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WEBSTER, N.V. 14580

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t®^

Mills Memorial Library

MCMaster University

THE

STORV OF THE NEW PIUEST

CONCEPTION BAY.

By ROBERT LOWELL.

MTiivov, alXivov, iiTri; rd 6' si vixuro-

Woe! woe!
But right, at last, though slow.

A NEW EDITION,
WITK ILLUSTJtATIONS BY DARLEY.

IfJt

VOLUME I.

NEW YORK:
E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY,

713 Bkoadway.

1873.

Batered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by

Phillips, Samvson and Oompant,

in the Clark's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetta

RIVEKSIDK, CAHBRIDOE:
STEREOTrPED AND PRINTED BT B. 0. UOUaaiOH.

One, to whom I owe au w»r h„ ^

"wii AH, wiLL He take this

AT MY HAND, THE BEST I HAVE?

August, 1857.

Messrs. Poillips, Sampson & Co., in 1859, were
about publishing a new edition of The Neav Priest in
a popular form, when the two chief partners died, and
the house was broken up.

The plates, being the author's property, have since lain
untouched, until now that an illustrated edition is pro-
posed ; when certain changes have been made, that it
may be easier to bind the book in one volume.

Oct. 1863.

CONTENTS.

OBAP.

iir.

IV.
V.

VI.
VII.

vni.

IX.

XI.

XII.

xiir.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.
XXII.

A UARE mrnuDER

• • •

MRS. BARIIK AND MISS DARE

A PRETTY SCENE AND ITS BREAKINO-UP .

A WALK AND THE END OF IT

. A FEW MOMENTS OP iwo YOUNG PEOPLE'S
LIVES

A WRITTEN ROCK, AND SOMETHING MORE .

TRUE WORDS ARK SOMETIMES VERY HEAVY

SKIPPER GEORGE'S STORY

A MEETING . . ,

SOME GOSSIP AND SOME REAL LiFE

TWO MEET AGAIN .

A SAD YOUNG HEART .

A GREAT LOSS . . •

A NEW MAN

TRACES OF THE LOST

SEARCHING STILL . . ' *

WHICH WAY SUSPICION LEADS . '

THE DAY FOR REST .

SUSPECTED PERSONS

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION, FROM WHICH

SOMETHING APPEARS
AN OLD SMUGGLER

AN INTERVIEW OF TWO WHO HAVE MET
BEFORE

14
20
32

41
49
57
75
84
88
97

102

114

121

136

145

152

159

167
179

189

CONTENTS.

XXIII. TIIK NKW PRIK8T AT liAY-IIARDOR .

XXIV. A CALL AT A NUNNKIIY .

XXV. TIIK MAOIKTIIATK I>EAL8 WITH OTHKR BUS-
1MCIOU8 I'KHSONS
XXVI. MK. 1IAN08 HAS AN INTKRVIEW WITH THE
IIKAD OF THE MISSION .
XXVII. ANOTIIKU UKLIC FOUND .
XXVIIL MU. HANGS A NKOPMYTK
XXIX. MISS dark's KJftMCDITION WITH AN ESCORT
XXX. ACROSS THE DARRENS

FA) IB

101
205

219

230
241
240
262
274

THE STORY OF THE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER I.

A UAKK INrUUDKR.

^HIRTY years ago, or longer, one bright day in
August, the church missionary, the Reverend Ar-
thur Wellon, wa? walking down Peterport, with
strong step, and swinging his cane; a stoutly-built Eng-
Kshman, of good height, not very handsome, but open,
kmdly, mtelligent, and reverend-looking ; in dress just
grave enough and just enough unlike other gentlemen to
mark his office to those who would not know it from his
face. He is the central person, though not the chief
actor, m our story.

He was a frank and kindly man ; straightforward,
honest and, in a rather homely way, a little humorous.
He had seen something of the world, in living thirty
years, and to good purpose; had a mind large enouc^h
(because it opened into his heart) to take in more thin^-s
than the mere habits of his order or his social rank ; and
while he loved, heartily, the faith and services of his
church, he had that common sense without which the
Reformers would never have got and kept our Common
l-rayer. He was a good scholar, too, as well as a good
parish priest. ^

This was the man then that had just left his house,
fa comely white one, with two little wings,) and was walk

^ THE NEW PRIEST.

ing down the harhor-rond, breaking forth, now and then,
when the way wan elear, into a cheery snatch of sacred
(or not profane) song.

The first turn in the road brought him in sight of two
persons walking in company in advance of him,— a gentle-
man of about his own age, and looking like a clergyman,
ftnd a tall, large, strongly-moulded fisherman of some
sixty years. The former seemed to be listening, rather
than talking, while his companion spoke earnestly, a3
appeared from his homely gestures.

On the hill-top, near lieachy Cove, (named from its
strip of sand and shingle edging the shore,) they stood
still; and the Minister, who waa not far behind them,
could scarcely help hearing what was said. The fisher-
man still spoke ; his voice and manner having the gentle-
ness and modesty almost of a child. One arm passed
through a coil of small rope ; and in his hand he held,
with a carefulness that never forsook him, a bright-col-
ored seaweed. The gentleman listened to him as if he
had the honeyed speech of Nestor. It was some story of
the sea, apparently, that he was telling, or commenting
upon. **

The Minister looked curiously toward the group, as
they stood, not noticing him ; and then, after a momentary
hesitation, went across a little open green, and into the
enclosure of a plain, modest-looking house, about which
creepers and shrubs and flowers, here and ♦here, showed
taste and will more than common. His dog, a noble
great black fellow, "Epictetus," who had loitered some-
where upon the road, came to his master, here, and waited
at his side, as he stood before the door, after knocking.

The parting words of the stranger, thanking his com-
panion for his society in their walk, and of the stout fisher-

A RAHK INTnUDKR.

man turning meekly back (ho thanks, came through thf
Btill air, across from wh'u-e i\wy .stood.

" It wa.s very good of 'ee, ,sir," .aid the latter, « to come
nlon;? wi • me," and hear my poor talk.-I wisii 'ee a very
good mornin, sir, an' I '11 airry this bit of a thin.r to my
maid,* please (iod. O,,,, o' the nighbors «en'd ft. She
makes a many bright things o' such."

When he had done speaking, his strong steps were
hoard as he went on his way, alone; for the whole scene
w«s as It had been for hours, still and quiet, as if, in going
^^ then- hshmg, the people had left no life behind them
Ihere had been scarce a moving thing, (if the eye sou-ht
one,) save a ligh, .-eek fron. a chimney, (a fairer thing, as it
floated over the poor mnn's dwelling, ti.nn ducal or royal
»"|"ner, and a h.ne white summer-eloud, low over the e«. th;
where the wind, t.king holiday elsewhere, left it to itself.
Imdu.g that Mrs. IJarre, Ibr whom he asked, had
walked down ,he harlM)r with Miss Dare, the Minister
went forth iigain, toward the road.

At the top of the hill, where he had stood with the
fisl.ennan, the stranger was still standing, now gazin.r
over the waler, toward the hills in the far southwist; a
very stnkmg a..d interesting looking person he was. It
was impossible for the Minister to pass him without salu-
^^.un, rnul the dog loitered. The stranger returned Mr.
Wcllons s.lent greeting, gracefully, and came forward

' ion were going down : may I walk with you as fur
- our ways lie together ? [ am going to ' the Ha.k.side,'
wherever that is," he .said, very frankly.

"I know every sheep and goat tra.k," answered the
Peterport Parson ;" and I won't scruple to make you
'••ee of the place for the pleasure of your company "
J| Ma,d is prououuced my,e; bay, 6ye ; p.av, ,lye ,• neighbor, „,..

•-.* r^

THE NEW PEIEST.

This hospitable speech the stranger accepted cordially.

"That fisherman," he said, after they had walked a

little while together, "has a very touching wav of tellin-

a story, and draws a nioral Avondeifully." ' ' °

" Yes," said the fisherman's pastor, " G"or<re Barbury's

a man worth seeing and hearing, always."

" He was giving me an account of the wreck of one
Jamos Emerson, which you, very likely, know all about :
(I can't tel! it as he told it me, but) ' the man was goin-
to run his boat into a passage between a reef and the
shore, where nothing could save him scarcely from de.
struotion; all his worldly wealth was in her, and his son;
the people on land shouted and shn-ked to him throu^^h
the gale, that he'd be lost (and he knew the danger Is
well as they did) ,; suddenly he changed his mind and
went about, just grazing upon the very edge of ruin, and
got sate off ;— then, when all was plain sailing, ran his
boat upon a rock, made a total wreck of her and all that
was in her, and he and his son were barely rescued and
brought to life.' After telling that, with the simplest
touches of language, he gave me his moral, in this
way • ' 'Ee sec, sir, 'e tempted God, agoun out o' the
plain, right w>; an' so, when 'e'd agot back to the
w'y, agen, an' thowt 'twas all easy, then God let un go
down, and brought un up again, athout e'er a thin<^
belonging to un but 'e's life and 'e's son's.'— That moral
was ^vonderfully drawn ! "

While he was speaking and Mr. Wellon listenincr, they
had stopped in their walk. As tliey moved on"a-ain,
the lattct said : — "

" Ay, the people all count him more than a common
man. He's poor, now, and hasn't schooner or boat, and
yet everybody gives him his title, 'Skipper George,' as
they would the king."

A RARE INTRUDER. . -.

His companion spoke again, earnestly :

"Fe-vmen would have drawn that moral, though all
Its %visdom is only seeing simply; indeed, most men
would never have drawn any ; but undoubtedly, Skipper
George's interpretation is the true one, ' God let him go
down; and not for coming back, but for having gone
astray.— ^e saved Jm life. It was not easy to draw that
moral : it would have been easy to say the man might
better have kept on, while he was about it."

"Yes," said Mr. Wellon, "that repentance, coming
across, would throw common minds off the scent; George
Barbury isn't so easily turned aside."

The stranger continued, with the same earnestness as
before.

" It was the Fate of the old Drama ; and he followed
It as unerringly as the Greek tragedist. It needs a clear
eye to see how it comes continually into our lives."

" Skipper George would never think of any Fate but
the Will of God," said his pastor, a Uttle drily, on his
behalf.

" I mean no other," said his companion. The Fate of
the Tragedists-seen and interpreted by a Christian-is
b^iipper George's moral. There might have been a more
tragical il'ustration ; but the rule of interpretation is the
same. Emerson's wreck was a special providence ; but
who will try to wrench apart the link of iron that this
downright reasoner has welded between it and the wilful-
ness that went before ? The experience of paganism
and the Revelation of God speak to the sama purpose.
Horace s

• Raro antecedontem seelestum, Deserui t-Pcena '

r/ f '. ^'f ""^'''^ ^°'^' (^" *^^ *^"g^'«»^ translation),
Eva ,haU hunt th^ -wicked person, to overthrow him;

THE NEW PRIEST.

come very near together. To see the illustration clearly,
in a special case ; to assign the consequence, as in this
case, to its true antecedent— not the near, but the remote
— is rare wisdom I "

" Oh ! yes," said Mr. Wellon, " only I keep to the old
terms: 'providence,' 'special providence,' 'visitation,'
and so on. It's good that Skipper George isn't a man to
be jealous of, or your admiration might move me."

The stranger smiled. As there was often to be noticed
in his voice something like an habitual sadness, and as
there lay sadness, or something very like it, in his eye, so
his smile was not quite without it.

Not answering, unless by the smile, he asked,

" Is his daughter like him ? "

" She's a marvel ; only, one who knows her does not
marvel : every thing seems natural and easy to her. I
ought to inquu-e whether you've any designs upon the
family ? ■'

" Not of proselyting. Oh ! no : none of any sort what-
ever. I had heard of them from one wJio did not like
them, and now I'm correcting the impression."

As they passed the church, in their walk, the stranger-
clergyman bestowed upon it a sufficient degree of polite
attention to satisfy all reasonable requirements (for a
parson with his church is like a sailor with his ship) ;
and they went on, talking together.

Often, as the conversation grew animated, they stood
still, and sometimes were interrupted by a passing col-
loquy bQtween the minister and members of his flock.
They talked of many things and lands ; and the stranger's
language made the readiest and most fitting dress for his
thoughts. If he spoke of woods, — such as bristle this
land, or overhang the sultry tropics,— his words seemed

A RARE INTRUDER.

to rustle with leaves, or to smell of the freshness of the
forest, or to flicker in light, and fleck the earth with glow-
ing shade. The waves swelled . and sparkled in his
speech, and there was sucli a wealth of illustration, that
the figures with which he set off what was thought and
spoken of seemed to light down in bright plumage to his
hand continually, as he wanted them. Imagination, which
is the power of embodying things of spirit, and spiritual-
izing and giving life to material things, he was full of.
The slight sadness, and a slight now-and-then withdrawal
of manner, implied that he was not altogether taken up
in what he spoke or heard.

They passed, without remembering, the first and chief
path leading to the Backside, and then, lower down, the
second ; and, when they recalled the oversight, the Minis-
ter turned back with his comi)anion and put him in the
best way, and they parted with mutual pleasant words.
Epictetus put himself forward for a share in this demon-
stration, and was caressed in turn.

"This. old fellow is friendly," said his new acquaint-
ance; «perhai)s we shall know one another better, some
day,"

THE NEW PBIEST.

CHAPTER II. ^

MRS. BARRi: AND MISS FANNY DARE.

>^HE Minister, after leaving his companion, walked
Hhjj fast; but he had walked for half a mile down the

.t 7.. '''"'^'"° ''""^^ ^'^'^''^ ^^^ fluttering garments of
the ladies were in sight, as they lingered for the loiter-
ings of a little girl. He overtook them at a place where
the hill IS high, at one side of the way, an-l goes down
on the other, steep and broken, to the water ; and where'
at every turn, there is a new and pretty outlook upon the'
harbor,, or the bay, or the picturesque coves alon- the
road. °

Mrs. Barr^ first heard his footsteps, and turned round
with a nervous haste. Sadness, and thought, and strength,
and womanly gentleness, mingled in her great dark eyes,
and pale face, and made her very striking and interesting
m appearance— an effect which was increased by her
more than common height. No one, almost, could look
once upon her, and be satisfied with looking once.

Miss Fanny Dare was both handsome Ind elegant—
rather paler than the standard of English beauty, but a
fit subject for one of those French '^ Etudes ^ deux cray.
ons," if it could only have done justice to the life of her
fine features and glancing eye, and wavy chestnut hair.
Little Mary Barre, a sweet child, threw her arm, like

MRS. BARBf) AND MISS FANNY DARE. 15

a yoke around the great dog', neck, where it was almost
hidden in the long black locks.

The Minister, like one used t'o feel with others, spoke to
^le w do.,ed Mrs. Barre softl, and slowly, and mostly' in he
Lord « own words, of her fair boy, lately dead, and of her

Mil' r I'T^ '-"' ""' '' ^'^ ''^P« ^^^^ - - Christ
Mks Dare led her two livelier companions on, leavin.

the Mmister and Mrs. liarre to walk more sWly ; and
the gentle wmd on shore, «nd the silent little waves in
the water, gomg the same way, seemed bearing them
company The child's voice was the only sound that
went forth freely into the wide air.

As the Minister came near with Mrs. Barre, Miss
Dare invued them by a single gesture, to look from the
spot where she had been standing.

The place was like a balcony ; in front one could see
down the shore of the harbor along the sea-face of Whit-
monday Hill, anJ over more than one little settlement-
and out m the bay to Belle-Isle and the South Shore and
down towards Cape St. Francis. It was to a ne'aier
prospect that she pointed.

"Isn't she a dear thing?" she asked, after allowinc.
them a moment to see the sight, which, as it has to d^
with our story, our reader shall see, by-and-by

" Lucy Barbury and little Janie!" said the Minister
looking genially down. "Yes; if any thing can mtke
good Skipper George's loss, his daughter may." Mrs!

"oMt'lvVn 'r ''' "''"'"' *^^^^""S '^^y eagerly,
01 t will break up my scene ; but musn't we get the

1 want her off my hands, before she knows more than I

THE NEW PBLEST.

do. As for the schoolmaster and mistress, poor things, 1
fancy they look upon her performances in learning much
as the hen r'id upon the duck's taking to the water, when
she was showing him how to walk."

"I should be very glad of it," said Mr. Wellon, "when
she's old enough."

" Ah ! Mr. Wellon ; her head's old enough inside, if
not outside ; and what are you to do with her in two or
three years' waiting? Besides, 1 want to see it, audi
probably shan't be here by that time." (A graver ex-
pression came near occupying her face at these words.
She kept it out, and went on speaking.) " You must put
the Smallgroves into the Newfoundland Society's school
at Indian Point, and we'll support our own here, and she
shall teach it." The Minister smiled.

" He V would she take on the gravity and authority of
it?" said he.

" Admirably ; I've seen her at it. I caught her, one
day, with her singing class, out behind the school-house,
on that stony ground; about twenty children, of all
sizes, so big, and so big, and so big," (graduating, with
her hand, in the air,) « practising just like so many little
regimental drummer-boys, but all with their hands behind
them. Lucy's back was towards me, and of course the
scholars' faces ; and so forty eyes swung riglit round
towards me, and one little body wriggled, and an older
girl simpered, and Lucy knew that there must be a
looker-on; but, like . little disciplinarian, she brought
them all straight with a motion or twoV her hand, and
then turned romid and blushed all over at my formidable
presence, as* if it had been his Reverence, the Parson, or
her Majesty, the Queen."

" Well, we must see what we can do about it," said the

MRS. BARRii AND MISS FANNY DARE. 17

Parson, looking down again over the cliff. « And what's
this about young Ursion ? "

"And what makes you think of youn.. Urston !,".«
now. Mr. WeHon?" asked Miss Dare, reflect g^^C
*e sn,Je w..h which the Minister had uttered h s <,„^

ttu'ed:-'"' "' """"^ '■'■' "» "»'»■-■• *«<=»■>-

fi.r .w' t' "" ^'"'''' P™^**' "' B»y^Harbor, have a
fency that Luey s an emissary of the Chureh, ^ssuilU,!
Popery m one of its weak point,,-the heart of heyo„„:
candidate for the pHesthood-I don't speak by a , ho Ay »
she added, " I don't think it ever came iu.o hfr hea^" '^'
Assailmg Popery, in his pereon ?-Nor I ! •' answered
the Parson sententiously, and with his cane unsettlinTa

r" T' '"""' -"'^''.'Jo™ *e precipice atd ^ok
a new place on a patch of g,^en earth below. L °,le
Mary was cautioning her four-footed friend not to fall over

ana watched the fallmg stone to the bottom.

«No; nor assailing James Urston i " said Miss Dare
srnihng agam , taking, at the same Ume, the child's ha^d

" we"ii7f"; ?' r'^™ '"^° '■""'"'• - "» ~d!-

certa nl; ,-though the head is not the only womanly o"
gan that plot^ I believe.-But seriously, I h'lpe that girl's
happtness wdl never be involved with Ly of 'them very
seldom any good comes of it.« . ' ^

iwssible that h.s happiness could be involved or as if it

fXw '"' Ttt """'™"^-' "'■'^ ^' '» ^- ^«>" --8

tellow, said the young lady. **

o I^^"^ ^ T" '^''^' ^^'' ^^* °°^^ * ^«»an CathoUc, but
a candidate for the pricsthtidd." '

VOL. I. o

THE NEW PRIEST.

"No! I'm told the complaint ia, that he's given up aU
thoughts of the priesthood." ^

« That leaves him a Roman Catholic," then said th^
JJlmistor, like a mathematician.

niif Dare. """"'" ^''''''' """ '' '""^^^^^'" ^^J<^^"«^
"In a case of that sort it must be made sure, before-
hand ;-.,f there ^. any such case,»-he answered.

to tr° ^r """''"^f '''''• ^'"''^'^ •^^^^ *^^- -«-"tion
to hei. She was still standing apart, as if to give free-

dom to the conversation, in which she took no share; but
he looked mucli agitated.-Miss Dare proposed to her
that they should go home ; but she declined. Her friend
turned to a new subject.

"Have you heard of the American that intends setting

himself up m Peterport?" she asked of the Minister ^

No, I haven t ; » answered Mr. Wellon, again lookin..

ca"" '^^ ''''''' ^"' '"^^ ^^^^ ^^^ --•• "- what

I tlink 'h^"; "" ."!^''^^""°"^ eharacter,-chiefly as a trader,
I thmk, but w.th a magic lantern, or some such thing, in
reserve, to turn lecturer with, on occasion."

"No; I hadn't heard of him; but I'm not sure that I
haven t escorted in another new-comer that bodes les
good. You know we're to have a Romish priest her "
an'd v" ,?f ^^-" with a clergyman of some Tort,'

t, but I can t thmk what else he is. He reminded me,
too, of some one ; I can't think whom."

" What soi-t of person is he,^Mr. Wellon? I nev^r saw
one of his kind," said Miss Dai-e.

"Very handsome; very elegant; very interesting : with
one of the most wonderful tongues I ever heard.-I shall

MBS. BAEB6 AND MISS FANNY DARE. j,

t7L'°"V'- "'J, '"''' ■■-"P'^'^y "">" ""mier. of U
tL/^lZy^"'^"' """"' •■» ^"'- <^'^°'^- eC

Debl?. " '■' '°'" ""' ^"- B<--^'-"thati« Father

Jhe was apparently endeavouring to keep down a very
■strong excitement. f "u » very

Her two companions turned in surprise; Fanny Dare's
''f« bemg just on the point of speaking. ^ ' '

„ Y. i °° ^'"' ''"°'' ''™ ^" '^ked the Minister.

fore ehhir 1", '" ~^''' ™' ^""^ ■""«'" "S"«'«d. Be-
tore euher of her companions spoke, she added, "We're

near^ related, bu, religion has sepa;ated us.''

eo„; ,".'?"■ ""^ *^'* """-^ ""y- '" *eir minds, have

rX"'!;:!:™ ■"' ^'"•'"™-'' P-- ^rs. Barr.

lea'™. Tno'tl^ ""7^' ''''"™'" ^"^ ^''' "' haven'.

schoolmg. She called her child to her, and hurriedlv
took leave. Miss Dare did not stay. ""^wHy

,h7'l°u'"' "'"' ™'^"^ "P ""= '»^. ™i* little Marv
the eh,Id persuading her shaggy friend to go a few stl'
m her company. Mr. Wellon continued his wa k and
fto dog, shpping his head out from under Ma^^'a^
turned and trotted dignifiedly after his master^ '

THE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER m.

A PRETTY SCENE AND ITS BREAKINO-UP.

)HIS Whitmonday Hill, in Peterport, of which
mention was made in the last chapter, is, on its
travelled face, steep enough for a practised beast
(if there were such in Peterport) to slide do\vn, and on the
water side, stands up three hundred feet and more of al-
most sheer precipice— gravel, and rock, and patches of
dry grass. On that side, at the bottom, it has an edging
of rounded detached rocks, with here and there among
them a bit of grave! that has fallen down and lodged"
This edging stretches along as debatable ground between
the hill and the sea, to Daughter's Dock, (the little cove
where a "Seventh Daughter" lives,) and, when the water
is high, is plashed and played with by the waves, as on this
summer's afternoon on which we bring the reader to it.

With a fine breeze in froh^ the eastward, and the bright
sun shining from half way down the sky, the waters came
in glad crowds, up the harbor, and ran races along the
cliffs. Here and there a little in-coming sail was rising
and falling smoothly and silently, as the loaded pun't
floated before the wind.

The scene, to a sympathetic eye, was a pretty one of
home life ; but the prettiest part of it was on the water-
edge of Whitmonday HiU. At the upper end of it

A PRETTY SCENE AND ITS BREAKING-UP. 21

(speaking harbor-wise, and meaning towards the inner paH
of the harbor) stood a little stage-a rude house for head-
ing and splitting and salting fi.h-whose open doorway
showed an inviting shade, of which the moral effert
was heightened by the s;ylvan nature of the house itself,
made up as it was of boughs of fir, though withered and
red A fisherman and his wife had just taken in the
catch of fish from a punt at the stage's ladder, and a
pre ty g,r|, of some seventeen years, was to-ving the uu-
loaded bout along beside the hill, by a rope laid over her
shoulder, while a little thing of four or five years old, on
board, was tugging with an oar at the stern, to keep the
boat s head off shore.

The older girl was one whose beauty is not of any
classic kmd, and yet is beauty, being of a young life,
healthy and strong, but quiet and deep, to which features
and form give thorough expression and obedience. She
had a swelling, springy shape, dark, glancing eyes,
cheeks glowing with quick blood, (the figure and glance
ana glowmg cheek all at their best with exercise,) while
masses of jetty hair were lifted and let fall by the wind
from below the cap, which she wore like all girls in her
country. Her dres3 was different from the common only
m the tastefulness that belongs to such a person, and had
now a grace more than ever, as it waved and fluttered in
the-wmd and partook of the life of the wearer. She
wore a frock .f dark blue, caught up a little in front, and
showmg a wlHte woollen petticoat; a kerchief of pretty
colors was fed very becomingly over her bosom, and a
bngh red nbbon along the front of her cap lay among
her black hair. Her shoes and stockings were rolled up
m her apron, while her blue-veined feet-not C'^Z
small, but smooth and well-shaped-elung to the uneven

J !

THK NKW I'KIEST.

walkc.l aKannr ,1k, wind a.ul .pnu.. r,,„a ono rock to

Uu^latlo w«vo.s splash., up. On. all, borlUiu. :;
fl«.M-c was u grace of innooont, modest nmi<le„hood.
^o H„g ,,,.Id 1,„ pn.„ier or more pictunvsquo ,ha„

^k, .d r .,lgo of rho water wi.l. the lightness of onJ
ot hosehtne heaeh binis, that, with a shadow and aZ

nmly follows nn.l retreats from the retreating and

unen.g waves ; and the little navigator, towards whom

er sister eonnnnally turned, luul her plump little legs, in

Ir'trt ^i"'"" •^''^•''"^'^' ""•' ''^'- -""-'-^ ^'-^ -

apart to keep her balanee, while her head was tightly

wont round her neek and down the back of her ser^o
gon.., so that one eould not but sn.ilo at her and l^er

r /^V"'.':'""'' ''" ^••■'^"'^•''' '^"^^ '«•' l""g^'r intervals
she worked wuh all earnest gravity in silene:

Ihere was another beauty about these girls to those
who knew then., as will appear in its time.

Splosh ! went the water against the bow, spattering
every tnng, a.ul among other things, the little white-
capped head and silk kerehief and serge gown of the
seuller at the stern. Anon a wave came up fro. No-
noath the keel, and, thrusting a sudden shoulder nn'
the blade of her oar, would lift it up o U of the scuU- nolo
in sp.te of her, and be off. Then she would grasp her
weapon womanfully, and get it under her arm, and lay it
labone.sly into its place again. In England one may
see the tuthcr's horse going to stable with a voung child
on Its ,r:.c.' and another walking beside. Here they were

k ;!ii

A PRETTY SCENE AND ITS UREAKINQ-UP. 23

taking the punt to u snug \)\. ;o, where she wm to be
hauled up Cor the ni^'lit.

"I'ull! Puiii
For u good cup-full
Out of tlio grout doop bou, Oh I "

crird the maiden in a mellow, musical voice, (evidently
for tin little one, for hIio herself had her own thoughts,
no doubt ;) and as the great deep sea illustrated the song,'
practically, the latter repeated, laughing, (with a some-
what staid and moderate merriment,) and in the broken
speech of a child, working very hard,

" Oh ! whut a good cup-full
Out of 'u n'eiit deep hooo! "

and she was very near losing her oar again.

As they came on in this way, the elder sister helpin'r
and sharing the childs laborious frolic, and at the moment
looking back, a dark, winged thing flew across the path.

"Oh! my s'awl, Lucy!" exclaimed the little one in a
hopeless voice, but tugging, nevertheless, at her oar,
while she looked up sadly to where the black kerchief
with the silk fringe which she claimed as a shawl had
been whirled by the wind, and had caught and fastened
upon the prickly leaves of a juniper bush, that alone of
all trees occupied the steep.

" My pooty s'awl you gave me ! » she cried a-ain.
workmg harder than ever at the oar.

"I'm sorry, Janie," said her sister ; « we'll get it a-ain,
1 thmk ; " but as they looked up, the hill was a sheer sreep.
and the gravel very loose.

Poor little Janie, with her distracted thoughts, and
without the draught of the rope, which Lucy held slack-

THE NEW PRIEST.

.1:!!;

ened as she lingered over the mishap, could not keep the
boat o^ and it came ashore. The elder sister .ame up
to comfort her. ^

" Janie, shall 1 shove you out again ? » she asked, « or
Shall I jump m and scul! you round ? "

Before the little girl could answe: , the scene which
they had had so much to themselves was broken in upon
Look out, man ! " was shouted in a sharp, quick tone*
from above.

"Why, James!" exclaimed Lucy, looking up the
loose-gravelled precipice. There stood, at the moment,
ar up, a young man poised upon it, while an older one
leaned over the upper edge. The loose gravel came rat-
thngdown to the pathway of rocks over which the maiden
nad been walkin"-,

"Jump wide, if you must ! » the man at the top called
out agam in the clear, quick way of men accustomed to
sJu])board work.

In an instant the eldr sister shoved the boat forth
toward the clear water, and sprang into it, leaving Jania's
oar, which had floated away; got the other into the scull-
hole, and worked the punt out from the shore.

The waves came playing, up to the rocks that -d'red
the precipice's foot, waiting for the young man who had
no way to go but downward ; and who, though we have
been long, had not been able to stand still an instant.
^ Down he came, like an avalanche ; the cheaty gravel
givmg way from his feet; all the on-lookers breathless,
above and below ; the cold waves frolicking on the sur-
face of the deep sea;-but the young man did not give
himself up to the usual fortune of heroines or heroes.

With a strong will he conquered what could almost be
caUed a fall, (so steep was the precipice down which he

A PRETTY SCENE AND ITS BREAKING-UP. 25

came,) and controlled it as if he had been winged. He
went down aslant, the gravel rattling down at every
sbght touch of his foot on the face of the steep, and ere
one could tell how, he was three hundred yards away, at
the edge of the water on the little beach beyond the great
hill. Before he reached the rocks at the further end he
had checked himself, and not even the shallow waters on
the sand had so much as touched his feet.

" Well done ! » said the man-a fisherman very shab-
bily dressed-who was still standing at the top against the
sky. He saw the danger at an end, and then, turning
went away. Now, therefore, the scene without the dan-
ger had only beauty in it. The waves ran away from
the wmd, sparkling in the sunlight ; a little sail was flit-
ting over the farther water; and the maiden, whose
glancmg eye had followed the young man's giddy run
had a new color in her cheek. She had waited amonc^
the crowd of mischievous waves at a few fathoms' length
from the shore, and now that it was clear that he needed
no help, she turned again her little vessel loward the
land Midway to the rocks floated a straw hat, half-sunk,
which the wind had snatched from the young man's head
as he came down, and thrown there.

" Min'ter's dog ! " cried little Janie, attracted now by the
approach of the great black fellow panting over the wave-
tops, his long black hair floating wide. The young man
who had just taken the wondrous flight had now seated
himself, flushed and panting, on one of the rocks'. As
the dog neared the hat, Lucy was too quick for him, and
drew It, dripping, iiuo the boat.

"I'll leave the oar for him," she said; and the brave
brute, having turned up a kindly face to her, made fpr the
floating oar, and, seizing it by the hand-part, bore up

I: !'H

THE NEW PRIEST.

with it against both wind and tide toward the little beach.
That was the place, also, of the punt's destination, toward
which it was now urged gracefully by the maiden \/ho
stood sideways in it, as men stand at sculling, and looked
forward with bright eye and lips apart and flowing hair.

A company of neighbors had gathered hastily at the
beach, four or five in number, and near them stood the
Minister ; and in all faces were excitement and curiosity.
Before her boat touched the sand, Lucy seated herself
upon a thwart and modestly put on her shoes. The per-
former of the late feat still sat apart, getting his breath

agam.

" I don't see the man that staid at the top of the hill,"
said the Minister.

" 'Twas Willum Ladford, sir ; 'e 've gone away, see-
munly. 'Ee know 'e's very quite, and keeps to 'isself,
mostly," answered one of the women who were eagerly
waiting for the explanation of the strange things that
they had just seen.

" Did 'e push lin off, do 'ee think. Prude ? " inquired
one of the most eajjer.

" Oh, no ! what would 'e push un for ? Will Ladford's
too sober for pl'y, an 'e's too paceable for mischief."

The short colloquy was desei-ted hurriedly, as the boat
came sliding up the beach, and its fair sailor leaped
blushing from its gunwale to the sand. Lucy, first curt-
seying to the Minister, was bearing tlie trophy rescued
from the water, to its owner, when little Janie was in-
stantly beset by two or three of the most enthusiastic
inquirers after truth, who questioned her, half aside, and
half with a view to being overheard.

"Where did Mr. Urston come from, Janie?"— "What
was 'e doun there, fust goun off? "— " What made un go

A PRETTr SCENE AND ITS BREAKING-UP. 27

down?" were the assaults of three several female miJds
at the subject. Little Janie was bewildered
«He couldn't keep his footing," said Lucj, hearing

ttian the questioners m eht have hid • c «•

that perhaps did not occur to her ~tance

ovJr^sX' ' sVd ' '"f \'' "^^' ^"' ^^^^"^ ^^-"^1-
over, IS n e said one of the questioners, in a kind of

s^e.speculat.on, with a good-natured laugh and ,le^l
" But I don't think he tumbled over the top," ventured

1.2 , / ^^ '" ^ ^'^^""^y ^^««« ^idth relched

measure, and kmdly wished to protect his reputation from
a charge of such preposterous clumsiness.

Ihe questioner had been longer in the world than our

"Oh ! 'e was n' walkin on the road, was 'e? but pleas-

o the h,ll, as loose and gravelly as a freshly-made glacis
but steeper than a Dutch m,f. The allusion threw ^e
company of „„™en (who followed, at the same Time the
d.rcct,on of her eyes) into a sudden laugh; Lu TalsT
aughed innocently, and looked abashed, and the mSs

xnis Jast effect of her wit was not unobserved bv th.

* saw.

THE NEW PRIEST.

a fish e ;d ? Could n' 'ave abin he know'd e'er a body
was a ^s•alkun down on the rocks ? "

But like the mouse who gnawed the toils in which the
lion was inclosed, an unexpected deliverer came to Lucy's
aid, just a3, i.i pretty confusion, and blushing, she had
turned to busy horself about her little sister, away from
the embarrassment of this unexpected and hitherto unde-
tected attack. Urston was just coming toward her from
his resting-place upon the rock ; but it was little Janie
that brought the rescue.

"I think," said she, very gravely and sententiously,
"'e wanted to get my s'awl."

« You funny little maid ! " cried her elder sister, laughing.
" And 'e failed down ;" continued the little explorer of'
causes, to make her statement of the case eomplete.

"Janie's handkerchief blew up against the little tree
on the hillside, and held fast," explained Lucy to the
women, who had interrupted their raillery, and with their
eyes sought further explanation ;— « and so she thinks he
was trying to get it," she continued, turning on him, as
he came up, a look the brighter and prettier for her con-
fusion, and with a tone as if she were near thinking that
Janie's was the true explanation.

Urston did not look like a fisherman, though he wore
the blue jacket and trowsers ; and his eye had evidently
been familiar with other things besides the way of the
wind on the water, and the " lay " of the rocky land. At
the moment, he still showed in his face the excitement of
his late adventure, and breathed hard from the struggle
by which he had conquered.

"Thank you," said he, looking as well as speaking,
while he took his hat from the fair hand that bore it
« It wasn't my fault if I didn't get a good ducking, myself."

A PBEITY SCENE AND ITS BREAKING-UP. 29

" Why, you came down with a swoop, like a sea-^ull ! "
said the Minister, who was not far off; "how you" ever
managed to give yourself that turn in to the beach, I don't
know.— Your crown ought to be made of something better
than straw, for a feat like that." °

" I suppose it's something, when you've made a blunder
to get the better of it," said the young man, modestly.

"That's the way the best part of us is brought out,
often answered the Parson, drawing a moral, as men of
his cloth will; "but if you always manage to tumble
down as strongly and safely as you did just now, you can
take good care of yourself in the world."

The maiden's bashful eye and cheek and mouth bright-
ened and quickened, with a sweet unconsciousness, at
this compliment; but there were other interested persons,
who did not forget themselves.

« Did 'ee get my s'awl ? " inquired little Janie, as the
Minister walked away, to the road.

The young man smiled, and, putting his hand into his
jacket-pocket, drew forEh and spread before their eyes
the missing treasure, and then returned it to its owner
She took it with joy (and, no doubt, thankfulness) ]
bu her countenance fell, as she remarked that "it was all
tull of prickles ! "

Some one of the women made (in an undertone,
whic^jould be heard at some distance) her comment,

" It's my thought ef Janie had n' 'ad a sister, 'e wouldn'
na uoned it.

At or about the utterance of this speech, Lucy with-
drew, with Janie, along the path which she had been
traversing a short time before.

At the same instant, the dog, having brought his charge

THE NEW PRIEST.

!!!'■:

safe to land and carried it up high and dry upon the
beach, and left it there, came back to perform his to 'e
where he could have the society and receive the con
gratulafons of his friends. He took his position near the
last speaker, and, with special precision, spattered her all
over, from head to foot. Those in her neighborhood did
no quite escape ; and the gathering dispersed, with good-
natured and rather noisy precipitation.

Epictetus, for his part, went off, also, in search of the
Minister, his master.

While Urston busied himself with the boat, two women,
''Ef 'e wants to go a-courtun e'er a maid in Peterport,

thiSv' '' '' ^""^ '' '"''^"" ''^' "' '^'' ^°"^^' '^^y

UerXZr^ '''" "''''" """'""'' '^'^'^^^'" ''''
Young Ui-ston's case was this : his father, born and
bred a gentleman, (as was said, and as seemed entirely
ikely,) had as others like him have done, come, youn.,
to Newfoundland, and become a planter. He had mar-
ned a pretty woman, half-sister of Skipper Geo.-ge's wife
but owing to difference of religion, (the.Urstons being
Roman Cathohcs,) the two families had had little inter!
course.

The boy gre>v with finer instincts and quicker faculties
than common, taktng, it seemed, f„,ni both parents, for
the mother, also, was not only a fair Irishwoman, but one
of feehng and sp.nt. She died early , and, while she was
dymg, commended the fostering „f her child to an attached
servant , and the two parents devoted him, if he Uved, to
the priesthood. '

A PRETTY SCENE AND ITS BHEAKING-UP. 31

So ut the age of twelve or thirteen years, Father
U loole had taken him into his own house, made him at
first an altar-boy, taught him as well as he could and
loved him abundantly. He had no dimculty in keepin.»
the boys mind up to his demands: but after some time"
(It must be owned,) it would have required an effort
winch Father Terence would not make, to keep it down
to Ins limits; for the boy was a very active fellow in
mmdand body; and when he had gone throu-h all his
spiritual and religious exercises, and when he had wrou-ht
out all the work that his director could put before him, must,
of course, do something. By way of vent, the good father
connived at his reading any solid-looking books which he
could borrow from friendly gentlemen in Bay-Harbor
(and the youth did not fancy any thing lighter than his-
tory); father Terence, also, did not trouble himself
about his pupil's slipping off, in a blue jacket, to go out
upon the water.— an indulgence understood to be an occa-
sional relaxation for the mind.

His own father refreshed the learning of other years,
for his son s sake, and taught him as he had opportunitv
At seventeen years of age, the young candidate was to
have gone to Fran.e and Rome, to finish his preparation;
but he was now a year and a half beyond that a^e; for
just as he came to it, a new priest, whose learniW and

ant in the Mission at Bay-Harbor, and, getting a good

fiom Father Terence, under rule, with hard penances
Suddenly, Father Nicholas went up to St. Johns ; was*
away, from month to month, for many months; -and at
a^t, young Urston withdrew, and said "he should s^

THE ^KW PKIEST.

CHAPTER IV.

A WALK AND THK END OP IT.

)T was a delightful day, soon after, when Miss Dare,
' who was as much with Mrs. Bane as at her Aunt's,
fr;. ^r ^"'•"^••'•^'^^^^-^ «he was living, persuaded her
fnend to a walk ; and, once out, they kept on, without
turnmg or flagging, beyond sweep of road, hill, cove, pass
i^^the rocks, the whole length of the harbor, to Mad

The two ladies did not talk much as they went, but
they talked pleasantly, and what they said was chiefly of
the beauty of the different views, which Fanny pointed
out, on land and water,— and there are very many to be
seen by an open eye, in walking down that harbor road

The nearest house to the top of the slope in Mad Cove
was that of Widow Freney, a Roman Catholic, and one'
of Mrs. Barre's pensioners ; the next-a hovel at a little
distance-was that of a man with the aristocratic nama
of Somerset, who was, in American phrase, the most
" shiftless " fellow in the harbor.

The ladies knocked at Mrs. Freney's door, and the door
swung open at the first touch.

The widow, however, seemed surprised at seeing them
and confused. The place had been tidied up ; the chil-'
dren washed and brushed ; and Mrs. Freney wore the
best dress that had been given her, and a ceremonious

A WALK AND THE END OF TT.

face. She asked the ladies to be seated, less urgently
and profusely than her wont was, and answered with some

embarrassment. One of her children was sick. The

ladies did not stay.

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed a child, who had opened

the door to let them pass, " he's here ! the Praest's here ! "

Miss Dare was passing out, when, as the boy had just

announced, a gentleman was on the point of entering.

Seeing her, he silently lifted his hat and drew back.

When Mrs. Barre came, he started in extreme astonish-
ment, and was greatly— even violently— agitated. In a few
moments, he so far recollected himself as to withdraw his
astonished and agitated gaze from her, and turned away.
Mrs. Barre's look wa^ full of the intensest feeling.
Miss Dare watched the sudden and most unlooked-tbr
scene in surprised and agitated silence ; Mrs. Freney and
her family in wondering bewilderment.

Mrs. Ban-e spoke to the priest ; her voice was broken,
and tender, and moving.

" Shall I not have a word or look of recognition ? " she
said.

He turned about, and with a look of sad doubt, asked,
g^'. °ry earnestly, " Are you a Catholic ? "

S;.-. red insta.itly, " Yes ! as I always was, and

never i. o..sed to be for a moment."

Perhaps Miss Dare started, but a glance at him would
fiave assured her that he was not satisfied. The doubt
m his look had not grown less ; the sadness kept its place.

"No more?" he asked again; "not what I believed
when we took leave of one another? Not what you
were in Lisbon ? "

Mrs Barre, with a woman's confidence and directness,
turned to what must have been a common memory be-
tween them : —

vol,. I. .,

THE NEW PRIEST.

No more than what I was when I was a happy wife
in Jamaica, and had a true and noble husband and two
blessed children I No more, and the same ! "

She did not weep, though she spoke with intense feel-
mg. He seemed to feel almost more strongly. He put
his hand upon his forehead, pressing both brows. Neither
seemed to regard the presence of witnesses ; yet when
Miss Dare moved, as if to withdraw, the priest hastily
begged her not to go away ; and then to Mrs. Barr6,
who stood looking fixedly upon him, he said sadly :—
** How can I, then, but ^ay farewell 1"
" How cjtn you not, when I come asking?"
" No," he answered, " I follow plain du^y ; and not un-
feelingly, but most feelingly, must say fareweU/" and he
turned and walked away from the house, toward one of the
knolls of rock and earth.

"Then I must wait!" she said, turning her look up
toward the sky, which did not hide or change its face.
Then Mrs. Barre's strength seemed giving way.

" Come back into the house and sit a moment," said
Miss Dare, who had her arm about her; "and Mrs.
Freney, will you get a little water, please ? "

Mrs. Barre, though unable to speak, mutely resisted the
mvitation to go back into the house, but persisted in go-
mg, with tottering steps, up the hill toward the path, and
still kept on, though almost sinking, for some rods farther,
—until she had got within the pass through the rocks,—'
there she sank upon a stone.

"Thank you. Don't be afraid for me," she gasped-
"I never fajnt." Then resting her elbows on her knees,
she covered her face with her hands, and so sat, « Oh !
Fanny," she said, " you saw that he was one very near to
me, though so utterly separated ! "

A WALK AND THE END OF IT.

At the 8oun(' of a hasty step approaching, she started
and looked forth. It was Mrs. Freney with a mug of
water.

" Here's some drink he bid me bring 'ee ma'am," she
said, courtesying ; " an' sure I'm very proud to bring it to
fiiich a kind lady as / are."

Mrs. Barre thanked her, but declined the water ; and
the woman, expressing a hope • t!;at ahe wouldn't be the
worse of her walk," offered to procure a punt that
she might be rowed back, "if she'd plase to let her
get it." This offer, like the other, was declined, with
thanks.

The ladies walked back more silently than they had
come, and more slowly, Mrs. Barre resting more than
once by the way, and looking hurriedly backward, often.
At home she threw herself down, and lay long with her
face buried. At length she rose, and wiping away her
tears, said : —

" Ah Fanny, it isn't right that a bright, young spirit
like yours should have so much to do with sorrow. Your
day is not come yet."

" You don't know that," said her friend, smiling, and
then turning away. " Perhaps that was the very^thing
that brought me to you."

Mrs. Barre drew iier to herself and kissed her. The
tears were falling dokvn Fanny's cheeks this time.

A sweet breath of summer air came through the open
window.

" You brave, dear girl ! " said the widowed lady, kiss-
ing her again.

"Never mind," said Fanny, shaking the tears away;
"but will you let me be wise— though I haven't had
much to do with Roman Catholics— and ask you not to ex-

THE NKVV PRIEST.

poso yourself to this RomisJi priest, even if he's your own
brother I Let him go, won't you ? You can't do him
any good, and ho won't do you any."

"Nothing can make me a Roman CatholicI " said
Mrs. Barre, "and I can't help having to do with him.
I wouldn't for all this world lose my chance ! "

" Ah I but we think our own case different Vrom
others," said Miss Dare.

" If you knew what was past, Fanny, you'd trust me
for what's to come, under God. If I come to too deep
water, be sure I'll ask Mr. Wellon."

A FEW MOMKNTS OP TWO LIVES.

CHAPTER V.

A PEW MOMENTS OP TWO TODNO PEOPLE'S LIVES.

) WO or three dnya passed before our young people,
who separated at Whitmonduy Hill, met again.
The night had been rainy; but the morning
was delightful. An occasional clou<l floated, like a hulk
from la.-t night's battle, across the sky ; but the blue, where
it appeared, was of the very bluest ; and the air fittest for
breathing and being glad in. The high, rocky walls of
coast, the ridges and the far-off woods, were as fresh and
clear as could he ; the earth Avas cool and strong under
foot, and one might feel the wish-wash of the water where
he could not hear it.

Skipper George had part of his old father's garden, on
the slope below the ridgy boundary of the little plain
on which his own house stood, and Skipper George's
daughter, like other maidens of the land, was early busy
in it, full of the morning fresluiess and beauty of the day.
A step drew near, and James Urston, coming to the fence*
wished her "good morning," and lifted his hat, gracefully,'
as if he had had his schooling somewhere abroad.

"Oh, James!" said she, looking up, with her face all
glowing, "you hurt yourself the other day !"

"No. I've got over it before this; it was nothing."
His face, too, had its fresh touch of brightness and spirit
from the morning.

'ikiif |t>

THE NEW PRIEST.

« It might have been something, though. You shouldn't
have run the risk for such a trifle."

" There was no risk ; and if there had been, it wasn't
for little Janie only that I got the ' shawl.' "

Lucy's bright eyes perhaps looked brighter. "Are you
going out on the water to-day ? " she asked, changing the
subject.

" Yes, To-day, and To-morrow, and To-morrow, I sup-
pose ; but I hope, not always ! "

" Would you go to Bay-Harbor again ? "
" Never on the old errand, Lucy ; I can have a place
in Worner, Grose & Co.'s house; I think Miss Dare
must have spoken about it."

"Did you know," said Lucy, drawing nearer to the
fence, and bashfully hesitating, " that she had spoken to
the Minister about making me mistress in a school?"
The maiden blushed, as she spoke, and very prettily.

"And he will; won't he?" said Ursfon, interestedly,
but rather gravely.

"Oh! I don't know; he told me that he might be able
to soon; but I don't think there's any place for me,"
she answered, busying herself with the garden.

" Yes ; and more than that, by and by ! " said he, decid-
edly. — A nice ear could have detected a httle sadness
in the tone with which he said these words of happy
augury.

She looked hastily up.

"And some of these days you'U be a merchant ! " she
said.

" Something, please God ; something, Lucy, that wants
mind in it, I hope, and that one can put some heart in,
too ; something that will give one chances to thmk, and
learn, after having once begun as I have."

A FEW MOMENTS OF TWO LIVES. 39

"Oh, you'll go on learning, I'm sure," she said; "you
know so much, and you're so fond of it."

The morning was fresh and clear, the water bright and
living.

" You think a good deal of my knowing a little Latin •
but only think of what other people know!— this very
Father Nicholas at Bay-Harbor. You know ten times
as much that's worth knowing as I do I "

"Oh! no," said the maiden, "it wasn't the Latin
only—" '

«I know the 'Hours,' as they call them," he said,
smihng, "and some of the 'Lives of Saints.'"

" Oh, no ! all those books that the lawyer lent you."

" If it hadn't been for those, I should have been worse
yet;— Father Terence hadn't many;— yes, I've read
enough to want to know more;-but the pleasantest
readmg I ever had was reading your English Bible with
you those two times."

« Was it, really ? " the maiden asked, with a glad look,
m her simplicity, and then she blushed a little.

" Yes ; I've got every word of what we read, as if it
were written in my mind deeper than ever those North-
men cut their words in the rock."

She was silent a moment, looking beautifully thought-
ful out into the air; but then suddenly recalled herself
and said, —

" But they cut their words deeply, to stand till now
ages after, with the sun shining on them, and the storm
beatmg against them, and the ice freezing over them
year after year,-if they are there, as people say."

"There are writings in the rock ; but I don't know if
there are any of the Northmen's. It doesn't matter
much ; no one sees or cares for them."

■:]l|

thp: new priest.

" Men oughtn't to forget them ! ". she said, with glisten-
ing eyes. ,

"Poor men!" said Urston, in his turn, "they hoped
for something better ! But hopes are happy things while
we have them, and disappointed hope doesn't hu^rt dead
men. It's the living that feel."

The young man said this as if he had begun a man's
life, such as it is, most often. Perhaps he thought only
of one disappointment, that at Bay-Harbor.

Lucy was busy again with the garden.

By and by she asked, "What do you think they
wi'ote ? " -'J

"Perhaps only their names; perhaps the names of
some other people that they cared for at home ; and the
time when they came."

"There may be grave-stones as old," Lucy said, "but
this seems stranger, cut by strange men on a great cliff
over the sea ;— I should hke to look for it."

" You know they say it's somewhere on the face of
Mad-Head,"* said Urston; then looking towards the
ridge, he said, " Here comes my father !" and wished her
hastily « Good-bye ! "

* So it 18 believed, in Peterport, of a certain cliff; and, very Ilkelv.
in other places, of other rocks. ^

A WIUTTEN ROCK, AND SOMETHING MORE. 41

CHAPTER VI.

