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Whose work in tlie midst of the throne is the old familiar r^hep- lierd's work of "leading" and feeding, Whose trmmph in the day of his joy will be to "gird Himself and come forth, and serve ? " And this leads me to the third living principle of my life : belief in a heaven which is not a contradiction, but a completion of true Christian life below ; in a master whose promise is, not a rewarding of seventy years of toil by an eternity ot luxurious repose ; nor an avenging of seventy years of abasement by an eternity of exaltation • nor a compensation for seventy years of service and suffering by an eternity of triumphal pomp and regal state : but a training by the numbered years of imperfect work here for an eternity of blessed work, unhindered and unwearied ; by sev- enty years of gradual deliverance from the bondage ot self, not for an eternity of the gratification of self in ellectual or spiritual, but for an eternity of the only liberty worth having, the libei the rights of independant atoms, but of of a mutually dependent brotherhood. rty, not of 'the duties in the ])re- 14 AOAINgT THE stueam. i 1? fence of the Father whom all obey, and on Whom a depend; the glorious liberty of love, 11:" end i t • " """r- '"'" "'^ ^^-''o '» '•'« source a'd end s tog,, d „ gi^.^g_ j^^^^^^ ^_^^ d ptts to give Itself, giving and receiving in that end ess .nterehange which ensnres growth, and tS only IS worthy to be called life A belief I have found not without practical im portance : since earnests and foretastes of 01^0 om .«ed mhentance are sure to be converted bvtt wV,,and it makes not a little differance to I r I-actical lifewhetherwe consider the t„e s-mb and foretaste of heaven to be the contemplalf „f to.hng cfes from suburban paradises, or the suc- omg and serving the poorest creature to 1 ngTn tiiose city streets. " If I have had any power in my life to '• lif* nn hands that hang down," to revive now and hi opeforhumamtyin some veterans (to whom I l«ye been as a child) worn-out with thrdL pomtments of many victories which have fafel to accomphsh all they seemed to promise • or in «.me fallen creatures, worn-out wifh the te"r ot many defeats, it is to such simple and obvCs rnnciples as these that I owe it. And yet, how vain to think we knoTv fi,„ Bpnngs of the influences which hav moS t or th,o„gh which we have acted on o e^ . so Tt^l^r '-''-'- -""^ -«" Deeper even than its deepest principles is our fH- nd on Whom ve, tlie neces- its source and and in all its ? in that end- li, and which practical im- of our prom- 3i'ted bj the 'ancc to our 'uest symbol mplation of or thesuc- fe toiling in to " lift up y and then whom J the disap- lave foile'l nise; or in he despair id obvious tnow the oulded us, others; so [iomliined, iles is our AOAhYST TUB STREAM. 15 . roh'nrlon, rooted not in a principle, but in the Per- son we adore; and, since the divine history is ever deeper and wider than all the theologies and . philosophies drawn from it, to me, doubdess, as to all, ron, the wisest to the simplest, all true , power o live, or to help to live, has come from IJim who, while in Himself revealing the Father understood and saved the "sinner" who washed r • I'^tv P^'^ "' ^"^ '^^^^d t^^e I^isciple who denied Him oved and saved the Pharisee who 'persecuted Him," Whose presence makes heaven and must make a heaven like Himself _ We maj review or analyze our life into prin- ciples as we analyze our food into alkalies, salts and acids; but no chemical combination of alkali salts and acids yet invented will keep us alive ' Principles must, after all, be rooted in affec tions: life can only be nourished by life. i t CHAPTER II. " Fretted by eallies of Ixis inothor's kiseee, With liglit upon liira from liia father's eyes." ITCH recollections of early childhood with me are all too soon broken in npon. Yet to me also the world began with Paradise. I can dimly recall such a zone of tenderest sunlight, such a sense of being watched and delighted in, and brooded and pui-red over, and played with ; such a golden time of kisses and coaxings, and tender foldings up at niglit, and laughing wakings up in the morning, And then, succeeding it, a time of silence and darkness and cold ; of being hushed and kept quiet because something which had made the sun- shine of the home was gone, and something else which needed that lost sunshine more than any had come, and ' must be cherished and watched and kept alive with such artificial warmth as the world can make for motherless babes, — leaving at the moment little warmth and light to spare any- where for me. 8, !ye8." dhood with upon. began with such a zone ng watched Ill-red over, e of kisses , nigiit, and silence and J and kept ,de the siin- lething else e than any id watclied raith as tlie —leaving at spare anj- AQAINST TUE STREAM. yi A dark confused chaotic time, "without form, and void ;" i„ looking hack, I can scarcely tell whether it lasted days, or months, or jcars ; a time when God had made for me no lights, rial world which was to nie so essentially part of tho Not me," and was evidently regarc led by those around me as an integral portion of the " ^le ! " I can remember now the delighted Bonso of freedom with which, one fine Sunday afternoon, I had crept, unnoticed, out of the garden door, with my faithful companion, our great black New- foundland dog, Pluto, u}) the green hill ontv^idc the garden wall to the edg«! of the brook beyond, and was enjoying at once the joys of liberty and of tyranny in making him plunge into the water and fetch me a .lick as I had seen my father do. I remember now the half-remonstrant, half-conde- sending way in which the grand creature yielded to my little imperiousnesses, and then, landing his freight, shook himself in a storm of sparkling drops over ine and my new frock. And I also remember a certain calm philoso- phical interest (which ought in any consistent biography to have presaged a genius for scientific investigatiorA wherewith I waa O' -serving that the drops did not penetrate m'> crape but lay o.i it, round and sparkling, when nurse burst upon us with baby in her arms, and a wail on her lips. " Bless the maid ! what will she be after next ? Miss Bride, Miss Bride, you contrary child, how can you be so unfeeling as to forget your new cra'j; and your blessed mother, and Sunday, and I' % AGAINST TllhJ Smh'AJr. 19 roigli my e material part of tlio d by tluxso I " Me ! " (1 sense of r afternoon, irden door, )laek New- oiitslde tlio leyond, and rty and of } water and ;her do. I lialf-conde- ure yielded landing his sparkling Im pliiloso- consistent or scientific ng that the t lay 0.. it, st npon us er lips. after next ? child, how your new iunday, and ovorything, and romp about like a beggur's brat \villi that great brute of a dog? " A speech which left xxk? \u such a ]>ewildor- nient ot images and injustices that I was to(, per- piexc^ to cry or to defend myself, until the do-, his affections getting the better of his tact, sho.l iHM.sdf in a rapture of welcome over baby and nunse, and thereby drew on himself a blow which Hcnthnn away whining in his inarticulate way; vvluLst T, tearfully protestir.g that Pluto was not a l»n.te nor r a brat, and that I had not forgotten ^•nu ay, for father had only just given me my fennday gingerbread, was dragged down the steps of the dear old garden, from terrace to terrace whining in my half-articulate way. And I also remember to this day, my fiither standing at the door of the Summer parlor, which opened on the garden, welcomir.g me with open arms caressing and comforting me, and saying ha ;' Clothes did not matter at all if I would onl v be lus own dear little bride, and not cry " ]^nt clothes did matter, as I knew too well in my femimne experience, and as nurse protested, How should maste. know about clothes, poor 'lear soul, who had neither to make nor to mend, "or to starch nor to iron ? Men, the wisest of them always ta ked as if clothes grew upon children like fur upon kittens." They mattered, indeed, so much to me. that I iKid never any difficulty at all in receiving the narrative of Genesis connecting clothes rh the 20 AGAINST THE STliEAM. IN ill ' fall rather than the creation of nrian, as a most rational explanation of the nature of things, being already quite convinced from my own history that they conld never have been originally intended as essentials in any beneiicent scheme of the universe. Only, Piers and I ^^sed in after years fre- quently to lament that the primitive institution of skins had not been adhered to. Also, I suspect, clothes had nmch to do with that next step which made so great a change in our lives. I have little doitbt it was a sense of his inca- pacity for contending with the difficulties spring- ing, not from the characters of his children, but from their clothes, feminine and infantine, with all the feminine care and attendance incident there- unto, that induced him to place fit the head of his house the discreet and sober-minded gentlewoman who became our stepmother; clothes, I mean, in the larger sense, — conventionalities, customs, pro- prieties. The reign of Clothes certainly did not cease with my stepmother. Only the signification of the world extended. Conventionalities, customs, proprieties, all the ritual of life, these wore her standard measures, lier household gods, her sacred Scriptures, or at least her tradition of the elders, which brought them down to practice ; her Talmud if not her Pentateuch. AYith most of us, I sup pose, our practical commentaries are unwritten. S ■A M>A'1JM« n, as a most tilings, being I liistory that illy intended erne of the er years fre- nstitution of h to do with ; a change in of his in ca- nities spring- children, but tine, with all icident there- le head of his gentlewoman s, I mean, in justoms, pro- iid not cease nification of ties, customs, Gse were her Is, her sacred 3f the elders, ; her Talmud of us, I sup unwritten. AGAINST THE STREAM. 21 _ On the Upper Olympus, doubtless, with her as with others, safe enthroned the serene lar-off ortho- dox divinities, but by the liearth were acknowl- edged two presiding powers, one deprecated as the root of mischief, and the other honored with daily incense and libation. Her evil genius was En thusiasm ; her protecting divinity. Moderation. To understand the Bible or anything properly, she would have considered that everv text sliouid be underlined with "Let everything be done decently and in order," and " Let your moderation be known unto all men." With her, sin was doing anything too vehe- mently ; heresy, believing anything too intensely; justice between contending parties was thinking every one equally wrong; charity, thinking every one equally right ; the Christian warfare an armed neutrality ; truth the residuum after the extraction of all extreme pinions; paradise, the place where all exaggerated ideas and characters are either absent or kept quiet. At least such was the impression she made on rae in the exaggerations of my childish imagina- tion ; for hers was a moderation which always tempted me into extremes, and it is only later that I learned to be just to her. She was as kind as any one can be without sympathy, as just as any one can be without imagination. She ad- hered as faithfully to the golden rule, '^ As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them, as any one can do who has no conception 22 AQAIMST TUE STREAM. •I i;ii m V \>. 4 . n of the differences between men, between the "they" and the "you," no idea of the patient studj- of circumstance and character which the true fulfilling of the precept involves. In later years, moreover, we grew to under- stand each other better; as she and I both learned, I trust, something from each other, and more ' from life. And in earlier years, I can see now, if not tJ.iu good she did me, at least something of the eviin from which she kept me. It is good for us all to have some ice in our lives. It makes the air fresher, and restrains the enthusiasm which is meant to enrich the summers and middle levels with living waters and life- giving soil, from overflowing too early in the spring tinie on the higher levels, and so evapora- ting in mists of sentiment, or being lost in marshes of vague good intention. Much fond and foolish talk there was, no doubt, in the nursery, when it was announced that Mr. Danescombe, my father, was about to marry Miss Euphrasia Weston. Faltering exhortations were addressed to me by nurse as to the duties of our new relationship to the good lady who was coming to be our " new mother ; '' congratulations whose compassionate tones made me interpret them into condolences. For children, like dogs, read speech as if it were music, by tones rather than by words. The only words of her exhortations which AGAINST THE 8T11EAM. 2;j 3tweeii tlio the patient which the to under- >th learned, and more ' , if not fi.io >f the eviJs ice in our istrains the e summers \ and life- •ly in the o evapora- in marshes 3 was, no mnounced about to ed to me lationship our " new passionate idolenees. f it were as which ^"m made any impression on me, were tliose terrible promises of a " new mother." To me they were what to a devout Jew might have been the"prom- ise of a " new God." In those days the French words, vulgarized by bad nursery pronunciation into papa and mamma, which would be so intolerable if they were not hallowed to two or three generations by the lisp- ings of baby lips, had not yet been introduced into England, or at least hud not penetrated to our social level in our little country town. There was, therefore, no convenient intermediate con- ventional term, expressive rather of position than relationship. And the sacred name, mother, was not, in ray Protestant childhood, distributed in the liberal manner since the fashion among any benevolent ladies who undertake the charge of young girls, good or naughty. In those days women only became mothers through a mother's anguish and To me "mother" meant one only incompar- able love, one- only irreparable loss; "love which had loved me, me as I was, not any goodness or beauty in me, not my clothes nor my behavior, but me, her little, helpless, longing, clinging Bride ; loss which had left my childhood, con''- sciously or unconsciously, one long empty cravino- " feeling after if haply I might ' *" brood over n me, arms to fold me like hen But now nurse seemed una- wiuL^s to to expect me to transfer 24 AOAINST THE STREAM. 11 lil.f 4 that dear lost name iji this easy way to an mi- known quantity, as if it meant notliing, like a nonsense nursery rhyme ; as if life meanUiothinc. but a " make-believe" play with dolls. I could not have done so even to an old doll. Yet to remonstrate with any one who could have had the want of perception to propose such a thmg was, I instinctively felt, as useless as trying to explain the mysteries of property to Pluto. I cried myself to sleep silently that night, in one of those unutterable agonies of childhood. Happily childish agonies do not drive sleep away ! ^ And the next moi-ning I awoke and began my vain tears again, but made no moan or complaint, until nurse linding I did not get on with my bread and milk, began one of her half-caressing half- querulous remonstrances. '' What ails the child ? Miss Bride, you are gettmg quite beyond poor old nurse. And so no doubt others have thought. Maybe the new lady will manage better." ^ Then I broke out into one gasping sob. and said, " must I call the new lady mother? " "Sure enough, child, sure enough! What would poor dear nuister say ? '' " Did father say that?'' " Who would make so bold as to ask him ? Never mind, poor lamb, never mind ; what's the name ? The nainis nothino-." To me the name was unutterably much. But I was consoled by perceiving that it was plain 4 nurse lathe T falsel into 1 of t]l( guag( tiucti ble h( know Tl knee, breast "] Hi and hi his voi "1 mean \ "1 head. He down t to me her." Bui i arms a tears as "Li not afn home t( AGAINST THE STREAM. 25 7 to an lul- ling, like a ant nothing in old doll. could have ose such a ss as trying ' Pluto. ■t night, in childhood, leep away ! began my complaint, I my bread ssing half- e, you are And so no 5 new lady ? sob. and L J What ask him ? vhat's the ich. But was plain nurse had no sentence on the matter from my father ; and I secretly resolved to ask hi.m myselti To me the name was everything. To use it falsely was, I felt in some dim way, to bring a lie into my life, or rather to sap all significance out of tlio words falsehood and truth, to make all lan- guage, all sacred words and names lose their dis- tinctive meaning and become mere interchangea- ble hollowness. That is to say, this is what I now know my instinctive revulsion meant. The very next time that I sat on my father'c knee, and could get my face well hidden on his breast, with desperate courage I began — " Must I call her mother ? " His hands trembled as they stroked my hair, and his lips as he kissed me, and I could hear that his voice was half choked as he said— "Who, little Bride? What does my darling mean ? " " The new lady," I said, without lifting my head. J He put me down, and paced hastily up and I down the room • and then he said, in what seemed *';. to me a very cold and absent voice, "I will ask her.'' But ther. again suddenly he seized me in his arms and pressed me to his heart, and I felt his tears as he said — Little Bride, my darling little Bride, not afraid of me ? I you are home to take care of you and baby am only bringing some one vnn Qnrl KoU,, » 20 AGAINST THE STRIJAM. ■i And so he fully believed, my poor father. Bewildered by the advice of some, and the gossip of others, and the well-meant querulousness of nurse, and the various feminine and infantine com- prehensibilities of baby and of me, he was bring- ing home a sage and sobei-ininded new lady who talked good English, whicli nurse did not, and* was a good economist, which he was not, to pre- side over his household, his children, and himself, to provide us with costumes and catechisms, with clothes, intellectual, moral, and material. I am not describing typical relationships or characters. Relationships and characters are not to be so easily classified into types. Second mar- riages are as different as first marriages, and step- mothers as different as mothers or mothers-in-law. -But our country town was not a normal commu- nity, nor was mine a normal life. And this was my experience. The next day my father kissed me very ten- derly when I went to bed, and said gravely, " Miss Weston does not wush my little Bride to call her anything that is not strictly correct. You may call her Mrs. Danescombe. She would like it." I felt so relieved, and so grateful to the new lady for the relief, I could almost have welcomed her. I suppose a dim hope came to me that she would after all understand me. A week after that my father went away for a day or two. In those days wedding journeys had AGAINST THE STltEAM. 27 poor fatlitr. nd the gossip iilousiiess of ifaiitine coin- le was brinfi:- ew ladj who iid not, and' not, to pre- and himself, schisms, with ial. tionships or 3ters are not Second mar- es, and step- thers-in-law. mal commu- nd this was le very ten- avely, little Bride 3tly correct. She would to the new B welcomed ne that she t away for a junieys had not been introduced. Tie was married in tlie neighboring town wliere Miss Euphrasia was stay- ; ing, and the next day he brought her home, and we were summoned to greet her. I She stooped down graciously and gave me her ^j cheek to kiss; and she spoke in a high-pitched X caressing tone, supposed to suit the infantine taste, I to Piers, and made a movement as if she would I have taken him in her arms and kissed him. But I she seemed to find her dress a little in the way. : She wore a drooping large-brimmed hat with a I feathei-, and ruffles and lappets and laces in various J places, and I believe she telt shy with the child, J which he with a child's instinct of course perceiv' ; ed ; and concluding she had no right of possession : in him, he turned trom her with a little pout, and I a little quiver of the lips, to me. ^ I saw her color rise a little, and I felt rather ■ than saw a slight uneasy frown on my father's face. I knew that things were going wrong ; and then all at once something motherly seemed to wake up in my own heart (I do not know what else to call it), a dim feeling that I was not there to be taken care of, but to take care of other peo- ple, of Piers and father, and even in some sense of Mrs. Danescombe. And I folded my arms around my little brother, and stretched out his little hands and mine together towards her, and then I seemed to feel father's frown relax to a smile, and in a moment we were both caught up and half smothered in his arms, and enveloped in "!^ il; *'i ■ 28 AGAINST THE STREAM. u eompreJiensive embrace in wliieh Mrs. Danes combe was in some waj involved. Tlien afterwards fatlier liastily left tlie room as if he Lad finished the reconciliation scene in a play, his sanguine nature quite satisfied that all was going right; and Mrs. Danescombe, after bestowing a toy on Piers, and a new London doll on me, was quite content to leave Piers to my guardianship, while she smoothed herself down before the small out Yenetian glass in the oaken Irame over the old high-carved chimney-piece. _ And I remember sitting in the window-seat with my arms around Piers, altogether grave and ^PPJ with that new feeling of motherliness. We did not touch our toys, but sat gravely con- versing; so that Mdien father returned, clieerily rubbing his hands, he looked a little disappointed to see the new gifts neglected, and said to me naif reproachfully ; " Does not my little Bride care for her beauti- lul new doll ? " How could I 'i I, who was feeling wise and matronly, as if I were the mother of the human race, and had the world on my shoulders, himself mcluded ! -Besides, what strange ideas he must have about dol s ! Was a new doll to be made acquaintance with, and taken to one's heart in a moment ? However, I took up the doll, and began to behave to it with great politeness. And Mrs. Danescombe drew near us, and Lii I I i u. AGAINST THE STRFJAM. 29 Mrs. Danes J marlo sniidrv efforts to " annise" Pioi".s 1)v fork mir eft tlic room, ion scone in a isfied that all isconibe, after ■ Loiidon doll Piers to my herself down in the oaken ney-piece. window-seat er grave and motherliness. gravely con- led, cheerily disappointed said to me r her beauti- ng wise and r the human lers, himself fc have about icquaintance ment ? d began to sar us, and the angular wooden puppet with M-hieh she had of il 4 •osented him, by means ^ various mountebank attitudes, which were in- I tended to be funny, I I remember now the sense of grave wonder , and pity with which I contemplated these futile ; attempts at entertainment, whilst Piers continued to gaze steadily into her face with serious, unde- luded eyes, evidently concluding that she was quite too old to play, and that the whole thing was a piece of very ineffective di'amatic perfonnance. I think the courteous complaisance with which little children receive our imbecile attempts to amuse them very remarkable ; they who are never taken in, who are themselves actors of the first class, by instinct, living in a perpetually varied drama as gloriously independent of vulgar neces- sities of scene-painting as an Athenian audience: they to whom any few square feet of earth where they can be let alone are an imperial amphithe- atre, and tM-o chairs a hip]^odrome, and a heap of chips a fortune of theatrical properties. Piers, I am Sure, took in the whole futility and absurdity of the situation ; but he also under- stood that the new^ lady meant well, and, like the little king he was, from time to time he vouchsafed her the patronage of a smile, and even condescended to imitate her movements with the puppet. ' Little king that he was ! My little king, wh lom 30 4 AOAimr run stukam. I Nil I would scn-0 wiMi all that I ,r„s ni.,! l,.„l i «;-■.) .....1 ..Lens,,, ,,„., ,„e „„„ ;;:,;' •, ;;;; Tl..-.t mVht r aske.! nurse :f I v„i„.ht ,av ,„v The wonderful l.irds aud flowera o„ l,e" e 1, ,; I-ett> eoat l,ad ahva;. been a Idndran.-e o „,e " j also ,,.,.. „,ff.box, and I so often bad t l^ ail over again. ^'"e>*" At first she seemed rafhoi- l.i,i.f „* ^i i.nf +1 T ^ ^"•'-'J iacnei iiiirtat the reniiptit' look r" ,'"'"''" 'r''^' ""< P'««'«d tbae'b bl' ook«, ,0 ,,,„. ^„^ ^1^^ consented, and called us Io.,r„,noeents!"andbe«antoe,7,,oo ' ».„^'"T ?^"^'<«'P. <"■>= little arm under bis «.«nd cheek flushed as ,t was with sleena d he her Imle (at hand clenched like ate lie' ^ and thrust out over the edge of his cot M ' me, sea coly 'm a tongue nnderstanded of the people." No one had ever explained them to ,n on,: Z'T'""^' ^™^ «"« » •* g to :rifi?:rx:r;r;vr™ '° °°- ^flf flv.f f T • ^^^''^^ <=he words were ''at that tune I cannot even tell Ti.«. norant, and I am sure she could not read V » "nprobably they were the lord's P^ver and tt «a», doubtless, neither definite nor "broad. It it i, ur. ^ '"xl iiad, and f>'n)i-, and keep iiit(!i'preter, Jiig I'li^ht say my :>f at her Imee. Oil lier eJiiDtz lO'j to me, and I'ad to be^rln t the request ; cd tJiat baby and called us ', too. ^ under Jiis h sleep, and i a wrestler's, is cot. My 3ns ritual to nded of the them to me. anything to ^I'ni to some words were Jre were no 'as very \g. read. Kot 'er and the ■ afterwards y theology broad. It J ■4i A OA INST TUE STREAM. 3 ^ foi-tainly, however, included a belief in something that could hurt Piers and mo,' especially if we were naughty, and in the dark. Jhit mysterious, indeed, are all little children's ' piavers ! Who knows the '' tongues of angels ? " Who knows the mystic, unutterable coi 'trumion there may be between the Father of spirits and those little ones whose angels always see His face! " Exiled children of Eve," little royal strano-ers whose wondering eyes hare not yet narrowed tlieir range to our mortal vision,— whose free fear- less, questioning thought is not yet fettered to our mortal sj)etch,— who knows the delicate, aerial touches that come and go along those strings the worlds rude .hands have not vet swept? Who knows the moment when the Father who fell on the prodigal's ne^k and kissed him, clasps to his heart those little ones who have not vet wilfully left the Father's house? What kisses, what con- secrating touches are theirs ? Who knows, since God is love,-not primarily the Infinite Mind that speaks to us by works or thoughts, but the Father's heart that speaks to us by lovmg,— what divine touches, real as a moth- er s kisses, tender as the soft pressure of her arm. rest on the little ones ? '"' Not only on a few score of exceptional little Oralilean children were the sacred Hands laid, in those three years which made visible the eternity ot unseen Divine love. 8S A(}ATNST THE STREAM. :4 II ! . Nor ,.s ,t only a few Jowi.sli fisl.erraoM wl.n Imvo utulersto(,.l ti.e love of the Mastor for little cli.Idro„,-tho l>abes,_tiie crcat„re« wo call speech- less and iineonscious. ^ Is it not rather ^oe wlio have become blind, and speechless, and unconscious ? blinded bvthe count- less sma 1 <^litterin..s, and the countless vain pry- jngs of tins world ; robbed of heavonlv uttenlnco % Its empty chatterings and bitter Contentions, made unconscious by its drowsy charms, of the reaht.es of hfe and death, and love, of the capaci- ties for sorrow and joy. deeper even than sorrow around and within us still, whether we know it or not Hs they are around the little children we tlimk unaware of them ? Who knows how little the wisest of us know, or how much the simplest? I know not, indeed, what passed in my heart that night, or what wo.ds passed my lips." But ] rememl>er my cheek resting on i„y little brother's cheek, and the dear little hand unclenching itself and resting on me, and the sleepy eyes opening for a moment on mine, and the parted lips sLpily lisping my name. ^ ^ " And I remember lying down in my own little heltl7"'^^^ still and happy, and warm I heart, feehng not so mucli that I was brooded over 01- needed It, as that some kind of wings had un.' Med in me, and were brooding over Piers, and keeping him safe and warm. conic blind, and >fl l)y the coiint- ntlcss vain prj- 'only nrtenuicc er contentions; charms, of the , of tlie capaei- tin tlian sorrow we know it or e cliildren mq I AGAINST TUE STREAM. 33 i That was, as far as I can remember, the way 7 God be-an to teach me; l,y filHnc. ,nj heart with I that great lovo which was just a little fboblo ima-o ■^' of His. ° 8 CHAPTER III. m many respects, to onr onLT "" ''PP"<^''b)e, «'o tacit underst ndirthT, ■■''; • ' '' "'^^'^ ^■'•* P'atin^if that narrow am, 7 '"'"■'"*■ ■'^'=™tem- """.-t, from some wMe c '?°'"P''"-" ""''^ »»™- »d thought .vhonc t Ts ,'7'" »^«P--nce assume their duly dimimrfi 1 '" ""'^'■««' In my earlv 'i ° ™"""'™ Proportions. de'«!.ted in w t,f tmetMn'^ '!■ T" '^'»''" «- ^"-hment an o,d X Cd to f! ,%"'?• '''"" "^ knowing well i,er w™l °*'"'"'^'' J'is ship— "■'■a' stonns she had 1^'"''', ''"' ''•'><»^'-n.- also «'- J-ad gallant, stood "d'r "'"^' '"•-^-•''- P««te and battles to com" f' "^ '° "'^ '<^™. tending to anything interni, P",'"""'™ "ot at all 1-"' «on,bative, exch, 1 n ',""' "'• ''"^'nopolitan, , Tf'o Amer/cau we ; It*: ",/'' "'« '"'^'^■ ""3 seas; we wore f eshfl °" ?'°"''^^'' ^'^^'^ I'esh hon, a hot %ht witi. was AOAmsr TUB stubam. 35 leaving been beaten. On ,„!! ^ "'^^'^''S '-""I scarcely dawned that tl,„ "' "'" '''«''' ''•"' T% were "our ^1 7 ^^ ^•''"™ ^' «". '"""^. vigorous J r : ;i- /v'™? °'' ""= "'"^ -gnarled; the vigor of eou^ebll ■' ^""'^^' ™<' they came of, aSd (ne2m . "'"''"''^^ '° *''" «'°* tl.e knots and gn r b o' TiT\ ''" ''"'''''''^ d.-ed years before, mo™ J Ld "" 1 ''"""- away, and in some Enc,!,-;, ^ "'"''"'^'^ died "-bek" who !md dtttdTer""""' "="»'-' 'ith a dim disapproval of Di.f' ™"''™''^'J tried to npset tbo f-t 1 ^'''''^''^'■8 who had fo.- the mos' pi 'To be ?:. V Z*-'^^ ^^'-"^ "ea„t), and therefor nat™ 1 ? ^''''''"''''- *■■" their noses. ' "^'"''"r, to speak through -H-teiiSb^it ^of:£n»f'^' o=e;!^1:i:r^-edrh:^ae^^^^^^^ The "German State=" /n exist, even in popnlar ballad"^ '"'"^ ^'^ "»' and too unknown and ™ i ^~'™'^ *°o ™™<>te, any definite portrait ^""^ " ''"'"'"'■>' '» ''ave Spain loomed rnisfjlv nr, , Bhadowy, with the old .loom": Tf- •™'^ >'''' Paat playing fitf„„^ trZTCl * >" "* ''^^ pnsons still echoing as we I or ' , ^'^'"'' »<) --„:n,uisition\:;:--rt:ters FTTTJl •■ ii 1 i'i ! 'I' ; i { 1 1 36 AGAINST THE STREAM. ..e». and ghostl.ness, as if tlie u-iiole stnicture were heU together b, old spells grown feeble, and 1 a Md toueh or word might crumble helplessly Insular! we thank God in our hymns for it ; isl- anded safe, m our green security, with our glori- ous consftution in Church and Sfetto, our king, ' our church, oar "wooden walls;" a seoo.rd from X ""';''''" '!';" P'-""-™^ *» «-«-' tiom the various idolatrous nations around If Israel of old had been guarded bv the Struts of Dover and the Gorman Ocean, who eo-Jd ay hat things might not have ended differently 2 But no doubt It was to be. Israel was a stiLeeked peop e, and we, on the contrary, were always iin proving ourselves and our constitution. ^ Of course even then there were a few croakers who might have repeated Oliver Cromwell's od exhortation, <• You glory i„ that ditch whiif gu-ai-ds your shores; I tell you your ditch wil be no defence to you unless you reform yourselves ; •' and a tew profane wits infected with the levitv o{ W, who did not regard even the Thirty ie Articles, or our most religious and gracious kin^ a« unassailable; and a few democrats\-ho d d .^ CO isider even our glorious constitution final C - f . the most part, even if, when compariu.. class ^vth class amongst us, we now and then recounted reluctantly that there was <.o,ne men- " ".at there might be some\:or:rrS;Cn:; IM. ^h all, a ghastli- structure were I feeble, and at able helplessly mns for it ; isl- witli ourglori-, >tate, our king, ' 5 a second than the iirst IS around. If the Straits of could saj that Jrentlj? But a stilf-necked re always im- m. few croakers, romwell's old ditch which ditch M'ill be ^ourselves ; '•' the levity of ! Thirtj-nine racious king who did not I final. Eut iparing class II recognized iiil pressure, ch were not AGAINST THE STREAM. quite paradise ; when, on the other hand, pared ourselves with the rest of the self-appi 37 we corn- world, our became once iation was restored, and more sensible of our privileges. Moreover, not only were we one island, we were in another sense an archipelago of islands. Not only was England thus islanded from tlio world. Every country town was islanded from the rest— was a living community in itself, with its own local history and government, local glories and wrongs, its local ciielo of tamilies established there for generations ; not certainly without their mutual jealousies and rivalries, but belonging to each other by a real and recognized relationshrp. And still fai-ther M^tliin this inner island was an innermost, like the ball within ball of the In- dian puzzle. In those days every Englishman's " house was his castle," in a more peculiar sense, or at least in a greater variety of senses, than now. A house belonging to a family, was part of its complex existence, more in the same sense that a man's body is part of his complex self. It grew with a family growth, flourished with the family prosper f ity, decayed with the family decaj ; and as we die out of our bodies and leave them, so, with a mortal- ity in one sense more patiietic because apparently Jiot inevitable, a family might, by misfortune, folly, failure of succession, die out of the old family house. A house, tlierefore, had qnite a different significance ; it had family histories stamped into 3S ^<^^J^BT mE STREAM. it> growiiiff out of it • ;t 1, i ^ fctics, a i;f„ of its o«-n.' ""' "^'"'^'tor- Thoro are sfatelv man-ii,i„» .<■ f 'f ^T^e,, .eat,::;'::, :;:-;'-'- '•'toei.es - I>».lt i,,to them, and thr^d " '""" ''""''' ''•'"'S or J.o,neI. a, „ 4'^;; ^ /■"" ?l'' '"anorial "re'y town. VYe all of "' "'^ "*'''"='s "*' I'ouses still. Tliov lo,*" T" ''"''"Snizo fJiose old «■• quaint and bmLZZ °'V" '"■"' ''""'»«'=. ity that has groir^ ";'"'" ^^™^' ""^ l""".™' ^"d from tholn Z le , !"" ^'^ '"•°"'"' "'o», ™el' as human cj^ .« ' " "* """'""-^ «'"1 ''oors if. -«' the „e.n;"::r:.e:7'™ ""'="■" f^-j tiiem or eompassionato tl,„ •''' '"''' '''okoine "8 friends. """"■ »"' "^ l""Uings but endeavorillg tow ller "If '"''"" ^ '""^ l"^ople ^acreduess "of CZul''' '" ''^^'o- "'- 'oat ^""dows and lirephL, I T""" "* ^h-zahothan '^.-•'.r anns on do^ .T / l!^,'""";";-' '«ts, and 0/ ""■oloenth-cent.n.y ,tf;";t, ^/'""k tl>e rush sliaracter- •eat fami- attaclies It family chcd io ind this manorial ■eets of lose old itJietic, inman- them, out of 3d for doors re fed coine •s but jhild- tntry ople iost ;hau and usli for cd. AGAIJYS2- THE STREAM. 7 39 or love what they Joved or ih^^^ .i. Jf it is hard to 21 ? ^^'^ ^^^«"^'^»t- -Intectnre live ^ r nL^Mr ^^^^^ -Vive a dead habil of seal fe "l. r"'"' '^'^ ^^ children Mali see. ■'^"^ ^''^ ^^'"id- andLeo.':?7nt^^^^^ true geography all ZT i ' ^'''^°"'^^^- ^^^ to the^-nowltdgf r:"^^^^^ "^"f -^"^^ ^-d «^^st begin, not wl-t !l ''' ^"* °^ ^^'^"^«. ^"twitifti;;:j;^^;:^^^^^ r^StfX^z:r::/-;^-diet. kingdom. This m1 , ", , "? '''"■'"''*' i" 'I'e of a dear rockv rivt . "" ■"''" ''-^ "'« ^'^e which it cutitfi"; ■ ::*'=■•" "'^ !>«'« tl>'-0" -h Around th d t f 'dlhe' '"^*-'»d. i^gs, the two solid to^' ^ . '°''™'>'"^>' build- with its doeo noil , , . ^''' ™'' ""^ weir town AbboS W r\" dt^n""'"^7*^™« ^''^ the town clnste, J > ., """'' "'« ''""ses of "-.ripotSrS^ -*'■■•". back over the ^:;XV!n;i "d ^"" '"™" '» "^'^ ^-t • ' the bes ofit'bv jn-'r" constrained to make T 1. "^ ^i' oy all Kinds of epfpr.fn'^ a • cl>mb>nghero and delving t!,ere nnt , "' --econstrLt::^''-'---;ho.e h J 1 liitil 2.il 40 AGAINST TJIE STREAM. coiitiimai victoiy over adverse circumstances, and tended to communicate to its inliabitants, accord- ing to the material on wliich the stamp was im- pressed, a character either militant and adventn- ous, or easy and imperturbable, conquering circum- stances by resolutely surmounting it, or by accei)t- mg Its ups and downs as inevitable, and makin- them part of its own constitution. ^' The entrance was by a Tudor arch into a bro^^d passage. On the right was a large M^ainscotted room with a stone floor and on. long, low mul- honed window with a long, deep window-seat. In this room, as a rule, the family breakfasted, dined, and had all its family meals-all that were ]iot connected with ceremonial and extended to strangers This also was the nearest approach Piers and I had to a day nursery or play-room, our great resource on any wet days which drove ue from our natural territory in the garden : a room into which, even after the 7egime of my stepmother, Pluto was admitted, and my father's lavorite pointer and setter, and that Ion- succes- sion ot my kittens which came to such I variety of tragical ends. Mrs. Danescombe's cat, which never came to misfortune of any kind, sleek, im- penetrable, demure, resided in the Oak parlor approached by a small flight of steps on the oppo- site side of the passage. Into this we only went by invitation; but that eat had the entree A most evil and hypocritical creature we considered her; an embodiment of all the dark side of cat Instances, and tants, accord- tamp was im- nd adventwr- 3ring cii'cinu- or by accept- and maldnsr into a broad wainscottcd g, low niul- kvindow-seat. breakfasted, 11 that were 3xtended to it approach play-room, t^liich drove garden ; a ime of my my father's ong siicces- !h a variety cat, which , sleek, im- )ak parlor, the oppo- only went 37itree. A considered side of cat AGAINST THE HTREAM. 4^ natnre— malignantly breaking all the china and gluttonously imbibing all the dainties, on account of which my luckless kittens suffered, and then sitting upright on the pai-lor windoM^-seat wink- ing superciliously at all the world. There were few middle tints in the portraits of our childhood, and among the most Eembrandt- like that comes back to me is the image of my stepmother's cat. All that Puritan meant to the most prejudiced of Cavaliers, or Tartuffe to the most anti-ecclesiastical of Frenchmen, that sleek stealthy, whiskered black-and-white cat meant to me. It scarcely ever purred. We believed it could not pur ; its conscience was too laden with crime. Nor do I remember its ever playing, ex- cept once or twice in a murderous way with"a fly on the window-pane when it thought no one was looking. Its name was Mignonette, and to this day I can scarcely do justice to the sweetness of the little flower whose appellation it polluted. The Oak parlor had a very different social* rank from the Stone parlor. It was my stepmother's especial domain. It was seldom entered by any one until the afternoon, being the scene of lei- surely employment and sober amusement, and of all social entertainments not of the stateliest kind. I here Mrs. Danescombe embroidered muslin and made lace, or took snuff and played cards with chosen associates, always for small stakes ; and there were solemnly handed around trays with small glasses of liqueurs or cardials, or in aftertimes 42 AGAINST THE STREAM. i! Ill I' J witi- iaintj small cups of tea. No nproariona merriment was ever heard within those precincts ; nothing stronger than tea or cordials M-as ever sipped therein. Seldom did masculine foot in- vade them. If my flithor M'ished to entertain his friends with solid British viands and vigorous British beverages, recourse was had to the Stone parlor, where also we gathered in the winter even- ings, on oaken settles or footstools around the great old chimney, with its dogs and log-fires. Echoes of Christmas merriment and of children's laughter hung around those old walls ; but the wainscot- ting of the Oak parlor could never have reported anything more sonorous than the murmured gos- sip of the card-table, unless some of the players, by any series of other people's mistakes or their own mischances, lost their game and their tempers, and broke out of the decorum of the place into the hard realities of unfairly lost shillings and six- pences. There were two sacred things to me, however, in the room, ^ In the recesses on each side of the high oaken chimney-piece with its carved looking-glass, hung portraits of my iiither and of my own mother in the dresses they wore just after they were mar- ried ; he with a bag-wig, hand rufHcs, and a swoi-d, and elaborate shoebuckles, which certainly did not recall his every-day appearance ; she with pow- dered hair brushed over a high cushion, a little hat stuck coquettishly on the top of it, a blue satin AGAINST THE STREAM. 43 nproariona precincts ; was ever 5 foot in- ertaiii Lis vigorous the 8tone titer even- '. the great . Echoes 5 langliter wainscot- reported ill red gos- e phiyers, 1 or their tempers, e into the and six- however, ajh oaken ass, hung lother in ere mar- a sword, f did not ith pow- iittle liat lue satin bcdice and train, and brocaded petticoat, with a hirge bouquet in the hand laid on her hip, and a shepherd's crook in the other. At her feet was a lamb wreathed with flowers, looking M-istfiiily up in her tiice. The native Vandyke or Sir Josh- ua had evidently a confused Ideal compounded of the pastoral and the courtly, and was very familiar with neither. There must have been sometliin ill- owu Is iJOiuid u|). For liad I not the memory of her toucli and her kiss to interpret the portrait ? ILid not those 'ands pressed me to her heart, and did I not know iiow those grave lips could part and smile ? Underneath this portrait stood a Httle table with a we 1 m it, containing, 1 knew, m^' mother's work, and espeeiaily one dainty little frill of a baby s cap, unfinished, with her needle in it Upon It was placed her ebony spinning-wheel.' Kurseusedto dust it reverently every nrorning; and often I stole in with her, and then, when nurse was not looking, I used to reach up to the picture and softly kiss its hands. Every afternoon, when there was no company, 1 spent an hour in that room with Mrs. Ihines- eombe and the hypocritical cat, learning to sew. J3ut at those times I did not dare to look much at my beloved picture; because, being frecpiently in t ouble witti my M^ork, I was afraid, if I caLht sight of that lamb and of that dear 4e, a t'fble rush of the feeling of motherlessness would come over me, and I should cry. For, once, when I had oeen very unsuccessful with my sewing, and had had to unpick It several times, this had happened, andMrs. Danescombe had asked what I was crviiu^ or ; and I, stretching out my arms to the picture, and sobbmg out something about my « mother ' , j> AGAINST TUE STREAM, 45 my stepmother had replied in an oven, undis- turbed voice— one of her maxims being that " a gentlewoman never degrades reproof into scolding by raising her voice " — " Bridget, that is something I cannot permit. When little girls lose their tempers over their tasks, I cannot suffer them to deceive themselves » by calling their naughty passions sensibility. You have many faults ; but I did hope you wei-e a truthful child. Never let me hear you speak in that way again." And that was a reproach I never did incur again. IIow it burnt into my heart! Not only by the injustice, but the justice in it. For I was a very truthful child; and it was not only the dull pain of being misunderstood that hurt me; it was the terrible fear that my stepmother, after all, had understood me better than I understood myself. Was she not older, wiser, my lather's chosen ruler for us — set over us by all the mys- terious powers whence authority springs — author- ity against which I had not a thought of rebelling? And had I not been in something very like a naughty temper, writing down very hard things against my stepmother, and the bitter tate of little girls in general who had to learn sewing ; indeed, even against the nature of things which involved clothes that had to be sewn ? And was it possible that I had desecrated that love to my mother, and the memory of her love, by making it an excuse even to myself for being cross and angry ? i *, ii 40 AQAINST THE STREAM. I corhvinly liad sometimes, nndorneatli tlicso perplexities and selt'acciisatious, a dim K(!iise, now and tlieii ilashing into a i)assiuiiato persuasion that it was not all my fault. JJut then, again, I re- proached myself a^i^^ain for this. If the things in Mrs. Danescombc's character which jarred against mine had been angles, the conflict would have been less harassing. J3ut in her there were no angles; there was nothing to lily hold of ; it was simply coldness, smoothness of surface, hard polish, and impenetrability ; and what " case" could be made out of these'? She never scolded, or threatened, or punished. She simply reproved. Her severest discipline was a distant politeness and a peculiar way of calling irie ''Bridget." AYhat was there cruel in that? ^Yet it froze into my bones. And there were times when her mere presence was to me a prison worse than the darkest ot" the dark holes nurse threat- ened us with. It was not mitil long afterwards I learned why. Her government was base i on suspicion. She was not theological in any sense; she had no ex- treme theories of the depravity of human nature. «Iiut she had a deep-seated conviction that every man and woman, and more especially every ser- vant and little child, was more likely to do wrong than right, and more likely to do wrong from the worst motives tlian the best. -v^ombinud with liiis, or periiaps fiowino- from it, was a remarkable keenness of perceptiorr as to AGALVST THE STREAM. ?at]i flioso sense, now ijisiou that j^ain, I re- cliaracter .nglt's, tlio . J>ut in otliing to nootliness ility ; and 3se ? She led. She nc was a ailing me at? Yet 3re times !on worse se threat- fterwards on. She ad J 10 ox- n nature, at every very ser- o wrong from the 47 any defect or mistake, in anything or person, from a Bpeek of dust or rust on the furniture, to the small- est solecism in dress or manners, or the least ax- cess or defect in demeanor. Therefore she never praised ; partly because fehe thought commendation nourished vanity, and partly because in the best work she always de- tected some petty blemish, not imaginary, but real ; yet, however small, sufficient to distract lier attention from all that was good on it. It would have been a difficult atmosphere to (jrow in, but that we had a large space of life free from her inspection, and an element of positive freedom, warmth, and breadth in my father, which, I suppose, would scarcely have done alone.' Only I have often aght that my mother's char- acter would have ioen the supplementary opposite, as my stepuiother's was the neutralizing contrary of my father. My mother's character would have drawn out and filled up all that was highest and bestm his. Mrs. Danescombe merely -re] )ressed and neurralized. With her he was, perhaps, re- stramed from doing or saying some things better not done or said ; with my mother he would have become all he might have been. Botli made some kind ot liarmony, but with my mother all the lifo would have been larger, richer, fuller. ~Mib>^iielow, mysteriously echoing from the sides, made delicious music for us. The entrance was draped by tufts and fringes of feri.o of the richest green and the most delicate forms; beneath it, under the rock, was a bed of the sweetest lilies of the valley. It was only entered in the early morning by a few stray sunbeams, and of these scarcely one reached the opposite rock, and none ever penetrated into the clefts and cornerr. My father told us it was natural, and carved out by the little drops them- selves dropping through hundreds, perhaps thou- sands of years. They had begun their chimes, he said, long before any had sounded from the old church-tower. Thus to us that little melodious well w^as like the threshold of a thousand delightful mysteries. Where did those melodious drops start from? From what dark hidden pools under the hills? From what bright floating clouds in the sky? Whose pitchers had they filled,— what little chil- dren had they cung to before? What were they^ saying to us, or wanting to say ? Wistful Undines and ]Nixen longing to speak to us : wise busy gnomes at work for ages, knowing thousands of secrets they M^ould not tell but we would give anything to hear; all the wild mythology of AGAINST THE STREAM. 53 wers, }iol]y I one corner, 3 a dropping rops, one by k cool water sides, made ■■ was draped idlest green t, under the t* tlie valley, ng by a few one reached etrated into Id us it was drops them- rhaps thou- ' chimes, he om the old ell M-as like I mysteries, start from? ' the hills? I the sky ? little chil- iVliat were •? Wistful to us : wise ? thousands " nurse " mountain and water sprites; all ^liat nature would say to us and cannot ; all that .we would learn from her but cannot; dim reflections of our personality on material things ; dim shinings through and prismatic refractions of the person^^l- ity beyond and within ; all this, and unutterably more, murmured to us through that dropping well. Children of the mystic and humorour mrth, did we need legends Scandinavian or Teu- tonic to tell us what a strange compound the world was ? Was there not, moreover, from time to time, m that very well, an aj^parition of a gigantic wide- mouthed frog, -ho in the midst of all that melan- choly and mystic music, and those delicate ferns, and those sweet lilies of the valley, would croak and hop, and be as self-satisfied, and as entirely an embodied joke, as any of the quaintest dwarfs Grimm ever disinterred or Cruikshank ever drew? The whole mysterious animal-world lay open to us between our sympathetic dog Pluto and that supercilious impenetrable frog. When, years afterwards, we saw those German stories, we:f8lt we had known them all our lives. For I confess I am tempted to count it amon<^ the blessings of our childhood that we had no children's books at all. .m doubt there were children's books in our d^ys ; but the allowance was scanty, and what there w^s did not reach us. If we had been pro. vided with any, they would, no doubt, have been 64 AGAINST THE STREAM. i!!i :': 'i i f ii i{ m heavily weighted with morals, and would have been duller to us than our lessons. But happily we were not. Our lesson-books were good, hon- est lesson-books— nij first was a horn-book. Our alphabets had no pictures ; there was no sugar on the margin of our draughts of learning. We took them, certainly not without tears. But if to us " books " meant the antithesis of " play," and we ciicd over them and their consequences very heart- ily and very frequently, at least we did not fall into the. far more desperate fate of yawning over our play, and listless by requesting to be instruct- ed how to amuse ourselves. In our days the age of wise children's literature had not commenced. For us Rosamond and Frank, Harry and Lucy did not exist. They may, indeed, have dawned on some of the higher social summits, but certainly did not penetrate to Ab- bot's Weir. Still less, of course, was there any- thing for us of the nature of the reactionary literature of nonsense, clever or inane, which suc- ceeded that era of supernatural good sense. What nursery nonsense we had was quite genu- ine, with no perplexing parodies of sense, or half glimmerings of sense treacherously lurking beneath the surface. For us Little Jack Horner sat in his corner, and took out his plum, and congratu lated himself (not as one might have expected, on his good fortune, but on his virtue,) in the most literal way, without any allegorical construction. No suspicions of satire, or of the signs of the d would have But happily ire good, hon- 'n-book. Our 18 no sugar on ng. We took But if to us jlay," and we !es very heart- e did not fall i^awning over be instruct- en's literature >samond and . They may, higher social atrate to Ab- as there any- 3 reactionary e, which sue- sense. s quite genu- sense, or half ■king beneath orner sat in nd congram expected, on in the most construction, signs of the AGAINST THE STREAM. 65 Jt zodiac, marred oar enjoyment of the confusion which ensued when " the cat had tlie fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon, the little dog laughed to see the sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon." For us Mother Hubbard's agreeable disap- pointment at the futility of her dog's coffin was always fresh ; the funeral rites of Jenny Wren could be repeated to any extent ; the Babes in the V7ood and Little Bed Biding Hood were alter- nately dreaded and desired as we felt oqual or not to the luxuries of tragedy. But between those ancient historias and the literature of our elders there was no intervening world of little boys and girls, exemplarily good, siipernaturally naughty, sentimental, religious, or scientiiic. The world of grown people's work— of animals and flowers, the garden, and the timber-yard, and the n-on foundry were our books. And for us there was no idle reading. Bat perhaps we were exceptionally happy in these respects. My father himself was our Miss Edgeworth, almost always ready to explain to us Jus own work, or to enter with such serious inter- est as we felt its due into ours. And, of course, it is not every child who can be free of a timber-yard and a foundry as we were. For I have not yot told half the delights of our garden. By the side of the dropping well was a door. 56 AGAINST THE STREAM. iiii I •If ^ik. I better to us than an j underground stops of Alad- din, leading through a short tunne], ending in a flight of stairs cut in the rock, to the second gar- den, which was a steep slope crowned at the top with a terrace and ar^>or. This was of peculiar interest to us, because it was one of the pages of our own original illustra- ted copy of the Pilgrim's Progress, being obvi- ously the Hill Difficulty, tlie arbor where Christian lost Ins roll, and also in another aspect the Palace Beautiful, and the Delectable Mountains whence the pilgrims could survey the land. Could not we survey the whole land from that summit ? Below us lay the slate roofs of the town, tier below tier, the two bridges and the river ; and op- posite was the line old grey tower of the church, with Its pinnacles standing out against the wooded hillsides, whilst above stretched the sweep- ing curves and sharp angles of the granite Tors, the moorland hills, whence the river flowed' purple and golden, with crisp lights and shadows' or blue and soft and far away, "the everlasting mils." ° This, therefore, was one of om- usual haunts on Sunday afternoons. In he side waU of this garden was another door, and beyond it an orchard, and beyond that a great free range of fields called the Leas, and at the top of this a channel of water called the Leat which was detached higher up from the river, and ill III ;ei)s of Alad- 011 cling in a G second gar- ed at the top s, because it ^inal illustra- being obvi- ere Cliristian t tlie Palace lins whence id from that e town, tier er ; and op- ' the church, against the d tlie Bweep- ranite Tors, ver flowed, id shadows, everlasting il haunts on vas another iejond that ieas, and at 1 the Leat, 3 river, and A GAINST THE STREAM. r y feU at one end of the Leas in a cascade ^vhich turned the large water-wheel of the iron foundrv At the other end of this Held was the timber^ yard, and the foundry and the timber-yard wore among the chief scenes of mj father's work and of our play. In those days it was the general custom for men of business to live near their work. Now, scarcely even the smaller shopkeepers live over their shops ; and not only great cities but country towns Le |nnged witli their suburbs of villas. Then, even argemei-chants lived near their warehouses, and It, as we did, they possessed a farm, it was a ^en- mnefarm in the real country, where men and women did their real work ; and if things were fair to see It was because it was their nature, not be- c^ausethey were put there to be seen. I suppose there IS gain in the change. People breathe better air, at least physically; of the moral atmosphere I am not so sure. It may be good to escape from tori.r 1 ''"""''' '' ^^""^^^^^ ^"d conserva- tories and geranium beds; it is certainly better than to be buried, body and soul, in busin Ls b^ grade, the chief object of which is to earn the means to do no work. The highest art may c ! ta n]^, ,^ that way be degraded into a trade ; and 1 think there are few manufectures or trades ^hich -ay not, on the other hand, be raised into art At least It was so with my father. That tim- 58 AGAINST THE STBEAM. I I ! t ber-yard and tluit foundry were to liim, and thron-h him to us, outlets into the world of knowledo-e and of work. ° Into the intei lur of the foundry we were not permitted to enter excepi under his" protection. My cliief associations with that wero a sense of tlie wonder-working powers of water and of lire. It was, indeed, a perpetual fairy tale to see those creatures which we knew as flintastie dwarfs or melodious melancholy nymphs, or dancing Bprites, when they worked at their own wild will in the dropping well, or around the great loo-s on the hearth of the Stone parlor, transformed into steadfost and irresistible giants by the pressure of the steady will of man. For thousands of years the slow-dropping water had been at work, and had carved out to the sound ot Its own singing that strange hollow in the rocky hills, with its grotesque angles and dim clefts ; and now at last the great water-wheel was set to direct It; and patiently and willingly the mighty crea- ture rising to its full strength, turned the great machine round and round, making, by its own un- conquerable beauty, the loveliest sparkling cascades and showers at every turn. And out of this com- bmed power of water and man came harrows, and spades, and scythes; and pots, and pans, and ket- ties, and all kinds of fairy household gifts to make our work easier and our homes nleasanter. Were not the swift, flashing waters, careering with their , and tlironf^jh lowledge and we were not •rotection. ivero a sense skater and of ' tale to see astic dwarfs, or dancing ivn wild will *eat logs on formed into pressure of pping water o the sound n the rock J clefts ; and set to direct lighty crea- i the great its own un- ng cascades f this com- irrows, and s, and ket- -ts to make ;er. Were with their AGAINST THE STREAM. 59 rush of rapid music over the wheel, as pleasant to see and hear as when dropping into the well? And were not scythes, and even kettles, as poeti- cal things to make as caves ?— the fireside and the reaping field being surely as sacred as the rocky hillside and the heathery moors ? I have always, however, been rather glad, as far as the lessons and associations of childhood went, that our machinery was worked by the scpa- rate powers of fire and water, and not hy these powers combined in the more prosaic form of Bteani. There was a Ir.rge foundry not fifty miles from us, worked by steam, before we were born. And at the great engine factory of Bolton and Watt, many years before, mj father used to tell how Mr.' Bolton showed Dr. Johnson round, and said to him, "Sir, we sell here the thing all men are in searcli of — Powei-." We lived in the ^lays of the birth and infancy of many things which have since grown to gigan- tic powers and overspread the world. Our childhood was passed in one of the great dawns of history. The world was awake\nd stu-rmg around us in every direction— machinery, politics, religion— and my father was a man awake to every throb of the busy life around him. The great steam-power was already in the world, and through the busy biMius of Watt, Cart- wright, and Arkwright, was feeling after its' work in railroads, steamboats and power-looms. But, 60 AOAIJfJST Tmj STUB AM. happily for us, our moorland river did tlio work lor UH ; and instead of pistons and cranks, and closo oUy rooms, we had our ^ngantic water-wheel and the aiscade which rushed over it from the hill. Then, the pictures and parables enacted for us on the -reat casting-days, wlien we were taken to see the molten metal flow out of t\u furnaco into the moulds of sand ; the Rembrandt-like groups of men, with blackened, illumined laces, 8hovellin(^ out the liquid Are as if they liad been agents in some fiery horrors of Dante's Inferno; the power of lieat in that red cave of Are, raging at its roof into fierce white flames, which always made mo think of Nebuchadnezjcar's flery furnace, and clasp tight my father's hand and Piers', lest they should be burned up like the wicked accusers. I used to wonder how the three children and that " Fourth " looked in the midst of the flames ; not black, I was sure, like old Reuben Pengelly' the furnaee-man ; but beautiful and calm,'' and fresh and white, like a very bright, soft moon in the midst of the angry glare. Yet old Reuben himself was very dear to us children. He had lost a little boy about the age of Piers, and he had always a very tender feeling to Piers, partly because the child, looking, no doubt, from his blackened face and muscular bare neck to his kind eyes, had always had such trust in him, and would have gone in his arms to the mouth of the furnace. Reuben's delight on Sun- day, when he had hie clean washed face and his AOAINST THE STREAM. 61 d the work IvS, luul eloso '-vvht'ol and the hill, lie ted for us 're taken to iirnaoo into e groups of shovelling n agents in the power at its roof made nio ?, and clasp hej sliould ildren and he flames ; Pengelly, ealm, and t moon in iear to ns t the age Br feelinir )king, no iular bare iuch trust ms to the on Suu- ) and his best coat on, was to carry Piers in his arms al)out the silent foundry-yard, among the stationary wheels and hammers, and to sing us Methodist liymne ; for he was a man '^f •), strong, fervent piety, such as iitted his rorgh wcrJc and his mus- cular frame ; and it was fi)!.:, liiin \ first remem- ber hearing the story of tho inree ; liJdren in the furnace. To Koubcn the ]. jio was the written part of a continuous living history, unwritten ; and he told us how that Fourth, " who made the flames as soft as morning dews to them, wr.s with hitn, old Reuben Pengelly, as really as with them, and with ns little ones too." And I nscd often to gazo mto the depths of that burning haze in a vague hope of finding something marvellous there. All the men knew us, not as angelic benefiict- ors descending on them now and then on festival occasions, but as little creatures they had some kmd of tender right in ; " master's," and also, therefore, "theirs." And we knew the inside of many of ^heir homes, not nierclv by religious or benevolent visits, but naturally, as our neighhors —as people who had known, and loved, and served us and ours before we had known them. There is incalculably much in that tie of neio-h- borhood between rich and poor, employer and em- ployed. The m3re daily natural crossing of our paths IS something; the familiarity M^th each other s faces and dwellings, and the countlc- kind- nesses that may spring out of it, are infinitely more. Uur Lord knew us well when He said 62 AGAmST TBE STREAM. not "Ye shall love mankind as yourselves " h.n quite different. ^' ■"'""'« »i<=»mnff i And it often seems to me that l,«lf ti problems which beset us a4e fro „ 1 r l'*'",' poor havino- ceased in >,„ """' ""'^ neighbors 'wh„? , 'f ""^ '■'^"""^<»* "> be machine ; b^an in 'ff ' • ' '"'' "' «- charitable . -place th'e counfe ^^LVh "'"'"'^ *='' '» goodwill and seiW ll '"'^""^""Sos of mntual -".snstai?n-:r;r:;:,— ;;- --^s.^o7:::^r-----"-- ^""Thrrrr'h'''r"^''^^^""--"^^^ m^uJeaboad channel '"".'' "^ ^''*«'- *»" •>' sailed away tote 1 ,•!" "''■*. °" ■"aginations '»^a,wher:hf;::;t:it--^.^^^^^^^^ we sprang had grown ™ "•"* tn.nTs:::d Re^^onM r T T*^ '" ^" » «>- 'I reproduced ohil ' '" '""-V ^''tent whilst after their prey or ToiVf f "''''' '''« ^''^ the .ems of\^rKor™;r;r «™-'^^ --. ^tories'were r;:^t%'i'':[./"'' r- .-c |)..pmar wicn us than J) AGAINST THE STREAM. those of the garlanded trees an.l fi or even of the monkeys of ;1q x ^'•^' P"""^^^'' the tfn.ber-,ard, th: t^ s Itnetr ' ^'""^^^^ to "s ; and I have no donbtth! T^ ™^^ far-off things and c^.^h ''"'" ^^ ^" ^hese with our plays astp f "'^"^^^^ ^^^e musie as free andTpV" ^ t^ll^T 'T ^^""^^ ^« ^-'^^^ had hopped S^nVh^rlTlt^^*^^ dajs. urancn m former with tl,e Sent, Z" °" T «"^* "»'««t endeavoring to drL », ''"■' ''^''''>'' "'""''««Iy be cmhed by the " " M "™' *" "''^^"de, to "/ iiio inexorable water-wheel. f. ii i ml CHAPTER y. riE Sundays of onr childhood, how much depends on them ! To me the associa- tions thej bring are chiefly of sunshine and rest; undisturbed, unless by an un- ITheT'' '"'I'^'^'^^^^^y in relation to Sunday I cannot recall much definite religious teach- ing. We used, certainly, to say the Church cate- dnsm to Mrs. Danescombe ; and I must confe" it seemed to me a very obscure collocation of words m which It was nearly impossible not to put the V^it of It being explained to us, except the duty to our neighbor, which was enforced^on us ."th strong personal application, and left me so op pressed with the impossibility of either saying or" dong It and so perplexed about the quantit;of in.g, ha I should have been quite ready, with a certain little French girl at her first con«on, to STTl""^' '7-lf guilty of all the sins pro inbited m the Decalogue, including Simonv. ^ >w much 3 associa- sunshine y an un- Sunday IS teach- ch cate- mtess it ' words, put tlie >er any le duty IS with so op- 'iiig or tity of know- with a ion, to IS pro- A OAimT THE STREAM. gg My fother never gave us direct lessons of any n tdid-tr" it"'"'"- ^'' ''^'^ undoubtedly not d dactic, and I suppose he w; not do-nnatic • ;iias foi J ns own use, and certainly not disposed to ^.npose them on others. Neither was he 'hen to eanl or to question. His „nnd was as littlooTtl ^tuff heretics, as that of inquisitors, are made of- subtle material, perhaps sometim'es .nor simila; than e. her think. In Scotland I think it probTble ho would have accepted the Westminster Oonfe ;on,.n Saxony the Confession of Augsb u" in nt nd". V^*''^^ '^""^""^^ substantially th same, and in all cases omitting the anathemas. . -He was not theological at all in the sense of being keenly alive to the defects in other people's hsftit I •", T '^' Theologian; in that Hs faith began with God rather than Muh man • ^ss..thinan erring, t.ilin., sinning, than 11' God, loving, giving, forgivino-. Analysis and criticism were not his element So far from his theology being negative, if a" - Sr™'"^'^"^^'^^ --nation. I fn after hte we wandered into doubts and perplexi^ iut to r 1 -fvT ""^' '' -'^"'"^^"^ denunciations, but to the child's heart and tl His iniluenc what he loved le Apostles' Creed, on us was through what he was, and 66 AGAINST THE STREAM. Cowper, then a new poet, was Iiis delight; not or h,s sat.re on social frailties, or Jiis bitter lamen- taaous over human depravity ; but for \m sympathy with human wrong, his gentle pathos, his sunny T; T ''^' '"^ ^"""^^ ^^P^ ^" ^"^" ^^«d God. J>Jot that my father was destitute of the force of indignation ; but, like Cowper's, his indigna- tion M^as reserved for i., , .,.ee rather than for error; for the Bastile, for tiie slave trade, for the desecration of the sacrament into a political test, tor the corruption and meannesses of " corpora- tions, for "charging God with such outrageous wrong as leaving the sages of old " in endless woe For ignorance of what they could not know." It is strange to see how many abuses then hotly contended for, are now abandoned by the extre- mest reactionists ; and on the other hand, how much of the larger hopes which still have to be conteiided for, had even then dawned on gener- ous Christian hearts. ^ To my father we owe the blessing of libera- tion, space, and joyousness connected with Sunday and to him also the inestimable benefit, that to us Christianity M^as associated, not with limitation, prohibition, retrogression, but with freedom, ex- pansion, and progress, with all that is generous and glad and hopeful, and belonging to the light. At eight o'clock the "M^arning" churchtbell announced that it was Sunday; and father used to knock at our nursery door, and carry us off tc delight; not bitter iamen- lis sympathy )s, jiis sunny lan and God. of the force his indigna- ir than for ■ade. for the ^litical test, " corpora- outrageons now. 1 then liotly the extre- liand, how lave to be on gener- of libera- th Sunday, that to lis limitation, ledom, ex- generous the light, hurch-bell Lther used us off tc AOAmST THE STUEAM. q^ the weekly festival of breakfast in the 8tone-par. appa^relT 'f r"'/'"V'"^^ ''''' '' patienee,-the apparelL. g for church ; and then the walk bv M .de down the quiet yet festive street etween the closed shop windows, among he fnendly greetings of the neighbor , acros^ the ;:Inn.chyard, past that one cornc>r of i wS wa i^ most sacred place on earth to him and o us "P the long aisle to our high, square now hof the squire's and the vicar's. ^ ' '^""''^ When we sat down, my view was necessirilv quite domestic, limited by the wooden wa T S when the singing began, it was my p^v e/ ^ the Sunday transformations of evervb^dv h means of clothes everybody by Ju lorm but in mafpri-il en -^ known K„i "^^'^eriaJ. Silk was utterly nn- 'So foTcroVDif' '^"^" "^'"'^ ''"^ not h«„n Pndc P »™'^««'"o patterns had Stout wookevT T ^- *'»<''^''«te'- looms, woolseys, worn, ,„ cottage looms, clean 08 AGAINST THE STliEAM. m wliite kercliiefs, and sobor ] Aues and liodden greys characterized liie iVee-sciU ?:,. Yet none of tlie ti-anfiforniationb of Sunday seemed to me so complete and reninrkable as th?'t ^vhicll set Reuben Pengelly in the choir :;allery, finbrticing a Imge musical instrument — not the " svec hitifa' iiddle," but a gigantic bass-viol ; in a br?,ii'ht blue coat and scarlet waistcoat, which sat on ins muscular nnaccustomed limbs like plate armor, and a conspicuously white sMrt, his tace shining at once with friction and devotion. There was a sober radiance, and yet a sense of respon- sibility about his countenance which continually attracted me to it, and I always found myself ending ray survey of my neighbors with that dear reverent old face, as if nnconsciously I recognized it to be a shrine and altar from which more than could be heard or seen was going up to heaven. And it must be confessed there was much to distract my attention. If the wages-paying and wages-receiving classes were thus sharply defined by the material of their clothes, the minor dis- tinctions among their richer neighbors were equally marked to a discriminating eye by their chronology. It was but at a slow pac -! that our town toilettes could approach the str rd of the squire's, and still further of the cou, . i,c pew, in those !