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Le diagramme suivant illustre la mdthode : 1 2 3 4 5 6 H U K C 1 1 U A M B I. E S AM; S C K A. M n L E S OH „y' CIIUHCH E AMBLES « * AND SCRAMBLES. * «Y A PEHAMBULATING CUKATL. / HUNTER, ROSE AND COMPANY. MDt'CCLXXX. TS ?^5o \ \ \ Cana justif upon to cle wish \ perfec the no Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eijfhty, by HasTKR, ROSR & Co., in the office of the Minister of Agriculture. TORO PEEFACE. EARLY twenty years' experience of English Cura- cies, and several years of Mir ' rial experience in Canada, the anthor of the followir v ^ages trusts will justify him in the freedom with which he has touched upon the subjects contained in them. He has endeavoured to describe things as they are, and not as some might wish them to be. He subndts the book, with all its im- perfections on its head, and not without diffidence, to the notice of a consideivate public. Toronto, January, 1880. «^ V Lv - SlMHiE A.VXALS OK TIIK PoOK 148 CHAPTSK X. SkETCIIKS t)N TIIK UoAl) I OTX ^'^ „TKR 2r.(> CHAPTER XVI. A REKlT(iK IN THK BacKWoODS 2^)8 CHAPTER XVII. An Easter Vestry in Session 241> CHAPTER XVIII. Triumphs ok Love 2(U ^ i l-z-im.. I'ACiK .. 148 ... 18H ... 11>H ... '^0(i .. '-M8 ... '^:u> .... 2r.H . . 24<.^ .... 2iU CimHClI RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLKS. -♦♦•- CHAPTER I. CLERICAL MEETINGS. 'mPJHE early summer days in Old England, and a rural "b^ land.sciipe spread everywhere around us ! What a combination of delights and sweet associations! Who that has ever been present at Natures' revels, under such an aspect, could remain stoical for any length of time ? Her foliage and flowers, the fragrance of the fields, and the music of the woods, the shadows and the sunshine — we surrender our whole being for a time to her influence. On the first grassy knoll we come to, and beneath the old oak tree that overshadows it, we sink down entranced in her presence. No sound strikes the ear, no object meets the eye, but what she has specially provided for our delight. We gradually recover our proper senses, and begin to realize the exquisite taste and wisdom of the banquet she has provided. What delicate arrangements, and what skilful combinations ! How beautifully she has mantled the fields with green, and flecked them all over with her 10 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. bright colours ! How pretty is that yellow mixed with the green corn, and those scarlet poppies, and the pink clover heads, fi,nd the white bean blossoms beyond, and an all-pervading fragrance steeping the senses and indispos- ing us to th** least physical effort ! But the lark yonder, singing her morning carol as she flutters upwards, and the big humming bee that whizzes past so industriously, both remind us of an impending duty. We are on our wCuj to a Clerical Meeting, and punctuality is desirable. This road across the fields is not only the shortest, but it is by far the pleasantest; so you sec, if we are enamoured of Nature's beauties, we put ourselves just in the way of temptation. We must hasten on ; but we are reckoning without our hostess — the sweet magnetism of her pre- sence will yet retard us, as we saunter along the shady side of that ^ y-thorn hedge. How its perfume fills the air ! That shapely thrush, as she flew from her nest, must have shaken some of it out. Then, there is that quaint old cottage, with its pretty flower garden so neatly kept — we shall have to pass through that. It occurs to me, that we parsons enjoy a different quality of pleasure generally to that enjoyed by some other people when they journey about. The doctor would go to the same village by the turnpike, so would the magistrate or the lawyer. The lord of the manor, would certainly not go the short way ; he might go up to the end of a field ; but he would come back again; he never thoroughly enjoys Nature, he sees so much of it. So I conclude that we parsons are a favoured race with the erreat enchantress. CLEEJCAL MEETINGS. 11 Here is the little cottage garden ! How trim and pretty it looks ! but I do not see the gate. Oh ! we are at the back — we must go down this footpath, then across that plank, over the little rivulet, and one step or two more will bring us into the garden. Most of us remember that garden, evfen from childhood. Sometimes it is on elevated ground in front, and reached only by a flight of stone steps. No Howers that grace the most elaborate parterre in these days, seem half as dear to us as those few gilly-flowers and pinks, and old-fashioned auriculas and polyanthuses, and daffodils. Our nurse wanted to gossip at that cottage, or our spinster aunt, went to visit the old people there, ami we, meantime, were left to do our own sweet will outside. How we did delight in making a footpath along the middle of the border of pansies, and then stumbled over the box border, and in our fall, snapped off two or three fine tulips ! And then ! yes — and then — somebody rushed out of the cottage, took us by the arm, and hur- ried home with us, giving us occasionally an electric shake, as a reminder of punishment due for recent depreda- tions. We cannot stop to talk with the superannuated old man, who has come out of the cottage at the clatter we make, but get on speedily to the clergyman's house. One passing word with him, however, the smock frock looks so spotlessly white, and he so ruddy and cheerful, and socially inclined. No wonder, for the smock which under- goes a rinsing twice a year, was washed only yesterdd-y, and that very circumstance makes him look so at home to 1 i 12 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. US. Say what they will, but there is something in the consciousness of being respectably dressed, which adds gi-ace and confidence in company to most people. And now we have got into the rector's shrubbery, through the side gate that leads from the churchyard. These short cuts are passing sweet. But it is almost impossible to get along now with any speed, owing to the drooping laburnums, and heavy lilac blossoms that come flush upon our heated visage, as we push through them over the lawn. . - Going into a Clerical Meeting straight away from the sweet light of enjoyments like these, sometimes seems like going from undisturbing Nature to disturbing human- ity — a descent from the divine to the human. Nature alwavs leaves some lesson behind for us. Her book is an open book, which wo may read at our leisure. True its pictures are different from each other, and variegated indefinitely : but one lesson she desires us to learn is that every thing printed therein is in harmony with the rest The study is fascinating beyond measure ; especially when the study of Nature leads the mind up to Nature's God ; and this is the necessary .sequence. Is it a necessary sequence also, from the dissimilarity in Christian forms 1 It is questioned by some if the absence of unity in religious thought, even within legitimate limits, does lead the mind up to God. That, however, equally follows in the rightly constituted mind, although all do not see it. It has been boldly asserted by others that ecclesiastical diversity shews Christianity to be a failure. Christianity CLEUICAL MEETINGS. 19 ; in the ;h adds ubbery, •chyard. almost nr to the at come ^■h them Tom the ems like human- Nature book is , True riegated n is that the rest speciaUy Nature's ecessary n forms 1 inity in ioes lead Hows in ot see it. Bsiastical 'istianity J is neither a failure or a mistake, in spite of the variable forms it has assumed. Their development is exactly adapted to the different tempers of men, and tlie succes- sive eras of modern civilization. It will be inferred, perhaps, that I am led into this train of thought by the divergence of opinion observable at a Clerical Meeting. The inference is correct. The Meeting, to which I have brought my reader, was no exception to the general rule. Some of its members came together to derive mutual instruction and comfort ; others came thither to air their several views, or to split hairs in theological debate. Providentiall}^, the Church of England is very comprehensive of shades of opinion. It was so designed at the Reformation. Some think it too comprehensive ; others think it too little so. If it could be regarded as less so in the absolute essentials of religion, and more so in matters only secondary, and of general necessity, we might, all of us, be very much hap- pier together. Truth has often been called many sided : no doubt people look at truth from many points of view. How diverse were men's minds at this meeting ! Minds swayed by so many different extraneous influences — political, social, academical, critical, traditional, and experimental — each one looking at the subject before him through mental spectacles of a different colour to the spectacles of his neighbour. The Mooting to which we have come is better managed than somi at which I have been present. The rector of u CHllRCK HAMBLKS A.ND SCRAMBLliS. 1, the parish is well fitted to guide its deliberatiDns. His sincere Christian character, and admirable social qualifica- tions, proved to me at other times, are a guarantee for this The son of a very prominent bishop of one of the midland Dioceses, his position is an exemplary one. Everything connected with his household is modelled on the most se\ ere simplicity. Unadorned is adorned the most. A silent rebuke to the extravagant outlay decorating the rooms of many clergymen with much less means. No pretence and no ostentation. An humble representative of a Church family, distinguished by an undemonstrative religious profession—demonstrative chiefly in good works and Warm sympathies. But he has been called hence to a better heritage, for w!:ich, no doubt, he was at that time being disciplined and prepared. All Clerical Meetings are conducted pretty much alike. To me thev often seem monotonous. The dinner that follows is pleasant enough, and the short, desultory con- versation in the drawing-room afterwards, as need be, is pleasanter than either. Then the disbandment, Avith the prospect of meeting again, a month hence, at another clergyman's house, to go through the same process. r But these Meetings are very much unlike, as respects the individual clergymen present. There is often a most interesting variety, of all sorts and sizes, from the curate at the foot of the ladder, up to him who sits at the top. I was going to say the bishop ; but bishops are not often to be met with here, unless it be a Colonial bishop who has wandered out of his track. CLERICAL MEETINGS. 15 First, we might take note of the political parson, who is known everywhere throughout his county. He is a very active magistrate at Quarter Sessions and elsewhere — brother, perhaps, to the county member, or the titled potentate hard by — makes speeches at public meetings, and evidently comes here in a spirit of endurance, and is glad when the clerics disband . Then there is that cler- gyman with such a very resigned look. He is presump- tive heir to a peerage, and is thrust forward into the most easy and conspicuous arm-chair, which capacious seat of honour he takes quite naturally — feeling, jierhaps, it is of no use to do otherwise. He likes to be present some- times at these Meetings from the most conscientious motives. We must not pass by the opulent clergyman, whose father purchased his living for him. Otium cum dignitafe is inscribed on his handsome rectory — made spacious specially for him. He is always driven up to the door in a carriage and pair — not an ungenerous person to the poor of his parish ; but condescending to the curate order. Then there is the truly good and zealous little vicar from the small town adjacent. He walks over to the Meeting whenever he can, and, when he is not come, they do not like to look upon his vacant chair. We have also the scholarly clergyman, pale from hurry and worry — the man who took first class at Oxford, or who was a high wrangler at Cambridge. He looks heavy and critical, but is always acceptable because he can throw light upon dubious phrases, and keep the ball rolling. We have also the popular writer, who has a look 16 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. t ' :■ I of unmistakable intelligenca ; wears an incisive expression on his face, but looks mute, and says as little as may be. He is regarded as an acquisition whenever he comes. Yonder is a popular extempore preacher from London, who, for a few weeks' change and rest, has taken charge of a diminutive village not far off He looks rather out of his element — being a star of the first magnitude only to his middle class city congregation. It is from the country livings chiefly that the learned and clever men emerge. There is the giant Greek scholar present, who is known by heart through all the universities — that venerable-looking, white-haired, under-sized man yonder, whose cheeks wear such a roseate hue. Nearer to me and standing so stiff and upright, is a sturdy old gentle- man, with a very sociable manner notwithstanding. He is known for distinguished talent, and as the friend of the late Dr. Arnold. That other clergyman pleasant, but rather demonstra- tive, is a Colonial archdeacon ; but whom no one seems to recognise here as such. Having settled down in an English living, he has had the good taste to d)'op his Colonial title. Then there is the squire parson — we must not forget him. I never do ; for I knew him well, and esteemed him for his attractive qualities of head and heart. He has a complex character — although an eccle- siastic, he is owner of an estate ; hence his designation, which is sometimes abbreviated to " squarson." You will be sure to know him by his bonhomie, and open-handed, open-hearted bearing. CLERICAL MEETINGS. 17 The master of the Grammar School, locally reported great for learnincr in hie, haec, hoc, and decimal fractions, is not absent. The Workhouse chaplain is also present. He looks calm, settled, and content. Life's fitful fever of ambition, if he ever had any, is over with him. Having accepted a workhouse chaplaincy, he is shelved for life. That other gentleman is the perpetual curate — perpetual* either from choice or necessity, just as the reader may chance to recognize him. He is not a young man ; but looks philosophically indifferent to circumstances, in spite of the anomalies of his position. We shall become more acquainted with him presently. About the young curates present, there is nothing particularly striking; except it be the faultless ])recision of their neckgear and Oxford tie, or their coat cut after tlie^most approved clerical fashion. They are not sufficiently developed to ])resent any marked character ; so we will let them alone until they have grown older. Still these all feel that they have some expectations in the Church. What curate does not feel that, when he starts on the ecclesiastical career ? Fond delusion! how destined to fade away in the case of many! But who would expect to see a fox-hunting parson here? He did come once. He drove up late in a dog-cart, leaving it with his groom out on the road. He is plausibly just in time for the lunch, and talks at table only with the ladies. His doof follows him into the house, and has to be unceremoniously expelled by the servant. He drawls through the lunch ; but thinks the whole thing a " bore," and will never come again, even to please the it 18 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. \ih !!l ladies. Besides, he does not feel quite at home in clerical garb, and the " fellows round him " are not genial. In the hunting field he would like to wear scarlet, if he only dare do so. I knew him well lone: aofo. He looked the complete aristocrat, both in the church and out of it, and was perMonally very attractive; but he mistook his calling when he entered H0I3' Orders, and I suspect only lived his life through to regi-et the step. No better rider across country entered the hunting field than Jack Brush. He was a welcome guest always at the dinner tables of many friends, noble and ignoble. Long before his time, however, the sporting parson was a conspicuous figure in the church militant, familiar perhaps with cock-fighting, and pugi- lism, and other refined accomplishments, but his race is now almost extinct. And last, but not least, is the hon vivant. He is not very often seen now. He also is passing away; but I must not be too sure. He is a pleasant, high, and portly per- sonage, as I recollect him, and of courtly and polished manners. No dinner table of the neighbourhood, either of lord or commoner, is thought to be quite complete without him. Few persons are .gifted with a more perfect jinlg- ment as to the quality of port wine than he. No rubicund tint, however, disfigures his fine features ; but he is often afliicted with the gout. He bears distinctly the stamp of high breeding, and feels as much at home with ** his grace," as with his grace's tradesman. The mind of the bon vivant has no depth ; but he has few superiors in the art of pleasant chit-chat, which makes his society in the CLERICAL MfeEl'lNOS. 19 drawing-room a decided acquisition ; especially to the titled dowagers, with whom he is rather a favourite. Not- withstanding his many convivial engagements, he is ready for the Sunday, except when the gout prevents him ; but his curate, who does all the parochial work, will be on the spot, so the Sunday routine is not interrupted. All these clergymen need not be supposed to have been pre- sent at to-day's Meeting; but they were present some- where, and a few of them were, with some others not men- tioned. As best friends must part, we all make a move- ment to go, each one his sepai-ate way. ■if^^^^ /■ CHAPTER II. OLD FIGURES IN NEW HABITS. 'WjHREE of us pedestrians discover that our route lies 1^ in the same direction, so we walk on together. One soon turns off at a cross road. My other companion is the "curate in charge," and his house we take further on our road. As it is early afternoon, he will have me go in with him, and stay for tea, which I do with much plea- sure, because there is in himself and in his family much to inspire one's admiration and respect. They occupy the vicarage house, where they have lived for some years. He seems quite content with his lot ; although he re- ceives only £120 a year, with use of the house ; but then no pecuniary responsibility devolves on him in the mat- ter of parochial charities — the absent vicar providing for all such contingencies. He prefers it to a poor living, he says, because there is no possibility of ti'ouble or expense to him connected with church restoration, or prospective parsonage dilapidations. Adding his own limited private means to the comrpon stock, he can live comfortably, without extravagance. As to all the rest, an abiding trust in the faithfulness of God, maintains his mind calm and equable in the midst of duty. Both himself, and the I I 1 iiil OLD FIGURES IN NEW IIAllITS. 21 the membors of his family, are generally well thought of by every class in the neighboin-hood. I never leave Mr. Truefit's house without having re- ceived both pleasure and profit, as well as amusement, from the visit. The fact is, they are not only a consis- tently good family, bvit a cultivated and clever one, too. Thoy are well endowed, spiritually and intellectually. If I nuist find fault at all, I should sa}'' they have a too wakefully observant faculty ; but even their criticism of men and things is indulijed in with charity. I like that vein of independent feeling, too, which runs through the family. I do not mean to say they ai'e popidar with all their clerical neighbours, or with just a few other people — in fact they are not. When conventionality happens to be in the way of duty, then they have no .scruples about being unconventional. This is spitefully charged by some few to ignorance — but then the world are in their generation wiser than the children of light. Who have any right to talk ab(mt Church abuses, if curates may not ? If there is an abuse, it will sure to be found rubbing against them — that is in accordance with the law of gravitation. I do not know that some of them are not worse off than the agricultural labourer. He has the Union to fall back upon. If curates have any mainstay, I do not know where it is. If such a thing exists in the body politic, it should be put prom- inently forward ; otherwise the lever of disaffection is sure to break out on the surftice. It is better, however, that the disease show itself outwardly than be allowed to '22 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. fester inside the body. Those who have caught the infection will talk over church abuses ainon^'st them- selves; they feel relieved after it, and seldom (juestion the propriety of the topic. Its ventilaticm acts like the safety valve to a steam enji^ine. They feel less oppressed, and .^etter, after the superabundant vapouring has passed off. * • The subject was near coming uppermost this afternoon ; but a happy incident prevented it. Miss Truetit rose and went to the window to examine her flower stand. This movement away from the little conversational circle looked as if she had herself begun to feel the contagion. The interests of young people are as much con erned in the satisfactory settlement of the question as are those of their elders — at least young peoi)le think so — young ladies, and the mothers of young ladies especially. It is not an agreeable episode in their lives to be forced to leave a comfortable home and kind people, at exactly three months' notice, because the incumbent has an inclination to return to his parish just when the flowers begin to revive, and the country to look pretty, after a desolate winter. He might just as well have returned in the autumn. Certain speculations about a new summer bonnet, or a new dress to replace the faded silk, have to come to a premature end. The intention, fondly cherished during the winter, of placing the boys at school near them, has to bs altered, and all this because papa's little surplus cash will now have to go for other necessary uses. OLD FIGURES IN NEW II AniTS. 23 Happily such untoward events were not anticipated by tlie Truetit family, because they knew they were firmly * seated in their present home — the incumbent being a perpetual absentee. Death might come to the absentee ; but that would be the visitation of God. At that they would not murmur. Their situation was fortunate. The living was in the gift of Lord Parkhill, whose fine resid- ence lay about half-way between their village and tho large living of Parkhill, which was also in his gift. There also was the patron's family pew. Its rector was Mr. Truefit's senior by several years, but although near neigh- bours, there was no intimacy between them. Yet it would not have needed a close observer to judge from th«^ noble patron's manner, that his sympathies were neares*) to the curate and his household ; neither could this prefer- ence, felt also by Lady Parkhill and her daughter Lady Sarah Ruse be concealed, beneath the necessary inter- course they felt obliged to hold with their own parish clergyman and his family. " It looks as if we were about to receive some lady visit- ors, mamma." This remark came from Miss Truefit, as she still bent over her flowers. " I find that my pet little rose bush is being voraciously attacked by insects, and I cannot think how they are to be got rid of, without injuring the plant itself. I fear I have been neglecting it, and should have watered it at more regular intervals, or perhaps it would be better to place it out of doors, and let tho natural showers provide a remedy ; second thoughts arc sometimes best." i 24 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. H 11 " I am glad you think so," said her father, " but you will have to carry your thoughts into effect. The treat- ment of your rose bush, reminds me of what ought to be the treatment of the human plar*" if it is to flourish. Self- cultivation is a capital thing ; but without the Christian atmosphere and rain from heaven, small devouring trivia- lities will be sure to stunt our growth in grace." A loud ring at the bell interrupted this little dialogue, and immediately after, the neat maid servant entered, and announced two tall young ladies as the Misses Prancer. They were the daughters of the Parkhill rector. After distantly shaking hands, they seated themselves with con- siderabJo hauteur near the door. The young ladies wore a somawhat jaded and faded look, and were dressed quite up to the mode — not to say, '• fast " in style. "I must tell you, Mr. Trucfit, how we find ourselves at your house to-day. Papa stopped with the carriage down the vill;ige on business ; so we said we would widk up and call here, and he will come in for us when he is set at liberty. Mamma did call upon you, I believe, when you first came, and wc have been here before, I think." The eldest lifted her glass (they were both equipped with eye- glasses) to examine a photograph on the table. *' That is our anhdeacon, I see ; but you do not know the arch- deacon r' " He has been here, and we found him a very pleasant person, and conversational." " Indeed ; and pray whose portrait is this ?" she asked in an overwhelming manner of Miss Truefit. " Our good old sexton is the original of that." OLD FIGURES IN NEW HABITS. 2f) but you le treat- bo be the 1. Self- Christian or trivia- rselves at a^e down w.lk up is set at when you ik." The with eve- That is the arch- "Papa Was not present to-day at the Clerical Meeting, there is such a mixture alwa^^s, you know. We had pre- pared to go to an archery party- — quito a jolly affair — and were passing in our carriage through the village, when Lady Sarah met us, and she must needs drag papa all the way back to the school-house, about some children's busi- ness ; it was so tiresome of her — and left us waiting there for nearly two hours, and offering no excuse at all. All she said was something about * targets,' which I did not distinctly hear, and * you must take care you don't get into the line of fire,' as if we should be likely to put our- selves in the way of any stray arrow. It is quite provok- ing, and when papa did return, we found it was too late to go- " Some people are dull of comprehension." " I do not mean to say that Lady Sarah is dull of com- prehension ; but she might have seen our situation. So there wns nothins: left for us but to drive round and be awfully dull about here. I suppose you were at the Meeting, Mr. Truefit ? Curates Avere there in force, I understand." " Yes, there were several present." " This would be about your primitive hour of tea. I do wish papa would come ; we like to be in good time to dress for dinner. You see our intimacy with the Park- hills, necessitates a half -past six dinner; but I assure you they are very considerate ; still, if anything were to I happen t"> papa, I do not know where they could look for [his successor. You seldom dine out, I suppose, Miss Truefit; » 26 CHURCH KAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. except when you have come to us, which must be a Jepn- vation. I do think there is our carriage," and she raised her glass again to look down the gravel. " No indeed, far from that; still, we are not so unsocia- ble as to refuse to dine with any one, when it does not interfere with duty; of course we prefer congenial society; then it is a real treat. We are always delighted with people who have something worth saying, and who know how to say it." Miss Truelit presented in her whole appearance a marked contrast to her two visit-ors. She had a decided air of bred superiority. She was quieter in every way, in her demeanour, and in her simple dress, arranged with such admirable taste ; but beneath the softly arched eye- brows, there lurked a suspicious gleam, which told that she was quite able to repel polite impertinence. About the two visitors, weakness was perceptible everywhere — in the affectation of their attire, style, talk, and sentiment, and when the father entered the room, his paternity was at once apparent in the small head crowned with brick- colourejcl hair ; as well as in the tall unsymmetrical figure which did not condescend to a seat, but remained erect, with its arms behind it. Mr, Prancer made a few super- cilious remarks to the furniture, and to things in general, He hinted to his daughters that dress time was drawing near; and then pfter the customary formalities, they all swam out of the room. The Parkhill living was a valuable one; but Mr. Prancer, in carrying out the aristocratic proclivities of OLD FIGURES IN NEW HABITS. 27 himself and family, lived up to the full extent of his means — some said beyond tlie:ii. Any opportunity of consorting with the rich and titled people of the neigh- bourhood, was most eagerly sought after. Society seemed to be their heaven. There was not an assemblage of any kind, at which these young ladies would not be present, if it were possible, by hook or crook, to get in; and the patience of the Parkhill House family had been often in- conveniently trespassed upon. The consequence was, that the Prancers were in a perpetual whirl of excitement and unrest. They were really the victims of that curse of English society, the feverish craving after a social posi- tion to which neither their birth or their means entitled them. Unfortunately with countr}^ clergymen, their choice of society is often beyond their own control, and where there is but little strength of mind, resources are in dan- ger of becoming crippled. The Prancers were deserving of pity rather than censure. This form of disease, how- ever, pervades all classes of society in England, from the middle up to the very pinnacles of society, and many there, are who are ruined by it, and have to go under at last. Gambling and horse-racing destroy hundreds ; but the losers in this race die by thousands. It is the source, too, of much uneasiness between the different classes, which is not only felt inwardly, but is often very apparent outwardly. Under its influence the "ape" family mul- tiply exceedingly ; and there are few countries where its su])erinduced fungus has so rich a soil to grow in as the British Isles. 28 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLED. " Their brother has returned Tiume iij^ain," Mrs. Truefit remarked, " lie seems to be an amiable and harmless young man ; I hope his father will be able to gratify his inclination for the army." " I am sure I hope so, too," replied Mr. Truetit. " His father was about to send him to Sandhurst, I believe ; but there has been a hitch, a pecuniary one, 1 fear, and he never went." " He's a reg'lar toady." This polite remark, to the sur- prise of all [)resent, broke from the far end of the table, where Master Charley was munching cake. " Oh, what are you saying ? " -i " Well, mamma, the butler at Parkhill house said that young Prancer was a reg'lar toady." " Butlers have no right to say such things, Charley, any more than you." "And he s.iid Lord Pai-khill told him J might fish in the park ponds whenever I like. Won't that be fun V " I hope you will be very careful what you say." " Well, niannna, he did say so." " You shouldn't * well' your mamma." . ' "Well, papa." *' 'ihere you go aj^ain." " It will come in, pnpa." ^. - " Then you must try and keep it out." Charley relapsed into a moody silence, and found solace in examining the bottom of his tea cup. " Those young ladies appear to be very shortsighted," I remarked. th^ thi pn on I mi qu OLD KfOURKS IN NEW HABITS. 