit is one thing, +and George Fox the weaver's son crying out in the +pews is another." +</p> + +<p> +"Did he say anything very bad?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"What need we care what an ignorant upstart +like that said, Olive? It was <i>where</i> he said it that +was the crime. No place is sacred to the youngster. +He preaches in market-places against cheating and +cozening, in fairs against mountebanks, in courts of +justice against the magistrates, in churches against +the ministers." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Aunt Dorothy," I ventured to say, "if he +must preach at all, at least this way seems to me +better than preaching in church against the mountebanks, +and in the markets against the priests. To +tell people their own sins to their faces is more like +right preaching, is it not, than telling them of other +people's sins behind their backs? Whether it is +wrong or not for George Fox to exhort the ministers +before their own congregations who <i>dislike</i> it, I think +it would be meaner and more wrong to rail at them +in a congregation of Quakers who might <i>like</i> it." +</p> + +<p> +"If you can defend George Fox, Olive," she said, +"we may as well give up debating anything! At +all events, I am thankful to say, whatever divisions +there may be on other questions, the professing +Church in general is of one opinion as to the +Quakers. Whatever you may think of the mercy of +imprisoning Quakers as regards their souls, there is no +doubt it is a mercy to their bodies. For George +Fox is no sooner at liberty from the prison, than he +begins exhorting every one, making every one so +angry that he is whipped and hunted from one town +to another, and finds no rest until he is mercifully +shut up in another prison. And I much doubt if +you will not find it the same with Annis Nye." +</p> + +<p> +I was not without fears of the kind. But I said,— +</p> + +<p> +"She has shown a marvellous tenderness and love +for the babes, Aunt Dorothy; and since she came +to us, she has been as quiet as any other Christian. +I dare not do anything to drive her forth into the +cruel world; for she is tender and gentle as any +gentlewoman born." +</p> + +<p> +"Tender and gentle indeed!" exclaimed Aunt +Dorothy. "Yes, she told me George Fox's letter +was written to the Friends, and other 'tender +people,' wherever they might be. I, at least, am not +one of the tender people, to tolerate such ways. I +hear much talk of toleration; and I will not deny +that even Mr. Baxter has looser thoughts on +Christian concord than I altogether like. He would be +content if all Christians would unite on the ground +of the Apostles' Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the +Ten Commandments. Whereas, in my opinion, you +might nigh as well have no walls at all around the +fold as walls any wolf can leap in over to devour the +sheep, and any poor lamb may leap out over to lose +itself in the wilderness. Why, a Socinian, an +Arminian, a Papist, for I ought I know, might sign +the Apostles' Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten +Commandments (praying and keeping them is, no +doubt, another thing.) Belike any one might, but a +Quaker; for the Quakers will sign nothing, so that +they are safe to be out of a fold that has any walls, +which is some consolation. Everybody's toleration +must stop somewhere; yours, I suppose, would stop +at house-breaking. Mine stops at sacrilege or +church-breaking; and that I consider every Quaker +may be considered to be guilty of. So, Olive, you +must e'en choose between Annis Nye and me. Your +company, and that of the babes, poor lambs, is +pleasant to me. But I have not lifted up my testimony +against my mother's son, whom I love as my own +soul, and forsaken the only place I shall ever feel a +home on earth, to have my house made a refuge, or +a madhouse, for Quakers, Jews, Turks, and Infidels." +</p> + +<p> +At this point Aunt Dorothy's face was considerably +flushed, and her voice raised in a way which +was altogether too much for Maidie's feelings. Her +eyes were fixed anxiously on Aunt Dorothy's; two +large tears gathered in them, and her lip began to +quiver ominously, when I caught her softly in my +arms, just in time to hush a great sob on my bosom. +</p> + +<p> +Poor little Maidie! I do not think she had ever +seen any one really angry before, except herself; +and not being able to distinguish between righteous +ecclesiastical anger and ordinary unecclesiastical +hastiness of temper, it was some time before +she could be induced to respond to all the helpless +blandishments and tender epithets which poor +Aunt Dorothy lavished on her, with anything but +"Naughty, naughty! go away!"—an insult which +Aunt Dorothy bore in patience once, but on its +repetition, observed, "That comes of Antinomian +serving-wenches, Olive! The child has no idea of +any one being angry about anything; a most +dangerous delusion! Mark my words, Olive! the world +is not Eden, and Antinomianism is the natural +religion of us all; and it is too plain Maidie is not +free from the infection of nature; and if you bring +up the babes to look for nothing but fair weather, +they will find the Lord's rough winds only the +harder to bear. Thou wast not brought up +altogether on sweetmeats, Olive! Though may be on +too many after all. It seems, however, that her +poor old aunt's ways are not to the babe's mind; so +I suppose I had better withdraw." +</p> + +<p> +Nothing makes one feel more helpless than the +uncontrollable repugnance of a child to some one it +ought to love. I knew that Aunt Dorothy loved +Maidie dearly, and that her sharp voice and +manner were nothing but the pain of repressed and +wounded feeling. But there were no words by +which I could translate those harsh tones into +Maidie's language of love. On the other hand, I knew +that Maidie's repugnance was not naughtiness, but +a real uncontrollable terror, which nothing but +soothing and caressing could allay. Yet, while +thus seeking to soothe the child, I felt conscious I +was regarded by Aunt Dorothy as one of Solomon's +unwise parents; and I knew that, if it had been in +her power, she would have sentenced me, as in our +childhood, to learn a punitive "chapter in Proverbs." +</p> + +<p> +My confusion was still worse confounded by the +gentle opening of the door, and the sudden appearance +of Annis with a bundle in her arms, at sight +of whose calm face Maidie's countenance brightened, +and she stretched out her hands to go to her. +</p> + +<p> +Annis softly laid down her bundle and took the +child in her arms, the little hands clinging fondly +round her neck. +</p> + +<p> +It was the last drop in Aunt Dorothy's cup and +mine. "The babe at least has chosen, Olive!" she +said, in a dry, hard voice. "And I suppose the +mother will obey, according to the rule of these +republican days." Aunt Dorothy was really "naughty" +at that moment, in the fullest acceptation of the +word; and she knew it, which made her worse. +</p> + +<p> +Gently Annis replaced the child in my arms, but +there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Olive Antony," she said, "thee and thine have +been true friends to me. But it is best I should +leave thee. I have gathered my goods together" +(they were easily gathered, poor orphan maid), +"and I am going. Fare thee well!" +</p> + +<p> +My heart ached. I knew her determined ways +so well; I knew so well the hard things that must +await her in the world; and I felt as if by even for +a moment debating in my mind the possibility of +letting her depart, I was accessory to her +banishment, and so betraying my husband's trust. +</p> + +<p> +"Not so, Annis," I said; "this once I must be +mistress. How else could I answer to my husband +for his trust of the fatherless;—or, what is more, to +the Father of the fatherless?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thy husband had no power to entrust thee with +me," she replied, gently; "nor have I the power to +commit myself to the care of any mortal. God has +entrusted me with myself, soul and body, and I +answer only to Him." +</p> + +<p> +"But think, Annis, of the ruthlessness of the +world," I said; a weak argument, I felt, the moment +I had uttered it, and one which with Annis would +be sure to turn the wrong way. The softness which +Maidie's caresses had brought into her eyes left +them, and a lofty courage came instead. +</p> + +<p> +"Bonds and imprisonments may await me," she +said. "If it were death, who that loved God was +ever turned from His ways by that?" +</p> + +<p> +"But the babes," I pleaded, "the little ones, will +miss thee so sorely." +</p> + +<p> +A tender smile came over her face as she glanced +at Maidie. +</p> + +<p> +"I have thought of that. I have pleaded it +rebelliously with my Lord many days," she said; +"but it is of no avail. His fire burneth in me, and +who can stand it? I must go." +</p> + +<p> +"But whither, Annis?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"There is a concern on my spirit," she said, "for +my people and my father's house. They reviled +me, and drove me from them. I must return. They +have smitten me on the right cheek; I must turn +to them the left. Maybe they will hear; but if not, +I must speak. Or if they will not let me speak, I +must be silent among them, and suffer. Sometimes +silence speaks best.—Fare thee well, Olive Antony, +and thou, aged Dorothy Drayton! I have said to +thee what was given me to say. Thou hast done +me no despite. It is not for thy words I depart. +If they had been softer than butter, I dared not +have tarried. The Power is on my spirit, and I +must go." +</p> + +<p> +She kissed Maidie, and I kissed her serene forehead. +Further remonstrance was in vain. I would +have pressed money on her, but she refused. +</p> + +<p> +"I have no need," she said, with a smile. "I +shall not be forsaken. And I have not earned it. +Little enough have I done for all thee and thine +hath been to me." +</p> + +<p> +With tears I stood at the door and watched her +quietly pass down the street, not knowing whither +she went. But before she had gone many steps +Aunt Dorothy appeared with a basket laden with +meat, bread, and wine, which, hurrying after Annis, +she succeeded in making her take. +</p> + +<p> +"It is written, 'Thou shalt not receive him into +thy house, or bid him God speed,'" said she +apologetically to me, as she re-entered the door. "But +it is not written, 'Thou shalt send him out of thy +house hungry and fasting.'" +</p> + +<p> +"It is written, 'If thine enemy hunger, feed +him,'" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"I had thought of that text also, Olive," said +she, "but I do not think it quite fits. For the pool +maid is not mine enemy. God knows I would not +have shut house or heart against her if she had been +only that!" +</p> + +<p> +We were very silent that day. The house seemed +very empty and quiet, when Maidie's last sobbing +entreaties for Annis were hushed, and, the babes +being asleep, Aunt Dorothy and I seated ourselves +by the fireside. +</p> + +<p> +"It was a hard duty, Olive, to speak as I did; +and belike, after all, the flesh had its evil share in +the matter," she said, as we parted for the night. +"But I did it. And I think it has been owned." +</p> + +<p> +But I did not think her conscience was as easy +as she tried to persuade herself. +</p> + +<p> +The night was wild and stormy, and I heard her +pacing unquietly about her room and opening her +casement more than once, as I sat watching Maidie +in a restless sleep, and reading the papers by George +Fox which Annis had left behind her. The words +were such as no Christian, it seemed to me, could +but deem good. Some of them rang like an ancient +hymn out of some grand old liturgy. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, therefore," he wrote from his prison, "mind +the pure spirit of the everlasting God, which will +teach you to use the creatures in their right place, +and which judgeth the evil. To Thee, O God, be +all glory and honour, who art Lord of all, visible +and invisible! To Thee be all praise, who bringest +out of the deep to Thyself, O powerful God, who +art worthy of all glory. For the Lord who created +all, and gives life and strength to all, is over all, +and is merciful to all. So Thou who hast made all, +and art over all, to Thee be all glory! In Thee is +my strength and refreshment, my life, my joy, and +my gladness, my rejoicing and glorying for evermore. +For there is peace in resting in the Lord +Jesus." +</p> + +<p> +"Love the cross; and satisfy not your own minds +in the flesh, but prize your time, while you have it, +and walk up to that you know, in obedience to God; +then you shall not be condemned for that you know +not; but for that you know and do not obey." +</p> + +<p> +So I read on, watching Maidie's restless tossings +and her flushed cheek, hearing now and then Aunt +Dorothy's uneasy footsteps, and wondering whether +Annis Nye had found shelter, or whether she were +still wandering along the wet and windy roads; +whilst beneath these thoughts every now and then +I kept falling back on the things that were never +long absent from me: those two Puritan armies +watching each other in Scotland, with the +"covenanted king" at the head of one, and Oliver at the +heart of the other, where my husband, and Roger, +and Job Forster were. I thought also of my father +and Aunt Dorothy journeying through the desolations +made by the Thirty Years' religious war in +Germany. Who could say when our war would +cease, and what further desolations it would leave +behind? Then my mind wandered to Lettice +Davenant, from whom Aunt Dorothy had lately received +a letter, which had made her uneasy, from its +comparing certain godly Catholic people who live in a +nunnery called Port Royal with the godly people +in England. Thence, reverting to my early days +I thought how small the divisions of the great +battle-field seemed then, and how complicated now! +And, looking fondly at Maidie and the babe, it +occurred to me whether the child's simple divisions +of "good" and "naughty" might not after all be +more like those of the angels than we are apt to +think. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy looked pale and haggard the next +morning, but she betrayed nothing of her nightly +investigations into the weather, only manifesting +her uneasiness by looking up anxiously when a +peculiarly violent gust of wind drove the rain +against the windows, and by an unusual tolerance +and gentleness with Maidie, who was in a very +fretful temper. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, when the children were asleep, +and Aunt Dorothy and I were left alone: "It is +very strange!" she said; "something in that +Quaker woman's ways seems to have marvellously +moved my little maid Sarah. I found the child +crying over her Bible, and she said, 'Annis Nye +had told her <i>God would teach her</i>; but she wished +He would send her some one like Annis again to +help her to learn.' +</p> + +<p> +"It is very strange, Olive," she added. "The +directions about heretics coming to one's house are +so very plain. But then I always thought of a +heretic as a noisy troublesome person, puffed up +with vanity and conceit, whom it would be quite +a pleasure to put down. It is rather hard that a +heretic should come to me in the shape of a poor, +lonely orphan maid, for the most part quiet and +peaceable, and so like a sober Christian; that I +should have to send her away alone no one knows +where; and that such a night would follow, just as +if on purpose to make right look like wrong. I begin +to see a mercy in the persecutions of the Church. +When one comes to know the heretics, the natural +man gets such a terrible hold of one, that it would +certainly be easier to suffer the punishment than to +inflict it. Although, of course, I am not going to +shrink from my duty on account of its not being +easy." +</p> + +<p> +It was Aunt Dorothy's first experience of being +at the board of the Star-chamber instead of its bar. +And she certainly did not enjoy it. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The year 1651 seemed to roll on rather heavily +at Kidderminster. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy kept her private fasts, in loyal +contempt of the Parliament, especially that one +which Mr. Philip Henry, and other Royalist +Presbyterians, so faithfully held until some years after +the Restoration, in memory of the death of King +Charles the First. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Baxter helped to make many people good +by his fervent sermons, and meantime made many +good people angry by his "convincing" controversial +books, calling out fifty angry, controversial +books in reply. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, in a quiet hollow of the hills near the +town, I discovered a small manor-house where +certain Episcopal Christians met secretly to hear a +deprived clergyman read the proscribed liturgy. And +more than once I crept in among them to join in +the familiar prayers. The calm, ancient words +seemed to lift me so far above the dust and din of +our present strifes. Once I heard Dr. Jeremy +Taylor preach a sermon to this little company. And +the rich intertwining harmonies of his poetical +speech, and the golds, crimsons, and purples of his +eloquent imagery, seemed to transform the plain +old hall, in which we listened to them, into a cathedral +glorious with organ music and choristers' voices, +and with the shadows and illuminations of +richly-sculptured shrines and richly-coloured windows. +</p> + +<p> +So the year passed on. To us, chronicled in +skirmishes and sieges and political changes; and to +Maidie in daisies and cowslips, primroses, violets, +strawberries, and heart-stirring promises of another +Eldorado of those living jewels known among men +as horse-chestnuts. +</p> + +<p> +Letters came frequently, after the Battle of +Dunbar, from Scotland. +</p> + +<p> +One from Job Forster, forwarded by Rachel:— +</p> + +<p> +"Godly Mr. Baxter puzzled me sore at Naseby +by miscalling us poor soldiers who had left our farms +and honest trades to fight his battles, as if we had +been mere common hirelings or fanatic praters. It +was a bewilderment in Ireland to see how angry +the poor natives were with us for trying to bring +them law and order. But all the puzzles, and +bewilderments, and subtleties were nothing to these +Scottish covenanted ministers and their kirk. +</p> + +<p> +"They slander us behind our backs to the country +people, calling us 'monsters of the world,' till the +poor deluded people run away from us as if we were +savage black Indians. And when the few who stay +behind find we are sober Christians who eat not +babes but bread (and little enough, in this poor +stripped county, of that), and pay for what we eat, +and the women-folk (who, I will say, have quicker +wits than the men) come back and peaceably brew +and bake for us, they still go on slandering us to +those who have not seen us. +</p> + +<p> +"They calls us names to our faces in their pulpits, +'blasphemers, sectaries,' and what not. And +when we deal softly with them and are as dumb as +lambs (when we could chase them into their holes +like lions), and let them talk on, even that does not +convince them that we mean no one any harm. +</p> + +<p> +"Meantime they drag about the late king's son, +poor young gentleman, until one cannot but pity +him, chief mangnant as he is. For they will not +let any of his old friends and followers come near +him. The other day he made off, like a poor caged +bird, to get among his true malignants near Perth. +But his friends had no gilded cage and sugared food +to suit his taste, and after spending a dismal night +among them in a Highland hut, he had to creep +back to the ministers, and take some more oaths, +and hear some more sermons. +</p> + +<p> +"Very dark it is to me the notions these Kirkmen +have concerning many things, especially kings, +oaths, and sermons. Concerning oaths. They seem +to think the more a man swears the more he cares +for it, instead of the less; as if a second oath made +a first worth more, instead of showing that it was +worth nothing. It is enough to make one turn +Quaker—(But this I would not have known to +Annis Nye, poor perverse maid)! Concerning sermons. +As if they did a man good, whether he will +or no, like physic, if he only takes enough of them! +Concerning kings. As if dragging a poor young +gentleman, like a bear in a show, with a crown on +his head, about with them, and scolding him (on +their knees), and doing what they like without +asking him, and never letting him do what he likes, or +see whom he likes, was having a <i>king</i>! If they +have their way, and drive Oliver and us into the +sea, and make their covenanted show-king into a +real king, I wonder how he will show them his +gratitude. Scarcely, I think, by listening to +sermons, such as they like. Perhaps by making them +listen to sermons such as he likes, whether they will +or no. +</p> + +<p> +"But, thank God, Oliver lives, though more than +once this spring he has been sick and like to die; +and we are little likely (God helping us) to be +chased into the sea by enemies who already cannot +agree among themselves. Meantime, Dr. Owen has +been preaching to them with his plain words, in +Edinburgh, and Oliver with his guns; and it is yet +to be hoped the wise among them may open their +ears and hear. +</p> + +<p> +"Not that I think it any wonder that any poor +mortal should blunder, and get into a maze. A +poor soul that went so far astray as to misdoubt +Oliver, and to think of bringing in the Fifth +Monarchy by muskets and pikes, and could not be got +right again without being stuck on the leads of +Burford Church to see his comrades shot, has no great +reason to wonder at the strange ways of others, be +they Kirk ministers or Quakers." +</p> + +<p> +My husband wrote:— +</p> + +<p> +"I have watched by many death-beds. +</p> + +<p> +"I have seen many die these last months, Olive. +The hails, and frosts, and scanty food, and scanty +clothing, have done more despatch than the muskets +or great guns. I have saved some lives, I trust, but +I have seen many die; men of all stamps, +Covenanted, Uncovenanted, Resolutioners, Protesters, +Presbyterians, Sectaries; and within all these grades +of theological men (and outside them all) I have +seen not a few, thank God, to whom dying was not +death. Death brings back to any soul which meets +it awake, the hunger and thirst which nothing but +God can satisfy. Resolutions, Covenants, and +Confessions may, like other perishable clothes, be +needful enough on earth. But they have to be left +entirely behind, as much as money, or titles, or any +other corruptible thing. If they have been garments +to fit us for earthly work, well; they have had their +use, and can be gently laid aside. If they have +been veils to hide us from God and ourselves, how +terribly bare they leave us! Alone, unclothed, +helpless, the only question then is, can we trust +ourselves to the Father as a babe to the bosom of +its mother? +</p> + +<p> +"Does the Christ, the Son, who has died for us, +offering Himself up, without spot, to God, and lives +for ever; does He who, dying, committed His spirit +to the Father's hands, enable us to offer ourselves +up, in Him,—commit our spirits, helpless, but +redeemed, into the Father's hands? Then the sting +is plucked out. I have seen it again and again. +Death is abolished. It is not seen. It is not tasted. +Christ is seen instead. The eternal life no more +begins than it ends at death. It continues. The +cramping chrysalis shell is thrown off, and it +expands. But it no more begins then than it ends. +</p> + +<p> +"If ever there is to be a Confession of Faith which +is to unite Christendom, I think it should be drawn +from dying lips. For these will never freeze the +Confession into a profession. On dying lips the +Creed and the Hymn are one; for they are uttered +not to man, but to God." +</p> + +<p> +And later Roger wrote:— +</p> + +<p> +"This campaign has aged the Captain-General +sensibly. He has had ague, and has more than once +been near death. I think the cold in godly men's +hearts has struck at his heart more than the cold of +the country at his life. The other day a gentleman +who is much near him, said to me: '<i>My lord is not +aware that he has grown an old man</i>.' So do deeds +count for years. For, as we know, he is barely fifty +years of age. But as he wrote to one not long +since, he knows where the life is that never grows +old. 'To search God's statutes for a rule of +conscience, and to seek grace from Christ to enable him +to walk therein,—this <i>hath life in it, and will come to +somewhat</i>. What is a poor creature without this?' +</p> + +<p> +"Some, indeed, call him a tyrant and usurper; +some very near him. (A <i>hypocrite</i> I think none very +near him dare call him; though men are ever too +ready to think that no one can honestly see things +otherwise than they do.) +</p> + +<p> +"But I know not what they mean. He would +respect every trace of the ancient laws, every +hard-won inch of the new liberties, and every honest +scruple of the conscience,—if men would have it so. +I see not what tyranny he exercises, save to keep +men from tyrannizing over each other. But this +power to tyrannize over others seems, alas! what +too many mean by liberty. +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes, Olive, I am ashamed to feel myself +growing old. Hope is faint in me sometimes for +the country and myself. And when hope is gone, +youth is gone, be our age what it may. In the +General, I think, this youth never fails, as one who +knows him said: 'Hope shone in him like a pillar +of fire when it had gone out in all others.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>P.S.</i>—There is talk of the Scottish army faring +southward with their king. Scarce credible. But +if true, we shall follow swift on their trail, and +swiftly be in old England and with thee." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +They came, the two armies, as swiftly as Roger +could have dreamed. The Scottish Covenanted-Royalist +force, 14,000 strong, sweeping down through +the west, by Carlisle, Lancashire, Cheshire, +Shrewsbury, to Worcester; the English +Uncovenanted-Puritan army through the east by Yorkshire. +</p> + +<p> +Two tides to meet in deadly shock for the last +time at Worcester. Two tides between which the +difference became more and more apparent as they +swept on: the one flowing like a summer torrent +through some dark valley in a tropical country, +receiving no tributaries, welcomed in no quiet +resting-places, becoming ever shallower and narrower as it +advanced; the other swelling as it swept on like a +thing that was at home, and was to last, gathering +force here, gathering bulk there, ever deepening and +widening as it went. +</p> + +<p> +King Charles and his Scottish leaders summoned +place after place, but they met with no response. +His trumpeters went to the gates of Shrewsbury and +proclaimed the king, but the gates remained closed, +and the unwelcome tide had to sweep sullenly past +the walls. I scarce know how this came to pass. +Oliver, as I think, was never popular throughout +the nation; nothing of the old unquestioning loyalty +which slumbered everywhere (as time proved) in +the dumb heart of the people was accorded to him. +Even those who acknowledged him, with some few +exceptions, acknowledged him rather sullenly as a +break-water against tyranny, than enthusiastically +as a hero and a chief. It might be dread of the +Ironsides pursuing; it might be bitter memories of +the Star-chamber and of Prince Rupert's plunderings, +not yet effaced by years of liberty and security. +It might be, as Mr. Baxter said, that the Scots came +into England rather in the manner of fugitives; it +being hard for the common people to distinguish +between an army going before another following it, +and an army running away; and into a flying army +few men will enlist. But however this may have +been, all along that dreary progress scarce a note of +welcome cheered the Scottish army and their king, +until Worcester received them under the shadow of +her Cathedral (ominously tenanted by the remains +of the King of the Magna Charta), opening her gates +to give them the shelter which so soon was to +become to thousands of them the shelter of a grave. +</p> + +<p> +Part of the Scots army passed not further than a +field's length from Kidderminster; and a gallant +orderly company they seemed, being governed, as +Mr. Baxter said, far differently from Prince Rupert's +troopers; "not a soldier of them durst wrong any +man the worth of a penny." Honest, hard-fighting, +covenanted men, sorely bewildered, I should think, +with the ways of King and Kirk, and not a little +also with the ways of Providence; but true, +nevertheless, to the Covenant and to the Ten Commandments. +</p> + +<p> +Divers messages were sent from the army (and, it +was believed, from the king himself) to Mr. Baxter, +to request him to come to them. But Mr. Baxter +was at that time "under so great an affliction of +sore eyes, that he was not scarce able to see the +light, nor to stir out of doors; and being (moreover) +not much doubtful of the issue which followed, he +thought if he had been able it would have been no +service to the king—it being so little that, on such +a sudden, he could add to his assistance." +</p> + +<p> +It was not until some days after this that Oliver +and his army came up. I knew it first from my +husband, who came for an hour to see me and the +babes on the 2nd of September, the day before the +battle, bringing good tidings of Roger and of Job +Forster. I thought he might have tarried with us +until after the fight, when his skill would be in +request. But he took not that view of his duty. +Skirmishes might occur at any moment, he said, and +he must be on the spot. He had little doubt what +the end would be; but he deemed the struggle +would be hard, being, so to speak, a death-struggle. +And so it proved. +</p> + +<p> +On the 3d of September the shock of battle came. +It was Oliver's White Day, the first anniversary of +his victory at Dunbar (to be made memorable to +England afterwards by another death-struggle, +which would have no anniversary on earth to him, +but which, none the less, I think, made it the White +Day of his hard and toilsome life). +</p> + +<p> +Soon after noon, stragglers came in and told us +what was going on; and all through the rest of the +day the town was in unquiet expectation, the people +thronging at a moment's notice from loom, and +forge, and household work, into the market-place in +front of Mr. Baxter's house, to hear any report +brought by any passing traveller. +</p> + +<p> +The first news was that Oliver was making two +bridges of boats, across the Severn and the Teme; +that the young king and his generals had seen him +from the spire of Worcester Cathedral, and had +despatched troops to contest the passage of the +river, and that a hard struggle was going on by its +banks. Then, after these tidings had been eagerly +turned over and over until no more could be made +of them, the townsmen returned to their homes. +For some hours there was a cessation of tidings, +and the whole town seemed unusually still. The +ordinary interests were suspended, and the minds of +men were not sufficiently united for any general +assembling together. There was no gathering for +prayer in the church. Mr. Baxter was sitting apart +in his house, unable to bear the light; certainly not +praying for Oliver to win, yet, I think, scarce wishing +very earnestly for the complete success of the +Scots. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy, on the first rumour of the fight, +had rigidly shut herself up in her chamber for a day +of solitary fasting. But if we had been together, +we should each have been none the less solitary; +perhaps more, shut out from each other by the door +of our lips. The lives dearest to us both on earth +were at stake. Of these we could neither of us +have spoken. The things dearest to each of us were +at stake. But of these we thought not alike, and +would not have spoken. It was almost a boon for +me that Annis Nye had departed, so that the babes +were thrown entirely on my care. It kept me from +straining my hearing with that vain effort to catch +the terrible sounds which I knew were to be heard +not far off. It kept me from straining my heart +with that vain effort to catch some intimation of +what might be the will of God, and from distracting +self-questioning whether I had done as much as +I could, by praying, to help those who were certainly +doing as much as they could for us, by fighting. +And instead, it left me only leisure to lift up +my soul from time to time in one brief simple +reiteration: "Father, Thou seest, Thou carest; I +commit them to Thee." +</p> + +<p> +Towards evening further tidings came, putting +an end to our suspense in one direction. After hours +of stiff fighting, from hedge to hedge, the Scots army +had been driven into Worcester, out of Worcester, +out of reach of Worcester. +</p> + +<p> +The issue of the day as to victory was no longer +doubtful. But its issue as to the lives so precious +to us remained to us unknown. +</p> + +<p> +So the slow hours of the afternoon wore on, until +the declining autumn sun threw the shadow of the +opposite houses over the room, and with the babe +on my knee, and Maidie singing to herself low +lullabies as she dressed and undressed her wooden baby +at my feet, my thoughts went back to the October +Sunday nine years before (1642), when the stillness +of the land was terribly broken by the first battle +of the Civil War, the fight of Edgehill. +</p> + +<p> +How simple it all seemed to me then; how complex +now. Then there seemed visibly two causes, +two ends, two ways, two armies, the choice being +plainly that between wrong and right. Now so +perplexed and interlaced were convictions, parties, +leaders, followers, that it seemed as if to our eyes +the causes and armies were legion; and to none but +the Divine eyes, which see, through all temporary +party differences, the eternal moral differences, could +the divisions of the hosts be clear. +</p> + +<p> +Partly no doubt this perplexity was simply the +consequence of the armies having encountered; no +longer couched expectant opposite each other on +their several opposite heights, but grappling in +deadly struggle on the plains between. +</p> + +<p> +Partly, perhaps, also because the eternal moral +differences on which we believed the final judgment +must be based, had become more the basis of ours. +</p> + +<p> +And Maidie and the babe, I thought, poor darlings, +had all this yet to learn! How could I help +them, so that they might have less than I to +unlearn? +</p> + +<p> +How! except by engraving deep on their hearts +Aunt Gretel's trust in God. "Put the darkness +anywhere but there, sweetheart; anywhere but in +Him!" By slowly dyeing their hearts in grain, as +Mr. Baxter would have wished, in the Apostles' +Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, +so that any after surface-colouring, if it +modified these heavenly tints, should never be able to +efface them. +</p> + +<p> +There are qualities in some waters, it is said, as at +Kidderminster, which tend to fix dyes, and give +value to the fabrics of the places where they flow. +</p> + +<p> +Has not God given a mother's love this fixing +power for all truths that come to a child's heart +steeped in its living waters? +</p> + +<p> +So far, therefore, Maidie and the babe might have +something through my lessons, which the combined +teaching of Aunt Gretel and Aunt Dorothy, each in +herself so much better than I, could not quite +possess for Roger's childhood and mine. +</p> + +<p> +The thought made me glad and strong; and I +was still going in the strength of it, when Job +Forster appeared at the door. +</p> + +<p> +I ran out and met him on the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +He brought good news of my husband and Roger. +The fight was over. Leonard was attending to the +wounded. Roger was still engaged in the pursuit. +But the Scots were scattered hither and thither +among the woods and harvest-fields. The reapers +and labourers had taken up the pursuit, and before +night-fall, probably, not a stray party would hold +together strong enough to offer ten minutes' resistance. +</p> + +<p> +"And His Majesty?" said a grim voice behind us. +</p> + +<p> +"The King of Scots is in hiding, Mistress Dorothy," +said Job controversially, but very respectfully. +"No one knows the road he has taken." +</p> + +<p> +"Then there is something to pray for yet," said +she. "That this blood-stained land may imbrue her +hands no deeper in the blood of her kings." +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Dorothy," I ventured to say, "you will +give thanks as well as pray? Leonard and Roger +are safe." +</p> + +<p> +"I know," said she, "it is written, 'In everything +give thanks.'" +</p> + +<p> +And without further concession she turned back +to her chamber. But on her way she halted, and +said, turning to me,— +</p> + +<p> +"Olive, see that Job is fed and lodged. We must +make a difference. A heretic is one thing, and a +rebel another." +</p> + +<p> +Without giving Job the privilege of reply, she +remounted the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +I asked him into the kitchen. But Job was somewhat +hard to persuade. +</p> + +<p> +"It is hard, Mistress Olive," said he, "to have +bread and shelter flung at you like a dog, without a +chance to explain. When Mistress Dorothy herself +was one of the keenest to set us against the +oppressors! And when, but for Oliver, though I say it, +she herself might have been in Newgate among the +Quakers years ago." +</p> + +<p> +Yet without Maidie I doubt whether I should +have prevailed. She, poor lamb, seeing nothing in +Job but a bit of home, and a never-failing storehouse +of kindnesses, had already enthroned herself +in his arms, undaunted by breast-plate or sword, +and with her arms clinging around him constrained +him to come into the kitchen, if it were only to set +her down. +</p> + +<p> +Once there, to make him stay was easier. For he +was wounded in the left shoulder, so that he could +not hold the horse's reins, and had little strength to +walk further. But for that, indeed, he would not +have been Roger's messenger. The pallor of his +countenance, when his helmet was unlaced, startled +me; yet, after refreshing him with ale and meat, it +was with no little difficulty that I persuaded him to +let me dress and bandage his wound. +</p> + +<p> +After that he seemed easier, and his first inquiries +were for Annis Nye, concerning whom we had had +no tidings for some weeks. "When I am set up a +bit, mistress," said he, "I must see after that poor +maid the first thing, for she is a godly maid, +although a Quakeress. And I misdoubt whether she +be not in jail. It's beyond the wisest of us to keep +a Quaker safe anywhere. Only," he added, "I must +be set up a bit first. I don't feel sure flesh and +blood could stand her discourse on the wickedness +of war, until the pain's a bit less sharp. She's so +terrible quiet, Mistress Olive, and so shut up against +reason." +</p> + +<p> +At night we were roused by the clattering of +flying horsemen through the streets, Kidderminster +being but eleven miles from Worcester. Then came +a party of thirty of the Parliament troopers and +took possession of the market-place. Then hundreds +more of the flying Royalists, who "not knowing in +the dark how few they were that charged them," +when the Parliament troopers cried "stand," either +hasted away, or cried quarter. And so, as Mr. Baxter +said, "as many were taken there, as so few men +could lay hold on; and until midnight the bullets +flying towards my doors and windows, and the +sorrowful fugitives hasting for their lives, did tell me +the calamitousness of war." +</p> + +<p> +So ended the last battle of the Civil War. +</p> + +<p> +Maidie, terrified, clung to me and would not leave +my arms. Aunt Dorothy remained in her chamber; +the little maid Sarah took shelter in mine. +Only the babe and Job Forster were unmoved by +the noise. The babe slept peacefully on, the storm +of war in the streets being no more to her on her +mother's knee, than an earthquake to the planet +Jupiter's satellites; and Job being wearied out with +pain and fatigue, and lulled by the absence of the +duty of soldierly vigilance, which had kept him on +the stretch so long. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Roger passed through the town, +pausing a minute at the door to see me and the +babes. He told us my husband would come in a +few days to take us home. He told us also how +complete the ruin of the enemy was. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," he said, as he remounted at the door, +"we shall see what peace and Oliver can make of +England." +</p> + +<p> +And there was a ring of hope in his voice, as ha +rode away, I had not heard in it for many a day. +</p> + +<p> +England he thought was to be made such a kingdom +of righteousness and peace, that all the nations +far and wide must see and acknowledge it. And +amongst them, I felt sure he dreamed also of one +fair loyal maiden, whose verdict I knew was worth +more to him than he dared to own to himself. +</p> + +<p> +But Job watching him up the street, turned back +to us shaking his head. +</p> + +<p> +"It remains to be seen, on the other hand, what +England will do with peace and Oliver!" he said. +"Sometimes my heart misgives me that we may +have longer to wait for the Fifth Monarchy than +Master Roger or most of us dream. There do seem +so many things to be set right first. The Kirk +ministers and the Quakers do puzzle a plain +Cornishman sore!" +</p> + +<p> +Roger had not been gone more than a few seconds, +and we had not yet ceased looking after him, when +he came galloping back to the door. +</p> + +<p> +Bending low from his saddle as I went up to him, +"Olive," he said, "I saw some constables in a +village near Worcester taking Annis Nye to prison. +I could have rescued her, but she refused my aid, +saying that I was a man of war, and she chose +rather to be set in gaol by a man of peace than to +have her bonds broken by the carnal sword. On +second thoughts, I concluded that at present she +might be safer in gaol, while men's minds are so +disturbed. But I thought it best to let thee know." +</p> + +<p> +And he was away once more. +</p> + +<p> +This tidings cost Job and me many heavy musings. +At length he resolved on losing no time (his +wound having proved less severe than we feared); +but to set out on the morrow to rescue Annis, and +bring her back, if possible to return with us to +London. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly early on the morrow he went forth. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, to my relief, and to Maidie's joy, +he returned, with Annis, looking very pale and +worn; but with her face as serene and her eyes as +steady and clear as ever. +</p> + +<p> +I embraced her on the threshold. Beyond that +she would not step. +</p> + +<p> +"Dorothy Drayton would have none of me," said +she. "We are to give our coat to him who takes +away our cloak. But it never says we are to take +a cloak from him that denied us his coat. I may +not enter this house." +</p> + +<p> +"But it is night-fall," said I. "Whither would +you turn?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is not the first night-fall I have been content +with such lodging as the fowls of the air," said she, +and quietly went her way. +</p> + +<p> +I would have followed her; but Job Forster +restrained me. +</p> + +<p> +"Let her be, Mistress Olive!" he whispered, +"She is as hard to catch as a wild colt, and far +harder to hold. There be reins to turn colts, and +there be corn to coax them; but there be no reins +to hold and no lure to coax a Quaker. Their ways +are wonderful. Let her be: maybe she'll come back +of herself and, if not, neither love nor fear will +bring her. It is not to be told, Mistress Olive," he +added, as we reluctantly turned back into the kitchen, +"what I've borne from that poor maid this day. +I had some work to get her off on bail, for she had +angered the justices and the constables grievously, +and I had to contrive; for the Quakers will not let +any one go bail for them. They're as lofty as the +apostle Paul with his Roman rights, and would +rather stay in prison than be set free as guilty. +When I came to the gaol and gave her joy that I +had come to set her free, she smiled at me as +innocent as a babe, as meek (seemingly) as one of Fox's +martyrs, and yet bold as a lion, and said: 'Thee +cannot set me free, Job Forster. What is the +bondage of bars and stocks to such bondage as thine?' And +then she railed, that is, railed in her way, as +soft as if she were saying the civilest things—at +Oliver and the Ironsides, and the war, and all war, +until it was a harder trial of patience to stand quiet +before her than before any pounding of great guns. +I could only get her off at last by getting her put +in my charge, as if I had been a constable, to bring +home to her mistress; and all the way back, from +time to time she discoursed on the wickedness of +soldiering,—mixing up Bible texts in a way to make +a man mazed, and at times 'most think he might as +well have been at home by the forge at Netherby, +as raging over the world fighting the Lord's +battles. Although I knew, of course, Mistress Olive, +that was only a temptation. At last I gave her my +mind plain. 'Mistress Annis,' I said, 'of all the +fighting men of the time, it's my belief there's none +who have more fight in them than you and your +friends. It's very well to say you won't fight, when +you rouse every drop of fighting blood there is in +other people by your words. For Scripture saith +there be words which are fiercer weapons of war +than any swords. You talk a deal of keeping to +the spirit, and not to the letter; and you talk of +giving the left cheek to him that smites the right. +But it's my belief, the spirit of those words is, you +shall not provoke your enemies; and it's my belief +that it's dead against the spirit when, by keeping +to the letter and turning the left cheek, you are +just doing the provokingest thing you can. It's +not the virtues of <i>war</i>, it seems to me, you are +lacking in,' I said, 'but the virtues of <i>peace</i>. You and +yours, from first to last, have had courage enough +to lead a forlorn hope. The thing you want most, +to my seeming, is meekness. I would give somewhat +for thee and my mistress to meet. She is real +meek, and, withal, brave as a lion, if need be; and +she would treat thee like a child, as thou art, instead +of like a martyr—which would, belike, do thee more +good. Yet she would give thee a hearty welcome, +with all thy wilfulness.' And, after that, she was +quiet a good bit. And then she said, quite simple +and natural: 'Job Forster, I am but a child; and +one day, belike, I may have a call to see thy wife. +I feel as if she would be like a mother. From all +thou sayest, she must be a woman of a tender spirit +and an understanding heart.'" +</p> + +<p> +In the morning Aunt Dorothy came down from +her solitary chamber. She looked pale, but relieved +in spirit. "Olive," said she, "I heard that poor +bewildered maid come to the house last night, and +go away; and I do not mean to pass through such +another night as these two she has cost me. I have +wrestled the thing out in my heart. On the one +side, there is the heretic the Apostle John spake of +in the epistle. But I consider that heretic was a +tempter, and a man. Now Annis, poor soul, is +tempted, and a maid; which makes a difference, to +begin with. Then, on the other hand, there is the +man who fell among thieves. I consider Annis Nye +has fallen among thieves; and I don't think one of +Mr. Baxter's people, in this year of our Lord +sixteen hundred and fifty-one, ought to be outdone by +an ignorant Samaritan, who lived in no year of +our Lord at all." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, Aunt Dorothy," I suggested, "there were +the Samaritans all through the Gospels, and our +Lord's pitiful ways with them altogether. I think +the Samaritans must have been at least as wrong +as the Quakers." +</p> + +<p> +"Maybe, my dear; I am not so well informed as +I should wish as to the theology of the Samaritans. +I should think it was a great medley. But our +Saviour knew all things, and could do what He +pleased." +</p> + +<p> +"And may not we do what pleased Him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Olive," said Aunt Dorothy, turning on me, "I +am not going to have Scripture quoted against me +by one I taught to read it. I never did call down +fire from heaven on any one, nor wished to do so, +and I am not to be enticed by any smooth by-paths +into such tolerations as yours and your husband's. +You need not think it. But, with regard to Annis +Nye, my conscience is satisfied; and you may bring +her at once to the house. Besides," she added, "I +do not mean to let any of you depart without +bearing my testimony." +</p> + +<p> +Whereon Job Forster departed in search of +Annis Nye; whom, with some difficulty, he persuaded +to place herself again within range of Aunt +Dorothy's hospitalities and admonitions. +</p> + +<p> +The day passed in much stillness. Aunt Dorothy +herself moved heavily, like a thunder-cloud with +lightnings in it; and the weight of her impending +"testimony" made the air heavy. +</p> + +<p> +Towards evening my husband came, and all +thunder-clouds naturally grew much lighter to me. +</p> + +<p> +He brought more tidings of the campaign in +Scotland and the Battle of Worcester. He believed it +would be the last of the war. Aunt Dorothy +loaded us with every kind of bodily refreshment and +comfort. But she kept herself apart from the +conversation, and never vouchsafed to ask one question, +save concerning the safety of the king, of whom no +news had been heard. It was decided we were to +leave on the morrow; and often I saw her eyes +moisten tenderly as she glanced at Maidie, who, in +her sweet trustful way, kept drawing her amongst +us by claiming her sympathy with her joy in the +little treasures her father had brought her. +</p> + +<p> +In the night, before the dawn of the next morning, +Aunt Dorothy and her little maid were astir, +and wonderful cookings and bakings must have +gone forward. For when we came down to breakfast, +a huge basket stood laden with provisions for +the way, substantial and dainty, with special +reference to Maidie's tastes; little tender preparations +which often brought tears to my eyes on the journey, +as I found them out one by one, and thought of +the self-repressed rigour of the dear old rock from +which those springs of kindness flowed. +</p> + +<p> +Yet all the while we were at breakfast together +at the great table in the kitchen, every slightest +want watched and anticipated by Aunt Dorothy, I +felt as if she were looking on every morsel as a coal +of fire heaped on our heads; while the weight of +the impending testimony hung over us. +</p> + +<p> +At length it came. +</p> + +<p> +"Nephew and niece, Leonard and Olive Antony," +said she, as we were about to rise; "and thou, +Annis Nye and Job Forster, I have somewhat to +say to you." +</p> + +<p> +And then she testified against us all, and also +against Oliver Cromwell, the army, and the +country; comparing us to the people who built Babel +to make themselves a name, to Jeroboam who +made priests of the lowest of the people, to Absalom, +to Jezebel, to the evil angels who speak evil of +dignities, and to the Laodiceans, in a way which +made the blood rush to my face on behalf of my +husband. Finally, turning to Annis Nye, she +launched on her a separate denunciation; beginning +with the devil who clothed himself as an angel of +light, and ending with the Anabaptists of Münster, +and the Jesuits, who, Mr. Baxter believed, had +emissaries among the Quakers. +</p> + +<p> +I knew that the more tenderness Aunt Dorothy +felt at heart for offenders, the more severe were her +denunciations of their offences. But Annis could +not be expected to be aware of this, and I trembled +to see how she would bear it, lest it should drive +her once more from us into the world, so hard on +Quakers. The calm on her countenance, however, +was not even ruffled. She kept her eyes, all the +time, fully opened, fixed with an expression, not of +defiance, but of wonder and compassion, on Aunt +Dorothy, until Aunt Dorothy herself at length +paused, apparently checked by the strength of her +own language, held out her hand to Annis and +added,— +</p> + +<p> +"Now I have said what was on my mind. I did +not mean to anger thee; but less, in conscience, I +dared not say." +</p> + +<p> +Annis took the hand offered to her with a tender +compassion, as she might that of an aged sick +person. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should I be angered, friend?" said she in +her softest voice. "Can thy words touch the +truth? It was there when they began; and it is +there when they end. And one day we shall all +have to see it; whatever it is, wherever we be, +thee, and Olive Antony and her husband, and all." +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy had no further words to lavish on +obduracy so hopeless. She only struck her palms +together, shook her head slowly, and looked up in +speechless dismay. +</p> + +<p> +Job muttered under his breath, as he rose to +saddle the horses,— +</p> + +<p> +"Poor souls! poor dear souls! They have got +somewhat yet to learn. They have got to learn +the lesson Oliver taught us on old Burford steeple!" +</p> + +<p> +But my husband only replied,—. +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy, you have been the truest of +friends to me and mine. We cannot agree on all +things, although I shall always honour you in my +heart more than nine-tenths of the people I do +agree with. But there is one admonition of Oliver +Cromwell's which I should like to have engraved +deep on the hearts of us all. It is one which he +addressed last year, in a letter, to the General +Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland. 'I beseech you,' +he wrote, 'in the bowels of Christ, <i>think it +you may be mistaken</i>?'" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VII. +<br><br> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS +</h3> + +<p> +The last battle of the Civil Wars was +fought. Or rather the battle-field was +changed, and the long contest of the +Commonwealth began, between Oliver +governing and all the rest of parties and men who +wished England otherwise governed, who wished +it ungoverned, or who wished to govern it themselves. +</p> + +<p> +The Royalists, Prelatical or Presbyterian, necessarily +against him, the classical Republicans, the +Anabaptist levellers, and, in their passive way, the +Quakers. Indeed, it seemed as if all parties, as +parties, were against him. The wonder was, that +the arm which kept them all at bay should be strong +enough at the same time to keep the world at bay, +for England; and to keep England so ordered, that +many of those who hated the Protector's rule +confessed that the times—"by God's merciful sweetening +(said they) of bitter waters"—had never been +so prosperous as under it. +</p> + +<p> +I confess that the change from Kidderminster to +our home in London was in some measure a relief. +It was like coming from a walled garden (admirably +kept, indeed, and watered) into the open fields. It +had not been my wont to live in a place so pervaded +by one man as Kidderminster, or at least what I +saw of it, was at that time by Mr. Baxter. He was +so very active and self-denying and good, that do +what I would whilst there, I could never get over +the feeling of being, in some way, a transgressor if +I happened to differ from him. His writings and +sermons were certainly mainly directed against the +great permanent evils of ungodliness and +unrighteousness. But he wrote so many controversial +books on every kind of ecclesiastical topic, and +was so convinced that they were all convincing +to all sound minds, that it was difficult, while in +the Kidderminster world, to regard oneself, if not +convinced, as having anything but a very sound +mind. +</p> + +<p> +So that it did feel like getting into a large room, +to meet and converse again with people who did +not think Mr. Baxter's judgment, moderate and +wise as it doubtless was, the one final standard of +truth in the universe. Not, certainly, that London +at that time was a world free from debate and +controversy of the fiercest kind. A Commonwealth in +which, during the eleven years of its existence, +thirty thousand controversial pamphlets of the +fiercest and most contradictory kind were battering +each other, each regarded by its author and +his particular friends as absolutely convincing to +all sound minds, was not likely to be that. +</p> + +<p> +From our home, however, such debates were +mostly absent. My father fled from controversy +to the Bible, and to the Society for the promotion +of the new experimental philosophy, which met at +Gresham College; the revelation of God in His +Word and in His world. Aunt Gretel had the +happy exemption of a foreigner from our English +debates, political and ecclesiastical, and tranquilized +herself at all times by her knitting, her hymns, +and the making of possets acceptable to sick people +of all persuasions. And my husband had what he +regarded as the advantage of differing on some +theological questions from the good men with whom +he acted in religious work (he having a leaning +rather to Dr. Thomas Goodwin, in his "Redemption +Redeemed," than to Dr. Owen, or even to Mr. Baxter); +so that he had to avoid the intermediate +debatable grounds, and keep to those highest heights +of adoration where Christianity is incarnate in Christ, +or to those lowly duties where it is embodied in +kindnesses. So much of his time, moreover, was +spent in what the Protector vainly endeavoured to +persuade his Parliaments to keep to, namely, the +"work of healing and settling" that he had little +left for the "definitions" of all things in Church +and State, into which those unhappy Parliaments +were so continually, to the Protector's vexation, +straying. +</p> + +<p> +Then there were the children, Maidie and Dolly, +and the two boys who came after them, renewing +one by one, in their happy infancy, the golden age; +the joyous little ones, around whom it was +manifestly our duty to gather as many relics of Eden, +and foretastes of the thousand years of peace, as +were to be had in a world where thirty thousand +fiery pamphlets were flying about. +</p> + +<p> +The spirit of Annis Nye, meantime, abode, listening +and looking heavenward, on lofty heights far +above all debate, though ready for any lowly +service. And in a house in our garden, on the river +bank, enlarged for his accommodation, lived our +High Church friend, Dr. Rich, with his eleven +children, his spirit also loftily looking down on the +strifes of the present, not from the heights of +immediate inspiration, but from those of history; +while his eleven children, lately orphaned of their +mother, made no small portion of my world, with +its many interests and cares. +</p> + +<p> +So that, in spite of the wide divergences of judgment +in our household concerning matters political +and ecclesiastical (perhaps rather in consequence of +the mutual self-restraint they rendered necessary), +our home came to be looked on by many as a kind +of haven where people might meet face to face on +the common ground of humanity and Christianity. +</p> + +<p> +The mere meeting face to face on common ground, +if it be pure and high, or helpful and lowly, the +mere taking and giving the cups of cold water in +the Master's name, the mere looking into each others' +faces and grasping each others' hands as kindred, +has in itself, I think, something almost sacramental. +How much, indeed, of the depth and sacredness of +the Highest Sacrament consists in such communion +union through what we are in Him instead of +agglomeration through what we think; union in Him +who is to us all the Way, the Truth, the Life, but +of whom the best we can think is so dim, and poor, +and low. +</p> + +<p> +In those years we learned to know and revere +many whose memories (now that so many of them +are gone, and that we so soon must be going), +shining from the past we shared with them, throw +a sacred yet familiar radiance on the future we hope +to share. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Owen, coming now and then from his post as +Vice-chancellor of Oxford to preach before the +Parliament on state occasions. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. John Howe, the Protector's chaplain, living +on radiant lofty heights, far above the thirty +thousand controversial pamphlets, himself a living +temple of the living truth he adored. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Hutchinson and Mistress Lucy, with that +lofty piety of theirs, which, as she said, "is the +blood-royal of all the virtues." He with his +republican love of liberty, and stately chivalry of +character and demeanour: she with her pure and +passionate love; with her earnest endeavours to +judge men and things by high impartial standards; +and her success in so far as that standard +was embodied in her husband. Much of their time, +however, during the Commonwealth they spent on +the Colonel's estate, collecting pictures and sculpture, +planting trees, "procuring tutors to instruct +their sons and daughters in languages, sciences, +music, and dancing, whilst he himself instructed +them in humility, godliness, and virtue." +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. John Milton, blinded to the sights of +this lower world by his zeal in writing that Defence +of the English People which wakened all Europe +like a trumpet; and by his very blindness, it seemed, +made free of higher worlds than were open to +common mortals. Whitehall, I think, was not degraded +by his dwelling there, nor its chambers made less +royal by his eyes having looked their last through +those windows on +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Day, or the sweet approach of morn or even,<br> + Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,<br> + Or flocks, and herds, and human face divine,"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +before his +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + .....light was spent,<br> + Ere half his days, in this dark world and wide."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +For his life was indeed the pure and lofty poem +he said the lives of all who would write worthily +must be. +</p> + +<p> +The Society of our Puritan London in those +Commonwealth days was not altogether rustical or +fanatical. Discourse echoes back to me from it which +can, I think, have needed to be tuned but little +higher to flow unbroken into the speech of the City, +where all the citizens are as kings, and all the +congregation seers and singers. +</p> + +<p> +The first public event after our return to London +was the funeral of General Ireton, Bridget Cromwell's +brave husband, who had died at his post in +Ireland. +</p> + +<p> +He was buried in Henry the Seventh's Chapel. +The concourse was great. Dr. Owen preached the +funeral sermon. There was no pomp of funeral +ceremonial, of organ-music or choir. The Puritan +funeral solemnities were the pomp of solemn words, +and the eloquent music of the truths which stir +men's hearts. +</p> + +<p> +The text was, "But go thou thy way till the end +be; for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the +end of the days." (Dan. xii. 13). +</p> + +<p> +"It is not the manner of God," Dr. Owen said, +"to lay aside those whom He hath found faithful in +His service. <i>Men indeed do so</i>; but God changeth +not. +</p> + +<p> +"There is an appointed season wherein the saints +of the most eminent abilities, in the most useful +employments, must receive their dismission. There +is a manifold wisdom which God imparteth to the +sons of men; there is a civil wisdom, and there is +a spiritual wisdom: both these shone in Ireton. +</p> + +<p> +"He ever counted it his wisdom to look after the +will of God in all wherein he was called to serve. +For <i>this</i> were his wakings, watchings, inquiries. +When that was made out, he counted not his business +half done, but even accomplished, and that the +issue was ready at the door. The name of God was +his land in every storm; in the discovery whereof +he had as happy an eye, at the greatest seeming +distance, when the clouds were blackest and the +waves highest, as any. +</p> + +<p> +"Neither did he rest here. Some men have wisdom +to know things, but not seasons. Things as +well as words are beautiful in their time. He was +wise to discern the seasons. There are few things +that belong to civil affairs but are alterable upon +the incomprehensible variety of circumstances. He +that will have the garment, made for him one year, +serve and fit him the next, must be sure that he +neither increase nor wane. Importune insisting on +the most useful things, without respect to alterations +of seasons, is a sad sign of a narrow heart. He who +thinks the most righteous and suitable proposals +and principles that ever were in the world (setting +aside general rules of unchangeable righteousness +and equity) must be performed as desirable, because +once they were, is a stranger to the affairs of human +kind. +</p> + +<p> +"Some things are universally unchangeable and +indispensable: as that a government must be. Some +again are allowable merely on the account of +preserving the former principles. If any of them are +out of course, it is a vacuum in <i>nature politic</i>, which +all particular elements instantly dislodge and transpose +themselves to supply. And such are all forms +of government among men. +</p> + +<p> +"In love to his people Ireton was eminent. All +his pains, labour, jeopards of life, and all dear to +him, relinquishments of relatives and contents, had +sweetness of life from this motive, intenseness of +love to his people. +</p> + +<p> +"But fathers and prophets have but their season: +they have their dismission. So old Simeon professeth, +<i>Nunc dimittis</i>. They are placed of God in their +station as a sentinel on his watch-tower, and then +they are dismissed from their watch. The great +Captain comes and saith, Go thou thy way; thou +hast faithfully discharged thy duty; go now to thy +rest. Some have harder service, harder duty, than +others. Some keep guard in the winter, others in +the summer. Yet duty they all do; all endure some +hardship, and have their appointed season for +dismission; and be they never so excellent in the +discharging of their duty, they shall not abide one +moment beyond the bounds which He hath set them +who saith to all His creatures, 'Thus far shall you +go and no further.' +</p> + +<p> +"The three most eminent works of God in and +about His children in the days of old were His +giving His people the law, and settling them in +Canaan; His recovering them from Babylon; and His +promulgation of the gospel unto them. In these +three works he employed three most eminent persons. +Moses is the first, Daniel is the second, and +John Baptist is the third; and none of them saw the +work accomplished in which he was so eminently +employed. Moses died the year before the people +entered Canaan; Daniel some few years before the +foundation of the temple; and John Baptist in the +first year of the baptism of our Saviour, when the +gospel which he began to preach was to be published +in its beauty and glory. I do not know of +any great work that God carried out, the same persons +to be the beginners and enders thereof. Should +He leave the work always on one hand, it would +seem at length to be the work of the instrument +only. Though the people opposed Moses at first, +yet it is thought they would have worshipped him +at the last; and therefore God buried him where +his body was not to be found. Yet, indeed, he had +the lot of most who faithfully serve God in their +generation—despised while they are present, +idolized when they are gone. +</p> + +<p> +"God makes room, as it were, in His vineyard for +the budding, flourishing, and fruit-bearing of other +plants which He hath planted. +</p> + +<p> +"You that are employed in the work of God, you +have but your allotted season—your day hath its +evening. You have your <i>season</i>, and you have <i>but</i> +your season; neither can you lie down in peace until +you have some persuasion that your <i>work</i> as well as +your <i>life</i> is at an end. +</p> + +<p> +"Behold here one receiving his dismission about +the age of forty years; and what a world of work +for God did he in that season. And now rest is +sweet to this labouring man. Provoke one another +by examples. Be diligent to pass through your +work, and let it not too long hang upon your hands; +yea, search out work for God. You that are +entrusted with power trifle not away your season. Is +there no oppressed person that with diligence you +might relieve? Is there no poor distressed widow +or orphan whose righteous requests you might +expedite and despatch? Are there no stout offenders +against God and man that might be chastised? Are +there no slack and slow counties and cities in the +execution of justice that might be quickened by +your example? no places destitute of the gospel +that might be furnished? +</p> + +<p> +"God takes His saints away (among other +reasons) to manifest that He hath better things in store +for them than the <i>best</i> and <i>utmost</i> of what they can +desire or aim at here below. He had a heaven for +Moses, and therefore might in mercy deny him +Canaan. Whilst you are labouring for a handful of +<i>first-fruits</i>, He gives you the <i>full harvest</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"You that are engaged in the work of God, seek +for the reward of your service <i>in the service itself</i>. +Few of you may live to see that beauty and glory +which perhaps you aim at. God will proceed at +His own pace, and calls us to go along with Him; +to wait in faith and not make haste. Those whose +minds are so fixed on, and swallowed up with, some +end (though good) which they have proposed to +themselves, do seldom see good days and serene in +their own souls. There is a sweetness, there is +wages to be found in the work of God itself. Men +who have learned to hold communion with God in +every work He calls them out unto, though they +never see the main harvest they aim at, yet such +will rest satisfied, and submit to the Lord's limitation +of their time. They bear their sheaves in their +own bosom. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>The condition of a dismissed saint is a condition of +rest</i>. Now rest holds out two things to us; a freedom +from what is opposite thereunto, and something +which satisfies our nature; for nothing can rest but +in that which satiates the whole nature of it in all +its extent and capacity. +</p> + +<p> +"They are at rest from sin, and from labour and +travail. They sin no more; they wound the Lord +Jesus no more; they trouble their own souls no +more; they grieve the Spirit no more; they +dishonour the gospel no more; they are troubled no +more with Satan's temptations, no more with their +own corruption; but lie down in a constant enjoyment +of one everlasting victory over sin. They are +no more in cold communion. They have not one +thought that wanders from God to all eternity. +They lose Him no more. +</p> + +<p> +"There is no more watching, no more fasting, no +more wrestling, no more fighting, no more blood, +no more sorrow. There tyrants pretend no more +title to their kingdom; rebels lie not in wait for +their blood; they are no more awakened by the +sound of the trumpet, nor the noise of the instruments +of death; they fear not for their relations; +they weep not for their friends. The Lamb is their +temple, and God is all in all unto them. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet this cessation from sin and labour will not +complete their rest; something further is required +thereto; even something to satisfy and everlastingly +content them. Free them in your thoughts from +what you please, without this they are not at rest. +<i>God is the rest of their souls</i>. Dismissed saints rest +in the bosom of God; because in the fruition of +Him they are everlastingly satisfied, as having +attained the utmost end whereto they were created, +all the blessedness whereof they are capable. +</p> + +<p> +"Every man stands in a threefold capacity—natural, +civil, religious. And there are distinct +qualifications unto these several capacities. To the +first are suited some seeds of those <i>heroical virtues</i> +as courage, permanency in business. To the civic +capacity, ability, faithfulness, industry. In their +religious capacity, men's peculiar ornament lies in +those fruits of the Spirit which we call Christian +graces. Of these, in respect of usefulness, there +are three most eminent, faith, love and self-denial. +Now all these were eminent in the person deceased. +My business is not to make a funeral oration, only +I suppose that without offence I may desire that in +courage and permanency in business (which I name +in opposition to that unsettled, pragmatical, +shuffling disposition which is in some men), in ability +for wisdom and counsel, in faithfulness to his trust +and in his trust, in indefatigable industry, in faith +in the promises of God, in love to the Lord Jesus +and all His saints, in a tender regard to their +interest, delight in their society, contempt of himself +and all his for the gospel's sake, in impartiality and +sincerity in the execution of justice, that in these +and the like things we may have many raised up in +the power and spirit wherein he walked before the +Lord and before this nation. This I hope I may +speak without offence here upon such an occasion +as this. MY business being occasionally to preach +the Word, not to carry on a part of a funeral +ceremony, I shall add no more, but commit you to Him +who is able to prepare you for your eternal +condition." +</p> + +<p> +Often I had longed, if only for once, to hear the +organ rolling its grand surges of music through +the aisles of the Abbey. But when that grave +voice ceased, and left a hush through that great +assembly, I felt no music could be more worthy of +the solemn place than those nobly reticent words +of lamentation and praise; nor could England +raise a nobler statue to any of her heroes than that +Puritan picture of a Christian statesman. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, the public pomps of the Commonwealth +which have engraven themselves most deeply on +my memory were of the funereal kind. +</p> + +<p> +In 1650, five years after Ireton's death, for once, +by the Protector's command, the dear, long-unfamiliar +sound of the old Prayer-book was heard in +the Abbey, as the funeral service was read over +the remains of good Archbishop Usher, buried at +the Protector's expense in the great mausoleum of +the nation and her kings. +</p> + +<p> +In November, 1654, three years after the funeral +of Ireton, Mistress Cromwell, the Protector's +mother, was buried beside him among the kings. +</p> + +<p> +She was ninety-four years of age. She died on +the 15th of November. A little before her death +(we heard) she gave the Protector her blessing, +saying, "The Lord cause His face to shine upon +you, and comfort you in all your adversities, and +enable you to do great things for the glory of your +most high God, and to be a relief unto His people. +My dear son, I leave my heart with thee. Good-night!" +</p> + +<p> +She, living wellnigh all those fifty-five years of +his beside him, knew well that his life had been no +triumphal procession, but a toilsome march and a +sore battle, little indeed changed by the battle-field +being transferred from moors and hill-sides to +palaces and parliament-houses. At sound of a gun +she was wont to tremble in that stately home at +Whitehall, fearing lest some of the many plots of +assassination had at last succeeded in proving to +the assassin that killing her son was no murder, +And once at least every day she craved to see him, +if only to know that he lived. +</p> + +<p> +They laid her to rest reverently among the kings +in Henry the Seventh's Chapel. And so the +consecrating presence of tenderly-reverenced age passed +from that English home, which during the years +of the Commonwealth was at the head of all the +homes of the land. +</p> + +<p> +And five years after came that last funeral, +which was, indeed, the funeral of the Commonwealth +itself. +</p> + +<p> +These are the state ceremonies of the Commonwealth +which have left the deepest mark on my +memory. Its thanksgivings for victories, its +inauguration, installation, and enthronization of the +Lord Protector in Westminster Hall were not without +a certain sober republican grandeur, nor did +the ermine and the sceptre misbecome the true +dignity of his bearing; but they did not, I think, +enhance it. Clothes need some mystical links to +the unseen and the past to make them glorious; +and Oliver certainly did not need clothes to make +him glorious. The brow, furrowed with thought +for England, was his crown; the sceptre seemed a +bauble in the hand that had ruled so long without +it; and the robes of state that fitted him best +were the plain armour of the Ironsides. Roger, +however, thought otherwise. He would have had +every symbol of the royalty within our "chief of +men" outwardly gathered around him, even to the +crown and title of king. Whatever may be the +case in religion, in politics (he thought), the +common people are taught by ceremonial. As the +Protector said "The people love that they do +know; they love settlement and know names." If +Oliver, he thought, had been proclaimed king, no +Stuart would have returned to proclaim him traitor. +</p> + +<p> +Be that as it might, it was not done; and the +omission seemed (to many) to make the rest of the +state ceremonials of the Commonwealth ragged +and incomplete. Crowned, Oliver might have +become in the eyes of the people King Oliver; +uncrowned, he seemed but Mr. Cromwell of Huntingdon, +with a sceptre in his hand which did not +belong to him. +</p> + +<p> +But after all, the great solemnities of the +Commonwealth were the sermons. Great sermons and +great congregations to hear them. They were our +state-music, our military-music, our church-music, +all in one. The <i>Te Deum</i> of our thanksgiving +days for victories, our coronation anthems, our +requiems. +</p> + +<p> +The sermons which so moved the heart of Puritan +England were no empty sound of words harmoniously +arranged,—a lower music, I think, than +that of any true musician;—for words have a +higher sphere than mere melodious tones; and, +like all orders in creation, if they do not rise to +the height of their own sphere, fall below the +sphere below them. +</p> + +<p> +It was the eloquence of men speaking to men, of +things which most deeply concerned all men; of +the ablest men in England speaking to her ablest +men; of the loftiest spirits in England speaking +to all that was loftiest in the spirit of man. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Owen's appearances in London were only +occasional. +</p> + +<p> +The sermons that come back on me across the +years like the voice of a great river resounding +with deep even flow through all the petty or +tumultuous noises of the times, are those of +Mr. John Howe, chaplain to the Protector. +</p> + +<p> +He came to London as a country minister from +his parish of Torrington, somewhere about 1654, +and went to hear the preaching in Whitehall +Chapel. But Oliver, "who generally had his eyes +everywhere," and whose eyes had such a singular +faculty for seeing men's capacity, discerned +something more than ordinary in his countenance, and +sent to desire to speak with him after the worship +of God was over. The interview satisfied him he +had not been mistaken. The great heart that so +singularly honoured the worth his eyes were so +quick to discern, whether those he honoured +honoured him or not; and the will so strong to bend +all men's wills, would not rest until he had induced +the parson of Torrington, though somewhat +reluctantly, to become his own chaplain. +</p> + +<p> +The choice might reflect some light on the nature +of the Protector's own piety. +</p> + +<p> +There was abundance of vehement fiery eloquence +to be had among the Puritan preachers, and +(I doubt not) there could have been found too +many flatterers. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Howe so little flattered the Protector, +that he deliberately preached against the doctrine +of a particular persuasion in prayer, which was one +of the Protector's strongholds. +</p> + +<p> +And so far was his eloquence from being vehement, +that its very glory was a majestic evenness +of flow, which, while it swept the whole soul +irresistibly on to his conclusion, seldom tossed it up +and down with those changeful heavings of emotion +that are the luxuries of popular orations. Any +preacher who was less of a fiery declaimer and of a +fanatic, or less of a brilliant popular orator than John +Howe, Oliver's chosen chaplain, can, I think, scarcely +be found in the history of preaching. If he had a +fault, it is the difficulty of detaching any word, +image, or pointed sentence from the grand sweep +of his argument sufficiently to give any conception +of its power to those who did not hear him. If his +eloquence was a river, it was one without the dash +and sparkle of rapids and eddies, steadily deepening +and broadening, in a majestic current to its end. +If it was a fire, it was no mere spark or flame to +make the heart glow for a moment, but a steady +furnace enkindling principles into divine affections. +If it was a flight, it was no mere darting hither and +thither, as of smaller birds; scarcely even the +upward musical mounting of the lark to descend on +her nest; but the soaring of the eagle with his eye +on the sun. He strengthened you for duty by +transporting you to the divine spring of all duty. He +strengthened you against earthly care simply by +lifting you above it to "the holy order of God." "Do +not hover as meteors; do not let your minds +hang in the air in a pendulous, uncertain, unquiet +posture," he said; "a holy rectitude, composure, +and tranquillity in our life, carries with it a lively, +sprightly vigour. Our Saviour says that life +consists not in things, but in a good healthy internal +habit of spirit. What a blessed repose, how pleasant +a vacancy of diseasing, vexatious thoughts, +doth that soul enjoy which gives a constant, +unintermittent consent to the divine government, when +it is an agreed, undisputed thing, that God shall +always lead and prescribe, and it follow and obey. +Discontent proceeds from self-conceit, self-dependence, +self-seeking, all which despicable idols (or that +one great idol <i>self</i> thus variously idolized) one sight +of God would bring to nothing." +</p> + +<p> +He strengthened men for death, not by fortifying +them against it as a sleep, but by regarding life as +the sleep and death the waking. "It fares with +the sluggish soul as if it were lodged in an +enchanted bed. So deep an oblivion hath seized it +of its own country, of its alliance above, of its +relation to the Father and world of spirits, it takes +this earth for its home where 'tis both in exile and +captivity at once, as a prince stolen away in his +infancy and bred up in a beggar's shed. Being in +the body, it is as with a bird that hath lost its wings. +The holy soul's release from its earthly body will +shake off this drowsy sleep. Now is the happy +season of its awaking into the heavenly vital light +of God. The blessed morning of the long-desired +day hath now dawned upon it; the cumbersome +night-veil is laid aside, and the garments of +salvation and immortal glory are now put on." "The +greatest enemy we have cannot do us the despite +to keep us from dying." To one whose spirit was +thus itself a living Temple, even the great Abbey +seemed an earthly house. The incense, the ritual, +and the music of the heavenly city were around +Him. "The sacrifice of Christ," he said, "is of +virtue to perfume the whole world." +</p> + +<p> +Yet I feel that these extracts give as little idea +of the power of his preaching, as a phial of +salt-water of the sea. You perceive from it that the +water of the sea is salt and clear, but of the sea +itself, heaving in multitudinous waves from horizon +to horizon, you have no more idea than before. +</p> + +<p> +The very titles of his books read like arguments +of a divine poem—a Paradise Lost and Regained. +"The Living Temple;" "The Blessedness of the +Righteous;" "Of Delighting in God;" "The +Redeemer's Tears wept over lost Souls;" "The Love +of God and our Brother;" "The Carnality of +Religious Contention;" "Of Reconciliation between +God and Man;" "The Redeemer's Dominion over +the Invisible World." +</p> + +<p> +Far indeed his spirit dwelt above the small +controversies of the time, engaged in the great +controversy of light against darkness. "Holiness," he +said, "is the Christian's armour, the armour of +light: strange armour that may be seen through." "A +good man's armour is that he needs none; his +armour is an open breast. Likeness to God is an +armour of proof. A person truly like God is far +raised above the tempestuous stormy region, and +converses where winds and clouds have no place. +Holy souls were once darkness, but now they are +light in the Lord—<i>darkness</i>, not in the dark, as if +that were their whole nature, and they were nothing +but an impure mass of conglobated darkness. So +'<i>ye are light</i>,'—as if they were that and nothing +else. How suppose we such an entire sphere of +nothing else but pure light? What can raise a +storm with it? A calm serene thing, perfectly +homogeneous, void of contrariety. We cannot yet +say that thus it is with holy souls, but thus it will +be when they awake. Glory is revealed to them, +transfused through them; not a <i>superficial skin-deep +glory</i>, but a transformation, changing the soul +throughout; <i>glory, blessedness, brought home and +lodged in a man's own soul</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Blessedness, to Mr. Howe, consisted in godliness, +and godliness manifested itself in goodness—as +high a conception of Christian religion, I think, as +has been realized before or since. His learning was +not as fragments of a foreign language, intertwined +for purposes of decoration with his own, but as a +translation into the language of day of the converse +he had held, on the high places of the earth, with +his kindred among the lofty souls of the past, in +the language native to them all, concerning the +infinite heavens above them all. This was the kind of +eloquence we listened to at Whitehall and +St. Margaret's during the days of the Commonwealth. And +among all the great Puritan preachers this was the +one whom Oliver chose for his chaplain. +</p> + +<p> +We never intruded ourselves on the Protector +during his greatness. There were so many to claim +his notice then. And we needed it not; having +work enough to occupy us and means enough to do +it, and happiness enough in it, what with the sick +and the prisons and the children in the home. +</p> + +<p> +But Roger was always in his service, and he +brought us word continually what a burden and +toil that rule was to the ruler. +</p> + +<p> +Above the noisy strife of parties, men like Howe +could dwell in the purer air; beneath it the people +and the churches were silently prospering. But +Oliver's way lay through the thick of the strife, +with little intermission, from the beginning to the +end. If ever "I serve" was justly a prince's motto, +it was his. "Ready to serve," as he said, "<i>not as +a king but as a constable</i>; if they liked it, often +thinking indeed that he could not tell what his business +in the place he stood in was, save that of a good +constable set to keep the peace of the parish." Oliver's +parish (Roger said) being England with all +her parties, and Europe with her Protestants and +Catholics, ready at a word to fly on each other. +He kept the peace of his parish well. Others might +concern themselves with the <i>well-being</i> of the nation +(as he said)—"he had to consider its <i>being</i>." The +ship which the mixed crew of Anabaptists, Levellers, +classical Republicans, and Royalists, were +debating in Parliament and out of it how to work +according to most perfect rules, had meantime <i>to be +worked</i>, being not in harbour but on the stormiest +sea, amidst hostile fleets. +</p> + +<p> +Parliament after parliament met, debated, did +nothing, and was dissolved. But still the ship of +the nation sailed majestically and triumphantly on, +breasting stormy waves and scattering hostile fleets, +with that one hand on the helm, and the eyes of +that one man on the stars and on the waves. +</p> + +<p> +Roger was full of hope throughout those years. +The time must come, he said, when the nation would +see what the Protector was doing for her. All +Europe had seen it long. Ambassadors came from +Spain, France, Denmark, Sweden, Austria. +</p> + +<p> +All Europe felt England a power, and knew who +made her so. England herself could not fail to see +it soon. Then, instead of taking her greatness +sullenly from Oliver's hands, she would acknowledge +him as the "single person" to whom the parliaments +and people owed allegiance—her sovereign +by divinest right—suffer him to rule in accordance +with her ancient order instead of in spite of +it—grant what he passionately craved, the privilege +of making her as free as he had made her strong; +rise herself to be the queen of the Protestant nations. +</p> + +<p> +And then the glorious day would dawn, Roger +thought, for England and the world. What tender +sweet hopes lay deep in his heart, as one of the roses +strewn by this Aurora, I knew well. What England +and the world said, one maiden's heart would +surely be blind to no more! +</p> + +<p> +So the years passed on. Our fleets, with Blake +in command, were ranging the Mediterranean Sea, +Rumours came of victories over Italian and +Mussulman, of compensation for wrong, of slaves set +free. +</p> + +<p> +In the late king's reign the Barbary Pirates had +carried off our countrymen from our shores near +Plymouth Sound. Under Oliver, our fleets battered +down the forts of the Pirates on their own shores, +and set the captives free. +</p> + +<p> +All nations courted his alliance. And from the +plantations of New England (through Mr. John Cotton +and others) came joyful voices of congratulation +on the liberties and glories which these children of +Old England felt still to be theirs. +</p> + +<p> +All seemed advancing, Roger thought, like a +triumph. Righteousness springing out of the earth, +Truth looking down from heaven—when tidings +burst upon us which stirred the heart of England to +its depths, from sea to sea. +</p> + +<p> +From the far-off valleys of the Alps of Piedmont +came the cry of wrong. How a whole race of our +fellow-Protestants, "men otherwise harmless, only +for many years famous for embracing the purity of +religion," had been tortured, massacred, and driven +from their homes, to perish naked and starving on +the mountains. +</p> + +<p> +Never, since the Irish massacre at the beginning +of the Civil Wars, had England been so moved with +one overwhelming tide of indignation and pity. But +with the indignation at the Irish massacre meaner +feelings of selfish terror had been mingled. This +wrong touched England only in her noblest part. +For the time we seemed to reach the depths beneath +all our divisions and turmoils. England felt herself +one, in this common sympathy; and what was more, +the Protestant Church glowed into a living unity +through this holy fire of indignation and pity, which, +being true, failed not to burst forth in generous +deeds of succour. "For," as Milton wrote, "that +the Protestant name and cause, although they differ +among themselves in some things of little consequence, +is nevertheless the same, the hatred of our +adversaries alike incensed against Protestants very +easily demonstrates." +</p> + +<p> +The massacre began in December, 1654, that merciless +"slaughter on the Alpine mountains cold." Six +regiments were engaged in it, three of them the +Irish "Kurisees," from whom the Protector had +delivered Ireland. +</p> + +<p> +It was the 3rd of June before the cry of distress +reached Oliver at Whitehall. The hills had been +flashing it for five months to heaven. For five +months our brethren and their families had been +wandering destitute, afflicted, tormented, on the +mountains above their ruined, desolated homes. +</p> + +<p> +Much frightful wrong had been wrought irrevocably, +past all the remedies of earth. What remedy +was still possible there was no delay in finding, and +no lack of generous tenderness in applying. +</p> + +<p> +The Protector at once gave £2,000 from his +private purse. A day of humiliation was appointed +throughout the country, "such a fast as God hath +chosen, to undo the heavy burdens, to break every +yoke, to deal bread to the hungry, and cover the +naked." Thirty-seven thousand pounds were contributed +to the suffering brethren in the Valleys. Secretary +Milton wrote six State letters in the Protector's +name to the princes of Europe and the Switzer +Republic. Oliver showed plainly to France that he +cared more for the righting of this wrong than for +the most profitable alliances in the world. The +Catholic world perceived for once that Protestantism +meant more than mere doubt and denial, that it +meant a common faith and a common life. +</p> + +<p> +And as far as might be the wrong was set right, +the exiles were relieved from their destitution and +restored to their homes. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was something to be an Englishwoman then. +</p> + +<p> +Roger was appointed to accompany the envoys +sent by the Protector to Paris. He came to take +leave of us with a face all alit with hope. +</p> + +<p> +"England is beginning to acknowledge her +deliverer," he said. "All Europe is flashing back on +her his kingly likeness, as if from a thousand +mirrors. She must acknowledge him at last." +</p> + +<p> +And with a farewell which had the joyous ring +of a welcome in it, he went. +</p> + +<p> +The joyful confidence of his tones and hope made +them linger on my heart long, like music. "She +must acknowledge him at last." They mingled +with my dreams, and woke with me when I woke, +but with a double meaning subtilely intertwined +into them; as if England were personated, as in +some royal festive masque, in the form of Lettice +Davenant, no more weeping and downcast, as when +I had seen her last, but her bright face, and her dear +joyous eyes full of serene determination and +unquenchable hope. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Paris, Twelfth Night</i>, 1655.—My birth-day. More +than four years since I wrote a word in this book. +The pages begin to look faded, like my youth. I +scarcely know why I have left such an interval, +except that it is so difficult not to look on the whole +of this life of exile as an interval; a blank space, or +an impertinent episode in the history of life, which, +by-and-by, when the true history begins again, we +just tear out or seal together. +</p> + +<p> +"All this time I have heard nothing from the old +friends in England, except two letters; one from +Mistress Dorothy, wherein she gave me a terrible +picture of the wrong-doings and thinkings of certain +religious people of an entirely new kind, whom she +calls 'Quakers.' It seems that Olive brought one +to her house at Kidderminster, which Mistress +Dorothy thought a great wrong. As far as I can make +out, Olive has no thought of becoming a Quaker; +nor can I find out distinctly what the Quakers are +or do, except that every one seems enraged against +them, and that on that ground Olive and Dr. Antony +took this Quaker maiden under their wing. +Poor sweet Olive, she always had a way of getting +entangled into defending people under general ban; +from witches downward or upward. I suppose Annis +Nye is Olive's present Gammer Grindle. In +which case, Olive at least seems little changed. +But that letter was written before the Battle of +Worcester. From Mistress Dorothy's account they +appear to be a new kind of sect, with a new +elaborate ceremonial or ritual, to which they adhere +very strictly. Mistress Dorothy speaks of their +refusing to take off their hats, and to bow or courtesy. +This must evidently be a ritual observance; because +people would scarcely be sent to prison simply for +keeping on their hats and not courtesying. +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy spoke, too, by the way, of +Olive's two children, Maidie and the babe. +</p> + +<p> +"The babe must be now a prattling child of five, +and Maidie probably a little person invested with +the solemn responsibilities of the eldest sister. I +fancy her with Olive's fair, calm face, thinking it +her greatest honour to share her mother's household +occupations, or to run by her side with a basket of +food to supplement Dr. Antony's medicines. I +fancy Mistress Gretel smiling at the babes, and +letting them entangle her knitting with the feeblest +of remonstrances, and in a serene way undermining +all Olive's 'wholesome' discipline. I fancy +Mr. Drayton a little older, a little graver, not quite +satisfied with the fruits of the war, wishing Mr. Hampden +back, and Lord Falkland, and England as they +might have made it; and taking refuge with the +stars and his grand-children. I fancy—till I am +angry with myself for fancying anything, as if it +made shadows out of realities. For they live; <i>they +live</i>, in the old solid living England. If any are +shadows, it is we, poor helpless, voiceless exiles on +this shadowy shore; not they. And then I begin +to think not of what I fancy, but what I know. I +know they are good, and kind, and godly still. And +I know—yes, I know—they have not forgotten; +they still love and think of me. +</p> + +<p> +"Only sometimes it troubles me a little that they +are going on thinking of me as the young Lettice +they knew so long ago; which is scarcely the same +as thinking of the middle-aged Lettice Davenant +who has reached her twenty-ninth birth-day to-day. +</p> + +<p> +"I think sometimes now of the scorn with which +I was wont to speak of middle-states of things, +saying there was no poetry in mid-day, mid-summer, +middle-station, middle-age. And often and often +the answer comes cheerily back, how <i>he</i> spoke of +'manhood and womanhood, with their dower of +noble work, and strength to do it;' and how he +could not abide 'to hear the spring-tide spoken +pulingly of, as if it faded instead of ripening into +summer; and youth, as if it set instead of dawned into +manhood.' 'It was but a half-fledged poetry,' he +said, 'which must go to dew-drops and rosy morning +clouds for its similes and could see no beauty +in noon-tide with its patient toil or its rapturous +hush of rest.'—It comes back to me like an invigorating +march music, now that the joyous notes of the +reveille have died away, and the vesper hymns are +not yet ready, and the march of noon-tide life has +fairly begun. +</p> + +<p> +"What, then, makes evening and morning, spring +and autumn, the delight of poets? The light then +blossoms or fades into colour. The light itself then +is a fair picture to look at. At noon it sinks deeper +no longer on the surface of clouds, but into the +chalices of flowers and into the heart of fruits; it +is painting pictures on the harvest-fields and +orchards; it is ripening and making the world fair, and +enabling us to see it. It is light not to look at, +but to work by. Its beauty is in making things +beautiful. And so I think it is with middle-age. +Its beauty is not in itself; but in loving thought +for others, and loving work for others. Looking +at ourselves in middle-life, we see only the glow +faded, the dewy freshness brushed away. Therefore +we must not look at ourselves, but at the work +the Master gives us to do, the brothers and sisters +the Father gives us to love. In Olive's heart, no +doubt, the thought of youth passing away scarcely +arises. She sees her children growing around her, +and works and plans for them, and counts the hours +again as morning, not as evening hours, renewing +her life in the morning of theirs. And although +that lot is not mine, I have scarcely more temptation +to 'talk pulingly of morning fading into noon' +than she. Madame la Mothe takes me close to her +heart. With her I am her friend's child. Then +these revenues which come to us so much more +regularly than to most of the Cavaliers, give us so +many means of helping others, that this alone is an +occupation. Especially as these revenues are, after +all, not unlimited, and my father and Walter +believe they are (as the wants of the Cavaliers +certainly are), so that it requires some planning and +combining to make things go as far as they can. +Which in itself is a great occupation to Barbe and +me, and makes our daily house-keeping as interesting +as a work of charity. And since the English +Service has been prohibited at the Louvre, as it +has been since the Battle of Worcester, I have +some happy work in a kind of little school of young +English girls, amongst whom it is sweet to do what +I can, that when they go back, the Holy Scriptures +and the prayers of the dear old Prayer-book may +not be unfamiliar to them. +</p> + +<p> +"Then my father is wonderfully forbearing with +me. For it has vexed him that I could not listen +to some excellent Cavaliers, who wished for our +alliance. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame la Mothe also sometimes lectures me +a little on this score with reference to a nephew +of hers. But as the project was primarily hers +and not his, this little proposal was much easier to +decline. Only sometimes she shakes her head and +says,— +</p> + +<p> +"'There has been a history, my poor child! +Every woman's heart has its history. But heaven +forbid that I should seek to penetrate into thy +secret. Yet thou art not like thy mother in all +things. She suffered. Thou wilt conquer. Her +eyes were as those of Mater Dolorosa by the +Cross. Thine are as those of Regina Cœli above +the storms.'" +</p> + +<p> +"And I cannot tell her. Because I can never +look on that love as a history. I know so well he +could not change. It is scarcely betrothal, for +there is neither promise nor hope. It is simply +belonging to each other in life and in death. +</p> + +<p> +"Then sometimes she smiles and kisses me and +says, 'There is some little comfort even in thy +being of "the religion." On that rock of thine, no +torrent of Port-Royalist eloquence will sweep thee +away from us into a convent. And for the rest, +God is merciful; and having made islands, it is +possible He has especial dispensations suited to +islands.'" +</p> + +<p> +"For Madame la Mothe has entirely relinquished +my conversion. Seeing that I can honour the ladies +of Port Royal from the bottom of the heart, without +being attracted to Port Royal, she has given +me up. +</p> + +<p> +"She says I have no restless cravings, no void +to fill, and it is to the restlessness of the heart that +the repose of religion appeals. +</p> + +<p> +"In one way she is right. Thank God she is +right. Or rather my whole heart is one great +craving unfathomable void. But Christianity fills it. +Christ fills it. He Himself; satisfying every +aspiration, meeting every want, being all I want. +Pitying, forgiving, loving, <i>commanding</i> me. The +commanding sometimes most satisfying of all. Always, +always; all through my heart. Redeemer, that is +much; Master, that (afterwards) is almost more. +Father! that is all. +</p> + +<p> +"There have been sorrows. After Worcester, my +father was so terribly cast down and gentle. I +remember it was almost a relief the first time he +was really a little angry after that; although it +was with me he was angry; and quite a relief to +hear him begin to storm at the French Court again, +when they suppressed our English Service at the +Louvre, and did what they could with any civility +to suppress or dismiss us, and began to pay court +to the Arch-Traitor. +</p> + +<p> +"Since then the success of the Usurper in making +England great, and the baseness of some of the +attempts to assassinate him (not discouraged, alas, +by some of our Court)! have strained my father's +loyalty to the utmost. +</p> + +<p> +"But the sorrow is Walter; the wrong which +sometimes makes us ready, in desperation, to pay +our allegiance anywhere but there whence the evil +came, is the sore change in him. We made some +sacrifices in old times to the royal cause. But what +were poor Dick, and Robert, and George, slain on +the field, or even Harry laying down his life at +Naseby, or even that precious mother stricken into +heaven by his death, compared with a life poisoned +in its springs like Walter's at this selfish wicked +Court? All the fair promise of his youth turned +into corruption; his very heart slain! +</p> + +<p> +"Our martyred king required the lives of our +dearest, and they were given willingly for him. +But this king takes their souls, themselves, their +life of life, not as a living sacrifice, but to be +trampled, and soiled, and crushed in the dust and +mire of sin, till their dear familiar features are +scarcely to be distinguished by those who love +them best. +</p> + +<p> +"The gladness of heart my mother delighted in +changed into a fickle irritability, or frozen into +mockery at all sacred things human or divine. +The generous spirit degraded into mere selfish +lavishness, caring not at what cost to others it +buys its wretched pleasures. +</p> + +<p> +"And then the miserable reactions of regret and +remorse which I used to rejoice in, until I learned +to know they were the mere irritable self-loathing +of exhausted passion, as little moral as when (at +other times) the same irritation turned against my +father or me instead of against himself. Until at +last I dare not profane the sacred names of mother +and of God, by using them as a kind of magic +spell to unseal the springs of maudlin sentimental +tears. Oh, how bitter the words look! Walter, +Walter, my brother! tenderly committed by my +mother to me, living in the house with us day by +day, yet farther off—more out of reach (it seems) +of pleading or prayer than those who lie on the +cold slopes of Rowten Heath and Naseby! Is +there no weapon in God's armoury to reach thy +heart? Good Mistress Gretel used to say God had +so many weapons we knew not of in His storehouses. +In mine, alas, there seem none; none except +going on loving. And perhaps after all that is +the strongest in His. +</p> + +<p> +"Going on loving. Yes; our Lord surely did +that, does that. When 'He turned to the woman' +in Simon's house, it was not the first time He had +so turned to her. Not the first. How many times +from the first! Yet at last she turned and came +and looked on Him. And she was forgiven. And +in loving Him a new fountain of purity was opened +in her heart, the only purity worth the name, the +purity of love; the purity not of ice but of fire. +Yes; in Him there is the possibility of restoration. +</p> + +<p> +"But, oh, for these desecrated wasted years, for +the glory of the prime turned into corruption, for +all that might have been and never can be, for this +one irrevocable life ebbing, ebbing so fast away, +for the terrible possibility of there being no +restoration. For some looked, and listened, and longed, +but never came! +</p> + +<p> +"<i>May</i>.—Barbe came into my chamber this morning, +weeping and wringing her hands. +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, mademoiselle!' she said; 'another +St. Bartholomew—a second St. Bartholomew!'" +</p> + +<p> +"'Have they risen against the Protestants in +Paris?' I said. And my first thought was of +Walter,—a wild thought, whether this might be +the angel's sword to drive him back into the fold. +If we were to be hunted hither and thither, who +could say but in the severe destitution of some den +or cave of refuge, or even in the prison of the +Inquisition, sacred old words might come back to him, +and he might turn and be saved? And then +another flash of thought! If we were seized as +Protestants, England would rise; Cromwell, Englishman +and Protestant that he was, would demand +us back. We should no more be Royalist and +Rebel, but all English and Protestant; and return +to England, to Netherby, and Walter with us, and +a new life begin. Wild hopes, flashing through +my mind between my question and Barbe's answer, +delayed, as it was, by her tears. +</p> + +<p> +"'Not in Paris yet, mademoiselle; that is to +come. No doubt, the tyrants will not end where +they began. It is the people of the valleys—the +Vaudois—men of the religion, before France knew +what the religion was. My mother's kindred came +thence,—quiet, loyal peasants, tilling their poor +patches of field and vineyard among the savage +mountains. The Duke of Savoy would have them +all foreswear the religion in three days. They held +firm. He sent six regiments—herds of monsters, +wild beasts, among the people. They tortured, +killed, wrought horrors I cannot name, but which +those faithful men and women had to bear.' And +her sobs choked her words; until by degrees she +told me all she knew of the dreadful story of +outrage and wrong. +</p> + +<p> +"'And is there none to help?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'There is none;—unless it be this Mr. Cromwell,' +she said, with a little hesitation, knowing +how abhorred the name was amongst us. 'These +poor, exiled, outraged Christians have appealed to +him.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 8.—My father says all the world is ablaze +about this letter of Mr. John Milton, the Usurper's +Latin secretary, concerning these persecuted exiles +from the valleys. Its words are very strong. It +seems not unlikely the French Court may be moved +to interfere an their behalf. 'It is some comfort,' +said my father, 'to see that the old country has +a voice which must be listened to, even though +she speaks through the mouth of this murderous +Usurper.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 9.—My father came in, with his eyes +enkindled with a look of triumph such as I had not +seen in them for years. +</p> + +<p> +"'We must have a rejoicing, Lettice, cost what +it may. There is no help for it, but an English +gentleman's heart must be glad at such news! +Robert Blake has been pounding them right and +left—Pope and Turk, Duke and Dey. The Blakes +of Somersetshire—a good old family: I knew them +well. The English fleet calls at Leghorn, and the +Pope and his Italians eagerly grant whatever they +demand. The English fleet calls at Tunis, demanding +justice from the Dey and his pirates. The Dey +refuses: Blake batters down his forts, and burns +his fleet in the harbour. The Dey will not refuse +us our rights again. The world begins to know +what the name of an Englishman means. Already +these French courtiers practise a little civility. The +very rascal boys in the streets seem less +impudent. We must have a merry-making, Lettice. +What can we do? At home we would have all the +village to a feast, set all the ale-barrels flowing, and +all the bells in the country ringing. But here the +people, poor half-starved creatures, drink nothing +but vinegar. And as to these everlasting bells, +that are always dropping and trickling, no one +knows why; it would do one's heart good if one +could wake them up for once, and set them free all +together, to burst out in the torrent of a grand old +English peal. But we cannot. Who can we give +a feast to, Lettice? One cannot exactly have a +Cavalier dinner, because it might look like +celebrating the victory of the Usurper. Yet somebody +or other must be made the merrier, that the old +country has done such a good stroke of work. +Whom can we have?' +</p> + +<p> +"I could think of no one but Barbe, her father +and mother, and the seven hungry little brothers +and sisters she helped to support. Accordingly +the next day we made them a supper in honour +of the victory over the Turks, an attention which +seemed to gratify our guests much, although my +father was not a little dissatisfied at having to +entertain guests on what he scornfully termed +'broth, vinegar, and sugar-plums.' But I think +to the end Barbe and her family remained in a +very misty state of mind as to what they were to +rejoice about; and but for my father's imperfect +acquaintance with the French language, I am +afraid the closing speech of Barbe's father, who +was an old gentleman with political theories, and +of a lofty and florid style of eloquence, might have +caused an explosion. For the point of it was: +</p> + +<p> +"'Excellent Monsieur and amiable Mademoiselle, +your country is a great country; though sometimes +to us Frenchmen a little difficult to understand. +No doubt, this Monseigneur Cromwell has not the +advantage of a descent as pure as could be wished; +but he has the advantage of making himself +understood in all languages. The Turks seem to have +understood Mr. Blake. There is, also, Mr. Milton, +who writes Latin with the elegance of the renowned +Tully. The Duke of Savoy will have to understand +him. The poor exiled Vaudois are to be restored +to their valleys. Monseigneur Cromwell has insisted +on it. He has also sent two thousand pounds of his +own for their relief, and your nation has added more +than thirty thousand;—a sum scarcely to be +calculated by simple people. It is a pity Monseigneur +should be out of the legitimate line of your +country's kings. But such changes must happen at +times in dynasties. Our own has changed more +than once. And, no doubt, your magnanimous nation +understands her own affairs, and ere long will arrange +herself to the satisfaction of all parties. Monsieur +and mademoiselle, I thank you in the name of my +family. Such hospitality is a proof of a tender and +generous heart, worthy of the great nation which +has sent this princely succour to the oppressed.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What does he say, Lettice?' whispered my +father. +</p> + +<p> +"'That England is a great nation,' I replied; +'and that it is a pity Oliver Cromwell was not of +the house of Stuart.' +</p> + +<p> +"For a moment my father's eyes flashed; but +then, shaking his head compassionately, he only +said: 'Of course, these poor foreigners cannot be +expected to understand our politics. We must +make allowances, Lettice; we must make allowances. +Every man cannot, after all, be born an +Englishman.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 10.—The meaning of Barbe's father's speech +is plain. The Usurper has sent an Embassy +Extraordinary to the French Court and to Savoy, and +all the redress he demands for the Vaudois is to be +made. They are to be restored to their mountain +homes, and protected from future ill usage. He +styles himself 'Oliver, Protector.' The poor Vaudois, +at least, are likely to think the title not undeserved. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 11.—My father says Roger is here. If +any one in the world could help Walter, he might. +Walter has been terrible lately. His reckless, +mocking ways drive my father wild. He storms in +righteous anger. Walter recriminates with cool, +reckless jests. My father commands him to go. +Walter goes; does not come back for days. My father +grows more and more restless and wretched during +his absence; reproaches himself; taps at my door +at night, and says: 'Lettice, I shall never rest any +more. I have driven the lad to destruction. I will +go and seek him.' In a few hours he returns with +Walter, destitute and affectionate. He returns as +a prodigal; but, alas! not come to himself; +aggrieved against the husks—against the beggarly +citizens, who would not give him any—but chiefly +against the father, who, having given him his own +portion, refused him his brother's. And so, for the +hundredth time, we welcome him, weep over him, +make much of him, and provide him with such best +robes and portions of our living as we can possibly +spare. And in a day or two he meets his old +associates, has some good-natured message from the +king, and, before long, is drawn off into the old +tide of riotous living. Away from us, heart and +soul, in the far country, where we at the old home +are mere shadows to him. We mere shadows to +him; and he the core of our hearts to us! +</p> + +<p> +"I feel that these tender changes of feelings of +my father's, the very anger springing from affection, +and the affection making him repent of his just +anger as of a sin, are not good for Walter. I +cannot help, sometimes, telling him what sacrifices my +father makes for him; how ungrateful and unjust +he is in return. But he merely laughs, and talks as +if women were creatures with quite another edition +of the Ten Commandments from men; or, sometimes, +he says my Puritan friends have taken the +spirit out of me; or that I should have married, +and then I should have understood the world a +little, and had something else to do than to educate +my brothers. But when he says such things to me, +he is always, or often, sorry afterwards, and tries to +expiate them by some little extra gift or attention. +</p> + +<p> +"And often my father also is vexed rather with +me than with Walter, when he and Walter have +differed. He seems to think I ought in some way +to have made life more cheerful to them both. But +this I know he does not mean. Such words are only +as an inarticulate cry of pain. He means it no more +than he means what he says far oftener and more +vehemently, that he will never waste another groat, +nor hazard a drop of blood again, for the heartless, +faithless family ('Scottish and French not English,' +saith he, in his bitterest moments), which fate has +smitten England with; when I know that, at the +next glimpse of a hope of Restoration, he would +spend his fortune to the uttermost farthing, and his +blood to the last drop, to see the young king enjoy +his own again. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 12th.