>■ jf intervals when the . r- ss shone on us. Many decades of tlie fashiori-l o -k were thus represented around me, and it w". );iipossible ^ •'■•«. lodden greys 3 of Sunday kable as that lioir :;;illery, Jilt — not the 3ass-viol ; in it, wliicli sat )s like plate 'irt, his face tion. There 50 of respon- continnally und myself ith that dear [ recognized 1 more than :o heaven, i^as much to -paying and •ply defined minor dis- ibors were ye by their CO that our dard of the bo pew, in ss shone on were tluis jjiipoesible ■^1 AGAINST THE STREAM. gg that my eye should not be arrested bv varieties reaching from the aristocratic French classics of tight skirts and sliort waists, to tlie lioop and lii-h- whalebone hood of Miss Felicity Eenbow The schoolmistress, to whom a Sunday dress was a possession for life, and who would as soon have tliought of changing her grandfather the general's lory principles for Jacobinism, as her mother's lashions for raiment, which she severely, but blushmgly, characterized as "little better than none at all." • I was not conscious of doing anything profane or unsabbatical in thus contemplating my neiirh bors. o J t> At that time no gorgeous varieties of sym- bohcal vesture had been thought offer the cler-y • but I had no doubt that these varieties of costume among the laity formed as integral a part of the Sunday festivities as Tate and Brady, Reuben 1 engelly s great bass-viol, and my uncle Parson I^'iord s preaching a sermon in the pulpit robed m black. I cannot remember anything special m those sermons ; but I do remember well waking u]> 'from time to time, not, as far as I know, by exter- nal suggestions, to a sense of meaning and a sense of appropriation, in various parts of the Liturgy. First there was the Lord's praver. Whatever else in the service might be the^eculiar posses^ ' sion of grown-up people, that plainly belonged to > ', M ^ 1 \ 1 ■ i pi ' 1; i:-< TO A0A1N8T THE STREAM. 118 children. We said it every morning and even- ing. Tlien there was the Apostles' creed, which seemed to belong to the Lord's prayer, beginning, with the Almighty Father and going on with its simple history of the Saviour who came from heaven, who also like us had once a mother, and was nailed on the dreadful cross, and iiad died, and had been " buried " like our mother ; but un- hke her, had risen again. He had, I knew, made other people rise again, but not mother yet. But one -day He would make us all rise again ; for that, father had told me, was what the end of the Creed meant. And then I should see mother. But there were two versicles in the Prayer- book, which being entirely incomprehensible to me, I always privately revised. Whatever the rest of the congregation niight be able to say, being grown up, and no doubt hav- ing better consciences than I had, I, ignorant of archaic English, and keenly conscious of my own misdoings, could certainly never pray that God would " not deal with me after my sins," and "would not reward me after my iniquities." I who had become entangled in such a bewildering labyrinth of sins and iniquities, could I ask God not to deal any more after them with me ? There- fore I always left out the "not." "Kot dealing with me," as I understood it, so exactly repr^ sented my stepmother's mode of punishment. My food was given me, lessons were taught me all the mechanism of life went on, even'^to the AGAINST THE STREAM, 71 morning and evenincr kiss ; bnt T, as a little trem. bling-, chnging, living, loving personality, Avas left out, Ignored, the averted eye never nieetino- mine • my words indeed answered; my wants supplied,' but I myself unresponded to altogether; close in body, in heart and soul banished into outer dark- ness. I myself was simply " not dealt with." -• If God were at all like that, watching coldly and gravely in the expectation I should go wrono- • what a destiny, if for ever and ever I were to live m his sight and within his hearing, under the icy weight ot his cold displeasure, not clear why I had oflended Him, and feeling it quite hopeless to ask without the resource even of an occasional flash ot indignant revolt, because of course He must be right ! Those versicles are, however, especially mem- orable to me as connected with one especial Sun- day afternoon. I had gone through a week of those small misdemeanors and misfortunes, connected, as usual, chiefly with behavior and clothes, in which mis- chance and misdoing were so inextricably con- tused to me, yet in which I so often felt that if the original offence which had drawn down the displeasure of my stepmother had been trifling, ' the burning an^rer and revolt aroused in me were ^^ trifles. >:,.,eover I had fallen into two un-" deniable passions about wrongs done, as I con- ceived, to Piers, and to the reigning kitten. That Sunday therefore, with unusual fervor 72 AGAINST TUN iSTREAM. 'i S fi JiiKi with bitter secret tear.. T ],ad prayed ni^ little private revision of Uic i^itiiro-v. "Deal with me! oh, do not gTve up dealin- witli nie aftc r 2ijy sins." * ^ Poor blundering childish prayer, I believe it was heard. I had (ortainly no irreverent intention of cor- recting the compilers of the Prayer-book. I only thought I must be so much worse than other peo- pie who could calmly say the words as they Avcro pi-mted ! Otherwise, or' course, the words w-Hild never have been there. My stepmother had so often told me I was quite exceptionally naughty, anci this Sunday at least, after such a week, 1 felt it must be true ; more especially because my fathei- himself, having come in at the climax of one of my passions, a-.d not knowing the cause, had looked gravely distresses at me, Tha Sund:^ afteri, ..m it happened that my father was occupied with visitors, and Piers and I crept awav ^o our usual resource through the field to the foundry-yard, to pay a visit to Eeuben Pengelly and Priscy his wifo. They lived at dm gate-house, and we were uelcoiued as usual. ]jut I w^as very unhapp;. eli-- like a little exileeven there. While Pier, .as ^ting coraplacentlv on old Pnscy Pengelly 'y knee, enjoying her .- lonuion and his bit of apple pastry, I, quite beyond iio consolation of caresses and pastries, sat and nursed my sorrows on the little wooden stool in the porch at lieuben's feet. SJ AOAmST THE STllEAM. 73 Tlie very qniet of tlio plaeo Rooinod to irritate inc. r lijid so many liainiMcrs beating, and com- plicated wiieel.s rovolvliietwecu PWhc/h cat and a lar^.o brown hon Anxiously the poor niotlier, ignorant oftlie restranits nnposed on pussy by our i^resenco, had been calhn,, her ch.Vkens to her, and at length had fiuccecded ,n attractinc. the Jast of then,, from tlio ■ seductions of crumbs and grains, nnder tlio shelter of Iier wings. And there she sat, tenderly duek- J"ff over her little ones nestled close to her, and heroically confronting the enemy. I had watched the little parable with a strange, choking bitterness; and, at first, when Eeuberi spoke. 1 could say nothing. But when he stooped down and stood me be- side his knee, and then took me on it, and hold iny hands so tenderly in his great sinewy hand, tho firs :ce-crnst of my reserve began to melt, and I said quietly-I felt too despairing for tears^ " If uhen, I cannot be good. I cannot. I have done so many sins and iniquities. I think Crod IS going to gi^ o up dealing with me." I suppose he thought my case not very hope- Iess,^tor he smiled most complacently, and said- Crive thee up, poor lamb ! At last/ Why He did not give up dealing with me f^' ^YhJ^ uV"t '^' ^'''' '^ '^' consolation. What could Reuben have done as naughty as I had ? I only shook my head. *= ^ ^^ i ,n V "i^Y'^""^''"^ ^' ^^ ^^""^^9^ ^^«^* ^^«s -Bride, my dear? came out in his heart, voice. " The wafcliiiifr a iho Ride of n'lfo brovvn I'iuit of thu -'seIl(.'0, hud length had , from tlio ' tlio sliolter ^r\y cluek- her, and a strange, 1 Koiibeu d me be- and hold hand, tlio Bit, and I •s — t,nnot. I I think rj hope- said — f Why solation. ity as I s Bride, " The AGAINST TllK STREAM. 75 i.<.r(l ,s good, good; with poor hardened old sin. uers, and to thee ! an innueont babe like thee ! " I felt much more like a hardened sinner, what- ever that meant, than like an innocent babe- and suddenly something that had lain hidden at the l)ottom of my heart rose up at his words-some- tlnng I could never have said to father, and had scarcely said ev(;n to myself. " lieuben," I said, lookino^ straight up into his eyes, -ia God good ? To you Keuben, but not to me— not to me. He took away mother ! Even those little chickens have somewhere warm and soft to hide; and I have nowhere. God took away mother from me. He must have known I should never be good afterwards. He is not good to me." ° ilappily for me the old man did not crush the helpless cry of anguish with a reproof, as if it had been a mere wilful cry of revolt. But a look of pain came over his face, such as I should have felt if Piers had struck father 1 And he said, lookin- reverently upwards — "Poor lamb! Poor motherless babe! She knows not what she says. She wants to be good, and she doesn't know how Thou wants it I— Thou who hast died for it ! " ^' I do want to be good, Reuben," I said, afraid I had not been quite honest. " But I want— oh I want mother f " ' "My lamb, my lamb," he said, "you want God 1 Mother is happy, for she loves God. She « ji ! ' if ;■: ^ ' J"' > ■\ !■ i . ■ .•It' AGAINST THE STREAM. did when she was here, dear soni, and now she is with Him and loves Him better, for she knows iiow God loves." "/* mother happj, Reuben ? " I said, roused to an unwonted daring. - How can she be happy ? If s])e 18 living and awake, how can she be happv and I so unhappy, and not good, and never .o\n^ be good ? WJiy, even 1 could not be happy on father s knee, and father pleased with me, if Piers were hurt or nauglity And how could mother ? fehe loved ns more than that. I know-I know- If God would let her-mother would come back from anywhere-from anywhere~to help us and m ke us good It is God who took her aM..y and will not ever let her come back. And how can I pretend to love God, or say He is good to me " Keuben said nothing, but kept stroking my hands. I was afraid he was vexed ; but when I g anced up at him I thought he had never looked ^0 k.nd although great tears were on his cheeks. And then gently, as if I had been an infant, he ™lr;"^^^^i\^"^^^--.-dshut^ ana kne t down, with me beside him, and praved 11 the drops stood on his forehead and the t^ars rained down his face. He said something like this— "O blessed Father! Pity tliis poor M-isht forlorn babe. She has lost her mother, and she She I T'tI '' ^'"- '^^ ^^-^^'^ -^-tand She thmks Thou art turning away Thv face from J^ei, and .:;. caring for her. And all the time it d now she is 'V slie knows said, roused le be happy ? le be happy, never ^oing be happy on me, if Piers lid mother? ' — I know — come back help us and ir away and how can I to me ? ■ ' roking my >iit when I iver looked lis cheeks. 11 infant, he t the door, nd prayed I the tears 3or ^visht, ', and she ^derstand. face from le time it AGAINST THE STREAM. ^^ is Thon who art stooping down and likening Thy- self to cmT/ihimj -to tliat poor, helpless fod of a hen gathering her chickens— just to make us un- derstand how Thou lovest us— calling, callmcr ; spreading out Thy wings for her— for her ! Lovd, make the little one understand ; make the babe liear and see. "Blessed Lord Jesns, Thou knowest how we want to hear, and touch, and see ; above all, the little ones. Thou earnest that we might touch and see. Thou tookest them in thine mnns and la.d Thine hands on them, that they might touch and sec. Thou hast let them nail Thee to the Cross that we might feel and see. Ah, good Shepherd ! And this little lamb has lost sight of Thee altogether ! But Thou hearest her cryino-. Lord, it's only the lamb bleating for its mother— Thy little lamb bleating f„r Thee ! Take her home on Thy shoulders. Lord. Take her home to Tliy heart, and make her happy, and make her good." Then he rose and sat down, and took me on his knees again. I leaned my head on his shoulder and was quite (piiet— quiet in my heart too. ''My lamb," lie said, "that's it; that's all. You want God. And God wants you to be good He gave his own 8on for us. He would have left mother with you if He could. It seems to me He wants you just to look up, as it were, and sec mother smiling on you in heaven, ^^.s- sure enomjh sJie 18 ; and then turning round to Him, just that f M H J 1 ( 78 AGAINST THE STREAM. you may follow her eyes, and turn round to Him too and see how He is smiling on her, and on you' bo Ch,ld child !mother./.happ,! And'she would never be happj unless she knew God was good and good to you. Follow her looks up to His face, my lamb, and you will see what she All the time I had not cried. I had felt too naughty and wretched. But those words went to my heart. "Mother knows God is good, and good to meP His fe'ce ^'^ ^'^ ^''"'''^ ^''' ^''^^'' "^'''^'^' ^ ^ And He helped me ; He did not give up deal- ing with me. * ^ My new treasure was soon tested. For I remember the veiy evening after that Sunday afternoon talk with Keuben had begun to clear things a little to me, I ventured to say to my steo mother when I kissed her for the night, that I really hoped now I should be good, for I thought I Juki a ittle love to God, and He would help me My heart was glowing, yet it cost me much to' ^ stammer out those words. To me it was like a confession. It was in the Oak parlor. She was ookmg out of the window. She turned round, a 1 tie surprised, and questioned me with her eyes till I colored crimson ; but she only said :— " Very well, Bridget. I am sure I hope yon will be good. You are liable to very violent ebuhuions oi feeling. I think it was two days '-■ ,; » If •onnd to Him, ii', and on j-ou >J .' And she new God was ' looks up to see wliat she had felt too ^ords went to good io me." 1 upwards to ?ive up deal- ted. For I hat Sunday ^nn to clear to my step- light, that I )!• I thought lid help me. ne much to '' was like a ■ She was ed round, a th her eyes l:~ t hope you ery violent 3 two days AGAIWST THE STREAM. 73 since yon called me cruel l)eeausc your kitten was wlnpped for stealing cream, and three days since you tried to take up your brother and kiss him when he was nauglity and was put in the corner and threw youi-self in a frantic rage with mo be- cause I would not let you, which your fether saw • and four days since you sat sobbing half-an-hour as It your heart would break, because you had torn your pinafore, and had to mend it, instead of play- ing in the garden. You are subject to very vehe- ment changes of emotion. I suppose this is one of them. I hope it will last, and that you will in future wash your hands in time for dinner, and keep your hair smooth. / judge by fruits." ^ I crept humbly away, with the feeling one has m seemg the dog in Landseer's picture, with wist- M eyes and appealing paws, entreating the parrot tor a crumb of cheese. Yet I believe the hail.showers and glaciers of my childhood were good for me, as well as its sun- shine and soft dews. I went away saddened, but no more chilled ^to the heart; fori had learned that the sunshine and the dews, and -;oft hroodino- warm wings of ever-present love were at least as real as the cold. The key was in my hand ; it has never been quite lost since; and secret after secret m unlocked to me whenever I touch tlie doors of hidden chambers with it. So, as it happened, my feeling after mother at feelliig after God, and tinding ■ ; ! 1: 80 AGAINST THE STItEAM. Him, wlncli I suppose, M'iis part at least of what ile meant. It_ was on tlie Snndaj after this tliat I was thinking I wished mother had been among some goodly fellowship " or "glorious company " or "noble armj" mentioned in the Te Beu.n, t\,^t I imght have been sure she was among those we sang about as praising with ns. And then it occurred to me that the Ploly Church throughout the world could not mean the little bit of it where ^ve are and which we see ; where the prophets and apostles are not any lono-er. I remembered Reub'en's words, and all at once a Iieavy roof seemed lifted off from the world, and J followed mother's eyes up to his face, and saw that the church of our old toM^n Avas only a little corner of the great Church throughout the world Avhidi 18 always praising Him; and that I, down m the dark room, and mother up in the li^ht where she was waiting for me, without anythW between, were singing our Te Deum together Thus the service gradually grew to^ shine out on me bit by bit, like far-off fields on onr own moors lighted up one by one by the sun. JVIy attention to the sermon was less endanger- ed by external objects; for I was always caused dnrmg its delivery to subside into the depths of a great pew, above whose walls nothino- was visible to me but my nncie, Parson Fyforcf, the top of Miss lehcity's whalebone hood, the bou's in Ma- dam vxlanvil 8 bonnet, which used periodically to 4 h W-fHtim h it*'-'^!-^ '-»'^>r.f. w^m i least of what lis tliat I M'as 1 among some company " or Deu'tn, that I ong those we And then it ?li throughout •it of it wliere propliets and nd all at once le world, and 'ace, and saw onlj a little lit tlie world that I, down in the light )ut anything togethei-. to shine out on our own an. 3s endanger- vajs caused depths of a was visible the top of ONVs in Ma- iodically to AGAINST THE STREAM. qI I sway about and disappear, and then to recover and j ei-ect theinselves inexplicably in a defiant manner • the grave ^ice of Eeuben Pengelly above the choi g^^oiy and the trees waving in the churchyard outside tlie windows. ^ I remember wondering why 2ny uncle Fyford pnt on quite a different voice from that in which W] '' r ^"""-^ '^'' ^'^^^' ^"^ ^^'i^^ther I should ever be expected to understand what he Scllu. But my most vivid recollections of the sermon especmlly after that Sunday afternoon with Eeu I'cn in the foundry-yard, were of a time of dJicious rest when the two people who were kindest to me n he world were looking serenely down upon me andfters, bemg by father's express sanelion, al- owed to go to sleep, was leaning his sleepy little othe to h,ra, with. one hand around him, and the o her hand nestled in father's ; while above us «a. the dear sacred name.on a white marble tablet, and a consciousness of a sacred corner outside in he churchyard, and of something more sacred and than tlie sunhght, a smile kinder than father's embracing mother and us all. And eager and restless as I was, the sermon did not seen, long to me; and a heaven -where congregations ne'er break up," would not have seemed to me a terrihl. th.-mt at all. fT -iiil'iwV'BrTiil CHAPTER YI. ;' 11 days had reference rather to social than to ecclesiastical elevations ; and " broad " was ap- plied to acres or to cloth, not to opinions. Whatever purpose the laity went to church for, severe critical analysis of ray uncle Fyford's or his curate's sermons was not one of them. I remember not unfrequently hearing strong comments on the extravagance of some people's garments and the imperfections of others', but never any derogatory remarks on the extrava- gances or defects, or " unsoundness " of any kind, of the various doctrines delivered to us. Occasionally I recollect my father's gentle pro- testing that the Doctor — my uncle was a D. D. — had " given us that again a little too soon ; " but a suspicion that sermons were intended to be trans- ferred beyond the church doors for discussion (or, I am afraid also, for practice), never crossed my mind. lot the excess r in my cliilcl- )w " in those to social than i-oad " was ap- lions. int to church mcle Fjford's )f them. earing strong sorae people's others', but the extrava- of any kind, lis. ■'s gentle pro- as a D. D. — soon ; " but ;d to be trans- iscuBsion (or, • crossed my AGAINST THE STREAM. gg Indeed, all the sects represented in our little town had subsided into a state of mutual toler- ance wln-ch miglit have seemed exemplary, had not this tolerance extended to somethings which all Christian sects are supposed not to tole"'rate. Protests were not the stj le of the day. " Against the stream" scarcely any one seemed pulling. ^ The eftect was a drowsy tranquillity. The various pulpits would as little have ventured to fulminate agamst the enormities of the slave-trade, the in- toxication common at all convivial gatherings, the noting at the races on our down, the cruelties of our bull-baitings in the market-place, as against each otlier. " Were the feelings of the congregation to be wantonly disregarded?" my uncle Fyford would have pleaded. "Had not one of Madam Glan- vils sons been a slave-holder? and had not the enormities of the slave-trade been greatlv exagger- ated ? Were there any of the most respectable of the congregation who did not occasionally take a glass too much ? (drunkenness was not then a mere low habit of the ' lower classes ; ') and were the httle ' harmless frailties' of the most respect- able ot the parishioners to be wantonly druirced nito the light? And even the Mower orders 'no aoubt, must also have their amusements ; poor creatures their lot of toil was hard enough already without being further embittered by Puritanical austerities. Wliaf vv" +'■- • ^ -- of a K„ii "r " '"'' wucaojonai discomfort ot a bull, a creature without a soul (and without a r I. ifc: If ■ 84 AOAINST THE STREAM. Jiteratiire to celebrate its wrongs), compared witli tlie importance of keeping up a manly, ancient English pastime, a healthy outlet, no doubt, for a certain — brutality, we will not call it, but — a certain recklessness of blood inherent in the very vigor of the Saxon nature ? Was there not even a text for it ? Had not St, Paul said (possibly not in precisely the same connection), ' Did God take care for oxen ? ' And should we be more merciful than St. Paul ? No ; let such pretences be left to the over-refined sensibilities of a Jean Jacques Rousseau, to a nation which could guil- lotine its sovereign and weep over a sentimental love-story (especially if the love were misplaced), or to the gloomy asceticism of an austere Pui-itan- ism now happily for England extinct." I used sometimes to suspect from the vehe- mence with which my uncle defended this custom, he being at once a tranquil and merciful man, that his conscience was a little uneasy at the suffer- ings to which, as a devoted entomologist, he ex- posed the various beetles which were impaled in the glass cases in the vicarage. He could always be roused on the subject of the nervous sensibili- ties of animals, and 1 ]-emember a hot debate be- tween him and my father on Shakespeare's lines — " The beetle that we tread upon In corporal sufferance feela a pang as keen As ■when a giant dies," — which my uncle characterised as sentimental ?m^({ pernicious trash. •inpared M'ith anly, micient doubt, for a . it, but — a t in the very lere not even aid (possibly ), ' Did God we be more leh pretences ;ies of a Jean I could guil- i sentimental 3 misplaced), tere Puritan- n the velie- tbis custom, erciful man, at the suffer- logist, he ex- I impaled in ;ould always )us sensibili- t debate be- eare's lines — ipon 3 keen ;imfip.tfl.l -ind AQAmST THE STREAM. S5 I believe he would very gladly have stretched tiie same conviction to the nervous sensibilities of negroes; but his candor M'as too much for him • and with regard to the abolition of the slave-trade ^Jie had to take up other grounds, such as the gen- era tendency of Africans to make each other mis- erable m Africa, if let alone, and the antecedent improbability that "Providence" would have cre- ated a substance so attractive to white people as sugar, and so impossible for white people to culti- vate, and would have prospered our sugar planta- tions and sugar planters as It had, unless It had meant that sugar should be cultivated by blacks and consequently that blacks should be brought irom Africa. Thus it happened, in consequence of all these - various arguments, or rather in consequence of the prepossessions by which so many of our arguments are predetermined, that Abbot's Weir protested against very little, at that time, either in church or chapel. My uncle did indeed periodically pro test against various evils mostly remote or obso- lete, such as Popery on the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, the heresies of the fourth cen- tury on Trinity Sunday, or the schisms of the s(3venteenth century on the festival of Kin- CJiarles the Martyr. " But he rejoiced to think that we nad tallen on different times, when Englishmen had learned to live in harmony. I>id not he himself indeed exemj % this har- "»i^^. 80 AQAINST TUB A TREAM. I * si.: 11'^' iriony by a cordial if somewlint ('orKieseciidinir in- tercoiirse witii the Rov. Josiah IJal)bid^re,\],e mild successor of the fiery Cronnvellian minister who, at the Restoration, had been driven from the pulpit of the parish church? Mild indeed had that Presbyterian congrega- tion become, in doctrine, in discipline, and inzelil; and difficult would it have been for any one short of a Spanish Inquisitor of the keenest scent to fas- ten a quarrel on theological grounds on the Rev. Josiah Rabbidge, a gentle and shy little man who?f^ personality was all but overwhelmed under the eouibined weight of a tall and aggressive wife, th« fuKrteen children with which she had enriched him. The instruction of the boys of the town when they emerged from the mixed Dame's School of Miss Felicity Benbow, and a congregation which it was not easy to keep awake, especially on Sun- day afternoons. Of this last fact I had personal experiences, one of our maids being sometimes in the habit of taking us to the chapel on Sunday afternoons, when nncle Fyford was preaching in his second church in the country ; attracted, I believe, not by the theology, but by the greater brevity of the service, and the greater comfort of the cushions. I do not remember being struck with any great difference, except that Mr. Rabbidge's prayers were shorter, and not in the Prayer-book, and that he generally used the term "the Deity" where my uncle said " Providence.'' 4 } II J r. oseendiniT in- 'abbiil^e, tlio liiin minister Iveii from the an congrega- !, and in zeal; ij one sliort • scent to tiis- on tlie Eev. ' little man elmed under :rc8sive wife, had enriched i town Mdien s School of at ion which 11 J on Sun- experiences, he habit of afternoons, his second ieve, not by vitj of the cushions, h any great e's prayers i*-book, and he Bcity" AGAINST THE STItEAM. 87 T suppose tlio tonus were characteristic in both cases. Mr. Rubbidge's element, when ho could escape to it, was literature ; my uncle" iture. To both human life was a subordinate tlnu.r. To my uncle, indeed, if was brought near by the l.onsehold presence of his orphan nephew, Dick i^ytord, and three thousand parishioners, who had at intervals to be married, christened, and buried • and to Mr. Eabbidge by the constant inevitab'e IH-essurc of a wife to be propitiated, fourteen chil- dren to be fed,, a large portion of the boy-human- ity of Abbot's Weir to be taught, aad that somno- lent congregation to bo kept awake. Still, to both all this tide of human life was a distui-bino. acci- dent from which they escaped when practicable- Mr Eabbidge to his dearly-prized ancient folios and my uncle to his beetles. And as must happen, 1 think, to all from whom the human life around recedes, the Divine seemed to recede also ; and on the very pursuits they cared for more than for humanity, fell a lifelessness and a barrenness. JVfature herself refuses to be more than a scientific catalogue to tl )se who subordinate humanity to iier. Ihe thoughts and lives of the men of the past become mere fossils to those who neglect for them the living men and women of the present, -f present does not live for us, how can the past? II our "neighbor "has no personalitv we reverence and supremely care for, how can nature be to us mo2-e than a collection of things? If humanity does not come home to our hearts, how IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) & {./ /- 1.0 I.I ^1^ IM ^ 1^ 12.0 IL25 i 1.4 6" lllll^ 1.6 V <^ A Piiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 V '^ \ :\ ' gether. Meanwhile Mr. Rabbidge found recondite al- lusions to beetles in the classics, Greek and Latin, and my uncle returned the compliment by refer- ring in his articles in the SentimetUal Magazine to quotations suggested by his "learned friend Mr. Rabbidge." One point my uncle never yielded to "separatists." As an orthodox Chuiihman, and as the minister of a State religion, he could not be expected to concede to the alumnus of a Dissenting academy the title of Reverend. It would, he considered, be to eliminate all eJgnifi- AGAINST THE STREAM. 91 Jgc's cance from the word. " Titles," said my uncle, '^are titles; to accord the right to confer them on any self-elected community was to undermine tho citadel of all authority. Persons who began with calling a Presbyterian teacher Reverend, might naturally end with calling their sovereign " citi- zen." Mr. Rabbidge would, he knew, compre- hend his motives." And Mr. Rabbidge did, and never protested. For they had the link said to be stronger than a common love— a common hate; if so fiery a word may be applied to any sentiment possible in zones fe temperate. They both hated " Jacobinism"— my uncle as a man of property, which any convulsions might endanger, and Mr. Rabbidge as a peaceable and not very valiant citizen, who in any contest was not likely to get the upper hand. And they both disapproved of Methodism, the only aggressive form of religion they were ac- quainted with— my uncle condemning it chiefly as having a " Jacobinical " tendency to set up the "lower orders" and to "turn the world upside down," and Mr. Rabbidge as an enthusiasm likely to set people's hearts above their heads, and so turn their brains upside down. And yet, such are the inconsistencies of the best balanced minds, Reuben Pengelly continued every Sunday morning to play the principal bass- viol in the choir gallery, every Sunday evening to take a principal part in the prayers and exhor- "PX 92 AQATNST THE STREAM. tations in tlic little Methodist meeting, nnd every day and night, everywhere when he was wanted to pi-ay beside the dying bods or broken hearts among my uncle's parishioners. And there were instances in which Mr. Rab- bidge had even been known to call poor Reuben 111, when he liad found his somnolent and respect- able congregation roused by some dim niemorv of the old Puritan teaching, for which their fore- fathers had fought, or by some of the terrible realities of life or death to an unquenchable thirst for somQthing which he did not compre- hend, which neither the mild Arianism of the chapel, nor the mild orthodoxy of the church aftorded, but which Reuben seemed able to give- some dim orphaned feeling after One who is more than "Providence" and " the Deity," whom Reu- ben trusted and called on, in no very classical Enghsh, as '' the Lord, the living Lord, the Lord who died for us and liveth evermore, the lovino- pitying, and providing God and Father of us aiv' My uncle and Mr. Rabbidge both thought it very strange ; but human nature, especially in the " lower orders" and in women, is a strange com- pound ; what classical author has not in one phrase or another said so ? Principle, sober principle, the incontrovertible precepts of morality, ought to be enough for ra- tional humanity ; but in all the relaticms of lite and even it seemed in religion, men and women' especially women, could not be satisfied without AGAINST TUE STREAM. 93 nd every ! wanted n hearts VTr. Rab- Renben rcspect- meinory eir fore- terrible mcliablo compre- of the church ;o give ; is more tu Reii- 3]assical le Lord loving, us all." light it in the 3 corn- phrase eoniething more than sober principle to guide their judgment ; they must have their hearts stir- red, they must laugh for joy, and tremble, and weep— they must have emotion ; and as this was so, perhaps it was well that a man, on the whole, 60 respectful to authority, and so trustworthy as Eeuben Peugelly, was to be found to supply the i material. Or as Reuben put it : — " The devil took care there should always be sinners, and the Lord took care there should always be saints beyond the reach of anything but liis blessed Gospel and his good. Spirit." m ertiblo for ra- )f life, omen, ithout "■li CHAPTER VII. PPOSITE our windows, across the Corn Market, was a long, low, rambling old honse, once a dower-house of the Glanvil family, but long before my recollection the abode of Miss Felicity Benbow, the guide and the terror of successive generations of iuvenile Abbot's Weir. Piers and I, sitting on the window-seat of the Stone parlor, frequently observed the children go- ing in and out of that wide-arched door. Tlie house, and Miss Felicity herself, had a kind of horrible, fascination for us. Sooner or later we knew those solemn portals would open on us, and engulf us also in that unknown world within where dwelt the dark, shadowy powers of disci- pline and knowledge, represented in the person of Miss Felicity. Thither every morning and afternoon we saw the children, a little older than ourselves— some It was rumored, noi older— tend in twos or threes' or one by one, with lingering and sober steins, the small satchel on the shoulder, and occasionally the AOAmsT Tina stream. li 95 book, too late consulted, be inir >. anxiously conned over ; and lienco in a body, at the appointed hour, we saw them issue with softened voices and quiet, sobered paces for a few steps beyond the door, as iar, at least, as the range of Miss Felicity's windows, subdued by the restraints of those unknown pow- ers^vIth,n; and then through the nan-ow streets, in different directions, we heard the joyous voices sound louder and freer as they distanced the solemn precints, scattering frolic and music throu<.h tiie town as they separated to their different homes. There also, on wet days, the various maids of the richer flimilies gathered with hoods and cloaks tor their young masters and mistresses. And there, every morning and evening, the aristocrat of the school, Madam Glanvil's little orphan grand- daughter was brought and fetched, by the old black butler in livery, on her white pony : a grave retiring child, with dark, pallid complexiof and overhanging brows, and with large, wistful brown eyes, which often seemed to meet mine, and always seemed to speak to me from some mysterious new world. The rest of the children thought her proud and superciUous; but those strange, deep eyes with their wonderful occasional lights-not the dewy sparkle of English eyes, but I flash as from tropical skies-always had an irresistible attraction for ne They had a wistful longing in them Ike Plula s eyes, and yet a depth I could not fathom, wkcsh always drew me back question- 90 AGAINST Tin: STRI'JAM. -"I inr^ and gncssiii^.. So.notliin^. betu'cen tl teries of'tJio dumb 10 111V8- niniul-world niid tho mvstcj '1C8 leiri. I could at once of of the invj\sil)le spirit-world was in tl.. not i^W wl.y, but thoy made mo thin! the dog Pluto, and of my niothor. I could M-atch no one while she M'as there mid I grew to feel at last that the attraction n.ust bo mutual, for she always guided the white pony near our windows, and in a furtive way used, I elt, to watch Piers and me, although she always looked away if cur eyes met. Occasionally, nioit over, on stormy days, an old black nurse used to appear with two black footmeii and a sedan-chair instead ot the one negro with the white ])onv.' Ihe black nurse used to api)arel the young la.ly in a mass of orange and scarlet splendors, ami enter the chair with her, and then in stately procession Miss Amice Glanvil would be borne awav to the hne old manor-house among the woods on the hill, called Court. ' Altogether, therefore. Miss Amice was to me like a tropical dream of glow and gloom, such as our temperate zone could not produce; a creature from a region of splendors and shadows, alto<^ether deeper aiid richer than ours; a region whe^e the birds and flowers are scarlet and gold ; a land of earthquakes and hurricanes, and wildernesses of beauty, of magniiicence, and tragedy. Tor I knew that those bkck people were s aves, and the gleam of their Mdiite teeth, and the flash of their brilliant eyes when they pulled AGAINST THE STREAM. hQYC. 97 thei 3ir xvoollj locks, as tlicy used ffood-lnunorcdlv to do to us c'liildron watel.iii- at tho window, ilsed not to toiTity mo as it did many of the children in tlie town, nor to amuse me, hut to malce me feel mclined to cry. TJiey always made me think of i uito when he was chained up in the kennel and fawned and whined on us. Only Pluto was at homo, and they were not; and Pluto was a do- and they were not ; which nuide all the difference' I thouglit, for hi.n and for them. They were called also by the classical names which in France and in Italy have retained their di^^nity, but in Lngland were only given in a sort of kindly con- tempt or facetious pity to dogs and to negroes. I had heard the black woman call them Cato and Oajsar ; and they called her Chloe. Moreover we had, through Ileuben Pen-ellv an acquaintance with Chloe's history, which -avo us a glimpse into the tragedy which underlay^'the splendors of Amice Glanvil's life. Chloe had a whole woman's v: rid of her own in her own country in Africa, not dead, livino- and needmg her, but buried to her irrevocably and for- ever. She used to come now and then, when she was allowed, to Reuben's prayer-meetings, and some- times rather to confuse him by the fervency of her amens, and of her shrill quavering singing, in the refrains of the hymns. One evening she "still tur- therbewildored the kindly man by breaking out suddenly m a passion of sobs. 1^ 7 98 AGAINST THE STREAM. ^ Kcubcn told us tho story ou the next Sunduy* in tlio silent foundry-yard. "I couldn't for the life of mo tell why," ho said, he hiivinir no onitorical vanity to explain such emotion. « I was o.dy talking to the folks quite plain and quiet how the blessed Lord sat weary by the well, and asked the poor woman for a drmk from hor pitcher, and how she was slow to give It Il-'m. Chloe staid after the rest had gone 8tdl rocking herself to and fro, as if she were rock- ing a baby, hiding her face, and sobbing iit to break her heart., So I went up to her soft and quiet, not to fluster her, and I said, 'The Lord Jias touched thee, poor dear soul. Cheer up. lie wounds and lie can bind up.' 'Never, Massa Keuben, never: said she (poor soul, she always calls me Massa, she knows no better). 'Never bind up. Ue knoios letter than to try. Let the wounds bleed. No other way.' And then, in their sudden way, like children, she looked up and showed all her white teeth, and smiled, and down- right laughed. It was more than a man could inake out. 'It was all a\mg of that pitcher and that well,' said she. And then she told me how she had gone to the well one evening, years a-o, by her hut, away in Africa, with her pitcher,''to fetch water for her children, with her baby in her arms. The children lay sick with fever." But at the well the slave-hunters found her, gagged her, bound her, Ibrced her away to the coast, and squeezed her do.vn with hundredfi of others into 1 gone, J^go, ^G^TNST Tllia STltEAM. tlio slavG-sbip. She hoard .'tnd nl.rht, ma lllillfr— „j tlio side child ojiiiiii'' for Ji '•en, d Da ay '■"^Ited u«-ay. I was ,.t ,o,„c „ „ If , /''"n tiling to draw. And He s-iiVl nil v "^ me,' said ei.e, 'sitti,„> there wpiv .""f *'„ J'"*' me. And then Reuben said, « I cried Mn ;, * as she did, poor soul ! The baby diedlt as Ts voy-gewas over, and thou „,,e'n the faC on mice, ills «ife had just died al lier birth. ;/i m- 100 AUAINST THE STREAM. and the poor fool loves Miss AmiVe like her own. It's wonderful," concluded Kcuben, " what them poor creatures will clina^ to and catch at, just for anything to love, though for the matter of that, Priscy's no better. The women are like enough all the world over, poor souls. God bless them!" Miss Felicity used sometimes to descend to the door with the little Irdy, and watch her across the market-place, which gave us ample opportunity of studying that physiognomy so important to our future iate. She was a tall and rather a majestic woman, vi'ith a stiff, erect carriage (a perpetual monition to all lounging little boys and girls), keen black eyes, high Roman features, and a severe moutli reso- lutely closed, as if her life had been a battle with difficulties harder to conquer than the little mis- chievous elves who could never evade her penetrat- ing eyes, or the terrible instrument of justice they guided. Yet it was not a ftice which repelled me, or rnada me feel afraid. I felt rather drawn towards her, as a kind of tutelary Athena ; not very close, not exactly as a child to her heart, but as a subject to her feet, witli a kind of confidence of justice in those steady eyes, and those stern grave lips. There was no fretfulness in the lines of the fur- rowed bi'ow, in the curve of the mouth ; no nncer- tainty of temper in the large keen eyes. If she had carried the Mqi^, I do not think I should , licr own. ;iat them 5 just for of that, 5 enoiiij^h s thcni." id to the 3ross the unity of t to our woman, iiition to ck eyes, til reso- tle with ;tlc niis- •enetrat- ice they me, or towards y close, subject stice in ^'e lips, the fur- ' nncer- Ifsho should AGAIKST THE STREAM. have Jiad any fear of her petrifying the people by turning it on them. 101 wronsr Thei •e were two other inhabitants of that old mansion besides Miss Felicity Every tine morni bofon ,, m summer, „^ were up, and every fine evening in winter, as it ))egan to grow duslc, from that arched door, where poured in and out every day the joyous tide of young life, came forth two very diF ,ont Ho-ures one the stately form of Miss Felic.v, and the other a man tall as herself, but bowed" and stoop- ing, moving with uncertain and uneven gait and leanmg on Miss Felicity's arm. They crept away into the country by the least steep of the three roads which led out of the town, and in about an hour re-entered the old honse and disappeared, and the stooping tall man's figure was seen no more till the next day. It was believed they went always as Uv as a certain ancient well by the road- side, called theBenitor Blessed Well; for they were often seen resting on the stone bench beside It, and had never been found further on. It was curious how people respected the mys- tery Miss Felicity chose to consider thrown around fthat ruined life. Keen as her perceptions were sharp and definite her words on every other sub' ject, around him she gathered a veil of fond excuses and illusions, so thin that all the town saw through it, and yet all the town recognized it for her sake. To us children, indeed, something of the mys. m t !>>. I'' II 11 i':t 102 AGAINST TUE STREAM. terj roallj existed, taking the form of ceal ino'. Jialf Miss Folicitj M'itli a halo, and th tall, bent form loomed, at oi con, like a ruined church set .... a half-con- ontjing^ mist, which surrounded •ough which the , at once a tower and a bea- , -'cli set on one of the heights a ong our coasts, once meant to be a sacred shHno but now, the sacredness shattered out of it, surviv' mg only as a warning against wreck Lieutenant Benbow had been in the army, M'e knew, and had been a fine handsome man, and had grown suddenly old in middle life, not altogether bj misfortune, but by something sadder, which hung like a swoVd of Damocles over the festival ot ite for any of us to whom life was only leastitiir. *^ To me especially those two had a terril)le yet tender interest. ^"e, ^ec Lieutenant Eenbow had been to Miss Felicity what Piers was to me. She had loved him de- f.fi 'I'J"*'"' ^^"'''^ ^■"^' ^"'" "^■^^^' ^J^« d^^th of her father. (Happily for herself the mother had died early.) She had loved him with the kind of blind love which some think the truest and most wo- i^anly. To me the blindness alwavs seems to come not from the love, but from the little alloy of pride ,'.id selfishness in the love which so far makes it false. It is possible so to love another as ourselves that the very love comes to partake of the nature of self-love, exaggerating, concealing, untrue, mijust, falsely excusin.r ' iely gild inc. not quite. The little grain of 'trTieTo?eattl"e'^bot! lialf-con- n'ounded liieh tlie k1 a bea- 5 heiVlits i slirine, ", siirviv- I'mj, M-e and had ogether ', which festival IS only ble, yet ^elieitj im, de- of her d died f blind )St wo- !ms to ! alloy SO far her as of the ntrue, id yet B bot- AOAmST TUE STREAM. iqS torn of the most selfish affection makes it by that gram a least better than mere selfishness The miser who half starves his children in hoarLgf^ them has surely in his hoard son^ething a dc Jee more sacred than there can be in that o? the nn' er ^'ho hoards for himself alone. And with M Fehcj y that grain of true love was large, and for> ^^^^^l^, at least, fruitful ; fruitful, at lea^in saci protession. Their means were not large, but her dehght had been to have his appoiftmel a, c^ioice and abundant as those of the'riches Id the Idol had accepted the homage ; repaid it, even by such small and symbolical acknowledgmLts ^s can be expected from duly incensed idols She knew he had at least one fatal habit. In a day when all gentlemen drank more than y.as good for them, he drank more than most, and, un fortunately, could stand less. ' Once only Miss Felicity's eyes were all bu^ opened. He persuaded a lovely youn^ Dual er" girl to elope with Imn and to ma^rr/l^^ ^ ''"' Miss Fehcity did not wonder at th^ Quaker br" "tT'o^"; '"^ ''''' d^dwonder at h brothei 8. The Quaker maiden's father was a tan- ner, and, true daughter of a general and of tTe church, granddaughter of a bishop. Miss Fe ic ty did not enjoy having to double he'; liba ions n^ mcense m honor, not of her Adonis of a brotl^ but of his sepai^tist wife, a person of "low S 1:1 104 AGAmsT THE STREAM. inrr oi-ioin wlio had oiitic-od 'o (lonhlo her ofFen•^<^s, and I .iw.'iy Iiis attbctlons." return tliey l,ad proviousl in u oil to bear. :K«e oven the h"ttl lo y won, Avas ahnost too life Tlio thirteen rears of tlie lienten adorat wore tJiose, tlieref on was feeblest ■int's niarriod >ro, in wliich Miss Felicity's In thirteen years the b'eiiten; one little g„.I, l„s eonsfit„tion and Iiis fortunes :'f ;7t«^' ';-'"S -n.o time before t a clnW s lielplesmicss, a.id a spoiled cliild's i.nperi- m,sness and irritability, to be a bnrden fbrthc',^"t of In. Me on the woman be had scarcely n^ticc^ vhde ho had another to ,vo,^hip hin,. l4 ho ,v s';"T';:"f,'""*'' '''■^' F^lirf'ywas every It She Wo tod the tanner's daughter ont of her n!l°: ^cce, t°ntl '•'i"!""''' g'-'''"'l*"'gl'ter to her heart, with all the strength of her strong will and stron., pfle t,o„s, and with a kind of .nolancholy plea«, re n tl>ecerta,„ty that if her "Bd bowed down ad or Nebo stooped, and wore a bnrden to the wea;' l^y more" ""^ "" ''"" """ """•''<=" *'"' ^er doled 1 , her old, beantifnl god-image, which miol crcnmstances," she said to herself,"™ the excess of his own fascinations," had shattered. 1» re- •■^ii'l crowned tlio old idol witli n n.^. U.,ir by year she boii^rl.t tho (in.,, „,,,. ^ irc;ir;:.:,!;r "^ y- '-"^-"^^^^ V '^ P;^'Jito, and scatc( hhn in H.o , . c-M,ui,„ ..„„,,, „„oi<„a,,erir: mtr, and fho wannest corner oF f]„. *; • , ' what 1,0 1;^"'""*"''''"" ^^'"^'' '-«' """"^ '"•■- sMe;:;:i:,^r™f;;';';'.'<>o''-vo ,■,.„„„„,. tl.e lie, tenant and ir "''' " ""■■^'"I'P'-- of who™e„n,pe„odtos:::i:'tf:ij;:;T;z' an individnal hope and pleali'lt o 1 1 Z^ grace to know it M-liile she wo« o *^'^ "iiiit; bne was amoncr ns Tf ;„ among the saddest of onr irrevocahrL , ™ find ont, for tho fir.t t^ne rt^t ' VT 'n."M [I me, that some ot the 106 AGAINST THE STREAM. ■Ill noly one8 of God have been beside us for us to -nsu t, learn of, speak to, listen to, only when tliey have gone from us to be with the goodly company who are, indeed, not far from us, but are just beyond speaking distance, out of reach, ioi tlie time, of voice and sight. My father helped me to the recognition. Miss • Loveday had been a friend of my own mother's, and he had the greatest reverence and love for seen^l"'''^ to say the poet Cowper must have seen her in spirit when he wrote tlie lines— " t^^'f' ''^^^'^^- yo»r l>r'ishes and your paint- Produce them ; take a cl.air, now draw a saint Oh, sorrowful and sad ! Tlie streaming tears ' Cliannel her cheeks-a Niobo appears is thus a saint ?-throw tints and all aw»y True piety is cheerful as the day — Will weep, indeed, and heave a pitying groan For others' woes, but smiles npon her olnT Certainly Loveday Benbow - smiled upon hov own woes" with a smile so real and bright, that tie woes and the saintliness, the burden and the srej h whieh bore it, might easily have bean hidden from a careless eye. As to the pityino- groan for others' woes, not only could that be re- iied on for any woes, from the breaking of a child's doll to the breaking of a maiden's heaft, but, whal IS rarer for one whose life is passed in the shad- ows she had a smile true and heart-warming as a sunbeam for others' joys, from a child's holiday to 8 for US to only when lie goodly n us, but of reach, on. Miss ' inotlier's, love for inst have mt. s AGAINST THE STREAM. tier own ;hat the nd the e been pitying be re- i child's It, what e shad- >gas a iday to lor <.."hS wi„!e^;fr'' """ """ "'"' "--' ■■"- often I deaf 'In IE T "'™" "^'""'"^ wise l,or 00 ,nse1 Vl 1™ ''"'i ^^■"P""'^' """ ^« poHences betS in 1 07'",*' '""'' ^"""^ '=='■ qnicknoss of l,n. „ ^, * '-econipenso in Hie W rosponto ' ^''f"'---" -<> tl,o fulness of no »o;:l™ ts a"^'r "-^^ ^•"" --^ an archangel; Tnd fl,, L T ^■"'*^ '" ''^'- *™ '° «o blended bat I 1 '•""'^ ''™'' ^'^■■^ whether it wa It if. '"'"'"'"'* ™"'^«^"d ti- other p p ? r,^ ;i" "'■'"i"""^ '^^^-• sinjrlenos of T , ' ™' sharpened bv W of lo, XTnT-' ""*" " ™ "-'Si™' comprehend fvl , ™''g""">on that n.ade her qniek n d th ro?;tr" ?''*'^-' " '-e that t'^in,.n„eSastst™:~''''''°--- o«udefeer"s'i,r;2it?t\LT'o;v^';'" thaTof a pWeiin as k^" ^7'"^''^ ""'sl>t was but deepeVr « L bernd"' ^ T' " ^'*"' "^o oejond «vmptoms to causes, Jl loS AOAINST THE STREAM, '%■■ So.noti,„es indco,l,Bl,o «-oul,l ropro.u.], l,c,-self o™L "! "^-Tt I«^"'"™"'''» ""-""gl' disgmses and ,oxcn es, as .f ,t were not as necessary to the help- crs ot humanity as to its erities to see truly ^ I>ut It is true that the liei?l,tcninff „f any one ,.o«-er of nature requires the heightening . v^ y power „ ,™w ,,„j.„„i,^,. t|,e';^rovvth ofever^ sp.ntual as well as every intellectual gift di mands the gro.th of every other to preserve' l.ar- «h oh made her perceptions so true would have made her a keener detective than my stepmother and a severer judge than Miss Felicity, if love had faith and a larger hope in God and man. blie always had something of the dove in my eyes, as M,ss Felicity had much of the eagle, and n my dark.r motnonts my stepmother not a little rf the raven. Doves need sight as keen to defend their blood as eagles to descry their prey. And i iss loveday's brood was all the human creatures at had need ot her. Partly, no doubt, this dove- like grace that encircled her was assisted by her voice, which, as with many deaf people, had a pecuhar nnder-toned softness, like cooings nnder hiek summer leaves; and partly by her dress, which was chiefly replenished from lier mother's 3 tonclicd ;h lierself :iiise8 and the help- any one of every of every gift, de- erve har- iharacter J Id have ) mother, iove had set, and I deeper B in my ?]e, and a little defend . And eatures s dove- by her had a under dress, other's AGAINST THE STREAM. ]_qc) Quaker wardrobe, in whioh tlie prosaic drab was i^niored, and the poetical dove-color and wliite ])redoininated. Miss Loveday's dress was M-hat has always seemed to me the loveliest and most becomim. ot any to middlcd-aged and elderly women I^ retained the Quaker quietness and the delicious. Quaker freshness, without the Quaker peculiari- ties ; and her manner was just like lier dress. She 18 fondly enveloped to my memory in a soft ^rey and white cloud of clothing, which, Mdien I try to analyze it, resolves itself into the whitest of cans trammg her pale sweet face, the neatest of white n.nslin neckerchiefs folded over her bosom, and the softest of unrustling grey woollen drapery fall- ing m sweeping easy folds around her. Xot one sudden, startling, daz.Iing thing about her in circss, or manner, or voice, not the rustle of silk or the glitter of a jewel; except the irrepressible occasional twinkle of her kind eyes, and the oc casional merry ring which was like an audible twinkle in her soft voice and her laugh. She was just the opposite (I do not mean the contrary) of Amice Glanvil, who was all mystery and surprise. -^ The sorrows on which Miss Loveday smiled so radian ly were not sentimental. From her child- hood she had been under the yoke unimaginable, unavoidable, of pain ; the yoke which in some re- spects pre«e-es closer on tho. immortal spirit, and cuts deeper into it than any other, and therefore 4m>l IVf no AOAmsT run smeAir. o«n in .ome respocts ,no„W it fo a ,„„,.o dclicato perfection, anj tan;nv it f,„- larger l,,»-vc«ts JVo «„o in Ai>bofi, m.i,.J,a,l l,ea„ able lo latliom tlio cause. We l,,,d two doctors in Abljofs AVcir. Ona M™ted all ailments to debility, and relied for cure ch,c% on " nature " and port wine Iho otber. Dr. Looscleigb, was of a melancholic disposition, bad a strong f,itb in tbo depravity of tlie iiunian constitution, attributed ailments to ex- ms and hoped tor relict; as fi.r as ho hoped at all, fiom bleeding, blistering, and the lowering sys^ tcm in general. " ^ Both medical gentlemen had patients who re- covered and patients wli„ died. But in Abbott Weir, although theological controversy was n iid the same could not be said of medical. Each ^enl erahon, whatever its theological proclivities, desires o live as long as it can ; debates on what man or The partisans of Mr. Kenton said that those ac ually slam, by his remedies ; and those who recovered, recovered by the force of nature. Datientt'Tn"\"^^'"-^"'''"''''«'' ""'"^ ''^ttl'^ patients of Dr. Kenton who recovered strug.ded through by miracle or the vigor of an exceptional constitution, and that those%vho died, pS 3 doliwito ?sts. 1 able to ir. One, neiif, at- Jlied for lancliolic avitj of ts to ex- 'd at all, ing sys- who re- Abbot's s miid cli gon- desirea nan or tnrallj nnness i those killed, 3 who at the li^fgled tional •ished ^(^^r.YST imj sriiiuM. Ill the victims of nco^loct shnn,. ^ i . contempt of means. ^^'^^h ^m faithless -Ruth sjstcms had been tried on Af;^= T , bn neither sueeessful. S],e Ind 1 !T'''"'^'^ f"d bled in ehildhood by f, r '^f" , ^^-'''''^ -^^^troph,. si.o had "i,.^ \/; :^f :;;;^ ;"^-" l^onton and Miss Felicity into a t^n,'^ ^•'• part of either system which ,hl 1 r " i "" ^"^^ ]>ort wine or br mdv T , ''^'"^^^ ''"''' ^''^ «^>e had pro ieh^ f^^"or. i^.. £:! tr ti:,;;r r ^^-^^^ i" the controversy, in X x r '''^''^''^^S^ was a standing we pon if ^^''' ^T^'^y'^ ^'^^ "Hlnced to break t^nt;K f '""'^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^« and natnro :Sl^t:^ j^T' ^ '^'"^ disease, and the cZrl ^'^oseleigh and -^edwe':trr::x:tt^^^^7 and other ceptLTTT"'''' ''^'''''' "^^ father to arise, tl^st^-t^^^^^^^^^^^^ '^^'^ ^y^^^^^^ ^etsandphenomen::;:.:;^::::^^^^^^^ en.e, who found tneco^^''''^^' state of exist- tieable, to mil u^ "^''"^ therefore prac- about ;ve,,t;:;:::z^iS^^^ -^ the port-Wine ^^s,stem;!ir^^^^^^ JI2 AOAmsr THE SriiNAAF. ' » I #«» believed by tlu- no,.e...ty of soom;. son.o root of ^ood Hi the evil te.ulenoj which had .appcd iior brother's cxistciicc. ^ /f ^;';i« fo bch-eved thut the weekly visits u t at least, a tenderer si^n.itlcai.ee than IVtiss i oheity ehose to acknowledge. There had been < aj8 wlien the ^.eTn'al doctor had paid Miss FehVitv the most n.arked attentions; and durin^^ the yea/s when her brother's n.arriacre had separated her roin thoone ceaseless oI>ject of her devotion, Ab- bot s A\ e,r had believed that it detected a ..radual Botten.n^r of the tutelary Athena manner towards iinn. It was considered that the prospect of a pleasant home, a life without care, and an affection which nianifosted itself in the flatterin.^ form of respect.nc. her judgment enough to carry on contin- ual controversies with hoi-, were beginning to melt the impenetrable heart of Miss Felicity, and that she would soon consent to be an illustrious case in proof of the success of the building-up system. But her sister-in-law died, the. lieuienant be- came a helpless invalid, and returned to receise once more his sister's homage • and from that mo- ment Dr. Kenton's hopes were blighted. Miss Felicity returned to her old life-long role of priestess and amazon, adoration at her old shnne, and unflinching conflict with infldels and wit. ivramstances for its sake. And Dr. Kenton, aict. .':, ,,.. ,iu- -omonstrances, and some years of combaim;vf c..trangeT mt, came back, parti v bv ' some root lud 8a])|)c(l ^kly visits ■i"l, on his "liiin JVLiss liad l>t'en ss Felicity tlio years rated lier tion, Ab- a ^nidual • towards [)oct of a affection f form of n contin- ^ to melt and that IS case in stem, nant bo- ' recenu that mo- vlC.imyy7y/,^.,.,,^,j^, — 113 moans of 1,;,, „,„^i , cc->».,| 10 .;.„, 1,,,! "" "'"' '••ontt.ntio,, ; l,„ ^'"t'-b-, br„, „,j „,:[*■'■ ""' to tl.o c„,«. • j ^aiuts, ol course, human ™d,t"i::*rr' ''■"'■"'^'' ■- -- wereuLhang b,tTk°b T"f^ '" *^™™' glowed withl-eLtedTi t "I ?,'^''''P''' '^'"^"^' u AOAimr ruE stbsam. jj^ earnest, entire absorption ft , ''''° '" ' "» "-Object t,.u intS rtt*; 'f'»" "'■"' ness of all besir]n« o ' *^ ^^'^ foi-getfnl- Hi. rf.ar„eter *;:;:,::, "''■'^t'-'' ^•'•-• "liioii made tl,e wo ,1 „ «»»''tl'«ess about it '•'--teristie nlti":" ^I/^r^ -* '"•."• His "o^^eiess was this .novenlt , , ? '" '"'•'' ^"'^ and t),e„ it strnek yo„ , ,"? f ™' ""'^' "»'' g"«e into tl,e hes nla' ' J' • "^"''"^'^ "•""'"^J '<> the P'easantesttb ';',':'' "' °. "- Po-ession of ■■en, of eou,.e, who tl „ V,t t"","^- "^^ ^'''W" -cl places, eaH, pe,!^ ett r„l ToT'l f'"'^^ was scarcely ever apmren ' ';"' '" ""r''""'-' " who created the final d I r ,' "' »'™^« we anygovernmentdo be he""-"'' "■" "''»' ™" '* the riotc, dote „„?•'"■' ""' '"'* P™" who is in the wro, I o " ""-^^"g-tion as to '•--seshaveeea::dtb;?;;:rr^'<''''"'' Francis was found in tr-,„n,Hl . eovetcd deiijfht. tov nl -T^ Possession of the t-n,nil,ity «.e desi "em:rof':;,t;' ""^ '™' tlie world ; why conid w„ ? , «»' ernments in brother alone ? ' ""' ''"^ '«« onr little "'ns tranqnill,. roltl' J td'''"'" '"""""•''"^ being P'aintiifs, and' 0,e trf< Ir "=''' ""^ P"P^'™^ nal plaintiffs. Franci, .w ^^ l"",- '"^P^'" - "Other trnl, said, •' w^ "r,e.,"''t"-" •" ni'tua to raise 116 A0A1N8T THE STIiEAM. his sweet little voice," while I at least was in one contnnial wail and clamor. Even our father often gave the verdict aj^ainst US. _ riic world M-as large," he wonld say/- and Francis was little; why did we just want the one thing the poor little fellow had set his heart on tmd was so peaccablv enjoy in o- ? " ' In vain we pleaded rights^which we knew to be unquestionable ; what can be more tiresome or seeni more selfish, than to be alwavs pleading ones rights, especially against M'hat is apparently the weaker party ? 1 1 j . ''yi^'yj"^^^ ^ve always shrieking about our rights ^ Brothers and sisters should not think about rights. They should be always ready ' to give up ' to each other, and to do as they would be done by." So, between my stepmother's fondness, my tather s generosity, and interpretations of the Seil mon on the Mount which drove me wild with the impossibility of combating them, and the certainty of their being wrong, the tyranny of our little brother was established. This was a state of things, however, that could not Jong continue unbroken. At length my stepmother once more proi)osed that Piers and I should be sent to Miss Felicity's school. '' ^ My father had long opposed this, having cer- tain theories of education, I think partly derived IS m one t a^j^ainst ay, " and tlie one leart on, knew to iresome, pleadini^ parentlj >ont our 't think adj 'to ^oiild be ?ss, my lie Ser- ith tlie jrtaintj r little t could o})osed licitj's g cer- erived A0AmS2 TllEsmEAM. £»• IX-Jr"''"'"""»"'-"'--y With Miss ,.o"t u. faeuuio: t):o\t, ttrs "' "'"•■"-' .n as calling „„(, ,,,„„,^ be a d™t ' '""""^' f ""■"' «•"■■■ -•*-•.., not the fltti„."n T?" • "'' ii-aine to contnr.f o,.^ "Liuig on ot an iron out. Thootrts ™"'j: ^^°*"' ^'™" --a- and colorless wi d eu 1 •'"" ""■"''""«»-° fro^handfulloflom ™d n "",'' '''"'' "'» -2, eo.ido.d "idt^^^r - :- 1? ^o7;::;^tfw]::;Tr'''-r-"^^^^^^^ -ouldnotdevlCouto ?""f""' ^'"'■^ ^"-^ I tiplication table ™io " "'"•'''™^ «™» ">« "."I- ''-i"-stor,of%t^Sr:er.r;f"™'^""'- gods a„d hc-oes. Not tl.at T. ""'• "■■ "'° history," she wnni.l , " '"«' ""'c'!' use in •'^Vhitwas h^r: „ i:!!"'.'" "^■"■•^"^ '•dmit. foolish „,en's d edl" t Mn '""I'T"'' "'<"* '""' a»s, you would hCL '"' "'"""^ "f ■•" P''l- gods and heroes. a„d I .."..'l?™";""' "'"J ">o tile world combe ininced to the third, contemptuously Ignoring systems and philosophies, and recogniz- ing nothing but facts and phenomena; and Piers and I remained in the earliest, seeing nothing but persons and personifications. Froni the beginning, I think, although most landly disposed towards us, Miss Felicity never- theless regarded us as rather dangerous little per- Bons, brouglit up in no one knows what heretical persuasions concerning the rights and the wron<.s of man. » The years of our school-life were among the most reactionary years England ever saw Not an abuse but was rooted in its place, and not a harvest of reform but was stunted and nip- ped by tiie French Reign of Terror n....?l*^ ^''''f}^^ ^'' ^'^'"^'^ ^^^'''^'^^^ their nai lowest political prejudices into articles of tiie Oreod, when the Revolution and his own personal patience had consecrated the French king into a ;o it with siderable ^iers and :I accord- andoned To us d a very y fatlier the auG le Miss )tuouslj 3cogniz- d Piers ing but jh most never- tle per- iretical ivrouofs ng the 'Q, and d nip- tlieir of the rsonal iaio a, I'f boon Ja„„|,-„3. jj"^"- ">d tLemsdvcs as if tkev -'- looked for the J tnl 'f '"" "'■■ ^^'-"o'l ^"°ri■» little, Miss Fe tv JT'^' "''^ ""«' "''^fet '« what I mean by rS ^"'f^' '''''' ''e-- That ^ e mnst kt her al„„l / """ ■''»^'''*ta"ce fails tmnq„i„v -vait." "" ""'' "•■"''' ^^^ Felicitj^ Mild lories, on the other b^„^ n Pyford and Mr. Eabbid™ t hi ' '''" '"^ ""<='« servative from fear b„„ " ' '° "''"> «'ere Con- ■'-"• They .o!Z^:Z^'^ 7T' ■*" '•'■- "'■• of the-.r own on behaTf o ' , " ^'^n of Te,. t;on, wo„:d "keep the mobl '' ^'.°"°"« ^''^t''"- f« to my father,' b,' ■;,;'';^;™' -." -d u.y nn- "'y the gibbet, orthe-^ '»'"d. if necessary ..,%t:f^;::s^--^;>.erd,i,. '^- '-0 have, on^r C^s lt„:tCrr; 120 AQAmST THE STliEAM. -as„..etenj:tV;<;fri7lS iiions, evcitpr] u. o r x- -^-^oufee of Com- natio,; go ett ?e :;^,„': '7"°"' "''^"'^'^ ''^' " t>on ag.i„3t ee,,t„,.ios of oppress'" ntr^" sittiS ™'2 stt?f "''"-"r ^'<^"^ »"" ^ -- and I was reading "ion ^ S/'"V"'' '^'"'°' tnees, so intently that I I ? *""''''" "'^ -«iine^irt;-^'''^'''^^-^^'"''«. I ii.ornt?S:!'5,f r^'^ "•'"■ "■'' "-'< '^oea„so %ht on e -nf ' "'"'"r' '" *™^ «"»« with my "tel'nf""'"' ,T"""-' '^^^ °»""«^t«d brino-tler^T- /™" ^ '■""<='*'' ^^■'"■'^1' ""X'lit titlj wont lit in the of Com- ted by a 'S hy tlie bJe reac- nce. f course B"Jit me ' to mv I were tiigliest Pluto, on nij fether uncle slope, 2cause some d the lected "ight pi-ac- tural ^OAU'ST TJIE ^ritEAX '•;ftV' about the «,„,,,. ., . ^-^ » P';ss«ffe assertfng that .. ^M" '"°"«"'! »'^« J»^"ke,- through which If ^""''™ "» "id our «° *'7 other, hue ; , a„r:- '^ '"'^''' fr"™ 0" .<""•, duty to God a; I bv ;,?/'"' '°"^'^«"S in *^°"gl.t eJoaror than the Cal?"" ""''" "''"•«'> I the tr"^^'^^"""-^/™ approving p., „„ "It ' «»■• ^%/iV'l e'°/"* f o-t our a'weV.as about Pf'or." And li,, „/-f '•' in the S„„ ^^ Ins hands. " "'" ""'""ne confiding^ i„to He started as if he h«A >, from him to the ground t. ™ ''""» « Ten Com. The onl, res,,;' afen^d'f '■»""""" Po,'tnne p„rs„it of k„owledl , ™ '"^' '"OP- of a little direct rel o, 1 ^ ™' "'""'■'•• foi'ci 7 That even L , f °"V'''°" '™™ ™-'' ''^'I'O''- Oalc parlor. R^Jlj * ■"! T '"'^ '''■"-'« ■" «>" "Other was pn „, fc » '-<'' ^^ »7 step. ^ wc'o alone. A^dlov^ f'^'P' ^" «'»' "'e -tW,presen7tot:o:ersr:;t"U"-'' 12i AGAINST TEE STREAM. « Brid 0, my Jurlin^c:," lio said, '' Diities are better thiiiirs tor us to think about tl.aii ri^dits." " If othor people w.Mild oidy think about vh^hU a little, father," I ventured to murniur, " then it would be very nice to have notliini. w,(»\eine(j JVliss Felicitr nn,l «n aii ^Veir, bad fl.f. k.. .. . ''^•>' '^"'^ «" Abl Mad, '^'itbis been possible to...., ."^me bad only been seen' i"y French vv Wijuld )0t'8* tine, and i^^eetinc. TVfl r , ' '''*'" ^^^^'^'«»- tl.earchedC:i,^,'^^r^"^'^^"^^'*^^ Abbot's Weir hJi not" ?""^^^^ ^^^'^r^m^.^ as ^ ; u jiad not previously dreamed of the parlor insidoH,?.,""*" '""■ '"<"l'«'- i" )ieit/8 win. b,rt , ''''7PP'»'>-''d "nder Miss Fe- ,7 ° » "i<„ Diit not under lier rod n« a i • i /, amateur scholar. ' " '^'"'^ "^ It was an Anynst after-noon, very snltrv Tl, ' foom wasIon.»andl,.«-. Tvr- ' .*- J ^""'■7- The I'y no government r' i f ""''^ «■«■' '««e'-<=d certainly not eno 2 o 1 '*;• ""'"' '"""S'' ^ "^ "i"- Miss Felieitv Zf, ° "^""P '"'■'-^' »'"■''''•«' awake. 126 AGAINST THE STREAM. empcrof thon.i.trcm Tl.o Hies wore <]ruMsilv huAAuv^ now and tl.en Hcruin«t tho panes, tl.c black eat sleepily pnrnng on the window-seat, too lajsy even to wink at my stepmother's cat on the onpo- s.to w.ndow. Many of the children out of reach ot the ,-od had yiehled to sleep, and the rest were hopelessly stru^i^o.!;,,. against it, when tlie qnestion catnc in a sliarp voice from Miss Felicity— ''Bridget Danescombo, who were the heroes?" 1 must have been half asleep myself, for I re- member instantly sitting up trying to look especi- ally wide awake, us is the wont of persons so sur- prised, and responding desperately to the last word which I had caught. "Father says there are some in France, Miss l^ehcity. He said so last night. They pulled down a wicked place called the Bastile." Miss Felicity's color rose. I think she did not know whether I said it in simplicity or in malice. " Bridget Danescombe," she repeated, slio-htly rapping my fingers to recall my attention, " Think what you are saying. Who were the /leroes f » " And some, father said, there are in England " I continued, divided between anxiety to sustain < myself by that infallible judgment, and dread of the well-known little ebony ruler. " They want to pull down the slave-trade and the impressment- he said impressment. These are our Bastiles. I know he said they were heroes. And the only name I remember is Granville Sharpe." " Silly child, dreaming as usual," said Miss Fe- <( Ji^'ify. 'Jiplnrnaticall ^1^M/.V.STr7M'.s7-/?yi:j^,^ 127 ftnsvvcT, and nd "jy knuckles. »j inonisliing nio by a aov pcnIouH S i^°"" ^"""«- ""« *- Pnss to y„„r bi-oil ci-c ran K p on ler— tH-o ■•' of n,, anil:: j ^^^^^^^^^^^ "i-v,.a .•e„„ L " f ™'?'' ",",'?- of Pier,. ,,.,',''"'" /''■'■''o « •■'•gl. f! Miss Folieit,. " 1,„ ;, 1 . I.O.- chd say so, only Jast niM.t " ^' ''" ""'^■ h- tins time the lifH,. „ . ""g'^ly .n-onsed, wi |! t „ pS'",'""""^ "•■■>' """- tlie battle from a«,r "'«'i"ct scenting "Yo8, indeed, Miss Felicitv " T "fatlier said inini-esainn. / •'' ™"tnred, slaves was aa bad as I f,-"" "'"' "'"'''"A' ■•" «'e, and Mr. Q a„ril e s "' '""^ ' "'' "'*''°^''«- ing to stop it. "e!^^:'* «'"' ^ ''«'o 'br try- t'- hero's na„,o, a.d a ' Ibn'" """ """ '''•' b.^thep„4:\:^,:~->.^^^^^^^^^^^ of a.i Amice Glanvil's great .nv^ ' '"« "P- ^ ^'^ der and qnestionrng! " '""''" "''S''"™ "'on^ She loolied a sliade more mllid fi, '^!-'l-in,so„. I.-emem\^:';',f™:7'''"' 'egro footmen, and f fn|t-o -r. T ■ ''"' -7tiu-ngtogrievem,prf;;'2^»'«»>"l and 128 AGAINST THE STEEAM. hi- J For But I had not miieli time for reflection, then out and spoke Dick Fvford. "Miss Felicity, if Bride Danescombe were not a gii-1, so that no one can do anything to her, she would not dare. My own uncle is a sea captain, and I am going'to sea, and he says people who cry out against impi-essment are traitors and fools. I heard him. The king's navy could not be kept lip without, and then the French would come and kill the king and burn up London, and Abbot's VV eir, and all of us." The conflict was becoming perilous. Was Miss Felicity's class of mythology — extra— to prepare the more aristocratic classes for Mr. Rab- bidge, and to distinguish them from the common nerd, to end in this ? Had not Mrs. Eabbidge, always a little too eagerly alive to the growth of Miss Felicity's pupils into her husband's, denounced the mythol- ogy as a poaching on his demesnes? And had not Mr. Rabbidge himself mildly admitted that Miss Felicity was meddling with matters too hio-h for her ? ^ And was it to be said that such frightful Jacob- inism had been uttered in her presence unavenged ? The case was perplexing. On the score of pohtics it could not be taken up. Piers and I had appealed to C«sar in the person of our father, and to Miss Felicity paternal authority was a foundation of all other authority, by no means to be lightly interfered with. For o lush. ^f^^^^ST TUB STiiE. dM She therefore 129 (;^^ a> a dunce rather than as a here- .S''^oUr::™^'"«-ee/Th cuies and Pa 'i"seus :ods. Ther ') — and others." cy ■e were Iler- *y, not having a 1,0^', ™'^ ^'"^ ^<^">'« '^■■oes and the dragons We >r- '^"'' "'° gone thousands of y?ar P • , ^""' '*<""' ^d «'» --J-,- b„t I m^ t put S Danesco.„be, I "Id you ninst sit on th.tl > '"''"'J' "" ^O", tl'o sehooi. Talce ^hi, f °°' '" "'^ "'ddle of of the heroes Wht,o:f '"? ''"'■" "'« '^^'-^ "ay come down." " ''"^ ''^"''"'^'^ «'em yon )-'o"te^S:£:lr:»'-«-™y'itt,e.ob.ap, '"0 dimb on a tal] s tool Tr™ P'P'^'' "<» '"«* Jacobinism erusi.cd and tits' ""'? "'^ «^™» "^ ..nd stood beside mo, Jiis eve« fl i "''' <''""« ™™«on, in defiance of a^ t ""^^ ™^ '"'« «'ee Felicity took no not ee ff! " ^^ ^''^"'•' • ^iss ^'^ff for J,er to delHu t ^"ir™'"' «™ '"o venges. '*" '" PoMy, irritating re- ani^^dXr t^:^;r;°^ •'-•"ered fti-^nge instinct of fusti.o T , ^""^ ^^ ^^'^"^ ^etw.nmystepnj,ef:::dMr;;ij:* ^ij stepmother liad ne^ -f- 9 r"«l7 *nge -s, arrange,; „„. ;„;,'';"' «-'"i her Jisso,„o i'^sed mj quivering iip J'f/ "'-^ "«'e cap, and tears. Tl,p„ „ ° * ' '""^ I was bnrsf.v ■ -.rtosHd ' if aT" '-^^d eoiii r: "7 "■'•'^;-'"o^o:rVi;:x'S.™^*--~ ■^iersand I of « "corners apartinenf down noiseless]. frZ ^, *''^ Sf»»«. Amice ea,n<, ''^'y Stood befo,.,:: ^ """'ov..eeat, and T„T ^ oyes IZ Z':;^ »'' -' those dart " w!' '''"' ""° 110. """«' "'rough asW. """'' ^"'•^ -•^'^ ^»A«^ .&„,,, „,,^ % eyes sank before her gaze noth,„g. "ig m e.xeuse, but I could find f'7f le'l'^d" "rlt/^ "'■"''-^'^ -'» have ''^d ^'--o^. And he ifi f " "" *^°''''' »'^ - "• ■^«»''« not wicked. 133 AGAINST TUB STREAM. And I was born with slaves. How can we lieln Miiat we are born with ? " Slic spoke very low, with a deep voice and a clear hn^-ering utterance, which to me sonnded ioreii,m. Tiie question was beyond me. " ^""'^ ^f "^ ^^ kind to tiiem," I said, feebly. J- hat was all I could think of. " Some old Greek people se^ them free ! " said l-iers, tlioughtfuUy, more childlike tlian I ; - that is M^hat my father said Mr. Granville Sharpe wanted ion can set them freer he said, with a boy's di- rectness, " that is the only way, I think, of being kmd to slaves." '^ Amice Glanvil turned her penetrating glance on him, as if to look him through; but his frank, blue eyes met hers with a steady gaze, and bore the scrutiny. /'Set them free! Piers Danescombe," she said, "lou do not know in the least what you are talking about. But you have given me the ansvver at the very bottom of your thoughts, and I thank you." For she was not in the least like a cliild, our princess. The negro nurse came to fetch her, and inter- riipted our conversation. _ But when she was wrapped up in her gold and crimson splendors, she turned back to us and took one of our hands in each of hers. " Bride Danescombe," she said, " I like you I have known and liked you a long time, and I like you better to-day. Piers Danescombe, you are a AGALYSJ^ TUE STiiEA. M. I felt honoi^ed as bv ? , ^"od-bj-e." «o. was 000.0, and i?ride. IIow shall I keep you in order now ? You will never be afraid of the ruler and the fool's-cap more.' ^ But I began to love Miss Felicity. And oh the good it did me to hear a grown-up woman actually confess she had made a mistake and done wronir ! It restored to me my ideal of justice. It made me feel there was one right way for little children and grown people. ^ From that day I would not have ofiended or grieved Miss Felicity for the world. But when she left the room Miss Loveday put her arm around me and said "Little Bride, it is quite right to learn about the old heroes. All little boys and girls must. But never thou give up believing in the lieroes / AffAIWST TUK uritBAM. jg, and saints now. Tiiit ;= n, know the hc-oos of long ""' Z'\^ "■'^' "<" '» "bio mistake we can mako anv If """* ""'- earn to know the heroes and saints ri " ""' '» to-day, who are with „« 1 '^'"' '* """^'"'S ""sundet^tanding God i,lT; """T" *'""' '^ '*^' and Savion, and^pntlg" SCrr'-" "^'^ -'•ong, made ^ntZ t^^lT'l'' "''" "-"' to find t!,em i„ the worfd in , Vf'"' '^^'^ now, and loot to find ^ , T""' '""« ™rfd- »d ,o„ wilU d S, ''nT'^"'"^'"^"'-". ">-, m,y dears, and foilow "henrVh'f ^'"^ '° are called and whateverThe! ,1 1 f '™' «"^^- that way, you may grow lite H,! *"' ""<'' '" «"d, Bride," she added^'n , "" *""• 0''' "'ank e-"! long ;go fo, «t !