L WRITTEN ROCK, AND SOMETHING MOBE.

)R. SMALL GROVE, not jealous, had invited
Skipper George's daughter to come in, as often
as she pleased, to the school ; and generally con-
trived to make this something more than a compliment,
by getting her occupied, when she came, with teaching the
more advanced scholars, while Mrs. Smallgrove taught
the younger, and he, with cabn authority, presided.

This day Lucy Barbury had sought the scholastic hall,
and there Miss Dare called for her, just as school hours
were over.

The haunts of childhood have an attractiveness of their
own about them, for those that were children once, and*Miss
Dare, as Lucy came bashfully out, pointed, with a silent
smile, to the stain made upon the door-post by little hands
holding against it while little feet were Ufted *o the height
of the threshold ; and read, with a smile, a legend traced
with tar upon a bit of board which leaned against the
school-house. It was a timely moral for the young vota-
ries of science, indicted by one of themselves, inspired:—
" Yo that wool lam,
Don fall Estarn."

" I'm going down to make some drawings," she said,
*' would you like to go. Miss Lucy ' -arbury ? "

THE NEW PRIEST.

•' Yes, if you please. Miss Dare; if you'd like me ta
Are you going to Mad Cove ? "

"No; I wasn't going to Mad Cove, but I will go, if
you'd like it." ^

"I think that writing must be so strange, that they
say the Northmen left on the Head ages ago."

" But why, out of all the ages, is it so^interesting to-

day ? " °

^ "I only heard to-day where it was. Do you think it
IS then- writing, Miss Dare ? "

" So it's thought; but it isn't always easy to make sure
ot such thmgs. I saw an account of a stone dug up, the
other day, in the United States somewhere ; and an In-
dian scholar said that the letters were hieroglyphics, and
meant that ' seven sons of the IMack Cloud made three
hundred of the Wolfs cubs to fall like leaves of the
forest;' and a great Oriental scholar read it, 'Here the
Brothers of the Pilgrim rested by the graves of the
dead; and he said it was a trace of the lost tribes of
Israel; but a scholar in the Scandinavian languages, of
Sweden and Denmark, said it was a relic of the North-
men, who went from those countries and discovered
North America; and that it meant, 'In the rolling
fields we make our home that used to have a home
on the rolling waves.' And there it is, you see. This
writing on our rock is also said to be by those North-
men."

"And it may be by Captain Cook, who set up the
stones at Sandy-Harbor," said Lucy, smiling.

" Yes ; it may be," said Miss Dare, ass^enting to the
possibdity suggested.

" But it may be by those men," said Lucy again, return-
ing to the other possibility.

i like me to.

A WRITTEN ROCK, ANl> SOMETHING MORE. 43

"Certainly," answered Miss Dare, assenting again;
" and It may be by the Lost Tribes."

Lucy kindled as if a spirit of the old time came over
her. Her eyes swelled and briglitened, and she grew
pale.

"If it were, they ought not to leave it hanging out
there over the sea; but I suppose they'd be afraid to
move it," said she. "And if it were those Northern men
had written there, I should almost be afr.id to look at it
so long after they were gone ; it would be almost as if
they had come back again to do it ; but they did some-
times write simple little things like a man's name, didn't
they, Miss Dare ? "

" That's been a trick of the whole race of men in aU
ages; writing their own names and other people's," said
Miss Dare, « on walls, and trees, and rocks."

It took them a good half-hour— though they walked
well— to get to the mysterious rock, over Whitmonday
Hill and by Frank's Cove and lesser neighborhoods; but
pleasant talking about many a pleasant thing, and frequent
greetings to the neighbors, as they passed, perhaps made
the time short.

By and by they stood on Mad-Head; the fresh wind
blowing m from the bay ; the great waves rushin.. vo
and falling back far down below them ; the boundless
ocean opening forth, beyond Bacaloue Island ; this cruel
sea close at hand being of the same nature as that with-
out, only a little tamed. They both stood, at first, without
speaking. At length xMiss Dare recalled the object of
their visit, and said,—

"Now, Lucy, use your eyes, please; and see which is
this famous stone. I am rather impatient now we're so
nG3.r it. ■

**i

TT!K NRNV PRIRST.

Lucy, too, was quite excited.

" Tliis is the very rock, I think," said she ; and she
tlirew herself upon the ground, and liolding by an up-
standing point of the rock, and by its edge, leaned over,
bodily, and looked down the hollowing lace of the huge
cliff. Steady as a girl of her life - ' > eye and hand,
she did this with the same comp.. ^^ith which she

would have leaned over her father's fence. Mi:4s Dare
threw back her bonnet and let the wind do what it would
with her hair, while she got down upon her knees and
looked over also.

These two pairs of bright eyes had looked some time
when they began to make out something like letters on the
great grained and wrinkled and riven surface, and about
an arm's length down, and yet so hidden by the over-
browing of the rock, as not to be seen without stretching
far over. Fearlessly, and full of interest, they leaned
over in turn ; each, also, In turn, holding the other.

"If it should be Greek or Hebrew, it will be too much
for me : Roman, or old English, or German Text, I fancy
we may make out," said Miss Dare. " Stay ! I was reading

upsidedown, like those inscriptions in the Desert Til

begin at my end ; "—and she began drawing. " I'hat looks
as if it would come out like the old Bla ' Letter, or
German Text,"

" James Urston might have read it if he'd only looked ;
he writes German Text 'beautifully, and knows all kinds
of writing I suppose," said Lucy.

" Perhaps James Urston never heard of it," suggested
Miss Dare.

" Oh ! I forgot ! he told me where ihey said it was, but
I don't think he had seen it," said Lucy.
"Ah?— Well," Miss Dare continued, keeping to her

A WRITTEN ROCK, AND SOMETHING MORE. 45

work, "if we turn that uj^side down it looks like '% '
certainly; doesn't it? We must allow a little for the
difficulty of cutting, and a little for difference of writing,
and a little for age. Why, if it all goes as well as this,'
we shall make a noise with it in the world. Now you get
the next, please ;— very likely a date!" added Miss Dare,
in fine spirits. « There must have been a letter before it,
but there's no trace of one now."

" Here are two out here by themselves, Miss Dare ! "
said Lucy, who had been looking over at another place,
while the drawing was made, and who was excited with
her discovery. « They're very plain : ' I-V.' "

" What can that be ? " said Miss Dare. " Four ? Four
what? 'I-V.' it certainly is," she said, after taking her
turn in looking over. " Well, we can't make any thing
more of it just now. There are no other letters anywhere
along. Let us go back to our fii-st work."

The next letter they pronounced « n," after getting its
likeness on the paper.

" That's no date," said Miss Dare again : " * U ? ' "

" ' 0,' " suggested Lucy Barbury ; « it may be a prayer."

" Well thought again ! So it may be ! Let's see,—

what's the next ?— ' r ! ^ Good !• But stay : this'll take

down the age of our inscription, mightily, if we make that

English. That other letter 's * U,' depend upon it. ' a=

W=t^='— some sort of Scandinavian name — and ' J|) ! '

' ^Lttrfi,' That looks pretty well and sounds pretty well.
Why, that's a grand tld Norse name ! < Lury ! ' It sounds
like Ruric, the Russian conqueror, and 'Fuur,' and
' LURID.' That's an old Viking."

"How strange!" said the pretty fisher's daughter,
thoughtfully, « that one name, of aU, should be there ; and
just the name makes us think of a particular man, and

THE NEW PRIEST.

how he looked, and care something about him— doesn't it?
He was the commander, I aupposo."

Miss Dare, full of eager discovery, was bending over,
in her turn. It was slow work, stretching over, looking
carefully, and copying a little at a time.

" We shall have more trouble about the next word,"
said she, " for that won't be a name ; they only had one
name in those days. It may be * somebody's son,' though ;
yes, it may be a name."

" And, perhaps," said Lucy, smiling, (for they really
had but a mere thread of conjecture to walk upon, across
a boundless d'^pth,) « perhaps this is no man's name. It
may mean something."

" We haven't got that third letter exactly, after all,"
said Miss Dare, comparing and correcting. " It's * C/ not
* t,' It doesn't make a man's name now, certainly."

" There's a Saint Lucy, among the Roman Catholics,"
said her namesake. " I suppose they landed on her day,
just as they did at St. John's, and St. George's, and St.
Mary's, and the rest."

" This is a Lucy that hasn't been canonized yet, for
there's nothing before her name ; and I've got a key to
the other, so that it doesn't give me as much trouble as I
expected. I believe it does ' mean something: "

Lucy Barbury leaned over the rock again in silence,
but presently drew herself up as silently ; and as Miss
Dare looked at her with a smile, she said, (and no pencil
could have given the prettiness of the blushing cheek, and
drooping lid, and head half held up,)—
" I'm sure I don't know what it is."
" But I do," said Miss Dare : " ' 3B=asrsfi=Usr=S.'
That's more familiar than one of those hard old Norse
names, isn't it ? It seems to be a woman's name ; but if *

-doesn't it ?

A WKITTKN KOCK, AND SOMETHING MORE. 47

mHk(,3 you 'think of a particular man,' perhaps, as you
sa.d 'and how he looked, and care something about
him? " °

yh ! Miss Dare," said Lucy, quite overcome with
confusion, « I didn't know it was there."

"Nor I; but since it's there, somebody put it there;
and somebody that understands German Text. But T
was only in fun, Lucy. Don't mind it. You didn't cut
it."

Lucy would not have minded it, perhaps, if she had cut
It herself.

"I'n afraid somebody '11 see it," she said.

There was, indeed, more than one body (female-^and,
mdeed, an old man too,-) hastily getting up along the
chff s edge, looking over, all the way along. Few people
were m the Cove at the time, and the greater part of
the ^^v^ had been busy ; but still the long sitting, and
above all, the strange doings up at Mad-Head, had not
been unobserved, and at length it was impossible for the
beholdens to keep away.

"I don't believe they'll see it," said Miss Dare, as they
came near, « and if they were to they wouldn't make much
ont of It; not many of i\,^ worr^en understand Geman
lext. There are tho^e Roman letters, beyond, that could
be made out more easily; but there again, unless they
were pretty familiar with such things, ,hey wouldn't be
the wiser.

•• r wondor what they mean," said L,„.y, who, after the
reve at,on of the B.a,* Letter, might be glad of a »afe
subject for speculation.

^ "I fancy that they might be interpreted by one who

unde-,t^mi, all kinds of writing,'" said Mi.,s Dare, with

smue,-but speaking so that the approaching neighbors

THE NKW PKIEST.

sliould not hear,— but I and J used to be the same letter,
and so did V and U."

Lucy blushed more deeply than ever at the intelligence
that lurked in this sentence.

« Oh ! don't tell them, Miss Dare, please," said she.

" Did 'ee loss any thing, Miss ? " said the foremost of the
advancing inquirers.

" Yes ; I'm afraid we've lost our time ; haven't we,
Lucy?'"

"I thought, mubb'e 'ee may have alossed something
down the rocks."

" No ; we were looking for the old writing, you know,
that they say is cut in. Lucy here, had read about such
things and she was very anxious to see one."

As Miss Dare said this, she looked gravely at her com-
panion, but that pretty maiden was, or seemed, altogether
taken up, with the tie of one ^f her shoes.

" Did 'ee find 'un," inquired another of the curious, as
all their eyes wandered from one explorer to the other.

" No ; we found some marks, but they don't look like
old letters. — How do the fish go to-day ? "

" They'm ruther sca'ce Miss, but the bait's plenty."

As Miss Dare and her scholar went home, they said
nothing more to each other of their discovery. The
neighbors, dispersing slowly, wondered " what made young
Lucy Barbury look so frustrated like," and concluded
that it was because of her not being " so sharp about
they things as Miss Dare, and how could she ? "

TRUK WORDS ARK SOMETIMKS VERY HEAVY. 49

CHAPTER YIL

mvr. WORDS ABE SOMETIMES VERY nEATT.

pan of the harbor, might have «en young Ura-
. _ ion standing under the CVoss-way-Flake whioh
»ver, with thick shade a pan of the .J ey 'd 5^ r'

trZ<:^r "" "'""°"^- '° '"= °" -painted ho ,

J .om where the young „»„ stood, th,> fair blue heaven
over the top of which .nclosure had now begun to oour

Z nlif irt ""7 T ' """' --p4 awayT'
airy »alls,_the fresh and glorious day.

youn?:,n7eTt h""";' T- "'"' ""^ "^ '"^ «'*^- »^ the

Tha K,::;:ittft"f,T'''" "i "^"' '""•• ^' ™

some fish whrsh: wa? "?'■ "''° ''"'"' '"'°™' '"*

he saluted resp c tfu iHirT""", '" ''""^' ■""■ '''«""
u respectfully, giving her the title of " Aunt "

she contiCd htr worL ""' ^"'^''^ '"^ ^'^'"' """«
u'!:;*'''' " ""^ ^^ S"- "P heing a .riest, Mr.

;„.. " '"* ^''"'S h« coming life, like a quoit-caster,

THE NEW PRIEST.

to see how far the uttered word would strike ; then, turn-
ing to her, and in a lower voice, added, " I've left that,
once and forever. — But why must I be so strange, that
you call me ' Mr. Urston ? ' "

She looked at him searchingly, without speaking. He
kept hia eyes fixed upon her, as if expecting her to say
more ; but as she turnc<l to her work again in silence, he
said—" I'm a fisherman, just now ; I may be something
else, but it won't be a priest."

" James Uraton ! " she said, abruptly as before. " Do
you know you're trifling with the very life?"

The young man started. " I don't understand," said
he ; " do you blame me for not being a priest ? "

No; I'm glad of it: but what is there between you
and my daughter Lucy ? "

The young heart, m if it had l)(!en touched in its pri-
vacy, threw a quick rush of blood up into James Urston's
face. " Nothing," he answered, much like a lover ; being
confused by her suddenness.

" There ought to be nothing, and nothing there must
be !— I've told her, and I tell you, Mr. James Urston,
you must not meet any more."

" But why ? " he asked, not recovered from his confu-
sion.

" You can see, easily," said Mrs. Barbury. " I needn't

tell you why."

Is there any thing so hard, or that goes in so deep, as
air made into words ?

" No, I don't see," he said. " I see how different she
is from any one else."

How could he let himself see that wall, so suddenly
built up, but so surely ? — It was not, yesterday.

" I know she is," said the mother, " and I thank God

TRUE WORDS ARE SOMETIMES VERY HEAVY. 51

for it; He made I.er so: but her feeling,, are like other
people, on), the, may go deeper._Th:, can't be tritd

lnf.<. H not my eharacter,-with man or woman 1"
Ther. «.as a strength in thi.s self-assertion, in which every
rirr;:^^"'^'^^--^-^^---^-impreJ

"I believe you don't mean wrong," she said; "and
hat makes .t easier to speak plain to you. I haven't
lan^mge hke yours, but I can say the truth. I'm her
mother and must answer to God for what care I take of
her. It would be wrong for me to let you go on, and for
you to go on, against my forbidding."

but Ms. Barbury was near; and happily, and rather
strangely, no one else was drawing, near

sbn' I ^V"'^'"^ ''' ^''' ^'""« ' ^ ^'^^' ^"^^ ^hat else
should make it wrong," he said.

" Diference of religion, James U. ston," she said, slowly
and gravely,-" as you must know yourself. I ;ouldn^
be unkm ; but it can't be helped."-it was plain ta
she was thoroughly resolved.

He answered bitterly :

" If you don't blame me for not being a priest youni

Z^^' r Ir^' '^-^ -7 further. T^hr
""glitn t always be a difference of relWon "

she slid !!*""■' '"'*''' "^^""^ •" *■■"' -O — 'yi

wo'mL'!^.'' *'* ^""'^ ^™" "P '-'"•"S " priest for any

l''||'Et

THE NEW PRIEST.

" 1 never gave up the priesthood for any thing but con-
science ! because I must be a hypocrite, if I kept on. 1
can't believe every thing, like good old Father Terence ;

and I can't be a villain, like " (he did not give the

name.)

She answered : —

" You speak quite another way, when you say that I ^
ought to risk my daughter for the chance of making you
a Protestant ! I've no right to sell my daughter's soul ! "
Again the young man took fire. " We needn't speak
of trafficking in souls," he said, " I'm sure nothing would
buy her's, and I wouldn't sell mine,— even for Lucy Bar-
bury."

" Then do right ! " said the simple reasoner who was
talking with him. "You can't be any thing to each
other ! "

Gentle as her face and voice were, the sentence was
not to be changed. It is not only in drowning, that the
whole life past, — ay, and the future's hope, — meet in an
instant's consciousness, as a drop reflects the firmament ;
for, in any crisis which has power to quicken every fac-
ulty to its utmost, all that is past comes with a sudden
sadness, and all that might have been ; while, at the same
pulse, comes the feeling, that, between past and future,
we are losing hold and slipping down, forever; quitting
the results of what is gone, and the opportunity of what
was to come. Wiioever has had the experience of love
discovered in his heart, only that it may be chased and
killed, may know what Urston felt.

" You can't help what she has been to me," he said,
sadly. " You can't take away the memory, at least. You
can't take away noble thoughts she's given me. You can
take away what might have been, yet," — he added, bit-

TRUE WORDS ARE SOMETIMKS VERY HEAVY. 63

terly, as well as sadly, "it's hard for a young man tc
have to look back for his happiness, instead of forward !
I didn't think it was to be my case ! "

No man living, and certainly no woman, could help
feeling with him. Mrs. Barbury and he were still alone
together. She spoke (and gently) :—

" Happiness isn't what we're to seek for ; but it comes
after doing what's right.-It isn't always easy to do right,"
site said.

'^Not so easy as to tell others to do it," he answered,
bitterly, still. '

"And yet, it is to be done ; and many have done as
hard things," said Mrs. Barbury, "and even were the
better for it, afterwards."

"When it takes away the very best of life, at the
beginning " . The young man gave way to his feel-
ings for a moment, and his voice broke.

" We may live through it, and be the better for it," she
said.

"Take away the best of life, and what is left?" he
asked, with his broken voice, which had been so stron-
and manly only a little while before. "Or break the
heart, and what's the man, afterwards ? "

Mrs. Barbury's answer was ready, as if the question
had come to her years ago.

"A 'broken heart' is the very thing that God asks
for; and if it will do for Him, it may do for this world "
she said. " I know what a woman can do, James, when
sue must, and I think a man should do as much "

feelifj^i " ^"^ ^'"^ *'''"'' ' " ^'' ^'^'^- " ^°' ^y 5^^"^ «^n

O *

" Yes, by- my own feeling ! "

The young man looked up at the fair, kindly face,

■ l *

fi4

THE NEW PRIEST.

which, in familiarity with the free air, had given away
some of its softness, but had it's Avide, clear eye un-
changed, and gentle mouth.

We, young, are often bewildered by a glimpse of the
unpublished history of some one of our elders : (for the
best of these are unwritten, and we sometimes catch a
glance at them.)— Ah ! covetousness, or low ambition, or
earnest drudgery, as v-H a3 hati-ed of mankind, or mad-
ness, or too early deau. uas taken many a one that led
another life, up to a certain time ; and then it was broken
off!

So, too, a happy peacefulness and quiet strength have
taken place, like sunshine, and a new, green growth, in
many a heart where the fierce tempest had laid waste.
It may have been so with Skipper George's wife.

"You'd never know from the water, when it lays
smooth in the sun," she said, presently, « what storms it
had been in, outside. — I was as young as you or Lucy,
once."

She smiled, and it seemed almost as if her young self;^
fair and happy, came, at a call, up within her, and looked
out at her eyes and glowed behind her cheek. Urston
could not help listening.

"I was brought up in England, you know, from a
child, in Mrs. Grose's family. I was a play-fellow with
the children, and then maid. — One time, I found I was
going to be wretched, if I didn't take care, for the sake
of one that wasn't for me ; and so I went into my room,
and didn't come the first time I was called ; but when I
did, I was as strong as I am now."

" You weren't in love ! " said Urston.

"I wasn't, afterwards: but I was much like you,
before — only, I wasn't a man."

TRUE WORDS ARE SOMETIMES VERY HEAVY. 55

She was as calm and strong in telling her little stoiy,
as if it had not once touched her very life. So the boat
swims, full-sailed and fearless, over the rock, on which,
one day, at half-tide, it had struck.

"Not everyone can go through, so easily," said the
young man, moodily.

"James Urston ! » said she, looking steadily in his face,
"you're a man, and women's feelings are not the easiest
to get over."

"Weli, I can't stay here," said he, looking out sea-
ward, as so many young lovers have done, before and
since ; some of whom have gone forth wanderers, accord-
ing to their word, and helped to fill the breath of the
Northeast Wind with this long wailing that we hear, and
some of whom have overcome or been overcome by hard
things at home.

"Take it manfully," said the woman, "and you'U con-
quer it."

He pressed his lips together, shook his head once, with
a gesture of anguish, and then, straightening himself and
throwing back his head, walked up the harbor.

" Hs fst tint alte e5esci)fc|)tc,
Zanlr flcljt mms e&rosses trabef ;
Docf) tuem c» tbtn passfret
3Btm brfc|)t lias f^tt} entjtoef/' *

It's only an old, old storj',
That there goes but little to make :
Yet to whomso it happens,
His heart In two must break.

So sings, most touchingly, the German poet, of love

* Wefne.

W'\

THE NEW PRIEST.

with cruel scorn tossed back. He sang out of a heart
that knew what was the dreadful crush, and dizzying, de-
stroying backset of the life's flood, when its so many chan-
nels, torn from their fastenings in another's being, lie
huddled upon themselves.

A little further up the road, there is on the left hand,
where the hill goes down — rocky, and soddy, and stony —
to the beach, a little stream, that loiters (as it leaves the
boiom of the earth and comes out into the air,) just long
enough to fill up a hollow with its clear, cool water,
and then goes gurgling on its short way to the salt sea.
There is no superstition in the regard the neighbors have
for this spring ; but everybody knows the place, and some
have tender memories connected with it, from gatherings
of lads and maids about it in the clear summer evenings.
Har-pool, (or Ilare-pool,) they call it.

If James had thought of this association, (perhaps he
did,) it would have given another touch, still, to his sad-
ness, to remind himself of it at the spot ; but he crossed
over, and went down to it, and, where the streamlet fell
out of its basin, caught the cool water in his hand, and
bathed his brow, and drank.

His side was toward the sun, that came along, as he
does, in his strong way, not hindered by our unreadiness.
The young man's shadow, long and large, was thrown
upon the hill-side. Another shadow joined it. He
turned hastily, and saw the old parish-clerk, Mr. "William-
son coming. He went out into the road ; met him, ex-
changing salutations ; passed under the Crossway-Flake,
and down the harbor.

SKIPPER GEORGE.

CHAPTER VIIL

SKIPPER George's stort.

N the evening of that day, which had been beautiful
to the end, Skipper George's daughter seemed more
full of life than ever. In the last hour of daylight
she had given her lesson to her little sister, who was no
great proficient at learning, and who was, by degrees,
(like some other children, with other words,) getting broken
of making " c-o-d " spell " fish." She tripped across the
even ground in front of the house, to meet her father, with
a lighter step than usual, and was busier than ever within
doors. When supper was over, and after the three-
wicked lamp in the chimney was lighted, she read, out
of a book that Miss Dare had lent her, a story of an
ancient mariner, and his strange voyage ; while the mother
knitted a pair of woollen leggings for her husband, and the
stout fisher sat upright, with Janie on his knee, sometimes
looking at his daughter as she read, and sometimes looking,
musingly, into the fire, where the round bake-pot stood,
covered with its blazing « splits," and tinkled quietly to
itself. ^

George Barbury was a large, strong-bodied man, more
than six feet in height, with a broad chest, and every way
a pattern of a stout, healthy fisherman. His rusty clothes,
—jacket, and vest, and trowsers,— patched evenly and
cleanly at the knees and elbows, had a manly look; so

THE NEW PRIEST,

had his ahoes, with their twine-ties, and his strong, thick-
nbbed stockings, and thick woollen shirt, ahd plain black
'kerchief round his neck; but, above all, that weather-
beaten face of his, with grizzled whiskers half-way down,
and the kind, simple eyes, that looked out over all at one,
and the bald head, with grizzled, curling locks, of those that
always look as if they never grew beyond a certain length
and never needed cutting. All this great, massive he°ad
and kindly face were open now, for, in deference to the
readmg,* he sat uncovered. The little girl had listened,
at first, with gi-eat interest, to the wondrous rhyme, but
was soon asleep, with one arir. stretched at length over
her father's, with the little, busy hand at rest, having
dropped the chip which, at first, had illustrated the story;
one wmg of her cap was pushed up from her chubby face,
and one stout little leg was thrust forth, so as to show a
shoe studded with nail-heads all around the sole.

The daughter, by natural gift of God and happy growth,
was, m some ways, a different being from her parents.
Much beauty of outward things, much beauty of inward
thoughts, and an ideal world,-with its sky above, and
earth and boundless sea below,-which lies in the mind
of every speaking or mute poet, as the old Platonists sup-
posed u to lie in the divine mind;-these things this girl
saw, and her parents saw not; even her mother, only
partly. In the vision of these, the daughter was beyond
the one; apart from the other. But in how much more
had she deep sympathy with them and kindred to them
because she had lost nothing while she had gained so'
much! All human hearts and minds that have not
quenched thai light of Christ " that lighteth every man
that Cometh into the world," can know and feel truth,
* Their readings are generally from the Bible and Prayer-book.

SKIPPER GEORGE.

heartiness, manliness, womanliness, childlikeness, at sight,
much or a little ; and the conscience which Lucy brout'ht
to judge of higher things and things farther, was the self-
same that the rest of them applied to lower and near
things. Some sentences of false religion she quietly
changed in reading, and only spoke of them when all was
done.

The fisherman approved the painting of the icebergs,
and the bending over, and pitching and swaying of the
ship, and the shaking of the sails, and the dropping down

" Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the light-house top,"

and the mother approved the moral that bade us love all
things, both great and small, after that more than once
the tears had come to her eyes as she sat knitting ; and
Lucy's voice, as gentle and musical, and clear as the gur-
gle of a brook that the rain has filled, would sometimes
run fuller, and sometimes break, and sometimes cease to
be heard for a while, and she would sit and gaze at the
burning lamp or the fire, or up through the wide chimney
at the starry sky ; and they all thought that the words
about the silent sea, and the wondrous harmonies made
by the blessed spirits through the sailors' bodies, were ex-
ceeding beautiful. And after it was done, the father and
mother, and the bright girl,— who had so many more, and
so much fiiirer, fancies than they,— all agreed in this judg- "
meat : that no man had a right to bring false religion, or
a lie against the honor of God, into poetry, any more
than into the catechism.

" 'Tis n' right to put in about ' Mary, Queen,' and the
'Mother of Heaven,'— for I suppose 'e was a larn'd man
that could write what 'e woul', Lucy ? " said the father, in
a tone of regret ; « 'e should n' help the wrong, when

lii

TIIK NKW PlilKST.

ill!

there'8 so many taken by it, and mubbe lost forever!
We got no right to ' make mention o' they names within
our lips,' as the psalm says."

The mother spoke, perhaps not less sadly, but more
severely :

"Yes, child, it's just that part will do mischief;" — the
mother had been a Roman Catholic, it will be remem-
bered. " They can't go such a voyage, or see such sights,
but they can call her queen, and pray to her."

" Yes, indeed," said the bright-eyed daughter. " It's
all a wiiu thing, and one part no more true than another ;
but I think it might do mischief."

" And it's not well having much to do with Roman
Catholics," continued the mother, more pointedly, while
her daughter looked with a fixed gaze into her face, drop-
ping her eyes when her mother raised hers from her
work.

" They'm not all bad," said Skipper George, " though
they're all wrong in religion surely. Thou wasn't very
bad, Mother," he continued, with a tender smile at his
wife, " when thou was one o' them ; though 'ee 're better
sunce, that's a sure case. I walked a good piece wi' a
pleasan'-lookin' gentleman, (much like a reverend gentle-
man 'e seemed,) an' so 'e said we musn' think they'm all
bad."

At him, again, the daughter looked with a long, fixed
gaze, holding her book upon. her knees. Presently, the
fisherman got up, and, laying down his little load at length
upon the bench, went forth in^o the evening.

A full, round moon was shining in a sky so clear that
it seemed, really, as if space were empty. Half day it
was, and yet full night ; and as the fisher, crossing the
green before his house, mounted the ridge and leaned

SKiPiT'.i; Gr:()K(;K.

against a lone tree or must that stood up from the earth
of a cleft in the rocks, the hurborroad below him was
shown plainly, and the houses at its side, and in the cove
not fur off, stood plainly outlined,— larger and smaller,
dark and white, — some in their own mclosures, some as
if there were no land in any way belonging to them but
the public thoi-oughfare ; yet was there no sight or sound
of living thing, except the frequent bark of dogs, and the
innumerable waves, rising and falling everywhere, in their
most glorious cloth of silver, which they wear only at
such times.

As he stood silently, a man came near.
"A good evenun, sir ! I beg pardon for makun so free
to hail'ee," said Skipper George, recognizing the gentleman
of whom he had spoken a few moments before, and who,
turning aside, heartily gave back the fisher's greeting.

" You had the best lookout in the neighborhood," said
Mr. Debree, walking to the spot on which Skipper George
had been before standing and looking abroad from it.
"This tree didn't grow here," said he, looking up at
the gray trunk glistening in the moonlight.
" No, sir ; 'twas set there," said the fisherman.
"Is it a landmark?"

" 'Is, sir, it may be, in a manner ; but not for s'ilun on
those waters. 'Twas set there when riches was taken "
aw'y. Riches came agen, but 'twas laved, for 'e'd larned
partly how to value riches."

The gentleman looked, as the moonlight showed, inter-
estedly at the speaker : « Another story with a lesson in
It ? " he said. " If it were not for keeping you out so late,
I would ask you to do me the favor of telling it."

" Ay, sir," said Skipper George. " I said there were
amany lessons sent us. This one corned nearer to me

•<\: .M

THK NEW PRFKST.

' 'II.

* t

is I

again than tlie tother. I hope I've larned sonu'thun by
that story I Fishermen don't heed nij^ht hours much:
but it's late for you as well, sir. Mubbe *ee'd plase to
walk inside a bit?" he asked, with modest urgency.
" It's a short story, only a heavy one ! "

" Another time, perhaps," said the strange gentleman ;
" not now, if you'll excuse me ; but if it wouldn't be too
much trouble I would thank you for it where we are.
One hour or another is much the same to me."

At the first words of this answer Skipper George
turned a look of surprise at the stranger, and when the
latter had finished speaking asked,

" Be 'ee stayun hereabouts, then, sir ? "

Perhaps he may have thought it strange that one who
looked 60 like a clergyman should be staying ibr any
length of time in the neighborhood without being better
known.

" I am a clergyman," said the gentleman, frankly ;
*' but not of your church ; and I don't feel free until I'm
better known."

Skipper George apparently weighed the answer. He
did not urge his invitation ; but his open face became
clear and kindly as ever.

" Then, sir," said he, " ef 'ee'd plase to be seated here,
I'd tell the story. I know it well."

Before beginning it the fisherman cast a look at his
house, and then gazed awhile upon the restless waves
which here glanced with the gleam of treacherous eyes,
and there were dark as death.

" Do 'ee mind about ten years ago, in Newfoundland,
sir ? " began Skipper George, turning his steady eyes to
his hearer, and speaking as if the date or the years
since the date had been painful to him; "the Isard

■SKII'l'KK GKORQE.

year that was when they had the 'rallH,' they called

"Yes; though f was in England at the time, I know
pretty well what happened in Newfoundland. It was a
«ad time."

" Ay, sir 'twas a sad time. Many people suffered :
some wanted food, and more agen got broken in spirit,
(and thats bad for a man,) and some got lawless like.
Iwus a sad time, indeed!" 8ki),per George, having
lingered thus before his tale, began it abruptly : - Well
sn-, twas on the sixteen day of January,_a Thursda^
twas,-! was acomun down Backside from the Cosh
hauhng a slide-load o' timber, an' my youngest son wi'
««e. It had abeen a fine day, first goun off, (for a win-
tei s day,) wi just a flurry o' snow now and agen, and a
dea o snow on the ground, lull about afternoon it beg.m
blow from about west and by nothe, or thereaway,
heavy and tluck, an' growun heavier an' heavier, an'
bittev cold Oh ! 'twas bitter cold ! We did n' say much
together George an' I, but we got along so fast as ever
we eould. Iwas about an hour or two before night,
mubbe; and George says to me, * Let's lave the slL
leather 'Twas n' but we could ha' kep' on wi' it
hough twas tarrible cold, hard work ; but 'twas some^
iiiun else !

" So we turned the slide out o' the way and laved her,
and corned on. 'Twas blowun gales up over Backside
we could sca'ce keep our feet; an' I hard somethun like a
vo,ce_i ,j,p^^^ I ^a, t,,i„kun o' voices-an' I brought
nght up mto the wind. 'Twas Just like beun at sea, in a

would ha been out o' sight an' hearun in a minute. Then
knowed by the sound 'twas the Minister-(we did n'

THE NKW PRIKST.

have e'er u reverend gentleman of our own in they days ;
but 'e lived over in Sandy Harbor and 'e'd ooae to go all
round the Bay.) We could sca'ce bid*; together, but 1
was proper glad to meet un, (for a minister's a comfort,
'ee know, sir;) an' 'e said, ' Js am/ body out?' 'There's
two o' brother Izik's orphans, sir, I'm aleared, an' others
along wi' 'em,* I said. So 'e said, ' God help them ! '

♦ Where are your two other boys, James and Maunsell ? '

♦ Along wi' brother Izik's two,' I said. 'Twas blowun
tarrible hard, and cold, and thick; an' the Minister
turned wi' us, and we corned up, ploddun through the
driftun snow, and over the rudge. When we opened the
door, first the mother thought there was four of us ; and
so she said, * James ! ' for we was all snowed over ; but
she sid there was only three, and 'twas the Minister wi*
us two. So she begged his pardon, an' told un our [)oor
boys were out agunnun, an' she was an ole punt they had.
We were all standun (for we didn' think o' nawthin but
the boys) when two comed into the door all white wi*
snow. 'Twas n' they two, sir, but *twas my nevy Jesse
an' another. ' Ha-en't they comed ? ' *e said. ' Dear,
what's keepun they ? *

"Jesse had abin out, too, wi' Izik Maffen and Zipplty
Marchanl, an' they were all over to back-side o' Sandy
Harbor together ; on'y our poor young men were about
three parts of a mile further down, mubbe. So. when it
comed on to blow, Jesse an' his crew made straight ibr
Back-Cove an' got in, though they wei-e weak-handed,
for one had hurted his hand-wrist, — and so, in about
three hours, they got round by land, an' thought the
tother poor fellows would do so well. ' What can us do.
Uncle Georgie ? ' 'e said ; for he's a proper true-hearted
man, sir, an' 'e was a'raos' cryun. ' First, we can pray,

SKIl'PKK (iKOKUK.

«a.d the Mnnster ; nn' so he .aid « prayer. I n,ake no
doubt I was th.r.kun t.,o mach ov<.r the poor yo...... fol-
lows ; and fho wind nmde a tar.il.l,. j^.-eat bellowing, down
the chnnh.y and all round the h..u... an' so 1 wa. ruther
awy t.-om it more 'an 1 ouj,d.t. Then the Minister an'
Jesse an I started out. My n.i.stn.ss didn' want n.e to
go ; but I eo.ddn' bide ; an' so, atbre we'd made nua-h
wy up harbor agen the wind, an' growun dark, Ohou-W,
twasn snowu,),) we met a man comun Cro.n tother side
Abram Frank, an' 'e said last that was seen of our fbu.^
was, they were pullun in for Ilobbis's Iloh,, an' then
somothun seemed to give way like, wi' one of 'em rowun
an' then they gave over and put her aw'y before the'
wnid, an' so as long as they eould see any thin- of 'em
one was standun up sculling astarn. (That "was my
James, sir ! ") "^

A very long, gently-breathed sigh here made itself
heard m the deep hush, and as Mr. Debree turned he
saw the sweet face of Skipper George's daughter turned
up to her fatlier, with tears swimming in both eyes and
ghstenmg on her cheek. She had come up behind, and
now possessed herself quietly of her father's hand.

" So we turned back, an' the Minister wi' us, ('twas a
cruel night to be out in,) an' the wind a'mos' took an'
lifted us, an' sot us down by the foot o' the path over the
n.dge ; but when we got atop here, and it comed athwart,
't brought us all down kneelun, an' we could sca'ce get
over to the door. The poor mother got up from the
c umley-corner and came for'ard, but she needn' ask any
U.in; an there was a pretty young thing by the fire
{(/'■IS girl was a little thing, asleep, but there was a pretty
young thing there) that never got up nor looked round ;
tvv-as Mdly Ressle, that was troth-plight to James. They

THE NEW PRIEST.

<j ;i

was to have been married in a week, ef the Lord willed ;
and 'twas for 'e's house we were drawun out the timber.
She just rocked herself on the bench. — She's gone, long
enough ago, now, sir !

" So the Minister took the Book, and read a bit. I
heard un, an' I didn' hear un; for I was aw'y out upon
the stormy waters wi' the poor young men. Oh, what
a night it was ! it's no use ! blowun an' bellowun an'
freezun, an' ice all along shore to leeward !

" Well, then, sir, about two hours o' night, there comed
a lull, an' then there was a push or shake at the door, an'
another, — an' another, — an' another, — (so it was, we all
thought,) and then the door banged open. There wasn'
a one of us but was standun upon 'is feet, an' starun out
from the kitchun, when it opened. 'Twas nawthing but
cold blasts comed in, an' then a lull agen for a second or
two. So I shut to the door ; an' the poor mother broke
out acryun, an' poor Milly fell oyer, an' slipped right
down upon the hearthstone. We had a heavy time of it
that night, sir ; but when the door banged open that time,
this child that was a little thing then, lyun upon the
bench sleepun, made a soart of a gurgle, like, when the
first sound comed to the door, and then when the flaws
o' wind comed in she smiled, and smiled agen, and
laughed, as ef a body m'y be sayun pooty things to her
in d'y-time. Jesse sid it, an' plucked me by the coat-
sleeve, and T sid it, too.

'• Well, sir, night passed : 'ee may be sure we didn'
sleep much, on'y cat-naps ; and once or twioe I failed
into a kind of a d wall * an' started, thinkun they was
speakun to me. Mornun comed slow and cold — colder
than night. So the nighbors comed in at mornun, and

* Doze.

SKIPPER GKORGE.

sat by ; and now an' agen one 'ould say they were fine
young men ; an' after a bit another 'd say James was a
brave heart, and how he saved a boat's crew three years
ago, seullun them into B'y-IIarbor ; an' so they said how
he begun to teach in Sunday-school Sunday before ; an'
how brave 'e was, when they sid the last of un, scuUun
aw y round the point and over the b'y, for t'other side,
or for Beli-Isle, or some place to leeward. So they said
James 'ould take 'em safe, plase God, an' we'd hear of
em some place over the b'y in a d'y or two. Then
they said they wondered ef the young men could ko.p
from freezun their handes, an' said mubbe they wouldn'
git touched, for they was all well-clothed, an' James 'ould
keep up their spirits, an' brother Izik's little George was
a merry boy, an' grout play-game for the rest ; an' my
Maunsell an' 'e's tother cousin, John, were steady young
men, an' wouldn' give up very easy; but they were both
quiet, and looked up lo James, though John was a good
bit older.

« Wull, sir, the day went on, cold, cold, an' blowun
heavy, an' the water black an' white, wi' white shores, an'
slob-ice all along ;_an' more, agen, an' heavier, to lee-
ward, sartenly. We could n' stir hand or foot that day,
nor next, but the Lord's day came in softer, an' we got
a good crew an' u stout punt to sarch for the four
poor boys that had been three days a missun, and old Mr.
Williamson, the clerk that is now, sir,* made a prayer
over us before we laved. When we come to put off, they
left me standun ; I make no doubt but Jesse maned to
spare me ; but I called un back, for I said, why should I
be settun wi' my hands folded, or walking about, lookun
out over the water, and I may just so well be doun some-

* Parish-clerk.

m -

, ?■<

ill''

I. i

THK NEW PKIKST.

i( ifi

thun like a father for my sons an' for my brother's or-
phans ?

"We made for Broad Cove; for so we thought the
wind would ha' driven the poor young fellows a-Thursday ;
but wo couldn' get into Broad Cove, for the slob an' cakes
of ice. The shore looked tarrible cruel ! "

Skipper George sate thoughtful a moment, and then
began again.

"At Port'gal Cove," he continued, looking over the
water, " they did n' know about e'er a punt, an' no more
they did n' at Broad Cove, nor Holly- Rood ; for we staid
three days, an' walked an' sarched all over. An' so a
Thursday morn agen we corned back home ; — 'twas cold,
but still. So when we comed round Peterport-Point,
(that's it over at the outside o' Blazun Head, yonder,)
every man, a'most, looked over his shoulder, thinkun
mubbe they'd got in ; but 'twas n' so. They had n' come,
nor they hadn' been hard from. So my mistress, an'
Milly, an' George, an' I, an' this maid kneeled down after
I'd told 'em how 'twas, an' prayed to the good Lord.

"An' so we waited, an' did n' hear from the four pooi
boys, not for a good many days ! "

Skipper George stopped here again for a while.

"Awell, sir, then there comed word over, that some
men had abin found at Broad Cove ! — It was n' known
who they were ; but we knowed. So they got Mr. Wor-
ntjr's boat, an' a crew of 'em went round, an' Skipper
'Enery Ressle, an' Skipper Izik Ressle (that was Milly's
fiither,) an' Skipper Izik Marchant, ('e was n' Skipper
then, however,) but a many friends goed in her, — I could
n' go that time, sir.

" 'Twas about sun-goun-down, she comed in. Never a
word nor a sound ! She looked black, seemunly ; an' no

' 11

SKIPPER GEORGE.

nor

flag.-

'Twas they! Sure enough, 'twas

colors
they!

"A man had sid a punt all covered wi' ice, an' hauled
her up ; an' when he corned to clear away the ice, there
was a man, seemunly, in the for'ard part ! He called
the nighbors ; an', sure enough, there 'e was, an' another
one, along wi' un ; an' both seemunly a-kneelun an' leanun
over the for'ard th'art. They were the two brothers,
John an' little George, frozen stiff, an' two arms locked to-
gether ! They died pr'yun, sir, most likely ; so it seemed.
They was good lads, sir, an' they knowed their God !

" So, then, they thought there was n' no more "

The fisherman here made a longer pause, and getting
up from his seat, said " I'll be back, after a bit sir ; " and
walking away from Mr. Debree and his daughter, stood
for a little while with his back toward them and his head
bare.

The maiden bent her gentle face upon her knee within
her two hands. The moonlight glossed her rich black
hair, glanced from her white cap, and gave a grace to
her bended neck. At the first motion of her father to
turn about, she rose to her feet and awaited him. Upon
him too,— on his head, bared of its hair, above, on his
broad, manly front, and on his steady eye,— the moonlight
fell beautifully. Mr. Debree rose, also, to wait for him.

Skipper George came back and took up his broken
story.

" Bumbye, sir, when they comed to the after-part of
the boat, there they found a young man lyun in the starn-
sheets, wi' no coat, an' his— an' his— his poor, lovun arm
under 'is brother's neck;— an' the tother had the jacket
rolled up for a pillow under his head, an' I suppose 'e
died there, sleepun upon the jacket, that 'is brother rolled
up for un."

THE NEW PRIEST.

llf
I.*-

l.'<*

it ^
\t> '.

! f '

^ li

' 11

1- ^

Tho voico of the fiithnr was very tender ant\ touching;
but he (li«i not give wivy to trars.

" So, sir, that young n\an hmi done 'is part, and sculled
'cm safe right along wi' the tarril.le cruel gale, aw'y over
n tAventy miles or more, to a sai\^ cove, an' his hand-
wristes wer.! all worn aw'y wi' workim at the oar ; but 'o
never thought of a cruel gate of ice right afore the cove ;
an' so wo made no doubt when 'e found that, in dark
ni-ht, and fou.ul 'e could n' get through, nor 'o coul.l n'
wiilk over, then 'e gave hisself up to his (iod, an' laid
down, an' piit his tired arm round his brotlier ; an' so
there they were, sir, in short afl(!r that, (it ouldu' ha'
been long,) there was four dead men in their boat,
awaitun, outride o' llroad Cove, tuU some one 'ould come
ftu' take then- poor bodies, an' strip aw'y the ice from 'era
an' put 'em in the ground, that comes more nafral, m

a manner, sir !

.*_Theydid n' find e'er an oar,— whatever becomed
of 'em; but they found tlieir poor guns, mi' the two or-
phans had their names cut 'John Barbury,' an' ' George
Barbury,' an' one of 'em had ' Pet-' for Peterport, an'
couldii' cut no more, for cold— an' death.

"There was three guns cut; an' one liad 'James
Barb—,' that poor Maunsell must ha' cut, poor fellow,
afore the deadly cold killed un. So the kind people that
found the poor boys, they thought James was a respectable
young man, an' when they comed to lay 'em out, m the
school-house, (they were proper kind, sir,) they put a
ruffle-shirt on him, o' linen.

" So, sir, the Minister comed over an' buried the dead.
Four Collins were laid along the aisle, wi' a white sheet
over every one, because we had n' palls: James, an'
Maunsell, of George, an' John, an' little George, of Izik;

tfi

SKIPPKR GKORGE.

nn' wo put two brothers in one grave, an' two brothera in
juiotbnr, side by side, an' cov(irc(l thorn I

" Th(!n) was two thousand at the funeral ; an' when the
Minister couldn' help cryun, so I think a'most every one
cried, as ef 'twas their own ; an' so we hard that people
that lived on Kelley's Island hard singun goun by in the
dark, like ehantun we haves in church. They said 'twas
beautiful, (H)inun up an' dyun aw'y, an' so, goun aw'y
wi' tii(! wind. It's very like, sir, as Paul an' Silas sang
in prison, vso they sang in storm !

" Then Milly, poor thing, that never good back to 'or
father's house, took a cold at the funeral, seomrnly, an'
she died in James's bed a three weeks after I She was
out of her mind, too, poor thing!"

After another silence, in which Skipper George gazed
upon th(! r(!st.l(!ss deej), he said,

" I brought home wi' me the best stick from the timber,
and laved the rest, an' no one ever touched it, an' there
it staid. So next winter, sir, my tother poor young man
died in the woods, o' masles ; (—thank God ! we never
had to move in * till I lost my fine boys,) an' the next
sixteen day of Januai-y I set up my pillar, as Jacob set
his pillar, an' this is my pillar, sir. I said the Lord gived,
an' the Loid have tookt away; blessed be the name of
the Lord.— All the riches I had I thought 'twas gone."

" You said riches came again," said T^r Debree, deeply
interested and affected.

"Ay, sir. My maid is gone back to the house. I can'
tell 'ee what she is, sir. There's a plenty in the harbor
will speak o' Lucy Barbury, sir. I hope 'r-'^ll excuse me
for keepin 'ee so late."

"I thank you, with all my heart, for that beautiful
* Into the woods to be near fuel.

!i!5.1

TITE NEW PlilEST.

Story," said Mr. Debree, shaking the fisherman's hand.
'' Good night, Skipper George ! You have learned a
lesson, indeed, and, with God's grace, it shall do me good.
It's a noble lesson ! "

" The Lord showed me where to find it in my Bible
an' my Pr'yer-book, sir. I wish 'ee a good evenun, sir."

So there was a historic beauty (to those who

knew them) about the girls in that house.

They were the only remaining children of George
Barbury. Skipper George, as he was called, though he
neither own<j 1 nor " sailed " a schooner, had lost Ids
greatest wealth (as things go here) — three fine sons, — all
three in early ma^ibood ; two at one time, and afterward
his last. This was a great loss. It made the father
stronger in himself, standing aloHe and stretching upward ;
but it desolated this world very much for him. Those
sons would have enlarged his family; with them and
theirs he would one day have manned his schooner for
" the Larbadore." * He would have been another man at
the head of such a race.

They were all gone now ; and the father was, perhaps,
the better man for it ; (a brave, good, kindly man he
was ;) and the people respected him, and they called him
" Skipper " as a token of respect.

One of these girls remained, and one was given to him
after his loss ; and Lucy had grown into a young woman ;
and in her case, most certainly, it was a good thing that
her father had made U[) his mind never to set his heai't
on any human thing. He had her with him often on the
water, and he was glad to watch her at her work at home
and hear her read ; yet stt^adily he threw her on herself,
(in his homely wisdom,) to make a woman of her ; and

* I,iil)rrt<ior.

SKIPPER GEOBGE. -■

himself looked out of his more lonely life, „ith great
toherly eye, upon her, rejoieing i„^,er bean.y^nd
g^ dnes, and ,ho„.h.f„l„e,s and hoping much from her •
hut oun.,,,g her as not altogether belonging ,„ htoself.

She had her own end before her from her ehildhood
wluch seemed to be to do her utmost work in the wo^l
and, firs, to fill her brothet.' place. She did not u7 or'
t«l ; but she .«,k heed, and heard, and saw, and fel
and thus grew and learned. At ten yea,, of ag she fit
made up her mind that she would never grow into aZn
and so fill „p her father's loss. When some oh nee on-'
versatton first brought her to this point, (whieh ver,

bb of to d"^ 'T' '^'""'^ """' ™' -™ " «- »^

ebb of blood; and tears got as high as the level of her

tt ?:::"; """»"' r-^'-S "■■ -y-^. ^he knew that
was a woman s plaee she was to have. So in all girls-
ways she did her ntmos,,and into whatever she did or
learned, she threw het^elf with all her miH.t

Her mother was a most sensible woman! with mueh the

same spirit as her husband's- nn,l i,.-

r t" iiusuanus, and benig younger bv ten

pauon of her daughter. For other teachi,^ than she got
home and on the water, there was .he°school wldcl
M.. Wellon had sueeeeded in eslaMi.hing, where Lucy
B rbuty outlearned every thing; and Mr. Wellon, fin.lin;
'to qmet, pretty little girl so bright, taught her himself, in"
> me „„„g,, ,„d ,,„, ,„ ^^^^ jj.^^= made m , h
ot her, ,«>; talked with her, and listened to her, and en-

U^iTin-^'-r "1"'* ''-' »''l^-rS-w.as,on. '
.■'hmgly m wtsdom and even in what is learned from

This night, within the house again, for a while, Lucy
Ba-bury sate looking, with absent eyes, at her fathjr, who

\l^

n 1

4 11^ H ), I

THE NEW PRIEST.

himself sate late ; then she trimmed the lamp, and busied
herself with paper and pencil.

It was all silent till their evening prayer-time ; then,
late as it was, Lucy read the New Testament lesson for
the day; and the father used the evening collorts of the
Common-prayer-book, holding little Janie again m h.s
arms ; and then the little gathering was broken up.

It was the parents' way to leave their daughter to her
own times, and she trimmed her lamp and sate in the
chimney after they were gone to bed.

The next morning they found her lying, in her clothes,
upon her bed, burning with fever. . , , ,

Dr. Aylwin was sent for, from Brigus, and said that
«it was severe, and would not be over in a day— or two.