29 Truetit larniless 1 itify ivis . " His believe ; fear, and the sur- he table, said that Charley, ht fish iu 3 fun ?" it ay. " No," said Mrs. Truefit, " their visual organs are re- niarknbly perfect, I should say; but you do occasionally meet young people with that sort of taste. I do not think it adds grace to their appearance. Lady Sarah lluse uses a glass sometimes, 1 know ; but as she has told me, she really cannot see small print without one. To my taste the habit is barely tolerable, even in a young gentleman." " I do not admire them either, except as used by older people. I once witnessed an amusing incident in a garri- son town, in connection with this silly custom. Two othcers in plain clothes were going down the street on horseback, when a well-dressed young gentleman turned on the pavement, and with a mock distingyS air poised his eye-glass at them. They were near enough to be disconcerted at this peculiar mark of attention from a stranger : so one of them turned in his saddle and re- turned the compliment, by lifting his stirrup to his e3^e. The confusion of the young man before spectators, may be better imagined than described ; but I thought he deserved the rebuke." ; r ; ?•; " The old thatcher says that toads have got jewels in their eyes, mamma, and spit fire." This renewed light thrown on the subject by Charley, caused, a little sup- pressed mirth round the table, and embarnussed the boy once more into silence. " Your little fellow evidently thinks we are in the midst of a very interesting study of human nature. I quite agree with him, even at the risk of breaking the 30 (MU'Hni HAMJU HCRAMIU.F.M. lyontlo law of oluvrity ; but I tin not llnnk wo xlnl»itH itsoir it\ M olnnvh, mu\ 1>oforo m rtisfcio ooti^ri^^niion Ity tlin ivotor's own ohiMron.' "That is ol)j(MHi«>na]»lo, (MMtalttly l*'ow nltjocts aio nioro lutliorons i\\:\\\ a vomiiX io;ni Mi;n\«linLV tIi(»ro, oroot, with a ji'lrtsH iixod oonstantly '\\\ ono oyo, Mud tliat uno oyo fixed innnovaUly \ipon somjo oIIum" o\ o opposite. " " Yos ; it is truly ahsnrd" " Msvnuna, Tom TrMnoor has loarnod liovv to stiok liiw ri^'ht into his oyo, aiul niako it stiok tl»or(» ovor mo long without n\oving. I in sun* 1 novor oould do that.'* '* And 1 liopo you novor will trv," .said hi>s sistor. " I don't ovor want to ; thoy ^1 thiid<: I was a noodlo." " VV\>'11 try and sav(* you, thon, iVoni hoing a ' uoodl(>'; but indood Mr. Pranoors son has tho iniit.ativo faonUy protty well tlovolopod, and that, too, in ohuroh, I havo Ivon told ; so that whon ho and his sistors are pros(»nt togi'^ther, it is really quite foiinidahle to the utMghbouis. lJiifortunat4?ly, their pew is next to the Parkhill House |vw ; indeed they face each other. From a oontid(Mitial hint ijiven nie by Ladv Sarah, I ijather that th(\se eye- ghisses art^ beconnug offensive. Perhaps, nianuna, you re- collect a remark she dropped one day which you did not understAnd, that^ on the previous day at church, they were * armed all round ' ; because, she said, their pew hap- pened to be full of gentlemen visitors that day. There ni.h rnimiFiH in nkw iiAmTH. H\ rnuwt liavo l»non ft |uMr«Mil. fimllft'Io (»fi liofli Hu\pin, if oyo- ^limsoM worn niom Mlnitidntif, Mi»ui umin-l. f(««n,Ily, my r.on- H(M(MUM» (jllil,(» Hlnil.OH ||H^ I l)uf. I (\'\f\ fiot, l»«'^iri Uio miljjfu'.t. I jmist inv(>l<«» M Hpirir of ('Imrity.** " li \h M, t,(Mllptill^rHlllij(U'i," I. I«'IIIM|I<«m|, "ifldwd itH(3UIIlH i(» l»(^ a funny picMM^ of IniHinoMs altocrnUmr," " TIfl I'nilior Ro, I confcMH," hh'kI Mr. 'Pniofif, "nrwl nof/ A liitln cninplirMl.ctl ; Itiif I know \hni fJin njcfoi'M pfw wa<4 in HO ra^r^jMl nnd ronifort Nv^r a condifion, fli/if it wmh ffinrul nocoHHiiry to nnnov(^ liis family oiifc of it to their pn^scnfc H«Mifc. llow«?vnr, all tliin^^H comi^ f.o an end, fjvon f'yc- ^laHH(»H ; for f hoar Unit, a tradnHman Iiuh recf5ived ordnrH from l;oi(l Pnrkliill, to repair and rffnrniHli tlif, rcctftry jMUV at luM own nxprnno. Is it tnin that you aro ahout to loavo your (Mn;u',y '{ " " Yos ; I have* had to framo, an (^xcuho, although f havn only occu})ie made urifdoasant for him at the rectory, and that would end in separation. If it wore not for the expense, which is always charged to the curato, there is no more convenient mediiim than 32 ClirRni HAMIU.KS AND SCHAMIILKS. il triroimli a well -known clorinil auront. Ho has solved tho ilitlicMiIty for mo onco or twice, by brin^nn^ tlu^ parti'^s faoe to face witli oacli otlior. In tnitli, it ])rovos some- times a perilous step to enter l)liny hardly know whore. The whole thin^ is a muddle." " Yes, and what a truly uncomfortable! business it is ! I do think that curates, as a class, are about as unprotected a set of men as any in existence ; and the closer they adhere to the apostolic precei)t of "seekin<]r not their own," the worse it is for them. I should like to know upon what principle the patronage is administered by which those who are in livings get there. I do not know if I am right ; but there seem to be very few who fill the particular places for which their qualifications design them ; as has been said aforetime, tlie round men have got, somehow, into the sipiare holes, and the triangular men into the round holes, and the square men have all been stuck into the wrong holes. A consoling reflection, truly ! Now, how does tl)is come to pass ? By what rule is Church patronage administered ? Of course I refer only to benefices." " I have not been able to discover," said my friend, " that there is any rule at all. It would seem to be left to chance. There is an excellent old lady over the way, who keeps a preparatory school for little boys. This old lady always comes into my mind, when I think of some ^^ OLD FIGIJRKS IN NKW IIARITH. 88 lived tho 3 parti <^H ea Homc- ,y. Yet, running ,ro. The \ it is! I protected oser they not their J to know stered by not know lio till the ns design men have triangular n have all reflection, what rule se I refer ny friend, to be left r the way, This old ik of some who have patronage in their hands. They distriVMite it pretty nuK^h as she serves out rake to her boys. These boys ^et a treat once or twice a year, when of couise a table is spread out with lu^r good things. The boys are fond of their ^^overness, probably, because she does not possess that Hrniness, which insists upon order and regu- larity. The plan she lays down upon tliese occasions is, that no boy is to take his seat, or begin to cat, until she calls out his name. 'Now, my dears, if you will all of yoii wait until your nnmes are called, tlien we shall have no confusion, and there will be no scram bliujjj; that is very well for babies who don't know better ; but for boys of your age, it is different, you must learn to control your appetites till the riglit moment ; now Master Trounce, your name comes first on the list.' Master Trounce accord- ingly takes his seat, and fixes his eye intently upon tho largest piece of cake on the dish opposite. Another boy is called, and takes his seat opposite Master Trounce, and of course opposite the same piece of cake; other boys fol- low and take their seats, the eyes of all turning to the large ])iece, as the needle turns to the pole. The seats are hardly filled before the biggest boy has his hand upon the large piece. 'Please 'm, may I have this ?' Silence gives consent — so the boy thinks, and several other hands are stretched out before the mistress can put on her spectacles to protest. The general appetite has been whetted, and the regular plan ends in an irregular scramble, in which the forward boys come off best, and the weak and timid 84 CIIURCII KA.MIILK8 AND SCUAMHI-ES. II go to tlio wall. The old lady drops into her easy chair, and sigh.s dospairingly. ' J)ear heart ! what hIiuII I do ?' " " That is, I suppose, how the matter j^oes. A very for- cible writer, wich whom I am aerpiainted, and one whose experiences warranted him in givinj^ an opinion on this subject says, that ' if the Apostle Paul had been a curate in the Church of England, he would have remained a curate all his life.'" "Why? because the Apostle possessed just that combi- nation of qualities that would surely have isolated him, viz.: a fearless spirit, an undisguised utterance, and emi- nently the disposition, 'not to seek his own.'" " It is a discreditable state of things, when wo consider the lofty pretensions put forward by the Church of Eng- land; but I suppose I must mind what I say about the venerable fabric; for if plain speaking would not have helped Paul of Tarsus in the Church of England, I much doubt if it ever helped an ordinary mortal like myself." " Never, depend u])on it. I have known men's success greatly retarded by it ; if not altogether marred — one case in particular. I sljould like, if you have patience to listen, to give you something of the history of my unlucky friend." " Do proceed, it would interest me much." " We'll repair to my study, if you will, we shall be more private there. Now just take that easy chair, and I will orate, as they say in America, it is rather a lengthy taJe." poo len( ["epel 101 jria] ly chair, I do?'" -^cry for- ic whose 1 on this a curat«> nainod a it combi- ited him, nnd emi- 3 consider h of Eng- about the not have id, I much myself." n's success — one case e to listen, V unlucky ill be more lair, and I a lengthy CHAPTKU 111. JOHN lUIFFEll's WATCH TOWKR. r^OHN Bl'FFKR and I were at Cambridfro tofrether ; but he was uiy senior ])y s(^veral years. I know Ihim well, and was familiar with all aboiit him. He was la man naturally of lii^^di spirited temperament, and was [addicted to a habit of plain speaking, whenever his Istronjx conscientious convictions were i-oused. From his Ichildhood, there was in him a natural gravity of dispo- Isition that seemed to mark him out as a future clergyman. is a boy it was said of him, that he was " as grave as a )arson." By the time he left the university his spiritual jualifications had become matured, and as it seemed to ne, few men were so well fitted for the holy office, he contemplated as John Buffer. In duo time he was )rdained, and entered upon a curac}'. But years passed )y, and no living fell in his way. He giaduall}" became festless and unsettled, and changed his curacies often — [go often for his own good. His plain speaking ten- lencies, as you may suppose, did not relax under these Repeated trials of his patience. He had married, and had low an amiable wife, who was obliged to share in these [rials ; but the sight of her meekness under disappoint- w .M(i rlU'lH n UAMMI.KS AND HrnAMIU.KH. tiloi\<.HU«l of \\'\H lilllo «>l>il(l»iM<. only MirmMMlliMl iv fniill M ln»'l< hwA nlinosi luvonu* lum ltin inlomh'tl Im n|>|)li«>M(ioii in i\w oM(\h\\s\w\\ (^Innvb," nnil ho jrnvoHii<>i>u i»\|)» >HM|tui f«» Ihh ^lissoiU fron» Hnni;s «h thry >voM]\inij; inniM' ^o\ n n«Mn «Mt in Hio ( 'l»nn'l». HOpnnMl only t<>t> liKi^lv to Ih» oMMnplilitMl in Ins vt\HO. \U\\\)\\\\\\i\i*'\\ lnM I'onnd liin)M(»lt' \o(i in iho hwch oHontinnvs, winio «»tln'r nn'n of" Iosh nriMi ]>nlons tMrl\ on Ihm own conHri-l o\isnoss of vioht lf i^espoct ; rtltlunijfli M< tlio s.'U'rifioo of ]\\h nn^ntnl irpoHO, for ho bnxvhvi n i>'oainfnlly, and ho was ton\pt\vn (M)iiHri- iiul becimic lovo (lis taut I would llllAM' nod to l\nv«' I bini. Thisj tico, and ho 3 anonialoiisl *e and nioiv iuji; crisiH inj -ct, tliat " it » to pay twoj done by one] tluj lity ltiHliu|i (iii(>nniii|^ iJio ttlcuical a^nril.; ptiid by liiinnnlC, and I In' luH'loHliiHtir'al MIrIimii pnid l»y iliiM-oimfry, iliiii' MiIm whh an anan^piii'iit Im> Imd not Imr^airMMl for \Vlii'ti lio ♦'nl.«»ri«(MlM' KHl,HMi«liiiM'iil." •tolin |{ii(I'<'i'm I't'idlM^rH wi'ii> Mo doiiMr wrou^lif up Ut A liijrii pit(Oi, wIh'Ii IIm'v i'oiil«l draw from Iijk lipH himIi Iufp minj(o. Wo oniiitor woiidir, lor in fiddition to IiIh otlioi- trials, lio Haw your by yoaf tlio Hiiiall o/ipiial Mtill loft, fiirri dwindling iiwfiy, lillJo by lil.Mo " wlioro t,o V lio Hn,i»l in liiH niorl ilioni ion, "only In iiimI<«' l.linl. < 'hnrc}! riclior, wliioli M /droiidy riob oiioiij^li." Slill Im^ liM.d not. HJ.atod ttio caHo (piilo fairly, an a^niiisi tJio liiHiiop. Wlu'n a man in Iiih position in workod np into Hnrli a i'ramo oi' mind, ho liitH out lit. tli(> iioaroHt, objoot. that li/in tli(! Homblanoo of antntroniNin -wlio ho proininont iih ilio l'i.slif»p ; tlioroloro (Mir IVicMid liitM out nt liim. I5iit, it in not any olmrcb jollicoi'M, it is tli(^ NVHtcMii of wliioli tboy arc only tlio help- Ions in,stniniontM, To .say that any l(;V(; tor tho (Jhurch to which John Hiift'or bolongod could Hurvivo in a man witli iHuch HontiiiHiiitH would Ik; atsonio risk. Why tJion did he not loaves tlio (Jhuroh ? For this all hufficlont rofi.son that Iho ooiiHoiontiously boliovod in hor flootrinoH. It was M(>h'ly in honourabloattachmont to his oonviotions tliatliold IjIim Itlioro. It' ho had chorisliod opinions alion to those doc- trines, his was not the niind that could liave loved the Ohurcli nuucly tor th(! crust she put into his mouth ; but there he wavS and l»is convictions wert; lioldinf,' l}im in, md nothing else. v- . - ..„. . Now there is no possible doubt but that other clergy- S8 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. men have had to entertain unwelcome thoughts, similar to those of our friend, and painful enough they are when allowed to dwell long in the mind ; but to give vocal expression to them in the hearing of ill-conditioned listen- ers, is another thing. This was done by John Buffer, and his words were carried away, and made use of against him. He was not the man to retract what he believed to be true. It was not in his nature to do so. The higher clergy soon began to regard him as an unsightly scar on the Church's surface, and calculated to work a bad example. His chaiitable beneficed friends, in private, said that he was rather eccentric and radically disposed, and not altogether a desirable person to have in a parisli. And now that all his spare money had been drawn from him, and absorbed in the Establishment, he was sometimes driven to great pecuniary straits. His only I near relative was a brother who had been several years in India with his regiment. His other relatives, as I havej already said, had become alienated. They took up the! common conventional idea, that when a curate did not succeed, it was necessarilv throucdi his own fault — thati every clergyman is sure of a living sooner or later, and that if he remains a curate beyond a certain age he bears the stamp of reprobation. This sentiment was religiously] accepted by these relatives, to whom English middle-class] conventionalities were as the Gospel. "The fact is," they! said privately over their wine and walnuts, " it can't be! concealed, but that poor John Buffer is a failure, and as| he has made his own bed, so he must lie upon it." I the / JOHN buffer's watch TOWEK. ^1 ts, similar are when rive vocal led listen- in Buffer, of against e believed I so. The unsightly to work a in private, f disposed, | n a parish, een drawn it, he was His only reral years | IS, as I have I ook up the! ite did not; fault— that: r later, andj loe he bears i religiously! niddle-class] ict is," theyi " it can't bej lUre, and asj HI} Thus was poor Buffer left to be the sole sp ^^^ ^\^q_ his own troubles and privations. The only rei^g Q^j._ had power to make for this unjust judgment of ^ ^^^ was to keep away from them. He would not then hi.^^ afterwards to thank them for anything, and as both he ana his wife had some certain expectations of property to come by-and-by, they gathered courage and hope, and waited on. But the poor fellow was, I know very hard put to it at times, for a few shillings, and none but themselves knew the full extent of their miseries and trials. It was their own cross, and they took it up and did not ask others to bear it with them. Yes ; One other was asked, and He whispered in the ear of both of them ; " I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not." John Buffer was made of the right metal. He was true as steel to anybody he loved, and he was forgiving. He could bear the spoiling of his goods. He could endure injuries with little murmuring, when those injuries came from a stranger or an enemy, and forgive them ; but when they were caused by those who preached loudly of Chris- tian brotherhood, it was hard to bear, and difficult to for- get. He could not use the word to them used by his Lord to His betrayer at Gethsemane, " friend." He would forgive them freely ; but he would avoid them as he would the plague. The iron had entered into his soul ; but, as he said : " the worst of it is, it has left the |rust behind." He ventured once on a journey to a watering place for [the benefit of his wife's health His eatrerness to do so ^ 38 ^HURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. men hav <3ulled liis arithmetical faculty ; for he had not to tho"^ -'*"® forty-eight hours befoie he discovered that he allov-ot the necessary cash to meet expenses for more Q^jCi another day. There was, therefore, no resource for iiim but to pawn his watch. His description of how he managed this, without exciting suspicion, was amusing ; how he dodged up and down, and about, in order to avoid notice ; and how at last he dived, without being seen, into the pawnbroker's shop. He succeeded in depositing the watch, and received, in return, two or three gold pieces, and a little square ticket. This precious gold enabled him to extend their stay at the sweet sea-side for forty- eight hours longer. What an interesting object was that pledge ticket ! How intently he and his wife examined it together ! and then, how carefully the relic was con- veyed to the writing case, and placed in its innermost recess ! Pawnbroking all at once became in their eyes quite a dignified profession, and the pawnbroker an official of importance. This ill-fated timepiece was never redeemed. Buffer rather likes talking about these things, now that he has got again on the sunny side. But that was not the only occasion wlien he felt compelled to pawn his watch. Tlie next time it occurred in London, at a very grand pawnbroker's in a principal street ; but he was in a position afterwards to redeem that. This pawnbroker was of a higher stamp, and his sagacity soon discerned the reverend divine behind the outward seeming. In this person's mode of dealing, there was an air of delicate JOHN BUFFERS WATCH TOWER. 41 respect towards his client, which Buffer did not alto- gether like. He said it unmanned him. But his out- spoken disposition even then made him equal to the occasion ; for when his sympathetic patron expressed surprise that the Church authorities could allow any clergyman to be reduced to such a necessity, his client told him that he might give his compliments to them, and say that, *• if they were not ashamed of it, he was not." Whether this message was conveyed to the proper quar- ter, I am not aware. I quite agree with John Buffer, that to be unmanned at such a time must be extremely incon- venient. In the hard business of pawning a watch, hardness of intercourse is best. The courage is sustained for the time being ; although the reaction afterwards may be greater on the feelings. But we shall have still to keep company with the pawn- brokers ; for I have one more story to relate of his inti- macy with the profession. This time it was a musical box, upon which he found it necessary to realize money. This also happened in London. It was a large instrument, the gift of his brother. It occurred in this way. The day of the week's payment for lodging was approaching, and it was found, to his dismay, that money enough was not forthcoming. Those who let apartments are exacting They are obliged to be so, as in many cases their living depends upon it. People who live in houses upon fair in- comes, know little of these weekly anxieties, or how one half of the people in London are depending, week by week upon the other half. Well, as I said, the finances were 42 rrilTRCH RAMRLES AND SfRAMHI^KS. low with him this niidtlk'! of tho weok — very low iiideod. At first ho was at a loss how to provide for the cnierf^ency ; but after a while he thonoht of his musical 1)()X„ and projected a visit to a pawnbroker — by daylight this time, as then less likel^'- to excite suspicion, or sympathy which he dreaded. Luckily for Ins susceptibilities, his road, now, would not be through any very fashionable street. He could not affoi'd a cab ; even if he preferred it, and in an onmibus he would not go ; so he decided to walk. He felt it would be rather a trying undertaking, and he braced himself up'as well as he could to the task. Two precautions were neccessary at the outset ; one was to avoid being recognized as a clergyman ; the other was so to arrange the rather heavy instrument about him, that it might not be too fatiguing to carry, as the distance he had to go was considerable. Now to meet the first of these little difticultios, he nmst alter his outward appear- ance somewhat. His coat and hat were too clerical-look- ing certainly, and he had nothing else of his own acces- sible; so that he must borrow for the occasion — there was no help for i^. The landlady, a widow, was very obliging, and brought one or two overcoats for his inspection, and a stovepipe hat. He chose the light coloured coat. It was not at all a bad coat ; but of a shape that he had not been (i[uite accustomed to ; but it would do ; and the hat — well the hat was a little gay in style, that is, rather bell shaped ; besides had seen some service. He knew, however, that he could walk in London for a year and never meet any- one he knew. Anyhow^ he was resolved thig time not to JOIIK llUfFKll's WA'IVJI I'OWKIi. id imicctl. 3r{ironcy ; ox„ ami Tilt this ini>athy ties, hU ihionablo feiToxl it, Bcided to ertaking, the task. one was )ther was )Out him, 3 distance he first of \\ appear- :ical-look- )wn acces- -there was y obliging, tion, and a ,t. It was d not been hat— well ell shaped ; yever, that meet any- time not to be unmanned hy any pawn})rokci's sympathy. The rai- ment altogether fitted tolerahly well. 1 ..ay fitted — but perhaps that is not exactly the riglit term to use ; how- ever he was too mentnlly occupied about the olgect of liis expedition, to think much of the fitness of things. The n3xt thing was to pass a strap over his shoulder, anTii( MS (»fl\»ots i\>ll()w their caiisi's." Thon ho opoiuMl his iiiiiul inon* TiH ly. His hrotlu".' was as oiu* (hun(K'rHtruoi\' wh*M\ ho h«Minl (hi* n^volations, and hiu-ariK^ indignant ho- yi»nd nioasuro. llo had tht» taniily disposition, and had never learnod liow to oall a apado hy any othor naniu. " It is the most onrsod piooo of husim^ss that 1 over hoard of in my lifo ; if you h.'ol Iuhmi loss of a gonth'man and Christian, and Imd a littlo moro of tluit sncMdxing toadyism in your oon)]H)sition. you would have got on nuioh hottor in the Church. Vou t)ught to havo hoon trainod to tlie service of pushing the sale of linen and luoadoloth, then you coidd havo pushod yourself more suooossfully. You see, my revorond hrothor, thoso littlo delicate^ scruples of l>reoding don't do in your pioftvssion. I hardly know what your views are, hut whether High or Low (Church, as re^spects this (piestioii of patronage, T don't think there is a pin to choose between them." The oooa.sion of his brother's return, as well as these new revelations, produoed a rostx)ration of the family circle all round, autl brought John Buti'or again into con- tid^^nvie with all his relatives. Their eyes became opened to the real facts of the case. They were astounded at what they were obliged to hear, and reproached themselves for their short-sightedness. Some of them were lawyers, accustomed U) weigh evidence in an even balance, and to dra\v inexorable conclusions. Butter felt that he had now found friends who would stick by him, and judge bis case with impartial eves. This would h4 rmiUi'H UAMIU.KS AND SCUAMIU.KS. 'luty ; othorwiso, as it has Immmi in tin' past, lio may Hnd this rirli (^hmvli ftMMlinijf upon his piivaii^ moaiiH, until it luis (h^vourtMl liiin jil(oi;othiM\'* " Vos, Jack, you havo I'nilod to lind in th(» (liurcli n r(»fum\ T only rcLTrct tlmt you o\or ouioviHl int») mucIi a «|U!\i^nuro of ptM'il. (\>n»(» hack to our hearts, and lionu»s. old hv>y. Vour pnlli Iims h(>cn dnrkiMUMl for you lonjif cnoui^h. Thank (lod. no worse thing lias happi^ncd to you. Your faith has not tailtMl." Sosay \V(»all. Anicn. My story of John IhiHVr has come to an cn nt)t ably I may some day hear, that he ha,s succt^eded Mr. Pmncer in the rectory of Parivhill. f^ ;■ "^'-^^^^^^ r^^^ ^.l*? ■-'•»• ...( ('IIAITKir IV ON TriK IIIAMI'. t'r tli(5 ('XpiijiMoii of my (MiL(a;L(l«^ curacy. Tliis is usually a tryin;^ juM'iod in a cuiiitc'scaiNMu*. Tlid'ci nuiy he untovvani delay, or there ntay he w. hitch in the n(!;^a)tiM,tionM, or tliere may he expiMisivi^ and f'ruithvss journeys into the country. A nt unfor- tunately human nature in others, as well as himself, has a wilful way of defeating such calculations. He is thrown hack upon his own solitary thoughts ; and you may be sure they are not quiescent at such a time ; and if things go contrary, the demon of rebellion may enter in, and pro- duce havoc. However, he has fought against adversity before, and has come off conquerer, and he is ready to 56 CHOrCH IIAMIILES AND SCRAMBLES. fight again. Nothing like dogged determination when one has to leap over tlie wall, before getting into the high road again. It is only a fresh essay at starting ; but then each new exigency of this kind amounts in fact to a new start in life. Most people have to make these starts only once or twice. The curate's starts have very often to be repeated. If Jie was ever thin-skinned before, his cuticle, by constant rubbing with difficulties, now grows thick, and he can rub along without much wincing. But ,happy thought! he may chance meet with some clerical sympa- thizer ; and if the clerical brother's sympathy evaporates in words, and he forgets to put his shoulder to our wheel, and help us to get our vehicle out of the rut, it is by so much the more edifying an, I argue a^ifainst the opponents of Christianity, not from the same point of view as does narrow churchism, vvhether it be amongst Episcopalians, or Dissenters. Instead of magni- fying differences before all the heathen, I try to lessen those differences, and make tliem as unimportant as I conscientiously can, by shewing their inevitability from the constitution of man's nature, and their necessity often on grounds of expediency. This will not be by stigmatiz- ing my own Church, but by trying to shew that the sav- ing truth which that was designed to propagate, is iden- tical with the saving truth that others teach ; but this can oidy be by keeping distinct and separate the means and doctrines of salvation from the Ministry which conveys them ; and this t30 whilst holding fast to a succession in the Church. The ultra-Protestant indifference to the value of a succession is, in the presence of infidelity, suicidal : for how could the Church have been the preserver of the Bible without it ? Cannot it be recognized as a fact, without being accepted as a doctrine ? It is said that Christendom is desirous of re-union ; yet is it not passing strange that the princi[)le of development should have heen thought justifiable b}^ some, in its application to doctrine (see the immaculate conception) whilst it is denied absolutely, as it might be applied to the means by which saving doctrine is propagated ? Yet the principle of development in modes of administration founded on expediency, is most plainly recognizable in the New Tes- tament. This attitude of exclusive churchism rigidly maintained, renders the re-union of Christendom impos- 08 cnnnriT uamiu.ks ano sruAMnLKS. siblo ; l)Opaus(> a larit that haunts inaiiy intelligent worship})ers, and often causes their seat in church to n^main empty. Such conflicting views of p!'ea{;hers, liowever, ought not to unsettle the Christian, who is senaiely anchored U[)on 'Jhrist; still they sometimes do. No doubt but that timid faith will llutter and lluctuate under such a variety of teaching. It will seem at times to have been driven out ut" its course. The believer will i^row tremulous and anxious. Other tests of conversion, there are none, except repentance towards God, and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. I know not of any. " What doth the Lord re- (|uire of thee ; but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy (Jod." Jn nine cases out of ten, that text will tran(piillize the soul amidst these clashings of Hiligious belief. We can take that, and gauge our reli- gious feelings and practice by it. It will be to us, what ballast is to a sliip ; it will stead}^ us, let the doctrinal storm rage around liercely as it may, and we shall rest satisfied that all is right. Any way, some people will be always in spiritual trouble or excitement, from their going al)out to listen to some new thing. Let them remain safely at anchor, instead of careering about hither and thither, before every wind of doctrine, and they will find out, from the text I have (|uoted, what the Lord really does require of them, and no more. ^Um/m 70 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. But r find I have here been approaching too near the borders of doctrinal controversy, I must be more careful. This was no part of my design when I started. It is such an easy transition from church affairs to doctrinal differ- ences. Besides I fear that the od'mm theolo(jlcuin smoul- ders in the breasts of most of us — I am afrail it does in mine — and very little wind of doctrine is needed to blow it into a flame. Religious or moral reflections are quite another thing. They arise naturally out of religious inci- dents, and are refreshing and profitable. Whenever we write about religion, or religious people, it should always be in the interests of peace and unanimity. I feel this ; although some things we write may stir up momentary trouble ; but if they tend ultimately to concord, all will be well, and God will be glorified thereby. ear the careful. b is sucli A ditfei- % smoul- does ill to blow ire quite LOUS inci- lever we d always :eel this; 3inentary lU will be CHAPTER V. IN THE SHADE. ^TOW there is the bluest of skies above me this morn- 'CJ? ing, and the sweetest air. It is like the first breath of spring. But it is not quite spring yet. I will saunter along under these palisades towards the park. It will take me a little round to be sure, but without any trial of patience ; for such a fine day as this seems made for leisure. I shall be sure to find myself in the park pre- sently. The peripatetic philosopher would say, that " it is the shortest way round," and unquestionably it is, if we are in search of health — health of mind and health of body. If it were not, so many people would not say that it is. They got to the end they sought quicker by going round. Had they taken the shortest road, they might have been miserable dyspeptics to this day. The stomach has more to do with their success in life than many peo- ple imagine, and something to do with their religion. There is hardly any condition of life to which this rule of going round-about is not applicable, be it of pleasure or of duty or health. I have always found it to be the shortest way to pleasure. In walks of duty it does not seem so ; but I believe it to be very often so, there as well ; because 72 CniTRCIl RAMBLES AND SCRAM RLK^. thei'e is no path iihm^ whicli wo can walk, in whicli we shall not nioct with duty. When wo lirst jj^o foitli to fii^'ht the battle of lifo, W(» g^erally start with a view to ^o (lircct to sonio point we a.i«n at; biit it is not tbi* loni;, wo vorv s^)« n dc^viato from onr oriirinal intont. I do not moan that this is tho oaso with all. Somo nuMi who havo aimed woll havo j^ono straii»'ht to tho LTt^al. Kortnnatt' follows ! and otluuvs of the apathetie, jiloddinLC si)rt. jj^o alonij tlu> rut in which they were iirst put tlu>so jo^ aloni;' from the beginning of their lives, till the time when tlu»y drop out of remem- brance for ever. Hut many there arc who tind it expe- dient, after travelling a bit on the road, to change their aim ; and wlu>, spurred on by some new exigency, tind t)ut the real sin-ret of their strength, which discovery leads them by a new road to success. It is said of a great leader of armies, that he exercised no forethought ; his course of action was regulated by contingencies at the time, and this course, it is said, invariably led him to victory, and was an evidence of liis military genius. Pro- bably it was. Every man, however, is not a genius; so when ordinary people go round about to attain an object, they are set down as undecided, and desultory in their ways. Let it be so. Notwithstanding, if they get to their object in good time, no one has any just cause t(» complain. I shall still have to act on this principle in going througlil these sketches. I beat about the " bush" a good deal, in the hope that something may turn up by the way side, ^.