\''Z "r^' " I did ast «^owed me /onr mothe; n ^' ''°';''' "«' ""d before she went awa And tl ^r' ^^ '" '"^ all my life, Neve, „ '^"''.'"•t ''as helped mo heroes are livi.fl no ion ''^ ""'* "'^ ^^""^ ""d roes are notl^d ntTh' T" ^"*- "^'"^ ''e- -'nts gone to ^ZJ'k^^l^Y'l '" ' -"eepyour heart open and :;:S,X:r w m 130 AGAIN .' TUE tiTIlEAM. For, wiion fotl.er Jmd said Miss Felicity was ■, |-, he had said also t,.at Miss IoJ:^:::: ~o\reraH:i:5f\r,::7,- ^ -t i CHAPTER IX. ^'^^ve not failed. ' seed-time and harvest ""iiat are blossoms thrn- « ">« painted shows? W a?-™'. T" '"'° » »•' "ever awatens into „,anhot ^ '''''""'°'' ^'"ci, "»ve no harvest bnf pro „ 7 ^"^"^-'^es whieii «nd never fulfllied ? P^'Petuaily renewed " tonight there'' ,r,,,^i bewilderment, no losinTXtr "" ''^'*'"^«^> "» "nrf, DO horror of doubt T i I' "" '"'^^'ng our Maly not, no fJht ' ""'^''^ «^ *«"W eer .7 viijgarizing symbols in- 138 A0AIN8T THE STliKAM. , to piotures, or by liamniering out poetioal i„.ac.08 into prosaic panibles ! ^ Again ana again in <>nr lives "God takes us b.y the Imnd," as the old Moravian hynu. sings, "and says, start afresli." *' Hero, indeed, onr fresli startings are made ne- cessary, too often, by onr wanderings from tl.e - way, or onr weariness of the M^ay. 13nt the ful- ness of ],ie tliere will surely not be less rich in va- riety and glorious growth than the liindered and fhietnat.ng and failing life here. For ever it will be wa king in " newness of life." O wondrous ful- ness of joy, when all the past shall enrich, not bur- den and sadden, the present; when before the heart, sat.shed witli the present in His presence, shall spread endless ranges of hope in the unveiled inturo, also in His ])resence ! We shall not be gods hereafter, but children of (-Tod; and, forever, in our Father's hand, will be inhnite possibilities of growth unforeseen by us and divme surprises of bliss. ' One sueli morning, or fountain liead, in my life was that memorable afternoon when Miss Felicity exalted me to the stool of repentance and crowned me with tlie fool's-cap, and afterwards exalted her- self and human nature in mv sight bj confessing herself in the wrong, and crowned me with the kiss of reconciliation, which sealed me her loval subject thereafter. For then and there three great friendships of my hfe began : that dear discipleship to Loveday "^(^^^l^'^^T THE 8mt:^iM. p , 130 '""•■■orino the Jiul v n ' "'" '""""'»'" f"', And ,,r,t ,,, '"="•■'" '" "o"'- O'"' lives bei^,,, S fl,":; "^ "™ '0 ■"«. '•"to thoae tv^o eel; :;'" ""{ ''"S"" '« P-t, I'ood w],iel. are c e 1° "■'""•™l'0"d and n,,an- two,-so much m'"? to tl,e world. " "'"' """='•• «» n'ud, .nor^ "n opposite course to r '"""'■ ^''"'^ '"""^ A.n;co at Court, irLd.r'''^"'"'-'^-'''' 'M^'-™ird\r::;:::'r/\---^"'- to him" for so many T" H "^ r","" ■"°*- •no greatly. '^ ''^ ^- "'^ "-oftsal surprised ">y delight in acceptiir '" ""'"*'■ " ''ttJe at '" " ""' " ^^'•^ desirable Louse io iW ! uo AGAIN8T THE STRIUM. visit at, and she was pleased to see mo nppreci, "It is a big house cerfainly, Jh-ide," said tny fother ; "but you know we do not grow bigger by ^ being III big houses." 00/ "Mr. Danescoinbo," remonstrated my sten- niotlier, -lot me entreat you not to teach Jacobin- isin to Bnde : for girls at least it cannot be suit- ';it is not the house, father," I said; "it is Amice." • ;; Amice, with the glory of the big house about her, he said," and the black servants, and the GW '''• '''" ''''^ ^"^^ ^^^ ^-- ^'- ^" Oh, fatlier," I said, « all our lives lono- " ' A very extensive period," ?ie said. ''^ I did not know you had ever spoken to each other." ^ ^0, not exactly sj)o7cen until yesterday," I said, but looJced, and understood each other al- ways." He laughed and said no inoro. But in the evening I endeavored to shake Tiers's resolution. ^e were sitting in that very miscellaneous nmber-room, music-room, and workshop of my father's, called the Summer parlor. I was planning Armadas, and talking of o-rcat naval campaigns. (We were just at the outbreak of the first war with the French Republic.) Piers was construetiii.,- M Uffi^ ^hiV • 1 au.' ■ /• 1 , ' - snip, a division uf labor AGAISUl' rUK SrjtEAM. it is frerjnoiit bctH-oen ,is Tr„ " ^^^ '"" " critic, except ,.; /," "'"' ^"'"'""^ ' "akcr, *'"•"« ti.nt would flo 1,1 ■■'•' r"""''" ^'•'"'"")-- '^''cJ ""til tl,e i;tt,e yZl'J! "'"" ■'^■™'' «"- '"■""■"'0 Lnnds could ,tl . T "? f",*'' "^ '"» <•'»% yo^u-s iu, I,;.j ,„, "y "• I IJoUevo from ''- «-owd is „,o,r ;';™ ;i-t ti,e ..*,-,,,. „, ™en«.oc.„„ot,ir„ll,?;^X"-^^^ tie boy ? ' " '''""'*'' ^"w ' aiieu jou a 'lit. He lauffiied, -%ite;::;^:ef:d''i-:r'::'''^--^ (-'-«. ^^^ot). Later in life I ^ ''°;™"g'" «nd too fy the poor refuj: of "!,'" f""«'" -'-o %''t the battles-'no, jik^o '^ "'^° '""^'^ "ot fco eun calli.,^ rnTll,/'"' ' "*»''"" diifer- I «'» a little bo,°rn" er ™rf ..r^'^'' ^ ^'''''^^^ Feminine and mlSl ■" "'"^ ^<='»'f-" -"■•»i' very prlr '"« *;«-«on. „.„, be- «"Jentl,- totterin,,; and also^'f ';™'r"'™"^ '™« ,., "I don't believebo .1- L ) V* ^'"'''J™1»"«- liJce boys," I said; "at l t « f ''""^'■'«' l^^iug do. Claire dcs Orm t„t T '"""' ''«^« '»)-^ --t^iandlamsnro^lVltb::;''"^'''''^" 142 AGAINST THE STREAM. " She is not like a boy or a girl, or anjthino-," he replied. °' "Less?" I said. "No, you know very M^ell, sister," he said, " fnore / " "^ Yes, I think so," I said. « When she kissed me, It felt as if it had been the queen. What is she like ? A fairy ? or a princess ? or an an^el ? or a hero ? " "How can we tell, sister? We never saw either. Only it would be worth while to do some- thing for her, like what she did for vou, )J — f ^**^ Av^i y \yu. " Yes," I said, " it would. But there is noth- ing to do." "Something always comes to do," he said, " when we are ready." ^ It was a cheerful view of life, and more ax- lomatu than Piers knew. We had wandered from Amice and Court. "And you will not go to Court? ^t if father wishes it ? " "Father does not care," he said. Which I knew was true. " Not to see Amice ? who is nearly as ^ood as 'a boy, and all those wonderful monkeys, and par- rots, and models, and museums ? " " I Ciin see Amice at school," he said. " Oh, Piers, why won't you ? Not with me ? » " Sister Bride, I cannot;' he said. " I cannot be waited on by slaves." i 1 img/ ^(^^J^^r THE .STUBAM. 143 ^ ^lad cried over tl.rov, ' «"d Lad somotiL tl 'k p"!""^^ »f ''-oue; «•«"» on tl,e subject ^ "■' '■"""''■ l^ke- into his very heart "'' ^'"' '«'«" ^^to-ing I could saj no more. So I went alone to Court. -It was more awful than T , , »<=t at the door by tL tt f "?<"'""'• I was "Shored with bows thr tghZ tlf '°°""^"' »'' dinmg-room, into the lan^e „;m ' """■"""' ''""l ^'0 one was there ard».""°-™°"'- stately rooms, among the an. ?', '" ""^^"^ ^reat t '0 ancestral ehai«r a^ the T ' ^""'"'^ "'"^ alone, without Piers t„ , . ''fPanese cabinets: ''•«'« gW indeed. 1 "d IT'"'- ' ^^^ » very Miousuess of clothes not . -f ;""=°™''<>rtable eon- "■o. which throZ tv^";''''"V'"^''"«« ''«'• it was dangerous." ' "''"<'«?««% when S'lo had her hot • ._ -<m.ged into then,selve" jIT^'"^ eharaeters-- P'e who had told wortdeir ?''''"'""• ^e* 'ng lions and tigers ,n ,^ ""■"' "*' "'ei'-KH- q'"te white, Jr'C^t"tT^^'''^'<-, turned questioning the capfca l\- '"■ ^'■''^'' ""d Icept 7.y danger ? AndTne m n Tf' ■'' "'-<' ^-- "'e Hethodists, and had s^m 1 ''"V"""''^" "' ca,„„ o.„l .,_, . '"0 SWO.U bltr o,,tl,. a<,t„^j,^ It was capital ftu, 10 doe to Praj- for him. J*' 146 AGAINST THE STliEAM. it< t I began to tliink her rather elfisJi and Imrd hearted-" cynical" 1 should have said had I Known the word. ^ ''Chloe is a Methodist," I replied, rather eva^ sively I kno V a Metliodist, too, old Eeuben Pan- gellj." "Yes," she said ; " the old man witli the vio- oncello, m a scarlet waistcoat. Chloe loves him like a brother. And Chloe heard from him about you.^ He loves you all so much. Only Granny won t let her go often to the meetings. She says It gives those poor creatures notions." " What notions ? " I said, rising out of my life- Jong awe of Amice with some indignation. " Ko one would get anything but good notions from Keuben." " Good notions for white people, very likely » she replied; - but white people and black are not the same. At least, so Granny says. I am not sure; however, it makes very little difference to Ohloe For she has her notions, wherever she is, and they make her very happy." 1^' What notions make her happy?" I asked, ihat God 18 veiy good, and loves every one, black and white. That He can make black people have white hearts," she replied softly. " It makes her very happy. But I cannot quite see it. At eas If I were black I should iind it difficult to think God had cared much, or taken much trouble about me." ^OAmsT THE STUEAM. i aid not see it oncp " T -a 8ho^ved me." '^' ^ "^ "tilj Uenhm " I^id not see w/)r/f g"' i into mj eyes. * '^'^ '^'^^ booking full "Thenyoun^stfl^itr!;^;^^^^^-"^^^^^^ ^nd ungratefh]. /,,,, f/";^^ ^f!^ very cross JI"». But I do now"" ^^^ "^^ understand Gbe smiJed a little pecuJi.,. . m . sarcastic but not severe "^' ^^ ^^^ ^wn, " Understand God f » <,J.n • - depth in her tone " Th f '"'''' '"^^'^ ^ ^^^ange ii"ie^->I. You ire a yea^. V ^'°^ ^^^^ ^^ * P^euben told Chloe." ^ '^''""^^^ '^^^ I am. "Understand tJiat TX • good al^js,'. 1 3,y „ "Jl;"^ Father, and « .^^-^goodd'ealt'.^-;- ., ?'"'"Ido. But Chloe does 9, "'"^ ' ""'"™ '«"'• let a Mack man carrv 1, ''■'•^' "^ ^av- qmte sure of that. B^lui T, ™''- ^ ^^ ^'<" Waek then i„ Africa, the h stor ' ''' "T ""' "" ^orst of history. It dis u,h1 ■* ^^''- ^''^' '« «i'e "«t one History. Andlf c^ T"'^'' "' ''*'«' o"''' ti.at black man carrti"! 7 °"' '""• '" ""'"i' »f -^«lr «ee, even if -^ " ; r^' ^'^^ ^ can't 148 A0AIN8T THE STREAM. " All, Ainiee, I can see ! " I said. " Woiiklu't you have liked to cany it for Hiin ? " She paused a moment, and then said, very slowly and gravely, " If He had given it to me. Eut He did not. It was only the Eonians." " It is almost always the Romans or the Jews who do lay things like that on people," I said. " But it was Ills cross. Ah, I do think I should have liked that! To have helped Him a little ! " *a think you. would," she said, with a sort of tenderness that had not been in her voice before, "/would rather have beaten off tlie Jews and the soldiers." " I should not like to have been the Romans ! " slie added, very low and sadly. " Do you think any one can be like that now"?" she asked, with one of her sudden, inquiring looks, as if she would surprise an answer out of one's eyes. The whole meaning flashed on me, and I was dumb. ^ "Because," she said, "if that history is always going on, yon see, as Chloe seems to think, there must always be the two sides, and one would like to be sure on which side one is." "Do you care for flowers?" she resumed, changing her tone and subject suddenly. "1 don't ; unless they are wild. Furze and heather on the down, when one is galloping over it, are nice. But in beds they are tiresome. And espe-. ^<^^INST THE STREAM. j^^ teea I shall have to tho v - '" ^ "'" ^e™"- ffO'Seous this flower is anT , '''•>■'"*? ''««■ on and on forTverTl T '°™'^ *""'^rffe, Ti.e,ya..esoq„eeTndt™oV'"T f "' ^ '■•'-' one can so easily mal-.tl , '''^""^- ^^d fres belong to one i f "'""'°'-'' ^■''"'' «^ea P-P!«ity. \t Ct'no soTirr '"T f '"'«"' conscience ; that is the ta,, J "" ""^ '"'"J ■"> yon s„..e they have „o ' 1 , '°"" "''''»• ^re n-,and soL horse ::^:7;,''-f^ ""=- i-ind of souls !7TOWM„ ,-,, H "•*' '""' ^"me «%tobeaso^ni. s ;^:ir::';^" ^-- eat hadTTf r,2 '^.ift ^ stepmother's siieh a very had nno T ' ™' '' ™"8t be And I anf sure Thasl"" '•'"P'' '' ''-'^''• o- tittens. Th ,'p„7r;^,7- Nor ^y and are so soft and ;/,"'' ''S''"^' one, thought of their lanti:?'"';'*''^ """ ^ "eve; ''Cats? cer,,:;nt"i7. rhf""';^'; ediy. "I always think ot; eoSid T'"' '''"'■* pat oneself almost All ft,r an ' '""'^'^ " >ng to bo stroked. That i7. '""''"' ''"^ ^''a"t- others, like th^ers all . ' *""'• T'""* "re " '• ^" """»">g. and stealth, and 150 AGAINST THE STBEAM. ep'to One conlfl no?; have made, loould not if one could. Ah, Eride ! (may I call you Bride ? It is so much more like you than Bridget) how many puzzles there are! Does it not ~eem as if the devil must liave created some things ? " "The devil create anything!" I said indi..- nantly "No! God-the good God-created everythmg, and created everything good." "It is not all very good just now," she said, shakmg her head. ''At all events, the devil has spoiled a great d6al." ^ All this was said at intervals, as she was show- ing me round the place, garden, rabbit-hutches, pheasantry, poultry-yard, her own horse in the J« p " , ana so natural and full „f lit gardeners can spoil thorn T?^ , "' "" valley, the .mj „h- "*'-''' '''"=^ °f 'he B"t V ge ables poor rt ''"'''""''''^'' •'""' ^'"l^^- I'est in an tneTa '!"*''%'''■' "'^.'-^do'-g their ing about the :f ^ fhT' ""' '"' ""•»■^- gardens are alwat-1 1 L "^'"^ *« A^^^fs in kitchen suppose tl>o cZan'; "'Th ''™;V''"''"''»'^-' I toes itnproves E"-" ' "'^'"' '""""^ '^^^ bor^ra"nti^.rrr°-o..%.ittlear. a-ho^lr-dttcx teT^- "^T open air nor indoors. Andf'hate a« T ""''^"^ »" """"•"g to do with il " "• '^P'^"'"".}' "« I l-avo iongtltlnirXo ^ '""= '"'^' ""-^ «-" » into .nine. ''°'° ''^'"■' ^"'^'nod to come "There! what would r',.„ would call it a ' scene ' T^ ^r -^ ''''■'' ' «''« A" J-our pretty Se.-s ruffl , t ^^''^^''''''''e ? in a ^outh-wesL. Comet '^ '^ ^°" '""^ ''''™ and Chloe shall helpyou " ^'''"' ^"'"■^'=1^. «go, as ,0,. ,nSu t™ Twf -ft', ^^"f" ^-- "nd you such lovers of MacTs' ' """°'' ' '""•"' was;^ri;X;rXf-™-anv,asshe -dinaryattire :; :f;,i,;'' r "" "" '" ''- (woven in the cot'al 1 ^ !'"» "'~"'^" dress rath„r *o-t ,;,,''°'f Se-Iooms of Abbot's W».» - "°'''^''- a Wd, all grey-not Miss Love! If 1"4 AGAINi^T THE STUL'AM. ■S^ IH A very fine, erect, m.-inlv oW UrUr ^ • Described in color, her whole effect was steel p-ey, as Lovo.Iay Bonbow's was dove-color ler also sfonny, thunderous flashes *^ ' She looked ,„e all over, not, however, in a wav wh h made me conscious of clothes. i| en Iho nodded, rather a„,,n,vi„.,,, a„<, then she si M- Go in and get ready for dinner. You havo -enm,n„tes. Do you think I can wait Z clTi,! «-tr;S!r^''!^^:rd'r™?»^"- 80 f]p-if tLf u ^'^^^ IS deaf, jou know— 1 e lifes U«t r™" '■"" ""^"""^ "•" -''"' e iKes, so hat It ,s fj„,te useless to be ano-rv or The dmner was silent. And again, the weic^ht and th \C„,I^.rr h^ "'' "" ""' >''*'^' ^aiiiviu uiiiia like our verv li^cf i.ri.,M was never e,-were a little oppreSivtt' . '" ],ert? / rr'^af f '" """':" ^''"'^ '^-'f '» n-i, ,n a great chair by the window, and told AGAINST THE UTItlUM. US to go and amuse oursolves T^.f r.«r. t ;p-d the i^anci... silk ^Z^.^J':Z h : Hoe, to keep off tJ,e fiies (of wl>r }, he snoke in language so strong it souncied to m; ' th r like 8wea.-,ng), she eaJled me to J,er. "Stand tliere in the lifHit ^^-1.1^ "n combe," she said " on.l i . ,' " •-• '' ^'^"^8- , biic saia, and let me Iook at you." liiere M'as something in Iier dirpr.f I'n... • wav u-liir.l. T.,fi , uiieer, imperious ^aj Mhich rather amused me; and not feelinr. under her sceptre, I stood feJrless, lookin" f occasionally nto her xr.-ov n,.^ ^^kiu^ up Bl.e would L^ or do , 'oft ^ ^ ' '™"'''""° "■''^' r ''''■' ^■'""- *''"'»■•' «»«I" Wts of yon t^,a I do," k"«-v_,.o„r eves and eyebrows. I s, It thov bad stock to co,„e of.as old a ta,„il,. as any in ho connty,only on the wrong sido, generally as to P« . .OS, w ,en there «,.« politics wort i, th nkint I ftghting about; the .older branch, bnt ParlhnTer anans: thoyonngerbra„clnnana.ed.,et^ u^^^^ tbo k,ng, and are in the House rflC A,^d I ear your father is following the femilv was- Wh,g or even Jacobin, or one of thos; „hilt7 tl.r„p,sts who are worse, always mind n/otf^er" r"f duties Don't flush and b 1.: d d People cannot help what they inherit, I have „„ "pnuon of people who change their ian,i!v tltt I or rei.s,on,- although it is a pity f„r 'thLn of conrae. it thn^r l.« x„ , ^ -^ ' '^'■^^^ih oi .,. ' - "o" "" ^53 a uiiy lor then eourse, ,1 they happen to be wrong. Tour J) iither 156 AOAmiST THE STMEAM. m is a gemleman, and a Banescombe-Danesc.ombe of Danescombe. The Derlio.,... • . , ''"^^^^'"^^ i..to trade; tl„^:t cert int"" ™' 'T ^"^ »d decayed hr.l^:r^^;,!Z^:' ITII ter than bogging, or than that v LTw P ' enough of that-alwa,. Ieadi„; oVel a'„d tr .ina writing. Beggarly! And the kind's servi^P yon a liorse, wliich elie iriav t„ .f^"""" '"'""s Down togetl er don't t ^' '^'^ "™'' *« uot-uii-r, aon t be nervous and throw \t down, as town children are apt to do AndTf can help it, don't bo a philanfhropt t wii hf " hekiid ofltTl.' '""■■''*^^»ft ""d nielting- tlie kmd of stuii those people are made of L^ being ,n the family, it is dangerons-i^Lt.ts too. And, remember, I wiU h„ve n.ti • ! , ' with philanthropists. Th re .„ IVn, =" "■i'" or anything you like." '° ^'''''^' "'' '■"^''> wtrrZtdr ^- -^-"ef over "itis^a'atlerrf °:t"™' ^'"'" ^' '"O'-o »'»e, I>one»t not to answer her. especially when she says AGAIN8T THE 8TItEAM. 157 things about other people. If my fatlier is what she calls a philanthropist, I am sure tlie last thine, he does IS to mind otlier people's duties. The motto he gave me was, ' Other people's rights and our own duties.' Is it quite impossib/to make your^ grandmother understand? at least about " Q"[te," said Amice. " And if she did hear' that motto, she would not like him any better for that. She would think he meant it was his duty to look after people's rights and wrongs; and that IS exactly what she objects to, as to the black peo- ple yon are all so fond of. But I like the motto, ±5ride. Only, it might lead one, no one can tell where; at least mt better ? In some respects. But it also expressed tfifd?""- f"''"-' "'■-" -. I^etwecn fhe ; tlie lower began, who could say ? Especiallv as neither upper, middle, nor lower, were stt nan waters resting at their own level. 'biU a, in f ot tmual state of ebb and flow i„ and throu-.ireaeh the 'station to which God has called ns " is bv no means a fixed line, always perfectly eay to d*"! mine, m a society where nothing is stationary' 104 AGAINST THE STREAM. ?:• 'V . ( " Pleasant old barriers," Madame des Ormes thought, " when people were not always 8triig<>;ling upwards, but content with each other, themselves, and their station. There were " stations '' in those days ; and people had " leisure." " Pleasant, picturesque old barriers," my iiither said, " except that, within them all the time was gathering the flood which swept all barriers away, and much soil, and much life, which no floods could restore." Pleasiint evenings they were, when Madame des Ormes and my father sat on each side of the great chimney in the Stone parlor. Madame always preferred the Stone parlor. She said to Claire, who told me, that the Oak parlor was like a state-chamber without the Court ; and the great drawing-room like a mortuary chapel without the sanctuary, only entered once a year, and terribly bourgeoise. But the Stone parlor was like France, like the hall of an old chateau where they met after the chase. There were the sporting-dogs, and the great logs flaming and crackling, and cheerful talk, and going in and out, and a feeling of life. My father spoke French easily, and understood it perfectly, a rare accomplishment for Abbot's Weir in those days ; and to Madame his manners had a deferential courtesy which she said alwaj's reminded her of the Old Court. Her dress I cannot so clearly recall ; I suppose because it always seemed such a natural part of AGAINST THE STREAM. j^jg licrsell But l.er manner cliarmed me inexpressf- bb. There was sn-h vivacity and such suavity n It ; such grace and sncli freedom. And thou her wliole person seemed an orc^an of speecli. She spoke not only witli ]ier voice ; or wilh her ejes hke Amice ; but witli every graceful bend of her throat, and turn of her arms. And as tolier hands their movements were like music. They imde her conversation as sweet and as varied as singmg. She was, however, not without serious anxiety about my father She thought him, like her poor brother the abbe, too "^A.7..,^/,,;. ,„j ^J^^^^ they proved in Paris to what that led ? Many a fragment of their conversation used to drop into our minds, as I was playing with Claire or Piers by the window, or as we sat silent by the lire, and interested me more than anything we were doing. They had many a debate over Arthur Yount, the traveller, in the course of which all kinds of curious detail of old French manners and customs used to come out. And those debates were sure never to spoil any one s temper. Many sparks were struck, but there were no explosions. There was a common ground of tender pity for human creatures in g „ ,,al ; and a sense that the world and even the i ..urch in every corner of it, even to that most unsearchable corner within our- selves, needs a great deal of setting ri^^ht Mr. Young, she v.ould admit, miglit draw but 0^^ i 160 AGAINST THE UTREAM. of famisliorl '1i \x\ too truly, p;looiny picture's ot laniisiioi ?t"^'- driven in lierds across the liills, unfed aiui un]iai(i, leaving their own iiulds untilled to render serfs' service to the seig^'cur. "Bui J Mr. Dancscombe — he should not have left out J}e otlicr side — there are hard matters and lj;iiigry laborers in all societies. Or ai'c you, perhaps, -o fortunate as to have none ? Are those parish apprentices you spoke of all exactly content, and well fed ? Mr. Young should have come to Les Ormes ; and you also, Mr. ')anesconibc. We would have entertained you with an hospitaHty not quite, I hop3, unworthy of your own. You should have seen how the services our peasants had to render us in harvest or vintage or even on the roads, were made quite a i'Ate to them. We killed our oxen and our fatlings, and spread tables for them on the terrP'^os of the chnoau; an(* we, the ladies of the Casti.,, waited on tiiem ourselves, and the sons and daughters of the Castle danced with them afterwards ou liie greensward. It ^,■.l3 Arcadian ; the costume of the peasantry blending with the toilettes of the old Court (eac'i. ui course^ keeping to their own), the pr'" ^e haiid-in-hand with the peasant. Our peasant oi lain of our preserving forests for the cL e? hey were ne\ er so happy as when they accompanied us in the chase, and I assure you many a Une brace of game found its way from the seigneur's pouch to the laborer's pot an feu-. Tliey were afraid to complain, perhaps you think ? Quite the contrary. AGAINST TUK STIiEAM. 167 I see liere nothin- ,>f t],o free spcceli there was between our people and ourselves. Tiie quick witofoiir countrymen and countrywomen, more- over, I assure you, could give us as good as we gave (I had heard Amice say much the same of the negroes.^ " They say our noblesse did not care for tlio poor. Mr. Danescorabe, never believe it. Did not our mother teadi us to make petticoats and jacket.-^ for the old women ? And did not we dress theyoun- brides from our own M-ardrobes with our own : .mds ? Did we not make dainties for our sick, an-; tend them by the sick beds '^ Yon should ha- o scon our Christmas fetes and distribu tions. Tiie peo; adored us. So completely of the past as all that is, T may say it now without vanity. They said no garments wore, and no dainties tasted, like those which came from our hands. Ah, Mr. Danescombe, they make me for- get the Sermon on the M- .iint, those false accusers. iJut in those days, believe me, tliere were little secrets of that kind between us and the good God wliich the poor deluded people forget, perhaps He will not. You think we were an exceptional fam- ily? My m<.thor was perhaps an exceptional! womaa. Her piety had been learned at Port Koyal, and some of our friends did .ometi.nes ac- cuse it of being ' tant soit pen Janseniste: One olour estates was not far from Port Koyal des Champs. As children, we were sometimes taken ins AOAi:i.'i n m :, ,j of some antique brocade, so that it looked like a canopied throne. Tlien there was a little table, with a mirror be- hind it, and upon it a few relics, such as a jewelled snuff-box, wnth a portrait of a grandmother, powder- ed and frizzed, and one or two uilet ornaments. And in the window^ a common deal table, draped with muslin and frills, and always set with those rich masses of flowers, or leaves, in common white earthenw^are dishes, but looking as natural and at home as if they were growing on their own green banks. In a corner, a little table like an altar with a crimson antependium, and a delicately-carved, pathetic ivory crucifix on it ; and a richly-bound prayer-book. On the walls were four or Ave min- iatures grouped, and one larger head, often tender- ly garlanded, of the king, Louis XVI. We had nutting and blackberrying expeditions. Piers and Claire, and Dick Fyford and I, Claire declaring that no fruit in the garden was equal to blackberries ; and many an opportunity was afford- ed to Piers of risking his life by gathering nuts and berries from impossible places up precipices ' and over rivers. Our old abbey buildings, also, were great bonds of union between us. These, Claire said, were as much hers as ours, being built by the monks, who belonged to all Cliristendom, when there was one Christendom, loni ago. And she made the old arches and tow- AGAINST THE STREAM. 175 ers live to ns, by telling us of an abbey close to her father's cliateau, where real living nuns had been cloistered, where the lamp was always burning night and day in the cliurch before the altar, and a sister kneeling before it, until the Revolution iiad quenched the lamp, and scattered the sisters, and turned the convent into a factory, and the church into a granary. I suppose Claire would not have been a great reformer of wrongs ; although she certainly would not consciously have inflicted any. She would scarcely liave pulled of her own will against the stream. Side by side with any one on whom that strain of energy devolved, she could lighten the strain inconceivably by delicately indicating how to avoid all avoidable collisions, by keeping rowers and steersmen awake to every counter-current and every possible favoring breeze ; above all, by keep- ing alive in the hearts of the toiling crew, that gen- erous candor, open to every palliation and Q\e\j excuse for opponents, which is not a little hard to maintain when the stream against which they pull is the injustice and the selfishness of anj^ry liuman bemgs. As a sufferer of wrong, nothing could bo sweeter than she. Her hardest epitliet for those who had murdered her father, and driven tliem all houseless and destitute from their fair, bright coun- try home, was <' deluded." Or if any severer denunciations ever passed her lins, thev were ?1- ways levelled at an impersonal '^ (?«." which had »,!• i:g U I Li!!" Ilt-'l' llfl'f I' li': ; »l AGAINST THE STREAM. deluded every one. " Our poor, dear, deluded peo- ple evei would ly, "they {''On'') persuaded them that they would find "-old mines in our clia- teaux, that th their iiey would be Rentiers, and starving children live hke princesses, without im- poverishing us. I am sure they never meant to ruin us. How could they, with all manmia and papa had done for them all their lives, and grand- mamma before ? We loved them, these pooi- peas- ants and surely they liad loved us. They had danced us on their shoulders, and sung ns songs, and laughed with delight when I lisped in imita- tion. I was their own in a way much as my moth- er's. And all at once they {on) came from Paris, and told them a quantity of falsehoods about the cruelties of the noblesse; perhaps also some true things, but certainly not what we had done. And those poor peasants went mad. And one night Leontine came in the middle of the night, and drew me out of bed, and huddled on anything she could find, and took me by the little back door, whore my mother was waiting, through the wood' up the hill, to a cabin, our woodman's hut. And there we looked down and saw the dear old chateau illuminated more brightly than for any of our fetes, but for the last time ; flames breaking out of every window, and those poor, mad people shouting and dancing round it, where they used to dance with us, or wait for alms. They did not steal our things. They burnt them, Leontine said. And all hacim&Q of what some wicked nobles had done somewhere AGAINST THE STREAM. 177 with else to other people. A7as it not strange ? L^ontine said it was because of things farther off even than that. She said things more precious than ormolu and ebony had been thrown into the flames, in old times ; men and women, men and w^omen of God ! — her forefathers, she meant,— the Huguenots. She said it was God "avenging His elect" at last. But we did not burn the people, nor hurt them, nor any one that we could help. And it seems a very strange kind of justice that mj father, who was good to every one, should suffer because some one else's grandfather was cruel to people we never saw 5) Poor little Claire, " soUdarite " was a word that did not exist in her French. And yet in other ways she understood well that nations are not mere con- glomerations of independent atoms, but that there is a deep and terrible reality in the words "nation- al life." Leontine had her own interpretation of events, to which she steadily adhered. She was the only one among them to whom the history of the Revo- lution did not seem an unintelligible chaos. " Gen- eration after generation, Monsieur,'' she said to my father, " our poor France has driven away her he- roes, those who could and would have saved us. It was not only that they hunted the Protestants away. It was the strongest and hramst of all the Protestants the,) hunted away. The gentle, and timid, and helpless, and womanly remained. The me7i, the soldiers of the faith, the heroes, fled or es- 12 I' Mm 178 AGAINST THE STREAM. caped,to you, to Holland, to Prussia. Our strenotli aud courage went to strengthen jou, in Holland, England, and Prussia. And so when the flood came, there were none strong enough to stem it. Even the ladies and gentlemen of Port Rojal, Catholics of the truest, spoke too much truth for France, and they were trodden down. Generation after generation our poor France has driven away her heroes, and silenced her prophets, and now she has none but her martyrs left. But those. Monsieur, believe me, of the best. All our great ladies and lords can suffer, cheerfully, nobly, piously, like apostles. There is blood in France as pure and noble as any in the world. But alas ! it seems only to flow for the scaffold." t I I d P e( CHAPTER ST. ;|ERY soon after ,„y fet day with Amice ' ^'l'i'"-,I at Court, it was decreed that Pier's l'a(ha,i(l,n,,ie were to separate; that he Jivas thenceforth to attend Mr. Rabl)id<.o'8 'oys school, while I was to continne with Miss not:!' "'I' "■" '""^-'^di-^" that three a^^! noon a week were to be spent with Miss lovedav earn,„g embroidery, fine needlework, dress,na^ .ng; ™d nnllmery in general, as far as Miss Love- flay's tastes could instruct me. starf^rst."' " '™°"" ^'^ *"™ ■»'-> ""*' " tc ish^^rtr\''"i',°^^'f- The last remnants ofchild- aystt Abbo,' w" '"'"'"" '^'''^- ™» - those aaysat Abbot sWe.rno intermediate boy's costume edit^n of ray father's "coat, hosen, and hat." '.e.-h;dd;-t::^;:rr?st<:?'r™: i»r-^ 180 AGAINST THE STREAM. I*P m : id,; watciiing at tlie old arched door, feeling terribly feeble, '^ female," and forlorn. At the corner he had the grace to halt and tnrn and give nie a protective masculine wave of the hand, before he disappeared, so glad and tree in his sensible tight garments, made of things that would not tear, made so as to be convenient for climbing and racing, and everything I delighted in, and in general with a view to being as little ob- Btructive as possible ; M'liile mine seemed expressly constructed with r. view to being obstructions in the way of every i Ij'I;.- it was best worth while to do, and tilling up aH the leisure spaces of one's life with making and Minding them. He had good reason to be glad; and for hijn I was proud and glad too, I would not have had him go a day longer with mo for all it cost me. To him it was a beginning, and through him for me also. But to me it was an ending also: BO many things that are beginnings to brothers are endings to sisters. He was to go on and out in so many ways — out into the world of boys, and of men, out into the world of Greek and Latin, and all kinds of wis- dom, ancient and modern — while I was to go no fur- ther than round and round Miss Felicity's history and mythology lessons, the geographical lists of countries, provinces, and capitals, and the first rules of arthmctic, my only progress being, out of " round hand," business-like and legible, into " small hand,' angular, ladylike, and indefinite^ AGAlmr TIIK STHEAM. igj As hlUiir "r '''' '"'""'"' '" ^•■■^'••'rfoltHnitten. ■i\si jiib sister, J was iip\*.ip 111/M.,^ * u i • 1 , ' "t\or iiior(3 to be his constfuif ho„, y co,n,,a„io„; as I.i« "mtlo ,„othor'> I 1 as a Iielploss li Apparently, the - big fellow " did try it a^^ain for I ;ers came back a few days afterwards witl a pee.d.ar twinkle in his eyes, and with a scar on L: ^ " He did not give it to me," was all he vouched m explanation, '' it was only a corner of a stone I came agamst in Ming. But he was under and I don t thmk he will try it again." " Other people's rights'and our own duties ? » I ventured to ask. I at Piers would explain no further. It was a mean thing, in his opinion, to bra<. of thmgs out of school befo e o-irls " ^ StV'n "I '\" '"*"''' ^''' ^^^'^"« -" him. th.t P f T ' ^'"''''''^ '""^'^ me enough to show that Piers had won his spurs. Claire and I were decidedly proud of Piers' leftterd to rrr' " '^^' ^-L^^"^-nut IMers had plunged into the priuiitivo ago of Lyncli-law, and " vigilance connnittecs," with which the world is always renewing its hoyhood, for young human creatures and young luitions. Homer seemed to him an imperishable picture of life; only he; could never make out how the Greeks could both scold and fight. The scolding, he thought, was the natural share of those who could not fight ; and the talking, of those who could not work, or make. Criticism he considered the natural province of women, or of men who have nothing to do. It was not till later that he learned how some talkinir is nuiking, and some words are battling. The streams of our lives seemed running very far apart. For as Piers' life went forth more and more into the din and tumnlt, mine withdrew more and more into the stillness and retirement. So much farther apart are boyhood and girlhood, than womanhood and manhood, the parting and distribution necessaKy to the deeper meeting and uniting. Even our amusements separated. Claire and I pursued our strawbei-ry, and flower, and black- berry gatherings, and nuttings, our gardenings, and AlJAimr Till'} STREAM. 189 rambles alone, while Piers and Dick Fyford were shouting' over cricket and football. It was chiefly in making and mending tliatoiir lives seemed still linked. For ministries in the form of mending there was no lack of opportnnitj. And Piers, now pro- moted to a real carpenter's bench and perilous work- j man's tools, constructed many a basket and box, and even chair and table, for Claire and me. Amice, he always continued to maintain, was " almost as good as a boy ;" besides, she had the glory of three additional years ; and with her (his self-banishment from Court having ])een tacitly annulled in consideration of Granville Sharpe's achievemonf.s) he had many a daring gallop, not to say steeplechase, over the downs and moorlands. But it was always the flowers which Claire loved that he contrived to remember, and to pour out now and tlien in a careless, casual way from his pockets, Avhen he returned from his expeditions, and to empoAver me, if I liked, to carry over the way. Meantime, we sewed, and Loveday listened, like Joan of Arc, to her " voices, " and talked to us. That longing for the liberation of the negro slaves which she had inherited from her Quaker ancestry, and which had been as a patriotic passion to her lonely life, could not but come out in those long quiet afternoons. At first she hesitated to speak of it be- fore Amice. But one day, when slie liad broken off in some story of wrong, Amice rose, and coming 190 AOAINST THE STREAM. kt close to lier, said in those low clear tones Loveday always heard so well, — " Do not stop. You cannot tell nie worse than I know. When I was a child, I heard the cries from the punishment house ; I saw the spiked col- lars, and the scars. You cannot tell me worse than I fear. Tell me, if you can, anything to give me hope." And Loveday told us the story of the struggle, so that the far-otf fields of Pennsylvania and New England, where John Woolman and Anthony Ben- azet toiled for emancipation until not one Quaker held a slave, grew to us a land of sacred romance. Dear to iis also was the story of the poor bruised and half-blinded slave, Jonathan Strong, left to starve by his master; how he was nursed, and fed, and tended, and clothed by Granville Sharpe and his brother the surgeon ; and then how out of that movement of natural pity, obeyed, grew the whole noble immortal work of Granville Sharpe's life; how, alone, against the stream of hiwyers and judges, and against the law itself era- bodied in an iniquitous decision, and confirmed by the opinion of Blackstone, he turned the stream, „,>o,-oeivod to tottor to its So wo 8at and sewed and lirtened al-„- „fr to the echoes ot many wai-fa,™, „„ti| ,„„|er Miss l,«vo. day « .nfluence, sewing itself became ennobled to me and sec.ned an essential part of the wa,fare. I'or m al wars," she said,' 'the battles „ro b.,t the cnses ol the ca,„paign, the tests of strength ong-tramed and long-tried. People are viefoi-i^ns by vntue of what they were before the battle. It ght, but the men who b,-ing the meat and bread, ho men who till and pl„„gh, and sow the oo,-n and .ord the ca tie, and," she added, with a g.-owin. "itensity „, her voice, "the women who bake, a, d ...."<, and ehnrn, and sow, and bind up the wounc^" fighS.' ' "''""^' ''"''"^'' ^"""*''''"'«' """ bread frr !•? ' i' """"' P"'>rfple8, into mne lot Bat Amieo said " some wo.nen had to take theu- share in the actual fighting, she believed " "Queens," I conceded. said't'lrT '"'™ '° ''" " '^'"'' of queens," she «a.d, when there are no men in the fa.nily There .s no Salic law which screens orphaned S 102 f0 i Aff.irNsr 77//.; srilKAM. wMoNvod won.on fVo.n taking, ihcic j,1hco on l!io throne, or tlicir \)ixvt in tlif buttle." And sonietinieR, slie i^aid to Mi.ss Loveday " It is the wnitin^. that is so trjin- I fit were all' real vorkin.ir, I M-ould not mind a bit vvliat the work M-as. Jt is tlie waitin^r „„(1 doin^r nothing' ibr any one that eats into one's heart like rust." " AVaitinn; need not bo doin^^ nothing?," Lovedny said. "1 have a good deal of it, and I have not found it so." " Waiting may be waiting on God," she added very softly, "and I think there is little work as good as that." And as we looked at her patient face, so pale and worn, and yet so often radiant from within we imderstood something of what she meant. CHAPTER XII. hh cImmcterisHc of all trnly ,,p„.„rd path, that as we rise the little hills grow less and the high hills higher. ' Happy tbr 118 when the heights of our CHdhood are so truly high that they d"„ not siX l."t r,se, w,th our rising, and only seem the ,„o^ above „s the nearer we approach them. ItZ always thns with Loveday Benbow, as through the y ars I grew to understand better what sh^ «" bhe was .n so many ways a eentre to our little c.rc e; partly by virtue of the very stillness 'nd .mehangeableness of her life amid our chan"",:;^ volvmg conditions ; by the simple fact of her being always th.re, and much ,„ore by the fact of hef heing always <• all Here." Invalids have little idea how much the very t, Iness and monotony of their sick chamber (I hard often for them to comprehend or bear) tend to make them a sanctuary where others, stepp n, aside from the tumultuous world outside are earn- ed, refreshed, and rested. Loveday was our centre also, because she lived 13 m 194 AOAmST THE STREAM. 60 near the tnie Centre, which is the Snn, and tlierefore with lier lieart in the glow of that cen- tral sunlight, her mind looked freely all around, and saw things in their true relations and propor- tions, for us all; as we in the coil and tumult could seldom do. She became the " eye " of our little landscape, as still waters do, uy simply reflecting the light. Against the stream, as many of her convictions were, she never seemed contending so much as fol- lowing ; calmly floating, or rather sailing on, he- cause her inmost spirit had found the " rushing mighty wind " which " breathes upon the slain, and they live ; " the Spirit which broods on the face of the waters, and they are full of the living. She was borne on, calmly, by the breath mightier than all the torrents of the world. With her the deepest things in us all were opened, to ourselves and to her. If Amice had lifted me first to a point of view outside my home, and Claire to one outside our England, Loveday Benbow lifted us all to a point of view from which we felt there was an outside, a glorious " expansion " a starry " firmament " be- yond our whf le visible world. Piers was her prime favorite. She loved him almost as much as I did, and more than she did me, which was saying much. His school life was not an eventful one. After that first conflict, he was seldom in the wars, or at least wo did not hear of it. AOAmsT TBE STSl^AM. jgj DuI^F f^V^y*}' '""''' ^""^ '■" themselves to P.e.sdeligl,ted ,„; althougl,, if ti.e fighting came enough The energy which in Dick was apt to t.m. to destruotiveness, in Re:, went to conl™! ehjp 01- a shed, or a mode] water-w 1 .nrt m,i • tl.em well as Dick had in maLng t : til trees and his own limbs by reckless dimbing Dy JVir. iiabbidge, lie excelled. Ho looked at that time on the writers of books rather as mere talke.^ on an extended scale. ' And talking as I have said, he regarded as th^ especal province of woman; or ofpelle in gin eral who could not or would not wolk. ' Tl "s^™" all professions of which speech was the m Im he looked not withont contempt ' Two careers in life commended themselves to l'™_ He wished to be a manufacturer or a doctor they^rbtrT'"'"""' '" ''''• ■^-^'^ -^^ y were about. To cure men, and to mako tbmgs, was plain honest work. That is, theTdeal of those callings was clear to him. They were something like keeping a garden, and tilS it o Wpmg down the thorns and thistles of the wilde:: To be a doctor he thought the best. The de I'Sht m watching the ways of birds and beast^ 196 . AGAmST THE STREAM. wlHcIi was natural to liim, inclined him to natural nstorj .uid the skill and accuracy with which he iiandled things, might avail him in surgerj. What Ins conversations with Loveday were about, 1 often did not know. She used to say the boys spint dwelt among the "realities," amonc the things that are, justice, goodness, and truth," unconsciously quoting Plato. She greatly longed for Inm to become a physician. There M-as a pas- sage in George Fox's journal to which she especially delighted to refer. " The physicians," GeoL Fox wrote (lamenting over the declension of all the pro- fessu^ns from their true ideal), "were out of the wisdom of God, by which the creatures were made and so knew not their virtues. But they might be brought back into the true wisdom of God, the Word o Wisdom by which all things are." And to this end she believed Piers, with his honest heart, clear judgment, his delight to "hear and to ask questions" of every one and everything, his determination to see and know things as they are might greatly help. ^ I suppose his early revulsion from literature was owing partly to Mr. Rabbidge's mode of in- struct. 3n. With Mr. Rabbidge literature was strict- ly letters " in the literal sense ; the instrument was everything. Even the great old Greek dra- mas and liistories were to him rather herbariums ol classical expressions than living fields of thou-ht and beauty. The climax of attainment set bofSre ir'iers was not to understand ^schylus or Herodo AGAINST THE STREAM. jq-J' tiis and tliroiiglx Lliem Greek life and thought, but to write Greek verses, in which what was said was quite immaterial if only it was classically said. It took years of living to counteract the effect of those years of learning, and to bring him back through the realities of the present to the glorious realities of the past. Also it was natural to him not to take the same turn as our brother Francis ; and Francis took at once to literature in Mr. Rabbidge's sense of it. " Words for the sake of words " did not at all repel him. To be an '' elegant scholar " seemed to him, and to Mr. and Mrs. Danescombe, a lofty ambition. Francis became Mr. Eabbidge's favorite scholar His memory was accurate, and his taste in a cer- tain cold and superficial way correct ; and the <^lory of prizes of the "first place " and of public 4ita. tions was exactly the kind of glory he appreciated and his mother delighted in. Very early she began to suggest that it would be a loss to the reputation of the town if Francis were not sent to the university ; while at the same time a year or two more or less of school could make no difference to Piers, whose tastes were not ' in any way opposed to commerce. My vanity and ambition were often aroused on behalf of Piers But Piers was not to be thus roused. He had am- bitions ; but not on that level. That Amice Glanvil and T should be at home with Loveday, and even Piers, and open our inmost world to her was natural and obvious enough, she k lit- ' > Hi ^i ii li I. 198 AGAINST THE STREAM. being tho dovelike M-inged creature that Amice ir-iaton.cally said slie was, and we sorely in want of such bi-ooding warmtli. Amice having free range of Iicr paternaJ library at Court, had been greatly delighted on behalf of Loveday when she made a discovery in an old translation of Plato of his theory of " iings secret- ly growmg in the soul here preparatory to her free expanded life hereafter.'- Loveday's spii-itual wings were. Amice felt sure, already fully developed ; wings that could make a nest any where-on any rock, for her nestlings, and could also soar far beyond our ken. It was only natural, therefore, that we motherless creatures should nestle beneath them. But with Dick Fyford, the most militant and un- t^uakerliko among us, it was the same. Fi-om very early days he was always either tailing mto desperate quarrels, or in desperate love not unlrequently both together. And in all cases Miss Loveday was his chosen confidant. " Slie always took things so seriously," he said, and did not make fun of a fellow." And a seri- ous tax on any one's sympathy it must have been to take Dick Fyford's loves and wars in earnest, so frequently were the "scoundrelly doffs" of his lim- ited but strong vocabulary, yesterday, "Not at all bad fellows after all," to-day; and the hard-heart- edness and cruelty he sh..uld never get over to-day, in a few weeks obliterated by the unequalled fas- cinations of the next heroine. AGAINUT THE HTREAM. ^99 It was certainly a relief to Loveday when Dick wentto sea, although she l>ad n.any scTuples about seeming to sanction it. "Making climbing at the risk of the neck a matter of duty,, she pleaded, " does seem the only way of savmg some lads from breaking their necks as a matter of choice. And a sailor need not abso-> lately be a man of war, although in these days it does seem too probable he will." It was so also with Madame des Ormes. Noth- mg soothed her so much as to sit by the little couch where Loveday Imd to spend so much of hei- life m the plain unadorned room, where the only lus- trous thing was the old oaken floor, polished with the rubbing of generations. She said it made her think of Thomas a Kempis, and made luxury seem a folly and a vulgarity. The contrast of the stately gracious lady with her animated face and movements, and our dear dove-colored Loveday with her still soft face and voice, often charmed me. With most of us, Madame was, on religious questions, a foreigner. There were mutual slispi- cions, mutual reserves, mutual antagonisms conceal- ed or confessed, mutual ignorance of the real basis of one another's daily life. Even with my father t le sympathy did not reach beyond - questions of ' the Second Table." She recognized him fully as her -neighbor," and loved him as a lover of man- kind, but as to his ecclesiastical position she was not without disquiet. fe It 200 AGAINST THE iSTUEAM. Vyith Loveday Beubow slie was at home. To her slie opened the inmost sanctuary of her con s ant heai't. To her she spoke as to :ione beside ot her Jmsband ; cut down by the mob of Paris, at the door ot the prison of the village at the terrible sentence - A La Force." the terrible revolutionary lormula corresponding to the masked sentence of an earner inquisition, "To the Secular Arm." IJiey dared not cry to all thosp innocent vic- tirus, she said, -A la mort.' So terrible has (.od made crime to conscience, my friend, tlmt the worst of 118 dare not utter the worst they can do " Ihey sat together under the great shadow of death but they found it the shadow of the great Threshold One day the gate would open, they knew, and let them in. ^ .f .i^^'n!'"'' 7^'*,^"«"« Ch"«tian faith in the unity of the Church, that barrier, so terribly real to most of us, which separates the Churcli visible on earth from that invisible in heaven, had become a mere veil tmnsparent, at least translucent often here, ihe Church for them was divided not into Koman and Anglican, Catholic and Protectant, but into the wrestlers and the victors, the combat' an 8 and the crowned, the faint and few, struggling still hrough the waves of this troublesome world and the glorious multitude innumerable, welcomed and welcoming on the other shore. Yet Loveday Benbow was in the whole type of her piety a Quaker. ''^ She had indeed been baptized in infancy, with AGAINST TEE STREAM. 201 Miss Felicity as one of licr sponsors. And what- ever had been her convictions, her health would Iiave prevented her attending the public services of the church. Moreover, the sacrament was not administered in Abbot's Weir more than four times a year, and the office for the communion of the sick was regarded chiefly as a mild mode of announcing the medical sentence of death. Had her belief as to the sacrament been that of the nuns of Port Royal, she must have been prac tically reduced by circumstances, as many of the nuns of Port Royal were by persecution, after their dispersion, to " spiriiual communion." Yet the mutual attraction between her and Madame des Orraes was not an isolated instance of union of heart between Roman Catholics and Quakers, nor do I think the attraction was merely one of personal character. The Holy of Holies in all forms of Christianity IS surely the same. For Friends the outer sane- tuanes and courts do not exist ; for the most spir- itual saints in all communions they only exist out- side. The very multitude of dogmas and compli cation of rites in the Roman Church has, in many instances, driven her saints inward to find their rest in the bare simplicity of some great first prin- ciple. ^ For Brother Lawrence, as for John Woolman, alike, the true dwelling-place and "coverincr" of the spirit is in '^ awful retiredness inward hi the presence of God." 1 ■jt. U I ■ I 203 AGAINST TUK HTliEAM, Also, both Lovoday and tlic Marnniso wero sudors. To both the whole world by under the shadow and tho sliclter of the Cross of Eedoni,,- lion. ^ By both it was never forgotten that the only perfect hfe ever lived on earth had ended visibly there ; and with both it was the deepest convictio; • of the heart that this apparent end was not an victor "^ ^ beginning, and meant not defeat but On both, moreover, had been laid a life-Ion*, burden, which conld never more be laid aside, the bun en ot irreparable bereavement, and of irreme^ diable pam To both, therefore, life had made it plain that the Master's Cross was not only to rescue from snftering, but to empower to suffer; not to abohsh the Cross for the disciple, but to consecrate the yoke into the Cross, by the simple act of will- ingly taking up« the involuntary burden daily af- ter Him Thus, neither Madame des Ormes nor Loveday Benbow were in the danger which besets the prosperous "religious world » of making their Ideal of religious service a beneficent dispensinc. of alms from the throne, instead of, like the Ma^ ter ., a sympathetic bearing of the yoke with the sufiering. " Quaerens me sedisti lassus," for the pattern of h'fe was as present to them as " Redemisti crucem passus," for its motive power. AGAINST THE STJiEAM. 203 I liavc always ])CGn irhd that my first accinaint- Jince witli lioly |)eoi)le was ainon^ those who dwelt in the shadow, rather than among those who dwelt in the snnshine. It made it clearer whence the inward sunshine came. It made me see a little into the depths of Christian life before learning more of its expan- sions. Yet there was a difference as well as a resem- blance between Loveday and the Marquise. It arose, I think, partly from their types of faith, but also partly from their differences of character and experience. The element of hope was far stronger in Love- day Uonbow,— not the imperishable hope of the immortal life, this was equally strong in both,— but hope for this struggling, sinning, suffering world,— hope for humanity. In representing the life of the two symbolically, I would picture Madame des Ormes kneeling with clasped hands and upturned weeping face at the foot of the Cross— the- Crucified still fixed there; but Loveday should stand by the empty sepulchre, her Jjands outstretched to clasp the feet that were to " go before into Galilee," and on her lips and on her radiant face the rapturous " Eabboni." The words that seem to vibrate on the ear of one are, " Jit/ God, my God, why hast tJiouformlcen mcr' on the other falls the inspiring message, " Go tell my brethren that lam risen and go before \jouP But the thing about Loveday Benbow that was I: 204 A0AIN8T THE STUB AM. ! i cliaracteristically " Quaker" waa f],,> t * • tude of her wl.o^e l,,u^ ™' "'" ^"'^'^"^ »"'- Of all tlie titles give,, to the early Church be b.etlu-en, 8a„Us, believers, diseiplea-'-the one XiSr.^'"^-'^''^--'''''-^e::.t::: Vou felt always that she was a "learner" only a teaeher because always learning. w2L^ no pup.1 a„ne to drink of a stag„ant°water The well of living water did indeed sprino- ud m her heart continually-the Dropping Well from ever, Zhtif',""' '""• ^^"^ " "'-^^ '™'. f- W t^^cattoYr ""^ '^ '"'' ^'^'^ "-'^ «nppTv' ™rr'"' '" ''" '■"^ ''"""^«'' «''" did "0' Biippiy ^ou in a moment with Rnm« ^«„.i j -in.. She he.elf had to ^nsuTtTe 1 1:? was no l,b,»ry of old parchments, no mere re oM of decisions on other cases. It was a voice a W voice, with a fresh decision for every case Thl was indeed a J3ook more precious t 'her than '2 and sweeter than honey ; but to her that Book w^ J^tteranceofOnewhoHves,andspeaks,:ndT: One^P.f I™''"> f'^'^ '^'•""Sl' the History of One People, and above all of One Life, was she believed inspired into the hearts of all peopTe to bo «orever personally with the spirits of men, who AGAINST THE STREAM. gQj teaches, rcninds, pleads, enkindles, robnkes, ex. i'orts eon.f(>rts,-doe8 all that is involved in tho manitold word Paraclete. In this n^reat Catholic truth, brought forward and pressed on the consciousness of the Church as so many truths have been, by one section of' it, otten in disproportion, and witli that one-sided in' tens.ty wh>ch seems the condition of the progress of truth among us (wlio having a mountarn to chn^b, Iiave to chmb it for the most part by a road engineered in zig-zags), Loveday had been nur- tured by her Quaker mother. When first I remember her slie must have been Bt.ll young, scarcely twenty. To us she never seemed either young or old. In the external sense youth, with Its vigor and eager impulse, was never Hers In its deepest sense youth was liers, with all Its freshness and glow of hope always. Scarcelv twenty, yet her life as to personal 'incident and action was already finished. Mothei^s love for lier had early passed into the heavens; father's love-protective, self-denying, provident generous - she had never known! Prom earliest childhood she had seen her mother pnmig, fading, dying under her father's ne-lect and extravagance. The very love which made her quick to see and wise to soften her mother's Bufferings rendered her keen to see and quick to liate her father's selfishness. Terrible are the lives thus poisoned at the foimtam, for which the instinctive affections which 206 AO imST THE STREAM. I! ■• in 't i!' ' il CM «»re at tl.o root of all lovo, arc at war witl. tlio moral principles \vliicli are at the root of all rii,'lit; for which the alternative lies between ''calUn^r'evil good," and not bein- able in the inmost heart to "give honor where honor is most duo.'' Ten-rje when the great sacred parable of hu- man relationships is reversed and falsified, when the stone is given to the children for bread, and the poisonous serpent laid in the child's bosom bv the very hand that should liave guarded from it."' In such a chaos there is no resource but one, to look up from the broken mirror to the unbroken lirdit it Bhould have reflected, from the love which has faded to the eternal love, which is fatherly and motherly at once, and never fails. And this Loveday Benbow did. The solitude in which her mother's death left her was, for heart, and mind, and spirit, for all that makes "me," as absolute as that of Moses on Sinai Below was Miss Felicity worshipping her idol, which she had robbed herself of gold,\ind jewels,' or such equivalents as she possessed, and every pre- cious thing, to make what it was; happy once'nioi'o to be sole priestess at its shiine. * To little Loveday it was no shrine. The ut- most which her patient and injured mother had been able in dying to leave her was a legacy of r: 'o-ent pity, reverence for the unfulfilled rela. t^o.. ' "•.^ lity for the lost man. Au ' lo this solitude came to her the voice of God, .. »ii3et, thro'.^h no mediating mortal lips. H 'iVAlNST THE STREAM. 207 l)nt Jmrnorliato fron. spirit to spirit, i^iornn- thvoxvAi nil tl.o weeping, and the wailing, of the pjople, tluit V'.K'o •„., reached her; and direct, l,y „o tender Ininian hnks, except the humanity of God made •nan, by ru. nre„tlo steps of love ascendin- softly Iroin hio.l,er to hi^i,diest, her spirit darted with an arrow's ih-o-ht to Ilini. She felt Ilini always near- est. Ills voice the clearest to hear, the easiest to un- derstand, the dearest to follow, His love not only the sublime crown and clitnax of all, but the most fumdiar and homelike of all ; wliat He cared for, her closest care ; what lie hated, lier most natural mdio-nation. For to her the voice of God was no mere in- articulate music, but a livincr voice whose " Woe unto you " was as real and as needed as its " Come imto mc "-" Woe unto you " to the oppressor un- der any disguise,-" Come unto Me " for the weary and heavy laden of every color. Well for her that her love for God was so true, that hke all true love it brought its burden as well as Its joy. .She did not perplex herself with theories about anthropomorphism. She believed in the possibility of the Incarnation with all its attendant possibilities, and in the fact of the Incarnation with all its results. That God should be "grieved at His heart " to her meant, at all events, something quite real, some- thing at whicli those who loved Him must be o-riev^ ed at heart too. ft That God should be afflicted with theafflictio. III* 208 AGAINBT THE STREAM. hh of Israel of old meant not that He had been roused from the calm of the serene upper heavens to a transitory exceptional pity, bnt that He pitied all the creatures He had made, and was afflicted with their afflictions always. And the wronged people of the time, her mother had taught her, were the "blac^ mankind" whom the English people in the West Indies and in America stole, and bought, and sold, and held in cruel bondage, whom the Quaker Society, alone of all sections of the Christian Church, had voluntarily emancipated and refused to hold in bondage, and were laboring to set free throughout the world. There was something surely in the " listening," the stillness, the " waiting," on which fell clear as a church bell when the whole church was asleep and heard nothing, the conviction that to buy, and sell, and hold in bondage " black mankind" was a sin. ^ During her long nights of weariness and days of pain her spirit, that is she herself; had suffered with the suffering people. She liad identified her- self with them as Kosciusko with his Poland, or Hofer with his Tyrol, or the most loyal Yendean with the fallen race of St. Louis. She had made that wronged people her people, as truly as she be. lieved her God their God. Not with a blind enthusiasm. She loved too much to idealize. She longed to help too much to suffer herself to be deceived as to what help was needed. That the degradation was also moral AGAINST THE STREAM. gOO that tlie chains bound round them were also chains ot sm, only made her pity more intense. Taking them at their worst, stupid, childish, helpless, brutalized, idle, vulgar, as their hardes enemies could picture them, at their worst, and be- cause of the worst oppression had made them, her heart glowed towards them with indignant pity and agonizing To me, throng], her inspiration, that great anti- slavery conaot became like one of Homers battles, or the story of the Peninsnlar War, or of Waterloo as I have heard them from those who fought there Pennsylvania and New England, where John Wool- man went on his weary foot-pilgrimages of com- pass,on to rouse the "Society to the wrongs of the slaves, were to me romantic and sacred namel Those quamt old volumes of Quaker literature which she loved to r^ad, with their old-fashioned prmtmg and their .,„re old-fashioned wording and tl,,„k,„g, conscientiously, or ,mconscionsly° plam to the utmost limit of plainness, as to the picturesque and the ffisthetic, even now make ^o.ce of the many now out of sight and hearing to .ad been wh, e, or olive, or any artistic color, a,>d ~ ."' ™»'b' hair had rejoiced in raven tresses" 01 .adiant masses of gohl," tlie world would have -vakeued up earlier to their wrongs. But Love, v Imi. '7', i" T'"'' ""«l<-"PP<^d. woolly-haired, "ngiacefid, and loved tliem better for their very i it ,] t £ 210 AGAINST THE STREAM. hi iif^liiiess, as a mother her ugly child. In her heart Ainiec declared, Loveday called them not Uach, but hronze, a kind of duller gold. Too often, indeed, the picturesque of things seen and temporal may blind us to the true poetic of the things unseen and eternal. The whole history of that great wrong was vivid and distinct to Loveday as her own. "How nearly," she used to say, "the mon- strous evil of modern slavery had, at the very be- ginning, been crushed in the germ ; how irresistibly and swiftly, once allowed to live, it had grown!" For centuries the Christian Church had protest- ed against slavery, had fought against it. For two centuries she had vanquished it, and driven it from every realm where she had sway. First of the nations, Ireland, on this point twice in this long campaign, wisest of all by virtue of the wisdom of the warm heart, had renounced tliis wrong. In 1172 her clergy forbid all traffic in human beings, and accomplished the emancipation of those who had been sold into bondage, chiefly English men and women, kidnapped and shipped from Bristol. In France the burden of wrong had rested on the heart of her king, and in 1315, Louis X. enfran- chised all crown serfs, declaring that " slavery was contrary to nature, which intended that all men should be by birth free and equal." And so for two centuries the cry of the bonds- man had ceased to go up to heaven from Christen- AOAIlrSr THE STJIEAM. gll w.t, ahis ! the banner under which it was won was too mirrow And moreover, the religious warsof the Cross ehecked the progress of emancipation. his b ethren ; but the followei-s of Mohaniu.ed were no brethren," they were aliens, enemies of God «e,esold mto bondage without remorse. For broad as the field of Christendou. is, humanity I broader. Ti.e Church had nobly thrown her shLd had freed all Christendom from slaverv. She had yet to earn that the pity and the jus'tiee of G^ J^ach tnrther than the most Catholic Church tC has learned to believe in them, and that creation 18 an earlier claun on His love than baptism In this inedi^val limitation of emancipation, noble as ined,«,val Christian emancipation was lay he little rift which was again to spoil .all its Through tliis one weak place came in, slowly at iirst, and then in overwhelming force, the whole monstrous iniquitv of modern slavery, worse than ancjent b, all the Cl.Hstian pit, ittd to s^ .7^^[j^;;^^"^^g^"a^n of conscience" which "made The Spanish conquest of Mexico and Peru caused the desolation of two countries. The native 1 I. ,1' ill 4 212 AGAINST THE STREAM. raecs of Anierica were crushed heno.ath the weijrlit of forced labor, and the native races of Africa were torn from their homes to supply their places. Not M'ithont individual protest. Again and again the merciful heart, always beating in the Church, be- neath all slumber, and all disguises, rose against this great wnclcedness. Cardinal Ximenes refused (even at the instance of Las Casas, in his mistaken hope of saving the Indians) to sanction the African slave-trade. Charles V. abolished slavery throughout his dominions. The Dotninicans condemned it, in contradiction to the Franciscans, and Leo X., ■when the contending orders brought the question before him, gave decision on the broadest issues. " Not the Christian religion only," he said, " but Nature herself protested against a state of slavery." On two other sovereigns this great wrong weighed heavily — Louis XIII. of France, and Elizabeth of England. The conscience of Christendom on the heights, above the temptation, was clear. But great tor- rents of wrong are not stemmed by voices from the heights, but by humble men on the levels, pulling against the stream, or laboriously building dykes of common earth, to tui-n its course. If kings are to serve a kingdom, it can only be by coming down to serve. And Elizabeth and Louis XIII. did not come down and serve ; they stood on the heights and protested. x\nd the thing tlie instance 'ranee, and AGAINST THE STIiEAM. o. <> against which tlioy protested paused for a moment and then went on. Self-interest proved stronger tlian monarchs and i opes. Shivery rooted itself North and Soutli through all the continent of America. Louis was " uneasy " at having to sign an edict consigning all Africans who came to his colonies to slavery. ^ Elizabeth had a " religious scruple ; " and send- iiig for Sir John Hawkins, the founder of the -bnghsh slave-trade, expressed her horror at Afri- cans being taken from their country " without their free consent." To Louis XIIL, for the first time probably, the rehgicus argument was used. It was suggested that slavery would be an effective means of propa- gating the Gospel among those benighted Africans. And the edict was signed. ^ To Queen Elizabeth Sir John Hawkins prom- ised obedience; a promise which he kept by kid napping as many natives as he could from the Atrican coast on his-next voyage. Something stronger than - religious scruples" and "uneasiness" is needed to combat such evils The Puritan forefathers of Massachusetts also protested. In the first instance, fresh from English political reedom, and their own struggles for religious liber- ty, they did more than protest. They threw two masters of slave ships into prison, and threatened all luture kidnappers wxUi death. i if' 214 AGAINST THE STREAM. '■* i ' I ->, I * In Ehode Island (1527) Roger Williams, the founder, declared all negro servants free after ten years of service. Yet self-interest and love of money prevailed. The evil crept on. By the middle of the seven- teenth century every State south of Rhode Island was slave-holding; and even the Quakers of Penn- sylvania were involved both in the traffic and the property. The mediaeval day of emancipation was dying fast, and thick night was coming once more over the nations. The last voices of the nightfall have their especial interest as well as the first voices of the dawn. Of these Baxter and George Fox are among: the last solitary protests. The last cry of warning from any body of men comes in 1688 from a little community of German Quakers, driven from Kreishiem in the Palatinate to Pennsylvania. Coming, as they believed, to a land of light and freedom, they break into a cry of indignant agtonishment at finding " black brethren" held in bondage there by Friends. " Ah, do consider well this thing," they wrote to the Monthly Meeting at Philadelphia, " you who do it, if you would be done unto in this manner. And if it is done according to Christianity, pray what thing in the world can be done worse unto us, than if men should rob or steal us away, and sell us for slaves i"^ to strange countries, especially husbands illiams, the ee after ten Y prevailed. f the seven- hode Ishiiid 3r8 of Poiin- ffic and the I was dying more over ghtfall have st voices of J among the lody of men of German i Palatinate ilieved, to a :ito a cry of k brethren" they wrote ., " you who lis manner, lanity, pray rse unto us, , and sell us ly liusbands AGAINST THE STREAM. 