*-.*

t , I

II'
ii

. 4liionLlr

A MEETING.

CHAPTER IX.

A M£ETINO.

j AYS, fair and foul, went by ; the fever kept about
5 Its slow work in Marchants' Cove, and Skipper
'-^eorge s daughter was siek. There came a verv
beaut, . , afternoon, on the twelfth of that August. AU
was fan., as ,f there were no provision in either sea or
sky for rain.

« J^^d"h^'""'°'" ""Tl""^ '"""P'-g »'eadny over the
goald bushes on the Backside, the sky overhead was
dear and ,f a cloud floated, it was above the wind- Zd
there ,t sailed slowly, as if it were a barge from .vhich
s me lovely spirits gazed upon the happ? earth. The
imle breakers played quietly, (at this distance no' sound
7" "P f™" "■«-.) --ejoicing, apparently, among hem-

Ch-:;!::^:^ "^- -- "-^^ - <">- -m hvmg

hfted up .he,r heads among the bushes, but scarcely yet
above them, and swept on toward the &rther woods .^d
nn r barrens, there to ky by what it was bri„<nng of
health and freshness from the main. ^^

The day ias such as often draws one's longings for-
»«H orwatds, as the sweet wind goes, and b^n^ L
Ue mmd a gentle sorrow, because it cannot go alon»
farther or faster than the heavy body.

PHK NEW PRIEST.

» I

This neighborhood ha Idom !>ny stir of human life,
and birds and insects avft not fniquent here. The paths
are travelled most in winter; for they lead over to the
woods, crossing some swamps and ponds, perhaps, in the
way ; and these are frozen at that season. They can be
traversed, however, (some of them,) at other times, by
those who are familiar with them, will' no worse ri^k than
that of getting a wet foot at f» cureless moment, and they
are shorter ways of communication between ihe houses
on the harbor-road in Peteri)ort and the next settlement,
towards Bay-Harbor, than is the main highway.

Some simi)le flowers grow here among the stones and
shrubs, and berries in their season. The Unncea borealis
puts up its pretty pinkness, (confounded with the blossom
of the cranberry by the people ;) spiked willow-weed ;
golden-rod ; the sweet flower of the bake-apple, and other
pretty things grow quietly upon this ground, which is
scarce habitable for man. The graceful maidenhair, with
its pretty, spicy fruit-; plumboys, bake-apples, crackers,
partridge-berries, horts, and others enrich the barrenness,
and make it worth the while for women and children to
come and gather them.

On this particular day, at this particular time, the
single figure of a gentleman in black dress wa-^ crossing
the surface of the shrubbery, just about midway between
the harbor's head and the outer point. He wa-* walking
moderately, and any one, who saw him nearly, would
have seen his hands clasped before him, and a thoughtful,
serious look upon his face. Whoever- knew him would
have known afar that it was the new Romish priest.

Just as he turned a short corner, where the growth of
little firs was rather thicker than elsewhere, there started
up at his step a pretty thing ; no bird, but a sweet little

A MEETING.

girl, with the flushed face of one who had been stooping
long, and the loose locks, that were a fairer covennf; for
the lovely head than the atraw-hat which hung adown
her shoulders. The little thing, before collecting her-
self,— before seeing fairly the person who had come so
suddenly upon her,— said in a startled way, " Who are
you ? "

After looking at him for a moment, however, she came
straight up to him, ; :th her eyes fixed on his face, and said,
" I've got a great many berries."

At the same time she held up, in a sweet way, still
looking straight upon his face, her apron, heavy with the
load that she had been gathering.

"Thank you, my little child; I don't want any of
them," answered Mr. Debree, scarcely heeding the child,
who was looking up so steadily upon him. Then, as the
little creature was about to turn away, rebuffed and dis-
tanced by his manner, he recalled himself from his ab-
stractedness, and, condescending to her, asked,
" Do you wish me to take one of your berries ?"
" Yes, if you please, a great many. Were you looking
for me when you came here ? "

" No, my child," answered he again kindly, " I didn't
know that you were here."

" Oh ! yes. I've been here a great while ; I've been
here a great many hours ; I don't know how long I've
been here. Do you know my mamma ? "

" No. I don't know our mamma," said he, patiently
keeping up the conversation with the talkative little thing,
whose voice was as pleasant as her look, and who evi-
dently wished to become better acquainted.

" Does your mamma let you come and stay here sc
long all alone ?" inquired he on his part.

THE NEW PRIEST.

« Why, no ! I'm not alone. Don't you see ? " said the
young thing, with that directnoss and satisfaction of hav-
ing the advantage of a " great .. an," which also grown-up
children show in the same way when they find themselves
better informed in some particular than some others

As she said these words, there rose from the near
bushes a merry laugh of little ones, who had been hearmg
all, unseen, and had been, very likely, on the point of
breaking out before. ^

« Don't you hear those children ? They are with me ;
and there's a woman over there, with a pink ribbon round
her neck, sitting by that rock ; don't you see her ? She U
see that we don't get into any mischief."

Mr. Debree smiled as she reported so glibly these last
words, words which sounded as if they had made a part
or the whole of the request or injunction given when
the children set forth from home. In the direction to
which his eye turned, as she spoke, the woman "with the
pink ribbon," was plainly to be seen at no great dis-
tance. ,

These are tenacious little things these children ; and a
kindhearted man, though he be a childless Romish priest,
. cannot rudely break away from one of them that wishes
to detain him. Father Ignatius, though a little reserved,
was very gentle in his manner, and his voice had no
repulsive tone in it; the child seemed, as children do, to
draw towards him. She took his hand, although he had
several times turned to go on his way, and prepared to
lead him back again over his steps. He gently resisted.
" Where do you mean to lead me ? " he asked.
She hesitated for a moment, as if abashed, and then,
loosing her hold of his hand, and turning one httle foot

A MKFTING.

round upon it's toe, swaying her body, at the same time
a little away from him, asked timidly,

" Don't you want to go and see my mamma?"
" Hut I don't know your mamma, my child," he an-
swered, taking this opportunity to effect his purpose of
keepmg on his path ; so saying « Good bye I » he walked
away. He turned his head ere long, and saw the child
unsatisfied standing still upon the same spot; her hands
holdmg up her loaded apron, her head bent forwards, and
her eyes fixed upon him. He stooped hastily, and has-
tily came back, saying: "There's a pretty little flower
for you that I found under the fir-tree yonder."

" Mamma said I was a little flower that grew in the
shade," said the child, and then, as if trying again to
establish an intercourse between herself and her chance-
companion, asked him suddenly,
"Are you a minister ? "
" Yes. What made you think so ? "
" Do you know Mr. Wellon 1 " continued she in her
course of interrogation.

" Yes, I know him," he answered, once more turning
to be gone. °

"Do you love Mr. Wellon?" she went on, following
out her own little train of thought. "I know him, and
I love him very much ; do you ? " She put the second
mierrogative at the end of the sentence, to compensate
ior the diversion, in the middle clause, from the openin.^
question, as one brings up, to its first level, a rope thai
has sagged in its length midway.

" Yes," said he, as kindly and quietly as before, and
not persisting now in going on.

" Mr. Wellon hasn't any little children ; have you got
any little children ?" she asked.

i' I

THK NEW PRIEST.

*' No," answered he, turning away.

"Are you a Romis' pries'?" was her next inquiry,
using the words (except for childishness of pronunciation)
as familiarly as if she hud been reading and spelling out
of a book of controversy, the little thing !

Seeing the gentleman change color slightly, or noticing,
perhaps, some other slight change which a child's eye so
readily detects and a child's mind interprets as well as it
knows how, she hastened to ask him, looking abashed,

" Is that bad ? "

" Oh, no. But what made you think of it ? Where
did you hear about Romish priests ? "

" I don't know where I heard it. I heard it some-
where," answered the little one, in her simplicity. "I
heard mamma say it, and Mr. Wellon."

" Did they say that I was one ? " said he, in a lower
voice than before.

« No ; they didn't say you ; they said some men were

that."

" And what sort of man do you think it is ? "

" 1 think it's a man like you."

" And why do you think it's a man like me ? " he asked
again, smiling.

I don't know ; I think it is," the little thing said, giv-
ing a child's reason.

"And is it somebody like Mr. Wellon, do you

think?"

" Oh ! no. It isn't a man like Mr. Wellon," said she,

decidedly.

" What is Mr. Wellon, then ? Do you know ? "

« Oh, yes ! I know Mr. W<;llon is a minister of God,''

she answered, laokin*r iif> to him. • .

" Who i.s vour m lui na r' "

A MKETINQ.

"Hor name is Mrs. Barre, and my name is Mary
Barre. I'm her little daughter."

" And how old are you, child ? " he inquired, looking
away, over the water.

" I shall be a big girl pretty soon. I'm going on six.
That's pretty big, isn't it? Mamma says I shall be a
woman pretty sooii, if I live, because my papa's gone."

Mr. Debree, at these words, looked back at the child,
and said, « Where is he gone ? "

She answered as if she were sure of having made a
friend of him, " I think he's gone up in the sky ; for my
manrima wears black clothes, and cries sometimes ; and
that's what people do when some one goes up in the sky.
I think he's been gone about thirty years." This last she
said with the same innocent confidence as the rest; lavish-
ing the time like any other treasure of unknown worth.

Her companion did not smile, but stood and looked at
her, and then turned again and walked away ; and the
li«tle thing, as if satisfied with having established so much
of an acquaintance as to have let him know who she was,
and how old, turned up the path, without looking back.

Presently she was singing at the top of her voice, m
she sat upon a stone : —

The iceberg f oats, all still and st'ong,

From tlie land of ice and snow:
Full fifty fallom aoove the sea,

Two hundred falloii below."

Then aa if her little rhyme had been a sacred hymn, from
Holy Writ or the Church Service, she added, " Glory be
to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,— in
the beginning,— ever shall be, world avout end. Amen."

The children, who had been playing or picking berries,

VOL. I. Q

iir

THE NEW PRIEST.

close at hand, started up like a covey of birds, and joined
little Mary, and the " woman with the red ribbon," who
was not far off, came at almost the same moment.

« What was 'e saying to 'ee, lovey ? " and " what did 'e
come back for?" and "what did he tell 'ee about a
praste ? " " Do you know him ? " and other like, were the
cloud of questions thp.t swarmed about little Mary from
the woman and t'>' , aildren ; the woman not forgetting at
the same time, u ,;<.. the straw hat which had been hang-
ing, as we said, from our little acquaintance's neck, into
its proper place upon her head.

From amidst this swarm of sharp interrogatories, Mary
started off to flee. She fell and scattered a good many of
her berries before she got far, gathered up as many as
she could, before the company, which followed slowly,
overtook her, and then managed to keep in front of them,
and then of such as were left of them, (for they dropped
off by degrees,) until she reached her home.

Mrs. Barre, in receiving her, thanked the woman who
had kept her in sight, and bought, at the same time, some
quarts of berries, by way of returning a favor ; then took
Mary up in her arms, and hurried to hear her account of

her doings.

" Please ma'am," called the worthy neighbor after her,
« there was a gentleman stopped and talked wi' she some
while. He said no harm, I don't think, for I kept anighst
'em, but 'e was this 'am' handsome-looking praste that's
corned, as they says, to live in the harbor ; 'is name's
somethin, I don' rightly mind ; and he gave her bit of a
posey, ef she's a-got 'n now."

The mother thanked her again, and for informing her
of the child's talking with that gentleman, saying she
would ask about her afternoon's adventures.

A MEKTING.

To this the little adventurer herself, fresh from the ex-
citement, assented very cordially.

"I talked very kindly to him, mamma," said Mary,
when they were alone together, inside. "I told him I
was your little girl, and he wanted to know what a Ro-
mis' pries' was, and I told him I thought he was a Romis'
pries' ; and he asked me wlfether my papa was gone up in
the sky."

" Are you sorry that your papa is gone ? " asked Mrs.
Barre.

" Yes, I always am sorry ; why do you ask ^^ that a
great many times, mamma ? "

" Sometimes I forget ; and I want you to love Heav-
enly Father very much, and pray to Him. Where is the
flower he gave you, darling ? "

" There it is, mamma, and I'll give it to you," said the
little one, dragging it forth from among her berries.

" Thank you, love," said her mother, kissing her, and
taking the flower, which she did not return.

Txiii .SliW Jr'iOiiSJr.

lit. «W

i;l,|.|

CHAPTER X.

SOME GOSSIP AND SOME REAL LIFE.

r^ F an outlandish frigate had come in and furled hei
broad sails, and di-opped her heavy anchors, and
I swung round to them, with her strange colors flying,
and lowered away a half dozen black boats, and held them
in tow at her side and astern, and lay there, with foreign-
looking marines pacing in her main chains, and a crowd
of foreigners swarming on her decks, there would have
been some stir in the quiet little town of Peterport, and
its quiet neighborhood. The people would, probably,
have managed to go out to the ledge to fish, and the
women would, probably, have contrived to spread and
turn their fish on the flakes, and hoe their gardens, — all
besides gratifying their curiosity ; and those who might
come from afar to gaze upon, and ask, and talk about, the
outlanders, would, probably, get through their usual day's
work besides ; but, far and near, and for a long time, the
thing would be in their thoughts and in their talk, on
land and on water, at flake and at fireside.

So it was with the coming of the Romish priest to
Peterport. The people talked, and wondered, and feared ;
and some one or two of the warmer-spirited wives pro-
posed to have him driven off.

Mr. O'Rourke, the Roman Catholic merchant, was

irled hei
ors, and
PS flying,
eld them

foreign-

a crowd
[lid have
port, and
probably,

and the
read and
ens, — all
[10 might
,bout, the
ual day's
time, the

talk, on

priest to
id feared ;
ives pro-

lant, wa3

SOME GOSSIP AND SOME REAL LIFE. 35

either seen more, or more observed, and the remaining
j)eople of his persuasion, planters and others, were thought
to have (very naturally) an air of more than common
confidence and satisfaction. Still more was this supp(,sed
to be the case in Castle Bay, where, though the place
itself was Jess considerable, the nunrber of Roman Cath-
olics was twice as large.

Young Urston's case, and the epidemic that had settled
Itself in Marchanfs' Cove, and seemed, now, to have laid
hold on Lucy Barbury, divided, with the other topic, the
pubho mind of Peterport. There was a general wish
that the Minister were in the harbor, as well for the sake
of the sick, (of whom, though none died, yet several were
affected with a lasting delirium,) as for the safeguard of
the place against the invasion of the adverse Priest.

The upper circle was a small one:— The Minister, the
widowed Mrs. Barre, the Wornors, and Miss Dare ; the

merchant-stipendiary-magistrate-and-churchwarden, Mr.
Naughton; Mr. Skipland, a merchant; Mr. McLauren,
the other churchwarden, living near P>ank's Cove,— a
worthy Irishman,— (the three latter being unmarried
men,) and, lastly, the O'Rourkes, Roman Catholics, made
the whole round. The members of it had some subjects
of interest beside, but they had chiefly the same as those
that occupied the planters.

Of course the harbor heard, from open mouth to open
ear, the story of the widowed lady's strange interview
with the Romish priest ; nor was there little speculation
about the unknown tie that bound, or had bound, them to
each other. The;r had m^i ,r.,o^ again, and he was seldom
seen by day ; sometimes, at n'jht. Some said, of course,
that «he walked in darkness." She, too, was not seen
often.

THE >;!:w puncsr.

Miss Dare came and went as ever. Only what followa
of what was said and done between her and Mrs. Barre,
concerns our story.

As .she came in, late on the afternoon of little Maiy's
walk, her friend answered aer first question, which was
rather r^nxious, —

" Do you know, my dear Mrs. Bane, how yon'vt.
changed within a few days ? You must try to rest ; cer-
tainly not undertake new labor."

" I don't know," answered Mrs. Barre, " that I'm not
as well as usunl . " but there was an anxiousness in her
eyes, and a careworn look about her face, as well as ft
nervous agitation in hrr manner. •

"You won't insist, i.ow, upon watching with Lucy
Barbury ? "

" Yes ; I would really rather. It would be a relief, as
well as a satisfaction to me," said Mrs. Barre.

" Well ; then, I'll go back to my aunt's, and come down
after tea."

So saying. Miss Dare took her leave.
Late in the moonlight evening, she walked with her
friend (there is no danger here) towards Skipper George's.
There were no people in the road ; but as Miss Dare felt
a quiver in the hand that lay on her arm, she noticed, a
good way off, a man whose gait and figure were remark-
able, and, as they drew nearer, recognized him as the
Romish Priest. No greeting or sign of any sort passed
between them.

As the lady came, pale and thoughtful-looking, out of
the night into the house where Lucy Barbury lay sick,
the father, with his manly and dignified respect, welcomed
her from his heart. The mother, overwatched and over-
wearied, was persuaded to go to bed ; but Skipper George
kept his place, quietly.

NI>1IK GOSSIP AND SOME REAL

LIKE.

ma^en, who very constantly spoke or strove to sing.
As onee a light was carried in and used about her, it

was a toueh,„g s.ght to see the girl who lately was so glrf.
A wet eloth commonly lay on her forehead, shading
her eyes and h.ding a good deal of her face. When ft
w- taken off, it could be seen what work the fever 1 J
been do.ng. To be sure, her rich black hair poured o^
f.om under her white cap like a stream, and the soft, long
^»ges of the lide spread over her half-closed eyes Uke I

oft fern-spray over the little pool at the tree's foot , and
the bending neck and sloping shoulders, over which her

sTill te?. ft'r "'? '™™ ""^ '«=■'' '>y « •>"'«'". were
stdl beautrful , but the eyes were deeply sunk, and the

face was Ihtn, and the lips chapped and parched.

Her kerchief and other things, that had looked so

Cd! upon her, lay with her prayer-book on a chair at

During the night she dozed, sometimes, and generally
her votce was heard in the low raving of half-sleep. It
poured forth as steadily a, water in a stream, and a
chang,„g ,„d a. formless; bright thoughu and s.mnge
fances, and sweet words; being and hope, am', beauly
and happmess and home and sadness; pmyer, son,.,
chant; thtngs far olf and things near, things [igh and low.

So the slow hours of night passed; and the pale, sad
Wy, the body of whose child had been so Jelv laid
deep m the earth, ministered.

In the eariiest morning, about four o'clock, a neighbor.

She slept late into the day.

li
1 1

1 1

THE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER XL

TWO MEET AGAIN.

RS. BARRE had rested, after her watch, and
early in the afternoon she walked out, down
the harbor ; this time alone. She passed Mar-
chants' Cove, and turn, and hill, and narrow way, to
Franks' Cove; and crossing the stile, and going along
the meadow-path, and through the gorge r^ the mountain
of rock, she stood in Mad Cove. The stony slope went
steeply hollowing down to the little shelf of land at the
water-side ; the ridge of rock went along to the left, and
endod in the tall cliffs at the sea; near her was the
widow Freney's house ; a little farther down, to the left,
the hovel of Tom Somerset ; and down at the bottom of
the slope were the eight or ten houses of the other people,
and the flakes of the whole colony.

What difference there is between yesterday and to-day !
The great earth has turned over its twenty-four thousand
miles of land and sea, cities and woods and deserts, be-
tween ; twilight, darkness, day, have come between ;
where a breath would have reached yesterday, there raay
be, now, wide waves and storms between.

Mrs. Barre stood thinking or remembering at the verge

of the cove.

By and by she drew near to Mrs. Freney's house, and

knocked.

TWO MEET AGAIN.

The priests of the Roman Catholic denomination do
not visit generally among their people, unless to adminis-
ter sacraments; but as the door opened, Father Debree
was standing facing it, as pale and sad as the pale sad
lady who unexpectedly confronted him. She started at
the suddenness of the sight, closed her eyes fox- an instant,
but stood where she was.

There was a likeness of face and expression, beyond
that of the sadness and paleness, and of figure and bear-
ing, also. There was the same high forehead, and (except
that hers were darker) the same full, thoughtful, feeUng

"Must this be? " said the Priest.
" It IS ; beyond all hope ! " she answered.
" How can you hope it ? "

" How can I any thing else ? " she said ; « I have but
one chief object in hfe."

" But what should bring us together, if there be no
longer a common faith ? "

" That there mat/ be ! "

" I did not know that I must meet this, in coming
to this far-off place!" the Priest said. «I cannot feel
the drawing of old tie? !— -I cannot see you ! " .

There was nothing like sternness or hardness in his
way of saying this, but of gentle, fixed resolve.

"I must! I must, while I have life!" she said, not
loudly but most earnestly.

Mrs. Freney stood, a silent and amazed listener ; and
the children looked up, wondering.

"I beg pardon, Mrs. Freney,»°said the lady; « I came
to ask about your child."

Mrs. Freney was so )ewilder(2d, that she scarce knew
what to answer : —

THE NKW PRIKST.

" She's doing well, thank'ee, Ma'am ; — I mean, he's
much the same."

Father Debree said, turning to her (not without agita-
tion) : —

" If you can send your eldest chill with m* , I will send
back by her two or three little things for her brotherl"

Again Mrs. Barre spoke : —

" And I shall not follow you farther than just outside
the door ; but I must say something more, now God has
given me opportunity." •

" Certainly," he answered ; I cannot be harsh or rude
to you. I will hear, this once, and bring all to an end.
Come, child ! go on ! "

The girl opened the door and passed out; the lady
gravely bowed to Mrs. Freney and followed, and Father
Debree, leaving a blessing in t\n: house, went last.

He bade the girl sit down upon a stone, and walking a
few paces onward, stopped to talk with Mrs. Barre.

" Why should we meet ? " he asked.

" Why should we meet ! How can we help meeting,
if there be heaven and hell hereafter, and if our Life and
Death depend upon our duty done or undone ? I have
not changed ; what I was, I am."

" All human ties are loosed from me," he said. " To
do a priest's work is my only dufy, and my only wish. T
cannot, even in memory, recall any other tie."

"What! is all common life and happiness and hope
and duty — is every thing that bound us together, perished
forever ? Can you strike it away, because you will not
have it? — It all lives, here," she continued, laying her
two hands on her bosom, " and will not die ! "

" But it is dead with me ! " he answered,

A pang, as from a winged arrow, seemed to shoot

li 1

TWO MEET AGAIN. g.

• iTef '" ■ '"' """' "" '^''- "" ^'-^ ™ 'i"1'

" It may be so ! » ,he said. ■• O Walter ! I claim no
lo«. I do not ask .or it. I „n,y „,k .,,, .,™-;j

yon will hT.r „„ 1 ^ ,"' "'■ """^ '° ■>"'"• ""'' """

To tX" rr.- ' Tl,a. is not mnel. --no.

'-t yo„ JZuerTwaL'r "" "" ^°" "''^' " -"■""

Her eyas were only full of tears.

His fac, quivered ; his frame was shaken.
»I""""^-''''^^^'^'"^^--^-^»>eI It is in,.

. "f "^ ^ ^^^^««^ y«"» for God's sake !" she said clasn-
mg her two hands to him. ' P"

;• No ! " he answered. « For God's sake, I must not I "
1 ears .00 m his eyes ; how could he hinder them I

her ?L ""'' ^^^^'"^ '^^ ^^^^' -^ -ting down

^'' Even as a priest, you might grant me this ! "
As a pnest, I cannot do it I Oh ! do not think it
cruelty or hardness of heart; my very he^t i "
eaten out;-but I cannot I" ^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ . bemg

away.' '"'' '"' "'''"^'^' ^"' "''^''^^^ ^^^ hurriedly

On on, on she went ; up the harbor, as she had come •

Tmber" '''''' '''' '^''^ ''^^ ^- ^--' "P toTer'

stopped ; for her mother was kneeling at a chair, holding
The child went down upon her little knees at another

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THE NKW PRIKST.

chair, laying her cheek down upon her arm, with her face
touard her mother, and pretty soon beginning to play
gently with the coral beads about her neck.

As Mrs. Barre rose, she came across and set her lips
upon the forehead of her pretty little daughter, and
smoothed her hair.

" Now, darling," said she, " do you think you can do
an errand for me exactly as I tell you ?" As she spoke
she folded the letter in white paper.

'< Oh yes, mamma ! " said Mary, eagerly, " I'm sure I

n."

" There's a gentleman coming along, and you're to run
after him and give him this, and tell him it belongs to
him ; and then you're to run back as fast as you can ;
and don't stop for any thing. Can you ? "

The little ambassadress was sure that she could do just
as she was bid, and Mrs. Barre reiterated her instruc-
tions : —

"Mind; you're not to stop for any thing. If he
speaks to you, or calls you, you're to run back to me as
fast as you can.'

The child assented, and repeated her mother's words.

" It's a costly thing ! " said Mrs. Barre, looking forth,
as if from the quay her eyes were following towards the
far off, fateful ocean, the full-sailed ship that bore her all
in one venture.

" Now, dear ! Quick ! There he's going— don't for-
get ! " she exclaimed, breathless. " Run ! and come
straight back ! " The priest whom she had met in Mad
Cove was just passing.

Little Mary van down stairs, and then out upon the
road, with her golden curls shaking and shining in the
sunlight. The gentleman turned and took the parcel

TWO MEET AGAIN.

D.T

from her hand ; then, having opened it, looked after her,
as if he would call ; but presently he turned again and
walked on.

Little Mary only varied a little from her orders. Hav-
ing run away from him as fast as slie could run, she
stopped, as a bird might stop, and looked back ; but he
did not turn again, so she came in.

Thi.3 time, too, as before, her mother was upon her
knees, and the child stood looking out of the window.
As her mother rose, she said : —

" That's the same one I saw the other day, mamma ! "
Her mother was thinking her own thoughts.

Mary had a child's way :

<' Why do you cry so much, when my papa's gone up
in sky, and brother Willie ? " she asked.

Mrs. Barre wept silently. The little prattler went on
prattling

" If I !ould go up there, I'd ask Heavenly Father
where my papa was. He'd know, wouldn't He, mamma?
Heavenly Father would know, because He knows every
thing. He'd show me my papa ; and I'd go up to him
and say, 'I'm your little girl Mary, that you left at
mamma's house when you came up here,' and then he'd
know me."

The little thing was not satisfied with the silent acqui-
escence that she got.

« Mamma ! Mamma ! " she exclaimed, " I saw little
brother Willie ! "

"When, dearie?" asked her mother, now heeding
her.

"Just now,— a little while ago,— and he leaded me by
my hand near to where Heavenly Father was sitting
on his great chair. Then Heavenly Father got up imd

THK NKW I'lilKST.

■I

opened his closet and took down one of our little boy's
playthings, and gave it to our little Willie ;— (He didn't
give any to me ;) but He looked at Willie's little sister
as if He was glad to see me. Little Willie knew who I
was, mamma, because he saw my paper."

« What paper, darling ? " asked her mother, entirel)'
occupied with the child's story.

"My paper— don't you know? That you wrired
* Mary Barre ' on, for your little girl. I throwed it away
up in sky, and wind blew it away up, so WiUie could see
it ; and Willie knew what little girl it was."

" Come with me, you dear little dreamer! " said Miss
Dare, who suddenly appeared at the door; and, snatching
up Mary, she carried her off.

She set the child under the boweiy branches of a
seringa, and stood among the shrubs and floating sprays
of creepers, which she had a year before gathered about
the house, a fairer thing than the sunshine that was play-
ing among them ; and she sang for the child's pleasure a
song broken into pauses now and then, much as the sun-
shine WH£, here and there, broken into shade. Perhaps
our readers have seen or will see how the song may have
been suggested.

" Woe for the brave ship Orient!
Woe for the old ship Orient!
For in broad, broad light,
With the land in sight,—
Where the waters bubbled white,—
One great, sharp shriek !— One shudder of affright I
And—

di wn went the brave old ship, the Orient! "

Her voice was a fine, full alto, never needing any
effort, but now apparently kept low, for Mary's ear. The
air which she very likely adapted to the words, was

TWO mki:t again. „»

oubh rt,e same in general as that of the ' Bonny house o'

An he, and her voiee Ho.n „p„„d and fli„ -, Lm It

opart among the words, as a bW from b ., o l^h

but the song all lived in the singing " ^ '

The shriek seemed to split the air, and the shudder ,„

over heTe' ''T ''7'^' ""' " ™« '" "»*' ^
over the sea, where the good ship had foundered SI,.

.^;;e:astz"-"^'^- ------

" It was the fairest day 1„ the merry month of May
And sleepiness had settled on the seas- ^'

And we had our white sail eof >,• u '

And « ,,,,, ::^^^::;- -1^,;-^^^^ ---

O^th^h^tld^dn^nL^^^^^^^^^

Had flamed, tl.e world over, on the breeze."

However it was that she fitted the music to the words
t seemed n;uch as if every hne took its own fZt
leaving the smger's lips, in the fittest melody.
" Ours was the far famed Albion
And she had her Dest look of might anc'. beautv on
As she swept across the seas thafday. ^ °'

The wmd was fair and soft, both alow and aloft
And we wore the idle hours away " '

tfte little gu-I clambered to the ton nf th. e ,'

seated herself there. ^ ^^ ^^"^^ ^"'^

" Please sing, cousin Fanny ' " ^h(. c:,;^ i,
seated m;.c rk ^' ^^^"' ^^^n she was

seated. Miss Dare sang again :— '

" The steadying sun heaved up, as day drew on
And there grew along swell of the sea;

(which seemed to grow ,„ her singing, too,)

THE NEW PRIEST.

And, first in upper air, then under, everywhere, '

From the topmost, towering sail, down, down to quarter-xufl,

The wind began to breathe more free.
' Ho ! Hilloa ! A sail ! ' was the topman's hail—
• A sail, hull down, upon our lee ! '

Then, with sea-glass to his eye,

And his gi'ay locks blowing by.

The Admiral guessed what she might be;

And from top and from deck, Was it ship? Was it wreck?

A far off, far off speck,

Of a sudden we found upon our lee,"

" Here comes Mr. Naughton ! " said the child from her
perch, like the topman from his lookout; "and somebody's
with him, — it's James Urston ! "

Miss Dare hastened to take the little one down ; and
as she was retreating into the house, the voice of the mer-
chant-churchwarden-and-raagistrate Avas heard, urgin'^
upon the young lover, who had abandoned his preparation
for the Romish priesthood, the excellence of, a life of celi-
bacy; and regretting that Mr. Wellon (though he was
unmarried, certainly) was not under the obligations of a
vow.

Miss Dai-e's song was broken off.

A SAD VOUNG HKABT.

CHAPTER XII.

A SAD rODNG HEAKT.

*E) came alone along the oTtr/T' ^'''°''

*a. oft ;t:.:: r r 1 ''r "''^'^^ ™'-' ■■•^»

head, saw that he «a. U^/ta ' ""'' '""""« '"^
old women, who v,erT J^T^ '"'" " S™"'' »'' "">

chafflng about .h~ "l^lTr " '"^^^^ P™"^"^
memories of the time when h! .,7' "^ ™"''"g "«'
were the youns tL ^ ^°''' "'*«'''"1 bodies !)

here than an^w'here a "? """ "' *"^ •"" P-P'
score years an"^ ten 'oie "'I "7 °™'"^^ "'^ *--
K'ehard, a woman who e ';!,'' "'^ ''^ "^^"^
not exhausted yet by a tn f' ""'' """"'^ ''"'^

changing season' 'a'rJ"r::f:f""'"^T ^^"' "^
o.her gossip „a, "Old" gZ! T? ""''"■ ''""^
called, though younger th,„ ^ ^ '' "' '''^ *as

yea... l^e,itfe"G:^ *;"''" '""'''''' "^ f"" ^even
well a medical and p^SnaTd'T" •" """" "^ ' '^ -
land, as one implyf„r„T et '°^: '" '''^''""''-
'his moment a pit^h^erln^; ha^ Z„T"' ■""' '"

^-outora h„„d.d,-a mt,e;r'„::;;:isT:

«'

IWi

'IHK NKW I'STEST.

slender line of bluc4ilong the brim. At least he might
have known it, and what fair hand had often borne it.

" Goou morning, Granny, and you, Granny Frank,"
he said, rather impatiently, as if he did not wish to stop.
When we have met with such a thing as had lately hap-
pened to young Urston, and wish to be alone, we have at
the same time (at all events the young have, if not all
of us) an apprehension that it is all written in English
on our faces, or has been overheard, or carried by the
wind or winged birds ; perhaps James Urston thought

so.

" Thou'rt goun up over, Mister Jemmie Urston, I
think," continued Granny Palasher, (this was her vernac-
ular name,) in pursuance of her object in addressing him,
" and 'ee'il most likely want to stop and hear for 'eeself ;
and so Missis Frank says I'm wantun up at Rivci'hfad,
she thinks, and 'ee'll plase take this pitcher up to she. It's
a marsel o' water out o' Har-pool she wanted," (It will be
remembered, as James, no doubt, remembered, how he
drank out of that spring that morning.) " and I've abin
and got un. 'Ee see he's so fresh and clear as the blue
sky, in a manner. I wouldn' lave her, only the mother
'11 be up, in short. I s'pose 'ee baint afeared to see her
lovie ? an' nobody wi' her but the tother lit.tle one ? Lads
didn't oose to be fear'd o' maaids, when 1 was one."

Old Granny Frank, at this allusion to young days and
their doings, gurgled in her throat with a cracked laugh,
and, when she could recover the poor little wheezy re-
mainder of her voice from its employment in laughing,
uttered a few shrill and grating, though not loud, words
with it, in confirmation of the last remark of her com-
panion. These came, one afler another, as if they were
stamped and thrown out.

A SAD YOUNG HEART.

The more vigorous Trln T "^'"P^^'ons.

J m in n great hi„Ty. Grannv •' ,„.
">«", not cLangin.. color „T """■™P"«1 ""= young

-i". a look of gr^vo del " . '".""'"S "i-concerted, b„I
-" call there t,l elnlng- """""' """" ' -"'' very
"Oh I 'Ee hnvo,.' .

old woman, L^e p,„td T r '"'™ '""'" -'^ «"»

'"'tor urged another lau»h un h„ -i . '"'" "'"<-■'' ">«
more words. ° "^ """^ '^'■•>' ""wt, and a few

;'Mm! So-IVe-^h„rd!»
%."';■: tl„:r;:;:^:>™"f ^-.ks are, „„„.a.
Mister James U.tln "e td r " 'k' "'^'' "«"'•
ge^another ,ou„g man I uJtfX a min^:.."'"'""' ^'"
TWo™g.a„did„„.,.a,fo;par,er

m the bearer's hand he m/ '. , 7 ' '''''"^ ^^^ Pitcher

Ti.e grann, 2 th s Zl ' „' "l" " '"' '^ '»«>-
" Tk:»'„ . comment on his sdppoIi •

J-nisam vouno- p)ior^ fi,' t , "» apeecn : —

anstrr ''' ''"'■" ''-"-^' ->- Grann, Pah^her

ii'

McMASTER UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

100

THK NEW PRIK6T.

"'Is; but there's no danger o' she."
He hurried on, and left the old gossips to themselves.
Up the path he hastened toward the ridge bounding the
meadow, at the farther side of which stood Skipper
George's house.

Mounting, as the sun mounts up, seems fit work for the
morning. There is a spring in the strong, young body,
that almost throws it up into the air; and airy wings
seem to lift one at either side. But it was evening, and
this young Urston had been, and was now going, through
a terrible trial, p.nd there was a heaviness about his mo-
tions, and a sad paleness about his fuce, that did not
belong to him.

As he got up to the edge of the little meadow, and it
lay before him, with its several less-distinguished tracks,
— looking not so much like different ways, as the same
one unstranded,— and the house, backing against the little
cliff, he paused ; and it is no wonder. They say that on
some table-land, among the mountains of Quito, lies a
gorgeous city, in which the old Indian race still holds its
own. The roofs and battlements glitter with gold; for
the people nave kept, from father to son, the secret of
richer mines than any that the whites have found in Cali-
fornia. Now, fifty yards across the meadow, at the edge
of which James Urston stood, gli^'^ered with many sheets
of glowing gold, the house in which Skijjper George's
daughter was lying sick. It was a plain, unpainted
house, and, at any time when the gold, which the morning
or evening sun laid on it, had been taken off, was but the
dwelling of an honest, poor man. Yet he looked long ;
and it seemed as if he dared not set foot upon that mea-
dow, any more than if it and the house were an enchanted
scene. There was not a hundred yards of space between

A SAD YOUNG HEART. ^^^

liim and the house; but what a worM nf
f :'"" «}"-> of ..,„ ,„„„g,,. f^„, .;f"» • J -very

and passed on. ' '° """""'^ <=™"*'' 'i« ^'fee.

102

THE MSW PJUJiST.

CHAPTER Xin.

A GKKAT LOSS.

!. .

1.1 f

.N the nigl.t of the day of which we have hovn

^J wni.n.r, (thatfineenth day of August,) Mr. Wcllon,
\/ who had come across, ia his way home, from l^or-'
tugul Cove to Sandy Harbor, in a boat oeiongin-r (o the
latter place, was sitting Lite in conversation whh Mr
Kewers, the clergyn.an of Sandy Harbor, when suddenly
the ♦ Society •* schoolmaster, a man of an inquiring, and
excitable turn of mind, came knocking at the door, and
announced, eagerly, that some strange work seemed to be
going on in Peterport. He said the lights were movin-
about, and there was an unusual noise; something mus°
be the matter there. ' °

At this intelligence the two clergymen hastily started
torth m company with the schoolmaster, for Blazin-
Head,-the lower and back part of Sandy Harbor,_from
which a view of Peterport (when it was to be seen) could
be had. 1 hey readied, after a few minutes' walk, a hic^h
point, and saw the lights, like running sparks in chimney
soot, and heard plainly, over the water, in lulls of the wind
the sound of human voices. At this hour of night, and
With the wind bringing in. the great murmur of the sea,
the far-off sound of human voices was far more than com-
nionly impressive. •

* Of the Newfoundland School Soniety.

A OKEAT Loss.

I US

Hi. .,.l„«|„„Hter, wl,o l„d be.„ i„ ,U .„,| fo, .

'\-""; '''■ ■ •> '" «" I-"" "» fi... „M ,,.„;i,k: „„,, ,;;

-:;::«;: t;:;;:cv <"■ "» -^^^^^ -

->.., wiijiiii „„ li„„r,tli(.,- were crossing Com ll„ck
C^ve .,„ ,. „ .end,. r..i„, wi,„ ni,s..,. «„a „i! .„„, Jp.
us who l,.rry d,a.,ce.p«s»«,sc.rs from thn. .i,l,.. i, „,^-
"" ''":* "'"' " e™«'. """d. peely hill of ro,.k wl,i,.|, fo™
one s„l,. „r Uack Cove-.,ose to which ,hey wei^l^lw
not be see,, They set ,.,eir l„„,e,^ i„ L b,„v of . «
pun^ and w„l, „ strong, and steady, slow ,„.„ke the L^
".«n „.,„ onsi, felt their wayalon.f The Mini ^ ee^^^"
he 8el„H,l,„as,e,., by way „f ,„„Ui„„ ,,:„,,.»• „,ef„, ^he.

«k to „»v, a way of being nseful, which, after several

n,es . eaiclnng c-abs," as sailor, call it, „„d o„ee nearTv

de,„ol,s „,,g ,be lantern i„ falling over backwards Tet

ehange.l tor that of holding ,he light „„d looking .,1

Ihe .-ain ,K>u,ed straight down, d,-enchingly , and

( hough „ good, „,i,k „,„„„,^^ ., ^,^^_^^ ,,„,,;^f;™

steady lalhag br„„g„t „„ „,,„,„ „„,^^ | ') -

had already deadened the wind, and Loothed .he wa e
down „ the gronnd-swell. I„ about three „„ar.ers of an
hou,. the, made the .shore of Pe.erport, below their In
o( dest.nalion, and worked up to it.
Marchants' Cove was -ill e*:,, „ i , ,

m Mr. O'Koui-ko's house- the lin.|,,„ „ a ','='"
f„„,i, , , . """■'' "'e lights and sounds were

further down the harbor. The Ministe,- left l •
ions l,„,v. ^.1, ^i. , Juinislei left his compan-

o,,s h ,e (the Schoolmaster keeping the boatmen's com-
I- V. » be sure of his passage baek,) and alone went
•I""., the road, and took the first eonshlerable path "v!^

104

THE NEW PKIEST.

to the Backside, tne place to which they had some J,ours
before been straining their eyes so eagerly, from Blazin^-
Head. *=>

On the road he met no one as he had met no one in
Marehants' Cove ; but as he drew near the meadow in
which Skipper G urge's house stood, he heard women's
voices, and by-and-by came upon a company, whom by
the ear, not by the eye, he could distinguish as Old Granny
Frank and others of the neighbors. They recognized
him, and announced ar.ong the.aselves, as he drew near,
the Fareson ! " '

People in this country take no heed of weather, (when

ras'c^f ";f'"^'" '"^-^ Readdressing the eldest,
(as CEdipus addressed the old man of the chorus,) but
turning or answer to the others, « what has happened .P"
The old woman was doubtless making up her mouth
to^speak, but, happily, her grandson's wife spoke for

thats Lucy Barbury,-how she's beei. atookt out of ier
fathers house ever sunce last evenun, and never a wo^d
corned about her, sunce, whatever ? "

"Taken away !" exclaimed the Minister, turning from
one to another in amazement, " How do you mean ?»

-ls-sir,-an'-her--bed_wi'-her ; " gurgled the
branny, gtnnmg her speech.

I '^;n., an Sk:pper George 's inside now, w'itun for

" Let me see ! » said the Minister, staying for no further
talk, but hurrying towards the house.

A GRKAT LOSS. j,^,,

TJie old and young women, and others, loitered for a
little gossip, and to hear the end.

"Did 'ee see the Pareson, Grannie, when I told un?
Did ee see un shake his head ? "

" To-be--su.e_'e_would,» answered Old Granny
Frank oracularly. vrrannj

" ;E did then ; shookt it just this w>," continued
Patience. « What do 'ee think, Granny ^ "

way^ ^-^?-V-'-o-shillun-worth-o'-:good
— wi -a— pr'y'r-e'— made— t'oth-er— d'y »
^'' Did um, then ? I shouldn' wonder ! "

" Wull I — some — savs — an-crfils „«'
/. . . , •' 't'J-geiis — an — some — savs

"All 80, Granny!" assented Patience, who, if she
hould hve .,0 long, was in a fair way to ^e as ^L 'I
thinks gezac'ly the same." '

^' Ay,_ child,- it-'U _ be _ sid _ a-fore-ma-nv-
dys- e-up," and the old body hn^ed away, wh,^
she had her mystery entire. • ^' "°

As the two speakers separated , the little gatherin.. drew
nearer to the cottagcdoor, with new food L spec^IaZ
n the gunny's utterance, which had, sotnehowfTnts "d
the subject ,n a more ominous perplexity than bef"^
the !ffl .TrT """""* *"'■''" '°"'»<*i'»ney, where

th :n!:r h riiiThrt ""^"^ """'- '-''-'' ^"'

ui mem all. ihere he was; not even smokino-
«.e accustomed pipe, but with his hands upon h s k„ e!
ad >..^cb,n buned in his breast, looking up'on the kitchen

uolhr. t "' ■'"'P""''''""/ and slouchingly, bu.

"pnght Itke a man , and like a man who, having don.

31 4. r

106

THE NKW PmivST.

whatever could be done as yet, was waiting to set forth
again and do whatever might be left for man to do. A
crowd of neighbors made their way in after Mr. Wellon.
All rose, except the father, at the sudden entrance of the
Minister; the father did not notice it.

At the sound, however, he immediately turned round ;
and a more honest, manly, kind, true face than his, has
seldom met the open air, and the broad sunlight, or fi-onted
tearing wind, or drenching rain, or driving snow ; had
seldom met warm welcome from the wife, as it was seen
through the half-opened door, or beamed complacently
upon the frohc of the children at the hearth ;— but it was
clouded now. He took off his weather-worn straw hat, in
jising to receive the Pastor.

" Sarvant, sir; you're very welcome home again," said
he.

"Why, Skipper George ! " said the Minister, « what if
it my good friend? Do tell me!" Then pressing him
silently to a seat, the Minister sat down to listen.

"Ah, sir," the father said, « I've a-sid heavy misfort'n
sunce the last sun as ever rose. It's my Lucy, sir ; you
know'd her sir,"— his voice breaking,— " so well as I
a'most, and oh ! how she did love the Minister to be sure !
well, sir, she was sick from short after you laved the
harbor tull this evenun : that's 'isterday evenun, I should
say."— He «ighed as he thus reminded himself of the
time already gone, by which the separation ha'd been so
much widened.—- She was goun through the worse of it,
and we thowt, naterally, that as she didn^ get no worse
she would get better, if it was His will, and so the doctor
said, (that's Dr. Aylwin, sir, of Brigus.) So when I turns
out in the mnrnin 'isterday,— which I doned nearly about
wi' the first sun,— after I'd said my bit of a pr'yer, I says

A GREAT LOSS.

107

through flstung, and get a .na-sel C «g,. „r Lh-Hk ,?:.!
■ny poor, dear maid, hopin, mayhap, ,he fuver raV tie
a ..,r„, and .„en .he/d help her to g^ a bi,; anllt!
how I had a .wo and sixpence .ha. Fd ..kep .lis ™any^
the dy agau,s, 1 may wan. i,, and a body likes .0 do
snmma. eheery for a sick da«er when he 1 , so I " „1
and I looks upon her, and, .„ my seemin-, she ookedC

gal look, and her face, and her hair. She looked so

afearcd .0 k.ss her ; but I did, sir, thank God ; I did sir
and ,t seemed in a manner, to bring my darte back 2
she says, very low like, • Father ! • she says, • What 10,;^"-
-ys 1; Dear father ! ' says she, and no:hin' more L
1 ^uldn help „, but I cried much as I'm doin' nov,:, s"r
but I do'no why Tm so long a tellin' it, on> I'm afeared
o ge upon the rest of it. However, I ,^ent on. Id
corned home w,' my few flsh, and hurried and got off and
wen. over .0 Backside, and got myself pa. over to Br ad

he ^ v"". ™' r' ™ '"'™""^<' "•■-' '"« -' pa" o-
Cattle B y nver-head. I s'pose I might be gone a matter

mZrX'T '■''"^^ "■''"" ^ «™ *" 'l-.op'o.he
Ml by .he church and sid ,l,e house, I s'pose I might 'a
felt u was empty; but I didn't, sir. It seemed, in a
".anner, as ef strength Mowed out of it, somehow, .0 me
I growed so much livelier; and I slowed awV my little
parcels m my pockets, thinkin>, perhaps, she'd feel in 'em,
P^ymg hke, OS she'd «>se to do, when she feeled herself
l«t.er. So I walks up .0 the door, and lo and behold it
* Id common parlance this word mean, raisins.

! 1

i t|:

«4

irg

TIIK NKW PKIKST.

was open; b.it T thodjrhf nolliin' sfraiifro mid T wont in,
nnd rifrht into the- |,l,i..<, whoro IM aMi her, sir, and she'
wasn't there. ' Mother ! '-snys I ; h„t, n.y missis wasn't
there : ♦ Granny ! ' says I, but she wasn't there ; then my
t'other h'ttle gal that was sittin' down by the door, tryin'
to tie her shoe, and eryim', said, 'Daddy, she's gone aw'y,
Daddy,' she said, « l^a.ldy, slie's {rone aw'y, Daddy ; ' an,l
my heart went onee jest as a fish would jro, and 1 never
nsked her who she muned, but I .id th.re w.i, soinethun
tarnble strange ; and so I sat down on the bineh and gave
one great sigh like, that seemrd to ase me; and then I
got up an.l tookf my poor little papers and put them on
tlie bed, and tbliyed right out to see ef I eould find what
had becomed of her. So we sarehed all evenun, mid we've
asarehed all night; and so-I'm sittnn here, aa I be
now, sir,-'Twas a bad night for she !-Ah, well! God
knows."

As he said this the bereaved man sat and wept, openly
and steadily, in silenee. Not a motion was made nor
a word said until he wiped his eyes with the back of his
hand, and turned his honest, manly face again, and said :~
"I found my mistress; an' I found Granny Palasher ;
an' I sid JNIiss Dare that was just comun up ; I could find
every body ; but we never found my dear young maid '
It isn' like we woul', sir. God's will be done, however.
E 11 do what 'E sis best."

The simple story ended, he turned quietly away from
his hearer, as if there were nothing more for him to say,
and he would listen now.

The Minister came up and took his hand in bolii his,
and said " Amen ! " There was a general. motion among
the company, and many repeated the word. The Minii-
ter's voice trembled as he said—

A (JKEAT LOSS.

109

•' Go(i hic... you! Skipper George ; we must find her,

or find » He paused.

The fisherman made that mo.t expressive gesture of
heml and Jiand which is read in all languages, and touches

any class of men, meaning

" Ah ! you needn't say it, sir! I know."
" L(M'.s see where we are," said the Minister, and he
f^nHHl toward the company, among whom was the con-
Hahje. " Mr. Gilpin, you know all about it ? " he asked
of th,s worthy man, who was, also, one of the two smiths
of the place. Charles Gi!pin_« Mr. Galpin," " Mr. Gul-
pm "Skipper Charlie," as he was variously called, was
an Englishman, middle sized, with a face dark by nature,
and a ways wearing a shade of grime from his "forge."
and shghtly pitted by the varioloid. His right eye was
wantmg, having been destroyed by an accident in firing a
salute onMhe king's birthday, in one of his own younger •
hours. The remaining orb in that firmament seemed as
much bnghter as if the other had been absorbed into it,
and had joined its fires. He was an intelligent, pleasant <
lookmg fellow, wnh that quick modon of the muscles
about the eye Tf.at marks the possession of humor

"I've done my best at it, sir," answered the constable,
with modest brevity.

" Who saw Lucy last ? "

".I can tell 'ee, sir, ef 'cell plase to let me," said the
brave old fisherman. " IVe got it all by heart, in a
manner. Twas Granny Palasher happened to be bidin
w. her, (for we didn' oose to have reg'lar watchers d'y-
t.mes sir, only we never laved her long.) a: ' so Lucy
waked up and called for a drink, granny says ; an' she
a- Jn want tay, an' she did'n want spruce,* an' she wanted
* Spruce beer; a common bevemge.

THE NKW PRIKST.

a dnnk from the Karpool-that's it in the hollow under
the bank, t'other side o' the church, you know, sir; an' so
the granny went aw'y to fetch it, never thinkun o' naw-
thun, of course, an' nobody's sid a sign of her sunce, only
poor httle Janie said she goed round the corner."
" Mow long was the granny gone ? "
'' I can' be exac'ly accountable, sir, how long she was
aw y ; she m'y ha' stopped to pass a word wi' a nighbor
sartamly, but 'twouldn' be long, it isn' likely."

" Who lives nearest on the Backside ? The Urstons I
think."

" is, sir; Mr. Urston that married my missis's niece."
" The father of the young man that was going to be a

Komish priest?" asked the Minister.
" 'Is, sir ; but 'e've knocked off beun' a good while sunce,

and e s a good lad," said the father, shutting off all sua-

picion in that quarter.

" How do things stand between your family and their's,
now?" asked the Minister.

