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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A /A - /SGo
 
 On Both Sides of the Sea: 
 
 A Story of 
 
 Sjje Conunonfoealtjj anb % Restoration. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 "THE DRATTON3 AND THE DAVENAFr3- w 
 
 h Y "HE AUTHOR OF 
 u Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, 
 Publishers.
 
 U-^S3 
 
 CARL FROM THE AUTHOR. 
 
 "The Author of the ' Schonoerg-Coua Family 
 wishes it to oe generally known among tne readers 01 
 her books in America, that the American Editions issued 
 by Mr. M W. Dodd, of New York a.one have the 
 Author's sinction." 
 
 565385
 
 On Both Sides of the Sea.
 
 On both Sides of the Sea. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 olive's recollections. 
 
 INCE England was, such an event was 
 never witnessed within sound of her 
 seas, as that which darkened London on 
 the fatal 30th of January, 1649. 
 In tbe recollection of such moments it is difficult 
 to disentangle feeling from fact, what Ave saw with 
 our eyes and heard with our ears from what others 
 told us, from what we saw with the imagination 
 and heard with the heart. 
 
 In my memory that day lies shrouded and silent, 
 as if all that happened in it had been done in a city 
 spell-bound into silence in a hushed, sunless, color- 
 less world, where all intermediate tints were gath- 
 ered into funereal black and white, the black of the 
 heavily-draped scaifold and the whiteness of the 
 frosty ground from which it rose into the still and 
 icy air ; whilst behind the palace slept, frost-bound, 
 the mute and motionless river, imprisoning with 
 
 icy bars *.he motionless ships. 
 
 (9)
 
 to ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 From early in the day the thoroughfares and 
 squares and open gathering-places of the city ivere 
 filled with the Commonwealth soldiers- I remem- 
 ber no call of trumpet or beat of drum; only a 
 slow pacing of horsemen, and marching of foot* 
 men, silently, to their assigned positions, the tramp 
 of men and the clatter of the horse-hoofs ringing 
 from the hard and frosty ground, and echoing from 
 the closed and silent houses on the line of march. 
 
 It was no day of triumph to any. To the army, 
 and those who felt with them, it was a day of sol- 
 emn justice, not of triumphant vengeance. To the 
 Royalists it was a day of passionate hushed sorrow 
 and bitter inward vows of retribution ; to the peo- 
 ple generally a day of perplexity and woe. 
 
 Old Mr. Prynne, who owed the king nothing, as 
 he said, but the loss oi his ears, the pillory, im- 
 prisonment, and fines, haC pleaded for him gene- 
 rously in the House, before the House had been 
 finally " purged." 
 
 And the most part of the men, and well-nigh all 
 the women, I think, would have said " Amen " to 
 Mr. Prynne. If the king's captivity and trial and 
 condemnation had been a solemn drama enacted to 
 win the hearts of the people back to him, it could 
 not have been more effectual. Political and civil 
 rights, rights of taxation and rights of remonstrance, 
 seemed to the hearts of most people to become mere 
 technical legal terms in the presence of Royalty and 
 Death. Pillories and prisons were dwarfed into 
 mere private grievances beside the scaffold on which 
 tbe king, son of so many kings, kings of so many
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. t \ 
 
 submissive generations, the source of power, the 
 only possible object of the dreadful crime called 
 treason, was to die the death of a traitor. 
 
 The trial brought out all that was most pathetic 
 in royalty and most noble in the king. The haughty 
 glance which had been resented on the throne, was 
 simply majestic when it encountered unflinchingly 
 the illegal bench of judges on whom his life de- 
 pended. 
 
 The Parliament, mutilated to a remnant, of fifty; 
 the High Court of Justice, who could not agree 
 among themselves, whose assumption of legal forms 
 sounded (to many) like mockery, whose trappings 
 of authority sat on them (many thought) like mas- 
 querade-robes, were a poor show to confront with 
 that lonely majestic figui'e defying their sentence 
 and their authority, a captive in the ancient Hall 
 of Justice from which, throughout the centuries, 
 not a sentence had issued save by the sanction of 
 his forefathers. 
 
 The royal banners, which drooped from the roof 
 above him, taken from his Cavaliers at Edgehill, 
 Marston Moor, and Naseby, seemed to float there 
 rather in his honor than in that of his judges. 
 Many felt that adversity had restored to him his 
 true royalty, and that he sat far more a king now, 
 arraigned at the bar, than when, eight years before, 
 at the last trial those walls had witnessed, he sat as 
 a helpless spectator of the proceedings which brought 
 Stratford, his greatest minister, to the scaffold 
 
 It was well for his adversaries that those days of 
 the king's humiliation were not prolonged. Irro
 
 ,i ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 pressible veneration and pity began to stir among 
 the crowds who beheld him, and the cries of "Jus- 
 tice ! justice !" were changed more thnn once into 
 murmurs of " God save the king." 
 
 But the pity was a slowly-rising tide of waves 
 now advancing and now recoiling. The determina- 
 tion for "justice on the chief delinquent" was a 
 strong and steady, though narrow current ; and it 
 Bwcpt the l ation on irresistibly to its end. 
 
 The soldiers, foot and horse, had taken up their 
 position. My brother Roger and Job Forster were 
 posted opposite Whitehall. Roger waved his hand 
 as he passed our windows. His face, as was his 
 wont in times of strong emotion, was fixed and 
 stern. He was riding in a funeral procession, which 
 for him led to more graves than one. 
 
 At ten o'clock His Majesty walked through St. 
 James's Park to Whitehall, passing rapidly through 
 the bitter cold, under the bare branches of the silent 
 trees, through a crowd in appearance as cold as 
 silent. His face, meu said, was calm and majestic 
 as ever, although worn ; his beard had become 
 gray, and his form had a slight stoop, although 
 he was not fifty years of age, but his step was 
 firm. He disappeared through the Palace gates, 
 from which he was never to step forth again. Then 
 followed six hours of suspense and terrible expecta- 
 tion, the crowds surging uneasily to and fro, unable 
 to rest, repelled and yet attracted by the terrible 
 fascination of the empty, expeetan* scaffold, whose 
 heavy funereal draperies fell from the windows of 
 the Banqueting Hall on the frosty ground beneath. 
 There were whimpers that the uinliu&audor of the
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 13 
 
 United Provinces was pleading not hopelessly with 
 Lord Fairfax ; that the Prince of Wales had sent a 
 blank letter signed by himself, to be filled with any 
 conditions the Commons chose to demand ; but that 
 the king bad burned this letter, and refused the 
 ministrations of any but the clergy of tbe Episco- 
 pal Church of the realm ; — so that if he was indeed 
 to die, it would be as a martyr to the rights of the 
 Crown and the Church. 
 
 And through these soberer reports ever and anon 
 rose wild rumors of approaching deliverance, of 
 risings in the Royalist counties, of avenging fleets 
 approaching the Thames, of judgment direct from 
 heaven on the sacrilegious heads of the regicides. 
 
 But to us who knew of the purpose which had 
 been gathering force in the army since that prayer- 
 meeting at Windsor six months before, those mid- 
 day hours were hours not of doubt or suspense, 
 but of awful certainty, as minute by minute the 
 hour approached when that scaffold was to be empty 
 no more. 
 
 We knew that within the still and deserted halls 
 of that palace, the king was preparing to meet his 
 doom ; and (all political questions and personal 
 wrongs for the time forgotten) from a thousand 
 roofs in the city went up prayers that he might be 
 sustained ir dying, and might exchange the earthly 
 orown which had sat on his brow so uneasily, for 
 the crown of life which burdens not, nor fades away. 
 
 At length three o'clock, the moment of doom, 
 came. "It was the ninth hour," as the Royalista 
 loudly no^ed. Save the guard around the scaffold, 
 2
 
 »4 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF TEE SEA. 
 
 and (hose who attended his dying moments on it, 
 none were near enough to hear what passed there. 
 It was all mute ; but the spectacle spoke. In most 
 royal pageants, the thing seen is but a sign of the 
 thing not seen. In this the thing to be seen was 
 no mere sign, but a dread reality, a tremendous 
 event. The black scaffold, the wintry silence, the 
 vast awe-stricken crowd gazing mute and motion- 
 less on the inevitable tragedy ; a few plainly dressed 
 men at last appearing on the scaffold around the 
 well-known stately figure of the king, richly arrayed 
 " as for his second bridal ;" " the comely head " 
 laid down without a struggle on the block " as on 
 a bed ;" the momentary flash of the axe ; the sev- 
 ered head raised an instant on high as " the head 
 of a traitor ;" a shrouded form prostrate on the 
 scaffold ; — and then, as good Mr. Philip Henry, 
 who was present, said, " at the instant when the 
 blow was given, a dismal universal groan among the 
 thousauds of people who were within sight of it, 
 as if with one consent, such as he had never heard 
 before, and desired he might never hear the like 
 again, or see such a cause for it." 
 
 The multitude were not left long to bewail their 
 king. One troop of Parliament horse rode instantly, 
 by previous order, from Charing Cross towards 
 King Street, and another from King Street towards 
 Charing Cross ; and so the crowd were scattered 
 right and left, to lament as they might each man 
 under his own roof, and to read in secret the 
 " Eikon Basilike ' which it is said the king com- 
 posed, copies of which were distributed under his
 
 ON BOTlx SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 «5 
 
 scaffold, and will, doubtless, be reverently treasured 
 in every Royalist household ; not in the library, but 
 in the oratory, beside the Bible and the Prayer- 
 book, enkindling loyalty from a eonviction into a 
 passion, deepening it from a passion to a religion, 
 while they compare the king's trial to that before 
 the unjust judge of old, his walk to the scaffold to 
 that along the Dolorous Way, his sayings to those 
 last words on which dying men and women have 
 hung ever since. 
 
 Every one knows the heaviness with which even 
 a day of festivity closes, when the event of the day 
 is over. The weight with which that fatal day 
 closed it is hard for any who did not feel it to 
 
 imagine. 
 
 Scripture words repeated with ominous warning 
 by ministers, Presbyterian and Episcopal, echoed 
 like curses through countless hearts : " I gave them 
 a king in my anger and took him away in my 
 wrath." " Who am I that I should lay hands on 
 the Lord's anointed ?" 
 
 Death gave to the king's memory an immaculate- 
 ness very different from the technical, " the king 
 can do no wrong of the ancient constitution." 
 
 And even with those whose resolution remained 
 unwavering to the last, this was not the time for 
 speech. The extremity of justice had been done, 
 there was nothing more to be said. It would have 
 been an ungenerous revenge far from the thoughts 
 of such regicides as Colonel Hutchinson and Gen- 
 eral Cromwell to follow it with insulting words, and 
 their own self-defence they were content to leavo to
 
 1 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 events. Mr. Milton's majestic Defences of the Eng« 
 lish People came later. 
 
 Ours was a silent fireside that winter night, as 
 Roger, weary and numb, came at last to warm hiai« 
 self beside us. 
 
 As he entered, I was saying to my husband, " The 
 terrible thing is, that he who lived trampling on the 
 constitution and the rights of conscience, seems to 
 have died a martyr to the constitution and con- 
 science, doomed by a few desperate men." 
 
 " We must concern ourselves as little as possible, 
 sister," Roger said very quietly, " with what seems." 
 
 " I fear this day will turn the tide against all for 
 which you have fought throughout the war." 
 
 " The tide wull turn back," he said. 
 
 " But what if not in our time ? " I said. 
 
 " Then in God's time, Olive," he said ; " which 
 is the best." 
 
 But he looked very worn and sad. I repented 
 of having said these discouraging words, and weak- 
 ly strove to undo them as he asked me to unlace 
 the helmet which his benumbed hands could not 
 unloose. 
 
 "I would rather a thousand times," I said, "have 
 you with Colonel Hutchinson, and General Crom- 
 well, and tliAse who dared to do what they thought 
 right in the lace of the world, than with those who 
 thought it right yet dared not doit, The nation will 
 recognize their deliverer in General Cromwed yet." 
 
 " I do not know that, Olive," ho said ; " but it 
 will be enough if General Cromwell delivers th«« 
 nation."
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 »7 
 
 " At least the generations to come will do you all 
 justice," I said. 
 
 " I am not sure of that," he said. " It depends 
 on who writes the history for them. There is one 
 Judgment Seat whose awards it is safe to set before 
 us. Before that we have sought to stand. That 
 sentence is irrevocably fixed. What it is we shall 
 hear hereafter, when the voice of this generation 
 and all the generations will move us no more than 
 the murmur of a troubled sea a great way off, and 
 far below." 
 
 Yet he could not touch the food we set before 
 him ; and as he sat gazing into the fire, I knew 
 there was one adverse verdict which he knew too 
 well, and which moved his heart all the more that 
 it had not been able to move a hair's breadth his 
 conscience or his purpose. 
 
 Many sorrows met in Roger's heart, I knew, that 
 night ; the pain of pity repressed driven back on 
 the heart by a stern sense of justice ; the pain of 
 being misjudged by some whom we honour; the 
 pain of the resignation of the tenderest love and 
 hope ; the pain of giving bitter pain to the heart 
 dearest to hiin in the world. But one pain, perhaps 
 the worst of all, he and men Avho, like Cromwell 
 and Colonel Hutchinson, had carried out that day's 
 doom fearlessly before the world because in un- 
 shaken conviction of its justice before God, were 
 spared— the enervating anguish of perplexity and 
 doubt. Aud this, perhaps, is the sorest pain of alL 
 
 r.*
 
 1 3 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 lettice's diaky. 
 
 " ' The space between is the way thither,' Mr, 
 Drayton said. It may be ; it ought to be. Bu* 
 is it? That seems to me precisely the one terrible 
 question which, when we can get cleared, all life be- 
 comes clear in the light of the answer, but which it 
 is so exceedingly hard to have cleared. 
 
 " The days, as they pass, whether clothed in light 
 and joy, as the old time at home was when I had a 
 home, and a mother, and so many hopes — or in 
 darkness that may be felt, as so many of these later 
 days have been to me, are indeed surely leading us 
 on to old age, to death, to the unseen world, and 
 the judgment. But are they indeed leading us on 
 to new youth, to changeless life, to heaven, and the 
 King's ' Well done ? ' 
 
 " If I were as sure of the last as of the first, for 
 me and mine, I think (at least there are moments 
 when I think) I would scarcely care whether the 
 days were dark or bright. For life is to be a war- 
 
 ml O 
 
 fare. All kinds of Christian people agree in that. 
 And having learned what war means, I do not ex- 
 pect it to be easy or pleasant. 
 
 " But I am not sure. For myself or for any one. 
 
 " flower thinks the execution of the king was a 
 terrible duty. I think it was almost an inexpiable 
 crime. 
 
 " Olive, I know, thinks I am breaking plighted 
 faith, and betraying the most faithful affection in 
 the world in parting from Roger. Mistress Dorothy 
 *b inks I am fulfilling a sacred duty, doing what was
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ig 
 
 saeant when we were commanded to pluck out tha 
 right eye. As to the pain, I am sure she is right. 
 If I could only be as sure as to the duty ! For if 
 it is right, it must be good, really, in the end for 
 him as well as for me. How, I cannot imagine. For 
 it seems bad as well as bitter for me. And Olive 
 says it will be bad and embittering for him. 
 
 " Happy, happy people, who lived in the old days 
 of dreams, and visions, and heavenly voices, saying, 
 ' This is the way ; walk in it ; ' when God's will be- 
 came manifest in pillars of fire and cloud, in discri- 
 minating dews and fires of sacrifice, and such sim- 
 ple outward signs as poor perplexed hearts like mine 
 can understand. 
 
 " Holy people say these days of ours are in ad- 
 vance of those, that the light has increased since 
 then. I suppose it has, for holy people, who have 
 grown up to it, and have eyes to see those inward 
 leadings, and ears to hear those inward voices, which 
 to me are so dim. But I feel as if I were still a 
 child, and would fain have lived in that simple 
 childhood of the world, when God spoke to men in 
 plain ways as to children. 
 
 " Since I came here, I saw at the door of one of 
 the churches a very awful piece of sculpture of the 
 eouls in purgatory, all aglow with the fires in which 
 they were burning, stretching out piteous hands 
 through iron bars for help and prayers from those 
 still living on the earth. 
 
 u Mistress Dorothy was with me, and she clasped 
 her hands over her eyes in horror, as she turned 
 away
 
 fO 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " But to me it did not scorn so horrible. At leart 
 not for the souls in purgatory. If there -,rere a 
 purgatory. Because the thought of its beir.g pur- 
 gatory, must take away all that is unendurable out 
 of the anguish of the names. There are hearts on 
 earth tormented in fires as real. But the sting of 
 their anguish is, they cannot be sure they are pur- 
 gatorial fires. The anguish is clear enough. If we 
 could only be as sure as to the purification. That 
 the pain is from the remedy, not from the disease ; 
 that the flames are on the way to heaven, not merci- 
 fully confronting us on the other way to turn x» *ack. 
 
 " It always seemed as if, by Rogers side, I » Aould 
 have orown eood like him. How am I to srrow gcod 
 without him, severing myself from him ? G h, mo- 
 ther, mother! why must you leave me jus<- now, 
 when no one else in the world could have t Ad me 
 what to do. Because, while loving me moi e than 
 yourself, you loved God's will far more than my 
 pleasure. 
 
 " But Mistress Dorothy says, when I am tempted 
 with ' vain reasonings ' and ' debatings of the flesh,' 
 I must go back to the first sacred impulse, when, by 
 my mother's death-bed, I felt the death of the king 
 for whom she would have died must place an im- 
 passable barrier between me and those who slew 
 him, or consented to his death. 
 
 " First thoughts, says she, are often from abpve 
 second thoughts from within or from below. And 
 if we endure to the end, third thoughts will come 
 crowning the divine impulse of the first with a calm 
 Urine assurance.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 l 
 
 u J. will try to endure to the end. At least 1 will 
 wait. 
 
 " To strengthen my resolve, let me go hack to 
 that sacred impulse, and through all it led to, up to 
 this day. 
 
 " It was during those terrible days of early Janua- 
 ry, when hope and fear had passed, with uncertain 
 ty ; and I sat by my mother's bedside, all my heart 
 and soul absorbed in watching her depart, and in 
 relieving any suffering or supplying any want for 
 her so fast passing away from all suffering and from 
 all our service. 
 
 " The east winds were careering across the Fens, 
 and broke fiercely against the old house, and one 
 night there was a crash of the great scarred elm-tree 
 filling close outside the windows. But she heeded 
 it not ; and I remember feeling a strange kind of 
 despairing triumph over all the violence of the 
 elements. They might rage as at the Deluge ; but 
 they could neither hinder nor hasten the slow, silent 
 progress of the awful power which was silently re- 
 moving her from us. 
 
 " Before, in days of doubt and hope, I had been 
 wont to watch the winds with a kind of supersti- 
 tious solicitude, as if there were some mysterious 
 sympathy between nature and men, and the ravings 
 of her storms had been ominous of evil to us. But 
 now that spell seemed broken. The sympathy be« 
 twecn us and nature ceased with death. To her it 
 was natural, a link in her endless chain of ever-recur 
 ring changes. To her, life and death were but as 
 day and night, bright or dark phases of her ceaseless
 
 2 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 revolutions. She could see her children die as 
 calmly as her suns set. To us death was unnatural, 
 a convulsion, a horror, a curse. The terrible thing 
 which seemed to assimilate us to her, in reality 
 rent us from her sphere altogether. A week before, 
 when we began to fear there was danger, I trembled 
 at the wind wailing in the dead branches of the elms, 
 or at a bird beating its wings against the window. 
 Now that she was dying, I could have smiled at an 
 earthquake or a tornado. 
 
 " All the outward and visible world, the terrors 
 of its stormy nights as well as the sweet familiar 
 delights of its dawns and days, seemed to lie out- 
 side me like a world of shadows, as for the first time 
 I learned in my inmost heart that we are but 
 strangers, not belonging to it, but passing swiftly 
 through. As I gazed into the eyes which so soon 
 were to cease to be the portal where my soul could 
 meet hers, my own body seemed to become a mere 
 phantasm, the innermost shell of this world of 
 phantasms, where we stay a little while, to read its 
 lessons and experience its changes, and then vanish, 
 we from it and it from us. It was not so with the 
 conflict then going on about the king. There, con- 
 sciences were concerned, and right and wrong. And 
 by her dying bed, right and wrong seemed the only 
 realities left. I dared not break on the calm of her 
 spirit with oue word that might recall the conflicts 
 of parties. Thus Love itself severed her spirit from 
 me before death had sealed her eyes. And this was 
 terrible beyond all. For as I sat there, the convic- 
 tion became clearer and clearer that to put the king
 
 OK BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 *J 
 
 t:> death was crime, a crime she would have abhor 
 red, a crime which, if he persisted in the doing i% 
 must sever me from Roger. 
 
 " But alas, when Death came, this was all terriblj 
 reversed. 
 
 " When the feeble voice which had called on the 
 Heavenly King, and the eyes whose tender smiles 
 for me had changed at the last into the awed yet 
 joyful intensity of the gaze with which her spirit 
 seemed to welcome heaven and enter it, the whole 
 unseen world seemed to vanish from my heart with 
 her, and nothing was left but the eyes which could 
 never look at me, and the lips which could never 
 speak to me more. 
 
 "For this honor I was wholly unprepared. 1 
 thought, when she went, she would have left me 
 standing, if but for one never-to-be-forgotten mo- 
 ment, on the threshold of an opened Paradise ! She 
 left me shivering on the brink of an impenetrable 
 darkness. I could not feel even on the brink of an 
 abyss. To have believed in an abyss even would 
 have been an infinite relief. The horror was whether 
 the darkness hid anything, whether there was a be- 
 yond at all. 
 
 " Could it be, indeed, that all, absolutely all, any 
 one saw of death was just the heaving breast, the 
 labouring breath, the lew, faint, intermittent sighs; 
 all which, in all animated creatures, marks the dis- 
 solution of natural life, and nothing to mark the 
 distinctive, continuing, spiritual life of man? 
 
 " Was faith, then, to step so absolutely alone, un« 
 lighted by the least glimmer of the old familiar light, 
 into the unknown ?
 
 H ON LOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 "No one else arouud me seemed to experience 
 this terrible darkness. 
 
 " They recalled the last words she spoke ; they 
 spoke of the pure raiment, clean and white, in which 
 her spirit was clothed, of the golden streets she was 
 treading, of the 'harps of God' to which she was 
 listening. But the words fell altogether outside me, 
 like some sweet, pathetic story of faery or romance, 
 such as she used to tell me. 
 
 " I, too, from my childhood had delighted in those 
 fair pictures of a Paradise beyond the grave, of the 
 city with gates of moon-like pearl, and walls of ra- 
 diant gems ; of trees whose leaves were healing and 
 whose fruit was life ; of waters clear as crystal, able 
 to satisfy immortal thirst. I had delighted in those 
 pictures, my fancy floating on thein as on the glow- 
 Lag clouds of twilight, caring not to discriminate 
 what was cloud, what were the bright glorified 
 heights of earth, and what were heavenly, enduring 
 Btars; caring not to separate symbol from fact. 
 
 " But now all this was changed. What were fair 
 pictures to me, brought face to fiice with this visible, 
 terrible fact, that the spirit which had been my 
 guide before I could remember, that iny mother her- 
 self had gone where no cry of passionate entreaty, 
 no tender ministry of love could reach, no agony 
 of prayer avail to win the faintest sign that she 
 heard, or cared, or existed? 
 
 " A few hours since she had said, ' Throw my 
 warm old mantle round thee, Lettice, the nights are 
 chilL' She had taken food from my hands, and 
 murmured, smiling, 'Once I gave it thee.' And
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 25 
 
 now 1 he farthest star that sent the faintest ray from 
 the utmost verge of the world, was near, compared 
 with the impassable gulf of distance between her 
 and aie. What were fair visions of angels to me ? 
 What had they been to the Magdalene of old ? II 
 she lived, she was the same loving, tender saintly 
 mother still, unlike any one else in the universe; 
 not a white-robed angel lost in an overwhelming 
 multitude of other white-robed angels, singing. 
 
 "My heart ached, and cried to heaven for one 
 word, one syllable, one touch, to show that she was 
 there. Would God give me instead, only fair pic- 
 tures of an innumerable multitude far off, serenely 
 singing as if they had not left any on earth bitterly 
 weeping ? 
 
 "I scarcely dared to think those thoughts, much 
 less to utter them, until one day, the dreadful day 
 when we left the house with the precious burden 
 through which she had been all she was to me, and 
 returned with nothing, the passion of my grief 
 overcame me. 
 
 " Olive and Dr. Antony had left. Mistress Dor 
 othy was standing on one side of the fire, in the 
 wainscotted parlour which they had reserved fur 
 me. 
 
 " It was not her wont to dwell much on symbols 
 and pictures, whether painted with words or colours. 
 And seeing me sit with clasped hands in a kind of 
 stupor, for I could not weep, she said, not in a tone 
 of consolation so much as of rebuke, — 
 
 " ' Child, sorrow not as those without hope. It 
 i* a sin. Thy mother is with God.'
 
 26 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " There was something in her words which went 
 more to ray heart than all the tenderest consolations 
 had done. They did not seem said so much to 
 comfort me, as simply because they were true. 
 
 " * If I could hope, I would not sorrow,' I mur- 
 nured. 
 
 " ' There is much reason to hope,' said she. ' Pa- 
 *-ista even have been saved, I doubt not, at least 
 lefore the Reformation. And Lady Lucy was not 
 a Papist. I doubt not that the Spirit of God dwelt 
 in her as his temple. The Lord, indeed, of old suf- 
 fered neither idol nor trafficker in his temple. But, 
 mayhap, the traffickers are worse than the idols. 
 And, indeed, dear heart,' she concluded, ' I do think 
 sometimes we Protestants are like the later Jews, 
 if the Papists and the Papistically inclined are like 
 the earlier. We have cleared out the idols ; but 
 we keep the tables of the money-changers, mayhap 
 the basest idolatry of all.' 
 
 "She had entirely misunderstood my perplexity. 
 That she should imagine my mother's title to bless- 
 edness required defence to me, would have stung 
 me to an indignant reply at other moments ; but I 
 was too cast down to be angry, and I only said, — 
 
 " ' It is not of my mother I doubt, but of heaven ; 
 of everything. It ^eems as if all my old faith had 
 vanished like a dream.' 
 
 " I scarcely thought of the weight of my words, 
 until their own echo startled me ; and I trembled at 
 what effect they might have on Mistress Dorothy. 
 
 " But, to my surprise, her first words, spoken ai 
 if to herself, were, —
 
 ON B jTU SIDES OF THE SEA. T , 
 
 t: ' Tliank God ; the good work has begun.' Then 
 laying her hand with unwonted tenderness on mine, 
 she said, ' The tempter is cruel, dear heart ; he is 
 cruel indeed. But fear not, poor, torn, forsaken 
 lamb. The eye of the Shepherd is on thee, and none 
 shall pluck thee out of His hand. The tempter is 
 cruel, not because he is strong, but because he is 
 weak ; he rages, not because he is victorious, but 
 because he is vanquished; vanquished jn behalf of 
 all the flock, vanquished for thee, since the Lord is 
 leading thee. His first lesson is ever to show the 
 emptiness and the darkness ; and He has shown thee 
 this. Do not strive to hasten His handiwork by 
 blending it with thine. Give thyself up to Him to 
 be poor and blind, to walk in darkness, to have no 
 light, as long as He wills. He will lay His hands 
 on thee when the hour is come. He has besrun, and 
 He will finish. But thou must tread this part of 
 the way alone. Take heed how, by conferring with 
 flesh and blood, thou break the silence He is making 
 in thy heart. Hitherto thou hast been dreaming. 
 We are near waking when we dream that w« 
 dream.'* 
 
 " And she left me alone. But although she did 
 not say so, I knew she would go and wrestle for me 
 alone till I had won the victory. 
 
 " There was help in the thought. 
 
 4t Yet I could not think she was altogether right. 
 I c mid not think all my former life a dream ; that 
 all the prayers which, childish and weak as they 
 
 * These words are in " Novalis." — Editor.
 
 j 8 0^ BOTH S.DKS OF TUB SEA. 
 
 might have been, had helped me to bear pamfift 
 things and to do difficult things, were delusions ; or 
 that the thoughts I had had about God's loving- 
 kindness, and the joy in His works, were unreal 
 fancies, that came not from Him. I could not give 
 the lie to all that had been heavenly and holy in my 
 efforts and aspirings. I could not draw a sharp 
 border-line between one part of my life and the 
 other, and say, Beyond that all is heathendom, 
 where no God is; and here God begins. It seemed 
 to me either He had been always with me and was 
 near me now, or all was delusion, and I could never 
 reach Him. Besides, it was of my mother my heart 
 was full, not of myself. And the words of Mistress 
 Dorothy which remained with me were, — 
 
 " ' Thy mother is with God.' 
 
 " They turned the current of my thoughts from 
 the future state to the Living Presence. Fancy, 
 being of the brain, lay dumb and motionless, her 
 fairy wings folded, as I think they ever must be, 
 at the touch of real sorrow. Imagination, being 
 of the heart, after vainly striving to penetrate to 
 the heart of things, sank, dazzled by the impene- 
 trable darkness, blinded by the ineffectual effort to 
 gaze into the blank out of which she could avail to 
 shape nothing but emptiness and darkness, no form 
 and no light, — the bare negation of all she knew. 
 
 " Then Faith, turning away from the sepulchre 
 with its impenetrable darkness, looked up into heav- 
 en, and listening, heard the living words, — 
 
 " ' Thy mother is with God.' 
 
 "Dust to dust; spirit to Spirit; love to Love;
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 29 
 
 weakness with Power; the mortal with the Eternal, 
 The thought did not bring a softening gush of ten 
 derness, but a solemn repose of awe ; a silence, a 
 hush, a subjection, in which my poor, weary, tossed 
 heart seemed to gather strength. 
 
 O CD 
 
 " The words were the last with me at night ; 
 they made a calm in my heart, and I slept. They 
 were the first with me in the morning ; and through 
 the days they rose from my heart like a prayer. 
 
 " Strong in that calm, on the Sunday after hei 
 chamber had been made empty, I ventured into it 
 alone, to read the service for the day once more 
 where I had read it so often to her. I came to the 
 Apostles' Creed. The snow lay on the ground, 
 hushing the earth with a death-like hush. All the 
 world, seen and unseen, earth and heaven, seemed 
 to me full of silence. I could only think of heaven 
 itself as a vast snow-white mountain of God, silent 
 and spotless, where the white-robed angels silently 
 came and went on ministries of mercy, and the 
 white-robed human creatures neither came nor 
 went, but rested and adored, absorbed in the un- 
 utterable light around them. 
 
 " Silence in her death-chamber ; silence on the 
 cold snowy earth ; silence in the pure light of 
 heaven ; silence in my heart. 
 
 " But as I sat there, a little robin came and 
 perched on the snowy window-sill, turning his 
 quick eyes from side to side, as if looking for the 
 erumbfe my mother never let me forget to scatter 
 for him. Then he hopped off to a neighboring 
 Bpray, and poured out a brief happy caro) there, 
 3*
 
 3 o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 leaving the print of his pretty crimson feet on the 
 enow. 
 
 u The silence of the earth was broken by hin song. 
 
 " There was still a Master's table from which the 
 crumbs fell for him. 
 
 " The silence in my heart was broken by the rush 
 of tearful recollection his little song had brought, 
 and 1 wept and sobbed as if my heart were break- 
 ing. Yet through all I felt it was not breaking, 
 but being healed, as never before. 
 
 " For a word came to me which seemed to change 
 the silence in heaven and earth into music. 
 
 " ' I believe in God the Father Almighty, and in 
 Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord.' 
 
 " The Father and the Son. 
 
 " This is the fountain-truth of Christianity. This 
 is God. No mere solitary immutable Unity, but 
 the living, eternal communion of Eternal Love. 
 Not merely immutable, incomprehensible Being ; 
 but ever-creating, all-comprehending Life. 
 
 < ; This is Eternal Life ; the fruitful source of all 
 life. This is Eternal Love, not an attribute with- 
 out object, but the Father and the Son eternally 
 loving — the loving rejoicing fountain of all love 
 sending forth the Spirit of power and love. 
 
 "This is heaven. Where the Father and the 
 Son abide, and the holy angels and the redeemed : 
 not absorbed in the contemplation of far-off separ- 
 ate light, but folded into the communion of eternal 
 present love. ' That the love wherewith Thou hast 
 loved Me may be in them and I in them.'' 
 
 " God is ca/led the Father, not in condescension
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. y, 
 
 to our understandings, because a human father's 
 love is the best image human creatures can have 
 of Him, but because He is the eternal Father, and 
 the love of the Father and the Son is the root and 
 bond of all creation. 
 
 " Heaven is called the Father's house, not because 
 a human home is the purest picture our poor dim 
 hearts can form of heaven, but because it is the 
 Father's house — the parent-home and sacred health 
 of the universe. 
 
 " And therefore the immortality of pure human 
 love, of all that is truly human (not a perversion 
 of original humanity) is ensured not by an Almighty 
 Fiat, not even fundamentally by the incarnation of 
 the Son in whom God is manifest to us, but by the 
 very nature of God. 
 
 " It was to this love my mother had been taken 
 up. and into the unutterable fulness of this joy — 
 ' My joy ' — the joy of the Son. What images 
 could be glowing enough to picture it ? 
 
 " If the heavenly visions of the Apocalypse h d 
 been blotted out to-day, it seemed to me as if t ej 
 must have sprung up spontaneously around the 
 Apostles' Creed to-morrow. 
 
 " Living fountains of water, trees of life and 
 leaves of healing, gates of pearl and walls of pre- 
 cious stones, raiment white as the light, rivers 
 bright as crystal, harpers with the harps of God, 
 songs like the sound of many waters ; the very 
 pavement which the feet of the ' many sons ' were 
 to tread, the sea by which they stood, radiant witb 
 combinations >f glory impossible on earth, 'watei
 
 32 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 mingled with fire,' ' pure gold like transparent glass, 
 — what are these but faint pictures in such colors 
 as earth and earth's skies can furnish of the unut- 
 terable joy enshrined in the words, ' / in them, and 
 '■hou in Me ;' ' Thou hast loved them as thou hast loved 
 Me P 
 
 " I began to understand how my mother could 
 be still herself, no tender touch of the old familiar 
 affection lost, yet full of a joy which must over- 
 flow in the new song. 
 
 " For as I listened my heart recognized a distinc- 
 tion in the music. 
 
 "Not like an angel's her heart; not like an 
 angel's was her song. 
 
 " The pathetic human tone should never vanish 
 from the songs of the redeemed. The agony of 
 redemption, the rapture of reconciliation, should 
 never be forgotten there. 
 
 "To all He is the Father of Spirits. To each 
 of the lost sons He is the Father who saw him 
 w ile a great way off and ran and fell on his neck 
 an kissed him, and said, Rejoice with me, for this 
 my son was lost and is found. 
 
 " To all He is the Eternal Son. To us He is the 
 Son who became the Lamb, who bore our sins and 
 carried our sorrows, and redeemed us to God by 
 His blood. 
 
 " I suppose my face shone with something of the 
 joy in my heart, for Mistress Dorothy said solemnly 
 to me that evening, as she bade me Good-night in 
 my room, ' Has the tempter departed, and have th« 
 angels come and ministered to thee ?'
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3l 
 
 " Then I told her something of the new light in 
 which the old truths had come to me in ray mother's 
 eharnber. She seemed to take hope concerning me, 
 but not without fear, and questioned me as to wheth- 
 er I had experienced this and that, and through what 
 instruments this deliverance had come. 
 
 " I could only say, ' I think it was thou, Mistress 
 Dorothy, and the Apostles' Creed, ai.d the robin 
 redbreast.' She looked doubtful. 
 
 " ' I never heard of any being led in such a way 
 as that,' said she, ' and I cannot quite make it out. 
 Doubtless, however, the Word of God is still His 
 Word if it be written on the Pope's mitre, m;i:h 
 more in the Apostles' Creed. Only be sure it is a 
 Word fiom Him thou art resting on. Nothing else 
 will stand when the heavens and the earth are 
 shaken. And as to the robin,' she added, ' no doubt 
 the Almighty once used ravens; and He might "use 
 robins. I have hope of thee, dear heart, but I 
 would fain be more assured. I never heard of any 
 soul being brought into the fold by such a way 
 before.' 
 
 " But do any two wandering souls come back by 
 the same way ? 
 
 " It seem as if the ways back were countless as 
 the wanderings : the Door is one, being the One 
 who stands there to let us in. 
 
 " Nor am I sure that that was my first coming to 
 the fold. 
 
 " It seems to me as life were in some sense one 
 long course of conversion, one series of translations 
 from darkness to light. Is not the sun always eon- 
 rertiug the sun-flowers by shining on them?
 
 H 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " Once and for ever in one sense ; day by day in 
 another. 
 
 "It seems to me as if every fresh sorrow or joy 
 opens new depths in our hearts, which must he filled 
 with fresh springs of the living water or else he- 
 come empty and waste ; as if every new revelation 
 of life needs to be met by a new and deeper revela- 
 tion of God. 
 
 " That Sunday, so full of peace to me, was the 
 28th of January. 
 
 " On the 30th the fatal scaffold stood outside the 
 Banqueting Hall, and the king was led forth to die 
 the death of a malefactor, in the presence of his 
 people and of all the nations. 
 
 " On the evening of the next day the news reached 
 Nctherby. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy entered my room after I had 
 laid down to rest. 
 
 " ' It is done !' she murmured under her breath. 
 • They have laid their hands on the Lord's anointed 
 The irremediable crime is committed.' And then, 
 as usual with the Puritans in moments of strong 
 emotion, falling into Bible language as into a mother- 
 tongue, ' The crown is fallen from our heads,' she 
 said ; ' Woe unto us that we have sinned !' 
 
 " I could not speak. 
 
 "'Before the windows of his palace!' she con- 
 tinued, 'at mid-day, in face of heaven and of all the 
 people.' 
 
 " ' And not a voice to plead for him,' I said ; ' not 
 one arm lifted to rescue ! '
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 35 
 
 rt '0( what avail? the Ironsides were there,' she 
 replied bitterly. ' They girded the scaffold like a 
 wall of brass. They would not suffer the poor peo- 
 ple to come near enough to listen to a word from 
 the dying lips of their king.' 
 
 " My eyes met hers. 
 
 " ' The Ironsides were there ! ' it was all 1 could 
 say or think. For before me rose the figure of 
 Roger Drayton on horseback amongst his men, stern 
 and motionless, his soul masked in iron more rigid 
 than his armour, not suffering the grief and pity at 
 his heart to relax one mascla of the rigid resolution 
 of his face. 
 
 " And between him and me for ever that scaffold 
 and the shrouded corpse of the martyred king ! 
 
 " I had, as it were, been living in heaven with her 
 who was at rest there ; and now the words came U 
 me with a terrible desolation, ' I am no more in tht 
 world, but these are in the world.'' Around her, rest, 
 and peace, and songs of joy. Around me crime,ainl 
 separation, and the terrible necessity to resolve. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy spoke again, and her voice 
 trembled, — 
 
 " ' This is no longer a home for thee or for me, 
 dear heart. I feared that thy joy had been sent 
 thee to arm thee for some uncommon woe ! ' 
 
 " ' No more a home for me, indeed,' I said ; ' but 
 how no longer for thee ?' 
 
 " 'I told my brother long since that if ever thin 
 crime was consummated, and neither he nor Roger 
 lifted up their voices against it, I could not sleep 
 another ni<xht under his roof, lest I should seem tc
 
 5 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 embrue my hands in sacred blood. It is not for uj 
 to be like Pilate, languidly washing our hands of 
 the crime we or ours might have averted.' 
 
 " ' But whither will you flee ?' I said. 
 
 " ' I have a small tenement at Kidderminster, 
 where godly Mr. Baxter dwelleth, a man who is as 
 true to his king as to his God. There, if thou wilt, 
 Bhall be a shelter for thee and me. It will be no 
 palace, but the best I have shall be thine ; and with 
 Mr. Baxter's ministry that may suffice us both.' 
 
 " The generous ofter touched me ; but I feit that 
 my father's home was the only one for me, now 
 that Roger's way and mine must part for ever. 
 
 " She shook her head when I said so. 
 
 " ' Thy father is among papists and idolaters,' she 
 replied. 'It is written, "He that loveth father or 
 mother more than me is not worthy of me." ' 
 
 " ' If my father is in a place of peril,' I said, ' all 
 the more my place is by his side.' 
 
 " She was silent some minutes ; her eyes cast 
 down, her lips set, and her hands grasping each 
 other. 
 
 " ' Child, thou art right. The heart is deceitful 
 above all things. I thought I was pleading for God, 
 and I was pleading for myself. I will take thee to 
 thy refuge in France, and then I will go to my house 
 alone. Canst thou be ready by to-morrow ? I Lave 
 vowed never to sleep nor to break bread under this 
 roof again.' 
 
 " ' The sooner the better,' I said ; for I felt as if 
 nothing but the overhanging shadow of that dread- 
 ful scaftbld could strengthen me for the sacrifice
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. -7 
 
 [ dreaded lest time might make the treason against 
 the king sink in my eyes into a mere political er- 
 ror, and my own departure seem more and moi - e 
 like a treason against those to whom I owed so 
 much, and whom I loved so well. 
 
 "I spent the night, under Mistress Dorothy'a 
 direction, in packing the few things I might carry 
 with me. 
 
 " In the morning, when Mr. Drayton's step was 
 first head on the stairs, Mistress Dorothy went out 
 and followed him into his room below. For a few 
 moments they were alone ; then I heard her step 
 re-ascending the stairs. It was not brisk, as was 
 her wont, but slow, like the tread of an aged person. 
 She re-entered the chamber, looking very white. 
 
 " ' It is settled, child,' she said. ' My brother 
 will not hinder us.' 
 
 " She would not be present at the fatnily-prayer 
 that morning, nor at breakfast, true to her vow. 
 
 "Immediately afterwards, Mr. Drayton requested 
 an interview with me in his room. 
 
 "'My child,' he said, laying his hand on my 
 shoulder, ' conscience is sacred. Are you sure that 
 in this deed you are obeying, not my sister's con- 
 science, nor even your mother's, but your own ?' 
 
 "The question opened a labyrinth I could not 
 disentangle. 
 
 " ' It is so difficult to tell what is our own and 
 what we inherit,' I said. ' My mother was my con- 
 science, and I believe I am doing what she would 
 have desired. Politics she said women must leave 
 to men. But loyalty was like religion or affection. 
 4
 
 38 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 To the king every subject is personally related as 
 to a parent or to God. That is what she believed 
 and I believe. I dare not debate with myself. T 
 dare not reason about what I feel to be a crime, or 
 remain with those who sanction it. I dare not, Mr. 
 Drayton, trust myself any longer to all that tempts 
 me to stay.' 
 
 " He walked up and down the room once or twice 
 with hasty steps. 
 
 " ' Then, my child,' he said at length, ' neither 
 dare I debate with thee nor hinder thee. I have 
 loved thee as I love Olive, and hoped to have a 
 right to call by a name as dear. But if thou wilt 
 go, God forbid I should make my house a prison. 
 By noon, an escort shall be ready to convey thee 
 and my sister to the coast.' 
 
 " He was as good as his word. By noon we had 
 left the old house. By the morrow we were on the 
 sea on our way to France. 
 
 " In the dusk, before we sailed, a boat came to 
 the ship's side, and a tall, muffled figure sprang on 
 board. Of what happened, from the time the ves- 
 sel began to toss on the short waves, I knew not 
 much, buried in cushions among the luggage. But 
 when the French coast was within reach, and we 
 were waiting for the tide to enter the harbour of 
 Calais, there was some little stir about a boat put- 
 ting off from the ship ; and as I lay gazing towards 
 the harbour, I saw this boat struggle through the 
 breakers to a point of rock, where one of the crew 
 Bprang on shore. 
 
 "The next morning we landed We were met
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3? 
 
 by the keeper of a hostelry, who courteously told 
 us that our apartments wei-e ready. And on the 
 morrow, as I was sitting alone after breakfast, whilst 
 Mistress Dorothy had gone to make preparation 
 for our journey, there was a clatter of a horse's feet 
 In the court-yard, and in a few minutes my father 
 strode into the room and bade me welcome. 
 
 " ' But by what miracle, father, couldst thou know 
 we were here,' I said ; as soon as I could speak for 
 his kisses and my tears. 
 
 " ' Didst thou not know ? No miracle ; only 
 Roger Drayton riding through the night to tell me.' 
 " It was Roger, then, who had crept on board in 
 the dusk, whose boat I had watched struggling 
 through the breakers to the coast. And I dared 
 not trust myself to ask where he was or when he 
 would depart ! 
 
 " ' A brave and gallant gentleman he is,' said my 
 father ; ' a thousand pities such should lend their 
 swords to traitors.' 
 
 " Then I began to tell him of all Mr. Drayton's 
 goodness, and how Mistress Dorothy had undertaken 
 the voyage in her motherly care of me. 
 
 " At that moment she re-appeared, and my father 
 poured out his thanks. 
 
 " But she was very reserved and grave. 
 " ' Sir "Walter,' she said, at last. ' Little thanks I 
 deserve for bringing this innocent lamb hither. I 
 have seen awful things to-day. At the door of a 
 church I saw a number of frightful images in a cage, 
 standing in painted flames, and stretching out their 
 hands through the bars, begging for money to buy
 
 t O ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 them out of torment. And while I was looking on 
 this, a procession of boys and men, in white clothes, 
 passed me, bearing aloft something under a canopy, 
 and wherever it came the people fell on their knees 
 and worshipped. I asked a sober-looking woman 
 what it was, and as far as I could understand she 
 said it was " our Lord." They thought they were 
 carrying God. I had heard much of Papistry, 
 but I had not thought to come to places like Gaza 
 and Ashdod almost within sight of England. ' 
 
 " ' It was the Host, good mistress Dorothy,' re- 
 plied my father, explanatorily; 'the Holy Sacra- 
 ment. Doubtless there is superstition in their rev- 
 erence. But I must not forget my message from 
 your nephew. Roger Drayton desires to know 
 whether you will be ready to sail under his care to- 
 night.' 
 
 Mistress Dorothy gave a questioning glance at 
 me, and hesitated. 
 
 " ' Let us persuade you,' my father said, ' to tarry 
 awhile with us.' 
 
 " ' God forbid, Sir Walter,' she replied, < that I 
 should tarry a night longer than I need, among 
 these Philistines. And God forgive me,' she added 
 solemnly, ' for bringing this lamb of the flock 
 anions them.' 
 
 " ' Must I then tell Mr. Drayton you will accom- 
 pany him V ' 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy hesitated again. 
 
 " ' It is a sore perplexity,' she said, at last, ' to 
 have to choose between this land of idolaters and 
 the company of those who, kith and kin of mine
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. +1 
 
 though they be, have embrued their hands in sacred, 
 ►hough I may not say innocent blood.' 
 
 " ' Had Roger Drayton aught to do with that 
 monstrous iniquity?' my father exclaimed fiercely. 
 
 "' Alas, was he not one of General Cromwell's 
 Ironsides ?' replied Mistress Dorothy. ' The heart 
 of youth is too easily misguided.' 
 
 " ' Ay,' said my father, with a strong Cavalier 
 oath, 'and woe to those who misguided them — the 
 quiet and sober Presbyterians and Parliamentarians, 
 who made a breach in the dykes, and now Avonder 
 to see the country flooded by the ocean.' 
 
 " Again Mistress Dorothy had to lift up her 
 voice in testimony ; and in the midst of it Roger 
 Drayton entered. The three chief elements of the 
 "jivil war were oomprised in the little English com- 
 pany gathered in the chamber of that Calais hos- 
 telry. 
 
 " My father, sorely irritated by what he consid- 
 ered Mistress Dorothy's Puritanical cant, lost all 
 control of his temper. There were high and fierce 
 words ; and bitter epithets were freely exchanged. 
 I only remember that in the end Mistress Dorothy, 
 ifter embracing me with many a warning word, 
 decided to depart with Roger, and that through- 
 out it all Roger said not one intemperate or uncour- 
 teous word, bitterly as my father assailed him and 
 those whose honour was dear tc him as his own. 
 
 " When Mistress Dorothy and Roger had left, 
 my father, after some rapid pacings of the room, and 
 some severe soliloquising on the state of England, 
 gradually become cooler, and then his courtesy re- 
 turning he said, — 4*
 
 +2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " ' Ungracious return I have made for their gen- 
 erous kindness to you, Lettice ; stay, and make 
 ready for the journey, while I go and see if I can do 
 anything for that fiery old lady. It would disgrace 
 us if she were not well-sped on her homeward way. 
 And I know the outlandish ways of this place bettor 
 than they do.' 
 
 " I went to the window, saw him join them, 
 watched them cross the court, and then sank down 
 in a chair and hid my face in my hands, and waa 
 weeping vain and hopeless tears when the door 01 
 the room opened gently, with the quiet words, in 
 Roger's voice, — 
 
 " ' My aunt left her mantle.' 
 
 " I rose and he came to my side. 
 
 '"I had not meant this, Lettice,' he said, ' yet you 
 need not have fled without one farewell. Your con- 
 victions are as sacred to me as yourself.' 
 
 " ' I knew it,' I said, scarcely knowing what I said. 
 I was not afraid of you but of myself.' 
 
 " ' Lettice,' he said, ' it cannot be always so. It is 
 impossible that such a difference can separate us 
 forever. I must hope. If, as I trust, General Crom- 
 well saves our England and makes her noble and 
 great as ever she was before, say I may hope.' 
 
 " ' What can I hope ? ' I said. ' Can I believe a 
 thing a crime, and look forward to not always so 
 believing it ? Right and wrong are right and wrong 
 for ever.' 
 
 " I think I never saw on his face such a look as 
 then. Reverence, and honour, and love, and grief. 
 I shall never see such a look on any face again. But 
 he only said very softly, —
 
 ON BOTH HIDES OF THE SEA. 43 
 
 " ' And love is love for ever.' 
 
 "There was a faltering in his tone which made it 
 like an appeal, and I answered, — 
 
 " < For ever ! ' 
 
 " He wrung my hand once and was gone. 
 
 " I scarcely know if after all I should not have 
 called him back, but for the memory of that look. 
 
 " Better to be separated from him all my life than 
 to be dethroned from his heart by one wavering or 
 unworthy thought or word. Yet even that dread 
 scaffold seems sometimes a shadowy ghost to part 
 love like ours. I would (at times) it were some plain, 
 homely woman's duty that separated us instead. 
 Then there might be heart-breaking, but scarcely 
 this heavy mist of perplexity and doubt. 
 
 " I have to say to myself again and again, as if the 
 words were a spell, — 
 
 "'It is not politics that part us, but right and 
 wrong ; what my mother would surely have deem- 
 ed a monstrous crime. And dare I deem it less V "
 
 Chapter it. 
 
 olive's 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 HE next morning, the 31st January, the 
 nation awoke a Republic. The king had 
 died " a traitor " (they said) " to the na- 
 tion ; " and in the space before his scaf- 
 fold it had been proclaimed, that whoever presumed 
 to call his son, Charles Stuart, king, was a traitor 
 to the Commonwealth. It was a strange, dreary 
 dawning. As I opened my casement and looked 
 across the black frozen river to London Bridge, 
 with its " Traitor's Gate " and the towers of South- 
 wark rising above from the marshy flats beyond, to 
 the one long cold bar of brazen light which parted 
 the dark clouds on the horizon from the heavy vault 
 of snowclouds above, everything seemed hard and 
 metallic — the heavens " iron and brass," the waters 
 steel, the earth and her living creatures motionless, 
 rigid, as if turned to stone. 
 
 What kind of a day was this to be ? The king 
 
 was dead ; though the i*emains of the Westminster 
 
 Assembly, and many of the Independent ministers, 
 
 and well-nigh all the Parliament had piotested 
 
 (44)
 
 ON jiOTU SIDES OF TBI SEA. 45 
 
 ■gainst his execution, and well-nigh all the nation 
 hew ailed him. The kimj was dead. What autho- 
 rity had sentenced him ? and what power was to 
 rule in his place ? Half, at least, of the nation look- 
 ed on his death as a murder — but there was to be 
 no mourning ; the rest, as the terrible but victorious 
 close of a terrible conflict — but there was to be no 
 triumph. 
 
 No funeral pomp was to darken the streets that 
 day, as for a king slain. No triumphal procession 
 was to make them festive, as for an enemy vanquish- 
 ed. It was to be a day without mark or sign ; and 
 yet since England was first one nation surely such 
 a day had never dawned on her. " The first day of 
 freedom, by God's blessing restored," said the Com- 
 monwealth coins ; the first day of England's widow- 
 hood, said the Royalists, widowed and orphaned at 
 one blow. 
 
 Yet there was no disorder, no interruption of 
 employment. The sounds of day began to awake 
 in the busy city, the cries of countrymen bringing 
 their vegetables from the fields, the ringing of the 
 hammer on a forge near our house, the calls of the 
 bargemen and boatmen locked in by the ice; and 
 then, as the day went on, all distinction of sound 
 lost in the general hum, like the sound of many 
 wa'ers, which marks that a great city is awake and 
 »t work. 
 
 Looking westward, I could see the gardener 
 sweeping the snow from the walks in the gardens 
 behind Whitehall, as if no terrible black scaffold 
 had that day tc be taken down in front.
 
 4 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Yet, I suppose, in well-nigh every heart, man 01 
 woman's, in London that morning, the first conscious 
 thought was, " the king is dead ; " all the mere be 
 cause there were few lips that would have uttered 
 the words. 
 
 " What are we to do to-day, Leonard ? " I said, 
 when we had breakfasted. 
 
 " Do ! dear heart," quoth he ; " it is not thy wont 
 to need thy day's tasks set thee by any." 
 
 "Nay; but to-day seems like a work-day with 
 out work, and a Sabbath without services," I said 
 
 " There will be a service," he replied. " The great 
 Dr. Owen is to preach before the Parliament in St. 
 Margaret's Church." 
 
 " The Parliament ! " 1 said ; thinking pitifully of 
 the fifty members who still bore the name. 
 
 " You scarcely recognize the Rump as the Parlia- 
 ment," he said, answering my tone rather than my 
 words. 
 
 " I scarce know what to recognize or reverence," 
 I said. " I was wont in the old days at Netherby 
 to think I had politics of my own, and would have 
 belonged to the country party by free choice, if all 
 around me had deserted it. But since our own 
 people have split and divided into so many sections, 
 I begin to fear, after all, it was nought but a young 
 maid's conceit in me to think I had any convictions 
 of my own. Aunt Dorothy and the Presbyterians 
 think the killing of the king a great crime ; my fa- 
 ther and the old Parliamentarians think the forcible 
 purging of the Parliament a manifest tyranny j 
 Roger and the army think these things but the ne
 
 6.V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 47 
 
 cessary violence to introduce the new reign of jus- 
 tice and freedom. But I know not what to believe, 
 or whom to follow. What is to come next ? Who 
 are to rule us ? We must have some to honour and 
 obey ; if not the king, and if not the Parliament, 
 then whom ?" 
 
 " Sweet heart," said he, " if the government of 
 the three kingdoms has been resting on thy shoul- 
 ders, no wonder thou art cast down and weary. 
 But thou and I are amons^ the multitude who are 
 to be governed, not among the few who govern. 
 Let us be thankful, as good Mr. Baxter saith, for any 
 government which suffers people to be as good as 
 they are willing to be. And let us be willing to be 
 as good as we can. That will give us enough to do." 
 
 "But," I said, "all these years we have been 
 learning that the country is as a great mother who 
 demands fidelity from her most insignificant child ; 
 that Liberty is no mere empty name for schoolboys 
 to make orations about, and Law no mere confused 
 heap of technicalities for lawyers to disentangle, but 
 simple sacred realities mothers are to teach their 
 children to reverence ; that the glory and safety of 
 a nation depends on their political rights being sa- 
 cred household words. We have been taught to 
 look to Jewish and Roman matrons as our exam- 
 ples. Are we to unlearn all this now, and go back 
 to the old saws we have been taught to think selfish 
 and base ; that politics are to be left to rulers, and 
 laws to lawyers, and our liberties and rights to 
 whoever will defend or trample on them?" 
 
 " Not go back, 1 think," he said gently, looking
 
 4 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 a little surprised at my vehemence; " only g: deep 
 er. Some precious i-ights, I believe, have beet 
 won. Let us use them. That is the best way to 
 secure them. We are free to do what good we can, 
 (o unloose what burdens, and to hear and speak 
 what good words we will. Let us use our freedom. 
 No one can say how long it may last. This morn- 
 ing I must go to visit Newgate, and other gaols, in 
 which there has been much sickness. For although 
 the prisons are no longer filled by the Star Chamber, 
 or the High Commission, they are unhappily still 
 kept too well supplied by a tyrant more ancient 
 and more universal than these. Moreover, Olive," 
 he added, " there is still one sect not tolerated. The 
 number of the imprisoned Quakers is increasing ; 
 and in Newgate there is one poor Quaker maiden 
 whom I think thou mightest succour. A few days 
 since thou wert desiring a maiden to wait on the 
 babe. This Quaker maiden is a composed and gentle 
 creature, and with kind treatment, such as she 
 would have from thee, might, I think, be led into 
 ways which seem to us more sober and rational." 
 
 My husband's words opened a prospect of abund- 
 ant work before me. Already we had four wash- 
 ing-women of four different unpopular persuasions. 
 
 And I would have preferred choosing a nurse for 
 the babe, on account of her qualities as a serving- 
 wench, rather than as a Confessor. Moreover, what 
 he intended to be re-AS3urmg m Lis description, 
 alarmed me rather the more. ATbr o^ ah tanatics, I 
 have found gentle tanatics tun mcs. incorrigible 
 and of all wilful persou* 1 ^ho«e vK. rx v<*i u 4Av«n
 
 ON BOTH S IDA'S OF THE SEA. 
 
 49 
 
 K>se " themselves, or put themselves wrong by los- 
 ing their tempers, are certainly the most immovable. 
 However, I repressed such selfish fears as quite un- 
 worthy of Leonard Antony's wife. And, accord- 
 ingly, when he returned from the gaol, I was quite 
 prepared to welcome the Quaker. And so I told 
 him as we joined the sober throng who were going 
 to hear Dr Owen preach at " Margaret's " before 
 the Parliament. 
 
 A scanty Parliament indeed ! No Lords, and 
 about fifty Commons ; and among them scarce one 
 of those whose words and deeds had made its early 
 years so strong and glorious. 
 
 Hampden lay among his forefathers in the church 
 of Great Hampden ; Pym among the kings in West- 
 minster Abbey. Denzil Hollis and Haselrigge had 
 been expelled from it ; old Mr. Prynne, who had 
 been liberated by its first act, had vehemently de- 
 nounced its last ; even the young Sir Harry Vane 
 had for the time deserted its austere counsels. 
 
 Nevertheless the congregation was great and 
 grave. And when Dr. Owen spoke, he led our 
 thoughts at once to spheres compared with whose 
 sublime chronology the length of the longest Par- 
 liament is indeed but as a moment. He came of 
 an ancient Welsh ancestry ; his bearing bail a courtly 
 grace ; his tall and stately figure had the ease and 
 vigor of one used to manly exercises ; his voice 
 V7as well-tuned, as the tones of one who loved 
 tuusic as he did should be ; his eves were dark and 
 keen. 
 
 To th* 1 death of the king on that dreadful yes- 
 5
 
 5 ON BOTH SIDES OF TJK SEA. 
 
 terday lie barely alluded. There was neither regret 
 nor triumph in his discourse. His exhortations were 
 addressed not to the vanquished, but to the victor- 
 ious party. If he alluded at all to the oppressions 
 and vices of the late government, it was in order 
 to conjure those now in power not to tread in their 
 steps. . Hi* text was : " Let them return unto thee ; 
 but return not thou unto them. And I will make 
 thee uuto this people a fenced brazen wall : and 
 they shall fight against thee, but they shall not 
 prevail against thee : for I am with thee to save 
 thee and to deliver thee, saith the Lord." 
 
 God's judgments, he said, are a flaming sword 
 turning every way. Not in one of these ways, but 
 in all, He resists those who resist them. " How 
 do we spend our thoughts to extricate ourselves 
 from our present pressures ! If this hedge, this 
 pit were passed, we should have smooth ground to 
 walk on ; not considering that God can fill our 
 safest paths with snares and serpents. Give us 
 peace ; give us wealth ; give us to be as we were, 
 with our own, in quietness. Poor creatures ! sup- 
 pose all these designs were in sincerity; yet if 
 peace were, and wealth were, and God wei'e not, 
 what would it avail you ? In vain do you seek to 
 stop the streams while the fountains are open ; turn 
 yourselves whither you will, bring yourselves into 
 what condition you c\n, nothing but peace and re- 
 conciliation with the God of all these judgments 
 can give you rest in the day of visitation. You 
 see what variety of plagues are in His hand. 
 Changing of condition will do no more to the
 
 ON BOTH SIDES )F THE SEA. 
 
 5» 
 
 Avoiding of them, than a nek man turning him- 
 self from one side of the bed to another ; during his 
 turning he forgets his pain by striving to move ; 
 being laid down again he finds his condition the 
 same as before 
 
 " It was nothing new," he said, " for the instru 
 ments of God's greatest works to be the deepest 
 objects of a professing people's cursings and re- 
 filings. Men that under God deliver a kingdom may 
 have the kingdom's curses for their pains. 
 
 " Moses was rewarded for the deliverance of 
 Israel from Korah by being told ' ye have killed 
 the Lord's people.' Man's condemnation and God's 
 absolution do uot seldom meet on the same person 
 for the same things. ' Bonus vir Cains Sejanus, sed 
 mains quia Christianas.'' What precious men should 
 many be, would they let go the work of God in 
 their generation ! 
 
 " Yet be tender towards fainters in difficult sea- 
 sons. God's righteousness, His kindness, is like a 
 great mountain easy to be seen. His judgments 
 are like a great deep. Who can look into the bot- 
 tom of the sea, or know what is done in the depths 
 thereof? When first the confederacy was entered 
 into by the Protestant princes against Charles V., 
 Luther himself was bewildered. 
 
 " It is by a small handful, a few single persons — 
 a Moses, a Samuel, two witnesses — He ofttimes 
 opposes the rage of a hardened multitude. His 
 judgments ofttimes are the giving up of a sinful 
 people to a fruitless contending with their own de- 
 liverers, if ever they be delivered. God, indeed,
 
 t ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 cannot be the auth )r of sin, for He can be the author 
 of nothing but what hath being in itself (for He 
 works as the fountain of beings). This sin hath 
 not. It is an aberration. Man writes fair letters 
 upon a wet paper, and they run all into one blot ; 
 not the skill of the scribe, but the defect in the 
 paper, is the cause of the deformity. The first 
 cause is the proper cause of a thing's being; but 
 the second of its being evil." Not, I understood 
 him to mean, that sin is natural, but that the facul- 
 ties of nature are perverted. 
 
 Then he fervently warned against fear of man, 
 covetousness, ambition ; against turning to " such 
 ways as God hath blasted before our eyes, oppres- 
 sion, self-seeking, persecution." 
 
 And at the close he said, "All you that are the 
 Lord's workmen, be always prepared for a storm. 
 Be prepared. The wind blows ; a storm may come." 
 
 Opinions about the sermon were various. On 
 the whole I think it was hardly popular. Some 
 said it was pitiless, that the harshest of his enemies 
 would not have grudged one generous word for the 
 fallen king. Others deemed it half-hearted, and de- 
 clared that if John Knox, or one of the mighty 
 men of old, had been in the pulpit, they would have 
 made all true hearts thrill, ard all false hearts trem- 
 ble at the sentence of terrible justice just executed. 
 
 " What was thy mind about it, Olive ?" my hus- 
 band asked, when he, and Roger, and I had re- 
 turned to the quiet of our little garden-parlor. 
 
 "I thought Dr. Owen very wise," I said, "in 
 that he directed his -1 isi ourse to those who were
 
 ON BO Til SIDES OF Tile! S3 A. ,3 
 
 there to hear. I never could see the profit of de- 
 nunciations of Popery addressed to those who hate 
 it enough already ; or of arguments addressed to 
 Arminians who are not present to be crushed ; or 
 of rafting at people who will not come to church, 
 for the edification of those who do. It set nn 
 questioning myself whether God is indeed at won 
 among us, and praying that if He is, none of u 
 may mistake His hand." 
 
 " May it but have set every heart on the same 
 questioning !" said Roger. " How can any call 
 those words of Dr. Owen's an uncertain sound ?" 
 he added. " To me every tone was as clear as the 
 trumpet-signals before a battle. God has sent you 
 deliverance, has sent you a deliverer, he seemed to 
 me to say, as Moses to Israel in bondage, as Luther 
 to the Church in bondage. All depends on whether 
 we acknowledge him — not, indeed, as to the Prom- 
 ised Land being reached at last, but everything as 
 to when it is reached, everything as to ovr reach- 
 ing it at all. Events seem to me constantly saying 
 to ua, ' If ye will receive, it, (his is Elias which ivas 
 for to come.'' " 
 
 The revenges of the Commonwealth were few. 
 Three Royalist noblemen beheaded without torture 
 or insult in Palace Yard. As far as Oliver Crom- 
 well's rule extended there was not one barbarous 
 execution. Baiting was not a sport he encouraged, 
 whether of bulls and bears or of men. 
 
 During the ten years of the Common wealth, the 
 pillory, the whipping-post, the torture-chamber, ^ver« 
 6*
 
 u 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 seaicely once used, and not one Englishman suffered 
 the savage punishment awarded to traitors. 
 
 It was difficult to see what most men had to com- 
 plain of. Good men of every party but one, the 
 Royalist Episcopal, were encouraged. 
 
 Nevertheless, from every party rose murmurs of 
 discontent. Before the king had been executed 
 four months, General Cromwell had to subdue 
 opposition in the Parliament, the city, among the 
 peasantry, in the army itself. 
 
 Roger grieved sorely at what he deemed the 
 blindness of the people. 
 
 Mr. Baxter preached and wrote against Genera. 
 Cromwell and his measures, at Kidderminster, to 
 Aunt Dorothy's heart's content, propounding twenty 
 unanswerable queries to show why none should tak« 
 the " Engagement to the Commonwealth now estab- 
 lished without King or Lords," and having in re- 
 serve twenty other queries equally unanswerable. 
 
 Colonel Hutchinson, the Republican, forbore not 
 to exhort and rebuke him, seeing, as Mistress Lucy, 
 his stately wife, said, how " ambition had ulcerated 
 his heart." 
 
 Colonel Rich, Commissary Staines, and Watson, 
 made a design on his life. The Council would have 
 punished, but the General pardoned them. Men in 
 general were indeed moved by such generosity. 
 But it could not " blind " the penetrating eyes of 
 Mistress Lucy Hutchinson, or of Mr. Baxter. If 
 Oliver did magnanimous deeds in public, it was "to 
 court popularity ;" if little kindly acts in private, 
 it was "to cajole •sveak members." If his plans
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 55 
 
 succeeded, it was a " favor of fortune." If his enti- 
 mies were vanquished, it was because they were 
 "slaves or puppets," whom lie, with marvelous 
 prescience, had " tempted to oppose him for the 
 easy glory of knocking them down." If he pleaded 
 with almost a tearful tenderness against the cold- 
 ness cf old friends, it was " dissimulation ;" if he 
 "sought to approve himself to good men, it was 
 " because his own conscience was uneasy." If he 
 disregarded their opinions, it was because he was 
 " inflated with pride, or hardened to destruction." 
 
 Yet Roger thought much of this misapprehension 
 would pass away. It was, he hoped, but the dim- 
 ness natural to the twilight of this new dawn. 
 
 The greatest dangers to the new liberty, he 
 thought, were from the hopes which it had created. 
 
 The first time this danger opened on me was from 
 a conversation between Job Forster and Annis 
 Nye. 
 
 The gentle Quaker maiden had been installed for 
 some weeks as the nurse of baby Magdalene, who 
 seemed to find a soothing spell in her still serene 
 face, and quiet even voice. 
 
 As yet, no unusual or alarming symptoms had 
 appeared in Annis, nothing to indicate her being 
 capable of the offence for which it was said she had 
 been cast into prison, which was that, one Sunday, 
 she had confronted a well-known Presbyterian min- 
 ister in his pulpit, at the conclusion of a sermon 
 against " the Papal and Prelatical Antichrist " and 
 in a calm and deliberate voice had denounced him 
 in face of the indignant congregation as himself u
 
 5 6 OS BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " false priest," " hireling shepherd," and " minister 
 of Antichrist." 
 
 Yet there was something in her different from 
 any one I had yet seen. Yon could by no megns 
 be always sure of her responding to converse on 
 good things ; but when she did, it was like some 
 one listening to a far-off heavenly voice and echoing 
 it, aLd very beautiful often were the things she 
 said. 
 
 Her neglect of ordinary gestures and titles of re- 
 spect seemed in no way disrespectful in her. " Olive 
 Antony" and "Leonard Antony" from her soft voice 
 had more honour in them than titles at every breath 
 from ordinary people, and when she called us " thou" 
 and " thee," even the bad grammar which accompa- 
 nied the custom had a kind of quaint grace from 
 her lips. If asked her reasons for these customs 
 she gave them. These customs were false, she said ; 
 a hollow compliance with the hollow world. The 
 honour was rendered universally, and therefore in- 
 sincerely ; and to call a single person " you" was an 
 untruth which " led to great depravation of man- 
 rers." Having given these reasons, she never de- 
 bated the point further; they satisfied her; if they 
 did not satisfy you, she could not help it. 
 
 Occasionally there was inconvenience arising from 
 the difficulty of knowing when any command might 
 cross the non-observances she held sacred. Never- 
 theless, her presence had a kind of hallowing calm 
 in it which compensated for much. 
 
 My husband had sympathy with her sect on ac- 
 count of their large thoughts of the love of God to
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 57 
 
 mankind. And he said we ought to wait to pee 
 what portion of divine truth or church history it 
 had been given to the Quakers to unfold, he shaving 
 Mr. Milton's belief, that truth is found on earth but 
 in fragments either in the world or the church. So, 
 f<r the sake of ray husband, and the free develop- 
 ment of church history, and a growing love to the 
 maid, I continued to accept from Annis such services 
 as her conscience permitted, and to make up the 
 deficiencies myself. 
 
 Job Forster, who, for Rachel's sake, had much 
 reverence for feminine judgment, had frequent con- 
 verse with Annis when he came to solace himself 
 w:th our little Magdalene. For between him and 
 the babe there was the fullest confidence and love, 
 the little one never seeming more at home than in 
 his brawny arms. 
 
 Job thought Annis "a woman of an understand- 
 ing heart," and had hopes of reclaiming her from 
 the error of her way. He did not for a long time 
 discover that Annis was the most patient of listen- 
 ers to his arguments simply as the Cornish cliffs are 
 patient with the beat of the waves ; and that when 
 she " dealt softly" with him, it was not because she 
 was convinced by his reasoning, but because she 
 compassionated his blindness. 
 
 Tt was, therefore, with some surprise that I found 
 ibim one April evening in 1049 listening with indig- 
 nant gesticulations to Annis, as she stood, with 
 clasped hands and eyes looking dreamily forward, 
 repeating in a low monotonous voice, like a chant, 
 the words,- -
 
 $8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 "Woe unto those that build with untemptted 
 mortar ! Woe unto those that would build the tern 
 pie of the Lord with the dust of the battle-field ! 
 Woe to those who run to and fro and cry, Lo here ! 
 and Lo there ! The kingdom of God eometh not 
 with observation, not with observation. The king' 
 dom of God is within you, within you, within !" 
 
 Her voice died away into a sigh, and I confess it 
 moved me not a little. 
 
 But Job, on whom the words came in the heat of 
 debate, was by no means calmed thereby. 
 
 " It is no fair fight, Mistress Olive," he said, ap- 
 pealing to me ; " she does not know when she is 
 beaten. Only yesterday, she quite gave in, and had 
 never a word to say, and to day it's all to be begun 
 over again. It's them poor honest fellows down in 
 Surrey she means, and it's a sin to cast up all those 
 Bible texts at them as if they were blinded persecu- 
 tors, instead of poor true men striving to hasten the 
 coming of the Kingdom. Mistress Annis," he con- 
 cluded, for there was something in her which com- 
 pelled from others the titles she refused to any, " did 
 I not give you chapter and verse until you had never 
 & word to gainsay? Is it not written so plain, that 
 he who runs may read, that the Jews are to go in 
 and possess the land, and did I not show thee tl at 
 the Saxons are the lost tribes, the descendants of 
 the Jews ?" 
 
 But Annis had meekly resumed her knitting, and 
 Bimply said, — 
 
 " A concern was upon my spirit regarding thee. 
 ' have spoken ; the rest belongs not to me. There
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. jg 
 
 is the Power and the Anointing. But these are not 
 with me/' And she relapsed into silence. 
 
 " That is her way, Mistress Olive," exclaimed Job, 
 much ruffled. "You shall be judge if any rational 
 discourse can proceed on such principles. You 
 bring forth Scripture enough to silence a council of 
 rabbis — to sav nothing of reasons. She listens as 
 patient as a lamb, has not a word to answer — and 
 this is the end." 
 
 Annis made no defence, she only said, — 
 
 " I had hopes, Job Forster, thee had been reached. 
 But it seemeth otherwise." 
 
 For if Annis heeded not the arguments of others, 
 neither did she rely on her own. Her confidence 
 was not on the pow T er of her words, but on the 
 Power in and with them. But this Job did not 
 perceive. 
 
 "Reached!" he exclaimed, looking hopelessly at 
 me. " She speaks of me as if I were a babe in swad- 
 dling-clothes ; and I old enough to be her grand- 
 father." 
 
 " What was the matter in debate ?" I asked. 
 
 " There was no debate ! said Job, still agitated. 
 " Debates are only possible with people who are 
 amenable to Scripture and reason. I was but speak- 
 ing of the peasants at St. Margaret's Hill in Surrey, 
 and the great work they are beginning there." 
 
 " What great work ? Is there some great preacher 
 risen among them ?" I asked, thinking he meant 
 some great work of conversion. 
 
 i; There is a prophet among them, mistress," said 
 Jub solemnly, "by name Everard, once in the army,
 
 60 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 The work may seem small to the eye of flesh. A. 
 yet they are but thirty. But the Apostles were but, 
 twelve. And soon they may be thousands." 
 
 " But what is the work ?" I said. 
 
 " Simple work enough," he replied mysteriously. 
 " They began with digging the ground, and sowing 
 beans therein." 
 
 "Surely none will gainsay them," I said, "if it is 
 their own ground they are digging. But what is 
 to come of beans except the bean-stalks ?" 
 
 " It is not exactly their own ground," Job replied; 
 " it is common-ground. And they invite all men 
 to come and help them to make the barren land 
 fruitful, and to restore the ancient community of 
 the fruits of the earth, to distribute to the poor and 
 needy, and to clothe the naked. Gospel words, 
 Mistress Olive, and gospel deeds, let the Justices 
 say what they may." 
 
 "The Justices interfered, then?" T said. 
 
 "Doubtless," he replied. "Justices do, in all the 
 books of the martyrs I ever read. Justices are a 
 etiff-necked race." 
 
 " And so it ended ?" I said. 
 
 " So it began, Mistress Olive," Job replied myste- 
 riously. " The country-people also were blinded, 
 and two troops of horse were sent against them. 
 They were brought before General Fairfax. Master 
 Everard spoke up to him like a lion, and told him 
 how the Saxon people were of the race of the Jews, 
 how all the liberties of the people were lost by the 
 coming of William the Conqueror, and how, ever 
 since, the people of God had lived under tyranny
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. (,\ 
 
 worse than their forefathers in Egypt. But that 
 now the time of deliverance was come, and there 
 had appeared to him a vision, saying, Arise, dig and 
 plough ihe earth, and receive the fruits thereof, and 
 restore the creation to its state before the curse." 
 
 "What does General Cromwell say?" I asked. 
 
 " He has not yet got the light," replied Job. 
 " But his eyes will be opened, for he is of them 
 that sigh and cry for the iniquities of the land. The 
 light must be flashed a little stronger in his face, 
 and Le will sec." 
 
 "Bat the General is taking away oppression ; he 
 bas destroyed slavery," I said. " And there are so 
 man} curses, Job, besides the thistles and thorns. 
 Yet even our Lord took them not away. How can 
 :hese thirty countrymen hope to do it by sowing 
 beans in the Surrey commons ? Our Lord did not 
 take hard things away. He changed them into 
 blessings. The sweat of the brow, the thistles and 
 all ; even death." 
 
 " That is what I was trying to explain to Mistress 
 Annis," replied Job. "There are the Two King- 
 doms. One Cometh not with observation ; the other 
 cometh like the lightning; which liyditeneth from one 
 end of heaven to the other." 
 