215 fron, tlicir wives and cliildren ? Jfthis is done well what shall we say is done ill ? " ^ Clear and strong, the protest of these humble, single-hearted men rings out througli the growin- darkness ; and then falls the silence^of ni-ht. The chains of darkness are riveted on America^north and south, on the bodies of black mankind, and on the souls of the white. Yet even through the night the silence is not unbroken. There are voices mild and shimbrous as of those who mutter in sleep, or isohited and piercing as of the watchers who dwell in the pres- ence of Him who neither slumbereth nor sleepeth ,. ^^Vl^ ^x'^^'^^" Quarterly Quaker meeting, uneasy,'' hke Louis XIII., resolved, that tlie im- porting of negroes from their native country by I;riends is "not a commendable nor allowed prac- tice and IS therefore censured. And in America similar mild rebukes were repeated from time to time. But however uneasy the censure may have luade those it concerned, the uncommendable practice w^ent on. - Until at last began what Loveday used to call the first voices of the dawn, the morning spread upon the mountains, which she was persuaded sUouJd never again die into darkness. Solitary, scattered, too far apart, and too feeble to be eclioes of each other; each separate voice called forth in response to the Voice of the Sliep- herd ; each separate witness, concerned not to " de- i R]- 216 AGAINST THE STREAM. liver his own soul," but to deliver the oppressed whose burden lay upon him. At last in a few human hearts a love to God and man had sprung up as determined and active as the love of gain in the oppressors. Self-love had encountered a love of man as real as itself, and when real always stronger, as God is stronger than the world. In Long Island, William Burling, true to the last to the generous sympathies of his youth, " ab horring slavery from his early yoith ; " in Philadel- phia, the merchant, sober Ralph Sandiford, refus- ing to accept pecuniary aid from any who held slaves ; and Benjamin Lay, scarcely four feet high, with his long white beard, and stoical life, driven nearly to madness by the scenes he had witnessed auiong the negroes in Barbadoes. And tlien, no longer solitary, but leading on a chorus which was swelling daily, Anthony Benezet and John Woolman. It was good, Loveday thought, to observe that each of these to whom it Avas given first to wake at the Master's call, and to carry it on to others, and so to wake the Church, had been listening for His voice, were men M-ho had already risen above the common idolatry of the age, who having refused to bow the knee to Mammon, had thus learned to say Ko to the prevailing sin around them, before they said Yes to this high especial call. It was no sin, she said, to buy and sell in the AGAINST THE STREAM. gj/^ that the lieaveulj voices sounded clearest Anthony Benezet, coming of a race trained for generations to endurance, son of a fatlier exiled by the revocation of the edict of Nantz (one of the many heroes France had driven from her,) hold^ ing that the noblest service is rendered with the noblest part of us, that in God's kingdom the hi^h- est ofhces are those which serve men directly instead of paying others to serve, chose the career of a teacher in Philadelphia, rather than that of a merchant. Of silver and gold having none, better gifts were given him ; impotent hearts leaped at his word to action. ^ His tract on the history of Guinea furnished Uaikson with material for his Essay on the Slave- trade, and so gave the impulse to the English abo- lition movement. ^ bp/^'' ?,"^^]' ^^"^^"^'^ r)i"wyn, formed the link between the American abolitionists and the English But most of all- loveday delighted in same manuscript fragments which she possessed from the Ws of John Woolman, of New JersT, 'a ^Minister among Eriends," who had died at York I believed there had been, in past ages, people who walked in uprightness before God, in a de'fco exceeding any that I knew or heard of now living And the apprehension of there being less steadine^ (I! 41? 'I m If'. 218 AQAIN8T TUh! STllEAM. % I L- and finniicss amon^ij: people of lliis aire tlian in past Hges often troubled me wliilo I was a child." There Loveday used to say was the little well- Bpnn<5 on the hills from which all the river flowed. John Woolman had learnt that in the Church of God tliere is no irrevocaUe Golden Age in the ■past. The child in the new coh)ny in the new continent of the far West was as near the source of "uprightness," of truth, theological and practical, as the children in the old country in the far East, on whom Divine hands were laid eighteen centuries ago; as the young man whose name was Paul, at whoso feet the murderers of the first Liartyr laid their clothes, on whose dazzled eyes broke the light brighter than the Syrian sun, on whose ears fell the transforming " Why persecutest thou Me?" The dragons are ever springing anew from the earth, and the heroes are ever needed to encounter them. The Church is a living body, as her Lord is living, not a sculptured copy of more glorious sculp- ture of olden days. The good Shepherd leads, the good Spirit in- spires, now as of old. Around John Woolman doubtless were count- less religious men, admirers of prophets, apostles, and martyrs, and all the dragon-slayers of old, quietly tolerating the dragon of their own days, and even persuading themselves that he was a necessary beast of burden, without whom the soil by which they lived could not be tilled. To John Woolman, AOAI.YSr IV/B STltfJAM. jll) I'ftZ TT '■ '''"' '° ""''"'^' "-'f'' singleness of l.eart, to the v«,c« „ftl,o fn.o Shonl.enl °.„d to bo so « tecU. to ,..„,,^ s o,,or of moml and spiritual life,_n„, •„ bo tolc- .0. for .„ .nstant, «.hoti,c,- tl.e field, eould bo t-llod and tbeowno,. live without hi,„„,.nl° cauJ in !!, '"'^.'''•ifo^' Englander tl.o fi«t encounter came m prosaic New England shape. IJe was asked to write a will bequeathin.- black mankind as pi'operty. " "As writing: "vas a profitable employ, and as of- ™d,ng sober people was disagreeable ,ny tl ^o : lorf'Tr™",-"'. '" "'' ""■""' ^"' - ^ '-k d and I told the man that I believed the practice of ^.numgsavery to this people was not'ri;,;;:: ri in. ff t. Tl^. '","'^' '"'""^ "Sainst doing wntings of that kind ; that though many in cm society kept them as slaves, still fwas nof els/to be concerned ,n it. I spoke to him i„ the feaj of the Lord, and he made no reply to what I sa d hnf went away ; he also had som^ 'concernfii e p it fee and I thought he was displeased with m^ In this ease I had a fresh confirmation that motive of Divine love, and in regard to truth and ghteousness, opens the way to"a treasured ,r ban silver, and to a friendship exceodi,,.. the friendship of men." ° ® He was not lifted above the level of his neigh- 1 is n; 220 AOAINST THE STREAM: :>f m J.' '' ! Mi i '.ill' bors. To hlin sober accnimihition of silver would liave been pleasant ; and to lose at onco silver and approbation was not pleasant ; but truth and ri«rht- cousness and the friendship of God wero better, and he chose them. The sacritiee required of him was not great, a few silver coins,— the sullen silence of a neighbor. But the principle would have led to any sacrifice. The faithfulness which enabled him to refuse the shillings would have strengthened him to ohooso the stake. ' His testimony began in 1759. The Hand whose slightest indication he follow- ed led him on. His mind being " in awful retired- ness inward to the Lord," the things which grieve the Merciful One became intolerable to him. He could not bear in his journeys as a minister, to " eat, drink, and lodge free cost " with those who lived in ease on the hard labor of their slaves; he could not bear to ride at ease, while the oppressed were toiling, " hardly used," for those who welcom- ed him. Often weakly, and with a weary body, he trav- elled on foot from place to place to bear his testi- mony. "Though travelling thus on foot was weari- some to his body, it was agreeable to his state of mind," while his spirit was "covered with sorrow and heaviness," on account of « friends living in fat- ness on the labor of the poor oppressed negroes." Wearied with the way, like the Master, he seem- AGAINST TUhJ 8TltEAM. 221 ed thus noaror Ilini arwl nearer tl burden was laid hoavilj ioso on wJiom tlie In these lonely lon<,^ walks and «' in tl lis stnto IS Of uim.hat.on, the sufferings of Christ and IIis tasting death for every man, and the travels and sufferings of the primitive Christians were livinHv revived " in him. '' ^ His spirit grew freer under the yoke, and ho expatiated " at one of ^i-c quarterly meetings « on the tenderness and loving kindness of the Apostles, as shown in labors, perils, and sufferings towards the poor Gentiles," and contrasted with » this the treatment which those Gentiles the negroes rece'V- cd at their hands," and " the power of truth came over those present, and his mind was united to a ten- der-hearted people in those parts." Many journeys he made from house to house earnestlv warning the slave-owner against his sin! in 1772 he came on a religious visit to En'"-" *'"' «™""^ Shar^e MOHld not similarly fail. ^ "By fighting your own little bit of the brttle well under the Captain's eye; by pulling a^int ^- stream of little temptations," she s^id;"' " Ava. by refusing the ill-earned shillings John Wool- jn was made ready to embrace the emancipation of a race In the intervals of the battle, if they W Z;^ J?'?T ""' "™"' ^^'■^^^^' '-^"d listen- ing for the Master's word of command, and bein<. mdy to obey it at all costs. Above all by Ustet t^nj. He can direct us through any mice, if we are a.ake and listening. John Woolman was gmced mto his right path by a temptation to for- sake It ; Granville Sharpe by an appeal to his kind- ness from a poor bruised and runaway slave, Jona- than Strong; Thomas Clarkson by an invitation to write a prize essay; William Wilberforce, by an appeal from Thomas Clarkson. But neither of them would have followed the call," said Loveday unless they had been listening for the Voice, and had cared before all things in the world to follow it " 11 P If r.ir ^ ii; I I CHAPTER XIII. T was New Year's Eve ; the eve of the birthday of the new century. It had been proposed that the most in- timate members of our circle should wel- come it in together in our house. But this fell to the ground. Madame des Ormes could not trust herself to he in company on that evening. The old century had slain and buried too much. Its last day would to her but be a " jour des morts." She would keep the vigil alone ; and her Claire would, she hoped, sleep it in, and see the new century first in the light of dawn. Her poor child's face ought to be towards the dawn ; but scarcely her own. Miss Felicity preferred being under the same roof with her poor brother, though to him years.or centuries could bring but little change. Loveday was not an observer of days and months, and times, and years. To her every morn- ing brought its new mercies, and began a new life. She sat beside the river which makes glad the city of God ; and the river of time flowed by her less AOAmST THE STJiBAM. ^,,~ I-eeded. It came from the exlmurtless clouds and flowed to tl>e boundless seas, and was flowin/d. V J . Tliere w-ere breaks in it, rapids, and e.5ms, ot w at we call centuries. Days and nights were •caht,es; and mankind had its days and rnVhte ."t they did not date from such artificial b riel'- 'lraZw^ '^ ''' ""' ^"^ ''^'•' ^'^''^-'^^-*^' o„r!°wnI^7 ^"f' «'*''^""8 ™^ '•^''"''^'l to our own family and my uncle Fyford. Dick was faraway ,„ the Mediterranean, blockading. MaTta and defending mdefensible Naples; his brief let tcrs when he w™te full of nclgbut Nelson duced the new centnry in state with the amber damask imeovernd In n,„ j • '"huw f.,H,o,. f„ '^°^*"^'-''' '" ""= drawing-room, but my iather lor onee overruled her decision, and we met .^gathered around the wood fire in tie old IZ have J'^'ri^^''" ''''• "y ""<••''=' "*''« ting Will Lave closed the session-; in three weeks the Irish members will be flocking to London, and we sWI Lave the fi,.t United Imperial ParliLent." " The I'T fsrp'1' ^ ■■'" *'"'" ^"'■'J "^ ^"'her. iiie old Irish Parliament died hard." uncle ■"'ri'"""^ ■" ^r''""^ •"'^^ '"'•''•" ^^torted »>y oi-nt Se^^'";° .f"'^ -"««'«»ering is tlieir strong point. Seventy thousand in the last rebellion '98 att,3tr.""'^"'^-^'^'"™-'->i^' IS ^ff^nm'.mmtm** I'rf V ! I ii 226 AGAINST THE STREAM. " Well," said mj father, " in one good thing they are strong — they are against the slave-trade to a man." " Poor creatures," said my uncle, " they never had any slaves. Property of any kind is not at all events their strong point, and it is easy enough to be generous with other people's." " You are right as to the slaves, liichard," re- plied my father rather warmly. " They have never had any slaves since the Irish clergy denounced the Bristol slave-trade in 1172. I should like to see our clergy follow their example now." " Pray, Mr. Danescombe," said my stepmother, " let politics be banished this one evening. Let us speak of something more suitable to the occa ?) Bion. " What would you have, Euphrasia ? " he re- plied smiling. "Politics are only the gossip of centuries. I wish Dick was here," he added. You have a letter from him, Piers. Did he say anything about himself? " *' Notlihig about himself," said Piers, "scarcely anything about anybody but Nelson." The "scarcely" meant Amice Glanvil, with wdiom at the moment our cousin was vehemently in love ; " this time," he said, " no boy's fancy, but serious, a matter of life and death ! " " I wonder if the lad says true," said my father. " I should not wonder. The judgment of the peo- ple who work under a man, especially that of the young, often squares more ^v'ith the decision of the AOAINSr TEE STREAM. 227 oenturies, than the jncl<.ment in high places. i ity ]je should be defending that abominable iNeapolitan tyranny ! " '; There is something in the letter about the ex- ecution of a Neapolitan admiral," said Piers, "and the corpse rising out of the sea and followino. the ships upright. It Avas horribly like the Day of Jmigment, Dick says, and the poor fellow was culled a patriot." "Poor Caraccioli!" replied my father "It was a sad business. The noblest helping to sustain the vilest. No wonder the sailors shuddered." " ^\ ^^'^8 only the weight of the stones attached to the feet, which caused it," said my uncle, dryly • Very probably," replied my father. ' I sup- pose the Day of Judgment will be brought about by some weight proving too heavy at last: Every- th.ng must sink or float by some balancing of weight8,-even Neapolitan courts. The wretdied tiling IS to keep up things that ought to sink, by weignts unfairly attached, the weight of Nelson's nobleness and England's freedom, for instance, at- tached to a defunct tyranny, making it float after living men with a ghastly semblance of life. We were drifting into politics again. "At all events," responded mv uncle, "I sup- pose you are not too cosmopolitan to rejoice in the capture of Malta." ^ " One defunct thing safely buried, at all events, that, o d order of the Knights," said my father. 1 et that had a grand life and meaning in it once." 228 AGAINST THE STREAM. (tl i< < i 11 " Your old admiration, the French republic, has life enough in it, at all events," said my uncle. " As to meaning, I cannot say. N^ot exactly the same as it began with, certainly. War and victo- ries on all sides. In Italy, Marengo ; in Bavaria, llohenlinden on the 2d, a month since. The Czar an adorer of the new Alexander — Napoleon Bona- parte. And even as to your blacks, the Convention decrees emancipation in 179A, and their ships ravage your Free Black Colony in Sierra Leone he same year. "What French liberty means, is not so plain." " It means the First Consul ! " said my father, XQY-^ sadly. " Richard, yon are a little hard on me. How could I help hoping ? Every one hoped twen ty years since. Religious men hoped ; and even scepticism hoped. Rousseau, and Tom Paine him- self, only wanted to destroy the old beliefs, not for the sake of destroying, but because they fancied they had a new panacea for humanity. For once the toiling, silent multitudes — the multitudes the Master had compassion on, Richard, made them- selves heard, and not having learned letters, they spoke in whirlwinds. And the first breath of the whirlwind swept away the Bastile, and seemed to let in a flood of light, and make a world of room for men to think, and form, and reform in. No one thought whirlwinds would build. We only thought they would clear the ground for the builders. But so far, in France at least, the builders have not come, and the whirlwind having destroyed the Bastiles, whirls round the dust of their ruins, on and on, AGAINST THE STBBAM. .^W blinding men's eyes and stifling their breath. In England please God, wo will begin with building, not with destrojnig. It u,akes a very irregular edl- I he diflicnlt thn,g now, Eicliard," he concluded w. ha tremor in his voice, "is not to repent, b,,t m 7LfI'''' "'" ' '"*"'"'• "^ C''™'i^"'7- Teach Hrs'.'Danesco™br""'" '° '"'^'^^'" '"'^'l'"-'' We had made no plan of greeting the coming .century Bat silence fell on us all My fathef went o the wmdow and opened it. We stood near It w.th hushed breath, hand in hand, mine in Piers' »d father's. I knew Keubon Pengelly and tlTe Me thod,sts were watching in the New Year to gether ; and at the old house across the market- place Madame des Ormes, and Claire, and Loveday were keeping vigil. The still air seemed palpitat- mg with prayer. And clear and deep at lasf fell the twelve midnight beats of the fine silvery old diurch '.ell. It was hot tolling in its first new ccn- And then, through the still, frosty night, the ' We all stood still until the last vibration died away a ong the empty, unlighted, silent streets. Ihe old sacred voice is tr^.^ching ns to hope ' " 6a,d my father at last. -'Praue frW'-there'is no surer path to hope." And then in a lower voie - i 230 .GAINST THE STREAM. \ ! i ;» he added, as if to Irimself, " ' all creatures here he- low,'' Yes, we are only below ! The whirlwind and darkness are only below. ' Praise Ilim above, ye heavenly host.' They are doing it. They have learned the way to hope, the oidy way. Eichard," he said, grasping my uncle's hand, " let ihs have a prayer, and part." My uncle looked perplexed. Family prayer even was not then a common institution, extempore prayer was an idea that would never have occurred to him, and the Liturgy itself was scarcely conceiv- able to him, except as a whole, in its ordered se-^ quence. And no prayer-book was at hand to read out of. Moreover, there was something curious in kneeling except in a pew or at a bedside. Yet, he did not like to decline. He hesitated a little, and then did about the best thing that could have been done. We all knelt at the long, low window-seat, the stars twinkling on us through the frosty air, and the little star in Lovedav Benbow's window and in Madame's shining across the market-place ; and in a low voice my uncle said, " Let us j)ray for the whole state of Ckristh church militant here on earthy So we entered the new century, as I trust, in communion with the whole church, suffering and battling in this transitory life, and departed from it to the King in his heavenly kingdom ; always militant here, and always militant in hope. i;;i I Jiave been CHAPTER XI 7. HE next morning I remember feeling it almost strange how unchanged the world looked. The sun dawned, not on a new century, but simply on a new day. But then, how much a new day means ! A new morning and evening, the only eras nature recog- nizes, illuminating the heavens for their birth and Ciose, with unwearied varieties of festive ceremonial, ot gladness and of tender solemnity. Daily life began again, grouped not around cen- tunes, but around its own endlessly varyincr work and interests. j *, wuik Although a centu.ry had begun, I c-.uld noc torget the important event immediatelv before me and Piers ; for it was settled at last that Piers and 1 were to pay the long-promised visit to our cousins the Crichtons at Clapham. A journey to London was not indeed as for-* midable a thing as fifty years before. It could be accomplished, travelling early and late, in three days. My fether had been to London six times. Mrs. Danescombe once. There were at least twenty 1^ P i 2;52 AGAJNiST ThE iiTUEAM. >l m !. ■%\;: I)coi)lo ill Abbot's Weir wao had spout «oiiie days, ut one time of tlieir life or another, in the great city. The chief inantua-inaker, if she Jiad not achieved the journey lierself, procured her fashii^ns from a f-iend in the iieis m my body. And that, Bride 234 AGAfiftiT THE arilEAM. u ■tt 1 .** '! Diincseombo, T Jiope you quite understand. Metli- odihts tliere will be, I suppose, us lon^j^ as tliei-o are poor ignorant fools to listen to tlicin, and as far aa I see, among such they do no great harm. It keeps them from worse, as wo set fire to the furze when it grows too wild. And I allow they are better than Jacobins. But Methodists in Mufti, Methodists turned parsons, or parsons turned Methodists, and worse than all, Methodists turned philanthropists, that is Jacobins and Methodists in one, I never can and will never abide. And that is what they are at Clapham. I would as soon send Amice to Paris, to learn religion from the French convention. But there's your father's weak point, and he must take the consequences. Only you understand, I mean what I say. Forewarned is forearmed." Then, half amused at the warmth she had work- ed herself into, and pleased to see meumnoved, as I always was when her assaults in any way touched my father, she added, " Poorliule maid, you stand lire pretty well. Come with me, and I will show you something, I'll be bound you care for more than Methodism or philanthropy, black or white." And she walked before me up the old oak staircase into her own bedroom, and there, drawing out from a Japan cabinet sundry treasures of lace and ancient jewelry, she presented me with a piece of choice old English point, and with a pendant of amethyst. I should greatly have liked not to take them. They seemed to me missiles thrown at Granville A OAINST THE STREAM. 235 SluvrpcMr. Clarkson, Mr. Wilborforco, and all tho Uaphain names I (leji(rl,te(' to honor. But A mice clasped the jewel round my neck ^ "I know you would like to throw them at Gran- ny 8 feet, she murmured, " or to subscribe them to an anti-slavery society. But one would be melo- dramatic, and the other dishonest. So submit " And I submitted. . A^r'? ""llf ^ ""'"^^'"^ ^^'^ ^^"•^"gl^ the woods to Abbot .s Weir. The air was clear and frosty; tho river beside which our path wound mingled its tinkling icicles With the rush of its many waters over the rocks I like a day such as this," ^ aiic said. " There seems room in the world to breathe. The sky seems 80 bouncless and yet so near, and one's own body like the river, s.. strong and free ; not a bur- den, but a power. T]ut 1 am not a power ! " she added suddenly, "not a river, indeed, nor a rock to stop It, only a pebble. All women are no more than that." ^ " Nothmg is really a power," I said, « except in its own place." "Yes, that is your religion," she said ; "God in everything. Do yon know. Bride, I have been puzzling out church histories and philosophies, and all kinds of books, in my grandfather's library. Books are the only world in which I am free— free to think: and that is why I care about them. If Jr'iers could not make and work, he would under- stand what books are better. By-and-by he will • u- ir 236 AQACNST THE STREAM. and I have come to tlie conclusion there are only two religions — Pantheism and Dualism. Poly- theism is only the popular side of Pantheism." "Among the heathen, you mean," I suggested. ^ •' J^ot at all," she replied. " We may call our- selves what we like, but you are a Pantheist and I am a Dualist. You believe in one power— good ; and I in two— good and evil." " Of course I believe there is the devil, Amice," I said. " You think you do," she said, " but you think of him as of Attila, the scourge of God ; vanquish- ed and swept over by the tide of victory ages ago ; or as of an extinct race of wolves or tigers, prowl- ing maliciously around the folds they dare not rav- age. I believe in him as I believe in this terrible Napoleon Bonaparte ,• and I have not the least idea I ow the war is to end." '' He is vanquished," I said. " I am quite sure how the war will end. But of course I am not sure how this campaign will end." " You are thinking of Clapham," she said, « and its campaign against wrongs, against us, Bride Danescombe, the slaveholders. I can tell you how that will end. Slavery will be abolished, sooner or later, in ten, say, or twenty or forty years ; that is, such slavery as Acts of Parliament can abolish. But things are not so simple as you and Piers and Clapham think. That is the perplexity about the Bible. All the problems there are so simnle. There is Christ and Satan, the world and \he A QAimr TEE STREAM. judged. / am passing on to be fnd4d BHdo . ^ it I iniVlif A^ , . "-^^' ^nd It seems as directly thus before ' "^ "'™'" 'P""^^" Tft V '^'''''^''- ^y ^^'^ tombs of my C tatliers. Grannj does not know, of course C I was quite sure it would do me ^ood 1^' 238 AOAINST THE 8TBEAM. I'.i ■,A mad, and like me rather the better for doing it, and for daring her. It was so strange, Bride, in the night. The wood was as weird as the chnrch. In- deed the chnrch felt quite homolike after it. Na- ture is 7iot all good and sweet. She is dualistic at all events. She has tigers and serpents, and liur- ricanes and volcanoes, and earthquakes and ava- lanches; and even in her tame state here in Eng- land, her winds and rivers moan and roar with voices not altogether angelic. Thej did, at least, last night. To-day 'the wind is a playmate — the wa- ters are trickling and sparkling, leaping and cours- ing like horses set free on the moors. Last night they crept and whirled and plashed sullenly into terrible dark, deep pools, where they could drown people; and the winds wailed and Laughed and jabbered and made sudden angry rushes at us." " 'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all," I said smiling. " It was not conscience," she said, " and I was not afraid. It was simply the night, the dark side, which is always there. It was the beautiful tamed leopard showing her teeth. They may call her a nurse of men if they like. But she is a nurse of * another race, a passionate, tropical creature. If she loves us sometimes, at other times she turns on us, and envies and hates us, and in her rage will do us any mischief she can. One does not know what dark old memories are haunting and maddening her; perhaps it is those mighty fallen spirits of Milton's. Their memories are bitter enough. At AOAmsT TUB STREAM. 33, »ny rate, it is very strange to me tl.at men, poets a >d ot ,ers, can goon sentin,entali.i„gal,out nture tint ™ T" " '"''""■^"'' ■>'-'>•. P-^ive e ir tint meant „s notliii.g bnt good." ""atu.o, 'I But .yon got into tlie dmreli t " ,,o„;,r ' "^'^'^ '•' -^ different; there I felt at " Yet," I said, « some people would tliin,- tl>„ j^-r, .)"'' i^'i'^ii the woods.' ed, l>err,ch voice becoming trennlous." et.'^lt :: ""Tli™"" '"' """"""^" -/differtntt^ ancestor ?rMr '""'^ "'^'^' ^™ k""-' "f ■■" 0" etas the r 'f """" """"' "'"^ '' '-'P-^" '-'■ Jm was the Crusaders, with the crossed feet tlie "g.d, recumbent, stone limbs and holmedl ad^ he reve,^„t clasped hands. That helped me ' Tit 'ardtL'^'T -■"'• 'T'""' -^ "-'"'- field nV; if' ^,°'"^ "'"' ^^ ^'^o"' .-t seo™eVi!:'lt:t*^«^r^-d trees, other world. It is nnt 1- •? • , ' '"'^ '" ''"'- nal seeming, it sofX ^'^,' "''* "" ''^ ^P'"'" the dust it ™-ses 71^7:* "^'^' "^ ™'-'' ^ but poor Chloe's bre»Vl! T" '"""'^ "«"■• >"« But Chloe was not t„ «„ T '' °'' ■"""""• ?»'• "ot of the thTn's thr' M°"" ''"'■"- «'"= «™ «>i%'s that abidrt'i rir anT;,'"^ 1 1 else, to God and to me, andtla] " 1 1 ," i""" most of all, „03, „f a, BrMe rf """"^'f'^ ■"« Chloe, Bride, that this winderf'l 11^,7"' *'"'°"S^ It was so strange. It canTI ^ "" '" '"^• whelming power, tha :urL:rrtre"r''":r- —oh, Bride thinlf 1,^^. ? ' ^^ ^°" »f God adeakoni::rte~'d"er''^''^"''^'-'-' -ooSnrjhe^rrsro'Tr''"^"''"' He waa obedient S th' t of tf P ' ""^ '^''^'' the slave. °* ""> Cross, that of "I cannot tell von «-ii-,' t ^ i. -,. ^ I o 242 AGAINST THE STREAM. ,1 'l|»S'« < i tliere beside me, as He did in Gethsemane, identi- iied with poor Cliloe, looking I'p to God and saying of her and her poor, low, despised race, 'I in thee, and they in Me ; ' and then round on His Christen- dom — His England — on me. Bride, saying, ' Why persecutest thou Me ? ' " One with Chloe — that seeir.^d clear! But oh. Bride, yet also one with me ! Stooping as low to reach me as to reach her — lower^ since jpride is lowest of all, and love is highest of all ; and I was full of pride, andjshe was full of love. "And I wept as I never wept before. And I said in my heart to Him that I would be one with those poor, despised ones, would live for them and under the burden of their wrongs, until they could be lifted off, and do my best to lighten their wrongs, aud succor and sustain them, and lead them to Him, all my life. "And then the great church bell boomed out midnight, and the chimes rang out, ' Praise God.'' And it seemed like a voice of which others might say, ' It thundered; ' but to me it said. This is my heloved Son in whom I am well pleased, hear Him.'' And my vow was accepted, and I was con- secrated to His service, in the least of those His brethren forever. " Oh, Bride, I rose so joyful. And then I kissed Chloe, and we cried together. Poor Chloe is al- ways ready for that. And even the 'how' per- plexes me no longer. If he will take us as His servants, it is His work, not ours, and He has to le, identi- nd saying I in thee, Cliristen- ig, ' Why ! But oh, IS low to pride is nd I was And I one with them and bey could r wrongs, them to )med out ise God.'' rs might 'his is my sed, hear was con- hiose His ^G^mST THE smWAif. 2^3 show lis the way. That i« \.\. and He w,,, „ot,'oa„„ot Lh ^^^Z ''"»^' of a Dualist than a Pantheist 7 ! ?" '""''^ « ™>-.v real, and I (^nn coaches;" the sImnL "'" "■"""I? f'«8t "K7 ''- co„ttt.x;:r:r"^ ''" ^"™- and artistic mve<,tmlJ. 7 , "'"" »"«""'' avoided thro„;i dS- so l-I"? '''°P "^ °"'^ "w"o expected w;i3r,i;K^ttro';r'r'- wlien we came back and / "'^l"^'' tarts tlierewereafewthw'th? r^', ^' "'«'" «"" ft " the „est books CZllTJIl^T'l ™ don, whatever anybody nnVh tZ " I ,'" k^""- all, there was Priscv pl„„ n 7' ^"''' a'>o™ ns, and omino„: l.^opcS'' '"■ T'"'"" »•'"' as we left them • " and T ? ""'«'" '^"<^ "»"«» would be a Z: thin^ ^ '""r' f " «*»i«<''ad?othi™Xo""'''''''''"'^<'^'--i''!"I .•on,tif,:trj:r„rp^'-"-<'-'-pi„e„s,. Mod t,.oas„re. ^ ^ ' afterwards, poor little from t' eir ki^,' 1^1 k „ ndtl'T'-: "-'"-'"S ""<■ it »-as of„„ use tp. e s*dl'"'1r"r:.' seen no good come of it „ "7'"* ™- »l'e liad people, came S. • ™P''' •^'^l*™")' ^onn.; Paul's, and a wl ote tl, ",' "'" ">? "^ »'• seen a few mil s *.:;" 7^ 'T'"" """^ '""^ «.".k of it, crowds were made n , f™ '"'' """ '<> ■ and cliildren and ml, '^ '""''' ™"<=". no l.i....er and n , ' T"""' ™'' ^•'"'W^n wore dred tironsa, d „7 them' Tr ", "'^™ ""■■= " """- However, she had done ltt"st t:"''"' / "'"^■ and .he hoped we should trnf :r„";t™ -«> twe wiioie, we went. '" ^ ^^» ^" TT" S48 AGAINST TEE HTREAM. Lovcday said liftle. But lior dear ejes shoiio more tlian usual. *' S'ou will see the men who arc fighting the battle for us all," she said. " Don't let anything niake you mistake them. The good fight is luughti visibly, remember, not by angels, but by men Tind women and little children, by poor King David, and by Jonathan, who eould not do without thehonov. You would not have thought the dear apostle Peter had walked on the sea, and would die on tho cross, if you had heard him that dreadful night, and Been him warming himself at the fire. Did you say you wish I were going with you, my dear? It seems as if it would be a wonderful help : and I shall so miss you. Bride and Piers ! But we shall see them all one day, you know," she added, "see them at their mry lest, and for a long time be at home with them. Bride ! " And she looked so near seeing the just made perfect, with her dear pallid face, and the far-away look m her eyes, that I could do nothing but cry and feel as if the parting were for ever, though I insisted to her that it was but for a very little while. My father made less of it than any one in words.' "One would think the children were going to be married, or going to emigrate to Nova Scotia," he said, " from the fuss made about it." He entirely declined to allow that the expedi- tion was anything of importance, but meanwhile he was constantly recurring to it with a tender solicitude which often made me ready to give it AOAINST THE STP.EAM. 240 be both motlTa^ r -^ """° """ ''« ''"d '» 0.0 could noVX::?:,v™!»'^r^ ■'•'«• ■'"king a pleasant impros" on „„' " P™!^ "" '"'■• wci-e, 6ho understood^, « o'"" ™"S"'s, «l.o enlthatod people Anr, '""'"S"'''' "'"' ''«'''y «-o..ld have infa Iblv "'' ""^ ''"'"'"■'>'• ^''"e'' concealed n^tl If :: ^ -, -• f ^^o-'ol, -d^iie„backo,^ou;:i;;„X'aZr'''™'"" wei.su|«;.:r'2,r,r;;::;i*^^^^^ gestoj that a smaller wardro , am] i "' '"«• won lu be far ,nore adva„ta..e«ns „ * '^ '"""' ot which snffmtion „„ ,. ' conseijuonco dations to observe „„f i • '"''''" recoinmen- which our "tfl ntia?" -^ ""t "'« '^'^'""^ At tl.. 1 ,'"'■""'' cousins affected. ten tmcMo r,:r b^: ^^-t ^ --^ ^-=-' sections to be receiver»^ ' '" """^ '"'' '^'- •ate^aatthe.:::rc^;-7j- -;;:ii7rh^r^-f,-^^^^^ ciiec on tJie wide world together in fl. "7 7 ot tlie winter morning, before I hl.w' "^ "^"'^ to, utiore I iiad time to think. 250 AGAIJVSr THE STREAM. L was no , however, until] the last familiar ^rey Tor had vanished out of sight, at the next town w^iere we were to change from the lieavy Abbot's We.r eoaeh mto M^hat was considered tl^ marve of speed and convenience which was to convey us by the main road to London, and until the last face and voice fami bar from childliood had been left be- nind, that 1 felt we were really off. From the warm nest into the world-" the cold ^vorld, as some people called it. I did not think the world seemed cold at all J^very one was very protective and kind to us more protective than Piers always altogether liked! he being now for the first time my "natural pro- tec or. But how warm the nest had been I had certainly never felt before. Yet after all, some of the best warmth of the nest was with me. I had Piers to watch over; and Piers had me. And most delightful it cer- amly was to belong entirely to each other, and to have the world before us. Since we were children we had not had such long unbroken talks. And now we were better than children, it seemed to us, and the things we had to talk about in what seemed thea the long common past, and the long unroll- ed future, were of endless interest. And Piers reminded me in so many wave of ^ither, countless little turns of manner and little dry, droll savings, and little houghtful attentions to one's comfort. And yet so different, mo?e rT- niliar grey lext town, J Abbot's lie marvel convey us e last face m left be- " the cold )ld at all. id to us, tier liked, nral pro- en I had li of the ih over; 1 it cer- , and to children 8. And ed to us, ; seemed unroll- wavs of id little tentions lore re- AGAmST THE STREAM. 251 seeing heu7Z'JnZZl T "" I'f ^^'^^P^ «-th he ri:^ ^'"■"'"fl'^^ee of self-assertion, tn t w U 'd IT f """""-^'"g "eeause he' "lij^iuiLy, witn the under-cnrrnnf ^f ^ j , , f"l, chivalrons sympatl.y tha ^1 . ' "'P" dividnal, but a type And h" ' P!''""'''' "" ''"- and the branches fu Inf '„ ™' every„-l,ere, moulded by rinds "I "'^ eoneeivable twist, by inward aw 'rfml'Str ''■"""'^"•^' -"™«™=" earth a» if fbr etl™ t " J 1 "f ^"'"^P"" *'"^ '""•>' aM the loaves fluttering P^ i ■wr pi 252 AGAINST THE STREAM. each with Its own delicate variety of tint and form, and the shadow a shelter that has sheltered and will shelter generations. But there my oak was and that was enough for me. * CHAPTEK XYt. E travelled for the most part outside the coach, a„d not thro,,/ an alto'^ther 'Wtad. A series" of bad h„ ^.■eneh;attrd1:':rto1hr'j'^'" fields of the Continent '"''°*'" "o™ ".e pro.„ises'oa fS: ^ ^^T r^'"'""""" ■"eanaof one heart and so, i • ^"f "^ "•»« by no class or station. There ''„» "'.^ «""■''" ""r •ninds that we were ZlZl "o, X't "' T' ouriieiVhbors Fn.m fi " ^"'^^^^^^s to enslave doninsf his pa,-tv hL k '.''"'"■''«f'''"'^l7 "ban- «-be,,.^,o:e:,Ssrt^ o- large s,..sid.es and our little aW/on ^^Co: «^ 254 AGAINST THE STREAM. 1| i .1: ^B s ill tell tinent, and not even consoled by onr splendid suc- cesses at sea, were brought round to his opinions. Moreover there was another gig:)ntic injperial power rising n.t before the imagination, but before the eyes, and in spite of the hands, of the people; the power of Steam. Against this the people had dashed themselves again and again in blind fury, in what were even now beginning to be the manufac. ■ i.g districts in the north, burning the machinery, and hunting the inventors out ^of the country; poor human iiands and hearts wounding themselves like chil- dren in vain assaults against the impassive irresist- ible force of material progress ! Our way, however, did not he through these more disturbed districts, but through the a-ricul- tural lands of the south. * It was not so much riot and ruin that we saw as quiet uncontending misery ; hollow-eyed, hun- gry faces, feeble bent forms that should have been those of strong men, and worn old faces that should have been those of children. Misery, hunger, star vation ; patient, not through hope, but through hopelessness. ° \ In one town indeed through which we passed, we found broken windows in the bakers' shops, and men still hanging about in muttering groups, the sullen remnants of a mob recently hindered from burning the flour-mills. The bewildered magistrates had met, and having consulted how to compel a reduction of P"ws, had felt t},P K,) ^^^ 10 f'o assailed, and hi t:™^""'"?^' '^ '^'™"g tho.r attack on the „,„!„! """■>' '^'''-^'''i^d 'nttu at tenpenee a ponnd. " "'^"' Stocked the hZl p. ■"'"'• ^''"^ «•« mob galloping across the mZT If" ''™"«i««. a"d *l'en still free; over i^,'^"''*' ^"-^ """'"ons «f old civil w;,,7"P7^^'>f'-"-eal with battles giant stone-oirelo; 7Tf!Ztl A^ ' '""^ """•'•" ^P'ros or fretted towers of oM ..;,"' ' '"''"^ ""> g'-«7 delicate lines into ,^1 ; " ff '^ «^»'^ «•"'" preached; everywhereo ?„ f"^"^ "^ *« "P- <"»ned in village a^,!' '""^ "" e™"'; wel- tiers, officious waiters io fv I?.', \ '"^'^"'""^ ''°^ i^ing landladies. But ^w^„, k f'*^*' ""'' l"*"-""- ^«'e those silent la.,l„t T "^'""^ """^ "''"'"'d ~d j;»;:tSe:'' ""'''^■'^■^ At last M-e di-ew near th. ^"asses stood out distinctly tt ^'""\ ^^'•^- ^wo . tJ^« twilight, the dornro r^'^TT^^^^^"^^^^ powers or West^ninsteVllf "^ ^^.^"^ ''' ^-- .^e cla, med a kind of kinsWn H 7'^^' ^^^"'^ ^^«t ^"^ House in tlie ir ^ '''"^''^^^'^^^^"nt- Weir T-? Abbej church vard of An ^eir, viiere one of the earliest nrinf ^^'^^'^ ^niest printing-presses in ; J iri I 256 AOAINST THE STREAM. England liad co-existed with the Caxton- press at Westminster. Mj fatlier had often told us of it, and the little Jink seemed to make those abbey tow-^rs I'l-e a ^v^\. come. There was litde time, however, to oln...rve biiildingb, at no time the characteristic glory of London. We had ordered the streets; and the r^ulti- tudes and mnaj.^. of human beings seemed to .^eize and overwhelm m^, heart and mind, like a preat Atlantic wave, and take away my breath. I seem- ed to pant to get to an end, a shore. And there was no end, no shore ! only always, on and on, those busy, crowded streets, those wildernesses of human dwelhngs. I felt altogether lost, my individuality swept away and drowned, in the bewildering, bus} wJiirlpool of those unknown crowds. I could not account for it. If I could not have held Piers's hand I think I must have cried out, like somebody drowning. As it was, I squeezed his arm as if I were clinging to him for life He laughed, and asked if I was afraid, and said it was as easy to the coachman to drive through London Btreets us to one of our wagoners to plod throuo-h the lanes of Abbot's Weir. '^ I knew the feeling was exaggerated and un- > Bon?ble, but I could neither explain nor help i! . And then, all -.w once, floating on my L ^-f q words — llr in- ■ press v.t the little 'X:e a wel- I ol'i-iorve glory of le Tnulti- i to tdze i a groat I Sef;!U- nd there on, tliose f human i'idualitj ng, busy not have ried out, iqueezed fo. He d it was London througli I unv ? ilp i; . AGAINST mu STREAM. 257 ove;lri:fc;'^»' P"^n| Presence ea^e ;j-' tender „i,h,;H"^J»-"e a el,n''"" '» ^e notbeatoffliteaS ^" ^f ""'' '>'^ '^<'«U W. Heweirnldt' iH: t'dt"™^"^-^'' jears. ^ ^'^ ^^'^a Jcuowu us for -g a-Vorj:st tf ''^. "f •' " "^^ -■''. «">- ready for us. '< W i .u! ''^f '"'^ <'»'^'' he had take yon to the Wa otn • "r ^"*' ^ «'i" tie same equip! Jl;'?'"""' '^ ^°» '*e, with ngainst my girfs." ' ""'-^ ''^ * ^'^"ding potest ~!i!:ilt"'H;,^^<^''^-'-»tobe '00 round and he^; fo! ati^f B v" f^ "- footman who helped me i, to^t """ "'" t™™ od -'-deofeoniscel , t .:iT ' '^'"'- a pereonage towards a yo-m " """f '''o"" «o solid ■. .* 258 AGAINST TUB HTliEAM, •!»' f I it neccsarj to Justify the liberality of my father's arrangemonts. ^ '' We thought Cousin Barbara would help us to^buy suitable things," I answered, apologetic^ "Apologizing for your virtues ? Don't, mv deal- At least not before your cousins, T pray " fainTirf ^^^^'"^^*"«^^r ^-dge. The kst faint gold ot sunset was dying away oyer the broad nyer and in the frosty sky, buf there w^ of the Abbey towers, and the roofs of the old Houses of Parliament. . Again that absurd inclination to tears came and Abbot's Weir, and father ; and the Houses of 1 aihament seemed sacred with memories of Loye- day, and of the eloquent yoices that had pleaded there until the great wrong was righted ^ As we went on, Cousin Crichton poured out mformation which he thought would interest iis He poimed out Mr. Wedgwood's works, in Gree wiu's :t s T ^'"".^. "^^^"^ '^ ^^^^- -^ Watts, a Sohonear Birmingham, and spoke of engnies Ota thousand horse power, and said tley thrrreSr"^ ' ""'' "^"^"^"^ ^^^^^^^" ^^-" He showed us Coyent Garden Theatre. - m- tional ! he remarked, " whether we approyed of ili A '"''^"^ST TUB srnruw. 'T. He told us «c , "^'>"" tnon-." f dp, that tl/e,. C,tr -- ^es.„„-„3tor "■'■'^'«;dge than ;„ 8t pi!,?" "'"^ °^ ^'""^ "' !-;-« cvLe„T,f Lt it:,;:.';?' 'f'' "' --.'■'"■•'.g. ested. "" ">, and was much inter :-'»d'lZt-r;:f.:r"''''''-p-- T f u • d certainly hotrA t T^ ' ""d 1/elt Jn disgraceful i^oll ^ ^""''^ ««mV-t ^^■"'■o, apparently, inC 2^ '° ^^''- S-nnal. ™feWtyoftl,etwo. ^ ""'-' "^''^''.'he large, 5r- Olarkson g„t all tl^'at ''fr' ^P"'*' »d «v.de„ee listened to, wh efv '* """-slavery to collect ? "' " *"* " eost hi,n 8„ei, j^^or '"CnT """''*''""' '''^'^^^^''™^- thequiet'ol^townP °^ °"'- '>""'«« have reached sha,^— oMand^a:;^,,^^^^ "Have vou Wpsf ,. ;^-J ^^-t Wl3ed ;'n^ "' Abbot's town ? » ^"«ed "P the dear, eJeepj old -.,♦ U i if M «f«% 2G0 AGAINST THE STREAM. ^ " I don't think the old town is roused up," I said. '' It is only father an^l I r.-..^|. y Benhow." " Bcnbow ! I seeiri to know the name," he said. "Her father is Lieutenant Benbow, and her mother was a Quaker, and she is an invalid, and Lai sufFcrcd much," I said, "but she cares for whaC the slaves suffer more than for all her own pain." "Ah," he said, "the Quakers were always sound on that point ; some of our best men are among tliem. So you have i ot had any abolition meetings," lie continued, with a business-like prac- tical eye to " the cause ? " " Any slave-holders ? » " One," I said, " one of our dearest friends. But she hates it." "Ah," he sighed, "she has seen it, I sup- pose And then he pointed out to ne the house where Granville Shaj - livc^ ^ " He is an ola acquaintance, too, I suppose," he eaid smiling. " The oldest of ail," I said. -' We like iiim best of all." "A very sound man," he replied; "a little crotchety ; peculiar views .= o p- ophecy, but very sound." I felt a little chilled at the term. TVo' ''1 Andromeda have liked to hear Perseus called noth- ing more sublime than " sound ? " " There ho is ! " exclaimed Cousin Crichton. He stopped the coacli, and I actually saw him; H iscd up," I Bonl)ovv." le," lie said. V, and lior ivalid, and ! cares for ill lier own jre always ist men are y abolition s-like prae- -holders?" st friends. it, I sup- )use wliere ppose," he e iiim best ; "a little , but very . "Would illed noth- richton. saw him ; ^ve, resolute cJiin. * ^^"^ ^'^ ^^^e mass- '""i; had mv handi,, H y. '*'' ''^"''^ "'li ^d ^l.at l.ad« IVr-'.'^V"'-"'^ °''«- Jonatimn Strong, and ,L°^, I'"""^ ""'' '^^«»<^d I'ooksand record, aglsTtt ""T "'« '^»- ="'arty of most cordially-;niiuled cousins, who kissed us as 1 they had known us for years, and their father, as If they had parted from him for years, and all tell on us at once with various hospitable proposi- tions, untd Cousin Crichton came t„ the rescue " Stand back, girls. Yon set all ceremom-al at < efiance. Cousin Bride Danescombe, let n.e irUro- .duceyou one by one, beginning at the beginning, lou have lieard of the Admirable Crichton. 1 hese are all Admirable Crichtons. This is Hatty who has a talent io. finding out the most M'on' derful people to admire; and this is Mattv who has a talent for findiPo^ out the most uncoJi! lortable people to comfort ; and this is Pha3be who has a talent for finding out the most imprac! ticable people to refonn ; and this," he added, placing my hand in his wife's, " is your Cousin Bar- bara the Admirable Crichton, who has a talent for loving every one lovable or unlovable, and will certainly take to loving you. The l>oys may introduce themselves," M-aving his han. to three [I IP ., II see tho >niG stone rtwn, ami nprcssive, Ij-li<,'litcd -OS, and a I a steani- d a ]>arty Ivissed ns iir father, 5, and all pi'oposi- jsctie. iionial at no intro- t?inning. 'richton. s Hatty, 3st won- Mattv, unconi- Plioibe, iinprae- added, sin Bar- i talent le, and ya mny o tliree ^OAlmr THE STREAM. ''"'■"•-• Any „a,„o that ,e| '^'■"^''r""'. Wons ' »'«••« I learned to lovo l,er «l •'," '"'' ""'<•'<•'''• "M"--;'," ao that I had t "" '""'=' ""'' '>'sl' as "P'-ojudiceto ov,.«^l''r' •''""'='• '^"owing'her, «e.«io„»i„ which , 00 IfS"' t7 "' "'" ■»""■>• love were held „p « ' e V""" W""<''^'«'"- «vem.,g ; tJ,e woleom If"" "'""" ""= »■'""« >« I J-ad never seen tl,e .1 ^'" '""'' "'""'danee « - la,go grate, t^w , /r""^ '™^^^ "^ eoal i„ "'".■•-r «Iow on m, „L7/'»' "f'^'o'nod, "'«';-iy light in their mothe^fr' "" ""'*' bandboxes, ,iri,,,-t ad .t'^' , J'f "'. '»'«•« of to see what yon,, const T ? ^ ''■»"" like .yon „„j,„ J- '=<"«""-™ do with; 01- with- ^»S'ld°rn?:::--'''^--betire,a„d^ '"adZrhad\.''t:r:rh "''''-''-«-' I in i hi I 1 1 204 ,© ,i) SI ■'■! ■-' ■i 1 AQAUfST TUK HTliEAM. cxeep ,„r u vvock when 1 l.ad tlio measles. I felt I must m honesty disclahn such luxuries. An J there were book-shelves, and a sofa and a wn ,ng-table with lovely exotic hot-house flowl on .t and a eheval-glass with lighted eandle 1 orackets^nd the fire-light flickeri^ on the or ms n It wotld?"-'" "'"■* ^ -^^""fi-"- of a b d! It wo dd require a special ceremonial to get into 't. The room was a residence; a house, .a garden a palace 1 My poor little trunk did ook Zl meagre in it. ; ^^J beautiful everything is! So much too good for me Cousm Barbara. You must put met some little room fit for a girl." "I hope you will be comfortable, my dear" she sa.d, <• we do not wish to have luxirie , but we Jo try to make people comfortable." ^ She left me, and in a few minutes her kind soft voice Avas at the door aouin. "Mj dec'ir," she said, "you will not mind fust looking m on little Martha. She has bee. expec mg you, and she wants a kiss." " ^ We went in. There she lay, on a couch near the fire, her fill ook of suffermg in them questioning mine- W long tlun httle hands still l^okHng mine, so as' not to let me go, when she had kissed me. The large eyes seemed satisfied with their answer I 3. I felt >fa, and a ) flowers -ndles in ■ crimson f a bed ! get into garden, olc very >us and ood for n some dear," but we ind soft id just 3xpect- 'e, lier t wist- mine ; 5 so as The vev, I AGAIJVS2^ THE STUBAJf. Suppose partly becan«P T i , ^^^ for tears. ^ ''"'' ^ ^«"W scarcely meet them " ^j«s n,e again, Cousin Bride " .h -^ And the second h^c. ' ^^^ ^aid. - Ifelttherewasot ^"''''^'''^'^^*^•^"^^^• .MweaIthyhorehoTd'it^^^^^ -d therefore should be at ,' "'' '^ "^"^^^' J- he]' ore flvinr- t "^'"t,- «"y refused to gorieel w'h ''' """""^'"-tion- cousin. " "^P '''"'»'" seeing the ne«- "The brown-breaj fe J,^ ',- ^"^ ^°"^'" Criehton. ."•y is our voh,ata,y ooll^ib .f""''- '^'"' '"> P'''^- '' seem, a shame to be ™1- '"' '" *'" ^^^'■""^ i o*e,.e -nnot get enolroTlT'' ''"■'"- -'>'' "» s.g,a,. is not eomp^o-T nl """ ^'" "■« ow protest against the T . ?"*'•>"'» know, is take sagar." ° '"' ^""ve-fade. Perhaps j'ou »-f hi3jo„r:j:,i.^~;h?"'"" '""'"' - persons refoe to se 1 it a ,•». '""" ' "'"^ ^""^ none of us any harm." ""^ scif-denial does it seemed -'^ -i-s, '>o-«»pes, and many ,™H;sV;rS:;;- '••I Ill W.' 266 AGAINST TllK tiTilEAM. 'H "t ' i i. :> I I ) f I 'k ri/ Kf<< ■ 1 ■ J ■ 1 ^E'< J ^■^ .^.li vincial imagination. But if, seemed to gratify Cousin Crichtoii to feel we were seasoning our daiil- ties with that little pinch of self denial, so of course I said nothinir. I think the thought of those starving men and women and little children, of whom we had been seeing so many, would have made it difficult for - me to enjoy anything as my cousin wished that evenmg,— (of course I was over-fatigued and over- excited,)— if it had not been for the thought of that dear little worn face up stairs. This family also was, after all, bearing some share of the bui'dens of the woi-ld. We had family prayers, (not then a matter of course), commenced by a very impressive proces- sion of servants, headed by the portly housekeeper, a ftir more majestic person than Cousin Barbara, and closed by a frightened-looking little maid, whom I concluded must be one of Cousin Hatty's uncomfortable people to be comforted, or one of riioBbe's impracticable people to be refo)'med. Very hearty and benevolent those prayers seem- ed to me, and very lu; rible I am sure they were meant to be. Our un worthiness and absence of all merit was much lamented in them ; and the whole world, black and white, heathen and Christian, Avere most affectioilately remembered, our " poorer bretiiren " (among whom my cousins diligently la- bored) ; the niillions of India and China, for w'hose sake the Church Missionary Society had just been instituted. Ik AGAINST THE STREAM. ■i^ut somehow it feJf oq •*• safe and sunny isl,nd ^; . ^.^ '^^''^ P^^P^^ on a mn in an oasis of exceptLn^T i ' ^'''^'^' ''^ ^ou^n our alms and blesXsTn f h'^ ^^ ^^^^^-• Except in one tender lS^l ""^"-^^ '^'^^•^^• "thebeWdmemb" o tt ^^ ^"Z^^^^^' - -l^'eh -•t^^ -," was in a Z .^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^-^ -not be commended to the me.eif„Sr " "" ^^"^^ -^s J. Jav awn,I'-ovincial mind liC„,i„e ''" '"'"'« ^'^ » Pened, I saw as I tS '"• ^' ''"'^ ^» ''"P" 'hat my little ^vtJTaL *" '^'''^''^ ^^^. -"ents. Our own hi! , ™' " *<"•" of W never been con.^lersh.o:'''' " ' T" "'^-' '^^ -ever could be mo,^ 7,1- "'" '"°*" «'e'". ""d Ji-'J, sweet little bai,t::d' 1 '™''^'' ^'-^ "^^^ Fyford, and Diet F,t d ^^ Iffrr''"'"' ''"* or less rugged or round, brote'off *'"""'' '""■" ftmjlj life, or never ha> inTf '" ™'"P'«'e lJ"t this was a rotl? "'""''^'^ '"'o it. r.v.i. -— . , '"-0"'i*te, warm, siinnv i.„--i,. "■• '■■'""« woriu, with :*ll ft,... „..:.:";■,■■•>' "e^"'".v that w ei-e therein. Its .'*■ f(-h <'j few 268 AGAINST THE STREAM. sun and moon, and all its stars were there. The father lovingly providing, generously bestowing, ruling, delighting in the children ; the mother lov- ing, sympathizing, understanding, serving ; all the ^ brothers and sisters so full of life, and activity, and happiness— so full of trusted and trusting love. How beautiful, how dear, how warm it was ! And how much warmth it must shed all around ! What a picture of "the Father's House" to those around it ; what a foretaste of it to those within ! Yet my thoughts would wander back to that bewildered, battling, toiling, struggling England; that bewildered, battling world outside, and could lind no rest. Until they came back and did lind rest in Cous- in Martha's sick chamber. Little Martha seemed to link that abounding prosperous family with the suffering, weary, strug- gling world outside, and to make the contrast less oppressive. Our blessed Lord did not live in an oasis, when He was visibly in this world, any more than he lived in the deserts; but on the open hillsides; in the city streets where the lame and blind were, and the sick were brought to the doors ; on the dusty roads ; by the village well, thirsty and weary, really poor. It seemed to me good for that prosperous house- hold that the footprints of poverty should have come into one chamber of it, poverty of all that makes wealth enjoyable ; thirst and weariness no AGAimr Tan stbeait. ^^ woltl. could relieve; (,„od that tl , <"•■« on wI,o.„ the 1 ,*t .f ,, '"''" ''"'"''' to 'Io«„ direct with no „1 "'! ^'=''"''>>do6 came -a,be„edie«i:r„r„;;ft::fa:'^r''"^^- "1 spirit, and they that I„„>„ "; *'" "'" Poor l-" «^/m.rf*4*: ''?"|:^,''f'-"Sl;teo„s„ess," 0/ God. Blessed afrTo tlat^l"'"'' " *" '^''"S'^"™ e'lall be filled." -^ ^' '"'"S'"' "^ i for ye striiff- f'/i ? '■J i ! i 'M,| fir CHAPTER XYII. ^-^FfE Jiistorj of the anti-slaverj struggle ^ IS not piqtiiresque, at least the English l)ortion of it. Its battle-fields are com- niittee-rooms of the House of Oonnnons at no tnne the most picturesque of assemblies, tne Icnv taverns whence Clarkson hunted out witnesses platforms of abolition meetings, largely attended by Quakers, the House of Commons itself; none of them very manageable material from a pictorial point of view. Its chief pictorial achievement is a terribly geometrical drawing of a section of a slave-ship with a cargo of black men and women stowed in it "like herrings in a barrel," only alive (at least, alive when they were packe sugar, scarcely to tI,o sufferers, ,vi,o t ! "''''T '" '""^ »'■""« - of .he aboiuln'of ITl^'l "I' "- r.-o,„. experienced "great fnv t™ "■'"'* » "96, -J-'onee returned t„ tfnse'l ^''™'''" "' «-=- »P'ins sugar, the .njori v o 7''";-" ^"d' ^-- ■jot mulcted of a luxutv ^ti ,' '""'''""'■"^^ '''■''''' durcd by men like Clarkson r^''^"'"'^'"'*'' «"' dence among the low tun 'r''"^ "" -•'- or on the decks of sla^o ,1, / . '*''''''"''' 'owns that hitter cup „f c^eM 'ifi'"^^P'"S h^ soul i„ »fto" sleep 4 C b,!f '"?'<">«d„ess until P-onal danger he Zj^ l>ut drowned in a storm l« I, ,' '"° ™'» «» " "-itness, and once Ih l\t ^^"""^ '" ^"'"^ ^y » band of slavCTj ,' 'T'I^' '"'» the sea -»e «ot subjects to be diJl ,r"''"'I»ol docks Nevertheless in the of ■""^' -^P^esented. continuance in well-doi, ^ ' "^■•°'«™ "' "P""'™* t'-ough half a cent,t t T"^ l" ^'''P ^'"'o. euthusiasm, with no romantic^ "^ sympathetic to revive it, through .1?^ T °'' "'^'^nts ^'0 details of wrom aid ''^ ""'^ "^''"^ "^ P''0- '■edress, the world ha "had 1 ''"^T,"^ ''"''""^ of . Tbe extent to wh chtl T ""'"" '^^•■™'P'««- "> some quarters after,tdMrr' "'"' """^^ setiuent generations a tcu, ^ "^ S'™" sub- work. " """"^^y to undervalue the But Granville Sharne and ni i l^erti.rce, and th„ ieadei ut H. '*'""' ""^ ^'1- * ot the contest, themselves .^1 il Jm m I -J ft ''M ,rp If ^i' . 272 AGAINST THE STREAM. «#!" blew no trumpet before them, called their deeds by no grandiloquent names, and never gave them- selves out as martyrs or heroes, or anything but Christian men determined to lift off" a great crime from their country and a great wrong from a con- tinent. I was a little disappointed at the feeling of my cousins with regard to the slave-trade. They were quite -sound" on the subject, of course; they wore Mr. Wedgwood's cameo of "a man and a brother ; " they abstained from sugar ; but they were a little tired of the contest. "It seemed as It It would never come to an end." It had gone on in the House of Commons more than ten years ; and ten years to my cousins was the whole of conscious life. " It was remarkable," Mr. Clarkson says, at the beginning of the century, '« that the youth of the rising generation knew but little about the question. For some years the commit- tee had not circulated any books." Kor was the anti-slavery literature very at- tractive, or very " suitable for circulation in fam- ilies." The mere brutality of the wrongs inflicted make their records as unreadable as the criminal columns of a sensational newspaper. Besides the '' newest thing," whether in bonnets or baret- tas, in vestments, secular or ecclesiastical, in here- sies or in philanthropy— will have irresistible at- tractions for "the youth of both sexes.' And anti-slavery was by no means the newest thing in ^^^^^ST THE STMJSAM philanthropy r f . ^ , ^"'^«- and felt ™„,e abo , H ""'"™"™'"^^ E«ept Jittte Martha .', o " '"^ '■°»^>n«- ^'«te«totheaehooba„dthp„ ' ^^^ ^■* my aO' .neetings," .he aid " V.^ .'"^ "'^ '»'««-™- the negroe. as thej can ' Th '"" ^ '' "«»•• t ajf ^ '■"^"'"'-"0 long b^,7 "- '"'^"'■•on that IS J,^«^,^ ^^ =. . but then, yon tno„-, "an sometimes make H^ ^ ^"'^ ""■ *' ^ I »«sionariea i„ t™ wf "Sd"" '"'^ «'" ^^n a* God to help," IJtJf'^ ' ^'"' ^ "an al«-av« -ay. When n,^' het a t '/''' '"''' »'■"-'»' -g.'' ^ "^ "^-^ "•'"« 'rubles t,^"X- Moreover th^ ^^ • , W>:' ""^ P-P»-t'o wt; j"""' the battle, Wilberforce said, " wi„, „ 7"^ ""'"'aned, as Mr In 1800. 1801 I80P r^"'' ^'''»'-" «Pedient to hn^fZlTf ''"' '' ^^^ J«%ed "■ the Honse of (fom.r:''" '"''"°" «»' ^i""'?' ~eT:^tr-'^^'-^''^--ansi.e -ad, .no, ge,ferori "rad, "T^ -^ V^Te" ^»aps they harl V. ,t ''^ ^civiioAyJedo-e th^t- r-f :'»"-»" ^■'■* Ltd"- 'rr'"^^"^' '^■- °""™" of thing, so fnli of I o'; '' "r^-' '^ '-^ 18 ''ope in which iLcv ,» 'isi^'^. 274 AGAmST THE STREAM. Mi . k ji': Vi i'i could help ! " " They had rather left slavery to papa and Mr. Wilberforec and the Iloiise of Com- mons." "I must come and see the day-schools and Snnday-schools, and attend the meetings at Exeter Hall for the Bible Society, and the London Missionary Society, and the Church Missionary Society." However prosaic and old-fashioned those words may sound now, to us, then, they were full of spiritual romance, fresh as young leaves, frai^raiit as spring flowers, strong and glad as a river just set free from the winter ice. It was a joyous tide of new life, n>):^ [ was swept away in it. England ; , begun to awaken to the fact that she had m: J .? - of ignorant children to be taught the elements tl Christianit}', and millions of hea- then subjects to be evangelized, and a whole world within and vsathout in sore need of help. Durino- the next few years, she was^ to get used to the necessity of standing alone against the world in more ways than one : and she was also to rise to the duty of standing alone/(?rthe world, nntil the Christian world awoke to help her. As certain aa it is that there were years— at the beginning of this century— in which our country alone stem- med the desolating despotism of Napoleon, until nation after nation awoke not at her call but by her deeds ; so certain it is that at the beginning of this century she alone, with anything to bo called a national enthusiasm, stemmed the torrent of a thousand wrongs; negro slavery, the cruel ^niseries of tJie i i • ^'' f°'-'"..ate ..nrf g^y 4" „'""""'' "•"•>•'""«, of tho „„. "■•'''on afte,.nati„„ a ose " ..'".•'T'*"'"'"'", ..t "' ^.77 'o its defeat :,, "- »'>" brighter &^' . A"il equally certain ; ', ,' »' "n at,„osphe,.e, (,„. , ^X" ' "'^^""We diflusion - «'"ed to be, K:, : ;r r "t^ "' «"''-» was "«'"Pied with its „''""•''''"•'""'>■, l-eLu, "'' ^ ;'"^' t^^e motto of t}.n I , "^ ^'^od " u-as f,« doubt should come W t"-'^' " ^^'^^ good » ^vays easy t. '^ '"^ert wined timt ,> ^^ ''"^ «^^ that towards the >bp^ »'/"^ '^'^ ^««J to ^->.a„dpe.o„a,,ett4"5:;trX^.<-- '\*« i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET {MT-3) 1.0 I.I l^|2^ 12.5 ^ us, 12.0 IL25 i 1.4 2.2 1.6 Scifflices Corporation r 'V<^ ..^^ M/JL 5 276 AGAINST THE STREAM. 7r ins could never make enoudi of me. Thev were much given to superlatives, not from exaggeration, but from a certain glow through which they saw things and people. The boys accepted me as a kind of younger sister, with a variety which was piquant ; and, in their way, were as good to me as the girls. Happily (although I believe to Mrs. Danescombe's disappointment), no thoughts of matrimony intruded themselves. Indeed, people were not in the habit of falling in love with me, as they were with Claire. The only persons who made that mistake in those days, were two elderly gentlemen, one of whom had an idea that I should devote myself efficiently to his eleven children, while the other considered that I reminded him of his first wife, an elderly lady recently departed; and a young curate, who, I believe, thought 1 should be a mother to him and his parish. On the contrary, people were in the habit of confiding to me their love affairs, as if I had been a venera- ble and indulgent grand-motherly person of sev- enty. I took it as a compliment, this being a pre- rogative of Loveday Benbow's, although it did seem beginning rather early. The first Sunday at Clapham was a decided novelty to me. Instead of every one rising a little later in homage to the da}^ of rest, every one was down half-an-hour earlier to begin what, to my cousins, was the busiest day in the week. There was an amicable contest among my cous- ins which should have possession of me to Intro- AOAimr THE STUEAM. ^^^ same school ; and Pi,„h! , '"'^"'^ "> "le ^Bchool rooontV o,,™.^ tn' "' "'^"^'^ ■'" ^ "«'- «d district, whiA l!ad " '"'•^ P°<"- "'"^ n^^glect- with ,-. eroVded ';, ' f,i rilft,!", "''' " «■"«-' distance from the classic!, ''"'^'"'™'^«. at some W *' "' ''"«~' """"' " " "•ere altog^tW a^new md??' ^""'"''y-^hools ^° one had tI,o„ehroTr n l'^"""™ "'««i"'tion. ^->- With aoS re Let It ™^ '" ^""-"''^ We had not even !, tf T} '""^ '» ''""^^ it- l^^tions of little ones t. f . ' T^' " ^"^^ -^o'- ' ^e'-y limited scale as to "r"*^ """^S"'' »" « tept by a few old «Ue„ ,7 "^ """ '"^'"'""o". Oberlin s„,,e,^eded aZnt I ''" "" ""^ P"""'?'" t« keep tlegoats a,d f .'""""""■"^•"tooold children." ° ' ""^ """^f"" «et to keep the -n^yo« do with sTndi , " " '" ' '"•' "''"^ «''i'dr::f rtt"':hrcS'"'' i^f '"^'^ -" people let their chil2n '■f\^'"^ "'e indifferent «'e bad people itZ "'"' "'^-^ '*^'J- O*' "0* met !i,e^,. ICl^' l\^''0'^-^- I Lad way. And as to how ^ ""' "^ "'e went to church, and sat T ff"' ^i""'''-'' ^ '^''^ ' '"' "' 'he garden, and read Pi 'It 'it h 278 AGAINST THE STREAM. % good books, and, above all, had long talks with my father. " But, dear cousin Bride," said Phoebe, " the bad people generally do keep out of the way, don't you think ? They have lost their way, you know. So we have to go out of the way to find them. And wo have so many days to read good books in." It was a new view to me. If ever " false witness " was borne against our neighbor," it is in the accusation that the "evan- gelical party " were supremely occupied with " sav- ing their own souls." They might, some of them, have narrow and shallow ideas of what " salvation " ' means (which of us has conceptions of that great word, deep and broad enough ?), but at their own souls they certainly did not stop ; laboring to sa otlier people's souls was of the very essence of tlieu religion. Whatever else they believed or disbelievea they believed most really that they had in their possession a remedy for the sins and sorrows of the whole world; and it was their duty and their deliglit to bestow and apply it; sometimes, no doubt, not discriminatingly or successfully. Have we found yet the school of spiritual medicine whose diagnosis is perfect, or whose treatment never fails ? The bright faces of my cousins did a large pro- portion of their evangelizing work, bringing sun- shine wherever they came. my '^f'^I^ST Tm STMEAM. »f young shopwo'„e„. C r'' *---'""'e..s ffte,^d around "the tabtV" "'" ^'"'"■S «'^-e« a-We together, ,W « ste en^'" "^-^ '^'"' "'« Pi^in to them, L a ' L,!. """.^TT^ "> '"^e it ?va3 altogethe; /ew to ^e -I f r"*" *'"■<"' ■"solving a very disc.l7„,;- °*'' "<" "'"^J'S -"'a"tho« and bod s C^" *"^- "^ "'-"ffei aeauauK .nee With "l\''™'^™nnff a familiar ^vlnch would come blck ,„ , ,' ^"«"^'' KWe "n after-hoar of sorrow and " "'''"'" '" '»"/ "ft, when none but ftm.T''"'" ""O '>^«'"de.' "We to penetrate the heart "''"^^ ^°"'«"•«. ^ntfor panied „s. "^^ "^ ^^^ ""-others who aceomf '■«^ and personal. "" '"'^ ''"^'•rfore to bo P'''ftopiernT„T'a'r''''"^' ""^^ """e no '">f 'hen- edncation had L/\ ""' "'"""^■•'•"w o-'lj' unfortunately ?„k, ^^f T"''^ """P'^to, ^, Theyi„e„JjJ-.» "|d.reet,-on. «-« J^uugeetof them, than 1 '"'"'"' """■•H" >«<-%eneo preter ' ,,t / ^'''P'"""- ^th »f «-.Jd animals, in all t , 'Lt"'^'"f'' ' "''« "«' «<="'«. sagacious, ouuuit IT"""'^ ""emselvcs, "•aps, acute as one of t ?*' ^"""'' »"«Pfcious of f- own, which pUt'harr' '^"^^ "' l^^pingout of the school /""'' *'ffi™l'J' in */« weak poi„t,-!atd ; "• "f <"'"»" «" "dver !'"■»-" beings, esp'eciaHv wZ '"J""''' °" »" ";««, as adversaries,- " - ""-i"™'" ^^ «f a contest of wit tl at 1 '? *^ ^'--^'ion «>Pe with them. "' «^«''"o <=oosiD couJd ♦i"^"'- She brought the 'IT'^ "/^' '" ''""g " "° '»''«■ and she brough! 282 AOAINUT THE STUEAM. them liopc. At first, apparently, the whole thing was regarded, in the alley, by the gloonn-jy di£ pojed as an insolent invasion, and by the cheer- luJly disposed as a practical joke, which they returned by breaking the windows with brickbats. iJut by degrees, as one by one awoke to the fact that she and her brothers really cared for them, ■■ cared that they should grow better, and do better, and be all that is meant among those who are but too obviously "lost," by being "saved," a little band of chivalrous defenders gathered about her, iilways ready to execute summary Lynch law on any of their companions who presumed to create a disturbance. That afternoon she had to rescue a victim who was being liberally "punched" for not "holdino- his jaw." ^ And when we came to the closing hymn, and the poor fellows shouted out a chorus about " sweet fields," and " living streams," and " Jesus Shepherd of the sheep," these innocent pastoral images alto- gether overcame me. To these outcasts to whom the world had de nied all the innocent joys of home, Christianity, through a woman's words, was bringing childhood, for the first time. These little ones, hardened from the cradle, wer^ now learning to come as little children, (children for the first time in the new life,) to the Master's feet, to the Savionrs arms, to the King's kingdom. And looking across to Piers, I eaw that he also was not a little moved. ole thing nil}' dis- le eheer- icli they rickbats. ' tlie fact or them, better, • are but a little out her, law on create a im who holdins: nn, and " sweet lepherd ;es alto- had de tianitj, Idhood, id from .8 little wlife,) to the ^iers, I AGAm^T THE STREAM. Tliese teachiiurs wore in fi. • . cliuroh gervices '''^ "^ ^'^^ "^tervals of the ■o-m^tSl^":: "il'r --.-^i^'inee Christian «.'ee, used to perS': K v.J> ' 7^1 " /" '■™™"; those "kin,l™l points wh,ch 80 often „,ect in the l.oart with ovenvl,ol„.,ng power, through the earlj- associa- tions of tlie simplest iij'mns I Tlie preaching was quite as new to me as the essays ] „t this was a proclamation, a message, a spealtmg direct from lieart to heart. At this distance of time I cannot in the least remember the su,,-ect, the words spoken-per ap tliey might not bear acute criticLi; but I re- .nomber as distinctly as if it were yesterday the impression on my own heart. A message from God, from (he Father, from my lather, from the Saviour, to „,., searching mto ny hear what I was loving, searching int^ my life how I was living, making me fee? how poor my ite was, making me see how rich it ought fore Qod!"""^ "' '"^'■"'' ""• "^"°S-S - ta- It moved me much. I felt too much to speak, when I came out of church. But whatever emotions my dear cousins experienced were not wont to exprL themse Ives in silence. The Quaker element L not strong a Cousin Crieh ton's. *= "You enjojed it, Cousin Bride," said Hattv and Matty simultaneously. ^ " ^ ;^^s not thinking exactly about enjoying. It searched (juite down into one's heart ! " I said "kindred lieart with ly assoeia- me as the preaching, itations or message, a the least — perliaps but I re- 3rdaj the ler, from searching ling into feel how it ought me be- le out of ' cousins 3m selves itrong at i Hattj ijojing. I said. AOAlJiTST THE STREAM. rri, 285 iiiej were satisfied. -ft was vei'V r, • 1 TT -toneofthe^nrtriS't''"^"?-- curate, yon know." ^' ^^ ^"« ^^'^ the '• You should hear Mr Cor>\^ j Newton or" or. a i ^^"' ^^ dear old Mr ^•orld also, have (o.g^^ ^' "'"' ^'^''V' " «ekle. *"niiy seemed to ris^ I 1, "'^T""' "^ "" 'l,e fflee at Cousin Criel!toa J „ " '"""' '•"'<«™t '•>;..»- said, orthii LVvcr'h'ir" '"■'" '°''^ "'Im, made to snaikl. 1 ^ """"" "> "'""i- 'I never Jlo^l•r^ o o Bride," said le when T""'.''"" ^'''^' ^onsin what I had felt' '° ^ '""^ » ««''= to her of I replfei ^ '"'™ ""'^ '"'"^'^ "«• Cousin Martha," BH:J":it:r:~t^^^^^^^^^ cw missionary society. ■/'M 286 AGAINST TJIb! HTliEAM. " Net sermons that speak to the heart like that " I «a>« . '' Of con.-Ho Undo Fjford reads us what ia ea e,l « «ernion. Uut preaehin- is scnetliini? very uilterent." * ^ Preaching seemed to mo that evcuitur such a i,'Ionou8 word, and a pulpit sucli a royal i.laeo! St. Peter and the tiireo tlionsand -viio were smitten to the heart at Jerusalem, and St. Pauls NVoo unto me it'I preach not "-if ho had, indeed had such a message to give, seemed to me quite coniprehersibio. , ^ I pitied Martha very much that she could not go to church, or teach in Sunday schools. I sup- pose she felt it by something in my looks or tones, lor she said — ' " Yet I do get sermons even here, Cousin Bride, from so many things, from everything, sometimes from the fire and from the trees waving in the un- seen wind, from the stars; if sermons mean mes- sages from God." A r^^V.',^ ^'''^^' "^'''" ^^""^ le^medi to listens And I told her about Loveday, of whom slie always dehglited to hear. « But oh, Martha," I said, "it IS these plain strong words piercing into the hearts . that have not learned to listen. Surely if men .^o on preaching like this, the whole world will turn and listen, and love, before long I " She hoped it would. She thought it must. Ihe news was so good, the need so great. And in that -low of hope I went to sleep that n,ght in my princely bedroom, planning and dream- like that," lis what I'a hing veiy li? such a )liiee ! lu) wore t. Paul's I, indeed, ne quito )uld not I siip- )r tones, n Bride, letimes ; the un- m mes< always lid, " it 5 hearts nen go U turn must. """'itlfST TBB anSAU. « •'"'"I.S ..„•«,•„„„ 3 . "''^ - = >• schools, S„„,lay "-»-l.i l.,.U "ever hX' ;;.^'-''» ^Vo.VauJ " was an eri nf ,. .i "^''^^^e. «.«etecl a „e,v em for e wor d'" '°""''''" Y' I I p that dream- CHAPTER XYIIl. N" looking at the little packet Madame des Ormes had given me, I was a little alarmed to find that it was intended for no less a personage than onr local dio-ni- tarj, the Countess of Abbot's Weir, whose t?wn house was in Cavendish Square; and that it was to be delivered into no hands but her own I suppose the Marquise had vague ideas concern- ing the size of London, and concerning the awful- ness of our distinctions of rank. Cousin Barbara could give me no light on the subject. Cousin Crichton and his family " dwelt among their own people," and had far too mucli smiphcitj and self-respect to wish to attain through any irregular by-paths, religious or secular' to a social level ab-^ve their own. I wrote to Claire, therefore, to explain what 1 could of the difficulty; and we were waiting for the reply, when one morning a coach, a little be- yond the usual sober and Pul)dued splendor of Clapham. swept round to the porch. In a few moments Mrs. Beckford-Glanvil was ft' as i'er tread, a sonoro !,'„! ^l^ '" "'^ »'Mitv of -•'k«; 70.; felt n«x,;'r"'" ^-"^ ^'^ '-' -.native %„re ; tl.e ZZoul ""' "^ '''P''- ;eomed represented in J " 3^ : h' ' """ ^^<'^* «.e ancient East in her L? ■' ^^ "'<"''"' of ™^f;c perf„,„es, the "ho t;:7 »<> her are- a's «nd in the magnifieenee nft ''™""^'-^«" of "I'ole " petite nobWrfEl'^^P.'