^ "Mr. Urston's wife was my missis's sister, 'ee know,
8ir,--that IS, half-sister,--and then my missis i's a good
oit younger, and was abrought up in Etigland, mostly,
tull she was a woman. 'Twas Mr. Urston an' his son put
me over from Backside to Bread-and-Cheese Cove I
maned to ax Tummas Turtas,^lives a bit beyond they-
^^hen they were goun down to Avateiside, and offers m.' a
passage, an' I could n' deny 'em. Ah ! " he said, coming
back to his great grief, « she's alossed now, that I would n'
loss for all the fish in the sea, and swiles on the ice, and
fruits o the land! Thank 'ee, kindly, sir; I ax pardon
for bem so troublesome. 'Ee'll plase to excuse me,
mghbors." So saying. Skipper George prepared to go
forth again. *

A GREAT LOSS.

Ill

oT,f;'"" "^^^ 8°""' »'• "'" "'°"ght of sadness pe en
or .0 come, aga,n overcame hto, „, also his words and 1
c„„d,,,o„ „e.e „ore than so.e of Ms s..d, ne.^t:

-";ers.::r:itr-'"-»-''-
^-.o„k.w,s.,(^;:r.e.sirrast,^r:

inoch, m a manne,, because o' what Jesse sid ( Ws
my ncvy, Jesse of Abram,-hves under ,hl ■! -T
hilJ -_7e,se Hiu ,. '"" ''"'"' o the

n.«, Jesse Hdl, we calls un ,) I didn' tell 'ee sir -P

Backside-wV. and ZT , °"°''' S""" '»'«■•

aWy like. 'E T,^,at' If ^"'f"'' ^"^ '"^ ^°- "gl^'
parted under her *„:',!, "f ^U """ T' "'
gone right aw'y, an' .hc/nev: si'd her ol:! '"

sir; is there? o?' ""''""^^ *'«■■'' ^ -awthin' in that,

back." ^ ^ ^^'^^ '^'^"^^ never come

JJhere maj be a good deal in it," answered the Min-

* Catching a fish that serves for b*it.
T Vision.

i :|

112

THE NEAV PRIEST.

The eyen of all were intently fixed on him, and the
father, even, lifted hi, fiom the fire.

" I don't think it was any spirit," continued their Pastor.
" What clothes had Lucy on, most likely ? "

* " Oh ! nawthin', sir, but just as sfie was in bed. It 'ud
make a strange body cry, a'most, to see 'er poor frock
hnngin' up there, and 'er two shoes standin' by the side o'
the bed, an' she aw'y, an' never comun back, most
likely. Muny's the time I've alooked at they, sunce, an*
cried ; it looks so heartless, like."

The people about Skipper George were no " strange
bodies ; " and some of them could not help doing as he had
done, and as he did.

" Now, sir," said he, rising to depart, and holding his
weather-worn straw hat in his two honest hands, « I think
'ee knows all."

" I wouldn't have you go out again, Just yet," said the
Minister. "I'll take my turn, now, and any fresh hands
that I can find."

" Here's one, then, sir," exclaimed the constable, start-
ing to his feet.

"Haven't you been out all night?" asked the Min-
ister.

" Yes, sir, but not all day yet ; we've got the day be-
fore us. I can sleep when we've got done." ♦

"Then I'll be back, God willing, in little more than
half an hour ; and, if you please, we'll go as far as we've
any thing to guide us. I wish to go over the ground, at
least, if nothing comes of it."

"I'm sure 'ee woul', sir," said the father, in a very
kindly way. " It's no use ; I can't lay out plans now.
I've got my handes, and something to make 'em work;'-
(one might almost see a great, grieving heart heave, as

A UHEAT LOSS.

11.1

''" ,;""' """■> " ™ tale 'E Will , a„. of I „evor „■, .„

A8 he .spoke of no, afjain .ooing her, ih ,he body h„
brought „,,, „i,h „,„ ,„.„„ „,„„,„.,, -^.^ h^ne., hanf L,
whose finge,., „ero bent will, Ion.. yea,v"o 1 „!;^ ,

«init:t:rt"i:r'"''^'^™"'---'-™"^

He 8,ood s,ill with his grief, and, as Mr. Wellon

o T r- r"'' ■'"■•'' '""■•'• '- ""■^'l '» his Pastor o™
of those dnldhke looks th.at only come out on the fl rf
*e true man, that has g^wn, as oaks grow, r 2„
nng, addn.g eaeh after-age to the childh;od Chas
"ever been lost, but has been kept innermost. TuC rT
erman seemed like one of those that plied thei r!de"
and were the Lord's diseiples, at the'sea of gI Uee'
eighteen hundred years ago. The very flesh and btod
nelostng such a nature keep a long y<I„h throu'hZf
W. ness the genius, (who is only the more thorough man )'
poet patnter, sculptor, flnder-oot, or whatever, h„w fresh
nnd atrsnehan one looks out from under his „rd age
Let h,m be Christian, t«,, and he shall look as if-shet

"Sit here, among your neighbors. Skipper George"

":;:ran7^ "t ■" •"" ^ '- •-'* *-"r-AnX

.:rher:;™edawa7 '^^ °" """ "-■'-•'"•"e added.

Voii. I.

114

THE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER XIV.

A NEW MAN.

S Mr. Wellon left the room, the attention of the

company was drawn to a new voice, that seemed

almost to have been started mechanically by the

general ri.sing, so suddenly, and without warning, it began,

" Why, she's cleared out 'n one 'f her hot spells, an*

when she'd got light-headed ; 's no kind o* doubt o' that

'n my mind," said the strange voice.

The speaker was an under-sized man, of thirty-eight
or forty years, with well-looking features, and bright, in-
telligent eyes. His scanty hair went curling dov.nwards
from a bald spot on the top of his head, for which, also, a
part of the neighboring locks were compelled to furnish a
thin covering. The baldness had been worn rather by
the weight of the months' feet that had gone over it, than
by their number, or ha<l been, dried by inward heat of
busy thought; his dress was such as would become a
liighei- sort of mechanic, or a trader on a modest scale.

Th'j sentence seemed to be delivered forthright into the
middle of a world all full of opinions, and questions, and
determinations, to Hnd itself a place. He looked before
him, but with eyes that seemed to look at the same time
to either side, and his tone had a character of continu-
ance, as if—having begun— it rested with circumstances
when h?-, ending would be.

A NEW MAN.

110

and hi., l,„t'i„ ,,•, !:;,"«'" """'" ^•'»"'« 0" '»» i"<l knee,
sLe'!"" 'p"of '"'»"''""»<>' "l-'^'ion i., w,,ic.h wayd'd

•n ^h!; -po.: zr^::vzr '° ^^-^ ^'^ '^--'^

'vore je,t f .alk it over « L"' " '"^ "'"" "' '' "'

had found a pi fo" , "'™""' "'="""' '° """'' """ '"=
fldentlj. than iZl 2 ".T")'"]'' """ "" '""'" «-»■

«> who. .e eh I'ta," d In r "' ^""P""' ^-^-^^e,
him. ^ ^' ''"' ''"''"'<' '» ">e left hand of

The father regarded hi'm «rin.
constable, afte/fl^ „„"",;; 0^: ^L""'"^* ^''^
watehed, curiously, ,I,e „ew inf^ '''""" **""■"'>

nei.hho.„.e„ed^i;%X-tr;:^^^^^^^^^^^^^

wha.^i4;r::^:re::ri^: -'■-"'¥ '"'^'■"

•n Peterport, bea here wele ^ " 'm"',"^'' '' '"'™

«aid, " I^ ,ir ,h " t; • ^ '"'°'"= "' *^ "^''-™an, who

Chan's' Cove there •» , ^ ' '""■ ''<'"'" '" ^ai-

"o. re,.,ar hoppia^ad't t' J ^ tlue?.:''!'^ '■^'^'
™g.o„, , .,, 3a,i„. is. Wa>,,„o.,t'lho''."Z:

:i:.' I"

116

THE NEW PRIEST.

•bn, 'I \l muke her strong.T, un* when her mind 's out o'
the way, yo see, 'twould, likely, umke her want t' try an'
do soinclhin'."

The interest with which his hearcrd luul been listening
was evidently not llajj^ging.

" It's Mister IJanks, the American marehant," said Pa-
tience Frank, (for she was there,) to a nei«,'hbor-woinan.

"Wall, then, (luestion comes: what tvoiitd i^hc do?
Why, 'eordin' to. She wanted a drink o' water, f one thiu^r ;
wall, s'pose she 'as very dry, sh' might go o9 -. git some,
likely. 'F all she wanted was water t' cool her, sh' might
take 't into her head to git into the water; but, then, bein'
crazy don't make a fool 'fa gal, 'f sh' wa'n't one b'lbre ;
and they wa'n't any thin' lik' that 'bout this young lady.
Then, don't ye see, the' was lots o' folks, by all 'counts, on
the flakes, (ye call 'em,) an' round, an' one of 'em 's her
mother ; so she didn't go down that way, whether or no.
Wall, then, again, 'tain't likely she was all thust ; she had
some notions b'sides that: (we ain't all Hesh and blood, I
guess.) Le's see."

It was strange to see the unflagging attention of the au-
dience to this lengthened argument, given, as it was, with
no attractions of oratory, or enforcement of gesture, except
an invariable sticking of the thumb and forefinger of the
right hand into the palm of the left, (much as we have
known a good old Greek professor to practise with his
pencil and a hole in his i Oi^taud ) There was a persist-
ency and push in the argn?r - voi-^, and ar, alhesiveness
in his expr-ssions, thai Laiiied iiis reasonings in, and
made them stick. So there was a general assenting in
words, besides silent affirmations and negations of the
head, as he affirmed and denied.
" That's a dear case ! " " Surely ! " « All so, sir ! " and

]
I

(
\

t
I

(

A NEW MAN.

117

the like, refreshed the speaker much as the parenthetic
•hear" and cheers of the rioii.se of Cotrimons, or as the
pUuidits of (he Athenian-' gralificd Demosthenes.

The eonstabh;, as if his cue were only to keep oflieial
eye and ear ui)on the speaker, let him go on, without
meddhng with him, and ke|)t silence. The father heard
Mr. Bangs with steady attention.

" Wall ! " eontimied the reasoner, " then comes ques-
tion again ; which way ? Sis' says right, no doubt. Sh'
went right round the corner o' the house, an' down to-
back part o' the place, here—"

" 'Is ; Backside, sir, we calls it," says a neighbor.

" Wall, 't's a good name, no doubt. The's two roads
goin' 'long, up an' down, 1 believe—"

" 'Is, sii*," said one of the neighbors ; " there's the
sumtner w'y and the winter w'y, by Cub's CovB, and
the Cosh, and so into the woods."

"Fact, r ben on both of 'em myself," continued the
speaker. " Then the's a path goin from Skipper George's
(s'pose I ought to call him)—"

" It's a compliment they pays un," said the constable.

" Don't heed it, sir," said the stout fisherman ; " George
is plenty good enough for I, alw'ys ; and, most of all,

now.

If the kindness that lies in such compliments embellishes
common times, there is no danger of times of sorrow
wanting them. The reasoner resumed, keeping the title
■now that he had got it.

" The's a path from Skipper George's right acrost these
two roads, (that is, ye call 'em roads 'n this country) wall,
I guess she kep' the path t'll she got to these two roads,
Cf ye call 'em so,) f 'r 't's plaguey hard makin tracks out-
side of a road, here— (fact, 'tain't al'a's the easiest trav-

'i!

fi"!

I' '
i| I'

118

THE NEW PRIEST.

ellin' in 'era, b't that's 'nother question,)--she kep' the
path t'l she got t' these two roads, an' then question is,
which way ? She'd take some way certin. I guess ye'U
think we miglit 's well try t' hetir 'era 'lectioneerin' 'r
talkiu' politics 'n the raoon, 's try t' guess wliat was in her
mind ; but look a' here, now ; s'posin' she'd heard o' the
old gentleman' goin down t' Bay Harbor ; she might
want to go after him ; but then, here s this story o' Jesse
Hill— 'f that's his name. He saw her, accordin' to his
story, (f'r, I take it, th'r' ain't 'ny reas'nable doubt b't
'tivas the gal he saw,) where she raust ha' ben on t'other
path. Now I understand gals sometimes take a notion t'
care f'r other folks b'sides their fathers ; 't seems to ha'
ben the way with 'em, by all accounts— f'm Grandm'ther
Eve, 's fur 's I know. I don't say how 'twas in this case,
but she raust ha' ben a takin' piece herself, b' all accounts
—an' then, if the' was a k'nd 'f a runnin' idea 'f someb'dy
'n her mind, why, somehow 'r other, she'd be very apt to
folia that idea. She didn't show any sensitive feelins,
did "le?"

" I don' rightly understand 'ee, sir," said the father, " I
ben't a larn'd man 'ee know."

" Sh' didn't feel 'ny tender 'motions, I s'pose ? That
is, she hadn't taken a notion to one more'n another ?■■—
young man I mean, livin' somew'e's round ? "

The father answered gravely, but with the same hearty
readiness as before —

*' I know a ftither can't, mubbe, feel proper sure, al-
w'ys— to say sure— of his darter's heart ; but so fur as a
man can be sartain, I'm sarten sure my Lucy would
never have agrowed to e'er a body, knowunly, athout my
knowun it, as well. There was a neighbor's son, surely
•—that's young Mr. Urston we spoke about— mubbe there

i I'

A NEW MAN.

119

might have somethun' come out o' that; but thej'm Ro-
mans and my poor, dear maid loved her Savior too much
to hoar to e'er a Roman. She'll folly her own church,
thank God, while she's livin', or ef she's dead, as is most
l.ke, she 11 never change now, to ought else, only better
an more."

"No more she woul'. Skipper George; that's a clear
case, said Zebedee Marchant.

"AVall,on'y jest started proposition; 'hope 's no harm
done. Ye think the' wa'n't forbid to keep company ; do
ye ? Wall ; on'y 'f 'twas my gall, (but the' ain't 'ny Miss
Bangs, yet, I guess,— but if 'twas,—) should be wiUin' t'
bet a tourp'ns hap'ny-('t's a coin ye hain't got 't's equal
to,— wall, 't's a small sum o' money, b't if bettin's t' settle
It, should be wiUin' to bet)— they know som'th'n 'bout her
•i. that family. Ruther think the folks 'n that house —
(called in there, a minit, an' as'd f'r a drink- o' water
seem' the' was a light burnin ; didn't see anythin^^out c'
tl.' way, p'tic'lar, 3«0 -ruther guess, 'f they were put to't.
theyve seen or heard of her, one o' th' two. Ye see
there's that punt, 's ye call it, 't the ca'p'n the brig, there]
•saw 'th th' nuns, or what not, in't ; rfact, I saw 'em m'self'
—that is, I saw one great black one, 'n' a couple 'f other
women,"— here there was great sensation amon- the
hearers,— «w'n I's peekin' round the house, to see what's
goin on ;) should like, pleggily, to know what the nuns
were up to, 'th their punt, an' what 'twas they kerried

d(,wn Wall, 'f those folks do know, it's pleggy strange

though ! Wh', anybody 't had got the fcelin's 'fa man, "'d
go on h.s hands 'n knees round all outdoors— wall, he'd <ro
a pooty long chalk, any way— f r a neighb'r 'n distress.'"
"Young Mr. Urston 's a good lad," said the father;
"an' the family ain't a bad family, ef thev be Romans."

120

THE NEW PRIEST.

ly !

"Wall, I've said 'bout all I've got t' say, p'ty much
Ye're welcome to it f what 't's worth. 'Find th' ain't
goin' to be much to do, 'n the way o' business, t'll they
come back f m Labrador, 'thout I take to lecturin' a spell,
— (got 'n exhibition o' dissolvin' views; used to charge'
one an' six, Yankee money ; m't make it a shillin', cur-
rency, here ; but)— 'f the's anythin' goin' on, while I've
got spare time, here's one man ready."

"Thank'ee, kindly, sir," said Skipper George. "I'm
sure, it's very good of 'ee to take so much consarn wi'
strangers."

" Wall, 'don't feel's though folks ware strangers, when
they're in trouble. B't 't's 'bout time f ' me to be trav'llin',
I guess," concluded Mr. Bangs, who had taken up hh
hat, and made a start out of the way of thanks. « Do'no
'xac'ly customs here, ye know;— I'k a fish out o' water,
ye may say. Make my compliments t' th' Parson, 's ye
call him, 'f 't's ruleable, 'n' tell him 'promised t' put up
'th s'm folks 'long down the harbor. Wish ye good-night,

So saying,— the gathering of neighbors in the room
openmg and letting him through,— he went out into the
open air and the morning twilight, and walked away with
short, quick steps, swinging one arm.

" Well ! " said the constable, releasing his long attention
in a deep breath, "there's a fellow that'll git under way
without waitun for tide to float un off, any how;" and
with this remark, the constable, also, went hastily forth.

TRACES OF THE LOST.

121

CHAPTER XV.

TRACES OF THE LOST.

;ITHIN ,he Mr hour .hat he had mentioned,
.he M,„.ster had got back from his own house
and the constabJe joined him ns,. «l
George-s doo,-. It w.. . Jn, drea^ " ho „:■":;
daj, so thick that the Minister and hi
hid.hemse,vcs..mu,,oneh„;:rll::!;r"=-
Jesse Barbury will join us presenllv," said the M=, •

^riSir"" '"^ '•■"-"^- "^ -'^'' 'o f^'ow 0^: ;

story, It nothing conies of it, even Wo'u i

path, and he can't miss us, , o„.h thT li"" 'V "'" "

ng, .his eioud, morning. We ea°„ wlh I' i^ Zl^:

CCttrrtS'-tr^xr,""-'-^'^

-• -s chilly and thick, and'noln,/, V,S 77""
-cdd be seen. While Gilpin wa, tenin! th ry ; ™:
ma,de„ s fever, of which the reader knoL J,?,, "
constable ,„,d, the light „f ,Uy gradually spr ad i .
firs. e.p„sn,g the mist, and anerwa.,s Lv'ng it tli^. ■"

* Mil. I.

122

THE Ni:\V I'KIKST.

In the little time that they were standing, a short, sharp
fall of rain came down upon them, and then the clouds
began "to break. The light fast opened the whole land-
scape of the neighborhood in which the sad and mysteri-
ous event had taiien place.

" It's clearing oflf finely," said the Minister, with a hopt;-
ful tone of augury.

" Yes, sir," said the constable, with little sound of the
same feeling in liis answer.

"That's a queer chap, that Yankee that was in the
kitchen, sir," he resumed, after a pause ; " and he's got
some pretty 'cute notions, too. He says she's gone off to
the Urstons' house in a fit o' craziness. You know it's
said, sir, there was something between the young people ;
however he found it out."

" Most likely she hm gone out in one of those fits,"
said Mr. Wellon ; " but Jesse Hill's the point that we're
to begin at, I think ; I've sent for Jesse ."

" And thej-e he's coming now, sii-, over the gool'-bushes
yonder. I see his great fur cap, and his great red whis-
kers under it, like a forge-fire."

" We'll find out about ihi.-i sight of his first, if we can,"
said the Minister. " By the way, we forgot to take the
dog ! " added he, suddenly.

"No,, sir, he came along. There he is, sir, nosing
about yonder. We've had a dozen of 'em out, arfd he
too ; — Susan brought un."

" We'll give him another chance to-day," said his mas-
ter; "but this rain isn't much in his favor, or ours
either."

"Jesse Barbury, or Jesse Hill, came up, conspicuous
for red whiskers and freckles, but looking honestly sad.
"Sarvant, sir!" he said to the Minister, lifting his hat;

TRACES OF rriR f.OST.

128

and in a lower and more familiar voice to the constable,

Hope ee re hearty, Mister Gulpin."

" We're going down u,e Backside, Jesse. Will you
go along and see if we can make out whereabouts that
White tlung was when you saw it ? "

" S^^-'^in, sir," said Jesse Hill, falling into the rear while
they took the path through the buslies, as a boat in tow
might fall astern.

As they were far enough over to have the land going
right down between them and the shore, the Minister
keeping his eyes toward the water, inquired of Jesse
whereabouts his punt had been the evening before at the
time of the vision.

" Sir ! » said Jesse, emphatically, hy way of exclama-

tion, not question, and evidently glad to be opened, "ef

ee plase to bring yon var (fir) on wi' the road at tother

side, sir, up over, we was about a fourth part o' the w'y

acrost, sir ; and Izik Maffen, that was alon- "

"And where was the figure when you "first saw it?"
asked the Minister, cutting gently off the tail of Jesse
tlill s discourse.

" It corned right out of a big bush, seemunly, sir,-to

my seemun, sir, and Izik Maffen .»

"Would you know the bush if you could see it?"

'Mubbe I mought,sir. I can' be rightly sure, sir-
to say sure, sir." "^

■ " What color was it, Jesse ? Was it yellow, or red ? »
asked the constable.

" WuU Mr. Gulpin, it was dark lookun ; T couldn' say
gezacly, but 'twas dark-lookun ; and Iz »

" That's pretty well, Jesse ; you kept all 'the wits you"
had about you if you did get frightened. Can you see
It from here ? '

I;:

I 5

• r

^ '■ I

124

Tllf: SEW VUIKST.

TJ.e fisherman surveyed the wliole suirounding scenery

with an eye that from infancy, almost, had learned to note

landmarks ; and here were plenty of bushes to choose

from,— a wilderness of them,--but he recognized none.

Here and there, at a distance, were still scattered a few

persons who seemed to be searching.

" Ef I was down at tother side o' they bushes," he
began.

" Surely, Jesse, that's only reasonable ; you're a better
sailor than I be."

" Ay, Jesse," said the Minister, who had been looking
^with eager but sad eyes over the waste; "get down
-somewhere whej-e you can see it as you saw it before.
That's Mister Urston's house over there ?"
I* Is, sure, sir; that's 'e's house, sir," answered Jesse.
" There's that new Popish priest, talking with Skipper
George!" said Gilpin; and as the Minister turned, he
saw the companion of his walk of a few days before,
standing uncovered, (perhaps out of respect to the bare'
head of the sorrowing father,) and so engaged as not to
see Mr. Wellon and his party.

" Yes, that was he ! " exclaimed Mr. Wellon.
" Yes, sir, and that's just their way of going on," said
the constable.

" He won't lead George Barbury astray," said the
Mmister, giving a long look, however, in that direction.

" 'Deed, 'e wou'n't, then," said Jesse Hill ; and the
party again set forward, Mr. Wellon last.

" Thisam's the path from Uncle Georgie's w'y," said
Jesse, as they struck it. Having gone down some d's-
tance upon it, Jesse said : —

" Woul' 'ee be so well plased as bide here a spurt, sir?
an' I'll come back to 'ee, in short.''

TRACES OF THE LOST.

125

Behind them, just at a turn of the way, was a large
bush. Jesse walked down the path, noting the bearings
on each side, and turning round once, he soon came to
a stand.

" Plase to fall astarn a bit, Mr. Gulpin," he called out;
and the constable-smith did as directed.

Suddenly they were all startled by the running of one
of the distant parties towards them. The dog gave a
short bark. "There's Izik, now, sir ! " said Je^sse, loud
enough to be heard from where he stood.

" Have you found any signs of her ? " asked Mr. Wel-
lon, as the new party drew near. Their answer destroyed
all hope from that source ; they had only come to offer to -
help the Parson, " seeing he seemed to be sarchin', like."
" Well, Jesse ! " said the constable.
"Avast, a bit! " was Jesse's answer. « So!" and he
came back again.

" Thisam's the bush, sir," said he. Ef 'ee'll plase to
look, just as Mr. Gulpin's a comun out from behind un,
sir, jesso what I sid corned out, an' goed right down here,
didn't 'em, Izik?"

The substance, who had come to represent the name
that had hitherto been so frequent on Jessie's tongue, was
a gaunt, hard-featured fellow, and why Jesse should have
been his leader and principal, (unless because he was not
quite as ugly, or was, perhaps, better off,) was hard to say.
The bush stood in such a way at the turning of the
path, that a short man or a woman might, on the other
side, have been hidden for a little distance ; the ground
being for a few rods hollow, and then ascending again.

Izik Maffen, appealed to, looked dutifully at Jesse
Hill from under his woollen cap,* and made his answer :—

♦ or Paisley bonnet.

126

THE NEW PRIEST.

" I's sure 'e did, then, Jesse."

"We can come back this way; let us go down to
where she disappeared, if we cm find it," said the Min-
ister.

" Do 'ee think has the Pareson got track o' she ? " said
one of the new followers, aside,— a silent, quiet man, who
generally kept himself back.

The sun, rising, as he was, had found a place between
the clouds to look out through upon the earth, and upon
the sad search that these few men were making, without
a trace to guide them, and where all had been already
searched. The sea shone before him, and myriads of
ram-drops glistened on all sides ; the green was fairer
and brighter everywhere than usual; but if there could
have been any possibility of tracing, at any time, foot-
prmts on the rough and gravelly path that they were fol-
lowing, this rain had washed all slight prints, of whatever
kmd, away, had made its own marks, heaped up its little
black gatherings of mould from the bushes on the white
earth, and filled all lesser hollows with water.

" Did it go all the way down here, Jesse ? " asked Mr
Wellon.

" 'Is, sir," answered Jesse Hill ; « sometimes '-^ M it,
an' more times agin we didn' see it; but it g^c
white sail, in a manner, sir, passin' by the green bu ,
It didn' walk, seemunly, to my seemun ; and Izik Mai

that was along wi' I, ."

" Where did you see the last of it ? "
" Down a bit, sir, by the house."

Mr. Urston's house stood along by the bank or cliff,
and for some little distance round it the bushes were
cleared off. The garden, inclosed with its « pickets "
stretched before it, towards the land, (or behind it, if the

TRACES OF THE LOST.

127

other side towards the water were counted front,) u
dozen rods, perhaps; the house itself was uninclosed,
and, in our country style, a comfortable looking dwellin.r,
and in good keeping-up. Some firs and other growth,
which had got far enough up the precipice to stand a
little above its edge, would have prevented any person
very near the house from being seen from the place in
which Jesse Hill and his comrade had been on the
water.

The dogs of Newfoundland are not unlike the dogs of
other countries in their dealings with one another ; and
the intrusion or near approach of a stranger 73 a thing
about which the dog at home gets to his feet, .and puts up
his tail, and bristles his mane, and shows his teeth.

As the Minister and his < following ' drew towards the
house, great care was taken to prevent a fight between
his dog and a large brindled fellow that lay growling on
the flat stone before Mr. Urston's door; and the fight
was prevented ; the proper occupant of the place being
left undisturbed to his occupation, and the other being
marched off, with the tramp of many shod feet, and ex"^
hortations from several voices mingled with his own,
toward the cliff or steep bank (for the shore was in one
place one, and in another place the other) at the water-
side.

A wild and picturesque chasm, called the " Worrell,"
was broken out of the rock near the house, approached
on the eastern side by a slope of the land which was con-
tinued in a ledge down the face of the landward wall, to
some broken masses of rock at the bottom. A bit of
gray beach lay among and beside these rocks ; and while
the water came freely in, and was sheltered entirely on
three sides, there was also a jutting out of one of the

!,.< -.

128

TT?!-: NF.W rniKST.

'i till

rocky Willis ill Mu,.|i a wny hm (o Uii-ow a Imrrlrr Imlf
lU'^Hs ihr ,.|».|iiiijf. and to ron,, a litll<> miiIo ,.„v,. with a
san.l luutoin. .Miliivly .Idrn,!,.,! Uy r\m. 11,.,,. IMr. I Irs.
ton k.«|.t s,.v,.ral pimK ami ,»th,.rs ivsorhMl i.> ||„' ,,,„t
for a c,mv,'iii<.nt laii.linjr.,,!,,,,.. Si,ml| (,.,.,., |„i,| j.,„ ,^
|«»<.ll.ol,| |.,.r„ and tlm-o on llio bn.ju.n walls „r ihis'^JM,!,.
•n tli<« slioiv; an.l n.«ar tli<^ („|,, wh,.ro .s,.il |,a.l h.vn
washctl <»vi'r, IhimIics w««ro jj;iH)win^.

TUo fislnTii,,.,, locked lo Ilio MinishM- as lio snimu.d
nuvri.lly all si,|,.s, and th,^ n.rkM ami l.cach at \\w hot-
toMi; and Ihoy alMM.xaininrd will. tlu.Jr oyos (lio noijrl,.
bonn;r gnmnd. and in a low voic,. oaiTiod on fli,.ir sp,.,.-
ulaJions with racli oMn'r.

" How Ion- did yon stay wlioro yon wcir atU«r tin-
wl.il,. ihinjr had disappoaivd ? " ho askod, tarnin- roniul
to .J,>ss,.. who, with Isaac close at hand, was waiting to Ui
called ii|)on au'ain.

"Wi'll now, I (H)nldn* rjorhtly say, I»arcson W.-lJon,
how lonji it was, sir; not to say fr,>/,ac'ly. sir; but it wcni

a short spnrt : for Izik says to I, scs he, ."

The actual Isaac socin,>d not to have supplanted the
historical one, whom Jesse had s,> iVeqnentIv introduced ;
hut Jesse had no lonch of any thinj,^ l.„t soieinn serious-
ness in his way of teUinjy what he knew.

"Hid yon keep on lookinj;," asked the iNIinister.
" 'Is sir. Meed wt« did, sir : we kep' lookin' so str'i^lit
as a needle pointin'. in a niann<>r, sir;— but we inner "id
nothin' at>er that,— no more, sir.'"

" No more we didn', snre eiioiijih," alRrmed his faithful
Isjwc. solemnly.

"I can tell 'ee now, ,Mr,"s),id Jesse, who had ivcol-
leottHl hims.>lf: - ueM \v t and a punt comin' round
CasUe-Bay Pom:, wlien ^ve tirst cotch sight o' Uiisam*

TflAOKS OK TIIR r.OST.

1S9

whitu thing, quick M ev.ir 1 «ia ilie ,„„,t, £ kch to
Jjsik, I Hfiyn "

"Arnl wlicii you catnc away, where wm the punt,
Jmse?" *^ •

" When we corned aw'y, nlr, they was ahout a half
w'yH n|) to we Hir, wi* onr« an' wind, doin' their bent ; an'

1 Hid it was Nuhlhan "

, " How long would that inko. them ?"

" Could n' 'avo abin less than five minutes, sir ; that's
a sure eas('."

Isaac was appcah-d to by a look of the speaker, and
adinned tin. Htufcrruint.

" That's a sure case, ,I(;sse," said ho.

"And you watched, all that time?"

"Ts, sir, we did, sir; an' a long time arter that; so
long as ever we could see the place, while we was rowinir
aw'y." ®

" Was it getting dark ? "

•' No, I'areson, it wasn' gettun dark ; the sun had jest
aknockcd off. It njought be a' twilight, sir. We was

jes comun home, however, sir, an' I ses "

A Hudd(Mi noisy altercation of the dogs diverted for the
momcmt all attention toward tlic house. Mr. Urston's
" J)ncker" bad com.^ out to the path, and it had needed
but a moment to embroil him with the stranger.

"Mr. (iilpin ! " exclaimed the Minister, at this alarm.
" 'E isn' 'ere, sir," answered one of the company ; but at
the moment the constable appeared at the corner of the
house, and set himself, tmderstandingly, to the work of
keeping the noisy debaters asunder.

Immediately behind appeared a woman of about sixty
years, announced among Mr. Wellon's company as ' Granny
CaUoi-an ' ! whom we have called young Urstou's nurse*

VOL. I. J>

*-n

180

THE NEW PRIEST.

She wns one of tlioso women in whom the process of dry-
ing away with age Hcems to leave the easenee of will and
energy, con«;entrated, after the manner of a chemical
evaporation. Her features, too, haci that expression of
standing out, that befits such a character.

Without noticing Gilpin, who had the Minister's dog by
the collar, she set hernclf directly in front of the other,
putting her a[)ron over his face. At the same time, with
a brisk blow of the foot, she sent what had, very likely,
been the object of contention into the open hole of the
dog's kennel, under the corner of the house, near which
Gdpin stood. The constable, as suddenly snatched it
out.

" It's a bad ould book, that's afther bein' burnt," said
Mrs. Calloran, who saw the motion, holding out her hand
for the blackened and shrivelled mass, which had been,
moreover, disfigured by the teeth of the dog.

"Jesse, lay hold o' the dog, a bit, Avill 'ee?" said Gil-
pin, as the men drew up; and f-^ur hands were imme-
diately laid upon Eppy, and a fur cap and a woollen bonnet
met together in the operation.

" It's got pretty good stuff in it, for a bad book," pro-
ceeded the constable, as he carefully disengaged some of
the leaves from their sticking together. " Here's prayers,
for one thing."

"Ah! thin, it's me darter's prayer-book she was
lookin' for, this while back, an' niver got a sight of it,
good or bad," said Mrs. Calloran; "an' I'm thankful to
ye for findln' it this day."

She again held out her hand for it; but the finder
seemed in no hurry to part with it.

" You may thank the dogs for that," said he, continu-
ing his examination ; " it's an English Prayer-Book, any

TRACES OK THE LOST.

181

how. The one It belonged to isn't vrvy near to you, I
don't think." *

" An', -sure, isn't all our pniyor-hookH Enf^ll.sh? D'ye
think, do we pray in Ilfhrew-tjlreek ?" retorted Mrs.
Calloran, gettin;? warm; "ar what?"

She attempted to recover the book by a sudden' Hnatch,
and set the dog tree by the same movement. The one-
eyed constable was too quick for lu!r ; but the dog mut-
tered, mischievously.

At this moment, the sound of horse-hoofs upon the
stony ground made itself heard, even among men whose
attention was occupied as was that of Gilpin and his com-
panions.

"There's another of 'em!" muttered the constable,
aside.—" That's Father Nicholas, they calls un.— There's
rather too many of those gents for my likin'," he con-
tinued, in his aside, " 'tisn't eight o'clock, yet ; two of 'em,
in two or three hours, don't mean any good, I'll go bail."

Th<! horseman was coming, at a good <piick trot, alon^^
the path near the edge of the cliff, fi-om the direction of
Castle-Bay.

Mrs. Calloran, as if aware, by sight or hearing, of
this powerful reinforcement close at hand, (informed, per-
haps, by Gilpin's remarks.) i-enewed her strength ; and
her face gleamed with sati fiu-tion, even in the midst of
its looks of vexation. She scoured the dog, however.

While this animal was working himself up to a rage,
and the other, also, who was in chai-ge of the fishermen,
answered growl for growl, young Mr. Urston appeared,
and changed the state of things. With his voice and his
foot, he speedily persuaded Ducker to go inside of the
house, and leave the field to other arbitrators.

" I'll talk with Mr. Gilpin, Granny," said he.

182

TIIK NKW PRIEST.

,f ill

^"An' can't I do tluit. meself?" ask d she. "Well,
thin, Mr. Ga!i)in, (an' Mr. Galpin I believe it is, indeed,)
let's liave no words upon it (an' ycrself a man that's set
over the peace) ; but will ye give me the book, quite an'
paceable, that ye tuk from this house ? an' meself '11
lave ye to yer company: an' there's enough o' thim that
ye wouldn't feel lonely, walkin' away from this, I'm
thinkin'."

" If Mr. Urston will look here a minute, (I suppose he
won't be afraid of a Protestant book,) I'll show him, in a
jiftey," answei-ed the constable. " There ! " said he, as
the you'ig man followed his invitation. « I'm sure if that
isn't Church, the Archbishop of Canterbury isn't Church.

* Articles agreed upon by the Archbishops and Bishops of
both Provinces, and the whole Clergy : '—and there's

• Articles of the Church of England.' Does that book
belong here ? "

" No, indeed," said James Urston, " it's not your book,
Granny, and it does not belong to any one here."

"There seems to be some little misunderstanding
between you and your excellent neighboi-s," said a new
voice, very blandly ; and the priest, whom Gilpin had
called Father Nicholas, appeared, on foot, near the house.
He was a man in the prime of life, and of an appearance
that would strike even a rude man, at first glance. His
eyes were deep-set and dark, with a high forehead, firm,
sharp lips, rnd a complexion like slightly-yellowed ivory,
contrasting strongly with his black hair. There was a
settled look of authority about him ; and he had the
reputation of being one whose infiuence was not less that
of a man of superior mind, than one who bore a sacred
ofiice. Almost less was popularly known or reported
about this gentleman's history, than about that of the

THACES OF THE LOST.

188

new {)rlos( \yho had come to Peterport ; although Father
Nieh()Ia.s had been two years and more in the neighbor-
hood, — and the other, two weeks. '

His appeaiance disconcerted and drove into temj)orary
retreat behind tlie picket-fence one of the P«;terport Pro-
testants, (the silent and withdrawing man,) rather abashed
Jesse and Isaac, who were holding the dog, and even
slightly f tartled Mister Charles Gilpin, smith and consta-
ble ; but men's minds were serious and saddened, and not
likely to yield to passing emotions ;— Gilpin's blood was
warmed, and that of his followers was ready to back
him ; and so, with the second breath, religious antipathy

.gave them a very determined manner, and the eye of
their leader took a new brightness. The Minister, before
the altercation began, had gone down into the Worrell,
(the chasm before-described,) and had not come up.

The priest having given the different parties time to
compose themselves, spoke again : —

" Perhaps your neighbors will excuse you, Mrs. Callo-
ran. James, will you do me the favor to come in ? "

" If you please, sir, we'll understand about this book,"
said Gilpin. " He belonged to a friend o' mine, and if Mrs.

Calloran wants to claim un, she knows where to come,

and if she'll prove her property, she shall have un. It's

worth more now than ever it cost."

"There must be some mistake, Mrs. Calloran," said

Father Nicholas. "You'd best drop the thing where

it is."

" Lave Skipper Charlie alone for talk," said one to an-
other of the constable's followers, natui-ally feeling not a
little proud at his force of tongue. The constable him-
self suddenly took another subject.

" Mrs. Calloran," said he, " did you see Mr. Barbury's
laughter since yesterday moi'ning ? "

t-i 3i

134

TIIK NKW I'HIKsr,

"Misthcr Barbury's durl.T ! an' ,li,l I see hrr? Do
yv JhiMk is it visifin- hor I was, M.at wasn't in it or ni-^h it
;lu)se many years ! How would I b. seeun Misib.r liar-'
burys darter? There's oi/ur ould women in Peternort,

''Ay ! bat did you see her ? " re{,eated' the eons.able,
lioldnij,' on hke a niasJifK

"An" sure," answered the woman, '' wonlchi't wan an-
swer ,lo ye? An' what for must ye be afther eomun,
y I'HS no eall to it, an' (he father himseh" beun here
last cvcnun ? "

'' liiit you n,ight answer a plain question, and a short
one, w.th a plain, .iiort answer, 1 think," persisted the
constable.

" Sure is this the plaee to eome askun for Lucy Bar-
bury? An' isn't her father's house the fit place to look
for her, besides ax,m meself, when it's sorrow a si-^ht I
seen ot her in years, I suppose ? What would I do wid
Luey Barbury?"

"I can't make you answer, if you won't answer of your
own aceoi.1 ; but there's some that ean," said the eon-
stable.

''An' didn't ye hear me sayun I didn't know if I seen
».er n. years ? I dono did 1 or no," answered the u.^eon-
querable womaji.

" But that isn't answering my question either; 1 asked

Skip;;;: air^"'- ^^-^^ ^-^-'^y --^"^'' p--d

Young Urston secerned mther inclined to have this ex-
a.un.u,on go on than to interrupt it. The Priest, how-
tn cr, mediated.

•• M,-, Callomn will doubte. be willing ,o ,u„wer any
reasonable question," said he. " I sup^.e vo„ have .orae

TRACKS OF THE LOST.

135

good reason for asking. You wisli to know whether sh«
saw this young person, or old person, whichever it is,
yesterday ? Whether she got some message from her,
perhaps ? "

"No, sir," sa-'d Gilpin; "Mr. Barbury's daughter's
missing, and we want to find her, or find out what's be-
come of her."

"Is it left her father's house? Sure that's not a very
good story of a young woman," said Mrs. Calloran, raor-
aliziiiT.

" Granny!" said young Urston, sternly, "you'll please
not to speak disrespectfully."

"If it's lost she is, thin may God find her!" said she,
more softly.

"Of course it will be cleared up," said the Priest;
" theni's some explanation of it ; and I only hope it will
come out happily for all. You can say whether you
know where she is, or any thing about her, Mrs. Calloran,
and you needn't keep your neighbors waiting."

" Sure thin, yer riverence. Father Nicholas," said Mrs.
Calloran, " it's not meself asked thim fo wait ; but if it's
Where's Lucy Barbury, indade I dono, more than I know
where the injens is."

"Now, Mr. Constable, I shall be glad if you're satisfied,
as I'm pressed for time ; but I won't hurry you."

" I haven't got any thing more to ask just now, sir,"
said the constable.

" Then I'll wish you good morning," said the priest,
and went into the house, followed by Mrs. Calloran.
Before going in after them Mr. Urston said,—
" She nursed me as early as I can remember, almost ;
but if it were necessary to dig down my father's house to
fin. a trace, I say, go on ! I'll build it again."

1 I

136

Xiii. x\iivv i^iiiiiar.

CHAPTER XVL

SEARCHING STILL.

S the constable and his company drew near the
" Worrell," whither Epictetus, the Minister's dog,
had gone immediately on finding himself at
large, Mr. Welloii and the man whom he had taken down
with him were coming up.

"Here's something that may have been her's," said
the Minister, turning to his companion, who held up a
I'l'iiii white cap, whicli all crowded about and looked
upon, in sacred silence.

It was marked with red thread, already faded, " L. B."
Jesse had uncovered his honest red locks before it,
and more than one of his comrades put the back of his
hand to his eyes.

Presently tlie general voice said sadly, " That's Lucy's,
and no mistake."

"It was part of that figure that Jesse and Isaac saw,
I think," said the Minister, in the same tone.

"Do 'ee think 'twould wear a real cap, sir ?" asked
Jesse, who doubtless looked upon what he had seen, on
the evening before, as a preternatural sight.

"I think it was her real self," answered Mr. Wellon,
looking wistfully upon the path, which seemed to have
been the path of death, or strange disaster, to the girJ

SEARCJfflNG STILL. ^37

Who had so lately been one of the chief joys and beauties
of the place.

"Where did you find it, sir?" inquired the con-
stable.

"At the bottom of the Worrell, on the sand under
one of the punts that Zebedee turned over. It may have
floated in on the tide.-I think you told me that boats
were out along the shore here and round the point? "

"Ay. sir, Cap'n Nolesworth and George Karnes, you
know, his mate, were round Castle-Bay harbor, and some
are down now, by land, to Bay-Harbor, and to Brians ;
Jonathan Frank one way, and Skipper Henry Ressle
t other way. Young Urston, here, was out all ni-ht wi'
a lantern, sculling into every place along shore ; but there
wasn't a scred nor a scrap to be found ; and Solomon
Kelley and Nahth Marchant were out till morning ; but I
think now we'll get some track of her, please God, dead
or alive."

" Certainly," said Mr. Wellon, '' if she's alive, as I
hope, we must hear from her; or if she's lost in the
water, as she may be, we may hope to find her body.
(God help us !) We must get word to every place that
she could go to."

The lifeless relic that they had recovered, heavy and
drippmg with the ocean water, while it brought them
near to her in one respect, yet gave deep meaning to the
suggestion that she might have perished in the sea ; and
m this way it seemed to impress them all.

" If I can get a crew, by and by, I'll go round the
shore, and give one look by daylight." said the Minister.

" Ef 'ee'll plase to take me an' Izik," said Jesse Hill,
" we'll be proud to go along wi' 'ee, sir."

« ' Deed we woul'," said Isaac Maffen.

'! I iji i

fUh

!! I'

1 1 ,;

138

THE NEW PRrEST.

mI Wet?"" '"" " "^ '" ^'"-'^' "'»"gh."a»i.-

sails " r; "!"" " '"* '™^- P"-°" Wellon,"
said Jesse. I don know who's got a right, ef I haven' »
and Isaac assented : "All so, Jesse " -""aven,

Hard"' ''" ""'■' "'"'''■' ■■' ''" P'-^^' -•" -id Zebedce

plete*°Thi,f"!u'""'-'''"'^'^'»"'' "■« <="- was com-
tioned. """ '"' •"'"" '"^■' — ' 'taes ™e„.

s.wl»''"sif°'srf ™ '° ""^ ''"""^ «-'' "f-e *at, I
the wel-'™ '^'^^'"''' '""""g gravely round toward

-wrrhf.sr„^:r ™' ^

said^j?;.' w'if'' "'"" ""^^'P "«" ""«' -" conte hack,"
eltff J:"?"' :"" *- - '""» "ave something, I,
>ep rf we get noth.ng „,ore. Will you take charge of .

"Whatever 'ee says, sir," said Jesse gravely- "n

-dkpe?::a"Xn7;:t^:::r:aVs^^^^
ot;rrritsr^-«---«~:

you W'' He^r'"^ ' '? '' "'■^ -''' -^ ' - '" ™ wi'

" We"n take , r''"'""^ '"'" " "'* "'>"' ^ands.
off r '" «•" '"""'^*'"S '« «"'. and then be

off « soon as we can," said Mr. Wellon.

givi^^di^trd"^::::^^^^^^^^

ta-diately, addressing:- pX-^ '""'" '"' '" ^^

SKARCITTXG STJLL.

189

m'y make bold. It's poor ofFenm' «;r T l

missu, -ull be clear proud." ' ^"""" ' ""' ^

Isaac Maffen o„fb,-ced the invitation in hi, fashion •

Mr. Wellon accepted, at once, the ready hosoilaUtv •
d Jes,e, .,aying >< Come then, Iziic," led the", ^^^^^ r'^'

s ak n?' s ' " Tf "''"'y' --'•'■' '"'P- -d'witto
»peak.ng. Sk.p^er CImrlie was not among the company

hi mate H' .T '''"''"''''' "-^"^ J-- ^^^
nis mate, took care of themselves.

The cap was deposited safely upon the Family Bible
to await their comin^r back fmm fi.l !■ '

then Jessp'^ wJf^ "^"^ expedition ; and

r?i T^ ' ^^'^'"^ '"^"Sh to exercise hospitality

for the Minister,) urged him, modestly, to "plase to m II
use o' the milk," (which is quite a lux^r, a.non! Z.^

;Lti™^"^ -' '' ''' ' --'' * -^ «" ^e:r

In a few minutes they had finished their hurried meal
and were shortly at the water-side. Zebedee and the 7ht
were already there.

They skirted the shore along by Frank's Cove, and
Mad Cove, and round Mad Head and Castle-Bay pZt
Nothtng had been seen or heard that would throw uZ
upon the mystery, and the Minister set out to go blhn

itConZT'"'l ''""' ""='" "'^ "■""'» -evv made
me oest ot their way by water.

The beach was strewed with empty shells, and weeds
and rubbtsh, and whited with a line of foam, and a, U
chanced, among the other worthless things the" 1^; a
* A fresh young fish broiled.

140

THE NEW PRIEST.

■

woman's shoe which Mv. Wellon ran to, and snatched
eagerly, but saw at a glance, was nothing to his purpose.
He threw it from him into the water, and his dog, exult-
ing, leaped in and secured it. His search was done, and
he went slowly home.

^^ When at length after waiting hours, that information,
i.- any were to come, might come, he sought Jesse, who
was the depositary of the little thing recovered from the
sea ; the day— the last of the week,— was drawing towards
evening, and twenty-four hours had passed since Lucy's
strange and sad disappearance.

" I said I wouldn' start un tell 'ee corned, sir," said Jesse.
"'Ee did so, Jesse," said Isaac, who was still w.th him,
and without delay the little procession set forth.

The fisherman bore the relic reverently in his two
hands, and carefully and quickly, as if it were an unsub-
stantial thing of frost, that might be wasted by the way.
Near the door of the house of mourning, Jesse and Isaac
drew aside and would not go in, and Jesse gave the slight
memorial into the Parson's hand, and he, uncoverin<r
himself, went in alone. °

Skipper George, who sate silently in his chimney-side,
with his wife and little Janie, rose up and took off his
baton seeing his pastor; the wife courteseyed and wept.
The Minister put the relic into his hj^nd, without
speaking.

« Have 'ee— ? 'Is, sir,— 'Is, sir," said the father, con-
fusedly, taking the precious thing, but turning it over as
if he could not see it, for something in his eyes, "it's
her's, it's her's. Ah ! God's will be done ! "

Mr. Wellon said nothing of the constable's hope or
expectation of tracing her.

The mother sobbed once, and wept silently, and Skip-
per George rallied himself.

>!.j

SEARCHLNU STILI,

14 J

" So ! so! mother," said ho, soothingly, " this '11 never
do ! There, there I take it and put it by ; mayhap the
dear maid '11 wear it agin, in-short, please God."

The Minister's eye was caught by a lead-pencil-drawing,
that lay on tlie bench.

" That's her doun, sir," said the father, sadly.

" I did n't know she could draw," answered the Minis-
ter, taking into his hand the paper, blurred somewhat,
and blistered.

" No more did n' I, sir; it was the last doun she doned ;
we found it next day where she dropped it, when she
went to bed. She must ha' larned o' Miss Dare, or the
widow-lady."

The Minister gazed long at it, and then said,—" I don't
know much about drawing; but I should say there was
great talent here. I can't think how she should be able
to do this ice."

"Athout she minds about the ice comun in, years ago,
when she was a little thing, about so big as Janie."

"It's wonderful, really!" said the Minister. "This
vessel going off, and the man left behind."

Skipper George said, in a low voice, —

"Ay, sir, that vessel never corned home again ! Nor
no word ever comed of her!— Will 'ee pla°e make a
pr'yer, sir?" added the father.

All kneeled down by the fireside ; the mother crying ;
the father full of woe as he could hold, but more full of
faith and will, and little Janie holding fast in both hands
some stones with which she had been at play.

The Minister prayed for help to find the lost child, and
for grace to do and bear God's will, and to learn meekly
His lesson.

" Would n' 'ee be plased to set fast, sir ? " asked the

U'.< I

143

TlIK .Ni:\V VliA:6T.

fiHh .man, as h.s Pastor moved to go. " Well, «ir, we
«lmll bo proud to see 'ec aj,.ti„ ; au.l-it comes heavy to
bear; but we'll do our best,- wi' God's help."

The sturdy man followed the Minister to the outsido
of the house, and then, lowering his voiee, said,-

"I've abin to li'y-IIarbor, sir, uu' I've ubin to Brigus •
but there's nawthun, sir I" ^ '

" % la.id ? " asked Mr. Wellon.
"'I«,sir, an' put my poor ol' sorry face into araany,
many houses-but they were kind, sir, they were all
kind, sir. Ihey sid I was heavy hearted, an' they were
very pitiful over me."

"Why, you've been forty miles!" said Mr. Wellon
rather to himself. "It must be; besides being out all
night, lou must take rest. It's a duty."