 " But I do not seee how digging up the Surrey 
 Band-hills is like either," 1 said. 
 
 " No," said Job, shaking his head pitifully ; " I 
 daresay not, Mistress Olive. Others must do their 
 part of the work first. There are the ' men as trees 
 walking,' and there is the ' shining more and more.' 
 But I did think Mi -tress Annis would have had im 
 6
 
 62 ON 1)0 Th SIDES OF Til A SEA. 
 
 derstandinsr. For these country folk were like to 
 those she calls Friends. They would not take arms 
 to defend themselves against the powers that be, 
 but would wait and submit* And when asked why 
 they did not take off their hats to General Fairfax, 
 they said, Because he was their fellow-creature." 
 
 But not even this orthodoxy as to "hat-honour" 
 moved Annis. 
 
 "Not with observation," she said; "not in bean 
 fields, nor battle-fields, nor in king's palaces. Within 
 you — within ! " 
 
 Job rose, and gently laying little Magdalene in 
 my arms, took his hat, and went away without fur- 
 ther farewell. 
 
 "She will not see the Two Kingdoms," he inur- 
 mured. " This generation will have to be roused 
 by louder voices. The foxes must be hunted with 
 beagles of other make. Those who will not wake 
 at the lark's singing will be startled when the trum- 
 pet peals. Five Monarchies," he added, turning to 
 us from the threshold ; "Two Kingdoms and Five 
 Monarchies. Four have been, and are not. One is 
 yet to come ; cut out of the mountain without hands 
 — to crash the remnants of the four and fill the 
 world. Take heed that ye fail not of the signs of 
 its coming." 
 
 Job's words made me uneasy. They seemed to 
 betray a subterranean fire of wild hopes, and wild 
 distrusts, and tumultuous purposes, which might 
 burst up beneath our feet any day anywhere ic a 
 volcano of wilder deeds. 
 
 " What does Job mean," T said to my husVaud
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 6j 
 
 afterwards, " by his Fifth. Monarchy and his King 
 dom coming like the lightning, and his ' beagles to 
 hunt foxes'?" 
 
 "He means precisely what is endangering the 
 Commonwealth most of all at this moment," my 
 husband said. " So many evils have been removed, 
 that san inline men think it is nothing but faint- 
 heartedness in the leaders which suffers any to re- 
 main. Now that the Star Chamber and the persecu- 
 tions are suppressed, they seem to think it is only 
 Cromwell's half-heartedness that prevents the devil 
 being suppressed also, instantly, with all his works. 
 Kow that fines and persecutions are swept away, 
 and the laws which sanctioned them, and the men 
 who made the laws, what, they think, is to hinder 
 poverty being swept away, and unaccountable in- 
 equalities of station, and avarice, and luxury, 
 and waste, and want, and all the old tangle of 
 too much toil for some and too much idleness for 
 others ? But we must see after this. There are 
 mischief-makers abroad. ' Free-born John Lilburn ' 
 is scattering fire-brands from his prison in the 
 Tower, about England's ' new chains ; ' a\ 1 we must 
 not suffer Job Forster to be among his victims. To- 
 morrow we will tell Roger of the danger, that he 
 may counsel Job." 
 
 But on the morrow it Avas too late. In the night 
 (the 23th of April) there was much stir in the city ; 
 sudden sharp alarms of trumpet and drum, and 
 galloping to and fro of horsemen, not on parade. 
 
 A troop of Whalley's regiment, quartered at the 
 Bull Inn, Bishopsgate mutinied; why, it was not
 
 64. ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 clear, but with some vague intention of bringing ii. 
 swiftly the thousand years of liberty and universal 
 happiness. 
 
 General Cromwell and Lord Fairfax extinguished 
 the fire for the time. Five ringleaders were seized 
 and condemned, and out of them one, Sergeant 
 Lockyer, was shot the next day in St. Paul's 
 Churchyard. 
 
 They were practical times. It mattered very much 
 what people'^ opinions were about prophecy, when 
 they expressed them by insurrections and mutinies. 
 
 But, naturally, executions did not alter the con- 
 victions of the people who believed the prophets. 
 
 Of all the assemblies the old church and the 
 houses round the churchyard had witnessed, I think 
 there had scarce been a sadder than when young 
 Trooper Lockyer was led out there to die. No 
 crime was laid to his charge, but this unpardonable 
 military crime of mutiny. He was but twenty- 
 three. At sixteen he had joined the army of free- 
 dom, and had fought bravely in it seven years. 
 Blameless and brave, all the fervour of his early 
 manhood had burnt pure in aspirations for a King- 
 dom of God on earth, a free and holy nation, where 
 the poor and needy should be judged and saved, 
 and deceit and violence should cease, and the op- 
 pressor should be broken in pieces. And thousands 
 with him had prayed for it by the camp fires at 
 night, and had fought for it on many battle-fields 
 by day for seven years. And the poor and needy 
 had been saved, and deceit and violence avenged, 
 and many oppressors broken in pieces. The Bible
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 65 
 
 had promised it, and with prayers jand strong right 
 arms they, the army of freedom, had done it. But 
 the Bible promised more. One set of workers after 
 another had been set aside, they thought, " as doing 
 the work of the Lord deceitfully." They were pro- 
 pared to do it thoroughly — to pray and fight on till 
 every wrong in England was redressed, and every 
 chain, new and old, was broken, till every valley 
 should be exalted, and every mountain and hill 
 should be laid low, when avarice with its base hoards 
 of gold, and ambition with its lordly palaces, should 
 vanish, and every home in England should be a 
 home of plenty and of well-rewarded toil ; the 
 praises of God going up from every holy city and 
 happy hill-side through the land, till the whole earth 
 stopped to listen, and the thousand years of the 
 better Eden began. 
 
 And for hopes such as these young Trooper Lock- 
 yer was led out to die ; for carrying out a little too 
 swiftly what all Christian men hoped to see; for 
 " doing the Lord's work," " not deceitfully," but too 
 hastily, at the wrong time, and not altogether in 
 the right way. 
 
 There was nothing new to him in facing death. 
 Ele stood to receive the fatal volley; and when he 
 fell, the great crowd of men and women broke into 
 bitter weeping and bewailed him. 
 
 That Saturday and Sunday were sad days in the 
 city. There was a sense of hushed murmurs and 
 tears all around us among the people. We knew 
 the corpse was being solemnly watched night and 
 day with J ravers weeping in the city. The death 
 6*
 
 66 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 of the king, alone and gray-haired, had smitten the 
 people with awe ; the execution of this brave young 
 soldier touched them with a passionate reverence 
 and pity. 
 
 Nothing was to be seen of Job during those days. 
 Roger had seen him once ; but he looked gloomy, 
 and would be drawn into no discourse. He was 
 among the watchers over the dead, nursing wild 
 hopes of the Fifth Kingdom, and bitter distrusts of 
 those who hindered its coming. 
 
 On Monday the feeling of the people manifested 
 tself in a solemn procession passing through the 
 city to Westminster. 
 
 Ceremonial, funereal or festive, was so foreign to 
 our Puritan people, that the few occasions on which 
 the irrepressible feeling burst forth into such mani- 
 festation had a terrible reality. 
 
 A soldier's funeral is heart-stirring enough at any 
 time; but to me, scarce any procession, before or 
 since, seemed so moving as this which bore Trooper 
 Lockyer to his grave in Westminster Churchyard. 
 
 There were none of the rich or great among; them. 
 First, a hundred men, five or six in file. Then the 
 corpse of the poor brave youth, with the sword he 
 had long used so well, stained now with blood, and 
 beside it bundles of rosemary, also dipped in blood. 
 Then the horse he had ridden to many battle-fields, 
 moving uneasily under his heavy mourning dra- 
 peries, and beside it six men pealing on six trum- 
 pets the soldier's knell. Behind, thousands of men, 
 marching; slow and silent in order like soldiers. 
 And after all a crowd of mourning women ; all, meo
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 67 
 
 and women, with bunches of black or sea-green rib- 
 bon on their hats and breasts. 
 
 At Westminster they were met by thousands 
 more, " of the better sort," it was said. And so 
 the young man died, for trying to fulfil men's besi 
 hopes at a wrong time and in a impracticable way, 
 and was buried, not without honour. 
 
 The crime was not one which moved men to ven- 
 geance. The doom was one which moved men 
 much to pity. 
 
 So the fire went on spreading in the army. On 
 May the 9th, the mutinous sea-green ribbons ap- 
 peared among the soldiers at a review in Hyde Park. 
 
 General Cromwell with one of those speeches of 
 his which critical gentlemen pronounced so con- 
 fused, but which those to whom they were addressed 
 found so plain, made the men in general understand 
 that to be a soldier meant to obey commands. If 
 they declined to obey, they should receive arrears 
 of pay and be dismissed. If they decided still to 
 be soldiers, they must obey, or suffer the penalties 
 of martial law, under which they had put them- 
 selves. 
 
 I suppose his words told, as usual, for the sea- 
 green ribbons disappeared, and no further mutiny 
 followed in London. 
 
 Meantime Mr. John Lilburn, for whom General 
 Cromwell had once pleaded with so vehement a 
 passion when he was Mr. Prynne's servant in dan- 
 ger of the pillory and the whipping-posts, continued 
 to disperse his incendiary pamphlets from the cell 
 to which he had been committed in the Tower.
 
 OS ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 And at length the news came that the conflagration 
 bad burst out in the army in three piaces at once, 
 two hundred mutineers at Banbury, at Salisbury a 
 thousand, in Gloucestershire more. 
 
 Job Forster. had gone westward within those 
 weeks with scarce a word of farewell to any. With 
 a grave and glooming countenance, and avoiding all 
 discourse. We feared sorely to hear that he was 
 among the mutineers. 
 
 On Sunday, May the 14th, Roger called to bid us 
 farewell, ready booted and spurred to ride off with 
 Fairfax and Cromwell and their troops for Salis- 
 bury, to quell the mutiny there. 
 
 It was an uneasy Sabbath for us who were left 
 behind. John Lilburn was in the Tower, and some- 
 where around the Tower were dwelling the thou- 
 sands of grave and determined men who had borne 
 Trooper Lockyer to his grave scarce a fortnight 
 before. And the only voice which seemed able to 
 command the stormy waves was out of hearing, 
 heartening his men on their rapid march through 
 Hampshire towards Buckinghamshire, Berkshire. 
 Oxfordshire; as they tracked the mutineers north- 
 ward till they came on them at midnight taking 
 uneasy rest at Burford. 
 
 But London remained quiet, to all outward seem- 
 ing. Whatever vows were being made in homes 
 where tli3 " Eikon Basilike " was being read secretly, 
 with a passionate devotion, together with the pro- 
 scribed liturgy, the hopes cherished were of a 
 •'blessed restoration" and " vengeance on bloody 
 usurpers ;" or, on the other hand, in homes where
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 69 
 
 Tree per Lockyer was the martyr, and the hopes 
 were of a speedy millennium with vengeance on all 
 who hindered it, — they did not disturb the quiet of 
 that Sabbath. Leonard and I wen* to the morning 
 exercise in " Margaret's," and the preaching in the 
 abbey, and Annis to her obscure meeting of Friends, 
 And little Magdalene welcomed us back with crow- 
 ings " significant " (we thought, as my Diary re- 
 cords), " of a remarkable vivacity of intelligence." 
 And as in the evening we looked on the Lent-lilies 
 and primroses Aunt Gretel had sent from Netherby, 
 making the little garden behind the house iaintly re- 
 present the woods and fields, it seemed to ud that the 
 city had even more than its usual Sabbath stillness, 
 while we listened to the evening family psalm ris- 
 ing from the open lattices of many houses around us. 
 
 Yet all through that Sabbath-day those who were 
 keeping the peace with their good swords for us, 
 were chasing the mutineers from county to county 
 and from town to town, making meanwhile such 
 Sabbath melodies in their hearts as best they might. 
 
 The story of the pursuit I heard afterwards from 
 Job. All through the Monday the chase went on. 
 
 " We thought to cross into Oxfordshire at New- 
 bridge, and join our fellows at Banbury," said Job. 
 " But they had been before us ? the bridge was 
 guarded. We had to double and swim the river. 
 Bv this time it grew dusk, and when we reached 
 the little town of Burford on Monday evening it 
 grew dark. At the entrance of the street we made 
 & halt. Little welcome had we found at town or 
 village. Tie name of him wdio was chasing us had
 
 /o 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OP THE SEA. 
 
 been our shield and boast too long not to weight 
 against us now. 
 
 " For the first time these two days since first they 
 came nigh us, we missed the tramp of the horse in 
 pursuit. Some of us hoped they were oil* the scent. 
 Others knew better than to think the General was 
 to be baflled so. We knew his ways too well. But 
 be that as it might we were fain to stay. The 
 horses stumbled and would not be spurred further. 
 We had to cross fifty miles of country that day, to 
 say nothing of doublings. We turned the poor 
 brutes out to grass in the meadows by the river, 
 and, wet and weary as we were, turned in to get 
 such sleep as we might. 
 
 " Running away is work that breaks the heart 
 of man and beast, and Oliver had not used us to it. 
 
 " But as midnight boomed out from the tall old 
 steeple, we found what the silence of the pursuers 
 had meant. 
 
 " They had been lying quiet in ambush outside 
 the town. On they came, clattering into the nar- 
 row streets, with the eld cries we had joined in 
 with them so long. It was enough to make any 
 man's heart ftul to have to go against the old watch- 
 words, to which we had charged and rallied scores 
 of times together. But worse than all was Oliver's 
 voice. Few of us could stand that. It had been 
 more than a thousand trumpets to us for years. A 
 kw desperate shots were fired, and all was over. 
 We were caught and clapped up together to await 
 the sentence. We went to sleep thinking we might 
 yet be the Lord's handful to bring in the Millen
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. y t 
 
 iiium. We woke up and found we were nothing 
 better than a lot of traitorous mutineers. 
 
 " Two days of waiting followed, and they fin- 
 ished the work for most of us. Some, still braved 
 it out, and talked of martyrdom, and of paving the 
 way to the Kingdom with our corpses. But the 
 greater part were downcast anil heart-stricken, and 
 in sore bewilderment of soul. We minded Oliver's 
 prayers before so many battles, and the cheer of his 
 voice in the fight, and his thanksgivings afterwards; 
 and how he had praised the Lord and praised us, 
 and made as though he owed all to us, while we 
 felt we owed all under God to him. We minded 
 how he had never thought it beneath him to write 
 up to Parliament to claim reward for any faithful 
 service of any among us, and had never claimed 
 honor or reward for himself. More than one among 
 us minded how a glance from his eye singled us 
 out, and had made our hearts swell like a public 
 triumph, though not a soul saw it besides ; how it 
 had been enough reward for any toil to know that 
 the General knew we had done our best. All of 
 us had heard his cheery voice joining in joke and 
 laugh, and more than one had heard it in low tones 
 beside the dying, breathing words which could 
 make a man brave to face the last enemy of all. 
 
 " And now his eyes nad rested on us in grave 
 displeasure, and grieved disappointment. He had 
 thought we knew him, his sorrowful eyes had said; 
 he had thought we could have trusted him to do 
 the good work, and would have helped him in it. 
 
 "The Royalists hated him, good Mr. Baxter am
 
 ■j % ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 tlie Presbyterians distrusted him, but he had thought 
 wo knew him ! 
 
 " And so we did ! And before those two days were 
 over, there were many among us who would have 
 ashed no better from him or from Heaven than 
 that we miiiht have one chance of following him 
 to the field, and showing how faithful we could be 
 to him again. 
 
 " So we came to the Thursday. The court-mar- 
 tial sat and gave sentence. Ten out of every hun- 
 dred of us were doomed to die. We were taken 
 up to a flat place on the roof of the old church to 
 see our comrades shot in the church-yard and to 
 a,bide our turn. Cornet Thompson came; he and 
 his brother had been at the bottom of it, and he 
 had no hope of pardon. But he spoke out bravely, 
 and said that what befell him Avas just; God did 
 not own the ways he went; he had offended the 
 General ; he asked the people to pray for him ; he 
 told the men who stood ready with loaded guns, 
 when he should hold out his hands to do their duty. 
 I suppose he gave the sign. I was too sick at heart 
 to look. But the volley came and he fell. Next 
 came two corporals — made no sign of fear, said no 
 word of repentance, looked the mer ; n the face till 
 they gave fire, and fell. Then came Cornet Dean 
 — confessed he had done wrong, after a short pause 
 received pardon from the generals. And so we, 
 standing sentenced on the roof of tl e old church, 
 waited what w r ould befall us next. 
 
 " The shooting was over. Oliver had us called 
 into the church. There he preached us a sermon 
 none of us arc like to forget. Not long nor '.index
 
 Oy BOTH SUMS Or' 'THE SEA. 
 
 11 
 
 many heads, but home to every heart. Some say 
 the General is blundering in speech, and no man 
 knows what he w T ould say. We always knew. And 
 all I knew of the sermon that day, is that blun- 
 dering or not, he made us all feel we had blun- 
 dered sorely as to the Almighty's purposes — blun- 
 dered as to him. There were silence enough in the 
 old church that day, but for the weeping. The sobs 
 of men like some of ours are catching to listen to ; 
 Oliver's Ironsides are not too easily moved. But 
 that day I believe we all wept together like chil- 
 dren. We had lost our lives and we had them given 
 back to us; we had lost our way in the wilderness 
 and we had found it again. We had lost our leader 
 and we had found him, and it will be hard if any 
 noisy talker, free-born John Lilburn or other, tempt 
 us to leave his lead again. We Ironsides are not 
 going to use our Captain as the children of Israel 
 used their Moses. Thank God, we have ancUier 
 chance given us, and we are ready to follow him to 
 Ireland, or to the world's end. 
 
 " The General is breaking the chains fast enough, 
 and opening the prisons, and breaking in pieces the 
 oppressors. And God forbid we should hinder him 
 again. And as to the millennium, the Lord must 
 bring it about in His own way, and in ITis own time. 
 I for one wdl never try to hurry the Almighty 
 again, nor the General." 
 
 The Surrey labourers went home to sow beans in 
 
 their master's fields. The army Levellers, after 
 
 being sent for a while to the Devizes, were restored 
 
 to their own regiments, and were eager to prove 
 
 7
 
 74 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 their fidelity to General Cromwell by following hire 
 to the new campaign in Ireland. 
 
 It rejoiced me to hear that Dr. John Owen was 
 going to Ireland as General Crom well's chaplain, 
 His strong calm words were such as were able to 
 move and to quiet men like the Ironsides, who were 
 not to be stirred with zephyrs, or quieted with sweet 
 murmurs as of a lady's lute ; — words plain and 
 strong as their own armour. The sound of a 
 trumpet was in them, Job said, and the voice of 
 words. 
 
 Often and often his words echoed back to me as 
 we heard them before the Parliament in St. Mar- 
 garet's, on the day of humiliation, the 28th of Feb- 
 ruary. 
 
 " How is it that Jesus is in Ireland only as a lion, 
 staining- all His earments with the blood of His 
 enemies, and none to hold Him out as a lamb sprink- 
 led with His own blood to His friends ? Is it the 
 sovereignty and interest of England that is alone 
 to be there transacted ? For my part, I see no fur- 
 ther into the mystery of these things, but that I 
 could heartily rejoice that, innocent blood being 
 expiated, the Irish might enjoy Ireland so long as 
 the moon endureth, so that Jesus Christ might 
 possess the Irish. In this to deal faithfully with the 
 Lord Jesus — call Him out to the battle, and then 
 keep away His crown ? God hath been faithful in 
 doing great things for you ; be faithful in this one, 
 do your utmost for the preaching of the gosnel in 
 Ireland." * 
 
 * " On the sinfulness of Staggering at the PronustB."
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 7 j 
 
 And again in the great sermon on the shaking ot 
 heaven and earth, on the 19th of April. 
 
 " The Lord requireth that in the great things lie 
 hatli to accomplish in this generation all His should 
 close with Him ; that we be not sinfully bewildered 
 in our own cares, fears, and follies, but that we may 
 follow hard after God, and be upright in our genei 
 a^ion. 
 
 " God does not care to set His people to work in 
 the dark. They are the children of light, and they 
 are no deeds of darkness which they have to do. 
 He suits their ligdtt to their labour. The lisdil of 
 every age is the forerunner of the work of every 
 agp. 
 
 " Every age hath its peculiar work, hath its pecu 
 liar light. The peculiar light of this generation is 
 the discovery which the Lord hath made to His 
 people of the mystery of civil and ecclesiastical 
 tyranny. 
 
 " The works of God are vocal-speaking works. 
 They may be heard, and read, and understood. 
 Now what, I pray, are the works He is bringing 
 forth upon the earth ? What is He doing in our 
 own a id the neighbouring nations ? Show me the 
 potentate on earth that hath a peaceable molehill 
 to build a habitation upon. Are not all the contro- 
 versies, or most of them, that are now disputed in 
 letters of blood among the nations somewhat of a 
 distinct constitution from those formerly under de- 
 bate? those tending thereof to the power and splen- 
 dour of single persons, and these to the interest of 
 the many. Is not the hand of the Lord in all this '
 
 7 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA, 
 
 Is not the voice of Christ in the midst of all thin 
 tumult? What speedy issue all this will be driven 
 to, I know not : so much is to be done as require? 
 a long space. Tho igh a tower may be pulled down 
 faster than it was set up, yet that which hath beeK 
 building a thousand years is not like to go down 
 in a thousand days. 
 
 " Let the professing people that are among us 
 look well to themselves. ' The day is coming that 
 will burn like an oven.' Dross will not stand this 
 day. We have many a hypocrite yet to be uncased. 
 Try and search your hearts ; force not the Lord to 
 lay you open to all. 
 
 " Be loose from all shaken things. You see the 
 clouds return after the rain ; one storm on the neck 
 of another. ' Seeing that all these things must be 
 dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be 
 in all holy conversation ?' Let your eyes be up- 
 wards, and your hearts be upwards, and your hands 
 be upAvards, that you be not moved at the passing 
 away of shaken things. I could encourage you by 
 the glorious issue of ah these shakings, whose fore- 
 taste might be as marrow to your bones, though 
 they should be appointed to consumption before the 
 accomplishment of it. 
 
 "Seethe vanity and folly of such as labour to 
 oppose the bringing of the kingdom of the Lord 
 Jesus! Canst thou hinder the rain from falling? 
 Canst thou stop the sun from rising? Surely with 
 far more ease mayest thou stop the current and 
 course of nature than the bringing in of (he kingd* m 
 of Christ in right ?ousness and peace Some uro
 
 OK BOTH &.DES OF THE SEA. 
 
 77 
 
 angry, some are troubled, some are in the dark, 
 some full of revenge ; but the truth is, whether they 
 will hear, or whether they will forbear, Babylon 
 shall fall, and all the glory of the earth be stained, 
 and the kingdoms become the kingdoms of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ." * 
 
 On the 7th of June, Dr. Owen preached again at 
 "Margaret's" before the Parliament, on the groat 
 thanksgiving day, when the city feasted the Parlia- 
 ment, and distributed £100 to feast the poor. 
 
 Aunt Gretel and my father, who had come up 
 from Netherby, heard him, with us. About the 
 same time, Annis Nye returned from one of the two 
 " threshing-floors," \ where the "Friends" had been 
 suffered publicly, by " searching words," to sift the 
 chaff from the wheat ; and a "prelatical" friend of 
 ours came in to tell us of his having joined in the 
 ancient Common Prayer at St. Peter's Church on 
 Paul's wharf, and heard good Archbishop TTssher 
 preach. 
 
 WJiereon Aunt Gretel, who (believing far more 
 m the power of light than in that of darkness) was 
 ever wont to be seeing the clouds breaking:, before 
 others could, remarked to me, — 
 
 " Surely, sweet heart, the years of peace are al- 
 ready in sight. Quakers, Prelatists, and Puritans 
 free to do what good they can in their different 
 ways, what is that but the lion lying down with the 
 lumb ?" 
 
 * " On the Shaking of Heaven and Earth." 
 f These two threshing floors are fiist spoken of a few ye%7» 
 Uter, in 1855. 
 
 7*
 
 7 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " Ah, sister Gretel," said my father, " liona {.ml 
 lambs have lain down together in cages, with ihe 
 keeper's eye on them, many a time before now, 
 when they were well fed, and could not help it. It 
 remains to be seen what they will do when the 
 keeper s eye is removed. General Cromwell saith 
 all sects cry for liberty when they are oppressed, 
 but he never yet met with any that would allow it 
 to any one else when they were in power." 
 
 And as we passed the kitchen door on our way 
 upstairs, we heard sounds of scarcely millennial 
 debate. 
 
 I am afraid Annis Nye had been taking a femi- 
 nine advantage of the failure of her antagonist's 
 cause to remind him how she had forewarned him. 
 For Job was saying, — 
 
 " Convinced we are not to look for the Fifth Mon- 
 archy because we poor soldiers blundered about the 
 ways and the times ! As little as a man would be 
 convinced the sun was never to rise because some 
 idle watch-dog waked him up too soon by baykig 
 at the moon. Moved from the error of my ways ! 
 Moved at farthest from the First of Thessalonians 
 to the Second. Not a whit farther. But that folks 
 should call themselves Friends of Truth, who are 
 not to be brought round by chapter and verse, is a 
 marvel. General Cromwell knows what he is about 
 in letting such have their ' threshing-floors.' There 
 are those that think another sort of threshing-flooi 
 might be best to sift such chaff away. Eden is be- 
 fore us, Mistress Annis; before as well as behind 
 And the best Paradise is to come.*'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE dEA. 7 g 
 
 " The lion and the lamb are scarcely at peace yet, 
 sister Gretel !" said my father. 
 
 But when we were all seated together in the par- 
 lour that evening, my father said, — 
 
 "How many hearts, like Job Forster's, have be- 
 lieved they saw the breaking of the dawn, which 
 was to usher in the golden age, when it was only 
 the breaking forth of the moon from the clouds, or 
 perhaps only the deepening of the darkness, which 
 they thought must be the darkest hour preceding 
 the dawn. The Thessalonians of old; the earlv 
 Church in her persecutions ; Gregory the Great at 
 the breaking up of the Empire ; the Middle Ages 
 in the year One Thousand, with a trembling expec 
 tation which led men, not indeed to sow beans on 
 commons to make the whole earth fruitful, but to 
 sow nothing, believing that earth's last harvest was 
 at hand." 
 
 "Yet were they far wroug ?" said my husband. 
 "The moonlight and the morning both draw their 
 light from the sun. The dawn shows that he is 
 coming, but all light worth the name testifies that 
 he is. In the moon, which dimly lights our night, 
 it is already day. So that the moonlight, in truth, 
 it as sure a promise of the day as the dawn."
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 LETTICE'S DIARY. 
 
 OUEN. — We have not yet been abli 
 to enter Paris. The city is in great 
 excitement with the wars of the Fronde. 
 The queen-mother, Anne of Austria, 
 and the young king Louis XIV., have been com- 
 pelled to fly to St. Germains. It is strange to be 
 exiled from one Civil War to another. The French 
 Court is so poor in consequence of these tumults, 
 that they have had to dismiss some of their pages ; 
 and it is reported that our own youngest princess, 
 Henrietta, was obliged to stay in bed to keep her- 
 self warm for lack of fuel to light a fire. 
 
 " I have not had to wait long for the fulfilment 
 of my murmuring wish, that some simple, homely 
 woman's duty were separating me from Roger, iu- 
 stead of a political crime. 
 
 " When my father returned from paying such 
 farewell courtesies as he might to Mistress Dorothy, 
 he said, fixing a penetrating look on me (who, if I 
 cast down my eyes, could not hide from him my 
 eyelids swollen with weeping), — 
 (80)
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 8 1 
 
 " ' Master Roger Drayton was longer than need 
 be in fetching Mistress Dorothy's mantle. I trust. 
 Lettice, thou gavest him no cause.' 
 
 " Then I told him all, as well as brief words 
 might tell it. 
 
 " ' Thou hast done well,' said he. ' Could I think 
 daughter of mine would have felt otherwise to one 
 of those who have made England a reproach and a 
 curse on the earth, I would sooner she had died. 
 For to eternity my curse would rest on her, and 
 never would I see her face again.' 
 
 " Then seeing me grow pale, he added, in a cheery 
 voice, — 
 
 " ' But what need to speak of curses ? Thou art 
 a true maiden, Lettice, as true as fair. And many 
 a hand there is that would be glad to be linked with 
 this little hand, none the less that it has rejected a 
 traitor.' 
 
 " Then I gathered courage once lor all, and said, — 
 
 " ' Father, they were good as angels to mother 
 and to me. I shall always love them better than 
 any in the world, save thee ; I shall always think 
 'Jum holier and wiser, and more true and good than 
 any in the world, save mother. For my sake, father, 
 say no ill of them. It wounds me to the heart. 
 And, father, say no more of any other wooer. I 
 will live for thee and for no other.' 
 
 " He was not moved as I hoped by my pleading. 
 He only smiled and said, — 
 
 " ' No need for me to say anything of other woo- 
 ers, child. They may speak for themselves. But 
 us to living for lie, I fear thou wilt find me a rough
 
 82 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 old tyrant enough to live with, say nothing if liv- 
 ing for. See already, when I meant to cheer theo 
 I have made thee weep. Maidens are mysterious,' 
 he added, ooinsr to the window and whistling uu- 
 easily. Then returning, he laid his hand kindly on 
 my shoulder, saying, ' Come, come child. Thou 
 shalt be as wood to me as thou wilt. And I will 
 say as little evil of any thou carest for as I can, 
 though as to picking my words it is what 1 am 
 little used to. Only no tragedy, Lettice, and no 
 heroics ! Your mother knew I had no capacity for 
 the heroics, and she never troubled me with them. 
 I knew that she loved the mountain-tops, and now 
 and then I should hear her singing there as it were 
 like a lark or an angel. But she never expected 
 me to climb. She had her divine songs, and her 
 ho-oic epics, and her lays, and her romaunts, and I 
 loved her all the better for them, but to me she 
 always talked in prose, so that we understood each 
 other. Thou and I will do the same." 
 
 " And then the horses were ready, and we rode 
 away together to Rouen. 
 
 " But his words are very mournful to me. Are 
 only the streets and market-places, as it were, of 
 our souls to be open to each other, and the inmost 
 places, the hearth and the church, always to be 
 closed ? 
 
 " Yet there is a kind of unreasonable consolation 
 in the prohibition of my father's as to Roger. It 
 is a terrible strain to have to keep that door closed 
 myself; whilst, at the same time, the barrier of 
 another's will seems less impenetrable than that of 
 my own purpose.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 83 
 
 " May 3rd.--! am not sure that ray father's woids 
 were not the best niadicine in the world for n:e. It 
 is so much better to have to meet others than to 
 expect them to meet us. 
 
 " I have not to erect my cross into an idolatry, 
 3erving it with a ritual of passionate kisses and tears. 
 I have to carry it ; and to do my work carrying it. 
 
 '• ' Si tu critcem portas ; ipsa te vicissim pnrtabil} 
 saith my mother's A Kempis. 
 
 " Shall I indeed ever prove that ? Not as a suf- 
 ferer only, but as a conqueror ? Then how ? Not 
 surely by looking at my cross, but by bearing it. 
 Not by bearing it with downcast eyes, but with 
 eyes upward to the redeeming Cross now empty ; — 
 to the living Conqueror who once suflered there ! 
 
 " May 1th. — Mistress Dorothy left a sermon of 
 Dr. Owen's with me. It was preached on occasion 
 of a Parliament victory over the king at Colchester 
 and Romford. She asked my forbearance with the 
 occasion. ' Not difficult to exercise (I said), since 
 victor and vanquished, King and Parliament, are 
 both banished now before this new usurpation.' 
 
 " I read it with interest. Little of the cant some 
 think characteristic of the Puritan speech there. 
 Dr. Owen calls Colchester, Colchester, and not 
 Cilead or Manasseh ; and England, England, not 
 Canaan ; and Naseby, Naseby, not Jezreel or Ar- 
 mageddon : and his enemies their own English 
 names, not bulls of Bashan, or Amorites, or Edom- 
 ites, or Ilagarenes. 
 
 " But it is for what he saith therein on trouble, 
 that 6he *jave it me. The text is the prayer of
 
 84 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Habakkuk the pi'ophet upon Shigionoth. Shigio 
 notli, saith the doctor, means ' variety, a song in 
 various metres.' ' Are not God's variable dispen- 
 sations held out under these variable tunes, not all 
 alike fitted to one string ? Are not several tunes 
 of mercy and judgment in those songs ? " By ter- 
 rible things in righteousness wilt thou answer us. n 
 Nothing more refreshes the panting soul than an 
 " answer " of its desires ; but to have this answer 
 by " terrible things " — that string strikes a humbling, 
 a mournful note. 
 
 " ' We are clothed by our Father in a party-co- 
 loured coat ; here a piece of unexpected deliver- 
 ance, and there a piece of deserved correction. The 
 cry of every soul is like the cry of old and young 
 at the foundation of the second temple. A mixed 
 cry is in our streets. 
 
 " ' A full wind behind the ship drives her not so 
 fast forward as a side wind that seems almost as 
 much against her as with her ; and the reason, they 
 say, is, because a full wind fills but some of her 
 sails, which keep it from the rest that they are 
 empty, when a side wind fills all her sails, and sends 
 her speedily forward. 
 
 "'Labour to have your hearts right tuned for 
 these variable songs, and sweetly to answer all 
 God's dispensations in their choice variety. It is 
 a song that reacheth every line of our hearts, to be 
 framed by the grace and Spirit of God. Therein 
 hope, fear, reverence, with humility and repentance 
 have a space, as well as joy, delight, and love, with 
 thankfulness.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SE (L. 8 J 
 
 " ' That instrument will make no music that hath 
 but some strings in tune. If, when God strikes on 
 the string of joy and gladness, we answer plea- 
 santly ; but when lie touches upon that of sorrow 
 and humiliation, we suit it not ; we are hroken in- 
 struments that make no melody unto God. A well- 
 tuned heart must have all its strings, all its affec- 
 tions, ready to answer every touch of God's finger. 
 He will make everything beautiful in its time. 
 Sweet harmony cometh out of some discords. 
 When hath a gracious heart the soundest joys, 
 but when it hath the deepest sorrows ? When 
 hath it the humblest meltings, but when it hath 
 the most ravishing joys ? 
 
 " ' In every distress learn to wait with patience for 
 the appointed time. Wait for it believing, wait 
 for it praying, wait for it contending. Waiting is 
 not a lazy hope, a sluggish expectation. 
 
 " ' Ye must be weary and thirsty, ye must be led 
 into the wilderness before the rock-Avaters come. 
 Yet (to those who wait) they shall come. Though 
 grace and mercy seem to be locked up from them 
 like water in a flint, whence fire is more natural 
 than water, — yet God will strike abundance out of 
 Christ for their refreshment with His rod of mercy. 
 
 " ' He would have His people wholly wrapt up in 
 His all-sufficiency. Have your souls never in spiritual 
 trial been drawn from all your outworks to this 
 mam for*, ? God delights to have the soul give up 
 itself t< a contented losing of all its reasonings 
 even in the infinite unsearchableness of His good- 
 ness and power Here He would ha r e us secure oui 
 8
 
 86 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 shallow harks vn this quiet sea, this infinite ocean 
 whither neither wind nor storm do once approach. 
 " ' Those blustering temptations which rage at 
 the shore, when we are half at, land and half at sea, 
 half upon the bottom of our own reason and half 
 upon the ocean of Providence, reach not at all into 
 this deep. Oh, that we could in all our trials lay 
 ourselves down in these arms of the Almighty, His 
 all-sufficiency in power and goodness. Oh, how much 
 of the haven should we have in our voyage ; how 
 much of home in our pilgrimage, how much of 
 heaven in this wretched earth ! ' 
 
 " Words of strong consolation, Dr. Owen, to 
 reach even to us ' malignant ' exiles in this foreign 
 land. 
 
 " May 4///. — It was well I copied these words out ; 
 for my father, seeing the superscription of the pam- 
 phlet, grew very fierce at it, called it a firebrand 
 and a seditious libel, and bade Barbe, our servant, 
 light her next fire therewith. 
 
 u And to-day he hath brought me the ' Icon Basi- 
 like,' daintily bound like a missal. 
 
 " ' Here is reading fitter for a loyal maiden,' quoth 
 he. Since whicl I have done little else but lament 
 ever the sorrows and heavenly patience of His Sa- 
 cred Majesty. 
 
 " If Olive and the rest could but see this, they 
 would surely be melted to rt pentance, and enkind- 
 led to counterwork their sad misdoings. And who 
 shall say any repentance is vain ? 
 
 " My father is full of hope at present. We h&vi
 
 ON BOTH SIDES ( F THE SEA. S, 
 
 had fearful accounts of the disorders in the cit) of 
 London and in the array ; the very strongholds of 
 the rebels. The whole country seems to be in a 
 blaze. Executions, funeral processions in honoui 
 of the people executed, mutiny suppressed only by 
 the strongest measures. Surely this tumult must 
 spend itself, or exhaust the nation soon. And, as if 
 smitten with madness, they say the substance of 
 the army and its greatest chiefs are to depart for 
 Ireland, leaving this half-suppressed conflagration 
 behind them. 
 
 " These things nourish great hopes among us. 
 
 "Meanwhile, from Scotland there are the most 
 oncouracnnof tidings, the whole nation seeming to 
 be awaking to their duty. His Majesty the young 
 king will depart before long, to be a rallying point 
 for this reviving loyalty. 
 
 August 20, Paris. — The tumults of the Fronde are 
 over. The French Court has returned to Paris, and 
 it is my work at present to give as much a look of 
 home as I can to these four or five great rooms on 
 one floor of an hotel belonging to one ot* the ancient 
 decayed nobility, where we are to make our sojourn. 
 [Abode is a word I will never use in relation to this 
 land of our exile.) 
 
 "These rooms open into each other, and ccm- 
 mand an inner courtyard, where a fountain flows all 
 day from a classical marble urn held by a nymph. 
 The cool trickle is very pleasant to hear in this 
 great heat. On this nymph and on other classical 
 statues, the cook of the French family who live be- 
 low U8 jrwverently hangs his pots and pans to dry
 
 88 ON LOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 singing, meanwhile, snatches of chansons, which 
 end high up in the scale, with all kinds of unexpec- 
 ted and indescribable flourishes. 
 
 " Our family is enlarged. Besides our own cook, 
 we have a French waiting-maid, who also does work 
 about my rooms. She has wonderfully lissom lin- 
 gers, turning everything out of her hands, from my 
 coiffure to my father's chocolate, with a finish and 
 neatness which give to our little household arrange- 
 ments such a grace and order as if we had a splen- 
 did establishment. Indeed, few of our fellow-exiles 
 have the comforts we have. Our revenues come to 
 us regularly, my father knows not (or will not know) 
 how. But I feel little doubt to whose hands and 
 hearts we owe them. They enable us to keep some- 
 thing like an open table in a simple way for our 
 countrymen, so that we hear much of what is 
 going on. 
 
 " August -26th. — Our rooms do begin to have some- 
 thing of a home feeling. My youngest brother, 
 Walter, has joined us. Roland, now our eldest, is 
 not hopeful as to the king's prospects wmile Oliver 
 Cromwell lives, and has offered his sword to the 
 Spanish Court. But Walter is a marvellous solace 
 and delight to us. ITe was always the gayest and 
 lightest-hearted of the band of brothers, and (except 
 Harry) the kindest and gentlest. In all other re- 
 spects he resembled my mother more than any of us. 
 The bright auburn hair (such a crown, when flow- 
 ing in the Cavalier love-locks) ; the soft eyes. And, 
 next to Harry, he was most on her heart. In a dif- 
 ferent way — Harry as her stay and rest ; Walter as
 
 ON BOTE SIDES OF THE SEA. gg 
 
 her tenderest anxiety. So much she thought there 
 was of promise in him, yet so much to cause solici- 
 tude. None amongst us were so moved in child- 
 h >od by devotional feeling. As a child, he said 
 lovely things to her, having an angelic insight, she 
 deemed, into the beauty of heavenly truth. She 
 would weep in repeating these sayings, and say she 
 feared ( ' but ought to hope ' ) it betokened eai-ly 
 death. But this passed away with early childhood. 
 As a boy, he was the merriest, and, in some ways, 
 the wildest of all; the oftenest in difficulties, though 
 the soonest out of them. But she had ever the 
 strongest influence over him. And up to her death, 
 although he had done many things to make hei 
 anxious, he had done nothing to make her despond. 
 
 "In her last illness she spoke of him more than 
 of any one, and charged me to care for him. 
 
 " And now he is once more at home with us, and 
 seems to cling to me with much of the fond reve- 
 rence he had for her. In the twilight on Sundays 
 he likes me to talk of her, and sing the heavenly 
 songs she loved. 
 
 " And for his sake mainly I tune my lute, and 
 sing old English songs, and learn some new French 
 ones, and mind the fashions of the Court ; not that 
 for my own sake I like to have ill-made or misco- 
 loured clothes. (I think, too, there is one who 
 w 7 ould care; and whether he ever see me again or 
 not, I have a kind of self-regard due to him. Who 
 can tell if Oliver might repent, or die, and England 
 be England once more ? ) 
 
 " Augvsi 2U ; >. — This day my father has presented
 
 9 o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 me to a sweet aged French lady, Madame la Motha 
 St. Rcmy. She knew my mother, in long past days, 
 at the English Court, and for her sake has welcomed 
 me as a child (having none of her own), embracing 
 me tenderly, kissing me on both cheeks. A most 
 lovely lady, with a sweet grandeur in her demea- 
 nour, which made me feel as if I had been given the 
 honour of the Tabouret at Court, when she seated 
 me on a low seat beside her. clasping my hands in 
 hers. 
 
 " When we were left alone together, after some 
 conversation on indifferent topics, pushing my haix 
 back from my forehead, she said, — 
 
 " 'The same face, my child ! but different tints ; 
 and a different soul. More colour, I think, without 
 and within. The brown richer, the gold brighter, 
 the eyes darker, and a look in them which seems to 
 say, life will not easily conquer what looks through 
 them. Of colour here,' she said, stooping and kis- 
 sing my cheek, 'perhaps I must not judge at this 
 moment. Pardon me, my child, that I spoke as 
 if I was speaking to a picture. When we see the 
 children of those whom we loved in early years, we 
 see our youth in their faces. To me thou art not 
 only Mademoiselle Lettice, thou art a whole lost 
 world of love and delight. When I look at thee I 
 see not thee only, I see visions and dream dreams. 
 Ah, pardon, my child, I have made thee weep; I 
 have brought back her image indeed into thine 
 eyes,' 
 
 •' Ted me of her, madame,' I said. 
 
 * * How shall I tell thee of ber ? She was a Si
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 91 
 
 Agnes — a beautiful soul lent for a season to this 
 world never belonging to it. Some called her an 
 angel ; that she never was. When first I knew her, 
 she was simple, joyous, guileless as a child, but al- 
 ways tender, with tears near the brim, a heart sen- 
 sitive to every touch of delight or pain ; not strong, 
 radiant, triumphant, like the angels who have never 
 suffered.' 
 
 " ' She had suffered even then,' I said, ' when you 
 knew her, madame ?' 
 
 " ' She never told thee ? Ah then, perhaps, I 
 make treacherous revelations. What right have I 
 to lift the veil she kept so faithfully drawn ?' 
 
 " k You can tell me nothing of my mother, ma- 
 dame,' I said, ' which will not make her memory 
 more sacred.' 
 
 " ' Ao-ain, that look is not hers ! Your face be- 
 wilders me, my child. This moment soft like hers ; 
 now all enkindled, full of fire; to do battle for her, 
 I know,' — she added. ' But, as thou sayest, there is 
 nothing which needs to be concealed.' 
 
 " ' Madame,' I said, ' her life belongs to me, does 
 it not ? any recollection of her is my legacy and 
 treasure. I also may have to endure. Most women 
 have.' 
 
 " ' It was my brother, my child,' she said. 'The 
 Borrow was half mine, which perhaps gives me some 
 right to speak. He was in the embassy in London, 
 and I, recently married, was there also. They loved 
 each other. They were all but betrothed. But 
 they were separated. Calumnious cabals, I know 
 not what. The misery of these things is, that one
 
 p 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 never knows how they go wrong;. A bewildering 
 mist, :i breath of gusty rumour, and the souls which 
 saw into each other's depths with a glance, which 
 revealed to each other life-secrets in a tone, which 
 were as one, which are as one, lose each other on 
 the sea of life, drifting for ever further and further 
 apart, beyond reach of look, or tone, or cry of an- 
 guish. So it was with them. He came back to 
 France, bewildered, despairing ; sought death on 
 more than one battle-field ; at last found it. And 
 then we learned how true she was to him ; what a 
 depth of passionate love dwelt in the child-like 
 heart. But two years afterwards your father en- 
 treated and your grandfather insisted, till at length 
 she yielded and was married. They thought the 
 old love was dead. But when I saw her afterwards, 
 pale, meek, and passive, like the ghost of herself, I 
 thought it was not the love that was dead, but the 
 heart.' 
 
 " ' But her heart was not dead, madame,' I said. 
 ' She loved us all at home with a love tender, and 
 living, and fervent as ever warmed heart or home.' 
 
 " ' Without doubt, my child,' said madame. 'Duty 
 was a kind, of passion with her always. She was 
 ardent in goodness, as others are in love. There is 
 the passion of maternal love, and there is the flame 
 of devotion. A great passion may leave fuel for 
 other fires in a pure heart, but it leaves no place for 
 a second like itself. But why should I speak tc thee 
 thus? thou who art but a child. After all, have I 
 been a traitor?' 
 
 " ' It is my English fairness and -;olour, perhaps,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 93 
 
 which make madam e think me younger than 1 am. 
 Do not repent what you have told me ; I maj need 
 such memories yet to strengthen me.' 
 
 " She smiled, one of those smiles which always 
 bring youth into the faces that have them ; a smile 
 from the heart, which lit up her dark eyes so that 
 mv heart was warmed at their light — and turned 
 the wrinkles into dimples, and seemed to bring sun- 
 shine on the silky white hair. 
 
 " ' No, no, my friend,' she said, ' thou wilt never 
 suffer as she did. Thou wilt conquer thy destiny.' 
 
 " ' She conquered,' I said; 'she was the joy and 
 blessing of every heart that knew her.' 
 
 " ' As to heaven and duty, yes, my child ; she wa? 
 a saint. But thou wilt conquer as to earth also ; 1 
 see it in thine eyes.' 
 
 "How little she knows ! 
 
 " This history has made so many things clear to 
 me. I know now what my mother meant when she 
 said I could never save Sir Launcelot by marrying 
 him, unless I loved him. I know now how it was 
 she bore so passively some things which I could 
 have wished otherwise at home. She felt, I think, 
 that, give what she might in patience, and duty, 
 and loyal regard, she could not give my father what 
 he had given her. And therefore, perhaps, she could 
 not, as he said, help him to 'climb.' She could 
 come down to him in all loving, lowly ministries 
 and forbearances; but love only (I think), in that 
 relationship, can have that instinctive sympathy, 
 that secret irresistible constraint which, with a thou- 
 sand wilfulnesses and blunderings, yet could /rive
 
 94 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 drawn his soul up to hers. When so much of the 
 strength of the nature is spent in keeping doors of 
 memory rigidly closed, perchance too little is left to 
 meet the little daily difficulties of life with the play 
 and freedom which makes them light. And this 
 awakens a new strong hope in my heart, binding 
 ine as never before with a fond, regretful reverence 
 to my father. Something she has left me to do. 
 
 " Something, perhaps, which she could never have 
 done for him. I (so far beneath her ! ) may, by vir- 
 tue of there being no locked-up world of the past 
 between us, help a little more to lead him to those 
 other heights which he protested to her he could 
 never climb. By virtue, moreover, of not having to 
 stoop from any heights to him, but being in the 
 valley with him, so that I can honestly say and feel, 
 ' we will try to climb together.' 
 
 "For in this at least I am sure the Puritans are 
 right. The up-hill path is no exceptional supere 
 rogatory excursion for those who have a peculiai 
 fancy for mountain-tops; it is the one L-^cessary 
 path for every one of us, and it is always up-hill to 
 the end ; the only other being, not along the levels, 
 but downward, downward, every step downward, 
 out of the pure air, out of the sun-light ; d o-wnwarcl 
 for ever ! 
 
 " August 23(7. — To-day I kissed our queers hand. 
 She embraced me, and said gracious wo/ds abou\ 
 my mother. She was in deep mourning ; and with 
 her was the little Princess Henrietta, a chi) d cf mar- 
 vellous vivacity and grace. Her Majesty ivould 
 graciously have taken me into closer connection
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 95 
 
 with hii Court, and with the French Court also. 
 But my father seems not solicitous for this. He is 
 all the more an Englishman for being an exile; and 
 lie misiiketh their Popish doings, and some other 
 doings of which probably the Pope would disap- 
 prove as much as the Puritans. He saith the French 
 courtiers, many of them, seem to think of nothing 
 but making love, without sufficiently considering 
 to whom ; not making love and settling it once for 
 all like reasonable people, but going on making it 
 the amusement of their lives all the way through, 
 which is quite another thing. And he thinks the 
 less I hear of all this the better. 
 
 " He saith, moreover, that the company around 
 the young king, if fit enough for His Majesty and 
 for young men like Walter, who 'must sow their 
 wild oats on some field,' is not the fittest for me. 
 
 " But it seems to me I should be ten thousand 
 times safer in such company than Walter, impetuous 
 and gay, and easily moved, and with no great love 
 in his heart to keep it pure and warm. I would I 
 could find him some such French maiden as Ma- 
 dame laMothe must have been when she was young. 
 Are these wild oats, tt°,n, the only seeds in the 
 world that yield no harvest ? My heart aches for 
 Walter in that bad world where I cannot follow 
 him, and whence he so often comes back flushed, 
 and hasty, and impatient, and unlike himself. 
 
 " Last Sunday we attended the English service, 
 which our queen has obtained permission to be held 
 in a hall at the palace of the Louvre. Bishop Cosiii* 
 officiated.
 
 9 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 *' It was the happiest hour I have spent in this 
 strange land. The sacred old words, how they come 
 home to the heart. Not heaven alone is in them ; 
 but England, home, childhood. 
 
 ' ; Unhappy Puritans ! to have banished the old 
 prayers from parish-church, hall, and minster. 
 
 " Unhappy Papistical people ! to banish them into 
 a dead ancient language. The other day I went 
 with my father into the Cathedral of Notre Dame. 
 The priests were chanting in Latin at the altar. 
 Those Catholic children can have none of the mem- 
 ories so dear to us of the gradual breaking of the 
 light into the dear old words, as in our childhood 
 we wake up to them one by one to see they are not 
 music only, but words : to find a joyful significance 
 in each sentence oi the creeds and hymns and 
 prayers 
 
 -• i wonder what they have instead ? 
 
 " September 8th. — To-day Madame la Mothe came 
 into my bed-chamber. Seeing the little table with 
 the picture of the Crucifixion my mother loved, rest- 
 ing on it, and her Bible and A Kempis on it (with 
 the 'Icon Basilike'), she crossed herself and em- 
 braced me, pointing to the picture. 
 
 " ' It was my mother's,' I said. 
 
 " ' Had she then come back to the Church ?' 
 
 '"She was always in the Church, madame,' I 
 said ; ' she was no Sectary.' 
 
 " ' Excuse me, I do not understand your English 
 terms. I mean the true, the ancient CLurch,' she 
 rejoined. 
 
 f< ' My mother believed ours to be the ancient
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 9? 
 
 Church, madame,' I said. ' We are not mere Cal 
 vinista or Lutherans.' 
 
 " ' No doubt, my child, I would not give you 
 offence ; but it is not to be expected a Catholic 
 should recognize those little distinctions among 
 those we must consider heretics. You understand, 
 I mean no offence, it is simply that I am ignorant. 
 Perplex me not with those subtleties, my child ; I 
 a <k, can it be possible that thou and thine are re- 
 turning to allegiance to His Holiness the Pope, and 
 the holy Roman Church ?' 
 
 " ' Our Church does not indeed acknowledge the 
 Pope, madame, nor the Roman Church,' I said, try- 
 ing to recall some of the debates I had heard on the 
 matter, which had in itself never much occupied 
 me. ' We are English, not Roman. But I have 
 heard our chaplain speak with the greatest respect 
 of some popes Avho lived, I think, a little more than 
 a thousand years ago, and say he Avould gladly have 
 received consecration from them.' 
 
 " ' No doubt, my friend, no doubt,' said madame, 
 becoming a little excited, ' but the priests of to-day 
 cannot be consecrated by popes who lived a thou- 
 sand years ago. I would ask, are any of you will- 
 ing to return to the popes of to-day ? We used to 
 hear your Bishop Laud well spoken of, and were 
 not without hopes of you all at that time. It was 
 once reported he had been offered a Cardinal's hat 
   — of course on conditions. Have you advanced a 
 little nearer since then ? Are you coming back to 
 the fold in earnest ?' 
 
 " ' To the Pope who lives now, madame ?' 1 

 
 9 3 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 said ; ' I do not think the archbishop or our chap 
 lain ever dreamed of that. Our chaplain was always 
 hoping the Church of Rome would come back to- 
 wards us. 1 
 
 " ' Towards you ! towards heresy, my child \ 
 You speak of what you know not,' she replied, 
 waving her hands rapidly, as if to brush away a 
 swarm of insects. 'Any one of us, our priests, 
 His Holiness himself may indeed move towards a 
 Protestant, as the good Shepherd towards the wan- 
 dering sheep, to bring it back. But the Church, 
 never ! She is the rock, my friend, on which the 
 world rests. She moves not. The world moves, 
 che sand shifts, the sea beats, but she is the rock.' 
 
 " ' But, madame, pardon me,' I said, ' the chap- 
 lain thought the Church of Rome had changed. 
 There is a Rock, he thought, on which all the 
 Churches rest. All we want (he said) is to remove 
 some accumulations with wnich the lapse of time 
 has encumbered this rock ; and then he thought we 
 might all be one again.' 
 
 " ' My child,' she replied, ' the Church does not 
 move ; but most surely she builds, or rather she 
 grows. She is living, and all things living grow. 
 She is as one of our great cathedrals. Age after 
 age adds to its towers, its chapels, its side aisles. 
 Heart after heart adds to its shrines. But it is still 
 one cathedral. We do not need to hunt out obso- 
 lete books to see if we are building according to the 
 oldest rules. New needs create new rules. When 
 we want to know what to believe, we do not need 
 t") send for antiquaries. We do not need to grope
 
 ON BOTH SIDES i F THE SEA. 
 
 99 
 
 bactc among the for off centuries and see what those 
 excellent popes, of whom your good chaplain spoke, 
 said a thousand years ago. We have a living Pope 
 now. He is the vicar of Christ ; we listen, he can 
 speak, he can teach, he can command. We do not 
 need to go to ancient worm-eaten books for our 
 creeds. They were living voices in their age, and 
 spoke for it. We have the living voice for our age, 
 and we listen to it. Tell rue then, quite simply; 
 are your English people, or any of them, coming 
 back to the true ancient Catholic Church ?' 
 
 " ' Many among us have sighed for a union with 
 the rest of Catholic Christendom,' I said. ' Our 
 chaplain used to speak much of it. We are not of 
 the sects, he said, who have overrun Germany and 
 other Protestant countries, Lutheran, Zwinglian., 
 Calvinist, Huguenot. He used to speak much of 
 their errors. One or two little concessions, he said, 
 and all might be one again.' 
 
 " ' Concessions from us, my child !' said madame, 
 shaking her head. ' What would you have ? The 
 doors of the Church stand open. You have but to 
 enter. The arms of His Holiness are outstretched. 
 You have but to fly to them. You have pardon, 
 welcome, reconciliation, not a reproach for the past, 
 all forgotten ! What would you have more ?' 
 
 " ' Madame,' I said, ' we think we are in the Ca- 
 tholic Church.' 
 
 " ' Ah, my charming child,' she said, smiling com- 
 passionately. ' I see it is in vain to speak of these 
 things. In your island you have the ideas of an 
 island. You have so many things to yourselves
 
 ,oo ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 that you think you may have everything to your 
 selves. You have your constitution, your seas, 
 your mountains and plains, your clouds, your skies, 
 all to yourselves. But the Catholic Church ! Ah, 
 my child, that is impossible ; you are a remarl able 
 people, and have remarkable ambitions. But fhere 
 are things possible and things impossible. You 
 cannot have a Catholic Church all to yours' Ives. 
 It is not a thing possible.' 
 
 " Then the slight excitement there had be^sn ia 
 her manner passed away, and she said, — 
 
 " ' My child, we will not perplex ourselves much 
 with these difficult things. I have a very holy 
 cousin among the ladies of Port Royal. Perhaps 
 one day I may introduce her to you. For women, 
 happily, if they can help to welcome ear h other 
 within the sacred doors, have not the keys* to close 
 them. And with regard to thy mother, all this has 
 nothing to do. Heavenly beings are not s «bject to 
 earthly laws. And that among the heathen there 
 were such, my director assures me there is mo doubt. 
 I trust even there were such amonsf the Huguenots : 
 for some of my ancestors were unhappily " gentle- 
 men of the religion.' " 
 
 " ' Did any of them suffer in the St. Bartholo- 
 mew ?' I asked ; 'and do you know if »'»y among 
 them took refuse in London ?' 
 
 " ' I have heard there is one ot their descendants 
 established in London as a physician,' she -*aid. 
 
 " ' I know him, madame,' I said. And it made 
 me feel a kind of kindred with the gentle Fiench 
 lady that a connection of hers, however remote, 
 riad rnar^°'1 01r» a
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. lot 
 
 cs But this evening, when Barbo, the waiting- 
 woman, was arranging my hair, and 1 was consol 
 ing her with telling her some of Dr. Owen's 
 thoughts about sorrow (for Barbe has lately lost 
 her mother, and is a destitute orphan, and has had 
 a sorrowful life in many ways), she said, in a choked 
 voice, — 
 
 " ' Ah, if mademoiselle could only hear the min- 
 ister at the preche. For the people of the religion 
 are allowed to meet again, in a quiet way.' 
 
 " ' You belong to the religion then, Barbe ?' 
 
 " ' Without doubt, mademoiselle. Have not my 
 kindred fought and been massacred for it these 
 hundred years ? This is what made me so glad 
 when the chevalier engaged me to wait on made- 
 moiselle. I knew at once it was the good hand of 
 God. For the English are also of the religion, my 
 father said ; and although they have sometimes per- 
 plexed our people by promising much and doing 
 little for us, we always knew these were mere Court 
 intrigues ; and that in heart we were one.' 
 
 " ' But, Barbe,' I said, with some hesitation, wish- 
 ing not to mislead, nor yet to pain her, ' we are not 
 exactly of " the religion." The English Church is 
 not like yours. We are not Calvinists. We have 
 bishops and a liturgy, and have changed as little as 
 possible the old Catholic ritual.' 
 
 " ' Ah, what does that matter ?' replied Barbe, 
 unmoved ; ' to each country its customs ! These 
 little distinctions are affairs of the clergy. They 
 are not for such as me. And I have known from 
 my infancy that the English are Protestant. They 
 
 Q*
 
 ro2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 do not acknowledge the Pope nor the Mass. They 
 do not burn for these things ; on the contrary, they 
 have heen burned for them. They may, indeed, 
 have their little eccentricities,' continued Barbe 
 charitably. ' Bishops even, and a Book of Pray 
 ers ! Do they not live on an island ? Which in 
 itself is an eccentricity. But they are Protestant. 
 I have always known it, and now I see it. Made- 
 moiselle does not go to Confession ; she does not 
 adore the Host. Every morning and evening she 
 reads her Bible in her own language. She consoles 
 me with the excellent words of a Protestant minis- 
 ter, as good as w r e hear at our preche. Therefore 
 mademoiselle is doubtless of " the religion." And 
 to me it is a privilege, for which I thank God day 
 and night, that I am called to wait on her.' 
 
 " It is very strange how differently things look 
 a little way off. Neither Barbe nor Madame la 
 Mothe seem able even to perceive the differences 
 which to us have been so important. In spite of 
 all I can say, Madame la Mothe regards me as out- 
 side ; ' very good, very dear, very charming,' but 
 still outside ; as a heretic, as a Huguenot. And in 
 spite of all I can say, Barbe regards me as within ; 
 of her community, of her Church, of her religion, 
 of her family ; as a sister. 
 
 " What are we to do ? 
 
 " We offer our hands courteously to all the ancient 
 Churches. And they turn scornfully away, saying, 
 On your knees, as penitents, we will veceive you, 
 but, otherwise, never ! You are outcasts, prodigals, 
 in the ' frr country.'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ,oj 
 
 " Oil the other hand we turn away from the new 
 Protestant Churches saying, In some respects yon 
 are right, but you have lost the ancient priesthood 
 you have rent yourselves from Catholic antiquity. 
 And nevertheless they persist in embracing us, in 
 calling us kindred, sisters and brethren. 
 
 " What are we to do ? 
 
 " In England it was in comparison easy. "We had 
 things to ourselves. Across the seas, where these 
 foreign Churches loomed on our vision in rockv 
 masses through the mist and distance, it was easy 
 to maintain our theory about them. But here, 
 where we are amidst them, and Churches break 
 into communities of men and women, it is difficult 
 to continue stretching out peaceable hands to those 
 who scornfully pass by on the other side, and not 
 to clasp in brotherly greeting the hands held out in 
 welcome to us. Barbe and her Huguenots (since they 
 have will it so) I must then acknowledge as kindred. 
 
 " Yet whether they heed or not, I must >nd will 
 also honour as our brethren every Catholic who is 
 just, and good, and Christian. Their treasures of 
 goodness are ours, in as far as they are our delight 
 and our example, and none can deprive us of the 
 possession. 
 
 " It seems to me, if the English Church shuts her 
 heart against the Protestants on one side, and the 
 Roman Church on the other, her fold becomes the 
 narrowest corner of Christendom a Christian can 
 creep into. But if, on the contrary, she stretches out 
 her hands to both, bound on one side by her creeds 
 and liturgies to the Catholic past, and on the other
 
 104 
 
 ON BOTH kIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 free to receive all the truth yet to be revealed m 
 the free Word of God, what field on earth so fer- 
 tile and so free, enriched by all the past, free to all 
 the future ? 
 
 " It is those who exclude who are really the ex- 
 cluded. The more our hearts can find to love and 
 honour, the richer they are. 
 
 " The outlaws, I think, in God's Church are not 
 those who are cast out of the synagogue, but those 
 who cast others out." 
 
 olive's recollections. 
 
 At five o'clock on the evening of the 10th of July, 
 1049, the trumpets sounded again in London sti jets, 
 not for a soldier's funeral, and not for a triumph, 
 but for an army going forth to war. To battle with 
 a whole nation in insurrection, or rather in tumult ; 
 every man's hand practised in cruel and treacherous 
 warfare against every man through those blood 
 stained eight years since the massacre of 1641, now 
 all combined against the Commonwealth and Oliver. 
 
 "With hopeful hearts they went forth with Crom- 
 well, as Lord-Lieutenant. 
 
 It was the first time General Cromwell had taken 
 on him much show of outward state. But men said 
 it seemed to fit him well, as I think state must whi< h 
 grows out of power, like the pomp of summer leaves 
 around massive trunks. He rode in a coach drawn 
 by six gray Flanders mares ; many coaches in his 
 train ; his life-guard eighty gentlemen, none of them 
 below the rank of an esquire; the trumpets echoing 
 through the city, stirring the hearts of the Ironsides, 
 who, when he led them, " thank God, were nev**r
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 10, 
 
 beaten." His colours were white, as of one who 
 made war to ensure peace ; who was going not as 
 a soldier only and a conqueror, but as a imlei and 
 judge to bring order into chaos, and law into law- 
 lessness. This state beseemed the occasion well. 
 
 The armv went with a g;ood heart, and in unshaken 
 trust that he was leading them to a good work, and 
 that it was " necessary and therefore to be done ;" 
 the most part, like Roger, proud of* being the men 
 who had never mistrusted him ; a few r , like Job 
 Forster, all the more eager in their loyalty for the 
 shame of having once mistrusted; and many, like 
 the chief himself, all the stronger in this and every 
 work for sharing his conviction that all earthly work 
 (to say nothing of pleasure), compared with the in- 
 ward spiritual work from which it drew its strength, 
 was only done " upon the Bye." 
 
 But we women who watched them go, looked on 
 them with anxious hearts. They w^ere plunging 
 into a chaos, which for hundreds of years no man 
 had been able to bmig into light and order. What 
 they w r ould do there seemed doubtful; who would 
 return thence terribly uncertain ; that all could 
 never rt turn terribly certain. 
 
 Poor Bridget Cromwell, then young Mistress Ire- 
 ton, and many beside, could the veil have been lifted, 
 would, instead of festive white banners, have seen 
 funeral draperies, and for the call to arms would 
 have heard the trumpets peal for the soldier's knell. 
 
 Mistress Lucy Hutchinson needed not to speak 
 scornfully of the fine clothing which became Gen- 
 eral Cromwell's daughters "as little as scarlet an
 
 io6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ape." They did not wear it long. And indeed 
 holiday garments at the longest are scarcely wore 
 long enough in this world for it to be worth while 
 that any should envy or flout at them. 
 
 For the rest, the Lord-Lieutenant's life was no 
 holiday ; nor did he or his Ironsides look that il 
 should be. Not for merry-making or idling, he 
 thought, hut "for public services a man is born." 11 
 victories and successes came, " these things are to 
 strengthen our faith and love," he said, " against 
 more difficult times." 
 
 We are always in a warfare, he believed ; the 
 scenes change, but the campaign ends not 
 
 As Mr. John Milton wrote of him : " In a short 
 time he almost surpassed the greatest generals in 
 the magnitude and rapidity of his achievements. 
 Nor is this surprising,' for he was a soldier disci- 
 plined to perfection in the knowledge of himself. 
 He had either extinguished, or by habit had iearned 
 to subdue, the whole host of vain hopes, fears, and 
 passions which infest the soul ; so that on the first 
 day he took the field against the external enemy he 
 was a veteran in arms, consummately practised in 
 the toils and exigencies of war." 
 
 The portion of the army which went before the 
 General gained a victory in July over the Marquis 
 of Ormond, who was besieging Dublin ; -o thai 
 when Oliver landed, with hat in hand, and spoke 
 gently to the people in Dublin, and tuld them lie 
 wished, by God's providence, to spread the gospel 
 among them, to restore all to their just rights and 
 liberties, and the bleeding nation to happiness, man j
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 107 
 
 hundreds welcomed hiin and vowed they would live 
 and die with him. 
 
 Three letters are preserved among my old Diaries 
 which came to us during that Irish Campaign. One 
 was from Job not long after the storming of Wex- 
 ford. 
 
 "We have had to do ' terrible things in righteous- 
 ram,' " he wrote. " For years the land has been 
 like one of the wicked old Roman wild-beast shows 
 in the Book of Martyrs ; the wild beasts first tearir. ■» 
 the Christians in pieces, and then in their fury fall 
 ing on each other. This the General is steadfastly 
 minded shall not any longer be. Whereon all the 
 people of the land have for a time given over rend- 
 ing each other in pieces, to fall on us. We, how 
 ever, praised be God, are not, like the ancient Chris- 
 tians, thrown to the wild beasts uuarmed, nor un- 
 trained in nVhtino;. For which cause, and through 
 the mercy of God, the wild beasts have not slaugh- 
 tered us, but we not a few of them. And the rest 
 we hope in good time to send to their dens, that the 
 peaceable- folk may have rest, may till their fields in 
 peace, and may have freedom to worship God. 
 
 " For peaceable folk there are in the land. It has 
 lightened my heart to find that the natives are not all 
 savages, like the Irish women with knives we found 
 on the field at Xaseby. Many of the mare kindly crea- 
 tures, well understand fair treatment, and generously 
 return it. Their countenances are many of them open, 
 and their understandings seem quick, to a marvel, 
 for po)r folks who have been brought up without 
 knowing either the English tongue or the Christ iau
 
 io8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 religion. It seems as if they had been seduced with 
 evil reports of us ; for at first they ran away, and 
 hid themselves in caves and dens of the earth, when- 
 ever we came near them. But since they under- 
 stand that we are no persecutors nor plunderers, 
 the common people begin to come freely to Ihft 
 camp, and bring us meat for man and horse, foi 
 which we pay. 
 
 " The Lord-General is very stern against all mis- 
 use or plundering of these poor folk. Two of ours 
 have been hanged for dealing ill with them ; which 
 was i wonderful sight to the natives, and hath en- 
 soumged them much. 
 
 " The storm of Tredah was no child's-play. The 
 Lord-General offered the garrison (mostly English- 
 mer.) mercy. ' But if upon refusing this offer, what 
 you like not befalls you,' he said, ' you will know 
 Avh' m to blame.' They refused mercy. Where- 
 fore, after winning the place by some hard fighting 
 (bong once driven back, a thing we were not used 
 to), the garrison had justice. They were three 
 thousand. Scarce any of them survived to dispute 
 on. whom to lay the blame. It was not so bad as 
 Berne of the things Joshua had to do ; the judgment 
 not going beyond the fighting men. Bjt praised 
 be God, that for the most part it pleases Him to 
 work his terrible things by the stormy winds, the 
 earthquakes, and pestilence, and not by the hands 
 of men, 
 
 "The General saith, 'I trust this bitterness will 
 save much effusion of blood, through the goodnes* 
 of God.'
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 109 
 
 "And truly, after Tredah, few garrisons waited 
 foi our summons, and fewer still refused the Lord- 
 General's mercy. We had but one piece of storm- 
 ing work since then. That was at Wexford. There 
 was some confusion ; the Lord-General wishing to 
 Bare the town from plunder. His summons by 
 words scorned, he summoned them by batteries. 
 Then the captain would have yielded the castle, 
 and the enemy left the walls of the town, whereon 
 our men got the storming ladders, and scaled the 
 walls. In the market-place there was again a hot 
 tight, and near two thousand of the enemy fell ; 
 some were drowned in trying to escape in boats by 
 the harbour. A notable judgment, we thought, for 
 some eight score of poor Protestants, who had been 
 sent out not long before in a ship Into the harbour, 
 then the ship scuttled, and they left to sink ; also 
 for other Protestants shut up in one of their mass- 
 houses, and famished to death. 
 
 " Since then the enemy has been scattered before 
 us like dust before the whirlwind. Their strong 
 places yield to our summons one by one. Please 
 God we may have no more ot the work of the 
 whirlwind and pestilence to do! For these poor 
 towns, on the day after the storming, with the 
 blackened walls and the empty houses, from which 
 the poor foolish folks have fled away into the fields, 
 are a sad desolation to behold. It hath cast some 
 little light on the slaying of the women and little 
 ones in tht Bible ; in that when the men are slain, 
 the lot of the widows, and orphaned little ones is 
 ««re to see. But war is not peace ; and they who 
 10
 
 ,lo ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 try to mix up the two, most times but put ofi the 
 peace, and in the end make the war more cruel. 
 The surge( n who laid down his knife at every groan 
 of the patient, would make a sorry cure. The Lord- 
 General has great hope of yet bringing the land to 
 be a place for honest and godly men and women to 
 live in, which, they say, it hath not been since the 
 memory of man. But one thing will by no means 
 be suffered; and that is the Mass. Some say this 
 is cruel mercy (since the deluded people hang their 
 salvation on it) ; and that it is contrary to the Lord- 
 General's promises of freedom of conscience. But 
 liberty to think is one thing, and liberty to do an- 
 other. The poor folk may believe what lies they 
 will ; but that they should be suffered to act false- 
 hoods in the sight of a godly Church and army is 
 an abomination not to be borne." 
 
 The letter from Roger came later. In it he wrote 
 much of the Lord-Lientenant. It was dated Febru- 
 ary, from Fethard in Tipperary, which, with Cashe* 
 and other towns in the west, had lately come undei 
 the Commonwealth. 
 
 " Six months since," Roger wrote, " only three 
 cities were for the Commonwealth — Dublin, Bel 
 fast, and Deny, and Deny besieged. The Lord 
 Lieutenant stormed two, after mercy refused, with 
 severity of the severest — Tredah and Wexford 
 since which, none but have yielded in time to avoid 
 the same fate : and in a little while, we have good 
 hopes, if matters go on as they have, not a town or 
 a stronghold will be left in the enemy's hands. 
 The mise y and desolation of the country is a*re
 
 ON BOTH BIDES OF THE SEA. \\\ 
 
 indeed ; but it has not been the fruit of only these 
 six months' war. Scarce, I t*ink, of the terrible 
 eight years' tumult since the massacre of 1641 ; 
 rather, perhaps, of no one can say how many cen- 
 turies of misrule, or no rule at all. 
 
 " The people united at first against us ; loyal 
 Catholics of the Pale, disloyal Catholics beyond 
 the Pale, Presbyterian Royalists, and Papists of 
 the massacre. Now their union seems crumbling 
 to pieces again, being founded, not on love, but on 
 hatred ; and out of hatred no permanent bonds can, 
 I think, be woven, even as my Lord-Lieutenant told 
 them last month in his Declaration. 
 
 " Divers priests met at the Seven Churches of 
 Clonmacnoise, on the Shannon, to patch up this 
 crumbling ' union' against us, if they could. Upon 
 this was issued the 'Declaration for the Undeceiv- 
 ing of Deluded and Seduced People ;' wherein the 
 Lord-Lieutenant told these clergymen many things 
 which, perhaps, they thought little to the point, 
 but which to him (and to us) are the root of all 
 things, and therefore must naturally be to the point, 
 especially when it is a question of uprooting. 
 
 " ' The terms " laity and clergy," ' he said, ' are 
 dividing, anti-christian terms. 
 
 " ' Ab initio non fail sic. The most pure and 
 primitive times, as they best know what true union 
 is, so in all addresses unto the churches, not one 
 word of this. 
 
 " ' The members of the churches are styled 
 "brethren," and saints of '.he same household of 
 faith ; and although they nad orders and distino-
 
 , 12 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE i'FA. 
 
 tions among them for administrating of ordinances 
 (of a far different use and character from yours)_ 
 yet it nowhere occasioned them to say contemptim, 
 and by way of lessening or contra-distinguishing, 
 " laity and clergy." It was your pride that begat 
 this expression ; and ye (as the Scribes and Phari- 
 sees of old did by their " laity ") keep the knowl- 
 edge of the law from them, and then be able in 
 their pride to say, " This people that know not the 
 law are cursed." 
 
 " ' Only consider what the Master of the apostles 
 said to them — " So shall it not be among you : who- 
 ever will be chief shall be servant of all." For He 
 Himself came " not to be ministered unto but to minis- 
 ter." And by this he that runs may read of what 
 tribe you are. 
 
 " ' This principle, that people are for kings and 
 churches, and saints are for the pope and church- 
 men, begins to be exploded. 
 
 " ' Here is your argument. " The design is to 
 extirpate the Catholic religion. But this is not to 
 be done but by the massacring and banishing or 
 otherwise destroying the Catholic inhabitants ; eigo, 
 it is designed to massacre, banish, and destroy the 
 Catholic inhabitants." This argument doth agree 
 well with your principles and practice, you having 
 chiefly made use of fire and sword in all the changes 
 in religion you have made in the world. But I say 
 there may be found out another means than mas- 
 sacring, destroying, and banishing, to wit, the Word 
 of God, which is able to convert. 
 
 " ' Therefore in these words your false and twisted
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 »U 
 
 dealing may be discovered. Good now ! Give us 
 an instance of one man, since my coming into Ire- 
 land, not in arms, massacred, destroyed, or banished, 
 concerning the massacre or destruction of whom 
 justice hath not been done or endeavoured to be 
 done. 
 
 " ' If ever men were engaged in a righteous cause 
 in the world, this will scarce be second to it. We 
 are come to ask an account of innocent blood that 
 hath been shed. "We come to break the power of 
 a company of lawless rebels, who, having cast otf 
 the authority of England, live as enemies to human 
 society. We come, by the assistance of God, to 
 hold forth and maintain the lustre and glory of 
 English liberty ; wherein the people of Ireland, if 
 they listen not to seducers such as you are, may 
 equally participate in all benefits ; to use their 
 liberty and fortune equally with Englishmen, if 
 they keep out of arms.' 
 
 " Then the Lord-Lieutenant offers peace, their 
 estates, and fortunes, to all except the leading con- 
 trivers of the Rebellion, to soldiers, nobles, gentle 
 and simple, who will lay down arms and live peace- 
 ably and honestly ; and promises justice on all sol- 
 diers or others who insolently oppress them. 
 