-^^^"^^; the ;oensi„„ of her eourtl, th^ ""*' '" "'^ """dO" J^oekford, but a BeekSd pf .r' "°' ""'^ » » Beekford-GIanvirbt! t t" • '""' "»' only -"t^dand fu.-theriS „„t «»vi, -nsi- She saluted Co.isin R . ■* ^''■'P''''»n- Foss..re of the hand „v "■"■' *'"' " ''^"'""g-'d gracious acknowled.4ent TnT"' "'"' * S'''''''-^' Cecilia about 4^'"^;-""- «» her consin t 'e .nnsie-master, the nolV P v'^^-'' ""'■■<' ™8 "'•^ R'ench ,„ist es ; ^00^!™''" '''^^"'' ''"d -■ey, and the Italian mast^ h ^r"*^ ^""""o- fe'.a; really, M.^. CrieTol t ^^'"^"^^ ^'^ 'f"gee« it seems a clarit "', JT" "'''' "^ ""'"7 •■■■'- children havesjr f """^"'^ '"^^^ons ft-.,/ "■"e scarcely leisure : '}, 01] 10 friendshi] If 290 AGAINST THE STREAM. I ■m or society, or charity, or anythin-. How do you m.'iiiaoo sncli things ? " "i do not manage at all," said Cousin Barbara, winch was ceitainly a correct account of lior inodo of government. " The girls seem to enjoy every- thing, and so to find time for everything." " Certainly, your sons and daughters seem to have time for everything," Mrs. Glanvil resumed. " 1 hear of them in the Sunday schools, at the Dis- trict Visiting Society, in the Missionary Collections —everywhere. Quite models! I am always hold- ing them up to my poor dear Cecilia and to my sons. But then we all know, Mrs. Crichton, as de:ir Mr. Y said so beautifully last Sunday, raul may plant, and Apollos water.' And my poor Arabella, you know, married so very early • and her husband, Sir Frederic, so idolizes her that he will not suffer her to enter a school or a cottage. You know there is danger of infection ; those poor creatures are not so clean and careful as one could wish. How do you escape ? " " We do not always escape," Cousin Barbara replied. -But my children have good health, thank God- and they take care." " Ah, some people are hardier than others. My poor darlings are delicate plants, Mrs. Crichton ; a little too tenderly nurtured, perhaps; rather too' much hot-house plants, I fear." But she said this in a way which decidedly im- phed the superiority of the hot-house products to the hardy natives of the open air. (( yon '■onsemitorv wluv! ^ * ""^''J." from l' ^mi,oo,, of ^,„„.„^ »J *e dread „f ^„,;^° kept «.„g„,j^„^^^ toroa H ""'^''0 ""Ir ^^e returned to'nlv ' "minence. ^ W'Jborforoo a little unre ' m"™""""' ""'"fc Mr "?'■« "nportant interes"^^' f ""■'"^b', ^«t there '"«e regulation and dis .0"° " ^'' "^''oeted; and '™«^ sensible »e„ ,& ,f ''''"™' «^b what practicable sel,en>e. ^ " ""= ^"f''^' and most (( Cousin Barb, with rira quoted :Mr. jTovV ^* '•'.0 slave-trade. at fl* I.. ' 292 AGAINST THE STUEAM. ^tli IP' I i lie knew of no such tiling as the repjnlation of rob- bery and murder." Mrs. Glanvil said women must leave these prac- tical questions to men, and changed the subject. The peace with France was beginning to be- come a general to])ic. Mrs. Beckfcrd-Ghmvil had much information., on the subject "from private sources," no mere newspaper reports, but things Mr. Eeckford-GIan- vil had heard at the House of Commons, v/hicli Bhe liberally commmiicated in confidential tones, with a suggestion that perhaps at present " it had better not go further "—opinions of cabinet min- isters and various great men and honorable women whom they had met at various dinners; sayings even of a Higher Personage still ; what Mr. Pitt intended, and Mr. Fox thought, and what His Majesty had said in confidence. She was floating away in the midst of this tide of greatness, when the door opened and the butler announced " The Countess of Abbot's Weir," and a tall, majestic looking woman in deep mournino advanced towards Cousin Barbara. "You will excuse my coming Avithout intro- duction, Mrs. Crichton," she said. « I had a mes- sage from a dear friend of mine, Madame des Ornies, through Miss Danescombe. It is a pleas- ure to escape from London," she continued, looking at the conservatory, "to have a glimpse of the countjy, gardens, and flowers." If she had sought far and wide she could not m v^ ^«^/^ww/4.^,^^.^^ «:;? i>r my cousin c e to 'rr"'^'" "^ ' '■ fi'-t 'no.vperi„„,,, I ,„. 7°" ^ f^'^e when i„ ,„„ , s^rtor.trf'r"-'^-- kind,,. '"^ Wd. a„d he,d , a ,;„o, ,„ nialve my poor frionW. i ' ^^^^ ^^^cilia was longing to see her cousin's friend, and hoped I would tix a day to spend with her, and that my cousins would accompany ine. The prospect was appalling, but Cousin Barba- ra having rescued me by saying we would soon do ourselves the pleasure of returning Mrs. Eeckford- Glanvil's call, I was set free to execute mv com- mission. _ When I returned the countess was quietly talk- ing to Cousin Barbara on the universal topic of the peace. But her information was by no means so assured as that of Mrs. Beckford-Glanvil. The earl, she said frankly, had never liked the war and she had always thought it one of the finest things Mr. Wilberforce had ever done to stand out lor peace against his political friends. " It is so much easier," she said, " to differ from the whole world than from one's own party." But she risked no other name bv quoting it in support of any opinion ; and of the king, when there happened to be occasion to mention his name she spoke with the far-off loyaltv of an ordinary '^9f ''''^^^^^r m^ srmAM. *'•»;;' a,,,.oe::l;r''-»''-M..jesty nearer t'wluced, and whose ll t " '""""■ "^ I'ein- in -• ^o ''ou,. ,: 'rJ,;'r''r"^'"-'" M^m■pe. Ho has always' „ T ^'^ ^'■^"•"o "'° "W knights boforfthrM /".'"'' ''■'^•«™« of ^];o.Jt. Thegrandson of „ '^n f "'"'^'-y «.^ fan archdeacon, contontod t '"" '^"^ '"•''"'- '7<=f "P to a ,„oroer; an li ""^ '"s appren- «-Jiolo Jaw of England ' "'""''' ^""»«8 the ^-'. back to its t? :"oiC™'^'<=,d t-y false ptet T].on afterwards, (wh^lr"'''™'^ »f freedom. !f a-J-'i'ing,) giving Tn ,TT '° "' "^ "°"« Ti-easnryandhisincome'^Jf Wo.ntmont i„ the -"ding out ammnn ™X ;r "r ""^ "'™''<^^tice, such men end „, ^™''"' ^"^ "■""> and ---- basnet 'rSftr S- ^-™-\^tX-:i:;r^^-V"^--^'-- ;r-i:L7"---»-"iSn:fji;: ,^,C--n Barbara sn,iH and said .er,.i„dl. 'Bride, w.«a:vrn:d::"''^-«-*sha: ■ft^l! .*-<"■ get into the carriage and show trpe'8 'it' mef !" 296 AGAINST THE STREAM. H\i the countess said; -and will jour cousin conio with us? Andwil you lot me drive them homo with me, Mrs. Crichton, that we may have a Ion., talk over our common friends and our conunou iieroes? If you can, I should like it so much ; the earl ,s away, and it will cheer my solitary evenino- • and I promise to send them back safely in the evenmjr Mh It was impossible to refuse, and Hatty and I spent a most liappy day at Cavendish Square see- ing all kmds of interesting ancestral portraits, and relics, and autographs, and feeling as if we were personally drinking draughts of delight at the very sources of English history. Simple and natural her life seemed, as ours at Abbot s Weir, or my cousins' at Clapham, in the great world of London, which was her native plar-e or among their tenants in the country whom she loved to help; its deep places, simply such as mine or Loveday's, or Reuben Pengelly's. Into these depths she gave me one glimpse, which drew my heart to het. Taking me into her dressing-room, she drew back a veil from the portrait of a lovely child about the age of Claire. ^" Last year she was with us," she said. " Tell Claire. They used to play together in old days in 1 ranee." And on taking leave she kissed me, and said she must see me again at Abbot's Weir. The visit to Mrs. Buckford-Glanvil could not be evaded, but the good nature of my cousins # lOll^ AOAItfST riw STliBAM. fe'reat as it was co„M . ' ^^^ r-^ to be present, and ^.."nieW.''^'""" """^ Cecilia's lono-ino. f^ -' .• but it waX^ :rZ; "?' "»« v<»7 appar. --^^ «ot demonstnwivJeon ;2rr"^'^^^'''««'''<> ■"<•■■>'»' limpness seemed t7 -"f' ^ '"'"^ «f ™« perhaps vrhat lier n,o.h° '"'"'"''= ''<»■' "•'"d. « hot-house plant "' "'^""^ ^j her being -tt'^okTrrT^'''^"'^ ''«'«• Her Cecilia felt charmed w^th M • ""V"" '"=•• ^ear «'»'; and Cecilia ddnf tl'lr*^ '""''"''^ ■" »»«. Ifc. GlanvilWn in ^' '™''"<' "> «s- '■-ted on Madame Lol^T"' "'"""^ «'"'^- it 18 cnrious," she sa,V?'« d'd not mention her oJZ'^^' """"^"-■W apparently. But, then to 17"'""' "'' '"'"■''<'"<>■> ■»anyforeignpe4„n;"^dis „.;"'"• "'"'^ "''^ «> 'noment in England, that w ^ r,''"^'"^ '-" "'is "'"rquises.and conn el Z) f "'" P'-""'^^. and to be helped, one to , ' u^ '''>«™"«'^ who have after al^harit, beglLtXm" >'" "''™ ^ ««"' quises^i^olt.re:?''™'"'''^^ P"nces and mar. . Oimes ,« not ia want of .h^.;! \;. '^f"^^'^'« UCo Onneswnotinwantofehari^ * •^ lives at 298 AGAINST THE STREAM. il Pf ml \!( Abbot's Weir because she likes to be quiet, and (she kindiv says) because she likes us. That is all." " Of course, Miss Danescombe, of course. No one imagines a Marquise would settle in Abbot's Weir from choice. I suppose the Countess of Abbot's Weir knew them in better days ? " t After a time Cecilia took me into her boudoir. When I was alone with her she came out in a new light. To my cousin Crichtons the presence of their parents seemed a free atmosphere in which all their thoughts and hearts expanded ; to Cecilia the absence of her motiier seemed a liberation. She ^vas surprised that I liked Clapham. It seemed to her and her brothers the dullest place in the world. She supposed it was because I came out of a deeper depth of dulness at Abbot's Weir. She seemed to me terribly tepid and old. She admired nothing : she hoped in nothmg. She was "^ d^sillnsionnee " at nineteen. The slaves she con- sidered only less wearisome than the anti-slavery people. She could not at all comprehend the fuss made about them. "If they were emancipated, they were still black and still poor, and how was the world to be made an agreeable place for blacks and poor people?" The only thing she warmed into energy about was her detestation of missionary meetings. Her sister was married and never meant to attend an- other in her life. "All kinds of people brought AOAlmr TUB STUBAil. ■ , 2y!) into your draivin.'-room " c\ i ;o much a l,oa<, to io^ L t^j'TJ ' ,''""«'" "' tl>0 ^oolosical ani,„al., a«d all M , .' '''""" "l^" '•"rions. But I .,,,,,1 "'" "<'«'««' or most """'^e.ne„,s; wo, r„r ''™T "•'" ">"«' l,avo '•»i?'">-,„uso:u : ':":;7-'-ts,ort,.,. right. ° ' '" """ '"-el sho might bo She dopressed me dreadf„lly It was the first example I Ind tliat reaction from mJ, !i '-'"^''n'^ored of -ntempt,orHir.d"i !'''•'''"';. '" " ^^»--' tl.e second generaHon of •""■"'■' "•'''<='' l^o^'^ roligious professio" ' '-"™'''' "^ "" •"'™al '-tntrt'^-"^^^^^--' ^^^-the ™e forthe sake of Abbo"; y^^Z'T"'-'''"' '" future proprietor of Court P . i r "'•"' "* "'« tim.ed to do„,;„ate the on "• ^'''°"' »"»- polite but impenetble and rST'- '^"^ ^^'"^ to endm-e his wife's sori.,l7 " ""<* '•'»""^'' Jo7 them. But tli is ' ^'T™'^ "'^ '" ""■ to .-cligious tamilies " P<«="''^'-"J "ot li.nited f ,'^00 'I t AUAIS6T TUJi UTIWAM. tr Abbot'' -'Iv""' '!r '"'' ^'"'"''^^ '''^^"'•"•- ''I'-t political i.ro8|,eet.s, cncernin^^ Ml.ich Mr. G\mvi\ wjis fur .nore reticont and Ics iufurn.e.l than bi. ^uito. Afr-^.. dinner the hostess employed herself m impressing me with the importane; of the ex- poetc^J guests, and espeeially expatiated eoncerniTig Air. AVilber orce; how he "maintained religion in the eye o the world by having a large houte, giv- ing liospitable entertainments, and indulging him- - f in those congruities to ins taste and ibrtuno cSia!::^^"^ ''' ^''''''' ^-'^-- -^ the thol'^^VnT r^'^ ^^'^ '"" that I should find the hons ot Clapham whom I was to behold that evemng, and even Mr. Wilberforce himselt; remov- td far irom me into that world of clothes, congrui- Me and the»Kot me" were so inextricably confounded, and in which my ''Me" always b^ '^•ame so terribly isolated. ^ ^ Yain and foolish fears. That sparkling wit, lighted up from that tevc\^v whicli m all society drew its deepest glow from tlie Presence it never quitted, that natural, court- e^^^. considerate, easy, happy English gentleman, tti..t . vAj. lovnig, generous-hearted Christian man r ''^ 'T ":^^ ^'^^^" ^'^ ^""^"tes before the 1^ ^^)... .< >eif-impov ;nce and selflconsciousness. of eynieisu. and "nil adinirari" melted away ■80 al)out (1 van'oua . GJanvil tliiin Ilia 1 liorsolf ' tlic ox- neerniiijnr li^noii iu use, giv- ng liiiu- fortuuo and tlie A GAINST THE STREAM. 30 j tlu .. l)o«t, bccuu.o then- true selves. Eveothi,,.; »» (-U « ereatm,, seemed w.^rth earing fur. Everv '•routtn.e n lJi« .edeen.ed world sLmJd tlr h loving and serving. "^ ed tfcZhlr ""f -^ '"^'^ ^ ^"^ ^"'^^ r^^oncil-. uld find )ld that remov- 3ongrui- lich the tricably ays be- tendor nuturo V from , eourt- leraan, 11 mau ^re the iisness, awaj, CHAPTER XIS. '4 a UR cousins M'oiild not liear of our return. As our visit was prolonged, I began to liave pathetic letters from Abbot's Weir. Amice wrote, — You seem Mr]j launched into the millennium, for jou, that is, the reign of i-ighteousuess and peace ; and for poor forsaken me, in the meantime the " thousand years," of pining, without you. It seems just that since you left ! " Granny is more deaf in her discriminating way than ever, and more disposed to be didactic to me. She suspects that I have a turn for negroes and philanthropy, and accordingly finds and inakes countless opportunities for depreciating philan- thropists and negroes. And I am liorHblv torn ^ between the conflicting duties of ' submitting my- self to my governors' and being ' true in all niy dealings;' between the emotions of indignation against what she says, and a reverent tenderness for her. For she loves me more from year to year, I know ; and she would feel my crossing her will like a great hhw from the Jiand she loves best in o S( di at w da r return, began to t's^yeir. lenninni, less and leantime y^ou. It iiinatino: didactic negroes d makes pliilan- >lv torn ing my- all my gnation derness to year, ler will best in -AGAINST THE 8TliBAM. ^^.^ cannot help seeing, ....ve and rtoU, e riiJ ,nl ^T '"■""='''•' ^° ""'t a bio Aom no now would be like a man striking bfe Zl motlier. It is all terribly entangled. Come bS my smgle-hearted Bride and „.ii, , ' ''"-gi. all these tanirn^:,^^^"" scattenng nets of ropes like cobwebs bvmS n-alt o,nTf"!r '''""°' "^'P toeing and feel- rMilH-..o ^ , "'o «^ ^ o"ti s excuses and difS- ciilties so strono-lv fli-if- r coo^v, 1.7 o-n hnl^ii ^ ° 1 , ^^°^ ""^b^e liot only to go boldly forward, but to l-o on at all «nr1 no 1 sit still, and let the net coil and n^ itif ll" ^ ^ne tighter and tighter. '^^ ^^°"^ " Oh for the days of Moses, or of St Paul n. w.o,a„dba,.esand'S,,loi„s;Ue,ritw'''^ u.y sajs, and sometimes I think when the call .* • 'i 304 AOAmST TEE STUEAM. Wk comes I eo„W conut it all joy to follow, anvwl.ere, in any way. " ' '[^fjT ^V kavr corns while 1 was asleep f " And Claire MTote :— "I long for you ahvays. Is London, tlien, af- ter all, as strong in its attractions as our poor Paris of the old days ? Or are you so strong in your at- tractions that London will not yield°youbackto lis ? les, that IS It. The Countess writes to my mother m ecstasies about you. You are a sweet ^10 et a fresh brmth from the moors, a demoiselle de a haute noblesse by nature,-a creature wliose natural naturalness no Court could spoil. All this ^Tf -T '"'''''' ^^^'^ ^'^^ ^^«^^« ^'^ translated. ^ As If we needed to be told all that ! I call it an impertmence to bestow all these beautiful phra- ses on us as if they were anything new to us i^esides I am not so sure about the manners of the noblesse. There are bourgeois among the haute noblesse and there are Bayards among the bourgeoisie. They may create equality of posses- sions in our poor France if they can ; but equality ot persons never ! *' _ " And here are your violets and primroses sich- ing and growing pale foryou ! while Reuben waits when he brings me your letters, lilco your New- foundknd dog ,n his company manners trying not to seem sohctous tor a bone. Mr. Daneseon.be grows hypoc. tioal, and endeavors to persuade us .lud Injnsdf that he is delighted you are enjoying yourselves; and Miss Loveday grows .non.astica^ nywliere, asleep f " tlien, af- oor Paris your at- i back to Bs to my a sweet smoiselle e wliose All this iislated. I call it iilphra- us. naniiers •ng the 3ng the posses- quality 38 sigh- n Waits Kew- ng not combe tde us fojing stical, AGAINST THE STREAM. ancJ ioctnres mo on fl,^ • t t".'e, until I Ce romnrlt '"™ "''"'^ -^»- nnd never a wo d thn^T . ''""« ''"'•™''")-, " Piers no 11 ,. • n ''" *""" »"' 'ovinl ™an-ollo„s meet;"!, " ',7'"" """^ ''"« «» many charming const ^^dT"' """^ ^"^^^ '"^n, about. ' ""'' ^'eam-engines, to care tlie otlier day, I recited . ^'•- Danescombe said 'eft too ,o„g emptyrtC; ^ll'nd r 'T "^"^ any poor cnp." "^ "^ ^°^ themselves at And Loveday wrote : ^; My heart is glad for you Ynn o ^ V sight, on the Pitaloz.ia'^, ..telTeVT"^ Perhaps, after all, neverthelesTonT' '^ '^'•^'• everything by being a littL w ' "ff 7, T' 'T you know, they were not r,n,-f i * Connth, .-e,Pa.i4oar;s:^»^-'^« ■And my stepmother •— from your oxcellenr eo W li, ®''''*''''''' '"^» make such amiable .1"Z "'^ *° *''"'' "'e^ ties your dear fat be 1 , ^I ""^^ ""'« ■""^^'e^ "berty migl, 1,:* ;;';,.t; r ■■^^'■--^ '"eas of And mv fafho"- _ "%ebildre„:yo„r cousins are all Mndne.. r 1^. 306 AOAmST THE STREAM. \ I caimot wonder tliat they delight to liave you, as much as my judgment tells me I ought. And I am sure you ought to stay on,, although I cannot ^vish 1^ as I should, and as they so kindly seem to do. TV e grovv miserly over the years, as there are fewer in the heap before us. But I think your home will be none the less dear to you for all the uxunes of your cousins'. You have a love for helping to bear other people's burdens, my chil- dren inherited from one better than I am. And God knows, He and you and every one have made the burdens of life light to me. . '; You, letters glow, as if they came out of some tropica lland^ You are among those who are help- ing to lift off many burdens from mankind. And I trust you may bring us back some good lessons. We in Abbot's Weir have scarcely done all we might.' That letter of my father's made me passionately ong to return, not from its words so much as for the absence of any of the dry little sayings which were natural to him, when no weight was on him. And I could not bear the humility. Clapham was not better than he was. However, engagements had been made for us iinti June; and through May, at all events, we must stay. ' Moreover, at the period when that letter arriv- ed, I was a little indignant with Clapham on more grounds than one. I had expressed a wish to see the chapel in which John Wesley had preached. AGAINST THE STREAM. . 307 Cousin Crichton had replied by some rather dis- paraging remarks about tlie Methodist£,-excellent peoj>le, he admitted, in their way, in tiieir day, and m their place, but evidently not exactly in his way, or m his day, or at Clapham. Also, one of nfy cous.iis (it was dear good Phoebe the reformer) had said to me something that offended me about Pier. 1 cannot remember the woi-ds. They were, I know* very circumspect and very kind ; but they implied tiiat Piers was not up to the Clapham standard of religious experience. - He made so little response, one could not be sure whether he cared ' " Piers !-who would have thrown himself into the water to rescue any one, while others were wringing their hands on the shore ! Piers, who had in o d days denied himself what he most cared about tor the slaves, or any one in trouble, while I only shed tears-easy, idle tears ! I was veiy indignant, ^id as that was the first time I had appeared in that character at Clapham, my cousins were propor- tionately astonished. ^ I said they were as bad as the people who would not tolerate any one if he lisped, or said sh instead ot s; that they would not have recognized St. An- drew, or Kathanael, or any of the dear quiet saints, M'ho would not protest and talk j-that they would have believed in Apollos more than in St. Paul 1 don t know what vehement things I did not 'say, blending in niy defence Piers and the Methodists! 1 said there was the Age of the II fought the dragons and founded the eroes who cities, and the 308 AGAINST THE STllEAM. Fs'li !' Ago of the settled, comfortable citizens, who lived in the cities and kept festivals over the skeletons of the slain dragons ; that King David had his " first three," and then his thirties, and his tliousands; that Claphaniand its citizens and its festivals were excellent, but where would Claphain have been, unless the Weslejs and Whitefield had laced the niobs of heathen miners and colliers, led on some- tnnes bj worse than heathen rich people, had drawn the colliers, out of their dens and holes, and con- quered them for Christ— risking life over and over again, « being destitute, afflicted, tormented ;" hunt- ed out of the church thej loved— for too much love to her lost children; hunted down bj lost multi- tudes for determining to save them from their sins ; avenging themselves on the church by bringing back to her countless of her lost, to inspire her with new life,— avenging themselves on the savage mob bj bringing back thousands of them to God. I said it was not true that the Weslejs were separa- tists. Thej had been hunted out for beginning the very work the Church was now waking up to share.^ England had driven the loyal colonists in America into becoming a nation, and the Church of England had driven the loyal and orthodox Methodists into becoming a sect. And th ings done were not to be undone, mtions were not so easi- ly to be caressed or chastised back into being colo- nies. I said it was excellent to preach good things to reverent hearers in orderly pulpits, and to °coa- no ^GfAINSr THE STliEAM. o\j\) tend m great n.eotir.gs against great wronr.s • bnt I said, flnallj, that Piers was tetter t^n tl,n, sand timesthan I was, wl.o was a way ZosiZ iisii v.aj of saying out all I felt whiln i " co.ds ti,,^,,,J,^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ s.ud I d d tlimk there mi^ht bo too mucii reli g'ous talk and I was sure tl>ere mi^l.t bo too „u "t rehg,ons judging; and tl,at there^-ere gl Tot pie in the world at other places besides Cl-^lnm and here had boon in other ages before imZi MeTo ;r " '"■■'" "'" "''"■ Indeed iC aided the daring remark that in some wiv, T liought Abbot's Weir a more roomy sttto 3 istenco than Clapham, with glimpses i^'l! •. world and a longer past. ^ " " '"^"" onet Oh T''*^ ^ '"'^ '""'"'™^^ ^"* «'••'» every ono at Clapham was not so terribiv rich ; and that >t the apostles, even, had had to liVe a,n;„g the^' I thought after a little while it must have beea ' IF r.! 310 AGAINST THE STREAM. hard for tliem not to have felt it a sin of omission not to have some thousands a year. Cousin Phoebe was evidently a little tempted to admit me among her company of impracticable people to be reformed. She said very good-hu- moredly, with a fnnny little buttoning of her lips, " that, at all events, there was no danger of mis- taking me for one of the silent saints." But they had all the sunniest and sweetest tempers. Cousin Plarj-iet at once adopted me as one of her « uncomfortable people to comfort ; " and Cousin Matilda, the most open to new con- victions and new admirations of any of them, generously conceded that she did think, from my descriptions, Abbot's Weir must have some of the best people possible in it. And iterwards, dear little Martha having heard of the little passage of arms, put her thin arms round me and said,— " I like you for being in a little fury about your brother. Cousin Bride ; for I think there never was any one, any boy, I mean, so kind and helpful and gentle. lie saw why it was my head was a little nncoiufortable on this eoucli, and he made me that wooden support, you know to keep up the pillows. I do wish he could have been a doctor ! Pie says so little and does so quietly and exactly the riglit thing. It is such a rest ! He wishes it too ; at least, he did wish it so much. But of course vou know." ^ I did know. But she seemed to know more. Sl at AGAINST THE STREAM. 811 The little sufferor had atnicted out of hini the se.ret_ he so rarolj spoke of, of the studies and ambitions he had freely relinquished without ever letting my father know he had sacrirtced anything -to be able to help him in his business, and that l^rancis might go to the University. But Piers was the most trying of all For when I told him of these fears of Pha^bo's (beinc. anxious moreover to draw out of a little cloud of reserve and gravity which I had observed on mn ately), he only said--Perhai>s she is more than half right, Bride. I am sure I am not what 1 waiit to be ; and wlU be, I trust," he added, softly. _ This humility of Piers, and now of my tatlier's in this letter, were too provoking ; most especially so, because they really meant it. Humility was not precisely the characteristic of my cousin Crichtons, or of Clapham, as I saw it, ex- cept of dear Cousin Barbara, who was not ''gifted" in any way, she said, and greatly marvelled at and delighted in the powers of utterance of her dauo-h- ters. In secret, no doubt, they thought humbly of themselves ; but then I did not see them in secret ; the diaries which, no doubt they all kept not being yet published. But in public the whole' active, benevolent, flourishing community admired each other too sincerely and too demonstratively not to see reflected in themselves some of the o-low th^y shed on others. They did not blow trum^pets before themselves, but they did liberally serenade each other. 312 ,'!*. AGAINST THE ST REAM. And I considered tliat Piers and my father had been over-iu)pressed by those triumphant clarions llovvever it was only wl,en summoned by such self-depreciation or such suspicions, to little counter trunipetin..s of my own, that I lost the joyous sense ot the stn- and the victory around me, and left for a mmuto that Gulf Stream of love and life which swept me on in its full warm tides, and swept Bummer to so many shores. »* opt CHAPTER XX. f"'' P'""™^'^' i" the dear old Holds and lanos around Abbot's ^ye,V, and of the by the riC:""^ °* ""^ "^-"'"- - "'0 wo';: n^onntTrin'T''""'"-"™^"-^' •'"'<'"••'" May ,ni.hff"f'-^;-'"'''™™'' "onte^Ptnously Amice Every garden overflowed with trea5 314 ■*i 'If! IKrftt 'I .(Ml AGAINST rilE HTIIEAM. oak-woods. And cd paradises, bods ot'swoet' vir.lots in ScMiiiy nooks, under those wnll- ,er<)en8C3, chistei-s aeiiiij almost tjje wlioie eliord of lerin ricli of anemones, eml)i prismatic! color, all blendint^ with each otl brocades and ''shots" of inte ^, ,^ ., , „ -woven tints, beforo the ribbon'' style of art had been invented. And iiarmonizinr. -dl, the delicious green of well-kept hiwns, penetrating in little creeks and bays under' the shadow of the groves and shrubberies. Little paradises walled in from the wilderness where certainly no thorns and briars, and apparent- ly no serpent could enter; between these paradises incessant interchanges of kindness and friendly in- tercourse ; and from these, paradises, full of "" all that was pleasant to the eye or good for food," in- cessant ministrations of mercy towards the wilder- ness which, unhappily, still existed outside, lurouo-h ministering men and women who frankly recoo-ni- J^ed each other as little less than angelic ; rivers^of beneficence, flowing forth East and West and North and South, and "glad tidings of great jov," sincere Jy dearer to many of the happy dweller's than any treasures besides, sounding forth far and wide from that oasis of exceptional bliss. As to me, I felt often, during that May, alto- gether lapped in paradise, bodv, soul, and spirit _ Never can I forget the effect of those May meet- ings Since become the butts of so many witticisms, on me. Exeter Hall was not built until tliirty years I hose wnll- 3, eluBtC'l'fl cliord of I or in rich ts, before k1. And well-kept, ys under ilderness, ippiii-eut- piirad ises andly in- of '" all )od," in- } wilder- iiii'ongh recogni- ivers of d North sincere lian any de from ly, alto- ipirit y ineet- tieisins, ' years AOALYST TllK STliEAM. 315 afterwards, but the 1 J lull were tiiere. iinnan materials of Exeter It S was the meeting of the London Missionary 'ociety to whieli I was first t a ken. We met in Fi-eoniasons* Hall. tablH^i?"'''' Missionary Sodety had been es- tabh.shed three years before, in 1798. The Bible feocety to n.eet a dearth of the Seriptures, to which '^ii existing means of supply were entirely inade- quate was instituted two years later (1803) wit], r ^Tf ^,^'''''"' '^"'^ ^^^'^^" commenced, ith their hrst subscriptions of £13 2.. (J^., and Earliest ot'all in this new spring-tido, many years be ore, in 1731, the Moravian Brethren iiad sent out then- first missionaries, and had sent them, ac- cording to their noble custom, to the most despised and rejected of all the slayes in the West Indies. 1 lie London Missionary Society had been in existence five years, called into being by the dyinc request of Lady Huntingdon. It .4 Lendlid to embuice all sections of the Cliristian Church This original purpose has been, in a great measure, frus- trated partly perhaps by the narrowness of human PJ-ejndice, but chiefly, J think, by the lar^^eness of Divme purpose, working out that richer and deeper umty which 18 to be attained, not by aneutraliz nc. "nxture of all the elements in a mild and ineffectiv: fZr nv'"' T^' ' ^'"' ^development of all in the fiihiessoflife. It was found impossible for the rt- 316 AGAINST TUE STREAM. U Ri« i ' ' r'n !i !■ various Cl,„st,aa societies to work togetl.or, whoa ^ e prpc amat,on of the gospel of the eom.nou CJmstmmty had drawn together comnumities of onverts. But in those days the various soeieties imt having mereased to the dimensions they after- wards reached, tliere was leisure and good-will for each to sympathize with all. Accordingly my Cousin Crichton, altlion^h a firm and orderly churchman, took us all to the Lon- don Missionary Meeting. Those who think Christian missions have effect- ed nothing, would do well to consider the state of t e world outside Christendom at the commence- ment of this oentnry. At that time all the societies were gropino. their way in the thick darkness. *" In India, the British merchants were still stren- uoiisly opposing the disturbing of the natives, and of the.r own commerce, bj the introduction of Christianity. A year before, barred out by Eno. ^nd from all her stations, Carey had landed at tfe l^anish settlement at Serampore. When the glories of nations are seen to be not miles of territory, but noble deeds and men, a radi- ant halo will surely be recognized around the brows of the brave little nation which was the first in i rotestant Christendom to awake to the fact that the re igion of Ck'ist is meant for all men, and to open her colonies in the East and West Indies to t.^- i'r>:-I;imation of His kingdom, ' 'tlier, when e common uunities of us societies they after- •od-will for ilthou to the Lon- gli a lave effect- Sie state of ommence- gv, opmg still stren- tives, and notion of t by Eng- led at the to be not n, a radi- ;lie brows 3 first in fact that I), and to ndies, to AGAINST THE STREAM. g-j j Except a few scattered converts of Schwarz there was not a native Protestant church in India. The words of Carey, on his outward voyage, that Africa, for missionary work,- was not far f,-om JingJand, and Madagascar very little farther" seemed to us then a wild visionary speculation. ' Ihere was not a single Christian in the Pacifie* Islands, or in Madagascar, scarcely in Africa; not one in connection with the reformed churches in Uinia or Japan. It was not until nearly three centuries after the Reformation era, that the Pro- estant churches awoke nationally, or collectively, to the fact of the existence of an outside world to be evangelized. -ind now at length, at the beginning of the century, England, "mistress of ihe seas," and mo her of almost all the European colonies that live, bad waked np to her great work of evangelization! At that time all the societies were gropino- their ^yay in the dark; having yet to investigate thedis- nictions of heathenism, ranging from savage fetish vvorship to religions wirh systems more subtle than any European philosophies, and with sacred books older than the Kew Testament ; and therefore hav- mg yet to invent the various weapons needed to meet these various antagonists. Ail the battle-fields had to be reconnoitred : aU the weapons had to be foiged. The Bible had to be translated into almost every angnnge of the heathen wurld. Carey alone trans^ lated the wliole, or portions of it, into thirty of the 318 AGAINST THE STREAM. EM fl of the Lible Societj was gradually exteiuled. In many eases the written lanc,niaa8lied downward in a cataract. " sMls',t7n r.''"^"' '" "•'' ""'' '" '"'"dreds bo- ma::,,™',:;,.""' •'np,ot„rcsq„e assembly in F,,o. „=,i,°r- """ T' '"^'""^' "^'«» •''™ '00 low, in o„r (esthetics and symbolisms? Is not sculpture higl,er than architecture? Fs cJie teirjpJe which maj enshrine it ? nn«W t'^"" T' '"'"" ^^' ^ ^^^'^^^ but the sacred H hat do we mean by a shrine, unless the jewel IS more precious than the casket ? ^ And tlirough tlie religion which centres in the Incar„at.on, the truth that "the true Shechinah man, receives a new force which is simply infinite More precious, capable of a diviner iLtytZ the most glorious cathedral, is the simplest the To the eyes which see things as theva.'e as thn serene souls illu.nined with the^ angeli'ca ^m le " :n Dante's " Paradiso," a multitude of merrud won,en gathered fro.n soIita,y patient labors in! cure corners to rejoice togethe,' and help towards the ffrowth of the IC;-™H, 1.. n , i .1 '•""''ri'S atioiT. nfti ' . ^^"■Sd"!-' thiough the manifest- ations of the K,ng, must surely requii^e no acces- 320 AGAmST THE STREAM. li IH il i| ^ If hi I). Bories of place or ceremoTiial to make as fail- a picture as earth can show. Tlie time may come when tlie liighest art will be seen to be with tliose for whom goodness and truth are indissoluble from bean'.y, becanse they are the eternal beauty. To me, in those youthful days, when the hymn of glory to Christ was sung in nnison, it seemed like nothing so much as that " voice of a great mul- titude, and of many waters, and of mighty thunder- ings," heard of old in heaven. I knew some of the quiet fountains from which those many waters flowed, the little clouds, "no bigger than a man's hand," in which the electric force was gathered, which burst forth in that thun- der of thanksgiving. I knew not only the Claphams but the Abbot's Weirs. ' This crowd had not been formed, did not live as a crowd. It was gathered, the best part of it, one by one, from quiet hidden places scattered through the land, where the little band, and the sol- itary worker, were pulling "against the stream" of their own little district. It had be3n gathered, one by one, as I believed, in quiet hidden hours,' when each human spirit there had been brought into solitary communion M'ith the Divine Spirit! For a moment those quiet waters had come fo'-th from the unseen in this visible, audible tide of praise; and soon they would pass again into the unseen, visible and audible only to Him who alone and who always sees the Church as Cne, AGAmST THE STEEAM. ont Fastidious eritidsm may p„ll its ,.l,vH,„ a svmbolism to pieces; b„t to me the ^ ""^ " "'""" ^'"'' "'"™ Him, crown Him Lort „f „„ ,.. rf„S"ir^---'°'-'-"'^ea,,.eat God." P "'" ''""^'^'^ "' *'"= Momit of divine fires ' " "'"' ™k"'dli»S of the ■Were we altojfether wroii"- ' W.-,o *i of Pentecost in tlio fl,e whi!hT,^» i T """""« literal hell of 0,,,° „ri-o„ '™""' ""= ''«"'«1 in^nityofslate^^ X;;;.°7r'l "'.0 devilish <'jedthe,t,htofihet:i:;^r:er:;;'tT l>Iaces wh e 1 knew not « ™ j •. ';'>"""o, dark Africa, and the a"d „ H "' '" ^"*^' ^■"■"". tl,em? " ^ "' tongues to those who speak ---..odivi„eHte:::i;i;j:;:-:^;-^ 21 i !1, .' 322 AGAINST TUE STREAM. il of the lieart," which as we believe, shall never be superseded and become obsolete ? or in that Church Architecture which no fires of Advent judfrment shall dissolve ? \ \i CHAPTER XXI. W TV \^' ^''* ^^y «f ^^^; the day (](.( >i to door, carrying garlands festooned ■„.,M A • ^ ' v^"gg«rianasrestooned ■.IS c ea. to my memory as a proof-en^ravin/ bitten m by tlio event of its dose ^' I was sitting by the open window in Cousin Cnc hton s dn.w ng-room, all kinds ofsweet En"S iy.g. m . wilted in from tl>e garden, and all kinds of dehcat. aromatic exotic pcrfnmes breathing "„ ot the conservatory. = Mr. Twistl to,.; the cnrate, had just come in and washovenng about in an indefinite wav At eng h he approached the window, and look ng ot a Jund of mild rapture,— ' «a" w'/ ". '''"'"™"""'' ' "'' '^-' -'^ ^»- abor:tttkr;oM™ma?"-'^'^'""^™--- " Oh, please not, Mr. Twistleton ! " I said. " It 32i AG- .'NST THE STREAM. was jnst the old woman's 'all tJrls^ being her poor bm-c old solitary room, that made it so beau- tiful in her to say it. Please not to talk of our * all this ; ' it makes me so afraid heaven mio-ht bo like it. " ^ " My dear Miss Danescombe," he replied, sur- prised, apparently, at the vehemence of my tone, , " surely sueh foretastes of Paradise are given to ' prepare us for the reality." " Oh, I trust not," I said, « I think not, I am sure not. God will never let heaven be just a little bit of exclusive bliss, without even as nmch power of spreading it as we have here. It is so unlike Himself." He looked perplexed at my ideas, and a little hurt at my fervor. I believe lie thought I was getting into dangerous speculations, and had rather a dangerous temper, and in a short time, after a iaw indifferent observations, he left. My cousin always insisted I had unconsciously checked a dec- laration. But I never thought so. And if I had, it was very fortunate for us both, inasmuch as he married very wisely and well a month or two afterwards. All day my cousins and I were busy about some of their countless bountiful and considerate kind- nesses ; cutting and binding up flowers to take to invalids, hunting out truant Sunday-school chil- dren, carrying little dainties and tracts to the sick poor. It was one of Cousin Barbara's plans always to connect body and sou. in her distribut ions esj)e )clnc: her so boau- Ik of GUI' might be >lied, 811 r- my tone,, given to ot, I am e just a as much It is so I a little it I was id i-ather , after a f cousin 3d a dec- if I had, nnch as or two mt some te kind- I take to )ol chil- the sick 3 always IS, espe AGAmST TUB STREAM. 335 'u not Dcai tlKit her pensioners sliould thInV Jo eoinmuted costly temporal help for 1 1 ^k gious benefactions PoHt.V.nl ^ '''' ^'^^fP ^^^'i- .ro.,b,e he,. „,„ ,„„;e ,!:' ^ ^^^''"'^^ o sustain without woakcing i.a p/ob Sn at I My cousin Harriet and I were comin.. i„ at the vZuJ^rV t'"^ ."'"""""g-'or quite „n- VVherehaveyoubeen?"Isaid. paid. ""^ '°'"' "^ *''« J^"^ ""'> John," ho 1' 'E}'"^ ^■•^ ^"fy terrible ?" I sivid. Too terrible to speak of, sister," he said .oin!' baVTo Tfr^ '" "" ™-' -<> ■" '- s "o oaciv to that old name of our f.ln'Mi, a wh,eh touched ,„e unaecountably "'"""'' " i ou are ill, PieVs," I said, elingin,, fo nis arm -it lelt no suimnrfr TT^ ^\ to "to -» "is arm. io bupport. He needed support from ,7ip The earth opening her n.outh in the midst of 1*> - ml I I'M ^': \k\i 326 AGAINST THE STREAM. the tcits wl.oro the flunily -onl is propaniig and tiie Jjttio chihh-en are at pjaj ! Down into the di-oadlul chas.n we Avent, Piers ami I ; the valley of the shadow of death, so close always to ns all ; ho lying on the bed of fever, I vvatchn.g beside him liour by hour and day by dav watching every look and movement, yet semJ rated from him all the while farther than by con- tments, '' Week followed week, unnoticed, in that land where 1 ime was no more. Delirium came; and the secrets of that bravo tender heart weie unveiled. My father joined us; and we watched together, yet still apart from each other as from Piers, afraid to munnur our fears, unwilling to enfeeble the little gossamer thread of hope to which we clun.. by trustmg it to words. * ^ .* * * -jt ^ We watched together, yet alone, in that land of chaos and thick darkness, where all the billows and waves go over us, yet we live, if it can be called hving to lie, breathing, but stunned and bhnded ; that land of desolation where every one IS alone, M'here prayer becomes nothing but a cry without words, a lifting up of the soul like the eyes bhnded with tears, not to see but to appeal or at best (if such faith is given), a helpless, speech! ess tailing on the heart of the Father, and resting tor a sustaining moment there. il « * •anng and 'ent, Piors Ii, so close )f fever, I ■y ^y d'ly, yet sepa- ■n by cou- tliut laud lat bi'ave together, rs, afraid the little hy ;lang lat land billoM's can be led and ery one ut a cry ike the ajjjpeal^ speech- resting AQAINST TUB STREAM. gg^ to.ntfti'u'::!;?f"^'"^^''^^ it Is not to f 'T"' "'^' '""^"^ ^^'^^^ ^^- time Ir^ rs not t' "r^'^^^^^'-^^^^^; that this time the "li s^d/ '^ ^^"^ "'^^^' ^^"" ^-^^^ ' -^ over At .asc one morning, after a quiet sleen Im said ma quiet, feeble, naturaUoicei- ^' > feister, I liave been very ill T mn^f i.o given a great deal of trouble/ "^"^^ have Then I calJ.^d my father, M-ho was tryinc tn s eep m the next room ; and with quie voi ef s fit was all . matter of course, but with Srt bea ing wUh a tumult of joy, we spoke to lim^ to him-yes, to himself, once more, and he an svvered. The dreadful chasm cleaving us into set urate existence was gone. ^' We were one once more; we lived and our ives flowed together; and oh, how much clo how much deeper, how much fuller, for aU wehTd gone through apart ! ^^ I have gone down into that gulf of terror more than once since then. ® I have crept up out of it alone to the poor com mon earth, while the one I watched has r^sen o^" otit,u.e.,intotl^^ an^JilrthiTtr' '-":'': '''^''^ ^"^ -^^^ -j-t sTckul s t . ' '' ' ^''''' deliverance" from SicWb than recovering to this fettered life Iliave learned to believe, and sometimes to feel I ;^2S AGAINST THE STREAM. tliat tlu! joy of tliut restunitio!! to lio:iltli— ovor- wlioliiiii)(r, intcnso as it was— is but a taint pictiiro of the joy of the rising to live tiio immortal life, over which death has no dominion. But to this day that joy of welcoming my brother back to us, of seeing him rise step by step to life and health,' and rise enriched with treasures from the depths into wliich he had decended, remains to me the purest type of that other joy "incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away," which now I einbrace by faith for my beloved, and hope ere long with them to know. How tender they all were, those cousins of ours, the servants of the house, eveiy one, in their sym- pathy in our joy ! How near they seemed, they who, during that time when we were thus watchino- iu the darkness, had seemed as far off as ci'eatures in another planet ; how ungrateful T felt I must have been for all their help; how grateful I felt now! Cousin Barl)ara had some new surprise every day from those countless, hospitable luxuries of hers which she persisted in ascetically calling " lit- tle comforts;" flowers, dainties, cushions, easy chairs, the easiest of carriages. 1 could not help feeling that the rather oppres- sive necessity, or rather " duty " of being rich, which had occasionally weighed on me at Clapham, had its very pleasant side when one had to be convalescent in such a Castle Bountiful as Cousin Crichton's. Yet I cou4d never forget that there were depths into which no ( 'astle Bountiful could pour one drop fl;i A OAIjYtiT THE STU h\ 1 JA. f] .) , of consolation. I conic' never forc^ot that in all tlKit terrible time the only hiunan eo.ntort that had reached n.e was from the one chamber of suirerinc m that beautitu], bountiful home ; that the only tears 1 had been able to shed were one night whei.. at the very darkest of all, I had crept into little Martini s room, and she had clasped Jier poor thin arms round ine and sobbed— ;' Cousin Bride, I do love him so dearly ! But oh, indeed, God loves him better! ' lord, he whom Ihou lovest ts sick: Poor dear cousin Bride I » ■i-i- CHAPTER XXII. NE day we were driving together, Piers and I, in Cousin Crichton's carriage alone through the green lanes and over the commons which then stretched beyond Clapham, alone in that delightful uninterrupted solitude one feels in a carriage, where no one can got at one, and when one has no duties to any one to s I mm on one awa,j. It was one of our first drives. " Bride," Piers said to me suddenly, « I was delirious, was I not ? " I had to admit it. " Bid I say anything ? " " ^ou thought you were a doctor, sometimes," 1 said, "and seemed very pleased." " I hope father was not there," he said. " Oh, you deal blind boy ! " I said, " hiding your wise ostrich head in the sands. Do you think we do not know what you gave up to help us all? And do you think we do not love to know it ? Or that, yon will make us forget ?" n Was that all ?" he said. AGAINST THE STREAM. 331 There were two other seals broken. " Must he know i " " He must know." Kow, whicli seal should I break first ? I turned awaj my head. " You spoke a little— a great deal— of Claire," I said. " Was anj one there ! " he asked, very earnestly. " Xo one but me, " I said ; " and I always knew." " That will do," he said. And then there was rather a long pause. " Nothing else ? " he said at last, with some relief. "Yes, something else, brother," I said— " scarcely anything continually, hut that one thing." He looked inquiring. '^ I could scarcely speak of it yet. I scarcely knew if he was str^^ng enough to bear it. Such anguish had been in his bewildered eyes, and in his clear, strong, unnatural tones wheii he spoke of this. At last I resolved to say — " It was sin, brother. You kept saying your hfe had been lost, lost. You kept asking i1' there was forgiveness for you ; for you f You kept on telling me to be ready ; ready— as you were not. Oh, do not ask me to speak of it ! while all our agony was that you were ready, ready to leave us and go away among the redeemed and holy, and be blessed forever, and see God, and we see you no more on earth foreser ! Do not ask me. I can- not speak of that." " I was not ready. Bride," he said quietly. 1 i il i '">r>o ooJi AGAINST THE STREAM. "Do not say so, Piers," I replied, "you who had calvvajs lived for us all ! " " Bride," he said, " I had not lived for God." " Surely," I said, •' to live for those lie has given us is to live for God." " I used to think so," he said ; " and certainly loving our neighbors as ourselves is not ahvaj^s so easy, Bride, especially when our neighbors are very near, and we cannot quite like tliem. But there is something more. There is the iirst great commandment, you know, as well as the second ; before the second, the foundation of the second. I do not think I had ever even tried to keep that. To love God with all our heart and soul and mind and strength must mean something else than loving our neighbor as ourselves. Our Lord did not use vain repetitions. To love God himself for Hia love to us, for himself! Sister, I had been learning for weeks that I have never done it. I felt it bv the lives around me, which had something I had not. I saw it in Mr. Wilberforce's book on Prac- tical Christianity. And if to break the greatest commandment is sin, I have sinned ; not once or twice, or seventy times seven, but always." " But," I said, " to obey is to love, to submit is to love. And you had obeyed, and had submitted, God knows." '• To love is to obey," he said ; " to love is to submit ; but to love is more. You know that Bride, well " I did. It was useless to attempt to argue or to AGAINST THE STREAM. 333 you who .r God." lie lias certainly V waj'-s 80 bors are n. But 'st great second ; second, ep that, id mind n lovinfj not use for His learning It it bv ^ I had 'n Prac- greatest once or ibniit is >mitted. .^e is to w that, lie or to justify him to himself. There is no tilling up ciiasins God has rent, with dust, or with rose-water. There was a Jong pause. ^ At lengtli I said— " But you are not so sad about yourself now What did you do ? " "I went in heart to God," he said, "..nd eon.» fessed to him th,.t He was my Father, and I had not honoiT 1 ; that He was my Redeemer, and I had not ;. jca grateful to him. And I pleaded Avith him, because He is my Father, to forgive me ; and because He is my Saviour, to save me ; to give me to know and to love him, to reveal linnself by the Holy Spirit to me. For I was sure that if I knew him as He is. I must love him. It must be only some crust, or veil, or cataract, in my eyes that hindered ray seeing; and it could be only not seeing that hindered my loving. There was nothing to be created for me to see, only some- thmg in me to be removed that I might see. He, with His infinite love, was there. I asked him to open my heart that I might see and love." I could scarcely speak. " He was sure to hear," I said. " Quite sure," he replied. " There was but one answer— CVi^'M'if. He gave me to see Christ." " You had no dream, no vision ? " I said. " What do we want of dreams and visions ? " he replied. " Of old it was in divers manners, in these last days He has sent his Son. It is day, Jiride, now— not night. It is revelation, not '^f 331 AGAINST THE STREAM. : if 4 J clouds and darkness. The bri2:litnoss of his doiT has been unveiled, the express iniai^'e of his person has come, full of grace and truth ; has been a little child ; has taken the little children in his arms ; has touched the leper and healed him ; has let the sinners touch him, and has forgiven them ; has let them nail him to the Cross, and has prayed for their forgiveness ; has loved us, and given him- self for us ; has borne our sins in his own body on the Cross, and has redeemed us ; has done all the holy will we have failed to do, to enable us to do it ; has suffered what we could never have borne, to enable us to suffer ; being forever one God, has made himself forever one with us, and is touched with the feeling of our infirmities ; not pitiful only or beneficent, but touched; has loved me and given himself for me ; for with him " us means net a inass of humanity, but a multitude of men and women. And I know it, sister. Thank God, I know it, now, for myself. And now that first com- mandment sometimes seems as unnecessary as a command to love my father or you ; as much an instinct as breathing, as the love the heart has never lived without." * "We were silent a long time. Then the carriage swept up to the porch. And Piers went to his room to rest, and I to mine. There is no filling up chasms sin has made or God has made in humanity, or in the heart or con- BcicQCG of any one of us, with anything but him- self. CHAPTER XXIII. qE returned to Abbot's Weir through a very different land from that ive had fZJil.Jte t'"»vcrsed on our way to Clapham at the '-^--—1 begmning of the year. It was late i„ October. 0„ee n.ore there had been a good har- vo Eveo;wl>ere arose the golden wheat-staeh., of the ple„t,f nl crop just harvested. There seen.ed a new elast.eity in the very air as we went baek through the land relieved from thopressure of fam- ue, with Piers restored to us-restored, as he felt, more than a few added years; to life essential spiritual, immortal. ' ' The voices of the plonghboys, as they followed yielded t eir abundant stores, rang clear and joj:ous s top wHh a firmer tread ; the women sang to their th o„gh I,e villages; the children ran after the low clK ' d"'""'" 1""'^ ™^ '"""-• Tlie h l! tow-chccl;ed groups that had Imng about the inn doors had vanished. The land ^as full „f ^^^ 336 AGAINST THE STREAM. w and work, and hope. Enger groups there were, indeed, everywhere, watcliiiig what further con- iirmation of the new ghad tidin -laden ^..neltied."™'"^ »- "o dream. She was ,„ite 3l.ade of Jp U,;, ;,f '''"S?d, and felt it with a icproacn and disappointment. soeiet^ ;:;:;s:'7. '"°""« -^t «'api.am, i„ ,,,„ -.pon^oi c ofl.i, " ''' ^""''"^'"'"'<' -W' all the V whieh to':::;:;';7::;\»^^^^^^^^^^^^^ liackjustthesanioBrideWn 1 ™ '"""^ a little difiienlt tor oi to ' " ''"■''^""^' »d not Reiiheii^s not at all surprised. ' taken aback when I returiiod ul7 . ""'' by a kiss. ** " "' *'"■ ''™"ty years wast'w^nt'eo't'rr,;' '"""'' ^"* » "<«• "'•^' ^ provided th rt:: I'liS:*'" ""t™"" ^"' P>'i;antl.ropy,,.rki„;:,re:;r"'''^''''^'"'° diseases r"<\r:::k" "^^^--"- -'. Bat in, little IrrsltC^^"- '\ to AGATNST TUhJ STREAM. I ^ My dear cousin, Dick Fyford, was not a little changed ; changed for one thing into a lieutenant, having been with Nelson at Copenhagen, and Nel- son being a leader of the kind that leads in inore ways than one to promotion ; showing the vay by being foremost, inspiring men to be their bcdt, and also clearing the way by his terrible alternatives of * victory or death. He had compacted into a man, having found a calling in which no amount of en- ergy was superfluous, and no amount of daring out of place. Moreover, much of the hardness, as well as the aimless restlessness of the boy had passed from him, or fitted into the right place in him. He privately confessed to me that the -vrongs of the common seamen were all but intolerable to see ; say nothing of suffering. "You were not so far wrong about impress merit, Cousin Bride," said he, " as I thought you •were, long ago, when I wished you wore a boy, at Miss Felicity's ; and would have fought you had you been one. There is work for your anti-slavery people nearer home than in the West Indies. Kid- napping, bad ajid little food, flogging, turning out to die like dogs when wounded and sick ; terribly like negro slavery. Enough to make a man a Whig, or a Jacobin, or any thing to set it right." (Dick's politics were never abstract.) " The mu- tinies at the Nore and at S pithead were put down three years ago. And while Bonaparte keeps the old country awake, and Nelson keeps him down, all MAimr rm arnBAii. ^^ "nd all that," (Dick's L!, "'""' ""^ ^'"'"""^ "'"•') "«" « good deal oi ti,. wo.- n„ i stare and peerages for ■' " " ^"'"''''^ «<-'' |^;^;eved....„eo.,,S7arr.:t' bo to™ fron, hishett w;^,'',r r °" ""'' "■">' '» t JcS'."™;: ^r-'l- C'-siu Bride," he said a^icauj , yoii will understand " I wished to be sympatlietic, but I could no^ i encouraging. They seemed to me too far T ^ she with her early denM, ^f , ^^^''^ • ence between them seemed t Ve. ' I'll;: ^^^'Peful symptom in the case. "^ '^'^ "Similars in friendship, Cousin Bridp . sites in love!" he '^aid wi/l. fV^ ' ^P^^- lU AGAINST TUB STREAM. i were. Amice Glanvil and I do not understand each other, and never did. And there is the hope ; feeble I confess ; but one could live on a crumb from that table." " We needs must love the highest when we see it." Those early " little loves " of my cousin's often reminded me of Amice's portrait, the crocus-bulb, sending out its long feeler into the soil to find something to root itself to. They were no dilet tante fancies ; they had all the humility of a genu- ine passion, and so, in their measure, did not sink but raise him. He never fancied any one was in love with him. I said, he knew I always liked to do what 1 could for him. " He did know. I had always been as good as a mother to him." " Not quite that ! " I remonstrated. " I thought that was too ranch even to try to be to any one." '* Well, as good as a grandmother, at all events, Cousin Bride," he said, " as good and indulgent and ready to help as the best grandmother that ever was ! " Ho i^eant it as a compliment ; just as the old gentleman at Clapham, old enough to be my grandfather, had meant it as a compliment to ask me to be his wife. It was plain I must accept the dignities of ad- rar-t'cd age. Perhaps I should grow younger as my years increased. Meantime I would be as nities of ad- AGAINST THE STREAM. 345 • g^^"^"^otherly as the duties of such a L^enerally- recognized protectorate demanded ^^"^^^^J^' iu^T'' Jf""'^"^ ''"' ''^^^ changeless. As the tutelary Athena of Abbott W^',. oi / <-r-isn f-L A^ ' . . ,'^^^\^ ^Veir, she seemed to Turn in ^'';''"' ^' ^™^^' ^^^^^^^' -^^dy to turn ,t on anj dragon's brood whicli might invo p;--g up in Piers or me, of presumption, or on! Too;:;; t T '"'^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^^ ^'-- ^-^-^ - beanng disappeared, when I ventured to give liera Lieu^^^^^^^^^^^ «m JlVr'^''^^"' """"^^ ^^"* ^"^ ^"^ «bould lay the smallest offering on the shrine, on which it soLed to her nothing that she should lay her life. Fou are a kind child, Bride Danescombe, she aid going back to the beginning of our friendship, to the foolscap and the stool of penance. " You are a dear, generous child. If any one wants you to be good to them for life, they have only to be'l by doing you an injustice." ^ And Claire, was she changed « and^h!.""-'' ''"'""^^\ ^^'''' '^^''' ^^^«' ^"^te a year, and that is a great deal at sixteen She M^as a year older, for one thing, because her mother was a year older, too obviouslj/ A httle more of a stoop in the dignified figure spoke of the past no longer only subdued, but 346 AGAINST THE STREAM. ■ill ' Mi fading ; the light in which slie saw the present a little dimmed; the fears with which she saw the future a little darker, — tlie future which was to her all embodied in her Claire, on whose face her eyes woidd rest so long with such a wistful solicitude. An era of tender concealments had beofun be- tween the mother and cliild. When that long gaze at last would meet the quick, anxious glance of Claire — Claire, who had been feeling it so long, and had not dared to look, — the solicitude would melt instantly out of both faces ; and on one side or the other, some tender little pleasantry would dart out to veil the anxious care which lay beneath. And 80 thinking, dear souls, or trying to think, they had quite imposed on one another, they went on. And meantime their little stratagems had successfiilly imposed on Leontine. "Ah, Mademoiselle," she remarked to me one day, soon after my return, mournfully shaking her head, and glancing from Claire (who was humming an old nursery chanson as she arranged hu' autumn leaves in the i . \t room) to her mother, watching her from the couch. "That poor cherished child, she knows no more than the babe unborn what is be- fore her !" " Do any of us, Leontine ?" I replied. " If she did know, what better could she do ? " " But the shock, Mademoiselle Bride, the wak- ing up, think how terrible ! " *' What is to prevent what is terrible from being a shock, and a waking up, Leontine ?" I said, think- to me one d. "If she AGAINST THE STREAM. 347 ing of Piers's illness. « Would fear help us « or toreseeinr- ? seeing the next step ? " "But wlien the next step may I. a precipice?" What can we do, Leontine, but look to llim who sees heijond the next step ? What can we wish for them more ? Besides," I added, trying to com- bat my own fears, « Madame is not old, She may revive. She has such a power of life." "Alas, Madame is old," Leontine replied. What does Revolution mean but that the whole • machinery of the State has gone wrong, and the wheels spin madly round like a whirlwind instead ot stealing round imperceptibly like the hands of a clock? Madame lived a thousand revolutions of the years in one day ; one day, Mademoiselle, which she never speaks of to any unless to Miss Loveday ; one day when the best blood of France was shed between L'Abbaye and La Force. There IS no turning the sun-dial backwards. Mademoiselle over such degrees ! But to you and that angelic child there is yet sunshine ; and in the sunshine the birds must sing. Let them, poor innocents, while they can ; while they can ! " But if Claire had grown a year during tlioso months of separation. Piers had grown and gained more. To him, in that sickness, " The Budden frost was sudden gain, And gave all ripeness to the grain It might have drawn from after heat." m life, worth calling life, is to be measured by years ; and he at eighteen was a being one could r-'l 1 048 AiJAINST THE STREAM. \\\ VS W- . i rest on, and did i*est on, m^Iio cared for ns all, instead of needing to be cared for ; and if that does not mean the best part of manhood, what does ? Claire met him, when we retnrned, frankly, joyonsly, just as of old, with that combination of French and English manners which was in her so charming, with a gracious littk' courtesy, and a frank shake of the hand, and a little pleasantry about his steam-engi.ie. But when she looked up with her happy eyes and met his, something silenced the little pleasantry, and flushed for a mo- ment the bright face, and troubled the smiling eves. Was it a look in his, or only that his face was still pale and thin ? However it was, so it happened that they changed towards each other. A distance came, and a reverence, and a doubting of one another, and a comprehension of one another, — and a death of old things, and a creation of new, which made them further from each other and nearer each other than all the world besides ; yes, all the world. Piers and I, and Claire and I, included. On one ground they still met free from self- consciousness, or that double self-consciousness of love. One sacred care united them, old and yet mournfully new, the tender, thoughtful care for Claire's mother. I could not but see how her eyes followed them both, and seemed to embrace them in one deep, motherly gaze. Sometimes I used to wonder A GAIiYST TUB 8TEEA M. g^g whether, jrst in this one case her olrJ V. . it alU T? '"^ '■^*'"='- «<"'" '"'™ negotiated t all so amieablj, and watched as a double povT or::™ti;rt!re:rrt:ar™"'°T^'- tl.ey did. The swee^ ::^^ZZ^Z do to wS t ""^''!''r^ f'^'"-^. "'e distracting uonuts Mould have vanished. ■$>! woi,I,1 ti,„ liave remained ? or would fh. „fi ■ ^ """ Could »„^ „ ■°'^"°"''i"ie other have vanished? ™"'' ""> I'-rangement have helped them t„ fi'K each other? Could any arranglla "hev ::s;trt---7^hi:^^ To attend mass and be a little pM!osov/,e was ^•tet:f;r/r "'■"'' "-^'*^'-«^^^^^^^^^ 1 'orestant, and rehg.ons to the heart's coi-e w« TpL /.'"^"il.^"-^- ''««-. I believe, JfadZ 1 tor Pier h.rnselt. But for Claire? That Protes ant xvorld with its endless divisions, and its th n ab e labynnth, such a seethin., ehaos, It „.,"',« hat France was a chaos, but then France had for tho mon>ent abandoned religion. Whef r ^tio, i I 350 AGAINST THE STREAM. itself, the Church itself bt^came :i chaos, what hope for the world — what hope for little Claire drifting to and fro on that deep ? Do;ith might, indeed, break down those partitions, migiit reconcile all i'uithful Bouls iu Ilim who came to atone ; for her the^e per- plexities ah-eadj grew thin and faint ; but Claire had to live and who would guide her through? All \hv\ aad a thousand things more wore in Madamc''3 softened eves as she watched th(xse two together. Perhaps it was well for her and for them that the guiding thread could not be in her trembling hands. Our brother Francis was not changed. "We had talked very often of him. Piers and I, during his convalescence — in our drives, and in quiet moments on the journey home. I knew well it was of Francis Piers had thought when he had said in that ilrst long conversation in Cousin Crichton's chariot, that it was " not always easy to love our neighbors as ourselves, especially when they were very near neighbors and we couldn't like them." We had confessed to each other that the feeling which had grown up in our hearts to France's was very little like love, was terribly like the O} 'te of love. When pec • whose natures grate on r«, rs at every point are brought into contact ,■ ^h us at every point, something stronger than a negisi: v?^ dis- I ^GfAmST TUB Sl^HJ^AM ool approval, or even a fudicial ri;«i;i.«. • J/ "^^ ijctie. Jriatred is, after nil ir, ,•<-. i -nga «„,, dislike enkindled b/^^C."^ '^="''- And Francis had so manv ways and „„»r.- that we could not even tr^ to like Sl^ m T nesses witli a diso'iiifie h,L [ , „ "^ ^''"'*- a P«.pose,JittIe ^nS ':;," "''f '--f -tl' to notice littlpn^r •,"'"' ^'''='"ed mean to rcsist;;[ttn^1 thl: S' ^^'^"^'' P^"^ . '""' "Ke any shallow waters harl o <• • , ' ting way of makin.. H.flJIf- ' ^ ^"^^"'S, fret- tie actions imt'r aft Tnd I "" '""" ^""'' ""' "'- on the surfacr "^'"^ ""'^''' '"'-'^ "^"d Then one ^-g^tTaLt- nTrttv^t^^^^^^ and onp jTii\v.i,<. 1 . ** ^'trva — all outside — -.etp:::iMnre!::;nr.: ^^ r "p-^ te%,-which'was thT^rFra;!" ^ " ""I'- some futnre state of existence T ' . °. "PP""'- ■" only the shell of the lar™'" " " '' '^""' '" ^epH:^'^'^rttrs*^''f-<'^."^- out the creafn-e inside jT .Y^ '"^ '" «■'<' must ^et tn ;^ Whe„' -v 7, ""^ "'''^' ""^ ''« In that Vict • T «*' ''"'"'^ ^^ mnst try " that distance, m that snnshiny atmosphe^ie 6,))i AGAINST THE STREAM. ^U HI Ui4 I ? of Cousin Cric'hton's, in the joy of renewed etrength, and of that new life of faith, every victory eeemed so easy, every victory so sure to inaugurate a conquest ! So we came home ; and we did try. It seemed as if Francis must have changed, too, and must recognize our new purpose and meet us in it. But there he was, as smooth and impenetrable as ever, with no more idea there was an3'tliing wliich required change in him than the Apollo Belvidere ; there they were again, the old difficul- ties, as real, as impossible not to dislike, as difficult not to have struck into active fire as ever. One misfortune was that he combined mv father's genial manner with ray stepmother's cold and superficial character. It seemed to me some- times as if their natures were so unlike, that the nature which sprang from them had a kind of ne- cessity of falseness in it, from the impossibility of any true blending of the elements. He had taken to one habit which was new, at least new in form. In childhood he always, as I have said, continued to glide into possession of our rights, our toys, coveted place in games, in short of whatever coin was the currency of our childish treasures, while we had been referred to the Sermon on the Mount to satisfy our claims. Kow that he was sixteen, and money, — the coin of the large world — became his currency, he began to borrow money. In the easiest way. His week's allowance was not due until to-morrow, AGAINBT THE STREAM. 353 lud offored wh,ch would be lost tcMnorrow ; or some one had lent him a trifle, and he knew ne ther our fuUv nor Rers would like the family .0 be n debt for such a bagatelle. And of course the mor" row of payment never came. to tifi^k 'f r'' ^""7 """'' " "^""'^ ungenerous • lur r^ °"''T''/"'J " ""elty to dream of tellin. d -^ r And yet onr little pocket allowance the • to^he f r,"r,™' «^"'""S further and fur- ther into the fatal habit of doing what he liked nnd havng what he liked, without conntLi tie' " But what was to arouse him 3 " To all onr remonstrances he opposed his con] ■mpenetrability and his genial nian^er °' Once indeed he was so far roused by a very earnest warning, as to say that if Piers made t so thin!:t:;rd"f:r::^e^L\t::i^r'' rr;^Si:."-^-'----^^^^^^^^^ Whst ought we t.. do ? Each successive ..riev a ce was so small, ii ..emed impossible to ro"bTe our father with it, deep as his hatred of debt and i™ oveof us all was. And moreover, not C^ our tenderness for ,.,ur father, but our ve y fL" of being hard on Fi« .,%, kept us back. ^ #'^ .^.^ i ■ 1 f H * ■j i 1 m 354 AGAINST THE 8TREAM. It would have been to i,ne**namnil man," In both of us, such a righteous satisfaction to have tho.e ancient interpretations of the Sermon on the Mcr.nt disproved, and to see that disguise, to us so thin, to others apparently so impenetrable, shaken olf, that we dared not lift a linger to hasten the revelation. *' What will be the end of it, Piers ? " I said. « Debt, hopeless debt," he said gravely. ^ " Dis- grace for us all, perhap. Because, happily for Francis, this is not a world constructed so as to make deb^ in the long-run either pleasant or possi- ble." It was on a wintry Sunday atlernoon. We were walking on the hill^Me behind the garden, over the field-path, iron-bound with frost, cakes of ice in the litt' creeks of thf Leat whore we used to harbor our lieets, blades of grass stilf and white with frozen dew. From the gi -^y Tors, sharply defined ? ■ • ainst the frosty wintry-blue of the sky, came a keen air, bracing every nerve and mnscV . From the great phila u-opic! combats of Clap ham we had come back i ac Ittle pricking diffi- culties ! And yet nevei .uelesb the whole atmos phere —moral, mental, and physical— felt to me more in /igorating, more such as one's full strength might develop, and do its finest work in. I, in my way, had brought with me countless schemes for the transplanting of Clapham philan- thropic works into the virgin soil of Abbot's Weir. Hi i full strength ^'^'^I^Sr TBS SrjlEAM. Piers ' ] • good «-„;,::„.;:;^:t; 'i^^^^^^^^-^^t «„ one .,„„„ to ll«5 best wav of,..,,-,.,' ■* ' " "''"'*"" '"'ill as '0 "o a.,.,eU,ei a nX' :?,:"!, >!"n - "e.ievc" long icides were hlTJ t^^"^' ^"ir. 7> '- were creli IJXin '""'? '""■^■'••'«' A-t empty. "'''y "tM; Eei,be>i'a porch 'hen'Itd'rtf^°-'«'"«fo,.,.p,.oJeet,a„d Around the oW man'. 7 «'"-eo litHe children Clr '''"" ^'"'^'^'^ «'«-. as J,o nscd .; Piers a de"' '"'''"" ^'"° -riere have we bpon r« j • -ritrs, I whispered '» n,^ ^ "'" s^'^nd schemes, begun ! » ^ '^'"^« ^^e Methodists have " "i'es," said Piers «fT,« rp, ster is something. But Z ZT^' ""^ ^^'^^^i- ^^ong the hiJis^eome tst ' '^'^"-^^ ''^'^ ™ *' -And thev are more f > t • • "AtaJIevents"h 7- •^''"'^'^• been no river without 'hem!'"^' "''"'" ^^^^dhave h!' -/Ty'"^"*^ U i i i CIIAPTEK XXIV. ^UT iiiost of all I found the change in Atnice. She had chan"» ""^ ""^ '=""''^'' ""d ^n^ious look - il'wirref ,?:r"'"KrT''''^^^p«''■- bea,■ the bWa toSL ''"""'' ""' "'^^ ""^'^' I said so to Amice. d. ni'/T'" '^^ '^^^''^' "^^^'^^ ^^'^"t down into tho tut V^" T 'f '." P^^''^^ "P ^^^ ^^- ^e ^ luaes.je.e. Besides, Br de," she addpri "nii otse f rJC ''' ''''-' ''""' - ^ «'- i-t bl agailltCLtwder^- «"--'-'". &™nl"alto^:;ef*^, ^'T''' "'""^'^ '-™ ".^■.eCnJ^rn r:dV;ro^^^^ ^,*eel sure IshouM break- thein»r;sr;f^^;:: 360 AGAINST THE STMEAM. m Ih 1 ' the terrible thing is, she keeps me in fetters, and imijrisons me with love. Yes ; yon may look aston- ished ; with love. Granny loved my father better than her own life ; and now she loves me better than my own happiness. She has nursed me like the ten- derest mother through dangerous infectious illness- es—through a fever I brought with me from the West Indies, and through small-pox. She took the small-pox. You can see the marks now in her fine stem old face. Only one or two ; but there they are. And she bore it for me. She loves me in that kind of w^ay, that if, for instance, I were in love with some one she thought it unwise for me to marry, she would let me pine away and die, rather than let me marry as she did not like. And then she would sit alone until she died, and never take another creature to her heart, and never have a doubt that she had done the best thing for me that she could. Remember, she has never had her will crossed all her life ; and she clings to her own will as a martyr to his faith. She loves me, and hates what I care most about — my poor slaves, and religion. She thinks the negroes a set of idle savages, unfortunately neces- sary conditions of West Indian property, who are always, by their obstinacy and folly, defrauding me of the revenue my fathers plantations ought to yield. She will no more go into the question, what right we have to enslave them, than into the ques- tion, what right we have to break in horses. Of course, neither horses nor negroes like it : but ex CGpt lor our eonvenieuce, there is no need for AOAIJfsr TUE STBBAM. 