—We have met, Roger and I, for a +few minutes, but those minutes, seemed to have +bridged over all the years between, and it is as if +our lives had been lived side by side all the time, +Yet we said scarcely a connected sentence that I +can recall. +</p> + +<p> +"It was in one of the little tumults which now +and then arise in the narrow streets out of disputes +for precedence. +</p> + +<p> +"I was in Madame la Mothe's coach, when we +met a coach which happened to belong to a seigneur, +whose lands are close to Madame la Mothe's in the +country. Neither of the coachmen would give +way and back his horses. It was a rivalry of centimes. +As happens in so many contests, the immediate +interests of the chiefs were lost sight of in the +vehemence of their followers. Madame la Mothe +and I were left solitary and uneasy in the coach, +while the servants contended for our dignity in the +street. At length the tumult of voices grew fierce, +the hoofs of the horses clattered on the stones as +the postillions urged them with a defiant crack of +their whips, and it seemed as if the two coaches and +their inmates were to charge each other bodily, as +if we had been batteries or battalions. +</p> + +<p> +"'There will be bloodshed,' exclaimed Madame +la Mothe, 'bloodshed for a title, for my title!' and +pushing open the door, she sprang on the pavement, +and threw herself among the combatants with +words of peace. +</p> + +<p> +"The lady in the other coach seeing her descend, +did the same. Advancing rapidly towards each +other they made reverences to each other. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame la Mothe held out her hands. 'Let us +make a compromise, madame,' she said; 'we will +both reascend one coach with my young friend, +Let it be yours. We will then proceed together, +while my coach retires. Bloodshed will be avoided. +The loyal rivalry of our people will be satisfied. +Your side will gain the victory, but it will be in my +service.' +</p> + +<p> +"The ladies embraced, and hand in hand entered +the other coach. The retainers shouted long life to +both the illustrious houses; and the little drama was +ending in a general embrace, when an obstacle +presented itself in the determination of one of +Madame la Mothe's horses, which absolutely refused to +sacrifice his own sense of dignity by retreating. +</p> + +<p> +"The perplexity was great when Madame la +Mothe, turning to me, exclaimed, 'My child, you +will excuse my making you the victim of a slight +<i>ruse de guerre</i>, to avoid wounding the honour of +these excellent people. We will make it a question +of national courtesy.' And having obtained the +other lady's consent, leaning from the window, she +said to one of the young gentlemen in attendance, +in a voice that all round might hear: 'See, this +young lady is of a noble English house, in exile for +loyalty to the unfortunate king. All noblesse yields +to noblesse sacrificing itself for royalty. Conduct +Mademoiselle Davenant, I pray you, to my carriage, +aid let us retire before her.' +</p> + +<p> +"I wad being reconducted to Madame la Mothe's +carriage, pale, perhaps a little anxious, for there +were murmurs of discontent among the retainers of +the adverse company, when suddenly Roger +appeared before me, and in a moment my hand was +in his before I knew how, and I was alone in the +carriage, slowly advancing, while he walked beside +the window. +</p> + +<p> +"'A friend of mademoiselle's father! Move forward!' +he said to the attendants, in slightly broken +French, with that quiet expectation of obedience +which always gave credentials to his commands. +He was obeyed; and we moved slowly on. +</p> + +<p> +"'You excuse me?' he said to me. His hand +was on the edge of the window. 'I heard your +name, and saw you looking alarmed, and before I +had time to question my right to do it, I found +myself taking care of you.' +</p> + +<p> +"He said no more. And I said nothing. It was +one of those moments which seemed not to belong +to the hour but to the ages; because ore does not +think of looking backward or forward while they +last, the rest they bring is so complete. +</p> + +<p> +"But as we came to the end of the narrow street, +and were about to turn into a broader place, there +was again a little tumult which delayed us. +Looking out, I saw it was caused by a company of +young cavaliers arrogantly pushing the crowd aside. +Among them I saw the faces of one or two whom I +recognized as friends of Walter's, and I thought I +caught a glimpse of Walter himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I forgot everything but Walter, the longing +I had so often had that he could know Roger +and the possibility of Roger saving him. +</p> + +<p> +"'Roger,' I said, 'you remember Walter the +youngest of us, the boy my mother thought so +much of. Those are some of our king's courtiers. +They are Walter's friends. They are bad friends. +They are ruining him for life and for ever. I have +thought sometimes if you could have been his +friend, it might have been different.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I will do all what I can, Lettice,' he said, and +that was all. But his 'what I can,' and his +'Lettice,' are volumes that need no commentary. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame la Mothe re-appeared. +</p> + +<p> +"I introduced Roger as best I could. +</p> + +<p> +"She lavished thanks on him, and kept him some +little time in conversation, while the men were +setting something right about the harness. +</p> + +<p> +"But he replied only in monosyllables. +</p> + +<p> +"For some time after he had taken leave we +drove on in silence. +</p> + +<p> +"I was thinking whether I had done right. In +committing my brother to Roger had I not, as it +were, made him my knight, set him forth on a +sacred enterprise for my sake, which he might +interpret into an atonement for that terrible deed which +separated us? +</p> + +<p> +"That terrible deed which all the blood in the +world, and all the good deeds in the world cannot +expiate, which nothing but repentance can blot +out! And Roger will never repent. +</p> + +<p> +"They came sweeping back on my heart with +his voice, all the old familiar sacred recollections, +my mother's affection for him, the touch of her +hand clasping ours, the sound of her voice blessing +us. And far away, like a ghost, at cock-crowing, +glided that dreadful scaffold. 'Politics!' did not +every one say; 'what have women to do with +politics?' +</p> + +<p> +"And after all, what had Roger to do with that +terrible deed? He had sat near on horseback, as +a soldier of Parliament, while it was done. As +a soldier of the Parliament, what could he do +otherwise? As a man, would he not rather have risked +his life to save the royal sufferer's life? All the +consequences of rebellion are involved in the first +act of rebellion. War means life or death, victory +or death to all involved. All the terrible results +were unfolded in the first fatal lifting up of the +rebel standard at Edgehill; a shot might have +ended His Majesty's life then as easily as the axe +years afterwards. Roger's loyalty is to England, +and, for her sake, to whomsoever he believed will +rule and serve her best. That first act of +disloyalty once committed, in the choice of a wrong +leader, the more loyal the character the more disloyal +must be the acts ever after. It was Roger's fatal +hereditary misbelief which had enlisted him in +Cromwell's army. And that my mother knew, +and knowing, had sanctioned his love. But once +enlisted, it was the very loyalty of heart which +would have led him to die with Montrose for the +king's cause, however hopeless, which had lead him +thus to guard the king's scaffold, however he hated +to be there. For I know he did hate to be there! +If he would but once confess that his heart had bled +at the sight, as I am sure it did! But I knew too +well how that fatal loyalty of nature which had +prevented his resisting the worst deed of his +traitorous leader, would keep his lips sealed for ever +from disclaiming his share in it, when done. +</p> + +<p> +"But if I knew his heart, ought I not to accept +the reverent pity which I knew must have moved +him, and made his presence at the martyrdom a +torture to him, in place of any mere words which a +heart less true than his would have uttered so +easily? Indeed, whether I accepted it or not, had +not it been already understood and accepted above? +As the mistakes of Port Royal were understood and +forgiven, and of Aunt Dorothy, and, as we trust, +our own mistakes will be. +</p> + +<p> +"Then came the thought,— +</p> + +<p> +"'You are getting sophistical. Right and wrong +are right and wrong for all and for ever. If you +try to put yourself into the place, and feel the +temptations of every criminal, as he feels them, +you will end in condemning no crime.' +</p> + +<p> +"Thus as I sat silent by Madame la Mothe's side, +while in a few moments all those arguments rushed +in conflict through my heart, there was anything +but silence within. +</p> + +<p> +"At last Madame la Mothe spoke. Very quietly +she laid her hand on mine, and without looking at +me, said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'My child, forgive me. I shall never ask what +your secret is again, nor wonder why you keep +your heart sealed like the doors of Port Royal.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It is no secret, madame,' I said. 'We were +betrothed by my mother's sanction. Only this +dreadful war has separated us.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Your young Cavalier is not on the king's +side?' she said. 'It is a pity. He has the manners +of the ancient chivalry. Deferential and stately, +his politeness has something at once protecting and +lofty in it, as if he were a king, and all women as +queens to him. Alas, for these English politics and +these consciences!' +</p> + +<p> +"'It is not politics that separate us, madame,' I +said, almost mechanically; 'it is the king's death.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Surely the young Cavalier was too noble to be +concerned in that!' she said. +</p> + +<p> +"'He was a soldier of the Commonwealth, +madame,' I said, 'and as a soldier had to obey.' +</p> + +<p> +"I found myself defending him in spite of myself. +</p> + +<p> +"'The king's death was not the work of the +soldier, was it?" she said, 'but of the headsman.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The soldiers guarded the scaffold,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'This young Cavalier was among those who +guarded the scaffold,' she said. 'Was that all? +Being a soldier, what would you have had him do? +Surely there is absolution on earth and in heaven +for such a mistake as that.' +</p> + +<p> +"'He does not repent, madame.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, my child,' she said, 'see what it is to be a +Protestant; you have to be your own Supreme +Tribunal, even when your conscience is on the +Judgment-seat, and your own heart at the bar, to +be broken by the sentence. Now, if you would +only believe the Pope and the Church, whatever +the unavoidable pain of the sentence, you would at +all events escape the torture of at once inflicting +and enduring it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Alas, madame,' I said, 'can the sisters of Port +Royal escape the torture of being their own +tribunal? Can they believe a fact is a fact because a +Pope says it? They distinguish, indeed, between +fact and right; but are not rights really but facts +of a higher sphere, if we only knew them? And +as unalterable? We only want to know what is +right, madame. It seems to me no decision on +earth, or in heaven, can make a thing right, any +more than it makes it true.' +</p> + +<p> +"'My poor child,' she said tenderly, 'heaven +guide you. Only take care your heart does not get +into the judgment-seat, and persuade your conscience +that the very anguish of the sentence is a +proof of its justice. Noble hearts have made such +mistakes ere now. One, I think, very dear to thee +and to me.' +</p> + +<p> +"She was silent some minutes, and then said in +a more cheerful tone,— +</p> + +<p> +"'He was silent, this young Cavalier. His +character is perhaps rather grave?' +</p> + +<p> +"'It is a way of all the men of our nation who +are worth anything, madame,' I said. 'Your +countrymen have a natural eloquence. Feeling +enkindles them into speech. With us it oftener +fuses men into silence. An Englishman who has no +dumbness in him is not to be trusted.' +</p> + +<p> +"She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, my friend,' she said, 'if I defend, you +attack; if I attack, you defend. I will leave you +to defend your own cause against yourself.'" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER VIII. +<br><br> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</h3> + +<p> +Roger brought back from Paris an +account of the life led by the son of the +late king and his companions, that might +perhaps have enfeebled Aunt Dorothy's +prayers for his restoration, could she have believed +it, which, however (having her belief much under +the control of her will), she doubtless never would, +on any evidence we could have brought. Of the +Davenants he said little. But he had seen them, +and from his tone I judged that the intercourse had +done more to cheer than to sadden him. Sir Walter's +face, he thought, looked somewhat lined with +care; but, as far as I could gather, he saw no change +in Lettice. To him she was the same he had parted +from seven years before, the same he had held in his +heart all the seven years through. +</p> + +<p> +"Was she looking older?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"In one way, not an hour," he said; "in another +seven years." +</p> + +<p> +"Paler?" +</p> + +<p> +He could not tell; "her colour always came and +went like sunshine; like her smile." +</p> + +<p> +"As loyal as ever?" +</p> + +<p> +"To the late king, and to royalty; yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Graver?" +</p> + +<p> +"They spoke of grave things. He thought, with +all the old changefulness in her countenance, the +calm beneath seemed deeper." +</p> + +<p> +"Then she must be fairer than ever?" +</p> + +<p> +"He thought not. She was the same." +</p> + +<p> +And to him that was evidently the utmost he +desired. If she had in any way changed, it had only +been as he had changed, keeping parallel with him; +therefore from him evidently no more was to be +learned. Yet something in his interview had +evidently strengthened him, like a new dawn of hope. +Sir Walter, no doubt, would not hear of alliance +with an adherent of "the Usurper;" yet he accepted, +with scarcely disguised triumph, the glory England +had won under the Usurper. A little more experience +of what the Court of the young king was like +to be; a little more proof of what free England +could be; a little more of the hallowing touch of +time, on the new Power's new glories; perhaps the +Title belonging to the Power, once boldly claimed, +recognized by the nation; and in the end for the +sake of the old England the new dynasty might be +recognized. +</p> + +<p> +So Roger hoped; and to him, therefore, the debates +in 1657, on the Protector's assuming the title +of king, had a twofold interest. +</p> + +<p> +The year 1656 closed, and the year 1657 began, +stormily. +</p> + +<p> +On the 27th of December my husband came to +the house looking dispirited, and, catching up +Maidie in his arms, he said to me,— +</p> + +<p> +"I have a mind to sell all we have, and seek our +fortunes in the wilderness, among the Indians." +</p> + +<p> +Then he told me the scene he had just witnessed, +Annis Nye and Job Forster standing by whilst he +narrated how the poor fanatic, James Naylor, had +stood in the pillory in front of the Exchange, +weakened by the terrible scourging four days before from +Whitehall to the Exchange, while his tongue was +bored with a hot iron by command of the +Parliament "for blasphemy." +</p> + +<p> +"Twenty years have rolled away," he said; +"countless precious lives have been sacrificed, a +dynasty displaced, the king and the archbishop +executed, the Star Chamber destroyed; and here stands +the pillory again in the open day, with fierce fire in +the hearts of those in power, to carry out a sentence +cruel as any of Archbishop Laud's, to the uttermost." +</p> + +<p> +"But the people?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"As pitiful as in the days when Prynne, Bastwick, +and Barton suffered in Palace Yard! Scarce +an insulting word or gesture. While the cruel iron +was at work, the crowd stood bareheaded, and +Mr. Rich, the brave merchant, who had waited at the +doors of the Parliament House imploring the members +for mercy from eight till eleven this morning, +held the sufferer's hand all the while, and afterwards +licked his wounds." +</p> + +<p> +"But they say the poor wretch was indeed guilty +of blasphemy," I said. "His crime was at least +very different from Mr. Prynne's." +</p> + +<p> +"It was indeed mad blasphemy," he replied; "the +madness of spiritual vanity veiling itself under some +mystical notion that the homage was paid to Christ +in him. The poor wretch suffered half-a-dozen +deluded men and women to lead his horse into Bristol, +scattering branches and garments before him, and +crying hosannas." +</p> + +<p> +Job, who was near, could not let the occasion pass. +</p> + +<p> +"Take warning, Mistress Annis," he said, in a low +voice aside to her; "this is what your Quaker +inspiration leads to." +</p> + +<p> +"I have need of warnings, Job Forster," she +replied, "and so hast thou. This is what your +tyranny over men's consciences leads to. This is what +ambition has led thy Oliver Cromwell to; once a +man of whom George Fox had hope, and over whose +soul the Friends have been very tender." +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord Protector protests against this +cruelty," said my husband. +</p> + +<p> +"His work is not to protest, Leonard Antony," +said she, "but to prevent. But he has been +faithfully warned. George Fox hath told him what will +come upon him if he heeds not; and George's warnings +are not to be scorned. Before now, more than +one who has despised them has come to a fearful +end." +</p> + +<p> +For once my husband was roused. "Annis Nye," +he said, "you and your Friends are as unmerciful in +heart as the rest. The Voices that denounce God's +lightnings for their own private wrongs are moved +by the same spirit as the hands that heat the irons +for the pillory. Verily ye know not what spirit ye +are of. Denunciatory prophecies are the persecution +of the persecuted." And he turned sadly away. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Gretel wept many tears when she heard the +narrative of James Naylor's sufferings, afterwards +completed by a second scourging at Bristol, the +scene of his mad and blasphemous entry. But she +reached the source of consolation sooner than any of +us. Looking, according to her wont, beyond all the +middle distance which is the battle-field of the great +national questions of churches and governments, +and seeing in the whole primarily the Good +Shepherd seeking the sheep and leading the wandering +flock, she said, wiping her eyes,— +</p> + +<p> +"Poor foolish creature! if Annis speaks right, he +was once a humble and devout Christian. He had +fallen deep and wandered far. Perhaps he will have +to thank the good Lord that he has found the ways +of the wilderness so cruel. Perhaps even now, if +we could see, he is beginning to creep back, torn, +maimed, and bleeding as he is, body and soul, to the +feet of the Good Shepherd. Thou wilt not forget +him, Leonard, when thou visitest the prison." +</p> + +<p> +My husband did not, and afterwards brought us +word how, during his imprisonment in Bridewell, +James Naylor came to true repentance, and +published his confession of his fall, when "darkness +came upon him, and he ran against that Rock to be +broken which had so long borne him, and whereof +he had so largely drunk, and of which at last he +drank in measure again, praising God's mercy in +delivering him, and greatly fearing ever to offend +again, whereby the innocent truth, or the people of +God might suffer." +</p> + +<p> +After that the poor restored penitent's career was +brief, but blameless. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Gretel watched it to the close with a tender +pity. He survived his fall and punishment four +years, dying at the age of forty-four. And Aunt +Gretel was wont to keep the record of what he spoke +shortly before his death among her treasury of +trophies of the triumph of God's good over men's evil. +The words were these:— +</p> + +<p> +"There is a spirit which I feel that delights to do +no evil nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to +endure all things, and hopes to enjoy its own in the +end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, +and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty. If it +is betrayed, it bears it; for its ground and spring is +the mercies and forgiveness of God. Its crown is +meekness, its life is everlasting love unfeigned; it +takes its kingdom with entreaty and not with +contention, and keeps it by lowliness of mind." +</p> + +<p> +And two hours afterwards, the brief journey, so +full of bewilderment and pain and repentance, was +over. To a heart burdened with the dishonour of +that blasphemous entry into Bristol, the pillory in +Palace Yard and in the City must, I think, have +been a dishonour not bitter to bear, but rather one +for which he would bless God who suffered him to +suffer it. Perhaps those, his judges, who had in +their memories the dishonour of issuing and enforcing +such a sentence, had also in their turn their +sentences to suffer, for which they also afterwards +learned to bless God. +</p> + +<p> +For the wheel went quickly round in those days. +Laud in the Star Chamber, Prynne in the pillory; +the Presbyterians and Prynne in the Parliament, the +archbishop on the scaffold; Naylor in the pillory; +his judges in the prisons of the Restoration. +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of a century accomplished it all. But +no one saw the wheel turning. Each revolution, as +it came, seemed the last. For there was a pause +between each. And in the pause the people who +were uppermost looked round on the earth, and +shouted, "Now the Kingdom is come, and the world +will stand still;" while the people who were +underneath looked to heaven, and sighed, "Will the years +of peace never come? O Lord, how long?" +</p> + +<p> +But I think it a noble trait in the Quakers that, +accused as they were on all sides of fanaticism, and +strong as the temptation must have been to disown +any connection with such a fallen man as Naylor, +nevertheless, although they faithfully rebuked him +in secret, they generously stood by him in his +degradation, and did not leave him until they had +brought him to repentance, and tenderly welcomed +him back among them. +</p> + +<p> +With James Naylor's torturing sentence, the year +1656 closed. The year 1657 began with stratagems +and plots. +</p> + +<p> +Towards morning, on the night of the 8th of +January, the drowsy voice of the bellman, speaking +benedicites on our home, and calling us to "hang out +our lights," had just died away at the corner of the +silent street, and his bell was faintly echoing in the +distance, mingling with the dream it had broken, +when a call at the door aroused us. +</p> + +<p> +It was Job Forster. +</p> + +<p> +His first words as my husband opened the house-door +to him (I listening on the stairs), were an +alarming assurance that we need not be alarmed. +In a minute I was wrapped in my mantle and beside +them. +</p> + +<p> +Job's face was haggard and his eyes ringed with +dark circles of anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"All danger is over!" he said. "The assassin +has been taken after a hard struggle. He is in the +Tower. Miles Sindercombe, an old comrade of +mine," added Job with a groan, "one of those that +were sentenced with me at Burford!" It was +another attempt on the Lord Protector's life. Some +time since, the assassin (having received £1,500 +from the baser spirits among the Royalists for the +purpose) had hired a room at Hammersmith, on the +road by which Oliver rode every Saturday to his +Sabbath rest at Hampton Court, watching for an +opportunity to murder him. But in vain. And at +length this night the attempt was to have been made +at Whitehall. At midnight the sentinel had smelt +fire, a match had been found close to a basket of +wildfire, the locks of the doors were discovered to +have been picked, and all prepared for a conflagration, +in the confusion of which Oliver was to have +been assassinated. But it had been found out in +time, the danger was averted, and the Protector had +refused to have the city alarmed, or the train-bands +roused. "But, oh!" groaned Job, "Mistress Olive +and Master Antony, think of what a pit I stood on +the brink! 'Mutiny the first step;' and the last, +murder. No doubt the poor deluded wretch went +down easy enough after that first step. And I had +taken the first!" +</p> + +<p> +He was very gentle and subdued, and said nothing +at breakfast. Not even Annis Nye's gentle +"hope that the Protector would take warning at +last, and see that the poor Friends' prophecies had +some meaning in them," could rouse him. He only +shook his head and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"Poor maid! She has got to take her lesson by +Burford steeple yet." +</p> + +<p> +The excitement in the city that day was great. +It was one of the few occasions which I remember +in which a strong and general display of personal +feeling was called out towards the Protector. +</p> + +<p> +The Parliament ordered a Thanksgiving Day, and +numbers went to offer congratulations. One +sentence of Oliver's reply Roger repeated to us,— +</p> + +<p> +"If we will have peace without a worm in it," +said the Protector, "lay we foundations in justice +and righteousness." +</p> + +<p> +Roger kept full of hope through all. This danger +of death to its head, as with so many refractory +families, had at last (he thought) roused the nation +to gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +The offer of the title of King followed. Roger +believed the Protector would accept it. King was +a name dear to the English people, who "love not +change," and "love settlement and familiar +words." King was a name known to the laws, "honoured, +and bounded" by the laws. Any other name, said +the Protector in comparison, was too "large and +boundless." The power he possessed—and on that +he suffered no debate; the end of all the fighting, +he said, had been settlement. A Parliament voting +itself to sit constantly, and debating everything, +from the nation's faith to the forms of +governing—"debating three months the meaning of the word +encumbrance"—"committees elected to fetch men from +the extremest part of the nation to attend committees +set to determine all things," Oliver considered would +never lead to "settlement." Between this nation +and general "topsy-turvying" he had submitted to +take his stand; and there, while he lived, whether +honoured or reviled, he would stand, whether as +King, Protector, or Constable, to keep the peace of +the parish; "not so much hoping to do much good +as to prevent imminent evil;" to "keep the godly +of all judgments from running on each other;" to +keep some men from the kind of liberty which +consisted in "liberty to pinch other men's consciences;" +to keep other men from such liberty as resulted in +license or "orderly confusion;" to keep all +Protestants from ruin; to keep England from becoming +"an Aceldama." This the Protector regarded as +the thing God had given him to do; and by whatever +weapons, by whatever title, he was determined +to do it; and then was ready, as he wrote to his +son-in-law, to "flee away and be at rest," being +meantime lifted above men's judgment by the +consciousness of "some little sincerity in him." Roger +said that the new work could have been better done +under the old names; so much necessary change in +substance being made more acceptable to the +common people by the least possible change in forms +(the principle, according to Aunt Gretel, on which +Luther had carried out his Reformation). And so, +he believed, thought the Protector. But his +son-in-law, Fleetwood, and so many of the best men around +him, either considered the very name of king doomed +with the dynasty which had abused it, or valued +the forms of a republic as of the essence of liberty—that +his Highness yielded what to him would indeed +have been nothing more than a "feather in a man's +cap;" an adornment at no time sacred or precious +to Puritan men for its own sake. +</p> + +<p> +Thus the debate on the kingly title ended in the +solemn inauguration of Oliver as Lord Protector. +</p> + +<p> +It was on the 25th of June, in Westminster Hall, +that the last great ceremonial of the Commonwealth, +except the Great Funerals, took place. The old +stone of the Scotch kingdom, the purple robe, the +canopy of state, the sword, the Bible, the sceptre +given by the Speaker of the Commons to be "the +stay and staff of the nation," into the hands that, +as we believed, had been their stay and staff so +long; the foreign ambassadors of all nations around +him, they at least, recognizing him openly as +England's ruler and deliverer; and, outside, the +multitudes shouting "God save the Lord Protector,"—the +hearts of all men still aglow with the news of +the great victory of Blake over the Spaniards in the +harbour of Santa Cruz, in Teneriffe. +</p> + +<p> +There was no lack of enthusiasm; nor, indeed, +of colour and music. Some picture our Puritan +times as draped in funereal black. The Puritan +ministers had a very different impression of them +as they bemoaned the glory and bravery of their +people's attire; and Mistress Hutchinson's colonel, +in "his scarlet cloak, richly laced," was not solitary +in his splendour. +</p> + +<p> +Music graced all the Protector's festivals. It +was, I think, to him, as to Martin Luther, the festive +thing in the world. And the music of lofty and +significant words was not wanting in the Speaker's +address, or in the solemn prayer which followed. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless there were not a few who, with our +friend Dr. Rich, could not forget what the last great +scene in Westminster Hall had been, when a king +discrowned sat at the bar of his subjects, alone, yet +defying their authority. And among such it was +murmured ominously that there was one thing even +the "murderers of his sacred majesty" did not dare +to take; the crown which had fallen from the +"anointed" head. +</p> + +<p> +So the grand ceremonial ended, and all men went +again to their work; the Protector to protect +England and the Protestant Church against the world; +the Parliament (as he hoped) to reform laws, +"manners," and especially the Court of Chancery,—"the +delays in suits," the excessiveness in fees, the +costliness of suits,—to see that "men were not hanged +for six and eight-pence, and acquitted for murder." +</p> + +<p> +And we to our humble work, each in his place. +My husband went to his patients and his prisons. +Roger, strong in trust in the Protector, and in hope +for England, joined the troops which were fighting +the Spaniards with those of Marshal Turenne in +Flanders. My father, on the verge of seventy, had +withdrawn altogether from politics. Having as +firm a faith in the triumph of truth as Roger, he +yet deemed the cycles wider in which she moved. +Love with him was the reverse of blind. It was +natural to him to see with painful clearness the +faults of the cause dearest to him. Much as in +many ways he honoured the Protector, he +nevertheless deemed his government a beneficent +despotism undermining the foundations of law. "Had +the Protector been immortal," he said, "a better +government than his could scarce be. But Laws +and Constitutions are remedies against the mortality +of all men, as well as against the fallibility of the +best men. Therefore I cannot rejoice in a rule +which interposes but the heart and brain of one +man between the nation and anarchy." +</p> + +<p> +So he turned therefore from the whirlwind of +political affairs to the calm rule of law in stars and +seas; and the wonderful circulation of life through +all the animated world, as, according to Mr. Harvey's +discovery, through the veins of those fearfully +made bodies of ours. Through him we heard much +of the proceedings of the Society of Art, and of +such patriotic efforts as the rescue of Raphael's +cartoons, by the Protector's desire. In promoting such +works he hoped to serve England (he said) as an +old man best might. +</p> + +<p> +For if there were an idolatry among us in those +Commonwealth days, it was that of England. +</p> + +<p> +Patriotism with the nobler Commonwealth men +was a passion and a religion; what love is to a +lover, and loyalty to such a Royalist as rose. +</p> + +<p> +It was England for whose sake Cromwell was +content to be called a hypocrite and a despot, and +to be a "constable," and a man worn to old age at +fifty with care and toil. +</p> + +<p> +It was the love of England which kindled the +calm heart of the glorious blind poet, who then +dwelt among men, to a fanaticism of passionate +invective against all who assailed her. +</p> + +<p> +To him she was "a noble and puissant nation +rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and +shaking her invincible locks; as an eagle renewing +her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes +at the full midday beam, purging and unsealing her +long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly +radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and +flocking birds, with those also that love the +twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means." +</p> + +<p> +"Thou, therefore," he wrote, "that sittest in light +and glory inapproachable, Parent of angels and men. +Next, Thee I implore, omnipotent King, Redeemer +of that lost remnant whose nature Thou didst +assume; ineffable, and everlasting Love! And Thou +the third subsistence of Divine Infinitude, illumining +Spirit, the joy and solace of created things! one +tri-personal Godhead! +</p> + +<p> +"O Thou that, after the impetuous rage of five +blustering inundations, and the succeeding sword +of intestine war, soaking the land in her own gore, +didst pity the sad and ceaseless revolution of our +swift and thick-coming sorrows; when we were +quite breathless, of Thy free grace didst motion +peace and terms of covenant with us, and having +first well-nigh freed us from antichristian thraldom, +didst build up this Thy Britannic Empire to a +glorious and enviable height, with all her +daughter-islands about her; stay us in this felicity; let not +the obstinacy of our half-obedience and will-worship +bring forth the viper of sedition, .... that we +may still remember in our solemn thanksgivings +how for us the Northern Ocean, even to the frozen +Thule, was scattered with the proud shipwrecks of +the Spanish Armada, and the very maw of hell ransacked, +and made to give up her concealed destruction, +ere she could vent it in that terrible and damned +blast. Hitherto Thou hast but freed us, and that +not fully, from the unjust and tyrannous claim of +Thy foes; now unite us entirely, and appropriate +us to Thyself; tie us everlastingly in willing +homage to the prerogatives of Thy eternal throne. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of +saints, some one may, perhaps, be heard offering +in high strains, in new and lofty measure, to sing +and celebrate Thy divine mercies and marvellous +judgments in this land throughout all ages; +whereby this great and warlike nation, instructed and +inured to the fervent and continual practice of +truth and righteousness, and casting far from her +the rags of her whole vices, may press on hard to +that high and happy emulation, to be found the +soberest, wisest, and most Christian people at that +day, when Thou, the eternal and shortly-expected +King, shall open the clouds to judge the several +kingdoms of the world, and, distributing national +honours to religious and just commonwealths, shalt +put an end to all earthly tyrannies, proclaiming +Thy universal and mild monarchy through heaven +and earth, where they, undoubtedly, that, by their +labours, counsels, and prayers, have been earnest +for the common good of religion and their country, +shall receive, above the inferior orders of the blessed, +the regal addition of principalities, legions, and +thrones, unto their glorious titles, and, in +super-eminence of beatific vision, shall clasp inseparable +hands with joy and bliss, in over-measure for ever!" +</p> + +<p> +This was what ambition meant, and titles and +crowns, to the nobler Puritan men in the days of. +the great Commonwealth. This was what England +meant, and patriotism. This was what made it so +bitter to them to see sedition undermining all this +glorious possibility; to see feeble meddling hands +untwisting the cordage with which the good old +ship had to be worked through battle and storm; +so unutterably bitter to see good men blindly (as +they believed) helping bad men to undo that +glorious past, and render that glorious future, if not +impossible for the world for ever, impossible for +ages longer; and for England perhaps impossible +for evermore. +</p> + +<p> +"For if it should fall out otherwise—if you +should basely relinquish the path of virtue, if you +do anything unworthy of yourselves—posterity will +sit in judgment on your conduct. They will see +that the foundations were well laid; that the +beginning—nay, it was more than a beginning—was +glorious; but with deep emotions of concern will +they regret that they were wanting who might +have completed the structure. They will see that +there was a rich harvest of glory, and an opportunity +for the greatest achievements; but that men +only were wanting for the execution, while they +were not wanting who could rightly counsel, +exhort, enforce, and bind an unfading wreath of +praise around the brows of the illustrious actors +in so glorious a scene." +</p> + +<p> +So he wrote whose hand could best have bound +the unfading wreath of praise, whose vision, as he +dwelt under the hallowing "shadow of God's wing," +became prophetic. +</p> + +<p> +But, meantime, Roger and the brave "labouring +men" around him, who reached not to those clear +prophetic heights, toiled cheerily on, not seeing the +chasm which yawned between them and the +glorious goal they deemed so near. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>January</i>, 1658.—For a twelvemonth now my +father and I have been alone. The usurper +demanded the banishment of our king from France, +and Mazarin and the French Court submitted to +the indignity; an indignity, it seems to us, to all +courts and all kings. +</p> + +<p> +"Walter accompanied the king to Bruges, and +has scarce written to us since. My father and I +seldom mention him to each other, but I know he +is seldom absent from the thoughts of either of us. +The only things which seem to interest my father +now are the movements of our exiled Court, which +he watches with a feverish solicitude, and the +triumphs of the English arms by land and sea, of +which he eagerly learns every detail with a mixture +cf patriotic pride and loyal indignation which it +moves me much to see. +</p> + +<p> +"Last May, for instance, he told me how the +French King Louis had come back from reviewing +the united French and English troops at Boulogne, +and how the French soldiers and courtiers could +not say enough of the soldierly bearing of those +English horsemen and pikemen. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger saw Walter before he left France, and +my father. But I did not see him again. +</p> + +<p> +"It was from Walter I learned of their interview. +</p> + +<p> +"'An act of sisterly loving-kindness, Lettice,' +said he, 'to turn a Puritan battery on your +brother!' +</p> + +<p> +"His tone was light, but not bitter, and he went +on in a softened voice. +</p> + +<p> +"'He has a princely temper, Lettice, and bore +from me what I would not bear from the king. +But all the time he made me feel I lowered myself +and not him by my words. 'Tis a thousand pities, +Lettice, those gentlemen keep us out of house and +home. I might have been worth something at old +Netherby with Roger Drayton for a neighbor. But +what is a fellow to do who has no choice but to +amuse himself or kill himself? And to throw oneself +against Oliver and his England is nothing less +than suicide. Oliver is responsible, at all events, +for the mischiefs idleness has wrought among loyal +men. Do you know, Lettice,' he continued, +affectionately, after a pause, 'who manages the old +estates for us, and sends us their rents so regularly?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I guessed,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'I had been told,' he replied, 'and I asked +Roger, and he could not deny it. He and +Mr. Drayton manage the estate as if they were our +hired bailiffs. Roger himself paid the fine to the +Parliament. But he made me promise never to let +my father know.' +</p> + +<p> +"I did not answer him. My heart was too full. +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice,' he exclaimed, 'you are a brave maiden, +and a good sister to me. Forgive me if ever I said +anything ungenerous to you. I would not care to +own for a sister the woman whom Roger Drayton +loved, if she could forget him for another. He is +the kind of good man it would be worth while to +be like. If it were not too late—altogether too +late for me,' he added, despondingly. +</p> + +<p> +"'You know it is never too late,' I said. 'Oh, +Walter, that is just what you might have been! +So my mother thought.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You cannot say might be, Lettice,' he replied; +'not even with Roger Drayton always by my side.' +</p> + +<p> +"'No one can be like Roger,' I said, 'who can +only be like him with some one always by his side.' +</p> + +<p> +"'No,' he replied, bitterly; 'Roger is a man to +be leant on, not to lean.' +</p> + +<p> +"'He is a man to be leant on,' I said, 'because +he does lean. On One always by his side, Walter; +the only One who can be always with any of us, +the only One we can depend on always, and not +grow weak, but strong in depending.' +</p> + +<p> +"He said no more, but sat in silence some time, +which seemed to me more like what I longed for in +him than anything I had seen. And in the evening +he took leave of me with the old kind way he had +after our mother died. And for some weeks he +was much with us. +</p> + +<p> +"But soon after, the king was desired to quit +France, and Walter would accompany him. It +would be base, he said, to desert his master when +these perfidious Courts and all the world abandoned +him. My father could but faintly remonstrate. +I ventured to ask if he was strong enough +to go into that temptation. But he answered, +gaily,— +</p> + +<p> +"'We shall have work to do, Lettice. There is +promise of fighting. The Spaniard is to help us, +and we him; and together we will bear you back +to Netherby in triumph, proclaim amnesties and +tolerations without bounds, and bring back the +golden age.' +</p> + +<p> +"But there has been no fighting; and since he +left we have scarce once heard from him. And we +know too well what that means, in a company where +nothing good or great is really believed in; neither +in God, nor man, nor woman. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i>.—M. la Mothe is dead. And Madame, +when she has arranged his affairs, has determined +to retire to a convent, there to pray for his soul +and to accomplish her own salvation. +</p> + +<p> +"She is somewhat distracted what Order to join. +The ladies of Port Royal seem to her the holiest +people in the world. But, at the same time, the +condemnation pronounced by the Pope on this book +of Jansenius, which they regard as so excellent, +perplexes her. +</p> + +<p> +"Two years ago the world of Paris was set in a +blaze by the 'Lettres Provinciales' of M. Blaise +Pascal, in reply to the Jesuits; and by the attack +on Jansenius and Port Royal. These letters were +said to combine the eloquence and wit of the most +finished man of the world with the devotion of a +saint. +</p> + +<p> +"Since then the war has waxed fiercer and fiercer +between the Jansenists and the Jesuits. To a +Protestant the controversy seems strange. Both parties +seem to agree that the Pope can pronounce +authoritively as to doctrine. But the offence of the +Jansenists appears to be that they deny his power to +create facts. +</p> + +<p> +"But whatever the hinge of the controversy is +(and in most controversies how insignificant the +hinge is on which all nominally turns), the +combatants seem to me to be divided by very real +distinctions. I judge chiefly from their weapons. +The weapons of the Jesuits seem to be assertions, +anathemas, and prisons; those of Port Royal +eloquent words, and a most devout and blameless +life. +</p> + +<p> +"Truth seems as sacred to them in its minutest +expression as the noblest of the Puritans. They +cannot lie. They can be banished, imprisoned; +they can die, if such is the will of God, who loves +them, and of those who hate them. But they +cannot solemnly declare before Him, they believe a +thing true which they believe to be false. 'Where +is the Christian,' Jacqueline Pascal wrote, 'who +would not abhor himself, if it were possible for him +to have been present in Pilate's council; and if, when +the question of condemning our Saviour to death +arose, he had been content with an ambiguous way +of pronouncing his opinion so that he might appear +to agree with those who condemned his Master, +though his words, in their literal meaning, and +according to his own conscience, tended to an +acquittal? M. de St. Cyran says the least truth of +religion ought to be as faithfully defended as Christ +Himself. The feebleness of our influence does not +lessen our guilt if we use that influence against the +truth. Truth is the only real liberator, and she +makes none free but those that strike off her own +fetters, who bear witness to her with a fidelity that +entitles them to be acknowledged as the true +children of God the true. Poverty, dispersion, +imprisonment, death, these seem to me nothing +compared with the anguish of my whole future life, if +I should be wretched enough to make a league with +death.' +</p> + +<p> +"Noble Catholic Puritan woman! +</p> + +<p> +"Nevertheless Jacqueline Pascal's regulations for +the little orphan girls whom they charitably train +at Port Royal freeze my heart even to read. The +poor little ones are to abstain from all kissing of +caressing each other. Even in their jealously +limited hour of recreation, they are to play, each alone, +without noise! +</p> + +<p> +"And Thou has been on earth, O Christ, tender +and gracious, folding the little ones in Thine arms, +and these holy sisters of Port Royal love Thee, and +read the gospel of Thy birth and death, and think +this is what pleases Thee! +</p> + +<p> +"The world was made by Thee, and the world +knew Thee not. Alas, the Church which was made +and redeemed by Thee, does she also know Thee so +little! +</p> + +<p> +"What a surprise, what a rapture of surprise, +when these Thy servants who, seeing Thee so dimly, +love Thee so much, wake up and see Thee as Thou +art, as (if they could but see it) Thou art <i>now</i>! +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 1658.—Dunkirk has been taken from the +Spaniards (chiefly they say by English troops), and +has been given over to an English garrison. At +last (my father writes), the blot of the loss of Calais +is wiped out of the escutcheon of our country. All +through those last months he had been watching +the movements of the French and English forces +with jealous interest. 'That crafty Italian,' he +said, '(Mazarin) would overreach the usurper yet. +The French Court would use the help of England +as long as they needed it, and as long as they could +pay with fair and flattering words. And when the +time came to pay in fortunes and solid territory, +they would politely bow Cromwell and his pikemen +out of the country.' +</p> + +<p> +"But when we heard that the 'Protector' had +insisted on some of the fruits of the war being +made over to England, and that the united armies +were on the Flemish coast preparing for an attack +on Dunkirk, my father's faith in the courage of our +countrymen entirely got the better of his indignation +against their politics; and he found several +unanswerable reasons for being present at the seat +of war. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i>.—Barbe came to me to-day in tears. Sad +news had come again from her kindred in the +Piedmont Valleys. Protestant surgeons forbidden to +live there; trade prohibited; public worship +suppressed; a new fortress, from which insolent troops +sally to plunder and maltreat the people; +commands to sell lands; dim rumours of a second +massacre. +</p> + +<p> +"'And Monseigneur Cromwell,' she said, 'so busy +with his wars and sieges, that there can be little +hope he will have leisure to remember those poor +forsaken ones! What hope is there? For beside +the English, these sufferers have no friend or +protector in the world.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>July</i> 3<i>rd</i>.—My father has returned. +</p> + +<p> +"'It was worth while to travel round the world,' +he said, 'truly, to hear the shout of the English +pikemen before the fight. Marshal Turenne could +not say enough of their soldierly bearing. He asked +what that shout meant, and he was told, "They +ever rejoice thus when they behold the enemy." And +to see the Spanish veterans driven back before +them from post after post, on the sandy dunes by +the sea, was a sight to make an old man young. +For the old country is young, Lettice, as young as +when she stood up alone against old Spain and her +Armada! I would the Duke of York had not been +on the Spaniard's side. He seemed as out of place +as Condé. I scarce know the cause,' he added +gloomily, 'which saves a man from being a traitor +in fighting against his country.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then Walter was not there?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"His brow darkened. +</p> + +<p> +"'Would to heaven he had been there, on any +side!' he answered fiercely. 'Better fight for any +cause than fight or work for none, but lead a +sluggard's life, a Court-jester's, a Fool's, with the +recreant idlers around the king.' +</p> + +<p> +"He was silent for some minutes, going to the +window and watching the melancholy dropping of +the water from the urn of his old enemy, the +moss-green nymph. +</p> + +<p> +"Then he turned and said hastily,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Drayton has found his service better rewarded +than mine. Not a gentleman in England or France +but might be proud of such a son as his. Firm as +a rock, and as calm, who could guess the dash and +fire that are in him, unless they saw him head a +charge, as I did? 'Tis a labyrinth of a world, +Lettice,' he added, 'and sometimes a man is tempted +to throw down the clue in despair, and let the Fates +take him and his where they will. Old Will +Shakspeare saw to the bottom of it all a hundred years +ago, "an unsubstantial pageant, the baseless fabric +of a vision." Shakspeare and the Bible! There is +nothing else worth reading or thinking of.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then Roger was there; and has come out of +the battle unscathed! Otherwise my father would +have told me. +</p> + +<p> +"But I know not whether they met or no. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>July</i> 4.—I told my father of Barbe's sad tidings +of the Vaudois. +</p> + +<p> +"'That will all be set right, you may feel sure,' +he replied, grimly. 'There was talk enough about +it in the midst of all the fighting. There is nothing +that this base and cringing court will not do to +court the alliance of that Traitor. I laugh when +I hear these French courtiers talk of their ancient +nobility, and the glory of their Royal House. Our +kings and princes, cousins by blood of their own, +may creep about as beggars and outcasts in any +poor trading town that is not afraid to take them. +But when "my lord Fauconbridge" comes as +"ambassador" from this brewer of Huntingdon, Louis, +the glorious monarch, descendant of a line of +glorious monarchs (up to Nimrod, for what I know), +talks to him bareheaded; and Mazarin, the +Cardinal, conducts the rebel and heretic to his door +with more than royal honours. I am sick of the +whole hollow pageant, kings, statesmen, churchmen, all.' +</p> + +<p> +"My father's indignation had led him far from +Barbe and the Vaudois. +</p> + +<p> +"'But I may tell Barbe the poor mountaineers +will be saved?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, yes!' he said impatiently. 'There was +a Latin letter about the oppression of these people, +written, they say, by this Mr. John Milton, whom +foreigners seem to think another Cicero or Virgil, +the "wisest of Englishmen," and what not; why +I know not, except that he writes good Latin, and +they cannot read English, so that of course they +cannot know anything about the wisdom of +Englishmen. And the king, was all attention, and the +fox of a Cardinal all sympathy with those poor +plucked geese, of whose fate he was (of course) in +entire ignorance. And the Duke of Savoy is to +have an exhortation; and the massacre is to be +forbidden.' +</p> + +<p> +"But Barbe when I told her was altogether overcome. +She burst into tears, and clasping her hands, +exclaimed,— +</p> + +<p> +"'To our dying day we will pray for the great +heart that in the midst of wars by sea or land could +remember those few poor persecuted brothers in the +far-off mountains, and would not rest until they +were rescued. To our dying day we will pray for +him and for the great English nation. Mademoiselle +will pardon, if I wound her loyal feelings,' she +added, remembering what the name of Cromwell was +to the Cavaliers, and kneeling for a moment and +kissing my hand in apology; 'English politics are +so difficult for us to understand. To you this +Monseigneur may be such as you cannot approve, but +to us poor Protestants, he is a Protector, Deliverer, +Brother. Can we err in praying for him?' +</p> + +<p> +"'You can scarcely err in praying for him, or for +any one, Barbe,' I said. 'God will not give wrong +because we ask wrong. If one of your little +brothers, being thirsty, asked you for a drink from a +cup of poison, you would smile and put it aside, +and give him the cup of water he wants instead.' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +The taking of Dunkirk in June, 1658, and the +relief ensured to the threatened Christians in the +Valleys, was a brilliant moment in that stormy time. +</p> + +<p> +All England triumphed. The dishonour of the +loss of Calais was undone. The Protestant +Commonwealth had avenged the disgrace which sank +so deep into the heart of the poor dying Popish +Queen. +</p> + +<p> +Once more the Lord Protector had shown that +the Protestant Church was not a heap of disjointed +fragments, but a living body, which felt with a pang +of actual pain an injury inflicted on its feeblest +member. A living body to feel, and a living power to +avenge. +</p> + +<p> +England was no more an island (except in as far +as her seas and ships were her impassable trench +and impregnable walls against the world), but as +in the old days before the Reformation, one of the +great commonwealth of nations, nay, rather the +queenly protector of the great commonwealth of +Protestant nations. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless this sense of unity and strength +seemed but the passing consciousness of a waking +moment. The rest of the months seemed too much +like a restless feverish dream. At least so they +appear to me as I look back. How far the great +calamity of that autumn has to do with darkening +the whole year in my memory into a valley of the +shadow of death, it is hard to say. +</p> + +<p> +The clouds gathered and gathered again, thick +and dark throughout the year, over the Commonwealth +and over the Protector's household. +</p> + +<p> +The prophets of doom saw sorrows enough break +on Oliver's head to satisfy them that their +predictions were just. +</p> + +<p> +On February the 4th, his last Parliament was +dissolved, with words which seem to me noble and +mournful as any with which a great man ever +uttered his grief that his people would not understand +him, and that he had to tread his way alone. +</p> + +<p> +A fortnight before he had opened it with words +of stern warning, yet of hope:—"I look upon this +to be the great duty of my place," he had said, +"as being set on a watch-tower to see what may be +for the good of these nations, and what may be for +the preventing of evil." Then warning them of +the dangers which environed England and the +Protestant nations, he said,—"You have accounted +yourselves happy in being environed with a great +ditch from all the world beside. Truly you will +not be able to keep your ditch, nor your shipping, +unless you fight to defend yourselves. If you shall +think this is a time of sleep and ease and rest,—we +may discourse of all things at pleasure, there is no +danger,—I have this comfort to Godward; I have +told you of it." +</p> + +<p> +And now the warnings were fulfilled, the hope +had vanished, and with stern voice he said;— +</p> + +<p> +"I had very comfortable expectations that God +would make the meeting of this Parliament a +blessing. That which brought me into the capacity I +now stand in was the petition and advice given me +by you. There is not a man living can say I sought +it; not a man nor woman treading upon English +ground. +</p> + +<p> +"I can say in the presence of God—in comparison +with whom we are but like poor creeping ants +upon the earth—I would have been glad to have +lived under my woodside, to have kept a flock of +sheep." "I thought I had been doing that which +was my duty, and thought it would have satisfied +you. But if everything must be <i>too high or too low</i>, +you are not to be satisfied." (Theologies puffed up +too high on airy heights, above plain "virtue and +honesty, justice, piety," and all the sober work of +men; disorders plunging too low.) "Yet you have +not only disjointed yourselves, but the whole +nation; which is in likelihood of running into more +confusion in these fifteen or sixteen days that you +have sate, than it hath been from the rising of the +session to this day; that some men may rule all! +And they are endeavouring to engage the army to +carry that thing! +</p> + +<p> +"These things tend to nothing but the playing +of the King of Scots' game (if I may so call him), +and I think myself bound before God to do what I +can to prevent it. +</p> + +<p> +"The King of Scots hath an army ready to be +shipped for England; and while this is doing, there +are endeavours from some who are not far from this +place, to stir up the people of this town into a +tumulting. Some of you have been listing persons +by commission of Charles Stuart. And if this be +the end of your sitting, and this be your carriage, +I think it high time an end should be put to your +sitting. And I do dissolve this Parliament. And +let God be Judge between you and me." +</p> + +<p> +The Protector, at least, was not afraid to appeal +to the highest tribunal. Royalists, Quakers, +Fifth-Monarchy men, good men of various kinds, +threatened him with the judgment of that bar as a +terror. He invoked it as a refuge. +</p> + +<p> +So his last Parliament went its way, leaving him +to bear the whole burden alone for the rest of the +journey. It was not long. Six months, and he +should stand at the tribunal to which he had +appealed. He had appealed to the Highest; to the +Highest he was to go. +</p> + +<p> +The blows of death fell thick on those he loved;—on +the few who steadfastly trusted and honoured +him. In the August before, Blake had died, the +sea hero, coming home from his victories. He had +died off Plymouth, in sight of shore. +</p> + +<p> +Could we have seen it, the Protector also was in +sight of shore; the shore he longed for, and did not +fail to reach. +</p> + +<p> +In February one of his young daughters was +widowed, the Lady Frances, bereaved in the first +year of their marriage of her husband, young +Mr. Rich, a widow at seventeen. +</p> + +<p> +In April died the good Earl of Warwick, one of +the noblemen who had honoured Oliver from the +first; Mr. Rich's grandfather. +</p> + +<p> +In July and early August the shadow drew closer. +The Lady Claypole—his dearest daughter Betty—lay +sorely smitten at Hampton Court. +</p> + +<p> +The tumults around the palace and the kingdom, +for the time, must have seemed faint, far-off echoes +to the father's heart, compared with the sufferings +and fears of the sick-chamber, where his daughter +lay dying. +</p> + +<p> +Yet these were not few. +</p> + +<p> +General Lambert, his old friend and comrade, +plotting to throw him out of one of the windows +of Whitehall, under pretence of presenting a +petition; "knowing," Roger said, "how open the brave +heart which no treachery could make suspicious, +was to cries for redress of wrong." +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Hutchinson, Independent and Republican, +also his old friend and comrade, while warning +him of this plot, piercing his heart, belike, +deeper than the assassin's knife by deeming the +"affection" and trusting words and tears with +which the Protector thanked him (almost beseeching +the return of the old friendship) mere "arts" +and "fair courtship." +</p> + +<p> +The Presbyterians coldly holding off from him, or +persistently conspiring with the Cavaliers. +</p> + +<p> +Lord Ormond in London in disguise, organizing +a Royalist insurrection. +</p> + +<p> +The tract, "Killing no Murder," warning him +that "the muster-roll" of those who thought it +doing God service to kill him, was "longer than he +could count," and some of them "among his own +friends." +</p> + +<p> +Fifth-Monarchy men raising the standard of the +"Lion of the tribe of Judah," against what they +called his tyranny. +</p> + +<p> +George Fox and the Quakers, in awful letters +of denunciation, "laying on him the weight" of +all the persecution of the Friends throughout +England, inflicted under the authority of his name, +although, as far as I know, never by his order. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy wrote that deliverance must be at +hand, for she understood that a "synagogue of +Portuguese Jews had been suffered to pollute the +land by celebrating publicly their anti-Christian +rites in London." +</p> + +<p> +Annis Nye said little. "But Thomas Oldham, +Margaret Fell, George Fox, and Edward Burrough +have warned Oliver," she observed, "that if he +listen to lies against the innocent, and fail to +release the Friends from prison, God will suddenly +smite him, and that without remedy." +</p> + +<p> +"Not so easy, Mistress Annis," replied Job, "for +a mortal man, protector or king, to know what are +lies, and who are the innocent, nor to set all the +wrongs right in a day. Not so easy it seems, +even for the Almighty, who has been ruling all +these ages. I thought once it could be done all in +a day. But I had to learn otherwise, and so wilt +thou. Seems to me one half of the godly grumble +at the Protector because they think he wants to be +almighty, and the other because they want him to +be all-seeing and all-present." +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the ambassadors of all rations +thronged to pay homage to the man who made +all men honour England, whether she honoured +him or not. Through those summer months after +the victory and capture of Dunkirk, the streets +were brave with coaches of ambassadors and +princes, from France, Denmark, Austria, and the +ends of the earth. +</p> + +<p> +The strong hand was still on the helm, the clear +strong eyes were still on the waves and stars, +keeping watch for England, whether she acknowledged +it or not. +</p> + +<p> +No man saw the hand relax its grasp, or the +eyes waver from their purpose, for all the noise and +clamour, or the aiming at his life. He saw all, and +calmly put aside the danger when too near; but +never turned from his steadfast watch, steadfastly +piloting the good ship on. +</p> + +<p> +Until at last, for a brief season, the brave heart +gave way. His dearest child was dying; and for +fourteen days the Lord Protector could attend to +nothing save the dying moans and tears of that +bed of anguish. For her death was slow, and +approached through terrible pain, so that her anguish +was more than her father could bear to see. +</p> + +<p> +George Fox wrote to her some words of warm +and tender sympathy: +</p> + +<p> +"Be still and cool in thy own mind and spirit +from thy own thoughts, and be stayed in the principle +of God in thee, that it may raise thy mind up to +God, and stay it upon God, and find Him to be a +God at hand. The humble, God will teach His way. +The same light which lets you see sin and +transgression will let you see the covenant of God +which blots out your sin and transgression, which +gives victory and dominion over it. For looking +down at sin and corruption and desolation, ye are +swallowed up in it; but looking at the light which +discovers them, you will see over them: that ye +may feel the power of an endless life, the power of +God which is immortal; which brings the immortal +soul up to the immortal God, in whom it doth rejoice. +So, in the name and power of the Lord Jesus +Christ, God Almighty strengthen thee." +</p> + +<p> +Good words, though no new truth to the daughter +of him who had written, years before, to +General Fleetwood, his daughter Bridget's husband: +"Faith, as an act, yields not grace; but only as it +leads to Him who is our perfect rest and peace." But +when they were read to the poor suffering lady, +she said they "stayed her mind." She had need of +all the stay that could be given. And her father +was not one to keep one word of comfort from her +fainting heart because he could have spoken it +better, or because it dropped from lips which had +denounced him. +</p> + +<p> +On the 5th of August the long watch by the bed +of anguish in the mournful palace-chamber was over. +The weary body and spirit were at rest. The Lady +Elizabeth lay dead. +</p> + +<p> +The Protector roused himself once more to take +up the burden of the State, which while she suffered, +he had been, for the first time, unable to bear. +Attempts at assassination, insurrections, had not +interrupted his work a day. But for fourteen days +even England was forgotten, as he watched the +slow death agonies of his child. +</p> + +<p> +Now that she was dead, he arose and girded +himself once more for his warfare. +</p> + +<p> +Another fourteen days, and he could put his +armour off and lie down for the long rest! +</p> + +<p> +The sources of his strength were not altogether +hidden from us. We heard that a few days after +his daughter's death he called on one to read him +from the Bible the words: "<i>Not that I speak in +respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state +I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be +abased, and I know how to abound: everywhere and in +all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, +both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things +through Christ which strengthened me.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"This Scripture did once save my life," he said, +"when my eldest son died, which went as a dagger +to my heart, indeed it did." +</p> + +<p> +"It's true, Paul," he went on, after a pause, "you +have learned this, and attained to this measure of +grace, but what shall <i>I</i> do? Ah, poor creature, it's +a hard lesson for me to take out. I find it +so." Then, looking on, he read aloud: "<i>I can do all +things through Christ which strengthened me</i>;" and +his heart seemed comforted, for he said: "He that +was Paul's Christ is my Christ too." +</p> + +<p> +He was standing near the end of the arduous +journey, though neither he nor any knew it; and +from the height he looked back over the many +battle-fields of his life; from this last sorrow to that +first, to the grave of his first-born, and all the +promise buried with him in the quiet old church at +Felsted. +</p> + +<p> +A day or two after George Fox met him, riding +at the head of his life-guard. Oliver stopped and +listened, and spoke to him about the sufferings +of Friends. Always so ready to listen to men he +believed good and true, denounce him as they +might! And he bade George Fox come to his +house. But on the morrow when George went to +Hampton Court to wait on him, the physicians +deemed the Protector too ill to see him, and the +Quaker went away and never saw him more. He +thought that he had felt a "waft of death" go forth +against the Protector when he met him at the head +of his guard. It would be long before George Fox +found again one in king's palaces, lord of England, +and dread of Europe, who would "catch him by +the hand," as Oliver did, regardless of discourtesies +and denunciations, and say with tears in those +searching and commanding eyes, "Come again to +my house. If thou and I were but an hour of the +day together, we should be nearer one to the other. +I wish no more harm to thee than I do to my +own soul." +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps as George went away from the door so +freely opened to him, the memory of these +welcomes and farewells came back to him. And he +may have thought that in prophesying death to +the Protector, he and his Friends had uttered +rather a promise than a threat. But I know not. +</p> + +<p> +On Friday, the 20th of August, uneasy rumours +began to spread of his Highness's sickness. On +the following Tuesday, the 24th, the symptoms +were worse. It was tertian ague, and the doctors +had him removed to Whitehall for drier air. +</p> + +<p> +The anxiety in the city grew speechless; brief +questions to any who knew of his state; brief +unsatisfying answers. And then prayers, fervent, +frequent, constant, in churches, in cathedrals, in +palaces, in homes; from Owen and Goodwin in a +a room at Whitehall adjoining that in which the +Protector lay. Prayers so fervent, that those who +poured them forth from hearts made eloquent by +hope and fear, mistook this inward glow for a +responsive divine fire, and assured others that their +offerings were accepted, that their petitions would +be granted, and the precious life be spared to +England yet. +</p> + +<p> +But through all those days Roger, who had +returned from France, spoke scarce a word, save in +answer to our questions about his Highness's +health, when he came from the palace. He looked +pale as death himself, and well-nigh as rigid. The +longings in his heart for Oliver's life were so fervent +that to himself his own prayers and those of other +men seemed in comparison as if struck with a death +chill. "I cannot pray, Olive," he said to me once. +"When I look up to heaven I seem to see nothing +but a great silent, stately Company, making a path +between them for him, straight to the Throne, and +waiting to see him pass." +</p> + +<p> +Once when coming from a place where many had +met in prayer, broken by tears and sobs, I said to +Roger: "Surely God only suffers this to show +England what he is. The people begin to +understand him now! They will never forget!" +</p> + +<p> +"They begin to understand now," he said. +"Wayward children do begin to understand many +things by a father's death-bed." +</p> + +<p> +The word fell from his lips like a tolling bell. I +knew well he could not have uttered it if he had +felt any hope. +</p> + +<p> +Annis Nye was quieter than even her wont, and +very gentle, during those days. Once having heard +how his Highness' "spirit was stayed," she said a +thing which drew my heart to her very closely. +</p> + +<p> +"May be the words of the Friends are being fulfilled +otherwise than we looked. May be the angel +is smiting, not Oliver, but only the fetters, and the +prison doors to set him free." +</p> + +<p> +Roger brought us word from time to time of +sacred words from the sick-chamber. +</p> + +<p> +"The Covenants were two—Two put into One +before the foundation of the world." +</p> + +<p> +"It is holy and true—it is holy and true—it is +holy and true! Who made it holy and true? The +Mediator of the Covenant." +</p> + +<p> +"The Covenant is but one. Faith in the Covenant +is my support. And if I believe not, He abides +faithful." +</p> + +<p> +Solemn, slow, broken utterances, not to man, but +to God. +</p> + +<p> +And then to his wife and children weeping by +his bedside— +</p> + +<p> +"Love not the world. I say unto you it is not +good that you should love this world." +</p> + +<p> +It was becoming "<i>this</i>" world, no longer "the" +world to him; but one of two worlds. For a little +while longer <i>this</i> world to him, soon to be "<i>that</i> +world" still surging in tumult below, where he +had fought the good fight which is now over for ever. +</p> + +<p> +"Children, live like Christians; I leave you the +Covenant to feed upon." +</p> + +<p> +Then (belike passing through a chaos of darkness +and doubt, such as seems to edge round and +usher in every fresh creation of light), "three times +with great weight and vehemency of spirit"— +</p> + +<p> +"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the +living God." +</p> + +<p> +And afterwards (the light beyond the darkness +being reached)— +</p> + +<p> +"All the promises of God are in <i>Him</i>, yea and in +Him, Amen, to the glory of God by us—by us—in +Jesus Christ." +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord hath filled me with as much assurance +of His favour and His love as my soul can hold." +</p> + +<p> +"I think I am the poorest wretch that lives; but +I love God, or rather, am beloved of God." +</p> + +<p> +"I am a conqueror, and more than a conqueror +through Christ that strengtheneth me." +</p> + +<p> +So through the weary days and nights he passed, +nearer and nearer to the end, the tumult in men's +hearts growing deeper, when on the Monday the +30th of August, the fearful storm of wind which +none who heard can ever forget raged over the land, +as if it were over the sea; beating back carriages +on the roads, as if they had been boats on the +rivers; raging, wailing, rending, destroying, as if +the angels who held the "four winds of the earth" +had relaxed their hold, and set the wild creatures +all free together. +</p> + +<p> +But to us who loved Oliver and the Commonwealth, +that tempest seemed but the simple and +natural accompaniment to the tumult in our souls, +a response to the storms in men's hearts; simply a +fitting dirge to the life that went out with it. +</p> + +<p> +And meantime, through the storm, his Highness +was praying thus:— +</p> + +<p> +"Lord, though I am a miserable and wretched +sinner, I am in covenant with Thee through grace. +And I may, I will, come to Thee for Thy people. +Thou has made me, though very unworthy, a mean +instrument to do them some good, and Thee some +service; and many of them have set too high a +value upon me, though others wish and would be +glad of my death. Lord, however Thou do dispose +of me, continue to go on and do good for them. +Give them consistency of judgment, one heart, and +mutual love; and go on to deliver them, and with +the work of reformation; and make the name of +Christ glorious in the world. Teach those who look +too much on Thy instruments to depend more upon +Thyself. Pardon such as desire to trample on the +dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people too. +And pardon the folly of this short prayer. Even +for Jesus Christ's sake. And give us a good night +if it be Thy pleasure. Amen." +</p> + +<p> +He knew it, then, and <i>he had felt it</i>; it had pierced +his heart, that those he deemed good men should +mistrust him, and be glad that he should die. +<i>That</i> arrow had gone home, yet with the barb in +his heart it could not make him think evil of those +that launched it, nor leave them out of his prayers. +</p> + +<p> +The last night came. It was the 2nd of September, +the eve of his day of victory, the day of his +"crowning mercy," a Thanksgiving Day in England +since the battle of Worcester. The voice was low +now, and the words not always to be understood. +</p> + +<p> +"Surely God is good. He is—He will not—" +</p> + +<p> +And often again and again, "with cheerfulness +and fervour in the midst of his pains,"— +</p> + +<p> +"God is good." +</p> + +<p> +This was the key-note to which "all along" his +other tones kept recurring— +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Truly God is good—indeed He is.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"I could be willing to live to be further serviceable +to God and His people. But my work is done. +Yet God will be with His people." +</p> + +<p> +Through the night much restlessness, yet much +inward rest. Broken words of holy consolation and +peace, "self annihilating" words, words of kingly +care for England, and God's cause there; these +among the very last. +</p> + +<p> +Some drink being offered to him, with an +entreaty to try to sleep, he answered— +</p> + +<p> +"It is not my design to drink or sleep; but my +design is to make what haste I can to be gone." +</p> + +<p> +And on the morrow he had fallen asleep, and was +gone. +</p> + +<p> +Amongst us who were left behind, the Thanksgiving +Day was turned into weeping. But his long +day of thanksgiving had begun. The long night of +his faithful watching of the wars and storms for +England was over; the clear eye, the steady hand, +were gone from the helm. The day of victory, and +rest, and coronation, had dawned for him at last. +</p> + +<p> +For, as his chaplain Mr. John Howe, said: +</p> + +<p> +"The greatest enemy we have in the world +cannot do us the despite to keep us from dying." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER IX. +<br><br> +NOTES BY MAGDALENE ANTONY. +</h3> + +<p> +The first public event of which I have any +recollection, or rather the first time I can +clearly recollect having a glimpse +beyond our own little world in London +and Netherby, was one warm evening in August, +1658. +</p> + +<p> +My mother was coming home with me and Dolly +from the house of Mr. John Milton in Bird-Cage +Walk, past Whitehall, when we noticed many people +clustering like bees around the doors of the +palace; and I remember my mother lifting up her +finger, and saying to Dolly and me, who were +discussing some of our small affairs eagerly:— +</p> + +<p> +"Hush, children, the Protector is there, in sore +sickness." +</p> + +<p> +And then I remember noticing that the groups of +people through which we were passing were all +speaking low and walking softly, as people do in +sick-chambers, and every now and then looking up +anxiously to the palace-windows. +</p> + +<p> +I recollect a hush and awe creeping over me, and +a guilty feeling, as if Dolly and I had been chidden +for talking in church. +</p> + +<p> +And all spoke in murmurs, and no one said anything +I could hear distinctly, until, as we were leaving +the space in front of the palace, from the last +point at which we could see the windows, my +mother turned back to look. It happened that at +that moment two men were standing close to us, +and one pointed to the palace, and said: "It was +<i>there!</i> the murderers set up the black scaffold there, +just under those windows. I see it now; and so, +I trow, does the murderer on his sick-bed inside. +And so will more than one when the black pall +comes out at those doors. The day of vengeance +always comes at last." +</p> + +<p> +The words went through me like a shudder. They +were spoken in a deep hissing whisper, more like +the gnashing of teeth than speaking. +</p> + +<p> +I did not venture to tell my mother of them. I +did not know if she had heard them. I never told +anyone of them. They lay seething and working +in my brain, as so many perplexities do in children's +minds—half-shaped, half-shapeless, altogether voiceless, +like ghosts waiting to be born—and tormented +me greatly. +</p> + +<p> +For in a few days the terrible black train did +leave those palace-doors. My mother took us to see +it. And my mother wept, and Aunt Gretel, which +was not so wonderful, because Aunt Gretel would +weep as easily at anything that moved her as we, +children. But my father wept, and even Uncle +Roger; and Annis, the nurse, was stiller than ever. +And there was great silence and quiet weeping +among the people as the black train passed from the +Palace to the Abbey. It was a great day of +mourning; and my father told us we must never forget +it. For all the people of England, said he, that +day had lost their best friend. But all the time I +could not get it out of my head that somebody had +called him a murderer, and had called this day of +mourning a day of vengeance. +</p> + +<p> +It puzzled me exceedingly, more especially as +Dr. Rich, the quiet clergyman who lived in the little +house at the end of our garden, and Austin his son, +our playfellow, would not, I knew, have anything +to do with the procession; and, indeed, would never +call the Protector anything but Mr. Cromwell. And +Annis, our nurse, never called him anything but +Oliver Cromwell (although in her that was not +remarkable, since she called even our father and +mother Leonard and Olive); and I had heard her +say often, no man was to be called a "Protector" +who let hundreds of poor Friends languish in prison. +Also Aunt Dorothy, I knew, would not come to stay +with us on account of something that had to do +with the Protector. All which things made a great +tumult and chaos in my brain. +</p> + +<p> +But I must confess that the result was, that we +grew up with a great tenderness for the Royalist +side. +</p> + +<p> +There was little in the shows and titles of the +Commonwealth to enkindle the imaginations of +children. +</p> + +<p> +In all the fairy tales and romaunts and poems we +knew, there was no such prosaical title as Lord +Protector. Indeed, we agreed that the Bible history +itself became much more interesting after the judges +were changed into kings, however wrong it might +have been of the Jews to wish for the change. We +felt that the threat of his taking our "sons" to be +his horsemen and charioteers, and our "daughters" +to be his cooks and confectionaries, would certainly +not have deterred us from demanding a king. We +thought it would be undoubtedly more glorious to +be my Lady Confectionary to a queen, or my Lord +Charioteer to a king, than to be anything in the +sober untitled train of a protector. Queen Esther +was to us a far more romantic personage than +Deborah, who was only a mother in Israel. And on +Sundays, when the sermons were very long and we were +allowed to read the Bible to keep us from going +to sleep, we found great solace in expatiating upon +Shushan the palace, among the courts of the gardens +with mysterious splendours of fine linen and +purple—beds of gold and silver—pavement of red, blue, +white, and black marble—silver rings and pillars +of marble, between which were to be caught +glimpses of fair ladies in robes fragrant with +perfumes—of a crown royal and a golden sceptre. +</p> + +<p> +But besides these enchantments for our earthly +imaginations, the Royalist cause, as expounded to +us by Austin Rich and his brothers, laid hold on +our hearts by the irresistible charm of suffering +majesty. Over the story of the young orphan Princess +Elizabeth, dying in the castle where her father +had been imprisoned, with her head pillowed on the +Bible she loved, we wept many tears. The young +Duke of Gloucester, who had declared to the king +just before his execution that he would let them +tear him in pieces rather than accept his brother's +throne, was one of our earliest heroes. +</p> + +<p> +And, above all, the name of King Charles was +sacred to us. Our mother always spoke of him with +a tender respect. We knew how he had worn the +portrait of the queen his wife next his heart, and +only parted with it with his life. We thought it +quite natural that Archbishop Usher, seeing from +the roof of Lady Peterborough's house the king's +coat laid aside and his hair bound up for the fatal +stroke, should have been able to see no more, but +been led fainting away. Moreover, Austin Rich had +sundry pathetic stories of Episcopal clergymen +plundered, and their parsonages pillaged by Parliament +troopers, because they would not deny the king or +refuse to pray for him. +</p> + +<p> +So that we were quite prepared to welcome the +next great public event which made an impression +on us after the funeral of the Protector. This was +the entry of King Charles II. into London. A king +was actually coming through our streets! Our king; +who had passed his youth in exile! He was coming +to be crowned in the Abbey, and to reign over +us. And if a king, then of course the queen would +come, and princes, and princesses, with all the +splendours belonging to them. +</p> + +<p> +We were sorry our kindred did not seem quite +happy about it. But we had been told to speak +respectfully of the king, and we had heard the minister +in one of the churches pray for him. So that, on +the whole, Dolly and I came to the conclusion that it +would not be very wrong for us to enjoy the +magnificence as much as we certainly did. Especially +as Aunt Dorothy (who, our mother told us, was as +good as Aunt Gretel, and Aunt Gretel we well knew +was better than any one else) was coming to town +for nothing else but to see the face of His Majesty +and do him honour. +</p> + +<p> +The previous festivities had excited our expectations +to a high pitch. There had been heralds, in +coats of many colours, proclaiming the king at +different places in the streets; and crowds shouting, +"The king, God bless him!" and bells breaking +out into peals of joy; and bonfires—we could count +thirty one evening from our upper windows—along +the high road from Westminster to the City, in the +streets, on the bridges, by the water-side. +</p> + +<p> +So at last the great festival came. Banners +hidden for years waving from the windows all down +the streets; fountains flowing with wine; bells +clashing all together in sudden peals, as if they +had gone wild for joy; and all the people as mad +for joy as the bells—some shouting, some weeping; +strangers greeting each other like old friends. And +such dresses! Old Cavalier wardrobes brought to +light again; and some ladies and gentlemen in the +new French fashions, with dresses gilded, slashed, +tasseled, plumed, laced; every one trying to show +their loyalty by going as far from the old Puritan +plainness as possible, in materials as rich as could +be purchased, and of every colour of the rainbow. +We thought it almost as splendid as Shushan the +palace in the days of Esther the queen. Trumpets, +bells, drums, songs, wild shouts; colour and music +everywhere, May-day everywhere,—in dresses, in +banners, in the budding trees, in the blue skies; all +the city, all the world seemed to us gone wild with +joy. +</p> + +<p> +And Aunt Dorothy, the soberest and gravest of +all our kindred, as wild as any one; crying out, +"The king, God bless him!" kissing Dolly and me +again and again in a way which surprised us +exceedingly, as we were not aware of having done any +thing remarkably good; and even at bed-time the +caresses exchanged between us usually went no +further than our courtesying and kissing her hand, +and being told to be good children. +</p> + +<p> +And then the king! +</p> + +<p> +On horseback, as a king should be; in gorgeous +apparel, smiling and bowing right and left, as if he +felt we were all friends; acknowledging every +courtesy with the easy grace natural to him. +</p> + +<p> +And as he passed by, Aunt Dorothy actually sank +down on one knee and clasped her hands as if in +prayer, while the tears streamed over her face; and +we thought we heard her murmur, "Lord, now let +thy servant depart in peace." For she told us the +salvation of England had come. +</p> + +<p> +So the king went on to his palace; and the loyal +lords and ladies followed him in their coaches, +brilliant with jewels and smiles. And Aunt Dorothy, +Dolly, and I looked on, when suddenly, while the +procession was pausing for a minute, one of the +loveliest of the ladies turned towards us; and when +she saw Aunt Dorothy, her face, which was graver +and paler than most of those in that gay company +broke into smiles and into a sudden glow; and she +seemed looking on beyond us, and then her eyes +came back and rested on us again, a little sadly. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy exclaimed,— +</p> + +<p> +"Lettice Davenant!" +</p> + +<p> +And I looked, and loved her face at once, and +yet wondered. For our mother had talked to us +of her as the brightest creature in the world; and +we had always pictured our loveliest fairy princesses +as like what our mother had told us of Lettice +Davenant, with eyes like diamonds, and teeth like +pearls, and a colour like fresh roses, and a brilliant +changing face, with a flash and play like precious +stones about it. +</p> + +<p> +And now she sat there quietly dressed, unlike the +ladies round her; bedecked with few jewels; with +a sweet, calm face, rather like the good women in +New Testament pictures, than a princess in a fairy +tale. +</p> + +<p> +So she also passed on, following the king to the +palace. And the people rejoiced, and sang and +feasted far into the night. +</p> + +<p> +We were wakened from our first sleep by sounds +of revelry and wild songs echoing through the +streets. Strange sounds to us. +</p> + +<p> +We crept close to each other, Dolly and I; and +I said, "Dolly, do you think it was as good as the +Book of Esther?" +</p> + +<p> +But Dolly confessed to being a little disappointed. +The king in the fairy tales was so different from +other people, she said; you always knew him from +any one else, even when he was dressed like a +beggar. How, she could not quite tell; perhaps his +face actually shone, and his clothes, instead of being +only shone upon, like other people's. +</p> + +<p> +But our king was dressed like a king in a fairy +tale, there was nothing to complain of in that; and +yet, if Aunt Dorothy had not told us, we might +not have known him from the gentlemen with him. +We agreed that it would be convenient, since the +faces of real kings did not shine, that they should +always wear crowns. Otherwise one might make +mistakes, which would be such a pity. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps, when our king was crowned, however, +it would be all right. +</p> + +<p> +But we concluded that it certainly was a very +delightful thing to have a king of our own, whether +his face shone, or whether he was a head and shoulders +taller than other men, or not. It made every +one dress so beautifully, and seem so glad, and set +all the bells and trumpets going so gloriously. And +we hoped very soon there would come also the queen, +and the princes and princesses. +</p> + +<p> +And then the world would be something like +fairy-land indeed. Our father and mother, and +Uncle Roger, and all the good people, would of +course be rewarded, and made happy all the rest +of their days, when our king found them out, as he +would be sure to do in time. Of course, they were +not expecting to be rewarded. On the contrary, +they would be exceedingly surprised when the king +found them out, and embraced them, and made them +sit on his right hand. The good people in the fairy +tales always were. But there was sure to be no +mistake in the end. The good people always had +their due when the true prince came. And it was +not to be thought of that England was to be worse +governed than a kingdom in fairy-land. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The next week we were still more satisfied that +we had entered on this fairy world. For as Isaac, +Dolly, and I were passing Westminster Abbey, we +heard an unwonted sound issuing from it, and crept +in to listen. Then, for the first time, we heard the +organ, with the chant of the choristers. But we +no more thought of its being an earthly instrument, +made of wood and metal, than of the golden streets +of the New Jerusalem being made of gold like one +of our coins. +</p> + +<p> +The wonderful sounds rolled up and down the +aisles, and wound in and out among the arches, +and wreathed the old stone pillars, and seemed to +lose themselves in far-off shrines and mysterious +endless recesses like those in a forest, and then to +come back again changed and intertwined with +earlier echoes to mingle with the new tides of music +that kept streaming forth; until we found that all +the while the wondrous tones had seemed wandering +at their own sweet will, they had been building +a temple within the temple—a temple of melody +within the temple of stone. And the Abbey was +no more a sculptured edifice, but a living body with +a living soul. And when this temple was built, +angels came and sang in it—voices such as we had +never heard on earth—clear as bells, and free as +winds, without a touch of the struggle and sadness +in them which common human voices have. +</p> + +<p> +Thus Isaac, Dolly, and I walked home, with the +gates of paradise all open around us. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning we crept out again to listen if +these heavenly gates were open still. +</p> + +<p> +But on our way we met a noisy, riotous crowd +dragging along a bear which was to be baited in +the Spring Gardens. Isaac said "baiting" meant +that it was to be torn in pieces by dogs for the +amusement of the people, after killing and gashing +as many dogs as it could, meantime, in its own +defence. This was an amusement which the Protector +had not permitted. The thought of it closed the +gates of paradise to me, at least for that day. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +They laid him in the Abbey among the kings. +</p> + +<p> +For two years the dust of Tudors and Plantagenets +was honoured (so Roger thought) by the +neighbourhood of the mortal part of the man who +had served England as any of her kings might have +been proud to have served her—had loved her, as +we believe, more than home or life, or even the +esteem of good men—had made her greater than +any king or prince had ever made her, from Alfred +to the Elizabeth whom he called "that great queen." +</p> + +<p> +And then, in the September after the Restoration, +(by order of the king who sold Dunkirk to the +French, and spent the money like the prodigal in +the parable), the noble dust was taken out of its +resting-place, with the remains of the aged mother, +and that daughter, Elizabeth Claypole, whom the +Protector had loved so dearly; and of Blake, the +great admiral, who had made the name of England +a renown from the shores of Italy and Algiers to +Teneriffe and the western islands of the Spanish +main, to be cast contemptuously into a pit in the +neighbouring churchyard of St. Margaret's. +</p> + +<p> +I think, when he was gone, most good men in +England—at least most Puritan good men—felt +something was lost our generation was scarce likely +to recover. The Scottish ministers said that God's +goodness had marvellously caused true piety to +flourish more under this usurper than under her +rightful kings; "turning bitter waters into sweet +by a miracle." And so thought Mr. Richard Baxter; +acknowledging, moreover, that he believed the +Protector, misled as he had been, "meant well in +the main." +</p> + +<p> +Good Mr. Philip Henry (who kept the day of the +late king's death as a fast day) wrote, that though +during the years between forty and sixty, "the +foundations were out of course, yet in the matter +of God's worship thing went well; there was +freedom and reformation." +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Lucy Hutchinson acknowledged that he +had much natural greatness, and well became the +place he had usurped, and that "his personal +courage and magnanimity upheld him against all +enemies and malcontents." And Mr. John Maidstone, +his faithful "gentleman and cofferer," wrote (when +nothing but dishonour could come to any for honouring +him): "In the direst perils of the war, and the +high places of the field, hope shone in him like a +pillar of fire when it had gone out in others." And +he described him thus: "A body well compact and +strong; his stature under six feet (I believe two +inches); his head so shaped as you might see it +both a <i>storehouse</i> and a <i>shop</i>" (full for every need, +ready for all occasions); "a vast treasury of +natural parts; his temper exceeding fiery (as I have +known), but the flame of it kept down, for the most +part, or soon allayed, with those moral endowments +he had; naturally compassionate towards objects +in distress, even to an effeminate measure, though +God had made in him a heart wherein was left little +room for fear. <i>A larger soul, I think, hath seldom +dwelt in a house of clay than his was</i>." +</p> + +<p> +But he was gone. And all the people in England +who thought they could govern England better +than he had governed her, were at liberty to try. +</p> + +<p> +They did try, for a little more than a year. And +at the end of that time the whole nation, distracted +to madness from end to end by the disorders they +brought about, threw itself at the feet of Charles +the Second, in a frenzy of loyalty, without +conditions, simply entreating, like a child wearied with +its own wilfulness, to be forgiven and governed and +kept quiet, yielding every precious right—the fruit +of our forefathers' blood and toil—into his hands, +content, if he had been strong, to be made as servile +as he pleased; ready, alas, he being not strong, +but weak and profligate, to be made as base as (for +the time) he could and did make it. +</p> + +<p> +"Such," said Roger, "was the Aceldama from +which that strong faithful arm had saved us." +</p> + +<p> +"Such," sighed my father, "was the end of the +most beneficent of despotisms that could not be +immortal." +</p> + +<p> +Roger never ceased, during the few months of +the Commonwealth, to do all he could to carry out +what he believed would have been the Lord +Protector's wish, doing his utmost to serve my Lord +Richard, the new Protector, and, after his resignation, +to keep order and discipline in the army. But +he worked with little hope. During all the times +of trial before or since, I never saw him so downcast +and desponding as then. +</p> + +<p> +When once the Restoration came his spirits seemed, +strangely, to rise again. +</p> + +<p> +He had done his best; and the worst had come. +The hopeless struggle without a chief was over, and +henceforth he, and those who thought with him, +must gird on a new courage, not to contend but to +endure. I well remember how, on the evening of +the day of the king's entry into London, he came +into our parlour, and unlaced his helmet, and quietly +ungirding his sword, laid it on a shelf behind the +great Family Bible. +</p> + +<p> +He said nothing, but the action spoke; and we +understood, and also said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Then he left the room, and after a time came down, +with every vestige of the old armour of the +Ironsides gone, in the plain dress of a Puritan +gentleman, and sitting down, he took Maidie on his knee, +and began to talk to her cheerily. +</p> + +<p> +It overcame me altogether to see him so, for I +knew it meant that he had given up all hope for +himself, and well-nigh for England, and the tears +fell fast on my sewing. He saw them, and gently +setting Maidie down, he came and sat down close +by me, and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"Let us thank God, Olive. The old army has +been true to itself, and to him who made it what it +was, to the last. +</p> + +<p> +"We were gathered on Black Heath to-day, thirty +thousand of us; enough to have swept the king and +his courtiers, and London and its citizens, into the +Thames. We had done more than that before, I +think, with fewer of us. And we know, most of +us, that this day is as our last; the last of the old +army he made. Many of us see nothing left to fight +for, and will go back quietly to farm and home, to +honest toil and trade, that is, if they will let us; for +there are not a few of us that look for a halter rather +than a home when the king enjoys his own again +in security. They will hardly trust us together in +force again. The discipline which won Naseby and +gained Dunbar never wavered. But we let the +royal party pass quietly, as if the Lord General had +given the word of command. And that, I think, is +something to give thanks for. It would not have +been well to tarnish his memory by disorders he +would have reproved." +</p> + +<p> +After that, the great army of the Commonwealth +died away, as Roger had expected, and was heard +of no more, except when aged yeomen and tradesmen, +on village greens and in city homes, now and +then enkindled, as they spoke to each other of +Naseby, Dunbar, Worcester, and Dunkirk, into an +enthusiasm strange to the next generation, who had +only known them peacefully labouring in the field, +the workshop, or at the forge. +</p> + +<p> +But the bones of the Protector had not yet reached +their last resting-place. On the 3rd of January 1661; +the anniversary of the "martyrdom of His Sacred +Majesty" eleven years before, the body of the "great +prince" was once more disinterred, with that of +Bradshaw, hanged throughout the day on a gibbet +at Tyburn, and at night thrown like that of a dog +into a pit at the foot of the gallows. +</p> + +<p> +It was a marvellous proof of the just judgments +of God, some of the Royalists thought, slow but sure. +</p> + +<p> +Roger only said, when he could speak of it all, +which was not for long, "'<i>After that, have no more +that they can do</i>.' They have done the worst. And +how little it is, that even the basest vengeance could +add to the dishonour of the dust, and the worm, +which awaits what is mortal of us all! The +distance between Tyburn and the royal tombs in the +Abbey is little indeed, measured from heaven. Nor +will it take longer time from the one than from the +other to hear the trumpet when it sounds, and to +obey its summons." +</p> + +<p> +"But England is dishonoured by the deed." +</p> + +<p> +"I think not," he replied; "or not chiefly by <i>that</i> +deed. The men of England may be dishonoured +that they did not acknowledge him living. But no +grave in England can dishonour him dead, or can +take his dust from the faithful keeping of his native +earth; nor, I think, can all men may do keep the +day from coming when England shall feel that not +one spot only, but every inch of English earth is +made more sacred by his feet having trodden it, +and by his dust being mingled with it." +</p> + +<p> +Little indeed can human vengeance add to the +dishonour of death, when once death is past. +</p> + +<p> +But alas, on this side, how much is possible to +human cruelty! +</p> + +<p> +As victim after victim proved, led forth to the +ignominy and the protracted anguish of the traitor's +death, patiently giving up their souls to God amidst +such agonies as the torturer's knife could inflict. +</p> + +<p> +Some were in the prime of life and strong to feel; +others aged and weak to bear. But I never heard +that any of the ten who so suffered dishonoured +either themselves, what they deemed "the good old +cause," England, or the God who sustained them, +by one unworthy word or moan. +</p> + +<p> +The savage punishment of treason had never been +inflicted once during the Commonwealth. It was +suffered eleven times in the first year after the +Restoration. It came back with the May-poles, and +the beautiful coats of many colours, and courtly +manners. +</p> + +<p> +The king was present at some of these executions. +He went from them to hear the beautiful heavenly +music in the Royal Chapel; or to listen to other +music, not heavenly, in the palace. +</p> + +<p> +But the people grew weary of this soon. It was +feared that if these executions were too often repeated, +the minds of the Commonwealth might once more +become confused about the enormity of the crime, +illogically forgetting it in the enormity of the +punishment. And it was recommended they should +not be continued; at all events, not so near the +royal residence. +</p> + +<p> +But amidst all the restorations—which to us +seemed not going forward and upward, but +backward and downward—there was one which brought +me some peaceful and hallowed hours. +</p> + +<p> +It was the restoration of the old Liturgy. +</p> + +<p> +There was comfort in creeping into some quiet +corner of the Abbey, or of the great churches of +the city, to join in the old familiar sacred words. +</p> + +<p> +It was rest to kneel in silent adoration, and be +certain one's heart would not be turned aside from +lifting itself up to God, by any allusions to the +triumphs or the reverses, the wrongs or the +revenges, of to-day. +</p> + +<p> +It was joy, in the <i>Te Deum</i>, to lose sight of +divisions and factions, and with the glorious company +of apostles, the goodly fellowship of the prophets, +the noble army of martyrs, the holy Church throughout +all the world, to praise Him of the majesty of +whose glory all the earth is full. +</p> + +<p> +It was strength to stand up, and say with the +Church of all ages and lands: "I believe in God, +the Father Almighty; and in Jesus Christ, His +only Son, our Lord; in the forgiveness of sins, in +the holy Catholic Church, and in the resurrection +from the dead." +</p> + +<p> +To stand up above the graves, and under the +heavens, and say this to God; in the words I used +in my childhood, and Lady Lucy, and so many of +our holy dead all their lives, and the Church for so +many ages; words which had outlived so many +wars, and which flowed from calm depths so far +beneath them all. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</p> + +<p> +Davenant Hall, <i>June</i> 1660.—The country +seems in a delirium of delight to see us back again, +and to have a king once more. +</p> + +<p> +"The Usurper, or the people who followed him, +must, one would think, have made England very +wretched, that the restoration of her old state should +drive her well-nigh wild with joy. +</p> + +<p> +"At Dover, where His Majesty landed, and all +along the road to London, sober men and women +knelt and sobbed out blessings on him! Old men +thanked God they saw this day before they died; +Mothers held up their children to look at him, that +they might be able to carry on to children and +grandchildren the tradition of this glorious day! +</p> + +<p> +"Arches of triumph across the sober old streets; +banners from the windows, mad huzzas from the +sober crowds, in whose costume tarnished relics of +old Cavalier gaieties struggled to kindle the Puritan +sobriety into colour. Oh, the thrill all through +the heart of the old English shout of welcome and +triumph, the old English cheer! No wonder Marshal +Turenne asked what it meant at Dunkirk. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, sober, solid, silent old England, when she +goes wild, she does it with a will. Bells, bonfires; +dumb, patient crowds waiting, well content, for +hours, just for the moment's sight and the moment's +shout of welcome. The attempts to utter this joy +in speeches and processions, so hopelessly stiff and +clumsy and inadequate, that laughter and tears are +kept in close neighbourhood all the time, so delightfully +inadequate to utter the welcome and delights +in the deep, dumb ocean of the nation's heart. +</p> + +<p> +"So glad, so crazy with joy, to see us back again! +Patient, blind, hopeful, wilful, loyal old mother of +us all; and why? +</p> + +<p> +"Eleven years ago she suffered her king to die on +the scaffold; and this king, I think, is scarce like to +be better. +</p> + +<p> +"It is strange to be made so much of as we are +by all the neighbours here. No one has been very +glad to have us for so many years. And now we +are all heroes and heroines, we who have been with +the king in his exile. They cannot hear enough of +what we did and suffered in foreign parts, and of +the bearing of the royal family in their adverse +fortunes. +</p> + +<p> +"And, in truth, we have come rather soon to the +end of what we like to say about His Majesty. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet His Majesty also cannot fail but be swept +on with the joy and hope of the nation. +</p> + +<p> +"Surely, surely the very welcome must be ennobling +to him so welcomed. The very love and trust of +a whole people, such as this, must inspire His Majesty +to be worthy of the feeling he inspires; must consume +in its pure fires all that we had fain see consumed +of the past; must enkindle in his heart a +returning glow of kingly patriotism, which shall +hallow it into an altar on which all falser and baser +fires shall be extinguished. +</p> + +<p> +"I had scarce thought we should have had so +much to regret in leaving France. We had always +felt it so completely a land of exile, and had always +so hoped our sojourn in it must be drawing to a +close, that it was not until we had to sever them +we learned how many ties had slowly been weaving +themselves around us, and binding our hearts +to the strange country. +</p> + +<p> +"Even the lofty rooms in the old palace, which +had seemed such mere prison-chambers when we +entered them; even my father's old enemy 'the +stone woman, who could never empty her pitcher,' +seemed to have acquired a kind of right in us. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame la Mothe made a vain attempt at softening +the parting with congratulatory little +pleasantries. They broke down into tears and tender +reproaches, her heart being much moved at the +time, moreover, by the death of her nephew, for +the sake of whose young widow she consented to +remain in 'the world' to manage the family estates. +</p> + +<p> +"'Thou shouldst, indeed, have a heavy weight on +thy conscience,' she said to me, 'with all thine +innocent looks. My poor nephew would have been so +happy with thee, if thou wouldst have wedded him; +he would never have gone to the wars and left this +poor little helpless widow to my guardianship. Then +my nephew, still happily surviving, and thou making +his life good and pleasant, I should at last, +perhaps, have had leisure and grace to make a thorough +conversion. I should have gone to Port Royal, and +thou, being brought in this way more intimately +acquainted with the exemplary piety of those saintly +ladies, wouldst once more have considered thy +heresies, and at last taken that little step—that one little +step which divides thee from the True Fold. Thus +I should have made my own salvation and thine; +thou the salvation of my nephew. So all might +have ended like a romance composed for the +edification of youth. And now see the contrast! I +remain in the world, bound to it by this poor young +widow (with whom otherwise I have no fault to +find); thou returnest to thine unbelieving England. +My heart feels desolate for thee, as if I lost thy +mother and a second youth in losing thee. And, +alas, these gentlemen the Jesuits threaten to +overwhelm Port Royal. Thus every thing goes on to +the wrong end. Or, if the romance is ever to end +right, there must be another volume, another +volume not yet even begun, quite out of my sight; +which Heaven grant there may be! Heaven grant +there be, my child, here or hereafter. For me, +certainly, not here; but, if Heaven wills, I pray +for thee, here and hereafter also.' +</p> + +<p> +"Barbe was sorely distracted between me and +her seven sisters and brothers. At length she +decided, with many tears, that duty bound her to her +family. +</p> + +<p> +"'My father is an excellent man, mademoiselle, +also a great politician, and religious as a pastor; +but in the affairs of the earth, mademoiselle, he is a +child, blameless—but a child. +</p> + +<p> +"'And there are these seven other children. I +call them still children, because I am five years +older than any of them, and because they were +children when I left them to attend mademoiselle, +and gain a living for the rest. The youngest is not +yet eleven. The oldest is scarcely twenty. He is +a student, learned and "eloquent (my father says) +as Demosthenes." But, unhappily, not endowed +with those talents which earn bread. As yet I +alone have developed these inferior capacities; +transitory, but, alas, so necessary in a world where +our corn has to be baked before it can be eaten, and +one's flax to be spun before it can be worn. What +then can I do? If my father should at last obtain +that appointment he is always expecting from some +appreciating statesmen, or one of the children should +develop these inferior gifts for earning bread; and +if then mademoiselle should not, in the splendour +of the establishment she was born to and so well +deserves, have forgotten her poor little French +Huguenot maid—' +</p> + +<p> +"But here Barbe's eloquence broke down, and +she wept. +</p> + +<p> +"'I shall never forget thee, Barbe,' I said, 'nor +the ten thousand lessons of self-denial and sweet +temper and cheerful diligence I have learned from +thee.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But mademoiselle will then have ladies for her +attendants,' sighed Barbe, who, in spite of all I +could say, had formed very exalted ideas of our +destinies. +</p> + +<p> +"'Never one with such fingers as thine, or with +a better heart,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Then,' sighed Barbe, as she delicately arranged +my hair in long tresses, 'it might yet be. +History, my father says, is more romantic than the +romances. I might even yet arrange again this +luxuriant hair.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Scarcely luxuriant then, Barbe; or, if luxuriant +gray, and only fit to be soberly bound beneath some +simple coif in some homely fashion, quite unworthy +of thy skilful fingers. You found three white hairs +yesterday.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Sorrow, not years!' she said, quietly. +'Mademoiselle has allowed me sometimes to know how it +was she understood our sorrows so well.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Sorrows partly, and partly years, Barbe,' I +said. 'This Book tells us the years are leading us +on to the end of the sorrows, and the sorrows +training us to enjoy the harvest of the years.' +</p> + +<p> +"And we shed tears together as she read the +inscription I had written on the large French Bible +I had bought her as a souvenir. +</p> + +<p> +"'Ah, mademoiselle,' she said, 'I shall always +hear your voice reading it; your voice and my +mother's, the kindest I have ever known or shall +ever know till I meet you both again.' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I saw Mistress Dorothy in the crowd at the +entry into London. She seemed half-kneeling—an +unspeakable mark of honour from her dear inflexible +Puritan knees. She seemed a little aged; but her +face was all aglow with enthusiasm. And with her +were two fair rosy children, not like city children, +who gazed at me with wide-open wondering eyes—those +of the eldest dark and flashing, like Dr. Antony's; +the other has Olive's eyes. I think she has +told them something of Lettice, little wild Lettice +Davenant. They looked pleased, and yet so puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"My eyes went past them, but in vain. None +else of the old Netherby friends was there. Alas, +I fear, they are not all swept into this tide of +welcome. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger's 'king,' I fear, lies silent underground. +Like mine. His, buried in state (they say), among +the kings he supplanted, at Westminster. Mine, laid +in silence among the kings, his fathers, at Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +"The great gulf between us is hardly bridged +over yet. +</p> + +<p> +"Netherby is empty. Mr. Drayton and Mistress +Gretel are in London with Olive. +</p> + +<p> +"This old place is in such order as if we had left +it yesterday, which is more, I think, than any other +of the exiled Cavaliers can say of their restored +homes. +</p> + +<p> +"I know how. I see the hands that did it all, at +every turn, in every nook, in every flower in my +mother's terrace-garden so neat and trim, in every +grove and arbour of the Pleasaunce, where we used +to ramble in the old days. +</p> + +<p> +"Ungrateful that I am! I could almost wish +they had left it neglected. I could almost wish the +roses had run wild, that the flower-beds had returned +to the possession of forest weeds, the smooth turf +run up into long wild grasses, that the terrace walls +were green and moss-grown, that nature had been +suffered to run into the elfish kind of revels she likes +to play when she finds her way once more into +gardens stolen from her domain, that time had been +suffered to weave the tangled garlands wherewith, +as with a lavish funereal pomp, he is wont to strew +deserted places which have been dear to human +creatures. +</p> + +<p> +"So much has run wild, has run to seed, has +blossomed and shed its bloom since then! So much is +gone for ever and for ever, it is almost more than I +can bear to find these familiar things so much the +same. Ungrateful, diseased thoughts, I will not +give them a minute's voluntary entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +"Gone? <i>Nothing</i> worth keeping has really gone, +not one blossom worth living has really faded. +They have not faded, they have fruited. They have +fruited, or they are ripening into fruit, sunbeam by +sunbeam, shower by shower, day by day. Rich +summer-time, golden harvest-time of life! God +forbid that I never speak 'pulingly' (as he said), +as if spring faded and not ripened into summer, or +dawn died instead of glowed into day. +</p> + +<p> +"And most of all this is so with thee, mother, +mother! with thee, whose lost presence makes +garden, terrace, chamber, so sacred and so sad. I +know it—I know it! Thy dawn was full of tears, +and has glowed indeed into the day. I know it; +and when I think of thee, of thee and Harry, I +rejoice in it. +</p> + +<p> +"As to myself, I cannot rejoice at it. Nor need I +try. Thank God, I need not freeze my heart by +vainly trying to make sorrow not sorrow. The +sorrow is my share of it now, and the joy is to come +<i>through that</i>, through opening our hearts patiently to +that, not by closing them and trying to make some +wretched artificial sunshine out of the shadow of the +cloud. The cloud is sent to bring us not light, but +shadow and rain. Behind and after it the sunshine, +when the time comes for that! +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I thought I saw Job Forster among the thirty +thousand on Blackheath; the terrible thousands +which kept France and Spain and Europe in awe all +these years, and kept us out of England. Why they +let us come back at all is the wonder. For they +were not broken nor disordered, but compact and +strong as ever. And I scarce think they share in +the welcome the nation gives us. I think most of +us breathed more freely when that dread host was +passed. +</p> + +<p> +"I thought I saw Job Forster among them. Yet +when I went into Netherby, there he was at the old +forge, working away as steadily and soberly as if +he had never left it, instead of roaming all over the +world at the beck of Oliver, beating army after +army—English, Royalist, Irish, Scottish, Spanish, +on field after field. +</p> + +<p> +"I could scarce trust my eyes. I was half afraid +to speak to him, fearing lest he should give me but +a grim greeting as a fragment of the "malignant +interest" wherewith they have dealt somewhat +sternly. Beside him stood a lad in a blacksmith's +apron, helping him at the forge, with a curious +perplexing half-resemblance in his face, which perplexed +me like a strain of some familiar tune interwoven +into strange music. +</p> + +<p> +"But before I passed, Job looked up at my +footsteps, and seeing me, I suppose he forgot Naseby +Worcester, malignancy, and everything, for he +threw down his tools, and striding forward, took +my hands in both of his, black as they were, and +shook them till the tears ran down my face, mostly +for gladness, and a little for the pain in my fingers. +</p> + +<p> +"'Mistress Lettice, my dear,' he said, 'I am right +glad to see thee back again. Come how ye may,' +he added, to guard himself against any political +concession—'come how ye may.