 " The which (Roger wrote) we have hopes the 
 poople will listen to ; and so, some ringleaders 
 being banished, some of the murderers of the mas- 
 sacre of 1G41 having after fair trial been hanged, 
 this terrible war end in order and blessing to all 
 who will be orderly. It hath been no beating the 
 air, this campaign in Ireland. Of courage there ii 
 10*
 
 1I4 . ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 no lack among this people. And many of ours 
 have suffered by the country sickness, which, with 
 the famine, came in the train of such wild lawless- 
 ness and fierce factions as have long desolated this 
 unhappy country. The Lord-Lieutenant himself 
 has been but crazy in health, and has been laid up 
 more than once . But, as he said, God's worst is bel- 
 ter than the world's best. He writes to the Parlia- 
 ment that he hopes before long to see Ireland no 
 burden to England, but a profitable part of the 
 Commonwealth. And we are not without hope 
 that our rough work here has ploughed up the land 
 for better harvests than it has yet yielded." 
 
 Then, some weeks later, another letter from Job 
 to Rachel, mentioning the storming of Clonmel 
 on the 10th of May, 1650, after many hours fiery 
 fighting. 
 
 " Against the stoutest enemy," Job writes, " we 
 have yet encountered in Ireland. Not that the 
 Irish are enemies to be despised. Their faculty for 
 fio-htincr seems of the hiirhest, indeed it seems their 
 taste, and the thing they like best, since they are 
 always ready, it seems, to be at it at the shortest 
 notice, and for the smallest cause, or none — which 
 is not the way of the Ironsides. We are peaceful 
 quiet men, as thou knowest, and went into the 
 fiixhtiuo:, not for the love of it, but for the love of 
 what they would not let us have without fight- 
 ins;. Which is a difference. 
 
 " It is said our Oliver hath permitted such officers 
 as lay lowr their arms to gather regiments of such 
 a» will joir them and to cross the seas to Spain or 

 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF 1HE SEA. \\t 
 
 France, there to fight for whoever will pay them, 
 They say 45,000 of these Kurisees are going. 
 Which seems to me pretty nearly the worst thing 
 human beings can do. Worse than slavery, inas- 
 much as it must be worse for men to sell themselves 
 than to be bought and sold. Who can say what 
 such courses may end in ? For the Almighty does 
 not buy his soldiers ; He has no mercenaries. But 
 the devil has. And he pays ; though not as he prom 
 ises. However, no doubt the country is better with- 
 out them." 
 
 We thought again often of Job's words, when 
 three regiments of these "Kurisees" were found, 
 in after years, massacring and torturing the peace- 
 able Vaudois peasants in their valleys, in the pay of 
 the Duke of Savoy, doing some of the direst devil's 
 work that perhaps was ever done on this earth. 
 
 This letter reached us at Netherby, where about 
 this time our little Dorothea was born. 
 
 I remember well how it cheered my heart as I sate 
 at my open chamber-window in some of the soft 
 days which now and then break the sharpness of 
 our early spring, and are as like a foretaste of heaven 
 as anything may be, to think that perchance the 
 lone night of tumult and disorder which had hung 
 over that distracted land was passing away, and a 
 new kingdom was arising of liberty and righteous- 
 ness and truth. 
 
 Our little Magdalen (Maidie) playing at my feet 
 with the first snoAvdrops she had ever seen, and the 
 baby Dorothea (Dolly) asleep on a pillow on my 
 knee. Spr tog-time, I thought, for the earth, and for
 
 If 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 i.liese darling j and for the nations. When lift it 
 given, who minds through what throes or storms ? 
 
 The old home was much changed by the absence 
 of Aunt Dorothy. I missed the foi*ce of her deter- 
 mined will and her sharp definite beliefs and dis- 
 beliefs. The music seemed too much all treble. I 
 nissed the decisive discords which give force and 
 meaning to the harmonies. There seemed no one to 
 waken us up with a hearty vigorous No ! 
 
 In the village, too, her firm straight-forward 
 counsels and rebukes were missed. Aunt Gretel and 
 my father seemed to have grown quieter and older. 
 Forcible, truthful, militant characters like Aunt 
 Dorothy's make a healthy stir about them, which 
 tends to keep youth alive in themselves and those 
 around. They are as necessary in this world, where 
 so much has to be fought against, as the frosts 
 which destroy the destructive grubs. The foes of 
 our foes are often our best friends ; and none the 
 less because they are the foes of our indolent peace. 
 
 My father had been, moreover, not a little 
 shaken by the loss of his arm. He had withdrawn 
 from war and politics, and had thrown himself with 
 new vigor into his old pursuits, investigating the 
 earth and sky and all things therein. 
 
 Bat the more we stay together the more needful 
 we all grew to each other. Maidie especially so 
 twiued herself around her grandfather's heart, that 
 we mad" a compact to spend the larger portion oi 
 the yea' i henceforth together; we with them in the 
 summe & at Netherby, and they with us in the 
 vintr s in London. In this way, moreover, my
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 11 7 
 
 fathei would be able to attend the meetings and 
 weekly lecturings of the association of gentlemen^ 
 for the prosecution of the " new experimental phil- 
 osophy," which met during the Commonwealth 
 chiefly at Gresham College, and was, after the Res- 
 toration, incorporated as the Royal Society. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy's absence, with the cause of it, 
 was much on my mind during those quiet spring 
 days. Every error, she thought, had seeds of death 
 in it, and carried out to i + s consequences must lead 
 to death ; therefore no error ought to be tolerated. 
 This perplexed me much, until I learned a lesson 
 from the old beech tree outside my chamber win- 
 dow. 
 
 " Aunt Gretel," I said one day as we were sit- 
 ting there quietly with the babes, "I have learned a 
 lesson which makes me glad." 
 
 " From whom ? " said she. 
 
 " From that old beach-tree," I said. " The old dead 
 leaves are hanging on it still. Now, if the world 
 were governed on Aunt Dorothy's principles, strong 
 winds would have been sent to sweep every one 
 of them away weeks ago. But God carries on his 
 controversy with dead things, simply by making 
 the living things grow. The young leaves are 
 pushing oif the old, one by one, and will displace 
 them all when the hour is come when all things are 
 ready. It feems as if the old things hold on just 
 as long as tho have any life left in them where- 
 with to serve the new." 
 
 " Yes, tl at is it, sweet heart," she said as if as- 
 senting to « hat she had long known. " I, at least
 
 Ii8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE Sl'A 
 
 know no way of fighting with, what is wrong, like 
 helping everything good and true to grow." 
 
 S© April grew into May. The snowdrops, haw- 
 thorns, and b!ue hyacinths, and all the early flowers 
 were lost in the general tide of colour and song 
 which suffused the earth. These " first-born from 
 the dead " were succeeded by the universal resur- 
 rection which they prefigured and promised. 
 
 The first forerunners of spring which come one 
 by one, like saints or heroes, bearing solitary wit- 
 ness to the new kingdom of life, which meanwhile 
 is secretly and surely expanding round their roots, 
 had fought the fio'ht with snows and storms, had 
 borne their testimony and then had vanished in the 
 growing dawn of the year. 
 
 A thousand happy thoughts came to me as 1 
 wandered in the old gardens, and sat on the old 
 terrace, with Aunt Gretel and Placidia, wdiile Pla- 
 cidia's little Isaac and our little Maidie played 
 around us ; and none of them were happier than 
 those suggested by little Isaac himself. Again 
 and again he recalled to me Aunt GreteFs words, 
 " The good God has more weapons than we wot 
 of, and more means of grace than are counted in 
 any of our catechisms and confessions. The touch 
 of a little child's hand has opened many a door 
 through which the Master has afterwards come in, 
 and sate down and supped." 
 
 It seemed as if the child were ever leading his 
 mother on (all the more surely because so uncon- 
 sciously to him and to her,) opening her heart to 
 love, and, what is not less essential, opening her
 
 CW BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ng 
 
 eyes to see the truth about herself. For it ih not 
 only through their trustfulness and their helpless- 
 ness that little children are such heavenly teachers 
 in our homes. It is by their truthfulness, or rather 
 by their incapacity to understand hypocrisy. They 
 are simply unable to see the filmy disguised with 
 which we cover and adorn our sins and infirmi- 
 ties. The disguises are invisible to them. They 
 see only (and so help to make us see) the reality 
 within ; and thus confer on us, if we will attend, 
 the inestimable blessing of calling our faults by 
 their right names. 
 
 I remember one little incident among many. 
 
 I was sitting by the fireside in the Parsonage 
 hall, and had just finished reading a letter from 
 Roger, and telling my father about the Irish war. 
 
 " It is a conflict between light and darkness," said 
 my father. " And the Mornings of the Ages do not 
 dawn silently like the morning of the days, but 
 with storms and thunders, like the spring, the 
 morning of the year." 
 
 As he spoke, I looked out through the door to 
 the sunshine. Placidia was sitting at the porch at 
 her spinning-wheel, Maidie at her feet pulling some 
 flowers to pieces with great purpose and earnest- 
 ness, singing to herself the while, when little Isaac 
 ame running to her across the farmyard hugging a 
 struggling cackling hen, which he plumped in a tri- 
 umphant way into Mai die's lap. " I give it you, Mai- 
 die," said he, " for your very own." But Maidie, fai 
 more overwhelmed by the hen than by the homage 
 began to cry ; whereon Placidia, leaving her spin
 
 12C ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ning-wheel, rescued the hen and Maidie, and sail— 
 
 " 1 was very foolish, Isaac. You should ask ma 
 before you give presents. Maidie is too little to un- 
 derstand hens. If you wanted to give her anything, 
 you rfhould have asked mother." 
 
 "But I was afraid you might say no." said Wac. 
 "And I had been planning it all night. I thca^ht 
 it would be so nice for Maggie." 
 
 "Maggie is a very little girl," rejoined Pla-idia; 
 "and if you wanted to give her something, a very 
 little thing would please her quite as much. There 
 is your little gilt bauble, that you used to play ay <th 
 when you were Maidie's age. It is of no use to 
 you now, and it would be nice for her." 
 
 " But," said Isaac scornfully, " that would not be 
 giving, that would be only leaving. I want to give 
 Maidie something. And I love Maidie dearlv, and 
 and so I want to give her the nicest thing I have. 
 Don't you understand, mother," he continued, in 
 the eager hasty way natural to him, knitting his 
 brows with earnestness. " I want to give some- 
 thing to Maidie. There is no pleasure in throwing 
 old things away, to Maidie or any where else. It is 
 giving that is so pleasant." 
 
 The colour came into Placidia's face. She said 
 in a hesitating way, — 
 
 " But the hen will lay ever so many eggs, Isaac. 
 You could give. Maidie the eggs, and keep the hen, 
 which would lay more." 
 
 "But I want the hen to lay the eggs for Maidie,'" 
 he replie 1. " I have thought of it all. It is a great 
 pity you don't understand, Maidie," he continued,
 
 UN BOTH SIDES OF THJ SEA. 121 
 
 Beriously appealing to Maidie's reason in a way she 
 could not at all appreciate. " It is the prettiest 
 hen in the yard, and she will give you a new egg 
 every morning, and it would be your very own. 
 and yon could give it Aunt Olive yourself." 
 
 But this extensive future was entirely beyoud 
 Maidie's powers of vision. She shook her head, 
 apparently hesitating oetweeu encountering a fresh 
 assault from Isaac and the hen, and sacrificing the 
 precious bits of flowers she had. so diligently 
 pulled to pieces and thought so beautiful ; until at 
 length, as Isaac again approached, terror won the 
 day, and gathering up her treasures as best she 
 could, in her lap, she fled to me for protection, and 
 hid her face in my skirt. 
 
 " It is a great pity Maidie cannot understand," 
 murmured Isaac in the porch, not venturing, how- 
 ever, to follow and renew his homage. " But 
 mother, don't you understand?" 
 
 It is not the mother, it was the child that did 
 not understand. But she made no further explana- 
 tion nor opposition. She only said softly, — 
 
 "Never mind, Isaac. You shall have the pleas- 
 ure of giving. You shall keep the hen for Maidie, 
 and o-ive it her when she is old enough to know 
 what it means." 
 
 She would not, for much, that her child should 
 see into the dark place he had revealed to her in 
 her own heart. So ennobling it i3 to be believed 
 incapable of being ignoble. 
 
 I seemed to see the mother, through the coming 
 years, led gently away from all i'ait kept her spirit 
 11
 
 122 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 down, aucl on to the best of which she was capable 
 ^y the hallowing trust of the child. 
 
 It seemed to me that a conflict between light and 
 darkness was going on in the quiet parsonage at 
 Netherby, as well as on the blood-stained fields in 
 Ireland. 
 
 And I thought that hour had witneaflfid one of \\% 
 fiilent virtories.
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 LETTICES DIARY 
 
 EPTEMBER 1649, Paris.—' Put not your 
 
 trust in princes.' 
 
 " The young king hath left, for Jersey ; 
 
 whither further, time will show. Regret 
 at his departure by this hollow French Court is scarce 
 even feigned. Walter is gone to join the gallant 
 Marquis of Montrose. And perilous as the enter- 
 prise is, it is a kind of relief to us ; so far greater 
 seem to us the perils of the king's idle court than 
 those of the field. 
 
 " We are not made to feel so very welcome here as 
 to make our lives a festival. Cardinal Mazarin, who, 
 with the Queen-Mother, ordereth all things (the 
 king, Louis XIV., being but a boy of eleven or 
 twelve years of age), lets it be seen but too plainly 
 that they would not be sorry to see the young king, 
 and even the Queen Henrietta herself (though a 
 daughter of France), translated to any other asylum. 
 His Majesty but lately dismissed some Commissio- 
 ners from Scotland (where they had the grace tc 
 proclaim him in February 1 ). They were Covenanted 
 
 (133)
 
 M 
 
 ON BOTH SILKS OF THE SEA. 
 
 persons, and made so much parley as to the con 
 ditions on which they would be subject to him, 
 that it seemed as if their true purpose wau but to 
 make him subject to them. The negotiations were 
 broken off all the more abruptly, in consequence of 
 the over-zeal of some followers of the crallant Mar- 
 quis of Montrose, who assassinated the Ambassador 
 of the 'Parliament' at the Hague. This deed 
 ma le the Scottish Commissioners more stiff* in their 
 ways, so that their Commission ended in nothing. 
 My father, with the most zealous of the king's fol- 
 lowers, much misliketh these dealings with men 
 'whose very Covenant (saith he) constitutes them 
 rebels.' 
 
 " ' If the Scottish people are happy enough to get 
 their king back,' he protests, ' after basely selling 
 his father (of sacred memory), they must take him 
 as a king, not as a scholar or slave of their arrogant 
 preache?*s. Otherwise, better remain king of his 
 faithful exiles here, of loyal Jersey and the Isle of 
 Man (which the noble Countess of Derby still holds 
 for him), and bide his time.' 
 
 " For my father liketh not subtleties, and the 
 double ways, of Courts. The Marquis of Montrose 
 (with his followers) he thinks well-nigh the only Scot- 
 tish man worthy the name of loyal ; he who writ 
 on his master's death — 
 
 " ' I'll sing thine obsequies ■with trumpet sounds, 
 And write thine epitaph in blood and wounds.' 
 
 "October loth. — Good Mr.Evelyn, who came to kiss 
 the king and the queen's hand (an honour few covet
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 125 
 
 now), hath brought us heavy tidings to-day of a 
 dire massacre at Tredah in Ireland ; the flower of 
 the JNTarquis of Orrnoi d's army cut off, and such a 
 panic struck through the land that one stronghold 
 after another has yielded. It was Cromwell's doing. 
 When will the awful career of this man of blood be 
 brought to an end '? Not a few among us think he 
 must be master of some dread sorceries. How else 
 should he eas"; h ; s wicked spells around the good 
 men who, alas ! follow him ? 
 
 " Some even think there are mysterious allusions to 
 him in the Book of the Revelations. Certain Greek 
 figures there, which are also letters, being capable, 
 if ingeniously taken to pieces and put together 
 again, of being made to spell the number of his 
 name, or the name of something belonging to him. 
 Of this I cannot judge, not knowing Greek. And 
 I think it scarce wise to build too much on it, because 
 I understand these same figures have been diverse- 
 ly applied before by various interpreters to their va- 
 rious enemies. And perhaps it is better (at least 
 for people who do not know Greek) to wait until 
 the prophecies are fulfilled before they thus interpret 
 them. It would be a pity (if we should, after all, 
 be mistaken) to find we had been misapplying the 
 Hoiy Scriptures into a vocabulary for calling people 
 ill names withal. That this terrible man is, how- 
 ever, indeed as a terrible 'Beast,' trampling on 
 kings and peoples and nations, 'dreadful and ter- 
 rible and strong exceedingly, having iron teeth, 
 devouring and breaking in pieces, and stamping the 
 residue with his feet,' no Royalist can doubt 
 11*
 
 , 2 fi ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 "This loss of Tredah, good Mr. Evelyn saith, 
 forerunneth the loss of all Ireland. His Majesty, 
 when he heard of it. is reported to have said, ' Then 
 ] must so and die there too.' But these melan- 
 cholic and heroical moods, my father saith, do not 
 last long with His Majesty. 
 
 "Jan. 30lk, 1650. — A day ever to be remembered 
 with fasting, and weeping, and bitter lamentation. 
 
 " Sc I wrote this morning, and just after, sweet 
 Madame La Mothe came to bid me to a fete. She 
 cam© into the room in a glow of kindly animation 
 with the pleasure she hoped to gi ?e me, but started 
 appalled at my robe of deep moirning (which of 
 late, at my father's Avish, I had lightened), and the 
 grave face which too unfeignedly accompanied it. 
 
 " 'My child,' she said, 'what ne v calamity? Thou 
 shouldst have let thy mother's ol 1 friend share it.' 
 
 " ' No new calamity, madame,' I said ; ' or, at 
 least, a calamity always new unl il it is expiated. 
 This is the anniversary of the martyrdom.' 
 
 " 'The fete of a martyr, my fr erd?' said she 
 * I thought your English Church had no martyrs, 
 or, at least, no calendar. Besides, we keep our 
 martyrs' days as festivals.' 
 
 " ' Scarcely, madame,' I said, ' when only a year 
 old. It is the day of the death of our martyred 
 iing.' 
 
 " ' Ah !' she said, drawing a long breath. ' Doubt- 
 less the death of the late king of England was a was 
 a sad tragedy. All the Courts of Evrope acknow- 
 ledged it to be so. Most of them went in moorning 
 at the time.'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 127 
 
 " But she was evidently much relieved. 
 
 " ' It matters not, my loyal child !' she said. ' To- 
 day you shall devote to your pious lamentations. I 
 will defer the little fete I promised myself on your 
 account till to-morrow.' 
 
 " And with an embrace she left me. 
 
 " But I think scarcely anything before has made 
 rae feel so much what it is to be an exile. To her 
 the sovereign for whom we have willingly sacrificed 
 so much, and were ready to sacrifice all, is merely 
 'the late king of England;' the anniversary of his 
 martyrdom is no more than that of St. Pancras or 
 St. Alban; and an ample lamentation for his death 
 is a (Jour 1 ; mourning ! 
 
 " My father commended me for my loyal black 
 draperies. But when Barbe began and concluded 
 our dinner with the meagre soup which I thought 
 the only fare appropriate for such a day, he looked 
 a little anxiously for something to follow ; and 
 when nothing came, and I reminded him what day 
 it was, and asked him to finish with a grace he 
 said a little hastily, — 
 
 "'The grace at the be<nnnin2; is enough, I think, 
 child, when the end follows so close upon it.' 
 
 " Then when Barbe had withdrawn, he went to 
 the window looking into the court and whistled a 
 cavalier tune; and then, checking himself, threw 
 himself into a chair, and murmured, — 
 
 " ' It has a fearful effect on an English gentleman's 
 brain to be shut up for months in streets, like a 
 Londoa haberdasher. With such a life one might 
 Bink into anything ii time; a Roundhead — a Lev
 
 , 2 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 eller — anything ! No wonder the Parliament found 
 their adherents in the towns.' 
 
 " Then moving uneasily again to the window, he 
 said, — 
 
 '• ' Lettice, can't you get some fellow to stop that 
 doleful broken-nosed woman from everlastingly # 
 letting the water drop out of her pitcher? It is 
 enough to drive a man crazy. It is like a per- 
 petual rainy day, and takes away the only comfort 
 one has left in this den of a place, which is the 
 weather.' 
 
 " I persuaded him to listen to a little of the ' Icon 
 Basilike ' to soothe him. But he even took ex- 
 ception to His Majesty's words. At length he 
 cried, — 
 
 " Lettice, my child, prithee stop. It is very excel- 
 lent, but it is very dismal. I suppose His Majesty 
 did write it all, poor gentlemen, though hoAV he 
 could find it a comfort I cannot imagine. However, 
 there is no saying what a man may be driven to 
 comfort himself withal, if kept months together in 
 one chamber. A day makes me feel like an idiot.' 
 " Then I took my embroidery, and sought to 
 tempt him to converse. 
 
 " But he only went from one melancholy topic to 
 another — the assassination of Dr. Dorislaus at the 
 Hague ('a disgrace to the good cause,' he said); the 
 folly of listening to Covenanting Scottish men ; the 
 incivilities of the cardinal and the French Court ; 
 the baseness of the Spanish Court in calling the 
 young king the Prince of Wales, and scarce receiv- 
 ing his ambassadors except as rrivate frends. The
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 529 
 
 on y topic which he seemed to dwell on with any 
 satisfaction was the wickedness of Cromwell and 
 the Ironsides, which he said was too bad to be tol- 
 erated long even in such a wretched place as Puri- 
 tans and Papists had made of this world. But on 
 this it gave me no delight to hear him expatiate, 
 which he noticed with some irritation, saying, — 
 
 "'Between your loyalty, and your objection to 
 hear things said against the rebels, Lettice, and 
 that confounded woman who can never get her 
 pitcher emptied, and Cardinal Mazarin, it is really 
 no easy thing for a man to keep up his spirits.' 
 
 "And he paced out of the room, leaving me alone. 
 Thereupon, I went faithfully over the bitter steps 
 of the ' dolorous ' way trodden by those royal feet so 
 recently; the while I thought how good Mistress 
 Dorothy was doubtless keeping a Puritan fast at 
 Kidderminster on the same occasion ; and my heart 
 wandered involuntarily to other sorrows of a dolor- 
 ous way not yet finished, and I hugged my crosses 
 until I felt rather like celebrating my own martyr 
 dom as well as the king's. Thus I wept much, and 
 was beginning to feel very wretched, and to hope I 
 was the better for it, when my father returned. 
 
 " His countenance was lightened, and he kissed 
 me very kindly on the cheek. 
 
 " 'Poor pale child !' he said. ' Well, it can't be 
 helped. I hope the fasting does thee good. But it 
 does me none. It makes me, not a saint, but a sour 
 old curmudgeon; as I have proved pretty forcibly 
 to thee, sweet heart. It never suited me when 
 things were cheerful. I always told your m >t her
 
 •3° 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 I could never take it up until she found some Pr »t< 
 estant Pope who could grant dispensations when 
 necessary. And now that everything is dismal, it 
 is a great deal more than I can bear. So, my dear, 
 1 have told Barbe to bring me the remains of that 
 venison pasty and a flask of Burgundy. And I feel 
 Detter for the thought of it already. The times are 
 altogether too melancholic for fasts, Lettice. FastH 
 are all very well for comfortable cardinals like this 
 Mazarin, who know they can dine like princes to- 
 morrow ; but not for poor dogs of exiles', who may 
 have to dine with Duke Humphrey any day without 
 getting any benefit out of it for body or soul.' 
 
 "Barbe duly appeared with the pasty and thewinf, 
 and as I sat beside my father the words came to 
 me, i Be not as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance^ 
 and a chill seemed to pass away from my heart. I 
 began to wonder whether, after all, I had been keep- 
 ing the right kind of fast ; and I said something 
 cheerful to my father. 
 
 " ' Well, sweet heart,' he replied, ' the fast seems 
 to do thee no harm. What wast thou doing while 
 I was away ?' 
 
 " 'Reading the Acts of the Martyrdom,' I said 
 ' Going over the king's parting with the royal chil 
 dren, and his walk from St. James's to Whitehall 
 through the biting frost, and what he said to Bishop 
 Juxon on the scaffold, and his taking off the George, 
 and all.' 
 
 " ' But, dear heart,' said he, ' that is all over ! To 
 whom dost think it does good for thee to cry over 
 it all again ? Not, of course, to the king, who is
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 131 
 
 on the other side of it ; nor to the queen ; nor to 
 the young king, who seems able enough to take 
 consolation in one way or another. To whom, then ? 
 Because if it is only to thyself, it seems a great deal 
 of pains to take. There are so many people suffer- 
 ing now, whom one might perhaps comfort by weep 
 ing with them, that life seems to me scarce long 
 enough to weep for the sorrows of those who weep 
 no more.' 
 
 " ' He spoke diffidently, as if on ground on which 
 he felt his footing doubtful. And when for a while 
 I did not reply, he rejoined, — 
 
 " ' Do not speak if it troubles thee, child. Never 
 heed an old Cavalier's confused thoughts. I know 
 there are mysterious rites which only the initiated 
 understand.' 
 
 " 'Father,' I said, drawing close to him, and sit- 
 ting on a footstool at his feet. ' I know no myste- 
 rious sanctuary which we cannot enter together. 
 We will go everywhere together, will we not ? I 
 think your kind of fast seems the Bible kind. I am 
 sure any fast which leaves the head bowed down 
 like a bulrush, cannot be the right kind. And if we 
 live till this day next year, I will try and find out 
 seme sorrowful people whom our sympathy might 
 comfort, and our bread might feed. And that will, 
 surely, not make either of us of a sad countenance.' 
 
 " ' He smiled, and began to tell me what he had 
 seen in his absence. And as he kissed me to-night, 
 he said, — 
 
 " ' Lettice, child, what didst thou mean by our 
 ""oing everywhere together ? I am not sucb a hea
 
 132 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 then as to hinder thee from being as good as thou 
 wilt. I lived too long with the sweetest saint on 
 earth for that.' 
 
 " ' I meant that we will both try to be as good as 
 we can, ' I said. 
 
 " ' True, true,' he said ; ' but a man's goodness is 
 one thing, and a young maiden's another. A Cav- 
 alier's virtue is to be brave and loyal and true, gen- 
 erous to foes, faithful in friendship, and (as far as 
 possible), in love, faithful to death to the king. For 
 a few slips by the way, if these things are kept to 
 in the main, it is to be hoped there is pardon from 
 a merciful Heaven.' 
 
 " ' And a young maiden's goodness ?' I said. He 
 hesitated, — 
 
 " ' All this of course, and something pure and ten- 
 der, and gentle and heavenly, beside. Ask thine 
 own heart, child ! ' he added ; ' what do I know 
 of it ?' 
 
 " 'All this, father,' I said, ' and no failures by the 
 way ? Is that the difference ?' 
 
 " ' Nay, saucy child, never flatter thyself,' he said. 
 ' Thou hast perplexed me too often by thy pretty 
 poutings and elfish tricks and wilful ways, that I 
 should say that.' 
 
 " Then I ventured to say, — 
 
 " ' Are the Cavalier's slips by the way forgiven 
 if they do not ask forgiveness, and do not try to 
 mend ?' 
 
 " ' Come, come, I am no father-confessor to meet 
 thy pretty casuistry,' he said; and then gravely 
 'Many of us do ask forgiveness. God knows we
 
 ON LOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 133 
 
 need it. And when an honest man asks to be for- 
 given, no doubt he means to do better.' 
 
 " ' Then where is the difference ?' I said. 
 
 "'Belike,' he said thoughtfully, 'belike there 
 might be less ! So, good-night, child ! I trow thou 
 never forgettest thy prayers. And I suppose there 
 is something left in them of what thou wast wont 
 to ask when I used to listen to thee a babe lisping 
 at thy mother's knee ; " Pray God bless my dear 
 father and mother and brothers, and make us all 
 good, and take us to Thee when we die." That 
 prayer is answered, surely enough, for two of us 
 Try it still, child ; try it still.' 
 
 " Words which made me go to rest with little temp- 
 tation to be, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance. 
 
 "April. — The gallant Marquis of Montrose has 
 landed with foreign recruits in Caithness, to venture 
 all for the king, in fair and open war. The king, 
 meanwhile, has been entertaining Commissioners 
 from the Covenanting party, who hate Montrose to 
 the death ; writing secretly to assure the marquis 
 of his favour, and openly receiving the marquis's 
 mortal enemies. My father is sick at heart, he and 
 many other of the noblest of the Cavaliers, at these 
 courtly double-dealings. 
 
 "May. — My father came in to-day sorely dispirited. 
 
 " ' There,' he exclaimed bitterly. ' A letter from 
 Walter. He is safe, poor boy, in some desert moun- 
 tain or other, among the wild deer and wild men. 
 But the best of us is gone ; the only Scottish captain 
 I would have cared to serve under, Montrose, de- 
 feated at Invercarron in the Highlands, his foreign 
 12
 
 ,34 ON BOTH SIDES OF TILE SEA. 
 
 hirelii gs a hundred of them killed, and the real, 
 with the Highlanders, scattered ; the marquis him- 
 self taken by those "loyal" Covenanters and hanged 
 at Edinburgh ! 
 
 " ' He died the death of a hero,' he pursued, after 
 a pause ; ' it might be well if we were all with him, 
 away from these fatal clever tricks of policy. The 
 king's most faithful servant hanged at the Tolbooth, 
 and the king going to Scotland hand in glove with 
 the canting hypocrites who murdered him ; making 
 promises without stint, and meantime encouraging 
 his old followers by promising never to keep them ! 
 How can any man know what promises he does mean 
 to keep ? A curse on this hollow French Court, 
 and all that comes of it ! It "would take little to 
 drive many of us back to our English homes, to the 
 farm and the chase, and let these Puritans and poli- 
 ticians hunt each other as they please.' 
 
 " ' But the brave marquis ?' I said, wishing to 
 turn him from bitter thoughts on which I knew he 
 would never act. 
 
 " ' Deserted by his men, changing clothes with a 
 poor country fellow ; taken in this disguise by the 
 enemy, delivered up to General David Lesley, 
 dragged about from town to town, and exhibited 
 to the people in his mean dress, in the hope he 
 would be insulted. But the poor common folk 
 jeered him not — they pitied him; so that in this 
 Lesley's malice was disappointed. Then taken in 
 an open cart through Edinburgh, his arms tied to 
 the sides of the cart, his hat taken off by the hang- 
 man, and so dragged in base triumph through the
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 »35 
 
 streets of the city. He gave the driver mmey fW 
 conducting what he called his triumphal car. Then 
 persecuted and cursed in the form of prayers, by 
 ministers and men calling themselves judges, for 
 two days, and at last hanged on a gallows thirty 
 feet high, with the book recording his deeds around 
 his neck ; a more honourable decoration, he said, 
 than his Order of the Garter which he lost in his 
 last battle. One thing only of the traitor's doom 
 was spared him. They did not torture him, but 
 hanged him till he was dead. His limbs were quar- 
 tered. "When they threatened him with that, he 
 said he would he had flesh enough to be distributed 
 through every town in Christendom, as a testimony 
 of the cause for which he suffered. A brave end ; 
 no death on a victorious battle-field more worthy 
 of a loyal gentleman !' 
 
 " ' But the king will never trust himself with 
 Montrose's murderers ?' I said. 
 
 "'He will go with them immediately,' was his 
 reply, ' accepting all their conditions, spite of all 
 that Mr. Hyde and other counsellors, who love 
 him and love truth, can say. Xot one of his old 
 friends and counsellors permitted to be with him, 
 nor one who fought for his father against the Par- 
 liament, without taking the Covenant. And he ia 
 to take the Covenant himself. How is it he cannot 
 see (as Mr. Hyde says), that " to be a king but in 
 name in his oion kingdom, is a far lower degradation 
 than to be a king but in name anywhere else ?" 
 How is it he cannot see, that promises made to bo 
 broken, ruin the soul iu making and the caufie in
 
 .36 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 breaking ? But it is all the Queen Mother's doiug. 
 and those hollow French Papistical ways. Tossed 
 to and fro between Papists and Covenanters, what 
 can a sanguine and good-natured young king of 
 twenty do ?' 
 
 "Thus having relieved himself by some hearty 
 abuse of the French politicians and the Scottish 
 preachers, my father's loyalty began to blaze bright 
 again, and he concluded, — 
 
 " ' And we shall have to go to him, and get him 
 out of his Covenanting jailers' hands as best we 
 may.' 
 
 " So His Majesty has landed in Cromarty, having 
 to sign the Covenant before they would suffer him 
 to tread on Scottish ground. He is being led about 
 listening to sermons containing invectives on his 
 father's tyranny, his mother's idolatry, and his own 
 malignity ; rebuked by preachers on their knees, in 
 humble postures, but in very plain terms. 
 
 « July.— A letter from Mistress Dorothy, full of 
 hopeful expectation, rejoicing that the best hopes 
 are entertained of His Majesty's salvation, tem- 
 poral and eternal. She understands that he is 
 desirous of being instructed in the ways of the 
 Lord, listens with marvellous earnestness to gos- 
 pel sermons in which he and his are not spared, 
 and has already signed the Solemn League and 
 Covenant. The only thing to be wished, saith 
 she, is that the instructions could have preceded 
 the signing. Marvellous, she thinks, are the ways 
 of the Almighty; that 'out of the ashes, as it 
 were, of the late king, who, whatever his excel-
 
 ON BOTE SIDES OF 7 h'E SEA. 
 
 137 
 
 lencee, it Cv.uld not be denied had prelatical pre- 
 dilections and prejudices strongly opposed to the 
 Covenant, should spring a young monarch of so 
 docile a disposition and so hopeful a piety, for 
 the everlasting sanctification and benediction of 
 the three kingdoms.' 
 
 " My father gave a low significant whistle when I 
 read him this passage. 
 
 " ' Poor Mistress Dorothy !' he said ; ' and poor 
 young king !' 
 
 "• July 3. — Another letter from Mistress Dorothy, 
 in a strain unusual with her, speaking of increas- 
 ing infirmity, and hinting that she may not be able 
 to write often again to me. It is onlv me, saith 
 she, to whom she does write. By my father's per- 
 mission I have written to tell Olive. 
 
 "August 14. — Oliver Cromwell is on his way to 
 Scotland. There will be fighting:. The king and 
 the Covenanted Scottish Puritans agaiiist the Iron- 
 sides and the uncovenanted English Puritans ! A 
 strange jumble ! My father is set on going, to take 
 his share of the fighting. He is to leave me under 
 the care of Madame la Mothe, who has designs of 
 making me acquainted with some of her friends of 
 Fort Royal. 
 
 "Auausi 16. — Mv father has left to-day. 
 
 " ' Don 1 turn Puritan or Papist, Lettice,' he said, 
 and do not forget thy old father in thy prayers .' 
 
 " ' Nor you me, father,' I whispered, ' in yours.' 
 
 " ' The men the fighting, and the women the pray- 
 ing, is an old soldier's rule,' he said. 
 
 ** ' But not ours, father,' I said, half afraid to say 
 12*
 
 t 3 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 bo. ' There must be quiet times 1 efore tlie battleaj 
 and after them.' 
 
 " ' Not very quiet,' he said, ' where Oliver is, 
 However, there is always quiet enough for old Sir 
 Jacob Astley's prayer — or the publican's ;' he added 
 reverently. 
 
 "And with a kiss, and a blessing in a faltering 
 voice, he was gone. 
 
 " Never so entirely bound to each other as the mo- 
 ment before parting ; never so free from heart-bar- 
 riers as when time and space are about to interpose 
 their impenetrable barriers between us. 
 
 "This feeling must be a promise, not a terrible 
 mockery. Surely it must mean that the barriers 
 are made of corruptible things, the bonds of the 
 incorruptible." 
 
 olive's kecollections. 
 
 When we came back to London from Netherby, 
 my husband and I, Maidie and the babe and Annis 
 Nye, on the 31st May 1650, the whole city was 
 awake and astir with the triumphal welcome of 
 Oliver Cromwell on his way home from the Irish 
 war. In Hyde Park the Train-bands and salvoes 
 of artillery ; through the streets eager crowds 
 thronging around him, shouting welcomes, as he 
 rode to the royal lodgings the nation had assigned 
 him in " the Cockpit " at Whitehall, whither Mis- 
 tress Cromwell and her daughters had moved (not 
 very willingly, some said) a few weeks before. 
 
 In a short time Roger came into the house. 
 
 "At last the nation acknowledges him, Roger !'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 135 
 
 I said ; " and now, we may trust, the wars are over, 
 and we may begin to reap the fruit." 
 
 "Always hoping still, Olive!" he replied, with 
 a quiet smile. " Always thinking we are getting 
 out of the Book of Judges into the Book of Ruth ; 
 out of the ' Book of the wars of the Lord,' into the 
 greetings of the reapers and the welcome of the 
 gleaners. Not yet, I am afraid. The Scottish 
 Covenanters are even now making ready to wel- 
 come their Stuart king ; and that matter will have 
 to be settled before there is peace." 
 
 " But, meantime," I said, " it must cheer the 
 Lord-Lieutenant's heart to be thus received." 
 
 " I am not sure, Olive," he said. " I just heard 
 that a person said to him, thinking to please him, 
 ' What a crowd to see your lordship's triumph !' 
 but that he replied, ' There would be a greater 
 crowd to see me hanged.' " 
 
 " I do not believe that, Roger," said I. " I do 
 not believe his is a heart not to be stirred by a 
 people's welcome." 
 
 " Perhaps it was stirred, Olive ; only a little more 
 deeply than to a ripple of pleasure. Perhaps he 
 thought of the poor peasants trying to till the Mil- 
 lennium in on the Surrey hills, and the poor sol- 
 diers trying to fight it in at Burlord, and of the 
 mutiny in Bishopsgate Street. among his bravest 
 troopers, and of the many who began the struggle 
 at his side now in deadly opposition to him ; and 
 of that ancient crowd whose hosannas and palin- 
 branches were so quickly changed." 
 
 " Roger," I said, " you and General Cromwell
 
 HO ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 have been wanting us and home ! It is not like von 
 to look in this melancholic way on things." 
 
 And I took him into the nursery to sec Maidie 
 and the babe ; a sight which, my husband used to 
 say, I superstitiously thought a charm against well- 
 nigh any despondencies. 
 
 Maidie had forgotten him, and went through a 
 number of pretty, shy, feminine tricks, before she 
 would be coaxed to come near him. The plain 
 Ironsides' armour was not so attractive to her as 
 would have been the Cavalier plumes and tassels. 
 Her approval, however, once Avon, she became com- 
 pletely at her ease, subjecting Roger entirely to her 
 petty tyrannies, and making the room ring with hei 
 merry little voice ; while the babe looked on, serious 
 and amazed, expressing her sympathy in the festivi- 
 ties by senselessly crowing, and by vainly endeav- 
 ouring to embrace her own rosv toes, as if she had 
 been a benighted baby of the Dark Ages, instead 
 of an enlightened infant of the Commonwealth. 
 
 So we talked no more politics that evening. And 
 in the morning, Roger's views of the world seemed 
 to me more hopeful. Indeed, there was work to be 
 done, and so no more time for despondency ; a bit- 
 ter root which needs leisure to make it grow. 
 
 In June, General Cromwell was appointed Cap- 
 tain-General of the Forces instead of General Fair- 
 fax, and set off at once with his troops for Scotland, 
 Roger and Job Forster among them. 
 
 My husband also accompanied them. 
 
 My father soon afterwaids took Aunt Gretel tc 
 pay a visit they had been desiring to make to Gctf
 
 ON B01A SIDES OF THE SEA. i 4 i 
 
 many ever oince the Thirty Years' War had ended 
 (in 1048) ; two years before. 
 
 Early in August, a letter came from Lettice Dav- 
 enant, telling me that, from a letter she had re- 
 ceived, she thought ill of Aunt Dorothy's health, 
 and deemed that she stood in need of succour and 
 sympathy, which, rigid to her vow, and all its con- 
 sequences, she would never ask. 
 
 If this was true, there was no time to be lost. 
 Nor was there anything to detain me from Aunt 
 Dorothy. The old house at Netherby was, for the 
 time, deserted, and London just then, in the sweet 
 summer time, seemed to me a wilderness and soli- 
 tary place. 
 
 Moreover, our departure was made all the easier, 
 in that it gave me an opportunity of doing a kind- 
 ness to one of my husband's prison friends, good 
 Dr. Rich, an ancient clergyman whom Leonard had 
 found in gaol on account of his having given aid to 
 the Royalists, and to whom, being now liberated 
 but deprived of his benefice, our house might offer 
 a welcome asylum. Dr. Rich was a sober, devout, 
 and learned gentleman ; a man who dwelt much in 
 the past, and was more interested in the present as 
 illustrating the past, vhan for its own sake. 
 
 Nothing gave him more satisfaction than tracing 
 the pedigree of doctrines, heterodox or orthodox, 
 to the primitive centuries, in which he assured us 
 were to be found the parents, or the parallels, of all 
 the heretics and sectaries of our own day, from the 
 monks to the Quakers ; including the Fifth Mon- 
 archy men, who, he declared, were nothing but a
 
 1 42 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 resuscitation of certain deluded persons called Chili- 
 asts, who had been convincingly refuted by I know 
 not how many Fathers. 
 
 Meantime (the fifth of the revenue of his benefice, 
 allowed to deprived ministers by the Parliament, 
 being but irregularly paid), Dr. Rich, Mistress Rich, 
 and his eleven children found a parallel in their own 
 circumstances to the primitive poverty of the ear- 
 liest centuries too obvious to be pleasant ; and it 
 was a delight to be able to offer them a home under 
 the guise of taking care of our house in our absence. 
 
 He Avas a man at all times pleasantly easy to 
 practise upon with little friendly devices, having 
 little more knowledge than the birds of the air as 
 to the storehouse or barn whence his table was sup- 
 plied, and being always diverted by a little subtlety 
 from the perplexing cares of the present to the per- 
 plexed questions of a thousand years ago. 
 
 Accordingly, with little parley, or preparation, 
 Dr. Rich and his family were lodged in our house, 
 and we were ready to depart. If Aunt Dorothy's 
 stronghold was to be entered, it must be by sur- 
 prise or storm ; surrender was not in her diction- 
 ary, much less entreaties for succour. 
 
 We set off, under the care of our serving-man, 
 Annis and I with Maidie and the babe, our caval- 
 cade consisting of three horses, one carrying Aimis 
 on a piilow behind the serving-man; the other (a 
 sober old roadster) bearing the babes in panniers, 
 and me enthroned between them ; the third, a pack- 
 horse, with our luggage and provender for the way. 
 
 This mode of travelling was neither swift 1.01
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 143 
 
 exciting. It left me much leisure to meditate by 
 what subtleties I might avoid encounters between 
 Annis and Aunt Dorothy, should Aunt Dorothy be 
 sufficiently well for her orthodoxy to be in full 
 force. 
 
 To forewarn Annis was only to bring on the con- 
 flict I dreaded with more speed and certainty ; to 
 tell her a road was dangerous being the first step 
 towards convincing; her it was ris[ht. 
 
 To forewarn Aunt Dorothy, on the other hand, 
 was equally perilous. So I came to the conclusion 
 that I could only let things take their course. 
 
 For without Annis I could not have come at all. 
 Her care of the babes was pleasant. Her quiet, 
 firm will, her stillness, and her sweet even voice 
 kept them serene. They were as content with her 
 as with me. She seemed to grudge no weariness 
 or toil for them, and her temper was never ruffled. 
 Her dainty neatness and cleanliness were like per- 
 petual fresh air around them ; and, moreover, my 
 heart was tender to the orphan maiden with a heart 
 so womanly, and a belief so perilous, in the midst 
 of a rude world, which miedit crush her delicate 
 frame to dust, yet never bend her will a hair's 
 breadth. 
 
 The points at which she and her sect came into 
 antagonism with the rest of the world were scat- 
 tered all over the surface of every-day social life ; 
 and to her every one of these became, when assailed, 
 no mere outwork, but the very citadel of her most 
 central convictions, in which, for the time, all the 
 forces of her mind and heart were gathered, ard
 
 '44 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 which she could no more voluntarily yield than aha 
 could voluntarily cease to breathe. 
 
 It was a serious responsibility to have the ch:.rge 
 of a person, every one of whose minutest convic- 
 tions was to her essential as the distinctive con- 
 viction of each sect to its members, and whose 
 convictions crossed those of the rest of the world, 
 not only in what they profess in church on Sun- 
 day, but in what they practise at home every hour 
 of every day. ' 
 
 Nor was this all. If Annis's resistance had been 
 merely passive, there might still have been hope of 
 escape. 
 
 But not only did all the world believe the Quakers 
 wrong ; they believed all the world wrong. Nor 
 only this. They believed themselves commanded 
 jointly and severally to set all the world right, a 
 conviction which, under no conceivable form of 
 government, is likely to lead to a tranquil life. 
 We could never tell at what moment Annis might 
 feel moved to tell any peaceful Presbyterian minis- 
 ter, in the gentlest tones, that he was " a minister 
 of Antichrist ;" or any strict Precisian matron, who 
 would no more have indulged in a feather than in 
 an iclol-feast, that she was " swallowed up with the 
 false and heathen customs of the world," in calling 
 a single person you ; or in " idolatrously naming 
 the secoi d or third day after the hosts of heaven." 
 
 However, the duty had been assigned me by my 
 husband, and was bound fast on me by the pity and 
 love I felt for Annis. This did not hinder her being 
 a far more anxious charge to me than ray babes.
 
 OX BOTH SJJiJlS Ob' THil SKA. 14$ 
 
 On < ue occasion, however, we owed a brotherly 
 welcome to her. 
 
 We were benighted on the Surrey hills, to which 
 we had turned aside with a view of lodging at a 
 friend's house. 
 
 The babes began to mewl and be weary. The 
 place was solitary, sandy, with sweeps of barren 
 heath. It was St. George's Hill, and I began to 
 recall wild stories of the poor peasants "called 
 Saxons, but believing themselves Jews, and in- 
 heritors of the earth," who had tried to dig the 
 wild moors into millennial fertility a few months 
 before, and had threatened park palings; — so that 
 I should have half feared to ask shelter had any 
 human dwelling appeared. Yet to camp on the 
 wilds, with two young fretting babes, even on an 
 August night, was unwelcome. 
 
 As I was plodding on, seeking to soothe the infant 
 in my arms, and singing soft songs to Maidie, a wild 
 figure issued forth from a hollow tree, at sight of 
 whom my heart stood still. He was clad in leather 
 from top to toe. 
 
 But his carriage was grave, not like a plunderer, 
 and he accosted me soberly, though without any 
 titles (as Mistress or Madam), calling me "friend" 
 and " thou." 
 
 At once Annis recognized him, calling him 
 l< George," and greeting him as one she honoured. 
 
 After a brief conference with her, he came and 
 bade me be of good cheer, there were some of the 
 Children of Light dwelling not far off*, to whom be 
 would take us for shelter. 
 13
 
 I 4 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 In a few minutes we came to a humble cot in a 
 hollow of the clowns, where, without many words, 
 we found kindness and hospitality worthy of any 
 mansion ; the good woman preparing food and fire, 
 so that the babes were soon quiet and asleep, while 
 iar into the night they entertained us with heavenly 
 discourse, which was more restful than sleep. The 
 goodman told us how, " when after Everard and 
 Winstanley and their promised millennium had 
 failed, he had gone back hopeless and dispirited to 
 his old toils for a froward master, working early 
 and late taking rest, knocked about by his master 
 for an idle knave, jeered at by his mates for a 
 lunatic, earning with all his toil scarce enough to 
 still the hungry cries of his babes ; the world, dark 
 enough before, made dark as night by the putting 
 out of the glory of the kingdom, which was so soon 
 to have made it day. (" And," said the good- wife 
 with moist eyes, " too oft with a sour word from 
 me.") How then, when he was feeling like one for- 
 saken of God and man, George Fox, the man in 
 leather, from among the woods where he passed 
 much time in solitude with his Bible, but lately 
 battered and bruised by a mob in a market place, 
 where he had exhorted the people against false 
 weights, had come to him like Elijah from the wil- 
 derness, and had told him of the universal free 
 grace of God to all mankind, of the kingdom within, 
 and the Light within, and the Spirit within, and the 
 one Priesthood of the Eternal Intercessor, and the 
 way of stillness and simplicity by the rivers ©f the 
 vallnys, and the true language of Thou and Thee,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. X \f 
 
 and the sin of war, and of all false words and boks ; 
 and bow, at last, looking for the Lord within his 
 heart, he had found in Him both the kingdom and 
 the garden, and rivers of water in a dry place." 
 
 After him spoke George Fox himself. He could 
 not have been more than six-and-twenty; but I con- 
 fess his discourse came to me with marvellous power. 
 
 The words were sometimes confused, as if they 
 were burst and shattered with the fulness of the 
 thought within them. Something of the same kind 
 we had noticed of old in Oliver Cromwell. 
 
 He seemed like one looking into depths into which 
 he himself only saw a little way, and by glimpses ; 
 like one listening to a far-off voice, which reached 
 his spirit but in broken cadences, and our spirits 
 still more fiintly, through the echo of his voice. 
 Yet he inspired me with the conviction that these 
 depths exist, and this music is going on ; a conviction 
 worth something. 
 
 He spoke somew r hat of his early life — of his father, 
 Christopher Fox, a weaver of Drayton-in-the-Clay 
 in Leicestershire, whom the neighbours called Right- 
 eous Christer ; of his mother, an upright woman, 
 and " of the stock of the martyrs ;" of the " gravity 
 and staidness of mind" he had when very young. 
 How ho. sought to act faithfully inwardly to God 
 and outwardly to man, and to keep to yea and nay 
 in all things. And how men said, " If George says 
 Verily, there is no altering him." 
 
 He felt himself "a stranger in the world," and 
 when others were keeping Christmas with jollity 
 he kept it by giving what he had to some poof 
 widows whom he visited.
 
 r 48 
 
 OX BOTn BIDES OF THE SEjx. 
 
 Yet in his youth " strong temptations came on 
 him to despair." He went to various ministers (he 
 called them "priests"). But none helped him. 
 One " ancient piiest" reasoning with him about the 
 ground of his despair, bid him " take tobacco and 
 sing psalms." But " tobacco he did not love, and 
 psalms he was not in a state to sing." 
 
 When he was twenty-two (in 1645), as he ap- 
 proached the gate of Coventry, " a consideration 
 arose in him that all Christians are believers, both 
 Protestants and Papists," and that "if all were 
 believers then they were all born of God, and passed 
 from death to life, and that none were believers but 
 such ; and that being bred at Oxford or Cambridge 
 was not enough to qualify men to be ministers of 
 Christ." 
 
 The "darkness and covetousness of professors" 
 troubled him sorely in London and elsewhere. 
 
 Then (said he), it was "opened in him," that " God 
 dwelleth not in temples made with hands ; but in 
 people's hearts." 
 
 This seemed at first to him " a strange word," be- 
 cause both priests and people call their churches 
 "holy ground" and "dreadful places," and templee 
 of God. 
 
 He ceased to go near the priests, and wandered 
 about night and day, in "the chase," in the open 
 fields, and woods, and orchards with his Bible; until 
 finding no help in man, at last he heard a voice 
 which said, There is one, even Christ Jesus, that an 
 ftpeak to thy condition.'''' " He on whom the sins of the 
 whole had been laid ; He who hath the key, and openeth
 
 ON BOTH SID El OF THE SEA. -49 
 
 the door of light and life.'''' There were " two thirsts 
 in him, after the creature and after the Lord, the 
 Creator." At length, " his thirst was stilled in God," 
 his soul was " wrapped up in the love of God," and 
 when storms came again, " his still, secret belief 
 was stayed firm ; and hope underneath held him 
 as an anchor in the bottom of the sea, and an 
 chored his immortal soul to Christ its Bishop, caus- 
 ing it to swim above the sea (the world), where all 
 raging waves, foul weather, tempests, and tempta- 
 tions are." 
 
 He " found that his inward distresses had come 
 from his selfish earthly will, which could not give 
 up to the will of God," and that " the only true lib- 
 erty is the liberty of subjection in the spirit to God ;" 
 and "his sorrows wore off, and he could have wept 
 night and day with tears of joy to the Lord, in hu- 
 mility and brokenness of heart." 
 
 As I listened to him, my thoughts ebbed and 
 flowed within me. At one time he seemed a darin^ 
 self-willed youth, netting his judgment against the 
 world ; at another, as a simple lowly child who had 
 listened to God, and must obey Him and none else; 
 again, as one who might have been a poet, or a dis- 
 coverer of great secrets of nature — so inward and 
 penetrating seemed his glimpse into the heart oi 
 things; and again, as a reformer to break in pieces 
 the empire of lies throughout the Avorld. 
 
 " I saw," said he, " that there was an ocean of 
 darkness and death; but an infinite ocean of light 
 arid love which flowed over the ocean of darkness." 
 
 AgaiD, " one morning as I was sitting by the fire, 
 13*
 
 l!t0 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 a great cloud came over me, and a temptation beset 
 me; but I sate still. And it was said, 'all thing* 
 come by nature;'' and the elements and stars came 
 over me, so that I was in a manner quite clouded 
 -with it. But as I sate still under it, and let it alone, 
 a living hope arose in me, and a true voice, which 
 said, There is a living God who made all things. And 
 immediately the cloud and temptation vanished 
 a^f ay, and life rose over it all ; my heart was glad, 
 and I praised the living God. After some time I 
 met with some people who had a notion that there 
 is no God, but that all things come by nature. I 
 had a dispute with them, and made some of them 
 confess there is a living God. Then I saw it was 
 good I had gone through that exercise." 
 
 His search into the reality of people's beliefs led 
 him among strange people, some who held that 
 " women have no more soul than a goose," whom 
 he answered in the words of Mary, " My soul doth 
 magnify the Lord ;" others (Ranters) whom he went 
 to visit in prison, who blasphemously held them- 
 selves to be God. 
 
 " Now," said he, " after a time was I come up in 
 spirit into the Paradise of God. All things were 
 new ; and all the creation gave another smell unto 
 me than before, beyond what words can utter. The 
 creation was opened unto me, and it was showed 
 me how all things had their names given them ac- 
 cording to their nature and virtue." 
 
 Again, "while 1 was in the Vale of Beavor, the 
 Lord opened to me three things, in relation to those 
 three great professions in the worH, physic, divinity
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 1$, 
 
 (so called), and law. He sLowed uie that tlie phy- 
 sicians were out of the wisdom of God, by which 
 the creatures were made, and so knew not their 
 virtues ; that the priests were out of the true faith 
 a* hich purifies and gives victory, and gives access 
 to God ; that the lawyers were out of the tvuo 
 equity. I felt the power of the Lord went forth 
 unto all, by which all might be reformed ; if they 
 would bow to it. The priests might be brought to 
 the true faith, which is the gift of God ; the lawyers 
 unto the true law, which brings to love one's neigh- 
 bour as oneself, and lets man see if lie wrongs his 
 neighbour he wrongs himself; the physicians unto 
 the wisdom of God, the Word of Wisdom, by which 
 all things were made and are upheld. For as all 
 believe in the light, and walk in the light, which 
 Christ hath enlightened every man that cometh into 
 the world withal, and so become Children of the 
 Light and of the Day of Christ; — in His Day all 
 tilings are seen, visible and invisible, by the divine 
 light of Christ, the spiritual heavenly Man by whom 
 all things were created." 
 
 Very strange words those seemed to me for so 
 young a man. At first I felt disposed to turn from 
 him as one full of an amazing self-conceit, lifting 
 himself up above all in church and the world; but 
 I remembered what my husband always said about 
 trying to find the real meaning of all men. And as 
 I sate still, and thought, a strange depth opened ill 
 those words. Something true, real, and eternal (I 
 thought he meant), some divine meaning lav at the 
 reot of all human works, and states, and callings
 
 i 5 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 By this they stand, and live. By departing from 
 this they become hollow, and at last crumble away 
 by returning to this they are reformed. 
 
 He spoke also of the whole of nature and history 
 as being repeated in the wonderful world within 
 us. Bow the spirit has its Egypts and its Sodom, 
 and its wildernesses and its Red Seas; its Paradise 
 and its mountains of the Lord's House; its Cains, 
 and Esaus, and Judases. "Some men," said he, 
 " have the nature of swine wallowing in the 
 mire. Some the nature of dogs, to bite both the 
 sheep and one another. Some of lions and of 
 wolves, to tear, devour, and destroy ; some of ser- 
 pents, to sting, envenom, and poison ; some of 
 horses, to prance and vapour in their strength, and 
 be swift in doing evil ; some of tall sturdy oaks to 
 flourish and spread in wisdom and strength. Thus 
 the evil is one in all, but worketh many ways ; 
 therefore take heed of the enemy and keep in the 
 faith of Christ." 
 
 These thoughts in him were no mere visionary 
 meditations, revolving on themselves. The strange 
 thing in him was the blending of far-reaching 
 mystical thought with direct and most practical 
 action. 
 
 "The Lord," said he, "commanded me to go 
 abroad unto the world, which was like a briery 
 thorny wilderness ; and when I came iu the Lord's 
 mighty power with the word of life into the world, 
 the world swelled and made a noise like the great 
 raging waves of the sea. Priests and professors, 
 magistrates and people, were all like the sea when
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 15, 
 
 I came to proclaim the day of the Lord among 
 them, nnd to preach repentance to them." 
 
 His preaching places wore no secluded chambers, 
 or conventional religious assemblies, but the mar- 
 ket-place, the " sitting of justices to hire servants," 
 schools, firesides, sea-shores where wreckers watched, 
 and, at times, the very " steeple-houses " where the 
 "false priests" seemed to him "a lump of clay set 
 up in the pulpit above a dead fallow ground." 
 
 By preaching repentance he did not mean crying 
 out in general that sin was evil. He meant, like 
 him who preached in the Desert of old, pointing 
 out to each man, and class of men, their particular 
 sins, telling magistrates to judge justly, tradesmen 
 to have no false weights and measures, Cornish 
 wreckers to save wrecked ships and shelter wrecked 
 men, masters not to oppress servants, servants to 
 serve honestly, soldiers to do violence to no man, 
 excisemen to make no inequitable demands, 
 " priests " to speak the truth. 
 
 And the results of his preaching were two-fold : 
 everywhere priests, excisemen, soldiers, masters, 
 tradesmen, and magistrates were enraged, seized 
 him, beat and bruised an 1 trampled on him, threw 
 him into prisons ; and everywhere some ministers, 
 soldiers, tradesmen, and magistrates, and even his 
 jailer listened, gave up their false weights, or m- 
 js'^rt dealings, and sought to live uprightly before 
 God. 
 
 After this discourse there was silent prayer, and 
 the good couple insisted on yielding up their own 
 bed in the upper chamber to Annie and me, and
 
 1^4- 0lV B0TH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 the babes. But it was far on in the nigrht before \ 
 could sleej). And in my sleep I had strange eon 
 fused dreams of John the Baptist in the wilderness 
 of a madhouse, full of Quakers clothed in camels 
 hair with leathern girdles; and of the world shining- 
 in a wondrous light, neither of sun nor moon, 1'hich 
 made it like Paradise. 
 
 In the morning the poor people of the house set 
 us on our way with great loving-kindness, and I 
 had much ado to make them take any recompense. 
 And I have always been thankful that through this 
 interview I learned to distinguish those whom 
 many confound — the Ranters, Fifth Monarchy men, 
 and other lawless fanatics — from the true Quakers, 
 or (as they would be called) " Friends of truth." 
 
 After that we had no adventures until we reach- 
 ed Kidderminster. 
 
 Our way lay past many ruins of unroofed cot- 
 tages, with their blackened walls deserted and bare ; 
 gardens of herbs running wild, and orchards still 
 flourishing, and overhanging with pleasant fruit the 
 open and broken casements of the charred and 
 ruined homestead ; here and there a stately castle 
 or mansion battered and breached by cannon, 
 while choice flowers still bloomed in patches on 
 the trampled terraces or round the broken foiu> 
 tains, where fair hands had tended them. 
 
 In the heat of the day we rested. But wondrous 
 pleasant were the sights we saw and the sounds -,ve 
 heard as we journeyed through the land through 
 those summer morr.s and eves; the pleasant old 
 country, well-watered everywhere with broad still
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. l5 j 
 
 rivers among the meadows, and little talking brookd 
 among the woods, orchards, and corn-fields; and 
 soft waving sweeps of hill and valley, all smooth 
 and green, as if the waters of the great sin-flood 
 of old had never torn and convulsed them, but only 
 gently heaved and rippled over them. And as »ve 
 neared Kidderminster, far off on either side rose 
 two ranges of hills, with blue peaks pointing to the 
 sky like church-roofs, the Malverns and the hills of 
 Wales. 
 
 Again and again, now, as I read godly Mr. Bun 
 yan's Pilgrim's Progress, pictures of what I saw on 
 that journey in old England rise before me — the 
 " river with the green trees on its banks ;" the 
 " meadow curiously beautified with lilies, and green 
 all the year long ;" the " tempting stile into By- 
 path Meadow ;" the " hills with gardens and orchards 
 and fountains of waters ;" the " delicate plain called 
 Ease ;" the valley of humiliation, " green through 
 the summer; fat ground, consisting much ir mea- 
 dows," with its "pleasant air;" the "fruit-trees, 
 with their mellow fruit, which shot over the garden 
 walls ;" the Delectable Mountains, not too high and 
 savage for the shepherds to fold their flocks thereon. 
 I can remember, also, many a Hill Difficulty, up 
 which our horses slowly toiled, and Sloughs of 
 Despond through which they struggled. But the 
 " valley of the shadow of death" had nothing out- 
 ward in that pleasant land to picture it. Out of 
 tie dark and rugged depths of his own despair, 
 John Buuyan created a landscape he never couhj 
 have seen.
 
 t 5 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 I was the sole observer of these things among 
 :iur little band : the babe saw little but me; Maidio 
 saw nothing of hills and woods, the wild roses and 
 honeysuckles Ave gathered for her were the channels 
 through which the beauty of the world stole into 
 her heart, as it did, making her clap her hands and 
 laugh with delight as we rode; the serving-man, 
 beina: a Londoner, thought scorn of the woods and 
 lanes as very barbarous and ill-made places com- 
 pared with Cheapside with its wares and signs : 
 and Annis, if she saw the outward world at all, 
 beheld it but as the mystical mirror of the world 
 within, the waters of quietness and trees of heal- 
 ing among which her spirit dwelt. 
 
 And so at last, on the seventh dav after leaving 
 home, we came to a valley on the slopes of which 
 rise the houses of Kidderminster, on each side of 
 the river Stour — "the church on the brow above 
 the water," as they say the name signifies in the old 
 tong-ies, British and Saxon, which were spoken 
 when first men began to make houses there. 
 
 Rich old English names ; every name (like the 
 old minsters of our land) in itself a poem, with 
 histories imbedded in every syllable ! 
 
 Fondly we transfer the familiar old words to new 
 place? in this New World. But here alas, as ye\ 
 they are no living, growing words, — only poor pa- 
 thetic relics or arbitrary symbols ; at least, until 
 generations to come shall have breathed into therr 
 the new significances of ? new human history.
 
 Chapter V". 
 
 OLIVE S RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 T was evening when we entered the old 
 town of Kidderminster. As we rodo 
 along the street to Aunt Dorothy's house, 
 many of the casements were open to let 
 in cool summer evening air; and from one and an- 
 other, as we passed, rose the music of the psalm 
 sung at the family-worship, the voices of the little 
 ones softly blending with the deeper tones of the 
 father and mother, or the trembling treble of age. 
 
 It was a heavenly welcome ; and, by an irresist- 
 ible impulse, I dismounted, for, wearied as I was 
 with the journey, I felt it a kind of irreverence not 
 to walk. It was like going up the aisle of a great 
 church. The whole town seemed a house of prayer. 
 Tsone of these sweet musical sounds, however, 
 came out of Aunt Dorothy's windows as, at length, 
 we stopped at her door ; although the casements 
 were open. But, as we paused before trying to 
 enter, I heard the cadences of a soft voice reading 
 in an upper chamber. I tried the latch, found it 
 opftn, and, softly mouni ing the stairs, through a bed 
 
 ,157) *"
 
 1 5 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 room door, which stood slightly ajar, I saw a grave 
 man, habited like a minister, with a broad collar, 
 and closely-fitting cap on his head, sitting at a table 
 with an open Bible before him. By his side stood 
 a little serving-maiden, whom at the moment he 
 was questioning in simple language, in a calm, per- 
 suasive voice and with a remarkably clear utterance, 
 while she answered without fear. His form was 
 slight, and his gait slightly stooping ; his face worn 
 and grave, yet not unfrequently "tending to a 
 smile," and always lighted up by his dark, keen, 
 observant eyes. This, I felt, could be no other than 
 Mr. Baxter. Altogether the face made me think 
 of portraits of saintly monks, worn with fasting and 
 prayer, save that the eyes were quick and piercing 
 rather than contemplative; as if he saw, not dreams 
 and visions of Christendom in general, but just the 
 liitle bit of it he had to do with at the moment, in 
 the person of Aunt Dorothy's little maid. When 
 the little maid had answered, he turned with a look 
 of approval to some one out of sight, whom T 
 knew must be Aunt Dorothy. Judging from the 
 fact of the catechizing beino- held in her chamber, 
 that she would be equal to seeing me, and that 
 therefore I had better appear in an ordinary way, I 
 crept softly down-stairs again, and knocked at the 
 house-door. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy was much moved at my coming; 
 although in words she only vouchsafed a grave re- 
 monstrance. And I was no less moved to see how 
 feeble and shrunken she looked. She had beer, 
 much enfeebled by an attack of low fever and al
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. , « 
 
 though professing to make little of it, like m.>st 
 people unaccustomed to illness she believed herself 
 much worse than she really was, and had, dear soul, 
 gone in spirit pathetically through her own funeral, 
 with the effect so soleniii an event might be hoped 
 to have on the hearts of her misguided kinsmen and 
 kinswomen. 
 
 " Olive, my dear," sh" said to me, on the morning 
 after our arrival, after directing me where to find 
 her will, and a letter ^ne had written, " thou wilt 
 find I had not forgotten thy babes, nor indeed any 
 of my kindred, unnatural as no doubt they think 
 me. I wish the letter t~ be given to your father at 
 once, immediately after all is over. My example 
 and arguments have hud little weight ; but it may 
 be otherwise then. I have no physician but good 
 Mr. Baxter, who is physician both for body and 
 soul to his people. He hath endeavoured to re- 
 assure me; but I know what that means. And 
 yesterday he gave me his 'Saint's Rest,' which, of 
 course, is only a considerate way of preparing me 
 for the end." 
 
 All through that week Aunt Dorothy continued 
 marvellously meek and gentle, her grave eyes moist- 
 ening tenderly as she looked on the babes. She 
 cjinn. ;nded Annis as a maiden of a modest counte- 
 nance and lowly carriage. (I had not ventured to 
 inform her of Annis's peculiar belief.) She spoke 
 tenderly of every one, and agreed as far as possible 
 with everything ; which last symptom I did feel 
 alarming. 
 
 The kindness and sympathy of the neighbours
 
 6o 0.V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 were so great, that it seemed to me their evening 
 psalm was only the musical Amen to the psalm they 
 had lived all day. One brought us possets, another 
 dainty meats, another confections for the babes; 
 others would watch in the sick-chamber at night ; 
 another sent for the babes to play with her own, to 
 keep the house quiet. If we gave thanks, they said 
 Mr. Baxter "thought nothing of godliness which 
 did not show itself in goodness." Another told us 
 how Aunt Dorothy had been borne on their hearts 
 at the Thursday prayer-meeting at Mr. Baxter's ; 
 and more than one came to " repeat to us Mr. Bax- 
 ter's last Sunday sermon;" repeating Mr. Baxter's 
 sermon (he only preached one on Sunday) being a 
 great ordinance at Kidderminster. Never before 
 did I understand so fully what the meaning of the 
 word church is, or the meaning of the word pastor. 
 Before I came to Kidderminster I had thought of 
 Mr. Baxter as a godly man, rather fond of debate, 
 and very unjust to Oliver Cromwell (as I still hold 
 him to have been). After staying there that week, 
 I learned that if the joys of fighting (syllogistically) 
 were his favourite recreation (which, in spite of all 
 his protestations, I think they were, for a true Iron- 
 sides' soul dwelt in that slight and suffering body) ; 
 his work was teaching little children, seeking the 
 lost, bringing back the wandering, supporting the 
 weak, — all that is meant by being "shepherd" and 
 "ensample" to the flock; going before them in 
 every good and generous work, going after them 
 into every depth of misery, if only he could bring 
 them home.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 161 
 
 As I sat by the window of the sick-chamber where 
 I could see Mr. Baxter's house on the opposite side 
 of the street, with the people going in to consult 
 him, the poor patients sometimes waiting by twenty 
 at a time at his door, and a pleasant stir of welcome 
 all down the street when his " thin and lean and 
 weak" figure passed out and along, Aunt Dorothy 
 loved to discourse to me of him. She told me how 
 in his childhood he had lived in a village called 
 Eaton Constantine, near the Wrekin Hill, in a rus- 
 tical region, where Ave Marys still lingered with 
 paternosters in the peasants' prayers ; where the 
 clergyman, being about eighty years of age, with 
 failing eye-sight, and having two churches, twenty 
 miles distant, under his charge, used to say the 
 Common Prayer without book ; and got " one year 
 a thresher, or common day-labourer, another a tai- 
 lor, and after that a kinsman of his, who was a stage- 
 player and gamester, to read the psalms and chap- 
 ters." Mr. Baxter's father, " having been addicted 
 to jjfamino;, had entangled his freehold estate ; but 
 it pleased God to instruct and change him by the 
 bare reading of the Scriptures in private, without 
 either preaching or godly company, or any other 
 books, so that his serious speeches of God and the 
 lifi to come very early possessed his son with a fear 
 of sinning.'" For reading the Scripture on the Sun- 
 days, when others were dancing, by royal order, 
 round the May-pole, he was called a "Puritan." 
 
 Good books were the means of Richard Baxter's 
 early teaching, though when his "sincere convcr 
 sion" began he was never aFe to say. One of'thes* 
 14*
 
 ,t 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 books (to Aunt Dorothy's perplexity) was by a 
 Jesuit; another was "Sibbes' Bruised Reed;" 
 brought by a poor pedler and ballad- seller to the 
 door" another was a "little piece" of Mr. Perkin's 
 works, which a servant in the house had. For all 
 that while (Mr. Baxter had told her) neither he nor 
 his father had acquaintance with any that "had un- 
 derstanding in matters of religion, nor ever heard 
 any pray extempore." Their prayers were chiefly 
 the Confession in the Prayer-book, and one of Brad- 
 ford, the martyr's, prayers. 
 
 But Mr. Baxter deemed his own sicknesses and 
 infirmities to have been among the chief means of 
 grace to him. "The calls of approaching death on 
 one side, and the questioning of a doubtful con- 
 science on the other hand, kept his soul awake." 
 
 His doubts were many ; for instance, " whether a 
 base fear did not move him more than a son's love 
 to God," and "because his grief and humiliation 
 were no greater ;" until, at last, he understood that 
 "God breaketh not all men's hearts alike; that the 
 change of our heart from sin to God is true repent- 
 ance ; and that he that had rather leave his sin than 
 have leave to keep it, and that had rather be the 
 most holy, than have leave to be unholy or less holy, 
 is neither without repentance nor the love of God." 
 
 His diseases were more than his doubts, and hia 
 physicians more (and belike more dangerous) than 
 his diseases. He had thirty-six physicians, by whose 
 orders he took drugs without number, which, said 
 he, "God thoight not fit to make successful;" 
 whereupon at last he forsook the physicians alto
 
 CN BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 163 
 
 aether. Under which circumstances he had doubt- 
 less reason to count it among his mercies (as he did) 
 that lie was never overwhelmed with "real melan- 
 choly." "For years," as he said, "rarely a quarter 
 of an hour's ease, yet (through God's mercy) never 
 an hour's melancholy, nor many hours in the week 
 disabled from work." 
 
 Mr. Baxter's being so much indebted to good 
 books as his teachers and comforters, was perhaps 
 partly the renson why he wrote so many. Of his 
 "Saint's Rest" he himself said: " Whilst I was in 
 health I had not the least thought of writing books, 
 or of serving God in any more public way than 
 preaching; but when I was weakened with great 
 bleeding, and left solitary in my chamber at Sir 
 John Cook's in Derbyshire, without any aquaintance 
 but my servant about me, and sentenced to death 
 by the physicians, I began to contemplate moi-e seri- 
 ously on the everlasting rest which I believed my- 
 self to be on the borders of." He originally in- 
 tended it to be no more than the length of one 01 
 two sermons; but the weakness being long con- 
 tinued, the book was enlarged. The first and last 
 parts being for his own use were written first, and 
 then the second and third. It was written with no 
 books at hand but a Bible and a Concordance, and 
 he found that " the transcript of the heart hath the 
 greatest force on the hearts of others;" and for the 
 good he had heard that multitudes have received 
 by that writing, he humbly thanked "Him that 
 compelled him to it." 
 
 A history which interested me much ; for I de
 
 1 6 4 ON BOTh SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 litrht to think of books I love as growing in this and 
 that unexpected Avay from little unnoticed seeds, 
 like living creatures, not as constructed deliberately 
 from outside, like a thing made by hands. Doth 
 not John Milton say that a good book is t; the pre- 
 cious life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and 
 treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life ; so 
 that he who destroys a good book commits not so 
 much a murder as a massacre, and slays an immor- 
 tality rather than a life." 
 
 Much also Aunt Dorothy had to say of Mr. Bax- 
 ter's good works ; how out of his narrow income he 
 contrived to send promising young men to the uni- 
 versity, and to relieve the destitute without stint, 
 " having ever more to give," he said, " as he gave 
 more;" how he had been the physician of his people, 
 fighting against their sicknesses as well as their 
 sins; how the old were moved by him, who had 
 never been moved before, and little children were 
 stirred by his eloquent entreaties, and trained by 
 his patient teaching, so that t'iey brought the light 
 of love and godliness into many a home which be- 
 fore had been all darkness. 
 
 She said Mr. Baxter was wont humbly to attrib- 
 ulc the wonderful efficacy of his ministry to many 
 causes rather than to any peculiar power in his 
 words; to the following among others : — 
 
 1. That "the people had never had any awaken- 
 ing ministry before, and therefore were not sermon- 
 proof ' 
 
 2. The infirmity of his health. That "as he had 
 naturally a familiar, moving voice, and doinaj all in
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 165 
 
 bDcIil) weakness as a dyir g man, his soul was more 
 easily brought to seriousness, and to preach as a 
 dvins: man to dying men." 
 
 3. That many of the bitter enemies to gculineS3, 
 "in their very hatred of Puritans," had gone into 
 the king's armies, and " were quickly killed." 
 
 4. The change made in public affairs by the suc- 
 cess of the wars; "which (said Mr. Baxter), how- 
 ever it was done, and though much corrupted by 
 the usurpers, yet removed many impediments to 
 men's salvation. Before, godliness was the way to 
 shame and ruin ; but though Cromwell gave liberty 
 to all sects, and did not set up any party alone, by 
 force, yet this much gave abundant advantage to 
 the gospel ; especially considering that godliness 
 now had countenance and reputation also as well as 
 liberty; and such liberty (even under a usurper) r*s 
 never before since the gospel came into the land did 
 it possess. And" (said he) "much as I have writ- 
 ten against licentiousness in religion, and the power 
 of the magistrate in it, yet, in comparison of the rest 
 of the world, I think that land happy that hath but 
 bare liberty to be as good as they are willing to be. and 
 toleration for truth to bear down her adversaries."" 
 
 5. Another advantage was the zeal, diligence, 
 the holy, humble, blameless lives, and the Christian 
 concord of the religious sort. 
 
 6. The private meetings for prayer, repetitions, 
 and asking questions, and his personal intercourse 
 with every family apart. 
 
 7. Being able to give his writings, and especially 
 a Bible, to every family that had none.
 
 1^,6 OJ BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 8. That the trade of the weaving of Kiddermin- 
 ster stuffs enabled them to set a Bible on the loom 
 before them, wherewith to edify one another while 
 at their work. For (thought Mr. Baxter) " free- 
 holders and tradesmen are the strength of religion 
 and civility in the land, and gentlemen {idle men, 
 1 think he meant) and beggars the strength of in- 
 iquity. 1 ' 
 
 9. His own single life, " enabling him the easilier 
 to take his people for his children." 
 
 10. That God made great nse of sickness to dfl 
 good to many: and then of Mr. Baxter's practice 
 of physic ; at once recovering their health and mov- 
 ing their souls. 
 
 11. The quality of the wicked people of the place, 
 who, " being chiefly drunkards, would roar and rave 
 in the streets like stark madmen, and so make that 
 sin abhorred." 
 
 12. The assistance of good ministers around. 
 
 To these things, and such as these, said Aunt 
 Dorothy, Mr. Baxter loved to attribute those con- 
 versions which " at first he used to count up aa 
 jewels, but of which afterwards he could not keep 
 any number." 
 