"'Is, sir, an' tb-morrow 's Sunday, and even when the
Lord was dead, they w'ited an' ' rested on the Sabbath-
day, according to commandment,' afore ever they 'd 'balm
Es blessed body. There isn' e'er a thing to be doned
now, sir, that I knows, an' I m'y as well rest bumbye,
an ef I can t, mubbe, get sleep right aw'y, I can prV
for un, however." ' ^

"And good days will come, I hope, shortly."
"Ay, sir, they '11 come," said Skipper George. « They
11 come ! " ° j

How far ahead he looked, he gave no sign; but he
spoke confidently. b , ui ne

"An' I know she'll fir.d home," he said, «ef she never

comes to this place no more, sir. There's others have

agot sore hearts, so well as we. That good lady that's

OSS d er husband an' 'er child, takes stren'th, an' comforts

them that wants, an' I musn' give up."

Mr. Wellon pressed his hand and left him.

SKARCHING STI|,L.

148

As he cume out upon the ridge from which he was to
go down to the road, his eye was eanglu hy the Ihish of a
white Huil, and he .stopped to gaze. '

It was the Spring-hird gliding fast hy the hind in her
way out to liay-IIarhor, from which she was to clear (or
Madcua. A ship's .ihMit going-forth is a solemn thin^.,
and to sad n.inds a sad one. There was silence too on
board the brig, in this case, in tribute to the prevailing
sorrow of the little town, and «he had no streamer or flag
flying at peak or truck.

Does the sea hold the secret ?

Along the wharves, along the little beaches, around the
circuit of the little coves, along the smooth or broken face
of rock, the sea, which cannot rest, is busy. These little
waves and this long swell, that now are here at work,
have been ere now at home in the great inland sea of
Lurope, breathed on by soft, warm winds from fruit-
groves, vineyards, and wide fields of flowers; have
sparkled in the many-coloured lights and felt the trivial
oars and dallying fingers of the loiterers on the Ion-
canals of Venice; have quenched the ashes of the Dutch"-
mans pipe, thrown overboard from his dull, laborincr
treckschuyt; have wrought their patient tasks in the dim
caverns of the Indian Archipelago; have yielded to the
little builders under water means and implements to rear
their towering altar,-dwelling,-monnm(mt.

These little waves have crossed the ocean, tumbling
hke porpoises at play, and taking on a savage nature in
the Great Wilderness, have thundered in close ranks and
countless numbers, against man's floating fortress ; have
stormed the breach and climbed up over the walls in the
ships riven side; have followed, howling and hungry as
mad wolves, the crowded raft; have leaped upon it,

» i-1

liii 'It

144

iMK NKW PKIKST.

if 'i

I I

^nalclnn. off, ,„.e by ono, ,!.„ weary, worn-o.,t mon and
wom.M.; ave.akcM. „p„ndU„eHlo»r,^,^^

^ •"^" ^-<^ -J the long spar, <W,m wIud^na^^s clan.I?^
cordage wastes, by degrees, and yields i.s plaee to Ton;
green s.rea.neivs mneh like those that elung j. tall
taper tree, when it stood in the northern fbr^st. "

Ihese wave, have rolled their breasts about amid the

wreeks and weeds of the hot stream that comes up many

H.onsands of n.des, out of the Gulf of Mexi<.,'as the

gnat M ss,ss,pp. goes down into it, and by and by these

aves wdl move, all numb and ehilled, among the mighty

iTX "'"'^^'^^^^^"^"^^ ^« brought\,own f'om

Busy, wandering, reckless, heartless, .nurderous waves!

lower Deep the mnocent body of our missing girl, after
'•at ye had tossed it about, from one to anothe;, n"
wmmg the long hair, one lock of which would be'so dear

to some that live; smearing the eyes that were so glad

and gladdenmg ;— sliming the

Oh I is that body in the sea ?

p~'^^^'^ '' "'''^^ ^^^° °"« "mystery in little Petei^

WIIK H WAY SUSPICION LEADS.

145

CHAPTER XVII.

WHICH WAY SUSPICION LEADS.

>^HE Minister had hml no time for Mrs. Barrfe, or

11^ any ,hi„^ but the search. That Saturday evening

jVL/ he and the constable sate together in consultation

n he fonners study, putting together their in tbrmation

ami conjectures. Gilpin's suspicions had been aroused as

Tr d"t M T ''". °" '" P-yor.book that he had se^
cured at Mr. Urston's ; and he had found, in the middle, a
book-mai-k bearing a drawing of a lamb, with the legend,
I am the Good Shepherd," and the letters «L. B" i„
delicate German text. This mark Miss Dare had already
recognized as one which she herself had given to Lucy
Barbury, since her sickness. On the inside of the covei
however, was the name "Lucy Barbury" still legible,'
fiom having been also written in German text, though
with a less practised hand. The latter had been iden-
tifaed by the mother as Lucy's own writing

w.-?M ''' n^r^^'"'''" '^ *^" ^'"^^^ *^^«» ^» connection

I hT'!; '"""'^ ^"'"^^ "^ ^-^S^^-^ '^ ^^' ™ade it
probable that it was in her house that it had been given
to the fire. °

whether she had seen the missing maiden since Friday
mornin J'

VOL. I, 10

THE NEW PRIEST.

— " But she contrived to tell different stories about the
Prayer-book," said the Minister ; " why shouldn't she, —
if she had occasion, — about seeing Lucy Barbury ? "

" Sometimes they won't lie' to a straightforward ques-
tion ; and they'll lie fast enough, of their own tongue :
and then the Priest was there that time, and he wasn't,
I he other."

" You're too severe upon Roman Catholics," said Mr.
Wellon.

" Not upon her sort o' Roman Catholics," answered the
constable ; " I know 'em, sir, — too well."

" We seem to have traced her to just about that place,"
said Mr. Wellon, musing ; — " so far she seems to have
gone on her own feet, — and alone."

— " And there they picked her up, when she fell down,"
said the constable, " and then those nuns carried her off."

" What nuns ? "

" That Cap'n Nolesworth saw ; and this Yankee, — Mr.
Banks, they call un, sir, — he was prying about there, last
night, just when these nuns were going away from the
house. When he was telling his story he said they car-
ried something ; and so I followed un up. He couldn't
tell what it was, for the night was dark ; but there were
two or three women, and carrying something among 'em
down the Worrell, there. Being a stranger, he didn't
want to be brought in, he said; 'twould knock up his
business."

" It's a pity he hadn't helped carry her down, while he
was about it ! " said the Parson ; " and then we should
have had some better evidence."

" Then there's Cap'n Nolesworth knows what he's
about ; and he come right across their punt, and had a
good look at it, with his lantern. They pulled for dear

WHICH WAY SUSPICION LEADS. ^47

life : but he says he's sure he saw somebody they were
holding „p.--That's how her cap got down there," con-
eluded the constable.

The Minister was struck with Gilpin's statement, which
was conhrmed, slightly, by the few circumstances and
tacts ot the case within their knowled^^e

"But," said he, "there's no proo^ and who do you
suppose 13 at the bottom of it ? "

Father Nicholas." Mr. Wellon smiled.-" And then
that^jiew priest just coming here!" exclaimed the con-

"It's a J popish plot,' with a vengeance!" said the
Minister ; with priests and nuns and all. But what
should she do it for? and what should the priests and
nuns be concerned in it for?"

"If Granny Calloran got a fair chance at one of Mrs
Barbury s daughters,--ay, and one that young Urston
was leaving their priesthood for,-she'd do it fast enough,
sir 1 1 go bail. She'd steal 'em to make Romans of 'e^
and shed steal her to get her out of his way; and the
priests and nuns 'd be ready enough to lend a hand at
that work, and no mistake. 'Twas only t'other day there
was that case at home, in Lancashire."

" Ay, bn Lucy can't have conspired with them," said
the Minister, upon whom Gilpin's convictions made some
impression ;-«if there's any thing sure on earth '»

"I can't say for that, sir," said Gilpin ; but then, cor-
recting himself, did justice to Lucy, without injustice to
Ins argument. « Oh no ! " said he, "if there's truth on
earth, she s got it ; but she's been crazy, by spurts, ever
since she was sick, you know, sir."

" To be sure," answered the Parson ; « but she hasn't

i'i'

148

THE NEW TRIEST.

^li I'

Vi. '1'

) I

run away every day ; and I don't suppose these nuns
have been over, every day ; and they happened, some
how, to be just in time."

" So they might, sir, they might ; just as it happened
there was nobody with Lucy, and nobody in the way, on
the whole path. The nuns were there, any way, sir ; and
Lucy was down there, — Jesse saw her on the road ; — and
there's her Prayer-book, — come out o' the house ; and the
nuns carried something down ; and you found her cap
down below ; and there was the one Cap'n Nolesworth
saw in the punt," answered the constable, summing up,
very effectively ; " and Granny Calloran afraid to answer,
till the priest told her how ; and doing her worst not to
let me have that book ; and he helping her."

" How do you mean * telling her how to answer ? ' "
" I asks her, ' Have you seen Mr. Barbury's daughter,
since yesterday morning ? ' three times ; and she puts me
off with Irish palaver ; and then he says, ' you needn't
keep 'em waiting, Mrs. Calloran; you can tell whether
you know where she is ; ' and so she says, fast enough,
* No ; I don't know, any more than I knows where the
Injins is ; ' or ' the wild Injins.' "

" Do you think young Urston is concerned ? "
" I don't think he is, sir ; he doesn't seem like it. He
didn't seem to be one of 'em t'other day. He's very much
cut up, and he's been out all night ; but that isn't all.
When I saw things looking that way, I thought I'd make
one of 'em, if I could, while that priest was there ; and
I got one ear in among 'em, far enough."

*' The priest talked very serious to the young man, and
¥aid 'he was sorry for his disappointment; it seemed a
visitation of God,' he said. ' Now he'd find he couldn't
set lis heart on earthly things ; and the only way was to

WHICH WAY SUSPICION LEADS.

149

fly to God while the wound was fresh ; to think of his
promises ; and to think what he'd cast away.' He said
' others had been through it ; ' (and it seemed as if he'd
cry, wliile he was about it ;) ' but,' he said, ' they'd found
the balm,' or 'the myrrh'; and then he came to busi-
ness, and told un ' to-morrow was the very day for un to
go to St. John's ; and he'd go along with un, and there
was a glorious path for un.' Mrs. Calloran only vexed
un, with telling him how Protestants despised un."

" You listened to some purpose," said the Parson.

" Well, sir, I'd good reason."

"And how did he take it all ? "

" He told the priest ' he was sorry to disappoint un ;
but his mind was made up, and he'd given over being a
priest ; ' and then there was a stir among 'em, and I come
away, and in two or three minutes the priest was ridin»
away home."

The Minister sate a little while in thought, and then
said : —

" If they carried her away, it's a very strange thing !
There seems certainly a clue as fine as a spider's web,
leading to that suspicion."

" It looks as plain as a ship's wake to me, sir," said
Gilpin, his eye shining like the star that guides sailors on
a trackless sea.

" But what can we make of it, beyond suspicion ? "

« If we had a magistrate that " the constable began,

in a tone of small observance towards the greater official
under or around whom he moved.

'^ We've got a magistrate," said the Parson, smiling
taking the words as if there had not been a " that " at
their end ; " and we must get all this before him. Will
you go to Mr. Naughton, and tell him what you've seen

!■■!:

150

THE NEW PRIEST.

and heard ? and I'll make a memorandum of what we've
been over to-night, to serve, if there's occasion."
"And we'd better not talk, sir, I suppose ?"
" Oh ! no. Is that Mr. Bangs, the American, to be
had, if he's wanted ? " asked Mr. Wellon.

" He's going to set up a shop here, in fall, I believe,
sir. I shouldn't wonder if he'd gone down to Bay Har-
bor (whatever he's after) :— he asked me if I thought he
could do a little trading with the priests, there.— And
Cap'n Nolesworth's at Bay Harbor, by this time."

" Well, then, we can't do any more, now ; but Chris-
tian men mustn't forget to pray. If any thing turns up,
to-morrow, please let me know it."

The constable had something more upon his mind, and
presently said, as he rose to go (but he said it with hesi-
tation, as if it were not of his business) : —

" I suppose you heard about this new priest and the
widow-lady, Mrs. Berry, sir? More than one thing goes
on at once, in this world."

" I don't know," the Minister answered.
" There's stories going about the harbor, that they've
had meetings, down at some Roman Catholic's,— in Mad
Cove, they say,— and passed some high words ; but it's
very likely, only peoj)le's talk. They say one of 'em
seems to have some sort of claim upon the other, or
they're relations, or something. Some says it's about
some great fortune ; that he's her brother, and wants to
get all away to give to his Church. (They say he looks
like her.) I hears he got into a great passion and was
very abusive, and she just as gentle as a lamb ; but I don't
believe that of him, for Skipper George and everybody
gives un a good name for being very civil-spoken, and
kind in his way."

WHICH WAY suspicion LEADS.

"I don't believe it, either; but I know that they're
related — probably, nearly. He does look like her: I'd
forgotten. — Now, you'll tell me, to-morrow, if any thing
happens, please. Good-night ! "

The day's work was done, and the week's ; but there
lay over a heavy burden for the coming time to bear.

m !l

TUE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE DAY FOR REST.

1 1 i

I N the next day, Sunday, it may well be thought
that the church showed signs of general sorrow;
tidings had come from every quarter, and nothing
could be heard of Lucy Barbury. Before the flag (which
had not, that morning, flung its white cross abroad upon
tne fresh air, but had hung heavily) was hauled down,
the httle parties, by land and water, gathered, anxious
and agitated-looking, instead of wearing the Day's peace •
and silently and straight down the road, with his broad
head bowed, came Skipper George, without his wife, and
escorted by Jesse Hill and Isaac MafFen on the one side,
and Mr. Skilton (the second smith) on the other. Sev-
eral women, of his family and neighbors, followed him in
silence. As the brave man came to the point at which
he was to turn up from the road to the church-door, he
gave one glance over to the sea, and one over the land •
then, as if forgetting himself, took off his hat in the open
air. At the instant, every man's head was silently un-
covered, and every woman dropped a silent courtesy.

It had been customary to chant the Canticles and
Doxology, as well as to sing the Metre-psalms and
Hymns ; but this day, the chief bass (Skipper Charlie)
was not in his place. Mr. Piper s vi«lin,-which, for love

THE DAY FOR REST.

153

of the owner, a good-natured Irishman, was allowed to
set the pitch and go with the voices,— did not appear;
and (what was the great want) there was no heart for
singing. Even the Clerk, Mr. Williamson, trying to
lead, broke down. The answering of the people "was
more full than usual ; and when the priest, at the peti-
tion "to succor, help, and comfort all that are in danger,
necessity, and tribulation," added, "especially George
Barbury, our brother, and his family," thus binding their
special sorrow to the prayer of millions, and of ages, the
great voice of the congregation trembled ; and again, at
the next petition, for them that trav.'l by sea or land,
there was a general feeli-g, as if a wind from the deep
Bay or dreary Barrens had blown in. So morns went by
at church, sadly. The Minister preached, out of his heart,
about the Lord's having all in his hand.

After the forenoon service, Jesse edged himself up to
the Minister, and said : —

" 'Ee could n' 'ave e'er a funeral sarvice, could 'ee, sir,
for Uncle George, to comfort un up, a bit ? " '

Gilpin was near enough to hear, (indeed, good Jesse
looked aside to him, during the saying of it, for his suf-
frage,) and the eye of the constable twinkled ; but he did
not smile at the honest fellow's mistake.

" Please God, we may find her ahve yet, Jesse," said
he.

"I wish we mought, indeed, Mr. Gulpin," returned the
fisherman ; « but I don't think it."

Isaac Maffen shook his head, in melancholy confirma-
tion.

« You won't forget Mrs. Barrfe," said Miss Dare, to the
Minister, when she had opportunity.

GUpin followed the magistrate, Mr. Naughton ; and,

1.U

THK NEW PRIEST.

having come to speech with him, began to lay \m case
Ixifore him.

" It '11 be cleared up, Charles," said the magistrate, sen-
tentiously, by the time they got to the solid part of it.

" Not without taking the law to it, I'm thinking, sir,"
said Gilpin.

" You couldn't do any thing about it on Sunday," an-
swered the stipendiary.

"If isn't a civil prossess, you know, air; it's criminal."

" That depends upon what it's called," said the magis-
trate ; " but I'm obliged to go away, as soon as possible,
out of the harbor. If there's any thing to be done, I'll
attend to it when I come back. I shall act deliberately."

So saying, the Stipendiary hurried through his own
gate.

Gilpin looked after him, a moment, with a curious twist
on his lips ; then, nodding his head, as if he knew of
another way, went up the harbor. Mr. Naughton's house
was apart from the road, and near the cliff on which the
flagstaff stood.

The constable passed the drung * that led up to his
forge and dwelling, and keeping on, to Mr. Werner's,
knocked at the door, and asked for Miss Dare.

He took off his hat, and scratched bis head with his
forefinger, in the presence of the young lady ; and then,
having obtained leave to speak with her a moment, on
important business, he changed her astonishment into
extreme agitation, by saying, «I'^e come about Skipper
George's daughter, please. Miss Dare."

"What of her?— Is she found?— Is any thing heard
of her?" vshe cried, turning paler than ever, but keeping
command of herself.

* Narrow way: Old English from the same source as throng.

THE DAX FOU RKST.

155-

« Not exactly, Miss ; but there's somd track of her,
I believe. I think there's some living, and no great
ways off, that could tell about her, if they were made
to."

" Well, I know you've got plenty of lione.st hearts and
hands to help you : but if money is needed, or will do
any thing, don't spare it. It won't be wanting : — and do
follow out the least thing, won't you ? I wish I could do
something more about it."

" I'll try and do my part, with a heart and a half," said
the constable ; " and there is something. Miss, if you'll
excuse me for thinking of it; — it's a little uncommon,
I know. If you'd only just please to speak to Mr.
Naughton, and get un to do something."

" But I'm not the person," said the young lady, " to
speak to Mr. Naughton about his duty."

" It looks strange, I know," answered the constable ;
" but Mr. Naughton isn't like everybody. I've been to
un about it, and I couldn't do any thing v/ith un. ' He
hadn't time • he was called away.' I knows un. He'll
be out o' the harbor in half an hour."

" But the Minister would be the proper person to speak
to him."

" It's a busy day with his reverence," said Gilpin ;
" and besides, Miss, there's no time to lose ; he'll be along,
directly."

" But what am I to try to do ? "

"To get him to take up some parties that are sus-
pected, please, Miss Dare."

" What ! not of murdering her ! "

" No, Miss ; I don't know what's been done to her."

"Well, I don't want to think about it, till we know
something more ; but if I can do any thing, I'm sure I

■i

c.iUi.^

! I

i nrH ff i irm tti i m

156

THE NEW PR[ESr.

will, with all my heart, as you say. Certainly I'll speak
to Mr. Naughton, if that's the case."

" Thank you, Miss ; and I'll go out the back way, if
you please ; he mustn't know that I was here."

After the constable's departure. Miss Dare stationed
herself near the garden fence by the road, and presently
the solid, flat horse-tramp, which brings to the mind in-
stinctively the image of a man rising and falling in the
saddle, on a very hard and slow-going beast, came to her
ear. After a time, the horse and his rider made their ap-
pearance, the latter seeming to be getting on faster than
the former, except that he never got over his head.
Which saw Miss Dare first, (for, though there was some
shrubbery, there were no trees of any consequence on
Mr. Worner's premises,) cannot be said ; the effects on
each were simultaneous. Mr. Naughton did not let it
appear that he was conscious of her presence, unless in-
voluntarily, by coloring and looking more deliberately to
each side of the road than usual, and by unu jual atten-
tion (between whilet.) ^'^ his steed. It seemed to him
proper to go over that part of the road (which was level,
with the fence on one side and storehouses on the other)
with a sidling, curveting, prancing, and other ornamental
horsemanship ; and he sat up for it and reined in for it.
Meantime the horse (men called him, familiarly, <' Donk,"
from a certain sparsene-s of hair upon his tail) was will-
ing to sidle, — made one duck with his head towards the
curveting, (and, in so doing, got the bit between his
teeth,) but wished to dispense with the prancing, as a
vain and superfluous performance. His notion seemed
to be that the sidle might be made useful as well as orna-
mental, and might bring them up to the fence where the
young lady stood; and thta he could nibblt the grass, or

THE DAY FOR REST.

Ifi7

shut his eyes and meditate, while the two human beings
amused themselves with conversation.

The beast micceedcd: Mr. Naughton put the best grace
upon it that he could, and sat up on his steed, a short
man, with small eyes and large whiskers.

Miss Dare's address to the magisti-ate gave no evidence
of her having seen any thing ridiculous in his pi ogress.

" You're not going away just now, of all times, Mr.
Naughton, surely," said she, " when you're the only mag-
istrate ? "

"Am I to flatter myself, then, that my going or stay-
ing is of any consequence to Miss Dare ? "

" Certainly ; and to every body in the place."

"I knew a magistrate was of some little consequence
to the state and to the community," returned he.

" There can be only one feeling in the community," said
the young lady, as Mr. Naughton drew suddenly up the
rein, to resume his progress.

Animation seemed to be diffused through the body of
the quiescent Donk by electricity, (though not so fast as
lightning,) for the memorable tail went up by a jerk, like
that of the more intelligent member, to which the bridle
was attached, though with a slight interval. Mr. Naugh-
ton, this time, attempted no caracoling or oapricoling, but
studied to combine the several wills of man and beast on
one continuous (and pretty rapid) motion. If he did not
at once nor entirely succeed, even with frequent sharp
spurring. Miss Dare was not there to see.

At Evensong, the magistrate was in his place at
church; half an hour afterward, having briefly listened
to Charles Gilpin, he issued the decided order : —

"You'll bring those parties before me by ten o'clock
to-morrow morninij:."

.* I 11

158

THE NRW PRIEST.

"I shall want a warrant, you know, sir," said Gilpin.

Whether the stipendiary had forgotten, or wished to
consult his " Justices' Assistant," he maintained his dig-
nity, and, at the same time, the symmetry of his arrange-
ments.

"You'll call fop that at ten o'clock this evening,"
said he.

SUSPECTED PERSONS.

1A9

CHAPTEli XIX.

SUSPECTED PERSONS.

)E pass to the next day, the vane of suspicion
having, within twenty-four hours, (though no
man could say that any wind had been blowing)
got round, and pointed straight to Mr. Urston's house.

On the Sunday afternoon, young Urston had been at
church, and, after service, Skipper George had called the
young man to himself, and walked with him quite over to
the Backside. He was not suspected; but rumors had
got about that three females went away in the punt, in
which only two had come.

On this Monday morning, that sound so interesting to
boys and men, of hammer ringing upon anvil was not
heard at Skipper Charlie's smithy; nor that other, of
blended human voices, telling, asking, speculating upon
the news or gossip of the place ; for here, where are no
barbers shops or coffee-houses, every thing that is to be
told and heard is brought to the smith's forge, and, be-
ing heated hot, is laid upon the anvil, pounded, turned,
and pounded into a final shape. The smith and con-
stable himself,— whose manifold name of Gilpin, Galpin,
Gulpin, might remind one of the derivation, Nipkin—
napkin— diaper— draper— TAILOR, or the more classic
aA(o;r^|-^;§_pax-pujr-f UCi|B-FOX-was,- at about
eight o'clock, walking quickly, with several companions,

'if ■

THE NEW PRIEST.

^1 t.

l¥

n I

'. I

along a patli that led from near his house downward on
the Backside. With him were William Frank, commonly
called Billy Bow, Zebedee Marchant, Natlian Marchant,
Jesse Hill, and Isaiic Maffen, who had severally (except
the last two) fallen in behind him at different points,
like the involuntary followers in some of the German

BCnt(et=inatc!jciu

" Can 'ee walk in ef the door shouldn' be open, Skip-
per Charlie ? " asked Billy Bow, who was considered a
great humorist by his neighbors.

" It'll go hard if I can't get into e'er a house that's got

door or window, open or shut," answered the constable.

'* 'E's got to keep the king's peace," said Billy Bow ;
" an' I'm afeared 'e'll get it broke into a good many pieces."

" Ef the constable kicks up e'er a rout, boys," said one
of the others, " 'e've got a good many craft in tow, that
can keep un from hurting 'isself."

" It would'n' be good subjecks, an' show respec' to the
king, ef we didn' favor 'e's constables, after 'e's abin and
tookt the trouble to appoint 'em, an' 'e's trusty an' well-
beloving yeoman, Mr. Charles Gulpin, petic'lar ; we mus'
give 'em a chance to do their dooty, 'ee knows. Skipper
Charlie," said another of the posse comitatus.

" Let me ketch ye givin' me a chance, (without there's
good rause for it,) and I'll do my dooty on you, very
quick," returned Skipper Charlie.

With such simple attempts at wit, did the quiet and
good-natured Newfoundlanders follow their " officer ; " and
v/ith such downright authority did the officer maintain the
dignity of the law and the constabulary. Other topics
also oCcupied them : Jesse was engaged in literary criti-
cism ; having listened at the window of the Wesleyan
Meeting-house, at a funeral, and then given, to a Wes-

SUSPECTED PKIJSONS. i^

Ijanfriend who asked it, the opinion he was now repeat-

surl'l''"''' ! "T' ' '''''' ''■^ ^^'^' ^"' «^ Scnpture,
sure, I says, 'an' a little about how we ought to do' I

«ays; 'JUS' like anybody; an' then varses an' scraps' o'

poultry, an such; an' then more, agen, an' so on; but 'e

wa.n a proper-growed sarmun, at all,' I says; 'not what

1 calls proper-growed.' So then he couldn' .ay nothin' •
when I telled un that, 'e couldn' » '

stahi?""' m''^'' ^'' :^°"'^"'^ ^"«^«^ y^< said the con

2 1 " r '"' ''''' ^^ ^^^^" ^^^^^'-(^ ^-'t -ant
7^-7 'I T^, """"''' '""^ '^™ back,)-and, when ye

lay to ; an' don't stir tack nor sheet, till I tells ye. They'll
be just about coming in from the water."

So-giving his orders, like a good general, in his peo-
P^e s famdmr tongue-Gilpin went on with the other half

ment with hke mstructions. While still a good way off
he place, he and his companions were astonished at see-
ng m front of them going fast in the same direction, the

^11, strong figure of the bereaved father. As Ski >per

George went u.o the house, they kept dose to him. ' '
Id best call himself," said Mrs. Calloran; "he's iust

at the Worrell, beyont." ^

"Ay! call un, please," said the constable; addin.. as
she passed out of hearing, «but, if anybody knows^y
thing, you're the one, I'm thinking." ^

The father, while they waited, stood with his face
against. his hand upon the wall; his grizzled locks looking
so innocent and touching, that, as William Frank said
afterwards, "a body could sca'ce look at un wi' dry eye
It was so feelun, like." "/eyes,

VOL. I. 11

162

THE NEW PRIEST.

Mr. Urston came in very frankly, showing no surprise
at the number of persons present, and answered, before
he was asked the question, " that he did not know where
Mr. Barbury's daughter was; he wished he did; he
wouldn't keep it to himself long."

Skipper George, who had turned round at the sound
of footsteps, sank heavily down into a chair. It was
evident, from the effect of these words upon his feelings,
that, in spite of himself, he had not only feared but hoped
something from this visit, and that the hope was now
smitten within him.

" Look to un, some of ye ! " cried Gilpin. « Handle
un gently."

"N'y lovies," said Skipper George, catching his
breath, as if he had been through a severe struggle in the
waves, " thankee ! Whatever was o' George Barbury,—
thank God ! thank God ! — it bides here yet ; on'y two
tarrible heavy blows on the same place,— that's lossing
'er before, an' now, agen, lossin' that false, foohsh hope,—
have abrought rae down. I'm a poor, sinful Christen;
but I am a Christen, an' I can get up. — I beheves 'ee.
Mister Urston ; I'm sorry to trouble 'ee ; but 'ee knows
I've alossed my child! Some thinks 'ee'd want to turn
her from her religion ; but, ef 'ee had e'er a chance, 'ee
wouldn' make a cruel trial of her dear, tender heart, nor
her faith in the dear Saviour she loved an' sarved sunce
ever she knowed 'E's blessed name ! Would 'ee ? "

There was something very affecting in this speech and
the father's tears that accompanied it.

Mr. Urston said that " if ever he should hear of her, or
find her, or any trace of her, the father should hear of it
as soon as he could get the word to him ; " and he said it

" They were of a different religion,

with much feelinir.

per] laps, but

SUSPECTKD PERSONS.

natun

1G3

him

'■ of a difFeren
from tlie bottom of his heart."

"Her faith's nothing that can be turned about," said
James Urston. « It would go through fire unhurt."

At this, Mrs. Calloran made some remark, aside which
could not be overheard. Skipper George thanked the
young man, and rose to go, declining, kindly, the hospit-
able mvitations urged upon him.

" Go with un, Jesse," said Skipper Charlie ; and Jesse
and bis adherent went out with hini.

"Now, I've got a bit of disagree'ble dooty to perform,"
said the constable, as he proceeded quickly to lay his hand
upon one after another of those present, and to arrest
them.

" This is my Warrant," said he. " I'm doing my dooty,
and 111 do :t as civilly as I know how. I'm commanded
to Ure the bodies of Bridget Calloran, and Thomas
Urston, and James, 'before me, the worshipful Ambrose
Naughton, Esquire, Stipendiary Magistrate, &c. &c. ; as
witness my hand and seal of office.' "

Gilpin's proceeding astounded Mr. Urston and his son
and was very exciting to all present; to whom capiases,
and warrants, and writs, are strange things. Even the
smde with which Gilpin (who was more familiar with
such things-theoretically, at least-) read Mr. Nau^h-
tons indirect assertion of his official dignity, did not ta\e
Irom the excitement.

"Sure, an' is this English law, thin, that they brag
about ? Bring up their bodies to examine tbim ! Kill
thim first, an' try thim after!" exclaimed Mrs. Calloran.
Is this the way it is wid yes? an' is this Protestant
justice ? Sure, it's small justice ye can do an a corrups I
And do you raly many to kill us, thin, ar what .? "

3H lai

164

TFIK NEW PRIKST.

Mrs. Calloran was ready to contend with her tongue,
as in the encounter of two days before ; but a look from
Mr, Urston, — who acted and spoke with a self-possession
and dignity that "contrasted strongly with his surround-
ings, — put her to silence.

" He could not understand this most extraordinary pro-
ceeding," he said, " and knew no more of ' abducting or
carrying away ' Mr. Barbury's daughter, than the father
did ; but would make no resistance to a legal warrant."

For Mr. Barbury's sake, he begged that his premises
might be thoroughly searched. The constable complied ;
but the search found nothing.

Mrs. Calloran's submission m Mr. Urston's presence,
could not prevent her crying out at this point, —

"Will ye sind for the praste, thin? Sind for the
praste ! There's Father Ignashis is at Misther O'Rourke's
beyant; they'll niver deny us the sacramints from our
own clargy ! Will ye sind for the praste ? "

" May be we'll have to send for them bimebye," said
Gilpin aside. He then comforted Mrs. Calloran with an
assurance, " that she should hang like a Christen, if she
was found guilty."

The preparations for going were soon made ; the con-
stable assuring his prisoners that, at any rate, they could
come home a bit after the examination, even if the magis-
trate should commit them. So they set forth for the wor-
shipful magistrate's presence.

One after another of Gilpin's former escort made his
appearance by the way. Jesse Hill, also, and Isaac
Maffen reappeared.

Mr. Urston complimented the constable upon his gen-
eralship ; but assured him that he didn't want so much
help.

SUSPECTED PERSONS.

165

" It's good to have enough of a good thing," said the
constable, glancing with his one eye over his troops.
" William, you take command o' these limbs o' the law,
will ye ? Keep about two or three cables' length astern,
if ye know how much that is ; or as much more as ye
like."

So Billy Bow took charge of the posse, except Jesse
and Isaac (who, with the constable, made one for each
prisoner). These attached themselves to the immediate
escort, and were not meddled with. Jesse and Isaac
were two important witnesses.

Near the bush, from behind which Jesse had seen his
apparition come forth, the new Priest was lingering to
meet the approaching party. Jesse, at sight of him,
bristled, a good deal like a sturdy mastiff, and Isaac felt
contagious animosity. Mrs. Calloran expressed herself by

tongue.

" Don't look at us, yer riverence, Father Ignatius," she
said, though he could not hear her, and could only have
seen the zealous and eager courtesy that she dropped,
afar off; " don't look at the way they treat us for being
Catholics."

"You may as well keep a stopper on your tongue,
while you're my prisoner," said Gilpin, peremptorily.
" I've heard a good name of this gentleman ; and I don't
■vant to bring un into trouble for meddling with an officer
in the execution of his warrant."

Father Debree stood quite unmoved at the evidently
hostile expression of the escort ; or, at least, if not un-
moved, his face did not lose any thing of its very hand-
som. openness and dignity. His marmf r, however, was
agitated.

He saluted the prisoners and constable, and even Jesse

166

THE NEW PRIEST.

and Isaac, who looked gruff and implacable, exceedingly,
and scarcely returned the salutation. The constable,
though not cordial or over-courteous, kept himself from
showing any active dislike. The Priest addressed him in
a very prepossessing voice, —

" I think you're the constable, — Mr. Gilpin, — are you
not?"

" I'm constable, sir, for want of a better," said Skipper
Charlie ; " and blacksmith, too."

" May I have a moment's conversation with you ? "

" Not about my prisoners ; I'm going with 'em to the
magistrate's. You can go along, sir, if you please," said
Gilpin, but falling, at the same time, in the rear.

" You mistake me," said the Priest ; " I've no wish to
interfere between you and your prisoners. If I could
be of any service, in a proper and lawful way, to any
one whose friend I ought to be, I'm sure you wouldn't
blame it ; but I want to ask if you have found any
thing to throw a light on Skipper George's daughter's
fate?"

" I hope Te shall find out about it," said the constable,
ambiguously.

"Are these prisoners arrested on suspicion of being
connected with it ? "

"It'll appear on their examination, sir," answered
Gilpin.

" I don't wish to ask any improper question ; but I
know the father, and I know her, and I know them, and
feel very much interested ; — I ask as a friend."

Gilpin's one sharp eye had been fixed on the speaker's
face.

" I don't think it w;\s Protestants have made way with
her," said he, and, bov<ring, moved his company on.

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION.

107

CHAPTExi XX.

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION FROM WHICH SOMETHING

APPEABS.

)HE magistrate's house, to the party now ap-
proaching it, looked as a house might look, which,
built in very ungainly style and of no large dimen-
sions, was dignified by its association with the magistracy,
and now clothed in all the awfulness of an official want
of animated life. Not much impression seemed to settle
upon « Mr. Gulpin," or his prisoners, who walked, with
little apprehension, up to the front door ; unmindful how
the gravel-stones were scattered from their heels ; but to
the valiant Jesse and the valiant Isaac an awful figure of
spectral personation of Authority or Infliction seemed to
possess the gate and plant its shadowy terrors directly in
ihe way. They drew off to each side ; accounting for
their movements by the remark: «He don't want none
of we yet, I don't suppose, do 'e ? "

On the arrival of a second squad, however, the first,
as if they had received a sudden summons, anticipated
the new-comers by a hasty movement, which brought
Ihem to the door in time to make their way into the
kitchen ; while their official leader and his captives went,
under the guidance of Mr. Naughton's maid-of-all-work,
into the presence of the magistrate ; if presence it could

168

THE NEW PRIEST.

bo called, where he sate with his back broadly towards
them.

" Please your worshipful," said the usheress, « it's Mr.
Gulpin, sir ; wi' some that Vve caressed, most like, sir."

"Directly!" answered the official voice; which then
proceeded to read in a low tone, and hastily, out of souk;
book before him, " ' both houses of parliament, and '—I
must look at that again ; seven hundred and twenty-
seventh page."

Meanwhile, the constable leaving his charge, for a mo-
ment, standing at the stipendiary's back, went out long
enough to give a message, of which the last words were
heard, as he enforced them : —

— " And mind ye, Jesse, bring un along : d i't come
without un ; and come back as quick as you can."

The ermine, or other fur of the magistrate, set itself
up at this, and he intimated to his subordinate that ' order
and silence were necessary at that investigation.' — With
a large dignity, he invited the Minister, vho was entering,
to a seat.

Having, at length, received the constable's i-eturn, he
proceeded to business by ordei-ing that officer to swear
the prisoners at the bar. Gilpin looked, with twinkling
eye, at his prisoners, and then at the magistrate : —
" What'll I swear 'em to, Mr. Naughton ? " he asked.
" There's a copy of the Holy Evangelists here," said
the st^fcndiary.

"I can find Bibles fast enough, sir: but they're not
witnesses."

"I may ask them some questions and desire their an-
swers to be under the solemn sanction of an oath,'' an-
swered the magistrate; but when Mr. Ur?ton had the
Sacred Volume held out to him, he decidedly objected ;

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION. 169

insisting that if he and the others were there as prison-
ers, they were not there as witnesses; and desiring that
the^accusation might be read, and the witnesses exam-

The magistrate assured him, with dignity, that that was
not he regular order of judicial proceedings, but that he
would waive the point.

Having in his own way, made the prisoners acquainted
with the charge, he said, « There must be a record of the
proceedmgs of this court ! Mr. Williamson, you will act
as clerk. Constable, qualify Mr. Williamson, and sum-
rnon the witnesses."

„:n p, TT^^' ^"^^"° q"«l'fi«<J the clerk, called "Jesse
Hi . but there was no answer ; and he called Jesse
ilill again, and again with no answer.

'|I sent him after Mr. Banks," explained Gilpin.
Sending one witness after another is quite irregular;
I trust that it will not occur again. It will be mj duty
to suspend the proceedings until you can produce Mr.
Hill, or Barbury."

At this moment, Mr. Naughton noticed Father Debree
near the door, attended by a shuffling of feet and a low
buzzing of the waiting public. The magistrate with
dignity mvited him to a seat, but the Priest preferred
standing. Mr. Wellon attempted conversation with his
n«w neighbor, but found him this day so reserved or
preoccupied as to give little encouragement to the at-
tempt.

Mr. Wellon, during the absence of the Constable was
entertained by the stipendiary with an argument for
having a " lychnoscope " introduced, us a sacred accessory
into the new chancel of the church ; the earnest advocate
tor ecclesiological development claiming that the thing

iff'*'-''

170

THE NEW PRIEST.

5 :.!

• ftp 80 old that its very object and purpose were entirely
unknown.

Gilpin, as he returned, with Jesse (and Isaac) behind
him, said, in an under voice, " I told un not to come with-
out Mr. Banks ; an' so he stuck to hi« orders. I found
un siriiug on one rock and Isaac Maffen on another,
neither one of 'em sayin' a word."

The Stipendiary now crowned his brow with the awful
rigors of justice once more, and sat as the chief figure of
the scene. The witness, having been sworn, was ques-
tioned : —

*' Mr. Barbury, proceed. Are you u witness ? "
"Is, sir, ef it's wantun, I'll tell what I knows."
The noise of heavy shoes on the feet of those of the
public furthest back in the entry, testified to the unabated
interest with which Jesse's story was expected..
" What's your name ? is the first question."
Jesse was redder than usual ; but he saw his way, and
gladly opened his mouth.

"Oh! 'ee wants it tl.at w'y, do 'ee, sir? 'N or M'
is what it says."

" Ha ! you're not much acquainted with legal proceed-
ings," said the magistrate, throwing a sentence loaded
with about the usual amount of official wit, of about the
usual quality, and glancing at the Minister to see if he
took the joke.

" What is your name ? that's all," said he again, to the
simple-minded testifier.

"Jesse Barbury's my name, sir. 1 sposed 'ee knowed
that, sir ! "

" The Law knows nothing, Mr. Barbury. Our infor-
mation is from the evidence. You will proceed with your
story, Mr. Barbury."

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION.

«..»» .^ g'^cting to listen, and studiof Iv, with much

ami H,k Maffen was .long „r I ; „„d j j„ „ . ;

1 saj;s, -ee t„„„s Will,™ Tome.,' I aayV«,Pely- 'I,

<I;d ee hear, „„„, ,,,„. V 'vo atesed 'o's cow i • i ll^f'

The magistrate offlcially cleurpcl hi, .l,„.., <•
-Uation, the Minister wip'ed hi: L Ci ^ .Ir

etc IZT""'" """ '"""'"'' '« ""- »" »--S
enect upon the wuncss. He went on •_ *

Wuh that e up an' says to I, 'A loss is a loss Jesse -1
says. ' That's true,' I says." ' '' *

ITbis moral reflection brought the Minister's handker
ohtef suddenly to his face again. The constable re eTved
the sayng with less self-control, though it was as tit!

z zz:i "' ^'■"°''""'"- ^""- F-r::

tZ; V ' T"'"""^-- " WuU, wisdom is a great
thmg ; It s no use ! "-Jesse continued. ^

now' lt;7„T '" ""•,""'!"' ' ''""' ^ "^y^' ' "» '«« 'tink,
Is!; wl ." '"""''' "" """'"ali'tlefurderePup?'
i say,. With that we takes an' row, up tow'rds Eivel

says"l!! " "'"' "' '"« "'S"" '«' -onh. I

« You must remember, Mr. Barbury," internosed ,b.
Stipendiary, "that the time of a m.Js rate i7va u 1 ,
nouo^speak of the time of the otheX^:.;;:;::;''^
Be e,now,s,r." *aid the poor lollow, getting abashed,

172

THE NEW PRIEST.

" so 'e must be, surely ; that's a clear case. That's a'most
all I've agot to s'y, sir."

" IJcgin just where you're going to knock off, Jesse,"
BUfffft'sted the constable.

" Wull, Mr. Gilpin, I were goun to tell about what I

81(1 myself."

"That's the very thing," said Mr. Naughton ; "no
matter what you said, or what was said to you, you know."

With these directions, the witness paused a little, hand-
ling his sou'wester (hat).

" Whereabouts was we, Izik ? " he asked of his adju-
tant.

" 'Ee was talkun about the cow, Jesse, 'ee was," an-
swered Isaac, anxious that Jesse should do justice to

himstdf.

" Wull, sir." Then the straightforward witness for the
Crown began : " I was jest a sayin to Izik, I was "

" Your observations and those of your companion (or
friend) are of comparatively little consequence, Mr.
Barbury," said the magistrate, who must have had a
standard for estimating speech.

" He means, he doesn't care what you and Isaac said,"
the constable prompted.

" 'Is, sir, surely. Wull, Izik says to I "

"Never mind the sayins, you know," persisted the con-
stable.

The witness looked like some animal in an inclosure ;
but he did hit upon the opening in it.

" Wull, sir, I sid a some'at all in white clothes a comin'
down Backside-w'y, (an' Izik Maffen, 'e sid the same, so
well ;) like a woman or a mayd, like, an' it corned right
along tull it goed right aw'y, like, I dono how. I never
sid no more of it."

ii,

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION. jyg

" Did you atop to l(x)k ? "

"Ih, .ir, suvvly ; I nays to Izik, ' Izik,' I says, as soon
as ever I rould .speak.-for T was d.imb-foundered entirely,
. first goun off,-' hAk; I says, ' Did 'ee ever see 'e'er a
angel, Izik ? ' 'No, sure, Jcsse,' he says, ' how should
1 ." ' Wull then,' I says, ♦ that was a some'at looked
very like one, seemunly, to my thinkin,' I say. 'O
Lordy ! ' he says-that's his way, you know, sir,-' what
ave abecomed of 'un ? Jesse,' he says. ' Mubbe' I says
♦ It was a goun somewhere, tull it sid we ; an' now it's'
adone a doun of it, for a notion its ahad I says ; sartainly
we tookt swiles, of a Sunday, last spring,' I says. ' Hows-
ever,' I says, ' mubbe we'd best knock off now,' an' so we
done, sir, an' corned right home, sir, round the land-head.
Ihats all the witness I knows."

"You may retire, Mr. Barbury; (unless any of the
prisoners at the bar desire to question you.")
This privilege the prisoners did not claim.
There was a monstrous discharge of pent-up breaths at
the conclusion of this evidence, showing that a good
many of Jesse's friends were in the passage communicat-
mg between the kitchen and the parlor, who felt that
Jesse had more than satisfied the highest expecta.ions
that could have been formed about his testimony, and had
contributfed to the fund of information which the magis-
trate was gathoiring, as wonderful an ingredient as Tny
that was likely to be produced that day. To his friends
a.s he modestly withdrew from the blaze of importance,'
he gave the information for the Imndredth time, perhaps,
that It was Friday evening that this occurred ; that he
did not hail the apparition ; that it did not come within
hail; that - he shouldn't have a know'd what to say to
it, ef he'd awanted to."

174

THE NEW PRIEST.

I ^

" No more 'ee would'n ; that's a sure case," said Isaac
Maffen.

" Any evidence as to the credibility of Mr. Barbury
and his friend, will now be admissible," said the magis-
trate, with dignity tempered by condescension.

" Haw ! H — " burst from the constable, very un-
timely ; a laugh cut off in the middle.

Mr. Wellon, at this point withdrew.

" Call the next witness ! " said the magistrate, waiving
further interruption.

" I ono how to call un, exactly; I believe his name is
Nahthan ; but he's got an ' L,' stuck before it, 1 thinks,
from the way he spoke it."

" . L. Nathan Banks ! L. Nathan Banks ! " Gilpin

called, making his comment also.. " Well, if that isn't a
way of writing a name ! I've sid L's and D's stuck at
the end, but sticking 'em at the beginning 's noos to
me."

Our readers have seen the world some days farther on
than Gilpin had, and are familiar enough with a fashion
of which Mr. Bangs, whose name happened to be El-
nathan, was quite innocent.

Mr. Bangs did not appear. " I thought surely he'd turn
up, as he did t'other night," said Gilpin. " I didn't tell
un he'd be summonsed ; but he's got a sharp nose."

" I understood that Mr. Wellon could testify," said the
stipendiary.

" Ay ; but without Mr. Banks you can't weld the
evidence together, sir.'"

" You'd best summon him ; and that point can be de-
termined."

'■ 'E's just out in Tom Fielden's house," timidly sug-
gested Nathan, or Zebedee, or some one of them, not

'^ O

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION.

175

thinking his

ynkmg his voice fit to intrude in so awful a presence.

tj went there, however, a bit sunce."

"Present my compliments to him then, please, one of

you ; 'compliments of his worship, the Stipendiary Ma-is-

trate, to the Reverend Mr. Wellon,' an.i ask if h'e'll

plea (J t(, st(..|, ),;„•(: tor u few moment.-."

The " one " who undertook this enand must have had
an unu.nal number of feet, or of shoes upon his feet, if
one judged by the multitudinous clatter that followed.

The Minister, on coming in again, gave his short
account of finding the little cap at the Worrell; and that
was all. Tlie stipendiary spoke :—

" Ttie evidence just received may go towards estabhsh-
mg the nature of the crime by which Mr. Barbury's
daughter has been assailed ; but, in my judgment, it would
be rnsu hcient to fix the guilt with unerring certainty upon
any n.d.v.dual. - 1 shall now adjourn the court." As
for bail, he would say fifty pounds each, for Mr
Urston and his son ; and would consider them respon-
sible for the appearance of Mrs. Calloran. "The day
to which he had adjourned the court," he Paid, " would
be appreciated by the persons chiefly interested • it
was the fift.h from that of the Exaltation of the Holy
Cross, and following that of St. Lambert, Bishop and
Martyr. In consideration of the result of the patient
and deliberate investigation which had afforded him
peculiar gratification, he would hir self be responsible
for the usual costs."

The ]\rinister offered himself as surety, and was at
once accepted.

Gilpin, on getting into the open air, as he did very
speedily, surrounded by the open-mouthed and ea-er
public, did not prevent himself from exclaiming, (while

' ' '^B

I i';

176

THE NEW PHIKST.

he looked flushed and chagrined,) " Well, if that isn't
law, with a tail to un!"

An irreverent voice from among the public (strongly
resembling Billy Bow's) asserted that " The King (ef
'twas the king 'isself that doned it) might as well take a
squid or a torn-cod for a m.-igistrate, as some 'e'd amade,"
and then proposed "thn^e cheers for Mr. Charles Gulpin,
Constable of his majesty in this harbor and the neighbor-
ing parts."

The cheei-s were begun lustily, though at Gilpin's men-
tion of Skipper G(*orge's loss, they broke .off, and just as
they were dying away, the door of the Magistrate's house
opened, and he appeared, looking from side to side, and
with a modesty that sate gracefully upon dignity and
authority, said that " Words would fail him to express his
sense of the generous confidence of the people of New-
foundland ; that he was glad that his humble efforts had
met the applause of his fellow-subjects, which was next
to the award of an approving conscience. He looked
with confidence to the approval of his sovereign. In
conclusion, he begged all present to partake of a little
coffee, which he had given orders to have prepared."

"Three cheers for 'e's woshup, the Sti-pendery of
Peterport " ; cried the voice again, " and may the King
soon be so well plased to put un in a berth better fittun
to his debilities ! " Over this there v^as more subdued
laughter than shouting.

Ill

:i- '\

Meantime the sad loss was just the same, and just where
it was. The noble old father whom they had seen bearing it
like a hero a few hours before, had carried home a heavy

AN OFFICIAL EXAMINATION. 177

load; tho gentle mother was heart-stricken; the whole
company of neighbors, the moment thev got away from
the examination into the open air,— like those who had
not been at the Magistrate's,— bore a share of the sor-
row.

Billy Bow and others staid to share Mr. Naughton's
hospitality; but Jesse Hill and Isaac MafFen went
silently away in one direction. Skipper Charlie moodily
in another, and many more dispersed.

— "I wisV they'd appoint Parson Wellon, as they do
at home," &.: , Gilpin, as he went along by himself.

"And I hope they'll just let parsons be parsons, and
magistrates magistrates," said a voice behind.

"I didn't know your reverence was so near;" said
the constable ; « but I wish they'd do something."

Captain Nolesworth, having had no opportunity of de-
livering his testimony, went back to Bay-Harbor with
the intention of making his affidavit there, before Jie
sailed. It was to be to the effect that he saw three females
m the punt leaving the Worrell; that one of them was
supported as if sick, and that there seemed to be a fear
or strange unwillingness to be neared, and that a male
voice, (as he judged, of some one having authority )
called out to « Keep on ! Keep on ! Don't stop ! "

This was to be the substance of the captain's evidence,
as he detailed it, walking up the harbor. He pronounced
at the same time an opinion upon the magistrate, some-
what enigmatical, as follows :—

"Mr. Naughton '11 live a good while, sir, I think, if he
doesn't meet with an accident ; that sort most generally
does." ''

The reader may take the captain's speculations as to

th(3 stipendiary's longevity, at what he pleases, and may
VOL. I. ^2 t- ' J-

178

THE NEW PRIEST.

estimate the captain's evidence as he thinks fit; but Capt.
Nolesworth himself gave his opinion, as follows : —

" Depend upon it, sir, if that punt is followed up, you'll
follow her up. I wish I could stay to see it out ; but I
expect to be off to-morrow. If I'd known enough tother
night, I'd have known more of that punt, one way or an-
other."

" It won't stop where it is," said the Minister ; " higher
authorities will take it up."

"It worit be amiss to lend a hand and help along
justice, I think, at any rate," said the captain.

The Parson turned aside and went in at Mrs. Barre's
house.

? r

AN OLD SMUGGLER.

CHAPTER XXI.