1 361 I'orses or negroes fo live at aJl Ti, hunted down like wolves Ti , T °^ "'""" ^e down like wolves in \frij\'-^ °^"'"'"''<'''»*^^ ^^"gion. Si,e declare; w'tf^M^T ^''*'" *^ '" .Vans, Baptists, all of , ^ ^ ^'''^-^' ^o- ■nsurreetion ; andof th^i! . '"^'^''^^ «» '» '■•ons she sp'eaks w tld^ 1"''""™ "'="-«" know she can. And as tn . P'""""'*^' ^ Joa "■•'^ not in the least decree T ,"°^' ^'' ''^"'^^ Of course there is no 1. '^''?''"'" °° ""dence. '>ogroessheiss!mp"y ™T^''''^- towards the »«.ropists and rZ^Z tT. "" P'"'" natical." ^^ ^"^ ^^ absolutely fa- "Yes,"sheLi''"'.T::3ir"^i— -." "■0 Weslevan meetings I Lach^! ^!"r ""-^ 'I'o Joved in the world hJ " '""^ '"*** ">" life and son!, as G^a^n-Z t'.'"" ''"'' ^''™<1 "'e, '■"t'.atperii;,s^^2 ";;' r°""'-'^^"''M »i"8, iniquitous ; em" r '"h n."' *""■'"•<'• that one delight those 1, "^ *^'"'"' '"'<^ ""'j liynns she could undi fT ^''"^'"'^ ""'' ««"g ™"st not be robbed ^"■"' ""*' """ *''^'» CWo^ ^^And you did not succeed?" J did succeed with Grannv fl,. "ogry. She stonned and n»dat T '°'y said Chloe might jro at h.n , "^ ' ''"' *''" She had been bro„21 ^' Z" ""^^^ ""-. -- i^ut natural «h^sho»ld' h-kril ICTi,!'; tli' fI Hi 1 ri ' 303 AGAINST THE STREAM. Methodists set on the slaves to deeds of devils tliere was not the shadow of a doubt." " So Chloe went again ? " " Ko, Chloe would not go. She laughed and cried, and asked if I thought the dear Lord could only be found at meetings. The prayers were good ; but soon we should get where we were be- ■ yond praying ; and the hymns were good, very good, and very comforting, and we should have plenty of them soon. Was she going to make missis and m'ssie at war because of her getting a little bit of comfort a little bit sooner ? Was that like the good Lord ? And so Chloe will not go." " And Madam Glanvil still persists that the negroes if different from brutes, are only different because they can be savages ? " " Yes, you know, she always persists. The per- sistence is from within ; anything outside does not affect it. The trial is to love both. Bride — Granny and the slaves, and the missionaries ; oppressor and oppressed ; to love all, and to be able to help none." " That will not last long," I said. " Not always," she replied. " But it does last rather long. However I have found some com- fort." She went up the ladder, and took down a book from the shelves ; a clumsy, badly bound old book, on yellow, coarse paper, in what seemed to me Black Letter. For at that time the German lan- guage as little formed an ordinary part of an Eng- iome eom- AOAmST THE STBBA3I. ggg mrS ''"""■™' "" ^"^'^^ ^™^--. called "At last I have found the Christians who takp P the cross, the real hard, heavy, d s"l Wave's cross," she said, « and care fo peoprta; because no one eke does ; the ChristianL tjZ I took the homely old books in my hand • the ui uiucience that implies in our Entrlisi, thoii^^Iitand education ! -^n^^Ush Coleridge was at this very time making his fi s d,ve .nto thatgreat ri.er of German tWH^r itself but recently issued from its subterrnean course to the davJio-l.f tk ^* ''^^ucenanean gonetostud^t^Gfii.rrb^r::;::''^''^'' Pa-phr^se of Schiller': ^'^I^L^^^^ ta.nly not reached Abbot's Weir • and vtLT was ,.0 busy with its own literatZ' ttt^Z and .ts education of the world, white and bla k tJ leave much e sure for any other literature of Jd" ftcafon, St. I less for any literature which it wo^.Id ).ave regarded as not tending to edification a™,, Amice ^"^Twrrisf;"'"^' "'1 ^°'^'''" -"* I,,,! fl, V^'^ '""'^ a^ ■' '">• good Brethren had haa them printed ami bound in some experimeu'd •motherly wo,.u„,,, „, I ,,,, ^^, „^^^ p^;;;'-tai -i-Jiey look as quaint and dr^ or^ -i i ^ i • T' I f'l 364 AGAINST THE STREAM. m eel as some of Loveday's Quaker books," I said. " And very likely they are as living and true." "As fresh and living as the New Testanjent, almost, they seemed to me," she said, kissing one ^ of them— "a great deal fresher and youngei^than tiie Apostolic fathers, except Ignatius, and bits of that epistle to Dioguetus." She had explored so many odd corners of thought in that library. " And it is such a comfort they are in German," she added, •' because Granny is not suspicious of them, as she has grown to be of some of my books. Un- ibrtunately (no, not unfortunately !) she discovered the other day a copy of John Wesley's ' Thoughts upon Slavery,^ and threw it into the lire. How- ever, she had read it first. She had read it through, and the plain, strong English has sunk into her conscience, I know, as it did into mine ; for she is continually bringing out bits of it to worry, or to throw at me, by which I know they worry her. Anti-slavery societies will never create a nobler ap- peal than that. I know much of it, happily, by heart, as Granny does by conscience. • " Can human law tu?m darkness into light, or evil into good? he writes. Notwithstanding \en thousand laws, right is right, and wrong is wrong still ; t/iere must still remain an essential difference between justice and injustice, cruelty and wrong. "One by one, besides, it answers all Granny's favorite arguments. You say. It is necessity ! ' he says, speakino- of the dreadful slave-stealing and slave sliips. / AGAINST THE STREA3f. 3^5 deny that vdlany ,,s eve, necessary. A man ran Oe tmder no necessitu of deararJJ^n h ' yf 1 on call your lorefathers wolves ' said C .-nn i^y, in uncoufessed reply to tin's. ' You sa^ " made the slaves stupid and wicked. Th il vhlt in inodern days, is called filial piety I ' ' '"'Jits necessary to my gaining a hcndred t^ousa?id pounds,' WoRhy o-op, ^n i theobjectof. 'IdenutlZ. ' ^^''^'natizing is neces^aru fnt '^^''''^^'^^"'''^^^'^^^9 a thousand 'T.'^^^'^'ZZ-T''''' '' ''''^''^ happiness: ,.-.f«' ^^t^^odists are Anabaptists-Comnni iiists, says Grannv. ' Tliev would rn.i "'"" rmo f,v +1 • ," •' "^in^ reduce everv one to their own beggarly level.' * _ '"'It is necessary for the loealth and qlorv or objeetoi. TFm^^A «,. not ',iscessary to the aloru fpna,^on: he replies ; ^..wi, ..^/"^Jf country— these are necessary to the alorv n/n ^--, ^.^ abundance of n^ealth is nj'^ '^ " """ caily !"l"v ''d ^^!!",^-^^.>'" Isaid, parentheti- " ^;^-^mnj lias read that, at all event. " «hn ;-epliod. " I know it because'she called m'w ey atrajtor to his country, worse than fFreTct clear- 3ther a Jacobite or a Jafol -probably both in the '', siio is not germ. However, the 36(3 AGAINST TUB STREAM. m *s Vi book lias burnt itself in. What I long to know is, if the tender appeal at the end to the hearts of the slaveowners, and to God for help to the help- less, has touched her. I think it must. It is good. Bride, to liave the planters appealed to is if they also had souls and hearts. Sometimes I think some of jour anti-slavery friends a little forget that. It is difBcult to love oppressor and oppressed as hoth human creatures ; after all, botli astray arid lost, and sorely in need of help. Per- haps there is some good, after all, in having to do it, not with one's wise, philanthropical heart only, but with one's foolish, trembling, quivering, natural heart, as I cannot help doing ; painful as it is." Then, hugging her clumsy German books to her heart, as she might a living creature that felt being petted, she took me up stairs into her bedroom — that delightful old room in the oldest gable of the old Elizabethan house, partly in the roof, with low mullioned windows, looking far over tiie woods and the river to the grey moorland hills. On the floor were piled heaps of books on all subjects, in many languages. Amice had no fancy for dainty fittings. Her luxuries were of another kind from those of Cousin Crich ton's house ; poeti- cal, rather than comfortable, or picturesque. The sole luxuries of that room were the capa- cious old escritoire that had belonged to her father, with a fascinating treasury of small drawers and pigeon-holes, and a desk that drew out ; and tliose ever-increasing heaps of books which were poor A0AIN8T THE STRKAM. ; to know hearts of )tlie lielp- st. It is sd to !i8 if aetiiiies I is a little ;*essor and r all, both Blp. Per- ing to do leart only, ig, natural as it is." books to e tbat felt r bedroom gable of roof, with the woods >ks on all i no fancy )f another se; poeti- ne. the capa- )er father, iwers and and tliose *vere poor Chl( 367 wi.eli «e luid spent so many liours of talk in w.to^t.nights,o,.i„tl,el,ea[„fsn„,,lt;n:: INow, she said, as we seated onrselve« " I will tell you the history of me and rnvr!,'' books. Whenyou won't awa^l t jI^™,™ I had nothing but books left to talk ont m7C rt to, I came, m a corner of a cupboard of the iibrarv on son,e ,.cords of tl,e Missions of "the p „; o called Moravians" m Greenland and in the West Mies And I saw that the flrst mission to the Debt /r ""' ^'°""" "^^ =* '"'"• ''""'^'J I-^<'»'"»-d iJober, a Moravian potter from Ilerrnliiit, who, on a journey to Denmark wi.Ii Count Zin.endorf, net a West Indian negro slave, and was so touched with compassion for the misery of those poor helpless blacks, tliat he set his wiiole heart on going to tell hem they hada Saviour. He set hi h^art „ A.S so fixedly, that being told by objectors there was no other way of teaching the slaves but by becoming a slave, h, j>T,^oeed to iecm. a slal Umself, that driven to the daily toil with them working in the plantations among tliem, and shar- ome of them It seemed to me as absolnteiy taking up the Cross and following Christ as any- thing m this world ever was." "Did lie do it?" I asked. in»t"tf ^ ^"f''' ^^^ *'^ ""' ^^y- I' ^'"'^^'i jnst there. Bnt m the same cnnboard T I'.uud some German boots which, by the words '^to ! 1 'I'll - i;;^* 368 AOAlNSr THE STREAM. t> i».ii PI 1 I Fnitrun, on tlie outside, I knew mnst be about these same Moravians. Of course I was deter- mined to find out, and if one lias set one's mind on finding out anything, of course one does not lot a lan«>;uac:e stand in one's way. Granny seeing mi; one day with those books, gave a little sigh, and shook her head pathetically, for her. "'Poor foolish Aunt Prothesea ! ' said she. 'Yes, that comes of being wilful, and taking up with strange notions. She went to London and met a crazy foreigner who called himself a Count, as thny generally do. And this Count made her ? .rtAy as himself. Some new religion he had, noi ;.i t oi^ether Popish or Protestant. They used crucifixes, and lived in connnunities ; not exactly monasteries, for they married ; which was, of course, better than being monks and nuns — unless they married the wrong people, which poor Aunt Prothesea did. She went to some unpronounce- able place in Saxony, married some one they called an Elder of the Church, not ill-born, they said, but older, at all events, than herself about half a century, I believe. And naturally he died ; and unnaturally she pined for her Elder. They put her into a widows' house, as they called it, and she didn't like it ; who would ? To be classified like the vicar's beetles ; or like adjectives and substan- tives in the grammar ; or like all the people who are one eyed and one-armed ; classified, and penned up with a lot of women. So she came hack to Court, and had a room given her ; your room it AOAmST THE STMEAM. be about ras detcr- 3 mind on 3 not lot a ieeinc: iin; sigb, and said she. d taking London himself a is Count V religion It. They ities ; not t'hicb was, IS — unless )oor Aunt ironounce- hej called they said, bout half iied ; and They put it, and she ssilied like i substan- eople who tid penned e back to ir rooju it 869 not only not in a k„,.,m,.e but .mf ,, , . "ny rational ,.cr«o„ -an r^ad ' Yn I '" "'P""" booM"' '" ''" ""' •™" ■™>-""''S -"- about the summer lividf^ vm, i. . , ^- ^"cl so, all this «cr unue, you havma: deserted me I >,avo been Imng with my great Annf P ! l^er United Brethren A 7 ^^othesea, and WdoublydStf"'this ]/'" 'T' ^^""^ to me or what X '^ ''''^"' ^^^« become auntln/h "P^"'^^''"^^^-'^'"d my great aunt lias become to me. I rpnrl fi.^ i ^ ^he sang them to me. TlL are na f T"' f '* I^eden-orSnnfz^ir :;,:^^^^^^^^^^^^ daring, oquiverint w Uh ll T, "' '" '""""S ™'l fJn T *i ^ '^^""o ^^'ith life, those words of ^av unguarded, unbalanced, k^i^ -" -^ ' \me.in~- 24 bold, full, free, like the fiVM IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) M Vi 1.0 I.I ■ 10 u m 1^ 1^ 1^ 12.2 u •^ 1. 40 IL25 i 1.4 2.0 1.6 iiuujgicipniC Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 J\ ■^ # V> rv 1^1,- i/.i JJ7- 370 AGAINST THE STREAM. M ' Bible, and tJien a thousand other sides, like our human hearts, like the Bible, and like no other relig- ious books that I knov>'. Not a bit of grey in them, not a neutral tint ; every color and every tint and every shade, to meet all the countless shades and colors, the countless thirsts and hungers, and joys and sorrows of our hearts." " But Luther was not a Moravian ?" T said. How dim the name of Luther was to me ! like a mere Heading in a catalogue ; and to Amice ho ivas a living man— yes, living, then and now, once and forever ? " JSTo, certainly," she said ; " Luther was not a Moravian. He was Luther. Nor am 1 a Mora- vian," she added, with her little quick dropping of laughter. "I am Amice Glanvil, your Amice. Your Amice, who goes to church every Sunday, and has no intention of becoming an adjective, or an atom, in any community, married or unmarried, even the best in the world. Were you afraid I was in process of transformation ? " I had been a little afraid as to what those curi- ous black letters might lead. They connected themselves in my mind in some unreasonable way with black arts and mystical ideas. There were Jacob Bohme, Swedenborg, and sundry mysti3al and unutterable Teutonic personages, of whom I had a vagjie idea that they were a kind of Protest- ant Simeon Stylites, or Faqueers, M'ho, in some symbolical way, adapted to European practicabili- ties, lived on pillars, or stood permanently on one '^<^^'^rNST THE STREAM. ponentoof Mr. Wesl^v , 7- u """*"'• "'• <« op- <-^ fo,™ of AnaS; ^"^""^^^^'="'^^'^4 Amice admitted thof fK* me that the W 1 ' ,1 '"' T? '™''- ■^"' ^'"' '«« 's'orn,, on the vovao-o acm« H ^ , *^°''-""'"8 in a Wesley and Count Zinzenlrf V ' '"'"""■' *^'-- that it bein.. shnnlt f"'"''''"'»"''"gs,and ^othrei,„i„%rs„zr;he'; •''^' '-^^ ^"°"'' dom had become a „7.e™'t v hTJr "^'^^ ^'"S' «- of opinion wlneh S;d^;i "'"'^ '^'■«''^'- aocident. "ivmed them was a mere »-'e:e:.!rpt.:of4-hr -M.-. w->/himse?fii: trr Z"'^'^^' ■noment, that the different,! L ?""'"' "' one one of words. '"""''^''" them was only »"4til*^:tn!:', [»?;•-* ■•" '>o>iness, a state i„ which Mne^^^^^^^^^^ Count Zi„.o„d„rf , T" "'«'"«tive. ■'"^ contended for holiness a. rV 372 AGAINST THE STREAM. being not so much a commandment as a promise to the Christian ; in other words, for faith in Christ as making the desire of holiness instinct; for sanctification, not as a constrained work, as the spontaneous free fruit of the Spirit. Both looked on holiness as the great aim and the great promise; both looked to Christ as its source ; both regarded taith as the surrender of the whole being, the dependence of the whole being on God, as the means. If there waA a difference, it was that Wesley looked on this free, glad, instinctive goodness as the attainment of the advanced saint, Zinzendorf as the right of the simplest child who lives by the new life ; that Wesley dwelt on the Christian life more as a warfare—the Moravians more as a growth ; on the resisting evil, the Moravians m-, m the conquest of evil by good. Amice at all events had evidently found her in- tellectual element in the German literature, and her especial spiritual element in that old book of German hymns. Her beautiful, white spirit-wings seemed to expand and grow strong in it. I cannot say whether there may not have been some unreasonable and exaggerated hymns among them. I have yet to tind the hynm-book which I should not think enriched by omissions. Bat,. first through Amice's sympathetic transla- tions, and afterwards by their own simple pro- found, inimitable words, those hynms have grown into a portion of my own life ; so that I feel as un- 3 a 'promise th in Christ stinct ; for ork^ as the jat aim and Jlirist as its Gnder of the rhole being hat "Wesley goodness as , Zinzeudorf lives by the Ihristian life as a growth ; ii« m the "ound her in- erature, and old book of spirit-wings it. 3t have been ymns among >ook which I IS. betic transla- simple pro- , have grown I feel as nn- AQAINtiT THE STUBAM «We to j„dgo tl,em critically as thp v.- «•"« mo lullabies in infancy V'l T. *''''^'' - on-gina, atCaetion wa Zcont L^ , '•""•''' found peace to the wav ,-,. i ^^^^''^ of tlieir pro- tho contrast of ,017'^ v"\ '^^'" ^''''' '^^ ^^^ I -m with herna^rl t nl'T '"' ^"^-^^^"^^ ^' ^^-^btlese reIation:^r::i^^^^^^ -t,^:St;5:S^^^ -e. with us, fo/^THs ir^n^'^"*^^; ^"^-- Btant to be separated ;r oh. "'''' ^"' ""^ "^' eternity, as seUe i" Hit ''"""^' ^'^ ^^ ^" liieir theology is Jesus:-" "DudessenmenscUlichLeben Dasunsereseligmacht; ' Du desson Geist aufgeben OenGeistunswiederb.-acht Den wir verloreu halten • DuunserFleiscliund Be-in- AcUunterdeinemSchatten ' IsfsguteinMenschzuseyn" A«:;p:^tf:::::iZ::-,?rct;''^,f- Widowed t.me, when I think,,„; J ,;^;f j I -".le some- tJ'ought her. and how h^ ' .!!! 1":'.!'?''"^" "'«/ must have snn O' rr h *, :.'l' mi III H 374 AOAINST THE STEEAAf, and been at rest here over these dear old books, in this dear old room." " And these are the words, Bride, in which Leonhard Dober taught our poor black slaves. For I found the end of that story. He went in spite of all discouragement to those poor outcasts, not exactly as a slave, but poor, despised, as one ready to be, in all things except sin, one with them. He reached those poor broken hearts. 'Sweet, too sweet,' they said, ' are the tidings you bring to us.' ' That deep abyss of blessed love In Jesus Christ to us unsealed ' was unsealed to hundreds of those parched and weary hearts. So easy it was to them to confess themselves to be ' nothing,' wretched, sinful ! In Antigua the planters acknowledged that Chris- tianity as taught by tl:e Moravians made the ne- groes worth tx-^ice as much as slaves. And now there are congregations of Christian negroes in many of the islands ; some Moravian and some Methodist. Zinzendorf's followers and Wesley's do agree there. Ah, Bride, I often think, if we could get down low enough, we should all agree here ; as when we get np high enough we shall all agree there.'' " But Bride," she added, " I have a little hid- den hope, that it seems almost a treachery to you to have ; yet almost a treachery if I have it, to hide from you." We were sitting on that low window-seat. tvindoW'Seat. ^^^IN8T rUE STREAM. tliem against her face ' Pressed legal expenses 1 ^J'" "^ """k- The flnes, the poor enfnl 1 T ' " '™''"'' ""J after all )-ipLs, r„^™t rtrrr r '' '-' '*'" '^--'^ aricious white w1,o 0^1^ ''™1 ""^ '''"^ ''^- >"o« than „.ere Iner hit T " ""=™- ^' '^ give to mj slaves." •* ^ ''''"" °»« ■''ay to " I know, I linoiy ' " T ^a\A i. l.er books had been bnl ' Z^:Z'''\ """ ^" o^m part with ,o„, A,nioe. ntw"! I ^T' ^lii marrv nnri «,, , -^-•■-'vv can i { I-'iers How can'l C^ZZ ""'- "'" ''*'"'' "''""S- blacks are savies Td tT f "'^"- ^^ '''« them worse." "' "" P'""""-^ "■■« some of - Jun'tn'C^^j '""^a^'t'";"^ ''''' -"- will have to help sTn^C^ IT ^ ''" ^^-^ ^'°" will help n,e mwe Zn •'■°'" ^''"- '^o" wa.,hereasi„the.^ostIndS"^'o;7„;r ,' f/^ fp" 376 AGAINST THE STREAM, ravians will not hear of self-denial. 'Do you think it was self-denial to the Lord Jesns,' Count Zinzendorf said to John Wesley, ' when he camo down from heaven to rescue a world ? ' No, Bride it was love^ and that swallows up everything ; and first of all selfy which it has not done yet for me." esus,' Count CHAPTER XXY TERS and I were verv fnll ^t But to 118 in Abbot's -Weir fn tl,„ ^ ■•epresented an advance which l^P ^T' '' and to CJaire and Ami^P » '"■' ^""^ '"«. any romance. To he ' T 'T '"'"'"^ """> Abbot's Weirit 1 elenZr ,'™ '^'^"'^"' "' ress, most daring, nourl m '"""i °' P"S- i«»l- "Utopian" Ji'^J^j^'j''" »."aeo, wbieh we, w^ D ej "ai7f ''';"" "*' onsly critically explored TP ' ""^ •"'«"• windows whiii. cJ^^Id etilv he '''"'l^'"'^'"^'' "P » little boardin. &> the fll "'"i'""' '' ""'' "■'"• '■ng of the roof a « o , "J ""' " ''"'"^ ■•<•■?"■- books, a desT»d at fn" " '"* '""'''"""'' «'o.. be complete ' P''«P«'-'"ions would "Your 'Eilirrfr ''^'■' ""• '""'■ '■«««'«'"'l^. :-o- own 4':: '^ iTZ T '" ^""'"'^ P"^ I did not n-ate-the^'isf ".'!/""'■='•;' would have made an excel., ,t ^ '• ^' Coleontera. The .„ "'"'""" ""'senm for ,„y But p'erhaps Ifw '" a^iri"'^ ''"'''^"■ >vhole for some neol t " '''"'^'' <>" "'e Utopian schemel-? ' '''""="' °^ '"»•"« t«d, "MydrXiS''hr"-f"""'- several shelves of those 1, ''' P°"'"ng to to him the de i"h to „r •'■'"" ^''^'"''' '" «W* ool.„hts of nn.»ss,on and of perpetual at those- venerable seareli were blended 'Mook ar n oiumes. TJiej^ represent the theol ■i '.i ogical re- fif 380 AGAINST THE STREAM. searches of the wisest men of iiiunv centuries. Eacli of them imagined he had reached a conclu- sion on wliich Christendom might rej)oso, and be at accord. And jou see Christendom is not at re- pose or at accord. And you hope to make all this plain to babes in a lew broken hours 1 It does sound a little chimerical." " But, Mr. Rabbidge," I said, " the babes have to grow up and to be good, if tliey can. And wo cannot wait until the folios are finished, and Chris- tendom is at repose, can we, to try and help them ? " " Theology is a difficult science for young la- dies to handle," he replied, "although it is one which every tinker used to think he could fathom, and which, for the feminine mind, seems to pos sess irresistible attractions." " We do not want to teach them theology, if that means the contents of all those folios," I said, "I am sure. How can we dream of such a thing ? "We want to teach them something about Christianity ; how God has loved us, and how wo can show our love to Him." " Christianity also is a large word, Miss Bride," he said, " and has many aspects. This scheme, 1 repeat, seems to me a little chimerical. Moreover, I confess I consider it rather an interference with the order of nature to take the children from their parents for religious instruction. But I have no doubt it \\'\\ do the babes good to be an hour or two every Sunday with you and your brother. AOAINST THE STREAM. ggj And," he added patlietit-illv «T u «"d the ".st„„.;j„ ;;';;• j^^?" .™" »-iii tlian I have." '^"*""' '>™«>tion " WfelrJr ''''"^''' "'''"'='"'™ "^"^ ">»■•« immovable "'«■" are parents for," said she ",Y,J '^"" to teach their ehildre.; relWon 2 'f " f-''' f" ""' Sundays for if H,„„ . re't'on * And what are peopie^re'CtTs";::;'i[;;.T.'»-.r'-'''"^ -sider the p,f„ ,, oC J ' j, ^a':™ '^ ' ' cai, upsetting parcnt-il a„n,„„-. '^raimi- ftmily life °C" ;, "'■'^'•''"'^ intrndingon will Lr„ .wo ;: •"''"" "' "'« f'"™- '-'"-Wren despise .,.eirTa;i;;s\asr;^r''r''° And meantime yon set tlrm. '""'="• »nd gossip awa, Z^y^ZZtT^r '" """ to teaeli any one teaeh tL ., ^^-J'"" "-"nt rags, not ti Z^io a„d u ''"" '" '"""'J "'« homes tidy"- " '^ ""^ '"'''''' ""^ '" ^^ep their , My fatlier undertook onr defence on .1,;= eion. "oiente on ttiis occa- "Miss Felicity, von would scarcely set P •. to teaeh the mothers as they are T , ""^ ins the children you know slw . / "" "'"'^'■- "-S and mother I ' :t:'be" 'n'""f "" '■^- S..nda,-scho„ls wil, .„ ^d s^ we^f tl t T " .n ge.neration none will be wanted "A , winch d d not seem a, TTf„„- . . ■* ""P" as it does now. P""' '" "' "' "'"^^ days -fonnldo?;: S^d'r'V"? '""•"^"" " '-^-^ of the stream"' ^""''''^'■^'^'"'"'^ «™ begun "against , i 382 AGAINST THE STREAM. '1 If I ^i ilf ' In the town opinions were divided. Fortu* nately our family was too well known for us to be suspected, as Mrs. Hannah More had been a few years before in a similar undertaking at Cheddar, oi seeking to " entrap the children in order to sell them as slaves." Nor did our fame, or the extent of our operations, expose us to the self-contradic- torv charges broumit acjainst her of " disaffection against Church and State," of " abetting sedition," of " praying for the success of the French," and of " being paid by Mr. Pitt." Moreover, Mrs. Elannah More and her gener- ous sisters were pioneers, and the success of her labors, closely following those of Mr. Raikes and others, had made Sunday-schools appear rather less of an extravagance. I often think that per- haps those self-denying and calumniated labors among the " actual savages " of the Mendips, may outlive all those books of hers which were wel- comed with a chorus ot adulation by bishops, priests, and statesmen. ^^Aut Morus aut angelus " might be written with more permanent letters on these than (as they were) by Bishop Porteus on her " Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable World." In our part of the country, moreover, the "W"es- Jeyans had been at work for fifty years, and the discovery of the treasures contained in the Bible had inspired hundreds and thousands of our west corntry miners and laborers with the determina- tion to learn to read it. Convince any body of AOAmST THE STREAM. 38^ to read!' Let ^ nlbo, '7' "7 '" '^'"■" ''"- thing worth Jm„" ° -, f"''''' '"'^"'^ «°'"«- ton to, and thTlIt 7""' "■''" '^'"•'= '° '« ^-rit- will i;..„ to w„"e '•^^-"''""'i-ation, and they land""!:::'!":-';-"." t "^^p"' °^ ^"s- -eational aspiration, indeed w re o) ftl ""^ 1" erate. IIaiin.5l, M^. i T« '^"^ "^<^st mod- "'0 idea of tea inl L "^"'"^'^ ^'^^■'»"'-'l no intention -'sti;' ""T ^ ™"^- " SI'" ''"d episcopal CO ;4onTentT" :? '^ "^"?<' ""« «^ '- tlieir station " '^ ""'"*' "^ raismg the poorabo™ not attempting weeVs^o 3 at tV TT of religious literature witl, whin . w > ^"^^ not a,nbitious-Mrs Ilonli \1 ° "'"8"" ™' Cateehisn,, broken 1,^? ^"'^^ " C''"'* Testament'and t,"e p^v ^B T"™''" "'^ ^<'- and nratts's Hymi^lr W ,5 " ^PeHing-book, did not posses, "'^'" ^'"''» = P'^tures we o'df^lfnCn^eC^rS ■n timse Jacobinical days dM '^ "''"'S''" "'"oh.and resentiuily wonde JT"" "' ^''^ ''■^~<=;-p'ottig\Tm:'^vr'"»*<' Of the two " vested intpre^tq " .r ' i* 'end With, the parents and ;h:\,:eV:f.red:;: 384 AGAINST THE STItEAM. 4 schools, the parents were divided, and not inac- ccssible in a slow way to conviction ; hut the Dames naturally were unanimous and entirely im- movable. They said the gentry were going to take their bread out of their mouths, and put grand empty words into the mouths of the children. In vain we protested that we did not mean to inter- fere with one of their schools, but only to keep the children in order for them. The Dames were wiser in their generation than we were. They said we should make the children discontented with them, and no one could say where it would end. Education, they felt, and felt very sagacious- ly, as a means of maintenance for superannuated old women, would pass away, if it was to be re- garded primarily, not with reference to old women, but with reference to the children to be edu cated. As in so many reforms, the people to be reformed saw more clearh'^ whither these reforms tended than the reformers. The West Indian planters foresaw the emanci- pation of the slaves, when the abolitionists only Intended the extinction of the slave-trade. The Dames of Abbot's Weir beheld in aofo- nize'l vision vistas of day-schools — Lancastrian, British, National — and the abolition of Dames — while we only contemplated gacliering a few chil- dren together on Sundays to teach them the Sermon on the Mount, Watts's hynnis, and the Catechism. In one sense the opponents of Hannah More "were not so far wrong. The germs of a KevoUi- n : hut the tion "^^^INST THE STREAM. 385 ^y which poorCoavod T't "'""'^"■^ "'lor anothor J'as its darkly patheti^sWo f,, 7" *"»''"'°'-' tnry of experience tlTe 1 , "^'"^ "f"-- l">lf a cen- wholesale naHo"a?s tok '™""f'«^"»-<=' Simulated ow am- A boginninff was all fi...* » kind of com^febTo ,1 T.T ""'^ "■«'«>• protest,,,., tl,at tl,owori ! r"'' ^^'"'''" «"•■'""•' ™« «8 well to enio ,^, ' ^"f ""■"«' ^^-y, it •'•''-■■ons), took ZyZ^^lr' f™"'" »f '>« ;« -Mod the,,,, aiti ," fwll!!; "" ''■*'-. - *«■• She said to ,„e that T, ?• """"^ '""'<"• f d her tI,eolo,,y best t, " k'"' '"''"^'' ''»■• Ved to have to do «^th ,1"? ''^-"'"'■''^ ^''« fMdron among the m ; ' '"T' «''«• «■« "'ff for her. '*'' " *"« "» best t,yin- they certain,; „eard;f';r "".f-^ »d tl«e most pop,,,,,,, of „„ " ti "^^ ,-i "'"''' "'^'^ get any one to ^J^^,, ;f « '''*«"ty was to J^et moro than nr-^ -i t ,. I'l ' « 1 ;■ 1 388 AdAINST THE STREAM. cpidenues carried off far more in those daA^s than now. In long after years reniiniseencos would bo brought out to me, by mothers, of little hymns and sacred sayings of some lost darling, and of the name of Jesus, blended by infant lips with that of "mother," and of "Miss Amice,'' as of, One nearer, and dearer, and kinder, and better than all, to whom it was nothing strange or sad to go. And more than that, the hymns and texts the little ones had loved would be spelt over by lips and hearts often as simple, though not, in- deed, as innocent, as theirs ; and rough men would come to be taught the way the little lost child luid found so pleasant, and to tread it, pleasant or hard, so as it led where they were gone. Claire did not join us, but she sought out many a stray lamb to send to us. The elder class fell to me ; and many a lesson I learned in trying to teach them ; among them, a greater allowance for my stepmother and Miss Felicity, and a general appreciation of the difficul- ties of teachers and parents, ministers, pastors, and masters, and all governing persons; many a lesson also as to the defectibilifcy of my own temper, and the fallibility and general vagueness of my own knowledge. For if there is no flattery so delicious as the attention of children, it is just because they are quite inaapable of the flattery of pretending to se davs than AGAINST THE STREAM. attenJ wlion tl .381) ej ar( c^planatl;,,, ""'''^"■''1^''™'' '»«to«l "fa clear TJie school soon ffrow so fJ.of i , Aiiiiec and Pjors .,„,? t r , «tad^tl,el,istorie of; "7,, "'"''' ""' "« ''"^ '» to »mke tl,cm e ll ' "'" 1"''"""'e»' wav, outer and I ", r tlw;"' ^r'^"''' "'" "> «""Jy thj -*o C,^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ .., anew. . ■"'eir, tlio littL sir ^ ^"®''*"<' »■• Abbot's oame to it. ' ^ ^ "■"=' '^»'' "ot a few who CHAPTEIl XXVI. lis riROUGTIOUT tlie winter of 1801, and t:^e sprincr of 1802, tho enthusiiism with wliicli the people liad welcomed the peace ' with France had been slowly cooling. ^ By March, 1802, when the « Definitive Ti-caty" of Amiens was annonnced, all idea of the peace being definitive had began to fade away. The most immovable of Tories in those dreary days had the best of it in prognostication. Those whose hopes of human progress had been largest and inost endnring, had to confess themselves most deluded. But few kept hold, through those terri- ble years of the failure of freedom and the triumph of falsehood, of " blood and fire, and vapor of smoke," in which the last century set and the pres- ent rose, at once of faith in freedom and of trust in the loving rule of God. This world for N"apoleon Bonaparte, and the next for justice, and the just, seemed as much as the hopefulness of any could grasp. To my uncle Fyford and Madam Glanvil, in- deed, the question was entirely without clouds. (I The Fi ^^^INST THE STREAM. <3evij," said Mad •en ell Jmd 391 .i.''vcn tlioniseli been sent them in tlio "'i GJanviJ, 's„id the d es up to the ■evi] Jiad *- us if wo dW no rest 't, 17" ? '? '3'"'" '■'-• '>- F-nel,, as the BiWo toU J""'' """ ■•^- %''' Kone ti.e way of a 1 .lo ' ''"'' ™™'^->' »* Paris l,as despotis™. If the dctr ■'"''°'-"'" '" ^^°»«- E..^and wil, ,,ave to er„l th'c» " "" '^'" "'«' that had evoked and 1. !.•'""' ^™«<"''"!y ■-"•"Ctively, SLI tjf,-^ Yv "• ^"^' some one princelv will T^ ''°^' '''''"^"^ for Afen4;.tit:;:dr;;;r*^f% to ask, Jike St riMM-ef 1 .'''''' ^^^^^<^' and that th;y.ij';„^l;t!; -''"•'' ''''^^'-"s^ ^'' 11 parle en ro'i''^ fim'^ ^ Mar,„is of Cornwal ; writ Jrf '^ 'T'"; ""= Paris. TJiere wn« ,,^ "'"""g of JSapoleon from be n-ore despotic. AI o ti! S"^"^™""""' could arranged by Naoole,™ T f ' ™' " "^™<'«'-d»' Pope ^ ^"''°" "'''"'■"» F'-once and the ':^'^^^::^:::^^}!'^^^r ^ad. Or mes said, "and ame des religion without faith ! Tlie I ' %'BTK''*'-* ■■*! a» aseftw^^Sf*! "^^ 802 J(/J//V^S7' 77//!,' milEAM. iff ^'"^ roi)iil)lic was l)an in tlioso first' inonths of peace llo(rld her own streots, and Europe, witli the best blood of Fi-ance, adored tlic «ro(kles8 of reason, establislied tutoy-mg and the aboh'tioM of all titles, and now a<,'ain was C()innian(lin() timber tv!u]o I.-w? i «onlJ ,„H'cr do. Pi„.„ 2; '."" ""» '">' «.tl,c,r P'-'-'so for l,i„, " '" "'<""• »"/ sdJition,,! e/- Moreover, Franeis went h, n <• , . "■"otol iu tl,o to»-n. "" '^"'^'^ ''« ''"'1 c-on. «''oreS\Td/h:\C4;;"rv^"''^'-'»"'' ""'' to have the b,!,-, 1"* " ""'«' ''« to a,,. f' «-onI,l he the it ' ™ ^ ,e I?' """""'"- "ft^^ ""•ning over a „e,v .J**'''''"^'"'"™ oicing bac'. also, we Qi n see that the whole ^^f^^t^ST Tmj STIiEAM. 395 Wind eo,.,C7,,,^.: "'."' • ''"' ?^ '""■="^"- -P-- '^«"3 wl,o had been t. h ' '"'""'"t'o,,. Git- I-'irst Cons,,!. „„d wro , M '"•"'''""""J '"-nisolf iNapolooM responded bv « '-, --f^-aid^.,,^:^:-:j2^^-.. ^"akes its lu-storH /some t ''"'' ^'^''^^''^''"^-^ only -' ^^-"^ fondiAid^: : ^-;- 1-thetie. T^ "i our poor blacks, it seined Sfe ^ '"^''^'"'^^ of a new era. ^^ ^"^ "^auguration : wrote £ i^ani. " Sonic pcf^j>Ic, " -1. lusiasticaliy from CI, ^•.■nt L'ouvortu^; 4 'inr,!!!':!' " "'""g'" ^ ;i]->- 'as mauguraiing a new 01 . (^-i|^ era, not 396 , AOAINSr THE STREAM. • i ■.', , m •li rf m: only for the negroes and tlie West Indies, but for the Church and the world. Some one had said thac the negro race would probably commence a new age of Christianity. The Eastern Churches had had their age of subtle thought and elaborate dogma, and the Latin and German races had shown the strength and ability of man. The negro .ace might be destined to manifest his gentler virtues ; to de- velop on earth for the first time the sublime and lowly morality of the Sermon on the Mount. Greeks had taught us how to think, Eomans how to tight, negroes would teach us how to suffer and to forgive." It was a golden vision. Only, as Amice suggested and Loveday mourn- fully admitted, they had not exactly begun in San Domingo with forgiving. However, the forgiving might no doubt come afterwards. Madam Glanvil was naturally much irritated at the whole thing. She was almost reconciled to Kapoleon for char- acterizing the negro republicans as '' apes." " Apes and monkeys they were," said she, " only he might have carried the comparison a little further home The French aped the Greeks and Eomans, Brutus and his assassins, and now they seemed likely to apo Caesar, and more successfully ; and the blacks aped the French. There was a difference ; the French did it better. But apes they were, all alike." Indeed Madam Glanvil had difliculty at times AGAmST THE STItEAM. Qr -97 m not talciijir XmnlpnT, ly •-oon a Bo J: ilTix::^o,r,''r""" no revolution In h;« .. ^^^^^^ ^ould Lave been Ij invented. *^ ^oJ-miila previous- stand ;:;:fsr\:t ^f ■ " ""' "'''•^- ™^- ■nufV ,^^^^' ^^^^at does It matter who ? " nua agaiubt ban Doni ni^o "Pci , i i- base Ti "^^''^' merchants liave been ba e enough to assist in it with transports £ Wilberforce remonstrated in the Uou..el'n mons: but IVf.. a,m:-.... "^ "^^""'^ ^^ Com ffuidl^ or ever Mi. Addmgton responded very Ian- - -^ij8 we must have Mr. Pitt 'back, ee, ne- Pap; •Jthiiig wiJl be lost-honoi- c^nimer » ■ii >;l m , 1 li V § ! Ir ) ♦{ 8 ■ t ! e* 1 ' \ 1 J ' T «] 11 if ■ ') H i. >il ' »' '*i ill '•f ' •'i ?l 1 li ^ . ' f »l -'WVi ill 398 AGAWST THE STREAM. groes, and England." Tliej said there must be meetings every wliere ; the people everywhere must be roused and instructed. They only needed to know. " Could you not get up a meeting in Ahhofs Weir for tlw abolition of the slave trade f " It was so easy to get up meetings at Clapham. My cousins had no idea what a dilHcult thing they were proposing. Father said of course we could. Piers said then of course we would. I felt ashamed of myself. I had thought so much of self-denials and tests of the reality of con- viction, as a little deficient at Clapham ; and here, at last, came a test, and I shrank back from it. For an anti-slavery meeting presided over, as it must be, by my father, meant, to me, banish- ment from Court ; and, to Amice, I knew not what, of perplexity and trial. I dared not say anything for or against. I only told Amice ; and she, after a pause, said what 1 knew she would say. " It must be done. Bride. You must do it, and you and I must bear it. Think," she added, '" if it was only the least little push onward to the lifting off of the terrible wrong ! What does it matter M'hat little trials we have to suffer ? The wrong is there, the sin is there, the suffering is there, and that is the trial." ^ So I wrote, by my father's desire, to Cousin Crichton to say we would do all we could— receive AG-^TNST THE STRI^JAM. ■n-'o a dote..,,.,-,,:" re i ;*.";;*t°' "' """ cessarily in vain rsr. '""''' ''"' ^'»^ >'«- >"«' they onlr,?, '"'""''■ '" «■" f™ncl,- I'avon double obit i'v, V™- r:^ ''"''''^™'' '" to re-e„slavo (1,0^1. T" '" '''" «^I'««tion , some troublesome P.onnl.i; / "^ '^''^^'^^ of -BO between Fob a„ isoo" ^T''"' "' *'- 1S0«- I"tl,esecond„f;e ,?'/"' ,''r "">"'' perfectly. Tonssaint r 'n ""'™''«'od but i,„. and ablest of t t rf-, , "■""■'^' ""^ "<■'*«' '«e, and l,is noble re „1 \ t '■"" '"'' ">"' ■■"eo, vvboso sun t it!" ,e " 'T" "* ""^ "•'"■'« "■"Pped by fal c Zl " acknowledged, ,vas en- continued the resistance mid end the last Fre/ich f ^ "K^re savage load ^''•s; and in tli Soneral, f e,,.,„d_ „„„j^,^^j^ iT"" 400 AGAmsi' THE STREAM. ' ■ ii . , by France, blew out his bi-ains '' in despair," the Spaniards recovered the island, and slavery was cstablislied. In August, Tonssaint L'Ouverture was thrown into the Prison of tlie Temple in Paris, thence transferred to the fortress of Jonx, in a ravine of the Jnra ; the victim we all felt of too frank a trust in the honor of the white men he believed in, jet had dared, and dai-ed successfully, to re- sist. The lull of the parliamentary anti-slavery con- flict, which had lasted since Mr. Wilberforce's de- feat hi 1799, continued. All the more important was It that the stru^rgie should not be suffered to be forgotten in the country, and the campaign be carried on in detail. Accordini^ly our anti- Blavery meeting in Abbot's Weir could not be de- ferred. My cousins wrote of it with enthusiasm. They considered it quite a fresh launch for Abbot's Weir. Cousin Crichton himself was to come down to assist. At last, in October, the fatal day ar- rived. '' Large handbills had been posted on various friendly walls and gates for a fortnight. The old town-crier had rung his bell and sounded his " Oyez ! " although that was by no means an effective way of trunipeting any fact. The room over the market-house had been engaged. Still Madam Glanvil had not apprehended the event which both Amice and I believed would "' the woods of VonTZ^ "'^ " '""» ™'k '-™s ,.„et,i„g unde 1 ;';■"«" "Tf °'' «'''™ eon cauop^. „4di„g leaves Jl" """"^ ""'' ™"'- '"S "ito a fine net„„,? !, ? ""' '"=^<''' S™"'" «•* its ft,, antnmnvo ,t r "" '"'^'' ^""^^ t™o I ,,ad avoided din u". "^ '"™^- ^«^ eo'»e «"= I'onse ; nor l,ad IT^ "^""^'"S ti.e day in G'^vil. Indeed, it ^as ,1, TT '" "•■'^'"» l^^o.enr;preS„;r,,f"^-„dI of nature. To-dav f Jn'c ^^ *^^^ sympathy -Lu uaj tins was esueciallv fT,^ ''^ ■Lo me there RPom«,^ ^ ^-peciajjj the case. easy cry from ns !ike JZ , ^'^ ""> "" «n. tofljto. Ti,e iterrolt, "iV^t"'"'*' "° '""»« gi^en fronds „f the fe™l ""''"■!; »"• Even the -'•t'-red and sod e.^ LT ^"'''- ""''-■ the «f joys, and hopes and wl ^r''^'"""S «Poke P0">1> was funerol 1 l™"'^''^-"- The ve,y "bont those woodt tofethtr^frr ''f """^^^ »««' we only seemed tf reel tl '"f «'"'' ' »d I rcniembeid '"'""" ^«"' wLoIe heart in. BuL„ , ^'' '" '''"■ »"«'» little help. Ah BridP f t""^^ "*' ''^^ ''«™ "o Wo „ . ' ™' ''»«• "I'l'iy years r " "e went no to Im.. .., . ^ .)t;ais! g-.t.au„t ProtCa'r T'.^Z »' r"^^ ''^' dow-seat, and she road , ""^ '»"' W'"- of the G^uan h,„>ns - """ "™ ''""^^^ "^""a ■■DabtoderHir.derS=l,wache,«« Aui Dich will id, micU legen ^ Erqu,ck« mid, mi, seyen ^ i*"'"""''""'*"" '*»■«" u-d .lech '''-Hsi„,intoamoL,;ri4:ata„^^ « XT . , 'en ■^chen wasErtliut e er mich wirrl anselm Weil er doch niclit rulit Wie '/ .• n -4 ''i\ -4 404 AGAINST THE STREAM. -s was in the ale,?.: !l P""'"""<'- - ''« ■room. al ieeJ at liome, and as Utt. placed tO'i»g to e able to do it as the chairs at -eg.iar angles with a: ;;:::, pre- I, I' |,!-a ^;.! 40G AGAINST THE STUEAM. Hi ' Ml ;' t»:i li f ( i'l : 4 ij ' ll ^^^^^^K ^kI ii& ^il i; fli tenoe of hcing accustomed to bo sat upon. And Cousin Crichton beaming with kind intentions (ind lios])itality in ettse or hi posse, rubbing his luinds with that eiTusive manner which always gave him the effect of being everybody's liost ; ehiborately making the very best of Abbot's Weir, the narrow streets, the little houses, our church, our hills, our old grey tower and chimes, in a way which gave one the impi-ession that he was perpet- ually apologizing to Clapham for having been born in so insigniticant a corner ; sanguine about the abolition meeting, about the peace, about everything, and yet all the while one could not but feel liable in the most placid manner, at every turn, to tread on all tlie uncomfortable toes of Abbot's Weir, as unconsciously as if xibbofs Weir had no toes to be trodden on. " AV^ell, Bride," he said, kissing me and laugh- ingly rubbing his hands, " my fair Trappist, have you forgiven us yet for being so ' terribly rich ' at Clapham?" My stepmother looked— petrified I cannot say, since the word represented rather her usual man- ner — she looked as if she were going back from a fossil to a living madrepore, cold and gelatinous. Could I have said anything so rustic, so vulgar, so presumptuous? " You have all but perverted your cousin Har- riet into a reformer," he said. " I am half afraid of her going into bread and watei*, or Quaker bon- nets, or starting off for the Indies, East or West. ^(^^TNST TIIK ,STUKAM, O'»o Uoos not socm -iIJ.. i «•■"• as u„<-.„„fo j; { ""■' '"'■■"" *" '"^'ko iKT- kuow, the Church of E„„l.,nrl i '*'' ^■"" tl'en not only the It, ' """ *" ""^ '"="- ''--■nor „t ,:;::;; 'f;-!^'r'^^ -we3e„t„„e„t"orv^i:t";;;T/''- a fi.-at.dass u;;X,fr'f "'""•'''"'■"'' '"" into the n t t^i rC'r T -f "^'^ "^™'' Madan. G^^"1t ,'^™'','"" »*»J «"'-'■ was "isant recollections of shooti ^g over the covers of Court. II ^ was anx 408 AGAWST TUE STRKA.V. 111 I •'! » ioiis to see tlie lady of Iho mniior ; tlie earliest stato ceremonial heeoiild reinetnb-r bein^r Madam Glaii- vil's triumphal entry, as a bloomincr bride, with the youn^r Sq„i,.o, into Abbot 'a Weir, under arches of flowers, with the old bells clashing cannons, and ringino- joyous peals ; the tenants and townsmen hurraing, and the boys, himself among the nmn- ber, indulged in an unlimited allowance of noise. He had no idea in what a hostile form he was now entering Madam Glanvil's principality. The coach was at the; church door before we had lin- ished our inspection of various old family monu- ments and tablets of our own. We came out at the old Lych gate just as the two black footmen were drawn up in the usual form to usher Madam Glanvil into the coach. But there ^\■as a variety in the ceren..nial, to me terribly significant. Amice, instead of lingerino- behind, as usual, for a greeting from my lither^ was marshalled before her grandmother, who fol- lowed her without turning round for the imperial but friendly Jupiter nod with which she usually favored us. For a moment I caught sight of Amice's face leaning eagerly forward, and Tooking very pale. In another moment, by a stormy flash from Madam Glanvil's steel-grey eyes, I saw that lier Twt seeing us was positive, not negative. Then the blind was drawn violently down, the footmen sprang up behind, and the horses pranced demon- Btratively awav. ^j this I knew that Madam Glanvil had heard dOATNST rilh] '^TJiKLV. 409 -■oIenti;.;™:,,„Vrir'"'' '"^ ''-■•' beating "ess of ,ny protest ^o'""""'/ and terse- " I'l'eoeeupicd tn.^' ■- j >> ^JItisthoaholiti„n,„eeting,"„,fttheri„te. Inc.;: pitti^'i:";::;-,. u[ t'""-, '™' » ^-' I see." ■* "^ '"'■•>' '»8 slave pro; irty. "IiicJced, fonsin Criditon " T.„-i <■ «<=« •' Sl,e is more fcrven °"' , , ""'' ^"O" ^»"'' eipati„„_tl,,.„a,n „;' w""'"'"*?-'"''""^'"- --.e„o„,„. fj'^ij;^:?/"-'^-- That i l.coM la Jy does not approve !" toH;fei;.fct,:;::!"';!>p''™oarpHed of Cousin Crieiiton Wan T ■ ""•"■•"""' ""^ ''''?"» « ft.™,., .nad "Xt ; :'"'?"'""^'°"- "Sl'o against pl.ilant ,r„m ' ^'""'' ™i«^!on.'>ries, everyono'and ev r^'^ i„~ «»l"-". Hgai„st subject." ■' ^ """ ^"'■'^s touch on tlie anUmothers, must the ay t', '", ''f *^^"' ^^e all know, ' Cat stand right hand," PJuckout'the n gJit eye, J j> off the h i i •^" f « ' ' "■ ' ; ' ■( • I' * > I 410 AQA1JS8T THE STREAM. " Unpleasant ! " yes I should tliink it would be unpleasant for Amice! In the bitterness of my heart I said to myself that unpleasantness was the sharpest form of martyrdom Clapham knew, or chose to know in its own person. The plucking out of the right eye, being so rich, it naturally paid to have done by proxy— by Germans, Methodists, Baptist shoemakers. I was as unjust to prosperous Clapham as Madam Glanvil. Talking was so easy ; andj'et to me the talking to-morrow evening would actually be cutting off the right hand. My only consolation was to go and sit with Loveday! She knew, at all events, something of what right hands and right eyes meant ; although for her, dear soul, the crushing and cutting had been done by an ir- resistible Hand, and had only been made her own act by acquiescence. She was resting on the long cushioned window- seat, beside her a little table with a nosegay of flow- ers from the conservatories at Court. Amice sent one, or when she could, brought it, every Saturday. She had brought that yesterday. That little trifling token of kindness melted me out of my lofty heroics. I burst into tears, and pointing to the flowers said,— > " Oh, Loveday ! It is the last ! She will never bring them again." Loveday started. " Amice ill ?" she said. « What has happened ? My dear, I am afraid my deafness increases, I am so stupid. I must Jiave beard wrono-." A0AIJVS2^ THE STREAM ^^^ lasllf T.Y^'"'''"^^' ^^^' ^^"^^'" «^^e said -At last ^t^s legmning r taking my ]nnd " r know It must have como a i , ^ ^" J^utlamnotreadj!" I said " liands." iieretore the cup is not in our Rood, Bride, it is'^^od' b tt " '"'"•" ^' '^ e^r so little of tl.oX lie JlrkS-V" '" '""'' strengthens Bridn " f,"°<^™'^.»'; the cap itseli of on: wirif 1 ;,/'"' "" ""^ "^«'- so ves more h.;fl„ f ■■*'' ''''"'"•<'''<'' "' «1"="'- fruit? '"''' ''"''' "^ "'^ P'"rfir parents, and cuttin- off ri-ht hands." But hap- pily either the bad light of our tallow candles saved him from the discovery, or his better genius interposed. ^ He much commended the shy young clero-y. man. ./ ^ o ^j Conservative as lie was, true to Church aTid iiing, Lords and Commons, and all the detail of our mimit ible constitution, he confessed he re- ^^retted that in this instance the Upper House had fscarce y taken the lead in good works as might have been hoped. . The Bill for the abolition of tlie abominable trade had once passed the Com- mons, but never yet the Lords. We were told in- deed that "not many noble" (in mv presence he did not venture on the " not many rich ") <' But he rejoiced to tell them-if they did not already "^^^^^^ST mi3 i^ritiuM. 4] ty iie would Jiave l)oou .r).,,] 'i t , <"•, at all events l,or hi.l , , "■■ '"""s'^'s, -t3x.ttai''''^- mj /atlior, each of wl.' I i ^^'''^'^'^''S' and to ei-Hn,,:.d,;jl^:ta a readiness to receive tl..7 , '^"^^'«"ce into bo^^an the seHo ^ t oh' ''V^ ''''''' ^- First of nl] fi , ^ ^^^ ^P^ech. which was fhe !rat '""^''^ "'"'^^ '""^ ""•'. ■«Pping and packing i„ L h„M ?r\ '' ' '"'''- tmtcd by a large cojV of M r, "1 '''"^'"P' '"»«- diagram ; the statis\L ofd..?! "o "f ''""'"' Thus, in a calm, En-lish W ■■ ''"^'"S''- cess! oTctr Xr '"'""^ ™'^~ - cniolty. There w,« isolated o«ess in a >' -l 41(1 AOAWST ri/K KTHKAX amo„„ „,,, ,,, „„ jj ,,.,,^ ,1^^, en,olt 'i„v„ „ ; '" "'" ""■''«'' '»■•"' "nclc- tl„, ,„il,l,.rt t;,k-„, ,," "vn.. or „,.,.seer, the en.ol.v ,W„/«, ^ ' all,,., o„ wl„ch 1,0 i„sietod. U„lcs8 tl„> toil „„ | e ,„„„»1„„„,„3 i„ the pl„„tati,.,„ we,.o s„cl, „" en,s , a ,-,u.o, a t,-opi„,.l ra™. it ,n„«t bo ,-o,no,„b; U v«.-k,„g „, a oli,„a.o co„.,o„ial to thon,, the ^ , .' Jaf,o„ wo„ld „„t l,avo to bo roe,-„itocl f, „„ Af «.H1 -he t,.a,Io w„„ld „„, bo„oo,iod. U,,).™!^! o,'.' o ..vago «.a,.fa,,, ^,^, ,..„„„, ,,„^^ ^^ "^^ ■ «S«1 , , Afnoa, the t,-ado wo„ld „ot bo p,«siblo. . /'";" '««'™'"'totl,ehisto,Toftl,o 8t,-,i„„lo g.v,.,g tl,o,r d„o to John Wooh„a„, A„,o, B™a a..s a„d the A,„o,-ica,. Q„alent of Toussa.nt, the s,-oatest noi.,-o, in tl,o d„„ geon on to J.n-a-and the froodon" b sod o,! a "" ;g.on ,H„d a Constitution Jiko onr o,vn; be C; the „o,sj ox-plosion of revolntion ondinJin d "n„ -no ,1,0 white, and slaver, fo,- the W^.i^a 7tt great patient stnio-rle a(*-iin«f ,.... , ^o«-f,.o.nthoIIon,,os„fPariia,„entto"ve! „" of on,- oonntrj, and befo,-o long, as ho boli n- to end tr,„„,phantl,; or, ,.atl.er, ?s he da,.ed to ^e If' I sh ai)j)ronti('08, licit V involvod St tnsk-iimator, vitab/e in tlio 58 tho toil and 'cro such us to remoinbcred, ^ni, the popii- t'vom Africa, iilessasvsteiii ^nuy; villajrcs, were encour- ti possiMc. 'he stnin^irJo, ntoiij Bmia- and Wesloy- alludino< to II, and to the 3 condiKlod 8 of libei-tj, 1 liad ended 10 imprison- in tlie dun- ked on a re- ; between f in despot- ck, and the carried on ■ery corner oiieved, to id to hope, ^^^rN8T iiiE ,rrnj,.^M^ f'> hc^rln ^ f,.p^} 417 1 era of conflict and , ,. •, — v-Ki wi cor "'>''''"oM of the slave trade. And all the time T vv..« i;.f • i"i,^ broke up ^^ ' ^"^' ^''^" ^^le meet- grave, shook he,- ho,,l 'L- ' /'"= '«'*"<* ™rj I was anxious I.,.,,r J . ^''^ ^'o^^'"- *-d >'ot return a„L ^'..V, '•'f' f'71'»'-'«l, ™d ^fcly inside the .,.,t' '" '""^ "'"<^''«d her h4i:t:,r:::i::;;-^-^*ook hands With .o..fo"nth:!;:::r„:,r'--tKo,.henPe„. " Poor lamb I " Rn\A p , -ord., but she has to rrf .r"' ,"f ^ "^^ "'" lice." "^""^J^ "»-' wood for tiie sacri- woulf !:rhe?!rt2,1, "'^' ^"^ ■"-"'• «'- O-'-daduty.lC^'"""""^'^'"'" '--" 9s>«nofthe,%Lt. Butslie 2? 418 AGAINST TUB STREAM. If , j Bill t! r!!l"„/;' ''■''"'!'"™™'^ «'■■" forlicraelfone mo ment ot ploasai.t ineorooureo witli us tcied ! Loveday sa,d we did know how slie en- dured, and thfit was much. I knew sooner than I expected. ihe next momins a letter came from Amice tolhlTr ' r" ^""";''^'" ^"""^ "™ ''ft—' bank I »h ' '""''' """ ''™S^ o™^ "'« violet bank by the nver, j„st inside the gate. It is be- 9nnM I feel that my workt the work for ri'sh':,:-"^"""- ^^--^ >•' --""ot be lea „„. eo oJT™ "«/ """' ,'" "'" "" "■""'' ™ >"«" ^''t on kissed hem I wonld have thrown my arras aronnd her, but she would not have it " / am one of them, Bride," she said, " not by any condescension or sympathy, but really, Mil a] y by hrthrujU. Granny says my motl.'r, „.- lathers w,te, was a slave. Therefore I have i mfselfl T '"■;. '"™'- ^"" - I -" - -'y mjseJi iree-born." -^ And as she said so her eyes kindled, her form w,th the feehng and purpose of the soul, as to A ve one so,ne conception of what might be meant by a 'spiritual body." Free-born indeed she was^ free-born m the old Tentonie sense, every inch and every thought of i,ev free, that is noMe ; 'os™ erself one mo ^oAimr TUB BTitEAif. ^ '"-li'^Sr.^^tr'f-y^v,.. beside. And I believe she"o,„r? ''-^f -i* a"."« of the ■Daw^omnle in the chair ' Z ^' ,"^ ^""'^ ;"on,i„,, but sbe bad . ; see 'i:'";":" !" "'« leant out of the wJn,]n„, 7 InstantJj she •' cto and era':::" oir"^"' '^ "■^™■••«^• very conscious and sLepW. "'""'"^'' '""'"'"S ;;' Tear down that,' sbe said. She was too angry fo,. epithets. " llT:^t^\ ""■' ""= P-i-^ -'o shreds ever dared toL tLt 1"? "f °^ "" '""^^ -'"o- drive on.' ' ''" ''"''' »" "y walJs. Kow onWsrastr:tirL~^'''^'«'^-^^.Hn knoJ ofThill""'"' '"'""="'» -«' '-'■- did you " ' Some weets since,' T sai.l •"-''^"-.itt,esili:yc;ie.o.theto.„ 420 rl I ^ -t ^^ ilM' AOALYsr THE tiTllEAM. too,' sjiitl slie. 'Fool tliif T vvob f^ 'Von, you. ,notlu.,.-. lu ' "•'' '" '^^'^ ■"»"= c-I.u"i"^ '" """ ''■"""' "^ ""■'"' "" »"«»™' "'0 " How wo loft it j'onknow. "As for ,„o, I c.o„lcl „ot l.olp boinj, more tl..,-, '"" "" ''°'- «■''»• II^w eonlcl it look- to l,or, 1,„ U »>. a Jong course of co.,cca!,„o.,t ? II„w Joukl Blio „„dorsta,ul all tbo reasons whiel, „'* .s feel ■ hopeless to tell her beforehand? hor ,>eless„oss of ar,.„- X^t V\ ""l>»-'^""y of abando„h,g wiiat we considered riglit. " Before the ove,?i„g I should have made a de enn,„ed oBbrt, and told her all I felt cost her and ,„e what it n.ight; aud it ™ight l,a™ « d d ^JZ'tcr ""^— '■■^' "-^ -"'^ eould, and havo concentrated her anger on you slidtfC '"^•'^"'•"""'•-"'^^ -*-''" «!- " I need not tell yon that, Bride ; it would be nngonerous and unjust. You kno, her ad bowMnuch, and how little, such words mean " I knew, indeed that Madam Glanvil did deal agly ,n superlafves, although not at all in the 6tUe ot tbo superlatives of Clapham "However, she roused uie beyond cndnrar.co. AOAIUST TUE STREAM. T A ^^^ ""■ It is »„ dim™,,, ,,:,",.,; - ,'" I-.,. stances, to (liscii<« ... .i • ''"^ ^'"'"i^st cjrciim. luiddone W]..,f.. , /T , ^^' ^0 ^o what I of honor ? ' ^ ^^ ^ *^«^« know to.J,to",:™I;I:" °"' P""'''"'"^ ™-0«> once „t- cnoJtt;':""''' ""°"^'"^' "'"^ --W J'ave soft- poor fatCTshr^r"'" -™- -"'"-or )'o„r -d a good woln they ! : L^ ^ "^ff"!, -^^ not her own fault ]L i' ^"''' ^"'^^ ^^'«8 escombe ~-' to Dai again And she did say very bitter and l> . ''''i ■'Km untrue th inijs ^o , 422 AGAINST THE STllKAM. if I nioro than I felt I oiiirht to bear. I was perfectly calm tlu!ii. And when T am quite calm I can aL ways make Granny liear without shoutinf,^ I spoke quite slowly, so that she must liear.'^md I could see that she heard— "First of all, naturally, I defended you ; and then I said, < Granny, I tliank you more than I can say for what you have told me. For now my duty is clear. If my mot.ier was a slave, the slaves are her kindred, and mine. I have a duty to her race and mine, not oidy because they are men and women— because God made them and our Lord redeemed them— but because they are my moth- er's peopU. And in one way or another, I will devote myself, body, soul, and substance, to help- ing and serving them in qvqy^ M^ay I can, as Ion- as I live.' ^ "She did not storm anymore, poor Grannv. bhe looked actually bewildered and frightened and began to contradict hei-self. ° ' 'Your mother was not exactly a slave,' she said, ' when my i)oor George married her. She had been, as an infant ; but her parents were set tree in San Domingo. They were more than half Spaniards ; Mmtees, I think they were called in our islands. Three parts white or more. They were free, and living on a plantation of their own, with this their only daughter, when your father saw her. " '^ I'^c*'' /George ! I cannot blame him much though [ did blame him bitterly, more than I it hear, and I A GA imrr the utiikam. 4^3 Poor fellow i I „.m 1 1 ?• '' '"''"'« '"'"• cinJd, or would not Juive been h„t fnr f i uites bo let us fore.-- staif ' rt'll ''^^ "'™'' fr°™ ■»« -.d went up "-ptoir.Xorinrr"^.^''"-' say. And then, if vou nL , ^ "'' *' ■''°" ^ . 11 \ ou pieaec, you ihhv rs relations, F « mo the King of Dahomej, to 424 AGAINST TEh] STIiEAM. I'll S|i if I «.e Popo of Rome, or the Methodist madmen or ,:S::i::?'''-- i^-a„ouwm„„tr: "And so," Amice concluded, "I do sit af I.Pr table^andneitherof „s spealcsa ;ord. ^^eVhe:: X id . r"^~'"""^' "^^^ ^-""^^d i«- wiong, and mine overflowing with pity whicJi I cannot utter or look; with i^everence L a he made her break through during ail these years • mj wilful folly and heartless ingratitude.' Never ^vhich she believed must have at any moment brought me down on my knees in abjecl humi i^ ion and subjection! And when she brought out this terrible, irresistible weapon, faithfully conceal- ed so long to find it indeed terrible and irresistible, WfX^^^^ - «h^ --^ ^eel, against her.c f. The thiiig I am most sorry for as regards myself and you, Bride ! " she resumed, "is thfs ap pearance of concealment about the meeting. I don t think we could have done otherwise. But this made me more resolved to throw off all diso-uise and come to the meeting myself. I thought over It al Sunday night, Bride. I hope it did°,ot look ike bravado, or any reflection on my father. You think I did right ? " " I am sure," I said, « it was not bravado ; it was '^^'^'^^^^ and how are we to help confession AGAmST THE STREAM. 495 Perimps Lave X d XL \'"" -'-' '^oy wo„M what they would tkhf 1"^ '^'^ '" P"'''- 1>"' face; ' thatTr ifc? *" ""^^ '^^ ' ^^^ to think the e s no H7T'' ''"'' " °"'- ^nd I heaven as" n'drivW m"', *""''' """ *'*^<' "' >« to teachm^Xvlom- '1 "^ '*'^ ''""««' «■• "as to Cha L ho„.h't n h?" "'f '" ^ -'=P'-<'' trade." = ' '" ''^™'' "bont the slave- _'_'Sro," she said; "so I came." ">aykt'„\!];v!fll^''''^^'''''''«-<'-'>^e. Tou danghter of a slave." ' "' ^°" '"'°^ ^ ^™ *e f.l/w"i '''''■'' So^-l-Ve, Amice ? " I said " v told Madam Glanvil- «„,! "" opposition ! " ^'"""'.'-""'J »»«' 3'ou are fairly i,, " For shame, Bride ! " she siid « r , „ , to think 'Methodism ' asO™?, „'''*" ''"S''" to insurrection as Ihe ^'""'^/''''^ "> does lead Church of En2nd and hT ^ ■"='""»" '» "•« and if I haveTn^'le ,'„':';:" '" "'?«'"-'-™ ! Christianity it is to Hi '^' ""'"' ''o™ "f most consen'at ve and ^'"'""""'' "■''" "''-^ *« «arth. In my^Lt 1 n^P T™ "'"P''' ""»" . «-h 1 , P'-othcsea's hvmn-l,o„l- ™t::omr;;:..';.t'''"":°""'^^"""- ^ 01 tiic heart, on patience in inward th and I" i. ?•! •■ f 1 mmm s 1 (S'ffl H S''i Ib ji 1 ii'l H: i|_K H in H i 426 AGAINST THE STREAM. and outward tribulation, on poverty and lowliness of spirit. Do you know, Bride," she said, with one of her brightest sudden smiles, " I really feel in some way nearer Granny now, and love her bet- ter than before. I am not sure sometimes that I do not really love her more than I love you or any one, as I ought perhaps always to have done, and - never could do. I am so sorry for her. In every possible thing, Bride, I will submit to Granny, as far as possible; and in this thing, which costs me more than anything, most of all. I have told Granny that you and Mr. Danescombe, and Piers, are noble as JSTorman conquerors and crusaders, and saints and angels, of better blood than the Glanvils, and ten times better Christians than any of us! And I have also told her that until she sanctions it, I will not see one of you again." There was no moving her. She had " begun " indeed, as Loveday had said. We neither of us said "good-bye." We just gave each other one long kiss, and turned and went home our different ways. So, as it seemed to me, the sun was blotted out of my life, and Amice's warfare began. CHAPTER XXYIII. ^tate of radiant satisfaction in til!'", '"'^ '^'' '""^ ^f Christianity in these days was lowered ? Who «.,-^ people were not ready to cut n.T fi • V , ^ to go to the rack, the LocMh It t if^ ^f ' manded« " TTJa o .. ^' ^^ duty de- " passionate, steadfast 'nlC Lrt^ ^:r^"' ^™''' ■"Other's spinet'to te or;: X'st '^ T ''''^- W, as I wa. beside Am?ce vet ., T'","'!' ^^ called me her ",.nn^-' ^f^''" ''^'^ always "ic xiLr gooa-m-evervthino. *> i ,, . genius „f common sense." And T' '' ^""''' to plead for myself or for her And IZ "VT never mentioned me, never asked *• ''/''" never allnded to i.s. ""^ ""^ »^ "« or dfd't tr" '''"V^ ^'' >-ealIygi;in. me up • " °"'^; "'^'"' ^''^ trusted without tlfe shadow 430 , i I f* AOAIXST THE STREAM. Of a fear that I wonld always trust her without the shadow of a doubt? Yes, it meant that. In all my sane moments 1 w^is sui-e It meant that. Nor had she the least shadow of a doubt who would conquer in that contest between Amice and her grandmother. " Love is stronger than Deatli " she said, "and tlian all the shadows of death. Alter all death, that is, hatred, pride, selfishness has only shadows for its weapons, and can only conquer shadows. And Amice's love and truth and faith are no shadows. She will overcome sooner or ater : she will conquer evil by good. And I think It will be s#®n." It did not seem soon to me. And the evil thing, which severed Amice and me seemed to me at all events a very substantial negation, as subs antial as the negation of a rock to a ship breaking to pieces on it. It was a time of negations and partings. At last. Piers, was able to fulfil his desire of paying a visit to France. ^ He had no need to gather fresh details as to the situation of the chateau where Claire had passed her childhood. That I knew, was what the jour- ney to France chiefly signified to him : but even 1 never said so, even to iiim. And to any one else It seemed the most natural thing in the world that any young Englishman, who was able, should take ler witlioiit the ^G^^INST inE STItEAM. 431 ai'gates, to enter '6> t. and t,ose open gate« had closecl ■"Id m.sht close agai,, so soon. did so, was i.Xd ;,:'""•. ^"' "'"' ^l- ^™de..se;„a;ri3uf::rCinf^«.^'''^- Cliarles Fox Zs ? T ;."^'""'''"^'^^^'Pend.•ture. ^a X ox wiis iiand and p-]ov(i »Mf i, i • derstand, in Paris ivr, ^ ? " '"'"' ^ ""- follow." • '^" ™'"'"'- if ae sn,all fry MaiJ:'Ls"oL7wi'rr "^ '"'^"'''" -■" to take leave " to m!. 7 T """"= '» '»«'• 'wm cons„iess:;^;,:f;;™r;f--«'-ti.e^ wife of the Oorsiean T /^ f' "'^ ^'•''<''« Court at the T H rfes ^I ^ *' '^"^ " *<"« I'-c setup the opera at; "t"'". ^'"^ I should hive thol ht =tL „ t^ "°^^^^''y' Tuileries must be m !. ^'^ ""••''"™ »' "'o »d Creol s tt taTen? f T"™' ^"'l ^'^''''''^ Of the older :," X ri''-r"' '"^'■°""^'- "ear. The,!?: f "n! r.-^^r'''-^ --- I pne.^t8 who take the ^ve a Church as well as a Co " t^ie government demands oath to violate tlie confe urt ssioiiaj ini'ormation ahout %■ "1 Ri If ' ;!?* 432 AGAINST THE STREAM. what it is pleased to call a Plot ; bishops appointed by the Corsicaii, and all paid h\ him. It is quite complete, and all absolutely in the Manager's hands.'' "Mamma, "said Claire coloring, "he said he would inquire about our dear old cure at Les Orines. A.t all events he has not taken that oatii." " No, indeed ; many of the old priests are in prison. God bless them," replied Madame. " See, my children," she added,." I grow bitter! Do not the books of piety tell us that all earthly glory is tinsel, all courts but a stage ? Only some tinsel is in better taste. There is gilt paper and ormolu. And to us, children of time that we are, a thousand years will seem longer than yesterday." " Mamma," said Claire in a whisper, " It has done one good work, that new government. It has abolished the festival for the guillotining of our king." " That is always something," Madame con- ceded. " And the Fast for the Day of his Mar- tyrdom, the prayers, and the weeping, no power in France or out of it can abolish." " And," suggested sanguine Claire, " they have abolished the Decade, and restored the Week, and the Sundii , , and opened the churches." "' Condescending certainly to old-fashioned people, to let them say September and Sunday, once more," Madame admitted. " There is nothing you can give me to do, Madame ? '' said Fiers. ve me to do, AOAtjr^r me stbbax. ^^ %la/t J":e°tSr'V"'{;'""S a- Lore. I can not even g^id^ £,„ 1 ? '"'"'^^ '""^ ™i'« ? -0 industrious. ^itA , 1 ';:r ' ^r P»P'« «f onr ruined chat<.a„r " " !™'= ""= «'<>nes '«o built useful IittIeL«! ^T^' ^''"'^ «" -But tlie Kin» tim n ,? "*» ''»"ses with thorn will tnll ^' ^'"'™' Madame Elizahpti, . , '"" yo'i even where H,„„ -^"^aoeth— wlio ""gl't weep for them ? Zl til "'i' *'"" •>''"' "» tombs. It i3 n„; 2J'f '« Pranee have 8»eration that men buTd h ' *"'^ »■• f^^h prophets." "■''' "'^ sepulchres of the was so good, and »1I ti ''^ ™»"nunion. He «>erewfreman;:^^:ta^ T'^ ''""• ^^^ J-on, if Mr. Piers w 7e ne T ' ° '"'"' "^ "=' «'' I'ort Royal des'champr r! "'"' "»""""" «^»Pf. «vents, although tra3L , '"""' '"mbs at a ) "Madame, " slidTv "V"^ ''" ™'™-" -"> certain,, make a p^^Hmt: t % "' ^'■^■•'''' " ' Champs." P"»nmage to Port Eoj-al des Stay, I will write a litt oTetterf '" '"" ^'""'•^ "«<>• 28 43:4 AOAINST TUB i^THEAM. If compromising letters wore who was a Jacobin, found — " " True," replied .Madame. " Take this," she said ; and opening a little cachette, she took out a signet rmg and placed it on his linger. " This is our family devise;' she said. " M le Cure will recognize its bearer as a friend, and will tell jou anything he can. Or any of our old ser- vants. -But what dreams am I indulging? Who knows where the cure is, or the church 'i And our old servants may have been made conscripts and i^illed long ago ; or republicans, and mav denounce you ; or proprietors, and not too anxious for news to disturb their possessions ; or they may have been massacred, or noyaded as fliithful men and women. Ta.'e care, my friend, how you use that token, iiut keep It always, if you will, as a memorial of the old days of our race, and of all the chivalrous kind- ness of you and yours to an old French citovenne It IS not a bad motto," she concluded—" 'J^oi roi Z< in a circle-so no one can say which comes iirst. Make it Divine, my friend, and then certain- ly It matters little where the circle begins " He kissed her hand, as we had beeli used to do from childhood, grasped Claire's for an instant, and went away. ' He was to start the next evening It was his birthday, in January, the month which had once given and taken away so much, in our home. ' ' I went up to his room to help him pack, or ng letters M^ere ^'"^^^'^'^r Tim STBEAM rather to talk ,w,ii„ ,,„ ^^^ "VVe talked verr /a«t tr '■ko o^n ending i;,r ,„o. '»'""'"«^ ^"''him, and felt '" >vere going ^ 1 1^"''^''.-''^?, " to tbel as ^^^■•celj- fartl.el- to the 7 ,'"» ""P'''-tant. It ;, ^ «apha,n, ..areeVt '; "; , --.' .■" ti,„e, tt: ., ^'V I said "\v\ " ""■""' '■« ftir." that lately f,.o„, ^-^^ '^^ ''*-« hea.d enough of ;''ey could be in Lo dtn Z 7% "" ^''''^' -^ ie worth while to do°\T- ^'"" «"« ' ^f wonM ""<' I -M, 'there tr:,:^'-^ '*'^«^/«.i:^ ?<'"S'.idsomethin,.Xr "^'" ''« done;' ani " Tp*"" "•«'■' f"»et''' "'"'^ *° "^ "-« when Bride." )i 0.3 J -^ , ^eticaJJj sjiappin tl,e lock f?.'^''^^^^ 430 AGAINST THE STIiEAM. ml % M J' ; ■ i i' 1' mar is getting very confused. Unbapj)ily joa never went to Mr. Rabbidge's and learnt about aorists and iniporfeets, and narrative tenses. Some- thing has never come, you see. And to go to Franco to look for it does seeni what Uncle Fvford would call Utopian and Mr. Rabbidge chimerical." " Yet yon are going," I said. "It would be soniethijig to find there was nothing to be done," he answered. "To find, that is to say, that France can do nothing for her ; and, so, that there may indeed be something for u:: to do for her." And 80 the next morning, to Madam Glanvil's indignation, to Madame des Ormes's perplexity, and a little to Claire's, but full of purpose and hope, which, as usual with him, came out but little in words, in the crisp January frost, he went off across the moors to the sea. V'. hi ii wl.on he was gone r SaoUf ererything England, for the slave fof a! ""!■ ''"'•''""' -^^ winter days oL-ly T/g, i *■ '\"'', '"deed those raise the national life '^ ° 'l"'''''™ ""d of Q^'n's Bellf *^: 7^^ S""^' <>» - the Court general, on bol if J-''^''^^-'"--. our Attorney, defendant, an „,.!'/"P°'''''» ^omp^rte ; tlfo ueienuant, an obseure Eov li^f • "".""J^"™ 5 tion liK.,1 ' -„ - . ' ^ ''"^' emijrre ; the aco against ail' cate, Sii- James Mack: 'iendij . government ■intosh " theadvo- reality England 1! ' it «'<'; , % 438 AGAINST THE STUB AM. felt, and millions in silenced Europe felt it was Lib- erty that was on her trial in her last asylum ; the accuser, Despotism embodied in the First Consul ; the advocate the last country in the world in which the press remained free. Mackintosh's eloquent words vibrated through- out the land. England was quite capable of being simultaneously electrified to her remotest towns, and villages, and homesteads, before the electric telegraph came into being; simultaneously for all working purposes. We make too much, I think, sometimes of these material inventions. Eager groups awaited the little badly-pi-inted reports of the trial, and news from the passengers, at every inn-door, as the lum- bering coaches passed through. Slow communi- cations, clumsy reports ; yet the heart of the old country beat warm and flist enough. " Mackintosh called . on his countrymen to " pause before the earthquake swallowed up the last refuge of liberty Switzerland and Holland once had a free press. Switzerland and Holland (two of Bonaparte's miserable bagatelles) existed no more. Since the prosecutions had begun, fifty old imperial free German cities had vanished. When vast projects of aggrandizement are manifest- ed," he said, " when schemes of criminal ambition are cained into effect, the day of battle is fast ap- proaching for England. Her free press can only fall under tlie ruins of tlie British Empire. TTp.r free government cannot engage in dangej ous wars '** i> '^^^^INST THE STREAM. ^^'ithont tlie free inA l.«„ ^ ^^ ting of Enlbfd lt''•"''''T"''''^■■P«Pl'^• 'O- would sLeeC if " rr • ' "" ""'- people around his standarf " "'^ '' '" «"" ^"^ was translated into eve .^ ■■• ^"' ''"^ '''"™''e 1^-'- was ^^^^i£^-i::^r^ ;"-'wUt::sitrior-"f^ :i:et;i^^-^-'»^-''--t:."zt:d-^ Eumors reached us of ins„lf, „» , A.«bassador, lord Whitworth a ,,! P ''^ '° T I'egan to call it a Court „f t "'?,.<^<""-t-they insults borue by Eu^L, d v, 1 ^"^' ^°"*"' ! patience of largeCttoel T\ "" '^"""^ "^ «»*'>' otl.er creaturesC^oS t:t^ " ""^ '"''^'''■^''^ tolerance beyond isZiL t '^^ ""'' <""•'='««« Bo„aparte/a.grei™'L,^4™r'-™-«-.st sarcasm, in referencp t. ! " eontemptuous »>• angr; tau,^ 'ot-VeX:! i"' '," ^^"^ ^^'^■'' and threats of the c„„o ''•"'' "^ "''^'"ies " saloon at lord wl t "S"""^'' '""""''^d in ft,,, "nation of shopL~^';,™!:!' ;''»"§''., the U h't tf F» il J, uo AGAINST THE STREAM. I, i.i?l seems always to take the rest of the European world by surprise. War was dechired. or rather accepted. Two Freucli privateers were captured. And in one of the dramatic raf^es with wliich he cowed the rest of the world, the First Consul, in revenge, seized ten tliousand British subjects, who happened to be peacefully travelling in France ; the ten thousand " detenus'' who throngliout the campaigns of Nelson and Wellington had to linger out the weary years in French prisons, or at least, in a society which to them was all one prison. And among them was our own Piers. We refused to believe it for a long time. Piers, we said to each other, could speak French 60 well, he was sure to escape when others would be detected. But then, acting, or any kind of strat- agem or disguise were so foreign to his nature ; and his whole bearing was " so English, " Claire said despondingly, though far fj-om disparagingly. But then, she added, there were sure to be kind souls ready to help a stranger in France; had not they tuinid it so in England ? and would her compatriots be outdone ? She was sure there must be fathers and mothers and sisters in France who would feel how Piers would be missed, and would lielp him to return to us. In March I had received a letter from Piers, quite long for him. He had made his way to two of the Marquise's former estates. He had looked for the cure, but in vain. One hundred and fifty MAms7' me stream. 