^^■.»..„,„-^»t,MH...,M^ IN TlIK SHADE. 73 ich we ifo, wo )int we bo f rotn o gono H of the oh thoy ining of remoin- it expe- lire ihoii- \cy, tind iscovery : a great L^ht; his s at tho hiim to lis. Pro- niiia; so LU object, in their y get to cause to I . throug^M lI deal, in way side, and so bring my thoughtM out in a now direction. Thor« is notliing lii^o a little opposition to rouse a nuin to irumtal exertion. That accounts I suppose for tho fierce activity of controv(!rsialists. If I were only posHesscjd of the wand of a magician, 1 might call up at (^omuiand, troops of intangible plantoms of doubtful shapes; but that would not bo the work 1 have before iiu;. The phantoms may come, but substantial chaiviotei' and hard facts must como with them; or it will be of no use. Sufhciout for tlio time is the evil thereof. .1 have at length found myself in tho park, and ahall take advantage of the iirst innocent diver- sion I meet with, and leave future considerations to them- Helves. What a boon to the wayfarer in summer arc these wide- spreading trees ! How often have I sat beneath them, or lingered in thoir long shady avenues ! The old tree 1 am under now is a truly venerable patriarch ; I sec none other with such far-spreading branches. That break in the continuity of the trunk, from which those heavy limbs radiate, adds to its gracefulness and beauty ! If a certain great statesman were seized again with a chop- ping mania, and were to wander away from his own park after work to do — who knows ? ho might find his way here ; then I should tremble for my grand old tree. He would be sure to see it ; it is so conspicuous ! Whether I should be too indifferent to sing out the refrain : — " Woodman, spare that tree ! " I do not know : we can- not forecast what may be our mind a little time hence ; because we cannot tell in what season of our experience *^l -aiiittiiiMiUiidMliai 74 niumMi uamiu-ks and scuAMiUiKs. it mi^ht Impi^tM^ Mnny clorjj^ymon would Hinjr M\(» cboniH loudlv, no donbl ; luvMinso tliov know ll((l(^ of t.lH» coM Mas*« «>f «»lvorsil\ i\\o\ htwo IuisUimI mInvmvn in IboHun- .sbino. No \von old troo, and its .sludloi* \m\h Ikmmi denr to tlwMn ; Invanso with ihorn it has l>oon nlwnvN .mnntnci'. Hut tho woodnuvn ndiiht oowu^ whow 1 am in tlu» winter of my disoonttMU. To bo oMiood to sit in its n1>m«Iow tlion would 1h» very ohilly work — gloomy as a ninhtnian*; and any- one, who has gone throui^h tlnit struj:^,y^U' on('i\ would ovailo it in all fnturo tin\o. at almost anv oosfc. 1 should wish nwsolf o\it of tho shan\os th(^ oUl Li(MUl(Mnan who wms pointiMl out to me by tht» park-koepor as an ooivntric ('haractor! I nuist get into * nversation with Inni. 1 tind that he has some strange notions. He is a person of some* education, appa- ivntlv — c<^nsid th.> Ilk. upo No in(|< Chu delil hav( litth fade> sepai ig_ iii^ IN TKK MIIADK. 75 \{\ Hun- I sluulo \]\v\\\ ; ;ni tl\o of »ny (I any- I ovjulo Id wish I out to I must as somo n, j\]>i>a- 'ou\o to r, as hi'i s lumi- lul kiu- Tliis But that ho at himi- plieno- He puts erneath ceit. I In eccon- t. filrify, fonii of my ti'oo, and watrli the children. They hav(s <'om(^ out on this lai;^dd, day in lar^o nunduMs ; and they ar(M)n th(^ movo all tln^ tim(! like ants on an anthill. Wluit wotild this world ho without the cliildnjn i It would s(Mmi v«My (h>s()laty tbo many iiniiecossary tu<^^Ljin^rs it ^ets tVoiii ono spot to another. Itsecpianimity is astonishing^ In the eentre of tiie circle lies a basket of .snwiU capacity, in whii^h was deposited some scanty provender for the midday nuial ; for, I con- jt'cture, they are all here for the day. J'erpetual motion is fatiguing, even for childien, who haroses of discipline!. Is not that so ? " •* I feai' it is to some extent. Still, the impression on your mind is, that then; is a marked ai>sence of sympathy on the part of the bishops towards the curate order. That, to my knowledge, is a mistake. There is in Eng- land, very often, a personal sympathy. I have expe- rienced it myself on one oi' two occasions. Indeed I have known curates to be guests of their bishop for several days together. I think that is most gratifying. TIkj con- dition of many curates is much better than that of some incumbents of small livings, when having little or no private means, and with families, they have to eke out a precarious subsistence. Did you ever meet with one who was forced to sustain life upon slender means, on a ster- ile soil, and in an inclement climate ? " " I do not think I have. 1 should iiardly expect to find such a spot within the limits of Gieat Britain ; unless it were in tlie neighbourhood of John O'Groats' house." "I once took charge of just such a parish for just such a clergyman ; but it was some hundreds of miles from John O'Groats' house. Imagine a soil in which you could not grow a potatoe, on the edge of a moor that seemed interminable. I tried hard to extract a little vesfetation mi m m 84 CHURCH RAMBLKS AND SCRAMBLES. there; Lut the unkind soil would not yield. I sowed some onions, and carrots and rows of peas — even the weeds would not grow, and you know how persistent they are. I tilled and tilled, to open my tardy plants to the sun and air, but all to no purpose ; my plants would not grow. I might as well have tilled on the top of the Alps. By the close of summer my peas had thriven as far as the blossoms, and there they stood still. My onions and carrots lived in perpetual youth. The cold, but bracing air, swept down over the hills all the summer through, and I had no harvest. When the winter arrived, matters became quite serious. The rain, for it rained all the day, by the tempestuous winds from the moor, was swept clear through the house until the walls inside were streaming with water. I never, befoi-e or since, lived in such a place, and hope I may not again. It was like living in a well. A previous incumbent did live there — at least until he died. The hardiest constitution could scarcely vegetate on such a spot. But to such unwel- come places do clergymen sometimes come, even in Merrie England." " I have no doubt that they are very hard put to it sometimes." " That they are, you may be sure. Not long since I went down with a bundle of wearing apparel to one of the charities for distressed clergy, and had an opportu- nity of learning from the secretary what would be their destination. The requests for cast-off apparel, and other articles of clothing, or for money, that come to this IN THE SHADE. 85 sowed en the •sistent ants to , would ) of the iven as II My he cold, mrainer arrived, ined all >or, was ide were lived in ^as like there — 3n could unwel- 1 Merrie )ut to it since I o one of opportu- be their id other to this Society, reveal a distressing state of things. The secre- tary showed mo several letters from clergymen. Some of these appeals for help were piteous in the extreme. One poor fellow said he had a young, growing family, mostly girls ; that his little money would only provide just necessary food ; but that during the cold days and nights they had not sufticient warm clothing ; that a blanket or two would be a great boon ; for that his chil- dren went to bed shivering, and got up shivering in the morning. All the letters were of the same character, although all did not reveal the same amount of suffering. Names of course were suppressed." " How many a fireside might be brightened, and young hearts made lighter, if the fashionables would only put themselves to just a little trouble, by seeing that a bundle of spare clothing be actually conveyed to such places. Many persons are willing enough, but they do not put themselves out of the way — they take no personal trouble- They leave the matter to their servants ; the consequence is, their cast-off apparel finds its way either into the * old clo's ' man's black bag, or else into the wardrobes of their already over-pampsred menials. What is the use of that ? Pity costs no trouble, when it is confined merely to the conversation of well-provisioned people round a warm drawing-room fire. Many persons love heartily enough in word there ; but in deed, and when all is added up, it just amounts to nil. No doubt there are wealthy mag- nates who carry out the Apostolic spirit, and * do pity them sort o' gentlemen,' as a lacc^uey was heard charitably 8G CHUIICII lUMBLES AND SCUAMBLES. to express himself ; and tliey see that the thing is really done, even if they have to do it themselves." "Notwithstanding what you say about the poor con- dition of some of the beneficed clergy, there might be, one would suppose, a more active discrimination in the ad- ministration of patronage to the curates than there seems to be. I observe that there are Church Unions plenty, and a Cliurch Association, and that large sums of money are expended." "Very true, if, for instance, the small Church patron- age societies, now in the hands of trustees, could be gath- ered into one great Church Association, much more good might come." . ' > ' " I may be wrong, but it appears to me that far too much of the funds collected find their way into the pockets of the lawyers; or else are expended chiefly in sending mis- sives about in the form of pamphlets and books. Blow- ing the Protestant trumpet, and waving the Protestant banner are all very well in their way no doubt, but if efforts go out in no other direction, this seems to me a sort of Chinese warfare. Could not much more good be done if the Church Association in England were to form a Com- mittee of investigation or inquisition or what you choose to call it, watch for livings as they become vacant, and bring their infi uence to bear upon patrons ? If an anti-Protestant enemy is in the field, parishes are the best strategic points to act against the enemy ; but if you apathetically leave them to be taken up by your adversary first, you relin- quish a very strong vantage ground. Seize the strategic IN THE SHADE. 8f really T con- )e, one 16 ad- seems ty, aud ley are patron- e gatli- re good far too pockets ing mis- points, and station a man at every point. Tlie men are at hand, some of tlicm have been waiting more than twenty years as curates upon inade(j,uate stipends. But all you do is just, in effect, to say a few words : * We deeply cherish the principles you hold ; we would move heaven and earth to propagate them ; we regret that the results of our efforts are not more wide spread, and we sympathize with your condition.' Perhaps these curates would say, some of them ; ' And our low and poor condition is just the full measure of your sympathy.' I should think some curates might better their condition by turning their hand to something else; but I suppose they are bound down to Church work, or else starve. Why, in some instances, it must be enough to turn the brain, where there is a dependent wife and family. I cannot conceive of any position more undesirable." " There are only two alternatives I know of — either to take pupils, or follow literary pursuits ; but it is not easy to combine either with actual Church work ; even if all were qualified for such pursuits. I recollect a sad case of insanity in a clergyman who had been a predecessor of mine — not, however, with the incumbent of my day. I did not know hiri personally, but was informed of his case by a parishoner. My informant told me he had forty pounds a year with the furnished house, rent free. She said there was often an odd^iess of manner about him when he called upon her, which she could not accou : , f(jr. He woulil look up to the ceiling and down to the floor, like a person trying to solve a problem. That, no '4i VPI 88 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. doubt, was just what he was doing. He was trying to solve the problem of how to convert a pound, by some spiritual alchemy, into thirty shillings. This has never yet been satisfactorily done. No wonder that he had a puzzled air. One day he wont in just as she was sitting down to her humble meal. He looked so longingly at the good things on the table, that her suspicions were con- firmed ; and she asked him to eat something. This he did, and candidly told her that it was quite a boon — hinting that it would save a meal at home, and thus benefit his aged relative. "And what became of him after he left here?" I asked her. . . " We lost sight of him for more than a year, when one day, as a farmer of this place was coming on horseback from the countytown, he overtook a person walking b^'' the roadside, and on looking round, saw, to his surprise, that it was this same clergyman. Ke stopped and shook hands ; but as he was on the point of resuming his jour- ney, the poor man, in an undertone, told him that he was in great pecuniary straits, and bogged the loan of a shil' ling. Of course he received the shilling." " And have you ever heard of him since ? " " Yes, the last I heard of him, he was in the lunatic asylum." - " Many clergymen find their way into the asylums from different causes. A short 'time affo I took the mornino: service at Bedlam (properly Bethlehem) ; and of course there were some there. This is the oldest lunatic asylum in Britain, perhaps in the world. The attendant physi- IN THE SHADE. 89 ing to r some never had a sitting at the ire con- rhis he hinting tefit his he left hen one )rseback [king b}^ surprise, id shook lis jou^- i he was )f a shil- lunatic ams from morning 3f course c asylum Int physi- cian courteously showed me through some of the wards, and a clergyman soon accosted us. There were of course the usual disjointed ideas — so disjointed that they could never again be reunited on earth. What a separate v^rorld is an insane asylum ! and bow separate from one anotl er in spirit are its inmates ! You may have observed the utterly abstracted, introverted look of some ; as though their craving for sympathy, disappointed in the outer world, was striving after it inwovdly — a complete mental isolation. Such solitude strikes one as being painfully awful. I never heard the solitude of the soul touched upon but once in a sermon. Then the preacher gave a description of the soul imprisoned alone within the body, and its inaccessibility to all other living souls ; except by permission. If the soul is thus solitary, how intensified must that solitude be in insane persons, where the atten- tion is so concentrated ! " " The mind of the poor curate you mention must have become gradually deranged. There is a reciprocal action between the brain and the body. How important for the brain's health that there should be as little undue pres- sure upon it as possible. No doubt, in this case, defective nourishment, combined with unintermitted anxiety, en- feebled the brain ; then the brain would react upon the entire nervous organism, and so further debilitate the body ; and sleep, called the * food of the brain/ would be seriously interrupted ; hence would ensue, what that late eminent physician, Dr. Dickson, of Bolton street, described to me as ' fever of the brain.' Notliinij astonished me 90 CHURCH RAMBLES AKD SCRAMBLES. more than the rapid diagnosis of nervous disorders, by such men as Dickson and Maudsley — so delicately com- plicated as these disorders often are. The quick per- ception of these men seems intuitive. While ordinary doctors will often guess and experimentalize, and, after all, lea:! us astray, such men as Maudsley and Dickson, by just one diamond look into the patient's eyes, know in- stantly where the defect is. But, indeed, we may consult the most eminent authorities to no purpose; unless we first take steps to remove the cause. The steps to be taken in that curate's case were obvious. The brain should have been eased from anxious perplexity, and the body nourished with proper food. Could that have been done for him by his Church, he would have had reason to feel grateful to his Church." " Now here, in the dark shade cast over men's minds by such sad cases, infidelity sometimes takes its rise. It lurks around these abuses to prey upon its victims. In- fidelity is sure to lay its hand there ; and if we would meet its assault, we must declare at the outset, that such neglect has no character of Christianity about it, Christ- ianity cannot be charged with it. If the Society formed to oppose infidelity would oppose it more on this gi'ound, still better results might follow. Infidelity has its origin through the sympathies as well as through the intellect. The sympathies of sceptics — and they have sympathies — when directed to suflTerers at the hands of a fictitious Christian profession, are converted in their minds, into a fa- tal poison. There is too much reason to fear, that a great 3om- per- nary after )n,by w in- msult iss we to be jhould i body n done to feel dsby se. It In- d meet such Christ- "ormed ti'ound, origin telleci. pathies ctitious to a f a- a great tN THE SttAnE. 91 deal of the prevalent infidelity might be traced to the per- versions of Christianity by Christians themselves. Sup- pose some philanthropic member of Parliament were to move for a return of the number of clergymen, under fifty, permanently unemployed, with some general infor- mation as to causes and effects, and something about their present pursuits, I surmise that the result of the inquiry would produce no little astonishment. Let Christian philanthropy go out more in that direction. There would probably be less praise while attacking Christian abuses ; but there would be none. the less honour." Here my friend and I separate ; but I can see that he has been deeply touched by the subject of our conversation. I soon get answers to my advertisement. The season of the year is favourable. Some of them are rather a curiosity. I acknowledge all of them, as that is the right thing to do. One of them contains a whole string of questions for me to answer, about which I occupy six closely written pages. As the writer is very particular about doctrinal views, it takes two or three pages to pro- nounce the " shibboleth " with correctness. Every syllable however, is found to have been pronounced with the right emphasis — quite a triumph; but when I come to some other points, especially that of visiting, I do not get on so well. I hesitate, when I find I am required to assent to a certain given number of parochial visits each week, and a return to be made of the names of the parties vis- ited. My pen remains suspended between my fingers for a length of time. I feel, indeed, like a baulky horse, if a ilii: IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A V y 5r w/U. '* ^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 |50 "'"= it 1^ ||Z2 IZO 1.8 1.4 1.6 V] (^ <:^! m ^/. ^, .^v %. -^ i>d. ^i- o / ^".r^ & .od3 over Ife. How erned all drooping 3 be out ; shall not own, and imer, and season if who have in have it rer ai'i le ound clergy- rthing has been arranged, even to his leaving with his family on the moiTow. A lovely rural scene is outspread everywhere. The primroses are in bloom, and the great chestnut buds fiire about to burst through their waxy cerements. Warm showers have fallen upon the earth, and beautify its sur- face. The brooks have deposited their winter sediment and reflect the growing vegetation. The twittering swal- lows are coming back to their eaves and windows, and the merry goldfinches are here, and the blackbirds to keep them in order. All nature will soon be alive, and chant- ing notes of welcome. Thank God for all His rich garni- ture of the earth at this sweet spring time — a burden of thanks to Him. The village itself is picturesque, and the old thatched cottages just such as an artist loves to look at — the mor tumble-down the better for his taste. This is the poetry of their outside aspect — and here shall T pause ? I hesitate to go inside of them, or be too curious about their interior. If I were come to-day, to go away to-morrow, like the in- telligent foreigner, with pleasant recollections of English rusticity, I had better leave all else in obscurity. I will do so for the present. I meet a few cottagers, who have an air of neatness and respectalnlity about them, that seems to indicate a spirit independent of outward circum- stances. Simple, unsophisticated natures, no doubt ; I long to know something more of them, and shall soon, I hope. I shall be sure to find some exceptional characters, but all I have heard about the parish leads me to expect much simple grace of character amongst the people, shaped I. 96 CHURCH lUMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. and beautified by that grace which is divine. They will be some reflection, I doubt not, of the family I am about to meet. I soon find my way to the rectory. The rector, Mr. Guerdon, meets me at the door with unaffected cordiality, and leads me in — still retaining my hand — and introduces me to his family. Although a stranger, I feel at once at home — being made to feel so, even before I am seated. " Mrs. Guerdon drove round by the station," he said, " thinking to see you there, and save you a walk." " T am very sorry for that ; I came in by the previous train, and have been looking round the neighbourhood." " You find us in the midst of confusion," said Mrs. Guer- don, " preparatory to our going to-morrow morning. I shall endeavour to leave everything in the house in such a way that you may feel yourself as much at home as possible. You will, I know, excuse any apparent neglect of you to-day, as we are so very, very busy, but my daughters will take a real pleasure in shewing you round the place, and they can give you much information ah'^ut the ])arish." My intercourse with the family during the day was necessarily brief, owing to these preparations ; but every- thing I saw convinced me that they had been bred in the best school of cultivated Christian refinement. I should say that this was the very home of pure and consistent religion. Their influence over the people was evidently of the best kind. Mr. Guerdon's manly face and form had that assuring look which makes those about him feel VILLAGE EXCURSIONS. 97 y will about r, Mr. iality, oduces ►nee at ted. le said, revious lood." I. Guer- ing. I in such lome as neglect 3ut my 1 round n ah^ut lay was t every- d in the should nsistent i^idently id form him feel that they are in safe hands. I should think that to pass a day with this family, would be profitable, either for peer or peasant, and each one would be made to feel happy in his respective sphere. Mr. Guerdon thought L should get on very well. He had made arrangements for my con- venience in the work of the parish ; as well as for the dis- tribution of his private charities. These I should receive by periodical remittances. He would make provision also for the school treat. " I feel confident," he said, " in leaving my parish, be- cause my engagement with you and your coming seem almost providential. All circumstances have fitted in so well with each other, and everything concluded much to my satisfaction, and with no informalit}'^ either. 1 think when God orders events, they often transpire without unnecessary delay, and, as appears to us, accidentally. I do not like long negotiations ; they seldom end satisfac- torily. There are so many pros and cons held, as it were, in solution, that make success, if it comes, look like our own work, and dependent on our own judgment. I have corresponded with two or three gentlemen, and the nego- tiations all fell through at last ; so I think I am justified in saying that this is providential. I imagine you to be a believer in a special providence, without attributing it to miraculous interference ? " ** That I certainly am. I believe that every most im- portant event in our lives is thus ordered — not that the event is created. But if God can put a holy thought in our minds, He can change an incident, or wl^at we call a, \f i 98 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. contingency, and give il a new direction — just as the switchman at a railway station, can turn a train out of danger into safety, by simply moving a piece of iron one or two inches ; so although an ultimate event does not come about by a miracle, the turn of the step that leads to that event, I believe to be a providential interference. How many links there are, in every chain of contingen- cies, that lead off from the great final cause, down to the remote event !" " Yes, our movements are very frequently not under our own control. It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps." We have a few very pleasant clerical neigh- bours, with some of whom you will no doubt become ac- quainted. The curate in charge of Gorrow, Mr, Braddon, who we know very well, most likely will call upon you. He lives a few miles off in a romantic old house. If you are at all attracted by mystery, j'ou must see Ladybourne ; as his house is called. I hope that you will find all our village people pleasant. It is only fair to you, however, to hint that you must not look for much in that way from one or two of the residents. This village is part of an estate ; but the lord of the manor never comes to my church. I need not say more on that topic, you will, in due time, come to know about everyone." And now we part. I do not see any of the family again ere they start. Before I km down stairs in the morning, they have left. . So, I am free to roam through these deserted rooms. Not one has been locked against me. Everything remj^ins VILLAGE EXCURSIONS. 99 as the out of )n one B3 not b leads 3rence. ingen- to the under » direct neigh- )me ac- raddon, 3n you. If you )0urne ; all our jwever, ly from t of an i to my will, in y again lorning, rooms, remains just as it was in'^use by the family. After my lodgings in London, this is like a little Aladdin's palace suddenly let down for me to dwell in. Everything is at my hand as if it were my own. " I am Fionarch of all I survey, my right there is none to dispute," except Mary, my at tendant, and judging from the inoffensive way she moves about, she is not likely to raise a serious question. She looks as indisputatious as if she were in the presence of her own master. All this evidences, on the part of the family, a delicately kind consideration ; but only such as might be expected from them. So far, then, all is couleur de rose. After breakfast I make a tour through the village, and down to the old church. Ancient buildings were a^ ys erected on the low grounds, to be near the water ' may be sup- posed. Although we have to dig welis in these days, we are more " uppish " in our ideas. Some persons think a village tame and uninteresting, and would ex- haust eveiy point of interest in a short time. As to old churches and churchyards, interiorly and exteriorly, their associations are to me almost inexhaustible. There are few villages in which may not be discovered either ruins of ancient grandeur, or traces of such, distinguishable by irregular mounds, or stone foundations. Then, there are often legendary tales connected with them, about which the old people have something to say. If there happens to be a ghost story, it rather adds to, than detracts from the interest of the spot. I am sorry there is not one in this village. No book now is thought complete without ^ 100 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. -^v' ghost. Despite the incredulity, there is aft indisputable love of mystery amongst people generally. In one vil- lage where I was stationed there should have been one ; but unfortunately I proved it to be a delusion. Every- thing at that place was very suggestive. It was almost impossible to move out of the parsonage without being in the churchyard. One seemed to be environed by the dead — and such a churchyard ! It was both extensive and of great antiquity ; but, what was worse, the sexton could not find a spot for a new grave without turning up the mouldering remains of the dead. I have known him to throw out two or three skulls from one grave. Now such associations are not pleasant at ten o'clock on a dark De- cember night. If a person does not believe in ghosts, lie had there to believe in bones ; and if he were a curate, as he sometimes was, no doubt had often to look at them ; but that is a very different thing to seeing other people's bones. If some of these poor fragments were left on the surface, as at times they carelessly were, the night watcher might fancy himself passing over a death-belea- guered track on the desert of Sahara. However, we are in broad daylight as I enter this old church, and daylight is not favourable to phantasmal ideas. The church is an ancient structure, dating far back into mediaeval times ; and has apparently been altered and restored from time to time. The latest resto- ration revealed many hidden beauties, that had been over- laid with brick and plaster since Cromwell's time. That man was terrible against clustered CQlun^ns, exfoliated VILLAGE EXCURSIONS. 