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then Rachel came out at the door of the old +cottage, her dear quiet face little aged since I saw +her at Oxford, when she made her way through +the royal lines to find her wounded husband in +the prison. Little aged, yet somewhat changed; +ripened, not aged; less of outward suffering, more +of protecting motherliness in her ways and looks +and tones. And she, too, came forward and courtseyed, +a little more mindful of good manners, and +bade me welcome, in words like the Book of Ruth, +to my country, and my people, and my father's +house. +</p> + +<p> +"How sweet it was! The old English country +tongue; the old English welcome, shyly suppressing +twice as much pleasure as it uttered, so sweet +that I could say nothing, but could only take her +hands in mine, and seek refuge in the cottage, and +sit quiet, with my head on her kind old heart, until +the crowding memories and joys and sorrows and +love and loss which stifled each other into silence +found their outlet in a burst of tears. +</p> + +<p> +"It was soon over. And then a pale woman +with a meek still face came forward at Rachel's +bidding from a dark corner of the room, where +she had been sitting sewing, and filled me a cup +of fresh water from a little basin outside the +window. +</p> + +<p> +"When she came close to me she smiled, and +made a little reverence. And the smile brought +back for a moment the youth into her face. And +I knew at once she was Cicely, Gammer Grindle's +grandchild. Then it all flashed on me in an instant. +I had found where the strain of the familiar tune +came from; the lad outside was her son, and by +Divine right, if not by human law, Sir Launcelot's +heir. +</p> + +<p> +"I shook her hand, and she lifted it to her lips +and kissed it, with a grace which brought back the +day when that pale woman had danced round the +May-pole, laughing and rosy, and light-footed and +light-hearted, with so many looking on whose faces +we should not see again. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall get used to it all in time. But now +scarce a familiar old sight or sound but would move +me to tears, if I did not repress them; as I do, of +course. For I would not have the people think I +came back among them with a sorrowful heart, or +one left in foreign parts. +</p> + +<p> +"And how can they understand how the paths +they have been going up and down upon, and the +doors they have been going in and out of every day +these eleven years, to me are doors into a buried +past, and paths trodden by feet that tread our +earthly ways never more? +</p> + +<p> +"Yet I think Rachel understands it, for as I was +coming away she said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'There has been One walking all the way with +us all, Mistress Lettice, all the time. And He +knows all.' +</p> + +<p> +"It was just the strengthening word I wanted to +turn me, from the past to the Ever-Present, from +the dead to the Living, for all live unto Him. A +glimpse into the heart of the Son of man, I think, +such as Rachel Forster has, gives those who have it +a vision into the hearts of all men. +</p> + +<p> +"To my father, our home-coming is well-nigh unmixed +delight. He is as frolicsome as a boy, full of +schemes for re-uniting and reconciling the whole +world, by means primarily of ale and roast beef. +How pleasant it is to hear his great hearty voice +ringing through the hall and court, among the +stables, giving orders about the stud, the farm, the +hounds; waxing warm over Roundhead insolence +with the old servants; cracking jokes with the +young ones; mistaking people for their grandfathers +and grandmothers; and making his way out +of all his entanglements by chivalrous old courtly +compliments and hearty old English jokes; and +through all never ceasing to be the courtier and +the master, and scarcely ever losing his temper, +except now and then with the cool mockeries of +Roland, and the reckless carriage of Walter and the +courtiers of the New Court whom he brings to see us. +Indeed, it needs an occasional refreshing of my +father's recollection of the days of the Roundheads +to keep his loyalty to the Old Court very warm +towards the new." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy was much with us during the +months after the Restoration. +</p> + +<p> +She was marvellously gracious and gentle all that +time. She believed that we had suffered for our +political sins, and must be convinced by the irresistible +demonstration of failure of the vanity and folly +of our conduct; and she was too magnanimous and +too confident to demand confession. It must now +be but too plain to us, she thought, that we had +erred grievously, and she only hoped our retribution +might not be too grievous. For herself, she +forgave us our follies on the ground of their failure. +The King himself, who had so much to forgive, +had written a letter from Breda offering indemnity +for the past and liberty of conscience for the future, +and should she be more rigid than His Majesty? +Far from it. She would take the whole family under +her wing, and protect us as far as lay in her power +from the consequences of our transgressions. +</p> + +<p> +She had even some thoughts of extending toleration +further than she had once deemed possible. +Mr. Baxter deemed a church government possible +which might include "Diocesans," Presbyterians, +and Independents; and a Liturgy which might be +joined in by moderate—very moderate—Arminians, +and moderate (she feared lukewarm) Calvinists. +</p> + +<p> +She scarcely saw her way to it. If any one could +accomplish such a thing, Mr. Baxter might. Some +indulgence ought, perhaps (if possible), to be +extended to the Prelatists, on account of their loyalty. +Some concessions might perhaps be made to the +Independents (among whom she did not deny were +some godly men) to prevent their straying further +into the wilderness of the Fifth Monarchy party, the +Quakers, and the Anabaptists. Much was doubtless +due to charity. And when once the true +Presbyterian order was established, the gates of Zion +rebuilt, and her walls—though in troublous times—it +was to be hoped that the sober beauty of her fair +towers and palaces would root out the prelatical +passion for Babylonish splendours, and the +Independent predilection for new ways, and "holes and +corners," from the hearts of all that beheld. +</p> + +<p> +For that the day of Presbyterial triumph had at +last dawned on this distracted England, she would +not be so faint-hearted as to doubt. +</p> + +<p> +Had not His Majesty three times signed the +Scottish Covenant? Had not the divines who went +to see him at Breda been suffered to listen +(unsuspected of course by His Majesty) to his private +devotions, until their souls were moved within +them? Had not the excellent Countess of Balcarres +told Mr. Baxter how satisfied the French Presbyterian +ministers were with his religious dispositions? +Had not Monsieur Gaches, pastor of +Charenton, himself written to Mr. Baxter how His +Majesty attended and appreciated the French +Protestant services? Had not Mr. Baxter himself been +appointed one of His Majesty's chaplains? And if +this were insufficient grounds for confidence, what +honest English heart, what loyal soul, could dare to +doubt that a young king with such bitter lessons +behind him, with such glorious hopes before him, +trusted and welcomed as never king had been by the +nation, brought back (as she believed) mainly by the +agency of covenanted soldiers, and the prayers and +loyal endeavours of Presbyterian pastors and their +flocks, would be faithful to his oaths, more +especially when to be faithful to his promises was to be +faithful to his interests? Was there not, moreover, +the solemn Conference actually going on among the +divines of the various parties at the Savoy? +</p> + +<p> +Had not Mr. Baxter been encouraged to state all +the Puritan objections to the Prayer-book to the +full—to propound any number of "queries," and +elaborate any number of alterations; and had he not +embraced the privilege to the full, sparing not a +vestige of the Babylonish vesture? Had he not, +moreover, in a fortnight, drawn up an amended +Liturgy, correcting all the mistakes of the ancient +Prayer-book, and supplying all its omissions?—a +form which, if there must be forms, might satisfy the +most scrupulous. Had not even the learned +Dr. Gauden, who had issued that most affecting +Portraiture of His Sacred Majesty, called the Icon +Basilike, shown himself most unfeignedly courteous +and conciliating, and hopeful of an accommodation? +</p> + +<p> +All these considerations set Aunt Dorothy on +such a lofty pinnacle of hope, that she suffered even +Annis Nye to call her Friend Dorothy without +open rebuke, and was suspected of meditating a +scheme which might even embrace Anabaptists ("if +they would only rebaptise each other, and not +blaspheme other people's baptism") and Quakers, if +they would hold silent meetings. +</p> + +<p> +The moment of triumph was not the moment for +reproaches. Aunt Dorothy, triumphing over us all, +in fact, tolerated us all in prospect. +</p> + +<p> +I confess it was sometimes a little difficult to be +thus loftily forgiven; and, indeed, I remember once +when in a moment of unparalleled magnanimity +Aunt Dorothy loftily extended her toleration to +Dr. Martin Luther, saying that, although she could +never think him justified about some things, yet +that she believed after all "he was right in the +main, poor man, and great allowance must be made +for one so recently set free from Popery;" that Aunt +Gretel herself was roused to say privately to me, +"Olive, dear heart, I believe if St. Paul were to +appear she would tell him that, after all, she believed +he was right in the main, although she never +could think he was justified in shaving his head at +Cenchrea, but great allowances were to be made for +any one only just set free from being a Pharisee.'" +</p> + +<p> +There were, indeed, a few symptoms which ruffled +even Aunt Dorothy's calm loyal confidence. It +was unfortunate, she could not deny, that (in +consequence of certain legal technicalities) Mr. Baxter +was deprived of his living, the former vicar +displaced by the Commonwealth having at once +entered on it as his right. But these little perplexities +were sure to be soon set right. All transferences +of authority were sure at first to press unjustly +on some. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Mr. Baxter had been offered a +bishopric. He had declined the bishopric, until the +Comprehension for which the Conference was +labouring was fully accomplished. But the bishopric +had been offered, the chaplaincy accepted; and who +could doubt that in time, if he wished, his living +would be restored? the old vicar being, moreover, +scarce able to preach at all, and sixteen hundred +communicants having sent up a request from +Kidderminster for the restoration of Mr. Baxter. +</p> + +<p> +It was also unfortunate, she admitted, that many +hundred "painful preachers" had been suddenly +removed from their churches on the same grounds +as Mr. Baxter; but the Protector and his triers +(said Aunt Dorothy) had set an ill example, and ill +fruit must be expected to grow of it. +</p> + +<p> +Then there were some severe dealings with books. +Mr. John Milton's "Defence of the English People" +was burned at Charing Cross by the public hangman. +But at that, said Aunt Dorothy, no loyal person +could wonder, seeing that therein he had dared +to speak of the late king's execution as a great and +magnanimous act. Properly regarded, it was +indeed a singular proof of His Majesty's clemency +that Mr. Milton's book only was burned, and not +Mr. Milton himself. +</p> + +<p> +The public burning of the Covenant was a more +doubtful act. This she saw with her own eyes at +Kidderminster, in the market-place, before Mr. Baxter's +windows. The king had signed it and sworn +to it, and there were excellent things in it. But +there was no denying it had been used to seditious +ends. Some (concluded Aunt Dorothy, pressed +hard for a Scriptural example) had ground the +brazen serpent to powder because it had been made an +idol. And she had little doubt, with reverence she +said it, Moses would have done the same with the +very Tables of the Law, if they had been similarly +desecrated. The Ark itself was not spared, but +suffered to fall into the hands of the Philistines +when Israel would have used it like a heathen +charm. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, with these arguments I believe +Aunt Dorothy herself was not easy; she was driven +to them by Job Forster, who had asked her one +day, with a grim irony, how she liked the new +doings in Scotland, the execution of Argyle, the +forcing of Prelacy and the Prayer-book on the +unwilling Presbyterian people, and the burning of the +Covenant in Edinburgh. +</p> + +<p> +But as the months of 1661 passed on, and the +Conference stood still, whilst Mr. Baxter and the +other deprived ministers were not restored, Aunt +Dorothy's lofty confidence gradually changed into +an irritable apprehension, which took the form of +vehement indignation against all who refused to +believe in the favorable issue of events, or who, as +she believed, stood in the way of it. And it often +moved me much to see how, with ingenious fondness, +like a mother with a wild son, she laid the +blame on the servants of the house, on the riotous +company or grudging hospitality of the far country, +on the very management of the home itself rather +than on the royal prodigal. +</p> + +<p> +A large portion of this diverted current of wrath +was poured on the Queen-mother, Henrietta Maria, +who held open celebration of Roman Catholic rites +in her palace. +</p> + +<p> +To any information concerning the appropriation +of apartments in the king's palace to the +king's "lady" or "ladies," she refused absolutely +to listen. "It is written," said she, "thou shalt not +speak evil of the ruler of thy people. But," she +added, "if any one were to blame, it was the party +that had exposed him to the seductions of his +mother Jezebel, and the idolatrous foreign court. +Indeed, who can doubt the pureness of the king's +Protestant principle, which (even if his morals had +been a little contaminated) had resisted Papistical +enticements so long?" +</p> + +<p> +The scene in Whitehall, where the king, under a +canopy of state, laid his hands on those who were +brought to him to heal them of "the king's evil," +while the chaplain repeated the words, "<i>He laid +His hands on the sick and healed them</i>," was indeed +a sore scandal to her. It made her very indignant +with the chaplain, who had misguided His Majesty. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Baxter must be careful," she said, "how he +conceded too much to the Prelatical party." +</p> + +<p> +But the chief force of her wrath was directed +against the Queen-mother, who, she said, had ruined +one king and one generation of Englishmen, and +was doing her best to ruin a second; against the +Queen-mother and the Fifth Monarchy men. +</p> + +<p> +To the insurrection of Venner, the winecooper, in +January 1661, she attributed the delay and +disappointment in the Conference. How was a young +king, kept in exile so long, to learn in a moment +to distinguish between the various sects, or not to be +induced by such fanatical outbursts to believe the +evil advisers who persuaded him that outside the +ancient Episcopal Church lay nothing but a slippery +descent from depth to depth? +</p> + +<p> +Still she hoped on from month to month, or +protested that she did, although her hopes made her +less and less glad, and more and more irritable, +until she tried all our tempers in turn. All except +Roger's. His patience and gentleness with her was +unwearied. +</p> + +<p> +"I know what she is feeling, Olive," he said. "I +went through it all between the Protector's death +and the Restoration; hoping against hope. It +strains temper and heart as nothing else does. She +will have to give it up, and then she will be all +right again." +</p> + +<p> +"Give up hoping, Roger?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"Give up hoping against reason, give up trying +to persuade oneself down hill is up hill, and evening +morning," he said, "and going into the cloud +coming out of it; giving up trying to see things as +they are not, Olive. Seeing things as they are, and +still hoping, that makes the spirit calm again. +Hoping, knowing, that the end of the road is up the +heights, not into the abysses; that the evening is +only a foreshadowing of the morning that shall not +tarry; that the sun and not the cloud abides. That +the Lord Christ," he added, lowering his voice to +tones which, soft as a whisper, vibrated through +my heart like thunder, "and not the devil, has all +power in heaven and in earth, and that His kingdom +shall have no end." +</p> + +<p> +"Your hope is for the Church, Roger, but not for +England." +</p> + +<p> +His face kindled as he answered,— +</p> + +<p> +"Not for England? Always for England!—for +England everywhere! Now; in the ages to come; +on this side of the sea, on the other side of the sea; +in the Old World and in the New; under the +bondage of this profligate tyranny, which must +wear itself out as surely as a putrifying carcass +must decay; in the wilderness, where our people +are beginning a story more glorious, I believe, than +all the heroic tales of old Greece." +</p> + +<p> +For at that time, whilst doing all in his power by +promoting concord amongst Christians to aid +Mr. Baxter and the ministers who were seeking for +"healing and settlement," and whilst sharing my +husband's labours among those in prison, Roger +began to look with a new interest on the tidings +which came to us from the Plantations, especially +those concerning Mr. John Eliot, who was labouring +to convert the poor Indian natives to Christianity. +In this he and Aunt Dorothy had much +sympathy. Mr. Baxter had always taken a lively +interest in this missionary work. Collections had +been made during the Commonwealth to aid in +supporting evangelists, and aid in translating the +Bible and good books into the languages of the +natives; and now, in the midst of all his conferences +and contentions, Mr. Baxter was labouring at +obtaining a charter for a <i>Society for Propagating the +Gospel in Foreign Parts</i>. And in this he succeeded. +</p> + +<p> +At that time a manuscript was much in Roger's +hands, containing a copy of Journals of the early +Puritan settlers of forty years before. He found it +the best lesson of true hope he had ever read. And +during the winter evenings of 1661 he would often +recite passages aloud to us. Amidst the misunderstandings +of good men and the conflicts of parties, +it was like a breath of bracing wind to listen to +those conflicts of our countrymen with rains and +snows and storms, and all the hardships of the wild +country peopled by wild beasts and wilder men. +As in the Bible stories, there was little making of +sermons or drawing of morals in this narrative. +The whole story was a sermon, and engraved its +own moral on the heart as it went on. In three +months half the first noble pilgrim band died, of +cold and wet, insufficient shelter and insufficient +food. The original hundred were reduced to fifty. +Fifty living, and fifty graves to consecrate the new +country. Then the grave had to be levelled +indistinguishably into the sweep of the earth around, lest +the hostile Indians, seeing them, should violate +them. Yet never a moan nor a murmur. Their +trust in God revealing itself in their patience and +courage, their cheerfulness and unquenchable hope. +And now for the fifty were more than twenty +thousand; and the wilderness had become a place +of English homesteads and villages, fondly called by +the old English names. +</p> + +<p> +As Roger read and told us of these things the +world grew round to me for the first time. I began +to see there was another side to it. And the vision +of this new world—this new English world—rose +before me as a new Land of Promise, which if +persecution ever made this England for the time "the +wilderness," might be a refuge for our suffering +brethren again. +</p> + +<p> +Not indeed for us. I did not think so much of +ourselves: our convictions were moderate and our +lives peaceable; and the Star Chamber was not +likely to be re-established within the memory of the +generation that had destroyed it. But the +Anabaptists, and the more decided Independents, who +objected to all forms of prayer, and the Quakers, +might find such an asylum yet very welcome. Already +there were four thousand Quakers in prison. +Some had been shut up, sixty in a cell, and had died +of bad air and scanty food. For sober Presbyterians, +like Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Baxter, or moderate +people attached with few scruples to the Liturgy, +like my father, my husband, and myself, there +might not indeed be the triumph in store of which +Aunt Dorothy dreamed. But of persecution or +imprisonment we did not dream. The tide could +never rise again in our lifetime as high as that. +</p> + +<p> +It perplexed us much that during all these +months we saw nothing of the Davenants. We did +not chance to be at Netherby during the year 1661, +or the beginning of 1662. My father had rheumatism, +and was ordered not to winter on the Fens; my +husband was much occupied; so that we did not +have our usual summer holiday. Lettice and Sir +Walter, we heard, were for a time in London, about +the Court; but we saw nothing of them. +</p> + +<p> +The children who were at Netherby brought back +wonderful stories of the sweet lady at the hall; +and Maidie especially was inspired with a love for +her which reminded me of the fascination of Lady +Lucy over me in my own childhood. +</p> + +<p> +I felt sure Lettice's heart could not change. Had +her will, then, grown so weak that she dared not +make one effort to break through the barriers which +separated us? +</p> + +<p> +Or was it, rather, stronger and more immovable +than I had thought? Did she indeed still refuse +indemnity to the political offences of the Commonwealth? +Could, indeed, no lapse of time efface, no +shedding of traitors' blood expiate, the shedding of +that royal blood which separated her from Roger? +</p> + +<p> +Nothing but repentance?—the repentance he +could never feel without desecrating the memory of +that good prince who, as he believed, had been +trained by God, through conflict within and +without, anointed by wars, and crowned by victory +after victory, to be such a ruler as England had +never known, over such an England as the world +had never seen. +</p> + +<p> +What Roger thought, I knew not. He never +mentioned the name of any of the Davenants, except +that of Walter, the youngest, who seemed to come +to him from time to time, and whom I saw once at +his lodgings, and did not recognize till after he had +left, when Roger told me who he was. +</p> + +<p> +For I remember Walter Davenant a light-hearted boy, +with frank face and bearing, and eyes +like his mother's. And this Walter Davenant had +a manner half reckless and half sullen; a dress +which, with all its laces and plumes and tassels, +looked neglected; and restless, uneasy eyes, which +never steadily met yours. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that Lettice Davenant's brother Walter?" I said. +</p> + +<p> +"It is Walter Davenant, one of the courtiers of +King Charles the Second." +</p> + +<p> +"He is a friend of yours, Roger." +</p> + +<p> +"He is Lettice's brother," he replied; "and she +asked me to see him sometimes; and now and then +he likes to come." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER X. +<br><br> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</h3> + +<p> +<i>August</i> 19.—My father's wide-embracing +schemes of correspondence +and reconciliation have been +somewhat narrowed. My brother Roland +has been with us, and one or two of his friends +about the Court; and he has possessed my father +with dark and chilling thoughts of the Puritans. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, there is an icy touch of cynical doubt +in Roland which seems to take the glow out of +everything. He does not assail any person, or any +party, or any belief. All parties, he protests, are +good, to a certain extent, in their measure, and for +their time. But he makes you feel he scorns you +as a fond and incredulous fool for believing in any +person, any party, or any truth, with the kind of +faith which leads to sacrificing oneself. +</p> + +<p> +"The king, he says, declares that '<i>nothing</i> shall +ever part him again from his three kingdoms;' and +the king never says a foolish thing. +</p> + +<p> +"According to Roland, all enthusiasm is either +in foolish men, fanaticism, or, in able men, the +hypocrisy of fanaticism, put on to deceive the +fanatics. +</p> + +<p> +"When my father declaims against Oliver Cromwell +as a wild fanatic, and records instances of the +destruction of painted windows and the desecration +of churches, Roland shrugs his shoulders, +slightly raises his eyebrows, smiles, and says:— +</p> + +<p> +"'No doubt, that is what he would have had +Job Forster and his fellows believe. For himself, +his fanaticism had the fortunate peculiarity of +always constraining him to climb as high as he could. +But he should not be too severely blamed. What +can a shrewd man do, when he sees every one +taking the same road, but travel a little faster than +the rest, if he wishes to keep first?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Surely,' said I 'you cannot deny that the +Puritans were sincere?' +</p> + +<p> +"'At first, probably, many of them,' he said, +'When they had only two mites to give, doubtless +they gave them. It is the destiny of mites to be +spent in that manner. Happily for the widow in +the New Testament, her subsequent history is not +told.' +</p> + +<p> +"'For shame, sir!' said my father. 'Say what +you like of the Puritans of to-day; I will suffer no +profane allusions to the good people who lived at +the Christian era.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Pardon me, sir!' retorted Roland. 'Anno +Domini has no doubt made those who lived near +it sacred; except, of course, the Pharisees and a +few other reprobates, who are fair mark. But I +assure you, nothing could be further from my +intuition than to cast the slightest imputation on that +excellent widow. I only suggest that if her +circumstances improved, no doubt her views enlarged +with them. She would naturally feel that while +two mites might be bestowed without regard to +results, larger possessions involved wider responsibilities, +and must, therefore, be dispensed with more +prudence; as the Rabbis (who, no doubt, we should +charitably suppose, started with intentions as pure) +had found out before.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Speak plainly,' said my father; 'none of your +Court riddles for me. Do you mean to say the +Puritans were like that good widow or like the +Pharisees?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Sir,' replied Roland, 'you must excuse me if +my charity reaches to a later century than yours. +You forbid any imputations on the early Christians; +I decline to make any against those of a later date. +I would leave the sentence to events. Before long +there is reason to hope that many of the Puritans +will once more have an opportunity of proving +their principles, and, if they like, of returning to +the exemplary condition of the widow with the +one farthing.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What do you mean? There are to be no confiscations.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I mean that the Savoy Conference will, I think, +issue otherwise than Mr. Baxter and his friends +desire. Presbyterian shepherds, Independent lions, +and Episcopal lambs will, I think, scarcely at +present be made to lie down in the ample fold of the +Church; and the sheep to whom the fold naturally +belongs, cannot, of course, be expected to +withdraw, especially after having tried the tender +mercies of the outside world as long as they +have. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is all the clergy!' said my father, provoked +into indiscriminating irritation with some one, as +he always is in discussions with Roland. 'It is +always the parsons and the preachers who won't +let the people be quiet. Banish them all to the +plantations, and we should have peace to-morrow.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And twice as many parsons and preachers to +break it the day after to-morrow,' said Roland. +'They have been trying it in England for these +eleven years; and I think you will find that has +been the result.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Roland,' said my father, changing the +conversation, 'we must find some way of showing our +gratitude to the Draytons. Every corner of the +demesne is in better order than I left it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Mr. Drayton is a clear-sighted man,' was the +reply, 'and no doubt foresaw that the rightful +owners would return. However, we cannot be too +grateful; and no doubt circumstances will give us +opportunities of returning his kindness. He will +scarcely escape some little fines, which we can get +lightened. Besides, they are sure, sooner or later, +to get entangled with some of the laws against +conventicles; Mistress Dorothy, or some of them. +It is the way of the family. And then we can be +the mouse to nibble the lion's net.' +</p> + +<p> +"'At least,' I said, 'you cannot accuse the Daytons +of hypocrisy.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Scarcely,' he replied, coolly, 'they are on the +other side of the balance, where conscience weighs +heavier than brains. But at all events,' he added, +turning to my father, 'we are sure to be able to +assist Mr. Drayton's son; for, from all I hear, he is +scarcely out of the circle of those who are liable +to the punishment of treason, so that you may set +your mind quite at rest, sir, as to having +opportunities of showing our gratitude.' +</p> + +<p> +"I know he said this to silence me. And it did +silence me. I dared not defend the Draytons, for +fear of further rousing my father against them. +</p> + +<p> +"But Walter, who had been listening to the debate +hitherto with some amusement, here broke in. +</p> + +<p> +"'Roger Drayton is no traitor,' said he. 'He +took the wrong side, unfortunately for him, and +you the right side; but a more loyal gentleman +does not breathe.' +</p> + +<p> +"'That depends on the construction the crown +lawyers set on loyalty,' retorted Roland. +</p> + +<p> +And the conversation ceased. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 20<i>th</i>.—After that discussion, Roland had +a walk with my father round the estate, and the +next morning he said to me:— +</p> + +<p> +"'I will not have the family disgraced, Lettice, +by Walter's reckless ways. If he must beg or +borrow, let him beg or borrow of some of those +gay courtiers who help him to spend. Not of a +man like Roger Drayton, to whom we already owe +too much—a Puritan, too, a soldier of the usurper; +and, for aught I know, a regicide.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Did Walter borrow of Roger Drayton?' I said, +and this time I could not help flushing crimson. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, yes!' he replied, angrily; 'and Roland +says, moreover, child, it was thou who introduced +them to each other. I will have no clandestine +intercourse, Lettice. Thou shalt see I will not!' +</p> + +<p> +"'Father,' I said, rising, 'has Roland's poisonous +tongue gone as far as that? Does he dare to accuse +me or Roger Drayton of that? If you wish to +know what the understanding between Roger Drayton +and me is, it is this—I thought you knew it; +my mother did. We have promised to be true to +each other till death, and beyond it, for ever. And +the promise was scarce needed. For the love that +makes it sacred was there before.' +</p> + +<p> +"For they had called Roger a traitor. And it +was no time to measure words. +</p> + +<p> +"I write these down, because I like to see them, +as well as to remember that I said them. +</p> + +<p> +"My father drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +"'Pretty words,' he said, 'for a lady who recognizes +the divine right of kings, parents, and all in +authority.' +</p> + +<p> +"He paced up and down the room for some time, +speaking to himself. +</p> + +<p> +"'Very strange, very strange,' he said; 'up to +a certain point as gentle as her mother; and once +past that, like a lioness. Very strange.' +</p> + +<p> +"And then still to himself,— +</p> + +<p> +"''Tis a pity; 'tis a thousand pities. If he had +been anything but what Roland says every one says +he is; if he had been only a little misled! But now +impossible; of course, impossible! +</p> + +<p> +"''Tis a pity, Lettice,' he then said to me in a +vexed tone, but very courteously. 'Roland told me +of a neighbour of ours, a good and loyal gentleman, +who would be but too proud of the honour of my +daughter's hand. As fine an estate as any in the +country, and marching with our own. 'Tis a pity, +child, for I should not have lost thee. And I should +do ill without thee.' +</p> + +<p> +"'You will not lose me, father,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Nay, nay,' he said, 'thou art one to be trusted, +I know that well. Never believe I doubt that, +Lettice, for any hasty word I speak. Never believe I +doubt that.' +</p> + +<p> +"And he kissed me and went his way. +</p> + +<p> +"No, he does not doubt me. But there is something +in Roland which tempts one to doubt everything +and every one. +</p> + +<p> +"Did I say his touch was icy? Would it were +only that. Frost rouses nature to a vigorous +resistance, or checks it with strengthening repression. +There is a healthy frost of doubt which kills the +insects which infest piety, and checking the too +luxuriant growths of faith with a wholesome cold, +braces them from mere leafage to solid stem and +fruit. +</p> + +<p> +"But Roland's influence is not the wholesome +winter of doubting and inquiring, which seems to +interpose between the successive summers of +advancing faith, testing its roots. It is a languid +atmosphere of doubt, in which everything is alike +uncertain; every thing alike mean, worthless, earthly. +The disbelief in goodness itself, and truth itself, +which, like a pestilential malaria, rises from the +sloughs of a wicked life, such as our Court encourages. +In the depths of its degradation I believe he +himself scorns to soil the sole of his foot. But he +stands on the edge and breathes the poison into his +brain, and breathes it out again in bitter and cynical +talk. +</p> + +<p> +"While poor reckless Walter, capable not merely +of creeping safely along the dull wayworn ways of +life, but of soaring to its noblest heights, plunges +into the midst of the pollution; until the very wings +with which he was meant to soar upward are clogged +with the evil thing; and instead of buoying +him upwards, drag him downwards, helpless, blinded, +so that he can not only no longer soar, but +scarcely even creep. +</p> + +<p> +"What will the end be? +</p> + +<p> +"Often this weighs on me more than even Roger's +peril. For that is not for the soul, which is the +man; and that is but for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes my spirit sinks, sinks as if its wings, +too, were all clipped and broken. And I have +dreadful visions of one precious life ending in +dishonour before man here, in this England, in this +age; and the other in dishonour before God and +good men for ever. And Roland standing by and +observing both, and saying, with a lifting of his +eyebrows, between pity and scorn,— +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that is the issue of passion, for syrens—or +for clouds. That is the result of giving the reins to +enthusiasms; religious or otherwise. Poor Walter; +and poor Roger! With a few grains more of +self-interest and common sense, they might both have +stood where I stand, and learned the vanity of +everything in the world or out of it, except, as the +preacher says, getting well through it." +</p> + +<p> +<i>August</i> 27<i>th</i>.—The minister who succeeded Placidia +Nicholls' husband during the Commonwealth has +been superseded by Dr. Rich, a scholar who seems +to have lived through those stormy times scarce +hearing their tumult; so near and so much more +important seem to him the tumults and controversies +of former times. He will scarce assert that Monday +is the day after Sunday, without proving it by +citations from a catena of fathers and schoolmen; which +sets one piously questioning, whether what needs so +many authorities to sustain it is itself substantial. +Otherwise, the matter of his statements seem so free +from everything every one does not believe, that +one would have thought no proof needed. +</p> + +<p> +"A most friendly, blameless, and harmless +gentleman, however, he is; although weighed down a +little as to thinking by the authority of so many +ancients, and as to living by the necessities of eleven +motherless children, who have to be fed and +instructed; since, unfortunately, the children of such +a learned man came into the world as destitute of +patristical lore as if they had been born in the first +century, or their father were a Leveller. +</p> + +<p> +"It does seem hard that so much learning cannot +become hereditary, like pointing, or retrieving. It +is such a great hindrance in the way of the moderns +being so much wiser than the ancients as they ought +to be. +</p> + +<p> +"On one page of modern ecclesiastical history, +however, it is easy to make Dr. Rich, or any of his +eleven, eloquent. And that is the record of the +good deeds of Olive and Dr. Antony, who seem +to have maintained and lodged the whole family +throughout the times of the Commonwealth. They +are worthy, he says, to have lived in the days of +the Apostolic Fathers; and tears come into his eyes +when he speaks of Olive's little devices for delicately +helping him. 'She thought I was too buried in my +books to see,' he said. 'But, in truth, I was too +much overwhelmed with their kindness to speak.' +</p> + +<p> +"The elder girls, too, have endless stories of +Olive's motherly counsels and succour. From their +account, Maidie and Dolly must be the blithest little +un-Puritanical darlings in the world; and the boys +bold little Cavaliers. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 30<i>th</i>.—At our first return I felt almost +more an exile in some ways than while we were in +France. People had fitted into each other so closely +as to leave no room for us but a kind of show-place +out of every one's way. The myriads of fine inter-lacing +fibres which bind communities together, and +root each in its place, can only grow slowly, one by +one, as storms straining the boughs, or summers +overlading them with fruit, made them needed. +</p> + +<p> +"Even eleven years of mere Time almost place +you in another generation. Those we left babes are +shy lads and lasses; the children are young mothers +at their cottage doors, with their own babes in their +arms, courtesying and wondering we do not know +them; the youths and maids are sober men and +matrons, giving counsel on the perils of life to the +youths and maidens we left babes. And the changes +of these eleven years have not been those of mere +Time. +</p> + +<p> +"Not the people only have changed, but the +country:—the whole way in which every one looks at +every thing. In our youth King and Parliament +were the powers which ruled and divided the world. +Men of forty now scarcely remember a king really +reigning. Men of twenty scarcely remember a +Parliament, save the poor mockery of a 'Rump' +which Oliver 'purged,' and which the London +butchers roasted in effigy—that is, in beef—at the +Restoration. +</p> + +<p> +"The names honoured and dreaded in our youth, +names scarce uttered without the eye flashing, and +the cheek flushing with admiration or indignation, +have passed from the regions of popular enthusiasm +to the sober and silent tribunals of history. Many +which seemed to us indelibly engraven on the hearts +of men for renown or for abhorrence, Sir John +Hotham, 'the first traitor,' Sir Bevil Granvill, Sir +Jacob Astley, are—except among those who +personally recollect them—unknown; whilst around +the loftier heights still in sight strange mists of +legend already begin to gather, especially among +the peasantry. Prince Rupert is the 'black man' +with whose name men of twenty have been spellbound +into submission in the nursery. Archbishop +Laud and Strafford, in our Puritan village, have +well-nigh taken the place of the Spaniard and the +Pope of our childhood, and rise before the imagination +of the people as fiery-eyed giants, rattling +chains, and thirsting for the blood of Englishmen. +</p> + +<p> +"Hampden, Pym, Falkland, Eliot, are mere grand, +silent shades, walking the Elysian fields of the past, +far-off, among the heroes, Leonidas, Brutus, or the +Gracchi, but in no way disturbing the pursuits or +influencing the thoughts of the present. +</p> + +<p> +"Instead, people speak frequently and familiarly +of Lambert, Fleetwood, and others, whose names +to me sound as strange as those of the combatants +of the Fronde. And, besides these, there are the +names which have shifted from side to side, until +they seem to have lost all meaning. +</p> + +<p> +"The names of religious influence among the +Puritans—John Howe, Dr. Owen, Vice-chancellor of +Oxford, and Richard Baxter—are, through Mistress +Dorothy, less unfamiliar to me. Our good Bishop +Hall is dead. But Dr. Jeremy Taylor, whose discourse +my mother loved so well, still lives, and fills +the church with the music of his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +"The one English name which, on the continent +of Europe, overshadowed (or outshone) all the +rest—he whom the young King Louis (the Fourteenth) +called 'the greatest and happiest prince in Europe'—is +one men scarce utter willingly now. The emotions +which his name calls out have indeed still a +perilous fire in them. +</p> + +<p> +"The other name, of which we used to hear most +in foreign parts, until it seemed at times as if, to +the outer world, the Doing of England were alone +manifest in Oliver Cromwell, and her Thought in +John Milton—is also proscribed. The poet's +treasonable 'Defences,' which scholars abroad admired +(on account of the Latin I suppose), have been +burned in public. But he himself will, it is thought, +be spared; although for the present he is in +concealment. A poet of our name and kindred, to +whom they say he showed kindness, is doing his +utmost to save him. His blindness, and the great +genius and renown he hath, also give him a kind of +sacredness. Some say Heaven hath punished him +enough already; others that Heaven shields him, +and makes his head sacred from violent touch by a +crown of sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +"It is from Isaac Nicholls, Mistress Placidia's +son, I hear most of Mr. John Milton. Isaac is a +strange sprout from such a stock. He careth scarce +at all for the world as a place to get on in; and +almost infinitely as a theatre to contemplate, with +its scenes painted by divine hands. He seems as +familiar with the past as Dr. Rich; but in a +different way. To Dr. Rich the past seems a book, and +the present another book—a commentary on it. To +Isaac the past seems not a book, but a life, and +the present a life flowing from it. +</p> + +<p> +"The names of the heroes seem as the names of +friends to him, from Leonidas to Falkland. The +voices of the poets seem all living, from Homer to +Milton. And while Mistress Nicholls wears out +heart and brain in anxious cares to make him an +inheritance, he finds a king's treasury in a book, +or in a carpet of mosses and wild-flowers, such +as clothes the sweet old glade by the Lady +Well. +</p> + +<p> +"Of all the people I remember, no one seems to +me to have grown so old as Mistress Nicholls; and +of all the new people, none seems to me so +delightfully new as Isaac Nicholls. +</p> + +<p> +"The prohibition laid by my father (through +Roland's influence) against all intercourse with the +Draytons, does not extend to Mistress Nicholls' +home. She is the nearest link I have with the old +Netherby home. Isaac comes often to the Hall, and +spends long days. The library is a new world to +him. And he is a new world to me; or, rather, his +mind is to me a mirror in which all the black, blank +England of these eleven years lives and moves, and +has voice and color. +</p> + +<p> +"It was a warm evening early in July when I +first saw Isaac. Mistress Nicholls was sitting +spinning in the porch of her neat house, on the +outskirts of the village. +</p> + +<p> +"'As diligent as ever, Mistress Nicholls,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes, Mistress Lettice,' said she, in a voice +which had fallen into an habitual whine (such as is +thought by some characteristic of the Puritans in +general). 'Ah, yes, these are no times for a lone +woman to slacken her hands. It is not by folding +of the hands that body and soul are kept together +in these days.' +</p> + +<p> +"As she spoke she led me to a chair in the parlor. +In the window was sitting a lad with round +shoulders and long hair falling ever his forehead, +as he pored over a large folio on the window +seat. +</p> + +<p> +"He turned round suddenly at her words, and +said, in an abrupt, shy way, yet with a gentle, +cheerful voice: +</p> + +<p> +"'Oh, mother, don't speak of body and soul, we +have much more than food and raiment.' +</p> + +<p> +'"I do not deny,' she replied to me in a voice +half querulous, half apologetic, 'that the Lord has +been merciful, far above my deserts, no doubt. We +have never yet been suffered to want, I freely +acknowledge, and we ought to be very thankful, +Mistress Lettice; very thankful, no doubt.' +</p> + +<p> +"Hearing my name the boy rose, and in a quiet, +nervous way, came forward, held out his hand, and +then drew back, blushing, and made an awkward +bow. +</p> + +<p> +"'My Isaac has heard of you,' said his mother, +'from his cousins. Isaac thinks no one fit to be +compared with his cousins, Maidie and Dolly Antony.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Olive's children!' I said. And I took his hand +and held it in both mine. It seemed to bring me +nearer them. +</p> + +<p> +"'Maidie and Dolly think no one fit to be compared +with Mistress Lettice,' he said. +</p> + +<p> +"It touched me much. And with so much in +common, friendship between Isaac and me waxed +apace. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it was I, Lettice Davenant, whom Olive's +fond recollections had made her children's queen of +beauty and love; the fairy princess of their fairy +tales; the Una of their 'milk white lamb.' They +knew all about me; the adventures of our childhood +were their nursery stories; the love of our youth +was the ideal friendship of their childhood. +</p> + +<p> +"And now I come back to them no longer their +cotemporary in the perpetual youth of fairyland, +but their mother's; and here were these boys, Isaac +and Austin Rich, thinking no one in the world so +sweet and fair as Maidie and Dolly Antony. +</p> + +<p> +"Over again, the old story! Yet it does not +make me feel old, but young again. For our old +friendships,—our old faithful love,—are not dead, +nor like to die; 'incorruptible, undefiled, and that +fadeth not away.' That is a heavenly inheritance +which the heart enters on here, or never there. +</p> + +<p> +"Not years nor sorrows make us old, but selfish +cares. As Rachel Forster said, when I asked her +whether Mistress Nicholls had suffered from any +uncommon griefs or necessities, that she looked so +old, and seemed to feel so poor. +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, Mistress Lettice, nay! To my recollection +Mistress Placidia was never young; and all the +riches of the Spanish main could not make her rich. +She has such a terrible empty space inside to fill. +Not even the Almighty, the possessor of heaven and +earth, can make her rich, at least not with riches. +And, sure enough, He has tried, to my belief, near +all the ways He has. But it is of no use. But I +do think He has begun to make her poor. And that +is something.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What do you mean, Rachel?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'Time was, though, poor soul, when she was +never able to think that she <i>had</i> anything, she +thought great store of what she <i>was</i>,' said Rachel. +'But now that is broken down. I do believe the +Lord took her down that step when her boy was +born. And that step, the emptying and going +down into the depths, in my belief, begins to make +us Christians. Then comes the step up again into +the light. And, poor soul, it seems to me, ever +since, the good Lord has been trying, by all manner +of ways, to lead her up that stair. But she has +never had the heart to come. And so, down there, +out of the light, her poor wisht soul has grown old, +and white, and withered like; and her voice has +got a moan in it, like a voice tuned in a sick-chamber, +and never lifted up in the fresh air, in a good +hearty psalm. 'Tisn't years or griefs that make us +old, nor poverty that makes us poor, to my seeing, +but looking down instead of up, and being shut up +alone with self, instead of with God.' +</p> + +<p> +"And Job looked up, and said, with a smile and +a nod:— +</p> + +<p> +"'She knows well enough, wife; she knows it +isn't anything the Lord sends that makes us old +or poor; but what the devil sends. The loss of all +the world can't make us poor, and the rolling by +of all the ages can't make us old, any more than +the angels. But there's no need to tell. She knows. +Mistress Lettice knows.' +</p> + +<p> +"Job did not look up from the tool he was repairing +as he spoke. But I felt that his heart had +seen into mine. +</p> + +<p> +"And it is a wonderful comfort to me to think +that that good old Puritan blacksmith knows. +</p> + +<p> +"For he has camped many a night on the field +with Roger, as Rachel has often told me. And, no +doubt, he must have seen into Roger's heart as +well as into mine. And, no doubt, those two, who +have loved each ether so well, have a warm corner +in their prayers for us. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>September</i> 1<i>st</i>.—Isaac Nicholls has wonderful +stories of the settlers in the American Plantations. +The wilderness across the Atlantic seems to have +been to him and Olive's children a kind of Atlantis, +and Fairy or Giant land;—what the Faery Queen +or the stories of Hercules or the Golden Fleece +were to us. +</p> + +<p> +"He has tales of daring and endurance concerning +those Pilgrims to the West which seem to me +worthy of the old heroic days. Of weeping +congregations parting on the sea-shores of the old +world, reluctantly left. Of congregations, free and +delivered, praising God in the midst of danger and +distress on the shores of the new. Of a hundred +English men and women forsaking land and friends +for religion, and going in a little ship across the +ocean, landing among the wooded creeks, half of +them perishing in the cold of the first winter; but +the fifty who survived never murmuring and never +despairing. Of toils to till the new fields by day, +and watchings at night against the Indians. Of +exploring parties going through trackless forests +till they found a habitable nook by the borders of +some lake or stream. Of green meadows and +golden corn-fields slowly won from the wilderness; +and pleasant gardens springing up around the new +homes, with strange fruits and flowers, and birds +with song as strange as the speech of the Indians. +Of old Puritan psalms sung by the sea-shore, till +the homely villages arose, with their homely +churches, as in Old England on the village +greens. +</p> + +<p> +"It sounds, as he tells it, like a story of some +old Grecian colony, with church bells through it;—a +curious mosaic of a Greek legend (such as Roger +used to tell me), and the Acts of the Apostles. +But the colonists were not Athenians nor Spartans, +but Englishmen. And it all happened only +forty years ago. Or, as Isaac believes, it is all +happening still. For although the great tide of +Puritan emigration has ceased during the Commonwealth, +there are always a few joining the numbers. +</p> + +<p> +"'And,' saith Isaac, 'Maidie says Uncle Roger +thinks the tide will set in again for the wilderness, +if things go on as they are going now at Court.' +</p> + +<p> +"But here Isaac halts abruptly, as treading on +forbidden ground, and the conversation is turned; +he little knowing how gladly I would have it flow +in the same current, and I scarce deeming it keeping +faith with my father to make an effort that it +should. +</p> + +<p> +"The two living men who seem to fill the largest +space in Isaac's admiring gaze, are Mr. John Milton, +whom all the world knows, and a John Bunyan +(not even a Mr.), a poor tinker and an Anabaptist, +whom no one knows, I should think, out of his +own neighbourhood or sect, but whom Isaac +declares to have a way of making past things +present, and far-off things near, and unseen things +visible, as only the poets have. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. John Milton one can understand being the +hero of a boy like Isaac; losing his sight, as +believes, in the 'Defence of the People of England'; +filling all Europe with his song, shaking the thrones +of persecuting princes by his eloquent pleadings +for the oppressed Christians of the Alps, seeming +to find in his blindness (as a saint in the darkness +of death) the unveiling of higher worlds; a gentleman +with a countenance which my mother thought +noble and beautiful as Dr. Jeremy Taylor, or any +about the late king's Court; a scholar whose taste +and learning the scholars of Italy send to consult, +and whose birth-house they come to see in London +as of their own Petrarch or Dante Alighieri; a poet +whom men who can judge seem to lift altogether +out of the choirs of living singers, into a place by +himself among the poets who are dead. +</p> + +<p> +"But this Anabaptist tinker! It is a strange +delusion. I cannot wonder at Mrs. Nicholls' +aversion from such guidance for her son, especially as +it leads into the most perilous religious path he +can tread. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>October</i>.—I have seen the Anabaptist tinker and +heard him preach, and I wonder no more at Isaac's +enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +"It was in a barn a mile or two out of Netherby. +Isaac persuaded me to go, and I went; and wrapping +myself in a plain old mantle, crept into a corner +and listened. +</p> + +<p> +"And there I heard the kind of sermon I have +been wanting to hear so long. +</p> + +<p> +"Heaven brought so near, and yet shown to be +so infinite; the human heart shown so dark and +void, and yet so large and deep, and capable of +being made so fair and full of good. Grace, the +'grace which over-mastereth the heart;' not +something destroying or excluding nature, but +embracing, renewing, glorifying it. Christ our Lord +shown so glorious, and yet so human; more human +than any man, because without the sin which stunts +and separates. Yes, that was it. This tinker made +me see Him, brought me down to His feet; not to +the Baptist, or Luther, or Calvin, or any one, but +to Christ, who is all in one. Brought me down to +His feet, rebuked, humbled, emptied; and then +made me feel His feet the loftiest station any +creature could be lifted to. +</p> + +<p> +"He began, as I think all highest preaching does, +by appealing not to what is meanest, but what is +noblest in us; not by showing how easy religion is, +but how great. +</p> + +<p> +"He began thus:—'When He had called the +people, Jesus said, "Whosoever will come after +Me let him deny himself, and take up his cross and +follow Me." Let him count the charge he is like to +be at; for following Me is not like following some +other masters. The wind sets always on my face, +and the foaming rage of the sea of this world, and +the proud and lofty waves thereof, do continually +beat upon the bark Myself and My followers are +in; he therefore that will not run hazards, let him not +set foot in this vessel." +</p> + +<p> +"Then he spoke of the greatness of the soul that +could be lost and should be saved. God breathed +it. 'And the breath of the Lord lost nothing in +being made a living soul. O man! dost thou +know what thou art? Made in God's image! I +do not read of anything in heaven or earth so +made, or so called, but the Son of God. The King +Himself, the great God, desires communion with it. +He deems no suit of apparel good enough for it +but one made for itself.