AN OLD SMUGGLER.

f"" T was not long after the magistratual examination
was completed, before the constable made his ap-
pearance at Mr. Weilon's door, followed by Jesse
ana a company.

; Please Mr. Wellon," said he, " here's a bit o' some-

^l':V\ ''''' Skipper George found un in the
path by h.s house, this mornin'. That's what made un

*tV ban.'!""' "°' '^"*^'' ^"" "' ^^'- ^'^^""'^ '^-^^y^

"'P; was lyun jes this w'y, sir," said Jesse; (« so
Uncle. George told I,) wf Vs broadside to, an' a string
fast to un, e said, otherw'ys Uncle George wouldn' ha'
tookt notus to un, 'e said, ^didn' urn Izik?) an' the string
cotch 'e's foot, sir." ^

The thir.g was a chip, smoothed on all sides, and bear-
ing an mscription, rude and illegible enough, but which
Jesse repeated very glibly in his own Enc^lish.
"YER MEAD IS SAFE ANF"
It was determined that the bit of wood was an oar-
blade, and that the meaning was,

" Tour maid is safe enough."
Gilpin dismissed the fishermen and went, as he had
been desired, into Mr. Weilon's study.

180

THE NEW PRIEST.

The writing upon the chip was not the only literaiy
effort to be scrutinized. Tliere had been left at the
Minister's door, during the night, a bit of paper on which
(the handwriting being better than the spelling or syntax)
was written as follows : —
^ " Thers som prodstins bisen about sarchen that's not to
Gud is niver thafe ar smuglar Emunx thim id hk to no
Pjf a! tels bes thru — plen Spakun."

Gilpin made his way through this much more readily
than Mr. VvT^ellon had done, smiling at the word "Emunx"
■which he said " was one way o' spellin' it ! "

What the writer meant to have written, it was con-
cluded, was, —

" There's some Protestants busying about searching,
that's not too good. Is {there) never (a) thief or smug-
gler amongst them, Id like to know,— if all tales bes true ?
— Plain Speaking."

Gilpin said, " It was easy enough to see what that
meant; it meant Ladford, who fished with Skipper
George, and who was said to have been a wild apd des-
perate fellow years ago, and to have a price on his head.
He had been very active in the search ; a quiet man that
kept back, as Mr. Wellon no doubt had noticed, on Saturday.
But if ever a man had repented in this world, Ladford
had repented, Gilpin believed, and he had been a great
many yea^s in the country. Withal he was the very
handiest man in the Bay ; could work a frigate, Gilpin
believed, single-handed, and twirl her round in her own
length.

" As for Skipper George's daughter, everybody knew
that Ladford considered her as an angel, or something
more than earthly ; and it was no more to be thought that
he'd harm her, than that her own father would. Tjiere

AN OI,D SMUOtiLER.

181

"-o.^ something between Ladford ard Skipper George-
but^whether there wa. a ™.ation.hip, or what, „o.:S;

alk w,.h h,m; to g,ve the letter to the magistrate Jus.
<l.e„. was not thought likely to further the onl of justice
not-^was tt thought advisable to mention it. ' '

»entr;ha»"'"r"'''' "'•'"'""• '"'°"'- "'" S™'. -'""=<!
well „o, th attendmg to ; and it was determined, if possible

expressed a wdbngness, on behalf of the house, to put
down tbejr natnes for Mty pounds towards one hu^dredf "o

half of fifty pounds for finding her body ; and it was

doub^tdl r"" '^ '"""''' """^'^ "P 'he full sum. Un-
doubtedly Government would take it up, if the local
™ag,strates could not do any thing .. and wttever fle!:^'
any .hould eome out, tmplieating any persons in the guilt
of ktdnappmg or abduetion, could be laid before the

Indmn Pe.nt, was the worst there,_and scarcely a house
Lad ord, h„„self, was of middle si.e, or mo,.,'^and up:

Zp'seTI" ,^ 'r'- ''' "'' " "'«'■• -othVoreh^ad;
deep..,et eyes, look.ng as if their fires were raked up :

^ned'l'rf r' "'" '"""^ """ "P'^-'he whole fac
tanned by bfe-long exposure to the weather.

Beside a battered "souWester," thrown backward his
dress was made up of a shirt of br.ad-bag-stuir"rewed
wtth round twine, in even sailmaker's stitche; and'cle ^
and of ttwsers cut out of tatmed sails, and sewed as
neatly as the shirt. His feet were bare.

182

THE NEW PRIEST.

I 'if ■!

Sfl

" I've come upon some private business with you," said
the Minister ; — Ladford started. The Minister, noticing
it, said : " but I'm not an officer ; you needn't be afraid
of me."

" I oughtn't, sir, surely, of a Minister," said Ladford.

" No ; and needn't. You see I know something of your
oase ; and we should have known each other, if I could
have found you before ; for I've been here two or three
times."

^3 he mentioned his fruitless visits, a startling — most
repulsive — leer just showed itself in Ladford's face ; but
it disappeared, as suddenly and wholly, as a monster that
has come . up, horrid and hideous, to the surface of the
sea, and then has sunk again, bodily, into the dark Deep ;
and is gone, as if it had never come, except for the fear
and loathing that it leaves behind. — This face, after that
look, had nothing repulsive in it, but was only the more
subdued and sad.

There was a short silence ; and then Ladford spoke : —

" Some men," said he, " mus'n't keep upon their form ;
for it won't do for them to be found by every one ; but
I'm sorry you came for nothing, sir ; I'd have been here
if I'd known you meant it."

The ^linister took the anonymous letter from his pocket,
and*read it.

" There ! " said he, " that's what I came about ; but
I come as a Minister, you know, and therefore as a
friend."

" I believe it, sir," said Ladford, who had been looking
in his face, and now bowed. " I don't blame any man
for thinking ill of me, or speaking ill of me ; — I'm a poor
fellow ; — but this does me wrong. Why, sir ! it may
sound strange, but I'd give my life to find that girl !
Poor Susan ! "

AN OLD SMUGGLER.

183

" Lucy ? " said the Minister, scarcely aloud.
"No, sir; it's another makes me sorry, — one that's
dead. Ah, sir ! I was brought up to wickedness, for a trade !
Law-bi-eaking, Sabbath-breaking, oath-breaking, heart-
breaking, swearing, drinking, fighting,-~thirty.8ix years I
was among all that, and more ; shamed by it, and hating
It, till 1 got away from it— Then, after all, to feel a devil
insule of you, that you've got in a chain; and to feel him
elimb up against the sides of you, m here, before you
know, and glare, with his devilish look, out of your eyes,
and put his dirty paw and pull up the corners of your
mouth, and play with the tackle in your throat, and make
the words come out as you didn't mean, and then to feel
that this fellow's growth is out of your own life ! "

Mr. Wellon, as he looked at the man, during this
speech, could see, in a sort of fearful pantomime, the
struggle started and stifled between the poor fellow and
his devilish beastly familiar.

" But you do get him down. Christ will trample him
under foot. The more you need it, the more help you
get ; ' He giveth more grace,' " said the Minister of God,
pouring out encouragement to him.

" I hnven't been a man," said the poor fellow, showing,
by the very words, that he had never lost his manhood'';

" I nev(;r was a son, nor a brother, nor & friend ."

" Were you ever married ? " asked the Minister. '
" No sir ; never. I ought to have been, and meant to
have been ; but I wasn't.-There's one that knows that
story, ,f he choose to tell it ; " and saying this, Ladford
looked at the Parson humbly, as if waiting for further
question, and then proceeded : "It's just about that part
of my life I'll tell,-if you'll please to hear ; 'twas the

;:|:

184

THE NKW PRll'ST.

Ill

! ;

happicHt and 'twos tho mo8t lerrible suxl, and mouriiftti in
it all. And it'll come in very well just now. Per-
haps, you'll know mo the better wli<'n you've heard it. 1
tried to do my duty like a man, to one thiiijj^, and there's
all that's left of it," takinjf the black ribbon out of a
Bibhs " Is's all right, —it's all ri«,'ht ! "

M.my well-bred fieopU; would have been content with
seeing this |K)or mini's relic, and would have kept their
touch and smell far off from it ; but Mr. Wellon, with the
senses of a gentii^man, had a man's heart, and was a min-
ister of Christ. He saw that the owner wi 'led to lay it
in his hand, and he held out his hand for it and took it.

" That riband," the story went on, " used to be about a

little boy's neck; a pretty little fellow : like this Lucy ;

very like ! — It isn't likel) that he'd have been a wonder-
ful scholar, like her,' but oh! as pretty a little fellow as
ever God made to grow in the world. He was so
straight ! — and he stood right up and looked in your face ;
as much as to say, ' Do you know God ? Well, I belong
to Him.' There ! There ! " — said poor Ladford, over-
come with what he had been saying and lliinking, and
falling down on himself, — his breast on his Bible and his
head between his knees — and giving two heaves of his
body, forward and back. He then raised himself up
again ; and, as his hearer, o^ course, said nothing, he
bv'gan again, when he ^•'a.s ready : " His hair was as
thick and solid, as '^*^'\ Wiis cut out of stone ; and his lip had
such a curl to it, just like the "crest to a wave ; — you
know Lucy's, — it was much the same. I can't tell you his
eyes. You could look into 'em, and wouldn't think there
was any bottom to 'em. It seemed as if you could look

miles into 'em. Oh ! that boy ! " he exclaimed, in such

an intense sort of way as might have fixed one of the

AN OLIJ SMUGULEB.

18A

tm. ^i,Uo list.nin«, and then suddenly appeal..! to hi.

" Vcu're not .ire.l of hearing, Mr. Wellon ? "
No, no."

liHud ! this vciy hand 1 »

Th. voice «.,., o,K. of ,o,™«r „„d „„, „f „.^^^
'".' "K "I .n,„d ,l,„ wild li,b ,l,„t „,i, ,„,„, h„„ ,,„, ;^ •
l--l«PS l.,.v,nK Ids lK.art lull of ,„„ ddid tl.at had ,e 1 ,
a M.o..u.n,,.„..„, ,0 ,„. „,„,„„ „,^^, ,^ ,_^__^_ jj^ ^2;

" Why, what did you do to him ?"

'* Oh ! no ! not ... bad as that.-Not worse than I am

self-n.proaoh; "but I couldn't have hurt Au., unlefs I
was .IruMk, and I never was drunk in my life "
" VV hose child was it? » asked the clergyman.
Ihe smuggler looked at him, with a start, and an-

swered uisfaiuly,

" He was God's child ! "

II,.vi„g waUed for any further question, and none bei„.
asked, he „g,„„ went on where he had left off--

I took hi,n ,o the church myself, on this arm and

wo ..Hi gc«>,I Christians were godfather and godmother

fo the ,»or mother-, sake. I was over in the Ir cor er

/« was,, t here. I didn't ea,-ry him back f,.m ch„,"h

would,, t have opened my arms to take him in any more

;^.. .* he'd been the Lord Jesus Christ, in a IZl^

i';Z * . '""^ ■'■"■ '"^^'y-^' -'"erless, fathertas;'

o ■

" Why, what became of the mother ? "

J^i ' '^u.^'"^' ^^'"""^^^' '^' ^<' answered the
smuggler, shakmg his head and looking down. « I can't

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186

THE NEW PRIEST.

talk about her, sir — but the boy growed ; and the sea, that
lial had so much wickedness done on it, got that boy."

" I thought he never came near it," said the Parson,
much as if he thouglit that he could save it all yet, and
keep tlie pretty boy, by thrusting in an impossibility made
of words.

Poor Ladford looked mournfully at him, and wistfully,
almost as if ho, too, half hoped that it might not all be as
it was, and then, glancing at the black ribbon, continued
his story : —

" He never did, sir ; but it got him, just as much as if
it had a great rope of seaweed fast to him and dragged
him in. One day when I was going down the cliff, think-
ing of nothing, what should be there, like a beautiful bird
or a butterfly on the path, but that handsome, handsome
boy! I was confused and mazed like, I suppose. It
was so strange to see him there ; I don't know if he'd
ever been told not to come to the sea ; but he'd been kept
about home ; and when I saw him, if I'd only once had
the thought to speak to him ;— but I hadn't. I was fright-
ened, I suppose, and I put out my hand to save him— just
this way — and that's all. That was the last ever was
known of that beautiful child, alive. There's my mark,"
said Ladford, showing the lower half of his left arm with
a knob on it, where it might have been broken.

" Ah ! that's a bad break. That was broken in more
than one place, or it hadn't good surgery," said Mr.
Wellon.

" You know about surgery, sir ? " said the smuggler.
" It was broken more than once ; but I think the surgeon
did his best. I went over the cliff, too."

" And the child was lost and you saved, though all the
probability was the other way."

AN OLD SMUGGLER.

187

I (!S,

indeed. They say I gave a great spring, like a
mad.nau and cleared every thing, (except what Id this!
a^ uobody could tell what that was,) and kel he wen
nght down to Ins death. There was a rose-bush all
there, where they buried hin., and his spirit and life and
all lus dear, blessed beauty was gone awav out of the
jorkl ; and whether it took something out ^f my eyes I
^ont know; but there isn't such a brightness on the
leaves, or grass, or any where. I saved that bit of rib-
and; ,t went down with me and came up with me-
Now, s.r," said Ladford, suddenly gathering himself up
'I want to get this giri of George Barbury's. It's a go<S
thmg that ,t wasn't me that went down ; ay, it's a merci-
^ul thmg, that It wasn't me taken away without e'er a
hand^ or a word raised up !_But, Parson Wellor if
there s a way on earth, we must find George Barbury's
daughter. God only knows what Vd give to be the one
to hnd her !_I owe George Barbury life's blood, and
more !— Only one thing beside, I care for."

The Minister waited, but Ladford added nothing.
" Then that brought you up .? " '^

" I "'«* brought ^p at last, but it was years first. I
stopped many a bad thing being done by shipmates or
landsmen after that, and at last I knocked ri-rht off. I
had a house and a garden and a fishing boat, and I meant
to se 1 the whole of 'em, and give away the money to
somethmg .good ; but they got out a warrant against me,
long after I'd given up, and just when I was goin<. to try
to do some good after all ray bad, and so I got awk and
came off; and the neighbors know what I've been since
1 ve been in this country."

" You haven't given over honest labor, I hope, now
that you are repenting?" asked Mr. Wellon, his question

1'^ III
!^ III

188

Till-; NKW IMMIIST.

I. ',

boing Olio that ini^r|,t i„. siijrjrt>st(ul very imturally, by the
H|>p''«irunw oftlu. foniu«r smuffghn-'s hoiiso and dress.

•' No, sir ; I ,lo n huiu'm work," answered the smuggler;
"perhaps more."

♦' IJm you don'f «h'ink " —

" And y««t I |iv<' in ihat wirtehed phiee, and dress like
a eonviet, you mifrlu say," answered Ladlonl with a quiet,
sad smil.', iirawinfr the contrast, in words, that the Minis-
ter had, most hkely, in liis thoujrht,

•' For a man's work you ean get a man's wages, can't
you ? "

" That wonhhi't follow in my case," said the poor exile ;
" but I do."

Mr. Wellon mulerstood the senten.^o and replied—
" IJut certainly, any body that employed you would pay
yon ? "

" Not so surely ; hut I'm laying .,p wages in one place,
I hope. I live, and adl I ean do in a day's work, is for
othei's, and I hope I'm laying something by."

Just as Mr. Wellon was leaving him, a voice was
heard fix>m above, in the little woods, and Ladford an-
swered —

" 'Ls. I'se a oomin'. I'll he with 'ee in short, md
bear a hand about tluit elmmley." And so entirely had
he taken the woitls and way of the country, that he
seemed almost another man.

His story had not been a very complete one ; but
the.-e seemed to be a tie that bound Ladford to Lucy's
thther,.or herself, through that boy and the boy's mother.

TWO WHO HAVE MET BEFORE.

189

CHAPTER XXTT.

APT INTERVIEW OF TWO WHO HAVK MET BEFORE.

f^ N the whirl «f happenings and doingH wo must not
too long forget somt^ of our chi(;f (rharaciters. Fan-
ny Dare, who saw most of Mrs. Barre,--indeed
any one who knew her, c^ould i.ot but see the change
which a little while had made in her; for she was
changed. There were tears often- in her ey<.s now
than before ; and tlu^y wen, formerly not seldom there.
Her cheek was something thinner and more jmle ; there
was a fixed and intent look in her (5ye when she was
listenmg to anotho, or was in thought; and when she
spoke,— if her thoughts were not ai)parently abstracted —
her words came so few and strong, th it it seemed as' if
all she did were done with a great might. Yet she was
gentle and tender.

There was a wakefulness about her, as if she were ever
fearing or expecting something; and she had that expres-
sion, which, to the best hearts, is most touchinrr in the
human face ; not of asking pity, but of needing It. Her
eye grew fuller, as her cheek became more thin and pale
It IS very touching to see one to whom life is so earnest
and seiious a thing, as it evidently was to Mrs. Harre •
(there was no trifling, or play, or idleness with her ;) and
It was quite as touching to see how unforgettingly she
kept her burden from bearing on the young life of little
Mary.

190

THE NEW PRIEST.

It wa<! on Monday evening that she sat in her chamber,
whose window looked to the west, and gazed upward into
the sky. Her smooth forehead, whose clear brows were
bared by the falling-back of her dark hair, and her large
eyes fixed, made her a fit figure for the silent time.

Miss Dare sat near her.

Before them both hung one bright star, in air ; and on
the earth was the still land and water ; and far off, the
inland hills, which, at this distance, and in this weaning
light, and standing in a land as unknown as if it were yet
undiscovered, look like a rim of some happy, hidden val-
ley.

Mrs. Barre had neveivopened her mystery, further, to
her friend ; nor of course, had Fanny sought to look into
it ; only, that there was something, was understood be-
tween them.

Mr. Biure broke the thoughtful silence, saying,
" Sometimes what I am striving and hoping for seems
as hopeless and unattainable as the star that the child
reaches after." (Such was the bright star shining down
to them, mildly as it had shone so many — countless
many -nights since first this world knew darkness.)
" And yet," she added, " auguries are nothing. The faith
of our best wisdom, and clearest o iscience, and simplest
trust, is right ! "

So she spoke, in faith , and so God heard, who orders
all things. There are, to us, no gales,— the "geminaj
somni portae,"— through one of which fleet disregarded
hopes and [)rayers unheeded ; while, through the other,
go glad prayers accepted and bright hopes to their fulfil-
ment ; and yet in our day, as of old, one strong wish forces
its way through rugged, rocky soil, grows up from sturdy
root, and comes to ripeness ; another falls and leaves not

TWO WHO HAVE MET BEFORE. jgj

a wreck of froth upon the ground, where stood a perfect
globe of loveliest hues.

While she was speaking, a man came across the little
open green towards the house. He was of an unfamiliai^
look and unlike the harbor-planters, but he came straight
forward, turning neither to the right nor left, and not
h« itating, up to the gate and through the gate, to the
door, and there he had a message for the lady of the
h'Mi^e ; for Mrs. Bray, as he called her.

Mrs. Barre was much agitated, and pressed Fanny's
hand, as she rose to go down to him, and leaned against
the stairs in the hall, as she stood to hear his message.

The man was an uncourtly messenger. « A Catholic
clergyman," he said, "desired his compliments, and would
like to meet Mrs. Bray at Mr. Henran's, at any time she
might please to set."

The lady's voice testified to her* agitation, as she an-
swered, " 1 shall be happy to meet such a person as you
speak of; but, of course, I cannot make appointments out
of my own house."

"It's a Catholic praste," said the messenger, almost
gruffly.

" Who is he ? " she asked.

" That I don't know any thing about, ma'am ; I was to *
say ' a clergyman.' "

" And what is your own name ? "

" Fioyne is my name."

*' Yes ; then have the kindness to say that I am at
home now, and expect to be at home to-morrow, till three
o'clock."

The man turned on his heel, and with an ungracious
or awkward ceremony departed.
• Mrs. Barre, after standing a few moments where she

192

THE NEW PRIEST.

was. went up stairs to her seat opposite the bright star,
takin<r Fanny's hand and holding it. Presently she spoke
of the appointment she had iust made, and hoped that
Banny IJare might be in the uouse when the meeting
took place. They both started, as again a man's dark
figure came upon the green ; Mrs. Barre, clasping her
hands, turned away to the wall.

A knock was heard ; not long nor loud, but even, regl
ular, decided ; the work of a hand whose weight was
exactly known.

" I didn't expect him to be on us so soon," taid Fanny
Dare; " what shall I do.?"

" Just stay here, if you'll be so good. Don't go further
off; there's a good girl," said Mrs. Barre.

" But it's almost the same thing as being in the same
room," said Fanny, in a whisper.

I\f rs. Barre was too occupied to answer, and the servant
announced a gentleman to see her, waiting in the parlor
below.

JNIrs. Barre came to the door of the room, pale, and
earnest, and straightforward, as she always was in all
things ; but as she paused upon the outside, so on
lirst entering the room, the door of which she did not
shut entirely, she paused, with her sight fixed upon the
floor.

When she raised her eyes, she found the gentleman
standing respectfully; it was Father Nicholas. In the
light of the candle, which marked distinctly the well-cut
outlines of his features, and threw the deep lines and
hollows into shadow, he looked more handsome and
thoughtful than even by day. His simple black dress
was just as fit, nnd seemed as much to belong to him as
his smooth, shining cassock or soutane.

ill'

I
[•

TWO WHO HAVE MET BEFORE. 193

Mrs. Barrfe started, but said, instantly, "You are no
guest ,n my house, Mr. Crampton." "^

^^ He stood meekly and unobtrusively, looking on the

"I hope," said he, " that any harsh feelings or iniuri

ous suspicions, formed in other days " ^

** I I^now you, Mr. Crampton! " she snJ,! i,^m- \

We 8h„n have no further communication together"

s'^Lg,- '"°"'" "'"" ■""'""'«™ of W« body,

"Not now but very likely hereafter. I think you will

»ot forget-I came with little hope of saving ™u if,

to clear my own soul." ^ ' ' "'

^L\T^u' """P '■'''""«'' =■"" Fa^-y Dare. «I
Wish I had been deaf , I can be dumb."

They sat long sUent, and she held Mra. Barrb'a hand.
M^ Barrt sat long after Fam>y had gone home.

- iii8

VOL. I,

194

THE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER XXm.

FATHER DEBREE AT BAT-HARBOR.

AY-HARBOR is a town of some importance in
Conception Bay ; and quite a place of trade and
bui^iness. It is also the diicf town of a district,
as respects the Roman Catholic Church ; and the chief
clergyman of that denomination officiating in liay-Harbor
is superior in rank and title to the others in that district.

At this time the Romish clergy there were the Very
Reverend Father O'Toole, the Reverend Father Dunne,
(absent for some months,) and the Father Nicholas, whom
the reader has already met.

The elder priest had been for a good many years at
Bay-Harbor, and was generally liked and thought of, as
easy-going, good-natured men are apt to be. He held
the reins of discipline gently ; had been, until quite lately,
}i frequent visitor in Protestant families, and had made a
present of his horse to the Protestant clergyman.

The nature of P^ather Nicholas's position there, or con-
nection with the mission, was not very evident. By short
and frequent steps he had made his way into the very
midst of every thing; had got Father O'Toole's right
hand, as it were, in his ; while the latter had, for the last
few months, (since the withdrawal of the priest who had
been associated wiih himsel^ for years, and who was ex-

THE NEW PRreST AT BAY-RARBOB. jgj

»p™wlly l,v .1,6 lrnl„ 7., , "" '"''■" "'■"' »•"

i"..o..„ j.,;;:r;;:;v,:z -^^^^^^^^^ 7' ■

town n r>i,. .^ i- u"-"i'" iiiink Hicir own

obscurity that evon lin<r vi \ " "*

/ iimi evtn liay-Haibor must be considcrpH ««

..•on, .ha. Father ^iJTZ ^:C:t'Z:'"^-
pnes.Iy f„„eti„„ and authority, a„,l thaU tiT» "i"'^
prejudice only that attribntod^o t , Chu h „f R " "7

;rr """"-^'^ "■<""^'» p--- ""entionT^:!;-

ti-s, „e,Hge„t and oC"a " ^^^^^^^^^ 7' --

Mant,,>i„-irc:-a.<:jrt:t:;

1,'i

196

THE NEW PRIEST.

aniithe.sis about him ; he allowcfl liimsdf often in a remark,
whose freedom betrayed his familiarity with the ways
and wisdom of the world, or whose sarcasm, bitterness, or
even venom showed the cheap estimate at which he held
men ; while, on the other hand, he would utter, habit-
ually, lofty principles of virtue, and warm and moving
arguments for truth, and quoted (in their own language,)
the offices of the Church and the authorized Scri[)tures,
very frequently and with great solemnity.

It was curious to see the influence of his new associate
upon the plain old Father Terence. Nominally and
ostensibly at the head of the clergy of the district, and
enjoying the title of Very Reverend, he put the other
forward, very often, or allowed him to put himself for-
ward, both in doir.g and counselling, in a way which
proved his own indolence, or the intellectual or other
superiority of the younger man.

In one respect the influence of the younger upon the
elder was amusingly exhibited; the worthy Father
Terence, having resumed his studies, and making a point
of quoting Latin and also of discoursing ethics and
log'c when the presence of Father Nicholas tempted him.
He also prevented the recognition of his own precedence
to tali into desuetude, by asserting or inferring it, not
seldom.

Father Nicholas, for his part, proclaimed his own sub-
ordination.

So matters stood in Bay-Harbor, at the time of our
story, and to the house in which the two priests Hved, not
far from the chapel, we are now to bring our reader.

It must have been about seven o'clock, on the Tuesday
morning, that Father Debree was leading the horse from

THE NKW PRIEST AT BAY-UAKBOK. ly;

wliich hfi fuul just dismounted, into the premi.-NJs of the
Konian Catholic mission ut Bay-Harbor.

"Ah ! thin, it's the early bird catches the fox," cried
a good-natured voice from above. "Can ye tie him
some place, a bit ? an' I'll be with ye, directly."

While the utterer of the proverb was corning, or pre-
paring to come, the dismounted horseman looked about
tor the «8ome place" ai which to hitch his horse, a thing
•more easily sought than found. Posts there were nonel
trees there were none ; and at lengtti the horse was fas-
tened to the paling near the road.

" Y'are younger than meself," said the voice, which
had before addressed him, and which now came through
the door, "and ye haren't that weight of cares and labors;
but I'm glad to see ye," it added heartily, as Father De-
bree came up into the door and received a very hospi-
table shake of the hand.

"I beg pardon for being so unseasonable, Father
Terence," said the visitor. "You didn't expect me so
early ? "

"Ah, brother, if ye do ever be placed in a con-
spikyis and responsible post, ye'll know that it's what

belongs to us. I am continyally, continyally, but

come in ! "

As he talked thus. Father Terence had gone, with dig-
nity, solid and substantial, before his guest into the parior.
The dignitary's most "conspikyis" garment was not such
as gentlemen of any occupation or profession are accu -
tomed to appear in. It was not white, and yet it was not
black or colored ; it did not fit him very handsomely ; was
somewhat short in the legs, with a string or two dangling
from the lower ends, and, indeed, had the appearance of
something other than a pair of trowsers.

198

THE NEW PKiEST.

His stockings were not m« conspikyis " ; being one of
gray and one of black-mixed, very indulgently pulled on
and crowd'^d into two slippers, (not a pair,) of which one
had the appearance of being a shoe turned down at heel,
and the other was of quite an elegant velvet, though of a
shape somewhat wider than is elegant . u human foot.
He had a long black coat opening downward from a
single button fastened at the neck ; and on his head a
clo,,a filing cotton nightcap coming down cosily about two
good thick cheeks and tied below his chin.

The face for all Miis body was plain, but kindly-look-
ing; the eyes being narrow, the nose longish and thick,
and the mouth large ; the upper lip appearing to be made
of a single piece, and the lower oi^ looking as if it were
both strong and active.

The chin in which the face was finished, was a thick,
round one, which underneath had a great swelling, like a
capacious receptacle in which for years had been accu-
mulating the drippings of a well-served mouth. His
forehead—now partly covered by the nightcap,— if not
remarkably high, had an open, honest breadth.

"Take a chair ! Take a chair, then," said the host,
seating himself.

"Now, Drother," said the nightcapped head, bowing
with dignify, " I think we've made a beginning."

"I've hurried you too much, Father O'Toole," said the
younger. " I can wait here, very well, until you're ready
to come down."

" Amn't I dow7i, thin," asked Father Terence, con-
clusively. " Do ye mind the psalm where it says ' Prae-
venerunt oculi mei, dilucido, uf. meditarer ? '' "

"Excuse me. Reverend Father Terence," said a third
voice, " you never lay the harness off "

THK NEW PRIEST AT BAY-HARBOB. jgg

«Ah! Father Nicholas!" said the elder, expostulat-
ing, but glancing complacently at Father Debree

" But," continued the new-comer, "your impatience
o obey the call of duty has prevented your taking time
to make your toilet. Allow me to take your pi:ce, as
^Y as I ran, m entertaining my old neighbor and friend,
M'hde you allow your.elf a little of that time which
you may reasonably bestow even upon so insignificant
an object as dress." *

Father Terence had evidently not bestowed a thouc^ht
upon so ms.gnificant a Ihing ; and glancing downwardsrat
he "harness wh.ch he had not laid off," hastily gathe ed
he sk.rts of his black garments over his kneel, and get-
ting up, made his retreat with a convenient, if somewhat
mrlevant, clearing of his throat, and a bow in which
dignity bore up bi-avely against discomposure.

Father Nicholas was not liable to censure on the score
of hanug neglected his dress; for notning could impress
one with a sense of thoroughness, more perfectly than his
whole personal appearance; blaok,_somewhat glossy -

nZtTT '"" '' '"'^^^^ ^^"^''-^^^ '^oJl

-dde by Ins two white hands, (of which one glistened
with a s,gnet-rmg,) and relieved above by the pale, ^ el-
lomsh face, with its high forehead, and dark, shining ^ye
a.d the emphatic, determined mouth. Above the face'
agam, it was glossy, wavy, black hair, cut short, though'
no tonsure was apparent. ^

As Father Debree made no motion, and gave no sign
of noticing his presence, he addressed him, in a courSy
man'nr "' '^"'"^^"'"^ ^'"^'^^^ *« too great warmth of

''I'm so.Ty to have seen so little of you.-I'm so busy
tliat I can t always get to mass even."

200

THE NEW PRIEST.

saying, he held out a friendly hand, which the othei

took, without any show of friendhness

Father Nicholas spoke a<»ai

n : " I believe they found

no t^vidence, whatever, against the Urstons in the exam-

inaiion, yesterday morning?"

At this point, solid steps were heard, bringing Father

Terence back. " ' lioiimn est viro, cum portaverit jugum

nb adolescentia sun,' " he wns saving.

*' What a treasure to have a mind so stored with sacred
precepts ! " exclaimed Father Nicholas ; « dulciora super
met etfavum." Then saying to his companion, « Excuse
my want of hospitality ; I must see to your horse ; " he
hurried out of the room by a different door from that
which Father O'Toole was approaching.

The priest from Peterport hurried in the same direc-
tion, as if to prevent him; so that when the worthy
elder reentered the room, he found it forsaken, and only
heai-d retreating steps.

"The present company seems to be mostly absent,"
said he.

Father Debree soon came back and apologized.

"Ah!" said Father O'Toole, "I know meself it's
necessary looking to thim now and again ; sure, hadn't I
one meself then for manny years, named Pishgrew,* from
some B'rench General, or other; (the boys called um
< Pitchgrove,' from a trick he had of getting tar on um,
however it was he got it,) and when he wasn't looked to,
quare things he did. He gnawed his own tail and mane
off, many's the time, when my eye was off him ; the
children all said the one thing of him ; and sure, they'd

* There was a French General Pichegra famous in the annies of
the Republic.

THE NEW PRIEST AT BAY-HARBOR. 201

the best chance to know, having nothing else to do, mostly,
but to be watchin him at his pasture."

Mr. Debree could not help smiling at this simple
notion of the necessity of looking after a valuable horse
who had come some miles at a good rate, lest he should
eat off his own tail and mane.

" Ye'll stay the day, then, like a man of good sense,
won't ye," asked Father O'Toole.— "It's not that much
time I give upon the externals ;—' turbamur—' what's
this it h?~'erga—plurima;' 'one thing 's necessary;'
but I'm more conforming and shutable, now."

Indeed he was ; dressed in a long, black cassock of
camlet, or something like it; black stock and black stock-
ings, and shoes with small silver, (at least shining)
buckles on them ; and irongray locks behind ; respectabfe,
if not venerable, he looked like one of the Irish Roman
priests of the old time, who had been twenty or thirty
years in the island.

'I We'll be having breakfast shortly," said the host;

"it's not good talking too much with only air in your

belly ; and after breakfast we'll hear how ye're getting on "

The old gentleman went to see after breakfast, or some

other matter, and Mr. Debree was left to himself.

Nothing appeared in the room to occupy the attention
of the visitor but two remains of books, one painting on
the wall, and a box upon the mantel-shelf. The furni-
ture was scanty, not quite clean, and many of the pieces
occupied with things of many kinds. Of the books upon
the table, one was a breviary without covers, and almost
without contents ; for a great deal of what had formerly
been paper was now nothing. Of what remained in type
and tissue, a greasy flaccidness had taken hold. The other
was an odd volume of Mr. Alban Butler's Lives of Saints,

202

THK NEW PKIEST.

of which it would be hard to say why it had lost one
cover ; for the inside showed no such marks of use and
wear us would account for it. Some places had been fin-
gered, and here a scrap of a tobacco wrapping-paper,
and there some grains of snufF, showed that, by accident
or of set purpose, its bulk of pages had been sometimes
broken.

Father Terence soon called him to breakfast, and said,
"He takes his meals by himself, mostly,"

As may be supposed, no duty of hospitality was omit-
ted by the kindly Irishman, and a good example was set
m his own person of practice in eating.

There were several subjects on which the two priests
were to confer, or did confer ; but Father Debree was
still occupied with the loss of Skipper George's daughter,
and tha suspicions attaching to the Urstons and to the
nuns from Ba} -Harbor. The old priest took a kindly
interest.

" Indade, it's a sad thing for a father to lose his child I "
said he.

" But he's a Protestant," said Father Debree.

"And hasn't a Protectant feelings ? Ay, and some o'
them got the best o' feelings. I'm sure yerself 's no call
to say against it. — It's in religion they make the great
mistake."

" I'm not inclined to deny it, Father Terence, and this
is a noble man, this Skipper George ; but "

" And who's Skipper George, then ? Is he the father ?
Oh ! sure there's good Protestants ; and it's hard to lose
a child that way, and not to know is she dead or living, or
torn to pieces, or what ! "

" Not every one has such good feeling, when the father's
a Protestant."

THE NEW PfilEST AT BAY-HARBOR. 203

« But the Urstons are not that way, at all ; and James
was a good boy ! " answered the old priest.

think ?/''"^'r^''""^^ " deplorable one ! I couldn't
thmk they ve taken her; but she was last seen near their
house probably; and somethings belonging to her have

F«'^"^^"'' ^^"^""'^ ^^^ '^^ ^''"''^°» «^ them?" asked
leather lerence.

"Mrs. Calloian confesses to Father Crarapton. I

.h"'"^^' r;'''r'^ '^" ""^^ P"^''^' ^'^^ g'-^^t feeling;
then shook h.s head and added, " I hadn't the charge of

him th.s while back.-I mind hearing this girl waslead-
ing him away, but I can't think it of him "

"I don't believe she has done it. Father Terence, from
alMhat I can hear. He may have fallen in love with

pri'est? " "'' ""'' ''''' ''' '•"' ^"^ ^^™ ^«-» ^o be a
" There were some nuns, so it seems, at Mr. Urston's
house that evening," said Father Debree, returning to the
former subject ; " and it's said that they were seen carry-
mg somy one away." ^

" It's little I know about the holy women," Father Te-
rcnce answered "more than if they were the Eleven
Thousand Vnj.ns itself; but what would they do the
like for ? And would an^ one belonging to this, whatever
way ,t was with the girl, without me Lowing it.^
wdl ye see to the boy James ? And couldn't ye bring
him to speak with me?" ^ ^

Father Terence forgot and neglected his own break-

204

THE NEW PRIEST.

fast, tliougli Ih! did not forget his hoapltality. He seemed
almost impatient to have his commission undertaken im-
mediately.

Kis gue^t, too, appeared to have little appetite ; but he
lingered after they left the table, and presently said :—

" There was another subject. Father Terence "

' Come and see me again, do ! and we'll talk of every
thing ; and don't forget the lad. I'd not let you go at all,
only for that."

The young priest accordingly took his leave.

•■«*»»..

A CALL AT A NUNNERY.

205

1 I

lit I

CHAPTER XXIV.

A CALL AT A NUNNiiRT.

DJOINING the priest's house in Bay-Harbor
was a s„,al buJding of later constn.cion, ea-

of th.s bu,Id,„g, a pretty loud and continuous rapping
was heard earlyin ,he forenoon of Tuesday, the nil"
teen^day of August, and again and again,
a m7e t'T" 1T^'' »"=» S" '»' '"^ "P the neighbors
La n„r .1" ' "■" """•<=■• ''"<^- '«"e^» they've
f^cXVvi-tr"'''™''^''"'"-^'''''™^'^^^
_" Wall, look a- here," said Mr. Bangs, as he found him-
self alone w,th himself, on the outsid; turning round To
survey the building and neighborhood.

" Have you business with some one here ? " asked a
votce that made him start a little; and he saw Father
Nicholas, such as we have described him

"Wall! or Gem Isrii Putnam's wolf was a fool to
th.s • sa,d Mr. Bangs, in a low voice, by way o r i^!
statmg h.mself in his self-possession; then aloud /oh,

Holy Father guess '11 do. Wall, I did have a little
busmesswith'em V «ntn«„f> a " "'•"e a utile

™™i .• ' °' ™- Seems to be c'nsid'ble

rural retu-ement 'bout this-nunnery, s'pose 'tis- Thi!
country don't seem t' have much na^h'f gift '"Lsm' ^et

206

THE NEW PRIKST.

—don't seem 't take to it— Bangs, my name is. Come
Tm th' States."

*' And may I ask, Mr. Bangs, what particular business
you had here ? "

" Certin ; 's no harm 'n askin', ye know. 'T's the
motto T the R'public, ye may say."

" I should be glad to know, then," said Father Nicholas,
drily.

" Shouldn't wonder 'f 'twould 'ford ye some pleasure ;
though guess ye'll be ruther 'stonished, f r a spell. Come
to look int' this r'ligion-business a mite. Don't mind
tellin' 1/ou."

Father Nicholas smiled : « Oh ! Mr. Bangs, from Pe-
terport, the American merchant ! " said he. " Your nation

is becoming distinguished ," ("they're 'bout it, I

b'lieve," inserted Mr. Bangs, by way of commentary,)
" for intelligence and enterprise." (" The' is such a thing's
bein' cute, certin," said Mj-. Bangs.) " So you wanted
to make some religious inquiries ? "

"Wall, 'smuch that 's any thing, 'guess," said Mr.
Bangs, who, as he concentrated his force upon his words,
knitted his brows, and looked a little to the left of the
person he was addressing, as we are taught to look at
bright bodies in the sky. " D'ye s'pose they'd gi' me a
chance to git conviction ? 'T any rate, t' look into it and
join, 'f I felt like it?"

" Oil ! yes," answered the priest, " any body can have
Ji chance. There's a way .vide enough."

" Yes.— Bible says, ' Wide is the way,' " said Mr. Bangs.
*' Ye see the's all my folks are Protestants, 'n' al'a's were,
fur's I know, f 'm th' beginning of the Bangses, and stood
p'tty high, too,— that is, some of 'em did. Why, my great
uncle was Deacon Parsimmon Tarbox— lived at Braia-

A CALL AT A NUNNERY.

207

tree, n Massachusetts. 'Tain't likely you ever heard of
lam; but 1 dono what 'd come over 'em to hear 't one o'
the family 'd turned Catholic."

" But let me ask, If you wanted to see me, how came
you to call here ? "

Wall, sir. I didn't exactly come to see you. I come
t' see some o' the folks that keep this 'stablishmcnt."

" Wiiat sort of estiiblishment do you take tliis to be
then ? " >

" Why, a nunnery, 'r a convent, or somethin' o' that
sort."

" But you don't expect to take the veil, do you ? " in-
quired the priest, with an unqualified smile.

" No. 'T's on'y women-folks 't wear veils ; but you
see, it's these nunneries, and mummeries, 'n' what not,"
(Mr. Bangs looked very innocent,) "are gen'lly counted
about the hardest thing in the Catholic religion ; and my
way is, al'a's to go chock up to head quarters, when I
want to know about a thing, and so, thinks I, I'll jes' go
and see for myself."

"Did you expect to walk right in and look about for
yourself.?"

" Wall, I thought, you know, 'taint Hke one o' those
Eastern hairims, where they wun't let a fellah go in, any
way, 'cause the women all belong to 'em, and they're
afraid to nave 'em ketched or snapped up. Says I, This
is a Christian institootion, all open and above board."

" Yes, you're right, to a proper extent. There is no
concealment but what is necessary for the object; which
IS, retirement from the world in peace and safety. Mei, -
of course, are excluded, because this is a house of holy
women."

" Cer-tin. 'Stablishment I'k' this 'd make a church of

208

TIIK Ni:W PIMKST.

itself, and might have meet'm', —mass, ye know,— all t'
themselves, and a priest o' their own. Why, 't the Lu-
natic 'Sylum up to Worcester, they have a preacher, and
keep the n.. •_ ^uJ women — wall, keep 'em separate, ;iny
way. Say here's where the femnlcM sit, all 'long here,"
(waving liis hand,) "then here's what ye may call a broad
ai.>l(! ."

" May I inquire what particular object you had in view
in seeing the head of the family here ? " a^ked the Priest.
" Wh' ye »know th' Protestants 'r' pleggy hard upon
convents ;— clappin' gals up, an' keepin' 'em 'n prison, 'n'
dungeon, 'n' what not. When the's so much 'f it, ye
want t' hear t'other side. Over here to Peterport, th'
wanted me to go 'n' testify 't I saw the nuns acarr'in' off
that ga!, (down the rocks, there ;) but I come away 'n'
left 'em, s'pose ye heard ;— 's such a thing 's goin' too far.
Sometimes they want to be carried off; 'n' sometimes the'
aint 'ny carr'in' off 'bout it. Thinks I, 's nothin' 'gainst
my goin' 'n' callin' 'n a fash'nable way, 'n' takin' a look.
The's ben some pleggy smart men 'n the Catholic church ;
(there's Cardinal Wolsey ;) and these Protestants, s'pose
you'll admit, are a little the slowest race .'—kith, kin, kit,
—the whole boodle of 'era. Their wits ain't cute 'nough
to find the holes in theii- heads, / b'lieve. Why, there's
their Magistrate can't stand it : shouldn't wonder 'f he
turned."

At this point Mr. Bangs waited for his companion, who
had been apparently rather entertained by the American's
matter and manner.

" You saw Sister Theresa, I suppose ? " he asked.

" Yes, sir ; 'n' found her quite the lady. Don't seem
t' come out, 'xactly, I'k' some— owin' to bringin' up, likely
—but what ye'd call a fine woir an. Now, 'n th' States,

A CALL AT A NUNNKRY

ye walk right up to a public insftootion, 'n' iUey u.vue ye
in, and show yo. th« whole concern, 'n' ask /e to write

VVell Mr. IJangs, it's unusual, hut your case is peculiar

impai tml. Perhaps we might mak(,. an exception in your
favor I suppose the soonor the better, in your opinion
For mstruetion I shall introduce you to the Ve^ 7"'
erend Father O'TooIe, by-and-by." ^

goel!^''"' '''' '^'''" ' ^'^™" ^^^""''^ y' «^«^ ^^^^ it)

• Now'8 the day, m' now's the hour:
See the front o' Babel tower:
See approach prond Satan's power:
Sin an' Slavery.' •»

" I's allVs brought up f know the value 'f time V do
a th,„g while ye-re about it. IS brought „„ 7h , " t
Boston ye k„ow,_e,„.e by, out to Needhan, t at if
whero they had the Gen'l T™i„i„., („,ed to, ■„ A «'
almyer, 't any rate.) Never had f teil me, ' L to ver
aunt, ye sluggard.' Wall, folks alVs hed he eredit'^o-
bnngm' up p'ty fair specimens, about Boston, you know

Bostrs lel . 7""'="-"'"'^ S-''W know al- about
Canady, ( ts all same thing, s'pose,) they used to call all
he people m the States ' Bostonese,' or 'Bostonase'e
whatever the French word is. Wall, the brin.h,\:
bou „ .„„ , p, „ ^^^^^_ ^,^ ^ _^^_^ . up

some of em, but, 's I's sayin', about this Peter,K,rt 's

with ,t-for such a potterin' and pokin' about their busi-
«es,J_never saw. Yankee Doodle 's our naytional too",

210

THK NEW PRIEST.

yc know ; and there aint 'ny atop about tlmt ; when our
Yankees set out with that, something's got to go, ship-
shape or shop-shape, 'r some way. A fcUah must hev a
phigiiy sight of stick in his shoes that don't go ahead to
that toone. 'Twa'n't so much the fault o' the IJritish, 's
'twas beeos nothin' can stand before our Yankees when
they're hitched on to it and that toone agoin'. Wli' 't

Bunker that's 'bout wars and batth's, thoiigii ; don't

concern us, now ; but 1 dono's ye ever noticed what a sol-
emn i).salm-toone that 'II make, only put it slow enough.
Faw ! " he sang, setting his head straight on his neck and
swelling out his throat, as if begiiming an illustration of
the adaptedness of his favorite air.

The Priest smited. " We'll try, then," said he.
So saying, he turned to the door on which the knuckles
of the American had been playing so persistently, and
knocking three times, and ringing a bell, gave the sen-
tence, " Ave, Maria Sanctissima ! " in a clear voice. An
answer was made by a woman, " Sine labe concepta,"
and then the entrance was made open to them.

Father Nicholas went forward into the nearest room,
Mr. Bangs following, and the sister being in the rear.
He then turned square about and said : " Sister Agnes,
this visitor from the United States of America is making
inquiries into the truths of our Most Holy Faith. He has
a desire to ascertain whether our religious houses are
j>risons. Have the kindness to say to Sister Theresa,
that, with her leave, we are come to see this smmU' liitle
house."

—"What's your will. Father Nicholas?" asked Sister
Theresa, meekly, as she entered.

" Mr. Bangs, Ma'am,— you recollect," said the Ameri-
win. recalling her memory to himself.

A CAfJ. AT A NUNNERY',

211

I only wi.h to aak permission, in favor of Mr. Umn
here, to go tl.roug. your little e.tublisl..«ent i„ my com^
PH"y. It .s not for the gru,in..ation of idle curiosity, but
for important reasons, which I will explain. hereafter"
-d I'uther Nicholas, looking .signiiieantly, less ^t S ter
Iheresa than at the visitor, who answered, with an ex
pression of mtelligence, " Jes' so."

"Will you have the kindness to direct me?" asked
she, m return. "

"We will follow you, if you please."
f you 11 let me take the guide's office," said the Priest

dii^jr-^^-'^"^^'^^^'^^-^- ^--^tX

" CertiiK This paintin' ain't a eommon worl, by con-
sul b,e. One o' the best things o' ./.«, .ort, I 'most'e'r
savv. in suynig tins, the American put himself at a
distance „.clined his head a little to one side, and applied
h s hand made mto a tube, to his right eye, closing the
other. Seems to freshen on the gaze ! don't it ' "

"This room, with this sort of hole in the door," con-
tmued Im reverend guide, to the tasteful American, not
too abruptly, opening the door communicating with the
room m the rear, through which the nun had c;me to the
former mterv.ew with her curious visitor, "is a sort of
back-parlor, having this opening to allow the ladies to
eommumcate, If necessary, with persons here, without ex!
posmg themsdves to the observation of strangers or other. "

Jes- so Good 'll'k' one o' the peek-holes at Bunkum's
Grand Universal Skepticon, dow^n to Boston
thmg o' ihe kind in the world

greatest

they say. I don't s'pooe

212

THK NKVV I'RIKST.

Sister Thoresy ever had much notion for those things ;
but you're aware there are great, — wall, — "

" Here we are at the last room on this floor. This
little place i? a private retiring room, foi i)rn.yer," inter-
rupted the Priest, gently and easily,— Mr. Bangs accept-
ing the interruption r.s quite regular.

" Don't seem to make nuich provision f the wants o'
the flesh, any how," said the latter. " First house, pretty
much, 's I may say, I ever see 'thout a kitchin. Wall, I
didn't s'pose 'twas a fact, but they used to say, you know,
that nuns lived p'tty much like Injuns, on parched corn,
and so on."

" The Sisters' simple cooking is done in the adjoining
house, belonging to the Reverend Father O'Toole," ex°
plained his guide, « for the Mission, in this place."

"Very solemn, cer-tin :— that fixin' there, I mean."
Father Nicholas and the lady, standing silent, after hav-
ing crossed themselves at sight of the crucifix and one of
the usual representations of a woman with a child, before
which " flxin'," as it had ju*. been called, stood, on a little
bracket-shelf, a metal candlestick and candle and a few
very artificial flowers, with one real moss rose and three
real rose leaves among them.

" I ain't quite used to doin' that, yet," continued the
visitor, referring to the crossing, and gesticulating after
some faL^iion of his own. While he was making his
demonstration, however, there was some sound of a cough
or sneeze from more than one of the neighboring females,
Avhoever or wherever they were.

'• Puj>ils, or servants," said the priestly conductor, look-
ing with something like asperity towards the Sister; then,
turning the end of the sentence to Mr. Bangs, " We shall
soon rim through our narrow limits ; and you will get no

■ ■ J

' i

A CALL AT A NUNNERY. 213

very exalted notion of the importance of our meek little
community," continued Father Nicholas, " Our next steps
go up these narrow stairs."

" Guess thV ain't much goiii' down, f 'r 't seems folks
gen'lly, here, think the land turns to water, 'little way
down No need o' ra.sin' a cry o' dungeons, and lockups,
and what-nots, under ground. Why, hero's a little door-
fact,-n:o,„' down to some root-collar, likely ;— ' should like
to see a cellar under ground, f ' once, f ' variety, in this
country."

" You shall be gratified, certainly," said his ecclesiasti-
cal guide, "as far as may be ; but I fancy that not much
IS to be seen, unless the darkness is visible."

Tho American putting his eyes and nose down towards
the openmg, remarked upon it, very summarily, " why,
't es "s dark 's a pitch-pipe,' 's the boy said, and smells'
strong 'f old straw or hay ; but 't's a comfort to see it, any
how. You see, comin' right f 'm the States, where a man
d jest 'bout 's soon think of hevin' no pockit in his pants,
as not hevin' a cellar to his house, it looks strange to me
not seein' one, all the time I've ben here : one o' your
real old-fashioned ones comes in well. What curis ^ort
o' partitions they have here, compared 'th real walls o'
lath and plaster," he concluded, knocking, at the saine
tune, with the knuckle of one finger, on the thin deal that
separated one room from anf)ther.