 All this made me greatly desire the time when I 
 might hear Mr. Baxter preach ; and, at last, on the 
 second Sunday after our arrival, x\unt Dorothy in- 
 sisted on my going to church. 
 
 The only perplexity was Annis Nye. However, 
 1 trusted that Aunt Dorothy's subdued frame of 
 mind, and Annis's being busy with the babes or iu 
 the kitchen, would ave j- t a collision.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE BEA. 167 
 
 The sermon went far to explain tome Kiddermin- 
 ster and Mr. Baxter. But no written words will 
 ever explain to those who did not hear them what 
 his sermons were. 
 
 The pulpit was at once Mr. Baxter's hearth, his 
 throne, and his true battle-field : the central hearth 
 at which the piety of every fireside in Kiddermin- 
 ster was weekly enkindled ; the throne from which 
 the hearts of men and women, old men and little 
 children, were swayed ; the battle-field where he 
 fought, not so much against sectaries and misbeliefs, 
 but against sin and unbelief. He was at home there, 
 close to every heart there ; yet at home as a father 
 among his children. All that he was, turn by turn, 
 through the week — pleading, teaching, exhorting, 
 consoling, from house to house — he was in the pul- 
 pit altogether ; but with the difference between 
 glow and flame, between speech and song ; between 
 a man calmly using his faculties one by one and a 
 man with his whole soul awake and on fire, and 
 concentrated into one burning desire to save men 
 and make them holy ; with a message to deliver, 
 which he knew could do both. His eye enkindled, 
 his face illumined, his whole emaciated frame quiv- 
 ering with emotion as he leant over the pulpit, and 
 spoke to every heart in the church. 
 
 " Though we speak not unto you as men would 
 do that had seen heaven and hell, and were the:n- 
 Bolvea perfectly awake," he said. But it seemed to 
 me as if he had seen heaven and hell (or rather feli 
 them) ; and as if, while I listened to him, for the 
 first time in my life, my soul was " perfectly awake " 
 all through. 
 
 C3
 
 ■>8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 And of all this, the next generation, and those 
 \ ho never heard him in this, will know nothing { 
 1 .stead, they will have one hundred and sixty little 
 biX)ks and treatises, out of which they may vainly 
 stiive to piece together what Mr. Baxter was dur- 
 ing those fourteen most fruitful years of his minis- 
 try dt Kidderminster. But even if they could put 
 the fragments together right, they would only have 
 creatod an image of clay. And most likely they 
 will piece them together wrong (as I did before I 
 knew him). And then they will wonder at the 
 clumsy image, and wonder what gentlemen of the 
 neighbourhood, trained in universities, in counts, 
 and in armies, and at the same time the poor weav- 
 ers of Kidderminster, and the nailers of Dudlev, 
 who clustered round the doors and windows when 
 he preached, could find in his words so beautiful 
 and so mo vino;. 
 
 Most words, written or spoken, are perhaps more 
 spoken to one generation than men like to think. 
 If the next generation read them, it is not so much 
 as living words to move themselves, but as lifeless 
 effigies of what moved their fathers. But with 
 great oi-ators this must be especially the case, and 
 with great preachers more perhaps than with other 
 orators. Nor need they complain. Their words 
 reach far enough, moving hearts Avhose repenting? 
 move the angels in the presence of God. They live 
 long enough : on high, in the deathless souls thev 
 awaken ; on earth, in the undying influence from 
 heart to heart, from age to age, of the holy live* 
 they inspire.
 
 ON LOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 169 
 
 The large old eturch was thronged to the exirem 
 ity of the five new galleries which had been built 
 since Mr. Baxter preached, to accommodate the 
 congregation. 
 
 When he ceased speaking, there was a long hush, 
 as of reluctance to supersede the last tones of that 
 persuasive voice by any other sound. 
 
 And as the congregation gently dispersed, that 
 sacred hush seemed on thein still. They were 
 treasuring up the words wherewith they would 
 strengthen themselves and each other during the 
 week ; the housewife keeping them in her heart 
 like a song from heaven ; ike weaver, as he worked 
 with his open Bible before him on the loom, seeing 
 them shine on its verses like the fingers of a dis- 
 criminating sunbeam. 
 
 As I came home, I remember feeling not so much 
 as if I had been in a church wdiere something good 
 had been said, as in a battle-field where something 
 great had been done. Death-blows had been given 
 to cherished sins ; angels of hell had been despoiled 
 of their false " armour of light," and compelled to 
 appear in their own hideous shrunken shapes ; hid- 
 den faults had been dragged from their ambush in 
 the heart, and smitten ; the joints of armour, deemed 
 impervious, had been pierced at a venture ; the pow- 
 ers of darkness had been defeated by being detected: 
 the powers of light had been aroused, refreshed, 
 arrayed in UA'der of battle, and sent on their war- 
 hue, strengthened and cheered, as the Ironsides by 
 the voice of Oliver. A battle had been fought, and 
 a campaign set in order, and the combatants inspired 
 15
 
 , 7 ON BOTH SIDES OF. THE SEA. 
 
 for fresh conflicts. As those living words echoed 
 in my heart, all the conflicts of armies and poll* 
 ticians seemed mere shadow}- repetitions (like the 
 battles in the Elysian shades) of that eternal es?en 
 tial conflict between good and evil waged unceas- 
 ingly within and around us. 
 
 I remember that Aunt Dorothy's first words to 
 me, when I returned, sounded as if they came up 
 to me on a sunny height, from a strange voice in 
 some dim region far below. 
 
 She said, — 
 
 " Olive, dear heart, it rejoices me that you have 
 such a discerning young woman to serve you. She 
 is, I deny not, a trifle rustical, and needs instruc- 
 tion as to gestures and forms of address, but, at 
 least, she is able to perceive how sadly poor Gene- 
 ral Cromwell has been seduced from the ways of 
 humility and uprightness, and has failed in protect- 
 ing the people of God." 
 
 Nevertheless, these words were not without some- 
 thing consolatory in them for me. Much as Aunt 
 Dorothy and Annis had, belike, misunderstood one 
 another as to what they meant by the " people of 
 God " whom the Captain-General failed to protect, 
 it was evident they were still so far on friend* y re- 
 lations with each other. And it was also plain to 
 me that Aunt Dorothy's militant faculty (and there- 
 fore she herself) was recovering. 
 
 A very opportune improvement. For on the fol- 
 lowing day came letters from Roger and Job For- 
 Bter announcing the battle of Dunbar, which those 
 who fought it looked on as an act of the great war
 
 OK BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 171 
 
 tare between good and evil, as truly as any of 
 Mr. Baxter's preachings. In which belief Aunt 
 Dorothy and Mr. Baxter agreed with them ; but 
 not as to thesides on which the combatants were 
 ranged. 
 
 The first letter from Dunbar was from Roarer, 
 dated September 2nd : — 
 
 "A word to thee, Olive, my sister, by the post 
 who is to carry letters for the Lord-General. Ill 
 news travel fast, and if such have reached thee 
 before these, I would have thee know, though our 
 case is low enough, our hearts are not daunted. 
 
 " I write in my tent on my knee — wind and rain 
 driving across this wild tongue of land, dashing the 
 waves against the rocks, whistling through the long 
 grasses of the marshes, as in the sedges by old 
 Netherby Mere. Nothing to do but to keep our 
 powder dry, if we can, and pray. 
 
 " The enemy think us caught in a worse Pound 
 than my Lord Essex at Fowey. Even the General 
 thinks little less than a miracle can save us. But 
 maybe the miracle is wrought already in the courage 
 of our men, without a grain of earthly food to sus- 
 tain it ; the miracles of the New Covenant being, 
 for the most part, inward. 
 
 "For months w T e have been watching them up 
 and down the hills and the shores round Edinburgh. 
 yet never able to tempt them to a battle. And now 
 they deem us trapped and doomed, which may work 
 to better purpose on them than our challenges. To 
 all appearance their boastings are justified.
 
 l 7 2 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 "The ships we hasted into this ' trap ' to meet 
 (sorely needing fresh victuals), are nowhere in sight. 
 Through his knowledge of the country, the enemy 
 baf_ possessed himself of all the passes between n* 
 and England. His army is on the hill above us, 
 twenty-three thousand strong, with veteran geno- 
 rals, threatening to sweep down, and with ' one 
 shower, wash us out of the country.' 
 
 " We with but eleven thousand to meet them. 
 Many of ours lying sick in the town of Dunbar. 
 
 " In all Scotland not another stronghold is 
 tfSrs. 
 
 " Among them is the shout of a king, ' a Cove- 
 fiijanted king ;' whatever strength may lie in that ! 
 Many of their soldiers godly men and brave. 
 
 " I think we shall not be suffered to dishonour 
 'the good cause or the General by lack of courage. 
 But victory is not in our hands. And what may 
 be in God's, I am no prophet to tell. 
 
 "Between us and England an army twice our 
 humber. Between England and the old tyranny, 
 as we deem, nothing but Oliver and his eleven 
 thousand. A thought to nerve heart and hand. 
 
 " 'We are sensible of our disadvantages,' as the 
 General saith. ' But not a few of us stand in this 
 Vrust, that because of their numbers — because of 
 their confidence — because of our weakness — be- 
 cause of our strait, we are in the Mount, and in the 
 Mount the Lord will be seen ; and that He will find 
 out a way of deliverance and salvation for us.' 
 
 " The sea and the waves roaring, but as yet, God 
 be praised, no man's heart failing him for fear
 
 ON BOTH SID Ed OF THE SFA. 
 
 '73 
 
 Farewell ! Whatever comes to-morrow I would 
 have thee know we are not dismayed to-day." 
 And, enclosed, a few lines from my husband :— 
 " This campaign has been one of more occupa- 
 tion for the leech than the soldier," he wrote. 
 "The wild weather, and food not of the best cr 
 most plentiful, with lying out on the Avet moors, 
 always restlessly on the watch for battles which 
 never came, have shattered the troops more than 
 many a hard fight. Sickness is on all sides. The 
 Captain-General saith the men fall sick beyond 
 imagination. He himself has no^ escaped. The 
 foe I fis;ht with has left me little intermission. 
 The prospect of a battle, such as hangs over us in 
 the thousands gathering on Doon Hill through the 
 day, and now ready to sweep down the slopes, 
 ¥eems proving already to some a better physic than 
 any of mine. A wound is doubled when the spirit 
 is wounded, and half healed when the spirit is 
 cheered. 
 
 " Never fear for me, dear heart ; I know I am 
 where my task is set. And I keep as well as men 
 for the most part do who have plenty to do and 
 bope in doing it." 
 
 "Ah," sighed Aunt Dorothy, "snared in their 
 jwn net at last ! Did not Mr. Baxter write to the 
 Well-disposed in the sectarian army, warning them 
 of the sin of going to war against the godly in 
 Gotland ; 'for which, blindness !' quoth he, ' they 
 thought me an uncharitable censurer.' Remark- 
 able providence !" she concluded ; " to have actually 
 15*
 
 I 7 4 OUT DOTH SIDE} OF THE SEA. 
 
 run of their own free will into a place which petals 
 as if it had been ordained from the beginnu g to be 
 just such a trap." 
 
 " Had we not better wait till we see whether 
 they get out, Aunt Dorothy ?" said I. 
 
 " Get out, child ?" said she, fierily ; " I think 
 netter of them, with all their transgressions, than 
 to believe they are bad enough to be suffered to 
 prosper in their evil ways ! Mr. Cromwell himself 
 was, or seemed to be, in the Covenant once." 
 
 But that very evening flew through the land the 
 news of Dunbar victory : these letters having been 
 delayed by coming round through London. The 
 Scottish forces were totally routed. As Mr. Baxter 
 said, " Their foot taken, their horse pursued to 
 Edinburgh ; when, if they would only have let 
 Oliver's weakened and ragged army go, or caute- 
 lously followed them, it would have kept their peace 
 and broken his honour." 
 
 For neither Mr. Baxter nor Aunt Dorothy thought 
 it at all a " remarkable providence " that Oliver and 
 his army had thus escaped. It was plain, on the 
 contrary, she thought, to all right-thinking people, 
 that their successes, so for from proving them right, 
 only proved that they had gone too for wrong to 
 be corrected. 
 
 A few days afterwards arrived a letter, sent mo 
 by Rachel Forster from Job. 
 
 It began : — 
 
 " See Psalm 107. (0 praise (he Lord, all ye nations; 
 praise him a.U ye people.
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 175 
 
 " For his merciful kindness is great towards us ; and 
 the truth of the Lord endurclh for ever. Praise ye the 
 
 Lord).* We sang it on the battle field yesterday. 
 The shortest psalm that is. Made on purpose, 
 belike, for such a service and such a congregation. 
 For we had no time for more. We sang it, Oliver 
 and the foremost of us, on the halt, before the rest 
 came up for the chase. The music rolled up grand, 
 like the sea, from the hollow of the brook against 
 the hill of Doon. We had cause to sin<r it, and the 
 Whole land hath cause. Never better. Do thou 
 sing it, dear heart, at Netherby, and let Mistress 
 Olive sing it, and the babes listen, and Mistress 
 Annis (if she will unlearn her perverse ways) ; 'old 
 men and children, young men and maidens.' For 
 their ' covenant with death ' is broken. The snare 
 is broken, and we are delivered. And not we and 
 England only, but all the godly throughout the 
 three kingdoms ; if they will but see. Surely they 
 most see ; kirk-ministers and all, ' spite (as the Gene- 
 ral saith) of all their sullenness at God's providences, 
 and their envy at Eldad and Medad and the Lord's 
 people who prophecy ; their envy (saith he) at in- 
 struments, because things did not Avork forth their 
 platform, and the great God did not come down to 
 their thoughts.' 
 
 * In Mr. Rous's version : — 
 
 " O give ye praise unto the l/~- d. 
 All nations that be ; 
 Likewise, ye people, all accord 
 
 His name to magnify. 
 For great to oeward ever are 
 
 His loving-kindnesses; 
 Hi< truth endures for evermore, 
 The Lord O do ye bless."
 
 d y6 OK BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " They hung above us on the hill of Doon, twenty 
 three thousand strong, all through the night. A 
 wild night it was; the waves roaring, the cold rain 
 driving across the tongue of land where they thought 
 us trapped. But we prayed, and watched, and kept 
 our powder dry, which was as much as we could do. 
 We had some scant shelter under tents and walls. 
 They, poor soul?, had none; and before dawn they 
 put out all their matches but two to a company, and 
 lay down under the corn-shocks. Oliver did not 
 wait for them to burst on us; nor for the morning 
 to break. We did not wait for his word to be on 
 the alert. A company of us were in prayer at three 
 o'clock, with a poor cornet (one of the Eldads and 
 Meclads),when Major Hodgson rode past and stopped 
 to join, and found strength in it, as the day proved. 
 
 " We were to have charged before they woke. 
 But there were delays in getting ad the men for- 
 ward. So before we had gathered we heard the 
 enemy's trumpets wake up one by one in the dark, 
 along the hill-side. Then the moon broke from a 
 cloud, and, with the first ray of clawn, made light 
 enough to see where we were going, when at last 
 all the men came up, and the trumpets pealed out 
 all along our line with the English battle-shout and 
 the great guns. 
 
 "Their cry and ours met: ' The Covenant /' and 
 ' The Lord of Hosts P And with it we and they 
 met, met and closed in death-grapple for three- 
 quarters of an hour ; company to company, man to 
 man. Once we were pressed back across the brook 
 in the hollow, their horse charging desperately.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 '77 
 
 No hearing the winds and waves roar ther . Then 
 R-e cnarged back, horse and foot, — such a charge 
 (many say) as they never saw — hack again across 
 the hollow of the brook. That charge .vas never 
 returned. We heard Oliver's voice, ' They run, f 
 profess they run P And then the sun broke across 
 the field, and with it again Oliver's voice, ' Let God 
 arise, and lei his enemies be scattered.'' 
 
 "And scattered they were. Three thousand dead 
 in the hollow of the brook. (Three thousand whose 
 hands we would fain have held as brothers. God 
 knows how Oliver entreated them sore, and how 
 they gave us hatred for our love.) Ten thousand 
 prisoners. The rest flying right and left through 
 the land. An army gone in an hour. 
 
 " An army of brave Scottish men, godly men 
 many of them doubtless ; ministers there in store to 
 bless them (no Eldads and ^Vledads, but covenanted 
 kirk-ministers), all swept away like the chaff" of the 
 summer threshing-floor. 
 
 " Will they not yet see ? N ot our courage did it ; 
 they were brave as we. Not our numbers ; theirs 
 doubled ours. Not our field; they chose it. The 
 passes of the hills were theirs. What then ? Can 
 any fail to see ? The lie that is among them makes 
 them weak, the false oaths to a false Covenant sworn 
 at their command, against his will and conscience, 
 by the poor, false, young Stuart king. The differ 
 ence is the difference in our battle-cries. l The Cme 
 nant^ good once (far be it from us to speak scorn 
 of it), good twice, but not good always; strong 
 against one evil yesterday, not strong against all
 
 i7 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 evil for ever. And ''The Lord of Hosts? Almighty 
 Rgaiust all evil for ever. Not His own Covenant 
 even, as far as it is but written in stone ; much less 
 (heirs, though signed with their blood ; not His own 
 Covenant, though 'confirmed by an oath,* so much 
 »? Himself living to confirm the oath. 
 
 " As the Lord-General saith, ' What He hath done, 
 what He is to us in Christ, is the root of our comfort; 
 in this is stability ; in us is weakness. Faith as an 
 act yields not perfect peace; hut only as it carries 
 into Him who is our perfect peace. Rest we here, and 
 here only.'* 
 
 "Truly soldiers have cause to sing the 109th 
 Psalm who have such a General to lead and speak 
 to them ; although, in the eyes of the kirk, he be but 
 an Eldad. I trust I meddle not with things too 
 high for me after the lesson I have had. Often, 
 dear heart, I long for thee, and thy comfortable 
 speech and smile. 
 
 " Master Roger and I talk over many things by 
 \ he camp-fires when most are asleep; we knowing 
 old Netherby, and thee, and so many other things 
 ti-re rest know not. He is heavier and graver than 
 J would see him, save where there is work to be 
 done. 
 
 * " What God hath done, what He is to us in Christ, is the 
 root of our comfort : and this is stability ; in us is weakness 
 Act3 of obedience are not perfect, and, therefore, yield not 
 perfect peace. Faith as an act yields it not ; but only as it 
 carries us into Him, who is our perfect peace, and in whom 
 we are accounted of and received by the Father even as Christ 
 Himself. This is our high calling. Rest we here, and here 
 wily."
 
 VX BOTE SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 179 
 
 " I doubt there is somewhat gnawing, without 
 noise, as worms and blights do, at his heart. 
 
 " There was the pretty lady at the hall, now among 
 the Ifivites and Perizzites (so to speak) in France. 
 1 know nothing, but that he never speaks of her and 
 hers. And they were aye together, he and she and 
 Mistress Olive, in the old days. 
 
 " Poor brave young heart, mine is sore for him 
 many a time. It is not all who get snch plentiful 
 wages beforehand as I, Rachel, in thee." 
 
 Which last sentence Rachel had annotated with, — 
 
 " The goodman means no harm, Mistress Olive. 
 But on that matter he could never be brought to 
 see plain, say what I would." 
 
 The next Sunday a Thanksgiving was appointed 
 by the Parliament (" the Rump ") for the victory 
 of Dunbai-. This Mr. Baxter oj)enly disregarded ; 
 using his influence, moreover, to persuade others to 
 do the same. He did not hesitate in his sermon to 
 warn his hearers of the sin of fighting against a 
 loyal Scottish Covenanted army ; while, at the same 
 time, he blamed the Scots themselves for " imposing 
 laws upon their king, for forcing him to dishonour 
 the memory of his father, and for tempting him to 
 take God's name in vain by speaking and publish- 
 ing that which, they might easily know, was con- 
 trary to his heart." 
 
 So, in the afternoon of that Sabbath which Mr. 
 Baxter refused to make a day of thanksgiving to 
 Kidderminster, I held a pri ate thauksgn ing service 
 in my own chamber.
 
 i go ON BOTH SIDF.S OF THE SEA. 
 
 At first, in ray solitude, ray spirit was too busy 
 with protesting against Mr. Baxter to be at leisure 
 for praise. 
 
 At tbe doors of some of the bouses opposite, quiet 
 groups of weavers were gathered, in their Sunday 
 best. In all the town, Mr. Baxter rejoiced to think, 
 there was not one Separatist. The Quakers (be 
 fondly believed) he had silenced, at a discussion 
 held in his church. One journeyman shoemaker, 
 indeed, had turned Anabaptist, " but he had left the 
 town upon it." 
 
 No "Eldads and Medads" had troubled Kidder- 
 minster with irregular prophesying ; " for," said Mr. 
 Baxter, " so modest were the ablest of the people, 
 that they were never inclined to a preaching way, 
 but thought they had teaching enough by their 
 pastors." 
 
 ''Among all these busy brains and stirring 
 
 hearts," I thought, as I sat at my window, " noi 
 
 one that differs from Mr. Baxter; while Mr. Baxter 
 
 iiffers in so many directions from so many people 
 
 that fifty books have been written against him." 
 
 The thought of a whole town walking on such a 
 narrow path, step by step after Mr. Baxter, with 
 those fifty precipices and " bye-paths" on all si'les, 
 had something appalling in it ; — appalling in its 
 monotony, and in its precariousness. What kind 
 of a place would England be to live in if it were all 
 brought to this Kidderminster standard ? Not very 
 pleasant, certainly for any journeyman shoemaker 
 who was unfortunate enough to turn Anabaptist ! 
 Perhaps in the end a little wearisome even for Air.
 
 O.V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. % 
 
 Baxter himself, when no one was left for ftim to 
 silence. 
 
 I need not have perplexed myself with such spec- 
 ulations. Long before the experiment reached that 
 stage, Mr. Baxter's own eloquent voice itself was 
 Bilenced, and his faithful words made doubly pre 
 eious to his flock by the prohibition, on peril of im- 
 prisonment or flue, of ever listening to them again. 
 
 Nor was a slumbrous unanimity by any means 
 the danger England had then to dread. 
 
 As I opened my Bible and read the Dunbar Psalm, 
 and sought to make melody with it in heart, my 
 quiet chamber seemed to become a side chapel of a 
 Vast cathedral. I felt no more alone. A thousand 
 services of song seemed going on around me. From 
 Br. Jeremy Taylor silenced in Wales, and good 
 Bishop Hall near Norwich, and numerous little 
 companies in old halls and manors, meeting secretly 
 to use the Liturgy banished from churches and ca- 
 thedrals. From these same ancient churches and 
 cathodrals, where hundreds of "painful ministers," 
 like Mr. Baxter, Joseph Alleine, or John Howe, 
 were leading the devotions of the people in psalms 
 more ancient than any Liturgy, and prayers new as 
 every morning's mercies. From Puritan armies in 
 Scotland, covenanted and uncovenanted. From 
 meetings of Quakers, many of them in prisons. Be- 
 yond these again, from Lutherans and Calvinists in 
 Protestant Europe ; and doubtless also from count* 
 less devout hearts in Catholic cathedrals and con- 
 vents. And farther off still, from the Puritan vil- 
 lages in the wilderness on the other side of the pea, 
 16
 
 1 82 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 At first this concourse of so inds scarce seemed a 
 concert. Babel has smitten men with deeper divi- 
 sions than those of speech. Too many of the pray- 
 ers sounded terribly like anathemas. Too many oi 
 the psalms like war-cries. 
 
 Untd, as I still listened, the roof even of this vast 
 cathedral of Christendom seemed to melt away into 
 the firmament of heaven. Then I found that there 
 was a height whence all discords, which were not 
 music, fell back to earth, and whence all the discords 
 without which music cannot be, flowed up in one 
 grand River of Praise, in at the Gates of Pearl. 
 
 The burden of the song seemed simply that old 
 prayer, " Our Father which art in heaven." 
 
 Bat from the crystal fiery sea into which that 
 river flowed, rolled back, as in an echo of countless 
 ocean waves, the antiphou, — 
 
 " Great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord Go* 
 Almighty. Just and true are Thy ways, Thou Kin? 
 of Saints!" 
 
 Then the thought came to me, " Mr. Baxter, how- 
 ever, with all his moderatmgs and balancings can- 
 not antedate these harmonies. Aunt Dorothy says 
 he believes he has found the exact middle point be- 
 tween every extreme — Calvinism and Arminianism, 
 Episcopacy, Presbytery, Independency. But, un- 
 fortunately, to otlier people it is but a point. Aunt 
 Dorothy cannot, quite balance herself on it. It is 
 certain the whole world cannot. It is doubtful if 
 any one can, except Mr. Baxter." 
 
 The harmony is made,n )t by each trying to learn
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ,8) 
 
 ihe Avhole, \ ut by each keeping faithfully to the 
 part given him to learn and sing, though the part 
 be only a broken note here and there. 
 
 And I thanked God that all the efforts of the 
 worst men, or the best, to anticipate that majestic 
 anthem of conflicting and embracing sound by a 
 thin unison of voices, had never succeeded, and 
 never could succeed, as long as men are men, and 
 the second Man is not St. Paul, or Apollos, or St. 
 John — but the Son of Alan ; the Lord from heaven. 
 
 LETTI Ce's DIAEY, 
 
 " Paris, 1650, September. — It is a new world in 
 which T And myself, here, in the hotel of Madame 
 la Mothe. Save Barbe and myself, not one Prot- 
 estant is of the circle. 
 
 " The loneliness is sometimes oppressive, cour- 
 teous as all are It is not so much the condemna- 
 tion of Protestant England, as an unfoi - tunate island 
 shattered from the rest of Christendom by the earth- 
 quake of the Reformation, which makes me feel how 
 far off we are from each other, as their incapacity 
 to comprehend the divisions which are convulsing 
 our country. ' From shattering to pulverizing, the 
 process is but natural,' a good priest said the other 
 day. They seem to look on us as the dust of 
 a ruined Church ; and between nnp ntom of dust 
 and another — between atoms Episcopal, atoms Pres- 
 byterian, and atoms Independent — they have no 
 sunbeam strong enough to distinguish. 
 
 u Paris, October 1st. — This morning Madame la
 
 t^4 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Mothe, always anxious fc my welfare, and now 
 and then awakening to spasms of conviction that 
 my welfare means my ' conversion,' took me to hear 
 an excellent priest, called Singlin, preach. 
 
 " ' I do not go often myself, my child,' she said, 
 ' because the power of M. Singlin's sermons is re- 
 doubtable. They sweep people away from transi- 
 tory ties, like a torrent. Now, while M. la Mothe 
 lives, this is a danger to which I scarcely venture 
 to expose myself. He is, as you see, more aged 
 than I am. And what could he do without me? 
 When I married him, I was a child ; he a man of 
 high reputation, who had made his mark in the 
 world. It was considered a brilliant destiny for 
 me. It has been a tranquil and a happy destiny. 
 He was ever to me the most considerate of friends, 
 guiding me through the temptations of the world 
 like a director, generously providing me with the 
 pleasures suited to my age, and consoling me like 
 an angel when our only child died. I could never 
 abandon him now.' 
 
 " Many things were strange to me in these words. 
 This married life seemed so strangely dual, instead 
 of one. She spoke of him rather as leading on than 
 going with ; rather as providing her joys than join- 
 ing in them ; rather as consoling her griefs than 
 sharing them. And as strange seemed to me tbia 
 mingled love and dread of M. Singlin's sermons. 
 
 " We dressed, and set off for the church. 
 
 " ' Surely, Madame,' I said, as we walked through 
 the streets, ' no good man would advise you to ahan 
 ion home and il la Mothe ?'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. !&> 
 
 " ' No, certainly,' she said ; ' not a. (vise. But he 
 mio-ht make me feel the world so hollow and mo 
 mentary, all its relationships so transitory, that an 
 irresistible attraction would draw my heart from 
 the world, like that of the young lady you see on 
 the other side of the street, Mademoiselle Jacque- 
 line Pascal. And what comfort, then, would my 
 husband have in my going through life, by his side 
 indeed, but as a machine wound up to its work, 
 with the spirit elsewhere !' 
 
 "And she pointed out to me a maiden habited 
 much like a nun, moving silently along with down- 
 cast eyes. 
 
 " ' See, my child,' she whispered, ' one of the 
 trophies of M. Singlin's eloquence, or, at least, of 
 the doctrines he enforces. A young person of good 
 family, daughter of M. Etienne Pascal, counsellor 
 of the king. At thirteen she Avas a poetess. She 
 charmed the Queen, Anne of Austria, and the Court, 
 by her verses on the birth of the Dauphin, his pre- 
 sent Majesty. She cajDtivated all by the point of 
 her repartees. At fourteen she won from Cardinal 
 Richelieu her father's pardon for some political 
 offence, by her marvellous acting in a drama. Her 
 brother, Blaise, works miracles of science — literally 
 miracles. He has weighed the air, and made a 
 machine which calculates. She is beautiful, accom- 
 plished, not yet twenty-six ; the most brilliant pros- 
 pects open to her ; the only unmarried daughter of 
 an indulgent father who loves her tenderly. She 
 hears M. Singlin. His words give the seal to her 
 vocation She renounces everything — the Court;, the
 
 186 0-V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 world, the family as far as she can, her genius, hei 
 wit, herself.' 
 
 " ' You mean she renounces her genius by con- 
 secrating it.' 
 
 " ' I mean she renounces. Hereafter God and the 
 Church may consecrate. But who can say ? What 
 Bre our talents to Him ? His Providence can de- 
 stroy a navy by a whirlwind or by a little worm. 
 Henceforth she reads only books of devotion and 
 theology. She writes no more poetry. She denies 
 herself the manifestation of her dearest affections. 
 Until her father freely consents to her profession, 
 she yields, indeed, so far as to remain in his house. 
 But she makes her home a convent, her chamber a 
 cell. She spends the day there in solitude — last 
 winter without a fire, bleak as it was — recitin» 
 oflices, reading books of piety. She only joins the 
 family at meals. And of the meals, as far as possi- 
 ble, she makes fasts, refusing to warm herself at 
 the fire. Charity alone, and devotion, bring her out 
 of her retirement. When her sister's child was 
 dying of the small-pox she nursed it night and day 
 with devoted tenderness. She would, doubtless, 
 have done the same for the child of a beggar ; so 
 entire is her consecration. Soon, no doubt, such 
 piety will vanquish all objections ; her father will 
 yield (if he lives), and she will enter Port Royal. 
 And this is one result of M. Singlin's eloquence, 
 and of the power of his doctrine. You will con- 
 fess it is a power, beneficent indeed, but formidable. 
 
 " ' Formidable indeed, Madame,' I said, shudder* 
 ing, for I thought of m;j own father. ' Fire, I think, 
 to the brain, and frost to the heart.'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. j8 7 
 
 " ' Alas, my child !' she said ; ' how should you 
 understand what is meant by genuine Vocation, or 
 a thorough Conversion ?' 
 
 " To me, indeed, this seemed not conversion ; but 
 annihilation. 
 
 " We were silent some way on our return from 
 the church. 
 
 " ' You were arrested,' said Madame la Mothe. 
 
 " ' It reminded me of a Puritan sermon I once 
 heard in England,' I said ; ' speaking of the world 
 as a " carcass that had neither life nor loveliness." 
 Only M. Singlin seemed to include more in what he 
 meant by the world than the Puritan did.' 
 
 " ' That is what I should expect,' she replied. 
 ' The higher the point of view, the more utter must 
 seem the vanity of all below. Does he not make 
 life seem a speck of dust, its history a moment ? 
 yet each speck of dust on the earth a world, and 
 each moment a lifetime, as to its issues, radiating as 
 these do through eternity !' 
 
 " When we came back, Madame la Mothe gave 
 an ardent account of the sermon to an Abbe, a 
 cousin of hers, who happened to be visiting at the 
 "louse. 
 
 " To my surprise, he solemnly denounced the re- 
 cluses of Port Royal, with M. Singlin and their 
 directors. He called it a conspiracy. 
 
 " He said : ' A renegade Capuchin has (as they 
 confess) been the means of the conversion cf their 
 adored Abbess, Angelique Arnauld. The Arnauld 
 fiunily, the soul cf the whole thing, were Prote»
 
 ,88 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 tants in the previous generation ; and (as the Span- 
 iards say) it takes n re than one generation to wash 
 the taint of heresy from the blood.' 
 
 " At this point Madame la Mothe considerately 
 introduced me. 
 
 " ' With the Protestants we are on open ground, 
 he said, bowing graciously to me. ' Mademoiselle 
 will understand I spoke ecclesiastically. But these 
 Jansenists are conspirators. They are digging mines 
 underneath the altar itself. However, the Pope 
 lives, and the Order of Jesus is awake. We shall 
 see which will perish — the sanctuary, or the mine 
 which was to explode it.' 
 
 " ' Is it true,' I asked Madame la Mothe after- 
 wards, ' that the Abbess of Port Royal owed her 
 first impulse heavenward to a Protestant ?' 
 
 " ' They have told me, indeed, it was a renegade 
 monk who so moved the young Abbess' heart,' she 
 replied. ' The miserable being, it is said, spoke 
 so forcibly on the blessedness of a holy life, and on 
 the infinite love and humiliation of our Lord in Hia 
 incarnation.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps, then, he knew the blessedness of a 
 holy life,' I said. 
 
 " ' He was a wretched fugitive, escaping from his 
 convent, my child,' she replied, a little impatiently. 
 4 But what of that ? Was not Balaam one of the 
 prophets ?' 
 
 " Two things, however, give me a kind of mourn- 
 ful consolation. 
 
 " One is, that, deny h as they will, there is an un- 
 dying link between the holy people of Port Royal
 
 O.V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 189 
 
 and those of the Protestant Church. I like to think 
 that. Not only has their piety a common source ill 
 tbe same Sun, but it was enkindled by the touch of 
 a paor heretic hand they would refuse to grasp in 
 brotherhood. They will have to grasp that poor 
 hand by-and-by, I like to think ; and then, not re- 
 luctantly ! 
 
 "And the other consolation is, that divisions are 
 not confined to Protestants ; a consolation both as 
 regards the Roman Catholics and ourselves. For 
 it seems to me, wherever there is thought there 
 must be difference ; wherever there is life there must 
 be variety. Life and sin ; these seem to me the chiei 
 sources of religious dilference. God only knows 
 from which of these two fountains each drop of the 
 turbulent stream flows. Life, which must manifest 
 itself in forms varied as the living, varying as their 
 growing; sin, which adds to these varieties of 
 healthy growth the sad varieties of disease, infir- 
 muy, excrescence, or defect. 
 
 " Paris, October 2nd. — 'A battle at Dunbar, on the 
 coasft of Scotland. 
 
 "Another defeat. 'A complete rout,' my father 
 says in his letter, which is very desponding. He is 
 very indignant with the Scots, who will not let the 
 king's * loyal servants and counsellors' come near 
 him, or even fight for him, but drag him about like 
 & culprit and preach sermons to him, ' once,' he 
 says, ' six in succession.' (And, here, His Majesty 
 had not the reputation of being too fond of sermons.) 
 He is also grieved with the king himself; at his 
 signing the Covenant, at his publicly condemning
 
 iy o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 his royal martyred father's acts, and his mother's 
 religion ; and, above all, at his suffering himself to 
 be conducted in state into Edinburgh, under the 
 gate where were exposed tte dishonoured remains 
 of Montrose, who so gallantly died for him not six 
 months before. ' Nevei-theless,' he concludes, ' we 
 shall all die for him when our time comes, no doubt, 
 as willingly as Montrose did. And after all, the 
 true mischief-makers are the priests. From the 
 Pope to the kirk preachers, not a disturbance in the' 
 world but you find them at the bottom of it. Let 
 all the theologies alone, sweetheart. One is as bad 
 as another. Say thy Creed ; keep the Command- 
 ments ; pray the Lord's Prayer. And remember 
 thy old father.' 
 
 "January, Chateau St. Remi. — We have come to 
 M. la Mothe's country chateau for the Christmas. 
 
 " The Abbey Church of Port Royal des Champs 
 is our parish-church. Madame la Mothe often takes 
 me there. 
 
 " The first morning after our arrival she took me 
 to the edge of the Valley of Port Royal. 
 
 '' R is rather a cup-like hollow in the plain than a 
 valley among hills. Rs sides are clothed with a 
 f ombre mantle of ancient forests,— at the further 
 ♦jnd sleeping into the plain into which the valley 
 opens. A broad rich plain with rivers, woods, corn- 
 fields, now ploughed into long brown ridges for 
 sowing ; towns, villages with spires and towers, all 
 stretching far away into a blue dimness. 
 
 "The recluses who occupied Les Granges, the ab- 
 bey farm on the brow of the hill where we stood,
 
 OS BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA ,qy 
 
 must find their prayers helped, I think, by this 
 glimpse into the wide world of life beyond. Tho 
 nuns at the bottom of the valley must lose it. 
 
 " The valley was entirely filled by the convent. 
 
 " ' It is like a vase carved by the Creator Himself 
 for the precious ointment whose odour fills all His 
 house,' Madame la Mothe said. 
 
 " To my unaccustomed eyes it was more like a 
 prosperous village than a monastery. 
 
 " In the midst, the great tower of the church ; 
 close to it, the convent itself, with its lofty roofs, 
 arched windows and gateways, turrets and pin- 
 nacles ; around, the infirmary, surgery, weaving- 
 houses, Avash-houses, bake-houses, wood, corn and 
 hay stacks, the mill and the mill-pond, and fish- 
 ponds ; the new and stately hotel which is the re- 
 treat of the Duchess de Longueville, with the resi- 
 dences of other noble ladies ; and beyond, the 
 kitchen-gardens and meadows divided by a winding 
 brook from the ' Solitude,' where, amidst groups of 
 ancient trees, and under the steep slopes of tye 
 wooded hill, the nuns repair for confession and med- 
 itation. Even then, on that winter-day, I thought 
 I perceived the gleam of their white dresses among 
 the trees 
 
 " As we look, Madame ia Motbe told me some of 
 the scenes which had been witnessed there within 
 the last fifty years. 
 
 " Xot fifty years since, t^ae abbey had been a 
 place of restless gaiety and revelry. Light songs 
 nnd laughter might have been heard echoing among 
 the woods, when the child Angelique Arnauld was 
 appointed Abbess.
 
 iyZ 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 '" She then described the great king Henri Quatre 
 with his courtiers invading the valley in the easrer- 
 ness of the chase, and the child Abbess with her 
 crozier in her hand marching in state out of that 
 grand arched gateway at the head of her nuns, and 
 warning His Majesty from the sacred precincts ; the 
 king gallantly kissing the queenly child's hand, and 
 obeying her behests. 
 
 " Then the renegade Capuchin, finding one night's 
 shelter in the abbey on his flight to a Protestant 
 country, preaching in that church of the ' blessed- 
 ness of a holy life and the love of Christ,' so as to 
 awaken the young Abbess in her seventeenth year 
 to the vision of a new world and a new life, which, 
 in a subsequent sickness, deepened into thorough 
 conversion to God. 
 
 " The ' Journee du Guichet,' when the Abbess 
 Angelique began her attempts to reform and seclude 
 the nuns by refusing to admit her own father within 
 the grating ; by the long fainting-fit with which her 
 resistance ended, showing him what the effort cost 
 her, and convincing him of her sincerity. 
 
 "The reform of Port Royal. Its growing repu- 
 tation for sanctity. The mission of the young Ab- 
 bess to reform other convents: the thronging of 
 new nuns under her rule, until the valley (then un 
 drained) became too small, health failed, and all the 
 community had to remove for fifteen years to Paris, 
 
 "The arrival of the Abbess Angelique's bi other, 
 M. Arnauld d'Andilly, and the other recluses, to 
 take up their abode at the deserted abbey, then half 
 in ruins the meadows a marsh, the gardeus a wilier
 
 ON BOTH SILLS OF THE SEA , 93 
 
 dcss. The draining of the marsh and rebuilding of 
 the abbey by the hands of these gentlemen, work- 
 ing to the sound of psalms. 
 
 ''The return of the Abbess Angelique, with her 
 long train of white-robed daughters, welcomed with 
 enthusiasm by the peasants. The one meeting of 
 the recluses and the nuns, eighteen of them of the 
 Arnauld family ; as the brothers led the sisters into 
 the church they had worked so hard to restore, and 
 then retired to the abbey farm, to see each other 
 no more except at the church services through a 
 grating. 
 
 "As I looked down, nothing struck me so much 
 as the stillness. To the eye, the valley was a place 
 of busy human life. To the ear, it was a solitude. 
 No discordant noises came from it, no hum of cheer- 
 ful converse, nor voices of children at play. The 
 nuns have large schools, which they teach most dil- 
 igently and intelligently ; the best ever known, it is 
 said. But the children are accustomed to play, eac't 
 by herself, quietly. The nuns think they like it as 
 much, — after a little while. They are also never al- 
 lowed to kiss or caress each other. Caresses might 
 lead to quarrels, and are, besides (the nuns think), 
 a weakening indulgence of emotion. 
 
 " I hope they often read the little ones the gospel 
 which tells how the Master ' took the little children 
 m His arms.' They must need it. 
 
 "The stillness had a sacred solemnity; but there 
 was something of a vault-like chill in it, whicfh crept 
 over me like a shadow, as we descended the steep 
 path, stiewn with moist dead leaves among th* 
 roots of the leafless trees. 17
 
 I 9 4 OiV BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " I should like better to have se( n Port Roya. 
 when, as in the wars of the Fronde a year or two 
 since, it became a refuge fcr the plundered peasants 
 of the neighbourhood, the infirmary filled with their 
 sick and aged, the church with their corn, the sacred 
 napkins for the altar torn up to bind their wounds. 
 
 ''Through the grand arched gateway we went 
 into the inner court, and thence into the church, 
 where the nuns were chanting the service. 
 
 " Their music seems ail kept for the church. Sin 
 and eternity ! These two thought? seem to hush 
 all the music at Port Royal, except such as goes up 
 to God. It was a solemn thing to hear the hundred 
 voices joining in the severe and simple chants to 
 which they tune their lives sc well. 
 
 " Madame la Mothe was pleased to see me moved 
 as I was by it. 
 
 " ' In England, you have scarcely a choir like 
 that,' she said. 
 
 " ' Not quite,' I replied ; yet not to mislead her 
 with false hopes as to me I could not help adding, — 
 ' With us the singers are not gathered into a choir, 
 but scattered through the Church; in scattered 
 Christian homes throughout the nation. And the 
 pauses of the psalms are filled up by family joya 
 and sorrows, and by the voices and laughter of little 
 children ; which, it seems to me, m:*ke the psalmg 
 all the sweeter and truer.' 
 
 "But more solemn than this general assembly it 
 was to ?ne to see, as I have this evening, while ] 
 was in J he church alone, that motionless, white
 
 Off BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 \M 
 
 robed, kneeling figure keeping watch m the dusk 
 befoie the 'Sacred Host' on the altar. One silver 
 lamp radiated a dim and silvery light into the re- 
 cesses of the empty silent church ; the lamp never 
 extinguished, the prayer never ceasing. 
 
 " That kneeling worshipper seemed to me herself 
 a living symbol and portion of the Perpetual living 
 Sacrifice, in which the One sacrifice unto death is 
 for ever renewed ; as Christian heart after heart is 
 enkindled to love, and sacrifice, and seiwe ; as the 
 Church, redeemed by Him who offered Himself up 
 without spot to God, offers herself up in Him to do 
 and suffer the Father's will, to drink of His cup and 
 be baptized with His baptism ; His living body, 
 the fulness of Him that filleth all in all.' 
 
 " As we came up the hil) my heart was full ot 
 that thought. We turned and looked back over 
 the valley. The massive towers threw long shadows 
 over the meadows, silvered with dew and moon- 
 light. The broad lake shone, like the tranquil lives 
 of the sisterhood, mirroring the heavens. 
 
 " On the other side, on the brow of the hill, the 
 lights of Les Granges showed where the recluses 
 were keeping their watch. A deep-toned bell froni 
 the abbey church struck the hour. 
 
 " Then, in the deepened hush of silence which 
 followed, the soft chant of the nuns came stealing 
 np the slopes. As we listened, it seemed to be an- 
 swered from above by the deep music of men's 
 voices from Les Granges. 
 
 u We listened till the last notes died away. I 
 never heard church music which so moved me as
 
 q6 ON LOT 11 SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 those unconscious antiphons, where the two sides ol 
 the choir could not hear each other, whilst we heard 
 both. It made me think of so many things : of the 
 many choirs on earth who sing a part, and cannot 
 hear or will not recognize each other's music, while 
 (xod is listening to all ; of the two sides of the choir 
 in heaver, and earth ; and of the voices in the 
 higher choir which I should hear no more on earth. 
 
 " I felt lifted into a higher world. And we two 
 walked home in one of those restful silences which 
 sometimes say so much more than words. 
 
 " It broke a little rudely on this when, at the 
 gate of the chateau, M. la Mothe's servant met us, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " ' Ah, madam e ! M. le Comte is much agitated. 
 He says it is ten minutes after the time when ma- 
 lame brings him his posset.' 
 
 " We hastened into the salon. M. la Mothe was 
 indeed much agitated. 
 
 '"Pardon me, my friend,' she said; "I am ten 
 minutes late.' 
 
 " He pointed to the clock. 
 
 '"Ten, madam!' he exclaimed. 'Fourteen and 
 a half, at the least ! when the physician said every 
 minute was of consequence. But we must bear it, 
 no doubt. Neglect is the portion of the aged. 
 And madame has her salvation to accomplish, 
 no doubt ! In my youth married women accom- 
 plished their salvation in accomplishing the comfort 
 of their husbands. But times change. In a few 
 months I shall, no doubt, be beyond the reach of 
 neglect ; and then madame can accomplish her sal«
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 197 
 
 ration without further interruption. Heaven grant 
 it may prove your salvation after all ! Those 
 learned gentlemen, the Jesuits, think otherwise, and 
 they have great saints among them.' 
 
 " I shall never forget the sweet humility with 
 which she acknowledged the justice of his re- 
 proaches, and tact and tenderness with which she 
 soothed his feeble irritability into tranquillity again. 
 
 " ' You mean well, no doubt, my poor friend !' 
 he said at last, with a lofty air of forbearance ; 
 'and no doubt we shall not soon have such an 
 
 omission a^ain.' 
 
 " ' Ah, my child !' she said to me, as she came 
 into my room afterwards ; ' if you had only known 
 how good he was, and how patient with me, when I 
 was wild and young ! These little irritations are not 
 from the heart, but from the brain, which is over- 
 tasked and tired. He had no sleep last night on ac- 
 count of the gout, and I read aloud to him romances, 
 insipid enough, I think, to send me asleep in a house 
 on fire. But they had no effect on him, the puin 
 was so acute.' 
 
 " The tears came into my eyes. She thought 
 nothing; of her own fatigue. 
 
 " ' "You need not pity me,' she said, with her own 
 bright smile. ' I am an easy, happy old woman, far 
 too contented, I fear, witli the world and with my 
 lot in it. If 1 have any virtue, it is good temper; 
 and that is scarcely a virtue, not certainly a grace- 
 indeed, merely a little hereditary advantage, like 
 skin that heals quickly.' 
 
 " ' I was not pitying you, madame,' I ventured to 
 17*
 
 I 9 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 say; 'I was only thinking how much better God 
 makes our crosses for us than they make them even 
 at Port Royal.' 
 
 " ' Alas, my child !' she sighed ; ' there is no need 
 for the holy ladies and gentlemen of Port Royal to 
 make their own crosses. The Jesuits are preparing 
 plenty of crosses, I fear, for them. But do not, I 
 entreat you, dignify such little prickles as mine 
 by the name of crosses.' 
 
 "I made no answer, save by kissing her hand. 
 For I thought her crosses were none the worse 
 discipline because to her they seemed only prickles; 
 and her graces all the more genuine and sweet 
 because to her they seemed only ' little hereditary 
 advantages.' 
 
 " It is such a help to ' crosses,' in the work they 
 have to do for us, when they have no chance oi 
 looking grand enough to be set up on pedestals and 
 adored; and it is such a blessing for 'graces' when 
 they are not clothed in Sunday or 'religious' 
 clothes, so as to have any opportunity of looking 
 at themselves at all. 
 
 " Good temper, kindliness, cheerfulness, lowliness, 
 tenderness, justice, generosity, seem to me to lose 
 Ho much of their beauty and fragrance when they 
 change their sweet familiar home-names (which are 
 also their true Christian names) for three-syllabled 
 saintly titles, such as ' holy indifference,' or ' saintly 
 resignation,' and pace demurely about in proces- 
 sions, saying, in every deprecatory look and regu- 
 lated gesture, ' Fee how unlike the rest of the world 
 we are !'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ,yf 
 
 " ; When saw we Thee an hungered?' — h^u uuicl) 
 chat means ! It was not so much, I think, t*iat the* 
 'righteous' had not recognized the Master in thei* 
 acts, as that they did not recall the acts. They did 
 not recognize the sweet blossoms of their own 
 graces, because His life had gone down to the root 
 and flowed through every stem and tAvig of every- 
 day feeling, and overflowed in every bud and bios 
 som of every-day words and works, as naturalis- 
 ed inevitably as a fountain bubbles up in spray. 
 It was not His presence they had been unconscious 
 of, but their own services. For it seems to me just 
 the acts religious people least remember that are 
 the most beautiful, and that Christ most remembers, 
 because they flow from the deepest source ; not 
 from a conscious purpose, but from a pervading 
 instinctive life. 
 
 " In such unconscious acts the noble men and 
 women of Port Royal are rich indeed. I love, for 
 instance, to think how M. de St. Cyran, when him- 
 self a prisoner in the Bastille, sold some of the few 
 precious books remaining to buy clothes for two 
 fellow-prisoners of his— the Baron and Baroness 
 de Beau Soleil— and said to the lady who under- 
 took the commission for him, 'I do not know wl at is 
 necessary, but some one lias told me that gentlemen 
 and ladies of their condition ought not to be seen 
 in company without gold lace for the men and black 
 lace for the women. Pray purchase the best, and 
 let everything be done modestly, and yet hand- 
 somely, that when they see each other they may 
 forget, for a few minutes at least, that they are cap
 
 .oo ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ti \es Madame de Beau SoJeil'a beautiful ' worldly ' 
 lace Mill perhaps prove a more religious robe for 
 M. de St. Cyran than his own ' religious habit.' 
 
 " The selling of the church plate at Port R< yai 
 to relieve the poor is certainly as much a religious 
 act as the buying it. The voluntary desecration of 
 their church into a granary, to save the corn of the 
 poor peasants from plunder during the wars of the 
 bVonde, was certainly a true consecration of it. 
 The lovely wax models Avhich the sister Angelique 
 makes to purchase comforts for our Royalist coun- 
 trywomen, heretics though she believes us to be, 
 seem (to us at least) a labour of love sure not to be 
 forgotten above. The delight in acts of kindness 
 to others, for which Blaise Pascal is said to torture 
 himself by pressing the sharp studs of his iron 
 girdle into the flesh, may prove to have been more 
 sanctifying than the pain by which he seeks to ex- 
 piate it. The homely services which Jacqueline 
 Pascal rendered her little dying niece on the nights 
 she spent in nursing her through ' confluent small 
 pox,' may prove to have been more ' divine offices ' 
 than those she spent so many nights, half-benumbed 
 with cold, in reciting. 
 
 " And so, after ah, from the most self-questioning 
 religious life, as well as from the lowliest life of 
 love that scarcely dared call itself religious, may 
 come that same answer of the righteous. He who 
 scarce dared lift his eyes to heaven, saying with 
 rapture, ' Was it indeed Thee to whom I gave that 
 cup of cold water ?' — and the austere Puritau
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 201 
 
 (Catholic or Protestant, saying), ' Was it indeed 
 the feeding and clothing, those little forgotten acts 
 of kindness I thought nothing of, that were pleas- 
 ing Thee ?" 
 
 " February. — I wonder what Olive is doing and 
 learning. These misunderstandings of God and of 
 one another perplex me at times not a little. I 
 wonder if she has any perplexities of the same kind 
 in England ? 
 
 " This morning Madame la Mothetold me a beau- 
 tiful saying of M. Arnauld d'Andilly, brother to 
 the Mere Angelique, when some one was exhorting 
 him to rest, ' There is all eternity,' he replied, ' to 
 rest in.' 
 
 "This evening I repeated this to Barbe. She 
 replied : ' It reminds me of a saying of a good 
 pastor of ours, who said, when some one tried to 
 comfort him in severe sickness by wishing him 
 health and rest, " Mon lit dc saute et de repos sera 
 dans le ciel." '* 
 
 " The two sides of the choir again ! — taking up 
 the responses from each other without knowing 
 anything of each other's singing ! How wonderful 
 it all is ! This deafness to each other's music ; theso 
 misunderstandings of each other's words ! this deaf- 
 ness to what God tells us of Himself in the Gos- 
 pels, and in Ihe world; these misunderstandings of 
 Him ! And His patient listening, and understand 
 ing us all ! 
 
 * Told of M. Drolincourt, pastor of Cliarenton, who died 
 la 1069.
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 OLIVE S RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 ; S Aunt Dorothy continued to recover, I 
 knew the dreaded clash of arms with 
 Annis Nye could not be long delayed ; 
 and I had been casting about in my 
 mind for some means of settling Annis for the time 
 elsewhere, when the storm burst suddenly upon me. 
 Maidie and I had come from a ramble near the 
 town ; Maidie enraptured with her first experience 
 of the treasures of the woods, having that day dis- 
 covered that in the autumn the trees drop showers 
 of inestimable jewels in the form of spiky green 
 balls, which, when opened, proved to be each a cas- 
 ket containing a glossy, brown lump of delight, 
 called in the tongues of men a horse-chestnut, b it 
 in the tongue of Maidie having no word adequate 
 to express its beauty and preciousness. I was bring- 
 ing home a store of these treasures in a kerchief; 
 while Maidie held my hand, discoursing, like a ;*-«- 
 son just entered on a fortune, as to how much ot 
 her wealth she would bestow on Annis, and how 
 much on Aunt Dorothy; baby she considered not 
 (202)
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 203 
 
 able to appreciate ; but in time, perhaps, she might 
 grow up to it, and 'Jien she should have her share. 
 
 But at the dooi Aunt Dorothy met us, pale and 
 agitated. 
 
 "Child!" she said, in the tone of one deeply 
 wronged — " Olive ! I did not look for this from 
 tbee !" 
 
 In her hand was a sheet of writing. She gave it 
 me with a trembling hand. 
 
 " Read it, Olive," she said. " It is from George 
 Fox, now in the House of Correction at Derby ! 
 a person concerning whom no sober person can en- 
 tertain a hope, save that he may be mad. And it 
 is sent to your maid Annis Xye ; and is by her ac- 
 knowledged. He is a Quakei-, Olive ! One of that 
 mad sect opposed to all rule in Church, Army, and 
 State. I knew the perilous latitude of thy husband's 
 courses. I had even fears as to his being entirely 
 free from Arminian heresies ; but this, I confess, 1 
 had not looked for from thee ! " 
 
 We came into the parlour; and while I was read- 
 ing, Maidie took advantage of the silence to display 
 her treasures. 
 
 "Poor innocent !" said Aunt Dorothy, taking her 
 on her knee, and kissing her. " Poor innocent lamb ! 
 entrusted to a very wolf in sheep's clothing. I little 
 thought to live to see this! Pretty! yes, pretty, 
 my lamb !" she added, absently, a? the little hands 
 were held up to her with the new wonders. 
 
 Biit this reception of her treasures was far too ab- 
 sent and parenthetical to satisfy Maidie, who slip- 
 ped ofl* to the ground, and, calling on Annis. was 
 making her way to the kitchen, when Aunt Derulhy
 
 204 oy BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 anticipated her by closing the door and planting 
 the little one summarily ol the table, with an in- 
 junction to be quiet. 
 
 " The moment is come !" she said, solemnly, to 
 me. " This house shall never be profaned by the 
 presence of a person who calls Mr. Baxter a ' priest, 
 his church a steeple-house, and George Fox a servant 
 of the Lord." 
 
 "She is fatherless and motherless, Aunt Dorothy," 
 I said. " What would you have me to do ? She 
 cannot be turned houseless on the world to starve." 
 
 " Let her go to her Friends, as she calls them," 
 said Aunt Dorothy—" her ' children of light ! ' Alas 
 for the land ! there is no lack of them. Although 
 in the town Mr. Baxter has silenced them, by a re- 
 markable discussion he held with them in the church, 
 I doubt not they lie, like other foxes, in the holes 
 and corners of the hills around. Although, in good 
 sooth, the safest and mercifulest place for Quakers, 
 in my judgment, is a prison, where they cannot 
 spread their poison, or make everybody angry with 
 them, as they do everywhere else. And to the in- 
 side of a prison, it seems, the maid is no stranger 
 already. I am no persecutor, Olive. But when 
 people scatter tire-brands, the only mercy to them 
 and to the world is to tie their hands. Do you 
 know," she added, " for what George Fox is in the 
 House of Correction ? For brawling in the church ; 
 in a solemn congregation of ministers, soldiers, and 
 people, which had assembled to hear godly Colonel 
 Barton preach !" 
 
 "Is Colonel Barton a minister?" I said. 
 
 u Belike not," she replied, a little testily. "J am
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA- eo $ 
 
 not for defending Colonel Barton, nor the times, 
 nor the ways of those in power (' in authority'' I will 
 not call them, for authority in these disorderly days 
 there is none). But there are degrees in disorder. 
 Colonel Barton preaching in the pulpit is one thing, 
 and George Fox the weaver's son crying out in the 
 pews is another." 
 
 " Did he say anything very bad?" I said. 
 
 " What need we care what an ignorant upstart 
 like that said, Olive ? It was where he said it that 
 was the crime. No place is sacred to the youngster. 
 He preaches in market-places against cheating and 
 cozening, in fairs against mountebanks, in courts of 
 justice against the magistrates, in churches against 
 the ministers." 
 
 " But, Aunt Dorothy," I ventured to say, " if he 
 must preach at all, at least this way seems to me 
 better than preaching in church against the mounte- 
 banks, and in the markets against the priests. To 
 tell people their own sins to their faces is more like 
 right preaching, is it not, than telling them of othei 
 people's sins behind their backs ? Whether it is 
 wrong or not for George Fox to exhort the ministers 
 before their own congregations who dislike it, I think 
 it would be meaner and more wrong to i ail at them 
 in a congregation of Quakers who might like it." 
 
 " If you can defend George Fox, Olive," she said, 
 M we may as well give lip debating anything ! At 
 all events, I am thankful to say, whatever divisions 
 there may be on other questions, the professing 
 Church in general is of one opinion is to th« Qua- 
 kers. Whatever you may think of the mercy of im 
 18
 
 2 o6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 prisoning Quakers as regards their souls, there is i.o 
 doubt it is a mercy to their bodies. For George 
 Fox is no sooner at liberty from the prison, than he 
 begins exhorting every one, making every one so 
 angry that he is whipped and hunted from one town 
 to another, and finds no rest until he is mercifully 
 •?hut up in another prison. And I much doubt if 
 you will not find it the same with Annis Nye." 
 I was not without fears of the kind. But I said, — 
 " She has shown a marvellous tenderness and love 
 for the babes, Aunt Dorothy ; and since she came 
 to us, she has been as quiet as any other Christian. 
 I dare not do anything to drive her forth into the 
 cruel world ; for she is tender and gentle as any 
 gentlewoman born." 
 
 " Tender and gentle indeed !" exclaimed Aunt 
 Dorothy. " Yes, she told me George Fox's letter 
 was written to the Friends, and other ' tender peo- 
 ple,' wherever they might be. I, at least, am not 
 one of the tender people, to tolerate such ways. I 
 hear much talk of toleration ; and I will not deny 
 that even Mr. Baxter has looser thoughts on Chris- 
 tian concord than I altogether like. He would be 
 contert if all Christians would unite on the ground 
 of the Apostles' Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the 
 Ten Commandments. Whereas, in my opinion, you 
 might nigh as well have no walls at all around the 
 fold as walls any wolf can leap in over to devour the 
 sheep, and any poor lamb may leap out over to lose 
 itself in the wilderness. Why, a Socinian, an Ar- 
 miuian, a Papist, for I ought I know, might sign 
 the Apostles' Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 207 
 
 Commandments (praying and keeping them is, no 
 doubt, another thing.) Belike any one might, but a 
 Quaker; for the Quakers will sign nothing, so that 
 they are safe to be out of a fold that has any walls, 
 which is some consolation. Everybody's toleration 
 must stop somewhere; yours, I suppose, would stop 
 at house-breaking. Mine stops at sacrilege or 
 church-breaking ; and that I consider every Quaker 
 may be considered to be guilty of. So, Olive, you 
 must o'en choose between Annis Nye and me. Your 
 company, and that of the babes, poor lambs, is pleas- 
 ant to me. But I have not lifted up my testimony 
 against my mother's son, whom I love as my own 
 soul, and forsaken the only place I shall ever feel a 
 home on earth, to have my house made a refuge, or 
 a madhouse, for Quakers, Jews, Turks, and Infidels." 
 
 At this point Aunt Dorothy's face was consider- 
 ably flushed, and her voice raised in a way which 
 was altogether too much for Maidie's feelings. Her 
 eyes were fixed anxiously on Aunt Dorothy's ; two 
 large tears gathered in them, and her lip began to 
 quiver ominously, when I caught her softly in my 
 arms, just in time to hush a great sob on my bosom. 
 
 Poor little Maidie ! I do not think she had ever 
 seen any one really angry before, except herself; 
 and not being able to distinguish between right- 
 eous ecclesiastical anger and ordinary unecclesias- 
 tieal hastiness of temper, it was some time before 
 she could be induced to respond to all the help- 
 less blandishments and tender epithets which poor 
 Aunt Dorothy lavished on her, with anything but 
 M Naughty, naughty ! go away !" — an insult which
 
 208 ON E 1TH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy bore in patience once, but on its 
 repetition, observed, "That comes of Antinomian 
 serving-wenches, Olive ! The child has no idea of 
 any one being angry about anything ; a most dan- 
 gerous delusion ! Mark my words, Olive ! the world 
 is not Eden, and Antinomianism is the natural re- 
 ligi< m of us all ; and it is too plain Maidie is not 
 free from the infection of nature ; and if you bring 
 up the babes to look for nothing but fair weather, 
 they will find the Lord's rough winds only the 
 harder to bear. Thou wast not brought up alto- 
 gether on sweetmeats, Olive ! Though may be on 
 too many after all. It seems, however, that her 
 poor old aunt's ways are not to the babe's mind ; so 
 I suppose I had better withdraw." 
 
 Nothing makes one feel more helpless than the 
 uncontrollable repugnance of a child to some one it 
 ought to love. I knew that Aunt Dorothy loved 
 Maidie dearly, and that her sharp voice and man- 
 ner were nothing but the pain of repressed and 
 wounded feeling. But there were no words by 
 which I could translate those harsh tones into Mai- 
 die's language of love. On the other hand, I knew 
 that Maidie's repugnance was not naughtiness, but 
 a real uncontrollable terror, which nothing but 
 soothing and caressing could allay. Yet, while 
 thus seeking to soothe the child, I felt conscious I 
 was regarded by Aunt Dorothy as one of Solomon's 
 unwise parents ; and I knew that, if it had been in 
 her power, she would have sentenced me, as in our 
 childhood, to learn a punith e " chapter in Proverbs." 
 
 My confusion was still worse confounded by the
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 og 
 
 gentle opening of the door, and the sudden appear- 
 ance of Annis with a bundle in her arms, at sight 
 of whose calm face Maidie's countenance bright- 
 ened, and she stretched out her hands to go to her. 
 
 Annis softly laid down her bundle and took the 
 child in her arms, the little hands clinging fondly- 
 round her neck. 
 
 It was the last drop in Aunt Dorothy's cup and 
 mine. " The babe at least has chosen, Olive !" she 
 said, in a dry, hard voice. "And I suppose the 
 mother will obey, according to the rule of these re- 
 publican days." Aunt Dorothy was really " naughty" 
 at that moment, in the fullest acceptation of the 
 word ; and she knew it, which made her worse. 
 
 Gently Annis replaced the child in my arms, but 
 there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke. 
 
 " Olive Antony," she said, " thee and thine have 
 been true friends to me. But it is best I should 
 leave thee. I have gathered my goods together " 
 (they were easily gathered, poor orphan maid), 
 " and I am going. Fare thee well !" 
 
 My heart ached. I knew her determined ways 
 so well ; I knew so well the hard things that must 
 await her in the world ; and I felt as if by even for 
 a moment debating in my mind the possibility of 
 letting her depart, I was accessory to her banish- 
 ment, and so betraying my husband's trust. 
 
 " Not so, Annis," I said ; " this once I must be 
 mistress. How else could I answer to my husband 
 for his trust of the fatherless ; — or, what is more, to 
 the Father of the fatherless ?" 
 
 "Thy husband had no power to entrust the with
 
 2io ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 me," shi 3plied, gently ; " nor have I the power to 
 commit 1^9 self to the care of any mortal. God has 
 entrusted rie with myself, soul and body, and I 
 answer only to Him." 
 
 " But think, Annis, of the ruthlessness of the 
 world," I said ; a weak argument, I felt, the moment 
 I had uttered it, and one which with Annis would 
 be sure to turn the wrong way. The softness which 
 Maidie's caresses had brought into her eyes left 
 them, and a lofty courage came instead. 
 
 " Bonds and imprisonments may await me," she 
 said. " If it were death, who that loved God was 
 ever turned from His "ways by that ?" 
 
 " But the babes," I pleaded, " the little ones, wih 
 miss thee so sorely." 
 
 A tender smile came over her face as she glanced 
 at Maidie. 
 
 " I have thought of that. I have pleaded it re- 
 belliously with my Lord many days," she said ; 
 " but it is of no avail. His fire burnetii in me, and 
 who can stand it ? I must go." 
 
 " But whither, Annis ?" I said. 
 
 " There is a concern on my spirit," she said, " for 
 my people and my father's house. They reviled 
 me, and drove me from them. I must return. They 
 have smitten me on the right cheek ; I must turn 
 to them the left. Maybe they will hear ; but if not, 
 I must speak. Or if they will not let me speak, I 
 must be silent among them, and suffer. Sometimes 
 silence sjjeaks best. — Fare thee well, Olive Antony, 
 and ihou, aged Dorothy Drayton ! I have said to 
 thee what was given me to say. Thou hast done
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 ll 
 
 me 110 despite. It is not for thy words I depart 
 If >;hey had been softer than butter, I dared not 
 have tarried. The Power is on my spirit, and I 
 must go." 
 
 She kissed Maidie, and I kissed her serene fore- 
 head. Further remonstrance was in vain. I would 
 have pressed money on her, but she refused. 
 
 " I have no need," she said, with a smile. " I 
 shall not be forsaken. And I have not earned it. 
 Little enough have I done for all thee and thine 
 hath been to me." 
 
 With tears I stood at the door and watched her 
 quietly pass down the street, not knowing whither 
 she went. But before she had gone many steps 
 Aunt Dorothy appeared with a basket laden with 
 meat, bread, and wine, which, hurrying after Annis, 
 she succeeded in making her take. 
 
 " It is written, ' Thou shalt not receive him into 
 thy house, or bid him God speed,' said she apolo- 
 getically to me, as she re-entered the door. " But 
 it is not written, ' Thou shalt send him out of thy 
 house hungry and fasting.' " 
 
 " It is written, ' If thine enemy hunger, feed 
 him,' " I said. 
 
 ''I had thought of that text also, Olive," said 
 she, " but I do not think it quite fits. For the poor 
 maid is not mine enemy. God knows I would not 
 have shut house or heart, against her if she had been 
 only that !" 
 
 We were very silent that day. The house seemed 
 very empty and quiet, when Maidie's last sobbing 
 entreaties for Annis were hushed, and, the babe«
 
 212 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 being asleep, Aunt Dorothy and I seated ourselves 
 by the fireside. 
 
 " It was a hard duty, Olive, to speak as I did ; 
 and belike, after all, the flesh had its evil share in 
 the matter," she said, os we parted for the night. 
 '* But I did it. And I think it has been owned." 
 
 But I did not think her conscience was as easy 
 as she tried to persuade herself. 
 
 The night was wild and stormy, and I heard her 
 pacing unquietly about her room and opening her 
 casement more than once, as I sat watching Maiclie 
 in a restless sleep, and reading the papers by George 
 Fox which Annis had left behind her. The words 
 were such as no Christian, it seemed to me, could 
 but deem good. Some of them rang like an ancient 
 hymn out of some grand old liturgy. 
 
 " Oh, therefore," he wrote from his prison, " mind 
 the pure spirit of the everlasting God, which will 
 teach you to use the creatures in their right place, 
 and which judgeth the evil. To Thee, O God, be 
 all glory and honour, who art Lord of all, visible 
 and invisible ! To Thee be all praise, who bringest 
 out of the deep to Thyself, O powerful God, who 
 art worthy of all glory. For the Lord who created 
 all, and gives life and strength to all, is over all, 
 and is merciful to all. So Thou who hast made all, 
 and art over all, to Thee be all glory ! In Thee is 
 my strength and refreshment, my life, my joy, and 
 my gladness, my rejoicing and glorying for ever- 
 more. 1 Dr there is peace in resting in the I ord 
 Jesus." 
 
 " Love the cross; and satisfy not your own minds
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 213 
 
 in the flesh, but prize your time, while you have it, 
 and walk up to that you know, in obedience to God ; 
 then you shall not be condemned for that you know 
 not ; but for that you know and do not obey." 
 
 So I read on, watching Maidie's restless tossings 
 and her flushed cheek, hearing now and then Aunt 
 D01 )thy's uneasy footsteps, and wondering whether 
 Annis Nye had found shelter, or whether she were 
 still wandering along the wet and windy roads ; 
 whilst beneath these thoughts every now and then 
 I kept falling back on the things that were never 
 long absent from me : those two Puritan armies 
 watching each other in Scotland, with the "cove- 
 nanted king " at the head of one, and Oliver at the 
 heart of the other, where my husband, and Roger, 
 and Job Forster were. I thought also of mv father 
 and Aunt Dorothy journeying through the desola- 
 tions made by the Thirty Years' religious war in 
 Germany. Who could say when our war would 
 cease, and what further desolations it would leave 
 behind ? Then my mind wandered to Lettice Dav- 
 en ant, from whom Aunt Dorothy had lately received 
 a letter, which had made her uneasy, from its com- 
 paring certain godly Catholic people who live in a 
 nunnery called Port Royal with the godly people 
 in England. Thence, reverting to my early days 
 I thought how small the divisions of the great bat- 
 tle-field seemed then, and how complicated now 1 
 And, looking fondly at Maidie and the babe, it 
 occurred to me whether the child's simple divisions 
 of " good " and " naughty " might not after all be 
 more like those of the angels than we aie apt to 
 think.
 
 1I4 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy looked pale and haggard the next 
 morning, but she betrayed nothing of her nightly 
 investigations into the weather, only manifesting 
 her uneasiness by looking up anxiously when a 
 peculiarly violent gust of wind drove the rain 
 against the windows, and by an unusual tolerance 
 and gentleness with Maidie, who was in a very fret- 
 ful temper. 
 
 In the evening, when the children were asleep, 
 and Aunt Dorothy and I were left alone : " It is 
 very strange !" she said ; " something in that Qua- 
 ker woman's ways seems to have marvellously 
 moved my little maid Sarah. I found the child 
 crying over her Bible, and she said, ' Annis Nye 
 had told her God would teach her ; but she wished 
 He would send her some one like Annis again to 
 help her to learn.' 
 
 " It is very strange, Olive," she added. " The 
 directions about heretics coming to one's house are 
 so very plain. But then I always thought of a 
 heretic as a noisy troublesome person, puffed up 
 with vanity and conceit, whom it would be quite 
 a pleasure to put down. It is rather hard that a 
 heretic should come to me in the shape of a poor, 
 lonely orphan maid, for the most part quiet and 
 peaceable, and so like a sober Christian ; that 1 
 should have to send her away alone no one knows 
 where ; and that such a night would follow, just as 
 if on purpose to make right look like wrong. I begin 
 to see a mercy in the persecutions of the Church. 
 When one comes to know the hei-etics, the natural 
 irau gets such a terrible bold of one, that it would
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 J1 5 
 
 Certainly be easier to suffer the punishment than to 
 inflict it. Although, of course, I am not going to 
 shrink from my duty on account of its not being 
 easy." 
 
 It was Aunt Dorothy's first experience of being 
 at the board of the Star-chamber instead of its bar. 
 And she certainly did not enjoy it. 
 
 The year 1651 seemed to roll on :ather heavily 
 at Kidderminster. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy kept her private fasts, in loyal 
 contempt of the Parliament, especially that one 
 which Mr. Philip Henry, and other Royalist Pres- 
 byterians, so faithfully held until some years after 
 the Restoration, in memory of the death of King 
 Charles the First. 
 
 Mr. Baxter helped to make many people good 
 by his fervent sermons, and meantime made many 
 good people angry by his " convincing " controver- 
 sial books, calling out fifty angry, controversial 
 books in reply. 
 
 Meantime, in a quiet hollow of the hills near the 
 town, I discovered a small manor-house where cer- 
 tain Episcopal Christians met secretly to hear a de- 
 prived clergyman read the proscribed liturgy. And 
 more than once! crept in among them to join in 
 the familiar prayers. The calm, ancient words 
 seemed to lift me so far above the dust and din of 
 our present strifes. Once I heard Dr. Jeremy Tay- 
 lor preach a sermon to this little company. And 
 the rich intertwining harmonies of his poetical 
 speech, and the golds, crimsons, and purples of bia
 
 216 ON BOTH SILKS OF HIE SEA 
 
 eloquent imagery, seemed (o transform the plain 
 old hall, in which we listened to them, into a cathe- 
 dral glorious with organ music and choristers' voices, 
 and with the shadows and illuminations of richly- 
 sculptured shrines and richly- coloured windows. 
 
 So the year passed on. To us, chronicled in skir- 
 mishes and sieges and political changes ; and to 
 Mfidie in daisies and cowslips, primroses, violets, 
 strawberries, and heart-stirring promises of another 
 Eldorado of those living jewels known among men 
 as horse-chestnuts. 
 
 Letters came frequently, after the Battle of Dun- 
 bar, from Scotland. 
 
 One from Job Forster, forwarded by Rachel :— 
 " Godly Mr. Baxter puzzled me sore at Naseby 
 by miscalling us poor soldiers who had left our farms 
 and honest trades to fight his battles, as if we had 
 been mere common hirelings or fanatic praters. It 
 was a bewilderment in Ireland to see how angry 
 the poor natives were with us for trying to bring 
 them law and order. But all the puzzles, and be- 
 wilderments, and subtleties were nothing to these 
 Scottish covenanted ministers and their kirk. 
 
 " They slander us behind our backs to the count ry 
 people, calling us ' monsters of the world,' till the 
 poor deluded people run away from us as if we were 
 savage black Indians. And when the few who stay 
 behind find we are sober Christians who eat not 
 babes but bread (and little enough, in this poor 
 stripped county, of that), and pay for what we eat, 
 and the women-folk (who, I will say, have quicker 
 wits than t!^ e men) come back and peaceably brew
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 21 
 
 and bake for us, they still go on slandering us to 
 those who have not seen us. 
 
 " Thev calls us names to our faces in their pul- 
 pits, ' blasphemers, sectaries,' and what not. And 
 when we deal softly with them and are as dumb as 
 lambs (when we could chase them into their holes 
 like lions), and let them talk on, even that does not 
 convince them that we mean no one any harm 
 
 " Meantime they drag about the late king's son, 
 poor young gentleman, until one cannot but pity 
 him, chief mangnant as he is. For they will not 
 let any of his old friends and followers come near 
 him. The other day he made off, like a poor caged 
 bird, to get among his true malignants near Perth. 
 But his friends had no gilded cage and sugared food 
 to suit his taste, and after spending a dismal night 
 among them in a Highland hut, he had to creep 
 back to the ministers, and take some more oaths, 
 and hear some more sermons. 
 
 " Very dark it is to me the notions these Kirk- 
 men have concerning many things, especially kings, 
 oaths, aud sermons. Concerning oaths. They seem 
 to think the more a man swears the more he cares 
 for it, instead of the less ; as if a second oath made 
 a first worth more, instead of showing that it was 
 worth nothing. It is enough to make one turn 
 Quaker — (But this I would not have known to 
 Annis Nye, poor perverse maid) ! Concerning ser- 
 mons. As if they did a man good, whether he will 
 or no, like physic, if he only takes enough of them ! 
 Concerning kings. As if dragging a poor young 
 gentleman, like a bear in a show, v ith a crown on 
 19
 
 2 i8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 his hea 1, about wit.i them, and scolding him (on 
 their knees), and doing what they like without ask- 
 ing him, and never letting him do what he likes, or 
 gee whom he like s, was having a king ! If they 
 have their way, and drive Oliver and us into the 
 sea, and make their covenanted show-king into a 
 real king, I wonder how he will show them hia 
 gratitude. Scarcely, I think, by listening to ser- 
 mons, such as they like. Perhaps by making them 
 listen to sermons such as he likes, whether they will 
 or no. 
 