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then he spoke of the wonderful beauty of the +body. This 'costly cabinet of that curious thing +the soul.' The more it is thought of and its works +looked into, the more wonderfully it is seen to be +made. Yet is the body but the house, the raiment, +of that noble creature the soul. It is a tabernacle; +the soul, the worshipper within. Yet we are not +to forget the body is a tabernacle, no common +dwelling, but a holy place, a temple. +</p> + +<p> +"Then he spoke of the powers of this 'noble +creature:' of Memory, its 'register;' of Conscience, +its seat of judgment; of the Affections, the +hands and arms with which it embraces what it +loves. God's anger is never, he said, against these +powers—'the natives of the soul'—but against +their misuse. +</p> + +<p> +"But the soul being so noble, it is the soul that +sins. Not the body; that is passive. And it is +the sinful impenitent soul which suffers, 'when +the clods of the valley are sweet to the wearied +body.' +</p> + +<p> +"A whole world of wisdom, the wisdom I had +been longing to hear, seemed to me to lie in the +words of this tinker. How many dark hearts +would be cheered, and downcast hearts lifted up +and closed narrowed souls opened and expanded to +embrace the light around, if this could be understood! +The body is not vile, it is God's curious +costly cabinet; His tabernacle to be kept holy. The +body sins not. Sin is not in matter but in spirit. +Conversion is a liberation of all the '<i>natives</i>' from +the intrusive tyranny of sin and Satan, a making +the whole man every whit whole. God's anger is +not against the natural affections or understanding. +They are not to be destroyed, crushed, or fettered. +They are to be liberated, expanded, quickened with +the new life. +</p> + +<p> +"How many of the dark pages of Church history +already written, and now being written, might +never have been, if the theology of this tinker +could be understood! +</p> + +<p> +"Luther, they say, also knew these things (and +Roger used to declare Oliver Cromwell did, but of +this I know nothing). Strange it is to see how +from height to height these souls respond to each +other, like bonfires carrying the good news from +range to range, throughout the ages. These are +the wise; wise like angels; wise like little children. +Half way down it seems to me, walk the smaller +ingenious men of each generation, laboriously +building elaborate erections which all the ingenious +men on their own hill-side and on their own +level admire, but which those on the other side +cannot see. And below, in the valleys, the reapers +reap, and the little children glean, and the women +work and weep and wait, and wonder at the skill +of the builders on the hill-side, so far above them +to imitate. But when they want to know if the +good news from the far country is still there for +them, as for those of old, they look not to the +hillsides but to the hill-tops, where the bonfires flash +the gospels—plainer even in the night than in the +day—and where the earliest and latest sunbeams +rest. And so the eyes of the watchers on the +mountain tops, of the children and the lowly +labourers in the valleys, and of the angels in the +heavens, meet. And when the night comes—which +comes to all on earth—the ingenious builders +on the hill-sides, no doubt, have also to look to the +mountain-tops, where the watch-fires burn, and the +sunset lingers and the sunrise breaks. +</p> + +<p> +"This tinker seems to have a soul ordered like a +great kingdom, all its powers in finest use and in +most perfect subordination. But Isaac says this +kingdom sprang from a chaos of war, and conflict, +and anguish, such as scarce any human souls know. +</p> + +<p> +"In this also like Luther, who had his terrible +civil wars to pass through ere the Kingdom came +within. (And Roger said Oliver Cromwell had.) To +John Bunyan (Isaac told me), the finding of an +old thumbed copy of Luther on the Galatians was +like the discovery of the spring in the wilderness to +Hagar. 'I do prefer that book,' he said, 'before all +others, except the Holy Bible, for a wounded conscience.' +</p> + +<p> +"So they meet—these simplest, wisest, widest, +humblest, highest souls, and understand each other's +language, and take up each other's song in +antiphons from age to age. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet, I fear, this can scarce be so with John +Bunyan. His voice can scarce reach beyond his +own time, deep as it is. For how could an unlearned +tinker write a book which ages to come would +read? +</p> + +<p> +"And, withal, he is a true Englishman. That +also pleased me well in him. I think the greatest +men who are most human, most for all men, are also +most characteristically national; it is the smaller +great men who are cosmopolitan. Even as St. Paul +was a Hebrew of the Hebrews, Martin Luther was +German to the core, they say (and Roger said Oliver +Cromwell was English to the core). And so is +John Bunyan. +</p> + +<p> +"A square, solid brow; a ruddy, healthy, sensible +countenance; a body muscular, strong-boned, +tall, compact; eyes keen, calm, quick, sparkling, +observant, kindly, with twinklings of humour in +them, and tears, and anger, but not restless or +dreamy; a mouth firm, capable of rebuke or of quiet +smiles. In company, Isaac says, not 'given to +loquacity or much discourse, unless some urgent +occasion required it;' and then 'accomplished with a +quick discerning of persons, being of a good +judgment and an excellent wit.' The dumbness (natural +to all Englishmen worth anything) not absent in +him; speech being with him not for ornament but +for use. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>November</i>, 1660.—Isaac is in great trouble. John +Bunyan has been cast into prison. Mistress Nicholls +also is in great trouble, fearing Isaac may be +involved in John Bunyan's disgrace, seeing he loves +so much to hear him. +</p> + +<p> +"'It is a very peculiar trial,' saith she, 'that her +boy should embrace the most perilous form of all +the perilous religions of the day.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Not the most, mother,' said Isaac. 'The Quakers +are worse.' +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed everyone seems to agree that of all the +sects which have sprung up during the Commonwealth, +the Quakers are the worst. I should like +to see one. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i>, 1661.—I am grieved to the heart at +these ungenerous revenges. It was an ill way to +celebrate the martyrdom of His Sacred Majesty, to +drag the bodies of brave men from the graves in the +Abbey, and hang them on gibbets. +</p> + +<p> +"Senseless, mean, and barbarous revenges! They +should have heard John Bunyan the tinker preach. +It was not the body that sinned. They should +have let it rest. +</p> + +<p> +"My father thinks Oliver Cromwell deserved +anything; but he is not pleased at their having +disturbed the bones of his mother and daughter, and +of Robert Blake, and cast them into a pit in +St. Margaret's churchyard. +</p> + +<p> +"'A peaceable old gentlewoman, who never did +any harm that I heard,' said he, 'except bringing the +usurper into the world; and a young gentle lady +too good for such a stock. Their dust would not +have hurt that of the kings'. Doubtless it was +insolence to lay them there; but it was scarce an +English gentleman's work to molest them.' +</p> + +<p> +"But about the violation of Blake's tomb his +anger waxed hot. 'A good old Somersetshire +family,' he said. 'They might have let him rest; if +only for the fright he gave the Pope, the Turk, and +the Spaniard.' +</p> + +<p> +"I was afraid to go near Job Forster's for some +days after I heard of these desecrations. When at +last I went, Rachel could not altogether restrain +her indignation. Job only said, "Never heed, never +heed. <i>He</i> they sought to dishonour doesn't heed. +What is all the world but a churchyard? In "the +twinkling of an eye" will anyone have time to see +where the bodies rise from? Or dost think the gold +and jewels on kings' tombs will have much of a +shine when the Gates of Pearl are open, and the +poor body they have thrown like a dog's beneath +the gibbet shall enter them shining like a star?' +</p> + +<p> +"But then something broke down his fortitude, +and he added, in a husky voice,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Yet England might have found him another +grave. He did his best for her; he did his best.' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>January</i>, 1662.—A long break in these pages. +There has not been much very cheerful to write. +And I would never write moans. These it is better +to make into prayers. +</p> + +<p> +"Our house is not altogether at unity with itself. +</p> + +<p> +"Roland has brought home his wife. +</p> + +<p> +"From the first, my father did not affect her. +</p> + +<p> +"She took her new honours more loftily and easily +than he liked. +</p> + +<p> +"'A pretty Frenchified poppet,' he called her. +</p> + +<p> +"I have done my best to smooth matters, although +it is a little vexatious to the temper, sometimes, to +be counselled with matronly airs, and consoled for +my single state by this young creature. +</p> + +<p> +"It has been often difficult to keep the peace. +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally, the old associations of the old place +are nothing to her, and she offends my father +continually, by laughing at the old servants, the old +furniture, and what she calls our old-fashioned ways +in general. +</p> + +<p> +"But to-day she kindled him into a flame which, +for the time, will probably keep her at a distance. +</p> + +<p> +"She ventured to propose that she should change +my mother's oratory into a cabinet for herself, 'to +be draped,' said she, 'with silk, and adorned with +statues, and be like the apartments of the "Lady" +at Whitehall.' +</p> + +<p> +"Which brought out some very plain English +from my father concerning the 'Lady,' and all who +favored her. +</p> + +<p> +"'The king,' he vowed, 'might degrade his palaces, +if he pleased, and if he dared. But he would +see the Hall and everything in it burned to the +ground, rather than have the place where my mother +had lived the life and prayed the prayers of an +angel, polluted by being likened to the dwelling of a +creature it was a dishonour for a man to tolerate or +for a woman to name.' +</p> + +<p> +"So, for the time, the controversy ended. And, in a +few days, Roland and his wife went back to the Court. +</p> + +<p> +"But my father is more and more uneasy and +irritable. 'In his youth,' he said, 'in the days of the +good of sacred memory, all were noble, rebels, +royalists, all. Eliot, Pym, Hampden, Essex, were +gentlemen and true Englishmen, as well as Falkland, +Bevil Granvill, or Sir Jacob Astley. And all, +however deluded, feared God, and honoured all true +men and women. But now,' says he, 'all are base +together—Court, Royalists, Roundheads—all. Why +could not Roger Drayton have kept to such politics +as Hampden's or his own father's, and not disgraced +himself by joining these furious traitors and +sectaries?" +</p> + +<p> +"By which I know that my father has relentings +towards the Draytons, though he will by no means +confess it. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i>, 1662.—I have seen a Quaker. And a very +soft and mild kind of creature it seems to be. +</p> + +<p> +"Olive's children are at Netherby. To-day I met +her little girls at Mistress Nicholls's. Maidie is a +darling little elfin queen. And Dolly is a sweet, +little Puritan angel. And with them was Annis +Nye, their nurse, a Quaker maiden, with a heroical +serene face, and a voice even and soft, like a river +flowing through meadows. She attracted me much; +a harmless dove of a maiden she seemed. +</p> + +<p> +"But when I said so to Job Forster, on my way +home, he shook his head and muttered,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Soft enough, and deep enough! You would +find what kind of gentleness she has if you saw her +take the bit between her teeth and make straight +for the pillory, and you had to hold her in and +keep her safe, if you could. Why, I'm always +expecting, morn and night, that poor maid'll get a +'concern' to go and testify against the king's +mistresses, or the Popish bishops' surplices. To say +nothing of the chance of her setting off to preach +in New England, or to the Turks, or to the Pope cf +Rome, as some of them do when they are well +persuaded it is more dangerous than anything else. +And say what George Fox may of the Protector, +she'd find the tender mercies of the Court scarce so +tender as he was. If you want to make your life a +burden to you, Mistress Lettice,' he concluded +dolefully, shaking his head, 'you've nought to do but +to get your heart tender to a Quaker (as no man or +woman with a heart in them can help getting it to +that wilful maid), and try to keep her out of harm's +way. You'll find you've no rest left, day nor night. +I've had hard things to do in my time, but never +one that beat me over and over like trying to keep +a Quaker safe.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>July</i>, 1662.—My father, a few days since, met +Maidie and Dolly in the village, and asked whose +children they were. +</p> + +<p> +"In the evening he said to me,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Those children of Olive Drayton's, at least, are +guilty of no crimes, political or other. Have them +to the house, Lettice, if thou wilt.' +</p> + +<p> +"And, since, the old house and the gardens have +grown musical with the frolics of these young +creatures, Isaac and Maidie, Austin Rich and Dolly. It +makes me young again to see their story of life +beginning. +</p> + +<p> +"And it is pleasant to feel there is so much of +youth left in my heart to respond to the youth in +theirs, so that they see and feel my being with +a sunshine, not a shadow. +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes I feel as if I could be content to take +this on-looker's place in life, and be a kind of +grandmother to every one's children. If I could only be +sure that Roger and the old friends were also +content and secure. +</p> + +<p> +"But the times press hard on them, and are like, +they say, to press harder yet. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 30.—The harder times for the Puritans +have come, or have begun. A week since, on +St. Bartholomew's Day, two thousand of their ministers +resigned their benefices, rather than do what +was commanded by the Act of Uniformity. +</p> + +<p> +"My father is angry with the 'parsons' all +round; with the bishops for driving the Puritans +out, with the Puritans for going. +</p> + +<p> +"Mistress Dorothy writes from Kidderminster:— +</p> + +<p> +"'Mr. Baxter and sixteen hundred of His Majesty's +most loyal subjects, and the Church's most +faithful ministers, banished from their pulpits. We +had looked for another return when, like Judah of +old, we hastened to be the first to bring back our +king. But return, or no return, let not any think +we repent our loyalty. We will pray for His Majesty +by twos or threes, if, by his command, we are +forbidden to assemble in larger numbers. Pray that +his throne may be established, and his counsellors +converted.' +</p> + +<p> +"Job Forster smiles grimly under the gray soldierly +hair on his upper lip, and says, sententiously, +between the strokes on his anvil,— +</p> + +<p> +"'They are finding it out. One after another. +The four thousand Quakers in the jails. The +Scottish Covenanted men, with the choice between the +bishops and the gallows. Jenny Geddes will scarce +rise from the dead to help them now. They are +learning how the king remembers their sermons, to +which they made him hearken so many hours. And +how he keeps their Covenant, to which they had +him swear so many oaths. The French, and the +Dutch, and the Spaniards found it out long ago. +And now the two thousand parsons are finding it +out. And by-and-by, nigh the whole country will +find it out. But Rachel and I will scarce be here +to see.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Find out what?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'That the Lord Protector's death was no such +great blessing to any but himself,' said Job. And +he became at once too absorbed in his work to +pursue the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>October</i> 29<i>th</i>.—To-day, the Post brought tidings +which, when my father read, he dashed the letter +from him, and started to his feet with an anathema, +brief but deep. +</p> + +<p> +"Then he paced up and down the room once or +twice in silence, and then he said suddenly to me,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice, where is Roger Drayton?' +</p> + +<p> +"The abrupt question startled me for an instant, +so that I could not reply. I did not know what +new calamity had come, or was coming. And I +suppose the color left my face. For at once my +father added very gently,— +</p> + +<p> +"'I should not have asked thee. I know well +thou hast kept my prohibition but too loyally. I +will send a messenger to Netherby with the letter.' +</p> + +<p> +"He wrote a few rapid lines, and despatched a +servant, with the letter without delay. +</p> + +<p> +"Then deliberately and quietly he took his sword +from his side and hung it up beside my grandfather's +in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +"'For the last time!' he said. 'The honor of +England is gone for ever. <i>The king has sold +Dunkirk to the French</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"And with a restless impatience he went on,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Come, come, child! We will make no babyish +moans. Get on thy mantle and come round the +old place. A man may still serve the country by +making two blades of grass where one grew before. +But by bearing arms under traitors who sell the +honor of England to pay for the paint and gewgaws +of wicked women, never again. Henceforth call +thyself a husbandman's daughter; but never again +a soldier's. In name and in arms England is +disgraced, child, dishonored, made a bye-word and a +laughing-stock to the whole world. But we may +still make the corn grow thicker and the sheep fatter. +So who shall say there is not something worth living +for yet? +</p> + +<p> +"'Something worth doing yet,' he added, 'for +the country of Eliot and Falkland, and Robert +Blake, who made the Pope and the Turk quake in +their castles, and now lies tossed like a dog into a +pit in St. Margaret's churchyard!' +</p> + +<p> +"But he did not tell me what was in the letter +he sent to Netherby. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>October</i> 31<i>st</i>.—The autumn wind was softly drifting +the brown leaves into heaps round the roots of +the trees, by the Lady Well, and softly adding to +them by loosening one by one from the branches. +I was thinking he was God's gardener, tenderly, +though with rough hands, folding warm coverlids +over the roots of the flowers. I was thinking how +wilder winds would come, and with icy breath heap +the snows above the dead leaves; and yet still only +be God's gardeners to keep His flowers housed +against the spring, and not to shelter only, but to +feed and enrich them whilst sheltering. For sleep +is not only a rest, but a cordial of new life. I was +listening to the dropping of the water into the Holy +Well the monks had made so long ago, and thinking +how Olive and I had listened to it long ago, +and thought it like church music from a kind of +sacred Fairy land. The old well, and the fresh +spring; always fresh, always living, always young; +when there came a rustling among the leaves which +was not the wind, nearer, nearer, and before I could +look, his hand on my hand, and his voice, low as +the dropping of the water, on my heart, and deep +as the spring from which it flowed. +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice, your father told me I might come back. +Do you say so?' +</p> + +<p> +"I could scarcely speak, still less could I meet +his eyes, which I felt through the heavy lids I could +not raise. +</p> + +<p> +"'My heart has never changed, Roger,' I said at +last, 'nor misdoubted you one instant.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Has your determination changed, Lettice?' +he said, gently withdrawing his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"'Has yours?' I said. 'If you can but say you +grieve for one irrevocable deed, and would recall it +if you could?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I repent of much, and would undo much,' he +replied. 'But I can never say I repent of following +him who saved England; and to whom England +cannot even return the poor gratitude of a +grave.' +</p> + +<p> +"We went silently home side by side, the dead +leaves crumbling under his feet in the still +woodland paths, till we came to my mother's garden, +one side of which bordered on the wood. +</p> + +<p> +"There he unlatched the little garden gate, and +held it for me to pass. The click sounded startling +in the silence. I passed through, but did not look +up, until my hands were suddenly seized in my +father's, and his face shone down on me beaming +with smiles I had not seen there for many a day. +</p> + +<p> +"'How now, child,' said he, 'whither away, pale +and downcast as a white violet?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Dost fear I distrust thee Lettice?' he added +softly; 'I never did, I never could.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I looked up and met his eyes for a moment, +but the softness in them overcame me, and I +could not speak. +</p> + +<p> +"'What does all this mean, Roger Drayton?' +he resumed, impatiently. 'Does not she know I +sent for thee? Surely she has not changed?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Mistress Lettice says she has not changed,' +said Roger despondingly, 'and never can.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then what is all this coil about? She told +me months since, in the teeth of prohibitions and +entreaties to bestow her hand elsewhere, that you +had exchanged troth, and would be true to each +other till death.' +</p> + +<p> +"'And after,' said I. 'Death cannot separate +us for ever. Only that terrible death, and that +only in life.' +</p> + +<p> +"'It was because I guarded the scaffold at the +king's beheading,' said Roger. +</p> + +<p> +"'Tush, tush, child,' my father replied, hastily. +'We have been through a wilderness, and which +of us has not lost his way? We have been through +the fire and smoke of a hundred battles, who +expects us to come out with face and hands washed +like a Pharisee's?' +</p> + +<p> +"Then suddenly turning to Roger and taking +his hand, he said solemnly,— +</p> + +<p> +"'If thou hadst known, Roger Drayton, for +what a king that scaffold was in clearing the way, +I trow thou hadst rather laid thy head on the +block thyself.' +</p> + +<p> +"This Roger did not deny. Was not his silence +a confession? And so, when my father laid our +hands together in his, could I refuse? The sacred +irresistible touch of another hand which had once +before so joined them, seemed on us all, and a +tender voice from heaven seemed to float above like +church music. And still as I listened to-night, in +the oratory alone, it seemed to say,— +</p> + +<p> +"'My children, the way is rough, tread it +together. The burdens are heavy; share them all. +Sorrows, fears, fruitless regrets, fruitful repentances, +share them all. Bear each other's burdens, and in +so bearing, make them sometimes light and always +helpful. To you it is given to love; not with the +poor timid transitory love which dares not see, but +with the love which dares to see because it helps +to purify. My children, the way will not be smooth. +Tread it together. The burdens will be heavy. +Share them all.'" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +They were married as quietly as might be on +a quiet autumn day in the old parish-church of +Netherby. +</p> + +<p> +We waited for them in the porch of the old +church—the west porch, which our forefathers had +built—looking across the green graves of the +village churchyard, across the quiet village street to +the arched gate which opened opposite from one of +the avenues of the hall; my father, Aunt Dorothy +(once more at Netherby), Aunt Gretel, my +husband, the children and I. +</p> + +<p> +No stately procession issued thence, only Lettice; +leaning on her father's arm, wrapped closely +in a mantle, with a few faithful old servants following. +</p> + +<p> +We saw them in the distance wending towards +us among the grey stems of the beech-trees. +Their footsteps fell softly on the fallen leaves as +they crossed the church path. We met them at +the churchyard gate. +</p> + +<p> +So we entered the church, which we had not +done before. +</p> + +<p> +And there a sight met us which went deep to +our hearts. +</p> + +<p> +There had been no triumphal wedding arches, no +banners, no flowers strewn on the bride's path. +</p> + +<p> +Netherby was a Puritan village, and we Puritans +were at no time great in pomps and ceremonials, +Moreover, there was a weight of joy in the crowning +of this hope so long deferred, and a depth of +content, which moved rather to tears than to +shouts of welcome. Nor were the times very joyous +to us. With two thousand deprived ministers +to be kept from starving, and thousands of those +who believed as we did, not to be kept from prisons, +our festivities naturally took a sober colouring. +</p> + +<p> +We had not therefore been prepared to find the +church full from door to altar; full of people from +the village and from all the country round—old +men and women, and the youngest children that +could be trusted to be quiet. (For, as one mother +said afterwards, "I would like them to be able to +say to their children, 'I was there when Mr. Roger +and Mistress Lettice were married.'") They rose +as we passed up the aisle, and a soft murmur of +benediction seemed to fill the silent church. +</p> + +<p> +For Roger and Lettice were dearly loved in +the dear old place, with an affection which had +grown with their growth from infancy, and which +was strong through the intertwining roots of +centuries. (It will be long before the new roots in the +New World strike so deep.) +</p> + +<p> +And through all the generations of Davenants +and Draytons this was the first time the lines had +met in marriage. +</p> + +<p> +It was a solemn as well as a joyful thing to see +those two stand with joined hands at the altar, +with the tombs of our fathers beside them in the +oldest transept, and the stately monuments of the +Davenants opposite, whilst the whole village of +our tenants and servants (children of generations +of our tenants and servants) were gathered behind. +</p> + +<p> +As they knelt down side by side on the altar +steps, a ray from the autumn sun fell softly on her +bowed head, slightly turned, on the rich brown +hair flowing beneath her veil, on the broad fair +brow, the drooping eyelids, with their long dark +lashes, and the pale cheek. In its repose her face +shone on me as if it had been her mother's looking +down on her from heaven; so close seemed the +likeness, so angelic the calm. It brought my +childhood, and all heaven before me, and blinded my +eyes with tears. +</p> + +<p> +Good old Dr. Rich was so completely shaken out +of his natural dwelling-place in the past by his +sympathy with them that he seemed like another +man. His voice was deep and tender, and the +benedictions fell from his lips with a power which +resounded from stone effigies of knight and dame, +and thrilled back from every living heart, in a deep +echo, "Yea, and they shall be blessed." +</p> + +<p> +The most rigid Puritan in the place conformed +for the occasion. Responses went up, not, as +Mr. Baxter complains, "in a confused and unmeaning +manner," but hearty and clear as an anthem; +and the Amens rang through the church like a +salute of artillery. +</p> + +<p> +As the service closed and we followed Lettice +and Roger down the aisle, I noticed a cavalier +wrapped in a large mantle, leaning against one of +the pillars near the door. Lettice saw him and +pointed him out to Roger, and both then went +towards him. It was Walter Davenant. He came +forward and grasped their hands. +</p> + +<p> +His voice was low, and had a tremor in it. But +I heard him say,— +</p> + +<p> +"If my being publicly here could have been any +sign of honour to you, Roger Drayton, I would +have come with a cavalcade. But my coming is +an honour to none. I pray you think it not a +disgrace." +</p> + +<p> +Sir Walter coloured as he saw him (he had +forbidden Walter to enter his house), but Lettice +placed their hands together, and there was no +resisting the entreaty in her sweet pleading face. +So the old cavalier went back to the hall leaning +on his son's arm. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as happy an augury as could be given +of the blessing to flow from the marriage. +</p> + +<p> +He was the only one of Lettice's kindred except +her father who vouchsafed his presence. And I +believe it was to counterbalance this cold +reception, and testify how he honoured, as much as to +show how he loved, his child, that Sir Walter +insisted on all the village partaking of such a feast +as Netherby had never seen, and on the ringers of +all the churches round ringing such peals as the +country-side had never heard. +</p> + +<p> +So it came about that at last, after flowing so +parallel, so close, and so divided for so many +centuries, the two streams of life at Netherby blended +in one. +</p> + +<p> +Job Forster said,— +</p> + +<p> +"I always knew it must be—I always knew. Do +you think, Mistress Olive, I've watched nightly with +Master Roger by the camp-fires on Scotch and Irish +moors, on the hills and by the sea, and gone with +him into battle after battle, when neither of us knew +who would ever come back alive—without finding +out where his heart was? and when Mistress Lettice +came back from beyond seas as a lily among thorns, +I knew she was all right, which made it plain. But I +never breathed it to a soul. <i>She</i> (<i>i.e.</i> Rachel) of course +always knew everything, whether she was told or +not. But she was unbelieving about it—fearful and +unbelieving. I never knew her so bad about +anything. I believe it was because she wished it so +much. Scores of times she has vexed me sore about +it. 'There was no promise folks should be happy,' +said she, 'and have all they wished for.' I had to +mind her of the morning long ago, when we went +hunting in the dark for a promise for Master Roger +when he was in that sore trouble, and no promise +came, till at last she found we wanted none, for we'd +got beyond the promises to Him who was the Promise +of all promises. And here she was standing up +again for a promise! 'It was spiritual inward blessing +we were looking for then, Job,' said she (nigh +as perverse as that poor Quaker maid), 'and of course +that's all plain. This is <i>outward</i>, and that's another +thing altogether. No doubt the good Lord would +have us all forgiven and made good. But it's by +no means clear to my mind He'd have us all married +and made happy just in the way we wish.' 'Well, +said I, 'thou'rt a wise woman, a world wiser than +me. But thou'st never fought under Oliver. <i>He</i> +said he knew not well to distinguish between outward +blessings and inward. <i>To a worldly man they are +outward; to a saint, Christian</i>. The difference is in +the subject, if not in the object.' Nor," continued +Job, "do I know to distinguish, or care. Leastways +thou'st been the best means of grace the Lord +ever sent to me. And why shouldn't Master Roger +and Lettice be like thee and me? Seems to me +scarce thankful, anyway, to put marriage among the +outward blessings, like meat!' Which, if it did not +convince her (for the best of women can't be always +amenable to reason), anyways turned the conversation. +And now it's all come about as I said, wife, +and thou must give in at last," he concluded. "Sure, +thou'lt never be as stiff-necked as those poor wilful +Scottish ministers, who were so wise they couldn't +even see what the Almighty meant after He had +spoken in thunder at Dunbar. Poor souls," he +added, "poor stiff-necked souls; they're learning it +now on the other side of the book, by the gallows +and the boot, and the congregations scattered by +the King's soldiers on the hills." +</p> + +<p> +Rachel did not plunge into the vexed question his +words raised; as to whether the event proved the +equity of the cause. She only said,— +</p> + +<p> +"Promise or no promise, Job; inward or outward, +I've no manner of doubt the good Lord minds +whether we're happy or no, and makes us as happy +as may be, while being made as good as we can be. +Which, of course, He minds ten thousand times +more; because the goodness is the happiness, come +which way it may, by the drought or the flood. +But if the happiness <i>will</i> make us good, no fear of +His stinting that. Good measure pressed down and +running over, that's His measure, and that's the +measure He's given Mistress Lettice and Master +Roger at last, and thee and me, this many a year. +Good measure, with His sign and mark on it to show +it is good, and no counterfeit." +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy was the only one among us who +thought it necessary to temper Roger and Lettice's +content with dark forebodings. +</p> + +<p> +"It is no smooth sea, dear heart," said she to +Lettice, "thy bark is launched upon, nor can ye +remain long in any haven." +</p> + +<p> +"I know that I have married a soldier," replied +Lettice, "and a soldier in a warfare which has no +discharges. But I know his lot, and I have chosen +it for mine, Aunt Dorothy." +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Dorothy" fell from her lips for the first +time like a caress. There was always a kind of +sweet easy majesty about Lettice, which made her +caresses seem a dignity as well as a delight, and +Aunt Dorothy for the time ceased her forebodings. +Her love for Lettice was stronger than she confessed +or knew, and she was always more easily led by +Lettice than by any amongst us to take a brighter +view of things and men. Not that Aunt Dorothy +was one given to moan or whine. She did not dread +suffering, but she believed it her duty to dread joy +and was therefore ever wont to shadow sunny days +with the severe foresight of evil days to come. Dark +days indeed were her bright days, since on these she +permitted herself to enjoy such stray sunbeams as +rarely fail to break through the darkest. +</p> + +<p> +During three years after Roger and Lettice's +marriage we kept much at Netherby. Sir Walter's +failing health made him choose the quiet of his +country home. Moreover, the doings of that +degraded court, which the loyal Mr. Evelyn called +"rather a luxurious and abandoned rout than a +court," displeased the old cavalier of the court of +Charles the First as much as it did any Puritan +amongst us. Except for the contrast which made +it yet bitterer for us who had hoped much from the +Commonwealth, and remembered Milton dwelling +at Whitehall, and the blameless family of the +Protector making a pure English home, with dignified +courtly festivities and family prayer, where now the +eager contests of the gaming-table and wretched +French songs resounded, on Sundays as well as +on other days, through the apartments where the +King's mistresses reigned. +</p> + +<p> +An alliance grew up between Aunt Dorothy, Sir +Walter, and good Dr. Rich. Aunt Dorothy could +never so far forgive my father, Roger, my husband, +or Job Forster, for turning (as she believed) liberty +into license, and lawful resistance into rebellion, as +to consort with them again as of the same party. +With Sir Walter she had a broad common ground +in their loyalty to the late king, their lamentations +over the present court, their general admiration of +the nobleness of the past, and their general hopelessness +as to the future. But with Dr. Rich her sympathies +were deeper. He would bring her passages +from St. Austin, which she thought only second to +St. Paul; and, in return, she would acknowledge +that there was one passage which she had not once +understood as she ought, and that was, "Resist not +the power, for they that resist shall receive to +themselves damnation." She agreed with Mr. Baxter +and Mr. Henry as to the duty of attending, at least +occasionally, the services in the church established +by law. And he agreed that from primitive times +private assemblies for edification in twos and threes +were not forbidden. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, indeed, they had debates. +</p> + +<p> +"England also has now her St. Bartholomew," +she said once, "and no doubt she will have her +retribution. Charles the Ninth of France died in +agonies of remorse soon after that fatal day of the +execution of the Huguenots." +</p> + +<p> +"Anniversaries are not always wise to observe, +madam," he replied. "On the eve of St. Bartholomew's +day seventeen years ago, the Commonwealth +prohibited the use of the Common Prayer even in +private. That also is an anniversary. And some +might say this St. Bartholomew is the retribution. +God forbid I should accuse Him of punishing one +injustice by another. But by all means let us avoid +predictions. Even agonies of remorse are not the +most hopeless end of guilty souls." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet," said my father, "nothing is more safe +than predictions of retribution. Most men being +likely to suffer, and all men being sure to die, what +can be safer than to threaten either affliction or +death, or both, to those we deem guilty? It seems +to me," he continued, "an endless and fruitless toil +to make up the balance of accounts between the +churches as to persecution. Perhaps all that can +be said is, that those who have had the least power +have had the privilege of inflicting the least wrong. +He who ruled England once said 'he never yet +knew the sect who, when in power, would allow +liberty to the rest.'" +</p> + +<p> +"He was for license," interposed Aunt Dorothy. +"Heaven forbid we should call that liberty." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, sister Dorothy, no doubt," said my father, +smiling, "with many sects liberty to any other is +license. That was what the Protector thought. +Be thankful that you have no chance just now of +making a St. Bartholomew of your own." +</p> + +<p> +"The Protector has had his retribution, brother," +said Aunt Dorothy, solemnly, "let us leave him +and his politics in peace." +</p> + +<p> +"But, sir," rejoined my father, turning to Dr. Rich, +"after all, the worst retributions are in our +sins. The loss of the soul in sinning must be greater +than any subsequent loss in suffering; and I +confess, to me no severer retribution seems possible to +the Church which inflicts this present wrong than +the wrong itself, the loss of two thousand of her +most fervent and holy pastors, and the rending +from her of the tens of thousands who revere and +follow them. The losses of churches, after all, are +not in livings but in lives; not in money but in men." +</p> + +<p> +Bitter and biting, indeed, were the times around +us, yet the prisons of those days were more +honourable than the palaces. Better beyond comparison +any disgrace and suffering that reckless Court +could inflict than the disgrace of belonging to it. +</p> + +<p> +With two thousand good ministers and their +families thrown destitute on the world, it was +impossible that any of those who honoured them +could feel their own possessions anything but a +trust to be scrupulously husbanded for their +succour. Many hundreds also were in prison, though +none, I rejoice to think, of those two thousand, +were ever in prison for debt. Then there were the +Quakers, who bore the brunt of the battle, carrying +passive resistance as close to action as possible, and +persisting in meeting in public assemblies, though +certain to be dispersed by constables or soldiers +with wounds or loss of life. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed it was for this reason, amongst others, we +kept away from London during the years following +the passing the Act of Uniformity, in the hope of +keeping Annis Nye out of the peril we knew she +would confront if near enough to attend a meeting +of Friends. +</p> + +<p> +It was not any one party in the state whose +hearts began to fail, but the good men of all +parties. +</p> + +<p> +It was no longer Royalists or Roundheads only +that were sinking, but England. It was not +Puritanism or Presbyterianism only that the Court +affronted, but righteousness, purity, and truth. +</p> + +<p> +Already the weapons of ecclesiastical or theological +controversy, the subtle and "unanswerable" +arguments wherewith Episcopalians, Presbyterians, +Independents, Erastians, Calvinists, Arminians, +Semi-Arminians, and all the sixty sects Mr. Baxter +had enumerated, had been assailing each other during +the past years, seemed to hang rusting over our +heads, as mere curious antiquities, such as the bills +and crossbows our ancestors had used in the wars +of the Roses. +</p> + +<p> +The contest was being carried to other ground; +to the oldest battle-field of all, and the most plainly +marked. +</p> + +<p> +As Job Forster said,— +</p> + +<p> +"There's a good deal of the fighting that's been +done these last years, Mistress Olive, that's been a +sore puzzle to a plain man like me. I mean the +wars with words as well as with swords. Friend +and foe used so much the same battle-cries, and +fought under banners so much alike, that when a +man had gained a victory, it wasn't always easy to +see whether to make it a day of humiliation or of +thanksgiving. The safest way was to make it both. +And after he who could see for us all was taken +from our head, things got clean hopeless, and it +was all shooting in the dark. But now there's a +kind of doleful comfort in putting by all the long +hard words with which Christians fight each other, +and taking up for weapons the Ten Commandments. +A man feels more sure anyway they can't hit wrong. +There's been a deal of fighting and a deal of +talking these last years, and seems to me now as if the +Almighty were calling us all to a Quaker's silent +meeting, to keep still a bit, and mind our own +business. Perhaps when the talking and the fighting +begin again, they'll both be the better for the +silence." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XI. +<br><br> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</h3> + +<p> +"Davenant Hall, <i>October</i>, 1664.—The +blow has fallen on us at last. +Aunt Dorothy and Annis Nye are +together in prison at Newgate. +</p> + +<p> +"Annis was the first taken. Olive being for a +time in London, nothing could keep the maiden +from attending the forbidden meeting of Quakers, +held at the Bull and Mouth, Bishopsgate. And so +it happened that, one night, they looked for her +return in vain, and Dr. Antony going to search for +her, found that the assembly had been broken up +by the soldiers with violence, and that among those +seized and thrown into prison was Annis Nye. +They would have paid anything, or taken any pains +to rescue her, but the peculiar difficulty in the case +of the imprisonment of the Quakers is, that they +will do nothing and suffer nothing to be done, which +would in any way recognize the justice of their +sentence. The magistrate in this case (as in another +which occurred at the same time) was willing to +have set Annis free, if she would have given any +pledge to abstain from attending such meetings in +future. But she said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Ask me not to do aught against my conscience? +If I were set free to-day I must go to-morrow, +if the Lord so willed me, to meet the Friends +at the Bull and Mouth.' +</p> + +<p> +"Nor would she suffer bail to be given. And so +she was sentenced to be carried beyond seas to the +plantations in Jamaica—she and divers other +Quakers, men and women; the men being +sentenced to Barbadoes, and the women to Jamaica. +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Dorothy's heart was moved for the maid; +but, nevertheless, she shook her head, and said she +had always prophesied such willfulness could have +no other end. +</p> + +<p> +"'It was a pity,' said she, 'the rashness of such +disorderly people should throw discredit on the +sufferings of sober Christians.' +</p> + +<p> +"For she still clung to the belief that there was +a legal submission, a conformity to the furthest +limit possibly compatible with fidelity to +conscience, which must be a safeguard for the personal +liberty of those who, like Mr. Baxter and herself, +rigidly kept within it. +</p> + +<p> +"But she was soon to be driven from this last +point of hope. In July the Conventicle Act came +into action, ordering that any religious meetings +in private houses, or elsewhere, of more than five +people besides the household, rendered those who +attended them liable to imprisonment or fines. +</p> + +<p> +"And from that time no Puritan gentleman, who +had an enemy base enough to inform against him +or happened to come in the way of a common +mercenary informer, could be safe. Some even +deemed it unsafe to say a grace when five strangers +were present. +</p> + +<p> +"At Netherby, a few of the villagers had +always been wont to join our family-prayer from +time to time. +</p> + +<p> +"At the time of the coming of the Conventicle +Act into operation, Aunt Dorothy chanced to be +alone in the house, the rest of the family being in +London, and she scorned to make any change. +</p> + +<p> +"On Sunday morning, an ill-looking suspicious +stranger dropped in on their morning exercise. +And on the next the constables made their appearance +at the same hour, and arrested Aunt Dorothy +in the king's name. +</p> + +<p> +"The servants talked of resistance, and the +constables suggested bail, but Aunt Dorothy refused +either: the first, from loyalty to the king; the +second, from loyalty to truth. She was guilty of +no offence against God or the king, said she, and +was ready to stand her trial. +</p> + +<p> +"Accordingly she is in Newgate, and Roger is +in London, doing all he can, in conjunction with +Mr. Drayton and Dr. Antony, to effect her liberation. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Twelfth Night</i>, 1665.—I little thought that ever +again, while we are both on earth, anything should +separate Roger and me. +</p> + +<p> +"I had gone over, as I thought, all possible +dangers, and resolved that, in all, duty must keep me +by his side. Exile, war, imprisonment, all I would +share. What duty could ever arise so strong as +my duty to cleave to him? +</p> + +<p> +"And yet now Roger lies in prison in London, +and I am imprisoned here, kept from him by soft +ties of duty stronger than bolts of iron. +</p> + +<p> +"For in the cradle by my side, breathing the +sweet even breath of an infant's sleep, lies our little +Harry Davenant Drayton. +</p> + +<p> +"And in the next chamber, with the door open +between, lies my father, sleeping the feverish +broken sleep of sickness, from time to time +calling me to his side by an uneasy moan or a +restless movement; scarcely able to bear me out of +his sight. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger was arrested for speaking some words +of good cheer to a little company who had gathered +at early dawn in a solitary place to hear their +ancient pastor. The pastor had been thrown into +prison, and the poor flock waited in vain. Roger +came to tell them of their pastor's imprisonment, +said a short prayer and a few words of good +counsel, and would thus have heartened and then +dismissed them, when the officers came and seized +him. Strange that he, so little given to overmuch +discourse, should be in prison for speaking. +</p> + +<p> +"There were no bonfires or festivities to-day, as +on that Twelfth-night, all but a quarter of a century +since, when all Netherby, and my own brothers, and +I made merry around the winter bonfires; that night +which was nigh costing Roger so dear; all life and +all the Civil War before us, then as unknown as +to-morrow now! +</p> + +<p> +"How scattered the company who met then! +On battle-field, and lonely heath, and in the silent +church; in this old house (which feels almost as +lonely and silent now), and in prison. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet better now than then, in many ways, and +for most of us. Some of the dearest who could never +have rested here, at rest for ever above. Roger +with a rest in his heart no prison can rob him of. +And my father nearer my mother, I think, than ever +before in heart and soul. +</p> + +<p> +"I read the Prayer-book to him often, and the +Bible. He makes little comment, but loves to listen, +and asks for the chapters and hymns my mother +loved best. And sometimes he asks me what +comforted her most when she thought of dying. And I +tell him,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Christ our Lord. The thought of Him; all +He said, did, and suffered on earth; Himself living +now in heaven. All else, she said, was Hades, the +Invisible. But Christ had become Visible; had +been manifested, seen, touched, and handled. "God +refuses us all such poor pictures," (said she,) "as +Pagans and Mussulmans have of their paradises and +elysiums; all pictures, except such as it is plain are +not pictures, but symbols; either because they +contradict themselves—as 'gold like transparent +glass,' and seas 'mingled with fire'—or, because we +are told they are symbols, like the living water +and the Tree of Life. The other world remains to +us Hades. But Christ the Lord has been seen by +mortal eyes, held in the mortal arms of a mortal +mother. His feet bathed with tears and kissed by +the lips of an adoring, penitent woman. His hand +laid with healing touch on the leper none else would +touch. His hands nailed to a cross, and His feet; +the prints of the nails seen by Thomas; His voice +heard on the slopes of Olivet, by the sea-side, by the +well. Christ the Lord was heard and seen,' she +said. 'And that makes all the Hades a place not +of darkness, but of light to me, where the human +heart can long to be, to adore Him, and yet remain +human.'" +</p> + +<p> +"'Did she say that?' my father says. 'Did she +say that? Then that is what I can understand too. +Even she could have seen nothing but a blank of +darkness in it but for Him; but for Him. Then, +sweetheart, no wonder I seem like groping in the +dark sometimes. I who have so much more sin to +be forgiven, and so much less faith to see.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then once I told him how that horror of thick +darkness came on me when she died, and how it +was shone away by the Apostles' Creed. And he +listened, gazing at me as if his soul were living on +the words. Then I read him the gospels; the +stories of the resurrection. +</p> + +<p> +"And then often, again and again, he asks me to +repeat what my mother said. And each time, instead +of growing dull by repetition, it seems to grow +living to us both. +</p> + +<p> +"So I can have no doubt that my place is here, +and not in the prison with Roger, where otherwise it +would be liberation to me to go. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>January</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1665.—No word from the prison +for some days. The snow is white on all the breadths +of the Fens, bounded only like the sea by the gray +sky, broken only by the Mere, black with ice, and +by the dark limbs of the trees which have stripped +themselves 'like athletes' to fight the winter storms. +</p> + +<p> +"Sixteen years since they laid the king amidst +the falling snow, among his fathers, in the Chapel at +Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +"How little our sentences avail! +</p> + +<p> +"Executed this day sixteen years as a murderer +and traitor! Celebrated to-day in every church +throughout the land as a martyr of blessed memory; +while the bones of those who put him to death lie +mouldering under the gallows. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet who shall say that the final sentence is given +yet? Higher and higher the cause is carried from +tribunal to tribunal, from the angry present to the +calm-judging generations to come, from these again +to the Tribunal above, from which there is no appeal. +</p> + +<p> +"Of what avail for us to judge? +</p> + +<p> +"The sentence is given there already; given, and +known to those whom it most concerns. +</p> + +<p> +"What matters it what we are prattling about it +here below? +</p> + +<p> +"My husband has left among his papers some +letters and journals from the other side of the sea, +which are well worn by much reading, and noted in +the margin in many places, so that in reading them +I converse with him, and find much comfort every +way, both in the text and the comment. +</p> + +<p> +"The simple story goes straight to my heart, +nerves and braces it at once. Never, I think, were +sufferings borne with more of courage and less of +repining. +</p> + +<p> +"Frost, famine, salt water freezing on their scanty +clothing till it was hard as the Ironsides' armour. +Then 'vehement' coughs came on, 'hectic,' and +consumption; still they bore cheerfully on. Out of the +hundred, seventeen died in the first February after +their landing, sixteen in March, sometimes three die +in a day. At last, at the end of the winter, of one +hundred persons, scarce fifty remained; the living +scarce able to bury the dead; the well not sufficient +to tend the sick. And in a notice which touches me +to the quick, the journal says:— +</p> + +<p> +"'While we were busy about our seed, our governor, +Mr. Carver, comes out of the field very sick, +complains greatly of his head; within a few hours +his senses fail, so as he speaks no more, and in a few +days after, dies, to our great lamentation and +heaviness. His care and pains were so great for the +common good, as therewith 'twas thought he +oppressed himself, and shortened his days; of whose +loss we cannot sufficiently complain; and his wife +deceases about five or six weeks after.' +</p> + +<p> +"She, belike, did not complain of his loss. She +endured; and died. +</p> + +<p> +"And shall I complain while Roger lives? and of +bodily hardship I know nothing; though that, +indeed, is scarce the hardest. +</p> + +<p> +"Half the exiles dead, yet the rest never lost +heart or distrusted God; but went on, and toiled +and conquered;—and made a home and a refuge for +their brethren;—began a New World. +</p> + +<p> +"The sorrows were borne in unrepining silence, +as knowing God the Father would not try them on +many that could be spared. The mercies are +recorded with grateful minuteness. +</p> + +<p> +"After their first harvest from seed saved from +half-starving mouths, they appointed an annual +Thanksgiving Day; afterwards, after a time, an +annual fast. But the thanksgiving came first. And +they made it a right merry day: preparing for it by +a holiday of hunting game for the feast. A wholesome +and not gloomy piety theirs seems to me, like +John Bunyan's. Moreover, they have eyes to see. +The journal tells of forests 'compassing about to the +very sea, with oaks, pines, ash, walnut, birch, holly, +juniper, sassafras, and other sweet wood;' of forest +paths and sweet brooks; of quiet pools and deep +grassy valleys; of vines, too, and strawberries; and +sorrel and yarrow, and cherry trees and plum trees. +</p> + +<p> +"Deer range the forests, and wilder animals. One +poor man whose feet were 'pitifully ill' with the +cold, crept abroad into the woods with a spaniel. A +little way from the plantation, two wolves ran after +the dog, who fled between his legs for succour; he +had nothing in his hand, but took up a stick and +threw at one of them and hit him. They ran away, +but came again; he got a pale-board in his hand, +and 'they sat on their tails grinning at him a good +while, and then went their way, and left him.' +</p> + +<p> +"Cranes and mallards waded about the marshy +places and plashed in the pools; and now and then +they started partridges and 'milky-white fowl;' and +birds sang pleasantly among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +"The world seems so wholesome there, so adventurous, +so full of life. Sometimes I think if Roger +were out of prison, one day I should like to go there +with him and our babe, and all the rest; away from +the conflicts of this distracted land; out of the way +of courts and prisons and Conventicle Acts, to +conquer some more homes from the wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +"But, perhaps, this is only restlessness and +repining; in which case I should be no worthy member +of such a company. +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder if Roger ever thought of this, and +never liked to mention it to me, knowing how I +love the old country and the old church? The +pages are so well-worn and so carefully noted. +When we meet again, at all events, I will show +him I am ready for anything he deems good. +'Thy country shall be my country; whither thou +goest I will go; where thou diest I will die, and +there will I be buried.' +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, none can rob me ever more of that sacred +right. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i> 2<i>nd</i>.—A letter from Roger from the +prison. +</p> + +<p> +"Brief enough, as his letters and speeches for +the most part are, yet marvellously lengthy for him. +</p> + +<p> +"'Our case is but little to be commiserated,' he +writes, 'being so much lighter than that of others, +and we trust soon to be ended. +</p> + +<p> +"'I might, indeed, have as fair a room as at +Netherby, and as good eggs, cheese, butter, and +bacon as a soldier could wish for sold here in the +prison. +</p> + +<p> +"'But no man, hale and strong (as I am, sweet +heart, so never be downcast), could know that +hundreds of men and women, imprisoned for much the +same cause as we, are under the same roof, ill-clad, +ill-fed, and worse lodged, and enjoy his feast alone. +</p> + +<p> +"'The Quakers, as usual, provoke the charge, +and bear the brunt of it. The men's sleeping-room, +till lately, was a great bare chamber with +hammocks hung between a pillar in the midst and +the wall, in three tiers, one above another; the air, +by the morning, enough to breed a pestilence. God +grant it do not. For although this is somewhat +mended, these crowded prisons are little better +than pest-houses at the best. And pestilences do +not stay where they begin. Whitehall is not so +far from Newgate but that the poison might +spread. The Friends outside do what they can to +succour, clothe, and feed those within, arranging +their help with a singular order and care. But +much is left for us to aid in. Wherefore, sweet +heart, send what warm woolseys and wholesome +country food thou canst. Leonard Antony will +bring it and see it well bestowed. +</p> + +<p> +"'We have good hope of deliverance, by payment +of sundry fines and other moneys. Annis +Nye, we fear, is sentenced to the plantations in +Jamaica. But Aunt Dorothy will, no doubt, +speedily be free, and bring thee tidings. So God +keep thee and the babe. And be of good cheer. +I was never of better heart. Farewell. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>P.S.</i>—Thy brother Walter hath been to see +me. He was much moved. And he is doing what +he can for our release. But he looks sorely aged +and changed.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i> 10<i>th</i>.