101 utable ne vil- li one ; Every- almost eing in le dead and of a could up the him to )W such irk De- losts, ho , curate, look at ig other irere left le night h-belea- this old mtasmal ting far bly been st resto- en over- e. That doUated mouldings, or any exquisite carving of capitals, and Nor- man arches. The hammers and axes of the Roundheads had been busy here, and had left little intact ; but the bricks and mortar had been removed from the buried arches, and the old Norman doorway, and had brought out in strong relief all their pristine splendour. Certain ugly carved faces had been left always uncovered, and they still remained grimly reproaching Christians of these after ages, because of their unseemly contentions. How strange ! that in some modern built churches, those grin- ning indexes of past strife, should have been reintroduced — builders and clergymen perpetuating the stigma of mediaeval ages ! It is a practice vain enough ; although not quite so fatuous as that which so scrupulously pre- serves the piscina, and confessional recess — relics of the obsolete worship of our infatuated forefathers. What stillness reigns within these massive walls ! How motionless lie those marble effiories ! How sad the mock perpetuity of their stony stare, and of those prayerful hands ! How depressing the vault-like atmosphere, that pervades the church ! The solemn lesson of mortality taught here, sinks like lead into my heart, and I am glad to emerge from its stifling silence into the open air. Yet it is good for us to be here ; for out of such crumbling remains man rises up to immortality. The little bird, chirping to its mate, up there in the ragged elm, has brought me back again to present life. Leaving the churchyard,! resume my wandering through the village, and enter one or two cottages. Here I find, 'i 102 CHCRCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. in the midst of broken lath and plaster, and unwhite- washed rooms, cleanliness and order. I am sure these cottagers are possessed of some good solid qualities. I find them civil and communicative. Some of them I meet on the road, and as they accost me, have a wistful inquiring look, as much as to say : " He who has left us was a friend upon whom we could lean, and if you are the likes o' Mr. Guerdon, we shall flock to you also as a sympathizer, in our poverty and toil." To use plain language, these labouring people have been down trodden by the farming community, with the tacit sanction of the territorial gentry in the background. The spirit of many of them has been thoroughly broken. Hope of better things was revived in their hearts by the Agri- cultuml Labourers' Union, a branch of which exists in this village, Both farmers and landlords had been very hostile to its introduction, and menacing to any one who should join it. The labourers had been hitheiiio receiv- ing only a minimum of wages, and any application for a rise, in the form of a complaint, was reg(irded as insubor- dination. Those among them who had been blessed with a little schooling had read that the English were the fre- est people on earth, and they wondered at this, when their attempt to better their own condition was met by a de nial of their right to do so. The instincts God had im planted in their nature revolted against this ; so when the Union started, and stretched out its hand, they at once seized it. They learned this truth from the delegates, that although their labour belonged to the farmer while VlLLAae EXCLTUSIONS. 103 it was paid for, they themselveH were not the property of either farmer or landlord. The landlord was well ac- quainted with this constitutional maxim ; Ijut he kept silent; not so the fanner — the bucolic mind was not able to take in so abstruse an idea. There were only three classes of people in the world to him — the lord of the ma- nor, himself, and his labourer ; and only three things worthy of particular sympathy — cattle, turnips, and hot brandy-and- water. Such was the state of thinirs when Mr. Guerdon enter- ed upon the living two or three years before. This living was not in the squire's gift, so he had no hold upon the 1 ector. Mr. Guerdon held an independent position ; and he was not a person to borrow his opinions from others — he had besides, this additional advantage, that he possessed good private means. He had worked all his life, in a thickly populated parish, and came here w ith no agricul- tural prepossessions, so was prepared, without fear or fa- vour, to take up the labourer's gi-ievance, if he thought fit. Here were the farmers on one side, backed bv the squire, and the labourers on the other. There had been, hitherto, no dissenting worship in the parish. All belonged to the parish church. Some of the Union delegates being not only dissenters, but itinerant preachers, if he sided with the farmers, it would imply a condemnation of the labourer's hope of bettering his con- dition; dissenting services would then be introduced into the village, and many of the congregation would either desert the church, or remain secretly disaffected. The 104 CHURrH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. rector was not long in deciding upon his course. He knew very well that, in any case, the farmers would never go over to dissent. They were mere dependents upon the will or caprice of their landlord. He knew that what- ever practical hosjtility was shown against the labourers, it would come from their immediate employers ; so his first effort would oe to hold their enmity in check, as much as possible — leaving the landlord to his own likes or dislikes. When this personage first called upon the rec- tor, their intercourse was courteous and agreeable. But the rector did not take up the squire's view with enthusiasm ; in fact, he was reserved as to the course he interided to pursue. The consequence was a coolness on the squire's part, which ended in unpleasant recriminations. This being the case, the rector without reference to the landlord, tried to instil into the farmers more humane sentiments. At first he was not daunted by their dark looks, any more an he was affected by the supercilious neglect of the aquire. After a time, he found his efforts partly successful. The indurated hearts of the farmers softened — ^the immediate effect of which was, to produce more unanimity between the two classes, with whom he was chiefly concerned. One of the farmers, a mere tool of the squire, remained irreconcilable and resentful. His hostility was outspoken towards the rector, and brutal towards the labourers. Others gave up the contest, when they saw that the rector meant what he said, when he declared that he should extend the same practical sym- pathy towards all the labourers alike, quite irrespective of their adherence to the Union, VILLAGE KXCURSIONS. 105 ! knew ver go lon the what- ourers, so his leck, as ^n likes the rec- But the jfiiasm ; Fided to squire's e to the humane dark jrcilious s efforts 'armers produce rhom he lere tool il. His \ ])rutal st, when when he cal sym- jctive of The reader will not suppose that such a state of things exists in every English village; although it does in ve y many. All farmers, happily, are not of a like nature ; neither are all landlords ; and all village incumbents are not like Mr. Guerdon. How these matters can be adjusted to the satisfaction of all parties, is difficult to say ; how they will l)e eventually may only be surmised. It will have to commence at the upper stratum ; that is, with the owners of the land. Until they move and ease the farmers below them, the latter will not be able to ease the labourei The farmers tell me that they are now pressed both up wards and downwards, and I do not doubt it. Through this pressure the life has already been squeezed out of a good many, and ruin stares others in the face. The wise man, be he farmer or landlord, will take in sail before the storm comes.* The squire's hostility to the rector did not remain long dormant ; but soon showed itself openly, and that by a small trick — small, because it respected a veiy small bit of land that lay in the midst of his estate ; but v/as not part of it. The ])arish church stood on the outskirts of the extended village ; but nearly all its poor inhabitants lived at the other extreinity. The rector thought this small plot of ground would be an excellent site for a build- ing, in which a week-day service could be held for the cottagers, or for any purposes beneficial to them, and re- solved to purchase it, as a gift to the parish. This inten- * Since this was written, some landlords, much to their credit, have been lowering their rents ; thereby easing the Btrain. G 106 CHURCH liAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. tion he expressed in the hearing of some of the fanners, and they whispered it in the ear of the squire. No time was to be lost, thought this munificent magnate, if such a nuisance was to be prevented ; he therefore communi- cated to his factotum his own intention of buying it. Thus the rector w^as forestalled, and his righteous hopes ruthlessly frustrated. Yet was this squire a patriotic['person ; he had often proclaimed it with considerable unction at electoral meet- ings, and on other occasions when he could be heard by the public at large. The admiration of his farm tenants at these oracular utterances was excessive, as they sat with craned necks, and mouths wide open, and sipped their brandy -and -water. The motto " I serve," on his modern heraldic shield ought in itself to have been a convincing proof of his lofty patriotism ; buo it did not seem so to everybody. Some would insist'that it meant : " Myself first, my country next." There w^ere old folks in the village, who wickedly declared, that the squire's grandfather had been a ped- lar of small wares, and had even been seen, in day» of yore, peddling brass thimbles, pins, staylaces, and such like. It is an honourable calling now ; but in the time of the said grandfather, smuggling on the coast was very rife, and snmgglers and pedlars were on particularly sociable terms. No one can tell exactly how it came to pass, but there was always something in Grabhall's big basket, not placed conspicuously on the top ; so when the farmer's wife opened her door, expectant eyes saw nothing VILLAGE EXCURSIONS. 107 xiiers, I time : such muni- nff it. hopes often L meet- ard by enants it with 1 their [nodern vincing n so to Myself ickedly 1 a ped- in days es, and t in the ast was cularly came to all's big irhen the nothing A but the aforesaid thimbles, pins, and staylaces. The ped- lar, however, was always equal to the occasion. " Please> ma'm, can I serve you with any pretty little harticle to- day — this is only the top part, ma'm, there's plenty more below. We have ribbins of every colour, ma'm, frills, pincushions, comforters, somethiu' to suit all sorts o' leddies, ma'm — perliaps, ma'm, you might like to go to a leetle bit more expense ; I've got somethin' for every- body's money"underneath — I'll shev7 you, ma'm, — here's a very suparior French silk, and there's a fine harticle, a very fine harticle ! — the only piece I've got left, I assure you, — some o' Valinskeeny's lace, ma'm ! there, a harticle like that can't be got for iio money, ma'm ; but I'm willin' to part with it just to you, ma'm, for a good price, as it's the last piece I've got left." This enumeration would flow rapidly from Grabhall's tongue like gingerbread nuts out of a canister, and his eloquence was invariably successful with the softer sex. At such a rate, profits were likely to come in fast ; and so it proved, for by the time Grab- hall's son had come to man's estate, through their united efforts abroad and at home, they had laid a good founda- tion for the future landed proprietor. And so the world goes round — English society in par- ticular. Upon what axis does that turn ? John Buffer says it turns upon a golden axis. Some person, not long since, stirred up a sensation by endeavouring to show that the earth really does not revolve ; and other people hold a similar opinion, because they cannot see it move. Why, I believe it does move, and when I see 108 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. .. 1i workmen clemolisliing an old house, and with the mate- rials building up a nev; one, I am sadly reminded of this. A great deal might be learned in Hyde Park during the " season " about this social revolution. Look at all those equipages, so well appointed, and with such brilliant blazonry upon the carriage panels 1 Could it be said of all those armorial bearings that they are the rightful property of the carriage occupants ? I trow not. There are m-n amongst our agricultural peasantry, bearing our old historical names, who have a better right to some of them — names unrepresented now amongst the landed aristocracy. Some scapegrace broke the chain of honour- able ancestry, and sent part of it adrift. Still some of the oldest blue blood in tlie kingdom courses in their veins. " Chill penury " has long " repressed their noble rage ; " but now they join the Labourers' Union, and resist the will of those who own the land their fathers once held. They hear that there is a new world — a greater Britain across the seas ; so hei'e, in these western lands, thousands of them, or of their children are tilling the soil, and recovering their lost privileges. They become magistrates, they get into the legislature and are influ- encing Canadian policy towards the land which once held them in seifdom. They say they are becoming the instructors and exemplars of the Old Country, and they impose tariffs and restrictions, and act like very unduti- ful children. No doubt that many dwellers in hall and castle are considering how they ma}'^ clip the wings of this ugly democratic bird, which is beginning to invade VILLAGE EXCURSIONS. 109 and \ their traditional supremacy. They feel that it is nothing more or less than the old bii"d they had despised coming home to roost. So let the world oro round. Acquaintance with my little flock increases week by week, and new discoveries come to light of individual worth, as well as individual want. Spiritually, I come to regard them as peculiarly interesting. I never was in a parish where the communicants from amongst the poor are proportionally so many. At one house I am a frequent visitor. Its resident farms his own small estate, in addition to some rented land. This gentleman and his excellent wife are the best people in the village ; that is, best in those qualities which constitute a true Christian gentleman and lady. I do not class him amongst the other farmers. He chose to occupy neutral ground as regarded the Labourer's Union, and this justified the very general respect in which he is held by the villagers. Both Mr. and Mrs. R. are highly intelligent and intellectual people, and are supposed to be the special entertainers of the clergyman in the rector's absence. Mrs. R. is the descendant of a good old family, who once reigned where Mr. Grabhall is now seated ; indeed their monuments, as that lady que- rulously remarked to me, were once conspicuous objects in the squire's parish church. At its late restoration, carried out by subscription, a readjustment of monu- mental stones had surreptitiously taken place without her knowledge ; some of her ancestral memorials had been smuggled away into remote places, and Grabhall's jn- 110 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. paternal and maternal epitaphs brought prominently to the front. This, however, was all in liis way, and the thing having been done, Mrs. R. thought it not worth Very serious consideration. One marble was now very conspicuous. It was " In memory of Joseph Grabhall, Esquire, merchant, who in early life distinguished himself before and died in London." How Mr. Grabhall's father distincruished himself is left to the anti- quaries not yet born ; they will probably discover that he Was allied in some way with arms, as having an air of aristocracy about it ; besides, when they come to flour- ish, all the traditions connected with marine irregulari- ties, and close bargains in thimbles, pins, and stay laces, will have been buried in obscurit3^ One of the farmers requires particular notice ; quite a different sort of person to Mr. R. He is a vulgar, rude, illiterate man, and parsimonious and brutal towards his labourers. No w^onder he has acquired wealth by farm- ing. In truth, he has squeezed his money out of the blood and bones of those he employed. This is he who acts in the capacity of jackal to the squire. Had he been born a Southerner before the American rebellion, he would, no doubt, have been a nigger-driver. He is a man of violent temper ; so when he went to the village green to withstand the Union delegates, by force, if necessar}^, he took a horsewhip with him ; but the delegate was such an athletic looking fellow, and some of the men had such a sinister aspect, that he felt cowed and retreated before the address commenced. The rector paid no attention to this VILLAGE EXCURSIONS. Ill man's aira. T had some littlo trouble with him. Think- ing the curate to be more vulnerable than the rector, he showed his teeth at me as soon as he found I was the rec- tor's partisan. I tried to avoid him as much as possible ; but he met me one day on horseback, and as he slowly rode on towards me, seemed to be practisini; his whip on the side of his beast. " So you are come in Mr. Guer- don's place ; he wud a' got on a deal better, if he'd gone the right way to wurk." " He seems to have got on very well, and the people like him." " The people 1 you mane the labourers — a saucy h on- educated lot, a3 ought be made to keep their proper place. I dunno' what us be comin' to, when a parson sets himself up like that — who's he ? There's the squoir — I s'pose you be takin' sides with the rector, wi' the rest on 'em." " I am the rector's friend." ** But there's the squoir, and you've no right to set class agin class ; the squoir's very partickler — and I be partick- ler, I tell you ; " and here the pendulous whip swung with increased action against the horse's side, and the man's face, which was always red, had now become livid. I cut him short, and passed on. Some men are like some ani- mals, give them a bone, and they may be quieted down ; but show opposition, and they will bite. Had I given this man a bone, I might have made him a sort of friend ; but, as it was, he would have bitten me on the spot. I had afterwards to mind he did not do it on the sly. The squire knew his man thoroughly; not that he would have 112 CHlrncH UAMHLKS AND SCRAM IlLKS. bitten bis master — dogs of tbat kind can be cowed by their master, be they ever so savage. The squire had only to pat this man a little, and he would be docile and obse- cjuious, and would fawn upon him, ad naiisecnn. " Please, sir, there's some one at the front door," Mary said, as she entered the room one day in a flurried state. " Well, Mary, I suppose the next thing is to open the door ; is it not ? " My attendant was a nervous person, that was very plain. Her pale, haggard face seemed to denote this ; besides, she had a way, when talking to me, of loosening and tying her apron strings — often an unnecessary exer- cise of manual skill. " Do you think it's anj^one wishing to see me ? " " I don't know who he is, sir. I always look through the hall window first, this is such an unprotected place ; and I shall never forget what happened where I lived before." " But no one is likely to be there who can hurt either you or me." " But, sir, you didn't see him, and we have such queer people come sometimes begging, and what not, and with patches over their eyes ; and a man came one day who lost his arm, he said, at the battle of Trafalgar, and it was no arm — that is — Oh, what shall we do, sir ? " A.t this moment the front door bell was pulled vi^ lently. " Pray, Mary, don't alarm yourself; I will go and look out at the wiitdow, and you be ready to open the door. VILLAOK EXCUIISIONS. tin ^ecl by il only I obse- Mary state. en the s very 3 this; .sening J exev- lu'ough place ; I lived I queer d with ly who and it id look ic door. It's a cold day for anyone to stanre pictu- midland and the Between le exten- that i)art any farm !)0use3 of mansion styh' and dimensions, or of such ancient construction as are to be found here. The wonder is, they are not still occupied by an aristocracy, prcjd of ancient lineage. Such is not the case. They seem to have been left out in the cold ; perhaps it might be said, with more truth, in the wet, to their own peculiar glory. The moderns, with sensible taste, build mansions on higher and drier ground and leave thuir atony ancestors to crumble beneath the trees, in the sedgy bottoms. So we find them now occupied by aguish agriculturists, and a rheumatic peasantry, who are not wise in their generation. It was just such an old dismantled place in which I was to find the object of my visit to-day. I could not see the house from where I stood; it was so entombed amongst the trees. All round it, and far beyond, were isolated (dusters of heavy thatched stone cottages. These seemed to straggle on by twos and tljrees, until the attention was arrested by the tower of a church, about a mile away to the light. Before I could come into any proximity to the house I was seeking, I found myself in a deep stony lane, down the middle of whicli, a clear rivulet coursed its way. This lane was skirted, on each side, by high banks, covered with scrubby elms, and wild vegetation. Here I met a lather quainu looking old man, who touched his .stove- pipe hat as he passed me. He presented a very whole- some and respectable appearance, in his brown fustian jacket, red waiscoat sprigged with yellow, and brown corduroy knee breeches. Such a kindly and genial look beamed from under the brim of his faded hat, that I stopped to ask him where the clergyman lived. 118 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. " I doubt but you manes my master, sir ; " touching his hat again; " the master lives through they trees as be there- abouts; but j'Ou must goo a little furder round, sir, till you comes to a leetle stone bridge, and then through the wall door, and that's Ladybourne. I dear say as the mas- ter'U be at hum, sir." The gable ends, and tall chimneys of this obsolete man- sion soon rose to view through the trees ; and these looked like grim warders stationed round it. The door in the high wall was massive, and studded with iron nails. There was a bell handle at the side. This, on being pulled from the socket, made a very great noise ; greater than bells of that kind are supposed capable of. The sound > certainly had a notable effect ; for almost on the instant, T heard a measured tread, then a convulsive loosening of the bolt inside. On the door being swung open, a tall gaunt looking female about fifty presented herself. " Do you want to see the master, sir ? " she asked rather testily, almost before I could speak. "If you please, if he is at home;" and she took my card. As this antiquated looking dame walked before me to the house, I could but take note of her. She appeared to be quite in keeping with the place itself. It would seem as if her eccentric dress had been specially designed to display her bony proportions. A thin crop of Medusa- like grey hair, parted in front, covered all but the crown of her head. This head was supported by a long scraggy neck, bound round with a black riband. Her face, above WEIRD ENTERTAINMENTS. 119 the square chin, was of a rather feline cast, not neutral- ized by the black, bushy, arched lines, forming the eye- brows. Covering much ground at each step she led me to the house. " Wipe your shoes, please sir," she said turning round. " If I could see a mat, I would ; but I do not see one," " It ought to be there ; rat that old man, if you only knew him ; it's out o' door work to see to that ; he's no better than a chip, that he isn't." This was muttered with perturbation. Her master himself now came foi*ward, and, with an amused smile, welcomed me to his room. He was glad to receive my visit; but apologized for being obliged to leave me alone for a (quarter of an hour or so, as lie was ur- gently needed at a cottage close by ; from which a hur- ried message had come. " I was amused," he said, at your introduction, just now, to the house. She is my female attendant — cook and general housework included. As you liave seen she is not endued with the suaviter in modo\ but everything about me is kept scruplously clean, and she is punctual to a fault — virtues which we must not despise." I was glad to be left alone for awhile in this old moated place. Mj feelings had already become attuned to its associations. Just the place, I thought, for a recluse — for one wl o has done with ambition and the world. Everything about this old house, within and without, s[)eaks of a finished past, of repose in the present, of waiting for the future. Our friend, in leaving the world, 120 CHUllCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. m^ where, no doubt, like most of us, he has had his wings dipt, has settled down in the right place for comfort, as well as repose. " The winde blows loudest on the highest hills, The (iuiet lyfe is in the vale below." In the entrance hall are hancfinir one or two old mili- tary trophies, and some other ancient relics. One is rather ghostly in its character. This is an iron cuirass that has seen service in the wars a long time ago. I wonder whose fatal bullet it was Avhich perforated that hole I seo in the breast ? Whose pallid and bloody corpse did that iron encase ? In the dead of night when deep bleep falleth upon men, imtt-ifiation might picture the dim outlines of the warrior wha once filled it. The broad sunlight is, happily, not provocative of spectral mysteries, yet, despite the sun's jiresence, how weirdly silent every- thing is about this crumbling fragment of a mansion. It seems death-like, but not voiceless. How mottled all over with yellow and grey lichen are the walls of the house — it is the growth of centuries. And what is that upon this sidewall ? It is a sundial, and it teaches an eloquent lesson. How very seldom do we hear now of anyone putting up a sundial ? Our ancestors scarcely ever forgot it. Fancy a person entering an ironmonger's vshop and {isking for a sundial. " We never keep such a thing," would be the reply. And there, not far off, are letters cut in a stone on the wall, and so filled u[) with lichen as to be almost illegible ! They are the initials of WEIRD ENTEUTAINMENTS. 121 3 Wings ifovt, as old mili- One IB n cuirass } ago. I ated that ,dy corpse /hen deep Lcture the The broad mysteries, ent every- ,nsion. It ottled all lis of the lb at is that [teaches an ,ar now oi: Irs scarcely onmonger's jeep such a far oflT, are ;d up with Ic initials of I the original owner of the mansion. And there, too, crowning the front entrance, is his armorial shield with its cross crosslets and bull's head, eloquent with family antiquity ! Here our foreftithers roamed about, but thei' daily doings are left to the imagination to conjure up; no wonder that we become entranced with our own fan- cies. Now I will go down this gravel walk. That is a curious old flat stone, grooved across the surface ! What is it ? That is the stone upon which the first owners of the mansion played the knightly game of bowls. How delicious the scent as my feet press the turf round these old trees ! This is an obscure, shaded spot, indeed ; but it gives forth fragrance as from holy ground. Surely, no one ever invades this sanctuary of solitude, except it be the old gardener, to disturb those lilies of the valley. But whence come these herbs ? How came they here under these trees — thyme, and mint, and sweet mar- joram, decorating the throbbing breast of spring ? The gardener cannot get rid of them, he says, and the oldest inhabitant never heard of a garden there. Yet, they will revive again, year by year ; although the hands that planted them have, long, long ago, dissolved into dust. Life in the midst of death ! Ah, yes ! the very breath- ings of wind that float through the leaves above, seem to whisper softly, " we shall never die ; ours are the voices of a long past time that speak by day and by night ; " and then, fancy sees the ethereal forms that whispered the words float away until lost in the sky* Still my feet remain ri vetted to the spot, and my eyes H 122 OIltTRCH RAMBLES AND SCHAMBLES. seem transfixed, as I lean against the gnarled trunk of the nearest tree. Other forms come now to occupy the vacant places — forms of a more mundane appearance — the green sward, the walks, every space around the mansion are filled with beings of another age ; hoary men mantled and befrilled ; young gallants in slashed doublet and pink hose ; fair maidens and staid matrons in braided attire ; stately soldiers and caparisoned steeds ; chariots and horse- men — a motley and brilliant throng, all intermixed and crowding towards the entrance — adjusting of habits ; gestures and smiles, and hurried questions — the prepara- tory scene to an approaching festivity — images of a buried past. I T^as in dreamland, and awoke from it to find Mr. Braddon near me. He had returned, and had come to invite me indoors. " I must have been dreaming," I said. " Very possibly," he replied ; " but do you not think it might have been a day-dream ? Singular, how that spot should be con- ducive to such sensations ! I hope you found your walk over here pleasant " ** Indeed I did, it was great enjoyment. You have been curate in charge of Gorrow for some years, I believe ?" "Yes, I have, and if the Incumbent of the living were to die to-morrow it is not improbable but I might remain its perpetual curate — that, however, I seem to be in any event. There is no parsonage, and the income is nominal. I doubt if anybody could be got to take the living ; but I have private means, and feel quite content where 1 am. I regard the cottagers of this hamlet pretty WEIRD ENTERTAINMENTS. 