"Tliese are slight houses, certainly; but religious per-
sons, of all people, may bo content to have what will last
their day: ^ Mn, enirn, habemus Mc—hv we have not
here a lasting city, but we seek one that is to come.' "

" Certin," said Mr. Bangs. « We ought to, any how."
^ The visiting procession passed now up the little creak-
ing stairs, the Priest leading; Mr. Bangs accompanying

I !|t

214

THE NEW PRIEST.

him by going up two stairs at a time, and then, poising
himself for a moment, so as to keep the same relative dis-
tance between himself and the rest of the party, before
and behind ; the females bringing up the rear.

« This is ' recreation-hour,' is it not. Sister Theresa ? "
inquired the guide, and, receiving an answer in the
affirmative, added, "I shall have great pleasure, Mr.
Bangs, in giving you an opportunity of seeing every
member of the household, without any exception ; the list
is not as long as the roll of Xerxes' army, or the immortal
Washington's. We number only five, all told, I think :
one sick. Sisters Theresa, Agnes, Frances, Catharine,
and Bridget ; two professed, as we call them ; one lay,
one novice, one postulant."

" Yes : postulate means wanted, or as'd, I b'lieve ; one
't you want to have join, I guess."

" Reverse it, and you have the meaning of postulant,
exactly ; one that asks to be admitted."

" Oh, postidant ! I's thi'ikin' of postu/a^e. I got that
out of an old book o' my father's, time I was keepin' com-
pany o' Casty— wall, a good while ago."

" This room is what you'll understand, at once," open-
ing one to the left, of some ten feet by twelve, with a
recess at the further end, about five feet deep and six feet
wide, railed across even with what was left of the wall ;
which latter was occupied entirely by a closed door on
one side, and an open one on the other, showing a little
closet opening into the recess before spoken of, with i
screen or paling.

" That, you see, is an altar ; these pictures around the
room are what we call stations, used for marking difl^erent
places to kneel and pray."

"I soe!" said the visitor; " solemn-lookin' place,

* ^

A CALL AT A NUNNERY. 2I0

fact;" then turning away, as before, with a bow, he said
to Father Nicholas, « this house stows more, atop, 'n down
blow, s they used to tell o' the York Dutchman and In.
hat.

"You've an excellent eye, sir. This room is taken out
of the next house that T spoke of. If you'd fancy if, you
shall see the whoM arrangement of that, also, by and by.
All I here is Sister Frances ; and there is Sister Ursula."
(They all, except Sister Theresa, stood with thoir backs
turned toward the visitors.) " You see all of the family
but one. These rooms are dormitories," opening one of
the doors which led into a plain room, (like those with
which the reader is familiar enough,) containing several
bare and hard-looking beds, and little furniture of any
kind beside. "^

Mr Bangs cast a sharp side-glance into this room, and
then looked forward for further progress. Before the
next door were standing several of the Sisters ; Sister
Iheresa explaining that this was the chamber of the sick.
" Please to let our visitor see the inside of the sick-
room, „i which the gentle hands of our religious smooth
the pillow of the afflicted, as a sister. * l/niversum stratum
ejus versastt-thoa 'hast turned his whole couch in his
sickness.' Is the sufferer awake?" the Priest asked, in
a tender and sympathizing tone.

_ "No, Father Nicholas, she has been sleeping for some
time, quite heavily," answered, in a whisper, the nun who
held the door, and who, as she spoke, threw it open and
drew herself aside, as did Sister Theresa, who had been
standmg beside her in front of the entrance.

The American, not changing either his place or posture
except to bend his head, with unwonted reverence, down '
ward, stood, demisso ore, with a subdued look, bent first

216

THE NEW PRIEST.

towards the bed on which the mere outHne of the sick
one could be seen, and then gradually turned to other
objects in the room. There was such perfect silence, that
the heavj. regular breathing was distinctly heard from
within. Tiie change which had passed upon the visitor,
Jn presence of this scene of human need and helnlessnes^
was very striking, as he stood thus subdued, 'with his
hands before him, one holding his hat, and the other th.-
opposite wrist. He was as still as if his very breathin-
were too loud. °

Bui it would be too much to look for very long stand-
mg-stiU or silence from him ; and soon, indeed, abruptly
1 liming to his reverend guide, he spoke in an awkward
whisper, considerably above his breath, which he had kept
down so carefully, as follows :— -

" Dono's ye ever noticed it, about sickness—" when,—
precipitated by an ungainly gesture accompanying his
words,— a shower of things out of his hat dispersed them-
selves within the sickroom and about the floor on which
the company stood. The accident affected every member
of the party, even those whose backs were turned. These
last rustled a little ; and a sound almost like a giggle
came from some one or more, the most impulsi^-e. Silter
Theresa crossed herself, as soon as she recovered from
the first shock of this rude and most unnecessary inde-
corum. The Priest at first came near to smiling, uninten-
tionally; but instantly visited the unsanctified misadven-
ture with a frown that gathennl over the still lingering
smile, like a dark cloud above the streak of sunset-sky!
The short word " bah ! " escaped his lips.

The author of all this cinrnotion,— interrupted in his
rt'ell-meant speech, glancing round the company, brushing
up one .^ide of lii. hair over the bald, and saying, « Do

a
tj

A CALL AT A NUNNERY. 217

tell! wall, don't stir," all at the same instant, almost, and

afttT'"; ''' '^^' '"^ ^^ -cover,- bvefor;ard
after the most remote articles of las scattered property.

In om this he made little more noise than a cat, and

lyr ', r " '"'^'''""^ '■" '"'^ "^«^'«-^' fallowing a

. - -0,1 to one .de of the chamber and a penknife^o

e other, not leavmg behind the habit of his nation, even

" '"' ""«^Pected visit; but drawing near r.nd casting

a glance, m passing, at a colored engraving of a ^aint

as ver, likel, ,e would have looked i^ a glal, had i re

been one m the place, which there was not.

The handkerchief and an outlandish-looking news-
paper, which had dropped down in the passage.;ay and
renamed there, lay where the, had fallen, whL he'came
out, and then resumed their former place. "Hope ye
wun't thmk hard o' my hat," he whispered, loudl' by
-ay of reconciling matters, " 't don't gen'lly act like that
However, b'heve no harm's done. Don't let me keep
you, sn-, awaitmg, and the ladies."

The remainder of the visit was soon dispatched. Father
Nicholas appearing not less kind, if less cordial than be-
fore, and say.ng,--after a brief exhibition of the adjoining "

vouni'T t " "'" ''^" ^'^ "^«^^' ^^•^' -d I hope
you 11 remember your visit with pleasure. I told you at

the outset that you were treated with very rare con-
sideration, because I didn't believe that in your case it
would be thiwn way. I shall be hap^y fo give you
any further information which may be in my power."

V cij much obleeged to you, 'm sure, sir. 'T's done
^egood. Jest what I like. Come and see for m 'self
and ben treated like a gentleman. 'F 't 'adn't ben for
tnat-wall, 'accidents m7/occur, you know,' 's the fellah
said once. 'Wish all success to the ladles, adoin' good.

218

THE NEW PKIEST.

and ril jest go straight to the other priest,— that's the
Rev. Mr. Terence's or O'Toole's,— and do a little busi-
ness 'th him, 'f'l find I can."

As Father Nicholas and his guest withdrew, Sister
Theresa was heard saying, "We will now go to our
office, sisters, and we have something to make up." The
machinery of the establishment (after the obstruction had
been removed) began to go as before. We go with the
retiring party as far as the outside.

P
Ic

the

lusi-

OTHiiK SUSPICIOUS PJiKSO^S.

219

ster
our
rhe
had
the

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MAGISTRATE DEALS WITH OTHER SUSPICIOUS

PERSONS.

JHK world was going on in Peterport also. Public
suspicion had, of course, repeatedly touched
Father Debree, but hud never been able to
fasten on him. One or two overwise bodies undoubtedly
thought h.m the more dangerous, because (a, they said)
ha was so deep, and n,ade people think he was harm-
less, but almost every one (with Skipper George) ab-
solutely discharged him, before the third day. To have
found out what was his painful and mysterious connection

public— It did not yet appear.

He was seldom seen in the harbor, and was soon little
spoken of; the fever ,00, in Marchants' Cove, which
killed no one, ceased to occupy men's tongues, or the
tongues of their wives. Mrs. Barre's sorrow and her
mystery were left to silence, while steadily the genem
thought busied itself with following the lost maidef.

at Bay-Harbor; but ,t was also said, that he was threat-
ened „,„. excommunication, or some great penalty, and
pubhc opunon naturally sympathized with the bereaved
lover and the disafTected Roman Catholic, (if he was di"

m -t I

220

THE NEW PKIEST.

affected ;)— the public eye still looker! darkly at Mrs. Cal-
loran, and beyond.

Mrs. Calloran herself had said, — xevy truly, that

" there were other old women in Piiterport," and the hands
of justice, again feeling about, grasped Granny Palasher
and held her to an examination. They were to have
laid hold on Mr. Bangs, (this time,) and Ladfbrd ; but
these had both slipped between, like other little men of
old time, between those of another giant. Of Ladfbrd's
movements nothing was reported ; but of the American,
William P^rank had this to say. That he had sent some
important communication to the vice-consul of his coun-
try, at St. John's, and had left the harbor for parts un-
known.

The magistrate made little out of the Granny, except
that her name was properly Ann Pilchard, and that the
public suffrage was with her when she asserted that she
" had an occupation and knowed it 'most so good as some
other folks did theirs, mubbe." Having in the course of
a day elicited so much, he adjourned his court.

Awaking from the sleep which had settled down upon
a mind and body jaded with the long day's and night's
work, which went before and followed the last adjourn-
ment of his " court," and yet another full day's painful
deliberation, he was informed by his servant, that there
was a paper on the front-door, and that "he" (the
paper) " looked mostly like a print, seemunly." The
color rose in Mr. Naughton's cheeks, and his fingers
trembled as he proceeded to examine this new decoration
of his house. He evidently suspected it.

He walked leisurely and stopped at more than one
thing in the way, and when he got out of doors, looked
up at the sky and down at some vegetation on which he

— n

OTHER SUSPICIOUS PERSONS. 221

had expended a great deal of manure, befon^ approachina
the object which bad stimulated the curiosity of bis maid.
When be did at length deliberately turn to view it be
saw a huge broadside of wrapping-paper, bearing the
words (m charcoal,)

" the FaytFul megistrun."
He certainly looked fliteful, (as the poster uninten-
tionally called him,) when be bad read this tbino-.

" Ha ! » said be, " parties may burn their fingers, if
they don t looic out;" and be conspicuously,-tbat all the
ncghborhood or the world might see it,_tore the paper
first mto long strips and then into little bits, which be
gave by mstalments to the winds. He then walked debb-
erately up and down in front of bis bouse, turning bis
face, (considerably reddened by the activity of his mind ) "
frequently to the road, with an « Hm ! " as if to show the
world that there be was, unmoved, and ready to be the
mark of any animadversion.

" Si fractm illabatur a,-bis (sedente ipso, sc, in cathedra),

So for some time be aired himself, before going in to

That the impersonation of Justice in Peterport was not
wer^ry of Us efforts, was soon made manifest. Gilpin
.he constable, hinted the propriety of having Mrs. Cal'
loran up again, and giving her a " bauling-over."

This proposition the magistrate disposed of summarily,
by a legal aphorism : « A person can't be tried twice for
the same offence, Mr. Gilpin, according to English law • "
and he fbrestaUed an argument over which the constable's
eye was twinkling, and whicb be was just making up his
mouth to utter, by putting into that officer's hand a war-
rant, and saying authoritatively,

222

THE NEW PRIEST.

"You'll see that Mrs. Frank is brought before me
with all diligence."

The constable's eye twinkled as much as ever; and,
putting the writ in his pocket, before he wont forth upon
his errand, he made a new suggestion : —

." She'll never be able to stand it, sir, will she, poor old
thing ? she's had a good deal o' worriment over this al-
ready, they say."

"Justice is absolute, Mr. Gilpin; if you find her health
impaired, you will report it."

So the constable went about his business.

Granny Frank was at the time upon a few days* visit
to her grand -daughter, Jesse IJarbury Hill's wife, and
thither the constable [)roceeded, to subpoena her, or rather
fetch her with him to the magistrate.

There was a little commotion in the house as Gilpin
came to it, which prevented his tap at the door from
being heard, and he walked in, accordingly, unbidden.

A child or two were playing in the sitting-room ; but
all the older members of the family had drawn together
in a bedroonv at the side. The constable came silently
across, and was not noticed ; for Jesse and his wife, and
Isaac Maffen were busy about a bed, in which the sliriv-
elled and exhausted old woman lay, heaving long, slow
sighs for breath.

" Jes-se, — child — ," she was saying, with longer than
her usual intervals between the syllables, and more feebly
than usual, — " un-der — my — rump ! — heave — I — up, — I
— wants — to — ffo — hi<Th"

Jesse Hill, as dutifully as a child, and as tenderly as
might be, did her bidding ; and raised the slight body up.

"She'i gone!" sBLid Gilpin, as he scanned her face;
" that's her last word in this life, you may depend ! "

OTHER SUSPICIOUS PERSONS. jgS

"Do -ee think so? "asked Jesse; « why, she's sca'ce
go-t through wi' talkunl"

"Next time she speaks it won't bo here," said the con-
fltablo gravely.

" God rest her, then ! " said her grandson-in-law ; « I'm
glad we was all w'itun upon her when she goed, any-

"It's good or, trouble for nothing was saved her'"
said the constable;.

So they laid her down again, decently, upon the bed,
and sent for the different members of the family, while
the constable lingered, without mentioning the errand
upon which he had come.

" What have you got here, Jesse?" said he, as his eye
caught sight of a parcel standing on the mantle-shelf.

"Mr. Banks give it to I to bring «p, for un, from B'y-
Harbor." ^

"Why, it's for the Parson, man; why didn't you deliver
It ?

" Pie on'y asked I to bring it," said the trusty deposi-
tary; «an' so I kept it, tuU Vd call, 'isself. I never
knowed what it was."

" Well, bad readin' '11 never spoil you, J*esse. How
long was the old lady sick ? "

^ '' She ..ever was sick ; not that we knowed of; but just
visitun, an' layun on the bed, as comfortable as could be
tull just a few minutes sunce ;— as it might be, two-three'
minutes afore you comed in."

"Well, she's had enough of it, if she was ready. She
might have had too much, if she'd staid longer. Is Naath
home ? "

"No; we'll wait the funeral tull Monday, I suppose, to
give un a chance to come back."

THE np:w PRinST.

The constable took his leave, and went to make his
return. Jesse went too.

Hofh the men started hack, and made a reverential
saliUation, as they met Mrs. IJarre, on coinin;» into tlio
road. Her look was more troid)l('d than usual.

" It's easier partin' a p;ran'moth('r than it is a husband
or a child," said the constable, shortly after.

"All so, Mr. Gulpin," said Jesse, " that's a clear case ;
you've got to part they. I hard Parson Kiii<j;inan's wife
say, ' death t's art alteration, surely, an' can' be helped.' "

There were some loiterers about the mnf];istrate's prem-
ises ; — people that can always spare time tor public atlaira ;
and whom, now, the mission of the constable had stimu-
lated to strong expectJincy. The magistrate was im-
mersed in mental and manual occupation : reading and

writmg.

*' There was sonje one to summons her before I, sir,"
said Gil[)in.

*' How do you mean ? " asked the magistrate, nervously ;
for though he got along very well with plenty of sea-
room, the prospect of a collision or conflict of jurisdictions
was a new thing to him.

" She's d^ad," said the constable.

" Dead ! Why, that can't be," exclaimed Mr. Naughton,
" she was alive yesterday."

"And so she was the minute she died, sir ; but she
won't be again, in one while, unless the Day of Judgment
comes."

The comparison, so strongly drawn by the Almighty
between His might and the Nripendiary's "absolute jus-
tice," atfected Mr. Naughton considerably.

He went to the window, (the public being outside,) and
through it spoke, —

OTHKR SUSPICIOUS PERSONS.

225

"I am given to uruUTStiuul," waid he, "that Mph. Abi-
gail Frank, commonly oallcd Old Granny Frank, who
had been Hummoncd a8 a witne.sn, is dead. I 8hail,
therefore, prorogue this court, as is customary, until after
the funeral. Mr. Gil[)in, this warrant is dismissed ; " and
he solemnly bow<ul away the constal)le and a few of the
more adventurous neighbors who had got a place within.

" Good ! " said Gil[)in, as soon as they were iti the
king's highway ; " I hope the next thing, .he'll hear the
Emperor of Egypt's dead, and adjourn for a twelve-
month."

The people dispersed, (to better occu[)ations, perhaps,)
and Granny Palasher having certified herself of the lact,
from Jesse, commented upon it as many another old
woman has commented upon a like case: —

" Poor thing ! she alw'ys seemed to nil o' somethun,
these few years back ; but I do wonder what 'ave atookt
she, at last ! "

From the magistrate's, Gilpin made his way to the
Minister's.

" The ' Spring- Bird ' has sailed, sir," said he ; " o' Tues-
day night, Jesse says ; so Cap'n Nolesworth's off."

" Is he ? " said Mr. Wellon. " I'm sorry he couldn't
have staid to help us clear this up ! "

The " little mite of a bundle," as the sender had desig-
nated it, proved, when developed, lo be a quaint-looking
letter on a foolscap sheet, addressed to " Mister Wellon,
the English episcopalian minister at Peterport, to the
kindness of Mister Barbury, with Dispatch."

The Minister, having read it with varying expressions
in his face of surprise, amusement, and interest, handed
it to the constable, saying, —

" You seem to be concerned in this."

VOL. I. 15

226

THK NKW PRIEST.

The latter took it, with a look of astonishment, and
having prefaced his work by the remark, " Well, that's a
queer-looking concern, any way," proceeded to read aloud,
in a subdued voice, and here and there with difficulty, as
follows : —

" Mister Wellon, Sir :—

" Thinking you may be aware of a little surcumstance
that happened here, and knowing your concern in people's
souls, is my ^reason for writing, to let you know what,
maybe, will prove interesting. You see I took a notion
to look into this Holy Roman Religion, a might, while I's
about it, and not having any thing partiklar to do till fall
business commences. 1 think best to inform friends and
all concerned, / may be converted, and I may not : sup-
pose it ell be according to. I have ben in one of those
Nunneries, ye may call it. Never saw any_ thing the
kind managed better, in my life. Sister Theresy is as
genteel a lady as I sliould wish to see. A little accident
occurred while I's holding inspection, as you may say.
My hat, you may have taken notice to it," (" Well, this is
a pretty fellow ! " said Gilpin,) " it went and come right
out of my hand, away into the middle of the floor, in a
room where they had a young lady sick. Most every- '
body carries a few notions i:i his hat, I guess, and so I
had a pocket-handkerchief, and a knife, and a razor, and
a comb, and what not ? and the,)- all went sescatter. Pen-
knife, one of your Congress knives, present from honor-
able Tieberius Sesar Thompson, Member Congress, went
away off under a picture ; see it was " Saint Lucy," right
opposite the bed; same name of your Miss Barbury:
pretty well executed, I sho'd judge ; only a might too red
in the face, supposing she fasted as I should say she had '
ought to, if she was a Nun. Lucky I didn't wake the

OTHER SUSPICIOUS PERSONS.

227

fiick, but, most likely, she'd had medcine, as I took notice
to her breathing, ruther heavy and dead. Should judge
they kei> her ruther covered up. All I eould see wan
jest an attorn of her face and a might of black hair : should
say she ought to have fresh air. I thought of the short-
ness and uncertainty of human life — seemed to be about
eighteen nigh as I could judge; but Father Nicholas,
they call him, that showed me round, seemed to feel bad
about the accedent, and I come away, and took a cour-
teous leave. ,

Sir, I needent say to you that writing about religious
experience is private and confidential, without it's a friend
like Mr. Gilpin, the constable. Shouldent like to hurt
the feelings of the old gentleman, that's Father O'Toole,
who is willing to take unbounded pains ateaching. I tolc
him if he ever had occasion to call on the Governor of
Massachusetts, to mention my name, and say Mr. Bangs
of Needham that used to be. Believing, sir, you know
how to act about corresjwndents of a confedential char-
acter, I remain. Yours truly, and to command,

Elnathan Bangs."

" Well ! " exclaimed Gilpin, looking up, with his one
eye twinkling, when he had finished the reading, " if that
isn't a letter and a half! "

" Tiiese Americans have

strange

ways," said Mr.

Wellon; "but do you notice any thing particularly in
"his letter.?"

"About the sick girl ? and the black hair ? and about
eighteen years old ? " asked Gilpin, putting these things
together with a directness that would not have been un-
worthy of a policeman of abundant practice ; " yes, sir ;
and ' St. Luci/ ! ' How should that happen ? Or do you
think Mr. Bangs put that in ? "

228

THE NEW PRIEST.

" Oh, no,** said Mr. Wellon ; « that's just what they would
do, very likely, if they were trying to make a convert ;
they d hang up a portrait of her patron-saint, as they caU
It. All this confirms our suspicion. Thank God it comes
just in time. I never thought of the American making
himself so useful."

"Dropping his hat!" said the constable. "If that
isn't one way of gitting into a place! That is a joke!
'Holy Roman Religion!' There's a convert for 'em!
But that sick girl "

"That's a pity!" said the Minister, thoughtfully,-the
constable eyeing him curiously the while. « If we could
use his evidence "

" I take it, sir, we can use it by the time we want it."

" Ay ; but in the mean time this poor man will get en-
tangled, perhaps, beyond help."

The constable still looked curiously and inquiringly.

"The maid, sir? Lucy Barbury?" suggested he, by
way of amendment to the word "man," in the Minister's
sentence.

^'' No ; I was thinking of this American,— Mr. Bangs."

"But it won't do him any harm, sir; will it?" asked
Gilpin, still puzzled.

The Minister answered : —

"To be sure, he wasn't a churchman before; but I
should be very sorry, nevertheless, to see him become a
papist. If he should see this plot, it might cure him."

" He sees it fast enough, sir, or I'm much mistaken,"
said the constable.

" But," answered Mr. Wellon, « I can't think he under-

stands the whole thing; and if he could be rescued "

" From Father O'Toole, sir ? The Yankee '11 Uike care
of hmiself, I'll go bail. We needn't trouble ourselves

OTHER SUSPICIOUS PERSONS. 229

about saving him, sir, any more than a fish from drown-
ing. If he isn't up to any of 'em, he's no Yankee. It's
my opm.on, they'll find it slow work converting him "

The Mmister smiled, good-humoredly, as his solicitude
for Mr. Bangs was blown away. "It's strange that he
should get m there," said he.

« They've been too cunning, and not cunning enough,"
answered the constable. « They thought he'd tell everV
body he d been all ovor the place, and people would think
^must be all right, if they weren't afraid to let un in.
Father Nicholas, there, thought he could keep un safe
enough ; but he didn't think about his hat ! " —

So, this evening, the old suspicion, setting towards Bay-
Harbor, and the nuns and priests there, possessed the
Mmister and his council more strongly than it had done
smce Lucy Barbury was lost

230

THE NEW PBIEST.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MR. BANGS HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH THE HEAD OP

THE MISSION.

)E left Mr. Bangs at Bay-Harbor, in charge of
Father Nicholas, coming from the nunnery,
which he had just inspected. Under tlie same
sacerdotal guidance, he walked towards the priests' quar-
ters.

They passed into the hall. Father Nicholas leading, and
awaited, next, the result of the latter's knocking thrice
upon an inner door.

The word " Enter," surrounded, so to speak, by a sound
of bustle,— much as a word is written by painters in a sur-
rounding of cloud,— called them to the " dignitary's " pres-
ence. He sat, sedate, in his wide chair,— his dress care-
fully arranged in his style of state,-and was intent, in
studious zeal, upon a book. Looking up gravely from
his work, he fidgeted a little, trying to wear a calm, high
dignity, in waiting for an explanation of the visit,—
(which, by the way, it may be thought he understood
beforehand,)— and ended with a kindly bustle of bringing
chairs.

"This gentleman, Reverend Father Terence, is an
American, descended from an eminent stock in the re-
public "

iMR. BANGS HAS AN INTER VIKW.

23]

Mr. Bangs,— who sat with his nght ankle resting on
h.s left knee, his chair now and then rearing rnder him,
like a trained horse, and coming down again on all fours'
—said, meekly : " Oh, some of 'em 've got their coats-'f-
arms, V what not ; that's beyond me ; but I know jest as
wall who my gran'ther was as can be. You know, I told
ye about the deacon— Parsimmon Tarbox— on mother's
side ; but, on fiither's side, they were Bangses all the
way up to Noah's flood, 's fur 's I know ; Jedidiah, and
Jehoshaphat, and Jeshimon, and Joshuy, and what not,
—church-members and s'lectmen, (some of 'em,)— an' so
on, all down."

''Atavis regibus ; they are all kings and sovereigns iu
that favored country,"-(« Cer-tin," said Mr. Bangs,)-
"and he professes a desire to be acquainted with the
Catholic Faith, Father Terence, and, indeed, a readiness
to be converted. I bring him, of course, to yourself;"—
(the di-nitary bowed, with as smooth and steady a swing
as that of a pendulum, and said " Of coorse ! ")— « know-
ing that if there was any one to do extraordinary work,
that one was the very Reverend Father O'Toole ; "—
(again a smooth, slow bow from the dignitary, who spoke
thus :) —

« And, by a strange forchuitous accident, what should
I be engaged upon at this identical, present moment, but
a very ai'struse work upon that very country ! It's a
rare work, too, I'm thinkin'. I've here the second vol-
ume, which I procured with great difficulty through
Barney Baine,-(did ye know Barney ?) and he had but
the one. I'm not sure is there another copy iv it ex-
tant."

« You're quite recondite in the authorities you consult.
I should have thought that credible writers on that coun-

282

THE NEW PRIEST.

try could be found with less trouble, and in a complete
form."

"Ay; but, d'ye see.? it's but little they've known of
writing and the like o' that,— those Amerikyins,— until
those late years, (the most c' HAm, ih^t is,) being all
mostly .savage Indgins, I supi^^ ■ /,th a small sprinkling
of Europyins and Irish, certa v y.) Som- o' thim took
to learning, I suppose, naturally, for the man here's^ got a
name of his own that would puzzle a Tom'hawk himself,
—(that's one of their tribes, d'ye know ? as they call
them.) To be sure, tha most of it seems to be in plain
English, surely ; but then, d'ye see ? the great learning
that's here, undoubtedly, all in the original tongue," said
Father O'Toole, shutting the book.

" Have you mastered the ' original,' then, already, in
your retirement, and without a teacher ? What a figure
you'd have made in the Sacred Congregation, or in our
College at Rome, to be sure ! "

The portly personage complimented thus, rose up to
put away the book, while the younger priest, with a grave
courtesy, followed him, and, asking permission to look at
the learned treatise, secured it, when laid down, and read
aloud " Diedrich Knickerbocker," as he author's name,
and added, as comment, " What a DuiJi-soundinff name
it is ! " ""

" Ye may say that ; and ye'll remember, be-the-by, the
Dutch has much trade with the Indies and the neighbor-
ing parts, and has had, those many years. It's to be
feared they've been teaching them their own relidon, too.

.''

The other inquired : —

"Do you find this writer orthodox ? The name sounds
as if it ought, fairly, to be found in the Index : ' Diedrichius

MR. BANGS HAS AN INTERVIEW. 233

that kind ! It's a learn'd work.-it's a very learn'd
work, tins doubtless, i„ its wa,,-but not sound in

no t o^often that a busy .an, like .eself, can ,'et a look
at them It s onlj dipping into i^ that I've done, just to

fl; tfthrr;?; ^"^ '^-^ ^^ -^ exceHen'tCd

If T/ ,T "' '"'''"**^^ ^^^ American,)-" and to
take up the old anncient faith."

"Wall, I'm looking that way, to see what I can make
of It, explained the American. "It's conviction '!
much 's any thing, that I want, I ruther guess. There'

Wd Tf"7' '°'"° *'^ ^^^^" ^^ ■^t,^(Jyko. it's seTen
hunderd forty-seven in ' Revival Rhapsodies ' :)-

When I can leave this load o' clay,

And stretch my limbs, and soar away
And breathe the upper air;

Then let the world go all'to smash ;

I'll lift my head above the crash,
And take fast hold by prayer.

at Eo^tham Camp-Mee.ing . would do a body good.
There! Too know, he w's a long kind of a sloblded .
chap an- when he eome to ' load o' clay," he wri<-Hed his

■ tn inid"'" r r. "'*'°"'" <"''"^ " - °^^^)

an pulled an' tugged 't his coat, like all possessed, bu
when he got to 'stretch my limbs, and soar away,' why

4Ita^Ti',2^'' "' '"■ "'"^ ■" "» """■<■ »f 0" "■"y

284

THE NEW PRIEST.

the most I can compare it to was, wall, he up 'th this

arm, 'th the book in it, an' tlusn t'other, an' kicked down
hi3 legs, jest 's if he was goin' to stick the hymn-book
away up through somew'er's, an' go right up afler it.
Why, all the old women, 'most, put right out to git hold
of him by the heels, or what not, slngin' * Glory ! ' jest as
tight 's they could stretch. But, as you say,"— (no-
body but himself said any thing,)—" this ain't the ques-
tion now. Question is : What's about the shortest an'
quickest way o' gitting at this Catholic religion ? 's you
may say."

In the presence of this active elocutionist, Father Ter-
ence looked, for the moment, as if the world that he be-
longed to had been knocked away somewhere, and he
himself had tumbled down among strange things and
people. Of course his apparatus, argumentative, was as
useless as a battery of cannon against a freshet or other
incongruity. He almost instinctively glanced around at
the odd volume of Knickerbocker's heretical History,
which the Holy Father {Sanctissimus Noster,) has put
upon the prohibitory Index, but which he had had in hand,
before this unusual encounter.

Father Nicholas, for whatever cause, adapted himself
at once to the character of the man, and said, with grave
appreciation of the American's peiformance, (which had
been given with as thorough zest as if he had had a sly
fancy for astonishing the old priest,) " That seems to be
to the life, Mr. Bangs. You appropriate the religion you
belong to and make it your own ; and if you once take
the true Aiith fliirly in, no doubt will naturalize that, also.
It's just the thing for an independent thinker."

" Guess I should ; make no kind o' doubt of it ; and
that's the way. Your folks '11 find it out one o' these days,

MR. BANGS HAS AN INTERVIEW. 235

and do according. I tell ye what it is : Vli take a prettv
-art chap, and he'll have to unbutton his g,! se o
ke c o.. , Yankees. What's the use o' tlin' abo
w nkm madonnys or mai.l of honors, or what you may
call enj, to fellahs that think any thing o' the value o' ZZ
VVhy, loi , jes to consider that the Almighty, 't knows

It, 7ot?^^ ' " '^°"^'^ 'twa'n't consistent. Don't

" You see, Father Terence, how the uncatholic mind
goes ,n the same path with the heathen," said Father
Nid^las, solemnly, this is the ' nisi di.nus ^indice nltZ
ot the great Roman critic."

"Ye see they hev to be taught and reasoned down to
•^ or up to it, 'ft suits better,) b'fore they can swaller
what you may say 's the truth, 'n that department o'
science. After a man's once made up his mind, then 't's
no odds ; give him punkin and tell him it's custard, '„'
f ye want h.m to, he'll swear to't, an' cuss all out-doors
f they make ny bones about it; why, 'f you c'n oni;
convert em, yer 'nlightened 'mericans '11 make the greatest
foo- hat ,s, fuliahs for Catholics, agoin. They'll be jest
^e ft,l ahs for mirycles, 'n' imyges, 'n' saints, an' what not ,
Why take me, say. Tie a han'k'ch'f 'crost here," (set-

hand.,) "and then jest make me think 'now you can't
see, and I can ; so you jest see what I see,' and then tell
me theres a picture 't painted itself 'n' I take it f 'r law
n gospd." ^^

Hereabouts Mr. OToole aeemed to have found his feet

again and to know where he was, and he joined the eon-

ve.-sat,or, w,th an assnranee to the American that he was

well.p,ea,«l to hear him talk that way, and that he

236

THE m:W PRIKST.

would show him as much as he could reasonably expect
of thp like of that."

" I s'pose I'm 'bout's ignorant o' this nunnery business
's any thing, pooty nigh; haven't got the hang of it,
yet "

" Indeed you needn't be botherin' yerself about these
holy houses at all, for it's small concern ye'U have with
them, anny way, unless ye've a sister or cousin, or the
like o''that, ye'd want to devote to the service of God;
but we'll put ye into the direct way of learning all the
whole order and system of the Catholic religion, all out,

meself will discourse ye, and Father Nicholas, here,

he that was here, a moment since, anny way, for it's not

here now that he is, we'll all take ye in hand, and

we'll make short and sure work of ye, if ye're ready for
it," and Father Terence proceeded to lay down a pro-
gramme for the impending course of teaching.

" Me good sir, ye'll consider, ye know, my avycations,
in some degree ; but a jue proportion of me time shall be
given, doubtless, to the important work ye're proposing.
Yerself '11 mostly give yer whole time to it, iv course."

During this speech the Reverend Father took down his

pipe from his mouth, filled and— after a good deal of

exercise with a flint and steel, between which too great

familiarity had bred a mutual contempt — lighted it.

" Guess I c'd git ye some ' the real stuff, 'n th' way o'

t'bacca, 't less 'n cost and no commission, but, sir,

'bout this religion-business,— when sh'll I call ? " said Mr.
Bangs, killing two birds with one stone, whether he aimed
at two or not.

"Ye'll just come everyday, beginning the morrow —
not too early, ye know, be rason iv the church juties.
Yerself '11 desire an hour or two for early devotion and

■Mil- BANUS HAS AN INTKIIVIKW. jjgy

meditation, ami will practice abstinence- inkin' „„. ,
-Jee an,, „„.„ „„,1 „,„„.,., „„„ „ Z^^^TZ

Cl.ri„ tl,al' II ., y"M,l,mit t„ the Vicar of

^;;^Kif.econ..c.r/™.l:!:;::;:~;i;:

;; Wall !•• e«laimed Mr. Bang,,, »if Casty-Divy "

tongf bt;/v:it""A"r- '«"""'"' "■ "«' '■»'' i-"-

said the PrLl ' "' " " "' '"" '* °' ^^ "«'"' •' "

•t 3\' «re"fr'' ' ''"f Casty-Divy Seie„.,.y Cook.
I used t live_(does, now, fur's I know,)_jest 'cm« In,=

f m our house— S'nose 't's this w. '

... , -Jfose ts ttiis JNunnerv, much's anv

thing, made me think 'f her.' Used to stfclcT W „ ^
•s ye may say,_yo know birds have a W„d Va 7^'

s 1 said bfore, dono what 'tis 'n Irish th., - r / ^
wan, Vs what ye may call a .JmX'l:^:X-
undertake to git someth'n down, 't „„nt go." Cil us
trat,on from comparative anatomy, he wi dvi„7l f t
were quite new with himself ^ ° "' '"^ "

-tr^te^pt::---'"^''- of interrupting.

and' '^'^Z r^J- :; : ^'""' .--eh yer legs a hi.
fc mio tne chapel convenient, and it'll help on

288

THK Ni;W I'RIKHT.

tilt* conversion, it's likely, and be a g(K)(l thing to meself,
at the same time, being at the beginning of an affair like
the present. Ye'U follow me, just, and do what ye see
me bo doing."

Down wejit the reverend gentleman, as they entered
the sacred door, crossing himself, touching himself with
Holy Water, and going through a prayer, appan>ntly, but
with a half-glance towards his companion, now and then,
who went through some performances of his own, which
bore but a very far-off* likeness to those of his prototype.

*' Will ye have tiie kindness just to employ yerself in
meditation ? or, if ve please to go out, I'll say nothing
against it ; I've some sacred occupation, here, for a bit,
and I'll join ye in the course of a few minutes, it's
likely," said the wortliy priest.

Mr. Bangs accepted the latter alternative, with the
assurance, " Wall, sir ; jest 's you say. . 'T's indifferent
to me ; " and having occasion to look in, soon after, he
saw the priest engaged apparently quite in earnest, in
devotion before the altar.

When he looked in again, he saw two figures get up,
where he had seen but one go down, and recognized, in
the double. Father Nicholas.

Mr. O'Toole, as well as could be judged, Avas taken by
surprise himself; and as our American drew in again
within the chapel, he heard the last words of a short con-
versation which had already taken place between the
priests, while they came forward toward the door. Fa-
ther Nicholas was saying, " Your wisdom and experience
may make something out of him in that way, which I
have no hope to give any efficient help in, if it were
needed. I see, perhaps, another way in which he may
be useful."

MK. BANGS HAS AN INTEKVIEW. 289

placclike .|™^^-^'"» - P-l«,«yourflr», visit .„ ,

" Wall, I must own ' never wn^ in \.h

a first time. We rlnn't i T ''"*'• ^"^^ ^^

Hint, we don t have all tlip^o fivJ^'o '« u

tant meetin's ; now thV ain'. „ ,"':''' ^"''^ ^ « ^''otes.

'em fm ivr K " '■''''" '" *''« w^^ole lot of

em, t m Massachusetts down to M,^vir.n m * ..

inter's relic', 'r someb'dv'.* iw Xt' ' """

'« the, can without J; but lo [ tC airir ^^"

hea,-d about." ''"' """"'''""^ «''»'y. '' I've

However tlaf ' "'^ "' rai.ed F-IVe heard.-

tin v! , P°°'y "^"'"We kind of a church cer-

"1- Ye never heard o'th' 'Old ,S™„1,' .n ' "^^

and , t ni^, -LXir r tj: :„ —

huckleberrip« in „ ^ ,- ^" 't' J^st like

dou.|, 't T, u "/"7''"g' '"""•e y"" -aa't see the

it, T "^'"'"'■- "^''^ ™^ ""^^ ■""ke -em's
Ml-. Bauga 58e„» to oonfoui.d ti^o words.

240

THE NEW PRIEST.

this : take a mess o' flour, and make it into a kind 'f a
batter, or whatever you may call it, and then stir in your
— wall, that ain't exactly what I's goin' to say. That Saint
Peter's must be great. You see the Protestants ain't
likely t' stand *ny sort o' comparison 'n the way 'f
meet'n'-houses, b'c'se they think religion ain't s' much t'
be looked at, 's to be joined in."

" It's refreshing to hear your hearty descriptions, Mr.
Bangs, though your abundant information, upon points
with which your friends are not always familiar, leads
you a little wide, sometimes. Did you talk with the very
Reverend Father O'Toole about the houses of God ? "

" Wall, he seemed t' fight ruther shy of 'em, I thought.
On'y wish those fellahs 't Peterport c'd see all I saw " —

" We shall arrange to send any messages or communi-
cations that you may desire," said Father Nicholas.
" Your own time will be much occupied at first. I've got
a pleasant family for you to stay in, close at hand here ;
and Father Terence, no doubt, will arrange hours, and so
forth."

Mr. Bangs had goL into a business-like arrangement,
by which the sun of independence was to be considerably
shorn of his beams. He took it, however, very genially,
and as the priest left him to await Father Terence's re-
newed attention, he spread a blue handkerchief, doubled,
on the ground, and taking a newspaper out of his hat, sat
down to read.

ANOTHER RELIC FOUND.

241

CHAPTER XXVII.

ANOTHER BELIC POUND.

)HE bed stood in the little room at Skipper
George's, unchanged except in having been
made up ; and so all other things, there, were as

the maiden left them; nor was the door of that room

shut.

After a sickness has been finished in a death, and after
the burial is done, those who are left miss very much the
round of dCities that is so utterly at an end. They start
at fancied calls ; they find themselves putting their hands
to things no longer needed ; they lower the voice ; they
listen sometimes, and then recollect that there is no one
now whose light sleep may be broken, or whose throbbing
head may thrill at a slight sound; there is none now
whose breathing may give token of rest from pain, or
whose faint words can scarcely wing a flight in the still
air.

And then the thought of earlier hours, and happier,
comes up, when the departed one had the same home and
the same household things with them, and shared their
joys and sorrows. Now it is not so. One form— whose
head has lain upon our bosom, whose hair our fin-
gers played with, whose eyelids we have kissed, whose
lips have found our cheeks, whose arms have held us,

vot., 1,

^4^

THE NEW PRIEST.

whose hands have done so many pretty things or played
U3 such sweet tricks of merryhood — whose look, whose
laugh, whose sleep, whose waking, had each such beauty
of its own — has gone like morning mist melted in air,
like the blue cloud of smoke scattered forever ; like the
word spoken, like the bubble broken.

Skipi)er George knew nothing of the speculations and
suspicions of h'' friends and neighbors, and of their infor-
mation gained, ^hey knew hira well enough never to
speak of these to him ; and it was specially enjoined and
urged on all occasions, by the Minister and constable,
that nothing should be said to him about them. His wife
heard more — hoped and feared more, no doubt, but yet
took her prevailing feeling from the strong, steady char-
acter of her husband, and never told him of her hopes
and fears.

The need of sorrowing hearts (as, indeed, men's need
at all times) is faith in God, and work. ; this they both
knew and acted on ; yet she would sometimes sit down
quietly to weep, and he would sometimes lean against the
door-post of the little room, and lose himself in sad mem-
ories.

During this time of planning and consultation in Peter-
port, and searching for information, another memorial of
the lost girl came to hand ; such evidence as it contrib-
uted was iroui an unwished-for quarter. This was a silk
neck-kerchief, taken from the water a little farther down,
toward Castle-Bay Point, than where the former relic
had been recovered.

The man who brought it said that he had seen it in
passing with his punt along that shore, as it clung to a
rock, and was tossed up and down with the wash. The
cloth was wet with brine, and torn in many places ; but

ANOTHER RELIC FOUND.

243

some old fishermen, who saw and handled it after it had
been recognized as having belonged to Lucy, asserted
without hesitation that it had never been a week in the
water. Its fabric was sound and good, though it was a
good deal smeared with sea-weed ; and the rents must
have been made before it had ever gone into the deep.

The finder showed the place where it was found ; and
it seemed strange that it could have been descried in such
a place, unless by one searching. So reasoned the plain
fishermen, and they looked with much suspicion at the
thing (at last) because the man, though he told an honest
story and was counted an honest neighbor, was a Roman
Catholic, as it happened ; and though they did not doubt
his word, they " considered," as they said, that " he might
have been put upon it unknowingly," to keep up the opin-
ion that the Missing was drowned. They said, ''her
body was not in the sea, but somewhere else."

The neighbors consulted whether they could keep the
knowledge of this new discovery from Skipper George,
and determined at least to try it. They gave the ker-
chief, therefore, in trust to the Minister. The news,
however, got to the father, as news always will, and the
next day he presented himself, with his request : —

" Ef 'ee thinks best to give me what 'ee've got, sir, I'd
be thankful over it."

He took the relic in his hand> wiped off the tears that
fell upon it, and at length, handling it over, said —

" Those are cruel, grinding teeth, if they holes were
made by the rocks."

Notliing could be more expressive than what he said,
and his way of saying it, and saying nothing more. The
grinding of the tender body of the innocent, sweet girl,
upon those sharp rocks !

244

THE NEW PRIEST.

There are worse teeth in the water than those of the
Bharp rocks : — Did the father think of those, as another
would think of them, from his words ? Were his thoughts
for his lost child as quick as other men's ?

" I cannot think her lost yet, Skipper George," the
Minister answered, saying as much as he would venture.
The father still held the kerchief under his eyes, as he
said : —

" There was a coat of many colors that had been
on a dear child, brought home to his father, and 'e
thought an evil beast had devoured un ; but the lad was

n' dead, thank God ! — I don' know where piy child

is, but He've got her."

He looked up in Mr. Wellon's face, as he finished this
sentence, and it was like the clearing off of the dark sky,
that broad, peaceful look of his.

He folded the cloth tenderly, and bestowed it in his inner
jacket-pocket and departed. He had now two recovered
memorials of his Lucy, since her loss.

His errand was up the harbor ; and as he passed out
of the drung from Mr. Wellon's, young Urston, who was
thin and pale, but had thrown himself into hard work at
Messrs. Worner, Grose & Co.'s, met him, and having
respectfully saluted him, walked silently at his side, an-
swering questions only. At length the young man broke
the silence for himself

" I think we can trace her, now," he said, hurriedly, as
if he thought he scarcely had a right to speak of Lucy to
her father. Skipper George turned upon him an eye
mild as a woman's, and said, —

" James, thou doesn' know, yet, what an old father's
heart is. See, here's an old hull wi' a piece knocked
into her side ; and I've laid her over upon the t'other tack,

ANOTHER RELIC FOUND.

24.'".

and after a bit I'll mubbe get all mended up, and tight
again, and then I'll go about, an' never fear ; but ef 'ee
keeps her on the broken side, James, afore we've patched
her and stanched her, in comes the sea, James, and she'll
go down, heavy and solid, afore 'ee can make land. I
mus' n't think o' they oncertain things — " His eyes looked
forth, as he spoke, open and broad, like another sky ; —
*' but ef 'ee 've any thing, go to the Pareson, lovie — our
Pareson, — an' 'e'll hear it ; " and so James Urston spoke
of his hope no more. ^

246

THE NEW PRIEST.

CHAPTER XXVIIL

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

^OW, the worthy prie:t of Bay-Harbor, having
Mr. Bangs in his hands to be converted, felt, or
began to feel, the difficulties of that relation. To
keep up dignity and authority, to convince the mind and
engage the heart of this representative of the great Re-
public, were so many different objects in one. The case
was, in a measure, like that of the " Angli quasi An-
geli" standing for sale in tlje market of Rome, whose
beauty led Pope Gregory the Great to undertake the
Christianizing of their nation. This individual American
was no beauty, certainly, but he was from a foreign he-
retical nation, and by his own account, scarce any of his
countrymen knew any thing of the true faith. Mr. Bangs's
account was, " Th' have made a convert 'r two. S'pose
ye've seen a poor f 'saken-lookin' chickin, pokin' after a lot
o' pi — ' animals, and hangin' on to 'em, fo' company?
Ye want somethin a little mite stronger." Father O'Toole
was convinced that, (as P'ather Nicholas also had said,)
the opportunity was a golden one, and must not be let go.
On the other hand, the ecclesiastical combatant, finding
himself in possession of such a prisoner, who had been
taken " nee gladio, nee arcu" (suo,) — by no weapon of
his own — and was as multitudinous, in his activity, as the

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

247

■

cotnjjsiny of men whom Father O'Toole's countryman
once took by surrounding them, felt the difficulty of main-
taining the authority and dignity, and, at the same time,
convincing the head and persuading the heart, as was to
be done, accoi-ding to the programme of his operations.

Under the circumstances, he addressed himself to his
labor, in the bravest manner possible.

Mr. Bangs, whose habits and principles led him to use
time as it went, was anxious not to be unoccupied after
entering oipon the work of religious conversion, and the
quiet old man was therefore likely to be stirred up and in-
stigated in a way very unusual to him, and which must
worry him somewhat, and flurry him a good deal, and
give him many solicitudes most unaccustomed. The pro-
posed convert, finding the priest's way of proceeding not
so methodical and business-like as it might be, and, at tlie
same time, being assured of his simple and kindly nature,
whose only relief was in its weaknesses, took upon himself
to propose that he should take a regular lesson, at certain
times each day, or at such times and as often as was con-
venient to his instructor, of whom, meantime, he managed
to borrow a Douay Bible.

On the first occasion of the expected convert's appear-
ance at the converter's house, the next morning after
making the arrangement, the latter found, at tlie very
threshold, a reminder of the solemn work begun, and of
the new relations existiiiff.

The knocking at the door was answered, after some de-
lay, by a slow-moving man — probably fisherman— acting
as porter, who, opening the door but quarter-way, stopp d
with his body the gap through which Mr. Bangs was
about passing along with the first rays of light, and hav-
ing, by fornial question, ascertained from the visitor that

248

THE NEW PRIEST.

he wished to see the very Reverend Father O'Toole,
first showed him into " The Library," with some awk-
wardness and much gravity, and left him to wait until
the doorkeeper had found out whether the Father was at
home, and whether he was disenfrased.

" Tell him," said Mr. Bangs— the manner and matter
confusing the mind of the occasional domestic — " not to
put himself out one mite on my account. 'F ha hasn't
prepared 'mself, I suppose 't '11 keep." The speaker,
while saying this, combed up his hair from each side to
the top of his head, with a small implement taken from
his waistcoat-pocket, and seated himself with legs crossed
and foot swinging, opposite the door.

On receiving the announcement that Father O'Toole
expected him in the opposite room, Mr. Bangs rather led
than followed the man to the Reverend Father's presence.
The occupant of the room was alone, sitting with a book
in his hand, himself dressed with the utmost care that be
ever bestowed on the adornment of his person. Thus he
sat gravely awaiting, and very grave and dignified was
his salutation to his visitor.

" ' Haven't come b'fore ye're ready, I hope, Father
O'Toole ? " said the candidate for conversion, unabashed,
or, at any rate, not remaining abashed by the formality.
Then, seating himself opposite to the Priest, with his hat
beside his chair, he gave that gentleman the inspiriting
intimation : —

" Now, sir, I'm ready f 'r a beginning, and you can
please je'self 'bout goin' at it." So he cast his eyes to
the ground, and sat as demure as possible, though not
without a restlessness of the body, which was the normal
state of that machine.

The ecclesiastic fidgeted in his dignity, and from his

MR, BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

249

not beginning at once with the " lesson " agreed upon, it
might be thought that his plans were somewhat discon-
certed.

" It's a solemn and difficult work, entirely," began our
priest, wher he did begin ; " a very solemn and very diffi-
cult work, that we're entering upon the extremity of, or
the borders of." At this point he stopped and recovered
himself hastily with the question : " Did ever ye meet
with a book called ' The \\ ay to become a Catholic ? ' "

" 'Taln't the same as ' Way to be Happy, by one o'
Three Fools,' I guess, is it ? ' Never read it ; but 't used
to have a picture, 'n th' beginnin', 'f a woman whippin'
her offspring. I alw's said 'twa'n't in good pr'portions ;
wonian's arm 's too long for her figger. Dono 's ye ever
saw it."

This little ramble of his disciple, disconcerted the
teacher again, it should seem, for the stream of instruction
stopped, and he began, rather nervously, to turn the
leaves of the book upon his lap. Of course he will make
a new assault. This he does as follows — adapting his
method, as he thought, to the character of the other's
mind — " Y' are aware that men are mortal ; every one
knows that."

" Oh, yes," said the American, heartily ; " ' All men are
mortal. Enumeration, And,' 's the copy-book used t'
say 'n I's a shaver."

" Sure, then, it's easy saying that some sins are mortal,
too. Therefore — "

" Adam fell in —

To mortal sin," said Mr. Bangs, by way of illustra-
tion. " 'S prepared to grant that proposition b'fore ye
proved it."

" Very good," answered the reverend reasoner, warm-

250

TUK NRW PHIKST.

ing with success, "since y'are prepared to grant what
cannot be denied, ye'U be prepared, doubtless, by the
same rule, to deny what cannot be granted ? "

If the triumphant progress of his argument, in its for-
mer steps, was (!ue, as it i)robably was, to a happy acci-
dent, this hist must have been one of the deHberate pieces
of his plot, as he had thought out the plan of it befbre-
liand.