441 'It, , Toll: r\r''^' ''■•°»^'" "^ ''''-. ^<''• xiiju vec, wrote Pier " In'a xr* i lias placed the bust of B„,t„ t'o, ' t l'^ "" convince every one tl,.f • Tailenes, to h-e, were it not for the wa'r a, d 2 '' """" The, Wished E„„and woTdd t ^:;;rr 'tZ Em,gres nobles w^„,d not excite her to 1 ft" I It was reported tJiev dirl ti T»r , '^"- '''^'^) a» come back to live amon .them if t"'' 'f »""' before— tlip ..i, h i tnem,— if not exact y as ■-Vet 7^ f '] ^'"^ ^"^**«^-t"nate]y been burnt p-.asei-b/th:fLz^rdartt:-^::; 442 AGAINST TEE STREAM. ! I s • I Slim, and he and his ^ged wife listened witli tear- iul interest to all Piers could relate of Madame and C.aire. The old man regarded himself as only manager of the property, as of old, and looked for- ward to restore it one day to Madame. But he en- treated that she would come back without delay I^or he privately told Piers "he had a great neph- ew, his heir, brought up in ti . atmosphere of the new regi7ne if regim.e it could be called, and he eonld not be sure of his loyalty to any one or any- thmg. He was a fine young man, however, and his mother a lady of the fallen noblesse-the pe- tite noblesse, certainly, not such a house as the JJes Ormes. But he had sometimes thought whether an alliance might be possible ? " Piers had seen the great nephew privately, and thought him an intolerable dandy and upstart. He could scarce- ly bear to write the words of the Intendant, but the old man had insisted, and asan envoy he thou-ht himself bound to yield. In a fortnight, or less now, he hoped himself to be with us again. He wished to say something cheering to Mad- ame. But it was difficult. I must judge how much to mention to her. Ten years was a lono- time anywhere. In ten years babies grew intS youths, children into men, young men into thntty fathers of families. It was a very lon«- pe- riod in a country which could not count ten years from Its new era, in which an institution Mdiich nad lasted a twelvemonth seemed almost antique To come back to old England he felt would be AOAINST TUB STREAM. 443 like stepping from a raft, ,i„st lashed fosotl.er out of broken p,eees of the ship, tofe,™ |° « t ' Jand was j^erliaps a rockv oWA\ «t i '^ ccnpared 'with \. Z„ / F 'j^e S'i« "^'^ .•«ek. And Just now the s^as seem;d fe ^ toZ" the news fro,„ aZs IhT trf Z^ti^ about the conquest of Malta • «nrl ,., ^""^e^'""g K;;d''t? r '?-"'■-- o,r,: Orlh ? *^ '"^ """'"^ ^t»d fi™. Geor..e S e ;:r rttf I'f ^-^^-^ ^•^^' »<> --^ had ^np .„ • ' "' '"""'' ™^ a" safe. He W„/ T ^'""•"''y '° ">*« to find tlie curl Madame had wished hi™ to see : and then iLne little self-saM^d at to f 17""^', *" "^ "^ sao-flnif^r \r. 1 . "^"'^^ prudence and Pn, »lT 7^ °'''"'"' ''°"'"5. not far from P„r Rojal des Champs, whither he had ^„ne to „fX among the peasantry. Madame was, at 5rst, much incensed at tlm proposition of her iutendant with regard to cLir: > !« -w ^ ^Ip-^ 1 t.ltJ 444 AGAINST THE STREAM. '■ Poor man ! '-' she said, « to 8„ch a degree have tliese whirlwinds turned the I.est brains ai^d be- wildered the most loyal hearts. But tiie great- nephew, insufferable ^onng man! I svippoHe he would thmk it a condescension lo oadow my daunhter with the remnant of the property of whicii they have despoiled our house." " Bi^^ Maman," said Claire, « it is not said tiuit t})G youug man entertains the thought : at least Jet us exonerate him !" "What can you know, my innocent child? Of course I do not suspect any young persons of takmg such an affair into their own hands, iliis at least, the duty of parents to provide mar- riages for their children, the Revolution has not changed. From such disorganization France is yet preserved." Yet, now and then she returned to the intend- ant's scheme. "Perhaps pride is after all the sin which has brought down our order," she said one day to Olaire. M. I'lntendant seems to have spoken deferentially and loyally ; and, as you say, the young man is not to be blamed. And if his moth- er were, indeed, of good blood I The poor o-reat- uncle is fond, no doubt ; but he says t.l ^oun^^ man is beautiful, let us hope also goou The family were ji; ways devout." But at t;. point, Claire, regard ^ ... ai consis- tency, entirely abandoned the defence ,-i - youn^ man. ^ it h. not said ^(^AINST THE STREAM. 445 in France H L t, dV T ™'"™"''' «™» away ? On thjwh^ 7' "'" ''°°' "''^'"S «" badly forT/ot: ™t; St '■?"? "»' ^l'-"^' republican days ha™ "^ ''"'"''^ '" ""^^e BanejJrL- ett.a'- -ir- f : then tbon wonldt W T: "n' r"'";'/"^ "'^«' abouldhave been My JorM a f!;™f •, ^'"' can exist anywhere onf „f p "'^^'''' "' "'« tie world, now " * ^""^^'^ ' ^''^^^'^^'^ "> "Unjust to me'" soM n].,- .. w. wo„,dihave::;uhT;;;;irr-; be nnjnst to any who have been good to «" M Rers went-is detained-/,,. „,, l^Z^'- «• forhi!:!;i;T:,7d:f'''iJ"-^°''/"'-'''-™'^p™.v Bnt, fo'r thee? r l;./'" ."J!^' S^^™- beart ! Somet lines r f(iQ\ as i I cannot al ways be with thee. A! 446 f ii m AGAINST THE STREAM. And before I go, I would fain do my dntv for liee ,f I knew it. M. J'lnter.dant was a l^rav; and %al servant always. I spoke hastily of hi,n Crod forgive me. I have failed in so rn noli ' " And then the little tender veil of concealment for a moment was laid aside, and the two wept in one another's arms. For a little shadow was falling on Claire-a lit- tle shadow from one human form; yet, within that shadow an eqlipse of the sun would, to her, have added little darkness. Slowly, imperceptibly de- cay and ruin were creeping on all that made her home, on all that made the world home to her : ruin beside Mdiich, when it came, the crush of falling, nations, or of falling worlds, would for her have added little tumult. No longer now so very slowly, orimperceptibly, the stages of declining strength were measured. hvom the chair to the couch, from the couch ta the bed, from helplessness to helplessness. The steps we all have to tread, unless for us the last de- scent which leads to the shining upward way, is a precipice. ^ j =• « ^ And then came the keen March winds, penetrat- |ing irresistibly through the carefully guarded win- dows. And then a few days of bewilderment and anguish And then the difficult way was over : and the mother was perplexed about her'duties no more or the duties of others. ' She had been led at last « by the right way to the city of habitation." ^ « She left her child to God «'- she looked wi h C'^J* ^^»"«"^. »d day and me. ■'^ ''^"^^' g»ze at love- Thoii Claire preswd t),„ b'-'W..S the oL Nf,"r:rf •^.'" ''-''>• »nd Mmo, the only Na.np f"' , "'' " "'«>'« e™ry C'-tened split p^^X" ''''^' "" P""-' We thonght there was a IW , , nance, as of eves that I,!. ^ "" ^'" '^"""te- so..gI.t, and in'one glancel 'T °"'"' «^^«' '""S Porplex-ed. ^^""^ understood all that had PnrilVs^frft ^t'blt P^'-^"'' ™°"™.-ng, lowly, .•tnd.c f sS^^^^^^^^^ r'^'X^f^ZlZZZ-'^'^r^^^^ And childhood, to foil : t : moTh "r "" '^"™ ^^ °>3' face." "'" niotherly eyes " „p to His And beinsT siv ..tp- „„ , she learned her lesson . """■" '™"«"''' 'han I, -e disciplined, and aCr J rVX*' |r*% ,^v^'(s; 448 AOATNSr THE! STREAM. fort in little ^In'ngs, refnsinr^ ^^ ^imb of comfort, im my of l.ght, from any Bide. Sometimes T wondered. To me the feeling in sorrow was,— " My feast of joy has been sNvept a way. I will •not refuse the crun^bs under the table I.s susten- ance. That would be suicide. Butto give thanks at the empty table for the cMunnbs, and pretend to Bay grace as for the feast, that would be servile, false. And I w,ll not try. I will mingle ashes with mv bread, and my drink m 1th weeping. God is a fJ-. ther my Father, the Father. He will understand." JJu^ CJaire, even in this sorrow which cleft her tender heart, as well I kncM', was still like a guest at a kings table. It seemed to me as if the old Imbits of her high-breedmg went throngh her soul, and pervaded her religion. She world not fail in ,ny gracious form of courtesy bec.i.se her heart was breaking, any more than her mother when her life was ebbing • not even, if I may say so, wiih God. She opened her windows literally and syrr^olic- alb; to t^e sunshine. She s. •.ad ihe little white tables with the primrose '^er mother had delio-j.ted m. She kept the roon r ; I pleasant, as if her mother were on a jour: , , uu. she had expr.cted her home. And yet her dear brown eyes were otten dun and red with weeping. " The good God thought it worth while to make the primroses tlds spring," said she, "and should I fail to show Him I see, and «ire and am grateful ^ M. mb of comfort, awav. I will ble as susten- to give thanks nd protend to e servile, false, shes with mv God is a F;, understand." hich cleft her II like a gnest as if the old ngh her soul, 3US form of •eaking, any was ebbing; nd sym'jolic- ■ little white ad deliirhted mt, as if her tad ex}»octed 1 eyes wero hile to make md should I til grateful ? "^^'^^r^ST THE srnE^^^ Aiid then she cared, IBrido Q? ^^^onghsho iiassomncUhat 17'-''^'''"^ ^^^- care for now." ^'^^ '^ ^'''''•^' and betfe,- to yyhen lean fjivo tlioni- n -i "<> g!ad, I know l!,„ fee! :!^ ?"* ' «'«' '» » '"■ tlien I iiope God fa ,r,.,l.' al«-«J8 ! 0„lv. md I „., f,„ i ^'-^^J -"> 77 bo ,„„.o U, ■"'■•ajsu.oro and more." '''" '^ «ng, W »9 m 1 M CPIAPTER XXX. TIE seizure of tlie ten tliousand Enfrlish in France roused tlie nation from John o' Groat's House to the Land's End. At last England set herself resolutely against the stream, regardless who pulled with her. From that tiiue till the end of the war twelve jears afterwards, whatever some factious men might write about the futility of opposiug Bona- parte and his "invincihles," and however a feeble policy might reduce the war to " neat and inef- fective expeditions," the nation went heart and soul into the conflict, her spirit keeping firm in victory, and rising with defe.ic. For twelve j-ears we felt ourselves, every inch of us, one Nation, and a nation standing alone, for all nations, for all the kingdoms of the world against one devouring Universal Empire. As long as England stood, Napoleon could not assume the coveted title of" Emperor of the West." The symlwls of the Hebrew ] mphets and of the Apocalypse came into men's minds in those days as no oriental hyperbole, but the natural and Ire. As long t assume the «d « reprieve onud^t "rV r''^''' -J"-'- " '^ '1--"PP.-O,.oh „ : ! ^'"f ''- Pa."pl.let ■g « /''rarffo,,~;y''oMiiie„,,i,,;,,..' '""'-•3, nt least o? , ? „T'"""""'>" «'' .'•il L « "m t!,o sand of the sea "ft ' '"■'''■ *P'-''"fc'!"g ""'•'l'. fi-o,„ „otl,;„o. ,S *^'"" "'e dust ot^I,: f"W"od tl,e,„, Se ;* r "'■*'■ '™8^» d licaven" and "east fl '''^'''''s' "tl.o l,tst of places." "^^ '^« *«-e down fron, tL°> It IS difli(.,,)t e '^I'o re„,e,nber, to T.hl 1 ""'"<'' '''■'^" f<«- "^ ^•^ ^ 'onld attain any helh, 'r'' '""'■"'^'W^ "'at can Javryer's son, the "''!'' °f ,?<>"'<"•' "'» Corsi- Asposed of thrones to CkL^ f'' f '■°""^'' -''o How eonid it fc d,n^'':°^"^'''« general.? shonid commit any crimr ""''•"lil'le tlmt l,o ''■■'d mnrdered t!,e voT n ' '" '™ "" Relieved "■y"; w).ohad a, 7pS- <^'Eng).ein at J, d.' -one prison, and T:^^sI nt^L'O " """ ^'™^"''^<' " ' m another; „-ho 11 >l f.1 •ifir 452 AGAINST THE STREAM. m ^^^^^^^^pt u Hi 1 .i massacred his prisoners in Syria, and sliot six thousand Russians kneeling helpless on the ice; who, M-hen thousands of his own men fell, shud- dered a little at the blood-stains on the white uni- form thej^ happened to be wearing, and as a reme- dy coniraandcd " only blue uniforms " in future ; who never hesitated at a ftilsehood or a slaughter; and for what object ? The glory of France ? He was not even a Frenchman. His own supre- macy ? No man disputed it. It was little won- der if to some he seemed an incarnation of some preternatural power witliout human heart or con- science, and without human limitations, so swift, so unable to rest, so in\'incible in destruction, so unable, it seemed, to do anything but destroy. Three successive Augusts he fixed his camp at Boulogne, gazing menacingly across at our white cliffs— and gathering his hundred thousand around him to cross the sea and assail us. In the first August, 1803, England answered him by enrolling her three hr.ndred thousand volunteers, to avenge her ten thousand detenus, and to meet the hundred and tv/enty tliousand veterans at Boulogne. We laughed at ourselves and our voluntary defenders, freely, as the custom of our country is. Every town liad its jokes against itself and its citi- zen soldiers (the old butt of wits from time im- inemorial), t^^ - cut of their uniforms, or the hand- ling of their arirs ; and Abbot's Weir was not be- hind the rest. I remember well old stories of the A3L i, and sliot six less on the ice; men fell, shiid- 1 the ^v]lite nni- ^, and as a reme- ■ms" in future; or a slaugliter; Dry of France ? Elis own supre- was little vvon- nation of some m heart or con- ations, so swift, destruction, so but destroy, 'ccd his camp at ss at our white lousand around ^land answered dred tliousand usand detenus, '■enty thousand our voluntnry Dur country' is. lelf and its citi- from time im- s, or the hand- eir was not be- ll stories of tlie AOAmsT THE STBBAM. lieroic valor with wl • ■ "' ^^^ »-om fortl, „,-tJ, fife '™;; """■ Sallant vo]nnte„^ ported o„tb,-o,.t o7 ;," "" '" «"<">'>"ter a re "'; -«n.y to be nl£ r;:? "^ «-. and fir.,,-;,:. ^«t to „ark the road tots\?^^'"" ^■''"° ^'"''"^ -f b..t i„„l„,;„„, A, c :,., 'Z""'''-^' '■^'■'"•ned f some review b^- some di^ ' T °" ""^''o" *''e time, the manL.v « ,'?"''";,S'"'*'«=d offieer of tobacco into hi., bnrf" '"' "'""'» » ^'dd of W'e Jauii-hed if .n i "-Po-ors'h t b ri?""''"™^ "-""Wed at <^;'^'' otber and obevi,'. ti , '™"' '^ ' '*«^''"g iu '■■"0. ■■" that incotil, " ''""''"•* """ !>« all^tj, "O'Sbbors not a little. '""^^ ""'^'eads o„r ».vEr,ll!r„;^:l J^--.n»e„t.pa,, or ....M ^ Mea„ti,„e Mr. pft ,?^,; ""f"'-"^. ''™«, orti,„e. of ™ felt ,va. his plac!, I ,^7' »■" "f what most was living at W, Imer '"'' "^ *'^ '"'tio,, ,«■■-'. drillings we e ;:oi rr"t;"S' '"'-toer I'/';."; ^o»-" "'arket-ho ?s ' ";r'°'"°'" "■« »'bd,n s song, were .Z ' °" V"''«° «''«'•'"»• ^otehballadswererevi ed "r?"'''"'-«' ""^ old T^alace bled, Seots whallt./,®™'^ "'bahaewi' :c:^'-'^''Brito:s^:rot.e^:r,';t -Xt:::r^;:'rf\Q-'-rs. to,,,." St^'i '^ traitor, «* us little less th; m 454 AGATNSr THE STREAM m wn FTow mncli did it nil iiieaii ? Diseii>liiu?d, ai.d undcM- ublo loadersliip, it meant sunictliiiig at Tralalgai", in the rcninsiilar War, and at Waterloo. Bonaparte never obtained a clianee to prove wliat it would have meant on onr own sliores. It meant, at least, that the nation felt herself a na- tion ; and tliat every atom of the body ])olitic ])ad become for the time, an atom multiplied by the sum of the whole. It meant that we all knew there was something worth infinitely more than money ; and, many of us, that there is something worth more than life. Once more the eloquent words of Sir James Mackintosh, the Advocate of Peltier, in the " de- claration of the merchants, bankers, tradei-s, of London " rang through the land. " We deem it our duty solenmly to bind ourselves to each other and to our counti-ymen, that we will employ all our exertions to rouse the spirit, and to assist the resources of the kingdom ; that we will be ready with our services of evei'y sort in its defence; and that we will rather perish together than live to see the honor of the British name tarnished, or that noble inheritance of greatness, glory, and liberty destroyed, which has descended to us from our forefathers, and which we are determined to transmit to onr posterity." On the 2d of August, 1804-, when Bona])arte came to threaten us the second time from Bou- logne with his myriads, and liis llat-bottomed of Sir James ^<^^1NST THE STREAM. in;,' «-as want J „ lo t'^^T ^" '''"•'"' "»" ' "^'t "P on tlie coast it\ "•"''°"''' ""■""« '"'« a,'o,„Kl. """''' ""= '^"ons paid l,„,„age> But on that siuno ISfl, ,*■ n o"co ,„oro on the \^L '" '"'" '"''' '"'"d oncJ!i!!;.r'''"™^ '''■'•- ^--'- of England cause we were jou„„ And T , " '' ^""i'b' he- ■■"Xl Nelson worn about t/M"T"""'sl" P'" Piers free. "' '" *""»'' "'« "'a.-, and set to e,a:,::t,,r"' ''''"'■'= "■"' ^ ^'a^ draw„ nearer ™ade England what t wr'' !' u '"'''^''''' -''■* !'■''- t'-an that wh Had '.f "^ ^""""S"'' ^'^ franee what it was t ..t ""' """^'^ »'■ '«« i«Ky save the R,-m;, !:'i""= °'""-'''' -''ieh fear- •i :-ii d Iioid till ^'■'jJo to the peor.le, '(>Il(J'll/->!|f t to do it, ete., ete. " """''^ ^'""^ be the ^'^"d I told our f.„l \ "> Ciai,.e. And 'o I' "'"^ '"'"'^ «'"'P'y 1. ■ Ji'nK.,,. "'^ ''O tile nf>rr.L.,..V ^ -^ "' w certainties \vei_ ^ tile Pw-piexitic •seif. CI '■& an ire b. ' iin- ^ rt^w \vortIs to P ajiie our '^'rs, only 458 AGAINST THE STREAM. n Hi F 1 '] . 1 ?k| a few, because it was so doubtful if tliey would reaeli liim. She said it was tor her he liad become a prisoner, and it was but his due. But the little letter did reach him, and seemed to be as satisfac- tory to him as a volume. Thenceforth they corresponded, and those let- ters which I never saw wonderfully lightened the separation, even to me; they made Claire so hapjn', that the reflected light gave me faith in its source, through all the darkness of absence. Probably, moreover, the separation by seas and continents lightened the other separation between the brother and sister, which inust have come for me, when, however the love might continue, the M'hole weight of his heart's confidence and caro came to rest on another. I seemed to gain a sister in Claire before I parted with anything of a brother to Piers's bride. Moreover, this betrothal, w^hich my father wish- ed to be known at once, had an unforeseen effect on the relations between Amice and her grand- mother. One morning when I was tying sweet-peas in the upper terrace of our garden, to my wonder and joy. Amice herself came out from the Aladdin's- lamp-like-door of the little subterranean passage, and walked up the steep slope. I was too surpris ed even to run and uieet her. The " lionor due," as I knew Amice felt, to Madam Glanvil, had so ^^AINST THE STIiEAM. 459 scaled my ]ips, ,,nd ,„^^j ^'^^ a clandestine interview '" ""^'^^"'"^ ■g -.y -- -"<^<-i View. Indeed we had lived ^^^ITT" ^''^'^'^'^ >' ™« a yea,, sinee wf ad ! e ''""' ''"'°"°'^ ever happened I vZl , ' '""^'"'«'' ^^hat- tMnkin/Ld tH,.X: rirn ^"'=^ "- all times ratliei- like ■, hn,. d ' ^""<''' ^'•^ at «ther like her l„d„t ,' ^""■' "='''' '» «">-. »■• of feeling. Srandmother, as to demonstration nr^ona.orc:s^^^^^^^^ t/iiiJd ! wifli .ill , . ' «on,,.o„ are as p .,'^af "'' ''nf'™" ^'"^ «"'""'•«- and that is the 0^7: •'^ '^''"'"' °^ ""=»' »" ; •«en hn„,ble eno 4 toTV T' '' ^'"^ ''^^ little like other !ri if *™ ■;"','" ''y'^-d rage a ■nonthsago. 1 1? fo , H" "" ''-■= '-en over i'avejo„°shut 1 er o^ frf % '""'■"='""'^<'- ^^''y Of course yonZiZ " ?""'' "" "^^^ time? mean it.' ^ ^'" '"'^ "^"o'™ I did not And s^/eTornir- " ''"''"' "" ""■"^^f"-- l^eh-el'/l'aT "™B„f: "" '■=""■ ^»- "^ «"™ee. I And as I Z deaf "7 """ "' "^''°"' '» ^1'-^- 7P0seit,„„.,tC'Xt'i:tr°r*'""'^ J^anesconibe ? " *^"® ^^^ut Piers a -f told her of the engagement with Cla Ji'e. 460 AGAJiVii'r THE STIIEAM. \::} !»:* plL.,.ed 1 1,0 1,,,^. ;, pHsuner, ,u,d tl,o e w,th the Conqneror, or of Prussia, or even rf Austmj Tl,en, besides, I don't like this pa! toon 01 Poland. Not that I tinnk ™neh of 'the loles. Bnt wo got over onr little pilfeiungs in the dusk, befo,-e history began, we old nation^and old fatnd.es. It is discreditable tobo'caught doin<. these thiiigs in the daylight.' "I suggested that the Hohonstaufen and the Hohenzol ern were not altogether of new blood and that the Holy Eon.an En.pire was rather l,. " ' Hohenstuff and Holy Roman nonsense,' said Granny irreverently, not believin^^ in history or in fonugn languages, ^ that little French thing is not a Roman, at all events, I am glad to see by her comn.g every a,m,layto chnrch. You may have her here with Drido Daneseond)e.' but she Joukt'd ^^^r^^^T 2mj ST^AM. :;*-.o„;,,::';.i;;tj-'-:^'-,«;. to KiK once, and a,,, „ot .,,,.1, , "" '" '»™ '"v- ]"e a good deal. A„d " ; ■ ^ ':'™ l«-'en tl.ink- ■ '"' I H.h.k a„, Zil^l'^^y «™ ■■.•«l.t. Not *""'^J.'m,t a liit of ;, "'^ "'" ""*«.' si.e co„- A" .-die, i«co„.i^,ib,e\t;tr'' °^ "'" ^^»"'» ""f o.....;ios ;„ tl,e p]a„;ati;n« " " ""'"■'"'■''" "^ , " So," said A nice t;, '" ,'' '"■""■»'^- ''"«•" '-■g;-'-, " I Lave W" '„::■"'" '^'■"«'-8' of 'ose- of ,«arty,.do,r,, Br L '',"'''""" "' '""^ red 7 good „.orl/s to the ^3^' ^ "P''-^'". »"'l do all ""^ «'"sl.ine. At least ,d t"'' "-'""P^'M-.. poor negroes myself B„ ' ^„™" «<=' to my -eyes„,„.tei-„«;,Jt;:,,5.*''!''-4 ''lilt, ''all th ^iJ •' And d til IS means so nnich er wJiole dej ir fi \ on know sJie to] ' ^o much, fo • Q ice radi- e servants in for hmU terfroju tho B J me I in,', ],. j^ rran- ib] 7 praver. ' And ave e> or a Psalni, if you I chap. i-e/ slie -% 402 11 AGAINST THE STREAM. said. 'Not too long, and take care tliat it is out of the Lessons. I will not have any separatist rambling about the Bible wherever you choose. And a prayer out of a book. No ranting. One or two of the colleots will do.' And she concluded by saying, ' T think wc might have the Confession. The Confession is very suitable. I have been saying it over often lately, and I hope it has done me a little good.' " 1! I Jg£ CIUPTEB XXXI. , , , '■"••"Sners entered P,™'"''''"- I''»- "ctantly, as eriles or 0^ '^J'""'' "«<^P' re- ™« widened instead of h '" "'' ^"-bofs wZ e«l„sion. "* •'^ f-^'ig narrowed by tl'l f^,^'e:r;„ti:nr:,:f -;-- p'-«<' -on, ->d wiid ranges of TniMr" '"'"''"« ''"'^^ possible. i' . 'Oi a foreigner, almost im- Pfe.sam^rnll^'^,^^;«" '■^^■*o»on torn from "•'""■' "-- eheeries*:",:"'^ "" ?"'»« "f 'if" "'■".;':r'—the gates, tared them. " '''" ' ■""*-3' to man^ .„,„ ,„. Fre: illO owever, ^^^*th the buoy '•^nev of thoir ^^^^^e the bes^t of the: e i'ace, th "^" cireum- IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) h /, /. t/j fA 1.0 I.I lA^lM |2.5 £ Its 112.0 Lil II U ii.6 Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. I4SS0 (716) 872-4503 m \ <^ >^^ lV ^-\ ^o^ ^>^ '^ ? ,.^ ■/> ^ .^ c ^ 5 4G4 AGAINST THE STREAM. stances, kept up each other's spirits by tale and cliauL^on, carved deh'cate toys out of bones, twisted eliains, bracelets, and ornaments out of hair, tliought it worth while even in that depth and darkness to make the depth and darkness as light and as tolerable as they could. "With the Americans, men of our own race, who were brouglit there afterwards, it Avas differ- ent. Tliey drank the cup to the dregs, as those of our race are apt to do, scorning small alleviations, refusing comfort. Some of us console ourselves by saying that it is the nobler animals, to which freedom is as the breath of life, which beat their wings against the cage and break their hearts against the inevitable ; tliat it is the very energy which makes our race strong against remediable ills, which renders them desperate beneath the irremediable. Yet the creatures who sing in their cages have surely also their merit and their strength. It takes at least as much courage to sing away despair, as to beat against the prison-bars. Patience has its manly heroism as well as its feminine beauty, is a " virtue" as well as a grace ; and certainly it takes a lai-ger weight of Christi- anity to make us patient than some of our nei<''h- bors. Claire naturally made the French prison her "parish;" she and Leontine knitting and sewing warm clothes for them, and doing what was more difficult to her, maki ng ''{pietes" in all directions its bv tale and f bones, twisted our own race, ^^^^^y^T TUB S2'j,j,^j^ foi- money to l.oln I " '^^^ ^varos. '*'"'^' or pnreliase of their In tliis good work slm *- porter i„ .yo„„gplth „ ','' l^""'™' «"P- ' '"en .„ general ^ero in 1,- '"'^- ^^'''''^y P»P"iar among om 'he """;'' '■^^P<'»'« "ot «M^ieastpernous.oCJtfrt:''"»"-^^^ 1^'" a sailor, wliicL in ill *'' "«' » ^oWier ^--as mt a "Papist" but " P !' "' ""^ ^'''''""1 ''e I'o was not gav or Ti '"''«''"" i "> the thin? r» the L« place, (refHyinj.e fsl W ""^''^^'^• some property, and I,,rf ' T" " ""' '■' "an i"^ debts „,ost ri' 'd l?"""-'""'^'^' -^"d paid ']"ite domiciled amont „, '° '"' ''<'<-''"«e «oon Even Madan, Gla-Tvil invited bim to A mice "' ''■''*" ^^'^t^ yestei-d, IV 30 He ^' "i-'^n," said she ^oriii, who sat ^"fi'Jit not to m sit in I" I I ^^BFSWP I 466 AGAINST THE STREAM. \M 4 tlio free seats. lie is a gentloman. Ask liim into ours. Or stay ! the vicar nii- color,. 030.,, ,, ,7-i^l'e, ..^.o„ i,a,i bote. "'""'■ ''"'"' «'■"""."." '!'« responses to the Co , . f ""' "^"J"^- ^^fn^S , "B"' *I1 this „■„; ™'f'"™^^«"gefi.er:" ° "''"•t he asked WlJ , .""/'''■'' "'^^■'^'- '"Id „,e once ? '■ .>^ '-""lot you tell plainly at I can and will " „„.i . -""y anything .,o"i, ^?f/""ee. " There is I «-a-s comin,. „p o„t „; ,, " •■• >'<-'0- short story ' - ,.,te with'on'e o H , k^R^I' "r" ''^ ^'»«' » <'™' oi' in-s shoulder Tf' f °f "^^''/^ g.-andc-hil- "'"'/' '•-.)' serious ioo't;"*,"* '"•« ''»',and '"""c with ]„■,„. And X ""^"^ 1"'"^ "t «'"of Lis faee when he sp L';''"!''' '"^ '""'' «'«"» '""1 found the iittJe nnW ■■• ■'^'' ''"'J ''« '•"•••d for raam,„,..',""^ *='■>''%' Wlterl.v in the -V.»d could o'nly'oinr""1 '° '"''"^"^^ ''- g»te, " whieh," he SZ^^rT '"^"''^ "'o «n''e, "involved hin, 1 "'' " '*'«'" "momentary '"■cen charity and t If " ,1 ™'" "' """^'lence, b<; "'-' '-"•trcr.n.'tte to'L ': ""^ ,^'"°" "^ >- " Well, „.h„> ,,,.,' .'" '"• P»™'e." « Wiiat could wJiat did jou do ? Ido, G ; ^ranujr, b,it ^^j^^ ^^^^ iM, .■*f' ^§f|! child 1 *• 468 Against the stream. from him, and carry it to old Honor's cottage my- self? " " No, poor fellow ! You were very clever to understand him," said Madam Glanvil. " No doubt he has a wife and children of his own at home. Those sailors always marry early. I Mill invite the vicar, and Mr. Danescoinbe and his wife, and ask him to meet them. You should write at once, if I could only lind out the name. And you can ask the little French girl. She will be some- body for him to'speak to," concluded Madam Glan- vil, unmoved as to her conviction of the impossi- bility of a foreigner speaking English in any in- telligible manner. "His name is Godefroy," I said, "Captain Ilervo Godefroy. His family is from Normandy.'' '' Normandy ! " said Madam Glanvil. " Almost as good as a cousin. I have no doubt his fore- fathers fought side by side with ours. Poor fel- low ! pity they did not come over with us. His wife and children must be very sorry now, that they stayed behind." And so Madam Glanvil, having provided Cap- tain Godefroy with suitable domestic ties, and almost proved to her own satisfaction that he was scarcely a Frenchman at all, broke down her usual rule of exclusion ; and the young French officer ob- tained the entree to Court. And so, as my selfish heart cried out at first, my Amice was stolen away from me. And so, as love learned in tlie eiid, our Amice found the ful- ^o^rNST rm: sritKAir. "'■"cnt ofW life ,„, ■■■■ **"» ^vl.ic.1, surprised t I'lt 'T"'"' ^'='"-''^' »"«<^«y ;f.-"oui,,::r ;r::t;'V''''^°''^''<''- tho use of centuries. It," ^ , V '^^'""""■°' from "■n kiss her l,a„d, the te 1' '''•'"" ^''s'" '« '^"e i'' paid, and the lo% 3 etlt ,r""^ "'''"' ^^'"•'^'' «l-«■ -.feint hlnsh e.^,e o,^;,! ^' '™<'. I ^e- "id iace, and mve one , • i *"'"' '^"''•. Prond "7" before The st Z: :""f ^'"" ■' -"a' l.avo' ™l care and ecnmancfhi ° ''°'^' "'"^ "f habit- Captain Godefrov S „''/'";»''«' i'- She s.id ;7 J'« fati.e, an^ a 1 ,^,1 t? ^ ''f " 8-"-- Horconrtesv entirelvCck 7 "" ^°' '"'^ '"""'«■• P-emptor^ i"9uisi io„ t t i,r'T**' '"■"' "'« most people. She did nnt ' *'"= «'l'jocfed ;«e and'littie child 0'^,^" 'f '"" *""' "'« d"«-od hi,„. She thoZh i ' T'w'" ^'"^ '"'J «■- «>'■'"". to speak of then =''" '"^ '°'' Pai»'ul Indeed ther ^''OutZX^pIl^^ii-^/S-^^dlo. o -liencu oftcer which tin ess prevented i t.ii. t 470 AGAINST THE STREAM. i ^1 Abbot's Weir in general from <^n-atifying its cui-ios- ity by direct questioning, and tlierefore left a large margin around him for legends and myths on which any light thrown by casual revelations of his own, was welcomed, and multiplied into a hundred prisms. Not that he made any m3'8terie8 about himself. No man could be more frank and straiirhtforward. Intrusive curiosity he was certainly capable of baf- lling. But in general he was simply unaware that people cared to know about him. Reticent he nat- urally was. It had, moreover, not been the habit of the men of the " religion " in France to talk much about themselves. The Protestants of France had passed through a two hundred years " discii)line of silence," living all that time deprived of utterance in public assem blies or in books,— by their very firesides watched by spies and invaded by dragonnades. The disci- pline had not been without fruit. It had not de- prived them of the rapid and acute eloquence which belongs to their nation ; but it had pruned from them the habit of boastful and superfluous speecli. There had been little temptation to them to speak of what were their true glories, the gibbet, the stake, the wheel, the galleys, the massacred congregations, the violated hearth, encountered for truth and for God. My father from the first had taken greatly to him. They had had many hopes and many rUsil- lusionnemcnts in common. And to Madam Glan- >-in.o P|)..ko freclv. To .,11 , , '^ "U age. "■" '" "'« venerubloMcss „f ;o.-otlil':;;,.::^,^,^^'^^^^^ ■•" '"•» *1. tenor y '■"'■C'ign accent whM 1 '""""■f ""<' ^'«'"- «'ys a little arbitral, :^d ,.".'"."'- "f «W. al- , . A"J Amice, clurinVle ;"""""«• !"i.'l'l>- fc.ninine way to kn » ^ ^'""•■'' '""^ ■'" » '"terposing u-iti, a W word '"f' """■'""' ""^'' I«"loChi8,andahravsc,m •. / ''""'" '" '"' "P- P« of the andien™^ ^""^Wutii.g to bin, the cbijf -'^."' l; 'bri:,:!::::; r" ''•^^™^ *-. -.^ "•"■■.•« first, as it'eemed '■"'"''''""•' "«^<" ;-e-t^t:rt;.tr;,t;r"^-r^-- '""'Jred Protcsta,; /o? ,e t„:- ":^"'™-<^^'. ^ix ■"'d fe'nmdfatbcr had e c^edT "" °""' '^"'<••■• of'f'o persecution L,,r^f">" ''"^^■'^''' '""'^'■■•«' «<«lo. Their bou, ,sS ; f f' "" " "■■'"""^'l ■•.v officers of the 1 i J I'b " •''"'^^ "'to at night °»'-«^ of the parish ™dT ' "f^^^'P^-ied by the "-■n-oung dani; "l't'"f "''"1^^"' '^^P™'^'"/ -■^'■e-euts and bls^ e^nft'T f'™' "•'''" ^''i ™"te, there to he tin.h t ' p '"' '"'" ^»" J oa a the expense of their parent. " '•'''" ^^^« sea coast, and tl Catliolio i-eli II lafc ie midday of ^ - #ii 472 AGALVST TJI/'J HTliEAM. ' i 1 1 10 c,^n:hfoe„f], eontnry wa« nearly ren..lio' of the Cevennes being ended), practiced it." Amice had laid aside her work, and was gaz- ing far away. " I weary you with my old histories," lie said softly. " No," she said ; " I was only thinking of the West Indian slaves. If some of your people eoidd have taught them the lessons of patience, they would have come with force from such lips." He paused. " You have West Indian property ? " he said earnestly. " In St. Vincent a plantation was left to me. Once I wished to take charge of it and ■prevent some of the evils there ; and afterwards I often regretted I had not. I thought I Jiad I m Avith those wlio 5 sftid, evasively, stories," lie said ^'l^U.YHT TUP ^yrnr, «'W at la",.' '""r, '':"■" ^I" '0 'I'e oi,l t,,,,^ „ . democrats n ''■•"*'<■■"'■« wore u-i.„r "-' ^^t. years si,,,,, ,;;"!. -^^^^^^^ !' "°' forty you,. «i, ee '^ ""•"" of "■" -m,. i; "''' Oalns, by Jong.,,i„„ ,,,•'■''="'"■ °'' "^ineo poor !'J'"- ' I die im,„ce, ,' : ""^ '""'' '"'o J^oure ■"""«"ee iteel,; willed ', T"'' '•'''"^ «,„•» -ontl.e.affoMSlTnr'!'"""-^^" '">■• I« tlM^yoara, ''''■■'*'''•'''•'"•« »em " ""^ Chnrch and ,1,0 Ja„: ' J;"'T'"""?- 1 cf "lobs (( isaJinrncane ^w.>ntine no one sajs always that all ''^^^'. Tile fi aii.1t ic'isjii '^giiinst." «'•»' people die ^i &,i 476 AGAINST THE STREAM. : If ■iaifec % well," interposed Claire, who liappened to be pres- ent. " Of our king also, and Madame Elizabeth, may it not be said, ' Thus in old times died our martyrs ? ' " " Ah, Mademoiselle," he replied, " if you could know how eagerly we, who have been so long accustomed to be banished outside our national history as proscribed and outlaws, take up and claim the heroic traditions we have in common with all our countrymen! To be exiled in France^ as we were, was in some respects harder than to be exiled //•0771 it. To understand our isolation," he continued, " you must remem.ber it is not thirty years since one of our pastors died in prison for religion, in La Brie. And it is not fif- teen years," he concluded, his voice dropping to its deepest tones, and tremulous with feeling, " since " all professions were closed to us and all means of livelihood except trade, or farming; since our marriages were illegal, our cliildren unrecognized as lawful, the rites of Christian burial of our dead forbidderi to us. It was only in 1787 that mar- riage and burial were permitted us. Was it won- dej-ful that we welcomed the dawn of the Revo- lution ? " " Ah, monsieur," said tender-hearted Claire, breaking down into teai-s, " I wonder at nothing in our poor France. My mother taught me that! Only I like to think that we, of the Catliollc no- blesse, and our king, did a little to help vou before we fell In 1787, when these your wi^ngs wero A0AIJVS7' THE STliEAM, redressed, Franr.n i i '477 %•" ""'"'«"" -^ fe-. and a nobi,. ^^e was not a sage." '''" ^^''^^^'^"^ said ; - if |he,r race was of the fei, t '"='' '" "'e.n. *es „„tdra,v tears, b,tri,-? '*•'"''' «™%' -- at tl,at mo^ent'i,: i gtl"™ ^^f'' S- «° A 1, tie storm was gatl.lnW ^'""'' ^ '=^-- ''aPP^ n,o,„o„t for us when H f "•"• " ■'' *«« a P'-'-'arf.ed the first sc™" f ^*"' ^^l^aad f ;"f d „s, at xYis,nes Xn t " *''" '^"' '»■"?'« 'aded fro,„ ,0,,^^ ,„ ' ^''',^j « ^""en who had _^> lie- .-eli.no, ""' "•»""">• w'tli life "M eots, of so ,„any f,ee ! ° ' "* '" '"■■'"3' .str„„„ 7'>- and .,„al.erahl, „ " tf."f^«»<= ^iU, s,.! » « .Ife, must he accepted ,; ! 'f ' ""^' ^'""Ji.er "•' '»■ heart, i„„st be ohev! .'■""'*"■ ""'^ to roa- "'■■' °;- life; the hUk ^^ ''"' "■''«-'- <'ost to "> mucl, of daring and dn "'™ ''»•' »°">l'ined ""^^ -"d l'orois„r,. ?' ' ^" "' «■»■'-", of dev ■•« »y in the v,.orW. """''"" '^- and liber ; ''^'hiah 't-'e s faith must was rath er ^•onqner all J,op,ts, "^ t^ie Supreme L f ■ # ove 480 AGAINST THE STREAM. f ' P. Both met and fulfilled each other's faitli in that redeeming Cross wiiere Divine Love suflered to the utmost for man, and one human will gave itself to the utmost to God. Both met and fulfilled each other's life in that lifelong service of the oppressed, to which thej de- voted themselves; every act and sacrifice ofwliich God, in giving them to each other, made for them| step after step, from light into fuller light, on and on, as we believe, for ever. I cannot think or speak of that deep, perfect, ennobling love of theirs, except with the same grav- ity and reverence as I think of their religion. There were no misunderstandings, no lluetuatlons, no flashes of surprise in it. Their hearts were open all through to each other. And at last, one morning in the winter before the battle of Trafalgar, Madam Glanvil said to Amice, as Amice was rubbing her chilled feet by her bedroom fire (the old lady went out little now and grew less arbitrarily deaf, and submitted soraetnnes to be a little petted and caressed), " 1 do not think Captain Godefroy has any wife or children, after all." "I never thought he had, Granny," said Amice. " I suppose, now, there is no help for it," Madam Glanvil rejoined; "and he may as we'll continue to come liere as before." Which was Madam Cllanvil's sanction to Amice's enjrao-e- ment. ^ " Granny," said ■"^^^^y^r rm srjiBAif. And the nexf ^, , **'^ C;.pt-.Godef,.o?s:' „:K''<= '» ''- -Me, ^^•■X and tak;„„ i,;, , '" " ^'l" «eo,-„ed an easv "ion „;„ ..ndoS; d ;tf '" '^'*' ^'^ -". >er than I have been SI ""■' ""'' ^<> better to ".0G,a„vi,;,eH,: ; J';-a,o„d ^luld, but a "'at; certainly „ot /,, """gotlier the worse fn- "'"■ I'onse to a Fremf '"'^'' «»-'^>' one of --«a,lAV,nano;er.r;--t ''"'' '"''- =»"> "^ jou- forefathers did „'ot com "' " "''""ee that -^yonr father hi-nsellinX:™" "''* "^^ » fix hnndred only sij-tv ,' "'""^ration of the - ''ad, there wonM -"ave T '""°- ^'' "'«^' I'ad, or /. ''^•'o' know ,,„,''„:;''; b-'> "odiffienlty; a .d '''fteep,.o„ apart. Tt^ V''^'"^ ^ke f/°° iate," she coneludid i-r"!-' ^ ^"P''°^« it '^^ an old woman's word t^l ' '""" "^'7 »">, f «•> seem to have taken f "''•''<'" ''P'"-' "ow ■ -■se despots, preten^r ''^'' "'« '•'-•«« of the }'ou will." '' "^"'^ '» eommaud by wiiUn^. what And so saying, she toolc Amice', 1 . "'e'" toffeti^r '*"'' "'^o '" t so,„„ """^ 'noment t soiuo tjiuverine ' - he; ther ^ips and 3i tot- i ml t t r ■^' i^-'>f57-»?^,*rt't't' hM "«;■■. 482 ' AOAmST THE STREAM. tering of limbs, but declining all sympatliy or assistance, she left them together, and went slow.y up the old oak stairs alone to her chamber. f^Si .■^ CHAPTER XXXU. "'"' f ^*->eaae i;r"' ''""^■"^ "--> ^ to WkT""'-™'' "-ioa„;t" '"'" "- . "onjrj blame iiejNo]f^' '*"/ Wore to servn wonld a 'XI, ':'"f v^as '"deed ^f ! ' Yf '^ °f seen ,,1 ™"'^'«-««a.idin2. ! ') Zl ^' '"^ '"'gen- . Te'nde; e,a"- '- -ore." ' <^'' -- terms- fil,^„i. . "^ ^"J woment • iabit! hei stop — ^^ CO our mmn^f 1 . '-^ 6^ve n ped/ ^""^«^t bei«g, 3i„^pj^ j^^ f rl 484. AGAINST THE STREAM. f 1 And I, not knoAving yet the austere sincerity of grief, wonld vainly try to excuse and comfort her. But Herv^ Godefroy understood grief, and Amice better ; the truthfulness of her nature, and also the terrible truthfulness of sorrow. And he let her grieve, grieving with her. He knew that, such pain cannot be stilled, that the wound must h'i,ve its anguish, if it is not to mortify, and spread the touch of death throughout the whole being ; that, so the anguish may work itself into the whole heart, making it soft and deep and tender, patient and pitiful. The very night of Amice's betrothal, the blow had come, that direct destruction of power, as if by the smiting paralysis of an irresistible hand, without warning or pain, which we call a " stroke." In the morning, Amice waited some time for her grandmother's appearance (Madam Glanvil having great scorn of aid in her toilet to the last, so that no one ventured to intrude on her privacy until she rang) ; until at last she became alarmed, and rushing up the stairs, knocked softly at the chamber door. An answer came, gentle and faint ; and enter- ing, she found her grandmother unable to move, although her speech was happily unaffected. Dr. Kenton when summoned thought the case very serious ; and he hinted that one of the gravest ^""^^^^T m^ STli^^j^, symptoms ;vas thc^. , . , T^"' ^^^ -But this Amfee w ^ , ^^'^ P^'^ient." J^et she xi'aa r.^4. '^''^ I acquiesced Irr"'"" *'"' ''<=«oIf fo, on attributing Madam ffli"^?"*/''^ ''^'' '"^'-^'ed -';'.-.ii,oa,.ti,,:;,l^,:;;^o.%WG.,.„; Jt^^asa vain wish. «»--.^::i;7.-"edtotbo,a.Wob.^ '«™i«en and help t'll^l l"""" »' &«t to ^ f ">'«'•' and lie W bene jf '// '"'IW, at last, to ' "^'•""ght be,- down. "'""' "'« ^-nd tbat bad -^"t, as it was cli^ j'j ^iersuJf aJo "e, or alone With A f^^f ^. when sJie tJioil -e, which :ht ^^■as ..3t 1 vyfljil ^1 Ilff 486 AGAINST THE STItEAM. m m » III I he same-^to thank God and a.k Ili.n not to let her be m.patient-and often to breathe the nan.o of Jesus, and sav howmneh more Jlehad suffered. Hnnsdf once helpless as she M-as, unable to move hand or foot, but also unable to hide Ills face from the mocking, prying crowd, while slie could still move one arm-and saw around her nothing but love, and reverence, and pitj. She took no farewells, except on.y of poor Chloe. And that was tiie longest confession she made, ot sm, ,r of faitlu Taking Chioe's black hand with the one hand she could use, she looked at Amice and said— " You took good care of her. Slie will take care of jou and yours. I am going where people Hie not divided into black and wMte, or into slave or free. All free there. Perhaps one day all free here. Ion will come, and are sure to 'be wel- coined on the right hand. Forgive me for hasty M-ords, and pray that He may forgive, and that 1 may not be told to depart. Saviour of all, make m all free, that we may he free indeed^ ^ To which poor Chloe could only re])ly by sob- bmg protestations of devotion and gratitude, and assurances that missis would get well, or be sure to have some high place in heaven, far above such as she except for what the blessed Lord had done for ail alike. ' For Chloe had no objection at all to differences Of glory m heaven, and could never quite get over a feehng that white people >vho. having all they ^"^^^^■r -mj, ^rju'AM. ;""W, natu,,.lly'/ed J ?""=".""""•%' "■« tW '""ited ani»,„l to lu " 1""^"' Saviour ,^^ "otheJpit. """^^^^J because they couJd -L>ut when piii X "°;;V'"-'--Jtot,,r''=''->>w„,,.o,„tue "-=:''Cfff--""td^^^^^^^ '' "- dear to 'eSl/r,'" ''™3' f-X' X 4'"l*-" •^' ""'' ^'"' '^I'O talks -•-^O you ti) Jill- V • . -^^ajrr "•!»-" "oi to X -r^o - »- CWoe has got to ""«s called us L°[ T'' """- '"''^'^ ? When ;eP;y«.onr B^ttt::'"' "«'--«"i 1 T ^V, and or/,;t ;±' r'^"* *« lord "'urmured, "S T'^'f ^'«'^' "^"t once a.ai„ sh. frfifi /A ^ ^ Saviour n-f ^7J 1^ ®"^ si tlie Ja; ip^e M'oj'ds strucic to A St ^^ ^'n those " Th '"'ce's heart >eJ7 the :i'ang( "'"^^^"/■^^^^r.X; o;i ¥m -SttfSf 488 ■\(JA12^'liT THE iilUEAM. Slavery:' which hor gniii<]inothor hud onco thrown HJigriiy into tho lire. So, all t]ironi,'h that suinnier and autumn of 1805, the shadow of doatii lay on the old house at Court, and a hi^rh and brave spirit was sloui/ divestin^ir itself of much that cannot he carried on that lonely journey ; having already put away all sense of property, except as a provision for those who are left below, and now laying aside pride, and hard judgment, and much prejudice, tiiat so,' when the last step came, nothing niight be left but to conmiend herself, bare and destitute, but re- deemed and reconciled, coniidingly, into the Fa- ther's hands. Following the slowly departing spirit along that silent solemn way, those in the old house had little thought to spare for the tumults in the world around ; although, as winds and storms swept and wailed through the woods, and battered ana can- nonaded the old house with noisy display of force (so feeble compared with the sile-i foe within), all, except the sutLyrer, knew too wo]; tiur a iiercfi- Btorni of war and peril was n-Iur around Eng- land. The fleets of ]^elson and Villeneuve we?e being tossed and driven by those autumnal gales. Never, men said, since the Armada threatened England, had her peril been as great as now. Once more, as we all knew (and for the last time, h' :di we knew not), iS^apoleon Bonaparte M-as menacing us on the shores of France, and jfid onco thrown da threatened ; as now. »■'■"' I'm. tl,e (!,.„„,, , ■ *«» ''7- '■«-•"',„;;"„ '"-i'-'^ .■o.,i,. ,„ ,,,,"„^ -ivoj ,,,/-".. oj.,,, „„«> ""'• And, n,eanti„,e \ i ^ f^"<'^'<''-n au,-a ::: '» »-o i„-,„ .„:" ;,i :;;;r' ^"'-™-, z «"» '" restrain Villeneur ' "^ '^'■■'«"». «1,„ "'f ".e F,.„„,,, C/ ad"' "•'"'• ""« ""'y ^ .ow "'"i ^o'«o„ after it w, T' '" "'« ^'^^^t I«d ea '"■'"oricai inferin.-; » *»'• '"&''ior (Wee ", • !' --"ntered b. Sir t l 'S d '^ """' """ "- " e l^j-ench iieets Lor] f . ^ ^^ victory, tJia^ ^i '.ho finpe,,,, «,ft,^;°;'»f «rt t!,e invaders '« ""'O- on tJ,e war i„ r„ "'"' ""^ O^-d Army ;-« E-,g,a„d, aeon t- ,ed ::?^- , ""^ *''-C^ 'nden,ab]e, Hdn-inisfered i « hlJ """"■''"^ '""^" . ^^P<'''^"''Jmd>vifM.t ''S"'*^- '" "neertainty as to i "' ^"f «'e were «;il Th ^ ^^'i-usistible fi> ;l -I ii ♦lii MliniMliiitfiJHi if. 4 ' > ,-■ i ;<■ f r X 4 490 AGAINST THE 8TBEAM. oiice more, he oifered his services to the Admiral- ty, and, on the 22d of September, arrived at Ports- mouth, to take command of the fleet. Exultation and sorrow were strangely blent through England in that departure; as, a few weeks afterwards, when " Home tliey brought her warrior, dead." We heard how the people crowded around him on the sliore, not idly gazing, but weeping around him, and even kneeling to implore blessings on him. So he sailed, in the Victory, taking his coffin with him, made out of the mast of the Z' Orient. Two days afterwards Bonaparte left Paris for his campaign against Russia and Austria ; and our statesmen began to feel stronger than for many years, believing that they had, at last, secured in the alliance recently concluded with Austria and Eussia a powerful coalition against Napoleon. William Pitt was full of hope in this alliance ; but the heart of England rested not so much on his alliances, as on himself; on himself, and on Nel- son, her two mighty sons; little dreaming that neither of them was to be with us by the new year. The times were perilous, indeed, for England ; but with Pitt and Nelson to think and to fight for us, we felt the world no chaos. Rapidly indeed th.^ thiiikino- and the fighting were wearing Jut the heart and brain of the two on whom all Eng- I. tho Admiral- ived at Ports- :. Exultation )iigli England ts afterwards, ,dead." id around him eepiug around 3 blessings on y, taking bis e mast of the left Paris for istria ; and our than for many ist, secured in :h Austria and nst Napoleon. is alliance ; but much on his f, and on Nel- dreaming that as by the new I, for England ; and to fight for Rapidly indeed re wearing jut diom all Eng- AGAms-r THE STREAM. ^^^ the Jieroes do, maklno- ];ffi„ ^ •/ g'^J'^ntlj, as ".onght ].ow h :' ^.^t trfd VT "" ""'"^ draining away tl,e life. "" '"'""•= ^"'^ o^er. Tlie hush nf '^''^^™^ ^t Court was -^^'^ ^usn of awe had succeedorl fr. fi iHish of anxious watclifulness "''"'^'^ ^^ ^'^^ --.,-Ci;s::,':E'.r\,;'"-" bet; were far a ^f^a^j. I felt it onc( ll'e, in a measure, ^^■h^u 1 k.ielt besid i'i the church on the ]N"ew Y car's Eve of ih e Chi oe e ceil- il)2 AGAINST TUE STREAM. i^ I ^' i it I tiiry. The wind, the very sky, so pure and deli- cate in its morning tints, the birds, flowers, were material, mortal, corruptible. And she and I had always and had still what was incorruptible and faded not away. She has now that only. And in those first moments I felt her not (joney but brought nearer than ever before." It seemed a time when barriers were broken down, and veils rent from the top to the bottoui. The world grew lai-ger and nearer, the struggling, sinning, suff*ering world, with God loving it. And then two things came before her like visions. The French and English fleets, which Herve Godefroy said he thought mnst ere long be joined in battle, the human beings, countrymen of hers and of his, fighting and struggling for the mastery and dying there ; and the slaves in the West Indies, men, and women, and children, too surely driven that very morning to their hard, unbroken work with threats and blows. What a chaos, wliat an arena of wild beasts it seemed ! And Granny was at rest beyond it all. But was God really loving all ? English and French, slaves and slave- holders ? And was dying, indeed, to go and be with Ilim, wdth Christ, who had seen the world and its battles, not from above only, but from within., from heneath — borne down in the battle, bruised, smitten, slain ? If then God loved the world, those with Iliin must love the world, and if He could bear to Lave osoped from it Z. 1 ,'"•"' '" " ""d' and b,-oatl,e freely I' " ''"""' "■''^' P"'' ^i'' is, conld it bo but A«^«!/ iw o'n r "'' '^'"' cost for the Jolt • ! T'' ''"' °* '"'^■»'' ^t any only iov d t e JS" "T 'r" "™ -''» "<" «"0"gh to dcen, tl,e W it 1 w ''"' '"P^i for it '•'«-i-s3i„„e,,src;:sf'"''^^-'-"« -tiiev throuffli lione ahlp ^^ v . jf *^'''' «^'^ t^^e^j caring for 9 in Its measure for every confliV't ,> Amice, against wronc ancf ,'n ' '""'"'^ *^ -Ifi'~l^^^ ^^^^^ -"«-^ gainst sin and -^^f^TL^r^ r^ ^'-^ in its .^ .^^ tu.th and justice are involved ' Surely, for tJie striffo-Ie against tlie *rrcat til] wrong of s] averv ■ongh English law, 'kM Iff . ii.v; i!f''^ '''^'»''"''**'''^^'*'^*y-1»'*'WJ 494 A0AIN8T THE STREAM. Snprcmelj, for tlie struggle, through Christ's Gospel, against sin and despair in the slave and m tlie master. To this last she liad consecrated herself five years before; when that high and prejudiced spirit, latterly so clear and softened, had been the only obstacle to the service. To this, beside that lifeless forin, she consecrated herself again, as, ab- solutely and without reserve what the softened and lowly spirit which but that morning had de- parted, must now be caring for most on- earth. The only obstacle now in her path was the great love which made life so precious. Should she let that great gift of God be a hindrance to obeying His call ? She made no vow, she only knelt beside the pale, placid, impassive face, and repeated once more the words she had uttered a few hours before, respon- ded to, then, with that last gaze, that wistful gaze not fixed any longer on her, or on rmy thing on earth. ''^Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit; into Thy hands to guide, mould,— into Thy hands, absolutely, without reserve, to do with me what Thou wilt." Then, rising, she went down stairs. It was daylight now, though not in the dark- ened house. She went into the dining-room, and at the sight of the high old empty chair daily life came back to her, with the new great blank, and li rough Christ's the slave and in ft of God be a MAimr THE stseam. the reahYv of f ],^ Horv^, Go,iofi.o, came "" '''"'' '""-'? ""''on It was evidenflv r, ^ ^^ ^®^* ^^ God." i"g .hem TgaS Ms ht; 'T^' '" '"•^' ■•"> i ^ Then shelecU mfn',- f ' f"'' "•™<' »on.'> f- « few mon^nC'^/'-^'-'-ml^er of death, ^"'i then, a. they stood? "'°'' '"S^""''' there *lo beside the sta, ! " r"' ^<=«'- by tl.efire- "I «ee, my love r .^ ^ ''''air, he said,^ ;P'"[ at ieast, not a^ar ITI- T' ^"" »-■'•» «•'' « h„t a moment of on, •f^"""'- ^"'- '''fe 'be moment he, the if! Z/l \ ^"^^ ''*="«"«• "''d with Him ibrovef" ^' '"S"^"""-' f'''' Him Was They did '-P-ious,ai:dtfrt-- That hope 'hit' precarious to utter. lip- I 'II 496 AOAINST THE STEEAM. nm And tliencefortli their only tliought was how to lighten the separation to each other. So that first day of death passed at the old darkened house at Court ; not altogether dark ; a day of death, but a day of duty fulfilled, of victory won. And, all the time, that terrible day of victory and of death was wearing away at Trafalgar. There, Nelson, smitten to death for England, was still inspiring Englishmen to victory! Wounded to death by a shot from a ship his hu- manity had twice spared, supposing she had struck, liis face lighted up through all bis agony, as cheer after cheer from his crew announced that another French or Spanish ship had surrendered. Duty, not glory, was the glorious mark he had set before his men ; sacrifice of self for England, let England's recognition of the sacrifice be what it might. And at the last he thanked God that he had dore that duty ; not more ; only " that which was liis duty to do ; " his country had a right to all ; not more than duty, but he hoped not less. Weeping from end to end when she heard it, England responded that he had ; scarcely able to smile as he had smiled in dying at the victory he had won for her ; since he who had won it was dead. CHAPTER XXXIII. England, in o» in ' " '" ""'•'d «f Weir. '""^ '^"'•'d "t Abbot'8 Genii::; s af ul;: ;Tt",?' '"" ^-'"- had reached E„c,la„d"' '"' ""'■'J thousand, struck the other .reatEL,,^'''^'''«"''; »d had leaned, to the hea TrS " "^ ^^''"^ ^™ " yet possible for him to ll rV'""* '» "'"ke for life, and was often 1„„ '^t '"'"^Shd havd *o» the tidings of tSr^fr'^"'-''^'-^- ^"« Austrian armie^ ^° ,, Nan„ f '^' ^"'"^'-^ ^»d "•on of AusteriitzSvt^r '•''''^' '■''=<'"='«■ news eame to hi; ;„ 1 T'^' ^''e ^tal -orethana,no„th-: aeSM T't"' " "'"« -«>e great Minister, Wi] a„f plf Z'"';""'^' ^«°^ ''oase at Putaev. He ZT ' " '^'^^'^ "' '»s oM. His fKend Mr Wi b»l!!''™'^, '^'''^ ^ears of a broken heart. n TJio J, ^ist words we knew of hi 32 orce said, "He died broken forlov,. ^f r t ^n to have utter- ' 11 il fifi: 498 AGAINST THE STREAM. ( ed— " My countnj ; oh, my country ? "—rang like a death-wuil tlirougbont the land. They had done their duty bravely, to the death, for England, those two Englishmen. Bet- ter loved, the country could never be again ; nor more fearlessly and disinterestedly served. We had great names still,— Collingwood, and Fox ; and one we knew not yet, iighting and mak- ing order for us, far away in India. But these seemed to most of us in those days of mourning but of the second rank. The heroes were gone, we thought, as men have thought so often. We had good and brave men left, but those whom we had lost had been something more. Amice was in London by the end of Decem- ber. She had gone to stay at Clapham, with her cousins, the Beckford-Glanvils ; the present pos- sessors of Court ; to consult them about the ar- rangements for the property, and about her expe- dition to the West Indies. Thus by war, and death, and absence, our lit- tle circle had dwindled sadly. Piers still in that French village near Claire's old home ; and for many months not a word of tidings from or about him. Dick Fyford, wound ed at Trafalgar, and slowly making his way home ; Amice away preparing to go to the West Indies, for no one knew how long ; and Captain Godefroy, certainly not present with us in spirit ; there was great need that we should " server Us be agrain ; nor llingwood, and . lost had been bsence, our lit- ^<^^^mT THE STREAM. uld " serrer les i taking root, &i^i 499 fore can bo donoJ^hvi^ ' '"'^ ""'"^ I'o.vs. He CO, IdniT , ""'*'"•'*'=" Pfers' class of i-^ i>e„.„ 5 irift";'' V' "^■"""»" ^-' day task very meekh an , vf "'"'" *" '"'« S,m. his povertv if, d Mac l' n '"* f '''°"S ^^"^^ "f "-, tbe b«sir,c 'r.l'thTe""''!,''^;'^- "'"^■■■ every tun,. I believe .1 '""' ^"^"^ »' ■•su. lurking ,11 „ ^A *'™^ "'•■'^ ">» Pxgan- able st„pp,-„g o/a ' l:^'-;::; ■ t;^-. '-eco„„e. mofon by Piers had stopped V'"""''^' '"' '» -Me, a„ytl,i„g connected' wtth I^Tl^ '"'^ to P'-ospe,-. How deepiv it" ed. T " '"'"'<' to see the dear grev head hi ^! '° "^' ^"""^ "!eb„ys; ,hetead,Tr wt 1? ""^ '•""""« of them as they of ],im. ^ ^ " '"'""<''' "> """e My impression was' that . -^i fi not directly inc,,t«;t th Jit d,.r "'?"','" 1"8 scholar thought and Tr .''""' '"''"t s'-pe to ,„any a vaC S "f '"««-" S-e ■".™y a rep,.ied S ng g! •/".'^ '»'^*">^ sMously toplou..h »n,l , : , ^ ""'" '">™n- •■•"d then d,Crnt Tn s.f"' '^"^ "^^ «'-«™d ; often „„oe, J S '1^"'='' ' . ^-y ""le seed, '"perceived in its sowing, but ■^"ging up after many years and "one tile less #1 :; II. I :■ 500 AGAINST THE STREAM. And when lie felt his poverty deepest, he had recourse to the " Pilgrim's Progress," or occasional- ly to portions of " Robinson Crusoe," which never failed to interest them all, and make them children together, teacher and taught. Claire meanwhile prospered greatly with Amice's infant class. Moreover, our Sunday-school began to grow in many directions ; for one, in the direction origi- nally foreseen by the dames. The instruction of the "week had to be brought more up to the level of the instruction of the Sundays. And it was seri- ously in my father's conten.plation— which meant, seriously on the eve of fulalment,— that Abbot's Weir should have a week-day school on the Lan- castrian system, combined with some hints from Pestalozzi. Thus were the most desponding Cassandras among the dames justified. It was quite a serious battle. The French Reign of Terror was little more than a decade be- hind us. And my lather was now proposing a measure even more revolutionary than any which had called forth accusations of sedition and athe- ism a"-ainst Mrs. Hannah More. He proposed what she earnestly disclaimed, in a letter to one ot her bishops. He actually proposed t( teach the youth of Abbot's Weir— the youth of both sexes and all conditions — to write. In vain Mrs. Danescombe warned, and Miss Felicity threatened. " The pen would banish the I til era children AGAmsT rmj srjijsAM. oOX t'-re would te„o more „„^to"" t'"'"'?"" women laundresses, or sempst,.:::" '"' ""''"- Maids would resnond^I.nl ^'-ps unsown; tI,o overandtheir ;':^:''ltr";'''""'^. spondonee would sweep awtv nil , °' °' """■'^- level all social disductTons ""^ I'onost work, and notHfotoferrT'^r' f'" Felicity „ig,.t Paine and ^an Z'° ''■™'' ^»"-'« ="«) T^n other sedition and )ZT °f '•0''"img; on the and all unchariU'/eli'^i/.-^i; »;"». !'»'-d .ng out through the l.reach o wri^ jf 'c? "<""- But for England all was over Ov f ^ ■^f''^"- ->oed 1.0 written, ■E;:Cd',,3'^-V-'''"'^'''' fury of mental acti ge of knowledge and such IJnc eFvf ,^ '' '''' W^-ehend, Uncle Fyford was neutral, TheSund an universal 'aj-sehooJ II >^ t Hi ml I ih»i 502 AGAINST TUE STREAM. m (Hi li liad not been bo Jacobinical as he had feared. Mr. Kabbidge was tolerant, but not encouraging. lie had not seen any alarming ])assion for literature result from letters, as he had taught them. lieuben's comment was reassuring. '* The good Lord," he said, " had mercifully eent the good corn through John Wesley and others, before lie set folks on putting up the mills to grind it, or the ovens to bake it. The preach- ing had come before the teaching, the gospel be- fore the spelling-book, the converting Spirit before the letter ; and now the good words were there, the more schools there were to teach them, and the more pens to spread them the better." W I 1j; f ! Never was intercourse with Lovedav Benbow more strengthening and hopeful than during those years of many changes and many perils. War was to her altogether evil, inhuman, dia- bolical. To her all victories were darkened, as that one victory of Trafalgar was to all England, by the shadow of death. The roll of glory was writ- ten within and without, to her eyes, with lamenta- tion, and mourning, and woe. Self-sacrifice in dying she could understand to the utmost. Self-sacrilice resulting in killing she would scarcely place higher than a highwayman's generosit3\ For Toussaint L'Ouverturo starved in the dun- geou at Joux, for Andrev/ Ilofer, the patriot betrayed and shot she could weep. Over Nelson's '*%4i;-^ '^^^ALVSTTIIKsTJiBAM. understand to , . 503 'I'O could onl, iL ' tf'T' 1 '•'"'"O-, ""''™>eatl, tho J , ;,• " "'"'"Sl'ont un,l 1- turned aside t n ° 7"' ''" '"'''"' ""•'• "'' "'' "ot discourage tiie belt i!f f' "'" ■'=^<'»« '^id porters. ° ""-'' '"''"•'"'-■J »»'o„g its sup- "-eeri^rSnttr"'-^^"-"'--- ''•'%^ve.eo„t,.epo:t':rta^:7'----' -H.X;rtot::r''t^"^'-™'''^^ "c'tion o? ti,e i„;„: "; jz'i T"' ''^ ""^ ■=»»■ » persuasion ot^'ts r/jw *' "'' f "" '^^ watcJiingcloselvdoteetpdl^' '" "■''" ™'-e ^- ti,at pubiie s, 'w:r™"'"^^^""'p- Manj l,earts wore touched t„T 7 '^ '^'"""^■ «0". Many conseie elr 'P''' ""^'S"*" '■ godly repent.anee .' ' t , '" "''''"''^' ''' "<" '» Tl'e very p,-es e ;? t e til'" 'i'"""""'^ ^™- q^kes of «-ar of tho i ^ ''"'«»d and tl,e earth- «»ng tl,e eonnl „"'""""•""" I'-"« ""-oat- --....a„r::rx^:j^Vi?:j It ill 504 AGAINST TUB STREAM. I might bo harboring among us wliich miglit bo blinding the ejes of our rulers, and weakening the arms of our soldiers. The two great rival leaders, Pitt and Fox, were altogether one in their desire to redress this wrong. Pitt had supported it from the first; had (Mr. Clarkson said) been " steadfast to the anti-slavery cause from the beginning ; " he had " vainly sought to enlist France for it in 1788," he had " fostered it in its infancy," unable, Mr. Clarkson be- lieved, from " insuperable difficulties which could not be mentioned," to do more; he had given the weight of his unequalled eloquence to it again and again, and had at least " kept it from Hilling." And now that Pitt had died without effecting the abolition, Mr. Fox took up the work more un- trammelled tiian his predecessor, and sincerely de- termined to make its accomplishment one of the foremost objects of his policy. What Nelson's grand battles were to England, every turn of the anti-slaveiy debates in Parlia- ment was to Loveday. She felt sure that the days when fifty thousand helpless captives should be kidnapped year by year in Africa, and as many of them as survived the horrors of the voyage sold to fresh cruelties in the West Indies, were drawing to a close. The very fervency of hope with which she looked forward to the approaching deliverance seemed too m.uch for her sensitive and feeble frame. We had noticed with anxiety the gradual failing jU vliicli might be i weakening the look, wiu'c = i ;r:r"^ "' ''^ "■■""' '-"o- tont abandon, erofJT-^r' "'^^'''' '"'o --oluc- We scarcelv d r dfo , I' ^™'* ""«' '''"o«>or. other, or to ht' ^'""^ °^ "'^^'^ """g^ '« each the fa,nilv ho„i;t " f' "'"V" ''^'- '^ '^""•" on in adults; and to tj"""': "' ^"'- »^ Po^^'Wo young, koral »d t. XTf ^i "^"""^ '" *° hopelessly e„tan,,od'Z wt"? T'''^' '■"''"^''' which she accepted and c ndoned ^l ""t ""• '" moral, mental, and pl.ysicl rtl ""."'«"«> "es, wicked and sedncing ,„,« ^ '"■"*''^'-- ''■^ " any!::f:iirt'r^"^''™'-''^» ^^;n. strict,, „r:i::r,,x?e'::rd;t\^-^ • . &»^tj lu maive jier wpII fi.« i n>a,„.„g „o„,.e was to let l,er a o e 'to L™ ^ • " vahd, in dpapo t+" , "-Juut, ro De an in- ' ^" P':-aCe. it VOU OOTlIr nr^4- i' liil ;r=t;f''^-^^---rtL'ts::^ thoti::?''^i"rr::;«ee,andlnpart ments; and I believe sl„. 7^1 ? I ' ""'" »''- -h„nd,iati„„,a:;d^;t X"" r:^^^^^^ siic luilieted on her fktho,. >, i ? ^' "^"^"^^ -ptedhereo„chJri^"l--r:sa?: im 606 AGAINST THE STREAM. very low place, in the kingdom. She felt, I be- lieve, that there must be some especially bad pos- sibilities in her, from which God mercifully had saved through chastenings which He never wil- lingly inflicted ; and she acted as if she could never do enough for her father and Miss Felicity and the world in general, to make up for being such a burden on every one. And thus, accepting the lowest place, and never seeking to make it in- to a platform (such as can be made even out of poverty and pftin, without the aid of vows or reli- gious dress), all grace flowed naturally into her heart, and with it a sweet and calm content, and a glorious capacity for looking upward and enjoying a perpetual feast in the gifts and graces of all around her. Once, I retnember, she said tome, during those dark months of 1805, — " IIow can I ever repay Aunt Felicity for all her care of mv father, for doins: all I oucht to have done? My heart and mind have been free to take up the burden of the slaves. But she has been a slave all her life for me and mine. And that," she added, "is what makes true church history so absolutely impossible. The deaths of martyrs and the deeds of philanthropists are seen and heardj and can be told ; but who can tell the anguish of the homes from which the martyrs came, or the sacriflce of those whose quiet work at home made the public work possible ? " " Who, indeed," I said, " can count the secret AGAINST TIUJ m'lil'JAM letter fron. 1,;,"^ ^ ' ''"''™""«'' ^'^ "'"' " tioiit of preeedpnf Jn ,. .P"'"- " »* abuses, ]>a- a verv hig s j'o 1 "T'"^ ^"'- ^"Slisl. in or Milton or Tnl 1° n ^''''I'speare, or Bacon, blinJ to^i.rvatu of ";?,°'' •'"''" ^^''^^ ^ "« a", yet real,; o,dt Th f r " """»"^' "»' "' ..s steward8,iwell.saHrilrI 1 , """"""^ >»■' n t a "seT"'" '° """'^"'S' I' '^ eert"a ll, income of tld'tv ,0^^ "' '"'""'■ ''""' °"* "f ^'n ^^"rcsb also thcat sometiraes tho 508 AGAINST THE STREAM. 'tm, H- thousands of pounds subscribed do come out with a grand roll, as if thej were equal to the " two niites," wdiich, of course, they are not. " Nor is the heroism so impressive, for instance as that of tlie French Huguenots, or of St. Paul « The ships are too well built and victualled to be liable to frequent ship^a-eck, or to « huncrer- mgs often." ^ " Nor does the literature strike me as likelv to be immortal, except perhaps some savings of Mr Cecil's. * " Everything strikes me as being on the second level. No Luther, no Latimer; no genius, no martyrdom; no perils, no glories; no fri^ht^ il ice-chasms, no dazzling snow-peaks, no spontane- ous paradises of flowers among the ice-seas. " After all, are not all second generations apt to be on the second level ? Will it be different with the Methodists ? Was it different with any of the Religious Ordei-s ? Was it different with the earliest Church ? Must not the Church always he Protestant before it becomes Catholic? And becoming Catholic, in its midst must not new re- formers have conLinually to rise and protest? " But, this granted, on tJtis second level work of the truest, conflict of the noblest, chanty of the tenderest ; a wide grasp of the evils of the world, and a determination to combat them ; a close in- vestigation into evils at home, and patient labor to remove them. Homes pure and tender, full of -I GAINST THE .STREAM. g^p house. Harriet " tl,„ p J • T ^ ™''''' *« t'-"Sl.t n,e tropical. I .1 ' °1"™" "'"'"y^ ""d a littlcnorefrosf , I , ' ""'■"' '""' life- o 7;m' ' "" '"0''ti poverty in I '0, -> Iitt.emore i,p on tlie hoi. :,ts- » ;,M. . down among tl.c sufeers °*'" ' " '""<= ""''o , "'^ IS a Jittle apprehensive as wlia « i »>>d science, and' Tk^tv '!'"' "'"' '"'■'^''' « hucjcn . it sees so many danger- m * in 111 510 AGAINST THE STREAM. m m oils subjects. It is curious tliat on one point its courage is almost reckless. It is not at all afraid o encounter the peril of being rich. And yet, on Uie whole, there seems to me more in the Kew Testament about the*peril of being rich than about • the peril of any kind of curious opinions." This was part of her letter to me. To Lovedav slie M'rote : — *^ "The talking here is excellent and inspiring, but rather incessant. I sha'I be glad of a little stillness. I want to listen, and look ; and I want exceedingly not to be listened to and looked at so much, as it one were something wonderful. You have made me more than half a Quaker, Lovedav my friend of friends. I want some 'silent meet-' ings. I want to exercise myself by a good pull against the stream. Here one seems borne on the current. And I am afraid of merely drifting ^ " The hour of deliverance from the slave-trade IS, they say, fast approaching. I shall scarcely see It in England. But you will. And I shall feel it among my ' black mankind.' And we shall rejoice together." "' I noticed that Loveday's eyes moistened, and ^ tier voice quivered, as she read aloud that last sen- tence. " We shall certainly all feel it somewhere," she said ; " and we shall certainly rejoice together. Orod knows where. And He knows best." And in February Amice wrote me another letter : — AOAimr HIE STBJSAM. "J I ®" only n.,d rcnero 1 Lnl *","' ^«' ^«'<^"""-'J "■«^ borne ^011 "'"' !''f ' "■'"'" ^e'^on ''*'"entation. "' ^ "^'"■'S- and bitter "■an'atont'u alTv™!;:'"- f '^''^y' '■t«o more "ti.or son in witom "I't' f'""'^ ''^'^ '» 'ay the 'I- friend otyZ tZT'"^- ^'^ ^"berforce fin of WiUianfp;;'. ''""' """'^"■'^■- before the oof: "Both Nelson and Pitf . primeoflife!Both,vorn !'/V"''"»-' I" 'be la^t «-orfs the/hav-e ] ft™ ^''°"''''''^- ^^h«' heart- "^ ^ '"'^' ^^O'ng through every And the great motto— ■Engtad expects e«,vm.„,„<,„i„,„,^. What words to nerve and t„ • • . 'Jnty: and that < 2^' f iT,'! ^'^^'y and ™>-y highest is but^St ; , ^^; " '" """• Tbe do.' What seed , ho™.' •' "'T" <*"'> '" "And vet „.!. "'■'^ "' others ! "^r;:'^S:ri:.-Z'd'"^''^^"^-'-' a good %ht And ? '^ " Sood soldier in '-e «'at%;sy,^e , er' Zr *;/-' '-oes do # ;! i ii i^! |! Ill iM 'im ' ■>. AGAINST THE STREAM. ^now, leaders cannot fail. But for England? "Where can she look now ? " She did not know that among the mourners around the grave of Pitt was Arthur Wellesley, just returned from the Mahratta war, and his vic- tories at Assay. for Endand ? 'I CHAPTER XXXIV. England. " onr world of rapocted nmcli of Wm f f'^' ^™0' one had of the second yeftil''Ti'' ""''• ■« "'O end of debt. ^ ' '"""' ^""^ '^'^'"i my fatl,er l-d never seen I„-,„,o„„3:^"™'f»«'"ong. J of it-who'do ™t .nin^ir,"''"' ''" "" '""* eonvenfenccs other peoni r°" "' "'' '"''^' ■'"- «"d „,„scle. He C Jr''"" '"f "" backbone only be dragged and nn,lLT'* ''""«' ^"^ can people's cost." ^"^ *''™"e'' '"''^ =" other He reproached himself iJnpl Wbe^,b5j:,:-^Hg^">.esald,<.X to recognize the evil." vored to excuse. sino- But \h- 7^ ^-"^iiigton "'■ ^^''^- ^^'-^"escombe endea mi 33 ijf .' mS 6U AGAINST TlltJ STIiJ'LUt. " Thoy arc gentfemcmly debts, Mr. Danes- combe," sbe said. " Tt Is a comfort that my poor Francis has not degraded liimself hy tlirowing himself aM'a;y on low associates. You see, hil tastes are all so refined. Books, Mr. Danescombe. He was always so particular, poor /cllow, about the bindings of his books. And no doubt these yonn^ noblemen and gentlemen of fortune he has written about, who were so pleased to come to his rooms, could not be entertained quite like ordinary peo- ple. He will; learn the value of money in time. He was always open-handed." My father shook his head. "Euphrasia, for heaven's sake," he said, "let lis call things hy their right names. If it had been a young num's careless generosity, I would have had more hope. To give to equals or infe riors may, at least, be giving. To get into debt, to entertain people above us, is simply largaining and swindling— buying a position we have no right to with money we have no right to. It is the sin of the Pharisee and of the publican com- bined." " But this once we must give him a chance," she pleaded to him. " The only chance," my father said, « is to let him feel the weight ; to let him feel that these easy, good-natured, selfish habits are tying and binding him with chains more difficult to bear, in the end, than it is to say ' 710 ' in the beginning." " But these gentlemen who have accoinmo- ^^''^^^ST2'lr£JSTllf,A.V. 3 acconimo- gnice I " ""• ^t would bo snch a clis- " GentJcrnen ' " « i • ■•' bo a d.Waoe ' h T '"'"^ ">y f>Mm: " Lot ^O"!'! make i,i,„ j,-e,d '' ">"'='"'<'. «"d nothing % step,„o,I,e,. tnrned (o me. -'d=l>anke!,VC^,,7»'«^ "T"' """^ ^™--'. -W all ,ni,,,t beri^' ' '"-d me „,ost-„,e come back. = " ^^'' "^ o"Iy Piers could brop. '■^^--' >— us .as altogether 'or/lSilVto W r :'"' ''" ■•" "- -<= Par- -y-"';cv™"Wn:;r„:7;:?'"™^-^^^^^ «?«A':t;':e*:c:\f'''«--p-A P'-ant and attentive! 'r. t" """"^ <'- «''e'rsrZfiK^-t^"-tainment. »^;^..-ng wrong aboutFl^:" ^'""'" ^^<'"' <"" '"™°™d when ,!„t "" , ^ ""'^ «» ««e,n ^''""i'-g.orin prC. ^ "'' "^^ ^™^ Perhaps 'Iff '" m I'll I 510 . AGAWST THE STREAM. I felt very sure that starvin*,' would not he tlio fui-iii in wliic'h Friuicis would surt'er deht to press upon him. But a dehtora' prison was by no means an unreal, or a very tolerable, dread in those days. It made my heart warm towards Francis just to feel how she loved liim, and to her to feel how she could love. The self-reproaches which I had inflicted on myself in my childhood, sitting at my sewing, on that window-seat, came back to me. Surely, I ^ thought, if I had loved my step- mother more, and Francis, things would have been better. I should have penetrated to her heart sooner. We should have been more united as a family, and more able to help each other. Ajid yet the excuses with which she excused him to herself were as repugnant to me as to my father. At last one morning came a letter in the labo- riously neat handwriting of an uneducated person, addressed to Piers, with " Urgent " on the cover. After a little hesitation my father opened it and to his perplexity found it signed in our fam- ily name—" Dionysia Danescombe." Slowly the meaning dawned on bim. It was from some one calling herself the wife of Francis. "He had wished the marriage to be concealed from his fam- ily for a time," she said, "desiring to tell his father himself." She had consented. She wished now she had not Ilertather, air.., had objected. His family ^<^^l^STmEt,TJiEAAr. X to tell his '"'Sty and wrons she I , ^, ''"'•^ '""' '"■•'-■» "-Tiage, and ,.,„ .efn^dltu ' 'r*^ "" "^ Iraneis was in nm,,,, , , '""•> '™fcw; and ^-gry. Hel.ad„': '"'V'"-';"'"^'- "™ ^o--- tors to marry gentlcfo K , /.:"''' '^'^ '"■" *'"?! - fo'fa, the, .