 " But, thank God, Oliver lives, though more than 
 once this spring he has been sick and like to die ; 
 and we are little likely (God helping us) to be 
 chased into the sea by enemies who already cannot 
 agree among themselves. Meantime, Dr. Owen has 
 been preaching to them with his plain words, in 
 Edinburgh, and Oliver with his guns ; and it is yet 
 to be hoped the wise among them may open their 
 ears and hear. 
 
 " Not that I think it any wonder that any poor 
 mortal should blunder, and get into a maze. A 
 poor soul that went so far astray as to misdoubt 
 Oliver, and to think of bringing in the Fifth Mon- 
 archy by muskets and pikes, and could not be got 
 right again without being stuck on the leads of Bur- 
 ford Church to see his comrades shot, has no great 
 reason to wonder at the strange ways of others, be 
 they Kirk ministers or Quakers." 
 
 My husband wrote : — 
 
 " I have watched by many death-beds. 
 
 "I have seen many die th^se last months, Olive
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF TAE SEA. 
 
 219 
 
 The hails, and frosts, and scanty food, and scanty 
 clothing, have done more despatch than the muskets 
 or great guns. I have saved some lives, I trust, but 
 I have seen many die ; men of all stamps, Cove- 
 nanted, Uncovenanted, Resolutioners, Protesters, 
 Presbyterians. Sectaries; and within all these grades 
 of theological men (and outside them all) I have 
 seen not a few, thank God, to whom dying was not 
 death. Death brings back to any soul which meets 
 it awake, the hunger and thirst which nothing but 
 God can satisfy. Resolutions, Covenants, and Con- 
 fessions may, like other perishable clothes, be need- 
 ful enough on earth. But they have to be left en- 
 tirely behind, as much as money, or titles, or any 
 other corruptible thing. If they have been garments 
 to fit us for earthly work, well ; they have had their 
 use, and can be gently laid aside. If they have 
 been veils to hide us from God and ourselves, how 
 terribly bare they leave us ! Alone, unclothed, 
 helpless, the only question then is, can we trust 
 ourselves to the Father as a babe to the bosom ot 
 its mother? 
 
 " Does the Christ, the Son, who has died for us, 
 offering Himself up, without spot, to God, and lives 
 for ever; does He who, dying, committed His spirit 
 to the Father's hands, enable us to offer ourselves 
 up, in Him, — commit our spirits, helpless, but re- 
 deemed, into the Father's hands ? Then the sting 
 is plucked out. I have seen it again and again. 
 Death is abolished. It is not seen. It is not tasted. 
 Christ is seen instead. The eternal life no more 
 begins than it ends at death. It continues. The
 
 220 
 
 Off BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 cramping chrysalis shell is thrown off, and it ec« 
 pands. But it no more begins then than it ends. 
 
 " ] fever there is to be a Confession of Faith which 
 is to unite Christendom, I think it should be drawn 
 from dying lips. For these will never freeze the 
 Corfession into a profession. On dying lips the 
 Creed and the Hymn are one ; for they are uttered 
 not to man, but to God." 
 
 And later Roger wrote : — 
 
 "This campaign has aged the Captain-General 
 sensibly. He has had ague, and has more than once 
 been near death. I think the cold in godly men's 
 hearts has struck at his heart more than the cold of 
 the country at his life. The other day a gentleman 
 who is much near him, said to me : l My lord is not 
 aware that he has grown an old man? So do deeds 
 count for years. For, as we know, he is barely fifty 
 years of age. But as he wrote to one not long 
 since, he knows where the life is that never grows 
 old. 'To search God's statutes for a rule of con- 
 science, and to seek grace from Christ to enable him 
 to walk therein, — this hath life in it, and will come to 
 somewhat. What is a poor creature without this ? ' 
 
 " Some, indeed, call him a tyrant and usurper ; 
 some very near him. (A hypocrite I think none very 
 near him dare call him ; though men are ever too 
 ready to think that no one can honestly see things 
 otherwise than they do.) 
 
 "But I know not what they mean. He would 
 respect every trace of the ancient laws, every hard- 
 won inch of the new liberties, and every honest 
 icruple of the conscience, — if men would have it so.
 
 VN BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 2i 
 
 I see not what tyranny he exercises, save to keep 
 men from tyrannizing over each other. But this 
 power to tyrannize over others seems, alas ! what 
 too many mean by liberty. 
 
 " Sometimes, Olive, I am ashamed to fc.el myself 
 growing old. Hope is faint in me sometimes for 
 the country and myself. And when hope is gone, 
 youth is gone, be our age what it may. In the 
 General, I think, this youth never fails, as one who 
 knows him said : ' Hope shone in him like a pillar 
 of fire when it had gone out in all others.' 
 
 "P. S. — There is talk of the Scottish army faring 
 southward with their king. Scarce credible. But 
 if true, we shall follow swift on their trail, and 
 swiftly be in old England and with thee." 
 
 They came, the two armies, as swiftly as Roger 
 could have dreamed. The Scottish Covenanted-Roy- 
 alist force, 14,000 strong, sweeping down through 
 the west, by Carlisle, Lancashire, Cheshire, Shrews- 
 bury, to "Worcester; the English Uncovenanted- 
 Puritan army through the east by Yorkshire. 
 
 Two tides to meet in deadly shock for the last 
 time at Worcester. Two tides between which the 
 difference became more and more apparent as they 
 6wept on : the one flowing like a summer torrent 
 through some dark valley in a tropical country, re- 
 ceiving no tributaries, welcomed in no quiet resting- 
 places, becoming ever shallower and narrower as it 
 advanced ; the other swelling as it swept on like a 
 thing that was at home, and was to last, gathering 
 19*
 
 422 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE S£A. 
 
 force here, gathering bulk there, ever deepening jmd 
 widening as it went. 
 
 King Charles and his Scottish leaders summoned 
 place after place, but they met with no response. 
 His trumpeters went to the gates of Shrewsbury an J 
 proclaimed the king, but the gates remained closed, 
 and the unwelcome tide had to sweep sullenly past 
 the walls. I scarce know how this came to pass. 
 Oliver, as I think, was never popular throughout 
 the nation; nothing of the old unquestioning loyalty 
 which slumbered everywhere (as time proved) in 
 the dumb heart of the people was accorded to him. 
 Even those who acknowledged him, with some few 
 exceptions, acknowledged him rather sullenly as a 
 break-water against tyranny, than enthusiastically 
 as a hero and a chief. It might be dread of the 
 Ironsides pursuing; it might be bitter memories of 
 the Star-chamber and of Prince Rupert's plunder- 
 ings, not yet effaced by years of liberty and security. 
 It might be, as Mr. Baxter said, that the Scots came 
 into England rather in the manner of fugitives ; it 
 being hard for the common people to distinguish 
 between an army going before another following it, 
 and an army running away ; and into a flying army 
 few men will enlist. But however this may have 
 been, all along that dreary progress scarce a note of 
 welcome cheered the Scottish army and their king, 
 until Worcester received them under the shadow of 
 her Cathedral (ominously tenanted by the remains 
 of the King of the Magna Charta), opening her gates 
 to give them the shelter which so soon was to he- 
 wine to thousands of them the shelter of a grave.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2*3 
 
 Part of the Scots army passed not further than a 
 field's length from Kidderminster; and a gallant 
 orderly company they seemed, heing governed, as 
 Mr. Baxter said, far differently from Prince Rupert's 
 troopers ; " not a soldier of them durst wrong any 
 man the worth of a penny." Honest, hard-fighting, 
 covenanted men, sorely bewildered, I should think, 
 with the ways of King and Kirk, and not a little 
 also with the ways of Providence ; but true, never- 
 theless, to the Covenant and to the Ten Command- 
 ments. 
 
 Divers messages were sent from the army (and, it 
 was believed, from the king himself) to Mr. Baxter, 
 to request him to come to them. But Mr. Baxter 
 was at that time " under so great an affliction of 
 sore eyes, that he was not scarce able to see the 
 light, nor to stir out of doors ; and being (moreover) 
 not much doubtful of the issue which followed, he 
 thought if he had been able it would have been no 
 service to the king — it being so little that, on such 
 a sudden, he could add to his assistance." 
 
 It was not until some days after this that Oliver 
 and his army came up. I knew it first from my 
 husband, who came for an hour to see me and the 
 babes on the 2nd of September, the day before the 
 battle, brinu,inL!" erood tidings of Roarer and of Job 
 Forster. I thought he might have tarried with us 
 until after the fight, when his skill would be in ie- 
 quest. But he took not that view of his duty. 
 Skirmishes might occur at any moment, he said, and 
 he must be on the spot. He had little doubt what 
 the end would be; but he deemed the struggle
 
 224 0JV B0TH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 would be hard, being, so to speak, a death-strugglei 
 And so it proved. 
 
 On the 3d of September the shock of battle came. 
 h was Oliver's White Day, the first anniversary of 
 his victory at Dunbar (to be made memorable to 
 England afterwards by another death-struggle, 
 which would have no anniversary on earth to him, 
 but which, none the less, I think, made it the White 
 Day of his hard and toilsome life). 
 
 Soon after noon, stragglers came m and told us 
 what was going on ; and all through the rest of the 
 day the town was in unquiet expectation, the people 
 thronging at a moment's notice from loom, and 
 forge, and household work, into the market-place in 
 front of Mr. Baxter's house, to hear any report 
 brought by any passing traveller. 
 
 The first news was that Oliver was making two 
 bridges of boats, across the Severn and the Teme ; 
 that the young king and his generals had seen him 
 from the spire of Worcester Cathedral, and had 
 despatched troops to contest the passage of the 
 river, and that a hard struggle was going on by its 
 banks. Then, after these tidings had been eagerly 
 turned over and over until no more could be made 
 of them, the townsmen returned to their homes. 
 For some hours there was a cessation of tidings, 
 and the whole town seemed unusually still. The 
 ordinary interests were suspended, and the minds of 
 men were not sufficiently united for any general as- 
 sembling together. There was no gathering for 
 prayer in the church. Mr. Baxter wa>i sitting apart 
 in his house, unable to bear the light ; certainly not
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 225 
 
 praying for Oliver to win, yet, I think, scarce wish- 
 ing very earnestly for the complete success of the 
 Scots. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy, on the first rumour of the fight, 
 had rigidly shut herself up in her chamber for a day 
 of solitary fasting. But if we had been together, 
 we should each have been none the less solitary ; 
 perhaps more, shut out from each other by the door 
 of our lips. The lives dearest to us both on earth 
 were at stake. Of these we could neither of us 
 have spoken. The things dearest to each of us were 
 at stake. But of these we thought not alike, and 
 would not have spoken. It was almost a boon for 
 me that Annis Nye had departed, so that the babes 
 were thrown entirely on my care. It kept me from 
 straining my hearing with that vain effort to catch 
 the terrible sounds which I knew were to be heard 
 not far off. It kept me from straining my heart 
 with that vain effort to catch some intimation of 
 what might be the will of God, and from distract- 
 ing self-questioning whether I had done as much as 
 I could, by praying, to help those who w r ere cer- 
 tainly doing as much as they could for us, by fight- 
 ing. And instead, it left me only leisure to lift up 
 my soul from time to time in one brief simple reit- 
 eration : " Father, Thou seest, Thou carest ; I com 
 mit them to Thee." 
 
 Towards evening further tidings came, putting 
 an end to our suspense in one direction. After hours 
 of stiff fighting, from hedge to hedge, the Scots army 
 had been driven into Worcester, out of Worcester, 
 out of reach of Worcester.
 
 226 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 The issue of the day as to victory was no longei 
 doubtful. But its issue as to the lives so precioua 
 to us remained to us unknown. 
 
 So the slow hours of the afternoon wore on, until 
 the declining autumn sun threw the shadow of the 
 opposite houses over the room, and with the babe 
 on my knee, and Maidie singing to herself low lulla- 
 bies as she dressed and undressed her wooden baby 
 at my feet, my thoughts went back to the October 
 Sunday nine years before (1642), when the stillness 
 of the land was terribly broken by the first battle 
 of the Civil War, the fight of Edgehill. 
 
 How simple it all seemed to me then ; how com- 
 plex now. Then there seemed visibly two causes, 
 two ends, two ways, two armies, the choice being 
 plainly that between wrong and right. Now so 
 perplexed and interlaced were convictions, parties, 
 leaders, followers, that it seemed as if to our eyes 
 the causes and armies were legion ; and to none but 
 the Divine eyes, which see, through all temporary 
 party differences, the eternal moral differences, could 
 the divisions of the hosts be clear. 
 
 Partly no doubt this perplexity was simply the 
 consequence of the armies having encountered ; no 
 longer couched expectant opposite each other on 
 their several opposite heights, but grappling in 
 deadly struggle on the plains between. 
 
 Partly, perhaps, also because the eternal mora] 
 differences on which Ave believed the final judgment 
 must be based, had become more the basis of ours. 
 
 And Maidie and the babe, I thought, poor dar- 
 lin<rs, had all tlvis yet to learn! How could F help
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 «^ 
 
 tiifrj^ !so thai they might have less than I to un 
 learn ? 
 
 How ! except by engraving deep on their heart? 
 Aunt Gretel's trust in God " Put the darkness 
 anywhere but there, sweetheart ; anywhere but in 
 Him!" By slowly dyeing their hearts in grain, as 
 Mr. Baxter would have wished, in the Apostles' 
 Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Command 
 ments, so that any after surface-colouring, if it mod- 
 ified these heavenly tints, should never be able to 
 efface them. 
 
 There are qualities in some waters, it is said, as at 
 Kidderminster, which tend to fix dyes, and give 
 value to the fabrics of the places where they flow. 
 
 Has not God given a mother's love this fixing 
 power for all truths that come to a child's heart 
 steeped in its living waters ? 
 
 So far, therefore, Maidie and the babe might have 
 something through my lessons, which the combined 
 teaching of Aunt Gretel and Aunt Dorothy, each in 
 herself so much better than I, could not quite pos- 
 sess for Roger's childhood and mine. 
 
 The thought made me glad and strong ; and I 
 was still going in the strength of it, when Job Foi- 
 Bter appeared at the door. 
 
 I ran out and met him on the threshold. 
 
 He brought good news of my husband and Roger. 
 The fi<rht was over. Leonard was attending to the 
 wounded. Roger was still engaged in the pursuit. 
 But the Scots were scattered hither and thither 
 among the woods and harvest-fields. The reapers 
 and labourers had taken up the pursuit, and before
 
 1 2 8 ON BOTH S1D.VS OF THI SEA. 
 
 night-fall, probably, not a stray party would hoi 3 
 together strong enough to offer ten minutes' resist 
 ance. 
 
 "And His Majesty?" said a grim voice behind us. 
 
 "The King of Scots is in hiding, Mistress Doro- 
 thy," said Job controversially, but rery respectfully. 
 " Xo one knows the road he has taken." 
 
 " Then there is something to pray foi yet," said 
 she. " That this blood-stained land may imbrue her 
 hands no deeper in the blood of her kings." 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy," I ventured to say, " you will 
 give thanks as well as pray ? Leonard and Roger 
 are safe." 
 
 " I know," said she, " it is written, ' In everything 
 give thanks.' " 
 
 And without further concession she turned back 
 to her chamber. But on her way she halted, and 
 said, turning to me, — 
 
 " Olive, see that Job is fed and lodged. We must 
 make a difference. A heretic is one thing, and a 
 rebel another." 
 
 Without giving Job the privilege of reply, she 
 lemounted the stairs. 
 
 I asked him into the kitchen. But Job was some- 
 what hard to persuade. 
 
 "It is hard, Mistress Olive," said he, "to havo 
 bread and shelter flung at you like a dog, without a 
 chance to explain. When Mistress Dorothy herself 
 was one of the keenest to set us against the oppres- 
 sors ! And when, but for Oliver, though I say it, 
 she herself might have been in Newgate among th« 
 Quakers years ago."
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 229 
 
 Yet without Maidie I doubt whether I should 
 have prevailed. She, poor lamb, seeing nothing in 
 Job but a bit of home, and a never-failing store- 
 house of kindnesses, had already enthroned herself 
 in his arms, undaunted by breast-plate or sword, 
 and with hei arms clinging around him constrained 
 him to come into the kitchen, if it were only to set 
 her down. 
 
 Once there, tc make him stay was easier. For he 
 was wounded in the left shoulder, so that he could 
 not hold the horse's reins, and had little strength to 
 walk further. But for that, indeed, he would not 
 have been Roger's messenger. The pallor of his 
 countenance, when his helmet was unlaced, startled 
 me ; yet, after refreshing him with ale and meat, it 
 was with no little difficulty that I persuaded him to 
 let me dress and bandage his wound. 
 
 After that he seemed easier, and his first inquiries 
 were for Annis Nye, concerning whom we had had 
 no tidings for some weeks. " When I am set up a 
 bit, mistress," said he, " I must see after that poor 
 maid the first thing, for she is a godly maid, al- 
 though a Quakeress. And I misdoubt whether she 
 be not in jail. It's beyond the wisest of us to keep 
 a Quaker safe anywhere. Only," he added, " I must 
 be set up a bit first. I don't feel sure, flesh and 
 blood could stand her discourse on the wickedness 
 of war, until the pain's a bit less sharp. She's so ter- 
 rible quiet, Mistress Olive, and so shut up against 
 
 reason." 
 
 At night we were rouse \ by the clattering of 
 flying horsemen through the streets, Kidderminster 
 20
 
 *3C 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 being b'lt eleven miles from Worcester. Then caine 
 a party of thirty of the Parliament troopers and 
 took possession of the market-place. Then hundreds 
 more of the flying Royalists, who " not knowing in 
 the dark how few they were that charged them," 
 when the Parliament troopers cried " stand," either 
 hasted away, or cried quarter. And so, as Mr. Bax- 
 ter said, " as many were taken there, as so few men 
 could lay hold on ; and until midnight the bullets 
 flying towards my doors and windows, and the sor- 
 rowful fugitives hasting for their lives, did tell me 
 the calamitousness of war." 
 
 So ended the last battle of the Civil War. 
 
 Maidie, terrified, clung to me and would not leave 
 my arms. Aunt Dorothy remained in her cham- 
 ber ; the little maid Sarah took shelter in mine. 
 Only the babe and Job Forster were unmoved by 
 the noise. The babe slept peacefully on, the storm 
 of war in the streets being no more to her on her 
 mother's knee, than an earthquake to the planet 
 Jupiter's satellites ; and Job being wearied out with 
 pain and fatigue, and lulled by the absence of the 
 duty of soldierly vigilance, which had kept him on 
 the stretch so long. 
 
 The next day Roger passed through the town, 
 pausing a minute at the door to see me and the 
 babes. He told us my husband would come in a 
 few days to take us home. He told us also how 
 complete the ruin of the enemy was. 
 
 " Now," he said, as he remounted at the door, 
 " we shall see what peace and Oliver can makf ni 
 England."
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 p 
 
 And there was a ring of hope in his voice, as he 
 rode away, I had not heard in it for many a day. 
 
 England he thought was to be made such a king- 
 dom of righteousness and peace, that all the nations 
 far and wide must see and acknowledge it. And 
 amongst them, I felt sure he dreamed also of one 
 fair loyal maiden, whose verdict I knew was worth 
 more to him than he dared to own to himself. 
 
 But Job watching him up the street, turned back 
 to us shaking: his head. 
 
 " It remains to be seen, on the other hand, what 
 England will do with peace and Oliver !" he said. 
 " Sometimes my heart misgives me that we may 
 have longer to wait for the Fifth Monarchy than 
 Master Roger or most of us dream. There do seem 
 so many things to be set right first. The Kirk 
 ministers and the Quakers do puzzle a plain Cor- 
 nishman sore !" 
 
 Roger had not been gone more than a few seconds, 
 and we had not yet ceased looking after him, when 
 he came galloping back to the door. 
 
 Bending low from his saddle as I went up to him, 
 " Olive," he said, " I saw some constables in a vil- 
 lage near Worcester taking Annis Nye to prison. 
 I could have rescued her, but she refused my aid, 
 saying that I was a man of war, and she chose 
 rather to be set in gaol by a man of peace than to 
 have her bonds broken by the carnal sword. On 
 second thoughts, I concluded that at present she 
 might be safer in gaol, while men's minds aie so 
 disturbed. But I thought it best to let thee know.' 1 
 
 And he was away once more.
 
 * 3 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 This tidings cost Job and me many heavy nil* 
 Bings. At length he resolved on losing no time (his 
 wound having proved less severe than we feared) ; 
 but to set out on the morrow to rescixe Annis, and 
 bring her back, if possible to return with us to 
 London. 
 
 Accordingly early on the morrow he went forth. 
 
 In the evening, to my relief, and to Maidie's joy, 
 he returned, with Annis, looking very pale and 
 worn ; but with her face as serene and her eyes as 
 steady and clear as ever. 
 
 I embraced her on the threshold. Beyond that 
 she would not step. 
 
 " Dorothy Drayton would have none of me," said 
 she. " We are to give our coat to him who takes 
 away our cloak. But it never says we are to take 
 a cloak from him that denied us his coat. I may 
 not enter this house." 
 
 " But it is night-fall," said I. " Whither would 
 you turn ?" 
 
 " It is not the first night-fall I have been content 
 with such lodging as the fowls of the air," said she, 
 and quietly went her way. 
 
 I would have followed her ; but Job Forster re- 
 strained me. 
 
 " Let her be, Mistress Olive !" he whispered 
 " tShe is as hard to catch as a wild colt, and fai 
 harder to hold. There be reins to turn colts, and 
 there be corn to coax them ; but there be no reins 
 to hold and no lure to coax a Quaker. Their waya 
 are wonderful. Let her be : maybe she'll come back 
 of herself and, if n !»t, neither love nor fear will
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 233 
 
 bring her. It is not to be told, Mistress Olive," he 
 added, as we reluctantly turned back into the kitch- 
 en, " what I've borne from that poor maid this day. 
 I had some work to get her oft' on bail, for she had 
 angered the justices and the constables grievously, 
 and I had to contrive ; for the Quakers will not let 
 any one go bail for them. They're as lofty as the 
 apostle Paul with his Rorian rights, and would 
 rather stay in prison than be set free as guilty. 
 When I came to the gaol and gave her joy that I 
 had come to set her free, she smiled at me as inno- 
 oent as a babe, as meek (seemingly) as one of Fox's 
 martyrs, and yet bold as a lion, and said : ' Thee 
 cannot set me free, Job Forster. What is the bond- 
 age of bars and stocks to such bondage as thine ?' 
 And then she railed, that is, railed in her way, as 
 soft as if she were saying the civilest things — at 
 Oliver and the Ironsides, and the war, and all war, 
 until it was a harder trial of patience to stand quiet 
 before her than before any pounding of great guns. 
 I could only get her off at last by getting her put 
 in my charge, as if I had been a constable, to bring 
 home to her mistress ; and all the way back, from 
 time to time she discoursed on the wickedness of 
 soldiering, — mixing up Bible texts in a way to make 
 a man mazed, and at times 'most think he might as 
 well have been at home by the forge at Netherby, 
 as racing: over the world fighting; the Lord's bat- 
 ties. Although I knew, of course, Mistress Olive, 
 that was only a temptation. At last I gave her my 
 mind plain. 'Mistress Annis,' I said, 'of all the 
 fighting men of the time, it's my belief there's n me 
 20*
 
 *34 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 who have more fig 1 1 in them than you and youi 
 friends. It's very well to say you won't fight, when 
 you rouse every drop of fighting blood there is in 
 other people by your words. For Scripture saith 
 there be words which are fiercer weapons of war 
 than any swords. You talk a deal of keeping to 
 the spirit, and not to the letter ; and you talk ot 
 giving the left cheek to him that smites the right. 
 But it's my belief, the spirit of those words is, you 
 6hall not provoke your enemies ; and it's my belief 
 that it's dead against the spirit when, by keeping 
 to the letter and turning the left cheek, you arc 
 just doing the provokingest thing you can. It's 
 not the virtues of war, it seems to me, you are lack- 
 ing in,' I said, ' but the virtues of peace. You and 
 yours, from first to last, have had courage enough 
 to lead a forlorn hopo. The thing you want most, 
 to my seeming, is meekness. I would give some- 
 what for thee and my mistress to meet. She is real 
 meek, and, withal, brave as a lion, if need be ; and 
 she would treat thee like a child, as thou art, instead 
 of like a martyr — which would, belike, do thee more 
 good. Yet she would give thee a hearty welcome, 
 with all thy wilfulness.' And, after that, she was 
 quiet a good bit. And then she said, quite simple 
 and natural : ' Job Forster, I am but a child ; and 
 one day, belike, I may have a call to see thy wife. 
 I feel as if she would be like a mother. From all 
 thou sayest, she must be a woman of a tender spirit 
 and an understanding heart.' " 
 
 In the morning Aunt Dorothy came ilowt: from 
 her solitary chamber. She looked paie, but relieved
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 235 
 
 in spirit. "Olive," said she, " I heard that poof 
 bewi.dered maid come to the house last night, and 
 go away ; and I do not mean to pass through such 
 another night as these two she has cost me. I have 
 wrestled the thing out in my heart. On the one 
 side, there is the heretic the Apostle John spake of 
 in the epistle. But I consider that heretic was a 
 tempter, and a man. Now Annis, poor soul, is 
 tempted, and a maid ; which makes a difference, to 
 begin with. Then, on the other hand, there is the 
 man who fell among thieves. I consider Annis Nye 
 has fallen anions thieves : and I don't think one of 
 Mr. Baxter's people, in this year of our Lord six- 
 teen hundred and fifty-one, ought to be outdone by 
 an ignorant Samaritan, who lived in no year of 
 our Lord at all." 
 
 " Then, Aunt Dorothy," I suggested, " there were 
 the Samaritans all through the Gospels, and our 
 Lord's pitiful ways with them altogether. I think 
 the Samaritans must have been at least as wrong 
 as the Quakers." 
 
 " Maybe, my dear; I am not so well informed as 
 I should wish as to the theology of the Samaritans. 
 I should think it was a great medley. But our 
 Saviour knew all things, and could do what lie 
 pleased." 
 
 " And may not we do what pleased Hiin ?'' 
 
 " Olive," said Aunt Dorothy, turning on me, " I 
 am not going to have Scripture quoted against me 
 by one I taught to read it. I never did call down 
 fire from heaven on any one, nor wished to do so, 
 and I am not to be enticed by any smooth by pathi
 
 236 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 into such tolerations as yours and your husband's, 
 You need not think it. But, with regard to Annia 
 Nye, my conscience is satisfied ; and you may bring 
 her at once to the house. Besides," she added, " I 
 do not mean to let any of you depart without bear- 
 ing my testimony." 
 
 Whereon Job Forster departed in search of 
 Annis Nye ; whom, with some difficulty, he per- 
 suaded to place herself again within range of Aunt 
 Dorothy's hospitalities and admonitions. 
 
 The day passed in much stillness. Aunt Dorothy 
 herself moved heavily, like a thunder-cloud with 
 lightnings in it; and the weight of her impending 
 " testimony " made the air heavy. 
 
 Towards evening my husband came, and all 
 thunder-clouds naturally grew much lighter to me. 
 
 He brought more tidings of the campaign in Scot- 
 land and the Battle of Worcester. He believed it 
 would be the last of the war. Aunt Dorothy 
 loaded us with every kind of bodily refreshment and 
 comfort. But she kept herself apart from the con- 
 versation, and never vouchsafed to ask one question, 
 save concerning the STfety of the king, of whom no 
 news had been heard. It was decided we were to 
 leave on the morrow ; and often I saw her eyes 
 moisten tenderly as she glanced at Maidie, who, in 
 lier sweet trusted way, kept drawing her amongst 
 us by claiming her sympathy with her joy in tho 
 little treasures her father had brought her. 
 
 In the night, before the dawn of the next morn- 
 ing, Aunt Dorothy and her little maid were astir, 
 and wonderful cookings and bakings must have
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 *37 
 
 gone forward. For when we came clown to break- 
 fast, a huge basket stood laden with provisions for 
 the way, substantial and dainty, with special refer- 
 ence to Maidie's tastes ; little tender preparations 
 which often brought tears to my eyes on the jour- 
 ney, as I found them out one by one, and thought of 
 the self-repressed rigour of the dear old rock from 
 which those springs of kindness flowed. 
 
 Yet all the while we were at breakfast together 
 at the great table in the kitchen, every slightest 
 want watched and anticipated by Aunt Dorothy, I 
 felt as if she were looking on every morsel as a coal 
 of fire heaped on our heads ; while the weight of 
 the impending testimony hung over us. 
 
 At length it came. 
 
 " Nephew and niece, Leonard and Olive Antony," 
 said she, as we were about to rise ; " and thou, 
 Annis Nye and Job Forster, I have somewhat to 
 say to you.'" 
 
 And then she testified against us all, and also 
 against Oliver Cromwell, the army, and the coun- 
 try ; comparing us to the people who built Babel 
 to make themselves a name, to Jeroboam who 
 made priests of the lowest of the people, to Absa- 
 lom, to Jezebel, to the evil angels who speak evil of 
 dignities, and to the Laodiceans, in a way which 
 made the blood rush to my face on behalf of my 
 husband, Finally, turning to Annis Nye, she 
 launched on her a separate denunciation ; beginning 
 with the devil who clothed himself as an angel of 
 light, and ending with the Anabaptists of Minister, 
 and the Jesuits, who, Mr. Baxter believed, had 
 emissaries among the Quakers.
 
 *38 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 I knew that the more tenderness Aunt Dorothy 
 felt at heart for offenders, the more severe were her 
 denunciations of their offences. But Annis could 
 not he expected to be aware of this, and I trembled 
 to see how she would bear it, lest it should drive 
 her once more from us into the world, so hard on 
 Quakers. The calm on her countenance, hoAvever, 
 was not even ruffled. She kept her eyes, all the 
 time, fully opened, fixed with an expression, not of 
 defiance, but of wonder and compassion, on Aunt 
 Dorothy, until Aunt Dorothy herself at length 
 paused, apparently checked by the strength of her 
 own language, held out her hand to Annis and 
 added, — 
 
 " Now I have said what was on my mind. I did 
 not mean to anger thee ; but less, in conscience, I 
 dared not say." 
 
 Annis took the hand offered to her with a tender 
 compassion, as she might that of an aged sick 
 person. 
 
 " Why should I be angered, friend ?" said she in 
 her softest voice. " Can thy words touch the 
 truth ? *It was there when they began ; and it is 
 there when they end. And one day we shall all 
 have to see it; whatever it is, wherever we be, 
 thee, and Olive Antony and her husband, and all." 
 
 Aunt Dorothy had no further words to lavish on 
 obduracy so hopeless. She only struck her palms 
 together, shook her head slowly, and looked up in 
 speechless dismay. 
 
 Job muttered under his I reath, as he rose to sad- 
 dle the horses, —
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 239 
 
 " Poor souls ! poor dear souls ! They have got 
 somewhat yet to learn. They have got to learn 
 the lesson Oliver taught us on old Burford steeple !" 
 
 But my husband only replied, — 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy, you have been the truest of 
 friends to me and mine. We cannot agree on all 
 things, although I shall always honour you in my 
 heart more than nine-tenths of the people I do 
 agree with. But there is one admonition of Oliver 
 Cromwell's which I should like to have engraved 
 deep on the hearts of us all. It is one which he 
 addressed last year, in a letter, to the General As- 
 sembly of the Kirk of Scotland. ' I beseech you,' 
 he wrote, 'in the bowels of Christ, think it j-wibli 
 you may be mistaken* "
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 olive's recollections 
 
 HE last battle of the Civil Wars was 
 fought. Or rather the battle-field was 
 changed, and the long contest of the 
 Commonwealth began, between Oliver 
 governing and all the rest of parties and men who 
 wished England otherwise governed, who wished 
 it ungoverned, or who wished to govern it them- 
 selves. 
 
 The Royalists, Prelatical or Presbyterian, neces- 
 sarily against him, the classical Republicans, the 
 Anabaptist levellers, and, in their passive way, the 
 Quakers. Indeed, it seemed as if all parties, as 
 parties, were against him. The wonder was, that 
 the arm which kept them all at bay should be strong 
 enough at the same time to keep the world at bay, 
 for England ; and to keep England so ordered, that 
 many of those who hated the Protector's rule con- 
 fessed that the times — " by God's merciful sweeten* 
 mg (said they) of bitter waters " — had never been 
 bo prosperous as under it. 
 
 I confess that the change fr< m Kidderminster to 
 (210)
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 .fl 
 
 our home in London was in some measure :i relief. 
 It was like coming from a walled garden (admirably 
 kept, indeed, and watered) into the open fields. It 
 liad not been my wont to live in a place so pervaded 
 bv one man as Kidderminster, or at least what I 
 saw of it, was at that time by Mr. Baxter. He was 
 so very active and self-denying and good, that do 
 what I would whilst there, I could never get over 
 tne feeling of being, in some way, a transgressor if 
 I happened to differ from him. His writings and 
 sermons were certainly mainly directed against the 
 great permanent evils of ungodliness and unright- 
 eousness. But he wrote so many controversial 
 books on every kind of ecclesiastical topic, and 
 was so convinced that they were all convincing 
 to all sound minds, that it was difficult, while in 
 the Kidderminster world, to regard oneself, if not 
 convinced, as having anythiug but a very sound 
 mind. 
 
 So that it did feel like getting into a large room, 
 to meet and converse again with people who did 
 not think Mr. Baxter's judgment, moderate and 
 wise as it doubtless was, the one final standard of 
 truth in the universe. Not, certainly, that London 
 at that time was a world free from debate and con- 
 troversy of the fiercest kind. A Commonwealth in 
 which, during the eleven years of its existence, 
 thirty thousand controversial pamphlets of the 
 fiercest and most contradictory kind were batter- 
 ing each other, each regarded by its author and 
 his particular friends as absolutely convincing t<7 
 all sound minds, was not likely to be that. 
 21
 
 242 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Fiom our home, however, such debates wer* 
 mostly absent. My father fed from controversy 
 to the Bible, and to the Society for the promotion 
 of the new experimental philosophy, which met at 
 Gresham College ; the revelation of God in His 
 Word and in His world. Aunt Gretel had the 
 happy exemption of a foreigner from our English 
 debates, political and ecclesiastical, and tranquil- 
 ized herself at all times by her knitting, her hymns, 
 and the making of possets acceptable to sick people 
 of all persuasions. And my husband had what he 
 regarded as the advantage of differing on some 
 theological questions from the good men with whom 
 he acted in religious work (he having a leaning 
 rather to Dr. Thomas Goodwin, in his " Redemp- 
 tion Redeemed," than to Dr. Owen, or even to Mr. 
 Baxter) ; so that he had to avoid the intermediate 
 debatable grounds, and keep to those highest heights 
 of adoration where Christianity is incarnate in Christ, 
 or to those lowly duties where it is embodied in 
 kindnesses. So much of his time, moreover, was 
 spent in what the Protector vainly endeavoured to 
 persuade his Parliaments to keep to, namely, the 
 "work of healing and settling" that he had little 
 left for the " definitions " of all things in Church 
 and State, into which those unhappy Parliament a 
 were so continually, to the Protector's vexation, 
 straying. 
 
 Then there were the children, Maidie and Dolly, 
 and the two boys who came after them, renewing 
 one by one, in their happy infancy, the golden age; 
 the joyous little ones around whom it was mant
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 *41 
 
 festly our duty to gither as many relics of Eden, 
 and foretastes of the thousand years of peace, as 
 were to be had in a world where thirty thousand 
 fiery pamphlets were flying about. 
 
 The spirit of Annis Nye, meantime, abode, listen- 
 ing and looking heavenward, on lofty heights far 
 above all debate, though ready for any lowly ser- 
 vice. And in a house in our garden, on the river 
 bank, enlarged for his accommodation, lived our 
 High Church friend, Dr. Rich, with his eleven chil- 
 dren, his spirit also loftily looking down on the 
 strifes of the present, not from the heights of im- 
 mediate inspiration, but from those of history ; 
 while his eleven children, lately orphaned of their 
 mother, made no small portion of my world, with 
 its many interests and cares. 
 
 So that, in spite of the wide divergences of judg- 
 ment in our household concerning matters political 
 and ecclesiastical (perhaps rather in consequence of 
 the mutual self-restraint they rendered necessary), 
 our home came to be looked on by many as a kind 
 of haven where people might meet face to face on 
 the common ground of humanity and Christianity. 
 
 The mere meeting face to face on common ground, 
 if it be pure and high, or helpful and lowly, the 
 mere taking and giving the cups of cold water in 
 the Master's name, the mere looking into each others' 
 faces and grasping each others' hauds as kindred, 
 lias in itself, I think, something almost sacramental. 
 Mow much, indeed, of the depth and sacredness of 
 the Highest Sacrament consists in such communion 
 union through what we are in Him instead of aggh>
 
 *44 0N BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ■iteration through what we think ; union in Iliin 
 who is to us all the Way, the Truth, the I jfo, hut 
 of whom the best we can think is so dim, ai.d poor, 
 and low. 
 
 In those years we learned to know and revere 
 many whose memories (now that so many of them 
 are gone, and that we so soon must be going), 
 shining from the past we shared with them, throw 
 a sacred yet familiar radiance on the future we hope 
 to share. 
 
 Dr. Owen, coming now and then from his post as 
 Vice-chancellor of Oxford to preach before the Par- 
 liament on state occasions. 
 
 Mr. John Howe, the Protector's chaplain, living 
 on radiant lofty heights, far above the thirty thou- 
 sand controversial pamphlets, himself a living tem- 
 ple of the living truth he adored. 
 
 Colonel Hutchinson and Mistress Lucy, with that 
 lofty piety of theirs, which, as she said, " is the 
 hlood-royal of all the virtues." He with his re- 
 publican love of liberty, and stately chivalry of 
 character and demeanour : she with her pure and 
 passionate love ; with her earnest endeavours to 
 judge men and things by high impartial stand- 
 ards ; and her success in so far as that standard 
 was embodied in her husband. Much of their time, 
 however, during the Commonwealth they spent on 
 the Colonel's estate, collecting pictures and sculp- 
 ture, planting trees, " procuring tutors to instruct 
 their sons and daughters in languages, sciences, 
 music, and dancing, whilst he himself instructed 
 them in humility, godliness, ar.d virtue."
 
 GN BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 245 
 
 And Mr. John Milton, blinded to the sights of 
 this lower world by his zeal in writing that Defence 
 of the English People which wakened all Europe 
 like a trumpet ; and by his very blindness, it seemed, 
 made free of higher worlds than were open to com- 
 mon mortals. Whitehall, I think, was not degraded 
 by his dwelling there, nor its chambers made less 
 royal by his eyes having looked their last through 
 those windows on 
 
 " Day, or the sweet approach of morn or even, 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, 01 summer's rose, 
 Or flocks, and herds, and human face divine," 
 
 before his 
 
 light was spent, 
 
 Ere half his days, in this dark world and wide." 
 
 For his life was indeed the pure and lofty poem 
 he said the lives of all who would write worthily 
 must be. 
 
 The Society of our Puritan London in those Com- 
 monwealth days was not altogether rustical or fa- 
 natical. Discourse echoes back to me from it which 
 can, I think, have needed to be tuned but lit :le 
 higher to flow unbroken into the speech of the City, 
 where all the citizens are as kings, and all the con- 
 gregation seers and singers. 
 
 The first public event after our return to London 
 was the funeral of General Ireton, Bridget Crom- 
 well's brave husband, who had died at his post in 
 Ireland. 
 
 He was buried in Henry the Seventh's Chapel 
 21*
 
 246 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 The concourse was great. Dr. Owen preached th« 
 funeral sermon. There was no pomp of funeral -cer- 
 emonial, of organ-music or choir. The Puritan fu- 
 neral solemnities were the pomp of solemn words, 
 and the eloquent music of the truths which stir 
 men's hearts. 
 
 The text was, " But go thou thy way till the end 
 "be ; for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the 
 end of the days." (Dan. xii. 13). 
 
 "It is not the manner of God," Dr. Owen said, 
 " to lay aside those whom He hath found faithful in 
 His service. Men indeed do so ; but God changeth 
 not. 
 
 " There is an appointed season wherein the saints 
 of the most eminent abilities, in the most useful 
 employments, must receive their dismission. There 
 is a manifold wisdom which God imparteth to the 
 sons of men ; there is a civil wisdom, and there is 
 a spiritual wisd jra : both these shone in Ireton. 
 
 " He ever counted it his wisdom to look after the 
 will of God in all wherein he was called to serve. 
 For this were his wakings, watchings, inquiries. 
 When that was made out, he counted not his busi- 
 ness half done, but even accomplished, and that the 
 issue was ready at the door. The name of God was 
 his land in every storm ; in the discovery whereof 
 he had as happy an eye, at the greatest seeming 
 distance, when the clouds were blackest and the 
 waves highest, as any. 
 
 " Neither did he rest here. Some men have wis- 
 dom to know things, but not seasons. Things as 
 well as words are beautiful in their time. He was
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 H7 
 
 wise to cLscern the seasons. There are few things 
 that belong to civil affairs but are alterable upon 
 the incomprehensible variety of circumstances. He 
 that will have the garment, made for him one year, 
 serve and fit him the next, must be sure that he 
 neither increase nor wane. Importune insisting on 
 the most useful things, without respect to alterations 
 of seasons, is a sad sign of a narrow heart. He who 
 thinks the most righteous and suitable proposals 
 and principles that ever were in the world (setting 
 aside general rules of unchangeable righteousness 
 and equity) must be performed as desirable, because 
 once they were, is a stranger to the affairs of human 
 kind. 
 
 "Some things are universally unchangeable and 
 indispensable : as that a government must be. Some 
 again are allowable merely on the account of pre- 
 serving the former principles. If any of them are 
 out of course, it is a vacuum in nature politic, which 
 all particular elements instantly dislodge and trans- 
 pose themselves to supply. And such are all forma 
 of government among men. 
 
 " In love to his people Ireton was eminent. All 
 his pains, labour, jeopards of life, and all dear to 
 him, relinquishments of relatives and contents, had 
 sweetness of lii'e from this motive, intenseness of 
 love to his people. 
 
 "But fathers and prophets have but their season: 
 they have their dismission. So old Simeon profess- 
 eth, Nunc dimitlis. They are placed of God in their 
 Station as 2. sentinel on his watch-tower, and then 
 they are dismissed from their watch. The greal
 
 2 ,,.8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Captain comes and saith, Go thou thy way; tlioo 
 hast faithfully discharged thy duty ; go now to thy 
 rest. Some have harder service, harder duty, than 
 others. Some keep guard in the winter, others in 
 the summer. Yet duty they all do ; all endure some 
 hardship, and have their appointed season for dis- 
 mission: and be they never so excellent in the dis- 
 charging of their duty, they shall not abide one mo- 
 ment beyond the bounds which He hath set them 
 who saith to all His creatures, ' Thus far shall you 
 go and no further.' 
 
 " The three most eminent works of God in and 
 about His children in the days of old were His giv- 
 ing His people the law, and settling them in Ca- 
 naan ; His recovering them from Babylon ; and His 
 promulgation of the gospel unto them. In these 
 three works he employed three most eminent per- 
 sons. Moses is the first, Daniel is the second, and 
 John Baptist is the third ; and none of them saw the 
 work accomplished in which he was so eminently 
 employed. Moses died the year before the people 
 entered Canaan ; Daniel some few years before the 
 foundation of the temple ; and John Baptist in the 
 first year of the baptism of our Saviour, when the 
 gospel which he began to preach was to be pub- 
 lished in its beauty and glory. I do not know of 
 any great work that God carried out, the same p<?r 
 sons to be the beginners and enclers thereof. Should 
 He leave the work always on one hand, it would 
 eeem at length to be the work of the instrument 
 only. Though the people opposed Moses at first, 
 yet it is thought they would have worshipped him
 
 OJV BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ^ 
 
 at the last ; and therefore God buried him where 
 his body was not to he found. Yet, indeed, he bad 
 the lot of m st who faithfully serve God in their 
 generation — despised while they are present, idol 
 ized when they are gone. 
 
 " God makes room, as it were, in His vineyard for 
 ♦he budding, flourishing, and fruit-bearing of other 
 plants which He hath planted. 
 
 " You that are employed in the work of God, you 
 have but your allotted season — your day hath its 
 evening. You have your sea:on, and you have but 
 your season ; neither can you lie down in peace until 
 you have some persuasion tluxc your work as well as 
 your life is at an end. 
 
 " Behold here one receiving his dismission about 
 the age of forty years ; and what a world of work 
 for God did he in that season. And now rest is 
 sweet to this labouring man. Provoke one another 
 by examples. Be diligent to pass through your 
 work, and let it not too long ha,ng upon your hands ; 
 yea, search out work for God. You that are en- 
 trusted with power trifle not away your season. Is 
 there no oppressed person that with diligence you 
 might relieve? Is there no poor distressed widow 
 or orphan whose righteous requests you might ex- 
 pedite and despatch ? Are there no stout offenders 
 against God and man that might be chastised ? Are 
 there no slack and slow counties and cities in the 
 execution of justice tl it might be quickened V* 
 your example? no places destitute of the gospei 
 that might be furnished? 
 
 " God takes His saints away (among other refv
 
 250 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 sons) to manifest that He hath better things in stt re 
 for them than the best and utmost, of what they can 
 desire or aim at here below. He had a heaven foi 
 Moses, and therefore might in mercy deny him Ca- 
 naan. Whilst you are labouring for a handful ot 
 first-fruits, He gives you the full harvest. 
 
 " You that are engaged in the work of God, seek 
 for the reward of your service in the service itself. 
 Few of you may live to see that beauty and glory 
 which perhaps you aim at. God will proceed at 
 His own pace, and calls us to go along with Him ; 
 to wait in faith and not make haste. Those whose 
 minds are so fixed on, and swallowed up with, some 
 end (though good) which they have proposed to 
 themselves, do seldom see good days and serene in 
 their own souls. There is a sweetness, there is 
 wages to be found in the work of God itself. Men 
 who have learned to hold communion with God in 
 every work He calls them out unto, though they 
 never see the main harvest they aim at, yet such 
 will rest satisfied, and submit to the Lord's limita- 
 tion of their time. They bear their sheaves in their 
 own bosom. 
 
 " The condition of a dismissed saint is a condition of 
 test. Now rest holds out two things to us; a free- 
 dom from what is opposite thereunto, and something 
 which satisfies our nature; for nothing can rest but 
 in that which satiates the whole nature of it in all 
 its extent and capacity. 
 
 " They are at rest from sin, and from labour and 
 travail They sin no more ; they wound the Lord 
 Jesus no more; they trouble their own souls no
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 25. 
 
 more; they grieve the Spirit no more; they dis 
 honour the gospt 1 no more ; they are troubled no 
 more with Satan's temptations, no more with their 
 own corruption; but lie down in a constant enjoy- 
 ment of one everlasting victory over sin. They aro 
 no more in cold communion. They have not one 
 thought that wanders from God to all eternity. 
 They lose Him no more. 
 
 " There is no more watching, no more fasting, no 
 more wrestling, no more fighting, no more blood, 
 no more sorrow. There tyrants pretend no more 
 title to their kingdom ; rebels lie not in wait for 
 their blood; they are no more awakened by the 
 sound of the trumpet, nor the noise of the instru- 
 ments of death ; they fear not for their relations ; 
 they weep not for their friends. The Lamb is their 
 temple, and God is all in all unto them. 
 
 " Yet this cessation from sin and labour will not 
 complete their rest ; something further is required 
 thereto ; even something to satisfy and everlastingly 
 content + -hem. Free them in your thoughts from 
 what you please, without this they are not at rest. 
 God is the rest of their souls. Dismissed saints rest 
 in the bosom of God; because in the fruition of 
 Him they are everlastingly satisfied, as having at- 
 tained the utmost end whereto they were created, 
 all the blessedness whereof they are capable. 
 
 " Every man stands in a threefold capacity — 
 natural, civil, religious. And there are distinct 
 qualifications unto these several capacities. To the 
 first are suited some seeds of those l.eroical virtue^ 
 rb courage, permanency in business. T*j the ttivl
 
 t r 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 capacity, ability, faithfulness, industry. In *heii 
 religious capacity, men's peculiar ornament lies in 
 those fruits of the Spirit which we call Christian 
 graces. Of these, in respect of usefulness, there 
 are three most eminent, faith, love and self-denial, 
 Now all these were eminent in the person deceased 
 My business is not to make a funeral oration, only 
 I suppose that without offence I may desire that in 
 courage and permanency in business (which I name 
 in opposition to that unsettled, pragmatical, shuf 
 fling disposition which is in some men), in ability 
 for wisdom and counsel, in faithfulness to his trust 
 and in his trust, in indefatigable industry, in faith 
 in the promises of God, in love to the Lord Jesus 
 and all His saints, in a tender regard to their in- 
 terest, delight in their society, contempt of himself 
 and all his for the gospel's sake, in impartiality and 
 sincerity in the execution of justice, that in these 
 and the like things we may have many raised up in 
 the power and spirit wherein he walked before tht 
 Lord and before this nation. This I hope I may 
 speak without offence here upon such an occasion 
 as this. My business being occasionally to preach 
 the Woid, not to carry on a part of a funeral cere- 
 mony, I shall add no more, but commit you to Him 
 who is able to prepare you for your eternal con- 
 dition." 
 
 Often I had longed, if only for once, to hear the 
 organ rolling its grand surges of music through 
 the aisles of the Abbey. But when that grave 
 voice ceased, and left a hush through that great 
 assembly, I felt no music could be more w T orthy of
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF 1 HE SEA. 253 
 
 the solemn place than those nobly reticent words 
 of lamentation and praise ; nor could England 
 raise a nobler statue to any of her heroes than that 
 Puritan picture of a Christian statesman. 
 
 Indeed, the public p^mps of the Commonwealth 
 •which have engraven themselves most deeply on 
 my memory were of the funereal kind. 
 
 In 1650, fire years after Ireton's death, for once, 
 by the Protector's command, the dear, long-un- 
 familiar sound of the old Prayer-book was heard in 
 the Abbey, as the funeral service was read over 
 the remains of good Archbishop Usher, buried at 
 the Protector's expense in the great mausoleum of 
 the nation and her kings. 
 
 In November, ] 654, three years after the funeral 
 of Ireton, Mistress Cromwell, the Protector's mo- 
 ther, was buried beside him among the kings. 
 
 She was ninety-four years of age. She died on 
 the 15th of November. A little before her death 
 (we heard) she gave the Protector her blessing, 
 saying, " The Lord cause His face to shine upon 
 you, and comfort you in all your adversities, and 
 enable you to do great things for the glory of your 
 most high God, and to be a relief unto His people. 
 My dear son, I leave my heart with thee. Good- 
 night ! " 
 
 She, living wellnigh all those fifty-five years of 
 his beside him, knew well that his life had been no 
 triumphal procession, but a toilsome march and a 
 sore battle, little indeed changed by the battle-field 
 being transferred from moors and hill-sides to 
 palaces and parliament-houses. At sound of a.gui)
 
 2 54 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 she was Avont to tremble in that stately home at 
 Whitehall, fearing lest some of the many plots of 
 assassination had at last succeeded in proving to 
 the assassin that killing her son was no murder 
 And once at least every day she craved to see him, 
 if only to know that he lived. 
 
 They laid her to rest reverently among the kings 
 in Henry the Seventh's Chapel. And so the conse- 
 crating presence of tenderly-reverenced age passed 
 from that English home, which daring the years 
 of the Commonwealth was at the head of all the 
 homes of the land. 
 
 And five years after came that last funeral, 
 which was, indeed, the funeral of the Common- 
 wealth itself. 
 
 These are the state ceremonies of the Common- 
 wealth which have left the deepest mark on my 
 memory. Its thanksgivings for victories, its in- 
 auguration, installation, and enthronization of the 
 Lord Protector in Westminster Hall were not with- 
 out a certain sober republican grandeur, nor did 
 the ermine and the sceptre misbecome the true 
 dignity of his bearing ; but they did not, I think, 
 enhance it. Clothes need some mystical links to 
 the unseen and the past to make them glorious ; 
 and Oliver certainly did not need clothes to make 
 him glorious. The brow, fun-owed with thought 
 for England, was his crown ; the sceptre seemed a 
 bauble in the hand that had ruled so Ions; without 
 it; and the rjbes of state that fitted him best 
 were the plain armour of the Ironsides. Roger, 
 however, thought otherwise. He would have had
 
 ON BOTH SIDES C F TEE SEA. 
 
 2 
 
 r • 
 
 every symbol of the royalty witltin our "chief of 
 men" outwardly gathered around him, even to the 
 crown and title of king. Whatever may be the 
 case in religion, in politics (he thought), the com- 
 mon people are taught by ceremonial. As the 
 Protector said " The people love that they do 
 know ; they love settlement and know names." 
 If Oliver, he thought, had been proclaimed king, no 
 Stuart would have returned to proclaim him traitor. 
 
 Be that as it might, it was not done ; and the 
 omission seemed (to many) to make the rest of the 
 state ceremonials of the Commonwealth ragged 
 and incomplete. Crowned, Oliver might have be- 
 come in the eyes of the people King Oliver ; un- 
 crowned, he seemed but Mr. Cromwell of Hunting- 
 don, with a sceptre in his hand which did not 
 belong to him. 
 
 But after all, the great solemnities of the Com- 
 monwealth were the sermons. Great sermons and 
 great congregations to hear them. They were our 
 state-music, our military-music, our church-music, 
 all in one. The Te Deum of our thanksgiving 
 days foi victories, our coronation anthems, our 
 requiems. 
 
 The sermons which so moved the heart of Puri- 
 tan England werr no empty sound of words har- 
 moniously arranged, — a lower music, I think, than 
 that of any true musician; — for words have a 
 higher sphere than mere melodious tones; aTid, 
 like all orders in creation, if they do not rise to 
 the height of their own sphere, fall belc w the 
 sphere btlow them.
 
 * 5 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 It was the eloquence of men speaking to men, ol 
 things which most deeply concerned all men ; of 
 the ablest men in England speaking to her ablest 
 men ; of the loftiest spirits in England speaking 
 to all that was loftiest in ithe spirit of man. 
 
 Dr. Owen's appearances in London were only 
 occasional. 
 
 The sermons that come back on me across the 
 years like the voice of a great river resounding 
 with deep even flow through all the petty or 
 tumultuous noises of the times, are those of Mr. 
 John Howe, chaplain to the Protector. 
 
 He came to London as a country minister from 
 his parish of Torrington, somewhere about 1654, 
 and went to hear the preaching in Whitehall 
 Chapel. But Oliver, " who generally had his eyes 
 everywhere," and wdiose eyes had such a singular 
 faculty for seeing men's capacity, discerned some- 
 thing more than ordinary in his countenance, and 
 sent to desire to speak with him after the worship 
 of God was over. The interview satisfied him he 
 had not been mistaken. The great heart that so 
 singularly honoured the worth his eyes were so 
 quick to discern, whether those he honoured hon- 
 oured him or not ; and the will so strong to bend 
 all men's wills, would not rest until he had induced 
 the parson of Torrington, though somewhat reluc- 
 tantly, to become his own chaplain. 
 
 The choice might reflect some light on the nature 
 of the Protector's own piety. 
 
 There was abundance of vehement fiery elo- 
 quence to be had among the Puritan preachers, and
 
 ON BOTH SIDhS OF THE SEA. 257 
 
 (I doubt not) there could have been found too 
 many flatterers. 
 
 But Mr. Howe so little flattered the Protector, 
 that he deliberately preached against the doctrine 
 of a particular persuasion in prayer, which was one 
 of the Protector's strongholds. 
 
 And so far was his eloquence from being vehe- 
 ment, that its very glory was a majestic evenness 
 of flow, which, while it swept the whole soul irre- 
 sistibly on to his conclusion, seldom tossed it up 
 and down with those changeful heavings of emo- 
 tion that are the luxuries of popular orations. Any 
 preacher who was less of a fiery declaimer and of a 
 fanatic, or less of a brilliant popular orator than John 
 Howe, Oliver's chosen chaplain, can, I think, scarcely 
 be found in the history of preaching. If he had a 
 fault, it is the difficulty of detaching any word, 
 image, or pointed sentence from the grand sweep 
 of his argument sufficiently to give any conception 
 of its power to those who did not hear him. If his 
 eloquence was a river, it was one without the dash 
 and sparkle of rapids and eddies, steadily deepen- 
 ing and broadening, in a majestic current to its end. 
 If it was a fire, it was no mere spark or flame to 
 make t lie. heart glow for a moment, but a steady 
 favr.act enkindling principles into divine affections. 
 If it was a flight, it was no mere darting hither and 
 thither, as of smaller birds ; scarcely even the up- 
 ward musical mounting of the lark to descend on 
 her nest ; but the soaring of the eagle with his eye 
 on the sun. He Btrenthened you for duty by trans. 
 portiug you to the divine spring of all duty, IU 
 22*
 
 2 5 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 strengthened you against earthly care simply by 
 lifting you above it to "the holy ordei of God." 
 " Do not hover as meteors ; do not let your minds 
 hang in the air in a pendulous, uncertain, unquiet 
 posture," he said ; " a holy rectitude, composure, 
 and tranquillity in our life, carries with it a lively, 
 sprightly vigour. Our Saviour says that life con- 
 sists not in things, but in a good healthy internal 
 habit of spirit. What a blessed repose, how plea- 
 sant a vacancy of diseasing, vexatious thoughts, 
 doth that soul enjoy which gives a constant, unin- 
 termittent consent to the divine government, when 
 it is an agreed, undisputed thing, that God shall 
 always lead and prescribe, and it follow and obey. 
 Discontent proceeds from self-conceit, self-depend- 
 ence, self-seeking, all which despicable idols (or that 
 one great idol self thus variously idolized) one sight 
 of God would bring to nothing." 
 
 He strengthened men for death, not by fortifying 
 them against it as a sleep, but by regarding life as 
 the sleep and death the waking. " It fares with 
 the sluggish soul as if it were lodged in an en- 
 chanted bed. So deep an oblivion hath seized it 
 of its own country, of its alliance above, of its re- 
 lation to the Father and world of spirits, it takes 
 this earth for its home where 'tis both in exile and 
 -nptivity at once, as a prince stolen away in his 
 •ufancy and bred up in a beggar's shed. Being in 
 the body, it is as with a bird that hath lost its wings. 
 The holy soul's release from its earthly body will 
 Bhak«j off this drowsy sleep. Now is the happy 
 Reason of its awaking into the heaveuly vital lighi
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THB SEA. 
 
 259 
 
 of God. The blessed morning of the long-desired 
 day hath now dawned upon it ; the cumbersome 
 nigl t-veil is laid aside, and the garments of salva- 
 tion and immortal glory .re now put on." " The 
 greatest enemy Ave have cannot do us the despite 
 to keep us from dying." To one whose spirit was 
 thus itself a living Temple, even the great Abbey 
 seemed an earthly home. The incense, the ritual, 
 and the music of the heavenly city were ai'ound 
 Him. " The sacrifice of Christ," he said, " is of 
 virtue to perfume the whole world." 
 
 Yet I feel that these extracts give as little idea 
 of the power of his preaching, as a phial of salt- 
 water of the sea. You perceive from it that the 
 water of the sea is salt and clear, but of the sea 
 itself, heaving in multitudinous waves from horizon 
 to horizon, you have no more idea than before. 
 
 The very titles of his books read like arguments 
 of a divine poem — a Paradise Lost and Regained. 
 " The Living Temple ;" " The Blessedness of the 
 Righteous ;" " Of Delighting in God;" "The Re- 
 deemer's Tears wept over lost Souls;" " The Love 
 of God and our Brother ;" " The Carnality of Re- 
 ligious Contention ;" " Of Reconciliation between 
 God and Man ;" " The Redeemer's Dominion over 
 the Invisible World." 
 
 Far indeed his spirit dwelt above the small con- 
 troversies of the time, engaged in the great contro- 
 versy of light against darkness. " Holiness," he 
 said, " is the Christian's armour, the armour of 
 light : strange armour that may be seen through." 
 " \ good man's armour is that he needs non«e ; his
 
 26o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 armour is an open breast. Likeness to God is an 
 armour of proof. A person truly like God is fat 
 raised above the tempestuous stormy region, and 
 converses where winds and clouds have no place. 
 Holy souls were once darkness, but now they are 
 light in the Lord — darkness, not in the dark, as if 
 that were their whole nature, and they were nothing 
 but an impure mass of conglobated darkness. So 
 'ye are light] — as if they were that and nothing 
 else. How suppose we such an entire sphere of 
 nothing else but pure light? What can raise a 
 storm with it ? A calm serene thing, perfectly 
 homogeneous, void of contrariety. We cannot yet 
 say that thus it is with holy souls, but thus it will 
 be when they awake. Glory is revealed to them, 
 transfused through them ; not a svperficial skin- 
 deep glory, but a transformation, changing the soul 
 throughout; glory, blessedness, brought home ana 
 lodged in a mail's oivn soul." 
 
 Blessedness, to Mr. Howe, consisted in godliness, 
 and godliness manifested itself in goodness — as 
 high a conception of Christian religion, I think, as 
 has been realized before or since. His learning: was 
 not as fragments of a foreign language, intertwined 
 for purposes of decoration with his own, but as a 
 translation into the language of day of the converse 
 he had held, on the high places of the earth, with 
 his kindred among the lofty souls of the past, in 
 the language native to them all, concerning the in- 
 finite heavens above them all. This wa.$ the kind of 
 eloquence we listened to at Whitehall and St. Mar- 
 garet's during the days of the Commonwealth. A ud
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 6i 
 
 among all the great Puritan preachers this was the 
 one whom Oliver chose for his chaplain. 
 
 We never intruded ourselves on the Protector 
 during his greatness. There were so many to claim 
 his notice then. And we needed it not ; having 
 work enough to occupy us and means enough to do 
 it, and happiness enough in it, what with the sick 
 and the prisons and the children in the home. 
 
 But Roger was always in his service, and he 
 brought us word continually what a burden and 
 toil that rule was to the ruler. 
 
 Above the noisy strife of parties, men like Howe 
 could dwell in the purer air ; beneath it the people 
 and the churches were silently prospering. But 
 Oliver's way lay through the thick of the strife, 
 with little intermission, from the beginning to the 
 end. If ever " I serve " was justly a prince's motto, 
 it was his. " Ready to serve," as he said, " not us 
 a king but as a constable ; if they liked it, often think- 
 ing indeed that he could not tell what his business 
 in the place he stood in was, save that of a good 
 constable set to keep the peace of the parish." 
 Oliver's parish (Roger said) being England with all 
 her parties, and Europe with her Protestants and 
 Catholics, ready at a word to fly on each other. 
 He kept the peace of his parish well. Others might 
 concern themselves with the well-being of the nation 
 (as he said) — " he had to consider its being." The 
 ship which the mixed crew of Anabaptists, Level- 
 lers, classical Republicans, and Royalists, were de- 
 bating in Parliament and out of it how to work 
 according to most perfect rules, had meantime to br
 
 262 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 worked, beine: not in harbour but on the stormiest 
 sea, amidst hostile fleets. 
 
 Parliament after parliament met, debated, did 
 nothing, and was dissolved. But still the ship of 
 the nation sailed majestically and triumphantly on, 
 breasting stormy waves and scattering hostile fleets, 
 with that one hand on the helm, and the eyes of 
 that one man on the stars and on the waves. 
 
 Roger was full of hope throughout those years. 
 The time must come, he said, when the nation would 
 see what the Protector was doing for her. All 
 Europe had seen it long. Ambassadors came from 
 Spain, France, Denmark, Sweden, Austria. 
 
 All Europe felt England a power, and knew who 
 made her so. England herself could not fail to see 
 it soon. Then, instead of taking her greatness sul- 
 lenly from Oliver's hands, she would acknowledge 
 him as the " single person " to whom the parlia- 
 ments and people owed allegiance — her sovereign 
 by divinest right — suffer him to rule in accordance 
 with her ancient order instead of in spite of it — 
 grant what he passionately craved, the privilege 
 of making her as free as he had made her strong : 
 rise herself to be the queen of the Protestant na- 
 tions. 
 
 And then the glorious day would dawn, Roger 
 thought, for England and the world. What tender 
 sweet hopes lay deep in his heart, as one of the rose* 
 strewn by this Aurora, I knew well. What Eng- 
 land and the world said, one maiden's heart would 
 surely be blind to no more ! 
 
 So the years passed on. Our fleets, with Blakff
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 263 
 
 in command, were ranging f fie Me iiterranean Sea, 
 Rumours came of victories over Italian and Mus- 
 sulman, of compensation for wrong, of slaves set 
 free. 
 
 In the late king's reign the Barbary Pirates had 
 carried off our countrymen from our shores near 
 •Plymouth Sound. Under Oliver, our fleets battered 
 down the forts of the Pirates on their own shores, 
 and set the captives free. 
 
 All nations courted his alliance. And from tho 
 plantations of New England (through Mr. John Cot- 
 ton and others) came joyful voices of congratulation 
 on the liberties and glories which these children of 
 Old England felt still to be theirs. 
 
 All seemed advancing, Roger thought, like a tri- 
 umph. Righteousness springing out of the earth, 
 Truth looking: down from heaven — when tidings 
 burst upon us which stirred the heart of England to 
 its depths, from sea to sea. 
 
 From the far-off valleys of the Alps of Piedmont 
 came the cry of wrong. How a whole race of our 
 fellow-Protestants, "men otherwise harmless, cnly 
 for many years famous for embracing the purity of 
 religion," had been tortured, massacred, and driven 
 from their homes, to perish naked and starving on 
 the mountains. 
 
 Never, since the Irish massacre at the beginning 
 of the Civil Wars, had England been so moved with 
 one overwhelming tide of indignation and pity. But 
 with the indignation at the Irish massacre meaner 
 feelings of selfish terror had been mingled. Thia 
 wrong touched England only in her noblest part
 
 164 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 For the time we seemed to reach the depths beneath 
 all our divisions and turmoils. England felt herseli 
 one, in this common sympathy ; and what was more, 
 the Protestant Church glowed into a living unity 
 through this holy fire of indignation and pity, which, 
 being true, failed not to burst forth in generous 
 deeds of succour. " For," as Milton wrote, " that 
 the Protestant name and cause, although they differ 
 among themselves in some things of little conse- 
 quence, is nevertheless the same, the hatred of our 
 adversaries alike incensed against Protestants very 
 easily demonstrates." 
 
 The massacre began in December, 1654, that mer- 
 ciless " slaughter on the Alpine mountains cold." 
 Six regiments were engaged in it, three of them the 
 Irish " Kurisees," from whom the Protector had de- 
 livered Ireland. 
 
 It was the 3rd of June before the cry of distress 
 reached Oliver at Whitehall. The hills had been 
 flashing it for five months to heaven. For five 
 months our brethren and their families had been 
 wandering destitute, afflicted, tormented, on the 
 mountains above their ruined, desolated homes. 
 
 Much frightful wrong had been wrought irrevo 
 cably, past all the remedies of earth. What remedy 
 was still possible there was no delay in finding, and 
 no lack of generous tenderness in applying. 
 
 The Protector at once gave £2,000 from his pri- 
 vate purse. A day of humiliation was appointed 
 throughout the country, " such a fast as God hath 
 chosen, to undo the heavy burdens, to break every 
 yoke, to deal bread to the hungry, and cover the
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 265 
 
 naked." Thirty-seven thousand pounds were contrib- 
 uted to the suffering brethren in the Valleys. Sec- 
 retary Milton wrote six State letters in the Protect- 
 or's name to the princes of Europe and the Switzer 
 Republic. Oliver showed plainly to France that he 
 cared more for the righting of this wrong than fo r 
 the most profitable alliances in the world. The 
 Catholic world perceived for once that Protestant- 
 ism meant more than mere doubt and denial, that it 
 meant a common faith and a common life. 
 
 And as far as might be the wrong was set right, 
 the exiles were relieved from their destitution and 
 restored to their homes. 
 
 It was something to be an Englishwoman then. 
 
 Roger was appointed to accompany the envoys 
 sent by the Protector to Paris. He came to take 
 leave of us with a face all alit with hope. 
 
 "England is beginning to acknowledge her de- 
 liverer," he said. " All Europe is flashing back on 
 her his kingly likeness, as if from a thousand mir- 
 rors. She must acknowledge him at last." 
 
 And with a farewell which had the joyous ring 
 of a welcome in it, he went. 
 
 The joyful confidence of his tones and hope made 
 them linger on mv heart long, like music, " She 
 must acknowledge him at last." They mingled 
 with my dreams, and woke with me when I woke, 
 but with a double meaning subtilely intertwined 
 Into them; as if England were personated, as in 
 some royal festive masque, in the form of Lettice 
 Daven'aut, no more weeping and downcast, as when 
 23
 
 266 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 I had seen her last, hut her bright face, and her deal 
 joyous eyes full of serene determination and un- 
 quenchable hope. 
 
 lettice's diary. 
 
 " Paris, Twelfth Night, 1655.— My birth-day. More 
 than four years since I wrote a word in this book 
 The pages begin to look faded, like ray youth. 1 
 scarcely know why I have left such an interval, ex- 
 cept that it is so difficult not to look on the whole 
 of this life of exile as an interval ; a blank space, or 
 an impertinent episode in the history of life, which, 
 by and-by, when the true history begins again, we 
 just tear out or seal together. 
 
 " All this time I have heard nothing from the old 
 friends in England, except two letters ; one from 
 Mistress Dorothy, wherein she gave me a terrible 
 picture of the wrong-doings and thinkings of certain 
 religious people of an entirely new kind, whom she 
 calls ' Quakers.' It seems that Olive brought one 
 to her house at Kidderminster, which Mistress Dor- 
 othy thought a great wrong. As far as I can make 
 out, Olive has no thought of becoming a Quaker ; 
 nor can I find out distinctly what the Quakers are 
 or do, except that every one seems enraged against 
 them, and that on that ground Olive and Dr. An- 
 tony took this Quaker maiden under their wing. 
 Poor sweet Olive, she always had a way of getting 
 entangled into defending people under general ban ; 
 from witches downward or upward. I suppose An- 
 nis Nye is Olive's present Gammer Grind le. In 
 whict> ease, Olive at least seems little changed
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 267 
 
 But that letter was written before the Battle of 
 Worcester. From Mistress Dorothy's account they 
 appear to be a new kind of sect, with a new elab- 
 orate ceremonial or ritual, to which they adhere 
 very strictly. Mistress Dorothy speaks of their re- 
 fusing to take off their hats, and to bow or courtsey. 
 This must evidently be a ritual observance ; because 
 people would scarcely be sent to prison simply for 
 keeping on their hats and not courtesying. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy spoke, too, by the way, of 
 Olive's two children, Maidie and the babe. 
 
 " The babe must be now a prattling child of five, 
 and Maidie probably a little person invested with 
 the solemn responsibilities of the eldest sister. I 
 fancy her with Olive's fair, calm face, thinking it 
 her greatest honour to share her mother's household 
 occupations, or to run by her side with a basket of 
 food to supplement Dr. Antony's medicines. I 
 fancy Mistress Gretel smiling at the babes, and let* 
 ting them entangle her knitting with the feeblest 
 of remonstrances, and in a serene way undermining 
 all Olive's ' wholesome discipline. I fancy Mr. 
 Drayton a little older, a little graver, not quite sat- 
 isfied with the fruits of the war, wishing Mr. Hamp- 
 den back, and Lord Falkland, and England as they 
 might have made it; and taking refuge with the 
 stars and his grand-children. I fancy — till I am 
 angry with myself for fancying anything, as if it 
 made shadows out of realities. For they live ; they 
 live, in the old solid living England. If any are 
 shadows, it is we, poor helpless, voiceless exiles on 
 this shadowy shore ; not they. And then I begin
 
 E 68 ON BOTE SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 to think not of what I fancy, but what I know. I 
 know they are good, and kind, and godly still. And 
 I know — yes, I know — they have not forgotten ; 
 they still love and think of me. 
 
 " Only sometimes it troubles me a little that they 
 art; going on thinking of me as the young Lettieo 
 they knew so long ago; which is scarcely the same 
 as thinking of the middle-aged Lettice Davenant 
 who has reached her twenty-ninth birth-day to-day. 
 
 " I think sometimes now of the scorn with which 
 [ Avas wont to speak of middle-states of things, say- 
 ing there was no poetry in mid-day, mid-summer, 
 middle-station, middle-age. And often and often 
 the answer comes cheerily back, how he spoke of 
 'manhood and womanhood, with their dower of 
 noble work, and strength to do it ;' and how he 
 could not abide ' to hear the spring-tide spoken pu- 
 lingly of, as if it faded instead of ripening into sum- 
 mer; and youth, as if it set instead of dawned into 
 manhood." ' It was but a half-fledged poetry,' he 
 said, ' which must go to dew-drops and rosy morn- 
 ing clouds for its similes and could see no beauty 
 in noon-tide with its patient toil or its rapturous 
 hush of rest.' — It comes back to me like an invigor- 
 ating march music, now that the joyous notes of the 
 reveille have died away, and tbe vesper hymns are 
 not yet ready, and the march of noon-tide life has 
 fairly begun. 
 
 " What, then, makes evening and morning, spring 
 and autumn, the delight of poets ? The light then 
 blossoms or fades into colour. The light itself thee 
 is a fair picture to look at. At noon it sinks deeper
 
 ON BOTH SIDES VF THE SEA. 269 
 
 no longer on the surface of clouds, but into the 
 chalices of flowers and into the heart of fruits ; it 
 is painting pictures on the harvest-fields and orch- 
 ards ; it is ripening and making the world fair, and 
 enabling us to see it. It is li<>rht not to look at, 
 but to work by. Its beauty is in making things 
 beautiful. And so I think it is with middle-aoe. 
 Its beauty is not in itself; but in loving thought 
 for others, and loving work for others. Looking 
 at ourselves in middle-life, we see only the glow 
 faded, the dewy freshness brushed away. There- 
 fore we must not look at ourselves, but at the work 
 the Master gives us to do, the brothers and sisters 
 the Father gives us to love. In Olive's heart, no 
 doubt, the thought of youth passing away scarcely 
 arises. She sees her children growing around her, 
 and works and plans for them, and counts the hours 
 again as morning, not as evening hours, renewing 
 her life in the morning of theirs. And although 
 that lot is not mine, I have scarcely more tempta- 
 tion to ' talk pulingly of morning fading into noon' 
 than she. Madame la Mothe takes me close to kei 
 heart. With her I am her friend's child. Thee 
 these revenues which come to us so much mor« 
 regularly than to most of the Cavaliers, give us so 
 many means of helping others, that this alone is an 
 occupation. Especially as these revenues are, after 
 all, not unlimited, and my lather and Walter be- 
 lieve they are (as the wants of the Cavaliers cer- 
 tainly are), so that it requires some planning and 
 combining to make things go as far as they can. 
 Which in itself is a great occupation to Barbe and 
 23*
 
 27° 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 me, ar d makes our daily house-keeping as interest 
 ing as a work of charity. And since the English 
 Service has been prohibited at the Louvre, as it 
 has been since the Battle of Worcester, I have 
 some happy work in a kind of little school of young 
 English girls, amongst whom it is sweet to do what 
 I can, that when they go back, the Holy Scriptures 
 and the prayers of the dear old Prayer-book may 
 not be unfamiliar to them. 
 
 " Then my father is wonderfully forbearing with 
 me. For it has vexed him that I could not listen 
 to some excellent Cavaliers, who wished for our 
 alliance. 
 
 " Madame la Mothe also sometimes lectures me 
 a little on this score with reference to a nephew 
 of hers. But as the project was primarily hers 
 and not his, this little proposal was much easier to 
 decline. Only sometimes she shakes her head and 
 says,— 
 
 " ' There has been a history, my poor child ! 
 Every woman's heart has its history. But heaven 
 forbid that I should seek to penetrate into thy 
 secret. Yet thou art not like thy mother in all 
 things. She suffered. Thou wilt conquer. Hei 
 eyes were as those of Mater Dolorosa by the 
 Cross. Thine are as those of Regina Cceli above 
 the storms.' " 
 
 "And I cannot tell her. Because I can never 
 look on that love as a history. I know so well he 
 could not change. It is scarcely betrothal, for 
 there is neither promise nor hope. It is simply 
 belonging to each other in life and in death.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. t? , 
 
 * Then sometimes she smiles and kisses me and 
 Bays, ' There is some little comfort even in thy 
 being of " the religion." On that rock of thine, no 
 torrent of Port-Royalist eloquence will sweep thee 
 away from us into a convent. And for the rest, 
 God is merciful ; and having made islands, it is 
 possible He has especial dispensations suited to 
 islands.' " 
 
 "For Madame la Mothe has entirely relinquished 
 my conversion. Seeing that I can honour the ladies 
 of Port Royal from the bottom of the heart, with- 
 out being attracted to Port Royal, she has given 
 me up. 
 