123 con- walk been 0" living Kt much as if they were my own children, and they know it Very well. I pay a good deal of attention to them in various ways, and in their small ailments and wants, I do not think they find in me an imready listener." ' There must be a great charm in your mode of life, amongst such a simple people. Have you ever read the life of Oberlin ? " " I have read a life of him, but it was too abridged ; some details of his experience were not given. The people in this hamlet are very isolated from the rest of the world ; for there is no inhabited place nearer than yours. Having lived and married amongst themselves almost entirely, from time immemorial, of course they are full of traditions, and there is not a little superstition amongst them. Still, they are a quiet and orderly set of people." " Their love of mystery, no doubt, is the growth of this isolation." ** Yes, I think so. They have even a belief that mys- terious visitants have been seen at this place. Although I might be supposed, from past experience, to lie open my- self to such a belief, yet I have no reason to think other- wise than that this is a groundless superstition of theirs.' " You think, then, that the spirits of the departed can revisit this world and become visible to us." " I have not yet met with reasons strong enough to cause me to believe otherwise. This, for instance, hap- pened to myself, some years ago, when I was engaged in a large town. I received a message one day from a young man, who was dying of consumption, earnestly 124 chlirch rambles and scrambles. asking m^ to visit liiiii. He had been brought up in the Roman faitli ; but by some means, his confidence in that religion had been shaken. I had never yet seen the young man. I understood, ho v. ever, that the priest of his own church had visited him ; but the sick man was averse to the visit being repeated, and privately expressed a wish to see me. With no desire to come into collision with any other minister, I at first hesitated, but duty prompted me at last to go and see him. He welcomed me with nmch eagerness. I read a portion of Scripture to him, and offered up a prayer. As death did not appear imminent, and there was a press of other engagements, I postponed, for two or three days, the next visit I in tended to make. It was on tlie night previous to this intended visit that what happened took place. Only two people beside myself occupied the house in which I lodged. The inmates had retired to rest before I entered my bied- room for the night. When I lay down it was about half- past ten o'clock. How long I had slept I cannot say ; it might have been about half an hour, when I suddenly awoke, or was awakened, heavily oppressed and tremulous. On opening my eyes I was startled to see the face of the young man I had visited, looking straight at me with an earnest expression, as he seemed to pass by. I had seen only his face ; but I was now perfectly awake ; and in a violent tremor. This apparition did not prevent sleep afterwards, and I arose in the morning as usual, and the circumstance of the night before diminished in importance as the day advanced ; if I thought of it, I tried to account WEIRD ENTERTAINMENTS. 125 in the n. that jn the lest of 111 was tressed ^Uision t duty ilcomed ;ripture , appear nents, I it I in 1 to this )nly two L lodged. my bed- 3ut half- b say ; it ;uddenly emulous. ce of the with an lad seen and in a ent sleep I, and the portance o account for it on natural grounds. On the next day, T inquired about the young man, at the door of his residence, and learned that his death took place about eleven o'clock on the previous night. Now suppose I had only dreamed that, and had wakened up immediately afterwards, you would hardly try to account for it by delusion or coincidence. You would probably say it was very extraordinary. Do significant or prophetic dreams, and visions, arise from a like source ? and what is that source ? " " There are only three ways, that 1 see, of accounting for them — namely : by unconsv^ious cerebral action, which would be delusive, or by spirit impressment, or else by divine communication. If by neither of the two first, then there is but one other way — and that, no minister of the present day would presume to lay claim to for him- self As you have been supposing a dream in the place of a vision, I will relate a dream of my own. " On one occasion that I went abroad, I left behind in England, a very near relative in a critical state of health — so critical, that although he might live for several months, there was no hope of his ultimate recovery. I should say, also, that I had lost a sister in the previous spring. After being abroad about six months, I awoke one morning with this dream most vividly impressed on my mind. I was sitting at a table in the centre of a room, writing, and with my back to the door. It was opened by some one. I turned half round and saw that it was my sister standing in the open doorway. With a grave air, and looking across the room, though not dj- 12G CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. 11 ii rectly at me, she spoke these words very distinctly : * two o'clock ; ' then immediately retired, closing the door after her. Next day, I mentioned this curious dream to my housekeeper, who said : * depend upon it, you will hear that something has happened to some one belonging to you.' I made a note of it opposite the day of the month which was the first of February. Before the end of that month I received a letter from England, four thousand miles away, informing me of the death of my relative, which took place on the first of February at about one o'clock in the day." " From whatever source that information came to you it was pretty nearly correct ; for the exact day was pointed out, and almost tbe exact hour. It seems to me little less than frivolous nonsense to attribute such infor- mation to unconscious cerebration ; and one dream or one vision will serve the argument just as well as if we re- lated a dozen." '' Well, I confess to you that I am not averse to a little of what is called superstition ; indeed the world is now going too much in the opposite direction. It has been often cast as a stigma against a rural population, that they are given to superstition. If credulity in al- le ged apparitions may be called so, then, no doubt, they are more disposed to it, generally, than educated persons. There remains, therefore, in their minds one obstacle the less to the ready reception of the Gospel. They have no scientific prejudices to overcome first. While they believe, without questioning, all that the Bible says on the sub- WEIRD ENTERTAINMENTS. 127 r) Gorrow tbrough e always Master." other of working iportance \ servitor, the lane, ith whom friend as h into his its, Jonas 1, and was n\ way in But in all esirous of jt interests otfices de- md groom, as far as need was. It will V)e assumed there was some conflict of authority between him and Abigail. Indeed, when she happened to be near, it was a little difficult for him to approach his master, without having first to con- front her. One thing Jonas never could luring himself to approve of ; that was any reference to " ghosts " at Lady bourne. ." Us be blessed wi' solid substance oiu'selves," he re- marked, " and I doan't see no cause for havin' to call in sperrits, I be a cheersome sort of a man myself, and so's the master, and how such brash talk gets into their 'eads I doan't know, unless it's Old Nick hisself. Rason's agen it, the Scriptur's is agen it ; dranks me if I doan't think as they've lost their wits, all on 'em, when they lets on so, I'll have nothin' to do wi' it — its a plaguy lot o' non- sense — 'taint rason." Jonas had been getting instruction from his master, to dig round some of the old trees, and remove the herbs for transplantation to new ground. That was the work in which he was engaged this morning ; As he delved there in the shade, he kept up as was his habit, a running talk with himself. It was, no doubt, from this habit his prac- tice of coining words arose. Besides, no one was present to listen, so there was no one to criticize. Abigail would not listen, and his wife having died when young, he had very few with whom to exchange thoughts. It is not surprising that his vocabulary had become both*copious cand unique. 130 CHUP.CH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. .'t Inasmuch as some of tlie lai'go branches were decayeil, the decay had extended partly to the roots beneath, and it was difficult work digging amongst them. He took off' his indented beaver, and laid it upon the grass, first, how- ever, taking out the little red rag it contained to wipe his brow. " These 'ere 'arbs, and they primroses doan't give out half the vartue as they 'ud if they was in the sun, 'taint accordin' to natur as they should." It was trouble-, some work, separating the mould from the decayed roots, and the warm day drew from the old man streams of pers- piration. •' Theer, I'll lay all this muck out o' the way yander — they pretty lilies maun't be distarbed;" and again the old man wrenched his spade through the crack- ling roots so as to get down under the herb roots. " Drat us, what's that ? " and he threw out a straight piece like a white stick. " Drat us, if theer' ain't moor' o' they blessed boanes ! I thought as us 'ad done wi' they 'ears agone. In the naame o' holiness how come they 'ere. The folks 'as alius' summat and they'll say as the sperrits wount let 'em bide, I s'pose. Dranks my old hat now," and he stopped to pick up a small white object, " what 'ave us got 'ere ? The chap as owned they teeth know'd \nheer' was the best table to putt his legs under, I'll be boun'." He was interrupted in this soliloquy by a foot- step on the gravel, and on looking up, saw that it was a visitor who had entered through the moat. " Is your master within, Jonas ? " " He wor, sir, a bit agoo," as he touched his forelock, " may be he ain't gone out again yet ;" and the visitor proceeded to the house. RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY ON TRIAt. 137 cayetl, h, and ook oft* t. how- npe his I't give -he sun, ,rouble-. (1 roots, ofpers- .he way d;" and e crack - " Drat Lece like o' they ley 'ears hey 'ere. sperrits at now," t, " what I know'd >r, I'll be y a foot- it was a ' Is your )o," as he ut again After the visitor's departure, Mr. Braddon found Jonas waiting for him in the hall. "Lor' bless us, master, surelie, wonders never will sase ! — fund some boanes ! it's o no use o* berrin' folks ! " " Ah, indeed I what's that you have in your hand ? " " Some poor chap's grinders, sir, beam em white and reg'Iar? I'm boun' as the owner o' they grinders 'ad lots o' work for 'em ; moor nor some folks 'as now o' days for theern." " Hush," said his master, as he took them into his hand for examination. " Bean't 'em beautiful and white, sir, t'other boanes bean't large nether, and they be very clane, p'raps they be a boy's boanes." " Do you know, Jonas, that the bones once belonged to a woman ? I know thus far from my little knowledge of anatomy." " Lawk a massy me, sir, you doan't say so ! an' a nat'ral enemy, too, and she a 'ooman ! well that does bate all." *' They belonged evidently to a young person." " Now, did 'em, master ? " " Jonas, these poor human relics will have to be re- turned, very carefully, to mother earth." " Why, bless us, sir, nobody fund 'em but myself — it were at the fut o' th' old trees, wheer the 'arbs be." " Well, be it so» I'll walk out, and we'll mark out a grave on the same spot. They had better not be removed 138 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. :5! to any other place ; and lie very careful with them, will you ? " " No fears, but I'll be that ; poor young cratur' ! " An oblong square .space was marked out on the i his face with the cuff of his sleeve, and ^ oceeded to fill in the grave. He spread mould over the bones, as carefully as if he was sowing flower seeds, until it was level with the surface, then tenderly laid turf over all. Giving another stealthy look round, the old man plucked some lilies of the valley — one he laid on the new grave, another he placed in his breast pocket. " Jenny, my lass, that's for old times' sake. If you'd bided theer till winter, maybe the frosts 'ud 'a nipt ofi'both on you." At this moment the spectral figure of Abigail appeared in front of him, and his meditations came to an abrupt end. The very sound of her metallic voice excited ran- cour in his breast — the antipathy was so strong between these two children of mortality. Abigail's tight lips oj)ened hoarse and creaking. " And I must needs come all this way to make you hear, you deaf old post. The master wants you without delay to take a message. You're to make haste, and j\pt stop gossipin' with old Nat Timms by the way. D'ye bear me, Jonas ? " " Might as well ax me if I can 'ear th' old cracked bell o' the church of a Sunday. Oh I she's gone, is she ? I alius likes to see that 'ooman's back. She be a pretty old] crane, she be." RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY ON TRIAL. 141 e Heeii Ldown a come r of his spread sowing ;e, then tiy look alley — d in his es' sake. ts 'ud 'a tppearcd fi abrupt ted ran- between ight lipH lake you without , and i\pt ly. D'ye icked bell j is she 1 I pretty old Jonas did not make haste ; so by the time he started on his errand it was beginning to grow dark. It was a considerable distance ; but by fast walking, he was soon on his way back again, lie suspected rightly that the reference to gossiping with old Nat Timms was a pure in- vention ; so in passing Nat's cottage, he did go in to have a gossip. " An' how's the master? " said Nat. " O, he be pretty well ; how's grandam to-day ? a lyin' down a bit I s'pose." " She's troubled so wi' the 'matics, poor cratur' an' glad to lay liersel' down. Like mysel', Jonas, she's a get- in' into practice for ondressin' when God comes to putt us both dacently to bed. Us be pretty nigh done out, both on us. These old 'ousen hain't wuth much ; the thatch lets through the wet, and landlord wunt mend it. Us shall be glad to goo wheer' ther's no rent to pay, if on'y us can be ready far't." " You spake about right, Nat, it'll be better up theer* for nigh all on us." Then there was a little talk about the weather, and the haying and the crops. " You seem to be 'ailin', Jonas. What's in the winde at Ladybourne ? you seem out o' sorts to-day." " I wunt say as I ain't bin putt about a bit to-day ; but that's nether 'ere nor theer'." " Well, that ain't much. How's Abigu'l, has she bin a werritin', agen ? " " Oh, no change in her colour. Abigul or the divil doan't trouble me much. A q^uare thing as master should kear' 142 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. to 'bide in that old place. If 't 'warn't for Abigul's clatter- in', it 'ud be wus nor it is. Can't think much about dead folk when she's anywheer's nigh." " Ladybourne bain't much. 'Twur alius counted a 'unked place, time out o' mind, When I wus a lad the story wus, that a long bit agone, a line lass as belonged to the gre't folks went in theer', and wus never know'd to come out agen, dead or alive. " 'Taint nuthin' to me." remarked Jonas, musingly. " I doan't look art'er such things," " No need, nether," said Nat, " but by all account they wus a mettlesome fightin' lot as lived in them days ; but must ye goo now ? " " Yes, it's time to be on the move, it's late now. Good- night, Nat." ''Good-night." Jonas walked but leisurely home. He knew well his master's hours were rather late. True, he did think about Abigail in connection with his supper. She might not vote the supplies. This could easily 1.3 done by turning the key of the pantry, and going with it early to bed. However, for such considerations, he had little room in his thoughts to-night. He was more than usually thought- ful as he walked along. The heavenly architecture al- most absorbed his attention, as he looked up admiringly at the starry scenery overhead. But the heavy gables of the old house soon loomed u[) in front of him, and the stone mullioned windows, lighted up as tliey now were, looked cheerful and inviting. Ill i I i RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY ON TRIAL. 143 clatter- ut dead I 'unked ory wuB, bhe gre't ome out giy. "I unt they ays ; but Good- f well his ink about night not y turning •ly to bed. 13 room in r though t- ecture al- dmiringly I gables of n, and the now were, " I'll take the backside o' the house round by lady's po3l, and maybe can get in back way without distarbin' the master." This pool occupied only a small part of the moat ; but the spnngs had accunmlated there forming quite a pond. Why called lady pool nobody seemed to know. The rest of the moat wa.;j dry, and overgrown in some parts with brushwood. Jonas would have to make his way through this moat to reach the back dooi*. The old man was really tired to-night ; tired perhaps in mind as well as body. He had walked a good stretch, and worked harder than usual during the day. Besides that, his feelings had been wrought up a good deal. Ho at length reached the ring fence that suiTounded the moat. He leaned for a minute upon the fence to take one more look at the (luiet stars before essaying to des- cend through the tangled brushwood. All around was silent as the grave. At no other season, perhaps, is that particular hour more quiet. In winter, the time of labour is shorter, and the cottagers enjoy their family firesides later in the evening. But now the long hours of labour from sunrise being over, most of them have sunk into grateful slumber, and all the landscape is sleeping too. Not so much as the " drowsy tinkling " of a sheep bell is heard. All prostrate after the hot summer day. There was no nightingale at Ladybourne ; there might have been a raven. If it croaked Jonas heard it not, for he was still looking at the peaceful stars shining down upon him ; but who would venture to say that the old man was not thinking of his Jenny, whose spirit lied 144 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. i with its bloom to heaven forty-five years ngone, But dreams must come to an end when thorns and briars have to be battled with. Jonas seemed to have come suddenly to this resolution, for he hurriedly strided the fence, and set to manfully to fight his way through the underbrush. He slipped and almost i lown, giving warm expression at the same time to an opinion, that " some o' they ought to be fettled out o' the way." He stood still, for he fan- cied he heard a sound. "Thecr's moor winde nor I thought theer wur, or they branches 'udn't grind so." The ground was not only thick with brush, but it was uneven to the feet, and locomotion was often impeded Anyhow, it was not long before he was at the bottom of the moat. He had made the ^ . step or two up the opposite bank when a sound mv. s ear quite unlike the rubbing of branches. He was startl -much more so than he would have liked to confess — for he heard a distinct moan, as of one in trouble ; then a succession, at intervals, of suppressed wails, as though they broke from the earth. The moonlight prevented him from sinking into that fear which his previous frame of mind might have induced. He took another step. Now, if any one was free from superstition, it was this old man ; but the object which his eyes met an instant afterwards made him fairly quiver with fear. Just in front of him, and the moon's light served only to bring it more into prominence, he beheld the apparition of what seemed to be a woman with flesh- less white arms outstretqhed appealingly to him, An old littl lar] my thin man i ■ III RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY ON TRIAL. ur) But !* have Idenly :e, and rbrush. ression ' ought lie fan- ner I id so." , it was [ipeded fctom of )pposite rubbing than he distinct itervals, e earth, hat fear nduced. -ee from which y quiver n's light e beheld th flesh- Anold thorn tree stood there. He knew it well, for he had often stepped through it to get watercresses, and a large bramble busli was close by it. The apparition seemed to rise out of the thorn, and the ghastly arms were stretched forth with gestures, as of one in distress. The wailing faintly died away as Jonas approached nearer. A sudden inspiration of courage seized him, he picked up a stout branch, and with frenzied excitement rushed forward, **Divil or no divil, drat us if I doan't titid out what ye be." "Jonas, Jonas, I shall die ! " was the only answer that came to his profane outburst, and it came from the thorn tree with a low groan. " And the sunner the better," said Jonas, as he recog- nized the voice to be that of Abigail. " Why, iiow the dickens did ye get in theer ? " " Don't stand talkin and shiverin' there, but get me out o' this," shrieked Abigail. ** Oh, you be caught in they thorns and brambles at last. I thought as it 'ud be so some day. It's well as it app's of a night as nobody can see yer boanes." " Get out with you, you old fool, and unfix me quick." " That's asier said than done, my beauty : it'll take a little time to engineer ye out o' that fix. Ye'll 'a' time to larn patience, and other Christin vartues — take it asy, my dear." *' Oh, reely, good gracious me ! what would the master think if he was to come now ? Be quick, you raspin' old man, I shall die/' ii 146 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. " Die, then, as I tell'd ye afore," answered Jonas, with provoking coolness, as he leisurely walked round the tree to examine into the best way of compassing her release. Even his engineering skill was at a loss here. The woman was in such a position, that it was impossible for her to get up or down without outside help. She had slipped back as she was on her way through the tree to get water- cresses for her master's breakfast. Falling amongst the thorn branches, they interlaced her, and the bramble clewed her further in, and tore pitiless rents in her dress, leaving her stockinged shins visible ; whence the bony white arms that had struck such fear into Jonas' breast only a few minutes before. " Bless my stars ! yc be scratted in pretty tight. Ye wur never tackled that way afore in your life. Jiminy ! the thing is to find just how to fettle it," said the old man. scratching his head deliberatively ; " can't asily do it wi'out cuttin' yer govvnd a'moast to tatters. Can't pull they branches out. Us must cut 'em off, and leave 'em stick in' on to't, unless us takes the gownd clane off." " Oh, Jonas ! dawdlin' old fool ! Why don't you extri- cate me ? " " I'll hextercate ye ]>retty (juick, if ye don't keep a civil tongue in your 'oad." The reader must bear in mind the many petty perse- cutions the old man had continuously borne at this wo- man's hands, and excuse him, if he showed himself a little vengeful at such a critical juncture. He always carried a clasp knife. This he drew from his pocket. RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY ON TRIAL. 14: J, with le tree •olease. ivoman her to clipped water- trst the •ramble r dress, \e bony ' breast ht. Ye Jiuiiny ! the old ily do it gin't pull save 'eiu )ff." ju extri- 'V a ty perse- this wo~ nimself a e always s pocket, opened the blade, and ran his thumb along its edge — then he placed it in a convenient spot for use. " Now, I'd ought to 'ave a 'andspike. Yer boanes is too picked to 'andle. Now, be alive, old gal, and when I lifts, lift yersel' too ; and when I 'urts, ye must yell out. That'll do. Now, let's see ; theer's five bits o' bramble as must be cut off the bush, and us'll lave that thorn branch as is at yer back too. T'll cut that off fust ; and now, theer' go the tother bits o' bramble ; they looks as pretty as ribbins an ye ' "Oh! what shall I do?" " Just do nuthin', but larn patience ; no use a frettin' when ye can't help it. Now aisy a bit, the brambles must goo wi' ye ; hadn't need spile yer beauty, old wench ! That tother bnimble must come off too. Theer' ! now ye be free to goo, my pretty pictur'." With two or three long strides, Abigail mounted the declivity, and was out of sight in a minute. The old man looked after her as she went, and placing both hands upon his knees, burst into a low rumbling fit of laughter. Jonas was seldom known to laugh, but a graver person than he might have done so, at the spectacle of Abigail's retreat- ing figure. Whether the old man ever related this inci- dent to his master is not known ; if he did, Mr. Braddon was never heard to make any allusion to it. There is reason to suspect, however, that it had reached the ears of some of the Gorrow pt* |>le ; but through fear of Abi- gail, it was not much talkeu about, CHAPTER IX. i SHORT AND SIMPLE ANNALS OF THE POOR. HE months passed away, and old Mrs. Timms became (3^ less and less able to resist tho cold damps of the closing year. She grew worse, until she was entirely confined to her bed. Now that actual sickness was in the cottage, the master was often a visitant there. Jonas, at his master's instigation, would sometimes steal away to the kitchen, and when Abigail's back was turned, abstract something nourishing to take to the old woman — any delicacy that might be at hand. In spite of her watchfulnes, he often managed this. But she was intensely jealous of her supremacy in the kitchen. Not that this woman was really hard hearted as against the poor ; but no poverty was ever, in the least degree, allowed to compete with her supremacy, if she could help it. Jonas' sagacity had taken the full measure of ^er dispo- sition, and he would never stoop to do her homage, just to obtain her boon. He knew that she was impervious to any appeal of distress that did not come to her crouch- ing, and the old man des])ised that disposition to his hee^rt's core. SHORT AN^ StMPLfi AJfKALS Of THE t»001t. 149 jecame of the ntirely was in netimes ick was the old In spite she was n. Not inst the , allowed help it. 3r dispo- ige, just ipervious r crouch- n to his l^oor Nat and his " old ooman," as he called her had long since passed over the hill together, and had well nigh reached the foot on the other side. Theirs had heen an honourable career indeed, closing now at four- score. The cottage they inhabited was a massive stone structure, its thick walls rising just to the height of the little lower room, in which they passed their daily life. From the top of this wall sprung the rafters, and upon these rested a very heavy thatch. This thatch probably had not been removed for two hundred years, but had been patched and re-patched at different times with new thatch. Enclosed in the confined space between these rafters, was the room in which the old couple passed their nights together, and that was reached by a ladder. Of furniture in this room, there was little — one old-fashioned rush chair with high back, a small table, and an old chest of drawers with brass bobbin handles. Everything looked neat and clean. Upon a bed in the corner lay the old woman, and by her side, on the creaking chair, sat the master. He was there to hold up her hands of faith for the last trial, which could not be far off, and had just risen from his knees. " I feel a bit better, thankee, sir, just now ; but these 'matics is terrible bad. They doos twinge my old boanes sore at times." This she said with an effort to change her posture — Mr. Braddon giving a little aid. " That comes o' when I wurked in the fields. Ye see, sir, as how us never 'ad much in them days, and ne'er thought o' the time when us should be poor old folk. Us 'ad a growin' family, and wages wus small — seven 150 CHt/RCH RAMBLfiS AND SCRAMBLES. shillin' a week — beside what I could 'arn in the field — two shillin' a week at th' outside — that warn't much. And alter all I warn't wuth much. Ye see, sir, when a 'ooman 'as a babe at the breast, as I 'ad amoast alluSj and A bit o' mate on'y of a Sunday, what could a poor *ooman do wi' such nourishment ? Things wus dear too. No wonder as the wet an' sposure 'as done their wurk u]ion me ; and old Nat 's the same, as you knows, sir ; but his wurkadays '11 sun be over, as mine amoast be." " My dear old friend, you have, indeed, endured hard- ship, both of you, in your time ; but you will yet enjoy your recompense of reward. After all, the longest life here is but a very short one, compared with the great long life beyond ; enjoyments await you there which you have no conception of here." " I knows it, sir, I knows it. It's just as if summat tell'd it me in the night, like. When faith can't wurk right for the pains an' troubles an me, it's as if summat else wur sent to make it up. 