^„srp : ■ ' he ' "^ ""'^ S-"'- debta; and she h!d al« ' ^"'1'^^ W™g their ■■"«! «'.o did not T;iJr^ y^ '"•■•« kind ; '"'"• She «-assureevel' ",'"" '» ^"""^ '<> ^-isDa„...on.:e:KL;te^''°-^'- Impertinent croatnm " .1 • , herself n,y Fra„eist«Sfe r' '""' "'° ''"^ ^-" -y ftti::::%:;^- fBrit""" '^ ^'"-•^ -v- The letter is honest and l/ ';''"" ''""'" ^''« is. 'fe poor child, n:l:4Strc„o„g,,. the race of Ci-cesna • n„^ 1 , ^""'"s comes of of the bargain t' ,^ a t. 5 ^ '^'"•' ""^ «">-' teach then^someth^V ^'"' ''''-■ But it may bu JiTgat Jr.^^-"'''« ' " she exclaimed. ■^-vledge such In : ;:r^ Tl^- '"-' '» - "'""• That my poor hov 518 AGAINST THE STREAM. should be tied for life to a creature that cannot fold or seal a letter properly ! " " My dear," he replied, " if the law acknowl- edges the connection, what can we do? The question, at present, seems to be to acknowledge the debt. And, indeed," he continued, endeavor- ing to console her, " I think there is a cheerful side to the affair. The father, you see, did not wish it, which looks respectable. And he is a village shop-keeper and yeoman ;— not one of tlie rich university tradesmen, who prey on young graduates. And a debtors' prison is the kind of lesson our poor Francis is not likely to forget." Every article in my father's pleading was, I felt, telling the other way with Mrs. Danescombe. " Indeed, Mr. Danescombe, I shall never be able to understand you," she said. " What consola- tion there is in the poor deluded boy's having made a low marriage (which I do not for a moment believe he has) ; and if he has, what comfort there is in her father being not only a tradesman but poor ; and least of all, how you can think any good is to come of his being in a debtors' prison, you cannot expect me to comprehend. I confess I think this is not a subject for pleasantry." " Pleasantry, my dear ! " he exclaimed. " I never felt anything more serious or less pleasant in my life. But the most serious thing of all is the wretched habit which brought the poor boy to it. I was only trying to hope that raiirht vet be cured." '¥ui I that cannot -eo, w),e„ he has nft a fauU ' f LTl""'" - too eay-and his habits too Wld" " '""''" and began to write a letter. «sc"toire,^ com'be^asklf" '" ^"" ™""g ? " M-^- Danes- " To the girl's father," he renliert «t„ « j out the truth and see what'can be £'■' ' she saM "Cd"to"le''"™ '" """ """"'^^ ™'- '" -pensoand1JseI;-;""'^'^°™-^™'°''-«he " Mj dear," he said very ^entlv « if u -c . true, let us hope Francis is nof n • "^^ it is, what hpLr ° Pnsonjandif ^^^,^ What better way is there of helping him The letter was sealed and dispatched. f';e^tobe,wenthiJelfTo'^fl^^^^^^^^^^ letters. And J witli him ^' ^^'^ a.-HSutrti.er;T',::;n-'''''i='''-^^ around the door. ""■ """^ ""-o^d When we came there was a huz, of sympathv and way was made for us at onee. A hlT s„ 1' i"wt",:;„;tr""''*'''^'-^°''°*---''"''i -i I: 520 AOALyST THE 8TUEAM. A little subdued moan came from the sutferei- and then a cheery word of thanks from a well- known voice. And in another moment my father and I were standing with our own Piers, hand in hand, beside poor Dick Fyfbrd, lamed at Trafalgar, and only landed, owing to some accidents of weather, the day before, on our coast. " Picked him up at sea," said Dick, indicating- P. ' o lers. With which vague vision of Piers floating from Lorraine to England on some ancient Ocean Eiver, we had for the time to be content ; cousin Dick himself being the first subject of attention. How content we were, I recollect to-day as distinctly as if that were yesterday. It was like springing straight from the breakers to the fireside. The whole world became terra jirma once more. Everything, I was pei-suaded, must go right now ; the French war ; the abolition of the slave trade ; Francis his and del)ts and marriage ; Amice and her love, and her work for her slaves ; Abbot's Weir, England, the world. And all because that one parting was over ! So long ago ! So many partings since, without meeting again ! Without the meeting again yet. And now, at last, so near the meetings ; so nearly past all the pai*tings, at least the partings /wm le- ing left lehind, is it any wonder my heart should bound sometimes, more like a happy child's than an old woman's ? Is it any wonder that looking the sutfei-er, irom a well- r and I wero hand, beside ar, and only weather, the AGAINST THE STREAM. 521 back to that return of my brother, the tears of joy come into my eyes again, whiJe I feel now it was nothing but a shadowy glimpse and a momentary vision o± what is to come, and is not to pass away ? k, indicating floating from )cean River, cousin Dick ition. 3t to-day as It was like the fireside. I once more. right now ; slave trade; nice and her )bot's Weir, ise that one H] ice, without g again yet. 8 ; so nearly i^Bfrom he- leart should child's than hat looking VI CIIAPTFPv XXXY. ^^I^TjHERE were so many in want of help i ^ ^M ^^^ ^'i^tle world when Piers came back t us, 'that there was little time to discuss m to his own adventures. Besides Pier s's genius was not exactly narrative. For many years some casual incident or remark would continue to bring out new fragments in his French experiences, but it was not in his way to make himself the hero of a consecutive autobiographical story. We had to put our " Odyssey " together as best we could out of stray allusions and episodes. On one point he insisted persistently ; and this was, that he owed his escape to Olaire, to the easy, idiomatic French into which we had naturally fallen Avith her from childhood, and to the friendly aid of the people who remembered her family, in reach- ing the coast. It was a fresli link between these two to have that terra incognita to all besides, the scenes of Claire's childhood, familiar ground to them. Moreover, iu those three years, the world of books had opened on Piers. A GAIJVSl^ THE STREAM. 533 He ]iacl picked up fragments of the oldlibrarlp. elaLr In r 1 ^''' ^'^'^'^ ^^^^^^^ bey HeLf" T"'"/"^^ '^'' ^'^-'-^'^^ ab- lets a^wtl-? ''^'^''''^ ^'''^ ^'^^^^^^^-e- grets and wishes m sharpening his mind a^^ainst old mathematical problems Tn l.,'. , .f^'""^^ *™ntho3e he ^oZ '.Z.lL^l ^"t;:: ers had co.ne near to hiui ; the life of the cast h.^ become a reality, and a sehool to him-Cd ie ,"" ,""'1 ,^°'"e ™ liis mind, as his thee was ptned the vnejarus and corn-fields of France .n rehg,on8 reading, he had been limited to a PortEoja copyof the Greek Testament, and to Pascal, so .hat in those years the incrnst. ions and petnfaet,ons of Mr. Eabbidge's "Jetters" h"d beenp,ercedi„„.a„,direetion^b,li4^ But this, like the rest, came out in glimpses The farst obvious and certain discovery 1,7ah our I'ealer and helper had eome back to is and that we had immediate need of him. His first labor waste extract Francis from wis. his' Letts'" Tv' '™'" """ '"^ '™'" »-"™^g ms debts and his marriage. _ Piere did not indeed find Franris in one of the .n^erable dungeons in which John Ilowa,; h d l»to.-e. The walls had been whitewashed,'! id M\ -•;'ffl 524 AaAlNSl' THE STREAM. some of tlio inoro obvious and fatal grievances luul been removed ; but lie found him pemied in witli a forlorn conipanj composed partly of destitute creatures fallen there through wrong and misfor- tune, and feeling tlie humiliation and helplessness bitterly, and partly of reckless men brouglit there by vice, and minding it very little, as long as they could gamble with each other, or bribe the jailer to get them such food and drink as they cared for. . Francis was depressed and remorseful. lie re- gretted his debts, and rather repented his marriage. lie felt he had lowered himself; but at the same time he felt the punishment so far beyond his de- serts, that he was half disposed to regard it as a wrong, for which the only amende his family could offer him was to pay his debts, and to ena- ble him to make his married life as comlWtable as circumstances would admit. ^ "If you had been here, my dear -ollow," he said pathetically to Piers, " it would never hav<» come to this.'' He had undoubtedly, he admitted, been too "open-handed," but at the same time "he could not but be sensible that much of the result hud been the consequence of his father's being a little nnsympathetic, and of the scandalous detention of the Ten Thousand by Napoleon Bonaparte." He felt himself a prodigal son indeed, but ar- rived at a \QYy touching and hopeful point of his career. lie had come to tlie husks. He found )oful. lie re- AOAWST TUF. STREAM. ggg The p,„,.blo «v.» co,„,,Ie,e. will, „„„ „,„;,,,„„. ' i o father, I ha„e nuncV „-,a3 „„t tLem. Ailljougl, o„tH-m',l)y o..,,ui„Iy ,„„„|, i„ ;. l-voas,.eat deal ,.„„.„ „»e„„,,„„c,, t„ .,,„ P i,^ Ho ar-IiiioM- oC'<'il tl,„f i,„ i„„i , I .'""■I'- ll I ,, 'o'" '"''t JK! had nia* i! niihh'ivPH ovci, boon roa,l,„g rcli^^io,,., l,„ol«. ]Ic f,.|t tl a, ol,adl,vo,ll,itl,o,,„i„eooK<,ala»pinl oy.pp^^^^^^^^ ";'••"■"" a lbnlo.I l,y |,i, prosenrpcsi, „ ■ ; -«^..w.bo.e<.o.-r;;::rs!;: _^^_^AMhis proposition Pic. was i„,i„itoI, Ji^ To ln-,u tI,ose words, wi.id, jjlidod so s,„„otl,]y hi m !'i 1 536 AOAlNiiT THE STIil'JAM. ironi tho lips of Francis, wore mich profomul ivnii- ties; ami so iiist>|)aral)Iy iiniti'd with otiu;i' groat moral realities of which Francis seemed to luivo no conception ! /Vrnjas tho one evil of tho world ; Divine Love spending itself in redeeming agonies to rescue from sin ; giving itself perpetually in disci])line Avhicli wounded and pro'oed, in i)arduns which hound up and healed, to raise the fallen soul from the slough of seliishness up to itself — were so engraven on his lieart— that to see any one grasping at the pardon not as a call hack to tho heart of the Fathei-, hut as an escape from tho discomfort of regret, Avas to him tho most terr-- ble profanation. llis greatest hope was in Francis's marriage. lie thought Mrs. Dionysia a young woman of considerahle will and shrewdness ; and he was inclined to believe, that once convinced that a certain income had to suffice, she would have conscience and sense to keep Francis within it. Francis would teach her " letters " (especially the letter "h"); and in return she would keep Francis within the limits of tho law, and, pntbahly, 'secure him a "respectable " career. The creditors were therefore, by his advice, satisfied. Mr. and Mrs. Francis were established in suitable rooms, with an allowance of which she was to be tho chief steward. And Franciri had every prospect, Piers thought, of becoming in her hands an altered man. On. ™r,,,.st ,,.,,,. ,,,s,„,,,,,, ,.,,,, ,,,,,, f'.mHroMMnaluM.v.,^,,i,,s(: II,,, „,,,,,i|,,,,,, ,,!• ,,, . ' '""^^ '"" ^I'-H. Dionysia W(!rc l,y „o nu,i„s i'> lead U) rosiH'cfa ) I'fv Ti i "imij '.- - ;;P^nJ, ,;;|;;:;t,, K-^ I was thrown Imok on ,ny ohl fhoorv of Fran vontionaiworid of, „,4:l;;;:j.';r '"'""'■ ™''- ">'■«» «<-'«>"'l lalKU- was of a more co,„-<.„i,| '''iy must IV ni 'iinttcr ofcoiirso tiiat C I'll a {)n,-(,ner while A iptain ^^ m niico I* 528 AGAINST THE STREAM. V: In 'J! I V* : \i went alone on her mission to lier slaves. Ex- cliaiiges had been ejected, and could be effected. The Clapham influenc^e, the Beckford-Glanvil bor- ough influence — every influence must be used to set Captain Godefroy free. AVith his own marriage in near prospect, his matrimonial sympathies M^ere very strong. He went to London and waited on the officials, stirred lip the influences which influence ofiicials, touched the warm heart of the Countess of Abbot's Weir, and even moved the calm judgment of her lord, to discover what might be done ; and finally had the joy of bringing back Amice in triumph to our own dear old house ; (Court being at the time in process of transformation for the reception of Mrs. Beckford-Glanvil) — with the promise of glorifying Abbot's Weir by a triple wedding. For our wedding was indeed to be triple. Our cousin Dick Fyford had at last found the help- meet whom he had no doubt Providence had de- signed for him from the beginning. Patience, the eldest of Mr. Eabbidge's fourteen, bad entirely captivated him in his captivity. A little older than himself (as had been usual with his early attachments), and, since the death of her mothe;-, enriched by all the experience of serving and nurs- ing involved in the care of thirteen brothers and sisters, she had been frequently called in by Uncle Fyford to give counsel and aid in tending Dick's wounds. On our cousin's impressible heart the natural result had ensued. Patience was more than ^^GAUrST THE STllKAAf, "OSS in ,im was ™t f r'''^"^ i^''"''-*''™ ">«""- migl,t bo to W It :i^"r *''?"^''" »f-''»' l-e inuiTcd a little at first fn. , ■ •'''^"'■'' "le- dential eonsidoratiois '™"' ^""■^' ""-^ P™" 'a JpoST Rr'rl •" ^^"^'^" '■-• A ing waked „p t„ « e Lorf/: <'™f fg"«on ^av- had abandoned 1 imZ f „ ''\'''"'' ''°^'™' ortbodox minister w:r 1 "'""P"' ""'^ «» abandoned the rem'ai^ll r*"" ^'^ ^"■'"'^go had We of snstaininlTdr o • ' '"""''^"^ "">"" »»!»- with hisfo SehSlr"^^' »d ''"''S'ided, Mjy uncle Fvford frit ti,„ . i. knowledged the .ten af, ™'"P'™<»>t, and ao- professions, Waf and ,}'T" """S"' °^ *e wLole tbi, ; ,£ so 1 "^'°''- ^"^ «'™ the luing was 60 conservative • wlr.Vl, „.„ tainly a recommendation Tt !' ! ' '^''■ tience to remove fron tb!' n ' ""'•>' ^°'' P«- vicarage. Sl^l-onr nof t^ ^"'"^°'''' '" "'" expectations Sbl"ti f '"'-^' "'"■--'abb m ■Pf 111 ,1! I! HI jIs 1 r 530 . AGAINST THE STREAM. iind hor quiet soft voice, that, on tlie whole, ho easilv irlided into feeling it the most natural se- quenee. In short, he soon began to be of Dick's opinion that " Providence" must have desii^ncd it from the beginning. And so Dick, at Patience's request, was to be changed into Richard ; and wo were to have a triple wedding. How different the course of ti ue love had been in each case ; and yet in each, in its measure true ! With Dick, secure anchorage of a home, shel- tered and saf9 in England, to which his heart might turn and rest, however he miglit be tossed and knocked about, for the old country, by storms or broadsides abroad. To Piers and Claire the quiet ripening and ful- filling of the long love of earliest years. With Amice the raising and glorifying of every faculty and capacity of her rich nature to its high- est power. The discovery of a new world, the creation of a new life, almost of a new self. I had long since come to rejoice for her, and in her, with my whole heart and soul. Who could help it, loving her half as well as I did, seeing now she grew to be all her dear, noble self, in the sunshine of that great ennobling love ; how the new light and life penetrated to ever^'- inmost depth, and every uttermost blossom of her being ? So the triple wedding came to pass. In those days, Abbot's Weir had not blossomed into aesthetics, social or ecclesiastical. Bridal veils and orange-flowers had not penetrated to our re- AGAI1Y8T TUE 8TJiE\M. 631 t<^ the iiiuIriMjieitv of n . ®° ^^^^''e ns -«tc« for l,o,.self,- a^, n'e,: Vr r* ^^"-'^'^ tl"'oe couples rj„i oseou " .f '''' '"'"•™<' ""o Auu feweotriGss and ho'inf,. -c ^i , raacle festival e„„„„l, i", ^T^ "^ "'" ^'"'i"' "f Amice's movement I'd t ''""", •>' '""•''••^'^ d-- of laer radiant fa"el„tl/ '"'T''" ^f'^"" ""d gracionsness of our a "°" ""'i" '^ ^'■''™ En^^isl. freshness rfVatLne^ "' ""' ^''^ ^^-' jewot' The':;;t?:-"" "t ™°"«'' '» »^' -"• ioned garde t e nL '■''^'' ''"™' "'« "'^-fash- -ound' and rSn'd t'T'ba^u"^ "' f'"- ^''^'' sweeuins alon/n,„ , Mt^lground, ii,e river '■"".an surround '^tt ;T'" ^Z"' ^-"^ '"'' school at the CtA. fr" "'^ "'o Sunday. 'fe oM Ahh:;:s,.t:: Xrr::td"r'"f thein together fnr o^ ^ ^^^ *a"i?Jit cidoohCLstrstinir^-™^ iJies. "iJbcicbs ot the eereruo- '-)."'^«'>e,i„nin«„asantdl;o&if^ ii If If: ii ii 632 AGAINST THE STREAM. Different as the course and the character of the love which united them to each other, was the course of the life before them. To Cousin Dick and Patience, as Uncle Fj- ford had said, in outward scene and circumstance little change. But to Amice and Claire how much ! Piers and Claire were to live, at first at least, in the old Manor Farm, belonging to my father's family ; one of the many small manor houses then existing in our neighborhood. In its earli- est stage, centuries ago, it had doubtless been a stately dwelling compared with the rough cottages of the laborers round it. And to this day an air of good birth and breeding lingered around it. There was a paved court in front, entered by an arched gateway ; and a sunny terrace at the side, sloping to one of tlie countless musical brooks which run among our hills, with beehives on it, and borders of thyme and sweet marjoram and roses and pansies. And within were a hall, with a long mullioned window, and a wainscotted parlor with armorial bearings carved over the large fireplace, and a broad oak staircase with bannisters adorned with carvings of nondescript heraldic creatures, beaked and clawed. And all around its steep roofs and fine old clustered chim- neys, a sheltering phalanx of fine old trees, which threw deep sliadows athwart the courts and ga- bles and su .ny slopes, and mude morning and e\ ening musical with the cawings of a pre-histor- AGAINST Tim STIiEAM. 533 "de from r tit If-"'' '° ^^'o'' ''^■- ''"sband "■itJ. some new dfecoverv ^. ".• " '™""'S. delight. "'scovery or jnvention of home- Wed diffleuTtL to d " " "' "'™'"S'' «»• Around them "o scene^ - J-' dimly perceived. ftorm and battle Td -^ -f ""^ l""''""-"'' ^t all that 1 d pe "Ir '• I" '"' ""'^ ^'^^'''P No fair goldenTettin" of"^ '' '" *™> '^°"' tlieir Jove! Thevtad"„ ■ T"?*""'''' '"■°'"'^' xnej iiad only the love if-^^lf ^.^ ■oc-ons stone itself, with all U. 1 1 k'^'JI '1'° meaning pi an for each oth as a shield certainly they did not feel' their lot th. Yet poorest. ^or did I, ill CHAPTER XXXYl. OVEDAY and I were thus, in a sense, left alone, of all the happy circle of my childhood. Loveday had always seemed as yoim^ as any of lis ; and now I felt certainly as old as 8he was, not at all regretfully or gloomily, bnt as if set in a little skiff which had reached a calm creek ; in a sense, outside the current of life, yet not by any means stranded or anchored, but readv at any moment, at any call, to be in the mid-cnr- rent to succor any one there. Loveday 's skiff had been a life-boat to many. Better I could not wish for mine. And yet, and yet — there Tvas a silence in the fntniliar old terraced garden, on the Leas and by the Leat, and in the empty rooms of the dear up- and-down old house. What was the use of listen- ing to the silence, or of filling it with tears ?— of being left behind, or of looking only l)ackwards ? As Amice had said years before, M'hen Piers went first to Mr. Rabbidge's school, " Then donH be left behind^' 3, when Piers " Th^n donH ^(^^imST THE STUEAM 060 pressing to look at it \l '^alf-power is de- ^ iuoK at, It IS inspinnff to do "Vi^ i ir . ^"^ cousin Dick had to leave home soon «ff« ins niarriao-e • itiH i.^ / "u"ie soon atter And o.ie great gain came t<, me ont of tl, ■".-•"y gains to others wliicli were T sense at first loss to mo. ty fat e> an'TiT ""'' ™ine;^:ft:rentir:™rjrDr'''«vr ing^not seldom a.se;. on :-!f:i"Crf^^^^ i\M I 530 I! fii J z1 GAINST THE STREAM. mg in its sunny pastures, and scalinj^ its far-seeing iiei '>««■'•■'« at sands. ' ^"'•'^"""'O''. «■• the slaughter of tW For England to make poace win. . i enemy, seemed to my father tn i . ' "" nations, and her own L i f ' """''"^ ^■'="''«'- to saoriiee the .UlTtv of ntl • T"" "^ "^■■»*™^^ ' of Hboraiism. 'Cs f "tr: "t^'T not nnfrequent, in which heart l^d'S, X' -the heart of the nation and tl.f .' greatest-and saw t,.,,/ .? «""""* of her -the prndencr ! f" P™.^™- ""<' '^'ont, ity .eprnden^ofthesuMlestH^^^^^^^^^ Grie alent abil- voua it was therefore to him to hear i l!1 iir! n of 5;]8 AGAINST TUE STJiLAM. M nerrotUxtinne goincr on with M. Talloyraiid tlirongh all the summer of 1806, from sprin;^ till autumn, while NapoK'on \vii> '.using the time in hringin,n; nation after nation into submission ; '' subnJii.s!VH: " whicli, as Lord Ilowick sa:d, " never sf;opT)ed I)is progress." His only consolation was to turn fci) the others o'i the two objects which it was said Charles Fox had set iiis heart on carrying— to the long parlia- mentary warfare against tlie shive-trade opened by the first Quaker petition in 1783. On June 10, 1806, Charles Fox himself, as Prime Minister, moved—" That tins House, con- sidering the slave-trade to be contrary to the prin- ciples of justice, humanity, and policy, will with all practicable expedition take effectual measures for its abolition." " His own life was precaiious,'' he said, "if he omitted thisopportunity of saving the injured Africans he might have no other opportu- nity ; and under the circumstances he dared not neglect so great a duty." " If he should succeed in carrying through this measure," he declared, " he should consider his life well spent, and should retire sati?fied that he had not lived in vain." Too soon was the precariousness of the life, and the sacredness of that opportunity proved. It was indeed his last. That eloquent ^ oU;e was no more to be heard in Parliament. Ilii dth failed al- mc.~^ immediately after thr* mo, \ ii was carried by a ir;:ii ority of 114 to 15 in ' u ...mmons, and by 41 to 20 in the House of Lt»iAb. AGAUW TUB STREAM. 539 Westminster Abbey! ' ""'■"' '™"^^P' »'' " The giants are dead," it was S'lid • « „ i le:::::::.^'" '^-- ^^ ^ leTot: to.:tt:rtL''ic--^^^--i«eed peace witb Fran™ ?! , ' negotiations for told heavily on 1, : if ■ *^"''' "'"^ '■"""■•'> I'^'l ti.e discussion of pobl f s^y ,,","? f'Z T wrote, "he npvn.. +• . "^'J^t,cs, jvir. Uarkson 'Twothin'.' 1^ sal? !' ^'-laver, cause. ""&'-, lie said, on his deathbor] ' T ..,;.i i!w» / wUh the latter ' " "^ ^'"^ of it tafp^lter tr; ^™'^' ' ""<> "- '-p» Again and' rrl d,s:r "" ','" ''^'"»" ^^- tl'e House of Jot, l'^,?:" ''''T"' "''' '" abolition quivered nl' ,• ""'•'' ''"'"= "* "'« Debati ;, It 'Vo^';: H '"''"' ''""^ \^W'' Ifii 540 AGAINST THE STREAM. his Majesty had demaiuh^d the resignation of office rather than yield Caiholie emancipation. It was decreed that no slave should be lauded in the British colonies after March 1st, 1808. That was a day of pure and exalted triumph at Clapham. Whatever jealousies there might sub- sequently be among the narrators of the light, to those who fought it, success was incomparably dearer than fame, and the success of May 22 was the glory of each, and the joy of all. Twenty y^ars before, in 1787, the first meeting of the Society fbi- the Abolition of the Slave Trade had been held, by twelve men, mostly mer- chants, all but two Quakers : at their head Gran- ville Sharpe, who had struck the first blow in res- cuing Jonathan Strong twenty j^ears earlier yet, in 1767;~among them Thomas Clarkson, who of' all the advocates approached the nearest ^o the mar- tyr's crown, having again and again risked his life in hunting out, through riotous taverns, and on stormy seas, the evidence which convinced the na- tion and the Parliament. For forty years they had carried the contest on ;— their first victory the decision wrung from Lord Mansfield, that no slavery was possible on English soil. During those forty years, the monarchy of France had perished ; the French Republic had fallen before the Empire; all Europe, all freedom and national life were falling before Bonaparte ^Cf^^INST THE STREAM ^^j short "'"n ''""' '",™"'"" '""' "'■•eatoned our .aparte ' "" "" "'"' "'« ''°""''" -"' Bo- But steadily, iindistraeted by perils tliev f,.u . * koe„yas any, or by the r„i„/„rf „ Z, ; and falhng nations, and undi„n,aved b, defe and -"»"y, Wilberforce and Clai-eon^" and those who worked with them, had pnrsued their ZZ purpose of rescuing a race. '<•"• gieat And at last the middav enn „f iir- i March 91 lanT i '"""J ^"" of Wednesday, iviarc 1 25, 1807, shone on their victory. Clapham went to the ends of the earth for met aphors magnificent enough to express the ", My cousins wrote me that Mr. Wilberforce had' been eo„,pared to "Maneo Capae, the eh Id of the sun, descended on eai-tl> i„ A . , " ino-." P"'*' '"liiiman suffer- A medal was struck, with ihe head of Mr Jdberforce the " Friend of Africa " on one si and on the reye,-se, a nund.er of Pagan ar^ocai and shields, one of these personages bein., crowned t..eooKK.:.„!;^Cy,ttt'^^"^'''»" ''''•""»"'' to the Iieart— •'«'7A ter than all, thronxr ave heard th .'lit and w'fi rrn eirci^ijy And bet- !i the shouts of victory ''I'd' lii n ! were If:' 542 AGAINST THE HTIiEAM. heard Uie throatc was to lead to greater \'ictoi'v yet iiin-,' murmars of a war which Lord Pel cv tlie shive trade, but of slan e alu>lition, not oiilv of ared t 'ery ; and Sheridan si ay in the House that the abolition of tl._ :avo trade was but a prelude to the emancipation of the slaves. The planters, and all those interested in main- tainiiii,^ slavery, (like the Dames at Abbot's W —and like the Pharisees), had indeed seen, fr the first, whither the conflict than many of tho.«.- who bea:an it eir oni was tending, better It was a daily delight to carry every detail of the debates to Loveday, as she lay, now no longer on the little couch, but on her bed, placed as i,ca • the window as might be, that she might see the birds which came to the window-sill for crumbs, and the c'lildren playing in the empty market- place. Sometimes I thought her very peace and joy .lust 1 ep her live. '• Wish it, only wish it enough, Loveday ! " I 6aid to l>er one day, " and you will live to the next viftory as you tuive lived to this." On the morning Avhen I told her th^ king's consent had beon g.ven, she yielded to a pas- sionate emoti<,. -arr- indeed for her. She wept and sobbed foi loy. And then she broke into ritual observance. " Bride, " she said, " I cannot stay : , bed to- day ; I must dress, and, dear, you will place the couch in the front window in the dear old school- Nviir which not only of (I Sheridan htion of the maiicij^atiou ted in main- bbot's Weil- seen, from ]ing, better ij detail of V no longer ced as uca ■ ii^ht see the jv crumbs, ty market- peace and >vedaj ! " I ive to the thj king's to a pas- She wept )roke into in bed to- place the 3ld school- A(Mimj' ■lllE STREAM 5.^3 J^Iiss Felicity eon, lured it a era^p i„,t i m«de no resistuiiee. ' '"" '''" And tl.at afternoon Claire and I had o„. Love a. enee n,ere on the ii.tie eoL "1,, '. I'l the elose white eap and the soft m-ey nnrnst -:hi;::eferth:;™n;x-d"f^" tt e ha^t hy her .de she ga/eri. Tote iTt,: a^d knitt 1 -f ' 1""™*'™^ »d needle ,sc., b ts o 1 e on r' "",' '"''^^"■"■^' '""do out o bits o he old dove-colored dresses ; and for tho I ad n ,e H ?' °^ ''"' "'""•^■^ considere.: she Imd „o,,e that was not dne to her father and Miss She had some kind little saving for everv o„e .ind she headed tl—p ,]< t- • » '"'"^"^'y one. ^^^^ '■'■ •'' '"I to Keen th( '?|1 keepsakes for her, and ieep as tokens that the th ings as poor Af- fi 6U AGAINST THE STIiNAM. rican mothers and fathers and Uule ch!ldren were not to he stolen from their homes again any more, forever. And then rIio kissed them aM. The children were pleased, but very subdued. I think they looked on it as some religious festival,' which indeed it was, and felt the kiss somethiufr sacramental. ^' And then, when the gifts were given, she said, not in entreaty, but with a gentle easy authority,' as of one accustomed to command, "Aunt Felicity, I want them all to have a holiday this afternoon, that they may rememl)er the day." And Miss Fch'city made no difficulty or demur, strict as lier regulations about holidays were ; none liaving ever been granted by her before within the memory of Abbot's Weir, for causes less historical than the Day of the martyrdom of the blessed King Charles I.— to the confusion of the Jaco- bins,— or the day of the " happy deliverance of King James I. and the Three Estates of England, from the most treacherous and bloody-intended massacre by gunpowder"— to the confusion of the Papists. Every one felt that this was Lovcday's fete ; like a birthday, a wedding, or a coronation. And so the children went away ; but their sub- dued demeanor, which usually ended with the sup- posed range of Miss Felicity's inspection, lasted further that day. Tiie little ones went quietly all the way to their AOAiNsr rm sritKAn. ,,45 l|ome,, to,l,o8,,r,,,.iseoftheir,,„,.en,s;.,sifit ima Ijueri Siimlaj. ' ^ I, spent the a ten,oon with l,ei- also, as if it "Day most calm, most bright The fruit of thia;tho next World's bud. 1 lie indorsement of supremo delight ; a day on which "Heaven's gate stands ope." '•-a,,.t-e.i„,,...::t:t:et::;::ri;-^^'''"' J-t was indeed her lo^if rin,r „ ° seemed h'lcc a receiriL 1 1 v- ."""»' "' ""■ ^' ,, '^^^i^^"fe' the Viaticiin toirether And after tlmt, I felt the journey had M I taken, ar.d we must let her go ^ ^ ^' davtraidtYer" I ''' '"'^^'^''^^ ^^^ ^^'^ ^un- iiiglit. '^^' ^"^^'"^^ ^^«^' fo^' the " Like Sunday ? Yes " bI^o o„-^ ..i )-ou will all iroin Ji:::!l!" '"i'»>'° -.»e best is repose in the crudest sense of doing notluug. A, Pamdise of lying sfill in the Bunslune, and occasional singing and dancing w,! a^go^Jd^lot sugar, sensuous and spiritnal,°;.o:;d , " I" tastes, intellectual and physical, we cannot .magme how to meet them. The things ™i," -ould be a bnrden to then. The thi Usth V like would certnlnlv ^.«^f k. .t ,i- , . . »" "^3^ « certainlj not be delights to But then the 'e IS the lie.Mrt: thi us. It in us all Hi u li 548 AGAINtST THE STREAM. which loves; that is, our inmost selves. And this, of course, we cannot pounce on in a moment. ^ " Poor dear, bkmdering, imitative children ; children with the passions of middle age, and the cunning of liunted old age. " On one of the estates they wished to get up a Sunday service in emulation of the white men,. and for their Liturgy, recited in solemn measured accents, ^ with responses, ' This is the house that Jack baiW " Sometimps 1 am afraid the sacred words in our real worsliip may, in their ignorance, be to some of them little better. " Indeed, for that matter, we are nearer such absurdities than we think, all of us, wlien we make our devotions in any degree a repetition of charms, instead of a CHjmmunion of heart or a lifting up of the soui. It is so difficult to know when they un- derstand, and when they only catch the words and tones, and copij, like clever, timid children. " Yet, here again, there is the heart in common. That they can love, and sacrifice all for love, is true. *' They may shoot me dead, or do with me what they please,' one of them said, ' if they only do no Iiarm to our teachers.' "And some of them, I am sure, have learned from the Moravians, of a pitying, loving, suffering dying Saviour, to please whom they will be pa- tient and honest (and which seems to me a miracle of grace), will work industriously for mastei's Mdio AGAINST THE STREAM. 5i9 W no more right to their service than a thief to a stolen piu'se. "Also, we are begi„„i„g to discriminate, to see e grand difficulty is the slavery itself, soften It as one can. ' " Often Burlve's words occur to me, 'Sothiiu, Make, ahap^, ,U.e hut a ,leyraclM ,rLn.' I fed nt-Z'f "" '/""""^ P---^^^ ™ ™ - ''-5 (te B L "? "'«^\'° ■'- "«« ^-netime wo think ell L„de and P,ers) there is no real remedy but tl.eone Rers propounded at Miss Felicity's yea s ttle boy and knew nothing of what he was talt ing about; namely, to set tbem free at once. lo tram people to be men by keepin., them children, to train people to be free e.^cep'^: b^- . t >ng them free, by letting then, bear the con e moie and more an impoaibilitv .nean but that ,t « an nnpossibility, even to Godf Wo have found that JVIr. David Barclay one of your community, as no doubt you know' Z omancpate thirty slaves in Jamaica abon te ^~ce;butheeou,dnotdoitmti;ia ttchad to transport them to Ph;i,ulpj„.,:., ., . tl-.-e apprentice them to trades, 'itans;:;;-' Ki ill* 550 AGAINST THE STREAM. almost all cases ; but the coldness of the climate of Pennsjlvaiiia was a ditBcult j. Meantime Christiaiiitj can i-aise and does raise some even of these sla^'es. ' If the Sou makes any one free, he is free indeed.' " Onlj it seems to me more difficult for own- ers to do missionary work than for othei-s ; espe- cially for owners wJio feel slavery a great wrong. " I want to be down among them poor and toiling and suffering ; and we cannot. " We cannot ; oh, Loveday. How can I ? when God liao made me rich with every kind of riches, and above all, with such unutteral)le treasures of love and joy ? " " How good of God," Loveday murmured, as I laid the letter down beside her, "to let me know even H.at ! And yet how foolish ! " she added. " As if we should be blind and deaf and forgetful there. Blind in His light ! Deaf with His voice, forgetful in His Presence, who careth for the sparrows, to whom one of us is ' more than many sparrows.' Oh, Bride, how I love those woi-ds'l There seems to me a smile in them, like a mother with playful tenderness reassuring a weeping frightened child." And then came an interval of breathlessness and pain ; and she could say no more. "Aiiiice has crossed her sea, and begun her new life before I have," she said, when it was over. " But oh, Loveday," I said, " no letters, no message, no sound across that sea ! " AOAINST THE STREAM. 55 j ;' ]^ot from that side," sl.e said. Onlv one Yoico audible to mortal eai-s. Go and tell my hrcthren that I am risen and go hefore them; was from, that s^de. And it is enongh. But messages "from this stde, who knows how constantly ? And we are to be with Him wliom those messages reach, with mm to whom here we pray." " N-o," I said ; " the blindness, dimness, deaf- ness, can bo only here ! But oh, Lovedav, say- prom, so, prophecy-that you will not forget or change ' ?= "^ "Did you make Amice promise?" she said, s roking my fece as I bent over her. " Life changes us more than death; more tlian livin^ with Him who changes not. With Him we shall bo more ourselves, not less. All ourselves, our true selves, perfected ; knowing more, hoping more, loving more. My dear, love in heaven must be deeper than, love on earth. No love in idleness, no mere delicious leisures its chief rexvards ; but cariiig, giving, helping, serving, glmng itself. iT!TT f''"" ^''''■' ^^^ ^^^"-^J".^'' ^l^econ-' eluded "who hast been so true to me, so much to me so long, ,t seems difficult to think so Yet it must be true. With Him who loves best. Loviu<. even more than now. Although it seems difficuS to tliink so. Loving more?'' And after that 1 know not that she said much It came to imrsir.g night and day. Many of hose siie had taught entreated to be allowed to help. Her sick bed was supplied with the best \%\ 552 AGAIxYST THE STREAM. m El*' dainties the little town could give, from little shops, and from the gardens of the poor, sent M'ith apologies in the most delicate way, as to a princess. And every morning Claire brought the SM'eetest flowers. Not one service was rendered her that was not a service of love. And when all the pain was over for her, forever ii rare gleam of intelligence and tenderness came over her poor father, as he looked on hei- face for the last time, pale and lifeless and full of deep rest, with lilies and white roses around her, Claire's last offering. Old memories seemed to wake up within him. " My poor child ! Good little Loveday ! She was like her poor mother. I did not do all I ?) might for either of them. God forgive me. Then turning to Miss Felicity and recurring to the liabitual sliield of " adverse circunustances " which she threw around him, he concluded, " But every- thing went against me." But Miss Felicity, as she led him away, for once forgot the shield, and did not try to comfort or excuse him. She knew too well how sure the stream is to sweep down those who do not pull against it. She only said, " God canfonjive us ! He has more than made up to her. He can make us a littio like her,— a little, before we die." Tho beauty of th,e patient life had burst on her at last, now it was finished. It had then, after all, \ -^GATNST THE STREAM. from little 3r, sent with to a princess, the sweetest red her that her, forever, crness came hei- face foi- of deep rest, Claire's last • wake n^ eday ! She lot do all I rgive me." rring to the ces " which But every- Hway, for to comfort w sure the do not pull 553 but a lovely cherished shrine been no poor ruin of God. But to me all through those sad days, and from her grave, beside that of my own mother h^ wor^s kept echoino. back as if i ^ "^^"^^'^^^ « TF-il TT' . ' * "^'" heaven,— With Htm who loves most, Loving more even than she loved here below. Although it seems difhcult to think 80. Zoving more- ! He has make us a urst on her n. after all, \ V, ' i" %^ 'I'l ' Hi > I 111 r; -i- CHAPTER XXXYII. HE years were come during which Eng- land had to pull absolutely alone against the stream ; the whole continent swept aM-aj bj the torrent of Bonaparte's victo- ries; the oldest dynasties following M'ith such ac- qniescence as they could assume, in tlie wake of his triumph ; the nations dragged helplessly on not yet aroused. And England herself without any leader, on the throne, in the Council, in Pariia- nient, by sea or by land, to whom she gave her Avhole trust ; Nelson, Pitt, and Fox all laid low in Jier defence. Yet the spirit of the nation was high and un- wavering. The conscience of men had been freed trom the sense of a great national wrong. The least symptom of success to our armv was welcomed bv nian^', after the abolition of the slave-trade, as a sio-n ot Divine approval ; while foilure, as at Buen'os Ayres, was resented as the result merelv of the incapacity of the leader, and did but increase the sturcly determination of the people not to give in. Meantime Europe seemed falling deeper and pr AGATN8T TUB STREAM. 655 deeper. On the 14tli of October, 180b, Prussia touched her depth of humiliation at Jena. In November Bonaparte had entered Berlin in tri- umph. Happily for Prussia and for her kings, at the last, they fought, and fell with the nation, and were honorably identified with her suflerings. While dismembering the kingdom, Bonaparte circulated calumnies against the noble Queen, and stooped to call the king "General Bruns- wick," Prussia and her royal race were in the dust together; and from the dust together they arose. But as yet not a promise nor a stir of rising life was visible. From Berlin Napoleon had issued, in Novem- ber, 180G, the famous " Decrees," making all Eng- lish commerce contraband. In April, 1807, after his victory of Friedland, Napoleon met the Czar Alexander in the richly canopied tent on the raft on the river Nienien, and concluded the Treaty of Tilsit. North and suutli, east and west, on all the dreary horizon, not a power seemed to lift its head in opposition, over the fields swept level by trium- phant armies ; kings were acquiescent, and nations prostrate. Sweden, our one ally at that moment, under the young king so soon to be dethroned, seemed scarcely a Power, and scarcely witliin the European horizon. Bonaparte's brothers were on the thrones of Naples, Holland and Westphalia, and one was soon to be on ihe 'lirone of Spain; iii R fir 556 ACiAI^tiT TUE STllEAM, 1 i- . , . 1- ^^^^^^^^^^^K ' f ! ^^^^^^K!l' 1 ■ 1 w \ 1' V ^^^^p ^^^^KI Wl 1 Jl fl7 ■< i wJule ],is generals were transferred to tliose c.f iSaplesanaofSu-ecIen. *^ ^* It is good now to roonll the thrill of deli.-ht »•'"' «■ "Ol. tho H,.t sy,„ptom of th. rolcindl „ Tife was wolecnod th,-ongl,out England. ° the «o Id, the only people that at the touch of the French armies and the word of the 00", 1^ would not crumble into atoms. Was there d, h.ng, some might auost.on, as national xlT^x, Was not l„,„.a„ society after all a mere neb. la of !..'*tctly indifferent around what centre thev >.-e grouped, as one attraction or another pro ed ^.e stronger ; the isolation of England beln^rp ' m chamcal and geographical, an affair of a few indiv dual existence, and self-interest. " 1 he answer canie from the most unexpectod whereTlt "' 'f """"P' "■■'" '-• "'^at elsc- » ere had been submitted to patiently enouol, The game see.ned safer than usual. There w ,s ; d.vis.on in the roy,al house. One imp J ^ J • t-S-ng against another. Wluat 0111^1 l'^: AGAWST TUB STllKAM. 557 than to entrap botli, betray botli, and set a Bona- parte on the vacant throne? But thou suddenly the great cliess-player dis- covered tliat the pieces had life; k? . queens bishops, knights, pawns; pawns mc... evidently of uli, and most unaccountably of all ; were not puppets, but me,i fathers and sons, families, a nation. From end to end Spain awoke ; awoke, arose, lived, palpitated in every limb with life. Simul- taneously, not at the summons of any one great Leader, but spontaneously, without prepara*tion, city after city, province after province, rose, felt they were not many but one ; and as one man, re- fused to be at the bidding of the man before whom all Europe had bowed down. The enthusiasm of sympathy throughout Eno-- land was universal. " All our England (the England some call prosa- ic, with an exceptional Alfred, Shakspeare, Milton Cromwell, Nelson, or William Pitt) ran wild with welcome to the " patriots of Spain." Sonorous Spanish names rang like our own groat patri. tic household names tlirough every so- ber little country town in the land. The Maid of Saragossa became as much a heroine among us as Joan of xlrc ought to have been in Franco.^^ Eno-. ■and demanded to spend her treasure and her blood in helping this new-born people to freedom. • hp name of freedum luid its old magic still among us, and knit the countrymen of Drake in brotherly V IMAGE EVALUATiON TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ^BS 1^ I.I a m L25 i u - 6" 1.6 V <^ /. alii lie ^Sciences Corporation # A <^ \\ % V o"^ 33 WEST MAIN STRf ET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (716)872-4503 ^^ r 558 AGAINST THE STREAM. bonds to the old enemies of tlio Ai-inada. Mr. ^Y\]. berforce said in the lloii^e of Coiiniions, '-that every Briton joined in pi-ujer to tlio Great Ruler of events to bless with their merited success the 6trnir,i,des of a gallant people, in behalf of every- thing dear to the Christian, the citizen, and the man.'' We who know what came afler that first trumpet-call of patriotism and liberty, the strug- gles with the incapacity and selfishness of " patri- otic Juntas," ^ which all but baflied Wellington, and all the chaos that has follow ed, may find it difficult to recall the deep and generous response that Spanish appeal awoke. But into whatever feeble and discordant echoes the music fell, it was, nevertheless, in its beginning, a true trinnpoL-call, clear and strong, giving fortli no uncertain sound. It awoke the nations^from a sleep of despair into which they never fell again, to prepare themselves for the battle. And foi'any nation to have rendered that service to Europe is a possibility and a f^xct never to be forgotten. It was in May, 1808, that this voTce of patriotic resistance reached us from Spain. On the 12th of July, Arthur Wellesley sailed from Cork for Corunna. In August he defeated the French at Vimiero ; and the Peninsular War, and the full of Bonaparte had begun. Bona])arte had touched the sacred realities of human life; and hencetorth his warfare was no ula. Mr. ^y\]. iiinions, '• that AGAINST THE STliEAM. 559 longer merely with dynasties, but with nations, and with men. Burin- those years my fatlicr woke to new hopes for tlie world. lie had always looked on Bonaparte as the most unmitigated embodiment of the principle of selhshness which is the root of human evil that the world, or at least Christendom, had seen: the devil 8 ideal of humanity, " Ye shall be as crods " opposed to the divine, "I come to do Thy will "' And selfishness, evil, could not, he'thou-ht create, or even organize. Being a negation" of light, and heat, and life, it can only detach, divide disorganize, deny, destroy. The nearest approach' It makes to positive organization is in freezino- crystallizing living M^aters into ice. But the unity thus created is only apparent; ice-seas, ice-bero-s ice-blocks, with no power in them save that of' mass and momentum ; power which the petal of a flower at the touch of the sun can vanquish. Into such ice-blocks Bonaparte had been freez- ing the nations ; with such an ice-torrent he had been laying them waste, through his Grand Army And now at the awaking of life within the nations* the whole frozen fabric was crashing down or melting away. ' He had been able to create nothing. It in- censed him that men of genius did not rise at his call. He^ was ready to kvish rewards and decora- tions on thorn. But in the icy atmosphere he had spread, no literature could grow. Even the code 500 AGAINST THE STREAM. '" If called by his name was trnly, my fatlier said, but a iiiodiHeation of the work of the Republic ; the literature that did flourish was but the f'eeble'har- vest of earlier sowing. The conglomerations of peoi)le he had forced together into " kingdoms," did not recognize themselves as corporate\odies; and when the icy hand was withdrawn, they sim- ply flowed without effort back into the old chan- nels. The one thing which liad seemed most like a creation, the Grand Army which moved at his bidding, and; was inspired by his will, which had eidarged and compacted year by year, and had crushed and desolated Europe, was indeed no or- ganization of life to Europe or to France, hut only a terrible engine of death, soon to recoil on itself. And from the first moment when the nations awoke, that engine of destruction, drea and terrible and strong exceedingly, was doomed. Many vicissitudes indeed there were. The pa- thetic elegy — " Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note," * rang like muffled bells throughout England when Sir John Moore fell at Corunna. Deep was the indignation among us when Andrew Ilofer was betrayed and shot in the Tyrol • and true was the grief to many of us when the young Schill fell in battle, saving Bonaparte frr.m the dishonor of executing another patriot as if he had been a rebel. Many were the reasonable grumblings and AGAINST TUE STREAM. 5G1 munnurings mno.ig ns wlien the Goverrnnent lav- ished money in sendinc. thousands of EnL^hshnien to die of marsh-fever at Waleheren, and withh d Z " from Sir Arthur Wellesle;. Man, alio r h„r W ;;"r'T^^' grumbh-ngs when Sir A thur We leslej, after the victorv of Talavera retu;e vvu in the lines of Torres Yedras, refusing to nsk England and Europe by hurrving before popular outery, as he refused to risk h'er ^for Imy lii^'^^irdhness of cabinets, or cabals of fanatics. ' Ihose two years betw-een Talavera and Ciudad Kodri^o sorely tried the patience and taith of the nation. r<^^ while they were slowly passi 1 Bonaparte had imposed o, Sweden one of 1 i generals as king, while Austria had given the Corsican an Archduchess in marriage, and an hei 3iad been born to perpetuate the new dynasty • nnd a deplorable war had broken out with Ame.: oflJ:S '" ^'^ ''^'^'^^^ ^"^ "^^^^ --^"-^ Tet there was a feeling of hope throuc^h the nation the indescribable sense of vital r/ .^ d tiom the finest day in autumn ^ « ^ ^^^^Oue hero was among us again, who never lost lones Vedras, persisted that Bonaparte's empire -ns undermined: and that England had ^ hold } sula a h'ttle 1 ler own, and keep hope al ""gor, and l!ic(Tas|. 36 only to ive in the penin- would come. 662 AGAINST THE STUEAM. Meantime, in our silence aiKl isolation at home, there was anything but silence or lifelessness. In 1811 the first steamboat was launched on the Clyde. The great Steam Power had made another conquest. In the same year the anti-slavery cause gained another victory by the passing of Lord Brough- am's Bill, constituting slave-trading Felony. And throughout the land sounded a chorus of new poetic voices. Bonaparte could create no lit- erature in France. But Freedom, and the conflict with the oppressor, awoke a fresh burst of poetry and art in England. Once more, as in the days of Luther, English thought drank from the old kindred Teutonic sources (once more themselves issuing afresh into the light), giving and receiving, as is natural and due between races so one and yet so diverse. Scott and Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, Keats, Shelley, began to be heard among us. And Flaxman was there for the sculpture of our heroes and singers ; now that we had again he- roes and poets to celebrate. It was an era of new life ; although the pow- ers of death and darkness, storm and whirlwind, were still mighty in the world. As of old, in all our northern spring- tides, the hammer of Thor the Thunderer weakened the earth to song. And meanwhile, in our little world of Abbot's Weir, life and death were at work. 1 of Abbot's AGAINST THE STliEAM. 5^3 Thefoet of little olnklren imtterod about the old rooMis at Daneseombe Manor, and mvvvy little voices echoed among the ol /'• )04 AGAINST THE STRILA M. "Ton will love the little ones, and tliey will love yon," she said, " Bride, Ci»nsin Bride ! " I did indeed love them. Wh(» could have helped it, having a " grandmotherly "' heart like mine? Dick was smitten to the dnst bv the loss of his wife's deep, quiet affection, and was only to ho comforted by continual minute details about her babies. And so ithajjpened that their home was almost as much with us as wMth Uncle Fyford, to wdiom the babies w6re naturally a considerable perplex- ity. Mrs. Danescombe was more patient with these little ones than she had been with us. Indeed, sue seemed more dependent and more sympathetic in many ways than of old. The love for her Francis, which seemed first to have awakened her heart to the joy of loving, brought to her further teaching through the bur- dens and sorrows, and even the disappointments of love. Mrs. Dionysia was not at all a person meekly to take the second place. And my stepmother, when she returned from her visits to Francis, seemed to me to cling increasingly to us, and to accept our attention and deference with a gratitude very different from her old way of taking every- thing as a matter of course. Moreover these visits became rarer, as Francis became established as a popular preacher in a fash- ionable watering-place, where his exquisite man- nt witli these ;h a gratitude AGAINST TIIK STllEAM. 5^5 i.ers and roundu.! periods inado a ^n-cat impression : and farther bolHud, while her father's death left her jo.nt-he.ress of his not inconsiderable acenmu- Jation 01 savings. * Mrs. Danescoiube never blamed them. She had too long been used to throw a veil over Iraneis faihngs, to hide them from others; and now It touched me to see how she tried to transfer the ved, so as to hide what she could not bear to see, from herself. Francis' ilimilj increased ; the spare room in lie house diminished. The grandmother's visits became limited to an annual one, and this again had to be himted in extent. There was only one small room,-Francis' dressing-room-when his mother was not there. Of course Mrs. Danescombe M-as most welcome to it. But she could not but feel she was costing them a sacrifice of comfort while she stayed. _ And at last, one year, instead of the annual in- vitation, came a long apologetic epistle from Fran- cis He and his wife were so distressed ; but tliev had been obliged to make other arrangements i^i the house. One of the children had to sleep in the dressing-room. Francis had to content himself with a strip of a room on another floor, which re- ally Dionysia could not think of asking his mother ^''T'!u^' V'!"^^ '""'^ ^'^P^ ^^^' '"o'-e space in a '^ ^^ ' talked of investing I her property in building a house. But for tli part of ! prea- ipi 50(3 aoa/jYst I'm: stream. ent witli tho <,M-eatcst ronK,-,nak,ng yon so dear and good ! tn \Z and snlle,-, and yet love on. I„ that better way m what way ,uo,-e like Hi,nself, can God teach ! " K: 508 AGAINST THE HTREAM. ,11 She (lid nut o|>|)t»s(>. Sho kissed mo, and g;iid I was kind, hnt ti)ut 1 must not tliiidc Francis meant anythin<^ unkiiiik " Ono day, perhaps, he will love enough to Buffei-," I ventured to say, '■ and then God will teach him." " Not suffer ! " she said deprecutin<^l3'. " Plcaso God, at all events, not 7nuvh. It is not much ho has to learn." Wc did all we could to cheer her, my father and I. But the "serpent's tooth" had penetra- ted. Many an hour vfQ passed in the old oak parlor, such as I had never dreamt we could spend there together. I read and chatted to her. She did not talk much. Her range of literature was not large. ]!^ove]s huit her. It was so difficult to iind any Btory of human life which did not grate like a saw on that sore heart. In history she had no interest ; poetry she felt flimsy. To sermons and religious books, I do not think she attended much ; bnt these were what she liked best. Tlie good words flowed past her like the murmur of a brook ; whilo she sewed, and knitted, and embroidered, for Fran- cis and his children. And then came a cold ; the last blow which so easily strikes down a frame which has lost any strong vital power of resistance. She did not very nmch care to live. She hop- ed Dionysia would one day build the new house, and they would have room for her, Yet theij e enuii<^]i to ion God will AGALXST THE STREAM. 5^9 could do Mouther; ih..,t was too plain: and that was the unutteiablo an oak parlor - • never apin. Would to Cxod I ..d come the daj before. ' His sermon at the Archdeacon's Visitation was a great success. It brought him the presentation to an excellent living from the patron, who was one of the audience. But I believe it brought him a far deeper blessmg than that. It had brought him, through the irrevocable loss, througli the unfullilled dufy a sense pf irreparable, irremediable ill-return for so much irrecoverable love, which pierced at last through all his scales and crusts of self-compla- cency, and left a sting of remorse and repentance witlnn hnn, wakening the real heart within him to the softening discipline of a life-long incurable pain. ° There was no more onlj that smooth, trans- formed i^spectable, but impenetrable larva of an outside ' There was. as Piers had alwavs trust- ed, and I had so often doubted, a creature.'stil] un- developed and feeble, but living and to liveimmoi- tally within. There was no more only the Pharisee, prodh.al or respectable, crude or transformed, thanking God ■a! k t 'h i' 672 AGAINST THE STREAM. for the fewness and sliadovviness of liis sins, and the efficacy of his repentance, and the success of Jns labors in turning other people from their real sinful sins. ^ There was the Publican, beating on his breast, m many a secret hour of that inward, irremediable pain ; feeling great need of forgiven ess, and asking It; and hoping that the unquenchable love which he had returned so ill, which had forgiven and loved to the last, might be matched by another Love, as enduring and as forgiving; and that he might be suffered one day, when all his popular sermons, and all his much-lauded labors were over, to follow up the lifelong confession, « Father I have sinned against Thee," by saying what he could now never say on earth, " Mother, mother 1 have sinned against thee;' and so might creep hum- bled and pardoned into some lowly place among the redeemed at last. CHAPTER XXXVm. m [««; "f Bonaparte was drawing „ear at tort; a close more melodramatic tl.an any of l„s bnlletins. Or ratlier the dran,a i,ad passed into other hands ; and t e me^T *ama was deepening into true a^d terrible tt" Wellington, and our little determined British army, were no longer crouehin,, ;„ behind their defences. Thet were n ■"•""" throngh Spain; and dayaLJvT'TT das ed down the qniet ftreets of 11^^ Z^ garlanded with laurels for victory after -ctl Salamanca, Ciudad lto,l,-:„, » j "'''^ ' i"™"'— words ran. as n old R ^ 'J •'"" "'""""'' r^r, fi , itcoria ! A ^n-eat batt o won at la<;f on the verv borders of France wlfl. fi V f - annies driven before us. \''''''^ ''''^' '^'^ French scenes," some re ski in tl -.s^u.B outside the great line of batti; Mdi le s pn-ngofl8l2, had been terribly ad say — in ere ich. vancinir 574 JGALYST THE STREAM. i * i in the for nortl,, and was now more terribly- ebb- Yet it was sornetliin"' to Invo -f^^.i i T71 1 II., ""& "^^ Jifive stood alonp aq England d,d against that strean,, wl.en all th es o» the world „.e,-e swept a«-ay betbre it. t 71 rt "T ";' ^"™''.\"'-'' E".-ope shonld a^. 3 toiget: ,t was mfinitely much for England which England is not likely to for..et dreadful drama went on ; essentially the last for It; "than" 'T "" '^^'^ '"" "" "- '-5 mo.e han epilogue, merelj- the last struggles of ti.o dy,„g, the last stroke of the coup de gr^ Grand Army had crossed the Niemen to crush h! great barbaric northern en,pire ; in De™, bt ed the N.emen agam, the Grand Army broken and destroyed forever; fire and frost sweepin" only to be crushed by elemental forces. Jlnn- dreds of thousands dying, one by one, on b ttl helds, ,n exhausting n,arches, of hung r, of cold of wounds ; and, among all the dyingfit was said ( carcely one murmur against the mtu for w "om and through whom, i„ various tortures, and Z no purpose, they died. The Triun.ph of Loyalty Omsplaced as .t might be) after all greater than the rr.umph of Deaf, ; tlms reviving for the human race capable of so enduring and^so sacrifidn" a .iOJlnT THE BTBBAM. . 675 nope, out Df the verv ,'„„,i, ^ , ^vhich;twassacriC^ "^ "' "'" ''"^"■■^- '» tl.e loss of neari; ha" a S ""' ""'"'""^^ "•'■''' •7 t"o most «n.„*,; "■■;-';- ^; '"--""en thousands of homes whence thr» ™"' "'" ''"J power .0 gather ZX^ZltZ'ir' sand more to eneonnfp.. fi ""•^' *^^0"- %3 fo.,r.,ifthsrt ::, h.: rrr "^^^ jet once undenhe magic onSl ".""''■''"'<'''' «ommand,able to win thrrv"'^' """""'"<' liard-fought (i.ht ^ '" '"»'■« ""«' ono — :f^ro:r s:!^^»:^r-es, hnt . S"-en to a battle than tliat of "n „i ?'' """"« «ons"(yo,,e.ch.aeht):l-^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Alter his defeat Mio«^ r. *-'«'pzig. for hhn „n^,eJty:::;str-'' ""'^^ '"«' ^en.sX^r:ir:ar:;f,-?-'- the fatherland. Ancient 1 ^ '"^^-^'ion of coased to belong onl'rh";:"' T'^'' stories lived again and b„„ '° "''' "'^^i" tion for the dcC; « allTT " "^''"^ "^ "'^P''™- an that was mo^ ^ctd r.^r T' ^ ■■" "'"' - LUdn jite. Songs and h&U 576 AGAINST THE STREAM. ,r I! lads, strono^ and fresli as at the dawn of liistory, rang from the hearts and hps of the nation. In one sense, indeed, Bonaparte had created. He had created by destroying. He had renewed through death. At Jena, but seven years before, he had crushed and broken and dismembered the various states of the old Teutonic empire. At Leipzig, he found springing from the scattered ashes a new, patriotic, living Germany. Out of ruin had sprung restoration ; out of states a nation. And against nations the destroyer had no power. France, indeed, seemed, like the demoniac in the Gospels, still not to be able to free herself from the awful double personality which had so long possessed her. Bewildered, fettered, and bleeding, she seemed still to answer at her tyrant's bidding through her reluctant conscripts,' « My name is Legion, for we are many." But even this was soon to cease. The ten'-ible delusion was becommg disentangled from her being. ^ In the South of France, where our Wellington with the first army which had proved Bonaparte's not " Invincible," was pursuing the retreating French troops, paying his way according to the bourgeois code of honor of "the nation of shop- keepers ; " and, as w^e heard, welcomed by the natives of the Garonne districts with indications of the old fortresses which our ancestors had once held, and with friendly inquiries why we did not come back. And in April, at Fontainebleau, Bonaparte MAINST TSM STHBAX. ^„ s? :i;:„:hf t"' '""■•'■^" - --' - then The very skies seemed to rejoice ThorT^ \ try for a time threw off h^ v^il of l /'"'l"^ and grassy meadows and wooded rivef skmes t' welcome the Allied Powers and W - rious soldiers, and peace ' '' '^" "^'^- Tf ^^^"^' r^f '" ""^^ ^"^^^^ itself with deliffht powe. to tM^thl^r t^\':^;r" he l-d (and also inconceivable pinnde Hnfhe city) A bt Wei' "n ZT" Tf'"'' "^ "'- - to«sa.i.pos;:^r,r.7Snr""^^^"^"'- Had not Abbot's Weir al«o her heroin ... f welcomp '? A ^,T p neroie sons to Captam F -ford, wounded at Trafalgar, and worn 578 AGAINST THE STREAM. I' I and battered by many a stormy day since on the traiisport service for the Peninsnlar Army. The spirit of old Elizabethan dramatic days had come over us, not imitatively, but by the old inspiration. We xvere to have something ap- proachmg a Masque or Mystery ; although alto- gether ignoring any alliance with medieval mum- meries or papistical pomps. There was to be a review of the gallant volun teers, and a sham-fight ; to end in the triumphal chairmg of our cousin Dick as the representative ot the British forces, and the banishment of Bona- parte, (in the shape of an apothecary of small stature and military bearing, great among the volunteers, who consented to be victimized for the public good,) to an island in the middle of our river, designed to represent the Island of Elba It was a day of great festivity; too really glad and natural to be riotous and irregular. The country poured itself into the town ; flowers and green boughs and garlands and triumphal arches embowering the streets and festooning the win- dows ; the farmers and laborers with their wives and children flocking in on foot through all the ^ green and flower-strg^wed lanes, or in merry groups, on pillions and in wagons; while every house- holder m the town kept open house, and tables were spread in the streets. The review of our volunteers on the Down went off m a way to convince us that had ]^apo- leon had his coveted command of the Channel for AGAINST THE STREAM. r-o twelve hours and landed, Abbot's Weir at least would have had b'ttle to fear. /.aye^t"oM,f """i,'""'"'" -""''^^ "'"^"'<' "^o the gayest of he revellers into onr holiday, lavishincr «^e s„„sl„„e of her clearest skies, and from te golden gardens of furze-blossom filling the fresh breezy air with delicate fragrance Captain Fyford having been duly honored in tibe capacty of representative of\e British Forces and the military apothecary having been safdy b,v,ushed to the Island of Elba, all relnrn d to ake then- share in the feastings and the speech- -fyiugs, and af,erwa.ds in the°danee in the old niarket-house. And it was still early in the ni^^ when the entertainments were over, a,'d thL nerry-make,-s had broken up into various groups arge or small, and were scattering through the . All day the children had been with us, keep "f, f:^ '» »«.'«nard whei-e our beloved were sleepin-^ Ihetown was growing hushed and quiet; only ^•ow and f .en the voices of the returnL. e H.Tt v' people calhng to each other, sounded bac Vom vanous distances along the valley and up the S It was so stiU, that we could hear the rush of he nver as we^went on towards the vicarar.al den by which it flowed. ° * Softly M^e went up to the children's nursery • tranquilly m their cots ; and Claire and I tuLd them up and kissed them, and then went down to gethermto the garden. ^ov^n to- " ^\^'^^^ ^ ^^ncy," she said, " but I did not like the mothei-less little ones not to have some 1 ng hke a mother's kiss and care to-nio-ht " ^ And we went back through the churchyard. We paused toa-ether a Htfio k„ places there. ^ ^-^ ^'^^ '"^^"^^ murT'"T'^''''ri^ '^' motherless! " she mur- mured. "I cannot bear to feel they are left out Two resting-places. The children ar'e as eep and there 13 qmet here." =h, .tiiu "But not sleep or dreams, Claire," I said : " the real hfe has begun for them. Wo watch L Z AOAwn-r THE aritiuM. gg fl,„MY"f f ""'' ''■^'= '■» ■>" ''"""" •' " 8l.e said • that ,fc 1>.,. so rich and fu,l and prooions; ' Only as compared witi, tl,c waking by.an.I- bj, I sa,d ; " the Hfc t),ey have been awaken d «st he such anguish ; andLoveday, who used o ■spread her n,otherly wings over us ail - ' ciuil floTof M^r- ""■""" ^"°'" *-^' «-'"'e the ,;," ° '""' S'-^w >nore and more audi- .n-;t^reetS/''^-^^'''"'''''-^-*'-^«- Sniee then how many dear voieos, then witi, as ^H.^h't,::i'u:rt'Th:';i;™''--^''° f.u7v f T ""''""«^ ""'"y' "•''™ Piers and Oa-. on tlio market-plaee. And tlien Captain Fyford made a request ;> me, m broken and doubtful words, whieh ,t "1 f-...d I eonid nrrhir/gt::,? '=""• ^"' ^' '^^' m AUAIN6T TUE STUh:AM. A I.' ■ti "It would make so little difference," as Uncle Fyford had said of his first niarriaf^e. And yet it has made all the difference to me. I J! i m ,"a8 Uncle ce to me. CHAPTER XXXIX. r O It cauie about tliat once more there And that impressive moral tale which was th^ omanee and consolation of ., ehildhood, of h w translated into fal" opportunity of being " So rur^ the n.un,! of life from hour to hour." Yet it is never the same ^ound. The outwird forms and scenes imv 1.^ fi.^ , oucwaid less!,. The vo,y 6amene«3 constitutes tl,e diflbr wiitre CTod orgaimes every leaf diveraelv and creates personalities as individual as Adam' and e:;!":™;":-""™' "■' ^■''' »<' ->«'''''»^' n.ese into vai-ieties so inconce-'- •!,],. Ti . eudl..ss,,vario,,s;andendle::K:d-';.get,r Iherefore the morals of those vcr/"p„inted" - 1,1 5S4 AGAINST THE STREAM. tales of my childhood never came precisely into play. _ My temptations and my poor stopmothcj-'s from within and without, were by no means the same. In the first place, my step-children and I began by loving each other very dearly ; and i; I shrank determinedly, as I did, from assuming Patience's nghts and titles, and being called "mother," it mattered comparatively little to them, because it so happened that « Cousin Bride " had long been to them a name' expressive of the person who loved them best in the world. And in the second place, by no compact or command or sanction, it nevertheless came to pass that I had to submit, in the end, to being called "mother." When or how it began I cannot re- call ; but I could not foi-bid to those first-born children the name my own children called me. The truth would have been rather violated than preserved by my rejecting it, although I often tried to show both Horace and Patience that they were better off" even than my own, having alvvavs that other sacred and undying love w^atching over them and awaiting them above. Our home was not that worst desecration of an erection over forgotten graves. It was as a tent on the sacred threshold. That first gleam of peace which we had all celebrated as permanent passed away. War came again : and Waterloo and St Helena. And the warfare wliich Loveday had cared for, 1, because it AOAlmr TUB STBBASr. 585 whieh, as wo believed, she was over eanng f„r still bat and faithfully tlie Moravian and Metliodist n..ss,onaries (with our Amice and Herve Godefrov among them) did tlieire. ^ouelio^ grow'SC' 'I"' "' °'^'*''~'^ ""d d«Pondencios foTiu-r r ".T ?'■««?«'■<>''«; and its gone, lositj kept pace with its wealth How oouM it help growing rich 3 (retic 'h?i!r'''^'°7 ""*'' P'^'^P'^ P'-"d«"' ™d «nor- ge c , be ng prndont and energetic, makes people "the mam, rich. And if being rich does no >ic in teith-and stro .g, through the praver and fes ,,^b, wliich onl, the worst"" kind'" o'f" ; , EauT ;:'"'• ,■^'.'^'''-''-'-althy air oircu. mes, and the world ,s l ) 580 AGAINST THE STREAM. m fa I And, nieanwliile, m Persia Ilenrj Martyu, Bent forth fi-oin it. midst, toiled, and preached and died, alone; and left but one convert; but in- spired countless other lives. My cousins married ; Harriet the « Reformer" a devoted clergyman who lived and toiled in the missionary field, unpicturesqne and illimitable, of the low districts of London ; Phoebe went to be the comfort of her husband's country parish Matilda married a wealthy merchant, and admired and assisted other people's excellent works to her heart's content ; every one of them bearing with them, wherever they went, the sunshine and sweetness of that bright early home, from which httle Martha had early passed away, leaving the most fragrant memory of all. And Amice and Herv4* Godefroy, with their Moravians, worked on also in their own place, not exactly prosperous, not growing at all rich, sorely tried often, often failing in health ; but sometimes overpaid wifh such rare, unutterable delights as only such service enfolds; by seeing hearts that had seemed dead wake up, and live, and rejoice, and serve ; by seeing sufferings nobly borne and nobly avenged, evil conquered by good, -patient, taithful lives crowned by joyful death. Some of their slaves they emancipated and sent to the new free colony of Sierra Leone. And amoiig the rest the labor proved, so far, not in vain, that at the general emancipation in 18^2, the islands in which missionary work had been most AOAlmT TUB STREAM. gg^ tl e penod of apprenticeship, and to trust tbe sJam with immediate freedom. And then their work, as far as they could do ', was done. They had parted with their didren 12 before, to be brought „p in the braeij E " I. h elnnate away from the enervating inflitenc^ physical and moral, around them l'-.^ tion "h!"^ "'emselves stayed till the emancipa- ta^etn^b'T-n' '"'' ""^ ■•^'"neci, and took a cot- tage on the hil s near ns, hoping that the vigor of he .noorlaiKl air would restore the vi^or thev but ci,e% Captain Godefroy-had lost! '~ Ihen- reward was not visiblv here- pvn»,>- • deed for that best reward of doing god ^Z' Z tor he rare blessedness of that int-ompt bfe ' !f ono^of Which had mor:,ir,S--: Kot on the heights; low among the heavy ^elvl^rnttd'^^-'! "-^« '««. "-' - o- ha 111 u ie said. oi what are the little pin-pricka peaking of Clap. ' ourselves? When God we can inflict wounds, it ?«' wound. 588 AGAINST THE 8TBEAM. i i^i mg; and we learn-]earn to suffer as He suffered And when he lieals, it is healing; and we Jearu more-Jearn in our measure to heal as He healed " And so she found it-my Amiee, our Amice, the treasure and the succor of us all. ******** Twentj-five jeai-s from that abolition in 1807 througli wars and advei-sity, and victory and peace,' and agam through new wars and new peace, that great anti-slavery conflict went steadfastly on t-til in 1832, the Yittoria, Leipzig, and Elba of' the first war were succeeded by the Waterloo of the real final victory; the twenty millions sterlin<. freely gn^en by England to redeem herself and Africa from the great wrong ; the banishment of «ie iniquity for ever from all lands over which Jingland held sway. To the last the veteran leader, William Wilber- force, lived and fought on; at the very last.(bv one of those weird repetitions of history wliicli reads like the refrain of a dirge), like Pitt and Fox in the first campaigns of the war, dying, if not be- fore the victory was won, yet before the day of tri- innph dawned. And the whole House of Com- mens followed him to his grave in Westminster ADl)ey. The sixty years war was over ; once more, evil Had been conquered by good. A conflict still, as we know, to be succeeded by otaer conflicts elsewhere, in the same cause ; nevJr ce more, evil AGAmST THE STREAM. 55,^ indeed to be finished nnfil fi,« • • ■ banished „tteri,f,.o:,;;;:l'^ "^""^' ^''*" ''^ And then, and tlien ? otu„q,„ty, beside which all else ZtTnT? "ess is penetrable, the awful TibertTn.n ^'^' and disobedieoee * '''"^' "' ^«'«^''"^- «Jiae':;~r^"„:.nr''7''''^? atmosphere " wli ; .1, i, ? ' *^^® "^o^'^^l eiea4 an^d ^:i^^rfr7' '°^'^ which " moral atn>ospl,e,'es " ev " d T ^ "'T '" come healthv • nnt h! , "^" "'"*'■"■ ""'I l>e- vnlsion as rf'th. , ^ ^ ™''"""'' ''''■''^^tible eon- foepin^'o, rel r::r'' ^•" ''^ " «"»«o„s i.-v«- 1 . "'^^""S of the sanitary laws- hv n la b^afewbra^rnVpSlXnTtZir?- cue, refusing to drift smoothi; a lon/t" ^.T ceiirrp7i<- nf fi,^ <■• 1 "^ '"""ft "'tn tne evil ttCarn^ ""• "'■' ^'■""'=" '-"""'^'^ ^S-«t THE END. .f c-^ ,. i / I j(^. v>" > iMti 111 NLC. BNC. 3 3286 03750941 7 I ii 0^ I I iM s-ii f ^* .^,