" Wall, dono 's 'ave any constitootional objection I
" Grant 't all men are mortal, 'course I deny 't the greatest
man 'n the world, wiiether Vs Tie-berius Cffisar Thomp-
son—that's the Ilon'able Tieberius, member o' Congress
'n District 1 hail from, or Zabd'el B. Williams, Chair-
man o' S'lectmen o' Needham, or the Pope, or what not,
ain't mortal."

The solid floating bulk of Father O'Toole's argument
was not broken up by this little obstructive illustration ;
nor was it turned aside.

"The Church being wan," he continued, " sure, y'ave
a right to believe that it's never been corrupted."

Wall, Yankees are noways slow 't assertin' their
rights, ye know. Fact is, they're ruther inclined— wall,
they're dreadful t'nacious, 's ye may say."

" Well, then, don't ye see, if tlie Church has never
been corrupted, then the Pope's the Vicar of Christ ? I
think ye'll easy see that," urged the Priest, drawing his
argument close. Not being familiar with the tone" and
dialect of Americans of Mr. Bangs's class, he very likely
did not readily or entirely understand him ; but the latter
seemed to accept the arguments urged upon him cordially.
This was Mr. Bangs's answer :

" Wall, fact, it is 'bout 's easy reasonin' 's ever I heard.
'R'member a fullah named Tim ."

Mil. BANGS A NKOPHYTE.

251

** That's a very good Irish name, then," said the Priest,
who was in excellent spirits.

" Tirnhiu^too Meldrum, 's name was. Wall, 'a I w'g
saying, we used to nrgiie 't a debatin' s'ciety we had, out
't Net'dham, and he proved ye couldn't 'xpect 'nlight'ti'
ment '«' civilization from colored folks, p'ty miich like
this : ' Don't all hist'ry show that heathens and savigia
wuslii[) idols 'n' images, and b'lievt' 'n charms 'n' am'let-s
'n' beads, 'n' all kinds o' blessed things ? Tlu n I say it's
as chiar 's the sun 'n the canopy, 't ye can't educate a
nigg(?r.' "

"Does the sun be in a canopy, then, in Amerikya?"
inquired the Priest, with a zeal for science that would be
found, no doubt, to exist generally in the human race, if
a trial w(!re but fairly made, " and what sort 's it, then,
clouds? or fire? or what?"

" Wall, sir, 'taint made o' silk or satin. So ye think
the Church,— that's the Holy Roman Catholic Church,
'course, — hasn't ben c'rupted, do ye?"

" Sure, I think we may say we've proved that once, well
enough, anny way," said the Priest, whose easy progi-ess
had given ium great confidence, even with a strange sub-
ject, like Mr. Bangs.

" Wall, ye've proved it one way, fact. 'S'pose we've
got to grant 't's ben altered a mite or two, 'n the way 'f
iniprovin' 'n' growin' bfitter, haven't we ? 'Strikes me we
don't hear so much 's we might, 'n ScriptUr, 'bout the
Holy Father, the Pope ; and Scriptur's ruther mum on
subject 'f Indulgences and Purgatory. Dono's 't any-
wher's recommends usin' graven images and pictures to
help devotion ; and then it's kind o' backward — seems to
hang fire — 'bout wushippin' Virgin Mary ."

Here the worthy priest began to prick up his ears a

252

THE NEW PRIEST.

little, as if he had mistaken his man ; but he had not
time fairly to get rid of his happy state of satisfaction in
himself and his convert, before he was reassured by the
latter going on, in his own way, to a more satisfactory
ending than his sentence had promised. The ending was
thus : —

" 'S you say, these things are all real patterns o' truth ;
all is, I leave 't to any body to say whether 't don't seem
'a if they didn't know 's much, when Scriptur 'a written,
'a they do now."

" Ye'Il allow," said the Priest, trying a little more ar-
gument, just to finish the thing up, " God has more ways
than wan, mostly ? Well, then, in this present case, th'
other's traddition, and it's as good as Scripture itself; do
ye see that?"

" 'N' then, 's that great text, here, f ' Purgytory, 'n the
References,— Matthoo Fifth, Twenty-sixth,— why, 't's as
pat 's butter. I guess, to this day, ye don't take 'em out,
t'll somVdys paid the utmost farthin\ Come t' hitch tra-
dition on, too, 'n' ye can prove 'most any thing, 's clear 's
starch, 's the woman said."

" Ah ! then, I was fearful of ye, a while ago, that ye
might have got some o' the Protestant notions into ye,
that they talk about corruptions ; but here's something,
then, I'd like ye to consider, just by way of exam-
ple : Supposing ye were disposed to hold an argument,
which y'are not, ye'd say the Church was pure at the
beginning, and corrupt after ; now if it was pure at the
first, and corrupt after, what way was it those corruptions
came in, just ? Can anny Protestant answer that question
at all ? "

The position in which the reverend arguer seemed to
feel himself, was that of having his hold fast upon his

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

258

convert, and being able to deal thoroughly and leisurely
wiih him. Mr. Bangs answered—

" Way r hcjird that qiieMtion, put b' your friend, Fa-
ther Nicholas, there, t'other day, 's this: ('t had a tail a
little mite different—) « Tf religion was pure at Jirst, 'n'
b'come corrupted, 'mist have ben a time when corruptiona
come. Now can any body put his finger on the time when
they come ? ' 'Struck me 's bein' a p'ty 'cute question 'n
I heard it."

" Ay, that's the very thing, in other words ; it was th'
other way, then, meself was giving it to ye, just to put a
bit more force in it," answered the Priest.

" 'T may be 'nother view o' the same thing," said his
pupil. " 'Bout 's much like 's two sides 'f a flounder,
there 'n Charles River Bridge, fact."

Whether Mr. Bangs was or was not aware, that the
two sides of a flounder, which ought to correspond, are
strangely different,— one being white and the other black,
one having two eyes and the other none, — Father Ter-
ence accepted the illustration triumphantly.

"Ay, or anny where else!" said he. "Can anny
man living tell what time these corruptions came in they
talk so much about? Not wan or all o' them can do

it?"

" Case 'n point," said Mr. Bangs : " Casty Divy Sci-
enshy, ye know, 't I told ye 'bout. Father O'Toole, '3
blind o' one eye, (she's pleggy well off, though, and had 's
many sparks 's a cat in cold weather,— 'fact, they joked
me 'bout her once.) Wall, 's I's sayin', one eye 's blind
's a beetle ; 'twa'n't al'a's so, 't's grown so— ('t must be
one o' these beetles th' have f ' knockin' in wedges, f 'r
insects ain't blind,— natch'l hist'ry 'd tell 'em that ;) wall,
I guess Casty Divy 'd find it pleggy hard to tell when

2r)4

THE NEW PRIKST.

that blindness come ; thfit is, time o' day, day o' th' week
day o' tir month, 'n' so on."

"There it is, now," said the Priest; "she can't tell
what time it came ; and can anny wan o' tliem tell what
time these corruptions came, IM like to know."

" 'F I's goin' to answer that 'n the affirmative, I sh'd
say the's few men c'd keep up 'th ye 'a an argument. I
s'|K)se the way changes come 'bout, 's p'ty much I'k' this :
say yo've got a junk o' pure ice, in water 'taint altogether
clean ; wall, bymby ye come to give a look at it, and
half 'f it, or two thirds 'f it say, 's gone into water; 't's
made cleaner water, but 'taint ice any more. 'T'd puzzle
the old fox himself, I guess, to tell when that b'gan to

come 'bout. Or, take 'n' slew the figger right round

here's water, say, and ye 'xpose it to temperature o'
frezin',— that's 32 Fahrenheit,— 'f it's a little mite warm,
't'll be all the better f ' the 'xperiment,—shavin'- water '11
do ;— wall, go 'n' take a look 't that, after a spell, 'n' ye'll
Hnd 'twunt look 's if the cold 'd done any thin' to it; but
jest stick yer finger, or, 'f ye don't want to put your fin
ger, put a stick in, and I guess ye'll find it all cuslush ;
't 'taint, I've misst a figger, that's all."

How this illustration supported the " argument " of the
worthy converter, it was not easy for Father O'TooIe to
see, and he answered as follows— rather kindly passing
by it, as the work of an obtuse but well-intentioned mind,
than rebuking it as the suggestion of a hostile one :—

" It's a very disagree'ble and tadious process, then, that
melting and freezing ; and it's not often i tried it. I pre-
fer having my shaving-watter warm, towards having it
cold, the way ye speak of. I'll be going on, now, to give
>e instruction in a few points o' the Catholic Faith. The
Pope's th' entire head o' Christendom— that's taken for

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

255

granted ; I think ye were satisfied with the proof I gave
ye on that point."

" Oh, yea, Father O'Toole, 'don't need 'ny more proof.
T's only 'stonishln' t' my mind, t' find a man I'k' Father
Dobree, there, akickin' over th' traces, 'th all that proof."

" An' what traces is he kickinfr over, then ? " inquired
the Priest. "I didn't hear of his kicking over anny
thing." The lesson was suspended, and the book was
(inadvertently) shut.

" Wall, he's a pleggy smart fuUah, b' all accounts.
'Didn't know b't what he'd got a little mite agee 'pon
some poinl.^. 'Glad to hear he .-, all right. 'S'pose 'twas
only 't he got ruther put out 'th the Prot'stants f ' makin'
such a fuss, 'n' 'cusing the Cath'lics o' carryin' off Miss
Barberry, there. They say 't's t'other way."

" And who's carried her off, then ? " asked Father
O'Toole, with some warmth.

" / sh'd like to see 'em prove 't she is carried off,"
said Mr. Bangs. " 'Guess 'f 'twas Father Nicholas man-
aged it, 't'll take more gumpshion 'n they've got, to find 't
out."

"And what's about Father Nicholas?" asked the
worthy old Priest.

" Wall, 'f 'tvvan't f 'r his bein' under you, 'guess folks 'd
say he'd had his finger in it ; but how 'd he go 'n' do
any thing 'thout your tellin' him ? 'n' nobody 'd think o'
suspectin' you, Father O'Toole. B't 's you's sayin, 'bout
those sacrymu.jts ."

The good Priest was discomposed, and had lost his
place in the book. The American's assurance of the
general confidence in his supremacy over his assistant,
may have helped to restore his equanimity. Presently,
in his good-natured way, he began again : —

256

THE NEW PRIEST.

" Well, then, there are seven Sacraments. YeVe been
taught two, I suppose."

"'Don't undertake to determine that point, Aou; many
we had. Seven 's a good number for you to have, and I
guess ye can prove it 's well 's any thing else. Sh'd like
fo have the proof."

" Those Protestants want the proof from Holy Scrip-
ture, mostly. We'll go to the Holy Scripture, now. First,
How many days was it the Almighty God created the
heavens and the earth ? "

" Seven. That does come pleggy near, fact," said Mr.
Bangr!.

" Ah ! and isn't it exactly, then, it is ? What's the dif-
ference betwixt seven and seven ? Well, then, you see
it in the days o' the week itself. Seven 's a sacred num-
ber. Seven Orders there are, and seven Sacraments, the
same way ; is that clear ? "

" Yes, sir, that's 's clear 's glass in 'n 'clipse o' the sun,
*s the man said."

" Then, Order, Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist, Pen-
ance, Extreme Unction, Matrimony 's seven. Baptism
gives righteousness, and faith and the like ; and Con-
firmation strengthens all, again ; and then the Holy Eu-
charist "

« That's what ye have for the Lord's Supper, I s'pose.
Mass, I guess ye call it," said Mr. Bangs.

" Indeed, y'are very right. It's the Unbloody Sacrifice,
also. Ye've heard some o' those things the Protestants
speak against the truth, about transubstantiation ; but
when ye think, once, isn't God almighty ? I think the
like of you,— a man that's in the right way,— wouldn't
find any difficulty at all, in that. He says, ' This is my
Body,— hoc est corpus meim; literally ; and it must be,
literally, his body."

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

257

" I want to know the whole o' that," said the American
" I heard two fullahs arguing t'other day, Catholic and
Protestant. Catholic said p'ty much 's you've said, ju^-t
now, Latin ('f 'tis Latin) 'n' ail ; 'n' then the other man
said, ' Look ahere ; when the Lord fus' said that. He had
His body on Him ; now the bread, 't He said 't of, wa'n't
a piece o' that body ; 'n' if 't wa'n't, then 't wa'n't His
literal body,— ('f that's what ye call it.)— That's what
the man said."

"And do you think, was he the first man ever said
that ? no, nor won't be the last ayther, so long as the
Devil 's in the world. That's what I'm saying ; ye can
answer that this way : ' God's word is true, and Himself 's
almighty, and so, where's the trouble of Him making it
what He says ? ' Doesn't He make all things ? and how
does He make them? Isn't it by His word?" This
was said with real solemnity and dignity.

" That's what I want," said Mr. Bangs. « I want a*
real good answer, 'n case I meet him again. He'll say

*t's 'genst the senses "

"And are the senses to be trusted in a miracle, I'd
like to know ? " inquired the Priest, with great animation
and spirit.

" Wh' / take it, the senses 'r' the only things 't is a
mirycle to,— that is, 't's what the man 'd say," said Mr.
Bangs ; " he'd say 't's meant for the senses, I'k' the wine
at the marriage, there "

" I'm thinking its more than once you're speaking with
that man ; but isn't it the greater faith to believe against
every sense and all senses ?" asked the Priest, putting a
deep question.

"Wall, that's a home-thrust, 's ye may say. Don'
b'lieve the fullah 'd answer that, 'f he sh'd try t'U 's head
come off."

VOL. I. 17

258

THE NEW PRIEST.

"And 'twas with the Scripture, I did it, too, that
they re always crying out for," said the Priest, compla^
cently. ^

" Wall, the's a good many fellahs take 'n' go by Serin-

T: ^?! T,;V"^'''^^- ''''^' -'^'t one orem't takes
th ben fit o' th' 'nsolvent Act, 't don't git a good house 'n'
property f life ;_Vordin' to Scripcher 'bout ^Juilin^ V
9^mn rnt everlastin^ habitations: s'pose they'd say.
The s a man wanted t' git a lot o' money t' put up s'm'
bu.ldms,-great pr'fessor, too,_took 'n' borrowed all
round, „ then he failed, f 'r ever-so-many thousand dol-
lars, (guess twas two hunderd thousand,) 'n', come t'look
imo .t, he hadn't got 'ny money to pay, 'n^ one mortgage
pdod atop 'f nother, 'n' no doin' anj thing,-'said the
buildms u^re n ornament t' th' town; and he'd gone on
n faith, n he didn't know 'ny better, 'n' what-not,-knoo
"0"gh not to lose any thing himself, though ;-wall, a
friend f his, when the' come to see nobody 'd git any
thmg, says to him, ' Look-a-here ! 'Thought you's a
pr fessor ; don't the Bible say, Owe no man any thina^'
So says he, ' I don^t owe any man ; 'took 'n' borrowed 't
all o widows 'n' orphans.'_He wanted it set down on
his head-stone, 't he w's 'providential instr'ment f ' puttin'
up those buildins." ^

"See the badness o' private judgment, now, tow'rds
having the judgment o' the Church ! " said Father
U loole.

" Wall, that kind o' private judgment ain't wuth much,
1 guess. Common sense ain't private judgment ; 'fact 't's
the common judgment o' the Whole. 'Guess private
judgment 's 'bout 's good 's any, 'f ^t sticks to common
sense. Church wouldn't be much, 'thout that, I guess -
s I was sayin',~'bout that text, there, ' My Body ; ' 'taint

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE.

259

the look, no' the smell, no' the taste, no' the feel, no' the
heft ; but 't's it.

"'S a woman 'n our town,— ('taint the man, this time,)
—name 's Peggy Mansur,— 't any rate 't's what th' uset
to call her,— guod-natured, poor, shiftless soul,— never did
'ny harm ; uset t' take 'n everlastin' sight o' snuff,—
Mac— guess 'twas Scotch snuff, come to think ;— wall,
she b'lieved p'ty much 's this Bible says, here," (taking
his Douay out of his hat,) '"bout Peter, 'n Matthew, six-
teenth, eighteenth, 'w a note H the bottom, 't says 'same 's
if He'd said, 'n En-lish, ' Thou art a rock ; ' on'y she went
on 'n' b'lieved 't Peter was a rock, cause the Lord said
so, 'n' He's almighty. A fullah said to her, ' Look a-here ;
do you mean to say that they could 'a' set to work on him
'n' hammered 'n' hacked 'n' what not, and made part 'f a
meetin'-house out of him ? ' ' Why, no, I guess I don't,'
s's she. ' I don't mean 't he looked so, 'r' acted so ; but

I mean 't he wus so.' ' Wall,' s's the man "

"I thought I hard ye saying it wasn't the man it was,
this time," interposed the Priest, as the familiar sound
occun-ed in Mr. Bangs's story.

The interrupted story-teller smiled and knit his brows
slightly closer, and looking still to the left of the object to
whom he addressed himself, explained :—

" Oh ! This 's away out 'n Mass'chusetts, 'n the States,
this was. W II. they spoke up, 'n' says to her, s'd they,
* Why, look a-here, aunty, Wus't his skin, 't was rock ? '
so s's she, ' I guess not.' ' Wall, wus't his flesh ? ' ' Guess
not,' s's she. ' Wus't his blood ? ' ' Ruthei guess not,'
s's she. ' Wus't his cords ? ' ' Guess not.' ' Wall, was't
his stomuch ? ' ' C. jess not.' ' Wus't his brains ? ' ' Gue^s
not.' Finally, she guessed 't wa'n't 's eyes, nor 's ears, nor
's nose, 'n I dono what all ; and finally they come to ask

260

THE NEW PRIEST.

Y 'twas his bones, 'n' she didn't know but 't might he's
bones But s's they, « Aunty, bones ain't a man, and 't
looks Ik pleggy small p'taters, to come down t' that. You
said the hull man's rock, when ye b'gan 'th him. ' Wall ' s's
she, ' I say so, now.' ' Then you don't say 't 's his bones

^ Wall, s s they, ' Look a-here, if twa'n't 'ny part 'f him,
t wus rock, 'n' you say th' man 's rock, what wus the' o'
rock bout th' man ?' ^ Why, 't's the man himself,'
s's she." '

"Wall, I tell ye, Father O'Toole, the' wa'n't one o' the
whole boodle 'f 'em c'd answer that; 'n she shovelled th'
snuff nto her nose, I'k' a dam breakin' away, 'n kep' a
laughm', Cll she got tired.'

Mr. Bangs's illustrations were all of the most left-
handed sort, that did not at all explain or enforce the
thmgs they were brought to illustrate ; but rather the
contrary. The Priest saw this, and answered, with a
view to it.

" Y'are not accustomed, it's likely, to discussions of the
sort,— I mane if your mind is just drawing the way ye
said It was. I'm thinking it wanders, a little, just now ;
maybe it's better we leave off now, for it's my opinion
ye ve got just about as much as ye can cleverly bear.
One thing I'd like to know : Are ye desiring to be con-
verted, as I understood ye were ? "

" My wishes haven't changed one mite, sir," said the
American.

" I think ye'il do, for a bit, with the teaching ye've had.
Its important to make an impression upon ye with the
solemnities of religion, for it's a great hold they fake upon
a man, and, though I speak it with reverence, it's my sol-
emn opinion there's few pl.,>rs where ye'd be like to get

MR. BANGS A NEOPHYTE,

261

a stronger impression upon ye than just in my own
church, though there's larger in the country, doubtless,
and finer, in some unimportant particulars ; but I'll take
ye to high mass, on Sunday next. — (the day's Wednes-
day,) — and I think ye'll be struck with surprise and de-
votion, all at wance, if ye give yer mind to i*

" Jesso," said Mr. Bangs, bowing his head at the same
time. " 'Want to see the real thing. Have hoard H aint
alw's what 't should be ;— that is, 'n the fixins, I mean ;—
holy candles and what not. 'Tell me the' don't have real
candles, but things t' look like 'em. 'Taint so 'th you,
'course. Wh' I know a lot 'f 's good candles 's any 'n the
universe, f ' next to nothing." ^o Mr. Bangs departed.

262

THE NEW PRIEST.

chaptp:r XXIX.

MISS DAKE'S EXPEDITION WITH AN ESCORT.

I ISS Dare had made an appointment with Mr.
Naughton, for a ride to Baj-Harbor, and he set
himself immediately about securing a steed for
h.s own use on the occasion, Agamemnon, (Dunk,) his own
hor.e being lame. The Minister's he did not quite like to
borrow. Mr. O'Rourke sent word, in answer to a verbal
request, that *' he would as soon take Mr. Naughton on
his own back, as lend his horse ; " and the exigency was
met, at length, by the engagement of Jemmy Fitz-Sim-
mons's white pony, whose regular rate of rentage was
one dollar (five shillings, currency,) a day, and who cer-
tainly made an honest day's work of it, (that is, .pent a
fa.r working-day, or rather more about it,) when em-
ployed to go eight miles in one direction, or ten in the
other.

Mr. Naughton mounted, ^he creature bringing round
his great white head and rubbing it, with a strong up-
ward jeik, agamst the whole side of the future eques-
ti.an's clothes, on which this salutation left a greasy soil.
That the animal's toilette had not been neglected, was
evident, from the marks of the curry-comb imprinted
durably in the discolored and highly-scented fur of one

MISS DARE'S EXPEDITION WITH AN ESCORT. 263

Bide of him, which fur answered to the adhesive material
in which it was mixed, much the same purpose that cow's
hair is employed for in mortar.

" He didn't look so good as he felt," was the owner's
assurance, who knew him best ; and, having assisted at
the mounting, the owner discreetly took himself away.

As the little beast had an inconvenient way of sidliu'^
up to any other quadruped who might be near enough for
him to practise that manoeuvre upon, the attempt was soon
made to keep him in advance ; but here he was so effec-
tual an obstructive, getting always across the way, that the
attempt to follow his leading was not kept up with that
persistence with which men tie themselves to the lead of
conservative (whig) statesmen, or submit to the blocking
of a privileged "governing class," as the scandalous
phrase now goes in England ; the spirited horsewoman,
with a dexterous cut of her whip, at the right time, took
the place which belongs of property to the competent.

Now, with a horse like Miss Dare's (which was a good

one) in advance, it must be a matter of compromise

if the two companions were to keep company. Mr.

Naughton, did, it may fairly be supposed, his best. He

stuck his spurs into the pony's side ; but from the effect

produced it might be doubted whether the little beast had

not the power of drawing in his nerves from the surface

of his body, as a turtle draws in his claws. The rider

procured a serviceable stick, to cooperate with his spurs,

as a fleet combines operations with a land army ; but the

potnmelling that he was obliged to bestow to produce a

short-lived mitigation of the vis inertice in which the

creature moved, seemed so cruel, that he could not do

justice to that method, by faithful practise of it. At

times the pony cantered for five successive paces, but

2G4

THE NEW PRIEST.

the amount, of progression secured in this way, was much
what a tJjhle (brfore these days of table-tipping, of
course,) could be made to accomplish by having its two
legs at each end, alternately lifted and put down upon

the ground.

Our horsewoman, accordingly, could hardly help get-
ting nearly out of sight now and then, though she waited
duly for her escort, at convenient distances ; occupying
the interval for the iirjt part of the way between Peter-
port Riverhead and Castle-Bay, with short visits at the
doors of two or three houses, whose inmates she knew as
being in the habit of bringing eggs or poultry, or some
such little wares, to her uncle's, for sale.

Mr. Naughton had attempted conversation, most zeal-
ously, according to his slender opportunities ; he had
remarked upon the pleasant woodland smell, as they went
along the way skirted with trees, where the young birches
had come out beyond the limits of the little forest, like
children playing at a short safe distance in front of their
homes. Again, — after an interval, — on the summit of the
hill, in Castle-Bay, whose side is precipitous to the water,
and down the face of which the road goes as steeply,
almost, as a waterfall, (or as Whitmonday Hill, in Peter-
port,) he had spoken of the lovely landscape, in which the
breadth of Conception -Bay makes so great a part. Miss
Dare's bright eye was not only open to all beauties of
nature, but had found them out long ago, and grown
familiar with them, and saw in them what nothing but a
quick eye, practised, could have seen ; and Mr. Naugh-
ton, as they paused, for a breathing-space, at this look-out,
forgot his steed, and the difficulties of horsemanship ;
for with all his ecclesiology and fuss about tapers and
altar-cloths, he had had his heart flashed into before now,

MISS DARE'S EXPEDITION WITH AN ESCORT. 265

by burning eyes, and had not been regardless of becoming,
dress. There was his fair companion, with the flush of
exercise in her cheek ; her veil flowing out upon the
wind ; her hair slightly disengaged ; her white forehead
looking as unapproachable as one of the cliffs that hang
over the sea in the British Channel ; and her eyes, with a
liquid lustre floating through them, like that which might
roll its tide of light about in the fabled caves of the sea.
Just now, as gazing more thoughtfully than usual, or,
rather, more silently (for she always had thought enough)
on the de«ip, she sat with lovely ease and grace, upon her
horse, he might have felt as if a very special moment had
come. There she was, all relieved against the sheer
sky ; and her lips, that had said so many witty and pretty
things, silent.

"Miss Dare," he said, seizing the occasion.
« Beautiful ! " said she, finishing with her landscape ;
and then, as she turned to him, « Why, what solemn ex-
ordium is that, Mr. Naughton ? Are you going to decline
going any further? Let's both get off and walk down
this hill, and take a new start down there at the turn of
the road. Shall we ? "

Mr. Naughton's mind was surrounded and hindered
by the building-materials, out of which he was putting
together that slowest and hardest of constructions which
men make of words with very little cement, and he could
riot, therefore, instantly get out of them ; accordingly,
1 iough this proposal was a welcome one, as walking down
the hill together would give him so much more of her
society, yet she had dismounted, easily, before he was
ready to ask for her horse's bridle-rein. He was not
long, however, for his distance to the ground was very
moderate, and his heart was vigorous.

266

THE NEW PRIEST.

" Don't you recollect the dog in the fable," she asked,
"that had a piece of meat, but lost it, jumping for
another ? "

The gentleman had in his mind something a great deal
more appropriate to the present occasion than that fable,
(of which he did not see the exact reference, at such a
moment ;) he had what must be said, or the time for it
would have gone by. It was a quotation ; and as he
went down, leading her horse, he got it forth.

" Ah ! Miss Fanny, do you remembor those lines of
Burns : * We've climbed life's hill together ? ' "

" Not quite that ; but a good deal like it; 'thegither*
is the real Scottish ; — but do please attend to my fable,
Mr. Magistrate, if you expect us to go down this hill,
thegither; look t« your Arabian courser, or you'll lose
him."

Now, though it will never do to let one's self get into a
ludicrous or awkward position in the eyes of a lady
whom he values, yet there are different ways of escaping
that ill-luck; sometimes by overbearing and putting down
circumstances ; sometimes by giving way to iiiid following
them ; sometimes by taking dexterous advantage of them
and turning them to account. Mr. Naughton's wit was in
a sharpened state; he saw at once that he might just as
well cast off his quotation and abandon it to the waters
of oblivion ; as to his horse, the creature wouldn't go,
with all the appliances that he could bring to bear upon
him, and could be recovered in half a minute.

" You'd better leave me Brutus," said Miss Dare, as
the gentleman turned up the hill, holding her horse's
rein ; " I'll give him back to you, when you've got Fitz-
Simmons." " Very good ; " answered Mr. Naughton with
a few hasty steps getting up with the pony. The little

MISS DARE'S EXPEDITION WITH AN ESCORT. 267

beast was cropping such grass as the top of that pic-
turesque hill sustained. lie did not look round, or take
his teeth off his food, but he quietly turned towards his
late rider a part of his body which wore no bridle, and
was unoccupied in eating.

Grecians and Romans often made great work of U
when they fought, with their wives, and mothers, and
beloved maidens looking on; but here was a fortress t<?
be charged that could turn faster and better than a
wmdmill, and bring a pair of ugly heels to the defence.

"He'll stand on his dignity now, after all that's been
said and done to him, like the boy in Wednesbury church,
that stopped the bellows, to show what part in the music
he played," said the maiden, spectator of the contest of
agihty and skill, then and there going on.
^ " Woa ! " cried Mr. Naughton, in a soothing and con-
cihatory tone, perfectly fair in war, and trying to get up
beside the pony; but as the moon turns one face to the
earth continually, and not another, so Jemmy Fitz Sim-
mons's h-ttle horse seemed to follow the same laws of
gravitation, offering always to the nobler animal the self-
same part.

Mr. Naughton strove to settle this method of argument
by a hearty thwack, which was very fairly administered.
This manoeuvre, like a shake of a kaleidoscope, brought
about a new disposition of the pieces making our figure :
the horse, snatching up his head, whiried round on his
hind feet and began to go— not as might have been ex-
pected of a shrewd little fellow, that had often been
through the same simple process of reasoning upon that
point, towards home— in which direction grass was just as
cheap and good at the wayside, and every step was away
from a journey,— but down hill, though keeping the side

268

THK NEW rUIEST.

nonr the ganlen-rod fence. Mr. Naughton, with dignity,
kept the I'oad n htthi behind.

Wlien the beast reached, as he soon did, a phiec where
the road, being cut down, h'fl himself on the top of a
bank, ho then turned round abruptly, and got hinisolf
beyond his pursuer in the other direction.

Anyone who has been through this process of catching
a slow-footed horse, with predilections for pasture, can
fancy the further progress of the pursuer and pursued.
The pony enacU'd to the best of his ability the part of
the pretty little butterfly, leading on and eluding the boy;
but on the other side of the hill frotn Miss Dare, several
circumstances turned to the help of Mr. Naughton ; he
had left his dignity behind, within the yomig lady's sight,
and, moreover, the road backward lay through the flakes,
on which the women were already turning and spreading
the fish, and while their b(Mng there took some nimble-
nesa from his limbs, it also secured as many feet and
hands as were needed for his purpose. The pony was
at length caught on the beach, undtu- a Hake, with his
face magnanimously towards the deep, and his left ankle
hobbljd with his bridle-rein, which he either could not or
would not break. 80 he was recovered ; but what time
and possible opportunities had been lost ! Mr. ISaughton
broke his substantial stick, not as an oflicial breaks his
staff of office, having no farther use for it, but in actual
discharge of authority upon the offender.

Miss Dare was not where he had left her: having
laughed heartily at the begiimiug and first steps of the
chale, she had gently descend(!d the hill ; had leisurely
mounted at a rock by the roadside, and was waiting at
the little bridge (or perhaps it was a ford then) before
you get to the long hill, down which comes now a later

(

MISS DARE'S KXPKDITTON WITfl AN KHCORT. 2G9

way, and a less Ht(!0[) one, than that which alono crosHcd
it in that <hiy.

Tho v'u'w is a vory fair ono as you jjot to the hi|i;he9t
h^vei h(!lw<!(!n ('asth'-liay and Hay-IIarhor. Uf)()n the
h'f\, in th(! dii('(!ti<»n of the liarreiis, th(! eye eateiieH th(!
sheen of more thiin one inland hike, and on (he ii^r|,t
hand and h«(for<5 you Hes hir^M) and f,'rand the Hay, with
Ii}j[htly-wooded upH and downs hetweer; — sonuitimeH ab-
ru|)t contrasts of height and hollow, — which are very
j)ictnr<is(|ue.

The air on this bright day was clear and exhilaniting,
and Miss Dan! and Ikt horse alikcj fianid it dilhciult to
accointnodale tlnMnselves to the tardy pace of " Kit/-," an
Mr. Naughton's {'oiirser was I)y this time called. Tho
gallant genlhiuian who IxjHtrode this lagging Kt<'ed, felt
the awkwardness of his position, but could not makcj it
any better. After a violent ex(!rtion of one arm and hand,
and both higs a>i<l f(!et, to whicdi the pony was an un-
willing party, tin; eflect produced was mu(!h as if he had
been working a rude electrical machine; a nervous force
was gerierated, which spent itself in three and a half
spasmodic, cantering sto[)s of the quadru|)ed. This dis-
play of Hcic^nlidc manipulation, the horseman hcHitatfid to
exhibit before the unapi)reciative iidiabitants of cfu-taio
dwellings, that began to a[>pear in tin; neighborhood of
the Riverhead of Bay- Harbor, and ^till more in pres<'nce
of the more frequent houses that frontcid tht! ro nl from
that place onward, and therefore the latter half of the
way from Castle-Hay was traversed with more leisurely
dignity than the former.

"You lefl off at 'climbed life's hill Miegilher,'" said
Miss Dare, prompting her companion in hia unfinished
part.

270

THE NEW PRIEST.

"Ah ! yes, and I was going— if I hadn't "

—"'been interrupted,'" she supphed, "to the Romar
Catholic Mission at Bay-Harbor."

Even in the midst of an apparent preoccupation of
mind, Mr. Naughton was astonished.

" Yes, and on your business too. You remember how
Deborah took Barak, son of Abinoam, with her, and how
Sis^'-.-, was delivered 'into the hand of a woman?'"

.lether by the suggestion of the last five words, or,
however prompted, Mr. Naughton's interest even in the
strange object of Miss Dare's visit to Bay-Harbor, was
diverted to an object of his own.

There was one occult part of that Bay- Harbor road,
with a bank to the left, and a fence and some firs to the
right, a bend in front and a descent behind, where Mr.
Naughton began to check his steed with the voice, and
the steed began to stop.

" Why, what has happened to Fitz-Araby now, Mr.
Magistrate?" inquired Miss Dare, reining up and turn-
ing her horse about ; « has he dropped one of his legs, at
last, in practising that very skilful pace ? "

Mr. Naughton answered only indirectly, by repeating
his request to his pony, soothingly, —

" Wo-o ! wo-o ! wo— o ! " and stimulating him with his
armed heels, looking, moreover, down towards the pony's
left forefoot, assiduously.

In addition to the dilated monosyllable which had
been hitherto applied to Fitz and counteracted by the
spurs, the horseman must have drawn upon the bridle,
for before coming up with the larger beast, the lesser
stood still. The spurs were still actively employed, but
with the rein exerted against them were inefficient to
produce motion, and rather fastened the feet with intense

)

MISS DARE'S EXPEDITION WITE AN ESCORT. 271

tenacity to the ground. Miss Dare witnessed every thing
with a smile. Mr. Naughton's mind was not at all fet-
tered and kept down to the circumstances by which it
was temporarily surrounded, for he found his voice and
spoke out of the midst of them, without any reference to
Fitz, or rein, or spur.

" Oh ! " said he, " if I could dare to hope that you
would be persuaded to make the journey of life with me.

Miss Dare "

"Oh, no, Mr. Naught- n, of course not," she said;
"shall we go on to Bay- rbor? We shall be compan-
ions so far, and back, if you please."

He loosed his tightened rein, applied, sadly, his stick
and spurs, and in sadness which he could not hide, went
forward. The answer was perhaps just the one best
adapted to his case ; but it did not take its specific effect
immediately.

Father Terence was at home, and kind and courteous
as usual. Miss Dare told him directly, that she wished
his permission to ask a question at the Nunnery about
the missing girl ; and he wrote a note, — taking h's time
to it, — in which, as she requested, — he introduced her,
without mentioning the object of her visit. He under-
took the entertainment of Mr, Naughton, who was very
grave and agitated, and whom, therefore, the kind-hearted
man mistook for the father of the maiden, and tried to
occupy about other things.

When Miss Dare came back from her interview with
the nun, she found P'ather Terence showing Mr. Naughton
as heartily and hospitably over "the grounds," as if
there were a thousand acres of them, all waving with
grain or larger growth, or carpeted with green herbs.
There was, indeed, a potato-garden, in dimensions

272

THE NEW PRIEST.

about forty feet by sixty, and as stony almost as a maca-
damized road, and a little patch of potato-onions, of which
the worthy Priest was rather proud ; thf^re was a pigsty
grunting, and squelching, and squeeling, ,h pigs" of
every size ; and there were flocks of geese, and turkeys,
and ducks, and hens, and chickens, whi(^h certainly gave
a very cheerful and comfortable look to the premises,\nd
wai-ranted the proprietor's eloquence, which the young
lady overheard as she drew near.

Father Terence, having learned, in answer to his ques-
tion, that she had not found the missing girl, and had
been informed that she was not with the nuns, met the
information with a very emphatic

"How would they have her then? or would any
Christians act that way ? "

Miss Dare did not repeat to the Priest what she had
said to the nun, and the kind-hearted man went on to say
that he was glad she had come straight down and satis-
fied herself, for "people often took up notions that were
not the thing at all, and Catholics were not all thfit
bad that some Protestants thought them ; » an assertion
which, nobody who knew or even saw the speaker, would
think of doubting. Miss Dare assented to it, cordially ;
Mr. Naughton, (who was very grave and silent,) with
less animation than might have been expected.

The young lady was anxious to get away, and the old
man, with a courtesy that was well-becoming to his years
and character, escorted his guests towards the gate.

" I guess 'f any b'dy was goin' t' out 'p a caper o' that
sort, he'd leave Father O'Toole out," said a voice behind
them, easily recognized by any one who had heard it be-
fore. Mr. Naughton had heard it before ; and his gravity
became rather grim, as he walked on regardless. Miss

MISS DARE'S EXPEDITION WITH AN ESCORT. 273

Dare turned round, but o speaker was in sight, though
The top of a hat was to be seen behind the fence, as if
the occupier were sitting there, much at home.

" It's a merchant from Amerikya that's inquiring into
the Catholic faith," said Father Terence, by way of ex-
planation.

" Wall, 'm beginnin' to see through it, now, I b'lieve,"
said the mercantile scholar from over the sea, whose ears
seemed to be good.

" Ye'U think better o' the Catholics after finding out
this mistake," the Priest said, as he saw his visitors off.

Fitz-Simmons's pony might have been expected to go
home at a much better rate than that whicii he had
maintained during the ride to Bay-Harbor ; but as if to
convince his rider that it was not mere attachment to
home that possessed his legs, he paced the street of the
town much as he had paced it an hour ago. The magis-
trate, however, was anotlnir man ; hi stick was rnore
effective; hi^ spurs struck more sharply; and as Miss
Dare, occupied with her thoughts, kept a very moderate
gait, the young lady and her escort ware not far asunder.

She tried to draw out her companion, as they rode
along, but he was moody ; and conversation was very un-
equally carried on. She dismissed aim at her uncle's
gate ; and, — when he 'vas out of sight, — went down to
the Minister's ; but the Minister was not at home : —

VOL. I.

■Ik

274

THE NEW PBIEST.

CHAPTER XXX.

ACROSS THE BARRENS.

/^jg;)OR, on the day before, intelligence had come to
414. him, and this day, with Gilpin and Billy Bow,
^iHS and Jesse in his company, (the latter leaving Isaac
Malien m charge of the funeral arrangements,) the Min-
ister ha.i iJlowed its leading. His dog, like Tobit's, fol-
lowed him.

It was an unsubstantial and broken story : that a man,
going across the Barrens to Tnnity Bay on the evening
of Lucy's disappearance, had seen a young woman in
white clothes at about a cjuarter of a mile's distance be-
fore him, going towards New-Harbor ; and, on the even-
ing of the next day, she, or a like person, had been seen
at the Cove near New-Harbor.

This story did not agree with received theory; nor
was it easily reconciled with known facts ; but perhaps it
could be reconciled with both theory and facts ; and it
was worth folio wins:.

The little • nets that spiders spread were bright with
dew, and so were the leaves of the sheep's laurel and other
shrubs, and all the air was clear as air could be. It was
not yet the time for sunrise, and our party left the sun to
rise behind them, as they set forth eagerly from the place
of meeting, which was at Dick McFinn's, where the road

ACROSS THE BARRENS.

275

through the woods and across the Barrens leaves Castle-
Bay for New-Harbor.

McFinn « had heard nothing," he said, " but a small
sketch, just, that was passed about from wan to another,
in a manner, all round the Bay ; he could not say was it
true or no."

Just as they were leaving the place to follow the cross-
road to the Barrens, Gilpin, whose eye was very quick,
and never idle, called the Minister's attention to the road
over which they had lately come.

« There's that noo priest. Father Ignatius, as they calls
un," said he. " There's something wrong with un."

Mr. Wellon looktid towards the Priest, who seemed to
be walking slowly and thoughtfully; but who was so
far off as to make it impossible to detect the expression
of his face.

"This young Mr. Urston," continued Gilpin, "says
there's a quarrel between Father Nicholas (they calls un)
and this priest. Father Debree charges un wi' carrying
off Skipper George's daughter, he thinks ; and he says
they weren't too good friends before.— I thinks he's too en-
lightened for 'em, or he wouldn't trouble himself about it."

" He might not apnrove of man-stealing, even if he
believed all their docdines," said Mr. Wellon, smiling,
and setting forward.

"The old priest mayn't; but there isn't many like
him.— Do you think this Father Debree used to be a
Protestant, sir ? "

"He may have been," said the Minister; «I don't
know."

" So they says ; and his father used to be a high man
in St. John's. He hasn't met the lady, Mrs. Berry,,
since, from what I hears."

278

THE NEW PRIEST.

" You keep a pretty sharp look-out for your neighbors'
doings," said Mr. Wellon.

" I've got into the way of it, I suppose ; but he might
do her a good turn now, relation, or no relation. You
heard these stories they got up about her, sir ? "

" No ; I know only what her letters from England say
of her, and what she has told me herself. If you hear
any thing against Mrs. Barre, of any sort, you may con-
tradict it on my authority ; she's a lady of the very high-
est character."

" Nobody '11 believe it except the Eomans, sir ; and
there's just where he ought to stop it, and might, if he
would. We can kill it among Protestants fast enough."

— There is no house, unless of beasts or birds, be-
tween McFinn's and the other side.

So up the hill and through the woods, — where the
trees of twenty or thirty feet in height look prematurely
old with the long moss clinging to them, — our party
went, at a strong, steady pace, and speculating among
themselves, from time to time, of the lost maiden's fate.

Occasionally a bird started, before or beside them, and,
once or twice, Jesse, who bore, beside his parcel contain-
ing food, a huge king's-arm, fired off, — gravely and
sadly, — his cumbrous piece in the direction of the little
fugitives, with no result unless to inspire confidence ia
the feathered inhabitants of the woods that weapons of
that sort were rather used for pleasure than to do mis-
chief with ; and to give the marksman himself occasion to
philosophize on " the toughness the> birds got with livun
wild," as if they had received the whole charge of shot
unharmed.

It is about six miles through these woods before get-
ting to the wilderness, between them and those upon the

ACROSS THE BARRENS.

277

other side, bordering Trinity Bay. The wind was going
upon its errand, in the same directioa with themselves ;
it may have heard, somewhere, of Lucy.

About mid-way, they met a man coming from the other
side over to Conception Bay, and as he had some slight
acquaintance with our smith, the two fell easily into con-
versation. This man nad heard of the lost girl, and of
the person seen upon the other side ; and he had heard
what they had not yet heard, that, at this very moment,
a sick girl, answering to their description, was lying in a
house over at the Cove, — two miles or so from New-
Harbor. He thought her friends knew of it, but some-
thing hindered them from coming over.

" That's a droll story," said Gilpin, as he turned away
from his Trini'.y-Bay acquaintance. '<I don't think it
would be long that we'd have sat still, thinking about it,
after we'd heard of it. Once, would have been enough
T think."

Little likelihood as there seemed in the story, the Min-
ister was not inclined to dismiss it summarily ; he thought
it possible that it had been taken for granted, as it often
is in sickness, that intelligence had been carried, or had
found its way to those wJio ought to know. Ke said " it
was not very likely, but it was possible, and that was a
good deal."

Jesse seized on the story instantly, as one which grati-
fied the appetite for something rather marvellous, and
therefore seemed to him more probable than any simpler
and more common-place solution of a strange and myste-
rious affair. Will Frank said, "there had bin amany
strange things in this world ; it was a strange thing that
Lucy was not to be heard or sid, all of a sudden ; and
another strange thing, like what the Trinity- B'y-man

278

THE NEW PRIEST.

had just atold, might be true, too. He couldn' take it
upon himself to saj it wasn', surely." The constable
thought " there w tis a better road leading to where she
was than any in the Barrens;" but all went forward
faster than before, to be resolved about this story.

They reach the wi,.)ds upon the other side, toil through
them, and come out upon the pretty shore and water of
New-Harbor. A scluKiner was lying near a stage in
front of Mr. Oldhame's premises, to the right ; and there
was a vessel of some size upon the ways, nearly ready
for launching. From this last, the sound of caulkers'
hammers, though not so fast and frequent as in some
countries, came frequent; and towards that point, our
party turned their steps.

They found the merchant overseeing operations at the
new schooner, and ready to enter into their business,
but unable to giv(i any information. He said that he
had not been able to hear any thing at all definite ; that,
certainly, a person might go through a place, and there
might be no more trace left of him than of the way of a
bird through the air, as the Bible said ; but as to proof
that could be depended upon, of any one's having seen
any such girl as was described, he did not believe there
was any.

The latest information which they had rece' . ed, — that
whicii had met them, namely, in the way, — had but dis-
couraging reception here : Mr. Oldhame said that he had
daily communication with the Cove, and many times a
day ; and, if there had really been any such person lying
sick there, he must have heard of it. However, to make
all sure, it was only necessary to ask among half a dozen
men, from that place, who were at work upon the
schooner.

ACROSS THE BARRENS.

279

These mcMi, alas, kiuiw only of old Mrs. Ayles, who

had been bed-ridden for three v(!ard, that could be called

A
sick, amon;'f their neighbors; they hud heard that a girl

from Coiitt'ption Hay had been sick in New-Harbor, and

that her fri<'nds had come and got her home.

So, among them all, then, this down of fleeting, unsub-
aiantial ho})e was blown from one to another, and seemed
scarce worth the following. Vain chase !

If it could have been narrowed down to this spot, and
the roads or paths that lead from it, there would have
been some • 1 toward which to work, Ui d limits to their
labor ; but if there should be nothing to connect the miss-
ing one with this place, then th< whole waste, a little way
from them, or, rather, the whole world, wu:^ open again ;
and the world is wide.

The merchant offered, heartily, to go about with thera
and make inquiries ; and so he did. They went about in
vain. They stood on the giound of the little mist, that, at
first, and afar, had something the look of substance. If
there were any thing in it, at least they could not find it.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, after refreshment
at the hospitable Mr. Oldhame's, they started to go home ;
and as they trode, again, the same road through the
woods, toward the wide, weary Barrens, the way seemed
wearier than before.

Mr. Wellon, who followed, was going thoughtfully up
the side of the first " gulch," when he was suddenly over-
taken and addressed by a man, whom, en turning round,
he saw to be Ladford.

" Why ! what brings you over here ? " asked the Min-
ister.

" Same that drives a good many away from home : —
fear ! " said the former smuggler. " It wouldn't do for

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

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280

THE NEW PRIEST.

me to come before the Justice, right or wrong.— It'll
blow past in a day or two.— But, Mr. Wellon, 1 know
where Skipper George's daughter is ! I thought it might
be : now, I know it,—l must tell it fast— O' Monday
night, between nine and ten, by the moon, I was over
beyond the priests' place, there, at Bay-Harbor, looking
at the back of that building they say is a nunnery.
J here was a light burning in one particular room, with
just a white curtain down against the window. I was
just thinking: 'there are no gratings on the window;
but It seems to me, if I could only once see into that
room, I should see where Lucy Barbury was kept.'
Exactly at that very word, as the thought came into my
mmd, there was a sort of stir in the room, and the light
veered, and there was a shadow on the curtain. I could
see more than one woman,— in their nun's dress, I sup-
pose It was;— and then there was a picture painted on
that curtain, as clear as the lines of a cliff in the lir^htnin^ •
there was a woman this side and t'other, and in ''the mid-
die was Lucy Barbury, just as plain as that fir-tree."
" What ! Are you sure of your senses .? "
"They've had thirty-six years of pretty good practice,"
said the smuggler.-" No, sir ; there's no mistake : I see
a thing, when I see it. It was as if they'd taken her out
of bed, and had her in their arms; and there was her
face— just the side of it-and the bend of her neck, and
her hps open, as I've seen her for hours and hours, take
It altogether, when I've sat and heard her read. The
back of the house, and where I wa.., was pitch-dark ; for
the moon was afront, scarce rising; it couldn't have been
plainer, and I wasn't a stone's throw off. It didn't last
half a minute, perhaps, but it laste-l long enough ; and
then I was startled, and came away. I've never told

ACROSS THE BARRENS. ^81

. ^Hring s„„I,_„„t ,he men that wer« with me that

round nth/T "''''™"-" ^'^ ^"^'"S' ''» '"""l
Semt 1 I t'"" °' ^''y-Harbor, while he «as

It f .. J"^- ^''™ '"™'"S '<- ^-dford, with the
It .t> ' '"" •""" "'^ ''"^' '" -^»^' " ^"at ni^ht

"Monday night, dr. 1 tried to see you that ni»ht and
aga,„ yesterfay morning, and to^ay I sen. a letter'-

I m glad no one knows it," said Mr. Wellon • " we

must work silently, and when we're ready, finish suddenly-

My secrets are pretty safe with me," said the pL

smuggler, smiling sadly, «if i „,,,,'^ ,„ ^^^

"It will he Ume enough for this, when we must have
evidence," said the clergyman.
^H^wfar do you think my stoty would go?" asked

itP? '"""^ ■' '""" '■^ S»«d in law. You can swear to

"Ay, sir: hut my story?" asked Ladford again with
a long emphasis on the possessive pronoun. " Wbla^
I to swear? What court could I testify in? or wh^
magtstrate could I go before, to make my affidavit?"
1 ne question of your credibility "

nel^r' ''' ' "^,^"^^!^«" of my credibility. Let me come
near a court of justice, or even let it be known that I
could testify, and there'll be some one to ge^ n^.e
round my neck, that I can't slip. I ought I be Tne
now^r. Wellon ; Gilpin would have to take me." ^ '
We must take care of that," said Mr. WeUon. "I
won t bnng you into danger."

282

THE NEW PEIEST.

" If I could save a life that's worth so much more than
mine— and George Barbury's daughter,"— the smuggler
answered ; «if it waa even by dangling in the air, like u
reef.point;--but I ^H.uldn't throw away life for nothing,
and least of all. just when I've set about using it to som"e
good."

There was nothing base in the poor man's look, as Mr.
Wellon now saw him; but to the Minister's eye, there
stood within that worthless raiment, and in the subject of
that sad history, one for whom the world would be no
equal ransom, and about whom, even now, there was
melodious, joyful converse in the streets of that city,
where " there is joy over one sinner that repenteth."

Neither the constable nor any of the party turned
back; and Mr. Wellon finished his short communication
with Ladfbrd, uninterrupted. It was not until they got
near the knoll towards the other side of the Barrens, that
he communicated to Gilpin the information he had re-
ceived. Skipper Charlie expressed no surprise at hearing

of Ladford's whereabouts, but said -of his news,

" Well, he's been away for some good ; that puts us on
the old track again, sir."

i more than
e smuggler
e air, like u
for nothing,
? it to some

ook, as Mr.
eye, there
i subject of
ould be no
there was
that city,
teth."
rty turned
munication
11 they got
irrens, that
le had re-
at hearing

puts us ou