'Taint no fancy o' my old 'ead ; is it, sir, what I've 'eerd at times ? Maybe I was on'y a dramin'. Be it the white stoane as the Ravelation spakes abut? It seems as if I heerd a swate hymn o' music the tother marnin' — ^'twarn't my ole man, fur he be no singer. We be blest, surelie ! or, is't my eld 'ead o' get- tin' wrong, and these old boanes ? Oh, massy me 1 how they doos twinge agen ! an' I looks, too, for the Holy Sperrit, sir, the Holy Ghoast the^ Comforter ; us maunt forget He." HiJ leg thi hisi eld— n\ich. hen a s,and toman No upon ut hi8 hard- enjoy ist life ffreat ch you ummat i wurk ummat my old e I was relation lymn o' ir he be I o' get- lel how le Holy 3 maunt SHORT AND SIMPLE ANJ^ALS OF TA}i> POOR. 151 " No, we must not. He is the sweetest of all comfor- ters. Smaller ones may be permitted for aught I know, under some circumstances — we cannot say; Init we ought not to look for them. Glory not in these things ; but glory in this, that the Lord God is your Saviour, and that, having redeemed you by the blood of His cross, there is no other good thing He will withhold from you, if He sees fit that you should have it." " Oh, must ye goo now, sir ? Ye'll come an see me again sun, wunt ye sir ? let it be sun, plase ; for I be a gwine away quick." " Yes, I will come again soon ; and, good-bye, for the present. Our visitor stayed a few minutes with old Nat, before passing out. " You have, indeed, both of you, had your full share of trial, Nat ; God grant that in His good time you may receive your reward of faith ; but I fear youi days of duty are nearly over, and that we cannot expect to have even you with us many more years." The old man's appearance, as he moved to offer a chair, would seem to confirm this conjecture. In his younger days, Nat Timms had been a fine tall atheletic man. His body was now bent from hard labour, and the stoop had been perceptibly increasing for years bef'^re he gave up work. His lameness, too, had become much worse. The right leg was bent, and stiff" at the knee, and there was some- thing wrong about the hip and spine ; for when he walked his hand invariably moved to his back. He looked like one who had been strained out of shape. The frame of an over- worked under-fed horse may be often seen in a 152 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. {Ill it! not very dissimilar state ; but inasmuch as the animal creation cannot reason on cause and effect, their suffer- ings must be proportionally less than those of man under similar conditions. Who, then, can estimate, at its true worth, the persistent endurance under privation, and the spirit of self -repression, that had preserved the mind of old Nat so true and tranquil to the last, that he could say : " We've had our bits o' trial, sir, as I s'pose most folks have ; but us 'a' met wi' a good bit o' kindness, too, in our day. — moor nor us desarves, and I doan't know but us 'a' tried to do our duty, as well as us know'd how." The clergyman, after warmly shaking Nat by the hand, left him ; but those last words of Nat's lingered a long time in his thoughts. He could but sigh deeply, when he began to draw comparisons with himself, and others. " That is the victory," he said to himself, as he walked along home ; " they talk and write about heroism, and ennoble the man who has fought successfully through our courts of law, or through carnage to the courts of princes ; but the laurels cannot be grown on this soil, that are fit to encircle the brow of that old man." Such as these are but indifferent praises to bestow. It is but poor restitution to make for any neglect I myself may have been guilty of towards the class to which old Nat and his old woman belonged. I have sat 'neath their roof- trees in many a rustic spot throughout broad England ; but if 1 have one wish uppermost at this moment, it is that I may be privileged to sit under them again. wa;; mesl wad masl tioi that fatli }fe dad I hm«i SHORT AND SIMPLE ANNALS OF THE POOK. 1.5; J nimal mffer- under s true id the ind of could ie most ;8S, too, know d how." le hand, L a long , when others, walked sm, and mgh our princes ; it are fit J tow. It I myself 1 old Nat tieir roof- England ; [lent, it is 1. The master paid regular visits to Mrs. Timins, until she pii«»sed away into that land where all things are " re- membered." Nat's sorrow, under his loss, was almost in- consolable for a time ; but he overcame this great trial of his life by faith. He now thought more than ever about those things that are unseen. He looked not at his empty cottage, and at the vacant chair; he thought of his " Father's house," and of the " many mansions," and faith told him that his old woman was there. It was thought inexpedient that Nat should be left alone for- long, so one of his grandchildren, a young woman about eighteen, was detached from her friends to live with him. This girl had recently become a sincere and earnest convert to the truth. She had struggled against convictions of sin for a long time ; but was, at length, brought to cast herself for mercy at the feet of the Saviour, and was now in much anxiety about her sister and brothers. They resisted the grace of God : but her prayers went up unceasingly for them, and hope never left her that they, some day, would see the error of their ways, and come back to God. She would send little messages to them with consummate tact. She would wade through miles of mud to purchase one small Christ- mas card with a suitable text, and she would write affec- tionate letters, with judicious allusions to the dangers that lay in their [)ath. " I know," she said to her grand- father, " that nobody over asked in vain, what He says He is ready to do, I know He will do. Isn't it so, gi'and- dad ? " J ft 154 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES " That questi'n's ready settled in the Bible, my lass ; no need to ax me. Ug V nuthin to do but wait till it be done far us ; us needn't trouble no furder." Patty nodded assent. " Grandad, I must try and make you as comfortable as I know how. You hav'n't much but your parish allowance to do it with ; but perhaps we can manage." The old man listened with great attention to everything she said ; and as he sat in his arm-chair lean- ing his hands upon his stick, he intently watched all her movements. She was preparing the tea-tn here, of the le Mrs, ter. jno fine n. hour's confines, e street, 1 was he sporting is dress, certainly not of the baggy sort, like the Turk's, but just the reverse — rather close-fitting. Anybody might have recognized him as an habitue of Tattersalls, or Newmarket, or any place where sporting men do congregate. He was no amateur, that was evident; but a professional sportsman, regularly devoted to dogs and horse-flesh. A hunting whip was in his hand, and he was followed by two or three canines. I was introduced to him as Sir Simon Girth, Bart., of Girth Court. Openne!?s was written in his handsome face, and in his oflfhand manrer, I after- wards found that he had a heart, and a warm one too ; but it was given, almost whole and entire, to his horses and dogs. These two were on their way to the church, to see about some projected alterations; so I accompanied them. Who is not ready to look into an old church ? There is sure to be something in it? history of p^^jrbing interest; indeed its history is very often the history of the people, ?i,nd the past events of the locality. "You see," said Mr. Browne, "we want to bring it more in^o keeping with the requirements of the parish. It is a very large church for so small a population ; so we are gohig to concentrate the pews more round the reading desk and pvdpit, and Sir Simon, who is our lord of the manor, is good enough, very generously, to second my efforts." "A capital idea of Mr. Browne's," remarked the baronet. " Ho is pretty straight-lav od, I assure you, about his pulpit operations — a good thing, you know, in '.Is way, for all of m CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMHLtS. ^ US. Then he's my chaplain, and I will say he tries to do his duty by me." " Well, I try to do the best I can with the material I have to work upon," said Mr. Browne, laughing, " Hard cases, all of us, aye, Browne ? However, after all, I fear I'm a sad fellow. I never see our vicar, but I want to be a pious character. I only wish 1 had a better living to offer him. How about the Confirmation aflair, Mr. Browne ? " " Oh, that is all arranged, as far at least as respects the parish. The Bishop will need entertaining after the Confirmation." " Yes, I have thought of that, and indeed have already asked him to accept my hospitality^ My father before me always supplied provender for the Church on such occasions. I'll get a few people together to meet the Bishop at lunch. Then in the afternoon he can knock about amongst my dogs and horses, if he likes. He will see some superior cattle at my stables. As to dogs, I've got any am.ount of them, as you know, Browne. By the way, too, I must shew the Bishop my bitch pup — the finest thing of the kind he ever saw in his life." " I understand that the Bishop's intention is, to go on to Lord Warbeck's in the afternoon. His idea is, I be- lieve, to make that his head quarters, for the few days he will be engaged in this neighbourhood." " Oh! true, I forgot. The Church militant is supposed to be in an enemy's country. You know a fellow must have a base of opei'ations at such a time, or he can't fight SKETCHES ON THE ROAD, 177 1 to do 3rial I r, after , but I , better I affair, 3cts the ter the already f before ■yn such leet the 1 knock He will pgs, I've By the —the up bo go on IS, I be- days he iipposed ow must In't fight the enemy to advantage, and Warbeck will know better how to entertain his guest than I could. Can't you bring your friend with you to lunch ? shall be happy to see him. You've lately settled down in these parts, Mr. Rover ? " " Yes, on the other side of the heath." " That's Grabhall's place. I know Grabhall. Good sort of a fellow in his way — knows all about stocks, and shares, and money, and that sort of thing you know. If you'll waive ceremony, and come over and see my dogs, shall be happy to shew them to you, I've got the finest bitch pup in the universe, so all good judges say. Two or three of my best friends are among the curates. As to the other fellows — rectors, and what d'ye call 'em ? they know how to take care of themselves. I have a cousin who is about to be ordained, preparatory to a family living ; I think, Browne, you met my cousin ; he is not brilliant, as you might see, he won't set the Thames on fire, that's certain ; but there's that Endbourne living has got to be filled up, and you know, as his father says, it's a respectable sort of business." The big key turns in tiie rusty lock, and the old church door creaks upon its hinges, and admits us to the i'iiterior. What a sepulchral look, and sepulchral smell ! I don't know how many efiigies of the Girth generations lie around. I do not count them. Some of them are very old indeed. No one ever questioned the antiquit}'" I of the Girth family, and no one had hitherto questioned the desire of its representatives to keep the long line uncontaminated by anything like trade. But this is an Ian age of innovation, and it had been even suspected that 178 CHURCH KAMtlLES AND SCRAMBLES. Ml the present representative, was upholding his patrimony stealthily ; in short that he was a silent partner in some large mercantile business. If such was the case, it was only another indication that the world goes round. Then there are pjople who think that property gotten by trading, is gotten (piite as honestly as by raiding, and breaking men's sculls with battle axes. After returning through the village, we separate, that is. Sir Simon goes his way, and we go ours towards the ])arsonage. ** Sir Simon and I get along very well together," said Mr. Browne over the refreshment table. " His intimate knowledge of the world has no doubt something to do with it. He has been nil sorts. Chairman of the quarter sessions for one thing ; and was a colonel in the Guards, but he seems to have droj'ped that handle to his name. Independently, however, of all, and of his keenness as a sportsman, he is not indifferent to Christian duties. I conscientiously believe that he CTiltivates more practical goodness than many persons of higher Christian pretences. He is very ready with pecuniary aid for Church purposes, and the cottages are kept in good repair. He seldom sits as a magistrate — I think, because he does not like toi face the culprits. Some of the poor take exception to him because he is a warm advocate of the poor laws, and the workhouse system. He would remedy, if he could, two things in connection with workhouse arrangements ;| he does not like the separation of the sexes, as regardsj the old people ; nor the depriving them of tobacco." SKETCHES ON THE ROAD. 179 ■imony 1 some it was Then ten by ng, and ite, that ards the ler," said intimate i€p to do e (^uartev i Guards, lis name, mess as a duties. T practical pretences, purposes, [e seldom not like to I Lception to I L- laws, and I : he could, ingeraents .1 as regards] acco." •'1 quite agree. Remove those two impediments to the comfort of old people, and I verily believe that complaints by the poor, against the workhouse would cease, and their prejudices would gradually disappear. It is well to conciliate the poor towards the higher classes, and that would be one way of doing it. The social antagon- ism of classes seems to be growing stronger. One is in- clined to think, sometimes, that the tie by which they are held together must surely break, were it not that the principle which binds all in one mass lies deeper than classes. Thanks to that tough old Constitution of ours which has been so often strained without breaking. It, would be a sad day for old England, if the keystone at the top were ever to become loosened ; for, however one may admire republicanism in an established Republic, no form of government exists, so adapted to the peculiar social conformation of this country, as a Monarchy." " Yes, there is, as you observe, a social restlessness per- vadinor the masses in our lar^e towns — a latent disaffec- tion towards the higher classes. And there are always men of talent and education i-educed to adversity, who cast the blame of their situation on the nearest resisting medium, which they conceive to be society ; but finding it impossible to touch society, which is as slippery as an eel, they fall back on the basis of society, which is the crown. It is these men who become the leaders of re- publican agitation." I have been to see an old man of a rather sinofular turn 180 CHURCH K AMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. of mind, wlio, I was told, had been very wicked in his time; but who had no convictions of conscience. He was over a hundred years old, had not a tooth in his head, and was perfectly helpless and child-like. His small figure, capped by a little bald head and rosy face, was seated squat in an arm-chair. When this old man ever spoke on religious subjects his remarks were very unedi- fying, and indeed sometimes bordered on profanity. 1 drew a chair close to his side, and sat down, and felt his spiritual pulse to see if there was any res[)onse from the seat of spiritual life. I spoke to him about his past life, and the necessity of being at peace with God before he died. I could not bring him to the point, his mind would wander away to something else. His hand seemed to be groping about for something — it was for his pipe. His daughter-in-law said that he was quite unable to get the pipe, or fill it himself. I offered to do this for him, as it would enable me to deliberate how next to proceed. At this he seemed very much pleased ; so putting a light to the fragrant weed, and giving it a preparatory puft" or two, I placed it in his shaking paw, and guided it to his mouth. *' He is fond of his pipe," said his daughter, " and will be sure to talk about your lighting it for him, after you are gone. Now that his pipe was in full blast, I resumed the con- versation, turning the subject to the power of the evil one, in suggesting bad thoughts, and evil deeds, that we might be wicked, and then be punished. "Are you never troubled with bad thoughts ? " I asked him. " That 1 be, (.'t. SKETCHES ON THE ROAD. 181 1 in his He was lis head, is small ace, was lan ever y unedi- ,nity. 1 felt his Prom the past life, lefore he id would led to be pe. His D get the lim, as it eed. At L light to ft* or two, is mouth, id will be r you are I the con- r the evil J, that we y^ou never Lhat 1 be, a dale of 'em, specially of a nights." "Oh," I said,"night is the time when the devil is so busy with us, he catches us while we are in the dark ; because it's then we do wicked things." "Aye, that's just it, master, that he do." " Then how can you expect it otherwise, when you never pray against him ? " Tlie old man's attention now seemed enlisted. " He do trouble me a dale at times, and makes me wicked." " Then you must ask the Lord for forgiveness ; He says He will forgive, if we go to Him." "Ah ! I wish the devil wor dead." This enigma- tical theology, for a moment, put me out. "Do you know that the Lord Jesus came to destroy the works of the devil, and Christ is stronger than the devil." " Then why don't he putt him down ? " " God has put him down once, and He will put him out of you, if you ask Him. Now try and understand me." " I think I doos, summat o't." "Now we'll lay down your pipe; and try and pray with me about all this, will you ? " " Kan't goo down, kan't goo down ; must sit up in me cheer." " God can hear you there, as well ; on the ground." His hand was again groping after his pipe. " There, I'll put your hands together in this wa}^ — now pray — pray to God against the devil and wickedness, and for His Spirit." So I of- fered up a prayer. Tt was evident in the old man's case, that extreme age had blunted his faculties. He v^as in bis second childhood. If any ant.-tobacco enthusiast should lead this, I hope ho will not deal hardly with myself, or this old man ; as I do not think that his pipe had any necessaiy connection 182 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. * :■ with his faith or morality. Still, I must say that if a sumptuary law were ever justifiable at all, it would be so against youthful smokers. Destroy the practice in youth, and you destroy it in its root. If the anti-tobacco society could bring its influence to bear upon the young, it would be a blessing to the conmiunity. There are very few regular smokers who commenced the practice after middle age, and it seems labour thrown away to attack them. If they did not smoke, probably they would snuff, which is worse. In spite of denunciations they will continue the habit, from the emperor and president, down to the ploughman and shepherd — very few of these who did not commence early : for had the}' tried the experiment in middle age, it is doubtful if they would have had courage to repeat it. I may speak without diffidence on this subject, as, unfortunately, I was a very early smoker. If you would kill the practice, kill it in the schools. Some church authorities issue a mandate against smokin^c bv ministers. They usually begin at the wrong end. They should commence at the schools and colleges. For a young man at college, with the prospect of the sacred ministry before him, to brave the horrible nausea of a first smoking lesson, merely that he may acquire the habit, is a weak- ness almost inconceivable. Let anti-tobacco's philanthropy run in the direction I have indicated. He has, no doubt, a vivid recollection of his first smoking lesson, and, if he is modest, he will at- tribute his own abstinence, not so much to principle, as to good fortune, and a weak stomach ;,but he will allow wi SKETCHES ON THE ROAD. 183 at if a (1 be so youth, society t would ry few middle k them. *, which !ontinuo 1 to the vho did »eiiment Eive had lence on smoker. s. Some king by I They a young- ministry smoking a weak- rection I lection of e will at- nciple, as vill allow me, perhaps, to make use of his experience, as a lesson to all would-be-smokers. He was at a friend's house, and in the course of the evening, was tempted to look curious- ly at a box of cigars. He wondered where the charm could be in smoking a cigar. A cloud of perfume was in the room — all the worse for his first essay in the art, should he venture upon it. He did venture upon it, and daintily took up his tirst cigar. He j^ffed vehemently under the excitement of conversation, hardly conscious of the new sensation that was gradually stealing through his faculties. At lenij-th he was seen to rise frorn liis seat, and to cast an uneasy glance round the room. He precipitately fled ! I really cannot follow him in all his sad reflections, and thev were sad indeed — verv sad ! Suffice it to say, that he rushed out of doors, under the pressure of his anguish, thinking it would be better that he .should die in the street, than in his friend's hou.se. He did not die in the street ; but made his way home as fast as possible, and when he beheld his own visage in the glass, was terrified with fright. That was the first and the last time he ever tried to smoke. He must not be self-righteous, when he makes a speeeli at the next annual meeting of the anti-tobacco society. Young man ! ambitious of a cigar, and a moustache 1 beware ! pause, before you concentrate twenty attacks of sea-sickness in one at the apex of your stomach. Give yourself time to reflect. Postpone the experiment, if it be only for ten years, and you may yet pass through life without being a smokei-. Now this is worth some reso- 184 CHURCH RAMHLES AND SCRAMBLES. I (i lution ; because the use of tobacco in youtli enervates the whole system, robs it of its ener<^y, and attacks even its manhood. The victims of tobacco sometimes grow up dwarfish, and emaciated in ])ody ; and not unfrequeitly imbecile in mind. So have a care. But my charity still goes out towards the old man anvl his pipe, or the shepherd, or the ploughman, or the mari- ner, much exposed to the weather. In all probability, those who object to it so indiscriminately know little of the v/orrieG of a hard life. They have never been obliged to sleep on the damp ground, or endure odious smells from. fetid pools and drains for hours together. They have never been walled in with an infectious disease, or pestered by mosquitoes and other insect torments in the back woods. A placid old gentleman once said to me, on my remarking that he was fond of the weed : " People who smoke don't quarrel." The first thing a smoker does, when provoked to anger or fretfulness, is to take hifc* pipe. He puts his grievance into that and it all ends in smoke. We are now on our way to Girth Court to meet the Bishop. How very convenient these dinner lunches are to a hungry curate ; for curates do get hungry like other people. Not less convenient are they for the late diner. On our arrival we found several ladies and gentlemen already there. Tht, Bishop of Montfort himself, shortly afterwards, entered the room. He was notably the centre of attraction ; but in truth he was never a unit in any SKKTCHES ON THE ROAD. 185 rvates i even ow up ae.itly in aiivl ! nmri- iV)ility, ittle of obliged smells They 3ase, 01" \ in the me, on People smoker to tak«5 ill ends leet the ehes are Ke other e diner. Qtlemen , shortly le centre in any company, however exalted — he was almost always re- garded as the lion. The Bishop of Montfort was a middle- sized man of good build, with a head expressive of great intellect. His features were pale and marked with deep lines of thought. He looked like a man distinguishaVjly fit for the present emergency, or the future responsibility. His first appearance stiuck me as that of one quite ready either for a game of chess with the curates, or a pleasant chat with the ladies, and with a conscious recognition of both old and young. 'J'his was especially refreshing to the curates who happened to be present. We saw the man himself, divested of all official stiffness. Not that there was much to put oft', for I believe that he was always the same. He was rapid, rather, in his look and movements than otherwise. I do not know who the judicious laundress could be ; but it was plain she put just the right quantity of starch in the episcopal cravat — not too little, and I am sure there was not too much. If stiflfness and reserve characterize the outward aspect of some Church dignitaries, they certainly did not that of this very distinguished prelate. So diff'usive was his geniality, so versatile his manner, and so ready in his con- versation, that people were always charmed in his pre- sence ; indeed our host had taken his right measure when he remarked, that he was " the most agreeable man in England." His like, in all respects, may not appear again on the episcopal bench for centuries. I was placed almost opposite the Bishop, and near enough to be within the radius of his geniality. A round IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) k^O O V ^ %^ .V "^■^ ^ Va w f/- 1.25 2.5 '- Ilia ^ 1^ 112.0 JdL ill 1.6 « iV f THE ROAD. 18? him, and 3 carving Q Bishop led with ^p of solid e puzzled ^ck. IVIy ih d wea- regarding 5 thought f fortune ; 5 times as I account ," said the WOT every of cories- y great to 'ore seven e, he did ; House, a n at seven secretary, as writing Bi the floor hut we do not realize it to he so all at once. The 2)roverh has no application in present knowledge ; only when lives have terminated do we see its entire applicahility. I am sure I can realize the truth of the proverh now, as memory reverts to that lunch at Girth Court. How unconscious were all who then sat at that tahle of what lay in the future ! Happy for us that we are not endued with the gift of prescience ! Yet, perchance, un- happy ; for is not this life our probation ? None of those l)resent could see through the coming years. Had some of them possessed the gift, they would, alas, have appre- hended but too early, in pain and anguish, what the mys- tery of life truly is. The lady at the Bishop's left, engaged in so sprightly a conversation with him, and her lovely daughter opposite, so interested in it ! No, they could not, any of them, discern through the summer haze of present enjoyment, the handwriting upon the wall. How could they discern in that female figure the prisoner at the bar in one of the most remarkable criminal trials of the pre- sent century. Innocence pleaded against scorn and insult, and, happy for humanity, innocence triumphed. The Bishop has passed away to his rest. The others, too, have passed away from the corruptible to the incorruptible, leaving behind them only a history of broken hopes and broken hearts. ; and how cissitudes ; CHAPTER XL SOMK ENGLISH CONTRASTS. riniTH UAMIU.KS AN|» SrilAMHI.MM. most Hww ll»n( IjomcnI y whm on \\\o sido nf i]\o ;niil ; l)nl- Ibo rlnvMlroiiM ymn»^ \\u\\\ \vii\\\>\ir\\ l»y cMlliiijy- in a polimnan. I «l() no( know MmmmhI. I lour lluit- clnviiliy w iiM put U) slunno. Whon Mr. Si*Mnt*s iHM't.or onltM.M u ('nMn;;'(', ln» jih caro- Tnlly riMuovoM Ins luil, ns if In* \v«mo cnlorin^^ Lord War- lu^'ks hotiHo. H(> nurls Ins |>«»or |um>|)I(» I'nr (lio (iiuc, as nn aoooNsihlo frioud. tuu\ (nlks willi (Ikmii nl»onl tluMr touiporal as wrll ns (Iumt .spiriiiml \v«'Hnro. WIiph 1»o visits th«^ sirk, \\o iM\)s.s-('X}\iniii(\s llu« imnniivM. mIioiiI, nouvislnuou( rocoivod. or i(M|uir
    y ilu* sick |M»r,son. Ho doos (Ins. hofoiH* l\(* invitt»s (lu» sick poor to nnit(» with h'uw in potitiouinn" 1\»" tl>o l)n\Md (luit I'onics «lo\vii \\\m\ \u\\\c\\. S«>ino mii^lU roj^ard nil this as the vv(»jik siiio of our oKmovmuiu. If it ho a wisMkut'ss, it is tluit \vl\ioh ni.ikt^s tlio wholi* worhl kin. 1 1 is not in Ids nnturo to oa.so hinisoir in. oitlior witli hard iniporturhahility, or suMinio por(ootii>n, Misty shadows of l>oinns hahitod in hUiok tlit past nio as 1 writi^ ; hut tljin aro V(M'v manosoont. 1 havo to soizo tht^ iniprossion vory tpiiokly. ThtM'c is a oUMoyuuin jvissiujf nv>w. wlu>n\ I can but rospoot for Ids storlino- qualities. His look is vory sond>ro.«|ui(o in koopiuij^ with his touiporau\ont ; and ho is aoadon\ioally stitK and unyiold- ing. o^pocially about tho nook, whore nnich atarcli is wont to W used. Ho . rtAinlvha.s all the i^ravitv wliioh botits his ottice, perhaps nioro. and when in tho ohuroh, his looks adorn tho vonorahlo plaoo. He is a dolorous, taciturn chanictor. It nw\y l>e concluded that ho held a fellowship HOMIO KNlJMHIl roNTllAHTK. I!)3 ; Init in n, ivalry Wiu- \\U\ IIH , Ihoir ) \\\\\W i tlown VVlMlk is that lily, ur last in(» \avt» to iivmau dorlinj;' lo- with yioUl- is wont h bciits is looks ai'ituru lowsbip ill n.t IiIm miiviM'sity InrHrvcnil ycni'H iM'Tnii^ lio g(»t liis living. Tli(» tnoNt playrni cliiJd wonid linil it (lillicult to dniw a ('li(M»iy (»\|H(»HHi(>n (Voin liini ; indeed, jjic ciiildn'n iini awny wIkmi tliey hoc liiin coming. VV'licn niiy ;.,^o(mI Iioiiho- wiCo HotvM Idni »ip|>rua(diinM,lM» hIio in cotta;^'*' oi* f/uin-lioUHr, mIic looks llnnicd, and v.\vu ticninlouH Iinniedly arnin- ^OH licr «li'('MS, and, witli ncrvoiis Im.nd, Hinootjios d(»wn Ikm" Imir. T\\\h cxrjdlcnt ^<'nM('nian lias caiJUMl i\u*, n'HjKict of liis )MM)|)|(> ; lint not tli(Mr adinii'atii»n or adoction. Tlir sanio l'tM>linjLj lowai'ds liini picdoniinah's at tho aristociatic mansion, wImmi* tliry i<'s]M'('t liis Osford scholaisliip ; lint aro not drawn towards tlir man. 'JMiry ask liim to dine as seldom as possiltic, a,!id his iidlncncc thrro amonnts to notion^ at. all. As to th. laiincrs, tin? worthy man never ent(Ms their minds exei!? i. n Snnrity of Its have s have la strolls e been If all iild wo ntially, Iht to be r their [Ustress5> cspt'ciully [)arisli incunibents, take a tonic, anl)lH'd, until wo almost thoui»lit we must die. Hut what |H»i^n»ani'y was addoil to our i;iit>t' l>\ tho (liou^lit, that nur own paront turni'd the kt>y upon us! This was the discii)linc to us of lovo, and ciiro, and cousidt'iatiou. Not so, however, witli all. Wi' enter a houst», and see the young menihiu's of the faniily at play ; hut not hoiuL,' witliin the cirele, their iinier lift' is luyond a stranni'r's ken. Pcrliiips we are at- tracted l)y some undt'linahk' look about one child dilfer- ent from the others. There is a lack-lustre about the eye, and a hopeless cxprtvs.sion on the face ; hut >ve cannot tell what daily experi(Mu*e has stamped that expression there. It is not always physical dis(»ase — it nuiy lu^ estrange- ment. The child perhaps is not a favourite. It nuiy he cruelty from some source. A hlij^ht has settled upon that young heart, and the child wandeis listlessly about in its own desolation. How many deformed characters there are, who have been twisted out of shape in childhood ! Few persons, I believe, would take exception to this nuuute description of little folks ; the less so, as they are the children of luuuble villagers. 'J\) my nund they are worthy of particular study. We, ourselves, were once only children ; and these are expected, in the course of nature, to become men and women, who Aviil tread in our footsteps when we lie in our graves. I desire always to respect the innocent whims and fancies of children, and respond to their little as[)irations. If there w^ere no higher inducement, this one solenni con- i'.v. I'HoM rmr.imooi) to tiik (JHavk. 205 r heart I'y was le to \»s )wever, il>ers ol' (', thtMi- are at- I (lilVer- tlio oyo, mot tell II there, •^tranye- may be H)u that lit in its rs tliere hood ! to this they arc they are \vo once •ourse of tread in 1 desire ncies of ions. H mn con- KJderation wouhi prompt nu» to art]dy eonsideration ; hut even as I wiitt\ tlie remem- hianee of myohl })astor ;^ives mt! pieasjire, merely h(U*ause of his friendliness, and notice; of nw, as a child. Me was of the old-fashione(l sithool, and luis been lon^ (.lead. 1 cannot remend>er that I {.;'ot nuich direct luinelit from his ministry ; hut I remendtcr, as a small ho}', liis che^ht replace it. I would repay the memory of his kindness; although I knew not how, in days gone hy, properly to a})preciate it. sill C'HAPTKR Xni. 1 i!i RELIGIOUS DEI'RKSSIUN. THE (JREAT IMIYiSIClAN. NE day, an agreeable old <;entlenian from a neigh- y^^ boiiriiig park called, and left an invitation for an early day. It was onh' the seLpiel to a liberal present of ^j^anio and calls, already received from the same qviartei*. At the appointed time we proceeded to the house, and were cordially received by host and hostess. A lady visitor was staying there. The conversation, during the evening, turned upon the subject of religious depression, or melan- choly. Our hostess informed me privately, that her lady friend had suffered, or was at that time suffering from it. Finding that to be the case, I evaded the subject then ; because in a first cursory visit, I thought it would be diffi- cult — perhaps injudicious also, to excite conversation upon it, until I had ascertained what ch'^'acter this lady's melancholy had assumed, and the extent of its liold upon her mind. There are, I well know, various degrees of religious de- pression, ranging from that state in which the soul lies convicted of sin by the power of the Holy Spirit, with- out present jiower of faith in the finished work of Christ to ji'efilize to itself pardon and peace, down to an absolute ¥ IAN. a neigh- u for an •eseiit of quarter, md were y visitor evening, r melan- her lady from it. ct then ; . be ditti- ion upon 18 lady's old upon \yioufi de- soul lies lit, witli- of Christ absolute HKLKjIIOUS DKI'UESSION. TIIK UHEAT PHYSICIAN. 