—Aunt Dorothy is at Netherby +again. +</p> + +<p> +"She looks thin and pale after such prison-fare +and lodging. She brings certain tidings that Roger +will soon be free. +</p> + +<p> +"Her wrath seems chiefly directed against the +exactions of the prison-officers. +</p> + +<p> +"'Harpies!' said she, 'unconscionable harpies. +I would not have given a groat of good money to +fill their unhallowed coffers, and to buy the rancid +lard and fetid oil they dare to call butter and +bacon, or demeaned myself to ask them the favour +of a lodging separate from the vagabonds and +purse-pickers, had it not been for that poor wilful +maid, Annis Nye. She looked like a ghost or a +corpse; a corpse with the eyes of an angel, and +the courage of a lion. Yea, the courage of a lion +more than the meekness of a martyr. Brave I say +she is as any woman ever was. And brave the +Quakers are. But meek I never will call them. +One of them was imprisoned for "finishing a job," +mending shoes, on the Sabbath morning! On +religious principles, quoth he; breaking the Sabbath +"on religious grounds!" And when in prison he +let them nearly whip him to death, rather than +confess himself guilty by doing the malefactors +prison work. Indeed, he would have died but for +the tender nursing of Mr. Thomas Ellwood and the +other Friends, dressing his wounds with balsams. +For that they are friendly to each other, these +fanatics, no one can deny, brave and friendly; +but meek'—surely they are not. I had almost to +belie myself by pretending to want a waiting-woman +(a bondage I hate), before I could prevail +on that poor maid to let me have her in a room +apart, and nurse and cherish her as she needed. +For she had been sorely bruised and wounded in +the scattering of the meeting, where the soldiers +took her; and had been busier since with her +"concerns" and her "callings," to all seeming, than +with mollifying her wounds and bruises. I am a +woman of no weak nerve, niece Lettice, but my +heart sickened when I came to see how she must +have suffered. And she as patient as a lamb, +dumb and patient those Quakers can be. I will +never deny that; dumb and patient, brave and +friendly. And now there she is again alone, +without a creature in their sober senses near her to +keep her from her "concerns" and her "calls." There +she is with ever so many others, sentenced +to "service" in Jamaica.' +</p> + +<p> +"When Job Forster heard this sentence, he +brushed his hand across his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"'Poor maid! poor, pleasant, wilful maid!' said +he. +</p> + +<p> +"But before long he seemed to take a more +cheerful view. +</p> + +<p> +"'Perhaps it's for the best, after all, Mistress +Lettice. Who knows but she might have been +seized with a concern to go to preach to the Grand +Turk, or the Pope, or the Dey of Algiers? Several +of the women Friends have done such things. Not +that the Turks are the worst foes for a Quaker. +They listen to them as meek as lambs for they +think they are mad; and they think the Almighty +speaks through mad people. And then they escort +them out of the country, as gracious as may be. +And I don't see what any saint could do better +with a Quaker, poor blind infidels though those +Turks be. Nay, the Turks are not the worst +danger for a Quaker. She might have had a concern +to go to New England, to testify, as others of her +sect have done, against the severity of their +treatment there. And New England, they do say, is +about the hottest place a Quaker can go to just +now. They don't listen to them, like the poor +Turks. And they do escort them out of the +country; but not graciously. They beat them from +town to town, and threaten them with the gallows +if they come back again, which makes it a stronger +temptation than any Quaker can resist to go back +as soon as they can.' +</p> + +<p> +"This is a great perplexity to me. I thought +the people in New England had gone there on +account of religious liberty. I must ask Roger. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i> 17.—Roger is with us again; scarce +the worse for his imprisonment, except a little +hollow in the cheeks, and a good deal of want of +repair in his clothes. I see he did not use the +clothes I had made. +</p> + +<p> +"'A little more in good campaigning order,' he +says, if I attempt to condole; 'a little relieved of +over-abundance of flesh. That is all.' +</p> + +<p> +"It is the way of the Draytons generally, and +of Roger in particular, that their spirits rise +beyond the ordinary level in a storm. I suppose the +family has been used to stormy weather so long +that they feel it their element. They are at home +in it, and like it. +</p> + +<p> +"I have asked him about New England. His +face quite beamed, and his tongue seemed unloosed, +when he found the thought of going to the plantations +was not so terrible to me. +</p> + +<p> +"He confessed that he had often thought it might +be the best resource, if things do not mend here, +but had shrunk from mentioning it to me. +</p> + +<p> +"'We are all cowards, in some direction,' he +said, with a smile. 'How was I to know, sweet +heart, I had married a Deborah, whose heart would +never fail?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Thou dost not despair for England?' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"'God forbid!' said he. 'But the lives of +nations count by centuries, and ours by years, and +that but precariously. And, meantime, while there +is so little to be done here, I have sometimes +thought we might serve the old country best by +extending her dominion and anticipating her +freedom in the new.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But,' said I, 'I cannot make out about this +freedom. Job Forster says they are by no means +gentle to Quakers.' +</p> + +<p> +"He paused a little. +</p> + +<p> +"'The Quakers are not quite content with quietly +pursuing their own way,' he said. 'With all their +objections to war and teaching of passive resistance, +their warfare is certainly not on the defensive +but a continual assault on other sects. And at +present the New England plantations are struggling, +not "for wellbeing, but for being;" which +is a struggle in which men are apt to make rough +terms. By-and-by, they will feel stronger, and be +gentler; and the Quakers, seeing that every man's +hand is no longer against them, will cease to set +their tongues against every man.' +</p> + +<p> +"'I scarce think,' he added, after a pause, in that +low tone to which his voice always naturally falls +when he speaks of his old general, 'that the place +is yet to be found on earth where such liberty exists +as the Protector would have had in England. +</p> + +<p> +"'But it has scarce come to the alternative of +exile yet. I cannot think that England will be +steeped much longer in this Lethe of false loyalty, +forgetting not Eliot and Hampden, and the +Commonwealth alone, but Magna Charta, and all her +history: all that makes her England.' +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +LETTICE'S DIARY.—(<i>Continued.</i>) +</p> + +<p> +"London, <i>April</i>, 1665.—The last weeks of watching +by my father's sick-bed are over. No bitterness +mingles with the sorrow. At first it seemed as if +we could do nothing but give thanks for the peace +and patience of those last days; and the rest for the +spirit, so weary and hopeless as to this world and +its future—so full of lowly, trembling hope as to the +other. +</p> + +<p> +"Then came the ebbing back of the tide of affection +in a tide of grief, the sense of blank and loss +that must come and Roger thought it best I should +leave the old scenes altogether for a while, and come +to Olive's home. +</p> + +<p> +"For the old home at the hall can never be a +home for us again. +</p> + +<p> +"Roland and his wife took possession at once, +with workmen from town, and a train of new servants. +Happily, my father had pensioned many of +the old household. +</p> + +<p> +"My sister-in-law has remodelled my mother's +oratory, and the old places so sacred to me, as she +wished, after the newest fashions at Whitehall. +</p> + +<p> +"But these changes in things, however sacred, +are little indeed, compared with the changes in +people; the evil influences brought into the household +and the village by the dissolute train of serving men +and women, trained in the wicked manners of the +Court. +</p> + +<p> +"London, <i>May</i>, 1665.—The spring seems to unfold +her robes slowly this year, and feebly, like a +butterfly I saw yesterday, in which life was so low +that it died whilst struggling out of its chrysalis. +There has been much drought. The scant foliage +in the parks and by the road-sides grows old and +gray with dust and drought almost as soon as it +is out. +</p> + +<p> +"There have been comets and strange sights in +the sky this winter. Aunt Dorothy thinks they are +for the nation's sins; but Mr. Drayton, who attends +the lectures of the Royal Society at Gresham +College, says they have to do with the revolutions of +the heavens, not with the revolutions in England. +'The signs of the times,' says he, 'are not in the sky, +but in the Whitehall gaming-tables.' But Aunt +Dorothy shakes her head, and says the Royal Society, +the Quakers, and the Court together, are fast +undermining the faith of the people. +</p> + +<p> +"There are rumours that one or two poor folk in +the villages of St. Giles' and St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, +between Westminster and the City, lie sick +with a malady men like not well to name. +</p> + +<p> +"But all just goes on as usual. The king feeds +the wild-fowl and plays pall-mall in the park, with +the throng of idlers about him. +</p> + +<p> +"There is little, indeed, at Whitehall to recall +that it ever was what Roger and the foreign +ambassadors say it was in the days of the Commonwealth; +a virtuous princely home; still less to make it possible +to think the king recalls it as the scene of his +father's martyrdom. A gaming-house, where wicked +women are lodged, and fill the galleries night and +day with licentious revelry; where the wife sits +apart, neglected and despised, while her husband +spends her fortune on the mistress with whom he +compels her to associate! +</p> + +<p> +"Is there no English gentleman left, no relic of +old knighthood, that these things can be? +</p> + +<p> +"Queen was a sacred name to the cavaliers of my +youth. Were there no cavaliers left when the young +queen, after patiently sitting apart some time in her +neglected corner of the room while the base throng, +with a king at their head, gathered around the +mistress—at length rose and withdrew to hide her +bitter tears in her chamber;—were there none of the +old cavaliers left to rally indignantly round her and +shame the king back to her? Were there no English +gentlewomen left to uphold her in the courageous +and womanly resistance she dared at first to +make to the degradation of such company as the +king forced on her?—To say to her, 'For his sake +and your own, never yield to such dishonour! Better +weep alone, neglected for life, a widowed wife, +than stoop to be but the first of such a company!' +</p> + +<p> +"Alas! now, poor lady, she has learned to hide +her indignation, and to converse freely with those +any man with a spark of true manhood in him, +profligate though he might be, would have kept from +her sight. +</p> + +<p> +"And some still speak of the king as a model of +grace and courtesy, and extol his infinite jest and +wit; comparing the polish of those refined days with +the rough, soldierly jokes of the Usurper! +</p> + +<p> +"These days refined, and those coarse! Roger +says there is more coarseness in the most polished +compliment of this hollow Court than in the roughest +joke a man like Cromwell could ever make. Just +as there is more coarseness in the theatre now +established than in the rudest jests in Shakspeare, whose +plays the king's courtiers and mistresses are too +'polite' to act, and the courtiers too 'polite' to enjoy. +</p> + +<p> +"For the royal favourites now are to be seen on +the stage. The 'lady' now, they say, does not +reign alone. The poor young queen has this +wretched revenge, at least, that the king can be +constant to no love, lawful or not. +</p> + +<p> +"Bear and bull baiting, too, are restored among +the 'refinements' of the Court. But, perchance, I +am the bitterer on this, in that this degradation +presses me so close. The gleam of better hope that +broke on us for Walter, when he appeared at our +marriage and was reconciled to my father, has long +since vanished; and he is swept away again in the +whirlpool of the Court. +</p> + +<p> +"It is this which obliges me to think of evils from +which otherwise I might turn my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"This Dance of Satyrs is to my brother, indeed, +a Dance of Death. These fires of sin are burning +away his very life and soul, and none can quench them. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 3.—The numbers of poor sick folk in +St. Giles' and St. Martin's have increased fearfully. +The nobles and rich men take alarm; many houses +are deserted; the roads crowded with coaches full +of fugitives. +</p> + +<p> +"The Plague is amongst us! The Plague! +</p> + +<p> +"To none of us not yet beyond middle life are +the terrors of that word fully known. Mr. Drayton, +Aunt Dorothy, and the aged, know the meaning of +the word too well. In 1636, nearly thirty years +ago, was the last great desolation of the City. +Before that it recurred, with more or less force, every +few years. Then it swept away a fifth of the +inhabitants. But for the last sixteen years it has been +scarcely seen in London; merely four or five people +in the year, in the lowest districts, dying of it, and +so preventing its being altogether forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +"Said Aunt Dorothy: 'The Commonwealth was +not all a godly people could wish. But during the +Commonwealth the Plague did not visit the City. +That scourge, at all events, was not deemed needful. +Now the Court has come back—or I should not say +come back—such a Court as was never known has +come to us from those wicked, foreign, Popish parts: +and with the Court comes the Plague.' +</p> + +<p> +"'The real Plague has been among us some years,' +said Mr. Drayton. 'Heaven grant this Plague may +be the purification. But take heed, sister Dorothy, +take heed how we interpret Providence before the +time. The scourge has fallen on too many of late +for us to say too hastily this is the Father's rod, and +that is the Lictor's; or this is the King's accolade +to smite his servant into knighthood, from the lower +place of service to the higher. What sayest thou, +sister Gretel?' +</p> + +<p> +"'For me, brother,' she replied, 'there is little +temptation of being too quick to interpret, because +I am so slow to understand. So I find it the safest +way, when the rod falls on others, to hope it is the +King's accolade; when it falls on myself, I know +well enough it is the Father's rod—the loving +Father's loving chastening, yet sorely needed.' +</p> + +<p> +"But Aunt Dorothy set her lips rigidly. +</p> + +<p> +"'Some men's sins are open beforehand,' said she, +'going before to judgment. And all men say it +does seem very notable just now that death seizes +most on the profane, and seems to pass the sober +and religious people by.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 3.—Rumours of a great victory over the +Dutch Fleet. The news scarce stirs up the smitten +city to the faintest semblance of joy or triumph. +Yet are victories not so frequent now as to be made +common. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 25.—The Court has fled to Oxford. +Whitehall is empty and silent. That mockery, at least, +is gone out of sight of the people's misery. +</p> + +<p> +"The Court has fled, and the good Nonconformist +ministers have come back, and are allowed +to preach in the churches from which they were +driven. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>June</i> 30.—We have held a family consultation +to-day whether to stay or go. Roger and Leonard +Antony had no doubt of their duty. +</p> + +<p> +"Many of the physicians have left (to attend +their fugitive patients, they say), which makes it +all the more needful, Dr. Antony thinks, for him to +remain. +</p> + +<p> +"Many of the clergy, also (though by no means +all), have fled (to tend their fugitive flocks, they +say). And Roger deems it the plain duty of a +Christian man, who is here already by Providence +placed in the midst of the peril, to stay, and give +what help he can to the stricken and the bereaved, +by counsel, alms, and words of Christian hope. +This is the kind of season that unlocks Roger's +lips. He grows eloquent, when dying men and +women look to him to lift their hearts to God. At +least, the few words he speaks are eloquent, and +refresh the heart like cold water after a burning +drought—cold and fresh, because of the deep places +from which it comes. +</p> + +<p> +"They tried a little to persuade Olive and me +and the children to seek refuge elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +"But not much, seeing that all persuasion could +be of no avail to move us to this. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God, it is <i>not</i> my duty to be parted from +him now. God spares us this agony. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed there is one mitigation to the anguish +of this time of terrors. Death comes to many +households now almost as the Glorious Epiphany +for which my mother looked; as it were with a +great trumpet, in the twinkling of an eye, smiting +whole families together, without parting, from earth +to heaven. +</p> + +<p> +"For what richer mercy could we ask? +</p> + +<p> +"<i>July</i>.—The sunny sky, unshaded by a cloud, still +smiles its terrible steady stony smile on the +drooping city; like a countenance which despair has +smitten into idiotic vacancy; like an eye from +which madness has dried the tears. +</p> + +<p> +"It is strange to have such leisure as we have +now to listen and think. For in one thing Roger +and Dr. Antony are firm. They will not suffer us +to go into the infected streets, nor indeed to leave +the garden, save by the water-gate, to give the +children fresh air in the meadows by the river. +</p> + +<p> +"We keep everything as much as possible in +its wonted, even course. Our family prayer and +psalm have not been omitted once; Roger's father +leading it, for Roger and Leonard are seldom present. +</p> + +<p> +"Maidie and Dolly sew and help us in the house, +where there is much to do; since we hold it duty +by no means to suffer our servants to remain in +the infected city, unwilling as they were to depart. +Mistress Gretel, Mistress Dorothy, and Olive, +therefore, do the kitchen and the household work, and I +and the young maidens help all we can; although +(being brought up too helplessly) I am not of half +the use I would be. +</p> + +<p> +"This regular even living Dr. Antony deems the +best precaution. He believes a feverish convulsive +kind of religion is as dangerous as any other +excitement, and that we have great need at such (as +at all) times of the exhortation, <i>Study to be quiet, +and to do your own business</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"Much as he honours those who preach in the +churches, he could desire that their exhortations +were sometimes less alarming. The people are +roused and alarmed enough, he says, by the +pestilence. Death itself is preaching the Alarm and +the Call to the unconverted. What sermon can +preach 'Prepare' like Ten thousand Deaths in a +week? The preachers should preach Christ and +His peace, he thinks. And so no doubt many do. +</p> + +<p> +"The magistrates do what they can to produce +the same regularity in the city. London is not +wholly abandoned by all her rulers in her sore +need. Bread is as abundant and cheap as ever, +though it must be brought to us at some peril. +</p> + +<p> +"There is a great quiet in the streets. No holiday +processions now. The merry-makers are all +gone from the city or from the world. No funeral +processions. There are no burials, except by night. +The city is dying. But there are no tolling bells, +no reverent slow steps of the mourning train. The +magistrates dare not let the mourners go about +the streets by day. +</p> + +<p> +"Death is stripped of all the pomps with which +we seek to hide its terrors, and stands bare. The +only funeral procession is the dead-cart with its +ghastly drivers; the dead-cart met at the head +of each alley with shrieks of despair which break +the silence of the night. Twice the drivers of that +cart were lost, and the horses rushed wildly on. +But no one knows if the drivers died or fled. The +general tomb is that dread Pit in the fields where +the dead are thrown at midnight, of which we +scarce dare even think. +</p> + +<p> +"The pestilence makes no distinction that any +of us can understand now. Aunt Dorothy has +well-nigh given up seeking to read God's judgments, +which at first she and many thought so distinct +and distinguishing. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet amid all these horrors there are alleviations +such as sometimes do make the meaning +shine through them, as if they were illuminated +from within. +</p> + +<p> +"Divisions have ceased. Instead of disputing +questions of precedence as on a mock battle-field, +Christians draw inward to the citadel, which is +the sole and common refuge of us all. +</p> + +<p> +"Mere religious talk has ceased. +</p> + +<p> +"People whose talk is deeper than their life, do not +dare to talk for fear of having to prove their words +the same hour in dying. +</p> + +<p> +"People whose life lies deeper than their speech, +do not need to talk of what they feel. The peace +which sets them free to serve and comfort all +around, speaks enough, with very few words. +</p> + +<p> +"Persecution has ceased. +</p> + +<p> +"The pestilence, with its cruel Act of Uniformity +has altogether annulled that of the king. Divers +of the ejected ministers, now that ten thousand are +dying in a week, have resolved that no obedience +to the laws of mortal men whatever can justify +them in neglecting men's souls and bodies in such +extremities. They therefore stay or return. They +go into the forsaken pulpits, unforbidden, to preach +to the poor people before they die; also to visit the +sick, and get such relief as they can for the poor, +especially those who are shut up in the smitten houses. +</p> + +<p> +"The fear, and hope, which at first made people +avoid each other, have passed together. And the +churches are crowded whenever any preach who +speak as if they testified what they knew. +</p> + +<p> +"'Religion,' Roger says, 'is gaining such a hold +of numbers of these weeping, silent listeners, as, +living or dying, will not be loosed again.' +</p> + +<p> +"And (unless the Puritan preaching is different +from any I ever heard, or thought to hear) the +sermons are such as the evident possibility of the +preachers never preaching another, and the +certainty of many of the congregation never hearing +another, alone can make them. +</p> + +<p> +"They are messages, not statements or arguments; +scarcely so much appeals as messages. The +calmest allusion to danger penetrates the heart like +the archangel's trumpet, when ten thousand dying +lips are echoing it. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>You are lost—wandering and lost in sin</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"That has a strange power, when we know it to +be true, and see before us the edge of the abyss. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>The son of God has come to seek and to save the +lost</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"He, Himself, not the plague, but the Saviour, +is here, seeking the lost now; not to judge but to +save. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>God has so loved the world</i>; not hated, let these +horrors say what they may—not forgotten—but +loved; not willed this open world to perish, let +these grass-grown streets, and these shutters +rattling against the empty houses, these midnight +burials of thousands, these death-wails, this +death-silence, say what they will, <i>not to perish</i>; the true +perishing, the perishing in sin, of sin, is not His +will, never His will, but the being saved, out of sin +and from sin. <i>This</i> salvation is as near you as the +plague. Nay, the plague is only the merciful +thunder calling to it. +</p> + +<p> +"Few words are needed to move men now; no +new words. The older the better. If the old +forgotten words once lisped at a mother's knee, better +than all. +</p> + +<p> +"O Walter! Walter! my brother! Art thou +here still in this plague-smitten city, or hast thou +fled with that Court smitten with a plague so +infinitely more terrible? Would God thou wert here +to hear those sacred words of heavenly forgiveness +and strength, echoed back to thy heart once more, +as from our mother's lips, from among these +congregations of dying men! +</p> + +<p> +"<i>August</i> 25.—It has come close to us at last. +</p> + +<p> +"Our door is marked with the red cross now. +</p> + +<p> +"The sweetest and ripest souls among us—Roger's +father and Aunt Gretel—have been stricken, and +are gone home. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Yesterday morning, before daybreak, I was +resting on my bed, having watched through the night, +when I heard the latch of the garden-door, which +was left open for Roger and Dr. Antony, softly +lifted. I thought it might be Roger, and crept +down-stairs. +</p> + +<p> +"At the door I met Annis Nye. +</p> + +<p> +"Her face was pale and worn, but serene as ever, +and her voice as calm. +</p> + +<p> +"'I heard that you were all here, without any to +serve you,' she said, 'and I thought that was a call +to me to come.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Do you know into what peril you come?' I +asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'I saw the plague-sign on the street-door,' she +said; 'so I came round through the garden.' +</p> + +<p> +"I clasped her in my arms, and kissed her, and +wept. Tears are not common with us now; but I +could not help these. Generous deeds always touch +the spring of tears, I think, more easily than sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +"What was stranger than my being thus moved, +when Aunt Dorothy came down and saw Annis, +and heard why she had come, she did as I had done; +she took the maiden to her heart and wept. +</p> + +<p> +"But what sounded stranger yet in that house +and city of death, when the children saw her, they +made the hushed house ring for a moment with their +joyous welcomes. +</p> + +<p> +"'Annis is at home again!' they said; 'Annis is +safe. She will nurse us all, and keep every one, +quiet, and we shall all get well.' +</p> + +<p> +"Meantime, Mistress Dorothy had busied herself +preparing food, which she set before Annis, and with +difficulty persuaded her to take a little bread and +milk. +</p> + +<p> +"She had a strange story to tell, and she told it +in few words, as was her wont, at our questioning. +</p> + +<p> +"'I and other women Friends were sentenced to +the plantations in Jamaica,' she said. 'But the +ship-masters refused to take us. They held our +sentence unjust, and feared the judgment of the Lord +if they meddled with us. At last one was found +who took us, he being denied a pass down the river +from the plague-smitten city unless he covenanted +to carry us. They had trouble in getting some of +us on board. For they would not acknowledge +their sentence so far as to climb willingly into the +ship. So they had to be hoisted on board like +merchandise. To this I was not called. For which I +was thankful. For it angered the sailors sorely. +"They would hoist merchants' goods," said they, +"but not men and women." But the officers took +the ropes, saying, "They are the king's goods." So, +as chattels, we were shipped for the plantations. +But we had scarce reached the sea when the +pestilence broke out among us. One and another +sickened and died. So that the ship-masters would +proceed no further, but cast us on shore, and me among +the rest.' +</p> + +<p> +"There was a kind of comfort in feeling that, +coming thus from an infected ship, the generous +maiden had not really increased her risk by devoting +herself to our service, freely as she had dared to do +so. And our risk could scarce be increased. +</p> + +<p> +"Having told her tale, Annis quietly folded her +out-of-door garments, laying them aside in the old +places, and said to Aunt Dorothy, 'Which way can +I serve thee best?' +</p> + +<p> +"We took her to Mr. Drayton's sick-chamber, +Olive's eyes brightened with the soft moisture of +grateful tears as Annis entered, where she sate by +her father's bed. +</p> + +<p> +"But that was no place or season for spoken +thanks or questionings. Annis at once fitted into +her place among the nurses. And I know not how +any of us could have survived those days and nights +of watching, but for her help. +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Dorothy said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'I will take heed how I speak lightly of Quakers +and their calls again.' +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; the two readiest among us have been called +home. Roger's father and his mother's sister. +Honoured and beloved beyond any. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet we speak of them quietly, almost without +tears. +</p> + +<p> +"Death is so around us—without, within, +everywhere—that it seems the most natural thing. We +say, 'They are gone home,' with less sense of separation +than in ordinary times we say, 'They are gone +to Netherby,' with far less than we should have +said, 'They have gone across the seas.' +</p> + +<p> +"It is so likely we may be with them again +to-morrow—to-day! +</p> + +<p> +"I look back a page or two in this Diary, and the +words they spoke and I wrote so lately have become +sacred, dying, farewell words. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>The Father's rod</i>.' Yes, that was what <i>they</i> +thought. '<i>The King's touch smiting them from the +lower service to the higher</i>,' That is what we think, +and we say it to each other as their epitaph. +</p> + +<p> +<i>September</i>.—No distinction, indeed, this pestilence +makes as to whom it smites. +</p> + +<p> +"What I wished, yet scarce dared to wish, for +Walter has come true. +</p> + +<p> +"Could I have dared to wish it, had I thought it +could come? +</p> + +<p> +"Two nights since, Roger came to my bedside +and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Lettice, I dare not spare thee, even thee, from +a call such as this. Canst thou be ready to come +with me quickly, to visit one smitten with plague?' +</p> + +<p> +"From any voice but his, the sudden, midnight +summons would have set my heart beating so as to +rob me of the power to obey. +</p> + +<p> +"But there is always a calm about him which +nerves me to do anything. Besides, he said, 'Come +with me.' And that was strength itself. +</p> + +<p> +"I did not waste time in questioning. He left me +to tell Annis Nye not to wake Olive. +</p> + +<p> +"I was dressed in a few minutes. Then I went +and kissed the babe. It might be perilous for me +to touch his soft cheek, rosy with sleep, when I came +back. If ever I came back to him! For that was +a probability which must be met in such a +leave-taking. +</p> + +<p> +"As I stood by the child's little bed, Roger came +back. +</p> + +<p> +"'We will kneel beside him,' he said. +</p> + +<p> +"And in a few brief words he prayed, for strength +to comfort, for wisdom to guide, for balm to heal. +</p> + +<p> +"Before we rose, I knew what he meant +</p> + +<p> +"'It is Walter,' I said. +</p> + +<p> +"He took my hand in his, and we spoke no more. +</p> + +<p> +"Silently we went out, our steps echoing through +the streets, the great bonfires, kept up now in each +street to purify the air, lighting us on our way, now +illuminating with tongues of fitful flame the red +cross and the closed door, now more drearily +lighting up the empty chambers of the houses of the +dead, which needed no longer to be closed, whose +half-opened shutters creaked restlessly in the night +winds. +</p> + +<p> +"We stopped at the steps of what had been a +stately mansion. +</p> + +<p> +"The door was ajar, as Roger must have left it. +There were none to usher us into the lofty hall or +up the wide staircase, on whose stone stairs our +steps echoed so noisily through the deserted +chambers, step as softly as we might. +</p> + +<p> +"Through one luxurious chamber after another +we passed, our steps hushed on soft Persian rugs, +and softened by tapestried walls. +</p> + +<p> +"In one lay virginals and lutes and song-books, as +if from a recent concert. In another, a table spread +for a feast—the wine still sparkling in the glasses, +and summer-fruits mouldering on the porcelain. +</p> + +<p> +"And in the last chamber, upon a stately gilded +bed with silk curtains, he lay, my brother, with +scarce open, half-vacant eyes, which seemed as if +their sight and meaning were gone, his hands +clenched in agony. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet he saw and knew me, for he cried with an +energy which pierced the silence like a death-wail— +</p> + +<p> +"'Take her away, Roger! take her away! I +will not have that at my door! Take her away!' +</p> + +<p> +"But I went close to him, and gently unclasped +his clenched hand, and kissed his forehead, and +said— +</p> + +<p> +"'Two of us have been smitten already, Walter. +We are past peril.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Who have been smitten?' he asked suddenly. +'Not your child?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No,' I said—and I felt my voice falter—'not +our Harry.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then his mind seemed to wander, for the far-off +past came back so vividly as to blot out the +days that had intervened. +</p> + +<p> +"'Harry, my brother Harry—don't speak to me +of Harry,' he said. 'He loved me, and sent a +dying message that he looked to meet me. And +he never will—he never will.' And then,— +</p> + +<p> +"'I am dying, Lettice, don't you see? dying—body +and soul. For mercy's sake don't come near +me. If you can bear it, I can't. There will be +torments enough soon. Don't burn my soul thus +with your purity and your love.' +</p> + +<p> +"I took his hand, and pressed it to my lips, for I +could not speak. But he drew it away with a +convulsive energy. +</p> + +<p> +"Take her away, Roger!—don't let her! She +doesn't know what I am, or who it was these hands +touched last.' +</p> + +<p> +"And then at intervals he told us how, when the +Court left, a small company of the more reckless +young courtiers had persuaded him it would be +cowardly to go; and they had established themselves +in this house, belonging to a kinsman of one +of them, and held wild revelries there. How he +had half intended, when he had heard we remained +in the City, to break with these dissolute +associates, and find us out; and had once or twice +crept into churches by himself and heard sermons, +but had delayed and hesitated from week to week; +until at last, towards the end of August, a +singing-girl, one of their company, had been smitten with +the plague. Then the door had been closed and +marked, and all the revellers had escaped through +windows, over the leads of other houses, or over +the palings of gardens to the river, and so into the +country. But he could not shut his heart to the +dying shrieks of that poor lost girl, and abandon +her to die alone. +</p> + +<p> +"'I meant to wait till she was dead,' he said. +'and leave the men of the dead-cart to find her in +the empty house and bury her, and then to follow +the rest. I had enough on my conscience without +being followed through life with those dying cries. +But before she died I began to feel ill myself. I +tried to keep up my spirits with wine; but that +was of no use. And then I found half a dozen +leaves of an old Prayer-book—the sentences and +the Confession, and the Absolution, and one or two +of the Gospels. I entreated her to let me read to +her, but she would not listen, but kept deliriously +singing, mixing up light songs, bad enough at +any time from a woman's lips, with strains of +music from the Royal Chapel, and melodies of +innocent old Christmas village carols, in a way +horrible to hear. And then she died, and I was too +ill to leave. And I crept into this bed. That was +yesterday. And at night-fall there was a rattling +at the door, and heavy steps up-stairs, and heavier +down again. So I knew they would bury her. +But I lay still under the coverlet; for a horrid +dread came over me that they might find me, carry +me down, and bury me with her, to save time. +There had been horrible jests among us of such +things happening. But the door shut, echoing +through the empty house like thunder. +</p> + +<p> +"'And I knew I was left alone to die. And then +another horrible feeling came over me; that it +would be better if they had found me, and taken +me out to die quietly among the dead, without +thinking any more about it, than leave me here +lingering alone to think of it; to look at death +steadily, alone, no one knows how long; with +nothing but dying between me and it. +</p> + +<p> +"'And to pass the time and break the silence I +took up the old Prayer-book and read aloud,— +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>When the wicked man turneth away from his +wickedness</i>. But I thought, I can never turn away +from my wickedness. I can only turn round and +round in it for ever and ever. So I stopped, until +the silence was worse to bear than the words; and +then I read on again. But my own voice sounded +to me like a parody. Dreadful jesting voices seemed +reading the sacred words after me, until I came to +the Confession. +</p> + +<p> +"'Then the jesting voices vanished. And, +instead, came my mother's voice, and my own, as a +boy, saying it after her, "We have gone astray like +lost sheep." I might have said it once, I knew, and +have <i>come back</i>; now I should have to <i>go on saying +it</i> for ever, with her voice echoing it as if from +heaven, and <i>never come back</i>. If I could hear the +voice of some one good reading this Confession and +the Gospels, I thought they might seem true, even +for me, yet, but never in my own. +</p> + +<p> +"'So I flung the book from me, and lay still +until I heard a man's feet coming softly up the +staircase; and I thought it was a thief come to +pillage, and then perhaps to murder me. And the +insane desire of life mastered me again; and I +covered my face again and hushed my breath, until +I heard Roger's voice beside me saying, "<i>There is +no one living here</i>." And then I looked up. And +all night he has been speaking to me, Lettice—nursing +me as my mother might, and now and then +reading out of the Gospels and the Confession. +And if the merciful words would seem true to me +in any voice sister, they would in his. If I had +only gone to you all before! But it is too late, +Is it not too late? Is not my life wasted, +lost—lost for ever?' +</p> + +<p> +"He gazed into my eyes with that wistful, thirsting +look of the souls who are departing. I knew +nothing but truth would avail. So I said as quietly +as I could,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Your life—this life, Walter—I am afraid it is +lost—lost for ever. Your <i>life</i>; but not you, +Walter; not you.' +</p> + +<p> +He kept his eyes fixed on mine, and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"And there is no second, Lettice. God Himself +cannot give us back the lost life again.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then all that he might have been, all my mother +hoped he might be, rushed over my heart, and I +could not say any more. I could only kneel down +by his bedside and take his hand and sob out,— +</p> + +<p> +"'O Father, Thou knowest all he might have +been, all Thou wouldest have had him be. And +Thou seest the ruin they have made of him. Have +pity, have pity, and forgive.' +</p> + +<p> +"He laid his hand on mine. +</p> + +<p> +"'Hush, Lettice, hush!' he said; 'not <i>they—I</i>. +I have ruined myself. No one could have ruined +me but myself. The sin is mine.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then I rose. For I felt as if my prayer was +answered. I felt as if, weak, trembling woman +that I was, a priestly voice was in my ears +pronouncing absolution, ready to breathe the gospel +of forgiveness through my lips. For it seemed to +me these were the first words of real repenting I +had ever heard Walter utter. I had heard him +again and again speak of himself or his life with a +passionate loathing. But that was not repenting. +Too often if any one admitted the justice of such +self-accusations, he would turn them into +self-excusing and accusings of others. But now, it +seemed to me, he was indeed coming to himself, +coming home; and I said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Walter, you could not turn from the cries of +that poor dying creature. Will you set your pity +above God's?' +</p> + +<p> +"'I had none but myself to think of,' he said. +'It mattered nothing to any one whether I did +right or wrong about it. He is King and Judge, +and has the whole world to think of in forgiving +any one.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Our Lord did not say so,' I said. 'When the +lost son arose to come home to be forgiven, it +seemed as if the father had nothing to do with any +one in the world but with him. He did not think +of what the servants would say, or the elder brother, +or how any one else might be tempted by the +forgiveness to wander. He was watching the +wanderer! Oh, Walter, He was the first to see him +turn—the first! He was the first to see you. I +know it by the parable; I know it because, after +all—after <i>all</i>, Walter—He has let you die at your +post. Think of the mercy of that! You might +have died helping to ruin some one. You die +trying to help. Think of the mercy of being suffered +to do that!' +</p> + +<p> +"A softer light came into his eyes, and after a +minute he said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'I cannot doubt His pity; no, I dare not. What +I doubt is myself. How can you know, Lettice, how +can I know, that if life were given back to me I +might not waste it all again?' +</p> + +<p> +"Then turning that intense searching gaze from +me to Roger, he went on,— +</p> + +<p> +"'How can I know whether I am clinging to +Him, as a dying man clings to <i>anything</i>, or indeed +as the repenting son to the Father? How can you +know or I?' +</p> + +<p> +"Roger bent low over him and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'Neither you nor I can know. One only knows. +He only can forgive. He knew, on the cross, when +He was dying for the world, and the thief beside +Him was dying for his own crimes, and dying He +forgave the dying. He knows now. He is as near +as then, and not <i>dying; living</i> for evermore; +almighty to save. But even if you are clinging to +Him, as a drowning man to a rock, or to an +outstretched hand, in mere terror of the waves, is He +one likely to wrench His hand even from such a +poor, desperate, selfish grasp as that? Did He on +the Sea of Galilee?' +</p> + +<p> +"Walter drank in all Roger said, but made no +reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger's next words fell solemn as a summons +from another world. +</p> + +<p> +"'What do you want Him to save you from?' +</p> + +<p> +"Walter's answer was a cry of agony. +</p> + +<p> +"'From myself!—from myself!' +</p> + +<p> +"Roger's voice was firm no longer, but low and +broken as Walter's own, as he replied,— +</p> + +<p> +"That He died to do; that He lives to do. +That He can never refuse to do for any that ask +Him, for ever and for ever.' +</p> + +<p> +"Then, after a few moments, Roger said,— +</p> + +<p> +"'If He sees no other way to save you but that +you should lose your life, that you should not be +trusted with it again, could you be content?' +</p> + +<p> +"'How can I be content?' Walter answered, +'Think what my life might have been, It might +have been like yours! And I have no second. I +would not complain. It is no wonder I cannot +be trusted. I cannot trust myself. But you can +never know how bitter it is to begin to see what +life might have been when it is all over, and when +you begin to see how well He you have grieved +was worth serving.' +</p> + +<p> +"He lingered some days. And then the lost life +was over. +</p> + +<p> +"The life those we had served not disloyally had +done their utmost to ruin. +</p> + +<p> +"The spirit had departed, which He we have +served so unworthily even to the uttermost can +save. +</p> + +<p> +"It was beyond comparison the bitterest sacrifice +we had ever made. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet this sacrifice England is now making by +hecatombs on the same foul altar. +</p> + +<p> +"A sacrifice not of life ennobled, and made infinitely +worthier in laying it down, but of honour, of +virtue, of all that makes men men. Of souls degraded +in the sacrifice to the level of that to which +they are sacrificed. A sacrifice to devils, and not +to God." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> + +<h3> +CHAPTER XII. +<br><br> +LETTICE'S DIARY. +</h3> + +<p> +"Broad Oak, <i>February</i>, 1666.—For a +brief season we are in this haven, +driven into rest by many storms. +</p> + +<p> +"The Plague has left London. The +Court has returned to it unchanged, to pursue its +revelries. The ejected ministers who preached to +the dying city are once more silenced and driven +from their pulpits, and not only driven from their +pulpits but from the city, by the Five Mile Act, +which prohibits any ejected minister, on severe +penalties, from approaching within five miles of the +church where he was wont to preach. +</p> + +<p> +"Roger deemed his work in London for the present done. +</p> + +<p> +"When we left, the streets were fragrant with +the smoke of sweet woods, burned in the houses, +and curling through the open windows day and +night. The air was laden with strange Oriental +odours of incense, of aromatic gums and perfumes, +floating the spirit on their dream-like fragrance (as +perfumes only can), within the spells of Enchanted +ground. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet the change is pleasant, to this wholesome +country air, fresh with the smell of the new-ploughed +earth, of the young mosses and grasses shooting out +everywhere bright tiny spikes or stars of jewel-like +green, of the breath of cows, of gummy swelling +leaf-buds, and fir-stems warmed into pungent +fragrance by the sun, of early peeping snow-drops and +rare violets, of sedges moistened by the prattling +brooks, of free winds coming and going we know +not whence or whither—from the mountains, from +the sea, or from the forests of the American wilderness. +It is invigorating to body and soul to change +those costly foreign manufactured perfumes for all +these countless, changing, blending, breathing +fragrances, which make what I suppose is meant by +'the smell of a field which the Lord hath blessed.' +</p> + +<p> +"It is a wonderful relief to be here, after what we +have gone through; free to go where we will, living +with open doors, neighbours freely coming and going, +guests, unsuspected, dropping in at the hospitable +door from the highway. +</p> + +<p> +"It is not so much like coming in a ship out of +the storm into the haven, as like being quietly laid +on a friendly sunny shore, after buffeting with +panting chest and weary arms through the waves which +have made the ship a wreck. +</p> + +<p> +"Something of this calm, indeed, began to come +even before we left London. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a thing never to forget, the change that +came over people's countenances on the first +morning late in September, when the number of the dead +was in the week declared to have diminished instead +of increasing; the tears that those first gleams of +hope brought to eyes long dry in despair; the +re-awaking of neighbourly sympathy, as each house +ceased to be either a refuge against infection, or a +pest-house from which it issued; windows opened +fearlessly, once more, to hear good news. The +reserve which, like a fortress, rampart with rampart, +guards the deepest feelings of our people, broken +down by the common deliverance; strangers grasping +each others' hands in the streets, merely for the +joy of telling the good news, weeping aloud for +gladness, or uttering the brief fervent thanksgiving—''<i>Tis +all wonderful; 'tis all a dream? Blessed be +God, 'tis all His own doing. Human help and skill +were at an end. Let us give thanks to Him</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"This melting together of men's hearts in the +rapture of a common deliverance, struck me more +than all. It made me think how the best balsam to +heal the wounds of Christendom would be for +Christianity to be once more understood as the Gospel +of Great Joy which it assuredly is. There would +be little room for controversy, I thought, and none +for isolation and exclusion, if every heart could only +be penetrated with the joy of the forgiven Prodigal, +and of the Angels' Christmas hymn. +</p> + +<p> +"Some people in their eagerness to purify their +houses burned them down. Wild despair was +succeeded on every side by hopes as wild. Those who +had suspected every one, and crept along the streets, +fearing to touch each other's garments, grew so bold +that they no longer feared even the poor ghastly +scarce-recovered victims of the Plague, who began +to limp about the streets with the bandages of the +dreaded sores and swellings still around their heads +and limbs. +</p> + +<p> +"If even the reckless Court itself had lived through +that peril and that rescue, I think it would never +have affronted Heaven and this city of mourners +again with its profligate revelries. The City, +indeed, was well fumigated from infection with +perfumes, and with brimstone, to make it a safe +dwelling for the Court. But what incense, what fires, +can purify England from the infection of the Court +itself? +</p> + +<p> +"We should have gone to Netherby, but that +is scarce a safe home just now for Roger. A +vexatious suit has been instituted against him, on the +ground of his aiding or abetting in some 'disloyal' +attempt of which he knew nothing. But we know +it is his work during the Commonwealth that is the +true ground of prosecution. Sir Launcelot Trevor +will never pardon Roger's detecting him in one of +the plots for assassinating Cromwell. It is not the +hard laws themselves, severe as their restrictions +and penalties are, that cause the most suffering. It +is the power they give to bad men to annoy the +good. +</p> + +<p> +"Already much of the Drayton property has been +sacrificed through vexatious exactions. But now it +is more than property that is threatened. And so +this pleasant home of Broad Oak, which is a house +of mercy to so many, has now become a refuge for +us. We are, in fact, here as in a hiding-place, until +this tyranny be overpast, or we can find some other +refuge. +</p> + +<p> +"Our host, Mr. Philip Henry's courtly deference +of manners, his listening to every one as if he had +something to learn from each, has more charm for +me than I like to confess to myself. It recalls the +stately courtesy of my brother Harry and of the +Cavaliers who were his contemporaries. +</p> + +<p> +"The Puritan manners are severer and less chivalrous +than those of our old Cavaliers, though with +more of true knightly honour to women in them +than the courtiers of this New Court are capable of +comprehending. +</p> + +<p> +"We read together often, Roger and I, these old +records of the early settlers in the American +wildernesses. We are beginning now to glean more +particular tidings concerning the various village +communities into which the settlers have now organized +themselves. For more and more we begin to speak +of a 'New Netherby' rising beside some inland +mere or pleasant creek of the forest in New England. +</p> + +<p> +"'Not that I despair for a moment of England,' +Roger says. 'But we have but one life, and its +years are few and precious; and if the good fight +is going on victoriously elsewhere, it seems scarce +a man's place to stay where the best he can do is +to keep quiet and hide for his life.' +</p> + +<p> +"<i>February</i>, 1666, Broad Oak.—There is a serenity +and sunshine about this house which makes it like +an island of fair weather in the midst of the +turbulent world. Continually it recalls to me Port +Royal. And even more by resemblance than by +Contrast. +</p> + +<p> +"It seems to me as fully as Port Royal a temple +or house of God. (In one sense I, as a Protestant, +should believe more, since the church, not the +convent, is God's sacred Order.) Every morning and +evening all the inmates and family assemble for +<i>prayer</i> and <i>reading of the Bible</i>. 'As the priests in the +tabernacle,' Mr. Henry says, 'used daily to <i>burn</i> the +<i>incense</i>, and to <i>light the lamps</i>.' All pray kneeling; +for Mr. Henry 'has high thoughts of the body as +God's workmanship, and desires that it should +share in the homage offered to Him.' +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Henry never makes this service long, so as +to be a weariness; he calls it the 'hem to keep the +rest of the day from ravelling.' In the evening he +gathers his household, servants, workmen, day +labourers, and sojourners, early, that the youngest, +or those who have done a good day's work, may +not be sleepy. 'Better one absent than all sleepy,' +he says. +</p> + +<p> +"He explains the Bible as he reads it, not merely +'<i>mincing it small</i>, but by <i>easy unforced distribution</i>.' Above +all, he seeks to lift up before the heart '<i>Christ, +the Treasure in the field of the Bible</i>.' 'Every word +of God is good,' he says, 'but especially God the +Word.' He closes with a psalm; sometimes many +verses, but sung quickly, every one having a book, +so that there is no interruption to the singing. +</p> + +<p> +"Afterwards his two little boys kneel with folded +hands before their father and mother, and ask their +blessing, while he pronounces the benediction over +them, saying, 'The Lord bless thee.' On Thursday +he catechizes the servants on some simple subject. +</p> + +<p> +"On Sunday, 'the pearl of the week, the queen +of days,' the perpetual Easter-day on which we +sing, 'The Lord is risen indeed,' the whole house +seems so full of tranquil light, all sounds and signs +of needless labour banished, all the sweet sounds +of nature, birds and bees and running brooks, heard +with a new music in the hush of human rest, the +men and maids in their sober holiday attire, that it +is difficult to believe there is not an audible, visible +increase of light and music in the external world, +that the fields, and woods, and skies, have not also +donned a festive attire, that the sun is not shining +with a new radiance, like the ancient Lamp of the +sanctuary, fresh filled and trimmed for the Sabbath. +It shines on the heart with a quiet radiance, like +the last chapters of the Gospels; the resurrection +chapters. The household, since Mr. Henry has been +silenced, attend the Church service in the little +neighbouring parish-church of Whitechurch, always +going early, before the service begins. The walks +through the field to and from the church are a sacred +service in themselves, by virtue of Mr. Henry's +discourse. In truth, there is no silencing the music +of such a piety as his, unless you could make it +cease to flow. +</p> + +<p> +"This temple also has its shrines and inner +sanctuary. Mrs. Henry pointed out to me the little +chamber where her husband prays alone; when he +changed it he consecrated the new one with a +special prayer. I remember Roger's father used +to call the direction, '<i>When thou enterest into thy +closet shut thy door</i>,' 'the one unquestionably divine +rubric of the New Testament.' And it seems to +me beautiful that the inmost sanctuary of our +houses, as of our hearts, should be that which it +consecrated by solitude with God. +</p> + +<p> +"Then, like Port Royal, this is a house of mercy. +Standing near the way-side, it is seldom that the +hospitable board has none but inmates round it. +And Mr. Henry's simple, fervent thanksgiving at +the table must, I think, go along with the traveller +on his further journey, like the echo of a hymn. +</p> + +<p> +"The order of the convent, moreover, can scarcely +be more thorough than that of this home, save that +it is broken, like the order of nature, by the sweet +irregularities and varieties which always come to +stir all Divine order out of monotony. The Hand +which can make Life the mainspring of its +machinery may dare irregularities. +</p> + +<p> +"Port Royal was especially recalled to my mind +by a letter I received last November from Madame +la Mothe, in which she speaks of the return of the +nuns to Port Royal des Champs. Four years ago +they were dispersed into imprisonment in various +convents, in the hope that the courage of each +alone might fail, so that in isolation, moved by the +most plausible persuasions and the severest threats, +the community might separately sign the condemnation +of Jansenism, which they had refused to sign +together. It was a simple question of fact. They +were required to declare that the five condemned +propositions were in Jansenius' books; thus asserting +what they believed false to be true. But out +of the ninety-six nuns thus dispersed eighty-four +returned unshaken. Madame la Mothe writes: +</p> + +<p> +"'Such a welcome and restoration home as the +holy sisters had was worth sore suffering to win, +as the various carriages met, bringing the Mother +Angélique and her scattered daughters once more +together. The church bells pealed joyous greetings, +and the peasants shouted or wept their welcomes, +flocking by the roadside, along the steep +descent into the valley, in holiday dresses; +gray-haired tottering men, little toddling children, +mothers and babes in arms—not a creature that could +stir left behind to miss the joy of welcoming their +benefactresses back. And so the long procession of +nuns, in their white robes, with scarlet crosses, +disappeared under the great Gothic gates, into the +sacred enclosure. It was a sight indescribably +beautiful to the eye, but who can say what it was +to the heart?' +</p> + +<p> +"Martyrs not so much to truth as to truthfulness, +they would not recognize the distinction between +consenting to what they deemed a lie and telling it. +</p> + +<p> +"Should not their enemies concede at least this +merit to the two thousand ejected ministers? They +may be over nice, as I think they are, in some of +their scruples. But why cannot people, who see a +noble heroism in eighty nuns suffering ejection and +dispersion rather than declare that false which they +believe to be true—rather than bring on their souls +the degradation of a lie—see something of the +same heroism in two thousand English clergymen +with their families suffering ejection, calumny, and +peril of starvation rather than solemnly declare +they believe things true which they believe false? +The families who have to share the misery whether +they will or no, do not make the sacrifice easier. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet many a tender-hearted lady of our acquaintance, +of the old Cavalier stock, whose face has glowed +with interest when I have told her of the sufferings +and constancy of the Mère Angélique and her +nuns, and who has rejoiced with me when I read +the story of their restoration, can see nothing but +vulgar perversity and obstinacy in the conduct of +these ejected ministers. +</p> + +<p> +"Why cannot these also be honoured as martyrs, +if not to truth, at least to truthfulness? +</p> + +<p> +"Can it be that the white dresses and red crosses, +and the grand arched entrance gates make the +difference? +</p> + +<p> +"Or is it merely that the one took place in France +and the other at home? +</p> + +<p> +"Building the sepulchres of the prophets is such +easy and graceful feminine work! As easy as tapestry +work, especially when the sepulchres are reared +in the imagination, and the prophets prophesied to +other people's forefathers. +</p> + +<p> +"But it seems as if, in heaven, not the slightest +value was attached to those elegant little erections. +</p> + +<p> +"The one thing regarded there seems to be +whether we help and honour those who are contending +or suffering for truth and right now. And this +is not always so easy. +</p> + +<p> +"For, on the other hand, Aunt Dorothy was not +a little incensed when I once told her (intending to +be conciliatory) that I thought the Nonconformist +ministers quite as much to be honoured as the Mère +Angélique and her nuns. +</p> + +<p> +"'To compare Mr. Baxter and two thousand of +the most enlightened ministers in England to a set +of poor benighted papists!' said she. +</p> + +<p> +"And she was only to be mollified by the +consideration of the deficiency in my own religious +training. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps for us women the safest course is to +render as wide a succour as we can to all who suffer. +Because then if we make any mistakes as to truth, +in the great account they may be counterbalanced +by the entries on the side of love; which, on the +whole, seems to overrule the final judgment. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>March</i>, 1666.—We are to leave this friendly holy +roof for another shelter. +</p> + +<p> +"Many a sharp-cut diamond of Mr. Henry's good +sayings I shall carry away with me. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Repentance is not a sudden land-flood, but the +flowing of a perennial spring; an abiding habit</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Peace is joy in the bloom; joy is peace in the fruit</i>.' +</p> + +<p> +"But more than all such sayings, I bear away +with me the memory of a sanctity as fresh and +fragrant as any I ever hope to see, fragrant not as with +the odours of manufactured perfumes, but with the +countless fragrances of a field which the Lord has +blessed. +</p> + +<p> +"An Endurance of affliction made all the lovelier +by the capacity for the happiness it foregoes,—by +the belief that every creature of God is good and to +be enjoyed with thanksgiving which prevents its +being stiffened into austerity; a submissive Loyalty +ennobled by the higher loyalty which prevents its +becoming servile; an open-handed charity sustained +by busy-handed industry, by the thrift which deems +waste a sin, and the justice which deems debt a +degradation; a Devotion whose chief delight is to soar +and sing, and which sings never the less when it +stoops to serve; a Religion as free from fanaticism, +worldliness, or austerity as any the world can see. +</p> + +<p> +"A piety which would have been my mother's +element; worthy it seems to me of the sober joyful +liturgy she loved so dearly, yet to which Mr. Henry +cannot entirely conform. Yes; it seems to me a +piety more unlike that of the Puritans of our early +days than unlike that of George Herbert or of Port +Royal. A lovely, patient, quiet, meek-eyed piety! +It recalls to me the group of St. Paul's gentle graces, +'love, joy, peace,' and the rest, which I used to think +pictured my mother's religion, far more than St. Peter's +belligerent virtues, godliness, faith, courage, +which seemed to me to stand forth in sword and +breastplate like the religion of Roger and the Ironsides. +</p> + +<p> +"'If the old Cavaliers, alas, are gone,' I said to +Roger to-day, 'it seems to me the old Puritans are +gone as well. Mr. Philip Henry is far less like you +Ironsides than like my mother. This is a piety, as +I deem, which would have suffered in prisons and +pillories to any extent, but would scarcely have +lifted its voice in the Parliament with Mr. Hampden +and Mr. Pym, and would certainly not have raised +the standard at Edgehill or Worcester. Where are +the old Puritans gone?' +</p> + +<p> +"'Where we may follow them, sweet heart,' said +he; 'to fight the wolves and conquer the +wildernesses of the West.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Then,' said I, 'are the wrestling manlike Christian +virtues to migrate to New England to subdue +the New World; whilst the feminine Christian +graces are to stay at home to endure the pillory and +the prison? That were a strange division. Meseems, +what with prohibitions to speak, and imprisonment, +and the banishment of the fighting men, +this patient, passive nonconformity can never +spread. Rather, perhaps, in a generation or two it +will die out.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Scarcely, I think,' he said. 'The old country +is patient and dumb, and sometimes takes a long +sleep but I believe she will wake one day, and break +the nets they have entangled her in, and scatter +those who twisted them, simply by rising and shaking +herself. Only her sleep may be too long for us +to wait to the end of it.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But who is to wake her?' I said. 'A piety +this of Mr. Henry's, like that of Mr. Herbert, +beautiful and pure enough to convert the world, if some +louder voice could only rouse the world to look at it. +But whence is this voice to come? For it seems +to me our liturgy, though the purest music of +devotion that can rise to heaven if once people are +awake to hear it and to sing it, has scarcely the +kind of fiery force in it to arouse the slumbering +world. And if the Puritan religion becomes alike +meek and soft-spoken, whence is this enkindling fire +to come? +</p> + +<p> +"You might as well have asked our ancestor +Cassibelawn where the fire was to come from when +the forests were cut down,' he said. 'While the +forests give fuel enough, who can foresee the coal-pits? +</p> + +<p> +"'Perhaps,' he added after a pause, as in a muse, +'when the spring comes and the ice melts and the +music of the living waters breaks on England again, +as it must and will, the new streams will find new +channels.' +</p> + +<p> +"Our discourse was broken at this point by the +arrival of two horsemen who dismounted at the +door. The hospitable board was spread for the +midday meal, and as we went down to take our +places at it, Mr. Henry introduced us to these new +guests as friends of his. +</p> + +<p> +"They were Dr. Annesly and Dr. Wesley,* two +of the nonconformist ministers." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Maternal and paternal grandfather of the Wesleys. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. +</p> + +<p> +Troubles came, as troubles are wont to come, in +troops, sweeping down on us thick and fast in the +year which followed the plague, 1666. +</p> + +<p> +Through the whole year Roger was in concealment +with Lettice and their boy. Lands and +houses are no safeguards in a persecution where so +much lies at the mercy of informers. And Roger—and +Lettice also—had an implacable enemy in Sir +Launcelot Trevor, the profligacy of whose early +years had, at its second fermentation, soured into +malignity against those who had reproved or +thwarted him. It was Sir Launcelot, indeed, who +hunted us hither. In his youth he had made some +careless studies in the law, and now he was +appointed one of the judges. Vexations which +render life impossible for all the best ends of living +are terribly easy to inflict when bad laws are +executed by worse men. And it was this which made +the misery of those times. The laws were indeed +(as we believe) harsh and unjust; but it was the +authorities who made them and the judges who +administered them, it was the <i>spirit</i> in which the +<i>letter</i> was carried out that made them (at last) +unsupportable. +</p> + +<p> +About the spring of this year the pressure of the +times fell hard on cousin Placidia. +</p> + +<p> +Her son Isaac was arrested for attending a +forbidden meeting near Bedford, and was thrown into +the old jail on Bedford Bridge, where John Bunyan +(though loyal as Mr. Baxter), had already been +incarcerated for six years. +</p> + +<p> +Thence, Isaac wrote as if imprisonment in such +company were not to be imprisoned but emparadised. +"Such heavenly discourse as John Bunyan makes +here," said he, "would make a dungeon a palace." He +gave hints also of a wonderful story, or allegory, +which the tinker was penning in the jail, and +which (said Isaac) would make as much music in +the world, when it came forth, as Mr. Milton's +poems. We smiled at the lad's enthusiasm, for it +was not to be thought that a poor tinker, however +godly, could write anything beyond edifying sheets +suited to paste on the walls of poor folks like +himself. Indeed, we had seen some verses of his, +which, though full of piety and patience, were +scarce to be called poetry. +</p> + +<p> +And that very year Mr. Thomas Ellwood, a +Quaker (and a friend of Annis Nye's), who had +once been reader to Mr. Milton in his blindness, +brought us marvellous accounts of a manuscript +Mr. Milton had given him to read at a "pretty box" +Mr. Ellwood had taken for him, during the Plague, +at Giles Chalfont. It contained the Epic Poem +called "Paradise Lost." Thomas Ellwood said to +him, "Thou hast said much here of Paradise lost, +but what hast thou to say of Paradise found?" Some +time afterwards, Mr. Milton showed him another +poem called Paradise Regained, saying, in a +pleasant tone, "This is owing to you; for you put +it into my head by the question you put to me at +Chalfont, which before I had not thought of." +</p> + +<p> +So that, seeing, besides all he had already done +to the marvel of Europe, Mr. Milton had these +wonderful epics in store, it naturally amused us not a +little that Isaac should compare this good tinker +with him. Nevertheless, we honoured the lad's +heartiness, and rejoiced that in his doleful condition +he had such pious company to comfort him withal. +</p> + +<p> +Not so, however, his mother. Her distress knew +no bounds. This affliction tore her heart in twain; +setting what was highest in her in fierce civil war +with what was lowest. For, in spite of all her +protestations of poverty, rumour had rather +magnified than diminished the amount of cousin +Placidia's hoards. The more she sought to keep them +unknown, the more magnificent they grew in the +busy imaginations of her neighbours. And coffer +after coffer of her painfully hoarded stores had to be +confessed and emptied as she sought to bribe one +exacting officer after another to release her son; +until, the more she gave, the more they believed +she could be tortured into giving, the more the +ingenuity of informers and the greed of jailers +increased, and the more distant grew the prospects +of poor Isaac's liberation. +</p> + +<p> +My heart ached for the torture she went through +as, bit by bit, she had to offer up the money which +was dear to her as life, for the child who was +dearer. +</p> + +<p> +"It was worse than the boot or the thumb-screw +with which they are torturing the poor Covenanters +in Scotland," I said one day to Job Foster, when +we were staying at Netherby; "screwed tighter +and tighter till it crushes the bone." +</p> + +<p> +"Never heed, Mistress Olive," said Job. "Thank +the Lord it isn't in your hands but in His, who +loves Mistress Nicholls a sight better than you. It +isn't her <i>heart</i> that screw is crushing, it's the <i>worm +in her heart</i> which is eating it out." +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art somewhat hard on Mistress Nicholls," +said Rachel, "to my mind; after all, she had saved +it all for the lad." +</p> + +<p> +"Women's hearts are tender," said Job, giving +an emphatic hammer to the spade he was repairing, +"and thine tenderer than any. But there's a love +tenderer than thine. Glory to His holy name, +He did not put away the sorrowing cup for all +His own pains. And He will not put aside the +healing cup for all our crying. In His warfare +it isn't once setting us on Burford church roofs, +nor twice, that keeps us steady to the Captain's +lead." +</p> + +<p> +This trouble of Isaac's meantime wrought much +on Maidie, who had always repaid Isaac's devoted +homage loftily, and not always graciously, since +the early days when he overwhelmed her with +the unwelcome offering of his best hen. Sharp-sighted +as these children are (flatter ourselves as +we may) to spy out our failings, and intolerant of +them as youth with its high standards will be, +Maidie had been wont to hear cousin Placidia's +moans of poverty with ill-disguised incredulity, +and to call her economies by very unsparing +scriptural names. But now Isaac's imprisonment seemed +at once to exalt him in the perverse maiden's +imagination from a boy to a hero. She wrote to him; +and what was more, Dolly treacherously reported +that she wept nights long about him; and (which +was the greatest triumph of all), she began to love +his mother for his sake. "It was plain," she said, +"how unjust she had been to cousin Placidia; it +was plain that it was only for Isaac's sake she had +pinched herself, and sometimes also other folk. +Otherwise, would she be ready to part with +everything for his sake now? It was noble for a mother +to deny herself for her son," pronounced Maidie; +"and if this denying extended to others sometimes, +it must be excused. It was but the exuberance of +a virtue; and she, for her part, was ashamed of +having ever spoken hardly of cousin Placidia, and +would never do so again." +</p> + +<p> +So a close bond grew up between these two; and +it became clear to me I should have to spare a +portion of my daughter's love to soften with its free +sunshine, and quicken with its own generous youth, +this heart that had grown so old and shrivelled with +self-imposed cares. +</p> + +<p> +And it was also plain what would come of this +when Isaac, always so faithful to her, came out of +prison, at once exalted into manhood and smitten +into knighthood in Maidie's eyes—by persecution, +and found Maidie already ministering to his mother +as a daughter. Indeed, the betrothal was already +accomplished in all its essentials. And it seemed to +me that, so beggared and so enriched, cousin +Placidia would have at last no alternative but to throw +aside the self-deceiving and self-tormenting which +had made her youth old age and her wealth poverty, +and in her old age and destitution for the first time +to grow rich and young. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +As the year went on, more and more our thoughts +turned to the New World on the other side of the +sea. Roger's mind had been turned thither ever +since the Lord Protector's death, as the only place +where in his lifetime it was probable he would be +able to render England those "public services for +which a man is born." +</p> + +<p> +Loyalty he believed England had refused to the +prince God sent her, and was suffering for it. +Liberty was a word which would scarcely come forth +again as a watchword of noble warfare with the men +of this bewildered and subdued generation. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, my husband, while the prisons +were fuller than ever of sufferers for conscience, +found it more difficult than ever to obtain access to +them or to give them succour. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Placidia, on her part, was ready for any +refuge which would keep Isaac out of the way of +John Bunyan and the informers. Job and Rachel +Forster still hesitated. They could not "get light +upon it." They doubted whether it would not be +deserting the post they had been set to keep; and +more especially whether it would be safe to take +Annis Nye, who had gone to live with them, to New +England. I think also they were more moved by +sympathy with Annis Nye's beliefs than they quite +knew themselves. Rachel thought the Quakers had +been set to give a wonderful testimony for peace +and patience in an age when there was too much +fighting; and for silence in an age when there was +too much talking. And Job said, "We have done +fighting and talking enough in our day, in my belief, +to last some time; and now the Lord seems to be +saying to us, '<i>Study to be quiet and to do your own +business</i>,' and, '<i>Where two or three are gathered together, +there am I in the midst of them</i>.' That's about where +the lessons for the day seem to me to be just now. +And I've a mind we'd better be in no hurry, but sit +still and learn them." +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy was prepared at any moment to +shake off the dust from her feet against the profligate +Court which encouraged Sabbath-breaking, +theatres, and bear-baitings, and banished five miles +from its suburbs the loyal and godly ministers who +had laboured so faithfully to bring it back; and +against the infatuated country which could pay +servile adulation to such a Court. +</p> + +<p> +She was also a little troubled at Mr. Baxter's +marrying so young a wife, and winced a little when +Lettice defended him and declared that at heart +Aunt Dorothy's place, after all, was beside the holy +maids and recluses of Port Royal. +</p> + +<p> +Still we lingered. It was not so easy to despair +of the re-awaking of an England in which John Milton +was still living and thinking, and John Bunyan, +and John Howe, and Dr. Owen, and Richard Baxter, +and through which thirty thousand of Cromwell's +soldiers were still scattered, working at their +farms and forges throughout the land. Nor was it +easy to leave such an England, so few years before +a Queen of Nations, as long as she would but give +us a little space to work for her, and a little reason +to hope. +</p> + +<p> +But slowly the necessities which pressed us from +her shores gathered closer and closer around us, +until we could linger no more. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The great Fire of London brought my husband to +a decision. +</p> + +<p> +Our own house escaped; but many houses in the +city, in which much of his property consisted, were +burnt. And the misery of so many thousands, +whom our losses deprived us of the power to relieve, +made us at last resolve to make the voyage, while +we had the means yet left to pay the ship-master +and purchase such goods as we should need in +beginning life again in the wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +At ten o'clock on the 2nd of September, 1660, the +flames of that terrible Fire burst forth. By +midnight they raged. In three days the whole city was +a heap of smoking smouldering ruins. +</p> + +<p> +To us who lived at Westminster, it seemed as if +the fierce eastern wind was driving the flames +towards that guilty roof at Whitehall, which scarce a +righteous man in the nation but deemed to be itself +the plague spot and the Gehenna which was bringing +desolation by plague and fire on the whole +land. +</p> + +<p> +All the night the sky was fiery, "like the top of +a burning oven." In the day the air was so thick +with the coiling columns of smoke, that "the sun +shone through it with a colour like blood." Those +who ventured near said that the pavements glowed +a fiery red, so that no horse or man could tread them, +and the melting lead from the burning churches ran +down the streets in a stream. Now and then the +dense masses of smoke were broken by the stones +of St. Paul's flying like grenadoes, or by a sudden +burst of vivid flame making the smoke visible even +in the daylight, as some of the coal and wood +wharves and stores of oil and resin along the river +side were seized by the fire. And the steady roar +of the flames was only broken now and then by +explosions, as vast powder-stores split asunder, or by +the wailings and cries of the ruined people running +to and fro in helpless consternation, not even +attempting to save their goods. +</p> + +<p> +Still, day and night, the east wind, so steady in +its fierceness, drove on the flames and smoke <i>towards +us—toward the Court</i>; till, on the third day, they +crossed towards Whitehall itself. Fearful, it was +said, was the confusion in the houses of revelry. +Good men could think of nothing that ever could be +like it but the universal conflagration of the world. +But again, as in the Plague, the Court escaped. +The neighbouring houses were blown up, so as to +kill the flames by starvation; and at last their +impetuous onset was stayed, and Whitehall was left +without one of its gaming-tables or chambers of +revelry being touched. +</p> + +<p> +Streets in the west, which were nests of unblushing +wickedness, escaped; whilst the city, of which +Mr. Baxter said "there was not such another in the +world for piety, sobriety, and temperance," was +burnt to ashes. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dorothy took this much to heart; and from +that time I scarcely remember her attempting any +more to interpret the Divine judgments, which had +once seemed to her so easy to translate. +</p> + +<p> +After the horror came the misery and the desolation. +It is when the ashes of the fires which desolate +our lives are cold that we first understand our +loss. And it was many days before the ashes of +the great Fire of London were cold enough for men +to tread them safely and learn the extent of the +ruin; to see the fountains dried up, the stones +calcined white as snow. +</p> + +<p> +Two hundred thousand homeless men, and women, +and little children were scattered in the fields and +on the hill-sides, chiefly on the north, as far as +Highgate, by the wretched remnants of their household +stuff. They were ready to perish of hunger;—yet +my husband said they did not beg a penny as he +passed from group to group. Some of them had +been rich and delicately lodged and clothed three +days before, and had not learned the art of craving +alms. Others were, it seemed, too stupified. His +Majesty did his utmost to make provision for their +relief (said the admiring courtiers) by "proclamation +for the country to come in and refresh them +with provisions;" which, moved by the proclamation +of the king (or by another proclamation issued +sixteen hundred years before by One who spake +with authority), the country people did, to the glory +of the king and the admiration of the courtiers. +</p> + +<p> +It was not the easiest thing in the world as we +looked from one side of our house over the blackened +heaps of cinders, where three days before had stood +the City of London, and on the other towards +Whitehall, standing unscathed; when we thought of two +thousand faithful servants of God forbidden to speak +for Him; of ten thousand houses, from not a few of +which had gone up day and night true prayer and +praise, made desolate; of a hundred thousand, not +a few of them good men and true, swept away by +the Plague the year before; and then of all the +riotous voices in the palace not silenced, but permitted +to speak their worst for the devil; it was not +always easy to keep firm hold of the truth that "all +power is given in heaven and earth" not to the +accuser and the enemy, but to "Jesus Christ the +righteous." It was not easy. We had to endure +in those days "as seeing Him who is invisible." +</p> + +<p> +My husband said, indeed, that the fire might prove +to be God's fumigation against the pestilence; and +that the pestilence itself was but (as it were) "the +ships to take us to the other side, being sent in a +fleet instead of one by one." +</p> + +<p> +But in the pestilence which is inwardly and eternally +pestilential, the pestilence of vice and selfishness, +which was corrupting the inner life of England, +the raging fire of sin which consumes not the disease +but the soul,—who could see any good? +</p> + +<p> +Roger's and my old puzzle of the apple tree yawned +beneath and around us, a great gulf, dark and +unfathomable as of old. +</p> + +<p> +If our hearts were less tossed about on the surging +waves of this abyss than of old, it was not that +the waves were quieter or less unfathomed. We +knew them to be deeper than we had dreamed. +For we had tried line after line and touched no +bottom. We felt them to be more unquiet, for the +times were stormier, and we were no longer on the +edge but launched on the sea. It was simply that, +falling at the feet of Him who stood at the helm, we +could worship Him with a deeper adoration, and +trust Him with more confiding simplicity. "Thou +knowest the other side," we could say. "Thou art +there. Thou art taking us thither. Thou knowest +the depths. Thou alone. Thou hast risen thence, +Thou knowest God. We see Him manifested in +Thee. And Thou hast said, good and not evil is +the heart and the crown of all. And we are satisfied." +</p> + +<p> +So, after a heavy winter on the edge of that desolation +which we could do so little to restore, we left +our old house in London in March, and went in the +spring for a few weeks to the old home at Netherby, +before it was broken up and passed out of our hands +for ever. +</p> + +<p> +Many of the old fields—we had roamed over every +one of them—had already been sold to meet the +expenses thrown on Roger by the lawsuit. And now +the old house itself was to be sold. Oliver's +Parliament had not altogether reformed the Law. And I +suppose no reformation of laws avails very much +when the men who administer them are corrupt. +Besides, unsuccessful revolution must be dealt with +as rebellious; those who fail must expect to suffer. +Roger and most of us had made our account for +that, and it was not of that we complained. +</p> + +<p> +It was not safe for Roger and Lettice to be with +us at Netherby. +</p> + +<p> +Of this I was almost glad. The more the old +home was like itself, the harder it would be to leave. +There were enough voices silent for ever, making +every chamber, and every nook of garden and +pleasance sacred by their echoes, to make the parting +such a wrench as scarcely leaves us the same ever +after. +</p> + +<p> +All Aunt Dorothy's Puritan training had not +swept the heathen idolatry out of my heart. For +what else was it to feel as if all the dumb and +lifeless things had voices calling me and pleading "for +sake us not, forsake us not, have we served you so +ill?" and arms stretched out to cling to us and draw +us back. +</p> + +<p> +The store-room over the porch, where Roger and +I had held our Sunday conversations; the chamber +where my father's books and mathematical instruments +still were, where he had taken me on his knee +and said, "Before the great mysteries, I can only +wonder and wait and say like thee, '<i>Father, how can +I understand, a little child like me?</i>'"—the wainscoted +parlour where "Mr. Cromwell of Ely" had talked +to us of "his little wenches," and looked at Roger +with softened eyes, thinking, perchance, of that +death of his first-born which "went as a sword to +his heart, indeed it did;" where John Milton (not +blind then) had played on the organ, and discoursed +with Dr. Jeremy Taylor;—how dared I have tears +to spare for leaving such as these, or even the graves +of our fathers in the old church they had helped to +build, and the pews where we and ours had knelt +for generations, when England had lost Liberty +and the strenuous heart to strive for it, and it +seemed almost the heart to weep for it now it +was gone, and could not afford her noblest even a +grave? +</p> + +<p> +But there were other partings which went far +deeper into the heart, on which even now it is best +not to dwell much, partings from those whom it +was no idolatry to feel it very sore to leave, old +faithful friends—our father's friends; (and every +familiar face in the village, as it came to see us go, +was as the face of a friend to us, going we knew not +whither, among we knew not whom.) +</p> + +<p> +We could never have left them had it been possible +to us to befriend and succour them longer at +home. As many as could leave went with us. +</p> + +<p> +And hardest of all it was to pass the old forge, +and see no friendly faces there, and know that Job +and Rachel were praying for us in the old cottage +within not daring to see us go. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Placidia was away making the last effort +to release her son. +</p> + +<p> +So we went at the beginning of April to +Southampton, where the ship was. We had to wait some +days there for her sailing. Dreary, blank days, we +thought they must be, suspended between the old +life and the new. But two surprises made them +bright to us as a beginning, rather an end. +</p> + +<p> +Two days before we started, Isaac appeared, with +his mother. He looked very much as if the prison +had indeed been a Paradise to him; and her face +sharp and worn as it was, seemed to me stamped +with the cares which enrich, instead of impoverishing, +the cares of love instead of the cares of +covetousness. There was a glow and a rest in her eyes, +as she looked on Isaac and Maidie, which I had +never seen there before. And as to Isaac and +Maidie, I believe distinctions of time and place were +just then so dim to them, that if you had asked +them where those days were spent, they would have +been clear but on one point, and that was that it +was most surely not in the Old World, but in a +world altogether and for ever New. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, as so often in the music of this changing +life, the "dying falls" were interlinked with the +swell of the opening chords. And so, with nothing +to mark it as the last, the last evening came. +</p> + +<p> +So the last evening came. Roger and Lettice, +with their little Harry Davenant, were already safe +on board. We were to join them at the dawn. +And when we climbed up into the ship, very strange +it was to find my hand in the welcoming grasp of a +strong hand, certainly not that of a strange sailor's, +and looking up, to see Job Forster, with Rachel and +Annis Nye behind him. +</p> + +<p> +"There was no help for it. That wilful maid +would come," he said, apologizing to himself for +doing what he liked. "She had the 'concern' at +last I have been afraid of all along. She was set +on going into the lion's den; so, of course, there +was nothing for it but for Rachel and me to come +and take care of her." +</p> + +<p> +So we sailed down Southampton water, by the +shores the <i>Mayflower</i> had left nearly a half a century +before. There were clouds over the wooded slopes +of the dear old country as we looked our last at her, +which broke ere we had been long on board, blending +earth and sky in a wild storm of rain. But before +we lost sight of the shore, the clouds were spanned +by the rare glory of a perfect rainbow, bridging +the storm with hope. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as we sailed on, the clouds rose slowly and +majestically, detaching themselves from earth in +grand sculptured masses, like couchant lions guarding +the land; until at sunset they had soared far +up the quiet heavens, and hovered like angels with +folded wings over a land at rest. +</p> + +<p> +And as we looked, Lettice said to Roger,— +</p> + +<p> +"See, is it not a promise of the better sunshine +hereafter to come?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is a witness of the sunshine now behind," he +said; "of the unquenchable sun which shines on +both the Old England and the New." And he +added in a low voice, in the words of Oliver Cromwell, +"'<i>Jesus Christ, of whose diocese we are</i>,' on Both +Sides of the Sea." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +CONCLUSION. +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +OLIVE'S MEDITATIONS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SEA. +</p> + +<p> +<i>New Netherby</i>, 1691.—New always to us, but +already to many grown into "the old house at home." +</p> + +<p> +Again I am alone in the house, as on the day +when the quiet rustling of the summer air among +the long grasses, and the shining of the smooth +water, and the smell of the hay from the hay-stack, +carried me back to the old house on the borders of +the Fen country, in the days of my childhood. +</p> + +<p> +The crimson and gold of a richer-coloured autumn +than that at home glows in the forests and in the +still creek below, over which the great trees bend, +And autumn is also on our lives; its fading leaves, +and also, I trust, its harvests and its calms. +</p> + +<p> +At many intervals, these recollections of my life +have been gathered together out of the old yellow +leaves in the oaken chest. +</p> + +<p> +The past has lived again to me through them. +But not through these pages alone. The past lives +not only in the dried herbs and grasses, in memories +and monuments, but in every blade of grass and ear +of corn of the present; in our new houses and our +old home customs, our new laws, our new conflicts, +our victories and our hopes. +</p> + +<p> +Old England lives and breathes in every breath +of this our New England. Sometimes from what +we have heard during the dreary years of oppression, +we have thought she lived more truly here +than in the England we have left. +</p> + +<p> +The household is away, and the pleasant cheery +house is silent. It is not the harvesting that has +emptied the house and the village to-day. It is the +thanksgiving for the harvest: the one festival which +the first settlers in the wilderness appointed, in the +first year of their exile, when the land was indeed a +wilderness and an exile, and the next harvest a +precarious blessing. More than half a century this +festival has been kept. A venerable antiquity for New +England. +</p> + +<p> +And now our hearts are rich with tenfold offerings +of praise. +</p> + +<p> +For at last we believe the harvest of the seed +sown in the wars and suffering of early days has +been brought in! +</p> + +<p> +The great Englishman who, as we believe, served +England so well, has still no monument in our +country nor even a grave. +</p> + +<p> +But a true Prince of a race of princely deliverers, +a race whose deeds fulfil more than their words +promise, the grandson of William the Silent, the +Liberator of Holland—is on the throne of England. +</p> + +<p> +Once more, on the last days of January, forty +years after the death of Charles the First, the throne +was vacant. For King James had fled. +</p> + +<p> +The link with the past, so sacred in England, which +failed Oliver, places William of Orange on the throne. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet," saith Roger, "but for Oliver, King James +had never fled, nor William of Orange never reigned. +The throne of the one hero is the best monument +of the other." +</p> + +<p> +Heavier and heavier the tidings came to us from +across the seas year after year; until the climax +seemed to us to be reached, when in one year one +gentlewoman was beheaded at Winchester for giving +refuge to two fugitives of Monmouth's Rebellion, +and another was burnt at Tyburn for a similar +act of mercy. +</p> + +<p> +The free Puritan spirit seemed to us often extinct +during those years of corruption and wrong. Hope +of deliverance for the nation seemed to have +expired in men's hearts. The best men seemed to +gather up all their courage to suffer cheerfully. +Christianity appeared no more with the sword of +the warrior, keen to redress wrong, or the sword of +justice, heavy to suppress it, but with meek folded +hands as the martyr to endure it. +</p> + +<p> +Yet we know all through the darkness the old +fires were burning still, though they burned now +in the still fires of devotion, patience, and +meditation, rather than in the flames which consume +fetters or which evangelize the world. +</p> + +<p> +Beautiful words came to us from across the sea; +high words of highest hope when lower hopes were +quenched; of largest tolerance of difference of +thought, blended with a truthfulness ready for any +sacrifice rather than darken the soul with the least +shadow of falsehood. +</p> + +<p> +The very names of the books written then, with +the circumstances under which they were written, +sounded to us like a psalm. +</p> + +<p> +From imprisoned Bunyan, a "Pilgrim's Progress +from this world to a better," written in Bedford gaol. +</p> + +<p> +From blind Milton, barely suffered to live, "The +Paradise Lost and Regained" sung in the darkness +which he felt to be "the shadow of celestial wings," +in that lost England he never lived to see restored. +</p> + +<p> +From silenced Owen, "The Glory of the Person +of Christ," "The Mortification of Sin in Believers." +</p> + +<p> +From silenced Howe, "The Living Temple,'" +"The Blessedness of the Righteous," "On Delighting +in God," "The Redeemer's Dominion over +Hades." +</p> + +<p> +It was of little avail to the kingdom of darkness +the silencing of such as these. It was silencing +their thoughts from "a life," to "an +immortality." It was giving them a planet to preach +from instead of a pulpit. +</p> + +<p> +It was of little avail to crush with a weight of +oppression hearts such as these. All the oppressions +pressed out of them—no moans, but only immortal +songs. +</p> + +<p> +And dear to us as any were the wise and mellowed +words of Richard Baxter, especially his +declaration of the "<i>things in which he himself had changed</i>," +as he learned, by the slow teaching of life. +</p> + +<p> +In our hearts they were written in letters of +gold, the autumnal gold of harvests. +</p> + +<p> +"Among all parties," he wrote, "I found some +that were naturally of mild, and calm, and gentle +dispositions; some of sour, froward, peevish +natures. Some were raw, inexperienced, and harsh, +like a young fruit. And some I found to be like +ripe fruit, mellow and sweet, first pure, then +peaceable, easy to be entreated. +</p> + +<p> +"But the difference between the godly and +ungodly was here the most considerable of all. +</p> + +<p> +"In my youth I was quickly past my fundamentals, +and was running up into a multitude of +controversies; but the older I grew the smaller stress +I laid on these controversies and curiosities (though +still my intellect abhorreth confusion), as finding +greater uncertainties in them than I at first +discerned; and finding less usefulness even where +there is the greatest certainty. <i>The Creed, the +Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments, are now to +me as my daily bread and drink</i>; and as I can speak +and write over them again and again, so I had +rather read and hear of them than of any of the +school niceties. And this I observed with Bishop +Hooker also, and with many other men. +</p> + +<p> +"Heretofore I placed much of my religion in +tenderness of heart and grieving for sin, and +penitential tears, and less of it in the love of God, and +studying His love and goodness, than now I do. +Now my conscience looketh at love and delight in +God, and praising Him, as the top of all my +religious duties, for which it is that I value and use +all the rest. +</p> + +<p> +"I was once wont to meditate most on my own +heart, and to dwell all at home, and look little +higher; I was still poring either on my sins or +wants; but now, though I am greatly convinced of +the need of heart-acquaintance and employment, +yet I see more need of a higher work. At home I +find distempers to trouble me, and some evidences +of grace; but it is above that I must find matters +of delight and joy, and love and praise itself. +Therefore I would have one thought at home upon +myself and my sins, and many thoughts upon +Christ, and God, and heaven. +</p> + +<p> +"Heretofore, I knew much less than now; and +yet was not half so much acquainted with my +ignorance; but now I find far greater darkness upon +all things, and perceive, how very little it is that +we know in comparison with that we are ignorant of. +</p> + +<p> +"I see more good and more evil in all men than +heretofore I did; I see that good men are not so +good as I once thought they were, but have more +imperfections. And I find few are so bad as either +their malicious enemies, or censorious separating +professors do imagine. Even in the wicked generally, +there is more for grace to make advantage of, +and more to testify for God and holiness than I +once believed there had been. +</p> + +<p> +"I less admire gifts of utterance, and bare profession +of religion than I once did, and have much +more charity for those who by the want of gifts do +make an obscurer profession; for I have met with +divers obscure persons, not noted for any extraordinary +profession or forwardness in religion, but +only to live a quiet blameless life, whom I have after +found to have long lived, as far as I could discern, +a truly godly and sanctified life. Yet he that on +this pretence would confound the godly and the +ungodly, may as well go about to bring heaven and +hell together. +</p> + +<p> +"I am not so narrow in my special love, nor in +my principles of church communion as heretofore. +</p> + +<p> +"My soul is much more affected with the thoughts +of the miserable world, and more drawn out in +desire of their conversion than heretofore. Could we +but go among Tartarians, Turks, and heathens, and +speak their language, I should be little troubled for +the silencing of eighteen hundred ministers at once +in England, nor for all the rest that were cast out +here, and in Scotland and Ireland; there being no +employment in the world so desirable in my eyes as +to labour for the winning of such miserable souls, +which maketh me greatly honour Mr. John Eliot, +the Apostle of the Indians in New England, and +whoever else have laboured in this work. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet am I not so much inclined to pass a peremptory +sentence of denunciation upon all that have +never heard of Christ, having some more reason +than I had before to think that God's dealing with +such is much unknown to us. +</p> + +<p> +"I am farther than ever from hopes of a golden +age here, and more apprehensive that suffering must +be the Church's ordinary lot, and that Christians +must indeed be cross-bearers. And though God +would have vicissitudes of summer and winter, day +and night, that the Church may grow <i>extensively</i> in +the summer of prosperity, and <i>intensively</i> and +radicately in the winter of adversity, yet usually their +night is longer than their day, and that day itself +hath its storms and tempests. The Church will be +still imperfect and sinful, and will have those +diseases which need the bitter remedy. +</p> + +<p> +"My censures of the Papists do much differ from +what they were at first. I then thought that their +errors in doctrine were their most dangerous +mistakes, as to the points of merit, justification by +works, assurance of salvation, the nature of faith. +But now I am assured that their mis-expressions +and misunderstanding, with our mistakings of them, +and inconvenient expressing our own opinions, hath +made the differences in these points to appear much +greater than they are; and that in some of them it +is next to none at all. +</p> + +<p> +"But the great and irreconcilable differences lie in +their Church tyranny and usurpations, and in their +great corruptions and abasements of God's worship, +with their befriending of ignorance and vice. I +doubt not but that God hath many sanctified ones +among them, who have received the doctrine of +Christianity so practically, that their contradictory +errors prevail not against them to hinder their love +of God and their salvation, but that their errors are +like a conquerable dose of poison which nature doth +overcome. And I can never believe that a man may +not be saved by that religion which doth but bring +him to the true love of God, and a heavenly mind +and life; nor that God will ever cast a soul into +hell that truly loveth Him. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot be so narrow in my principles of Church +communion as many are. Many are so much for a +liturgy or so much against it, so much for ceremonies +or so much against them, that they can hold +communion with no Church that is not of their mind +and way. +</p> + +<p> +"I am much less regardful of the approbation of +man, and set much lighter by contempt or applause +than I did long ago; all worldly things appear most +unsatisfactory where we have tried them most; yet, +as far as I can perceive, the knowledge of man's +nothingness and God's transcendent greatness, with +whom it is that I have most to do, and the sense of +the brevity of human things and the nearness of +eternity, are the principal causes of this effect. +</p> + +<p> +"I am much more apprehensive than long ago +of the odiousness and danger of the sin of pride, +especially in matters spiritual and ecclesiastical. I +think so far as any man is proud he is given to the +Devil, and entirely a stranger to God and himself. +It's a wonder that it should be a possible sin, to men +that still carry about with them, in soul and body, +such humbling matter as we all do. +</p> + +<p> +"I am much more sensible than heretofore of the +breadth, length, and depth of the radical, universal, +odious sin of selfishness; and of the excellency and +necessity of self-denial, and of a public mind, and +of loving our neighbour as ourselves. +</p> + +<p> +"I am more and more sensible that most controversies +have more need of right stating than of debating; +and if my skill be increased in anything it is +in that; narrowing controversies by explication and +separating the real from the verbal, and proving to +many contenders that they differ less than they +think they do. +</p> + +<p> +"I am more solicitous than I have been about my +duty to God, and less about His dealings with me; +as being assured that He will do all things well, +and as knowing there is no rest but in the will and +goodness of God. +</p> + +<p> +"I must mention it by way of penitent confession +that I am too much inclined to such words in +controversial writings which are too keen, and apt to +provoke the person I write against. I have a strong +natural inclination to call a spade a spade. I confess +it is faulty, because it is a hindrance to the usefulness +of what I write; and especially because though +I feel no anger, yet (which is worse) I know there +is some want of honour and love and tenderness to +others, and therefore I repent of it, and wish all +over-sharp passages were expunged from my writings, +and desire forgiveness of God and man. And +yet I must say that I am often afraid of the contrary +extreme, lest when I speak against great and +dangerous errors and sins, I should encourage men to +them by speaking too easily of them, as Eli did to +his sons. +</p> + +<p> +"I mention these distempers that my faults may +be a warning to others to take heed, as they call +on myself for repentance and watchfulness. O +Lord, for the merits and sacrifice and intercession +of Christ, be merciful to me a sinner, and forgive +my known and unknown sins." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +These words are as familiar to us as a liturgy, +so often used Aunt Dorothy to ask them to be +read over to her; although to the last the part she +oftenest asked me to read was that about the +danger of the "contrary extreme of speaking too +easily of dangerous errors and sins," to which she +always gave her most emphatic Amen. +</p> + +<p> +She forgave Mr. Baxter, however, for his marriage, +on consideration of his young wife's generous +assistance of destitute ministers, of her own and +her mother's "manly patience" in adversities, and +of the faithful affection with which she shared and +cheered her husband's imprisonment. +</p> + +<p> +And dear to Aunt Dorothy beyond all other +uninspired writings was Mr. Baxter's, prison-hymn +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "THE RESOLUTION.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Must I be driven from my books,<br> + From house, and goods, and dearest friends?<br> + One of Thy sweet and gracious looks<br> + For more than this will make amends.<br> + The world's Thy book: there I can read<br> + Thy power, wisdom, and Thy love;<br> + And thence ascend by faith, and feed<br> + Upon the better things above.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I'll read Thy works of providence:<br> + Thy Spirit, conscience, and Thy rod<br> + Can teach without these all the sense<br> + To know the world, myself, and God,<br> + Few books will serve when Thou wilt teach,<br> + Many have stolen my precious time;<br> + I'll leave my books to hear Thee preach,<br> + Church-work is best when Thou dost chime,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "As for my home it was my tent,<br> + While there I waited on Thy flock;<br> + That work is done, that time is spent,<br> + There neither was my home nor stock.<br> + Would I in all my journey have<br> + Still the same sun and furniture?<br> + Or ease and pleasant dwellings crave,<br> + Forgetting what Thy saints endure?<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "My Lord hath taught me how to want<br> + A place wherein to put my head;<br> + While He is mine, I'll be content<br> + To beg or lack my daily bread.<br> + Heaven is my roof, earth is my floor;<br> + Thy love can keep me dry and warm;<br> + Christ and Thy bounty are my store;<br> + Thy angels guard me from all harm.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "As for my friends, they are not lost;<br> + The several vessels of Thy fleet,<br> + Though parted now, by tempest tost,<br> + Shall safely in the haven meet.<br> + Still we are centred all in Thee;<br> + Members, thought distant, of one Head;<br> + In the same family we be,<br> + By the same faith and Spirit led.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Before Thy throne we daily meet,<br> + As joint petitioners to Thee;<br> + In spirit we each other greet,<br> + And shall again each other see.<br> + The heavenly hosts, world without end,<br> + Shall be my company above;<br> + And Thou my best and surest Friend—<br> + Who shall divide me from Thy love?<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Must I forsake the soil and air<br> + Where first I drew my vital breath?<br> + That way may be as near and fair,<br> + Thence I may come to Thee by death.<br> + All countries are my Father's lands;<br> + Thy sun, Thy love doth shine on all;<br> + We may in all lift up pure hands,<br> + And with acceptance on Thee call.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What if in prison I must dwell,<br> + May I not there converse with Thee!<br> + Save me from sin, Thy wrath, and hell,<br> + Call me Thy child, and I am free.<br> + No walls or bars can keep Thee out;<br> + None can confine a holy soul,<br> + The streets of heaven it walks about;<br> + None can its liberty control.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Must I feel sicknesses and smart<br> + And spend my days and nights in pale<br> + Yet if Thy love refresh my heart,<br> + I need not overmuch complain.<br> + This flesh has drawn my soul to sin,<br> + If it must smart, Thy will be done.<br> + Oh, fill me with Thy joys within,<br> + And then I'll let it grieve alone!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I know my flesh must turn to dust,<br> + My parted soul must come to Thee,<br> + And undergo Thy judgments just,<br> + And in the endless world must be.<br> + In this there's most of fear and joy,<br> + Because there's most of sin and grace;<br> + Sin will this mortal frame destroy,<br> + But Christ will bring me to Thy face.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Shall I draw back, and fear the end<br> + Of all my sorrows, fears, and pain,<br> + To which my life and labours tend,<br> + Without which all had been in vain?<br> + Can I for ever be content<br> + Without true happiness and rest?<br> + Is earth become so excellent<br> + That I should take it for my best?<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Or can I think of finding here<br> + That which my soul so long has sought?<br> + Should I refuse those joys, through fear,<br> + Which bounteous love so dear has bought?<br> + All that does taste of heaven is good;<br> + When heavenly light does me inform,<br> + When heavenly life stirrs in my blood,<br> + When heavenly love my heart doth warm.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Though all the reasons I can see,<br> + Why should I willingly submit,<br> + And comfortably come to Thee—<br> + My God, Thou must accomplish it.<br> + The love which filled up all my days<br> + Will not forsake me to the end;<br> + This broken body Thou wilt raise,<br> + My spirit I to Thee commend."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Such was the kind of whine or moan which +persecution drew from the true Puritans! Such was +the music oppression drew by its strain from +strings not otherwise deemed musical. It is the +solitary spontaneous songs of those whose natural +speech is a quiet prose, which, more than anything, +make me comprehend what is meant by the New +Song. +</p> + +<p> +We sang that hymn by Aunt Dorothy's grave, +on the hill-side, under the old oak-tree where she +loved to sit on summer evenings. She used to say +the sound of the wind in the leaves took her back +to old Netherby; and from its shade she could +catch a gleam of the sea, on the other side of which +is England. +</p> + +<p> +We had not expected, and we did not find New +England to be an Eden, where the conflict would +be over. It has been possible, however, to wage +"the good fight" here, not only for our own souls, +but "in those public services for which a man is +born." For that end we took refuge here; and we +are content. Yet of some wars we have, I trust, +seen the victorious end. Since the "being" of the +plantations seems secure, men have more leisure to +seek their "well-being." Since law has grown to +have firmer roots, the lawgivers have grown more +merciful. Magistrates and ministers have ceased +to persecute, and Quakers have ceased to provoke. +Which was the cause and which the effect, will +perhaps long remain a subject of debate. +</p> + +<p> +Just now, however, there are terrible rumours of +witches, which recall the old witch-drowning and +rescue of Gammer Grindle on Netherby Mere in my +early days. Wretched old women are said to be +accusing themselves of riding through the air on +sticks, and of having evil spirits in the form of cats +to wait on them, knowing that if convicted they +will be hung. My husband thinks that, by-and-by, +when the magistrates cease to excite diseased fancies +by threats of the gallows, and thus the stimulus of +danger is withdrawn, the witches will cease to +believe they deserved a terrible punishment by having +committed impossible crimes.* +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* "When the persecution of the witches ceased, the Lord +chained up Satan, that the afflicted grew presently +well."—P. COTTON MATHER. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Meantime John Eliot has been fighting the devil in +more undeniable forms by preaching the gospel to +the Indians. He reduced the language to writing, +and translated the Bible into it. At first the +Pauwaws, their magicians or "clergymen," were furious, +and threatened his life. But he went fearlessly, +alone, among them. "I am about the work of the +great God," he said. "God is with me. Touch me +if you dare." Now there are six churches of +baptized praying Indians, and eighteen assemblies of +catechumens. +</p> + +<p> +Yet when he was passing away, he said there was +a dark cloud on the work among the Indians. The +nation itself seems to fade before us. The praying +Indians perish like caged deer in their Christian +villages. +</p> + +<p> +Now the life of love which has been shining +among them and us so many years, has at last faded +from our vision. +</p> + +<p> +The firm, gentle hand which "rang the curfew for +contentions" is still; the voice and the life which +preached among us so constantly "<i>bear, forbear, +forgive</i>," are silenced. The eyes which flashed so +indignantly against wrongs to the weak and helpless, +and which glanced so tenderly on the little children, +are closed. The "lambs which Christ is not willing +to lose" will watch for John Eliot's smile and kindly +word henceforth in vain. +</p> + +<p> +Whenever bad news came from England (and it +came so often!), he would say, "These are some of +the clouds in which the Son of man will come." +</p> + +<p> +And now the better tidings have come, he has +passed to better still. The Son of man has come +for him, not in a cloud of darkness but of light. +</p> + +<p> +When he was too feeble to labour longer among +his Indians, he said, "I wonder for what my Lord +keeps me longer here." And then he turned to such +sufferers as his labours could yet reach. His last +efforts were to gather the negro servants of the +settlers and teach them. His last scholar was a blind +boy whom he took to be with him in his house. +</p> + +<p> +His last words to us still in the battle-field were +"Pray, pray, pray." +</p> + +<p> +His first words to the victors he has joined were, +"Welcome, joy." +</p> + +<p> +And soon after this our "Apostle of the Indians" +died. Mr. Baxter wrote:— +</p> + +<p> +"There was no man on earth whom I honoured +above him. It is his evangelical work that is the +Apostolical Succession I plead for. I am now dying, +I hope, as he did. It pleased me to read from +him my case ('my understanding faileth, my +memory faileth, my tongue faileth, but my charity +faileth not'). That word much comforted me. God +preserve you and New England." +</p> + +<p> +Thus New England has already her apostolic +fathers and her sacred graves. +</p> + +<p> +A few months passed, and then we heard how +Richard Baxter had followed Eliot home. +</p> + +<p> +"I have pain," he said; "there is no arguing +against sense. But I have peace—<i>I have peace</i>." And +when asked during his mortal sickness how he +did, his reply was "<i>almost well</i>." +</p> + +<p> +So the day he looked for as his Sabbath and "high +day" came to him, and he is gone to the great +company of those he justly honoured, and some whom +he never learned to honour here, in the "many +mansions" of that "all-reconciling world." +</p> + +<p> +But alas, when shall we say "<i>almost well</i>" for, +what he called, "this distracted world?" +</p> + +<p> +In England the better days seem dawning, and +here in New England. +</p> + +<p> +But from France Lettice's old servant Barbe, who +has taken refuge here with her family, brings +tidings too sad to think of. +</p> + +<p> +Port Royal is extinguished as a source of light; +the schools suppressed; the nuns prisoners in their +own convent or elsewhere; the recluses silenced and +scattered. Hundreds of the best men and women +in France, as Madame la Mothe deemed them, thus +rendered powerless for good. +</p> + +<p> +But the sufferers of whom Barbe speaks count by +hundreds of thousands. "One soweth and another +reapeth." Who will reap the harvest of this sowing? +</p> + +<p> +Of these hundred thousand good Protestant men +and women scattered, killed, tortured, at the +revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and through all the +persecutions before and after it, of whom Barbe tells +us stories of horror such as England never knew, +those other good men and women, Fort Royal, on +earth, knew nothing! +</p> + +<p> +Oh, joyful revelations of that "all reconciling +world!" Next to the joy of seeing Him in whom +God reconciles us all to Himself and to each other +will be the joy of seeing the wonder on the +countenances of saint after saint as they unlearn their +wrong judgments of one another. +</p> + +<p> +The joy of the unlearning. +</p> + +<p> +Yes! this joy of unlearning is one we shall +certainly none of us miss! As John Robinson said, on +the other side of the sea at Delft Haven, to the +fathers of our New England when they were +departing, "If God reveal anything to you by any +other instrument, be very willing to receive it as +from me. Lutherans go not beyond Luther; +Calvinists beyond Calvin; yet though burning and +shining lights in their time, they penetrated not into +the whole course of God. But were they now +living, they would be as willing to receive further +light as that which they first received from the +Word of God." +</p> + +<p> +They <i>are</i> living, living and learning, and ever +"receiving further light" from the Eternal Light +(oh, how willingly!), on the other side of that Great +Sea which we must all so soon pass over, to learn +together, with ever deepening love and joy, how +wide His dominion is "of whose Diocese we are" +"On Both Sides of the Sea." +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75741 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + diff --git a/75741-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/75741-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a785e82 --- /dev/null +++ b/75741-h/images/img-cover.jpg |