 " She says I have no restless cravings, no void 
 to fill, and it is to the restlessness of the heart that 
 the repose of religion appeals. 
 
 " In one way she is right. Thank God she is 
 right. Or rather my whole heart is one great crav- 
 ing unfathomable void. But Christianity fills it. 
 Christ fills it. He Himself ; satisfying every aspira- 
 tion, meeting every want, being all I want. Pity- 
 ing, forgiving, loving, commanding me. The com- 
 manding sometimes most satisfying of all. Always, 
 always; all through my heart. Redeemer, that ih 
 much; Master, 1 hat (afterwards) is almost more. 
 Father! thai is all. 
 
 "There have been sorrows. After Worcester, my 
 father was so terribly cast down and gentle. I 
 remember it was almost a relief the first time he 
 was really a little angry after that ; although it 
 was with me he Avas angry ; and quite a relief to 
 hear hira begin tc storm at the French Coar', a^ain,
 
 272 OX LOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 when they suppressed our English Service at the 
 Louvre, and did what they could with any civility 
 to suppress or dismiss us, and began to pay court 
 to the Arch Traitor. 
 
 " Since then the success of the Usurper in mak- 
 ing England great, and the baseness of some of the 
 attempts to assassinate him (not discouraged, alas, 
 by some of our Court) ! have strained my father's 
 loyalty to the utmost. 
 
 " But the sorrow is Walter ; the wrong which 
 sometimes makes us ready, in desperation, to pay 
 our allegiance anywhere but there whence the evil 
 came, is the sore change in him. "We made some 
 sacrifices in old times to the royal cause. But what 
 were poor Dick, and Robert, and George, slain on 
 the field, or even Harry laying down his life at 
 Naseby, or even that precious mother stricken into 
 heaven by his death, compared with a life poisoned 
 in its springs like Walter's at this selfish wicked 
 Court ? All the fair promise of his youth turned 
 into corruption; bis very heart slain! 
 
 "Our martyied king required the lives of our 
 dearest, and they were given willingly for him. 
 But this king takes their souls, themselves, their 
 life of life, not as a living sacrifice, but to be 
 trampled, and soiled, and crushed in the dust and 
 mire of sin, till their dear familiar features are 
 scarcely to be distinguished by those who love 
 them best. 
 
 " The gladness of heart my mother delighted in 
 changed into a fickle irritability, or frozen into 
 mockery at all sacred things human or div'ne,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 27.1 
 
 The generous spirit degraded into meie selfish 
 lavishness, caring not at what cost to others it 
 buys its wretched pleasm*es. 
 
 " And then the miserable reactions of regret and 
 remorse which I used to rejoice in, until I learned 
 to know thev were the mere irritable self-loathing 
 of exhausted passion, as little moral ae when (at 
 other times) the same irritation turned against my 
 father or me instead of against himself. Until at 
 last I dare not profane the sacred names of mother 
 and of God, by using them as a kind of magic 
 spell to unseal the springs of maudlin sentimental 
 tears. Oh, how bitter the words look ! Walter, 
 Walter, my brother ! tenderly committed by my 
 mother to n«e, living in the house with us day by 
 day, yet farther off — more out of reach (it seems) 
 of pleading or prayer than those who lie on the 
 cold slopes of Rowten Heath and Naseby ! Is 
 there no weapon in God's armoury to reach thy 
 heart ? Good Mistress G ret el used to say God had 
 so many weapons we knew not of in His store- 
 houses. In mine, alas, there seem none ; none ex- 
 cept going on loving. And perhaps after all that is 
 the strongest in His. 
 
 " Going on loving. Yes ; our Lord surely did 
 that, docs th.it. When ' He turned to the woman' 
 in Simon's house, it was not the first time He had 
 so turned to her. Not the first. How many times 
 from the first ! Yet at last she turned and came 
 and looked on Him. And she was forgiven, ^nd 
 in loving Him a new fountain of purity was opened 
 in her heart, the only purity worth the name, th«
 
 274 0N B0TH S1DE & VF THE SEA - 
 
 purity of love; the purity not of ice but of fire. 
 Yes ; in Him there is the possibility of restoration. 
 
 " But, oh, for these desecrated wasted years, for 
 the glory of the prime turned into corruption, for 
 all that might have been and never can be, for this 
 one irrevocable life ebbing, ebbing so fast away, 
 for the terrible possibility of there being no resto- 
 ration. For some looked, and listened, and longed, 
 but never came ! 
 
 "May.— Barbe came into my chamber this morn- 
 ing, weeping and wringing her hands. 
 
 " ' Ah, mademoiselle !' she said ; ' another St. 
 Bartholomew — a second St. Bartholomew !' " 
 
 " ' Have they risen against the Protestants in 
 Paris ?' I said. . And my first thought was of 
 Walter, — a wild thought, whether this might be 
 the angel's sword to drive him back into the fold. 
 If we were to be hunted hither and thither, who 
 could say but in the severe destitution of some den 
 or cave of refuge, or even in the prison of the In- 
 quisition, sacred old words might come back to him, 
 and he might turn and be saved ? And then an- 
 other flash of thought ! If we were seized as Prot- 
 estants, England would rise ; Cromwell, English- 
 man and Protestant that he was, would demand 
 us back. We should no more be Royalist and 
 Rebel, bat all English and Protestant; and return 
 to England, to Netherby, and Walter with us, and 
 a new life begin. Wild hopes, flashing through 
 my mind between my question and Barbe's answer, 
 delayed, as it was, by her tears. 
 
 Not in Paris yet, mademoiselle ; that is to 
 
 U I
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 275 
 
 iionie. !N"o doubt, the tyrants will not end where 
 they began. It is the people of the valleys — the 
 Vaudois — men of the religion, before France knew 
 what the religion was. My mother's kindred came 
 thence, — quiet loyal peasants, tilling their poor 
 patches of field and vineyard among the savage 
 mountains. The Duke of Savoy would have them 
 all foreswear the religion in three days. They held 
 firm. He sei_t six regiments — herds of monsters, 
 wild beasts, among the people. They tortured, 
 killed, wrought horrors I cannot name, but which 
 those faithful men and women had to bear.' And 
 her sobs choked her words ; until by degrees she 
 told me all she knew of the dreadful story of out- 
 rage and wrong. 
 
 " ' And is there none to help ?' I said. 
 
 " ' There is none ; — unless it be this Mr. Crom- 
 well,' she said, with a little hesitation, knowing 
 how abhorred the name was amongst us. ' These 
 poor, exiled, outraged Christians have appealed to 
 him.' 
 
 " June 8. — My father says all the world is ablaze 
 about this letter of Mr. John Milton, the Usurper's 
 Latin secretary, concerning these persecuted exiles 
 from the valleys. Its words are very strong. It 
 seems not unlikely the French Court may be move 1 
 to interfere on their behalf. ' It is some comfort,' 
 Baid my father, ' to see that the old country has 
 a voice which must be listened to, even though 
 she speaks through the mouth of this murderous 
 Usurper 
 
 " Jum 9. — My father came In, with his eyes ei>
 
 l-]6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 kindled with a look of triumph such as I hai not 
 seen in them for years. 
 
 " ' We must have a rejoicing, Lettice, cost -ohat 
 it may. There is no help for it, but an English 
 gentleman's heart must be glad at such news ! 
 Robert Blake has been pounding them right and 
 left— Pope and Turk, Duke and bey. The Blakea 
 of Somersetshire — a good old family : I knew them 
 well. The English fleet calls at Leghorn, and the 
 Pope and his Italians eagerly grant whatever they 
 demand. The English fleet calls at Tunis, demand- 
 ing justice from the Dey and his pirates. The Dey 
 refuses : Blake batters down his forts, and burns 
 his fleet in the harbour. The Dey will not refuse 
 us our rights again. The world begins to know 
 what the name of an Englishman means. Already 
 these French courtiers practise a little civility. The 
 very rascal boys in the streets seem less impu- 
 dent. We must have a merry-making, Lettice. 
 What can we do ? At home we would have all the 
 village to a feast, set all the ale-barrels flowing, and 
 all the bells in the country ringing. But here the 
 people, poor halt-starved creatures, drink nothing 
 but vinegar. And as to these everlasting bells, 
 that are always dropping and trickling, no one 
 knows why ; it would do one's heart good if one 
 could wake them up for once, and set them free all 
 together, to burst out in the torrent of a grand old 
 English peal. But we cannot. Who can we give 
 a feast to, Lettice ? One cannot exactly hare a 
 Cavalier dinner, because it might look like cele- 
 brating the victory of the Usurper. Yet somebody
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE' SEA 277 
 
 or other roust be made the merrier, thst the old 
 country has done such a good stroke of work 
 Whom can wc have ?' 
 
 "I could tlink of no one but Barbe, her father 
 and mother, and the seven hungry little brothers 
 aud sisters she helped to support. Accordingly 
 the next day we made them a supper in honoui 
 of the victory over the Turks, an attention which 
 seemed to gratify our guests much, although my 
 father was not a little dissatisfied at having to 
 entertain guests on what he scornfully termed 
 ' broth, vinegar, and sugar-plums.' But I think 
 to the end Barbe and her family remained in a 
 very misty state of mind as to what they were lo 
 rejoice about ; and but for my father's imperfect 
 acquaintance with the French language, I ara 
 afaid the closing speech of Barbe's father, who 
 was an old gentleman with political theories, and 
 of a lofty and florid style of eloquence, might havo 
 caused an explosion. For the point of it was : 
 
 " 'Excellent Monsieur and amiable Mademoiselle, 
 your country is a great country ; though sometimes 
 to us Frenchmen a little difficult to understand. 
 N'o doubt, this Monseigneur Cromwell has not the 
 advantage of a descent as pure as could be wished ; 
 but he has the advantage of making himself under- 
 stood in all languages. The Turks seem to havo 
 understood Mr. Blake. There is, also, Mr. Milton, 
 who writes Latin with the elegance of the renowned 
 Tally. The Duke of Savoy will have to understand 
 him. The poor exiled Vaudois are to be restored 
 to their valleys. Monseigneur Cromwell has iusiiited 
 24
 
 2-8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 on it. He has also sent two thousand pounds of his 
 own for their relief, and your nation has added more 
 than thiity thousand ; — a sum scarcely to be calcu- 
 lated by simple people. It is a pity Monseigneur 
 should be out of the legitimate line of your coun- 
 try's kings. But such changes must happen at 
 times in dynasties. Our own has changed more 
 than once. And, no doubt, your magnanimous nation 
 understands her own affairs, and ere long will arrange 
 herself to the satisfaction of all parties. Monsieur 
 and mademoiselle, I thank you in the name of my 
 family. Such hospitality is a proof of a tender and 
 generous heart, worthy of the great nation which 
 has sent this princely succour to the oppressed.' 
 
 " ' What does he say, Lettice ?' whispered my 
 father. 
 
 " ' That England is a great nation,' I replied ; 
 * and that it is a pity Oliver Cromwell was not of 
 the house of Stuart.' 
 
 ' For a moment my father's eyes flashed ; but 
 then, shaking his head compassionately, he only 
 said : ' Of course, these poor foreigners cannot be 
 expected to understand our politics. We must 
 make allowances, Lettice ; we must make allow- 
 ances. Every man cannot, after all, be born an 
 Englishman.' 
 
 " June 10. — The meaning of Barbe's father's speech 
 is plain. The Usurper has sent an Embassy Ex- 
 traordinary to the French Court and to Savoy, and 
 all the redress he demands for the Yaudois is to be 
 made. They are to be restored to their mountain 
 homes, and protected from future ill usage. H«
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 179 
 
 styles himself ' Oliver, Protector.' The poor Vau- 
 dois, at least, are likely to think the title no' unde- 
 served. 
 
 "June 11. — My father says Roger is here. If 
 any one in the world could help Walter, he might. 
 Walter has been terrible lately. His reckless, mock- 
 ing ways drive my father wild. He storms in right- 
 eous anger. Walter recriminates with cool, reck- 
 less jests. My father commands him to go. Wal- 
 ter goes ; does not come back for days. My fathei 
 grows more and more restless and wretched during 
 his absence; reproaches himself; taps at my door 
 at night, and says : ' Lettice, I shall never rest any 
 more. I have driven the lad to destruction. I will 
 go and seek him.' In a few hours he returns with 
 Walter, destitute and affectionate. He returns as 
 a prodigal; but, alas! not come to himself; ag- 
 grieved against the husks — against the beggarly 
 citizens, who would not give him any — but chiefly 
 against the father, who, having given him his own 
 portion, refused him his brother's. And so, for the 
 hundredth time, we welcome him, weep over him, 
 make much of him, and provide him with such best 
 robes and portions of our living as we can possibly 
 spare. And in a day or two he meets his old asso- 
 ciates, lias some good-natured message from the 
 king, and, before long, is drawn off into the old 
 tide of riotous living. Away from us, heart and 
 soul, in the far country, where we at the old home 
 are mere shadows to him. We mere shadows to 
 him ; and he the core of our hearts to us ! 
 
 u I feel that these tender changes j>f feelings of
 
 /go ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 my father's, the very anger springing from aifection, 
 and the affection making him repent of his just 
 angeT as of a sin, arc not good for Walter. I can- 
 not help, sometimes, telling him what sacrifices my 
 lather makes for him; how ungrateful and unjust 
 he is in return. But he merely laughs, and talks as 
 if women were creatures with quite another edition 
 of the Ten Commandments from men ; or, some- 
 times, he says my Puritan friends have taken the 
 spirit out of me ; or that I should have married, 
 and then T should have understood the world a 
 little, and had something else to do than to educate 
 my brothers. But when he says such things to me, 
 he is always, or often, sorry afterwards, and tries to 
 expiate them by some little extra gift or attention. 
 
 " And often my father also is vexed rather with 
 me than with Walter, when he and Walter have 
 differed. He seems to think I ought in some way 
 to have made life more cheerful to them both. But 
 this I know he does not mean. Such words are oidy 
 as an inarticulate cry of pain. He means it no more 
 than he means what he says far oftener and more 
 vehemently, that he will never waste another groat, 
 nor hazard a drop of blood again, for the heartless, 
 faithless family (' Scottish and French not English,' 
 saith he, in his bitterest moments), which fate hag 
 Bmitten England with ; when I know that, at the 
 next glimpse of a hope of Restoration, he would 
 spend his fortune to the uttermost farthiug, and his 
 blood to the last drop, to see the young king enjoy 
 his own again. 
 
 "June Vlth. — We have met, Roger and I, for a
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 2 8i 
 
 few minutes, but those minutes seemed to have 
 bridged over all the years between, and it is as il 
 our lives had been lived side by side all the time 
 Yet we said scarcely a connected sentence that I 
 can recall. 
 
 "It was in one of the little tumults which now 
 and then arise in the narrow streets out of disputes 
 for precedence. 
 
 " I was in Madame la Mothe's coach, when we 
 met a coach which happened to belong to a seigneur, 
 whose lands are close to Madame la Mothe's in the 
 country. Neither of the coachmen would give 
 w T ay and back his horses. It was a rivalry of cent- 
 uries. As happens in so many contests, the imme- 
 diate interests of the chiefs were lost sight of in the 
 vehemence of their followers. Madame la Mothe 
 and I were left solitary and uneasy in the coach, 
 while the servants contended for our dignity in the 
 street. At length the tumult of voices grew fierce, 
 the hoofs of the horses clattered on the stones as 
 the postillions urged them with a defiant crack of 
 their whips, and it seemed as if the two coaches and 
 their in mates were to charge each other bodily, as 
 it' we had been batteries or battalions. 
 
 "'There will be bloodshed,' exclaimed Madame 
 [a Mothe, 'bloodshed for a title, for my title !" and 
 pushing open the doer, she sprang on the pavement, 
 and threw herself among the combatants with 
 words of peace. 
 
 "The lady in the other coach seeing her descend, 
 did the same. Advancing rapidly towards each 
 other they made reverences to each other. 
 24*
 
 2 8z ON BOTH SID EZ OF THE SEA. 
 
 " Madame la Motlie held out her hands. 6 Let at 
 make a compromise, madame,' she said; ' we will 
 both reaacend one coach with my young friend- 
 Let it be yours. We will then proceed together, 
 while my coach retires. Bloodshed will be avoided 
 The loyal rivalry of our people will be satisfied. 
 Your side will gain the victory, but it will be in my 
 service.' 
 
 " The ladies embraced, and hand in hand entered 
 the other coach. The retainers shouted long life to 
 both the illustrious houses; and the little drama was 
 ending in a general embrace, when an obstacle 
 presented itself in the determination of one of Ma- 
 dame la Mothe's horses, which absolutely refused to 
 sacrifice his own sense of dignity by retreating. 
 
 " The perplexity was great when Madame la 
 Mothe, turning to me, exclaimed, ' My child, you 
 will excuse my making you the victim of a slight 
 ruse de guerre, to avoid wounding the honour of 
 these excellent people. We will make it a question 
 of national courtesy.' And having obtained the 
 other lady's consent, leaning from the window, she 
 said to one of the young gentlemen in attendance, 
 m a voice that all round might hear : ' See, this 
 young lady is of a noble English house, in exile for 
 loyalty to the unfortunate king. All noblesse yields 
 to noblesse sacrificing itself for royalty. Conduct 
 Mademoiselle Davenant, I pray you, to my carriage, 
 vnd let us retire before her.' 
 
 " I was being reconducted to Madame la Mothe's 
 linage, pale, perhaps a little anxious, for there 
 view murmurs of discontent among the retainers of
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE LEA. 783 
 
 Che acherse company, when suddenly Roger ap- 
 peared before me, and in a moment my hand was 
 in his before I knew how, and I was alone in the 
 carriage, slowly advancing, while he walked beside 
 the window. 
 
 " ' A friend of mademoiselle's father ! Move for- 
 ward ! ' he said to the attendants, in slightly broken 
 French, with that quiet expectation of obedience 
 which always gave credentials to his commands. 
 He was obeyed ; and we moved slowly on. 
 
 " ' You excuse me '?' he said to me. His hand 
 was on the edge of the window. 'I heard your 
 name, and saw you looking alaimed, and before I 
 had time to question my right to do it, I found my- 
 self taking care of you.' 
 
 " He said no more. And I said nothing. It was 
 one of those moments which seemed not to belong 
 to the hour but to the ages ; because ore does not 
 think of looking backward or forward wMte they 
 last, the rest they bring is so complete. 
 
 " But as we came to the end of the narro w street, 
 and were about to turn into a broader place, there 
 was ag:iin a little tumult which delayed us. Look- 
 ing out, I saw it was caused by a company of 
 young cavaliers arrogantly pushing the crowd aside. 
 Among them I saw the faces of one or l,wo whom I 
 recognized as friends of Walter's, and I thought 1 
 caught a glimpse cf Walter himself. 
 
 "Then I forgot everything but Walter, the long- 
 ing I had so often had that he could know Roger 
 and the possibility of Roger saving him. 
 
 " ' Roger,' I said, ' you remember Walter th«
 
 ^84 0N BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 youngest of us, the boy my mother thought so 
 much of. Those are some of our king's courtiers. 
 They are Walter's friends. They are bad friends. 
 They are ruining him for life and for ever. I have 
 thought sometimes if you could have been his 
 friend, it might have been different.' 
 
 " ' I will do all what I can, Lettice,' he said, ana 
 that was all. But his ' what I can,' and hss ' Let- 
 tice,' are volumes that need no commentary. 
 
 "Madame la Mothe re-appeared. 
 
 " I introduced Roger as best I could. 
 
 " She lavished thanks on him, and kept him some 
 little time in conversation, while the men were set- 
 ting something right about the harness. 
 
 " But he replied only in monosyllables. 
 
 " For some time after he had taken leave we 
 drove on in silence. 
 
 " I was thinking whether I had done right. In 
 committing my brother to Roger had I not, as it 
 were, made him my knight, -set him forth on a sa- 
 cred enterprise for my sake, which he might inter- 
 pret into an atonement for that terrible deed which 
 separated us ? 
 
 " That terrible deed which all the blood in the 
 world, and all the good deeds in the world cannot 
 expiate, which nothing but repentance can blot 
 out ! And Roger will never repent. 
 
 " They came sweeping back on my heart with 
 his voice, all the old familiar sacred recollections, 
 my mother's affection for him, the touch of her 
 hand clasping ours, thf sound of her voice blessing 
 us. And far away, like a ghost, at cock-crowing,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES )F THE SEA. 285 
 
 j.,(hled that dreadful scaffold. 'Politics!' did not 
 every one say ; ' what have women to do with 
 politics ? ' 
 
 " And after all, what had Roger to do with that 
 terrible deed? He had sat near on horseback, as 
 a soldier of Parliament, while it was done. As 
 a s<;.diei of the Parliament, what could he do other- 
 wise? As a man, would he not rather have risked 
 his life to save the royal sufferer's life ? All the 
 consequences of rebellion are involved in the first 
 act of rebellion. War means life or death, victory 
 or death to all involved. All the terrible results 
 were unfolded in the first fatal lifting up of the 
 rebel standard at Edgehill ; a shot might have 
 ended His Majesty's life then as easily as the axe 
 years afterwards. Roger's loyalty is to England, 
 and, for her sake, to whomsoever he believed will 
 rule and serve her best. That first act of dislov- 
 ally once committed, in the choice of a wrong 
 leader, the more loyal the character the more disloyal 
 must be the acts ever after. It was Roger's fatal 
 hereditary misbelief which had enlisted him in 
 Cromwell's army. And that my mother knew, 
 and knowing, had sanctioned his love. Put once 
 enlisted, it was the very loyalty of heart wlm-h 
 Mould have led him to die with Montrose for the 
 king's cause, how ever hopeless, which had lead him 
 thus to guard the king's scaffold, however he hated 
 to be there. For I know he did hate to be there ! 
 If he would but once confess that his heart had bled 
 at the sight, as I am sure it did ! But I knew too 
 well how that fatal loyalty of nature wbict had 
 prevented his resisting the worst deed of his trait-
 
 ,.86 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 orous leader, would keep his lips sealed for evei 
 from disclaiming bis share in it, when done. 
 
 " But if I knew his heart, ought I not to accept 
 the reverent pity which I knew must have moved 
 him, and made his presence at the martyrdom 3 
 torture to him, in place of any mere words which a 
 heart less true than his would have uttered so 
 easily ? Indeed, whether I accepted it or not, had 
 not it been already understood and accepted above ? 
 As the mistakes of Port Royal were understood and 
 forgiven, and of Aunt Dorothy, and, as we trust, 
 our own mistakes will be. 
 
 " Then came the thought, — 
 
 " ' You are getting sophistical. Right and vv rong 
 are right and wrong for all and for ever. If you 
 try to put yourself into the place, and feel the 
 temptations of every criminal, as he feels them, 
 you will end in comdemning no crime.' 
 
 " Thus as I sat silent by Madame la Mothe's side, 
 while in a few moments all those arguments rushed 
 in conflict through my heart, there was anything 
 but silence within. 
 
 " At last Madame la Mothe spoke. Very quietly 
 she laid her hand on mine, and without looking at 
 me, said, — 
 
 " 'My child, forgive me. I shall never ask what 
 your secret is again, nor wonder why you keep 
 your heart sealed like the doors of Port Royal.' 
 
 '"It is no secret, madame,' I said. 'We were 
 betrothed by my mother's sanction. Only this 
 dreadful war has separated us.' 
 
 " i Your young Cavalie>' is not on the king'j
 
 ON BOTE SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 287 
 
 side?' she said. ' It is a pity. He has the man- 
 ners of the ancient chivalry. Deferential and stately, 
 his politness has something at once protecting and 
 lofty in it, as if he were a king, and all women as 
 queens to him. Alas,- for these English politics and 
 these consciences ! ' 
 
 " ' It is not politics that separate us, madame,' I 
 said, almost mechanically ; ' it is the king's death.' 
 
 " ' Surely the young Cavalier was too noble to bt? 
 concerned in that ! ' she said. 
 
 " ' He was a soldier of the Commonwealth, 
 madame,' I said, ' and as a soldier had to obey. 5 
 
 " I found myself defending him in spite of my- 
 self. 
 
 " ' The king's death was not the work of the sol- 
 dier, was it ? " she said, ' but of the headsman.' 
 
 " 'The soldiers guarded the scaffold,' I said. 
 
 " ' This young Cavalier was among those who 
 guarded the scaffold,' she said. 'Was that all? 
 Being a soldier, what would you have had him do ? 
 Surely there is absolution on earth and in heaven 
 for such a mistake as that.' 
 
 " ' He does not repent, madame.' 
 
 " ' Ah, my child,' she said, ' see what it is to be a 
 l'rotestant; you have to be your own Supreme 
 Tribunal, even when your conscience is on the 
 Judgment-seat, and your own heart at the bar, to 
 be broken by the sentence. Now, if you would 
 only believe the Pope and the Church, whatever 
 the unavoidable pain of the sentence, you would at 
 all events escape the torture of at ence inflicting 
 and enduring it.'
 
 288 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " 'Alas, madame,' I said, 'can the sisters of Port 
 Royal escape the torture of being their own tribu- 
 nal? Can thev believe a fact is a fact because a 
 Pope says it ? They distinguish, indeed, between 
 fact and right ; but are not rights really but facts 
 of a higher sphere, if we only knew them ? And 
 as unalterable? We only want to know what is 
 right, madame. It seems to me no decision on 
 earth, or in heaven, can make a thing right, any 
 more than it makes it true.' 
 
 "'My poor child,' she said tenderly, 'heaven 
 guide you. Only take care your heart does not get 
 into the judgment-seat, and persuade your consci- 
 ence that the very anguish of the sentence is a 
 proof of its justice. Noble hearts have made such 
 mistakes ere now. One, I think, very dear to thee 
 and to me.' 
 
 " She wa-j silent some minutes, and then said in 
 a more ch erful tone, — 
 
 '"He /as silent, this young Cavalier. His char- 
 acter is .erhaps rather grave ? ' 
 
 i4 ' It is a way of all the men of our nation who 
 are worth anything, madame,' I said. 'Ycur 
 countrymen have a natural eloquence. Feeling 
 enkindles them into speech. With us it ofteuer 
 fuses men into silence. An Englishman who has no 
 dumbness in him is not to be trusted.' 
 
 " She smiled. 
 
 "'Ah, my friend,' she said, ' if I detend, you 
 attack; if I attack, you defend. I will leave yov 
 o defend your own cause against yourself.'
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 olive's recollections 
 
 i OGER brought back from Paris an ao* 
 count of the life led by the son of the 
 late king and his companions, that might 
 perhaps have enfeebled Aunt Dorothy's 
 prayers foi his restoration, could she have believed 
 it, which, however (having her belief much under 
 the control of her will), she doubtless never would, 
 on any evidence we could have brought. Of the 
 Davenants he said little. But he had seen them, 
 and from his tone I judged that the intercourse had 
 done more to cheer than to sadden him. Sir Wal- 
 ter's face, he thought, looked somewhat lined with 
 care ; but, as far as I could gather, he saw no change 
 in Lettice. To him she was the same he had parted 
 from seven years before, the same he had held in hi? 
 heart all the seven years through. 
 " Was she looking older ?" I asked. 
 " In one way, not an hour," he said ; " in another 
 seven years." 
 " Paler ?" 
 
 He could not tell ; " her colour always came anc 
 vent like sunshine; like her smile." 
 
 25 (289)
 
 i 9 o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 u As loyal as ever ?" 
 
 "To the late king, and to royalty; yes." 
 
 " Graver ?" 
 
 " They spoke of grave things. He thought, with 
 all the old changefulness in her countenance, the 
 calm beneath seemed deeper." 
 
 " Then she must be fairer than ever ?" 
 
 " He thought not. She was the same." 
 
 And to him that w r as evidently the utmost he de- 
 sired. If she had in any way changed, it had only 
 been as he had changed, keeping parallel with him ; 
 therefore from him evidently no more was to be 
 learned. Yet something in his interview had evi- 
 dently strengthened him, like a new dawn of hope. 
 Sir Walter, no doubt, would not hear of alliance 
 with an adherent of " the Usurper ;" yet he accepted, 
 wdth scarcely disguised triumph, the glory England 
 had won under the Usurper. A little more experi- 
 ence of what the Court of the young king was like 
 to be; a little more proof of what free England 
 could be ; a little more of the hallowing touch of 
 time, on the new Power's new glories ; perhaps the 
 Title belonging to the Power, once boldly claimed, 
 recognized by the nation ; and in the end for the 
 sake of the old England the new dynasty might be 
 recognized. 
 
 So Roger hoped ; and to him, therefore, the de- 
 bates in 1657, on the Protector's assuming the title 
 of king, had a twofold interest. 
 
 The year 1656 closed, and the year 1657 began, 
 storm ily. 
 
 On the 27th of December my husband came to
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 291 
 
 the house looking dispirited, and, catching up Mai- 
 die in his arms, he said to me, — 
 
 "I have a mind to sell all we have, and seek our 
 fortunes in the wilderness, anions: the Indians." 
 
 Then he told me the scene he had just witnessed, 
 Annis Nye and Job Forster standing by whilst he 
 narrated how the poor fanatic, James Naylor, hal 
 stood in the pillory in front of the Exchange, weak- 
 ened by the terrible scouiging four days before from 
 Whitehall to the Exchange, while his tonmie was 
 bored with a hot iron by command of the Parlia- 
 ment " for blasphemy." 
 
 " Twenty years have rolled away," he said ; 
 " countless precious lives have been sacrificed, a dy- 
 nasty displaced, the king and the archbishop execu- 
 ted, the Star Chamber destroyed ; and here stands 
 the pillory again in the open day, with fierce fire in 
 the hearts of those in power, to carry out a sentence 
 cruel as any of Archbishop Laud's, to the uttermost." 
 
 " But the people ?" I asked. 
 
 " As pitiful as in the days when Prynne, .Bast- 
 wick, and Barton suffered in Palace Yard ! Scarce 
 an insulting word or gesture. While the cruel iron 
 was at work, the crowd stood bareheaded, ar.d Mr. 
 Rich, the brave merchant, who had waited at the 
 doors of the Parliament House imploring the mem- 
 bers for mercy from eight till eleven this morning, 
 held the suiferer's hand all the while, and afterwards 
 licked his wounds." 
 
 " But they say the poor wretch w r as indeed guilty 
 of blasphemy," I said. " His crime was at least 
 very different from Mr. Prynne's."
 
 t 9 2 ON BOTH 81D£8 OF THE SEA. 
 
 " It was indeed mad blasphemy," he replied; ''the 
 madness of spiritual vanity veiling itself under kome 
 mystical notion that the homage was paid to Christ 
 in him. The poor wretch suffered half-a-dozen de- 
 luded men and women to lead his horse into Bristol, 
 Btatterinc branches and garments before him, and 
 crying hosannas." 
 
 Job, who was near, could not let the occasion pass. 
 
 " Take warning, Mistress Annis," he said, in a low 
 voice aside to her ; " this is what your Quaker in- 
 spiration leads to.' 1 
 
 " I have need of warnings, Job Forster," she re- 
 plied, " and so hast thou. This is what your tyr- 
 anny over men's consciences leads to. This is what 
 ambition has led thy Oliver Cromwell to ; once a 
 man of whom George Fox had hope, and over whose 
 soul the Friends have been very tender." 
 
 " The Lord Protector protests against this cru- 
 elty," said my husband. 
 
 " His work is not to protest, Leonard Antony," 
 said she, " but to prevent. But he has been faith- 
 fully warned. George Fox hath told him what will 
 come upon him if he heeds not; and George's warn- 
 ings are not to be scorned. Before now, more than 
 one who has despised them has come to a fearful 
 end." 
 
 For once my husband was roused. " Annis Nye," 
 he said, " you and your Friends are as unmerciful in 
 heart as the rest. The voices that denounce God's 
 lightnings for their own private wrongs are moved 
 by the same spirit as the hands that heat the irons 
 for the piFory. Verily ye know not what spirit ye
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 293 
 
 are of. Denunciatory prophecies are the persecution 
 of the persecuted." And he turned sadly away. 
 
 Aunt Gretel wept many tears when she heard the 
 narrative of James Naylor's sufferings, afterwards 
 completed by a second scourging at Bristol, the 
 scene of his mad and blasphemous entry. But she 
 reached the source of consolation sooner than any of 
 us. Looking, according to her wont, beyond all the 
 middle distance which is the battle-field of the great 
 national questions of churches and governments, 
 and seeing in the whole primarily the Good Shep 
 herd seeking the sheep and leading the wandering 
 flock, she said, wiping her eyes, — 
 
 " Poor foolish creature ! if Annis speaks right, he 
 was once a humble and devout Christian. He had 
 fallen deep and wandered far. Perhaps he will have 
 to thank the good Lord that he has found the ways 
 of the wilderness so cruel. Perhaps even now, if 
 we could see, he is beginning to creep back, torn, 
 maimed, and bleeding as he is, body and soul, to the 
 feet of the Good Shepherd. Thou wilt not forget 
 him, Leonard, when thou visitest the prison." 
 
 My husband did not, and afterwards brought us 
 word how, during his imprisonment in Bridewell, 
 James Naylor came to true repentance, and pub- 
 lished his confession of his fall, when " darkness 
 came upon him, and he ran against that Rock to be 
 broken which had so long borne him, and whereof 
 he had so largely drunk, and of which at last he 
 drank in measure again, praising God's mercy in 
 delivering him, and greatly fearing ever to offend 
 again, whereby the innocent truth, or the people of 
 God might suffer." "2.5*
 
 294 0N B0TH SIDES OE THE SEA. 
 
 After that the poor restored penitent's career was 
 brief, but blameless. 
 
 Aunt Grctel watched it to the close with a tender 
 pity. He survived his fall and punishment four 
 years, dying at the age of forty-four. And Aunt 
 Gretel was wont to keep the record of what, he spoke 
 shortly before his death among her treasury of tro- 
 phies of the triumph of God's good over men's evil. 
 The words were these : — 
 
 " There is a spirit which I feel that delights to do 
 no evil nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to 
 endure all things, and hopes to enjoy its own in the 
 end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, 
 and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty. If it 
 is betrayed, it bears it ; for its ground and spring is 
 the mercies and forgiveness of God. Its crown is 
 meekness, its life is everlasting love unfeigned ; it 
 takes its kingdom with entreaty and not with con- 
 tention, and keeps it by lowliness of mind." 
 
 And two hours afterwards, the brief journey, so 
 full of bewilderment and pain and rej:>entance, was 
 over. To a heart burdened with the dishonour of 
 that blasphemous entry into Bristol, the pillory in 
 Palace Yard and in the City must, I think, have 
 been a dishonour not bitter to bear, but rather one 
 for which he would bless God who suffered him to 
 suffer it. Perhaps those, his judges, who had in 
 their memories the dishonour of issuing and enforc- 
 ing such a sentence, had also in their turn their sen- 
 tences to suffer, for which they also afterwards 
 learned to bless God. 
 
 For tire wheel went quickly round in those days.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 295 
 
 Laud iu the Star Chamber, Prynne in the pillory ; 
 the Presbyterians and Prynne in the Parliament, the 
 archbishop on the scaffold ; Naylor in the pillory ; 
 his judges in the prisons of the Restoration. 
 
 A quarter of a century accomplished it all. But 
 no one saw the wheel turning. Each revolution, as 
 it came, seemed the last. For there was a pause 
 between each. And in the pause the people who 
 were uppermost looked round on the earth, and 
 shouted, " Now the Kingdom is come, and the world 
 will stand still ;" while the people who were under 
 neath looked to heaven, and sighed, " Will the years 
 of peace never come ? O Lord, how long ?" 
 
 But I think it a noble trait in the Quakers that, 
 accused as they wei*e on all sides of fanaticism, and 
 strong as the temptation must have been to disown 
 any connection with such a fallen man as Naylor, 
 nevertheless, although they faithfully rebuked him 
 in secret, they generously stood by him in his 
 degradation, and did not leave him until they had 
 brought him to repentance, and tenderly welcomed 
 him back among them. 
 
 With James Naylor's torturing sentence, the year 
 1656 closed. The year 165V began with stratagems 
 and plots. 
 
 Towards morning, on the night of the 8th of 
 January, the drowsy voice of the bellman, speaking 
 benedicites on our home, and calliiiLC us to "'hang out 
 our lights," had just died away at the corner of the 
 silent street, and his bell was faintly echoing in tho 
 distance, mingling with the dream it had broken, 
 when a call at tl e loor aroused us.
 
 Z96 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ft was Job Forster. 
 
 His first words as my husband opened tie house, 
 door to him (I listening on the stairs), were an 
 alarming assurance that we need not be alarmed. 
 In a minute I was wrapped in my mantle and beside 
 Lhem. 
 
 Job's face was haggard and his eyes ringed with 
 dark circles of anxiety. 
 
 " All clanger is over !" he said. " The assassin 
 has been taken after a hard stru^o-le. He is in the 
 Tower. Miles Sindercombe, an old comrade of 
 mine," added Job with a groan, " one of those that 
 were sentenced with me at Burford !" It was an- 
 other attempt on the Lord Protector's life. Some 
 time since, the assassin (having received £1,500 
 from the baser spirits among the Royalists for ths 
 purpose) had hired a room at Hammersmith, on the 
 road by which Oliver rode every Saturday to his 
 Sabbath rest at Hampton Court, watching for an 
 opportunity to murder him. But in vain. And at 
 length this night the attempt was to have been made 
 at Whitehall. At midnight the sentinel had smelt 
 fire, a match had been found close to a basket of 
 wildfire, the locks of the doors were discovered to 
 have been picked, and all prepared for a conflagra- 
 tion, in the confusion of which Oliver was to have 
 been assassinated. But it had been found out in 
 time, the danger was averted, and the Protector had 
 refused to have the city alarmed, or the train-bands 
 roused. " But, oh !" groaned Job, " Mistress Olive 
 and Master Antony, think of what a pit I stood on 
 the brink! 'Mutiny the first step ;' and the last,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 297 
 
 minder. No doubt the poor deluded wretch went 
 down easy enough after that first step. And I had 
 taken the first !" 
 
 He was very gentle and subdued, and said noth- 
 ing at breakfast. Not even Annis Nye's gentle 
 "hope that the Protector would take warning at 
 last, and see that the poor Friends' prophecies had 
 some meaning in them," could rouse him. He only 
 shook his head and said, — 
 
 " Poor maid ! She has got to take her lesson by 
 Burford steeple yet." 
 
 The excitement in the city that day was great. 
 It was one of the few occasions which I remember 
 in which a strong and general display of personal 
 feeling was called out towards the Protector. 
 
 The Parliament ordered a Thanksgiving Day, and 
 numbers went to offer congratulations. One sen- 
 tence of Oliver's reply Roger repeated to us, — 
 
 " If we will have peace without a worm in it," 
 said the Protector, " lay we foundations in justice 
 and righteousness." 
 
 Roger kept full of hope through all. This danger 
 of death to its head, as with so many refractory 
 families, had at last (he thought) roused the nation 
 to gratitude. 
 
 The offer of the title of Kids followed. Ro^er 
 believed the Protector would accept it. King was 
 a name dear to the English people, who " love not 
 change," and " love settlement and familiar words." 
 King was a name known to the laws, "honoured, 
 and bounded" by the laws. Any other name, said 
 the Protector in comparison, was too " large and
 
 298 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 boundless." The power he possessed — and on that 
 he suffered no debate : the end of all the fightimr, 
 he said, had been settlement. A Parliament voting 
 itself to sit constantly, and debating everything, 
 from the nation's faith to the forms of ooverning— - 
 "' debating three months the meaning of the word 
 encumbrance " — " committees elected to fetch men fi orn 
 the extremest part of the nation to attend committees 
 Bet to determine all things," Oliver considered would 
 never lead to " settlement." Between this nation 
 and general " topsy-turvying " he had submitted to 
 take his stand ; and there, while he lived, whether 
 honoured or reviled, he would stand, whether as 
 King, Protector, or Constable, to keep the peace of 
 the parish ; " not so much hoping to do much good 
 as to prevent imminent evil ;" to " keep the godly 
 of all judgments from running on each other;" to 
 keep some men from the kind of liberty which con- 
 sisted in "liberty to pinch other men's consciences;" 
 to keep other men from such liberty as resulted in 
 license or " orderly confusion ;" to keep all Protest- 
 ants from ruin ; to keep England from becoming 
 "an Aceldama." This the Protector regarded as 
 the thing God had given him to do; and by what- 
 ever weapons, by whatever title, he was determined 
 to do it ; and then was ready, as he wrote to his 
 son-in-law, to " flee away and be at rest," being 
 meantime lifted above men's judgment by the con- 
 sciousness of " some little sincerity in him." Roger 
 said that the new work could have been better done 
 under the old names; so much necessary change in 
 substance beiug made more acceptable to the coin-
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 299 
 
 mon people by the least possible change in forms 
 (the principle, according to Aunt Gretel, on which 
 Luther had carried out his Reformation). And so, 
 he believed, thought the Protector. But his son-in- 
 law, Fleetwood, and so many of the best men around 
 him, either considered the very name of king doomed 
 with the dynasty which had abused it, or valued 
 the forms of a republic as of the essence of liberty — 
 that his Highness yielded what to him would indeed 
 have been nothing more than a " feather in a man's 
 cap ;" an adornment at no time sacred or precious 
 to Puritan men for its own sake. 
 
 Thus the debate on the kingly title ended in the 
 solemn inauguration of Oliver as Lord Protector. 
 
 It was on the 25th of June, in Westminster Hall, 
 that the last great ceremonial of the Commonwealth, 
 except the Great Funerals, took place. The old 
 stone of the Scotch kingdom, the purple robe, the 
 canopy of state, the sword, the Bible, the sceptre 
 given by the Speaker of the Commons to be " the 
 stay and staff" of the nation," into the hands that, 
 as we believed, had been their stay and staff so 
 long ; the foreign ambassadors of all nations around 
 him, they at least, recognizing him openly as Eng- 
 land's ruler and deliverer ; and, outside, the multi- 
 tudes shouting " God save the Lml Protector,"— 
 the hearts of all men still aglow with the news of 
 the great victory of Blake over the Spaniards in the 
 harbour of Santa Cruz, in Teneriffe. 
 
 There was no lack of enthusiasm ; nor, indeed, 
 of colour and music. Some picture our Pu v itan 
 times as draped in funereal black. The Puritan
 
 3°o 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ministers had a very different impression of them 
 as they hemoaned the glory and hravery of their 
 people's attire ; and Mistress Hutchinson's colonel, 
 in " bis scarlet cloak, richly laced," was not solitary 
 in his splendour. 
 
 Music graced all the Protector's festivals. It 
 was, I think, to him, as to Martin Luther, the festive 
 thing in the world. And the music of lofty and 
 significant words Avas not wanting in the Speaker's 
 address, or in the solemn prayer which folloAved. 
 
 Nevertheless there were not a few who, with our 
 friend Dr. Rich, could not forget what the last great 
 scene in Westminster Hall had been, when a king 
 discrowned sat at the bar of his subjects, alone, yet 
 defying their authority. And among such it was 
 murmured ominously that there was one thing even 
 the " murderers of his sacred majesty " did not dare 
 to take ; the crown which had fallen from the 
 " anointed " head. 
 
 So the grand ceremonial ended, and all men went 
 again to their work ; the Protector to protect Eng- 
 land and the Protestant Church against the world ; 
 the Parliament (as he hoped) to reform laws, " man- 
 ners," and especially the Court of Chancery,—" the 
 delays in suits," the excessiveness in fees, the cost- 
 liness of suits, — to see that " men were not hanged 
 for six and eight-pence, and acquitted for murder." 
 
 And we to our humble work, each in his place. 
 My husband went to his patients and his prisons. 
 Roger, strong in trust in the Protector, and in hope 
 for England, joined the troops which were fighting 
 the Spaniards with those of Marshal Taieuue in
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. jqi 
 
 Flanders My father, on the verge of seventy, had 
 withdrawn altogether from politics. Having as 
 firm a faith in the triumph of truth as Roger, he 
 yet deemed the cycles wider in which she moved. 
 Love with him was the reverse of blind. It was 
 natural to him to see with painful clearness the 
 faults of the cause dearest to him. Much as in 
 many ways he honoured the Protector, he never- 
 theless deemed his government a beneficent despot- 
 ism undermining the foundations of law. " Had 
 the Protector been immortal," he said, " a better 
 government than his could scarce be. But Laws 
 and Constitutions are remedies against the mortality 
 of all men, as w T ell as against the fallibility of the 
 best men. Therefore I cannot rejoice in a rule 
 which interposes but the heart and brain of one 
 man between the nation and anarchy." 
 
 So he turned therefore from the whirlwind of 
 political affairs to the calm rule of law in stars and 
 seas ; and the wonderful circulation of life through 
 all the animated world, as, according to Mr. Har- 
 vey's discovery, through the veins of those fearfully 
 made bodies of ours. Through him we heard much 
 of the proceedings of the Society of Art, and of 
 Buch patriotic efforts as the rescue of Raphael's car- 
 toons, by the Protector's desire. In promoting such 
 works he hoped to serve England (he said) as an 
 old man best might. 
 
 For if there were an idolatry among us in (hose 
 Commonwealth days, it was that of England. 
 
 Patriotism with the nobler Commonwealth' men 
 was a passion and a religion ; what love is to » 
 26
 
 3J2 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 lover, and loyalty to such a Royalist as Mont* 
 rose. 
 
 It was England for whose sake Cromwell waa 
 content to be called a hypocrite and a despot, and 
 to be a " constable," and a man worn to old ago at 
 fifty with care and toil. 
 
 It was the love of England which kindled the 
 calm heart of the glorious blind poet, who then 
 dwelt among men, to a fanaticism of passionate 
 invective against all who assailed her. 
 
 To him she was " a noble and puissant nation 
 rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and 
 shaking her invincible locks ; as an eagle renewing 
 her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes 
 at the full midday beam, purging and unsealing her 
 long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly 
 radiance ; while the whole noise of timorous and 
 flocking birds, with those also that love the twi- 
 light, flutter about, amazed at what she means." 
 
 " Thou, therefore," he wrote, " that sittest in light 
 and glory inapproachable, Parent of angels and men. 
 Next, Thee I implore, omnipotent King, Redeemer 
 of that lost remnant whose nature Thou didst as- 
 sume ; ineffable, and everlasting Love ! And Thou 
 the third subsistence of Divine Infinitude, illumin- 
 ing Spirit, the joy and solace of created things 1 
 one tri-personal Godhead ! 
 
 " O Thou that, after the impetuous rage of five 
 blustering inundations, and the succeeding sword 
 of intestine war, soaking the land in her own gore, 
 didst pity the sad and ceaseless revolution of our 
 ew ift and thick-coming sorrows ; when we were
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 303 
 
 quite breathless, of Thy free grace didst motion 
 peace and terms of covenant with us, and having 
 first well-nigh freed us from antichristian thraldom, 
 didst build up this Thy Britannic Empire to a glo- 
 rious and enviable height, with all her daughter- 
 islands about her ; stay us in this felicity ; let not 
 the obstinacy of our half-obedience and will-wor- 
 ship bring forth the viper of sedition, .... that we 
 may still remember in our solemn thanksgivings 
 how for us the Northern Ocean, even to the frozen 
 Thule, was scattered with the proud shipwrecks of 
 the Spanish Armada, and the very maw of hell ran- 
 sacked, and made to give up her concealed destruc- 
 tion, ere she could vent it in that terrible and damned 
 blast. Hitherto Thou hast but freed us, and that 
 not fully, from the unjust and tyrannous claim of 
 Thy foes ; now unite us entirely, and appropriate 
 us to Thyself; tie us everlastingly in willing hom- 
 age to the prerogatives of Thy eternal throne. 
 
 " Then, amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of 
 saints, some one may, perhaps, be heard offering 
 in high strains, in new and lofty measure, to sing 
 and celebrate Thy divine mercies and marvellous 
 judgments in this land throughout all ages ; where- 
 by this great and warlike nation, instructed and 
 inured to the fervent and continual practice of 
 truth and righteousness, and casting far from her 
 the rags of her whole vices, may press on hard to 
 that high and happy emulation, to be found the 
 soberest, wisest, and most Christian people at that 
 day, when Thou, the eternal and shortly-e.vpected 
 King, shalt open the clouds to judge the several
 
 304 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SLA. 
 
 kingdoms of the world, and, distributing national 
 honours to religious and just commonwealths, shalt 
 put an end to all earthly tyrannies, proclaiming 
 Thy universal and mild monarchy through heaven 
 and earth, where they, undoubtedly, that, by their 
 labours, counsels, and prayers, have been earnest 
 for the common good of religion and their country, 
 shall receive, above the inferior orders of the blessed, 
 the regal addition of principalities, legions, and 
 thrones, unto their glorious titles, and, in super- 
 eminence of beatific vision, shall clasp inseparable 
 hands with joy and bliss, in over-measure for ever P 
 
 This was what ambition meant, and titles and 
 crowns, to the nobler Puritan men in the days of 
 the great Commonwealth. This was what England 
 meant, and patriotism. This was what made it so 
 bitter to them to see sedition undermininsr all this 
 glorious possibility ; to see feeble meddling hands 
 untwistino; the cordage with which the srood old 
 ship had to be worked through battle and storm ; 
 so unutterably bitter to see good men blindly (as 
 they believed) helping bad men to undo that glo- 
 rious past, and render that glorious future, if not 
 impossible for the world for ever, impossible for 
 ages longer ; and for England perhaps impossible 
 for evermore. 
 
 "For if it should fall out otherwise — if you 
 should basely relinquish the path of virtue, if you 
 do anything unworthy of yourselves — posterity will 
 sit in judgment on your conduct. They will see 
 that the foundations were well laid ; that the be- 
 ginning — nay, it was more than a beginning- -wa?
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 3°!> 
 
 glorious ; but with deep emotions of concern will 
 they regret that they were wanting who might 
 have completed the structure. They will see that 
 there was a rich harvest of glory, and an oppor- 
 tunity for the greatest acnievements ; but that men 
 only were wanting for the execution, while they 
 were not wanting who could rightly counsel, ex- 
 hort, enforce, and bind an unfading wreath of 
 praise around the brows of the illustrious actors 
 in so glorious a scene." 
 
 So he wrote whose hand could best have bound 
 the unfading wreath of praise, whose vision, as he 
 dwelt under the hallowing " shadow of God' 3 wing," 
 became prophetic. 
 
 But, meantime, Roger and the brave " labouring 
 men " around him, who reached not to those clear 
 prophetic heights, toiled cheerily on, not seeing the 
 chasm which yawned between them and the glo- 
 rious goal they deemed so near. 
 
 lettice's diary. 
 
 "January, 1658. — For a twelvemonth now my 
 father and I have been alone. The usurper de- 
 manded the banishment of our king from France, 
 and Mazarin and the French Court submitted to 
 the indignity ; an indignity, it seems to us, to all 
 courts and all kings. 
 
 " Walter accompanied the king to Bruges, and 
 has scarce written to us since. My father and I 
 6eldom mention him to each other, but I know he 
 is seldom absent from the thoughts of either of us. 
 The only things which seem to interest my father 
 26*
 
 3 o6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 now are the movements of our exiled Court, which 
 he watches with a feverish solicitude, and the tri- 
 umphs of the English arms by land and sea, of 
 which he eagerly learns every detail with a mixture 
 cf patriotic pride and loyal indignation which it 
 moves me much to see. 
 
 " Last May, for instance, he told me how the 
 French King Louis had come back from reviewing 
 the united French and English troops at Boulogne, 
 and how the French soldiers and courtiers could 
 not say enough of the soldierly bearing of those 
 English horsemen and pikemen. 
 
 " Roger saw Walter before he left France, and 
 my father. But I did not see him again. 
 
 " It was from Walter I learned of their inter- 
 view. 
 
 " ' An act of sisterly loving-kindness, Lettice,' 
 said he, ' to turn a Puritan battery on your 
 brother ! ' 
 
 " His tone was light, but not bitter, and he went 
 on in a softened voice. 
 
 " ' He has a princely temper, Lettice, and bore 
 from me what I would not bear from the kinsx. 
 But all the time he made me feel I lowered myself 
 and not him by my words. "Tis a thousand pities, 
 Lettice, those gentlemen keep us out of house and 
 home. I might have been worth something at old 
 Netherby with Roger Drayton for a neighbor. But 
 what is a fellow to do who has no choice but to 
 amuse himself or kill himself? And to throw one- 
 self against Oliver and his England is nothing less 
 than suicide. Oliver is responsible, at all events,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 307 
 
 for the mischiefs idleness has wrought among loyal 
 men. Do you know, Lettice,' he continued, affec- 
 tionately, after a pause, ' who manages the old 
 estates for us, and sends us their rents so regu- 
 larly ?' 
 
 " ' I guessed,' I said. 
 
 " ' T had been told,' he replied, ' and I asked 
 Roger, and he could not deny it. He and Mr. 
 Drayton manage the estate as if they were our 
 hired bailiffs. Roger himself paid the fine to the 
 Parliament. But he made me promise never to let 
 my father know.' 
 
 " I did not answer him. My heart was too full. 
 
 " ' Lettice,' he exclaimed, ' you are a brave maiden, 
 and a good sister to me. Forgive me if ever I said 
 anything ungenerous to you. I would not care to 
 own for a sister the woman whom Roger Drayton 
 loved, if she could forget him for another. He is 
 the kind of s;ood man it would be worth while to 
 be like. If it were not too late — altogether too 
 late for me,' he added, despondingly. 
 
 " ' You know it is never too late,' I said. ' Oh, 
 Walter, that is just what you might have been ! 
 So my mother thought.' 
 
 " ' You cannot say might be, Lettice,' he replied ; 
 'not even with Roger Drayton always by my side.' 
 
 " ' No one can be like Roger,' I said, ' who can 
 only be like him with some one always by his side.' 
 
 " * No,' he replied, bitterly ; ' Roger is a man to 
 be leant on, not to lean.' 
 
 " ' He is a man to be leant on,' I said, ' because 
 he does lean. On One a.ways by his side, Walter
 
 3c8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 the only One who can be always witli any of us. 
 the only One we can depend on always, and not 
 firrow weak, but strong in depending.' 
 
 " lie said no more, but sat in silence some time, 
 which seemed to me more like what I lono;ed for in 
 hin than anything I had seen. And in tbe evening 
 he took leave of me with the old kind way he had 
 af^er our mother died. And for some weeks he 
 ws much with us. 
 
 " But soon after, the king was desired to quit 
 Fiance, and Walter would accompany him. It 
 w< >uld be base, he said, to desert his master when 
 these perfidious Courts and all the world aban- 
 doned him. My father could but faintly remon- 
 strate. I ventured to ask if he was strong enough 
 to go into that temptation. But he answered, 
 
 gaily,— 
 
 " ' We shall have work to do, Lettice. There is 
 promise of fighting. The Spaniard is to help us, 
 and we him ; and together we will bear you back 
 to Netherby in triumph, proclaim amnesties and 
 tolerations without bounds, and bring back the 
 golden age.' 
 
 " But there has been no fighting ; and since he 
 left we have scarce once heard from him. And we 
 know tor well what that means, in a company where 
 nothing good or great is really believed in ; neither 
 in Go 3, nor man, nor woman. 
 
 " February. — M. la Mothe is dead. And Madame, 
 when she has arranged his affairs, has determined 
 to retire to a convent, there to pray for his soui 
 and to accomplish her own salvation.
 
 OX BO Til SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 3^9 
 
 " She is somewhat distracted what Or dei to join. 
 The ladies of Port Royal seem to her tht holiest 
 people in the world. Bnt, at the same time, the 
 condemnation pronounced by the Pope on this b^ok 
 of Jansenins, which they regard as so excellent, 
 perplexes her, 
 
 " Two years ago the world of Paris was set in a 
 blaze by the ' Lettres Provinciales ' of M. Blaise 
 Pascal, in reply to the Jesuits ; and by the attack 
 on Jansenius and Port Royal. These letters were 
 said to combine the eloquence and wit of the most 
 finished man of the world with the devotion of a 
 saint. 
 
 " Since then the war has waxed fiercer and fiercer 
 between the Jansenists and the Jesuits. To a Prot- 
 estant the controversy seems strange. Both parties 
 eeem to agree that the Pope can pronounce autho- 
 ritively as to doctrine. But the offence of the Jan- 
 senists appears to be that they deny his power to 
 create facts. 
 
 " But whatever the hinge of the controversy is 
 (and in most controversies how insignificant the 
 hinge is on which all nominally turns), the com- 
 batants seem to me to be divided by very real dis- 
 tinctions. I judge chiefly from their weapons. 
 The weapons of the Jesuits seem to be assertions, 
 anathemas, and prisons ; those of Port Royal elo- 
 quent words, and a most devout and blameless 
 life. 
 
 " Truth seems as sacred to them in its minutest 
 expression as the noblest of the Puritans. They 
 cannot lie. They can be banished, imprisoned:
 
 3 io ON BOTH SIDES OF Tl E SEA. 
 
 they :;an die, if such is the will of God, wl i> love-* 
 them, and of those who hate them. But they can- 
 not solemnly declare before Him, they believe a 
 thing true which they believe to be false. ' Wbero 
 is the Christian,' Jacqueline Pascal wrote, ' who 
 would not abhor himself, if it were possible for him 
 to have been present in Pilate's council ; and if, when 
 the question of condemning our Saviour to death 
 arose, he had been content with an ambiguous way 
 of pronouncing his opinion so that he might appear 
 to agree with those who condemned his Master, 
 though his words, in their literal meaning, and 
 according to his own conscience, tended to an ac- 
 quittal ? M. de St. Cyran says the least truth ot 
 religion ought to be as faithfully defended as Christ 
 Himself. The feebleness of our influence does not 
 lessen our guilt if we use that influence against the 
 truth. Truth is the only real liberator, and she 
 makes none free but those that strike off her own 
 fetters, who bear witness to her with a fidelity that 
 entitles them to be acknowledged as the true chil- 
 dren of God the true. Poverty, dispersion, im- 
 prisonment, death, these seem to me nothing com- 
 pared with the anguish of my whole future life, if 
 I should be wretched enough to make a le<igue with 
 death.' 
 
 " Noble Catholic Puritan woman ! 
 
 " Nevertheless Jacqueline Pascal's regulations for 
 the little orphan girls whom they charitably train 
 at Port Royal freeze my heart even to read. Th« 
 poor little ones are to abstain from all kissing ol 
 caressing each other. Even in their jealouslj U*n-
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 511 
 
 ited hour of recreation, they are to play, each aione, 
 without noise ! 
 
 "And Thou lias been on earth, O Christ, tender 
 and gracious, folding the little ones in Thine arms, 
 and these holy sisters of Port Royal love Thee, and 
 read the gospel of Thy birth and death, and think 
 this is what pleases Thee ! • 
 
 " The world was made by Thee, and the world 
 •knew Thee not. Alas, the Church which was made 
 and redeemed by Thee, does she also know Thee so 
 little ! 
 
 " What a surprise, what a rapture of surprise, 
 when these Thy servants who, seeing Thee so dimly, 
 love Thee so much, wake up and see Thee as Thou 
 art, as (if they could but see it) Thou art now ! 
 
 '■'■June 1658. — Dunkirk has been taken from the 
 Spaniards (chiefly they say by English troops), and 
 has been given over to an English garrison. At 
 last (my father writes), the blot of the loss of Calais 
 is wiped out of the escutcheon of our country. All 
 through those last months he had been watching 
 the movements of the French and English forces 
 with jealous interest. ' That crafty Italian,' he 
 said, ' (Mazarin) would overreach the usurper yet. 
 The French Court would use the help of England 
 as long as they needed it, and as long as they could 
 pay with fair and flattering words. And when the 
 time came to pay in fortunes and solid territory, 
 they would politely bow Cromwell and his pikemen 
 out of the country.' 
 
 •'But when we heard that the ' Protector ' had 
 listed on some of the fruits of the war being
 
 5 12 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 made over to England, and that the united armies 
 weie on the Flemish coast preparing for an attack 
 on Dunkirk, my father's faith in th« courage of our 
 countrymen entirely got the better of his indigna- 
 tion against their politics ; and he found several 
 unanswerable reasons for being present at the seat 
 of war. 
 
 " June. — Barbe came to me to-day in tears. Sad 
 news had come again from her kindred in the Pied- 
 mont Valleys. Protestant surgeons forbidden to 
 live there ; trade prohibited ; public worship sup- 
 pressed ; a new fortress, from which insolent troops 
 sally to plunder and maltreat the people ; com 
 manda to sell lands ; dim rumours of a second 
 massacre. 
 
 " ' And Monseigneur Cromwell,' she said, ' so busy 
 with his wars and sieges, that there can be little 
 hope he will have leisure to remember those poor 
 forsaken ones ! What hope is there ? For beside 
 the English, these sufierers have no friend or pro- 
 tector in the world.' 
 
 " July 3rd. — My father has returned. 
 
 " ' It was worth while to travel round the world,' 
 he said, ' truly, to hear the shout of the English 
 pikemen before the fight. Marshal TurenLe could 
 not say enough of their soldierly bearing. He asked 
 what that shout meant, and he was told, " They 
 ever rejoice thus when they behold the enemy." 
 And to see the Spanish veterans driven back before 
 them from post after post, on the sandy dunes by 
 the sea, was a sight to make an old man young 
 For the old country is young, Lettice, as young as
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 3*3 
 
 when she stood up alone against old Spain and her 
 Armada ! I would the Duke of York had not been 
 on the Spaniard's side. He seemed as out of place 
 as Conde. I scarce know the cause,' he adder* 
 gloomily, ' which saves a man from being a trait,. 
 in fiijhtinsy against his country.' 
 
 " ' Then Walter was not there ?' I asked. 
 
 " His brow darkened. 
 
 " ' Would to heaven he had been there, on acr 
 side !' he answered fiercely. ' Better fight for an" 
 cause than fiidit or work for none, but lead a ;lu£ 
 gard's life, a Court-jester's, a Fool's, with the re- 
 creant idlers around the king.' 
 
 " He was silent for some minutes, going to ths 
 window and watching the melancholy dropping o' 
 the water from the urn of his old enemy, the mosr 
 green nymph. 
 
 ""Then he turned and said hastilv, — 
 
 " ' Drayton has found his service better rewarded 
 than mine. Not a gentleman in England or France 
 but might be proud of such a son as his. Firm as 
 a rock, and as calm, who could smess the dash and 
 fire that are in him, mless they saw him head z 
 charge, as I did ? 'Tis a labyrinth of a world, Let- 
 tice,' he added, ' and sometimes a man is tempted 
 Co throw down the clue in despair, and let the Fates 
 take him and his where they will. Old Will Shak 
 speare saw to the bottom of it all a hundred yeans 
 ago, " an unsubstantial pageant, the baseless fabric 
 of a vision." Shakspeare and the Bible ! There is 
 nothing else worth reading or thinking of 
 
 " Then Roger was there; and has come out of 
 27
 
 Ji4 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES 0? THE SEA. 
 
 ttie battle unscathed ! Otherwise my father would 
 have told me. 
 
 " But I know not whether they met or no. 
 
 ** July 4.- — I told my father of Barhe's sad tidings 
 of the Vaudois. 
 
 " ' That will all be set right, you may feel sure,' 
 he replied, grimly. ' There was talk enough about 
 it in the midst of all the fighting. There is nothing 
 that this base and cringing court will not do to 
 court the alliance of that Traitor. I laugh when 
 I hear these French courtiers talk of their ancient 
 nobility, and the glory of their Royal House. Our 
 kings and princes, cousins by blood of their own, 
 may creep about as beggars and outcasts in any 
 poor trading town that is not afraid to take them 
 But when " my lord Fauconbridge " comes as " am- 
 bassador " from this brewer of Huntingdon, Louis, 
 the glorious monarch, descendant of a line of glo- 
 rious monarchs (up to Nimrod, for what I know), 
 talks to him bareheaded ; and Mazarin, the Car- 
 dinal, conducts the rebel and heretic to his door 
 with more than royal honours. I am sick of the 
 whole hollow pageant, kings, statesmen, church- 
 men, all.' 
 
 " My father's indignation had led him far from 
 Barbe and the Vaudois. 
 
 " ' But I may tell Barbe the poor mountaineers 
 will be saved ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' Yes, yes !' he said impatiently. ' There was 
 a Latin letter about the oppression of these people, 
 written, they say, by this Mr. John Milton, whom 
 foreigners seem to think another Cicero or Yirgil,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE ShA. 315 
 
 Che " wisest of Englishmen," and what net ; why 
 I know not, except that he writes good Latin, and 
 they cannot read English, so that of course they 
 cannot know anything about the wisdom of Eng- 
 lishmen. And the king was all attention, and the 
 fox of a Cardinal all sympathy with those poor 
 plucked geese, of whose fate he was (of course) in 
 entire ignorance. And the Duke of Savoy is to 
 have an exhortation ; and the massacre is to be for- 
 bidden.' 
 
 " But Barbe when 1 told ber was altogether over- 
 come. She hurst into tears, and clasping her hands, 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " ' To our dying day we will pray for the great 
 heart that in the midst of wars by sea or land could 
 remember those few poor persecuted brothers in the 
 far-off mountains, and would not rest until they 
 were rescued. To our dying day we will pray for 
 him and for the great English nation. Mademoiselle 
 will pardon, if I wound her loyal feelings, 1 she 
 added, remembering what the name of Cromwell was 
 to the Cavaliers, and kneeling for a moment and 
 kissing my hand in apology ; ' English politics are 
 so difficult for us to understand. To you this Mon- 
 eeigneur may be such as you cannot approve, but 
 to us poor Protestants, he is a Protector, Deliverer, 
 Brother. Can we err in praying for him ?' 
 
 " ' You can scarcely err in praying for him, or for 
 any one, Barbe,' I said. ' God will not give wrong 
 because we ask wrong. If one of your little bro- 
 thers, being thirsty, asked you for a drink from a 
 cup of poison, you would smile and put it aside, 
 and give him the cup of water he wants instead.'
 
 j!b OX BOTH HIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 olive's recollections. 
 
 The taking of Dunkirk in June, 1658, and the 
 relief ensured to the threatened Christians in the 
 Vallevs, was a brilliant moment in that stormv t.me 
 
 All England triumphed. The dishonour of th 
 "loss of Calais was undone. The Protestant Com- 
 monwealth had avenged the disgrace which sank 
 so deep into the heart of the poor dying Popish 
 Queen. 
 
 Once more the Lord Protector had shown that 
 the Protestant Church was not a heap of disjointed 
 fragments, but a living body, which felt with a pang 
 of actual pain an injury inflicted on its feeblest mem- 
 ber. A living body to feel, and a living power to 
 avenge.. 
 
 England was no more an island (except in as far 
 as her seas and ships were her impassable trench 
 and impregnable walls against the world), but aa 
 in the old days before the Reformation, one of the 
 great commonwealth of nations, nay, rather the 
 queenly protector of the great commonwealth of 
 Protestant nations. 
 
 Nevertheless this sense of unity and strength 
 seemed but the passing consciousness of a waking 
 moment. The rest of the months seemed too much 
 like a restless feverish dream. At least so they 
 appear to me as I look back. How far the great 
 calamity of that autumn has to do with darkening 
 the whole year in my memory into a valley of the 
 shadow of death, it is hard to say. 
 
 The clouds gathered and gathered again, thick
 
 V.V BOTH SIDES OF THE bEA. 
 
 3»7 
 
 and dark throughout the year, over the Cominou- 
 wealth and over the Protector's household. 
 
 The prophets of doom saw sorrows enough break 
 on Oliver's head to satisfy them that their predic- 
 tions were just. 
 
 On February the 4th, his last Parliament was 
 dissolved, with words which seem to me noble and 
 mournful as any with which a great man ever 
 uttered his grief that his people would not under- 
 stand him, and that he had to tread his way alone. 
 
 A fortnight before he had opened it with words 
 of stern warning, yet of hope : — " I look upon this 
 to be the great duty of my place," he had said, 
 " as being set on a watch-tower to see what may be 
 for the good of these nations, and what may be for 
 the preventing of evil." Then warning them of 
 the dangers which environed England and the 
 Protestant nations, he said, — " You have accounted 
 yourselves happy in being environed with a great 
 ditch from all the world beside. Truly you will 
 not be able to keep your ditch, nor your shipping, 
 unless you fight to defend yourselves. If you shall 
 think this is a time of sleep and ease and rest, — we 
 may discourse of all things at pleasure, there is no 
 danger, — I have this comfort to Godward; I have 
 told you of it." 
 
 And now the warnings were fulfilled, the hope 
 had vanished, and with stern voice he said; — 
 
 " I had very comfortable expectations that God 
 
 would make the meeting of this Parliament a bless 
 
 ing. That which brought me into the capacity 1 
 
 now stand in was the petition and advice given me 
 
 37*
 
 ji8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 by you. There is not a man living can say I sought 
 it ; not a man nor woman treading upon English 
 ground. 
 
 " 1 can say in the presence of* (rod — in compari- 
 son with whom we are but like poor creeping ants 
 upon the earth — I would have been glad to have 
 lived under my woodside, to have kept a flock of 
 Bkeep." " I thought I had been doing that whicl 
 was my duty, and thought it would have satisfied 
 you. But if everything must be too high or loo low, 
 you are not to be satisfied." (Theologies puffed up 
 too high on airy heights, above plain " virtue and 
 honesty, justice, piety," and all the sober work of 
 men ; disorders plunging too low.) " Yet you have 
 not only disjointed yourselves, but the whole na- 
 tion ; which is in likelihood of running into more 
 confusion in these fifteen or sixteen days that you 
 have sate, than it hath been from the rising of the 
 session to this day ; that some men may rule all ! 
 And they are endeavouring to engage the army to 
 carry that thing ! 
 
 " These things tend to nothing but the playing 
 of the King of Scots' game (if I may so call him), 
 and 1 think myself bound before God to do what I 
 ean to prevent it. 
 
 " The King of Scots hath an army ready to be 
 shipped for England ; and while this is doing, there 
 are endeavours from some who are not far from this 
 place, to stir up the people of this town into a 
 turn ulting. Some of you have been listing persons 
 by commission of Charles Stuart. And if this bo 
 the end of your sitting, and this be your carriage.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 31 9 
 
 I think it high time an end should be put to your 
 sitting. And I do dissolve this Parliament. And 
 let God be Judge between you and me." 
 
 The Protector, at least, was not afraid to appeal 
 to the highest tribunal. Royalists, Quakers, Fifth- 
 Monarchy men, good men of various kinds, threat- 
 ened him with the judgment of that bar as a ter- 
 ror. He invoked it as a refuge. 
 
 So his last Parliament went its way, leaving hira 
 to bear the whole burden alone for the rest of the 
 journey. It was not long. Six months, and he 
 should stand at the tribunal to which he had ap- 
 pealed. He had appealed to the Highest ; to the 
 Highest he was to go. 
 
 The blows of death fell thick on those he loved ; 
 — on the few who steadfastly trusted and honoured 
 him. In the August before, Blake had died, the 
 sea hero, coming home from his victories. He had 
 died off Plymouth, in sight of shore! 
 
 Could we have seen it, the Protector also was in 
 sight of shore ; the shore he longed for, and did not 
 fail to reach. 
 
 In February one of his young daughters was 
 widowed, the Lady Frances, bereaved in the first 
 year of their marriage of her husband, young 
 Mr. Rich, a widow at seventeen. 
 
 In April died the good Earl of Warwick, one of 
 the noblemen who had honoured Oliver from the 
 first ; Mr. Rich's grandfather. 
 
 In July and early August the shadow drew closer 
 The Lady Claypole — his dearest daughter Betty- 
 lay sorely smitten at Hampton Court.
 
 j 20 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE L'EA. 
 
 The tumults aiound the palace and the kingdom, 
 for the time, must have seemed faint, far-off eohoei 
 to the father's heart, compared with the sufferings 
 and fears of the sick-chamber, where his daughter 
 lav dying. 
 
 at •/ O 
 
 Yet these were not few. 
 
 General Lambert, his old friend and comrade, 
 plotting to throw him out of one of the windows 
 of Whitehall, under pretence of presenting a peti- 
 tion ; " knowing," Roger said, "how open the brave 
 heart which no treachery could make suspicious, 
 was to cries for redress of wrong." 
 
 Colonel Hutchinson, Independent and Repub- 
 lican, also his old friend and comrade, while warn- 
 ing him of this plot, piercing his heart, belike, 
 deeper than the assassin's knife by deeming the 
 " affection " and trusting words and tears with 
 v/hich the Protector thanked him (almost beseech- 
 ing the return of the old friendship) mere "arts" 
 and " fair courtship." 
 
 The Presbyterians coldly holding off from him, or 
 persistently conspiring with the Cavaliers. 
 
 Lord Ormond in London in disguise, organizing 
 a Royalist insurrection. 
 
 The tract, " Killing no Murder," warning him 
 that "the muster-roll" of those who thought it 
 doing God service to kill him, was " longer than lie 
 coull count," and some of them "among his own 
 friends." 
 
 Fifth-Monarchy men raising the standard of the 
 " Lion of the tribe of Judah," against what thej 
 called his tyranny.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 3* 
 
 George Fox and the Quakers, in awful letters 
 of denunciation, " laying on him the weight " of 
 all the persecution of the Friends throughout Eng- 
 land, inflicted under the authority of his name, 
 although, as far as I know, never by his order. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy wrote that deliverance must be at 
 hand, for she understood that a " synagogue of 
 Portuguese Jews had been suffered to pollute the 
 land by celebrating publicly their anti-Christian 
 rites in London." 
 
 Annis Nye said little. " But Thomas Oldham, 
 Margaret Fell, George Fox, and Edward Burrough 
 have warned Oliver," she observed, " that if he 
 listen to lies against the innocent, and fail to re- 
 lease the Friends from prison, God will suddenly 
 smite him, and that without remedy." 
 
 " Not so easy, Mistress Annis," replied Job, " for 
 a mortal man, protector or king, to know what are 
 lies, and who are the innocent, nor to set all the 
 wrongs right in a day. Not so easy it seems, 
 even for the Almighty, who has been ruling all 
 these ages. I thought once it could be done all in 
 a day. But I had to learn otherwise, and so wilt 
 thou. Seems to me one half of the godly grumble 
 at the Protector because they think he wants to bo 
 almighty, and the other because they want him to 
 be all-seeing and all-present." 
 
 Mcanwdiile, the ambassadors of all rations 
 thronged to pay homage to the man who ma le 
 all men honour England, whether she honoured 
 him or not. Through those summer months after 
 th-i victory and capture of Dunkirk, the street*
 
 322 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 were brave with coaches of arnbassadjrs and 
 princes, from Fraj ce, Denmark, Austria, and thf 
 ends of the earth. 
 
 The strong hand was still on the helm, the cleai 
 strong eyes were still on the waves and stars, keep- 
 ing watch for England, whether she acknowledged 
 it or not. 
 
 No man saw the hand relax its grasp, or th« 
 eyes waver from their purpose, for all the noise and 
 clamour, or the aiming at his life. He saw all, and 
 calmly put aside the danger when too near; but 
 never turned from his steadfast watch, steadfastly 
 piloting the good ship on. 
 
 Until at last, for a brief season, the brave heart 
 gave way. His dearest child was dying ; and for 
 fourteen days the Lord Protector could attend to 
 nothing save the dying moans and tears of that 
 bed of anguish. For her death was slow, and ap- 
 proached through terrible pain, so that her anguish 
 was more than her father could bear to see. 
 
 George Fox wrote to her some words of warm 
 and tender sympathy : 
 
 " Be still and cool in thy own mind and spirit 
 from thy own thoughts, and be stayed in the princi- 
 ple of God in thee, that it ma^ raise thy mind up to 
 God, and stay it upon God, and find Him to be a 
 God at hand. The humble, God will teach His way. 
 The same light which lets you see sin and trans- 
 gression will let you see the convenant of God 
 which blots out your sin and transgression, which 
 gives victory and dominion over it. For looking 
 down at sin and corruption and desolation, ye are
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 323 
 
 swallowed up in it; but looking at the light which 
 discovers them, you will see over them : that ye 
 may feel the power of an endless life, the power of 
 God which is immortal; which brings the immortal 
 soul up to the immortal God, in whom it doth re- 
 joice. So, in the name and power of the Lord Jesus 
 C'arist, God Almighty strengthen thee." 
 
 Good words, though no new truth to the daugh- 
 ter of him who had written, years before, to Gen- 
 eral Fleetwood, his daughter Bridget's husband : 
 " Faith, as an act, yields not grace ; but only as it 
 leads to Him who is our perfect rest and peace." 
 But when they were read to the poor suffering lady, 
 she said they " stayed her mind." She had need of 
 all the stay that could be given. And her father 
 was not one to keep one word of comfort from her 
 fainting heart because he could have spoken it 
 better, or because it dropped from lips which had 
 denounced him. 
 