207 morbid despair of salvation. These two conditions are (piite distii.ct in character. The lady referred to was not, 1 should say, in the fiist ; but was suffering under a mild type of the latter ; yet still accessible to considerations of reason — and this was a happy circumstance. Some of these latter cases, as is well known, have proved distress- ingly calamitous in their consequences. In the subjects of such calamities, there cannot be a doubt but that there was complete irresponsibility. The soul continued in the same safety in which it reposed previous to its obscura- tion, whatever may have happened to the body. Yet I would not deny that depression arising simply from de- ficiency, or defectiveness of faith has resulted in functional disorganization of the brain ; and tliese are very difficult cases to contend with. Women are, oftener than men, the subjects of these ab- normal depressions, and I have had to minister to them several times. The mystery is, if it be one, that its vic- tims are, almost invarialdy, women of the most sincere and conscientious leligious profession ; but usually of a delicate frame, caused either by ill health, or by a highly- wrought nervous organization. In such persons the prim- ary source of mental depression — for it is not always spiritual — seems to be, not so much in deficiency of faith, as in timidity of faith. The sufferer is at first scrupu- lously consistent in dealing with herself. She tremblingly marks the disparity between her i-eal spiritual state, and the distorted ideal she has formed of what it ought to be. Then h to wr'iiv Mttcr tlunjOjH against licrsclf, and inorl»i(lly toms of trouble made their a])pearance in this way. Tins lady had only very recently recovered from a severe illness, which had left her in a weak state. One day her husband was in the garden. She came to him with the New Testament in her hand, for her Bible was much her study ; and with anxiety of manner point- ed out to him this passage in Hebrews vi., 4, 5, 4j, ask- ing him to explain to her the meaning • because, she said it seemed to describe her own state. Her husband did his best to shew her that the passage could have no reference to her. She said it referred to the sin against the Holy Ghost, and she feared she had fallen into that sin. Ee told her that the sin against the Holy Ghost was the de- nial of Christ's miraculous power by the Holy (ihost, and ascribing it to Satan. He told her that the very fact of her fearina thiii she mav have committed this sin was it- self a proof that she had not. Moreover, he explained to her, that this epistle was written partly as a warning to some of the converts, lest, through the fierceness of perse- llF.LraiOLrs DKPRESSrON. THE GREAT PlIYSICfAK. 211^ in may Farmer, known scribed )n this work .>r (.leli- weak- lun-, or 'arancc 'overed L state. a me to • Bible point- 4j, ask- tie said lid his erence Holy I. Fe he de- st, and fact of was it- ned to ling to perse- cution, they should fall back again to their old religion, which would be, of course, inKdelity. No ('hristian of this day desiring to rcrnain such, could possibly sin against the Holy Clhost. Her husband said, that there existed no impossibility of salvation to anyone sincerely confessing Christ, or desiring to ccmfess Him. The p^issage did not refer to any person going back to the w(n"ld, unless they had gone l)ack from Christianity itself, which she had not done, nor desii-ed to do. Much l(!ss did it refer to those who had lapsed into carnal sin. For all these sins, if we turned to the Lord with repentance, the mercy ,.f the Lord would meet us, and cover our sins. Her husband said that even the idolatrous Hebrews of old were invited by the |)rophets to return from their idolatry, and (iod would abundantly pardon ; and that the whole argument of the apostle, of which the passage in question formed only one incidental link, was not applicable, in any sense, ii his wife's case. Notwithstanding these considerations advanced by her husband, she would not be comforted. He prayed with her, ;ind prayed for her, but all to no pm-pose, and on the following day resumed his protestations and arguments. She said it was useless for her now to pray, because the door was shut — salvation was now, to her, impossible. After this, she sunk into a silent melancholy, went to her room and left it only once for some months. In the interim, a gleam of hope would sometimes shoot athwart the husband's path, as imagination pictured to him symptoms of recovery in his wife. These, however, 2U cintRnr ramiu-ks and sruAMnLKS. only served to intensify his disappointnuMits. Happily, ho had one resource in tlicir mutual jnflooin — prayt^r ; and that went up.uneeasin^dy hy day and nii^lit. that tlie lii>lit ofCJod's eountiMianec would onee au^ain shint* down u])on her. The trial was oi'cat, and pressed heavily upon him ; hut liope in (lod never forsook him ; so he was ahle to lift up his liead ahovc tliese waves of alHiction, and to ]iossess his soul in patienee. After the lapse of two or three months, It seemed as if (n>d did voueh^ife a sion foi* his eneoura morning — the n\oon was unohscured, and shed its white light upon the window-blind — he saw a figure standing by the bed, on the side nearest the window, and was startled on be- holr'ing his wife — her back being to the window, tbe face was in the shade. His surprise was so great, that he turned to assure himself that it was indeinl his wife; but, to Ins still greater astonishment found her in reality at his side. As to his being wide awake, he put that to the test ; but the figure liad disappeared. On the following night he awoke again. The moon was shining brightly, and he saw the same figure standing on the same spot, only this time the face was turned enough towards the window to allow the light to fall upon it, and it revealed IlKLKJIOUS DEiniESSIOK. TIFE OUEAT PIlVSlCIAK. 210 lappily, or ; and }n^ lii;bt xn n])on 1011 liim ; aV)l(' to 1, and to lied us if lid as an actually ihe facts, in CO. Tt ]\ii moon o awakt) orning — lit upon the bed, d on be- tlio face that he ife; hut, eality at at to the ■ollowing brightly, me spot, aids the revealed the face distinctly as that of his wife. }]p ininiodiately examined to see if she was by liis si(h\ She was, indeed, th(u*e, appaientl/ asleep. The liusband had seen enougli to encourage him; he liad seen the sanies face tbat was in the gloom, brightened uj) before him in tin; light, and he felt, then, gratc^ful for the omen. Some ]»ersons would ac- count for this as a case of second sight. Th it may be, or not, 1 can only give it to the reader, as it came, in the most authentic wav, to me. However, in tiie ensuing spring, a marvellous light from heaven did come down upon that afflicted lady, chasing away all darkness from her soul, and gloom fi-oni her countenance, and filling her with joy and peace. During those weary months she had never expressed even a de- sire to pray, or to be jirayed for. Every efibrt had been made to divert her mind ; but she manifested no pleasure in anything — she felt too irretrievably lost even to wish for the sunshine. Flowers might bloom for others; but they were never meant for her enjoyment. Her God, who had never forsaken her, had decreed otherwise. One morning, before her husband had pre})ared to rise, his heart was surprised into sudden joy, by her saying to him in a low voice, that it was her intention to get up, and added : " I should like you to pray with me." God's time was indeed come. They both rose, and knelt by the bed- side together. The light streamed down from a God of love. She rose off her knees, and from that moment was happy with God. and never again relapsed into the same depressed state. 216 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. It will be excusable^ perhaps, in this connection, if I. borrow the following account from old " Fuller's English Worthies," of a case similar in its kind to the above ; but more remarkable in its incidents. Both cases show, that the same powers working for evil, and for good, are always actively engaged, and are alike in all ages ; but which i^ most inspiriting to the believer, they show that " God is the same, yesterday, to-day, and for ever." " Mary Waters was born at Lenham in this county (Kent), and how abundantly entitled to memorability, the ensuing epitaph in Markeshall Church in Essex will suf- ficiently discover. ' Here lieth the body of Mary Waters, the daughter and co-heir of Robert Waters of Lenham, in Kent, esquire. — Honeywood, esqure, her only husband, who had, at her decease, lawfully descended from her 3G7 children, 16 of her own body, 114 grandchildren, 228 in the third generation, and 9 in the fourth. She lived a most pious life, and in a Christian manner died here at Markeshall in the 93rd year of her age, and in the 44th year of her widowhood, 11th of May, 1620.' " This worthy matron, in my mind, is more memorable on another account, viz : for patient weathering out the tempest of a troubled conscience, whereon a remarkable story dependeth. Being much afflicted in mind, many ministers repaired to her, and amongst the rest the Kev. Mr. John Fox, than whom no more happy an instrument to set the joints of a broken spirit. All his counsels proved ineffectual, insomuch that in the agony of her soul, having a Venice glass in lier hand, she broke forth into RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION. THE GREAT PHVSICIAX. 217 ion, if 1. English >ve ; but ow, that e always which i^ "God is 3 county )ility, the will suf- T Waters, ;nham, in husband, a her 3G7 jn, 228 in le lived a d here at the 44th lemorable out the markable id, many the Kev. istrument counsels : her soul, forth into this expression, * I am as surely damned as this glass is broken,' which she immediately threw with violence to ^he ground. Here happened a wonder ; the glass rebound- ed again, and was taken up whole and entire. I confess it is possible (though dittieult) so casually to throw as brittle a substance, that lighting on the edges it may be preserved : but happening immediately in that juncture of time, it seemed little less than miraculous. However, the gentlewoman took no comfort thereat (as some have report- ed, and more have believed j, but continued a great time after (short is long to people in ])ain) in her former dis- consolttte condition without any amendment : until at last God, the great clockkeeper of time, who findeth out the fittest minutes for his own mercies, suddenly shot comfort like lightning into her soul, which once entered ever re- mained therein (God does not ]>alliate cures, what He heals it holds), so that she led the romaindci* of her life in spirit ual gladness. This she herself told to the Rev. Father Thomas Morton, Bishop of ])uresine, from whose mouth I have received this relation. In the days of Queen Mary she used to visit the prisons, and to comfort and relieve the confessors thei'ein. She was present at the burning of Mr. Bradford in Smithfield ; and resolved to see the end of his sutfering, though so great the press of people, that her shoes were trodden off, and she forced tliereby to go barefoot from Hmithfield to St. Martins' before she could furnish herself with a new pair for the money. Her dissolution happened as is aforesaid, A. D. 1020." N CHAPTER XIV. 4 THE HMKJllANTS LOOK WESTWARD. jLD Mrs. Tylney cccupie.s a cottage with her son and grandson, and littlo Miriam, who is also a ijrandcliild of hers. The little old dumo is almost always confined to her arm-chair, and were it not for Mirry's activity, with a little outside help, domestic arrangements could not easily he carried on. She is deaf, which makes conversation with her difficult. It is late in the after- noon when I next make my visit to her, and William and his father are expected in soon to tea, which Mirry herself usually prepfires. Mrs. Tylney is alone when I enter; but Mirry cannot be very far off', " and I soon hear her. She is busy up stairs amongst her prize books and play- things, until the kettle boils. Hearing some one with granny, she very soon mak:s her appearance. " Now git yersel' a cheer, git yersel' a ''heer, and sit ye down," is the old woman's warm welcome to me. " I be glad to see ye, and how be ye? and how have ye bin sin* ye was here afore ? I can't move much from me cheer, and 1 le very deaf — can't hear a word what folks says; but bless the Lord, He's very good to me, and h'nds ine friends, and THK EMIGRANTS LOOK WESTWARD. 219 everything, and puts it in theer 'arts to come and see ler son also a always Mirry's »;ements 1 makes e after- iani and herself enter; ar her. I play- ne with N^ow git )wn," is glad to ye was .nd I le ut bless nds, and me. " Indeed it is He who puts it into our hearts, and none other." "Aye, sir, you be right, Mirry alius docs putt in the tay' and noberry else; the kettle biles now. Us couldn't do much wi'out her. A brijj^hter little lass ne'er trod the ground, though 1 says it, and a good un' at school, too, and at church." The slender little form of Mirry by this time stands at the table. She is fumbling with an open letter in her hand, and seems to be waiting anxiously for grann}' to finish talking. Then she proceeds forthwith, to read to me all the contents — family secrets, or any other private information — about all which, she sees no impropriety in' my being fully informed. Thanking the little maid for this unsought mark of her confidence, I try to resume conversation with her granny ; but it proves a failure again. Her son soon comes in, followed by her grandson, William — a fine, tall, strapping fellow of about twenty with dark expressive eyes, and curly black hair, which will not lie down like other people's. His father, too, is a good specimen of an intelligent farm labourer, with a little education. He savs that his son William has some thought of emigrating to Canada, and he doesn't know but that it may be better for him. He says he couldn't go himself on account of his motlier, and little Mirry. He thinks that I will know something about the country. I 220 CHlMU'll HAMMLKS ANH SCUAMHI.KS. tell him Uiat I know a y;iviit di'al about it, liavin^^ lived thiMV ill various ])arts for many years, and oneo even tried farmin back woods. " You see, sir," said Ids father in an uiulertone, " they tried to 'list Will into tile Grannideer (lunrds, seeiniij as he's a likely lookin' eliap, and they've ,i»"ot their eye upon him yet; but Will's too wide awake for 'em. * No Guards for me,' says he, 'nor no workin' for other folks, as keep all th' advantage to themselves ; and then after scjueezin' all the work out of you they eaii, paeks you oil* to the workhous'. 'No,' says Will, ' that oanu* won't do any more for me, Til go where I work f jr myself, and put my own money in my own poeket.' You see, sir, as they've got all tlie command of us liere, and knows if they can only keep us down poor, that us can't move hand or foot. 1 'spose they can't try that gami» on in Canada." " Why, no, not easily. You see there is such an ex- tended territory unoccupied, that tlie population have room to expand, and it will be the hibourer's own fault if he does not get upon land of his own as soon as pos- sible. I do not see how^ there can ever be such a flux of labi)ur in one section of the country as would result in an established order of farm labourers. Were any Govern- ment in Canada ever to pursue the policy of encouraging emigi*ation, with the view of reducing wages to a serious extent, it might breed communistic ideas, and ci'itainly would discourajie furthei' emiyTation of the riyht class. So you see, they would })e only putting a rod in pickle for their own backs." 9 Trrr, KMr(;ii.\NTs t.ook vvKST\Vy\uD. 221 • >» 81 r, spose " Tlioii, you tliink t.liat onr Will iiiii^lit (tjireaten. :)oetry native scions class THE r.MKJftANT's LOnK WKSTWARri. 22:. just uhnve the a;(rieultiinil lahoiirer, he may at tirst beeoiiie hoist^'rons, Mild it' invited to faini hihoiir, will ptohahlysa} » with an air of superiority, "that he never did a stitch of work ill his life," and that he ain't ^^oin' up into such un- civilized parts. ( )f conrs(5 Ik; remains ahout a large town, and perhaps yets connected witii horses and taverns. But should the new comer from the British Isles he of the .y ; but even then it was perilous to begin the habit of taking it, and many young men have succund)ed, through finding the habit beyond their control, almost before they were aware of it — so insidious are its advances ! A beverage that would be innocuous in the hundd climate of Britain, may act here as a fatal poison. Few gentlemen emigrants, I fear, escajie this dread penalty, who follow bush farming with- out means. When persons have become the victims of dypsomania, if they recover, it will be by means little short of a mira- cle. Still, T have known some few to recover even with- 9i Till-: EMKJltANTS LOOK WESTWAUl). 227 itli the I] > wards :li)ud of tio nios- At the lie trial, may 1 e crtli and artificial probably of these ny miles i])on the tinenc(\ 1 lost to When 1 IS genei- then it d many le habit liware of at would may act s,I fear, ms with- )somania, )f a mira- l^cn with- out the necessity of constraint — that is, the constraint of a tempei-ance pledi,^e. One cannot but wish i\ui utmost success to Temperance Societies exacting pledges in their ettbrts to suj)press drunkenness; although other auxiliary ])lans might be adopted, (Mpially as efhcacious, and ])er- haps less piddic and in(piisitiv(» in dealing with indivi- duals. • One would be for the cleigyman publicly to invite any nunnber of his ct)ngregation, who may feel weak, or endangered V)y temptation, to come to him privately, if he 80 will, and make a verbal promise before (Icxl. B^ this plan, spontaneous self-efibi't would meet with proper encouragement. This would be a temperance society* the mend)ers of which would he known only to the cler- gyman. Much good might result from this plan, and some mischief, perhaps, avoided. One effect of it would l)c, that we should retain our own church members, and j.robahly save them from exposure, whether male or female. Persons voluntarily take this step sometimes without hjing invited to do so. A father once brought his son to me without any previous notice. The licart-broken parent told me that it was at his son's urgent recjuest, he had come. This lad was about seventeen. He liad re- fiiscMl to mak(3 any pledge to a society. He said he pre- ferred coming s<'cretly to one of his own clergymen, and desired to make a promise to me, in God's presence, an:hts amonofst the stars. Geolo<]:y alone will not lead him to this — that is why I prefer the telescope to tl e microscope. If man looks upwards and calls in reascn to direct him, he will necessarily a|)prehend the existence of a first great intelligent cause. To study the stars in their courses is to behold the hand of God at work. For a man to conclude other than this, is contrary to his rea- son ; and to view death in any other way than as the passage to tliat higher world, is debasing, and despiritual- izing. MIND OR MATTER. 231 kvn wards, ly of the of iiian- Lals walk lily being endowed v^ards the e how he f matter, liating to aising his I not lead 10 to the ill reascn existence stars in rk. For ,o his rea- lm as the spiritual- I was in this train of thought when I arrived one day at the house of some old friends in Hamilton, and was pondering over a reqv:est once made to me by the rector of an English county town, to give him any private infor- mation I might possess in connexion with the unseen world. He was preparing to write a book on Angelic ministrations. A very good thing to do in this iron age. So the thoughts that occupied me, when 1 met my kind friends, were not at all sublunary ; and no sooner was I seated than I began to give vocal expression to them. " Ah, I see," said my friend, with pity kindling in his eye, " your thoughts are up in the spheres. They have become altogether too etherial ; we must let them down a bit to more terrestrial things." My hostess, with evi- dent concern, here nodded approvingly. " Then do it as gently as possible, if you please. Let the transition from the immaterial to the material world not be too abrupt ; let it be done by a gradual descent. Not that I am afraid you can depress my spirits ; but, in truth, do you not think that people, in this day, are allowing their minds to be wei£;hted down too inucli to the earth, by their exclusive attention to mere mat- ter?" • . " I am not sure that you are not right. I think I can give you an illustration of the influence matter sometimes exercises over mind. Some years ago, I made a visit to Mount Washincrton." O "A very beautiful spot, no doubt ?" 232 CllimCH llAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. " Yes, exceedingly so. The view around is very tine ; but of course the associations of the phice add much to the charm of the natural scenery. 1 was prepared to enjoy it thoroughly, and my tlioughts naturally reverted to the immortal Washington, and to his memory, enshrined in the hearts of a grateful people. We were mounted on ponies obtained at tlie Glen House. Several other travel- lers, all strangers, were of the party, as we ascended to- gether to the summit of the mount, said to he the highest point of land in North America, east of the Alleghany range. There lay stretched before us a picture of gran- deur and beauty, such as is rarely seen. I drank in its inspiration with a sort of spiritual delight, and ambled about on my pony in a dreamy way, resolved to aban- don myself entirely to the spell of its fascinations. Alas ! for these sublime aspirations. A young man stood abruptly before me, and broke the spell, and with nasal accent, and hurried tone, addressed me; 'Would you like to see the body of Susan Timkins, who was froze to death here last winter ? ' This sudden descent almost de- prived me of breath ; but I an5wered curtly, that ' I had no particular wish to see it.' * Wall, then,' he continued, * would you like to see the remains of Mr. who was lost in the snow round here ^' 'No,' I replied, 'I don't care for that sight either.' ' Wall,' he said, turning away, ' different people has got different tastes, I don't think as thar's* anything else but what you see round.' Yes, I thought, different i)eople have different tastes ; and this I'eceived a speedy exemplification ; foi- two young meii MIND Oil MATTEIl. 233 ly tine ; niicli to bo enjoy d to the •ined in iited on r travel- nded to- 3 highest lleghany oi* gran- ,uk in its 1 ambled to aban- s. Ahis 1 an stood ith nasal you like froze to huost de- ixt ' I had ontinued, who was ^ ' T don't ng away, Ti't think nd; Yes, ; and this oung men came saampering up at the moment, and in breathless liaste inquired; 'Where are the remains of Susan Timkins?'" " Now, in trying to bring me down from my heights, see what you have done ; you have brought yourself dowr too I But in my turn [ must relate to you a little story, which illustrates the power of mind over matter. I was taking a walk, a short time ago, in the country, when I came upon a very singular-looking being seated by the I'oadside. It was a very old man. He looked bulky ; but it was more from infirmity, I think, than good living. He was habited as a hermit might have been three hun- dred years ago. Thei'e was veiy little resemblance in his dress to anything I had ever seen in a clothier's shop. What might be called his coat was bound round his body by a broad leather strap, partly worn into strips, to which was attached a large leather pouch. On his head was an old brimless straw hat, bound round with heather, and with the feather of a peacock. He had a long stout staff", shod with ii'on at one end, and terminating in a cross at tlie other. A very large bundle lay at his side, which I discovered contained his bedding. He was what is called a " tramp," or, as he afterwards described himself to me, "only a poor beggar." He did not beg from me. Indeed tlu'ough that circumstance, and other things, the old man excited my interest and f;uriosity. I could have imagined liim "The Wandering Jew," only that he spoke in a decid- ed Irish accent. If the terra "dead beat" could be applied anybody, it might have been to this old man ; for he 6 234 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. seemed well-nigh worn out. Yet, he repudiated all idea of his needing the shelter of a home. He told me in a cheery mood that he carried all he had in the world on his back, and didn't need anything more. " But where do you put up at niglit ?" I asked him. " An' where is it I putts up, d'ye say ; shure and I putts up any Where's I can get." " But you surely don't sleep out of doors ? " " Och, and why shouldn't I slape out o' doors, an isn't it the best place for me to slape ? " : • ' • *' Where do you put your bed ? " " An, where is it I putts my bed, d'ye say ? Shure and I putts it under a three, or by the rowdside,or anywhere's out o' doors they'll give me a bit of a corruner. I likes to putt my bed in a back yarrud, better than the rowd- side ; sthrangers be afther seein' me there, and doosn't like it ; and none's the worse, shure, but for ther falins." " Can you keep yourself warm on cold nights ? " "Och, and I keeps myself warrum ; I spreads out my bit o' clothes, and kivers m3'self in, and slapes as well as rich folks ; and would I change places wid 'em ? not I — shan't have as much property to lave behind, as they, when I die." " I think you must have had to sleep in some strange places, and have seen some queer things in your time ; if that's the way you prefer to live." " Shure, and you may say that, and havn't I heerd the ghosts a walkin' on the boords, and couldn't see them ; they doosn't trouble you, no they doosn't hurt — shure it's MIND Oil MATTER. 235 all idea me in a vovld on 1 him. (1 1 putts , an isn't 5liure and nywhere's I likes to the rowd- id doosn't if falins." ?" lIs out my as well as ? not I — I, as they, lie strange |r time ; if hecrd the liee them ; ihure it's for friendship they comes. Och. and I've been in some sthrange places ; and havn't I slaped in a graveyarrud — and a fit place too, for an ould pilgrim the likes o' me. There's nothing to tanuint a man wid a clane conscience, and a clane skin." " Rather a dreary j^lace to sleep in." "An it's thrue, just what I tells you. I thried one house. Och, and it was like bein' a whale at say — the thrashers above, and the soordfish punchin' him below. Sori-a a bit o' comfort could I get for the fiaes benathe, and the miskaties a1)ove ; and wasn't there a cymmethry outside ; so I tuk my things, and lay down atune two graves — that I did, and slaped all night thrivin' and pace- ful." " You are not the wild man of the woods I have read about lately, are you ?" " No, I ain't him ; but I don't think as any othorr man's like me in the two Cannidies." "And who do you find most kind to you in j'our tra- vels ? " " In the Dutch settlements I get tuk in best. They bees kind to me. Sometimes Christins turns rae awaj'', and sets the dogs on me. Och, but they doosn't bite — no, they doosn't bite me. A hinfidel tuk me in at one place, and thried to convart me, by spakin' atjen the good Christins; but didn't I tell him, there was good uns as well as bad ; there 'ud be no false money if there wasn't thrue coin to copy from ; and didn't the good Lord say it 'ud come to ; H: 280 CTIITRCH HAMHLFsS AND SCRAMBLES. pass, Ocl), and it's me that 'lul be afther convaitiii' h\u\, in the name o' the holy blessed Thrinity." 1 gave the old man something, and 'otiered to help him hoist his heavy bundle ; but, no, he declined aid. Placing his .staff in front of him, and resting boUi hands upon the Cross piece, he proceeded at a very slow pace on his way. May the good Lord, in mercy, go with him, audbehisrod and staff to the end of his journey. '"Onward and upward,' seems to have been that old man's motto," remarked my friend ; " but notwithstand- ing such good examples, grovelling minds will grovel still. I rerrember another instance, which, by way of further il- lusti-ation of the influence of matter over mind, I will nar- rate. One autuum many 3' ears ago, we spent some dajs at Niagara Falls. We were, one day, on the American side, and while seated, and enjoying the grandeur of the scene, a tall person, dressed in black, approached, and said to me : 'A great .sight o' water comin' down here, sir.' As my own mind also was intent upon the great cataract, I could but assent to the stranger's remark. * Yes, there is indeed a great deal, the mind seems hardly able to take in the inimensity of the scene.' * I guess it's jist about that,' said the stranger, absent-mindedly ' I was jist a lookin' for the body o' my brother-in-law, as fell down the steps above thar, and was drowned. His widow offered a reward of fifty dollars for thi. bod^ ; so I reckoned I might as well git it as anybody.' My previous awe-in- spired feelings received a sudden chill ; but as the stranger waK evidently bent on a pure matter of business, he MTXD CV. >rATTKI>. sn: in hiui, elp liiiu Placing ipon the liis way. ►0 his rod that ohl ithstand- )vel still, iirther il- will nar- ;ome days Aiuericau air of the , and said lere, sir.' cataract, es, there le to take ist about as jist a down the \v otiered ckoned I s awe-in- stranger proceeded in his search, and left me to recover my mental evith hu- man remains may have hai^ land, and we now find him on a farm of his own in Canada. Ho possesses two hundred acres of wild lanr^ oon wliich he has already paid several instalments. Abou- .iiirtv acres of this are cleared, and in crop of some kind. Thib kittle estate was shortly afterwards increased to four hundred acres — a rapid rise, it may be thought, in the condition of an agricultural labourer. It came about in this way. Be it known that William was not only as smart and good looking a young fellow as one would meet in a day's journey ; but he had succeeded also in raising* with the aid of " Bees," a very excellent hewn log house, as well as a frame barn — only one other thing was now needed — that was a helpmate. Now, in his neighbourhood there lived an old settler, well to do, and with considerable pro- perty in wild land. This settler possessed an only daugh- ter, good looking, and of a marriageable age. This young lady and William had occasionally met. William had witnessed, on more than one occasion, her skill in bread- making, milking, and other most useful accomplishments. William was not all romance ; so, when he saw all this !« li A UbIFrOE IN TliH HACK WOODS. 230 ^ uftEng- his own of wild Eihiients. of some iicreased m )Ught, in le about only as Id meet raising' lOUse, as needed od there ,l)le pro- daugh- s young lam had bread- hments. all this handy work going on, lie thought how well adapted it would 1)0 to the new liewn log house. It came to pass afterwards that there were accidental meetings at the church e meted re to he e ])assed propose m posed, jail for loixested Ised that l)ndition division A BEFUOE IN THE HACKWOODS. 241 over their eliildron, and pay the fine, that they he dis- missed witjj a repiimand. Mr. Orahhall was averse to such lenieney ; "he thouuht th.it the lower classes were already getting too much the upper hand, and that in the I interests of pul)lic morality, and order, the law ought to take its course." However, as the other clergyman rather sided with Mr. Grade, the Sijuire deemed it politic, at last, to give way ; so he ac(puesced ; hut with a vlace at that moment ; I guess it would have been shivers for him. The old Tylney blood, I suppose, got the better of William." Years sped away, and had left deepening marks of age and infirmity even on John Tylney, while his sjirightly lass, as he called Miriam, was drawing on to mature girl- liood ; indeed she was now^ in her nineteenth year. Those personal attractions that had distir.gnished her as a child had certainly not been waning as she apj)roached woman- hood ; and her amiability, and virtuous qualities were the admiration of all who knew her. She received a great deal of friendly notice from the rectory people, who had never forgotten Miriam's iirst trial in the magistrate's chamber. Miss Guerdon gave her lessons in music, and used her services very often in the day school. There was then only one Miss Guerdon ; the other sister never came A. rJKI'iMiK IN 'I'lIK HACK WOODS. 24:i iiin hor pimcli in tlio jco, it's y if it '11 s()ni(3 ])it'k oft' said liis doesn't lmI a bit lion let Lii Grab- it would blood, I :s of age I ^rightly nre Cfirl- Those a eliild woman- ere the a great ,vho had istrate's isic, and ere was or came again — slie died abroad, and now rests in the shadow of the Pyrenees as undisturbed as if sIk; had been laid in lier own village ehurehyard. Miriam's attractions instead of adding to her comfort, seemed now much more likely to mar it. Then; had always been a modest uneonseiousness about lier, which the ladies at the rectory duly appreciated, and she knew that they kept a kind and guardian watch over her welfare. This gave her contidence, and she was able to take up su- perior ground in some respe(3t«; but after all she was only a cottage giil, and the young men were not likely to ad- here strictly to the rules of eti object in view, at his time of life, is a crisis of temptation. Ho it proved to George Grade. A looseness and mildness seemed to be creepiui;' over him, but not at all such as was irreparable; still he was just in a j)()sition to follow the bent of his own feelinijs.and those feelinijs were evidentlv strong in the direction of Miriam Tvlney. She soon enough awoke to this consciousness, and it caused her much iineasiness, altlu)ui>h, no doubt, she was affected by the admiration." Matters remained thus for a considerable time — in fact until George Grade, in an unguarded moment, declared his love. Miriam's feelings remained no longer quiescent; they grew tumultuous, and she formed her resolution without delay. She declined to hold any further inter- course with him. This resolution, faithfully kept by her- self, brought Miriam to tbe verge of her .second great trial in life. Not that she doubted the honourable intentions of this young man towards her, as she said to her aunt, " Who shouhi know better than I about that ? " ** Yea, A nKFlTGK IN TIIK llArKWOODS. 2*5 sakl slic ic social itod Ihm' leis were , and bis down ' » • had no 3 of idlo- olijcc't in n. So it Avildness 'h as was )liow tlic ividontly >lio soon sed hvv cted by —in fact oclarcd esccnt; ohition r inter- by her- !at trial ontions ;r aunt, '• Yes, Miriam," licr aunt replied, "who should?" and, as she looked at ber niece, sbe looked uj)on a face that bail truth stainpcd in every lineament. Miriam cariied out her re- solve, and when she next nu^t this youn Imhmi looked for IVoni the clinraclcr uf tlic innn ; lm'H liis ^W'i, and tlu? churdi itself was coiupUittMl vt'iy inucli throu^^^li his instruint'iitality, and, of course, lie always felt a lively interest in its wel- fare. NothinL^ very particular oeeurred (hirinuld shew juld seize Liughingly mir ladies ns — their ! perform i. If they ora their 5uhl ever -" wed- said Mrs. come to faghting em all up AK KASTKR VKSTRY SKSSIOX. 2:>l " I am sure Mr. Bang does all he can for peace ; so do Mr. Tylney and little Mr. Toppit, and Mr. Barney." " Yes, it will be awful nacc if they go; but Me./s is fin*-c CO be there. I do dislike that man, he is such a con- ceited little cockney from the old country, and he's as sherp as a needle." " Yes, he is indeed, or he wouLln't get on so well in his little store ; I suppose he was a costermonger, ur some- thing of that sort, at home." The day for the great council of the church at length arrived. It was a very fine morning, and there was likely to be a good attendance. Mr. Bang, a native Canadian, was in his placC; punctually to time. Little Mr. Toppit had also come over from his farm. Mr. Larum too, was punctual, and Mr. Barney. Mr. Grubstick was present ; Mr. Rabshacle and Mr. Mews came in together. Mr. Deuce, a retired army officer, arrived late, and sat down in a back seat. He never chose to take an active part in these conferences, satisfying himself with certain expletives at intervals, expressive of his disapproval of things in general. Then there \vas a young gentleman emigrant, who came for " the amusement of the thing," and sat as far in the background as possible. There were also two or three others present, some of whom came publicly to air their discontent. The Rev. Mr. Spankhem took the chair, and the meet- ing was opened according to form. There were only one or two subjects likely to come up for discussion, after passing the accounts, and electing the churchwardens, Oil ir)2 cmtRCH RAMIII.KS AND HCUAMMLKS. I I It did not occupy much time to arran^^'o that business. The clergyman chose tor his warden, Mr. Tyhiey ; and tlie vote for tlui people's warden resulted in tlie (dection of Mr. Ban^'. Tliese were, botli of theuj, i,'Ood men and true. The next (piestion that arose was respecting tlie church- yard fence, a portion of which wa>' in a very bad state. This Would need discussi(Mi, and Mr. Mews at once rose an«l said : *' I desire to make a remawk or two, Mr. (Chairman, it's disgi-aceful that the footpawth round the church is so covered witli litter of a Sunday mawnins, and osses and haninials come in out o' the rowd just as they loike, and when they loike. I'd h^ke to know if that's roight, when we all comes from our 'ousesof a Sun- day mawnin into the 'ouse o' God. 1 propose that the hold fence be moved away, and a new one put up.' Mr. Bang, with a nasal twang, in his prompt business- like way, seconded this proposition, and it was put to the meeting and carried. " That point's settled then," continued Mr. Bang. " The next thing is, shall there be a few shrul>s plented under the new fence, and some herdy flower plents 'longside of 'em ; I move that there be." "As to the gaudenin'," broke in Mr. Mews, " I don't see no use for any gaudenin' in that place." " I said nothing about a gerden, I spoke only of a few herdy tiovver plents." " It seems to moy moind that where ther's flor pla\Ynts, awdy ones, or not awdy ones, ther's a gaudtmg." : AN KASTKK VKSTRY SKSSION. 253 business. ey ; and election nen and ' church- tad state. 3nce rose two, Mr. ound the Hiiwnins, d just as know if [)f a Sun- that the business- ut to the " The ed under iGfsidc of .-5 " I don't of a few plav^nts, " I guess not, there can be Howurs without a gertlen, but there can't be a tlower-gerden without flowers." " r b'ain't a ^^oiu' to make a spaclie, ^enelnu'n," said little Mr. Toppit, ri.siiig ; " liuwsouiever, 1 hain't afeard to spake to no man ; much less to Muws. Jack's as good as his nuister, ony day ; but to my mind Mews lias got the wust on't in 'is argiment with Muster Bang ; for onybody as knows ony thing, knows as Howers grows in a tield, and 'tain't called a garden anent o'that. Mews putts the kart afore the 'oss when he spakes — he's no go. 1 moves as Muster Bang's argiment be carried." Mr. Mews jumped vohis feet excitedly, but was cheeked by Mr. Barney ciying out in stentorian tones : " Ordtherr' ordthcrr, gentlemen. I second's Mistherr Bang's propoz- zition. Mistherr (^hairman, does that pass the meetin'?" Carried. " And moorover," continued Mr. Barney, " I move that the new fince be thransacted as soon as eonvanient — the otherr one was made o' unsaisoned .«tufl*; I vote that you be aftherr makin' the new 'un wid moor combustible me- tarials, and that the boys be thrated wid a bundle o' birruch rods." That also was carried unanimously. "Well, that is all settled, and now, gentlemen," said Mr. Bang, " I move that an increase of salary be made to our clergyman, of one hundred dollais per annum. It's oidy a trifle in addition, and I'm sure won't hurt any- body." • " I second that," said Mr. Tylnuy, "and hope it '11 meet with general appiovab An e^ducated gentleman can't be ^iiiittiiiittiiiiilliii 254 CHURCH lUMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. i a: II liii expected to drag through all the best years of his life ©n an insufficient salary. I know what it is to be exposed to all weathers ; but when I get back to my house I find abundance of jjrovision, and, thank God, much comfort. For a man to be exposed to the weather all day, and find scant comfort on his return home at night, I car.'t take that in for any man — much less a minister. Conii)ared with doctors and lawyers, some of our clergy get shabby treatment, and I should be ashamed if that could be said in the parish to which I belong. Will you, Mr. Chairman, put it to the meeting ? " " Certainly I will, Mr. Tylney ; but before I do it, I had better sa}^ that, inasmuch as the regular business is con- cluded, if I find by the vote that the meeting is adverse to Mr. Bang's proposition, I will ask you to put some one else in the chair, and I will retire, as I have other en- gagements." The motion was put to the meeting, but there was a majority against it. It was proposed by Mr. Tylney, that Mr. Bang take the chair. " I don't know," said the chairman, " anything I regret more than the sort of vote just given upon my propo- sition. I hoped better things of this congregation." Mr. Rabshacle, a voluble speaker, said, that " to him there was nothing to be regretted. It was just what might have been expected. It was the vote of indignation of the meeting against the general conduct in the church, that liad raised up the spirit of repudiation — a repudi- atior that has for its objv^ct the better arrangement of the T is life ©n exposed ise I find comfort, and find ar/t take )oni pared it shabby d be said Ihairman, it, I had 5S is con- 9 adverse some one >ther en- 3re was a ney, that I regret \y propo- 3n. " to him at might nation of church, I repudi- iit of the AN EASTER VESTRY SESSION. Soo things that were daringly thrust in the faces of the mem- bers of the vestry, who stood up indignantly to protest against what appeared to them to be a defiance of all the l)rincii)les that truth and honesty should be together, in the glorious effort to rescue from dire confusion all the distinguishing excellences that were stamped upon the forefront of the great church institution, which is to be admired in the political and social constitution to which we are all proud to belong, and trace our tremendous, un- equalled, and renowned origin. (Vehement applause from Messrs. Mews and Grubstick.) Mr. Rabshacle went on to say that they ouglit to conciliate dissenters from our church more than had been the case with their present clergyman. He didn't like so much stiffness. He wanted to see an alteration — more freedom, and doing things as they did them, if the church was to keep itself up. He was willing to pay something at the end of the year, but should wait to see if alterations were made, as he would like to see them." Neighbour Tifi' hurriedly entered just at this moment — hoi, red, and reeking. He was a short person, very stout and apoplectic, and he .sat himself down clo.se in front of Mr. Larum, who was a thin man, to Mr. Larum's great personal discomfort. Mr. Grubstick, a contracted faiiner, rose next, and .said: " The laity is getting too innch under the power of the clergy, who want to have tlndr own way a bit too nuich^ I guess there's a spiiit rising among us, that this shan't be so any longer. This is a time, sir, when we begin to feel 250 CHURCH lUMHLES AND SCKAMULKS. |i our power. The clergy i.s drawn up, sir, in battle array on one side, and we the laity on the tother. Yes, siree, and who d'ye think'll win the day ? Why, wc, sir, we as holds the pusstrings. I refuse to give my vote for the increase. I think I shall do what Mr. Rahshacle does, I shall wait a hit. I like to see the full value of my money. I've no notion — I havn't, of payin' down before you know what you're going to get for it." Mr. Tiff said, grutly : " There seems to be always a call for money — there's never no end to it. I've nothing again the man — the nian's well enough, though he don't visit enough. I'd rather have a younger man. You see, he's getting holdish. I havn't seen his face at my door for quite a bit. Now there's the Rev. Muster Fillum, when he calls he's a bit more familiar, and I likes it, and the gals and the Missus likes it. Nor he ain't no ways old. He's a line man ; but our parsons is gettin' too haristocratic. Besides, I don't thiidv as they wants a lot o' luxuries — beer and such like. There's another thing, too, our minister has got a way o' speakin' as I can't weW hear him, where I sit o' Sundays." * Mr. Barney (a cosmopolitan Irishman) rose to speak : " The conthraversy of the spaikers I confess I don't un- therstand. Does they live widout aitin' and drinkin' ? And for Misther Tiff to stan' upon his legs, an' talk ! Does he live widout his bit, an' his sup ? Survey him, gintle- men, an' see him ! an' would he like to go widout his beer ? And why shouldn't his riv'rence thrive too.' D'ye expect him to stand up in the radin' desk yander, widout AN EASTER VESTllY SESSION. 257 le array es, siree, lir, we as e for the e does, I y money, ou know lys a call ing again on't visit see, he's >- door for ini, when i it, and ain't no s gettin' wants a another Ilk in' as I speak : llon't un- |l rink in' ? ik ! Does ii, gintle- lidout his D'ye •, widout his mate and his dthrink ? Tliry it, and I makes this propizzition.. down upon this flure, to Misther Toppit, whose eloquent spache I took note of — he and I neigh- bours together, and is on good terrums, that we'll go round together, and make up a convanient subscription, to save his riv'i-anee out of his disthressment." Mr. Toj)[)it said: " I quite agrees with all as Muster Barney has spoke. Onytime as he's ready, I'll go round with him, and we'll try and get a lot o' money together for the parson — I don't want to be beholden to no man for praise, but if I knows how to spake, 'taint through no fault o' my own ; nor 'taint owin to no schoolin' as I got in Mi'old country. I wur took away from school afore I tinished my pothooks, and round O's — self-edication genelmen is the thing. I rades a good bit at home too. But I will say this, that I owes some on it to Muster Spankhem. I looks at our parson as I looks at a pictur', when he praiches he don't rade off no book. For sound and larnin' he bates all I ever heard in all my life. Muster Tiff says he can't hear our parson o' Sundays. He must be honcommon deaf if he kant hear Muster Spankhem. He shouldn't het so many sausages — kant wonder he's deaf — he won't be able to see the parson next." Mr. Larum rose, and took exception to some words spoken by Mr. Rabshacle. " They reflected upor, himself as one of the late wardens, and they reflected upon the clergyman. He liked Mr. Spankhem, and would always give him his support, though he, Mr. Larum, professed i. I( I SAN CHl'KCH UAMIUJOS AND SCIIAMIU.KS. liiinsolf a sound clmirlnuim, which lie did not thiidc their ('K»r^''yn»an was. There were some t]iin{.,^s Unit nii^ht bo introduced into the cliurch, wliich lie tlion^^lit wonhl he more accoi-diuij^ to (■atliolic doctrine^ and eccle.siastical ord(M. Still he would let that ])ass,and intend<'d to treat tlieir cler(ryuian as liberally as ]\is means would allbrd." Mr. Kabshaele said, "that the speaker who had just sat down, oui»ht to be more cognizant oi' the facts of the case tlian lie seemed to be. lie always went contrary to his, Mr. Kabshacl(»'s opinions and intentions. He hoped the new wardens would do their duty better." Mr. Larum " thought that our intercourse with other denominations would *;•() on just as smoothly, without nuxiuij^ up in their ways t){' proceedin^^, wliich scH'med an inn)lied di8para«^(inent of our own, and they would re- spect us just as nnich, if not more. How did the matter stantl in the Rev. Mr. Simpler's time ? Why, he ^ot him- self so nnxed up throuij^h the intervention of a few, that some people began to wonder if he really belonged to his own church or to somelK)dy else's. It was a fine thing for laymen to do this. They were on the safe side, as the world goes; but a clergyman could not do some; things without compromising his position. What took \>h\C(i after Mr. Simpler left i* Why, some of our members de- serted the church on the plea that her services were too cold antl formal. Mr. Sjiankhem came amongst us as what they call an Evangelical. I don't know nnich about that ; but 1 know that he was liberal and broad enough in his Christian sympathies to gratify the loosest church- 1 AN KASTKH VKSTUY SKSSION. 259 link thoir ini^bt 1)0 W()lllf tlie ease ary to bis, hoped the with other Y^ -without seemed an r would re- thc matter \e ^ot him- few, that ot>d to his Hue thin^' side, as the )me things took phice uibers de- s were too )ni'st us as nuieh about 51 d enough est ehurch- nuin ; but, tlioso peo])U^ di(brt eonie back to tlje church. Me soon found out the mistake, and directed his course accordingly, and \ resjiect his judgment. If the previouH speaker can iittbrd to pay subseiijttions to sustain other denonnnMti(ms, why doesn't hi; recognize the justice of his own minister's claim ?" Mr. KMbshacle jumped up, and striking the [)ew with liis stick, said : " Has the pi-evious spt^aker the temerity to use Rudi langu.ige at me ;* Does he mean to insinuate anytliing against the sincei'ity of my resolutions? Who is there present that dare- thread upon my prin(;iples ?" — and the s[)eaker sti'uck the pew again, and paused, looking round upon his audience. "There's that remnant of i(U)latiy at the top of the church ! It'll have to come down, and I expect the new wanlens to do their duty in other respects. Didn't my father before me stand up for this { and wasn't liis own mother eleventh cousin to Michael Mahoney, the Protestant champion of those parts, who was only thirteen removes from Lord Raggybag him- self; and do you speak to me ? " "Tweedle dum, tweedle .l?e," grumbled forth Mr. Tyl- ney, as lie rose to say a few words. " I don't think Mr. Kalishacle can beat me in my Protestantism, nor Mr. Larum in my attachment to my own Cliurch. I agree with some things that have b(!en said by both .speakers, and am in linrmony with both. But there's a great deal too much talk, Mr. Chairman, to please me. Fact is, it seems to me, there are two extremes of opinion in our Church, and at each extreniity they birak tlirough 200 CHURCH RAMBLES AND SCRAMBLES. the rubricks, without saying ' by your leave.' These people must draw nearer together — get more into the mid'lle, or our Church will burst out at both ends, and we shall lose half our people. I like Mr. Spankhem very well, and I like his doctrine, and will give him my full support with pleasure." As it did not appear that anything further could be done at that meeting, respecting the clergyman's salar}^, it was adjoui-ned sine die. !.' These 5 into the Is, and wo hem very I my full • could be ii's salary, CHAPTER XVIII. TRIUMPHS OF LOVE. * "t^ 'mPJHREE more years have come and gone since Miriam l;^^ Tylney arrived from England. Even during that period various new improvements had been made about the house and grounds of Firmount. Another attachment of brick had been added to the house, and, as a homestead, it now presented a somewhat imposing appearance. A second growth of firs half encircled it, which made it more conspicuou.sly ornamental, and the flower-beds on the lawn were tolerably well kept. William Tylney 's pros- perity had about reached its culmination, and he might be pardoned if he looked round with some little pride upon the grand results which his own energy and perse- verance had achieved. He thanked God from his heart that His providence had so ordered his footsteps, that he was induced in his early years to emigrate to Canada. He would stand upon the lawn, and as his manner was, shade his eyes from the sun with one hand, and look abroad on what his own handiwork had accomplished, and with an eye to the beauties of nature, would admire the scene. Yes^ indeed, — broad fields of waving grain and pasture land are there, stretching far back in the distance, 'lCr2 cintiicii uaMhKks and s('UA^tll^^!S. only bounded by the green fringe of unclciucd busli. The house stands on ratluM" eU'vated gioun*!, and at the bottom of a (h»ep ravine that cuts tlirougli the ])roperty near it, a trout stream eourses its serpentine way. until it loses itself in the distant forest. At the base of .some rising ground in another direction, a elustei of white liouses indicates the site of a viUage. We can see the spire of tjje church, witli its tin roof glittering through the dark tir clumps that are scattered about. All lound towards the horizon, as far as tlie eye can reach, is spread out an undulating forest, which has been invaded, in many places, by the [)ioneer\s axe, and looks broken up into cultivated clearings of every conceivable size and shape. The interior of Mr. Tyluey's house presented a [icrl'ect picture of rural contentment and plenty — not to say pro- fusion, and of happiness, too, as far as happiness is to be expected here. Miss Tylney had learned long ago not to expect too much of that. Her brothei', in the midst of his prosperity, luid also learned the lesson; chiefly, how- ever, through his young sister's experience. His eye seldom rested upon her, when she was privately engaged, but with a sad expression. He knew all her secret truth, and he doted upon her all the more for it ; but he would even have allowed w^orldlv considerations to mar its ex- cellence. Such is mari ! Mr. Tylney was aware of the circumstance connected with George Grade, for his sister had told him. While he would not allow a severe thought to enter his mind, he did not conceive how it was possible TiaUMlMIS liV l.oVK. 2g;] d at the property ■. until it of HOI no of white \ see the thr()U<>h Ul round is spread vaded, in )roken up size and a perfect ) say pro- ;s is to be (TO not to midst of iy, how- Ilis eye engaged, et truth, le would ar its ex- re of the his sister c thought ,s possible tluit Miriam should long stan«l out against su(;li (^ligihle opportunities as sht^ liad received of settling lierseU" for lif(?. She was much respected on account both of her I nu^ntal and spiritual adornincmts, as well as admired for her beauty ; hut slu; remained inditterent to mH overtures of marriage, to the sur[)rise of her aecpuiintauces, and, somotimes the mortification of her relatives. Not that they desired to part with her — they wav. voiy pi'oud of Iut. So she still continued to go on in her own (pnet way. Her attention to private duties at home, and public duties at tlio churcli, suHl'red no relaxation. From Sabbath to Sabbath she was ever on duty, an4 CHliUCH UAMULES AND SCRAMBLES. in — Mabel behind, and lii.s sister by his side, and taking the reins, tlie two spirited animals started forward, and passing out at the church-j-ard gate, speeded on their way at a fast trot. Mr. Tylney looked graver than usual. •'Do you feel well, Miriam ^ " he asked, " you do not look so ; you feel tired, may be, after the service ; " but his question remained unanswered, and during the first half mile not a wwrd was spoken by either of them — both seemed absorbed in their own thoughts. Miriam was the first to speak. " Did you see anything particular at church this afternoon ? " Mr. Tylney paused for fully a minute, as he looked hard at his sister, then answered with slow deliberation : " I did, I saw a stranger." Miri- am raised her handkerchief to her face. " Who do you suppose it was, Mirry ? " "Oh ! William, it was George Grade, looking — oh! look- ing so different to what he did once." " The young man I saw," said Mr. Tylney, " had a bad look of dissipation about him, and his getting out of sight so hurriedly, in the way he did, looked, I thought, shamefaced. Sister Mirry ! your happiness is my anxious care, and that hap[)iness cannot be much disturbed if you never see that young man again. I believe him to be a true man, Miiry, as far as you are concerned — I would stake my reputation upon that; but he is quite unfit to secure your happiness." " Oh ! William, you never advise me but for my good, 1 know ; but don't speak any more, please don't. I will follow your advice." TUIUMPHS OF LOVE. 2G5 I taking ard, and on their [in usual, not look but his first half iin — both 1 was the iculiir at )r fully a answered 3r." Miri- 10 do you -oh! look- liad a bad ig out of thought, anxious |ed if you [n to be a I would unfit to [ny good, I will Nothing more was saiisible, and that was very dimly lighted. They both paused at the door, and listened, but no sound came from within. With a choking sensation, she motioned the Indian to enter first ; for she could not speak. He ut sobbed aloud, and tried, with his hand, to cover his eyes. "Oh! and is it so, or do I dream, that you should ever have come to look upon a poor devil like me ? " " My dear love," said the half fainting girl, and she moved the hair from his clammy forehead and tenderly pressed her lips to it. " Miriam," he said, " I have done you injustice, because I thought you were going to let me die without seeino; vou." " Not, George Gride, remain calm and quiet for my sake, it may be the doctor will soon be here. I must look at your hurt ; " and she carefully lifted a corner of the wrapping, but replaced it instantly, for tlio blood seemed to well up, and trickle from the w^ound. All she could do was to mix some raspberry vinegar with water, and give him to drink — he was parched with thirst — then placing the clean linen and towels in a convenient place, she impatiently awaited the doctor's comi..g. The doctor came within the hour. He looked very grave on entering, and walked straight to the wounded man, without divesting himself of his coat. " Poor fol- low ! you have lost much blood." He felt his pulse, and then proceeded to exar.iine the v/ound. Not much '')ieed- ing followed this operation. The full charge of sliot h.id entered the chest, and had i-emained in the lung. With a sponge and tepid water the clotted blood was removed from about the wound — a large piece of lint placed upon TRIUMPHS OF LOVK. 275 first, bat and thon 1 my (lar- nore, l>ut • his eyes. )ul(l ever 8 r' '^ My loved tlie :essed her injustice, e without cahn and n he here. Y lifted a iy, for tlio e wound, egar with th thirst mvcniont i..g. ked very wounded Poor fel- ulse, and ch ;)ieed- shot h;id With a removed ,ced upon it, and some linen rags over that — then he applied the stethoscope. " Now," he said to the patient, while feel- ing his pulse, " You must remain as quiet as possible. I do not mind your being spoken to a little, but your own words must be few." The doctor then turned to Miss Tylney, and beckoned her outside. He said to her : "The poor fellow's life is only a question of hours ; the right lung is lacerated beyond remedy. You can mix a little brandy with the apple jelly, and give it to him, and quench his thirst with the raspberry vinegar and water. I will come again at daybreak — perhaps before. Now, how long do you remain here, Miss Tylney ? " he con- tinued, changing his tone, and speaking peremptorily. "Until my brother drives over in the inorning." "Be composed, if you please," he said, " for the patient's sake. Good night." Miriam re-entered the shanty, and sat down beside her charge. He seemed to be now in a doze. She involun- tarily glanced round the interior of the room — there was no other. It was a low building of unhewn logs, and roofed in with slabs, with a stove in the middle. The walls w^erc hung round with 1 -^nting trophies; there were two pairs of snow shoes, and some rifles and guns in a rack. The Indian was sitting, motionless as a statue, near the stove, smoking his pipe, and all was still again. Miriam remained silent for fully an hour, and then her charge began to sho^i^ syT^^ptoms of restlessness. His breathing was short and iri\ gular. He made an ineffec- tual effort to turn a little, and seemed easier when this »^WI^ 270 CIJIJKCH IIAMJiLLS A.ND St'RAMULES. .;] was accomplisliod. "Miriam," lie whispered, "Jay your hand in mine, for I shall soon loave you, Mirry, Ifeel that I am dying — l>ray, darling, for your poor lost one — pray for me." Miriam covered her face with her iiands, and knelt down. She prayed in an undertone so that George Grade could hear. She pleaded in earnest faith with the God of the spii-its of all flesh, that for the sake of Christ, the everlasting Saviour, He would look upon His creature who lay here so helpless before Him. She pleaded God's willingness to save to the uttermost any one who should come unto Him by that Way. She took her lover's hands and placed them together. " And now, O Lord God I " fehe said, "most holy, and just, and L^ood, we look not for Thy mercy through any good that is in us ; for there is none good but Thee ; but for Thy great and holy name's sake in Chj-ist, hear my prayer. Draw his sinful heart upwards by Thy mighty power. Teach him by Thy Spirit that Thou art his Saviour, and put the seal of Thine everlasting love and foi'giveness upon him. Nothing is impossible with Thee, and nothing can liappen without Thy care. Mighty God, O Everlasting Father, most merciful Prince of Peace, hear my prayer, and let my crying come unto Thee." " Lord hear our ])rayei-,'' she heard a faint voice HSiy, " and let Thy mercies come unto me, for Jesus Christ's sake." This ettbrt seemed to exhaust the patient. His breathing iit times was much disturbed. Miriam supplied him again with restoratives, then sat down, but it was only to count TRIUMPHS OF LOVE. 277 ty your y, I feel it one — ,d knelt re Grade the God vist, the creature ed God's should ?'s hands 1 God!" hC not for there is y name's it'ul heai't by Thy of Thine rj thing is without cr, most 1 let my er," slie uie unto )reathing iim again to count the moments, so precious to lier, and to him, by the boat- ing of her own heart. Again he became restless, and seemed as though ho would speak. Leaning over him, slu/ asked what it was. " Toll my mother, and sisters, and father, that my blessing re>ted uptm them before I died. " '' Yes, my o vvn dear, 1 will see to that." "Good-by, Miriam, I must go where He dwells — the merciful Saviour — meet me again." " Dear George," and she encircleray for poor Injun, white hunter's squaw, sleep, rest 1" She needed no other sign, and lay wearily down upon the robe. " Yes," she said, as though to some unseen presence, *' I must lie down too ; nearer my (jlod to Thee, nearer to Thee," and she fell, almost iinmediately, into a deep sleep. . It could not have been long before daylight, when a noise outride indicated the approach of some one. It was Mr. Tylney with his hired man, and a horse and side- sad- dle. The Indian let them in. Not long after the doctor also arrived. Neither of them thouiiht it ifood to waken 278 CHURCH KAMIiLKi AND SCRAMBLES. Miriam until it was full i)ay-li