 On the 5th of August the long watch by the bed 
 of anguish in the mournful palace-chamber was over. 
 The weary body and spirit were at rest. The Lady 
 Elizabeth lay dead. 
 
 The Protector roused himself once more to take 
 up the burden of the State, which while she suf- 
 fered, he had been, for the first time, unable to bear. 
 Attempts at assassination, insurrections, had not 
 interrupted his work a day. But for fourteen days 
 even England was forgotten, as he watched the 
 slow death agonies of his child. 
 
 Now that she was dead, he arose and girded 
 himself once more for his warfare
 
 3:14 °' V B0TH SIDES OF TEE SEA. 
 
 Another fourteen days, and he could put lis an 
 mour off and lie down lor the long rest ! 
 
 The sources of his strength were not altogethei 
 hidden from us. We heard that a few days aftef 
 his daughter's death he called on one to read him 
 from the Bible the words : " Not that I speak in re- 
 spect of want : for I have learned, in whatsoever state 
 ram, therewith to be content. I know both how to be 
 abased, and I know how to abound: everywhere and in 
 all things I am instructed ^olh to be full and to be hun- 
 gry, both to abound and to suffer need. lean do all things 
 through Christ which strengtheneth me.'''' 
 
 " This Scripture did once save my life," he said, 
 " when ray eldest son died, which went as a dagger 
 to my heart, indeed it did." 
 
 " It's true, Paul," he went on, after a pause, " you 
 have learned this, and attained to this measure of 
 grace, but what shall / do ? Ah, poor creature, it's 
 a hard lesson for me to take out. I find it so." 
 Then, looking on, he read aloud : " / can do all 
 things through Christ tvhich strengtheneth me;'''' aud 
 his heart seemed comforted, for he said : " He that 
 was Paul's Christ is my Christ too." 
 
 He was standing near the end of the ardrous 
 journey, though neither he nor any knew it; and 
 from the height he looked back over the many 
 battle-fields of his life ; from this last sorrow to that 
 first, to the grave of his first-born, and all the 
 promise buried with him in the quiet old chuich at 
 Felsted. 
 
 A day 01 two after George Fox met him, riding 
 it the head of his life-guard Oliver stopped and
 
 O J BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3^ 
 
 listened, and spoke to him about the sufferings 
 of Friends. Always so ready to listen to men he 
 believed good and true, denounce him as they 
 miaht ! And he bade George Fox come to his 
 house. But on the morrow when George went to 
 Hampton Court to wait on him, the physicians 
 deemed the Protector tco ill to see him, and the 
 Quaker went away and never saw him more. lie 
 thought that he had felt a " waft of death" go forth 
 against the Protector when he met him at the head 
 of his jmard. It would be Ions: before Georsre Fox 
 found again one in king's palaces, lord of England, 
 and dread of Europe, who would " catch him by 
 the hand," as Oliver did, regardless of discourtesies 
 and denunciations, and say with tears in those 
 searching and commanding eyes, " Come again to 
 my house. If thou and I were but an hour of the 
 day together, we should be nearer one to the other. 
 I wish no more harm to thee than I do to my 
 own soul." 
 
 Perhaps as George went away from the door so 
 freely opened to him, the memory of these wel- 
 comes and farewells came back to him. And lie 
 may have thought thit in prophesying death to 
 the Protector, he and his Friends had uttered 
 rather a promise than a threat. But I know not. 
 
 On Friday, the 20th of August, uneasy rumours 
 began to spread of his Highness's sickness. On 
 the following Tuesday, the 24th, the symptoms 
 were worse. It was tertian ague, and the doctors 
 had him removed to "Whitehall for drier air. 
 
 The anxiety in the city grew speechless; brief 
 28
 
 326 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 questions to any who knew of his state; brief un- 
 satisfying answers. And then prayers, fervent, fre- 
 quent, constant, in churches, in cathedrals, in 
 palaces, m homes; from Owen and Goodwin in a 
 a room at Whitehall adjoining that in which the 
 Protector lay. Prayers so fervent, that those who 
 poured them forth from hearts made eloquent by 
 hope and fear, mistook this inward glow for a res- 
 ponsive divine fire, and assured others that their 
 offerings were accepted, that their petitions would 
 be granted, and the precious life be spared to 
 England yet. 
 
 IJut through all those days Roger, who had re- 
 turned from France, spoke scarce a word, save in 
 answer to our questions about his Highness's 
 health, when he came from the palace. He looked 
 •Dale as death himself, and well-nigh as rigid. The 
 longings in his heart for Oliver's life were so fervent 
 that to himself his own prayers and those of other 
 men seemed in comparison as if struck with a death 
 chill. " I cannot pray, Olive," he said to me once. 
 " When I look up to heaven I seem to see nothing 
 hut a great silent, stately Company, making a path 
 between them for him, straight to the Throne, and 
 waiting to see him pass." 
 
 Once when coming from a place where ma iy had 
 met in prayer, broken by tears and sobs, I said to 
 Roger: "'Surely God only suffers this to show 
 England what he is. The people begin to, under- 
 stand him now ! They will never forget !" 
 
 " They begin to understand now," he said. 
 " Wayward children do begin to understand mai>y 
 thinsjs by a father's death-bed."
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 3*7 
 
 The word fell from his lips like a tilling hell. 1 
 knew well he could not have littered it if he had 
 felt any hope. 
 
 Annis Nye was quieter than even her wont, and 
 very gentle, during those days. Once having heard 
 how his Highness' " spirit was stayed," she said a 
 thing which drew my heart to her very closely. 
 
 " May be the words of the Friends Tare being fid- 
 filled otherwise than we looked. May be the angel 
 is smiting, not Oliver, but only the fetters, and the 
 prison doors to set him free." 
 
 Roger brought us word from time to time of 
 sacred words from the sick-chamber. 
 
 "The Covenants Mere two — Two put into One 
 before the foundation of the world." 
 
 " It is holy and true — it is holy and true — it is 
 holy and true! Who made it holy and true? The 
 Mediator of the Covenant." 
 
 " The Covenant is but one. Faith in the Cove- 
 nant is my support. And if I believe not, He abides 
 faithful." 
 
 Solemn, slow, broken utterances, not to man, but 
 to God. 
 
 And then to his wife and children weeping by 
 b's bedside — 
 
 " Love not the world. I say unto you it is not 
 good that you should love this world." 
 
 It was becoming " this" world, no longer "the" 
 world to him ; but one of two worlds. For a little 
 while longer (his world to him, soon to be u ihat 
 world" still surging in tumult below, where ha 
 had fiHitrht the ijood fi<jd t which is now over for .ner
 
 328 ON BOTH SIDLS OF THE SEA. 
 
 "Children, live like Christians; I leave you the 
 Covenant to feed upon." 
 
 Then (belike passing through a chaos of dark- 
 ness and doubt, such as seems to edffe round and 
 usher in every fresh creation of light), "three times 
 with great weight and vehemency of spirit" — 
 
 "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the 
 living God." 
 
 And afterwards (the light beyond the darkness 
 being reached) — 
 
 " All the promises of God are in Him, yea and in 
 Him, Amen, to the glory of God by us — by us — iu 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 " The Lord hath filled me with as much assurance 
 of His favour and His love as my soul can hold." 
 
 " I think I am the poorest wretch that lives ; but 
 I love God, or rather, am beloved of God." 
 
 "I am a conqueror, and more than a conqueror 
 through Christ that strengtheneth me." 
 
 So through the weary days and nights he passed, 
 nearer and nearer to the end, the tumult in men's 
 hearts growing deeper, when on the Monday the 
 30th of August, the fearful storm of wind which 
 none who heard can ever forget ra^ed over the land, 
 as if it were over the sea ; beating back carriages 
 on the roads, as if they had been boats on the 
 rivers ; raging, wailing, rending, destroying, as if 
 the angels who held the "four winds of the earth" 
 had relaxed their hold, and set the wild creatures 
 ill free together. 
 
 But to us who loved Oliver and the Common- 
 wealth, that tempest seemed but the simple and
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE iiEA. 329 
 
 natural accompaniment to the tumult in our souls, 
 a response to the storms in men's hearts ; simply a 
 fitting dirge to the life that went out with it. 
 
 And meantime, through the storm, his Highness 
 was praying thus : — 
 
 " Lord, though I am a miserable and wretched 
 sinner, I am in covenant with Thee through grace. 
 And I may, T will, come to Thee for Thy people. 
 Thou has made me, though very unworthy, a mean 
 instrument to do them some good, and Thee some 
 service ; and many of them have set too high a 
 value upon me, though others wish and would be 
 glad of my death. Lord, however Thou do dispose 
 of me, continue to go on and do good for them. 
 Give them consistency of judgment, one heart, and 
 mutual love ; and go on to deliver them, and with 
 the work of reformation ; and make the name of 
 Christ glorious in the world. Teach those who look 
 too much on Thy instruments to depend more upon 
 Thyself. Pardon such as desire to trample on the 
 dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people too. 
 And pardon the folly of this short prayer. Even 
 for Jesus Christ's sake. And give us a good night 
 if it be Thy pleasure. Amen." 
 
 lie knew it, then, and he had felt it ; it had pierced 
 his heart, that those he deemed good men shouli 
 mistrust him, and be glad that he should die 
 That arrow had gone home, yet with the barb 111 
 his heart it could not make him think evil of those 
 that launched it, nor leave them out of his prayers 
 
 The last night came. It was the 2nd of Septem- 
 ber, the eve of his day of victory, the day <>C Ida 
 "crowning mercy," a Thanksgiving Day in England
 
 33© ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 since the battle of Worcester. The -voice was low 
 now, and the words not always to he understood. 
 
 " Surely God is good. He is — He will not — " 
 
 And often again and again, " with cheerfulness 
 and fervour in the midst of his pains." — 
 
 " God is good." 
 
 This was the key-note to which " all along " hii 
 other tones kept recurring — 
 
 "Truly God is good — indeed He is." 
 
 " I could be willing to live to be further service- 
 able to God and His people. But my work is done. 
 Yet God will be with His people." 
 
 Through the night much restlessness, yet much 
 inward rest. Broken words of holy consolation and 
 peace, "self annihilating" words, words of kingly 
 care for England, and God's cause there ; these 
 among the very last. 
 
 Some drink being offered to him, with an en- 
 treaty to try to sleep, he answered — 
 
 " It is not my design to drink or sleep ; but my 
 design is to make what haste I can to be gone." 
 
 And on the morrow he had fallen asleep, and was 
 gone. 
 
 Amongst us who wee left behind, the Thanks- 
 giving Day was turned into weeping. But his long 
 day of thanksgiving had begun. The long night oi 
 his faithful watching of the wars and storms for 
 England was over; the clear eye, the steady hand, 
 were gone from the helm. The day of victory, and 
 rest, and coronation, had dawned for him at last. 
 For, as his chaplain Mr. John Howe, said : 
 " The greatest enemy we have in the world can- 
 not do us the despite *o keep us from dying."
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 NOTES BY MAGDALENE ANTONY. 
 
 HE first public event of which I have anj 
 recollection, or rather the first time J can 
 clearly recollect having a glimpse be- 
 yond our own little world in London 
 and Netherby, was one warm evening in August, 
 1658. 
 
 My mother was coming home with me and Dolly 
 from the house of Mr. John Milton in Bird-Case 
 Walk, past Whitehall, when we noticed many peo- 
 ple clustering like bees around the doors of the pal- 
 ace ; and I remember my mother lifting up her 
 finger, and saying to Dolly and me, who were dis- 
 cussing some of our small affairs eagerly : — 
 
 "Hush, children, the Protector is there, in sore 
 sickness." 
 
 And then I remember noticing that the groups of 
 people through which we were passing were iU 
 speaking low and walking softly, as people do in 
 sick-chambers, and every now and then looking up 
 anxiously to the palace-windows. 
 
 I recollect a hush and awe creeping over me, and 
 a guilty feeling, as if Dolly and I had been chidden 
 for talking in church. 
 
 (331)
 
 332 ON BOTH SID US OF THE SEA. 
 
 And all spoke in murmurs, and no one said any 
 tiling I could hear distinctly, until, as we were 'eav 
 ing the space in front of the palace, from the lasst 
 point at which we could see the windows, my 
 mother turned back to look. It happened that, at 
 that moment two men were standing close to us. 
 and one pointed to the palace, and said: ' ; It waa 
 there ! the murderers set up the black scaffold there, 
 just under those windows. I see it now; and so, 
 I trow, does the murderer on his sick-bed inside. 
 And so will more than one when the black pall 
 comes out at those doors. The day of vengeance 
 always comes at last." 
 
 The words went through me like a shudder. They 
 were spoken in a deep hissing whisper, more like 
 the gnashing of teeth than speaking. 
 
 I did not venture to tell my mother of them. I 
 did not know if she had heard them. I never told 
 anyone of them. They lay seething and working 
 in my brain, as so many perplexities do in children's 
 minds — halt-shaped, half-shapeless, altogether voice- 
 less, like ghosts waiting to be born — and tormented 
 me greatly. 
 
 For in a few days the terrible black train did 
 leave those palace-doors. My mother took us to see 
 it. And my mother wept, and Aunt Gretel, which 
 was not so wonderful, because Aunt Gretel would 
 weep as easily at anything that moved her as we, 
 children. But my father wept, and even Uncle 
 Koger ; and Annis, the nurse, was stiller than jver. 
 And there was great silence and quiet wet ping 
 among the people as the black train passed froi a th«
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 333 
 
 Palace to the Abbey. It was a great day of mourn- 
 ing ; and my father told us we must never forget 
 it. For all the people of England, said he, that 
 day had lost their best friend. But all the time I 
 could not get it out of my 1 ead that somebody had 
 called him a murderer, and had called this day of 
 mourning a day of vengeance. 
 
 It puzzled me exceedingly, more especially as Dr. 
 Rich, the quiet clergyman who lived in the little 
 house at the end of our garden, and Austin his son, 
 our playfellow, would not, I knew, have anything 
 to do with the procession ; and, indeed, would never 
 call the Protector anything but Mr. Cromwell. And 
 Annis, our nurse, never called him anything but 
 Oliver Cromwell (although in her that was not 
 remarkable, since she called even our father and 
 mother Leonard and Olive) ; and I had heard her 
 say often, no man was to be called a " Protector'' 
 who let hundreds of poor Friends languish in prison. 
 Also Aunt Dorothy, I knew, would not come to stay 
 v. ; th us on account of something that had to do 
 with the Protector. All which things made a groat 
 tumult and chaos iu my brain. 
 
 But I must confess that the result was, that we 
 grew up with a great tenderness for the Royalist 
 side. 
 
 There was little in the shows and titles of the 
 Commonwealth to enkindle the imaginations of 
 children. 
 
 In all the fairy tales and romaunts and poems wo 
 knew, there was no -such prosaical title as Lord Pro- 
 Uvtor. Indeed, we agreed that the Bible history
 
 3 34 °X BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 itself became much more interesting after the j ldge* 
 were changed into kings, however wrong it might 
 have, been of the Jews to wish for the change. We 
 felt that the threat of his taking our "sons" to be 
 his horsemen and charioteers, and our "daughters" 
 to be his cooks and confectionaries, would certainly 
 not have deterred us from demanding a king. We 
 thought it would be undoubtedly more glorious to 
 be my Lady Confectionary to a queen, or my Lord 
 Charioteer to a king, than to be anything in the 
 sober untitled train of a protector. Queen Esther 
 was to us a far more romantic personage than Debo- 
 rah, who was only a mother in Israel. And on Sun- 
 days, when the sermons were very long and we were 
 allowed to read the Bible to keep us from going 
 to sleep, we found great solace in expatiating upon 
 Shushan the palace, among the courts of the gardens 
 with mysterious splendours of fine linen and purple 
 — beds of gold and silver — pavement of red, blue, 
 white, and black marble — silver rings and pillars 
 of marble, between which were to be caught 
 glimpses of fair ladies in robes fragrant with per- 
 fumes — of a crown royal and a golden sceptre. 
 
 But besides these enchantments for our earthly 
 imaginations, the Royalist cause, as expounded to 
 us by Austin Rich and his brothers, laid hold on 
 our hearts by the irresistible charm of suffering 
 majesty. Over the story of the young orjman Prin- 
 cess Elizabeth, dying in the castle where her father 
 had been imprisoned, with her head pillowed on the 
 Bible she loved, we wept many tears. The young 
 Duke of Gloucester, who had declared to the king
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 335 
 
 just before his execution that he would let them 
 tear him in pieces rather than accept his brc ther's 
 throne, was one of our earliest heroes. 
 
 And, above all, the name of King Charles was 
 sacred to us. Our mother always spoke of him with 
 a tender respect. We knew how he had worn the 
 portrait of the queen his wife next his heart, and 
 only parted with it with his life. We thought it 
 quite natural that Archbishop Usher, seeing from 
 the roof of Lady Peterborough's house the king's 
 coat laid aside and his hair bound up for the fatal 
 stroke, should have been able to see no more, but 
 been led fainting away. Moreover, Austin Rich had 
 sundry pathetic stories of Episcopal clergymen plun- 
 dered, and their parsonages pillaged by Parliament 
 troopers, because they would not deny the king 01 
 refuse to pray for him. 
 
 So that we were quite prepared to welcome the 
 next great public event which made an impression 
 on us after the funeral of the Protector. This was 
 the entry of King Charles II. into London. A king 
 was actually coming through our streets ! Our frinc/ ; 
 who had passed his youth in exile ! He was com- 
 ing to be crowned in the Abbey, and to reign over 
 us. And if a king, then of course the queen would 
 come, and princes, and princesses, with all the spier 1- 
 ours belon<_nmi to them. 
 
 We were sorry our kindred did not seem quite 
 happy about it. But we had 1 aen told to speak re- 
 spectfully of the king, and we had heard the minis- 
 ter in one of the churches pray for him. So that, on 
 the whole, Dolly and I came to the conclusion that it
 
 336 ON BOTH SIDES Oh TIIR SEA. 
 
 would not be very wrong for us to enjoy the mag 
 niticence as much as we certainly did. Especially 
 as Aunt Dorothy (who, our mother told us, was as 
 good as Aunt Gretel, and Aunt Gretel we well knew 
 was better than any one else) was coming to town 
 for nothing else but to see the face of His Majesty 
 and do him honour. 
 
 The previous festivities had excited our expecta« 
 tions to a high pitch. There had been heralds, in 
 coats of many colours, proclaiming the king at dif- 
 ferent places in the streets ; and crowds shouting, 
 " The king, God bless him !" and bells breaking 
 out into peals of joy ; and bonfires — we could count 
 thirty one evening from our upper windows — along 
 the high road from Westminster to the City, in the 
 streets, on the bridges, by the water-side. 
 
 So at last the great festival came. Banners hid- 
 den for years waving from the windows all down 
 the streets ; fountains flowing with wine ; bells 
 clashing all together in sudden peals, as if they 
 had gone wild for joy ; and all the people as mad 
 for joy as the bells— some shouting, some weeping ; 
 strangers greeting each other like old friends. And 
 such dresses ! Old Cavalier wardrobes brought to 
 light again ; and some ladies and gentlemen in the 
 new French fashions, with dresses gilded, slashed, 
 tasseled, plumed, laced ; every one trying to show 
 their loyalty by going as far from the old Puritan 
 plainness as possible, in materials as rich as could 
 be purchased, and of every colour of the rainbow. 
 We thought it almost as splendid as Shushan the 
 palace in the days of Esther the queen. Trumpets,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SNA. 337 
 
 bolls, drums, songs, wild shouts ; colour and musio 
 everywhere, May-day everywhere, — in dresses, in 
 banners, in the budding trees, in the blue skies ; all 
 the city, all the world seemed to us gone wild with 
 
 joy- 
 
 And Aunt Dorothy, the soberest and gravest oi 
 all our kindred, as wild as any one ; crying out, 
 " The king, God bless him !" kissing Dolly and me 
 again and again in a way which surprised us exceed 
 ingly, as we "were not aware of having done any 
 thing remarkably good ; and even at bed-time the 
 caresses exchanged between us usually went no 
 further than our courtesying and kissing her hand, 
 and being told to be good children. 
 
 And then the king ! 
 
 On horseback, as a kino; should be ; in gorgeous 
 appare', nmiling and bowing right and left, as if he 
 felt we were all friends ; acknowledging every cour- 
 tesy with the easy grace natural to him. 
 
 And as he passed by, Aunt Dorothy actually sank 
 down on one knee and clasped her hands as if in 
 prayer, while the tears streamed over her face ; and 
 we thought we heard her murmur, " Lord, now let 
 thy servant depart in peace." For she told us the 
 salvation of England had come. 
 
 So the king went on to his palace ; and the loyal 
 lords and ladies followed him in their coaches, bril- 
 liant with jewels and smiles. And Aunt Dorothy, 
 Dolly, and I looked on, when suddenly, while the 
 procession was pausing for a minute, one of the 
 loveliest of the ladies turned towards us ; and when 
 ehe saw Aunt Dorothy, her face, which was graver 
 29
 
 538 ON BOTH SIhSS OF THE SEA. 
 
 and paler than most of those in that gay company 
 broke into smiles and into a sudden glow; and she 
 seemed looking on beyond lis, and then her eyes 
 came back and rested on ns again, a little sadly. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy exclaimed, — 
 
 " Lettice Davenant !" 
 
 And I looked, and loved her face at dice, and 
 yet wondered. For our mother had talked to ua 
 of her as the brightest creature in the world ; and 
 we had always pictured our loveliest fury princes- 
 ses as like what our mother had told us of Lettice 
 Davenant, with eyes like diamonds, and teeth like 
 pearls, and a colour like fresh roses, hihI a brilliant 
 changing lace, with a flash and play like precious 
 stones about it. 
 
 And now she sat there quietly dressed, unlike the 
 ladies round her ; bedecked with few jewels ; with 
 a sweet, calm face, rather like the good women in 
 New Testapnent pictures, than a princess in a fairy 
 tale. 
 
 So she also passed on, folio whig the king to the 
 palace. And the people rejoiced, and sang and 
 feasted far into the niffht. 
 
 We were wakened from our first sleep by sounds 
 of revelry and wild son^s echoing through the 
 streets. Strange sounds to us. 
 
 We crept close to each other, Dolly and I; and 
 I said, " Dolly, do you think it was as good as the 
 Book of Esther ?" 
 
 But Dolly confessed to being a little disappointed, 
 The king in the fairy tales was so different from 
 othei people, she said ; you always knew him from
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 339 
 
 any one else, even when he was dressed like a beg* 
 gar. How, she could not quite tell ; perhaps his 
 face actually shone, and his clothes, instead of being 
 only shone upon, like other people's. 
 
 But our king was dressed like a king in a fairy 
 tale, there was nothing to complain of in that ; and 
 yet, if Aunt Dorothy had not told us, we might 
 not have known him from the gentlemen with hirm 
 We agreed that it would be convenient, since the 
 faces of real kings did not shine, that they should 
 always wear crowns. Otherwise one might make 
 mistakes, which would be such a pity. 
 
 Perhaps, when our king was crowned, however, 
 it would be all right. 
 
 But we concluded that it certainly was a very 
 delightful thing to have a king of our own, whether 
 his face shone, or whether he was a head and should- 
 ers taller than other men, or not. It made every 
 one dress so beautifully, and seem so glad, and set 
 all the bells and trumpets going so gloriously. And 
 we hoped veiy soon there would come also the queen, 
 and the princes and princesses. 
 
 And then the world Mould be something like 
 fairy-land indeed. Our father and mother, and 
 Uncle Roger, and all the good people, would of 
 course be rewarded, and made happy all the rest 
 of their days, Avhen our king found them out, as he 
 would be sure to do in time. Of course, they were 
 not expecting to be rewarded. On the contrary, 
 they would be exceedingly surprised when the king 
 found them out, and embraced them, and made them 
 B:t on his right hand. The good people in the fairy
 
 j 4 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 tales always were. But there was sure to be m 
 mistake in the end. The good people always had 
 their due when the true prince came. And it was 
 tot to be thought of that England was to be worse 
 governed than a kingdom in fairy-land. 
 
 The next week Ave were still more satisfied that 
 we had entered on this fairy world. For as Isaac, 
 Dolly, and I were passing "Westminster Abbey, we 
 heard an unwonted sound issuing from it, and crept 
 in to listen. Then, for the first time, we heard the 
 orsran, with the chant of the choristers. But we 
 no more thought of its being an earthly instrument, 
 made of wood and metal, than of the golden streets 
 of the New Jerusalem being made of gold like one 
 of our coins. 
 
 The wonderful sounds rolled up and down tho 
 aisles, and wound in and out among the arches, 
 and wreathed the old stone pillars, and seemed to 
 lose themselves in far-off shrines and mysterious 
 endless recesses like those in a forest, and then to 
 come back again changed and intertwined with 
 earlier echoes to mingle with the new tides of music 
 that kept streaming forth ; until we found that all 
 the while the wondrous tones had seemed wander- 
 ing at their own sweet will, they had been building 
 a temple within the temple — a temple of melody 
 within the temple of stone. And the Abbey was 
 no more a sculptured edifice, out a living body with 
 a living soul. And when this temple was built, 
 angels came and sang in it — voices such as we had 
 uever heard on earth — clear as bells, and free a»
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ^ 
 
 winds, without a touch of the struggle and sadness 
 in them which common human voices have. 
 
 Thus Isaac, Dolly, and I walked home, with the 
 gates of paradise all open around us. 
 
 The next morning we crept out again to listen if 
 these heavenly gates were open still. 
 
 But on our way we met a noisy, riotous crowd 
 dragging along a hear which was to he haited in 
 the Spring Gardens. Isaac said " baiting " meant 
 that it was to be torn in pieces by dogs for the 
 amusement of the people, after killing and gashing 
 as many dogs as it could, meantime, in its own de- 
 fence. This was an amusement which the Protector 
 had not permitted. The thought of it closed the 
 gates of paradise to me, at least for that day. 
 
 olive's recollections. 
 
 They laid him in the Abbey among the kings. 
 
 For two years the dust of Tudors and Planta- 
 genets was honoured (so Roger thought) by the 
 neighbourhood of the mortal part of the man w T ho 
 had served England as any of her kings might bav. 
 been proud to have served her — had loved her, aa 
 we believe, more than home or life, or even the 
 esteem of good men — had made her greater than 
 any king or prince had ever made her, from Alfred 
 to the Elizabeth whom he called " that great queen." 
 
 And then, in the September after the Restoration, 
 (by order of the king who sold Dunkirk to the 
 French, and spent the money like the prodigal in 
 the parable), the noble dust was taken out of ita 
 resting-place, with the remains of the aged mother, 
 20*
 
 ?4 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 and that daughter, Elizabeth Claypole, whom the 
 Protector had loved so dearly ; and of Blake, the 
 great admiral, who had made the name of England 
 a renown from the shores of Italy and Algiers to 
 Tenerifl'e and the western islands of the Spanii-b 
 main, to be cast contemptuously into a pit in the 
 neighbouring chui'chyard of St. Margaret's. 
 
 I think, when he was gone, most good men in 
 England — at least most Puritan good men — felt 
 something was lost our generation was scarce likely 
 to recover. The Scottish ministers said that God's 
 goodness had marvellously caused true piety to 
 flourish more under this usurper than under her 
 rio-htful king;s ; " turning; bitter waters into sweet 
 by a miracle." And so thought Mr. Richard Bax- 
 ter ; acknowledging, moreover, that he believed the 
 Protector, misled as he had been, " meant well in 
 the main." 
 
 Good Mr. Philip Henry (who kept the day of the 
 late king's death as a fast day) wrote, that though 
 during the years between forty and sixty, "the 
 foundations were out of course, yet in the matter 
 of God's worship thing went well ; thei'e was free- 
 dom and reformation." 
 
 Mistress Lucy Hutchinson acknowledged that he 
 had much natural greatness, and well became the 
 place he had usurped, and that " his personal cour- 
 age and magnanimity upheld him against all ene- 
 mies and malcontents." And Mr. John Maidstone, 
 his faithful " gentleman and cofferer," wrote (when 
 nothing but dishonour could come to any for honour* 
 ing him) : " In the direst perils of the war, and th«
 
 AO BOTH SIDES OF THE S1A. 3+ , 
 
 high places of the field, hope shone in him like a 
 pillar of fire when it had gone out in others." And 
 he described him thus : "A body well compact and 
 strong ; his stature under six feet (I believe two 
 inches) ; his head so shaped as you might see it 
 both a storehouse and a shop " (full for every need, 
 ready for all occasions) ; " a vast treasury of natu- 
 ral parts ; his temper exceeding fiery (as I havo 
 known), but the flame of it kept down, for the most 
 part, or soon allayed, with those moral endowments 
 he had ; naturally compassionate towards objects 
 in distress, even to an effeminate measure, though 
 God had made in him a heart wherein was left little 
 room for fear. A larger sot//, I think, hath seldom 
 dwelt in a house of clay than his was." 
 
 But he was gone. And all the people in Eng- 
 land who thought they could govern England bet- 
 tor than he had governed her, were at liberty to try 
 
 They did try, for a little more than a year. And 
 at the end of that time the whole nation, distracted 
 to madness from end to end by the disorders they 
 brought about, threw itself at the feet of Charles 
 the Second, in a frenzy of loyalty, without coudi 
 tions, simply entreating, like a child wearied with 
 its own wilfulness, to be forgiven and governed and 
 kept quiet, yielding every precious right — the fruit 
 of our forefathers 1 blood and toil — into his hands, 
 content, if he had been strong, to be made as ser 
 vile as he pleased ; ready, alas, he being not strong 
 but weak and profligate, to be made as base as (for 
 the time) he could and did make it. 
 
 " Such," said Roger, " was the Aceldama from 
 which that strong faithful arm had saved us."
 
 34 j ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ''Such," sighed my father, "was tne en. I of th« 
 most beneficent of despotisms that could not be im- 
 mortal." 
 
 Roger never ceased, during the few months of 
 the Commonwealth, to do all he could to carry out 
 what he believed would have been the Lord Pro- 
 tector's wish, doing nis utmost to serve my Lord 
 Richard, the new Protector, and, after his resigna- 
 tion, to keep order and discipline in the army. But 
 he worked with little hope. During all the times 
 of trial before or since, I never saw him so down- 
 east and desponding as then. 
 
 When once the Restoration came his spirits seemed, 
 strangely, to rise again. 
 
 He had done his best; and the worst had come. 
 The hopeless struggle without a chief was over, and 
 henceforth he, and those who thought with him, 
 must gird on a new courage, not to contend but to 
 endure. I well remember how, on the evening of 
 the day of the king's entry into London, he came 
 into our parlour, and unlaced his helmet, and quietly 
 ungirding his sword, laid it on a shelf behind the 
 great Family Bible. 
 
 lie said nothing, but the action spoke ; and we 
 understood, and also said nothing. 
 
 Then he left the room, and after a time came down, 
 with every vestige of the old armour of the Iron- 
 sides gone, in the plain dress of a Puritan gentle- 
 man, and sitting down, he took Maidie on his knee, 
 and began to talk to her cheerily 
 
 It oveicame me altogether to see him so, for I 
 Knew it meant that he had given up all hope foi 
 himself, and well-nigh for England, and the fer%n
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3^ 
 
 fell fast on my sewing. He saw them, and gently 
 setting Maidie down, he came and sat down close 
 by me, and said, — 
 
 " Let us thank God, Olive. The old army has 
 been true to itself, and to him who made it what it 
 was, to the last. 
 
 " We were gathered on Black Heath to-day, thirty 
 thousand of us ; enough to have swept the king and 
 his courtiers, and London and its citizens, into the 
 Thames. We had done more than that before, I 
 think, with fewer of us. And we know, most of 
 us, that this day is as our last; the last of the old 
 army he made. Many of us see nothing left to fight 
 for, and will go back quietly to farm and home, to 
 honest toil and trade, that is, if they will let us ; for 
 there are not a few of us that look for a halter rather 
 than a home when the king enjoys his own again 
 in security. They will hardly trust us together in 
 force again. The discipline which won Naseby and 
 gained Dunbar never wavered. But we let the 
 royal party pass quietly, as if the Lord General had 
 given the word of command. And that, I think, is 
 something to give thanks for. It would not have 
 been well to tarnish his memory by disorders he 
 would have reproved." 
 
 After that, the great army of the Commonwealth 
 died away, as Roger had expected, and was heard 
 of no more, except when aged yeomen and trades- 
 men, on village greens and in city homes, now and 
 then enkindled, as they spoke to each other of Nase- 
 by, Dunbar, Worcester, and Dunkirk, into an en- 
 thusiasm strange to the next generation, who haJ
 
 346 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 only known them peacefully labouring in the field 
 the workshop, or at the forge. 
 
 But the bones of the Protector had not yet reached 
 their las 4 resting-place. On the 3rd of January 1661 
 the anniversary of the " martyrdom of His Sacred 
 Majesty" eleven years before, the body of the " great 
 prince " was once more disinterred, with that of 
 Bradshaw, hanged throughout the day on a gibbet 
 at Tyburn, and at night thrown like that of a dog 
 into a pit at the foot of the gallows. 
 
 It was a marvellous proof of the just judgments 
 of God, some of the Royalists thought, slow but sure. 
 
 Roger only said, when he could speak of it all, 
 which was not for long, "' After that, have no more 
 that they can do.' They have done the worst. And 
 how little it is, that even the basest vengeance could 
 add to the dishonour of the dust, and the worm, 
 which awaits what is mortal of us all ! The dis- 
 tance between Tyburn and the royal tombs in the 
 Abbey is little indeed, measured from heaven. Nor 
 will it take longer time from the one than from the 
 other to hear the trumpet when it sounds, and to 
 obey its summons." 
 
 " But England is dishonoured by the deed." 
 
 " I think not," he replied ; " or not chiefly by that 
 deed. The men of England may be dishonoured 
 that they did not acknowledge him living. But no 
 grave in England can dishonour him dead, or can 
 take his dust from the faithful kef ping of his native 
 earth ; nor, I think, can all men may do keep the 
 day from coming when England shall feel that not 
 oue spot only, but every inch of English earth ii
 
 OX hOTH SILES OF THE SEA. 
 
 347 
 
 made more sacred by Lis feet having trodden it, 
 and by his dust bein^ mingled with it." 
 
 Little indeed can human vengeance add to the 
 dishonour of death, when once death is past. 
 
 But alas, on this side, how much is possible to 
 human cruelty ! 
 
 As victim after victim proved, led forth to the 
 ignominy and the protracted anguish of the traitor's 
 death, patiently giving up their souls to God amidst 
 such agonies as the torturer's knife could inflict. 
 
 Some were in the prime of life and strong to feel ; 
 others aged and weak to bear. But I never heard 
 that any of the ten who so suffered dishonoured 
 either themselves, what they deemed " the good old 
 cause," England, or the God who sustained them, 
 by one unworthy word or moan. 
 
 The savage punishment of treason had never been 
 inflicted once during the Commonwealth. It waa 
 suffered eleven times in the first year after the Re- 
 storation. It came back with the May-poles, and 
 the beautiful coats of many colours, and courtly 
 manners. 
 
 The king was present at some of these executions. 
 He went from them to hear the beautiful heavenly 
 music in the Royal Chapel ; or to listen to other 
 music, not heavenly, in the palace. 
 
 But the people grew weary of this soon. It w:t> 
 feared that if these executions were too often repeated, 
 the minds of the Commonwealth might once more 
 become confused about the enormity of the crime, 
 illogically forgetting it in the enormity of the pun- 
 ishment And it was recommended they should
 
 ?4 .8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 not be continued ; at all events, not so near th« 
 royal residence. 
 
 But amidst all the restorations — which to ue 
 teemed not going forward and upward, but back- 
 ward and downward — there was one which brought 
 me some peaceful and hallowed hours. 
 
 It was the restoration of the old Liturgy. 
 
 There was comfort in creeping into some quiet 
 corner of the Abbey, or of the great churches .)f 
 the city, to join in the old familiar sacred words. 
 
 It was rest to kneel in silent adoration, and be 
 certain one's heart would not be turned aside from 
 lifting itself up to God, by any allusions to the 
 triumphs or the reverses, the wrongs or the re- 
 venges, of to-day. 
 
 It was joy, in the Te Deum, to lose sight of divi- 
 sions and factions, and with the glorious company 
 of apostles, the goodly fellowship of the prophets, 
 the noble army of martyrs, the holy Church through- 
 out all the world, to praise Him of the majesty of 
 whose glory all the earth is full. 
 
 It was strength to stand up, and say with the 
 Church of all ages and lands : " I believe in God, 
 the Father Almighty ; and In Jesus Christ, His 
 only Son, our Lord ; in the forgiveness of sins, in 
 the holy Catholic Church, and in the resurrection 
 from the dead." 
 
 To stand up above the graves, and under the 
 heavens, and say this to God ; in the words I used 
 in my childhood, and Lady Lucy, and so many ol 
 our holy dead all their lives, and the Church for so 
 many ages ; words which had outlived so mauj
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3^ 
 
 wars, and wftich flowed from calm depths so fai 
 beneath them all. 
 
 lettioe's diary. 
 
 " Davena:nt Hall, June 1660. — The country 
 seems in a delirium of delight to see us back again, 
 and to have a king once more. 
 
 " The Usurper, or the people who followed him, 
 must, one would think, have made England very- 
 wretched, that the restoration of her old state should 
 drive her well-nigh wild with joy. 
 
 " At Dover, where His Majesty landed, and all 
 along the road to London, sober men and women 
 knelt and sobbed out blessings on him ! Old men 
 thanked God they saw this day before they died ; 
 Mothers held up their children to look at him, that 
 they might be able to carry on to children and 
 grandchildren the tradition of this glorious day ! 
 
 "Arches of trinmph across the sober old streets ; 
 banners from the windows, mad huzzas from the 
 sober crowds, in whose costume tarnished relics of 
 old Cavalier gaieties struggled to kindle the Puri- 
 tan sobriety into colour. Oh, the thrill all through 
 the heart of the old English shout of welcome and 
 triumph, the old English cheer ! Xo wonder Mar- 
 shal Turenne asked what it meant at Dunkirk. 
 
 " Dear, sober, solid, silent old England, when she 
 goes wild, she does it with a will. Bells, bonfims ; 
 dumb, patient crowds waiting, well content, for 
 hours, just for the moment's sight and the moment's 
 shout of welcome. The attempts to utter this joy 
 in speeches and processions, so hopelessly stiff and 
 39
 
 350 ON BOTH SIDES OB THE SEA. 
 
 cluuisy and inadequate, that laughter and tears are 
 kept in close neighbourhood all the time, so delight* 
 fully inadequate to utter the welcome and delights 
 in the deep, dumb ocean of the nation's heart. 
 
 " So glad, so crazy with joy, to see us back again ! 
 Patient, blind, hopeful, wilful, loyal old mother of 
 us all ; and why ? 
 
 "Eleven years ago she" suffered her king to die on 
 the scaffold ; and this king, I think, is scarce like to 
 be better. 
 
 " It is strange to be made so much of as we are 
 by all the neighbours here. No one has been very 
 glad to have us for so many years. And now we 
 are all heroes and heroines, we who have been with 
 the king in his exile. They cannot hear enough of 
 what Ave did and suffered in foreign parts, and of 
 the bearing of the royal family in their adverse for- 
 tunes. 
 
 " And, in truth, we have come rather soon to the 
 end of what we like to say about His Majesty. 
 
 " Yet His Majesty also cannot fail but be swept 
 on with the joy and hope of the nation. 
 
 " Surely, surely the very welcome must be ennobl* 
 iug to hiin so welcomed. The very love and trust of 
 a whole people, such as this, must inspire His Majesty 
 to be worthy of the feeling he inspires ; must com 
 fame in its pure fires all that we had fain see con- 
 sumed of the past ; must enkindle in his heart a 
 returning glow of kingly patriotism, which shall 
 hallow it into an altar on wh'ch all falser and baser 
 Ores shall be extinguished. 
 
 " I had scarce thought we should have had so
 
 VN BO 771 SIDES OF Til E SEA. 
 
 35 
 
 much to regret in leaving France. We bad always 
 felt it so completely a land of exile, and had always 
 so hoped our sojourn in it must be drawing to a 
 close, that it was not until we had to sever them 
 we learned how many ties had slowly been weav- 
 ing themselves around us, and binding our hearts 
 to the strange country. 
 
 " Even the lofty rooms in the old palace., which 
 bad seemed such mere prison-chambers when we 
 entered them ; even my father's old enemy ' the 
 stone woman, who could never empty her pitcher,' 
 seemed to have acquired a kind of right in us. 
 
 " Madame la Mothe made a vain attempt at soft- 
 ening the parting with congratulatory little plea- 
 santries. They broke down into tears and tender 
 reproaches, her heart being much moved at the 
 time, moreover, by the death of her nephew, for 
 the sake of whose young widow she consented to 
 remain in ' the world ' to manage the family estates. 
 
 " ' Thou shouldst, indeed, have a heavy weight on 
 thy conscience,' she said to me, ' with all thine inno- 
 cent looks. My poor nephew woirld have been so 
 happy with thee, if thou wouldst have wedded him; 
 he would never have gone to the wars and left this 
 poor little helpless widow to my guardianship. Then 
 my nephew, still happily surviving, and thou mak- 
 ing his life good and pleasant, I should at last, per- 
 haps, have had leisure and grace to make a thorough 
 conversion. I should have gone to Port Royal, and 
 thou, being brought in this way more intimately 
 acquainted with the exemplary piety of those saintly 
 ladies, wouldst once more have considered thy here-
 
 ^2 01. BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 sies, and at last taken that little step — that o&» little 
 step which divides thee from the True Fold. Thus 
 I should have made my own salvation and 'chine ; 
 thou the salvation of mv nephew. So all might 
 have ended like a romance composed for the edifi- 
 cation of youth. And now see the contrast ! I re- 
 main in the world, bound to it by this poor young 
 widow (with whom otherwise I have no fault to 
 find) ; thou returnest to thine unbelieving England. 
 My heart feels desolate for thee, as if I lost thy 
 mother and a second youth in losing thee. And, 
 alas, these gentlemen the Jesuits threaten to over- 
 whelm Port Royal. Thus everything goes on to 
 the wrong end. Or, if the romance is ever to end 
 right, there must be another volume, another vol- 
 ume not yet even begun, quite out of my sight ; 
 which Heaven grant there may be ! Heaven grant 
 there be, my child, here or hereafter. For me, 
 certainly, not here ; but, if Heaven wills, I pray 
 for thee, here and hereafter also.' 
 
 " Barbe was sorely distracted between me and 
 her seven sisters and brothers. At length she de- 
 cided, with many tears, that duty bound her to her 
 family. 
 
 " ' My father is an excellent man, mademoiselle, 
 also a great politician, and religious as a pastor; 
 but in the affairs of the earth, mademoiselle, he is a 
 child, blameless — but a child. 
 
 " ' And there are these seven other children. I 
 call them still children, because I am five years 
 older than any of them, and because they were 
 children when I left them to attend mademoiselle,
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 353 
 
 and gain a living- for the rest. The voung-esi is not 
 yet eleven. The oldest is scarcely twenty. He is 
 a student, learned and " eloquent (my father says) 
 as Demosthenes." But, unhappily, not endowed 
 with those talents which earn bread. As yet I 
 alone have developed these inferior capacities ; 
 transitory, but, alas, so necessary in a world where 
 our corn has to be baked before it can be eaten, and 
 one's flax to be spun before it can be worn. What 
 then can I do ? If my father should at last obtain 
 that appointment he is always expecting from some, 
 appreciating statesmen, or one of the children should 
 develop these inferior gifts for earning bread ; and 
 if then mademoiselle should not, in the splendour 
 of the establishment she was born to and so well 
 deserves, have forgotten her poor little French 
 Huguenot maid — ' 
 
 " But here Barbe's eloquence broke down, and 
 she wept. 
 
 " ' I shall never forget thee, Barbe,' I said, ' nor 
 the ten thousand lessons of self-denial and sweet 
 temper and cheerful diligence I have learned from 
 thee.' 
 
 " ' But mademoiselle will then have ladies for her 
 attendants,' sighed Barbe, who, in spite of all 1 
 could say, had formed very exalted ideas of our 
 destinies. 
 
 " ' Never one with such fingers as thine, or with 
 a better heart,' I said. 
 
 " ' Then,' sighed Barbe, as she delicately arranged 
 my hair in lone tresses, ' it might yet be. His« 
 tory, my father says, is moie romantic than t!i« 
 30*
 
 3^4 0N BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 romances. I might even yet arrange again this 
 luxuriant hair.' 
 
 " ' Scarcely luxuriant then, Barbe; or, if luxuriant 
 gray, and only fit to be soberly bound beneath some 
 simple coif in some homely fashion, quite unworthy 
 of thy skilful fingers. You found three white haira 
 yesterday.' 
 
 " ' Sorrow, not years !' she said, quietly. ' Made- 
 ra oiselle has allowed me sometimes to know how it 
 was she understood our sorrows so well.' 
 
 " ' Sorrows partly, and partly years, Barbe,' I 
 said. ' This Book tells us the years are leading ua 
 on to the end of the sorrows, and the sorrows train- 
 ing us to enjoy the harvest of the years.' 
 
 " And we shed tears together as she read the in- 
 scription I had written on the large French Bible 
 I had bought her as a souvenir. 
 
 " ' Ah, mademoiselle,' she said, ' I shall always 
 hear your voice reading it; your voice and my 
 mother's, the kindest I have ever known or shall 
 ever know till I meet you both again.' 
 
 " I saw Mistress Dorothy in the crowd at the 
 entry into London. She seemed half-kneeling — an 
 unspeakable mark of honour from her dear inflexible 
 Puritan knees. She seemed a little aged ; but hei 
 face was all aglow with enthusiasm. And with hei 
 were two fair rosy children, not like city children, 
 who gazed at me with wide-open wondering eyes — 
 those of the eldest dark and flashing, like Dr. An- 
 tony's ; the other has Olive's eves. I think she has
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 35; 
 
 told them something of Lettice, little Avild Lettice 
 Davenant. They looked pleased, and yet so puzzled. 
 
 " My eyes went past them, but in vain. None 
 else of the old Netherby friends was there. Alas, 
 I fear, they are not all swept into this tide of wel- 
 come. 
 
 " Roger's ' king,' I fear, lies silent underground. 
 Like mine. His, buried in state (they say), among 
 the kings he supplanted, at Westminster. Mine, laid 
 in silence among the kings, his fathers, at Windsor. 
 
 " The great gulf between us is hardly bridged 
 over yet. 
 
 "Netherby is empty. Mr. Drayton and Mistress 
 Gretel are in London with Olive. 
 
 " This old place is in such order as if we had left 
 it yesterday, which is more, I think, than any other 
 of the exiled Cavaliers can say of their restored 
 homes. 
 
 " I know how. I see the hands that did it all, at 
 every turn, in every nook, in every flower in my 
 mother's terrace-garden so neat and trim, in every 
 grove and arbour of the Pleasaunce, where we used 
 to ramble in the old days. 
 
 '• Ungrateful that I am ! I could almost wish 
 they had left it neglected. I could almost wish the 
 roses had run wild, that the flower-beds had returned 
 to the possession rf forest weeds, the smooth turf 
 run up into long wild grasses, that the terrace walls 
 were green and moss-grown, that nature had been 
 Buttered to run into the elfish kind of revels she likea 
 to p ay when she finds her way once more into gar 
 dens stolen from her domain, that time had been
 
 j 5 6 NO BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 suffered to weave the tangled garlands wherewith, 
 as with a lavish funereal pomp, he is wont to strew 
 deserted places which have been dear to human 
 creatures. 
 
 " So much has run wild, has run to seed, has blos- 
 somed and shed its bloom since then ! So much is 
 gone for ever and for ever, it is almost more than I 
 can bear to find these familiar things so much the 
 same. Ungrateful, diseased thoughts. I will not 
 give them a minute's voluntary entertainment. 
 
 " Gone ? Nothing worth keeping has really gone, 
 not one blossom worth living has really faded. 
 They have not faded, they have fruited. They have 
 fruited, or they are ripening into fruit, sunbeam by 
 sunbeam, shower by shower, day by day. Rich 
 summer-time, golden harvest-time of life! God 
 forbid that I never speak ' pulingly ' (as he said), 
 as if spring faded and not ripened into summer, or 
 dawn died instead of glowed into day. 
 
 "And most of all this is so with thee, mother, 
 mother ! with thee, whose lost presence makes gar- 
 den, terrace, chamber, so sacred and so sad. I 
 know it — I know it ! Thy dawn was full of tears, 
 and has glowed indeed into the day. I know it ; 
 and when I think of thee, of thee and Harry, I re- 
 joice in it. 
 
 " As to myself, I cannot rejoice at it. Noi need I 
 try. Thank God, I need not freeze my heart by 
 vainly trying to make sorrow not sorrow. The sor- 
 row is my share of it now, and the joy is to come 
 through that, through opening our hearts pa: icntly to 
 that, not by closing them and trying to make somf
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 357 
 
 wretched artificial sunshine out of the shadow of the 
 cloud. The cloud is sent to bring us not light, but 
 shadow and rain. Behind and after it the sunshine, 
 when the time comes for that ! 
 
 " 1 thought I saw Job Forst er among the thirty 
 thousand on Blackheath ; the terrible thousands 
 which kept France and Spain and Europe in awe all 
 these years, and kept us out of England. Why they 
 let us come back at all is the wonder. For they 
 were not broken nor disordered, but compact and 
 strong as ever. And I scarce think they share in 
 the welcome the nation gives us. I think most of 
 us breathed more freely when that dread host was 
 passed. 
 
 " I thought I saw Job Forster among them. Yet 
 when I went into Netherby, there he was at the old 
 forge, working away as steadily and soberly as if 
 he had never left it, instead of roaming all over the 
 world at the beck of Oliver, beating army after 
 army — English, Royalist, Irish, Scottish, Spanish, 
 on field after field. 
 
 " I could scarce trust my eyes. I was half afraid 
 to speak to him, fearing lest he should give me but 
 a grim greeting as a fragment of the " malignant 
 interest" wherewith they have dealt somewhat 
 sternly. Beside him stood a lad in a blacksmith's 
 apron, helping him at the forge, with a curious per- 
 plexing half resemblance in his face, which perplexed 
 me like a strain of some familiar tune interwover 
 into strange music,. 
 
 " But before I passed, Job looked up at my foot-
 
 , 5 S ON BOTH SIDES OF TEE SEA. 
 
 steps, and seeing me, I suppose he forgot Naseby 
 Worcester, malignancy, and everything, for he 
 .brew clown his tools, and striding forward, took 
 my hands in both of his, bhu'k as they were, and 
 shook them till the tears ran down my face, mostly 
 for gladness, and a little for the pain in my fingers. 
 
 " ' Mistress Lettice, my dear,' he said, ' I am right 
 glad to see thee back again. Come how ye may,' 
 he added, to guard himself against any political 
 concession — ' come how ye may.' 
 
 " Then Rachel came out at the door of the old 
 cottage, her dear quiet face little aged since I saw 
 her at Oxford, when she made her way through 
 the royal lines to find her wounded husband in 
 the prison. Little aged, yet somewhat changed; 
 ripened, not aged ; less of outward suffering, more 
 of protecting motherliness in her ways and looka 
 and tones. And she, too, came forward and court- 
 seyed, a little more mindful of good manners, and 
 bade me welcome, in words like the Book of Ruth, 
 to my country, and my people, and my father's 
 house. 
 
 " How SAveet it was ! The old English country 
 tongue ; the old English welcome, shyly suppress- 
 ing twice as much pleasure as it uttered, so sweet 
 that I could say nothing, but could only take her 
 hands in mine, and seek refuge in tie cottage, and 
 sit quiet, with my head on her kind old heart, until 
 the crowding memories and joys and sorrows and 
 love and loss which stifled each other into silence 
 found their outlet in a burst of tears. 
 
 " It was soon over. And then a pale woman
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3^ 
 
 wi'.h a meek still face came forward at Rachel's 
 bidding from a dark comer of the room, where 
 she had been sitting sewing, and filled me a cup 
 of fresh water from a little basin outside the 
 window. 
 
 " When she came close to me she smiled, and 
 made a iittle reverence. And the smile brought 
 back for a moment the youth into her face. And 
 I knew at once she was Cicely, Gammer Grindle's 
 grandchild. Then it all flashed on me in an instant. 
 I had found where the strain of the familiar tune 
 came from ; the lad outside was her son, and by 
 Divine right, if not by human law, Sir Launcelot's 
 heir. 
 
 " I shook her hand, and she lifted it to her lips 
 and kissed it, with a grace which brought back the 
 day when that pale woman had danced round the 
 May-pole, laughing and rosy, and light-footed and 
 light-hearted, with so many looking on whose faces 
 we should not see ao - ain. 
 
 " I shall get used to it all in time. But now 
 scarce a familiar old sight or sound but would move 
 me to tears, if I did not repress them ; as I do, of 
 course. For I would not have the people think I 
 came back among them with a sorrowful heart, or 
 one left in foreign parts. 
 
 " And how can they understand how the paths 
 they have been going up and down upon, and the 
 doors they have been going in and out of every day 
 these eleven years, to me are doors into a buried 
 past, and paths trodden by feet that tread ou/ 
 earthly ways never more ?
 
 360 ON BOTH SID EL OF THE SEA. 
 
 " Yet I think Rachel understands it, for as I wat 
 coming away she said,— 
 
 '"There has been One walking all the way witn 
 ns all, Mistress Lettice, all the time. And He 
 knows all.' 
 
 " It was just the stengthening word I wanted to 
 turn me, from the past to the Ever-Present, from 
 the dead to the Living, for all live unto Him. A 
 glimpse into the heart of the Son of man, I think, 
 such as Rachel Forster has, gives those who have it 
 a vision into the hearts of all men. 
 
 " To my father our home-coming is well-nigh un- 
 mixed delight. He is as frolicsome as a boy, full of 
 schemes for re-uniting and reconciling the whole 
 world, by means primarily of ale and roast beef. 
 How pleasant it is to hear his great hearty voice 
 ringing through the hall and court, among the stab- 
 les, giving orders about the stud, the farm, tho 
 hounds ; waxing warm over Roundhead insolence 
 with the old servants ; cracking jokes with the 
 young ones ; mistaking people for their grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers ; and making his way out 
 of all his entanglements by chivalrous old courtly 
 compliments and hearty old English jokes ; and 
 through all never ceasing to be the courtier and 
 the master, and scarcely ever losing his temper, ex- 
 cept now and then with the cool mockeries of Ro- 
 land, and the reckless carriage of Walter and the 
 courtiers of the New Court whom he brings to see us. 
 Indeed, it needs an occasional refreshing of my 
 father's recollection of the days of the Roundheads 
 to keep his loyalty to the Old Court very warm to« 
 wards the new."
 
 OX liOTR SI DA'S OF 'j .IE SKA. 5 6l 
 
 oliye's kecollections. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy was much with us du ing the 
 months after the Restoration. 
 
 She Avas marvellously gracious and gentle all that 
 time. She believed that Ave had suffered for our 
 political sius, and must be convinced by the irresist- 
 ible demonstration of failure of the vanity and folly 
 of our conduct ; and she was too magnanimous and 
 too confideKt to demand confession. It must now 
 be but too plain to us, she thought, that we had 
 erred grievously, and she only hoped our retribu- 
 tion might not be too grievous. For herself, she 
 forgave us our follies on the ground of their failure. 
 The King himself, who had so much to forgive, 
 had written a letter from Breda offering indemnity 
 for the past and liberty of conscience for the future 
 and should she be more rigid than His Majesty ? 
 Far from it. She would take the whole family under 
 her wing, and protect us as far as lay in her power 
 from the consequences of our transgressions. 
 
 She had even some thoughts of extending tolera- 
 tion further than she had once deemed possible. 
 Mr. Baxter deemed a church government possible 
 which might include "Diocesans," Presbyterians, 
 aid Independents; and a Liturgy which might be 
 joined in by moderate — very moderate — Arraimans, 
 aud moderate (she feared lukewarm) Calvinists. 
 
 She si arcely saw her way to it. If any one could 
 accomplish such a thing, Mr. Baxter might. Some 
 indulgence ought, perhaps (if possible), to be ex- 
 tended to the Prclatists, on account of their loyalty 
 31
 
 162 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Some concessions might perhaps be made to the In- 
 dependents (among whom she did not deny were 
 some godly men) to prevent their straying further 
 into the wilderness of the Fifth Monachy party, the 
 Quakers, and the Anabaptists. Much was doubt 
 less due to charity. And when once tie true Pres- 
 byterian order was established, the gates of Zion re- 
 built, and her walls — though in troublous times — it 
 was to be hoped that the sobei beauty of her friir 
 towers and palaces would root out the prelatical 
 passion for Babylonish splendours, and the Indepen- 
 dent predilection for new ways, and " holes and 
 corners," from the hearts of all that beheld. 
 
 For that the day of Presbyterial triumph had at 
 last dawned on this distracted England, she would 
 not be so faint-hearted as to doubt. 
 
 Had not His Majesty three times signed the 
 Scottish Convenant ? Had not the divines who went 
 to see him at Breda been suffered to listen (unsus- 
 spected of course by His Majesty) to his private 
 devotions, until their souls were moved within 
 them ? Had not the excellent Countess of Balcarrea 
 told Mr. Baxter how satisfied the French Presby- 
 terian ministers were with his religious disposi- 
 tions? Had not Monsieur Gaches, pastor of 
 Charenton, himself written to Mr. Baxter how His 
 Majesty attended and appreciated the French Prot- 
 estant services ? Had not Mr. Baxter himself been 
 appointed one of His Majesty's chaplains? And if 
 this were insufficient grounds for confidence, what 
 honest English heart, what loyal soul, could da~e to 
 doubt that a young king vit 1 such bitter lesson?
 
 O.V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 36* 
 
 boQifll him, with such glorious hopes before him, 
 trusted and welcomed as never king had been by the 
 nation, brought back (as she believed) mainly by the 
 agency of covenanted soldiers, and the prayers and 
 loyal endeavours of Presbyterian pastors and fcheii 
 flocks, would be faithful to his oaths, more espeei 
 ally when to be faithful to his promises was to be 
 faithful to his interests ? Was there not, moreover, 
 the solemn Conference actully going on among the 
 divines of the various parties at the Savoy? 
 
 Had not Mr. Baxter been encouraged to state all 
 the Puritan objections to the Prayer-book to the full 
 — to propound any number of "queries," and elab- 
 orate any number of alterations ; and had he not 
 embraced the privilege to the full, sparing not a 
 restige of the Babylonish vesture? Had he not, 
 moreover, in a fortnight, drawn up an amended 
 Liturgy, correcting all the mistakes of the ancient 
 Prayer-book, and supplying all its omissions? — a 
 form which, if there must be forms, might satisfy the 
 most scrupulous. Had not even the learned Dr. 
 Gauden, who had issued that most affecting Por- 
 traiture of His Sacred Majesty, called the Icon Ba- 
 tilike, shown himself most unfeignedly courteous 
 and conciliating, and hopeful of an accommoda- 
 tion ? 
 
 All these considerations set Aunt Dorothy ou 
 such, a lofty pinnacle of hope, that she suffered even 
 Annis Nye to call her Friend Dorothy without 
 open rebuke, and was suspected of meditating a 
 scheme which might even embrace Anabaptists ("if 
 they would only rebaptise each other, and not bWs
 
 564 ON B )TH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 pherae other people's baptism") and Quakers, !5 
 they would hold silent meetings. 
 
 The moment of triumph was not the moment for 
 reproaches. Aunt Dorothy, triumphing over us all, 
 m fact, tolerated us all in prospect. 
 
 I confess it was sometimes a little difficult to be 
 thus loftily forgiven; and, indeed, I remember once, 
 when in a moment of unparalleled magninimity 
 Aunt Dorothy loftily extended her toleration to Dr. 
 Martin Luther, saying that, although she could 
 never think him justified about some things, yet 
 that she believed after all ''he was right in the 
 main, poor man, and great allowance must be made 
 for one so recently set free from Popery ;" that Aunt 
 Gretel herself was roused to say privately to me, 
 " Olive, dear heart, I believe if St. Paul were to ap- 
 pear she would tell him that, after all, she believed 
 he was right in the main, although she never 
 could think he was justified in shaving his head at 
 Cenchrea, but great allowances were to be made for 
 any one only just set free from being a Pharisee.' " 
 
 There were, indeed, a few symptoms which ruffled 
 even Aunt Dorothy's calm loyal confidence. It 
 was unfortunate, she could not deny, that (in conse- 
 quence of certain legal technicalities) Mr. Baxtei 
 was deprived of his living, the former vicar dis- 
 placed by the Commonwealth having at once en- 
 tered on it as his right. But these little perplexi 
 ties were sure to be soon set right. All transfer 
 ences of authority were sure at first to press unjustlv 
 on some. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Baxter had been offered a
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 365 
 
 bishopric. He had declined the bishopric, until the 
 Comprehension for which the Conference was la- 
 bouring was fully accomplished. But the bishopric 
 had been offered, the chaplaincy accepted ; and who 
 could doubt that in time, if he wished, his living 
 would be restored ? the old vicar being, moreover, 
 scarce able to preach at all, and sixteen hundred 
 communicants having sent up a request from Kid- 
 derminster for the restoration of Mr. Baxter. 
 
 It was also unfortunate, she admitted, that many 
 hundred "painful preachers" had been suddenly 
 removed from their churches on the same grounds 
 as Mr. Baxter; but the Protector and his triers 
 (said Aunt Dorothy) had set an ill example, and ill 
 fruit must be expected to grow of it. 
 
 Then there were some severe dealings with books. 
 Mr. John Milton's " Defence of the English People " 
 was burned at Charing Cross by the public hang- 
 man. But at that, said Aunt Dorothy, no loyal per- 
 son could wonder, seeing that thei'ein he had dared 
 to speak of the late king's execution as a great and 
 magnanimous act. Properly regarded, it was in- 
 deed a singular proof of His Majesty's clemency 
 that Mr. Milton's book only was burned, and not 
 Mr. Milton himself. 
 
 The public burning of the Covenant was a more 
 doubtful act. This she saw with her own ejes at 
 Kidderminster, in the market-place, before Mr. Bax- 
 ter's windows. The king had signed it and sworn 
 to it, and there were excellent things in it. But 
 there was no denying it had been used to seditious 
 ends. Some (concluded Aunt Dorothy, pressed
 
 366 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 hard for a Scriptural example) had ground the bra- 
 zen serpent to powder because it had been made an 
 idol. And she had little doubt, with reverence she 
 said it, Moses would have done the same with the 
 very Tables of the Law, if they had been similarly 
 desecrated. The Ark itself was not spared, but 
 uffered to fall into the hands of the Philistines 
 when Israel would have used it like a heathen 
 charm. 
 
 Nevertheless, with these arguments I believe 
 Aunt Dorc*.y herself was not easy ; she was driven 
 to them by Job Forster, who had asked her one 
 day, with a grim irony, how she liked the new 
 doings in Scotland, the execution of Argyle, the 
 forcing of Prelacy and the Prayer-book on the un- 
 willing Presbyterian people, and the burning oi the 
 Covenant in Edinburgh. 
 
 But as the months of 1661 passed on, and the 
 Conference stood still, whilst Mr. Baxter and the 
 other deprived ministers were not restored, Aunt 
 Dorothy's lofty confidence gradually changed into 
 an irritable apprehension, which took the form of 
 vehement indignation against all Avho refused to 
 believe in the favorable issue of events, or who, as 
 she believed, stood in the way of it. And it often 
 moved me much to see how, with ingenious fond- 
 ness, like a mother with a wild son, she laid the 
 blame on the servants of the house, on the riotous 
 company or grudging hospitality of the far country, 
 on the very management of the home itself rather 
 lhan on the royal prodigal. 
 
 A large portion of this diverted current of wrath
 
 ON LOTH Si DA'S OF THE SL'A. 
 
 3 6 / 
 
 was poured on the Queen-mother, Henrietta Maria, 
 who held open celebration of Roman Catholic rites 
 in her palace. 
 
 To any information concerning the appropria- 
 tion of apartments in the king's palace to the 
 king's " lady " or " ladies," she refused absolutely 
 to listen. " It is written," said she, " thou shalt not 
 speak evil of the ruler of thy people. But," she 
 added, "if any one were to blame, it was the party 
 that had exposed him to the seductions of his 
 mother Jezebel, and the idolatrous foreign court. 
 Indeed, who can doubt the pureness of the king's 
 Protestant principle, which (even if his morals had 
 been a little contaminated) had resisted Papistical 
 enticements so long ?" 
 
 The scene in Whitehall, where the king, under a 
 canopy of state, laid his hands on those who were 
 brought to him to heal them of" the king's evil," 
 while the chaplain repeated the words, •' He laid 
 His hands on the sick and healed them" was indeed 
 a sore scandal to her. It made her very indignant 
 with the chaplain, who had misguided His Majesty. 
 
 " Mr. Baxter must be careful," she said, " how he 
 conceded too much to the Prelatical party." 
 
 Bat the chief force of her wrath was directed 
 against the Queen-mother, who, she said, had ruined 
 one king and one generation of Englishmen, and 
 was doing her best to ruin a second; against the 
 Queen-mother and the Fifth Monarchy men. 
 
 To the insurrection of Venner, the winecooper, ic 
 January 1661, she attributed the delay and disap- 
 pointment in the Conference. II )w was a yourg
 
 • 68 01 BOTE SIDES OF HIE SEA. 
 
 king, kept in exile so long, to learn in a moment 
 to distinguish between the various sects, or not to be 
 induced by such fanatical outbursts to believe the 
 evil ad risers who persuaded him that outside the 
 ancient Episcopal Church lay nothing but a slippery 
 descent from depth to depth ? 
 
 Still she hoped on from month to month, or pro- 
 tested that she did, although her bopes made her 
 less and less glad, and more and more irritable, 
 until she tried all our tempers in turn. All except 
 Roger's. His patience and gentleness with her was 
 unwearied. 
 
 : 'I know what she is feeling, Olive," he said. " I 
 went through it all between the Protector's death 
 and the Restoration ; hoping against hope. It 
 strains temper and heart as nothing else does. She 
 will have to give it up, and then she will be all 
 right again." 
 
 " Give up hoping, Roger ? " I said. 
 " Give up hoping against reason, give up trying 
 to persuade oneself down hill is up hill, and evening 
 morning," he said, " and going into the cloud 
 coming out of it ; giving up trying to see things as 
 they are not, Olive. Seeing things as they are, and 
 still hoping, that makes the spirit calm again. Hop- 
 ing, knowing, that the end of the road is up the 
 heights, not into the abysses ; that the evening is 
 only a foreshadowing of the morning that shall not 
 tarry; that the sun and not the cloud abides. That 
 the Lord Christ," he added, lowering his voice to 
 tones which, soft as a whisper, vibrated through 
 my heart like thunder, " and not the devil, has all
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THR SEA. j6$ 
 
 power in heaven and in earth, and that His king- 
 dom shall have no end." 
 
 " Your hope is for the Church, Roger, but not for 
 England." 
 
 His face kindled as he answered, — 
 
 "Not for England? Always for England! — for 
 England everywhere ! Now ; in the ages to come ; 
 on this side of the sea, on the other side of the sea ; 
 in the Old World and in the New; under the 
 bondage of this profligate tyranny, which must 
 wear itself out as surely as a putrifying carcass 
 must decay ; in the wilderness, where our people 
 are beginning a story more glorious, I believe, than 
 all the heroic tales of old Greece." 
 
 For at that time, whilst doing all in his power by 
 promoting concord amongst Christians to aid Mr. 
 Baxter and the ministers who were seeking for 
 "healing and settlement," and whilst sharing my 
 husband's labours among those in prison, Roger 
 began to look with a new interest on the tidings 
 which came to us from the Plantations, especially 
 those concerning Mr. John Eliot, who was labour- 
 ing to convert the poor Indian natives to Christi- 
 anity. In this he and Aunt Dorothy had much 
 sympathy. Mr. Baxter had always taken a lively 
 interest in this missionary work. Collections hud 
 been made during the Commonwealth to aid in 
 supporting evangelists, and aid in translating the 
 Bible and good books into the languages of the 
 natives ; and now, in the midst of all his conferences 
 and contentions, Mr. Baxter was labouring at ob- 
 taining a charter for a Society for Propoaiiina tlu
 
 j;o 0-V BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Gospel in Foreign Parts. And in this he succeeded 
 At that time a manuscript was much in Roger's 
 hanis, containing a copy of Journals of the early 
 Purtan settlers of forty years before. He found it 
 the best lesson of true hope he had ever read. And 
 during the winter evenings of 1661 he would often 
 recite passages aloud to us. Amidst the misunder- 
 standings of good men and the conflicts of part ^.s, 
 it was like a breath of bracing wind to listen ~.o 
 those conflicts of our countrymen with rains and 
 snows and storms, and all the hardships of the wild 
 country peopled by wild beasts and wilder men. 
 As in the Bible stories, there was little making of 
 sermons or drawing of morals in this narrative. 
 The whole story was a sermon, and engraved its 
 own moral on the heart as it went on. In tl ree 
 months half the first noble pilgrim band died, of 
 cold and wet, insufficient shelter and insufficient 
 food. The original hundred were reduced to fifty. 
 Fifty living, and fifty graves to consecrate the new 
 country. Then the grave had to be levelled indis- 
 tmguishably into the sweep of the earth around, lest 
 the hostile Indians, seeing them, should violate 
 them. Yet never a moan nor a murmur. Their 
 trust in God revealing itself in their patience and 
 courage, their cheerfulness and unquenchable hope. 
 And now for the fifty were more than twenty 
 thousand ; and the wilderness had become a place 
 of English homesteads and villages, fondly called by 
 the old English names. 
 
 As Roger read and told us of these things the 
 world grew round to me for the first time. I began
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 37» 
 
 to see tlu're was another side to it. And the vision 
 of this new world — this new English world — rose 
 before me as a new Land of Promise, which if per- 
 secution ever made this England for the time " the 
 wilderness," might be a refuge for our suffering 
 brethren again. 
 
 Not indeed for us. I did not think so much of 
 ourselves: our convictions were moderate and our 
 lives peaceable ; and the Star Chamber was not 
 likely to be re-established within the memory of the 
 generation that had destroyed it. But the Ana- 
 baptists, and the more decided Independents, who 
 objected to all forms of prayer, and the Quakers, 
 might find such an asylum yet very welcome. Al- 
 ready there were four thousand Quakers in prison. 
 Some had been shut up, sixty in a cell, and had died 
 of bad air and scanty food. For sober Presbyterians, 
 like Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Baxter, or moderate 
 people attached with few scruples to the Liturgy, 
 like my father, my husband, and myself, there 
 might not indeed be the triumph in store of which 
 Aunt Dorothy dreamed. But of persecution or 
 imprisonment we did not dream. The tide could 
 never rise as;ain in our lifetime as high as that. 
 
 It perplexed us much that during all these 
 months we saw nothing of thf Davenants. We did 
 not chance to be at Netherby during the year 1001 , 
 or the beginning of 1662. My father had rheumatism, 
 and was ordered not to winter on the Fens; my 
 husband was much occupied; so that we did not 
 have our usual summer holiday. Lettice and Sir 
 Walter, we hear 1, were for a time in London, about 
 the Court; but we saw nothing of them.
 
 y /2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 The children who were at Netherby brought back 
 wonderful stories of the sweet lady at the hall; 
 and Maidie especially was inspired with a love for 
 her which reminded me of the fascination of Lady 
 Lucy over me in my own childhood. 
 
 I felt sure Lettice's heart could not change. Had 
 her will, then, grown so weak that she dared not 
 make one effort to break through the barriers which 
 separated us ? 
 
 Or was it, rather, stronger and more immovable 
 than I had thought ? Did she indeed still refuse 
 indemnity to the political offences of the Common- 
 wealth ? Could, indeed, no lapse of time efface, no 
 shedding of traitors' blood expiate, the shedding of 
 that royal blood which separated her from Roger ? 
 
 Nothing but repentance ? — the repentance he 
 could never feel without desecrating the memory of 
 that good prince who, as he believed, had been 
 trained by God, through conflict within and with- 
 out, anointed by wars, and crowned by victory 
 after victory, to be such a ruler as England had 
 never known, over such an England as the world 
 had never seen. 
 
 What Roger thought, I knew not. He neve- 
 mentioned the name of any of the Davenants, except 
 that of Walter, the youngest, who seemed to come 
 to him from time to time, and whom I saw once at 
 his lodgings, and did not recognize till after he hac 
 left, Avhen Roger told me who he was. 
 
 For I remember Walter Davenant a light- 
 hearted boy, with frank face and bearing, and eyes 
 like his mother's. And this Walter Davenant had
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 373 
 
 a manner half reckless and halt* sullen ; a dresa 
 which, with all its laces and plumes and tassels, 
 looked neglected ; and restless, uneasy eyes, whk;h 
 never steadily met yours. 
 
 "Is that Lettice Davanent's brother Walter?" I 
 said 
 
 " It is Walter Davenant, one of the courtiers of 
 King Charles the Second." 
 
 " He is a friend of yours, Roger." 
 
 " He is Lettice's brother," he replied ; "an! she 
 asked me to see him sometimes ; and now and then 
 he likes to come." 
 
 32
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 LETTICE'S DIARY". 
 
 UGUST 19.— My father's wide-em- 
 bracing schemes of correspondence 
 and reconciliation have been some- 
 — ' what narrowed. My brother Roland 
 has been with ns, and one or two of his friends 
 about the Court ; and he has possessed my father 
 with dark and chilling thoughts of the Puritans. 
 
 " Indeed, there is an icy touch of cynical doubt 
 in Roland which seems to take the glow out of 
 everything. lie does not assail any person, or any 
 party, or any belief. All parties, he protests, are 
 good, to a certain extent, in their measure, and for 
 their time. But he makes you feel he scorns you 
 as a fond and incredulous fool for bjiieving in any 
 person, any party, or any truth, with the kind of 
 faith which leads to sacrificing oneself. 
 
 " The king, he says, declares that ' nothing shall 
 ever part him again from his three kingdoms;' and 
 the king never says a foolish thing. 
 
 ' According to Roland, all enthusiasm is either 
 in foolish men, fanaticism, or, in able men, the 
 
 (374)
 
 CLV BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3Jb 
 
 hypocrisy of fanaticism, put on to deceive the 
 fanatics. 
 
 " When my father declaims against Oliver Crom- 
 well as a wild fanatic, and records instances of the 
 destruction of painted windows and the desecra- 
 tion of churches, Roland shrugs his shoulders, 
 slightly raises his eyebrows, smiles, and says : — 
 
 " ' No doubt, that is what he would have had 
 Job Forster and his fellows believe. For himself, 
 his fanaticism had the fortunate peculiarity of al- 
 ways constraining him to climb as high as he could. 
 But he should not be too severely blamed. What 
 can a shrewd man do, when he sees every one tak- 
 ing the same road, but travel a little faster than 
 the rest, if he wishes to keep first ? ' 
 
 " ' Surely,' said, I ' you cannot deny that the 
 Puritans were sincere ? ' 
 
 "'At first, probably, many of them, 1 he said, 
 ' When they had only two mites to give, doubtless 
 they gave them. It is the destiny of mites to be 
 spent in that manner. Happily for the widow in 
 the New Testament, her subsequent history is not 
 told.' 
 
 " ' For shame, sir ! ' said my father. ' Say what 
 you like of the Puritans of to-day ; I will suffer no 
 profane allusions to the good people who lived at 
 the Christian era.' 
 
 "'Pardon me, sir!' retorted Roland. 'Anno 
 Domini has no doubt made those who lived near 
 it Bacred; except, of course, the Pharisees aud a 
 few other reprobates, who arc fair mark. Put I 
 assure you, nothing could be further from my in- 
 tention than to cast the slightest imputation on that
 
 Sje ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 excellent widow. I only suggest that if her cir- 
 cumstances improved, no doubt her views enlarged 
 with them. She would naturally feel that while 
 two mites might be bestowed without -regard to 
 results, larger possessions involved wider responsi- 
 bilities, and must, therefore, be dispensed with more 
 prudence ; as the Rabbis (who, no doubt, we should 
 charitably suppose, started with intentions as pure) 
 had found out before.' 
 
 " ' Speak plainly,' said my father ; ' none of your 
 Court riddles for me. Do you mean to say the 
 Puritans were like that good widow or like the 
 Pharisees ? ' 
 
 " ' Sir,' replied Roland, ' you must excuse me if 
 my charity reaches to a later century than yours. 
 You forbid any imputations on the early Christians ; 
 I decline to make any against those of a later date. 
 I would leave the sentence to events. Before long 
 there is reason to hope that many of the Puritans 
 will once more have an opportunity of proving 
 their principles, and, if they like, of returning to 
 the exemplary condition of the widow with the 
 one farthing.' 
 
 " ' What do you mean ? There are to be no con- 
 fiscations.' 
 
 " ' I mean that the Savoy Conference will, I think, 
 issue otherwise than Mr. Baxter and his friends de- 
 sire. Presbyterian shepherds, Independent lions, 
 and Episcopal lambs will, I think, scarcely at pre- 
 sent be made to lie down in the ample fold of the 
 Church ; and the sheep to whom the fold naturally 
 belongs, cannot, of course, be expected tr.> with, 
 draw, especially after having tried the tendei
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 377 
 
 mercies of the outside world as long as they 
 have. 
 
 " ' It is all the clergy ! ' said my father, provoked 
 into in discriminating irritation with some one, as 
 he always is in discussions with Roland. ' It is 
 always the parsons and the preachers who won't 
 let the people be quiet. Banish them all to the 
 plantations, and we should have peace to-morrow." 
 
 " ' And twice as many parsons and preachers to 
 break it the day after to-moiTOW,' said Roland. 
 ' They have been trying it in England for these 
 eleven years ; and I think you will find that has 
 been the result.' 
 
 " ' Roland,' said my father, changing the conver- 
 sation, ' we must find some way of showing our 
 gratitude to the Draytons. Every corner of tho 
 demesne is in better order than I left it.' 
 
 " ' Mr. Drayton is a clear-sighted man,' was the 
 reply, ' and no doubt foresaw that the rightful 
 owners would return. However, we cannot be too 
 grateful ; and no doubt circumstances will give us 
 opportunities of returning his kindness. He will 
 scarcely escape some little fines, which we can get 
 lightened. Besides, they are sure, sooner or later, 
 to get entangled with some of the laws against 
 conventicles; Mistress Dorothy, or some of them. 
 It is the way of the family. And then we can bo 
 the mouse to nibble the lion s net.' 
 
 " 'At least,' I said, ' you cannot accuse the D~ay 
 jOus of hypocrisy.' 
 
 " ' Scarcely,' he replied, coolly ' they are on the 
 Olher side of the balance, where conscience weighs
 
 37 g ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 heavier than brains. But at all events,' he added, 
 turning to my father, ' we are sure to be able to 
 assist Mr. Drayton's son ; for, from all I hear, he is 
 scarcely out of the circle of those who are liable 
 to the punishment of treason, so that you may set 
 your mind quite at rest, sir, as to having oppor- 
 tunities of showing our gratitude.' 
 
 " I know he said this to silence me. And it did 
 silence me. I dared not defend the Draytons, for 
 fear of further rousing my father against them. 
 
 " But Walter, who had been listening to the de- 
 bate hitherto with some amusement, here broke in. 
 
 " ' Roger Drayton is no traitor,' said he. ' He 
 took the wrong side, unfortunately for him, and 
 you the right side; but a more loyal gentleman 
 does not breathe.' 
 
 " ' That depends on the construction the crown 
 lawyers set on loyalty,' retorted Roland. 
 
 And the conversation ceased. 
 
 "August 20th. — After that discussion, Roland had 
 a walk with my father round the estate, and the 
 next morning he said to me : — 
 
 " ' I will not have the family disgraced, Lettice, 
 by Walter's reckless ways. If he must beg or 
 borrow, let him beg or borrow of some of those 
 gay courtiers who help him to spend. Not of a 
 man like Roger Drayton, to whom we already owe 
 too much — a Puritan, too, a soldier of the us irper; 
 and, for aught I know, a regicide.' 
 
 " ' Did Walter borrow of Roger Drayton ?' I said, 
 and this time I could not help flushing crimson. 
 
 "'Yes, yes!' he replied, angrily; and Boland
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 379 
 
 say?, moreover, child it was thou who introduced 
 theui to each other. I will have no clandestine 
 intercourse, Lettice. Thou shalt see I will not ! ' 
 
 " ' Father.' I said, rising, ' has Roland's poiso )ous 
 tongue srone as far as that? Does he dare to accuse 
 me or Eoger Drayton of that? If you wish to 
 know what the understanding between Roger Dray- 
 ton and me is, it is this — I thought you knew it ; 
 my mother did. "VVe have promised to be true to 
 each other till death, and beyond it, for ever. And 
 the promise was scarce needed. For the love that 
 makes it sacred was there before.' 
 
 " For they had called Roger a traitor. And it 
 was no time to measure words. 
 
 " I write these down, because I like to see them, 
 as well as to remember that I said them. 
 
 " My lather drew a long breath. 
 
 " ' Prettv words,' he said, ' for a lady who rec- 
 ognizes the divine right of kings, parents, and all in 
 authority.' 
 
 " He paced up and down the room for some time, 
 speaking to himself. 
 
 " ' Very strange, very strange,' he said ; ' up to 
 a certain point as gentle as her mother ; and once 
 past that, like a lioness. Very strange.' 
 
 "And then still to himself, — 
 
 " "Tis a pity; 'tis a thousand pities. If he had 
 been anything but what Roland says every one says 
 lie is ; if he had been only a little misled! But now 
 impossible ; of course, impossible ! 
 
 ""Tis a pity, Lettice,' he then said to me in a 
 vexed tone, but very courteously. ' Roliud told me
 
 3 8o ON BOTH HIDES OF THE SEA, 
 
 of a neighbour of ours, a good and loyal gentleman, 
 who would be but too proud of the honour of ray 
 daughter's hand. As fine an estate as any in the 
 country, and marching with our own. 'Tis a pity, 
 child, for I should not have lost thee. And I should 
 do ill without thee.' 
 
 " ' You will not lose me, father,' I said. 
 
 " ' Nay, nay,' he said, ' thou art one to be trusted, 
 I know that well. Never believe I doubt that, Let- 
 tice, for any hasty word I speak. Never believe I 
 doubt that.' 
 
 " And he kissed me and went his way. 
 
 " No, he does not doubt me. But there is some- 
 thing in Roland which tempts one to doubt every- 
 thing and every one. 
 
 " Did I say his touch was icy ? Would it were 
 only that. Frost rouses nature to a vigorous resist- 
 ance, or checks it with strengthening repression. 
 There is a healthy frost of doubt which kills the 
 insects which infest piety, and checking the too lux- 
 uriant growths of faith with a wholesome cold, 
 braces them from mere leafage to solid stem and 
 fruit. 
 
 " But Roland's influence is not the wholesome 
 winter of doubting and inquiring, which seems to 
 interpose between the successive summers of ad- 
 vancing faith, testing its roots. It is a languid at- 
 mosphere of doubt, in which everything is alike un- 
 certain ; everything alike mean, worthless, earthly. 
 The disbelief in goodness itself, and truth itself, 
 which, like a pestilential malaria, rises from th« 
 sloughs of a wicked life, such as our Court encou/
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 3 gi 
 
 ages. In the depth? of its degradation I be/ieve he 
 himself scorns to soil the sole of his foot. But he 
 stands on the edge and breathes the poison into his 
 brain, and breathes it out again in bitter and cynical 
 talk. 
 
 " While poor reckless Walter, capable not merely 
 of creeping safely along the dull wayworn ways of 
 life, but of soaring to its noblest heights, plunges 
 into the midst of the pollution ; until the very wings 
 with which he was meant to soar upward are clog- 
 ged with the evil thing ; and instead of buoying 
 him upwards, drag him downwards, helpless, blind- 
 ed, so that he can not only no longer soar, but 
 scarcely even creep. 
 
 " What will the end be ? 
 
 *' Often this wcisrhs on me more than even Roger's 
 peril. For that is not for the soul, which is the 
 man; and that is but for the moment. 
 
 "Sometimes my spirit sinks, sinks as if its wings, 
 too. were all clipped and broken. And I have 
 dreadful visions of one precious life ending in dis- 
 honour before man here, in this England, in this 
 age ; and the other in dishonour before God and 
 good men for ever. And Roland standing by ami 
 observing both, and saying, with a lifting of his 
 eyebrows, between pity and scorn, — 
 
 ''Yes, that is the issue of passion, for syrens — or 
 for clouds. That is the result of giv'ng the reins to 
 enthusiasms; religious or otherwise. Poor Walter; 
 and poor Roger ! With a few grains more of self- 
 interest and common sense, they might both have 
 Btood where I stand, and learned the vanity of
 
 3 flz ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 everything in the world or out of it, except, as the 
 preacher says, getting well through it." 
 
 August 21th. — The minister who succeeded Plaei- 
 dia Nicholls' husband during the Commonwealth has 
 been superseded by Dr. Rich, a scholar who seems 
 to have lived through those stormy times scarce 
 hearing their tumult ; so near and so much more 
 important seem to him the tumults and controversies 
 of former times. He will scarce assert that Monday 
 is the day after Sunday, without proving it by cita- 
 tions from a catena of fathers and schoolmen ; which 
 sets one piously questioning, whether what needs so 
 many authorities to sustain it is itself substantial. 
 Otherwise, the matter of his statements seem so free 
 from everything every one does not believe, that 
 one would have thought no proof needed. 
 
 " A most friendly, blameless, and harmless gen- 
 tleman, however, he is ; although weighed down a 
 little as to thinking by the authority of so many 
 ancients, and ae to living by the necessities of cloven 
 motherless children, who have to be fed and in- 
 structed ; since, unfortunately, the children of such 
 a learned man came into the world as destitute of 
 patristlcal lore as if they had been born in the first 
 century, or their father were a Leveller. 
 
 " It does seem hard that so much learning cannot 
 become hereditary, like pointing, or retrieving. It 
 is such a great hindrance in the way of the moderns 
 being so much wiser than the ancients as they ought 
 to be. 
 
 " On one page of modern ecclesiasW.il history, 
 however, it is easy to make Dr. Rich, or uny of his
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 383 
 
 cloven, eloquent. And that is the record of the 
 good deeds of Olive and Dr. Antony, who seem 
 to have maintained and lodged the whole family 
 throughout the times of the Commonwealth. They 
 are worthy, he says, to have lived in the days of 
 the Apostolic Fathers ; and tears come into his eyes 
 when he speaks of Olive's little devices for delicately 
 helping him. ' She thought I was too buried in my 
 books to see,' he said. ' But, in truth, I was too 
 much overwhelmed with their kindness to speak.' 
 
 " The elder girls, too, have endless stories of 
 Olive's motherly counsels and succour. From their 
 account, Maidie and Dolly must be the blithest little 
 un-Puritanical darlings in the world ; and the boys 
 hold little Cavaliers. 
 
 " August 30tk. — At our first return I felt almost 
 more an exile in some ways than while we were in 
 France. People had fitted into each other so closely 
 as to leave no room for us but a kind of show-place 
 out of every one's way. The myriads of fine inter- 
 lacing fibres which bind communities together, and 
 root each in its place, can only grow slowly, one by 
 one, as storms straining the boughs, or summers 
 ovcrlading them with fruit, made them needed. 
 
 " Even eleven years of mere Time almost place 
 you in another generation. Those we left babes are 
 shy lads and lasses ; the children are young mothers 
 at their cottage doors, with their own babes in their 
 arms, courtesying and wondering we do not know 
 them ; the youths and maids are sober men and 
 matrons, giving counsel on the perils of life to the 
 youths and maidens we left babes. And the changt 3
 
 384 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 of these eleven years have not been those of men 
 Time. 
 
 " Not the people only have changed, hut the coun- 
 try : — the whole way in which every one looks at 
 every thing. In our youth King and Parliament 
 were the powers which ruled and divided the world. 
 Men of forty now scarcely remember a king really 
 reigning. Men of twenty scarcely remember a 
 Parliament, save the poor mockery of a 'Rump' 
 which Oliver 'purged,' and which the London 
 butchers roasted hi effigy— that is, in beef— at the 
 Restoration. 
 
 ' The names honoured and dreaded in our youth, 
 names scarce uttered without the eye flashing, and 
 the cheek flushing with admiration or indignation, 
 have passed from the regions of popular enthusiasm 
 to the sober and silent tribunals of history. Many 
 which seemed to us indelibly engraven on the hearts 
 of men for renown or for abhorrence, Sir John Ho- 
 tham, 'the first traitor,' Sir Bevil Granvill, Sir 
 Jacob Astley, are — except among those who per- 
 sonally recollect them— unknown ; whilst around 
 the loftier heights still in sight strange mists of 
 legend already begin to gather, especially among 
 the peasantry. Prince Rupert is the ' black man * 
 with whoso name men of twenty have been spell- 
 bound into submission in the nursery. Archbishop 
 Laud and Strafford, in our Puritan village, have 
 well-nigh taken the place of the Spaniard and tin 
 Pope of our childhood, and rise before the imao-ina- 
 tion of the people as fiery-eyed giants, rattling 
 chains, and thirsting for the blood of Englishmen.
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF ThE SEA 
 
 385 
 
 " Hampden, Pym, Falkland, Eliot, are mere grand, 
 silent shades, walking the Elysian fields of the past, 
 far-off, among the heroes, Leonidas, Brutus, or the 
 Gracchi, but in no way disturbing the pursuits or 
 influencing the thoughts of the present. 
 
 : ' Instead, people speak frequently and familiarly 
 of Lambert, Fleetwood, and others, whose names 
 to me sound as strange as those of the combatants 
 of the Fronde. And, besides these, there are the 
 names which have shifted from side to side, until 
 they seem to have lost all meaning. 
 
 "The names of relio-ious influence anions: the Pu- 
 ritans — John Howe, Dr. Owen, Vice-chancellor of 
 Oxford, and Richard Baxter — are, through Mistress 
 Dorothy, less unfamiliar to me. Our good Bishop 
 Hall is dead. But Dr. Jeremy Taylor, whose dis- 
 course my mother loved so well, still lives, and fiba 
 the church with the music of his thoughts. 
 
 " The one English name which, on the continent 
 of Europe, overshadowed (or outshone) all the rest 
 — he whom the young King Louis (the Fourteenth) 
 called 'the greatest and happiest prince in Europe' 
 — is one men scarce utter willingly now. The emo- 
 tions which his name calls out have indeed still a 
 perilous fire in them. 
 
 " The other name, of which we used to hear most 
 in foreign parts, until it seemed at times as if, to 
 the outer world, the Doino- of England were alone 
 manifest in Oliver Cromwell, and her Thought in 
 John Milton — is also proscribed. The poet's trea- 
 sonable ' Defences,' which scholars abroad admired 
 (on account of the Latin I suppose), have been 
 33
 
 3 86 ON BOTH SIDES OF 1 HE SEA 
 
 burned in public. Bat he himself will, it is thought, 
 be spared ; although for the present he is in con- 
 cealment. A poet of our name and kindred, to 
 whom they say he showed kindness, is doing his 
 utmost to save him. His blindness, and the great 
 genius and renown he hath, also give him a kind of 
 sacredr-ess. Some say Heaven hath punished him 
 enough already ; others that Heaven shields him, 
 and makes his head sacred from violent touch by a 
 crown of sorrow. 
 
 "It is from Isaac Nicholls, Mistress Placidia's 
 son, I hear most of Mr. Johu Milton. Isaac is a 
 strange sprout from such a stock. He careth scarce 
 at all for the world as a place to get on in ; and 
 almost infinitely as a theatre to contemplate, with 
 its scenes painted by divine hands. He seems as 
 familiar with the past as Dr. Rich ; but in a differ- 
 ert way. To Dr. Rich the past seems a book, and 
 the present another book — a commentary on it. To 
 Isaac the past seems not a book, but a life, and 
 the present a life flowing from it. 
 
 " The names of the heroes seem as the names of 
 friends to him, from Leonidas to Falkland. The 
 voices of the poets seem all living, from Homer to 
 Milton. And while Mistress Nicholls wears out 
 heart and brain in anxious cares to make him an 
 inheritance, he finds a king's ti-easury in a book, 
 or in a carpet of mosses and wild-flowers such 
 as clothes the sweet old glade by the Lady 
 Well. 
 
 " Of all the pe >ple I remember, no one seems to 
 me to have grown so old as Mistress Nicholls ; and
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 387 
 
 of all the new people, none seems to me so delight 
 fully new as Isaac Nicholls. 
 
 "The prohibition laid by my father (through 
 Roland's influence) against all intercourse with the 
 Draytons, does not extend to Mistress Nicholls' 
 home. She is the nearest link I have with the old 
 Netherby home. Isaac comes often to the Hall, and 
 spends long days. The library is a new world to 
 him. And he is a new world to me ; or, rather, his 
 mind is to me a mirror in which all the black, blank 
 "England of these eleven years lives and moves, and 
 has voice and color. 
 
 " It was a warm evening early in July when I 
 first saw Isaac. Mistress Nicholls was sitting 
 spinning in the porch of her neat house, on the 
 outskirts of the village. 
 
 '* ' As diligent as ever, Mistress Nicholls,' I said. 
 
 " ' Yes, Mistress Lettice,' said she, in a voice 
 which had fallen into an habitual whine (such as is 
 thought by some characteristic of the Puritans in 
 general). ' Ah, yes, these are no times for a lone 
 woman to slacken her hands. It is not by folding 
 of the hands that body and soul are kept together 
 in these days.' 
 
 " As she spoke she led me to a chair in the par- 
 lor. In the window was sitting a lad with round 
 shoulders and long hair falling ever his forehead, 
 as he pored over a large folio on the window 
 seat. 
 
 "He turned round suddenly at her words, and 
 said, in an abrupt, shy way, yet with a gentle, 
 cheerful voice :
 
 ^88 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " ' Oh, mother, don't speak of body and soul, we 
 have much more than food and raiment.' 
 
 '"I do not deny,' she replied to me in a voice 
 half querulous, half apologetic, ' that the Lord has 
 been merciful, far above my deserts, no doubt. We 
 have never yet been suffered to want, I freely ac- 
 knowledge, and we ought to be very thankful, Mis- 
 tress Lettiee ; very thankful, no doubt.' 
 
 " Hearing my name the boy rose, and in a quiet, 
 nervous way, came forward, held out his hand, and 
 then drew back, blushing, and made an awkward 
 bow. 
 
 " ' My Isaac has heard of you,' said his mother, 
 ' from his cousins. Isaac thinks no one fit to be 
 compared with his cousins, Maidie and Dolly Ad 
 tony.' 
 
 " ' Olive's children ! ' I said. And I took his hai^d 
 and held it in both mine. It seemed to bring me 
 nearer them. 
 
 " 'Maidie and Dolly think no one fit to be com- 
 pared with Mistress Lettiee,' he said. 
 
 "It touched me much. And with so much in 
 common, friendship between Isaac and me waxed 
 apace. 
 
 " Yes, it was I, Lettiee Davenant, whom Olive's 
 fond recollections had made her children's queen of 
 beauty and love; the fairy princess of their fairy 
 tales; the Una of their ' milk white lamb.' They 
 knew all about me ; the adventures of our childhood 
 were their nursery stories ; the love of our youth 
 was the ideal friendship of their childhood. 
 
 "And now I come back to them no longer theii
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 385 
 
 jotemporary in the perpetual youth of ftaryland, 
 hut their mother's ; and here were these boys, Isaac 
 and Austin Rich, thinking no one in the world so 
 sweet and fair as Maidie and Dolly Antony. 
 
 " Over again, the old story ! Yet it does not 
 make me feel old, but young again. For our old 
 friendships, — our old faithful love, — are not dead, 
 nor like to die; 'incorruptible, undefined, and that 
 fadeth not away.' That is a heavenly inheritance 
 which the heart enters on here, or never there. 
 
 " Not years nor sorrows make us old, but selfish 
 cares. As Rachel Forster said, when I asked her 
 whether Mistress Nicholls had suffered from any 
 uncommon griefs or necessities, that she looked so 
 old, and seemed to feel so poor. 
 
 " Nay, Mistress Lettice, nay ! To my recollection 
 Mistress Placidia was never young; and all the 
 riches of the Spanish main could not make her rich. 
 She has such a terrible empty space inside to fill. 
 Not even the Almighty, the possessor of heaven and 
 earth, can make her rich, at least not with riches. 
 And, sure enough, He has tried, to my belief, near 
 all the ways He has. But it is of no use. But I 
 do think He has begun to make her poor. And that 
 is something.' 
 
 " ' What do you mean, Rachel ?' I said. 
 
 " ' Time was, though, poor soul, when she was 
 never able to think that she hud anything, she 
 thought great store of what she ioa.v,' said Rachel. 
 ' But now that is broken down. I do believe tho 
 Lord took her down that step when her boy was 
 born. And that step, the emptying and going 
 33*
 
 \yc 
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 down ir.to the depths, in my belief, begins to raak« 
 us Christians. Then comes the step up again into 
 the light. And, poor soul, it seems to me, ever 
 since, the good Lord has been trying, by all man- 
 ner of ways, to lead her up that stair. But she has 
 never had the heart to come. And so, down there, 
 out of the light, her poor wisht soul has grown old, 
 and white, and withered like; and her voice has 
 got a moan in it, like a voice tuned in a sick cham- 
 ber, and never lifted up in the fresh air, in a good 
 hearty psalm. ' Tisn't years or griefs that make us 
 old, nor poverty that makes us poor, to my seeing, 
 but looking down instead of up, and being shut up 
 alone with self, instead of with God.' 
 
 " And Job looked up, and said, with a smile and 
 a nod : — 
 
 "'She knows well enough, wife; she knows it 
 isn't anything the Lord sends that makes us old 
 or poor; but what the devil sends. The loss of all 
 the world can't make us poor, and the rolling by 
 of all the ages can't make us old, any more than 
 the angels. But there's no need to tell. She knows. 
 Mistress Lettice knows.' 
 
 " Job did not look up from the tool he was re- 
 pairing as he spoke. But I felt that his heart had 
 seen into mine. 
 
 " And it is a wonderful comfort to me to think 
 that that good old Puritan blacksmith knows. 
 
 " For he has camped many a night on the field 
 with Roger, as Rachel has often told me. And, nc 
 doubt, he must have seen into Roger's heart as 
 well as into mine. And, no doubt, those two, who
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 391 
 
 have loved each ether so well, have a warm corner 
 in their prayers for us. 
 
 "September 1st. — Isaac Nicholls has wonderful 
 6tones of the settlers in the American Plantations. 
 The wilderness across the Atlantic seems to have 
 been to him and Olive's children a kind of Atlantis, 
 and Fairy or Giant land ; — what the Faery Queen 
 or the stories of Hercules or the Golden Fleece 
 were to us. 
 
 " He has tales of daring and endurance concern- 
 in £ those Piloriras to the West which seem to me 
 worthy of the old heroic days. Of weeping con- 
 gregations parting on the sea-shores of the old 
 world, reluctantly left. Of congregations, free and 
 delivered, praising God in the midst of danger and 
 distress on the shores of the new. Of a hundred 
 Eno-lish men and women forsaking; land and friends 
 for religion, and going in a little ship across the 
 ocean, landing among the wooded creeks, half of 
 them perish ; ng in the cold of the first winter ; but 
 the fifty who survived never murmuring and rever 
 desparing. Of toils to till the new fields by day, 
 and watcbings at niajht against the Indians. Of 
 exploring parties going through trackless forests 
 till they found a habitable nook by the borders of 
 some lake or stream. Of green meadows and 
 ^golden corn-fields slowly won from the wilderness; 
 and pleasant gardens springing up around the new 
 homes, with strange fruits and flowers, and birds 
 with song as strange as the speech of the Indian". 
 Of old Puritan psalms sung by the sea-shore, till 
 the homely villages' arose, with their homely
 
 392 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA, 
 
 •ihurches, as in Old England on tho tillage 
 greens. 
 
 ' It sounds, as he tells it, like a story of some 
 old Grecian colony, with church hells through it; — 
 a curious mosaic of a Greek legend (such as Roger 
 used to tell me), and the Acts of the Apostles. 
 But the colonists were not Athenians nor Spar- 
 tans, hut Englishmen. And it all happened only 
 forty years ago. Or, as Isaac helieves, it is all 
 happening still, For although the great tide of 
 Puritan emigration has ceased during the Common- 
 wealth, there are always a few joining the numbers. 
 
 "'And,' saith Isaac, ' Maidie says Uncle Roger, 
 thinks the tide will set in again for the wilderness, 
 if things go on as they are going now at Court ' 
 
 " But here Isaac halts abruptly, as treading on 
 forbidden ground, and the conversation is turned ; 
 he little knowing how gladly I would have it flow 
 in the same current, and I scarce deeming it keep- 
 ing faith with my father to make an effort that it 
 should. 
 
 " The two living men who seei^ to fill the largest 
 space in Isaac's admiring gaze, are Mr. John Milton, 
 whom all the world knows, and a John Bunyan 
 (not even a Mr.), a poor tinker and ar Anabaptist, 
 whom no one knows, I should think, ^ut of his 
 own neighbourhood or sect, but whom Isaac de- 
 clares to have a way of making past tlrngs pre- 
 sent, and far-off things near, and unseer things 
 visible, as only the poets have. 
 
 " Mr, John Milton one can understand being the 
 hero of a boy like Isaac ; losing bis sight, as I **»<
 
 OJV' BOTH SIDES OF THE SI A. 393 
 
 believes, in the ' Defence of the People of England ; 
 filling all Europe with his song, shaking the thrones 
 of persecuting princes by his eloquent pleadinge 
 for the oppressed Christians of the Alps, seeming 
 to find in his blindness (as a saint in the darkness 
 of death) the unveiling of higher worlds ; a gentle- 
 man with a countenance which my mother thought 
 uoble and beautiful as Dr. Jeremy Taylor, or any 
 about the late king's Court ; a scholar whose taste 
 and learning the scholars of Italy send to consult, 
 and whose birth-house they come to see in London 
 as of their own Petrarch or Dante Alighieri ; a poet 
 whom men who can judge seem to lift altogether 
 out of the choirs of living singers, into a place by 
 himself among the poets who are dead. 
 
 " But this Anabaptist tinker ! It is a strange 
 delusion. I cannot wonder at Mrs. Nicholls' aver- 
 sion from such guidance for her son, especially as 
 it leads into the most perilous religious path he 
 can tread. 
 
 " October. — I have eeen the Anabaptist tinker and 
 heard him preach, and I wonder no more at Isaac's 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " It was in a barn a mile or two out of ISTetherby, 
 Isaac persuaded me to go, and I went ; and wrap 
 ping myself in a plain old mantle, crept into a cor- 
 ner and listened. 
 
 "And there I heard the kind of sermon I have 
 been wanting to hear so long. 
 
 " Heaven brought so near, and yet shown to be 
 so infinite; the human heart shown so dark and 
 void, and yet so large and deep, an 1 capable of
 
 m 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 being made so fair and full of good. Gn.ce, the 
 'gracu which over-mastereth the heart ;' not some- 
 thing destroying or excluding nature, but embrac- 
 ing, renewing, glorifying it. Christ our Loi*cl 
 shown so glorious, and yet so human; more human 
 than any man, because without the sin which stunts' 
 and separates. Yes, that was it. This tinker made 
 me see Him, brought me down to His feet ; not to 
 the Baptist, or Luther, or Calvin, or any one, but 
 to Christ, who is all in one. Brought me down to 
 His feet, rebuked, humbled, emptied; and then 
 made me feel His feet the loftiest station any creat- 
 ure could be lifted to. 
 
 " He began, as I think all highest preaching does, 
 by appealing not to what is meanest, but what is 
 noblest in us ; not by showing how easy religion is, 
 but how great. 
 
 "He began thus: — 'When He had called the 
 people, Jesus said, " Whsoever will come after 
 Me let him deny himself, and take up his cross and 
 follow Me." Let him count the charge he is like to 
 be at; for following Me is not like following some 
 other masters The wind sets always on my face, 
 and the foaming rage of the sea of this world, and 
 the proud and lofty waves thereof, do continually 
 beat upon the bark Myself and My followers aro 
 in ; he therefore that will not run hazards, let him not 
 net foot in this vessel.'' 
 
 " Then he spoke of the greatness of the soul that 
 could be lost and should be saved. God breathed 
 it. 'And the breath of the Lord lost nothing in 
 being made a living soul. O man ! dos* tbou
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 395 
 
 know what thou art ? Made in God's image ! 1 
 do not read of anything in heaven or earth so 
 made, or so called, but the Son of God. The King 
 Himself, the great God, desires communion with it. 
 He deems no suit of apparel good enough for it 
 but one made for itself 
 
 " Then he spoke of the wonderful beauty of the 
 body. This ' costly cabinet of that curious thing 
 the soul.' The more it is thought of and its works 
 looked into, the more wonderfully it is seen to be 
 made. Yet is the body but the house, the raiment, 
 of that noble creature the soul. It is a tabernacle; 
 the soul, the worshipper within. Yet we are not 
 to forget the body is a tabernacle, no common dwell- 
 ing, but a holy place, a temple. 
 
 " Then he spoke of the powers of this ' noble 
 creature : ' of Memory, its ' register ; ' of Consci- 
 ence, its seat of judgment; of the Affections, the 
 hands and arms with which it embraces what it 
 loves. God's anger is never, he said, against these 
 powers — 'the natives of the soul' — but against 
 their misuse. 
 
 " But the soul being so noble, it is the soul that 
 sins. Not the body ; that is passive. And it is 
 the sinful impenitent soul which suffers, Then 
 the clods of the valley are sweet to the wearied 
 body.' 
 
 " A whole world of wisdom, the wisdom I had 
 been longing to hear, seemed to me to lie in the 
 words of this tinker. How many dark hearts 
 would be cheered, and downcast hearts lifted up 
 and closed narrowed souls opined and expanded u
 
 396 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 embrace the light around, if this could he under- 
 stood ! The body is not vile, it is Gcd's curious 
 costly cabinet ; His tabernacle to be kept holy. The 
 body sins not. Sin is not in matter but in spirit. 
 Conversion is a liberation of all the '•natives'' from 
 the intrusive tyranny of sin and Satan, a making 
 tl e whole man every whit whole. God's anger is 
 not against the natural affections or understanding. 
 They are not to be destroyed, crushed, or fettered, 
 They are to be liberated, expanded, quickened with 
 the new life. 
 
 " How many of the dark pages of Church history 
 already written, and now being written, might 
 never have been, if the theology of this tinker 
 could be understood ! 
 
 " Luther, they say, also knew these things (and 
 Roger used to declare Oliver Cromwell did, but of 
 this I know nothing). Strange it is to see how 
 from height to height these souls respond to each 
 other, like bonfires carrying the good news from 
 range to range, throughout the ages. These are 
 the wise; wise like angels; wise like little children. 
 Half way down it seems to me, walk the smaller 
 ingenious men of each generation, laboriously 
 building- elaborate erections which all the insreni- 
 
 ~ CD 
 
 ous men on their own hill-side and on their own 
 level admire, but which those on the other side 
 cannot see. And below, in the valleys, the reapers 
 reap, and the little children glean, and the womer 
 work and weep and wait, and wonder at the skill 
 of the builders on the hill-side, so far above them 
 to imitate. But when they want to know if thf
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 397 
 
 good news from the far country is still there foi 
 them, as for those of old, they look not to the hill- 
 sides lut to the hill-tops, where the bonfires flash 
 the gjspels — plainer even in the night than in the 
 day — and where the earliest and latest sunbeams 
 rest. And so the eyes of the watchers on the 
 mountain tops, of the children and the lowly 
 labourers in the valleys, and of the angels in the 
 heavens, meet. And when the night comes — 
 which comes to all on earth — the ingenious builders 
 on the hill-sides, no doubt, have also to look to the 
 mountain-tops, where the watch-fires burn, and the 
 sunset lingers and the sunrise breaks. 
 
 "This tinker seems to have a soul ordered like a 
 great kingdom, all its powers in finest use and in 
 most perfect subordination. But Isaac says this 
 kingdom sprang from a chaos of war, and conflict, 
 and anguish, such as scarce any human souls know. 
 
 " In this also like Luther, who had his terrible 
 civil wars to pass through ere the Kingdom came 
 within. (And Roger said Oliver Cromwell had.) 
 To John Banyan (Isaac told me), the finding of an 
 old thumbed copy of Luther on the Galatians was 
 like the discovery of the spring in the wilderness to 
 llagar. ' I do prefer that book,' he said, ' before all 
 others, except the Holy Bible, for a wounded con- 
 
 science.' 
 
 "So they meet — these simplest, wisest, widest, 
 humblest, highest souls, and understand each other's 
 language, and take up each other's song in anti- 
 phons from age to age. 
 
 "Yet, I fear, this can scarce be so with JobtJ 
 31
 
 3 g8 ON BOTH SIDES OF TK I SEA. 
 
 Bunyan. His voice can scarce reach beyond his 
 own time, deep as it is. For how could an unlearned 
 tinker write a book which ages to come would 
 read ? 
 
 " And, withal, he is a true Englishman. That 
 also pleased me well in him. I think the greatest 
 men who are most human, most for all men, are also 
 most characteristically national ; it is the smaller 
 great men who are cosmopolitan. Even as St. Paul 
 was a Hebrew of the Hebrews, Martin Luther w r as 
 German to the core, they say (and Roger said Oliver 
 Cromwell was English to the core). And so is 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 " A square, solid brow ; a ruddy, healthy, sensi- 
 ble countenance ; a body muscular, strong-boned, 
 tall, compact ; eyes keen, calm, quick, sparkling, 
 obseiwant, kindly, with twinklings of humour in 
 them, and tears, and anger, but not restless or 
 dreamy ; a mouth firm, capable of rebuke or of quiet 
 smiles. In company, Isaac says, not 'given to lo- 
 quacity or much discourse, unless some urgent oc- 
 casion required it ;' and then ' accomplished with a 
 quick discerning of persons, being of a good judg- 
 ment and an excellent wit.' The dumbness (natural 
 to all Englishmen worth anything) not absent in 
 him ; speech 1 eing with him not for ornament but 
 for use. 
 
 "November, 16 0.— Isaac is in great trouble. John 
 Bunyan has been cast into prison. Mistress Nicholla 
 also is in great trouble, fearing Isaac may be in- 
 volved in John Bunyan's disgrace, seeing he love* 
 so much to hear him.
 
 ON LOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 399 
 
 " ' It is a very peculiar trial,' saith she, ' that her 
 boy should embrace the most perilous form of all 
 the perilous religions of the day,' 
 
 " Not the most, mother,' said Isaac. ' The Qua 
 kers are worse.' 
 
 ' ; Indeed everyone seems to agree that of all the 
 sects which have sprung up during the Common- 
 wealth, the Quakers are the worst. I should like 
 to sec one. 
 
 "February, 1661. — I am grieved to the heart ai 
 these ungenerous revenges. It was an ill way to 
 celebrate the martyrdom of His Sacred Majesty, to 
 drag the bodies of brave men from the graves in the 
 Abbey, and hang them on gibbets. 
 
 " Senseless, mean, and barbarous revenges ! They 
 should have heard John Bunyan the tinker preach. 
 It was not the body that sinned. They should 
 have let it rest. 
 
 " My father thinks Oliver Cromwell deserved any- 
 thing ; but he is not pleased at their having dis- 
 turbed the bones of his mother and daughter, and 
 of Robert Blake, and cast them into a pit in St. 
 Margaret's churchyard. 
 
 " 'A peaceable old gentlewoman, who never did 
 any harm that I heard,' said he, ' except bringing the 
 usurper into the world ; and a young gentle lady 
 too good for such a stock. Their dust would not 
 have hurt that of the kings'. Doubtless it was in 
 solence to lay them there; but it was scarce an Eng 
 lish gentleman's work to molest them.' 
 
 "Bat about the violation of Blake's tomb hia 
 tnger waxed hot. ' A god old Somerset.sHr<
 
 fOO 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 family,' he said. ' They might have let him rest; if 
 only for the fright he gave the Pope, the Turk, and 
 the Spaniard.' 
 
 " I was afraid to go near Job Forster's for some 
 days after I heard of these desecrations. When at 
 last I went, Rachel could not altogether restrain 
 her indignation. Job only said, " Never heed, never 
 heed. He thev sought to dishonour doesn't heed. 
 What is all the world but a churchyard ? In " the 
 twinkling of an eye" will anyone have time to see 
 where the bodies rise from ? Or dost think the gold 
 and jewels on kings' tombs will have much of a 
 shine when the Gates of Pearl are open, and the 
 poor body they have thrown like a dog's beneath 
 the gibbet shall enter them shining like a star ?' 
 
 " But then something broke down his fortitude, 
 and he added, in a husky voice, — 
 
 '''Yet England might have found him another 
 grave. He did his best for her ; he did his best.' 
 
 "January, 1662. — A long break in these pages. 
 There has not been much very cheerful to write. 
 And I would never write noans. These it is better 
 to make into prayers. 
 
 " Our house is not altogether at unity with itself. 
 
 " Roland has brought home his wife. 
 
 " From the first, my father did not affect her. 
 
 " She took her new honours more loftily and easily 
 than he liked. 
 
 " ' [V pretty Frenchified poppet,' he called her. 
 
 " I have done my best to smooth matters, although 
 it is a little vexatious to the temper, sometimes, to
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. +0 l 
 
 be counselled with matronly airs, and co isoled for 
 my single state by this young creature. 
 
 " It has been often difficult to keep the peace. 
 
 " Naturally, the old associations of the old place 
 are nothing to her, and she offends my father con- 
 tinually, by laughing at the old servants, the old 
 furniture, and what she calls our old-fashioned ways 
 in general. 
 
 " But to-day she kindled him into a flame which, 
 for the time, will probably keep her at a distance. 
 
 " She ventured to propose that she should change 
 my mother's oratory into a cabinet for herself, ' to 
 be draped ,' said she, ' with silk, and adorned with 
 statues, and be like the apartments of the " Lady " 
 at Whitehall.' 
 
 " Which brought out some very plain English 
 from ray father concerning the ' Lady,' and all who 
 favoi«d her. 
 
 " ' The king,' he vowed, 'might degrade his pal- 
 aces, if he pleased, and if he dared. But he would 
 see the Hall and everything in it burned to the 
 ground, rather than have the place where my mother 
 had lived the life and jn'ayed the prayers of an an- 
 gel, polluted by being likened to the dwelling of a 
 creature it was a dishonour for a man to tolerate or 
 for a woman to name.' 
 
 " So, for the time, the controversy ended. And, in a 
 few days, Roland and his wife went back to the Court. 
 
 " But jiv lather is more and more uneasy and ir- 
 ritable. 'In his youth, he said, 'in the days of the 
 good of sacred memory, all were noble, rebels, roy- 
 alists, all. Eliot, Pym, Hampden, Ess< ., were gen 
 34*
 
 402 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 tlemen and true Englishmen, as well as Falkland, 
 Bevil Granvill, or Sir Jacob Astley. And all, how- 
 ever deluded, feared God, and honoured all true 
 men and women. But now,' says he, ' all are base 
 togethei -Court, Royalists, Roundheads — all. Why 
 could not Roger Drayton have kept to such politics 
 as Hampden's or his own father's, and not disgraced 
 himself by joining these furious traitors and sec- 
 taries ?' 
 
 " By which I know that my father has relentings 
 towards the Draytons, though he will by no means 
 confess it. 
 
 " June, 1 662. — I have seen a Quaker. And a very 
 soft and mild kind of creature it seems to be. 
 
 " Olive's children are at Netherby. To-day I met 
 her little girls at Mistress Nicholls's. Maidie is a 
 darling little elfin queen. And Dolly is a swee*. 
 little Puritan angel. And with them was Annie 
 Nye, their nurse, a Quaker maiden, with a heroical 
 serene face, and a voice even and soft, like a river 
 flowing through meadows. She attracted me much ; 
 a harmless dove of a maiden she seemed. 
 
 " But when I said so to Job Forster, on my way 
 home, he shook his head and muttered, — 
 
 " ' Soft enough, and deep enough ! You would 
 find what kind of gentleness she has if you saw her 
 take the bit between her teeth and make straight 
 for the pillory, and you had to hold her in and 
 keep her safe, if you could. Why, I'm always ex- 
 pecting, morn and night, that poor maid'll get » 
 ' concern ' to go and testify against the king's mis- 
 tresses, or the Popish bishops' surplices. To saj
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 40 > 
 
 nothing of the chance of her setting off to preach 
 in New England, or to the Turks, or to the Pope cf 
 Rome, as some of them do when they are well per- 
 suaded it is more dangerous than anything else. 
 And say what George Fox may of the Protector, 
 ehe'd find the tender mercies of the Court scarce so 
 tender as he was. If you want to make your life s. 
 burden to you, Mistress Lettice,' he concluded dole- 
 fully, shaking his head, ' you've nought to do but 
 to get your heart tender to a Quaker (as no man or 
 woman with a heart in them can help getting it to 
 that wilful maid), and try to keep her out of harm's 
 way. You'll find you've no rest left, day nor night. 
 I've had hard things to do in my time, but never 
 one that beat me over and over like trying to keep 
 a Quaker safe.' 
 
 "July, 1662. — My father, a few days since, met 
 Maidie and Dolly in the village, and asked whose 
 children they were. 
 
 " In the evening he said to me, — 
 
 " ' Those children of Olive Drayton's, at least, are 
 guilty of no crimes, political or other. Have them 
 to the house, Lettice, if thou wilt.' 
 
 "And, since, the old house and the gardens have 
 grown musical with the frolics of these young crea- 
 tures, Isaac and Maidie, Austin Rich and Dolly. It 
 makes me young again to see their story of life be- 
 
 ming. 
 
 ;< And it is pleasant to fed there is so much ol 
 youth left in my heart to respond to the youth in 
 theirs, so that they see and feel my being with 'hew 
 a sunshine, not a shadow. 
 
 g" e
 
 4C 4 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " Sometimes I feel as if I could be content to t ake 
 this on-looker's place in life, and be a kind of grand- 
 mother to every one's children. If I conld only be 
 sure that Roger and the old friends were also con- 
 tent and secure. 
 
 " But the times press hard on them, and are like, 
 I hey say, to pi-ess harder yet. 
 
 " August 30. — The harder times for the Puritans 
 have come, or have begun. A week since, on St. 
 Bartholomew's Day, two thousand of their minis- 
 ters resigned their benefices, rather than do what 
 was commanded by the Act of Uniformity. 
 
 " My father is angry with the ' parsons ' all 
 round ; with the bishops for driving the Puritans 
 out, with the Puritans for going. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy writes from Kidderminster : — 
 
 " ' Mr. Baxter and sixteen hundred of His Ma- 
 jesty's most loyal subjects, and the Church's most 
 faithful ministers, banished from their pulpits. We 
 had looked for another return when, like Judah of 
 old, we hastened to be the first to bring back our 
 king. But return, or no return, let not any think 
 Ave repent our loyalty. We will pray for His Ma- 
 jesty by twos or threes, if, by his command, we are 
 forbidden to assemble in larger numbers. Pray that 
 his throne may be established, and his counsellors 
 converted.' 
 
 " Job Forster smiles grimly under the gray sol- 
 dierly hair on his upper lip, and says, sententiously, 
 between the strokes on his anvil, — 
 
 " ' They are finding it out. One after another. 
 The four thousand Quakers in the jails. The Sroi
 
 ON BOTH BIDiUS OF THE SEA. 405 
 
 tish Covenanted men, with the choice between the 
 bishops and the gallows. Jenny Geddes will scarce 
 rise from the dead to help them now. They are 
 learning how the king remembers their sermons, to 
 which they made him hearken so many hours. And 
 Low he keeps their Covenant, to which they road 
 him swear so many oaths. The French, and the 
 Dutch, and the Spaniards found it out long ago. 
 And now the two thousand parsons are finding it 
 out. And by-and-by, nigh the whole country will 
 find it out. But Rachel and I will scarce be here 
 to see.' 
 
 " ' Find out what ? ' I said. 
 
 "'That the Lord Protector's death was no such 
 great blessing to any but himself,' said Job. And 
 he became at once too absorbed in his work to pur- 
 sue the conversation. 
 
 " October 297//. — To-day, the Post brought tidings 
 which, when my lather read, he dashed the letter 
 from him, and started to his feet w r ith an anathema, 
 brief but dec)). 
 
 "Then he paced up and down the room once or 
 twice in silence, and then he said suddenly to me, —   
 
 " 'Lettice, where is Roger Drayton ? ' 
 
 "The abrupt question startled me for an insta at, 
 BO that I could not reply. I did not know w. at 
 new calamity had come, or was coming. And I 
 suppose the color hit my face. For at once my 
 father added 'very gently, — 
 
 "'I should not have asked thee. I know well 
 thou hast kept my prohibition but too loyally. J 
 will send a messenger to Xetherby with the letter
 
 + o6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " He wrote a few rapid lines, and despatched a 
 Eery ant. w T ith the letter without delay. 
 
 " Then deliberately and quietly he took his sword 
 from his side and hung it up beside my grandfa- 
 ther's in the hall. 
 
 " ' For the last time ! ' he said. ' The honor of 
 England is gone for ever. The king has sold Dim- 
 kirk to the French." 1 
 
 "And With a restless impatience he went on, — 
 
 " ' Come, come, child ! We will make no babyish 
 moans. Get on thy mantle and come round the 
 old place. A man may still serve the country by 
 making two blades of grass where one grew before. 
 But by bearing arms under traitors who sell the 
 honor of England to pay for the paint and gewgaws 
 of wicked women, never again. Henceforth call 
 thyself a husbandman's daughter; but never again 
 a soldier's. In name and in arms England is dis- 
 graced, child, dishonored, made a bye-word and a 
 laughing-stock to the whole world. But we may 
 still make the corn grow thicker and the sheep fatter. 
 So who shall say there is not something worth living 
 for yet ? 
 
 " ' Something worth doing yet,' he added, ' for 
 the country of Eliot and Falkland, and Robert 
 Blake, who made the Pope and the Tuik quake in 
 their castles, and now lies tossed like a dog into a 
 pit in St. Margaret's churchyard ! ' 
 
 " But he did not tell me what was in the letter 
 he sent to Netherby. 
 
 " October 31 st. — The autumn wind was softly drift- 
 ing the brown leaves into heaps round the roo',s> oi
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4.07 
 
 the trees, by the Lady Well, and softly adding to 
 them by loosening one by one from the brancheB. 
 I was thinking he was God's gardener, tenderly, 
 though with rough hands, folding warm coverlids 
 over the roots of the floweis. I was thinking how 
 wilder winds would come, and with icy breath heap 
 the snows above the dead leaves ; and yet still only 
 be God's gardeners to keep His flowers housed 
 against the spring, and not to shelter only, but to 
 feed and enrich them whilst sheltering. For sleep 
 is not only a rest, but a cordial of new life. I was 
 listening to the dropping of the water into the Holy 
 Well the mouks had made so long ago, and think- 
 ing how Olive and I had listened to it long ago, 
 and thought it like church music from a kind of 
 sacred Fairy land. The old well, and the fresh 
 spring; always fresh, always living, always young; 
 when there came a rustling among the leaves which 
 was not the wind, nearer, nearer, and before I could 
 look, his hand on my hand, and his voice, low an 
 the dropping of the water, on my heart, and deep 
 as the spring from which it flowed. 
 
 " ' Lettice, your father told me I might come back 
 Do you say so r ' 
 
 " I could scarcely speak, still less could I meet 
 his eyes, which I felt through the heavy lids I could 
 not raise. 
 
 u ' My heart has never changed, Roger,' I said at 
 last, ' nor misdoubted you one instant.' 
 
 " ' Has your determination changed, Lettice ? ' 
 he said, gently withdrawing his hand. 
 
 " ' Has yours ? ' I said. ' If you can but say yo»
 
 4.0S ON BOTH SID EH OF THE SEA. 
 
 grieve for one irrevocable deed, and would recall it 
 if you could ? ' 
 
 "'I repent of much, and would undo much,' he 
 replied. ' But I can never say I repent of following 
 him who saved England; and to whom Eng- 
 land cannot even return the poor gratitude of a 
 grave.' 
 
 " We went silently home side by side, the dead 
 leaves crumbling under his feet in the still wood- 
 land paths, till we came to my mother's garden, 
 one side of which bordered on the wood. 
 
 " There he unlatched the little garden gate, and 
 held it for me to pass. The click sounded startling 
 in the silence. I passed through, but did not look 
 up, until my hands were suddenly seized in my 
 father's, and his face shone down on me beaming 
 with smiles I had not seen there for many a day. 
 
 " ' How now, child,' said he, ' whither away, pale 
 and downcast as a white violet ? 
 
 " ' Dost fear I distrust thee Lettice ? ' he added 
 softly ; ' I never did, I never could.' 
 
 " Then I looked up and met his eyes for a mo- 
 ment, but the softness in them overcame me, and I 
 could not speak. 
 
 " ' What does all this mean, Roger Drayton ? ' 
 he resumed, impatiently. ' Does not she know 1 
 sent for thee ? Surely she has not changed?' 
 
 " ' Mistress Lettice says she has not changed, 1 
 Baid Roger despondingl} r , ' and never can.' 
 
 " ' Then what is all this coil about ? She told 
 me months since, in the teeth of prohibitions and 
 entreaties to bestow her hand elsewhere, that you
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 409 
 
 had exchanged troth, and would be true to each 
 oth( r till death.' 
 
 " ' And after,' said T. ' Death cannot separate 
 us for ever. Only that terrible death, and thai 
 only in life.' 
 
 " ' It was because I guarded the scaffold at the 
 king's beheading,' said Roger. 
 
 " ' Tush, tush, child,' my father replied, hastily. 
 4 We have been through a wilderness, and which 
 of us has not lost his way ? We have been through 
 che fire and smoke of a hundred battles, who ex- 
 pects us to come out with face and hands washed 
 like a Pharisee's ?' 
 
 " Then suddenly turning to Roger and taking 
 his hand, he said solemnly, — 
 
 " ' If thou hadst known, Roger Drayton, for 
 what a king that scaffold was clearing the way, 
 I trow thou hadst rather laid thy head on the 
 block thyself.' 
 
 " This Roger did not deny. Was not his silence 
 a confession ? And so, when my father laid our 
 hands together in his, could I refuse ? The sacred 
 irresistible touch of another hand which had once 
 before so joined them, seemed on us all, and a ten- 
 der voice from heaven seemed to float above like 
 church music. And still as I listened to-night, in 
 the oratory alone, it seemed to say, — 
 
 " ' My children, the way is rough, tread it to- 
 gether. The burdens are heavy; share them all. 
 Sorrows, fears, fruitless regrets, fruitful repentances, 
 share them all. Bear each other's burdens, and in 
 so bearing, make them sometimes light and always 
 35
 
 tio ON BOTH SIDES OF IKE SEA. 
 
 helpful. To you it is given to love ; not with the 
 poor timid transitory love which dares not see, but 
 with the love which dares to see because it helps 
 to purify. My children, the way will not be smooth. 
 Tread it together. The burdens will be heavy. 
 Share them all.' " 
 
 olive's recollections. 
 
 They were married as quietly as might be or 
 a quiet autumn day in the old parish-church of 
 Netherby. 
 
 We waited for them in the porch of the old 
 church — the west porch, which our forefathers had 
 built — looking across the green graves of the vil- 
 lage churchyard, across the quiet village street to 
 the arched gate which opened opposite from one of 
 the avenues of the hall; my father, Aunt Dorothy 
 (once more at ISTetherby), Aunt Gretel, my hus- 
 band, the children and I. 
 
 No stately procession issued thence, only Let 
 tice. leaning on her father's arm, wrapped closely 
 in a mantle, with a few faithful old servants fol 
 lowing. 
 
 We saw them in the distance wending towards 
 us among the grey stems of the beech-trees. 
 Their footsteps fell softly on the fallen leaves as 
 they crossed the church path. We met them at 
 the churchyard gate. 
 
 So we entered the church, which we had not 
 done before. 
 
 And there a sight met us which went deep to 
 Wir hearts.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4 , , 
 
 Thtre had been no triumphal wedding arches, no 
 banners, no flowers strewn on the bride's path. 
 
 Netherbv was a Puritan village, and we Puritans 
 were at no time great in pomps and ceremonials, 
 Moreover, there was a weight of joy in the crown- 
 ing of this hope so long deferred, and a depth of 
 content, which moved rather to tears than to 
 shouts of welcome. Nor were the times very joy- 
 ous to us. With two thousand deprived ministers 
 to be kept from starving, and thousands of those 
 who believed as we did, not to be kept from pris- 
 ons, our festivities naturally took a sober colouring. 
 
 We had not therefore been prepared to find the 
 church full from door to altar; full of people from 
 the village and from all the country round— old 
 men and women, and the youngest children that 
 could be trusted to be quiet. (For, as one mother 
 said afterwards, "I would like them to be able to 
 say to their children, ' I was there when Mr. Roger 
 and Mistress Lettice were married.' ") They rose 
 as we passed up the aisle, and a soft murmur of 
 benediction seemed to fill the silent church. 
 
 For Roger and Lettice were dearly loved in 
 the dear old place, with an affection which had 
 grown with their growth from infancy, and which 
 was strong through the intertwining roots of cen- 
 turies. (Il will be long before the new roots in the 
 New World strike so deep.) 
 
 Anc through all the generations of Davenanta 
 and Draytons this was the first time the lines had 
 met in marriage. 
 
 It was a solemn as well as a joyful thing to se«
 
 412 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 those two stand with joined hands at the allai 
 with the tombs of our fathers beside them in the 
 oldest transept, and the stately monuments of the 
 Davenants opposite, whilst the whole village of 
 Cur tenants and servants (children of generations 
 of our tenants and servants) were gathered behind. 
 
 As they knelt down side by side on the altaT 
 steps, a ray from the autumn sun fell softly on her 
 bowed head, slightly turned, on the rich brown 
 hair flowing beneath her veil, on the broad fair 
 brow, the drooping eyelids, with their long dark 
 lashes, and the pale cheek. In its repose her face 
 shone on me as if it had been her mother's looking 
 down on her from heaven; so close seemed the 
 likeness, so angelic the calm. It brought my child- 
 hood, and all heaven before me, and blinded my 
 eyes with tears. 
 
 Good old Dr. Rich was so completely shaken out 
 of his natural dwelling-place in the past by his 
 sympathy with them that he seemed like another 
 man. His voice was deep and tender, and the bene- 
 dictions fell from his lips with a power which re- 
 sounded from stone effigies of knight and dame, 
 and thrilled back from every living heart, in a deep 
 echo, " Yea, and they shall be blessed." 
 
 The most rigid Puritan in the place conformed 
 for the occasion. Responses went up, not, as 
 Mr. Baxter complains, "in a confused and unmean- 
 ing manrer," but hearty and clear as an anthem j 
 and the Amcns rang through the church like * 
 dalute of artillery. 
 
 As tho service closed and we followed Lettic*
 
 ON BOTH SIDES, OF THE SEA 4,3 
 
 and Roger clown the aisle, I noticed a cavalier 
 wrapped in a large mantle, leaning against one of 
 the pillars near the door. Lettice saw him and 
 pointed him out to Roger, and both then went to- 
 wards him. It was Walter Davenant. He came 
 forward and grasped their hands. 
 
 His voice was low, and had a tremor iu it. But 
 I heard him say, — 
 
 . " If my being publicly here could have been any 
 sign of honour to you, Roger Drayton, i. would 
 nave come with a cavalcade. But my coming is 
 an honour to none. I pray you think it not a 
 disgrace." 
 
 Sir Walter coloured as he saw him (he had for 
 bidden Walter to enter his house), but Lettice 
 placed their hands together, and there was no re- 
 sisting the entreaty in her sweet pleading face. 
 So the old cavalier went back to the hall leaning 
 on his son's arm. 
 
 It seemed as happy an augury as could be given 
 of the blessing to flow from the marriage. 
 
 He was the only one of Lettice's kindred except 
 her father who vouchsafed his presence. And I 
 believe it was to counterbalance this cold recep- 
 tion, and testify how he honoured, as much as to 
 show hew he loved, his child, that Sir Walter in- 
 pisted on all the village partaking of such a feast 
 as Netherby had never seen, and on the ringers of 
 all the churches round ringing such peals as the 
 country side had never heard. 
 
 So it came about that at last, after flowing sc 
 parallel, so close, and so divided for so ciany ^en 
 35*
 
 ^., 4 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 turies, the two streams of life at Netherby blended 
 in one. 
 
 Job Forstcr said, — 
 
 " I always knew it must be — I always knew, Dc 
 you think, Mistress Olive, I've watched nightly with 
 Master Roger by the camp-fires on Scotch and Irish 
 moors, on the hills and by the sea, and gone with 
 him mto battle after battle, when neither of is knew 
 who would ever come back alive — without finding 
 out where his heart was ? and when Mistress Lettice 
 came back from beyond seas as a lily among thorns, 
 I knew she was all right, which made it plain. But I 
 never breathed it to a soul. She (i. e. Rachel) of course 
 always knew everything, whether she was told or 
 not. But she was unbelieving about it — fearful and 
 unbelieving. I never knew her so bad about any- 
 thing. I believe it was because she wished it so 
 much. Scores of times she has vexed me sore about 
 it. ' There was no promise folks should be happy,' 
 said she, ' and have all they wished for.' I had to 
 mind her of the morning long ago, when we went 
 bunting in the dark for a promise for Master Roger 
 when he was in that sore trouble, and no promise 
 came, till at last she found we wanted none, for we'd 
 got beyond the promises to Him who was the Prom- 
 ise of all promises. And here she was standing up 
 again for a promise ! ' It was spiritual inward bless- 
 ing we were looking for then, Job,' said she (nigh 
 as perverse as that poor Quaker maid), ' and of course 
 that's all plain. This is outward, and that's another 
 thing altogether. No doubt the good Lord would 
 have us all forgiven and made good. But it's by
 
 Oy BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4 u 
 
 no mea-iis clear to my mind He'd have us all married 
 and made happy just in the way we wish.' 'Well, 
 said I, ' thou'rt a wise woman, a world wiser than 
 me. But thou'st never fought under Oliver. He 
 said he knew not well to distinguish been outward 
 blessings and inward. To a worldly man they are 
 outward ; to a saint, Christian. The difference is in 
 the subject, if not in the object.' Nor," continued 
 Job, " do I know to distinguish, or care. Least- 
 ways thou'st been the best means of grace the Lord 
 eveL sent to me. And why shouldn't Master Roger 
 and Lettice be like thee and me? Seems to me 
 scarce thankful, anyway, to put marriage among the 
 outward blessings, like meat !' Which, if it did not 
 convince her (for the best of women can't be always 
 amenable to reason), anyways turned the conversa- 
 tion. And now it's all come about as I said, wife, 
 and thou must give in at last," he concluded. " Sure, 
 thou'lt never be as stiff-necked as those poor wilful 
 Scottish ministers, who were so wise they couldn't 
 even see what the Almighty meant after He had 
 spoken in thunder at Dunbar. Poor souls," he 
 added, "poor stiff-necked souls; they're learning it 
 now on the other side of the book, by the gallows 
 and the boot, and the congregations scattered by 
 the Kind's soldiers on the hills." 
 
 Rachel did not plunge into the vexed question his 
 words raised; as to whether the event proved the 
 equity of the cause. Sh only said,— - 
 
 " Promise or no promise. Job ; inward or out vvardj 
 I've no manner of doubt the good Lord minds 
 whether we're happy or no, and makes us as happy
 
 4.16 Oy BO 771 SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 as may be, while being made as good as we can be< 
 Which, of course, He minds ten thousand times 
 more; because the goodness is the happiness, come 
 which way it may, by the drought or the flood. 
 But if the happiness will make us good, no fear of 
 His stinting that. Good measure pressed down and 
 running over, that's His measure, and that's the 
 measure He's given Mistress Lettice and Master 
 Roger at last, and thee and me, this many a year. 
 Good measure, with His sign and mark on it to show 
 it is good, and no counterfeit." 
 
 Aunt Dorothy was the only one among us who 
 thought it necessary to temper Roger and Lettice's 
 content with dark forebodings. 
 
 "It is no smooth sea, dear heart," said she to 
 Lettice, " thy bark is launched upon, nor can ye re- 
 main long in any haven." 
 
 " I know that I have married a soldier," replied 
 Lettice, " and a soldier in a warfare which has no 
 discharges. But I know his lot, and I have chosen 
 it for mine, Aunt Dorothy." 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy " fell from her lips for the first 
 time like a caress. There was always a kind of 
 sweet easy majesty about Lettice, which made her 
 caresses seem a dignity as well as a delight, and 
 Aunt Dorothy for the time ceased her forebodings. 
 Her love for Lettice was stronger than she confessed 
 or knew, and she was always more easily led by 
 Lettice than by any amongst us to take a brighter 
 view of things and men. Not that Aunt Dorothy 
 Was one given to moan or whine. She did not dread 
 Buffering, but she believed it her duty to dread joy
 
 OV BOTH SIDES CF THE SEA. 
 
 4'? 
 
 and was therefore ever wont to shadow sunny daya 
 witn the severe foresight of evil days to come. Dark 
 days indeed were her bright days, since on these she 
 permitted herself to enjoy such stray sunbeams as 
 rarely fail to break through the darkest. 
 
 During three years after Roger and Lettice'a 
 marriage we kept much at Xetherby. Sir Walter's 
 tailing health made him choose the quiet of his 
 country home. Moreover, the doings of that de- 
 graded court, which the loyal Mr. Evelyn called 
 "rather a luxurious and abandoned rout than a 
 court," displeased the old cavalier of the court of 
 Charles the First as much as it did any Puritan 
 amongst us. Except for the contrast which made 
 it yet bitterer for us who had hoped much from the 
 Commonwealth, and remembered Milton dwelling 
 at Whitehall, and the blameless family of the Pro- 
 tector making a pure English home, with dignified 
 courtly festivities and family prayer, where now the 
 eager contests of the gaming-table and wretched 
 French songs resounded, on Sundays as well as 
 on other days, through the apartments where the 
 King's unstresses reigned. 
 
 An alliance grew up between Aunt Dorothy, Sir 
 Walter, and good Dr. Rich. Aunt Dorothy could 
 never so far forgive my father, Roger, my husband, 
 or Job Forster, for- turn. ng (as she believed) liberty 
 into license, and lawful resistance into rebellion, as 
 to consort with them again as of the same party. 
 With Sir Walter she had a broad common ground 
 in their loyalty to the late king, their lamentations 
 ever the present court, their general adniiraticn o/
 
 + l8 ON BOTH SILA'S OF THE SEA. 
 
 the nobleness of the past, and their general hopeless- 
 ness as to the future. But with Dr. Rich her sym- 
 pathies were deeper. He would bring her passages 
 fr.mi St. Austin, which she thought only second tc 
 St. I'aul; and, in return, she would acknowledge 
 that there was one passage which she had not once 
 understood as she ought, and that was, " Resist not 
 the power, for they that resist shall receive to them- 
 selves damnation." She agreed with Mr. Baxter 
 and Mr. Henry as to the duty of attending, at least 
 occasionally, the services in the church established 
 by law. And he agreed that from primitive times 
 private assemblies for edification in twos and threes 
 were not forbidden. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, they had debates. 
 
 " England also has now her St. Bartholomew," 
 she said once, " and no doubt she will have her ret- 
 ribution. Charles the Ninth of France died in aero- 
 nies of remorse soon after that fatal day of the exe- 
 cution of the Huguenots." 
 
 " Anniversaries are not always wise to observe, 
 madam," he replied. "On the eve of St. Bartholo- 
 mew's day seventeen years ago, the Commonwealth 
 prohibited the use of the Common Prayer even in 
 private. That also is an anniversary. And some 
 might say this St. Bartholomew is the retribution, 
 God forbid I should accuse Him of punishing one 
 injustice by another. But by all means let us avoid 
 predictions. Even agonies of remorse are not the 
 most hopeless end of guilty souls." 
 
 " Yet," said my father, " nothing is more safe 
 than predictions of retribution. Most men leirg
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4 , g 
 
 fikely to suffer, and all men being sure to die, wl at 
 can be safer than to threaten either affliction or 
 death, or both, to those we deem guilty ? It seems 
 to trie," he continued, " an endless and fruitless toil 
 to make up the balance of accounts between the 
 churches as to uersecution. Perhaps all that can 
 be said is, that those who have had the least power 
 have had the privilege of inflicting the least wrong. 
 He who ruled England once said ' he never yet 
 knew the sect who, when in power, would allow 
 liberty to the rest.' " 
 
 " He was for license," interposed Aunt Dorothy. 
 " Heaven c orbid we should call that liberty." 
 
 " Ay, sister Dorothy, no doubt," said my father, 
 smiling, " with many sects liberty to any other is 
 license. That was what the Protector thought. 
 Be thankful that you have no chance just now of 
 making a St. Bartholomew of your own." 
 
 " The Protector has had his retribution, brother," 
 said Aunt Dorothy, solemnly, " let us leave him 
 and his politics in peace." 
 
 " But, sir," rejoined my father, turning to Dr. 
 Rich, " after all, the worst retributions are in our 
 sins. The loss of the soul in sinning must be greater 
 than any subsequent loss in suffering ; and I con- 
 fess, to me no severer retribution seems possible to 
 the Church which inflicts this present wrong than 
 the wrong itself, the loss of two thousand of her 
 most fervent and holy pastors, and the rending 
 from her of the tens of thousands who revere and 
 follow them. The losses of churches, after all, are 
 not : .n Uvings but in lives ; not in inonev but in men."
 
 4.20 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Bitter and biting, indeed, were the times around 
 us, yet the prisons of those days were more hon- 
 ourable than the palaces. Better beyond compan- 
 ion any disgrace and suffering that reckless Court 
 could inflict than the disgrace of beloncrino; to it. 
 
 With two thousand good ministers and their 
 families thrown destitute on the world, it was im 
 possible that any of those who honoured them 
 sould feel their own possessions anything but a 
 trust to be scrupulously husbanded for their suc- 
 cour. Many hundreds also were in prison, though 
 none, I rejoice to think, of those two thousand, 
 were ever in prison for debt. Then there were the 
 Quakers, who bore the brunt of the battle, carrying 
 passive resistance as close to action as possible, and 
 persisting in meeting in public assemblies, though 
 certain to be dispersed by constables or soldiers 
 with wounds or loss of life. 
 
 Indeed it was for this reason, amongst others, we 
 kept away from London during the years following 
 the passing the Act of Uniformity, in the hope of 
 keeping Annis Nye out of the peril we knew she 
 would confront if near enough to attend a meeting 
 of Friends. 
 
 It was not any one party in the state whose 
 hearts began to fail, but the good men of all 
 parties. 
 
 It was no longer Royalists or Roundheads only 
 that were sinking, but England. It was not Puri- 
 tanism or Presbyterianism only that the Court 
 affronted, but righteousness, purity, and truth. 
 
 Already the weapons of ecclesiastical or theolo
 
 OjV both sides of the sea. 
 
 421 
 
 gical controversy, the subtle and "unanswerable'' 
 arguments wherewith Episcopalians, Presbyterians, 
 Independents, Erastians, Calvinists, Arminians, 
 Semi-Arminians, and all the sixty sects Mr. Baxter 
 had enumerated, had been assailing each other dic- 
 ing the past years, seemed to hang rusting over our 
 heads, as mere curious antiquities, such as the bills 
 •and crossbows our ancestors had used in the wars 
 of the Roses. 
 
 The contest was being carried to other ground ; 
 to the oldest battle-field of all, and the most plaiuly 
 marked. 
 
 As Job Forster said, — 
 
 " There's a £ood deal of the fi^htino - that's been 
 done these last years, Mistress Olive, that's been a 
 sore puzzle to a plain man like me. I mean tho 
 wars with words as well as with swords. Friend 
 and foe used so much the same battle-cries, and 
 fought under banners so much alike, that when a 
 man had gained a victory, it wasn't always easy to 
 see whether to make it a day of humiliation or of 
 thanksgiving. The safest way was to make it both. 
 And after he who could see for us all was taken 
 from our head, things got clean hopeless, and it 
 was all shooting in the dark. But now there's a 
 kind of doleful comfort in putting by all the long 
 hard words with which Christians fight each other, 
 and taking up for weapons the Ten Commandments. 
 A man feels more sure anyway they can't hit wrong. 
 There's been a deal of fighting and a deal of talk- 
 ing these last years, and seems to me now as if the 
 Almighty were calling us all to a Quaker's sileni 
 36
 
 <J22 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 meeting, to keep still a bit, and mind our own busi- 
 ness. Perhaps when the talking and the fighting 
 begin again, they'll both be the better for the 
 ■ilence."
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 LETTICES DIARY 
 
 "^^^jAVENANT HALL, October, 1664.— 
 
 The blow has fallen on us at last. 
 Aunt Dorothy and Annis Nye are 
 together in prison at Newgate. 
 " Annis was the first taken. Olive being for a 
 time in London, nothing could keep the maiden 
 from attending the forbidden meeting of Quakers, 
 held at the Bull and Mouth, Bishopsgate. And so 
 it happened that, one night, they looked for her 
 return in vain, and Dr. Antony going to search for 
 her, found that the assembly had been broken up 
 by the soldiers with violence, and that among those 
 seized and thrown into prison was Annis Nye. 
 They would have paid anything, or taken any paina 
 to rescue her, but the peculiar difficulty in the case 
 of the imprisonment of the Quakers is, that they 
 will do nothing and suffer nothing to be done, which 
 would in any way recognize the justice of their sen- 
 tence. The magistrate in this case (as in another 
 which occurred at the same time) was willing to 
 have set, Annis free, if she would have given any 
 (488)
 
 ^24 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 pledge to abstain from attending tmch meetings in 
 future. But she said, — 
 
 " ' Ask me not to do aught against my cousei- 
 ence ? If I were set free to-day I must go to-mor* 
 row, if the Lord so willed me, to meet the Friends 
 at the Bull and Mouth.' 
 
 " Nor would she suffer bail to be given. And sc 
 she was sentenced to be carried beyond seas to the 
 plantations in Jamaica — she and divers other 
 Quakers, men and women ; the men being sen- 
 tenced to Barbadoes, and the women to Jamaica. 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy's heart was moved for the maid ; 
 but, nevertheless, she shook her head, and said she 
 had always prophesied such willfuness could have 
 no other end. 
 
 " ' It was a pity,' said she, ' the rashness of such 
 disorderly people should throw discredit on the 
 sufferings of sober Christians.' 
 
 " For she still clung to the belief that there was 
 a legal submission, a conformity to the furthest 
 limit possibly compatible with fidelity to consci- 
 ence, which must be a safeguard for the personal 
 liberty of those who, like Mr. Baxter and herself, 
 rigidly kept within it. 
 
 " But she was soon to be driven from this last 
 point of hope. In July the Conventicle Act came 
 into action, ordering that any religious meetings 
 in private houses, or elsewhere, of more than five 
 people besides the household, rendered those whc 
 attended them liable to imprisonment or fines. 
 
 "And from that time no Puritan gentleman, wh 
 had an enemy base enough to inform against hiu
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 425 
 
 or happened to come in the way of a common 
 mercenary informer, could be safe. Some even 
 deemed it unsafe to say a grace when five strangers 
 weie present. 
 
 "At Netherby, a few of the villagers had al- 
 ways been wont to join our family-prayer from 
 time to time. 
 
 " At the time of the coming of the Conventicle 
 Act into operation, Aunt Dorothy chanced to be 
 alone in the house, the rest of the family being in 
 London, and she scorned to make any change. 
 
 " On Sunday morning, an ill-looking suspicious 
 stranger dropped in on their morning exercise. 
 And on the next the constables made their appear- 
 ance at the same hour, and arrested Aunt Dorothy 
 in the king's name. 
 
 " The servants talked of resistance, and the con 
 stables suggested bail, but Aunt Dorothy refused 
 either : the first, from loyalty to the king ; the 
 second, from loyalty to truth. She was guilty of 
 no oifence against God or the king, said she, and 
 was ready to stand her trial. 
 
 " Accordingly she is in Newgate, and Roger is 
 in London, doing all he can, in conjunction with 
 Mr. Drayton and Dr. Antony, to effect her libe- 
 ration. 
 
 " Twelfth Night, 1665.— I little thought that ever 
 again, while we are both on earth, anything should 
 separate Roger and me. 
 
 " I had gone OMer, as I thought, all possible dan- 
 gers, and resolved that, in all, duty must keep me 
 by his side. Exile, war, imprisonment, all I would 
 
 36*
 
 426 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 share. What duty could ever arise so strong ai 
 my duty to cleave to him ? 
 
 "And yet now Roger lies in prison in London, 
 and I am imprisoned here, kept from him by soft 
 ties of duty stronger than bolts of iron. 
 
 "For in the cradle by my side, breathing the 
 sweet even breath of an infant's sleep, lies our little 
 Harry Davenant Drayton. 
 
 " And in the next chamber, with the door open 
 between, lies my father, sleeping the feverish 
 broken sleep of sickness, from time to time call- 
 ing me to his side by an uneasy moan or a rest- 
 less movement ; scarcely able to bear me out of 
 his sight. 
 
 " Roger was arrested for speaking some words 
 of good cheer to a little company who had gath- 
 ered at early dawn in a solitary place to hear their 
 ancient pastor. The pastor had been thrown into 
 prison, and the poor flock waited in vain. Roger 
 came to tell them of their pastor's imprisonment, 
 said a short prayer and a few words of good coun- 
 sel, and would thus have heartened and then dis- 
 missed them, when the officers came and seized 
 him. Strange that he, so little given to overmuch 
 discourse, should be in prison for speaking. 
 
 " There were no bonfires or festivities to-day, as 
 on that Twelfth-night, all but a quarter of a century 
 since, when all Netherby, and my own brothers, and 
 I made merrv around the winter bonfires : that nis;ht 
 which was nio-h costing Roger so dear ; all life and 
 all the Civil Wai before us, then as unknown as to- 
 morrow now !
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4.27 
 
 * How scattered the company who met then! 
 On battle-field, and lonely heath, and in thi silent 
 church ; in this old house (which feels aim ;>st as 
 lonely and silent now), and in prison 
 
 " Yet better now than then, in many wa^ 8, and 
 for most of us. Some of the dearest who could never 
 have rested here, at rest for ever above. Roger 
 with a rest in his heart no prison can rob him of. 
 And my father nearer my mother, I think, tL *n ever 
 before in heart and soul. 
 
 " I read the Prayer-book to him often, 4,nd the 
 Bible. He makes little comment, but loves . listen, 
 and asks for the chapters and hymns my mother 
 loved best. And sometimes he asks me what com 
 forted her most when she thought of dying. And I 
 tell him, —   
 
 " ' Christ our Lord. The thought of Him ; all 
 He said, did, and suffered on earth; Himself living 
 now in heaven. All else, she said, was Hades, the 
 Invisible. But Christ had become Visible; had 
 been manifested, seen, touched, and handled. " God 
 refuses us all such poor pictures," (said she,) "as 
 Pagans and Mussulmans have of their paradises and 
 elysiums; all pictures, except such as it is plain are 
 not pictures, but symbols; either because they 
 contradict themselves — as 'gold like transparent 
 glass,' and seas 'mingled with fire' — or, because we 
 are told they are symbols, like the living water 
 and the Tree of Life. The other world remains to 
 us Hades. But Christ the Lord has been seen by 
 mortal eyes, held in the mortal arms of a mortal 
 mother. His feet bathed with tears and kissed by
 
 +2 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SLA. 
 
 the lips of an adoring, penitent woman. His haul 
 laid with healing touch on the leper none else would 
 touch. His hands nailed to a cross, and His feet ; 
 t he prints of the nails seen by Thomas ; His voice 
 heard on the slopes of Olivet, by the sea-side, by the 
 well. Christ the Lord was heard and seen,' she 
 said. ' And that makes all the Hades a place not 
 of darkness, but of light to me, where the human 
 heart can long to be, to adore Him, and yet remain 
 human.' " 
 
 " ' Did she say that ?' my father says. ' Did she 
 B£y that? Then that is what I can understand too. 
 Even she could have seen nothing but a blank of 
 darkness in it but for Him; but for Him. Then, 
 sweetheart, no wonder I seem like groping in the 
 dark sometimes. I who have so much more sin to 
 be forgiven, and so much less faith to see.' 
 
 " Then once I told him how that horror of thick 
 darkness came on me when she died, and how it 
 was shone away by the Apostles' Creed. And he 
 listened, gazing at me as if his soul were living on 
 the words. Then I read him the gospels ; the sto- 
 ries of the resurrection. 
 
 " And then often, again and again, he asks me to 
 repeat what my mother said. And each time, in- 
 stead of growing dull by repetition, it seems to grow 
 living to us both. 
 
 " So I can have no doubt that my place is here, 
 and not in the prison with Roger, where otherwise it 
 would be liberation to me to oro. 
 
 "January 30///, 1665. — No word from the prison 
 for some days. The snow is white on all the breadths
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ^ 2 g 
 
 of the Fens, bounded only like the sea by tin gray 
 sky, broken only by the Mere, black with ice, and 
 by the dark limbs of the trees which have stripped 
 themselves 'like athletes' to fio-ht the winter storms. 
 
 " Sixteen years since they laid the king amidst 
 the falling snow, among his fathers, in the Chapel at 
 Windsor. 
 
 " How little our sentences avail ! 
 
 " Executed this day sixteen years as a murderer 
 and traitor ! Celebrated to-day in every church 
 throughout the land as a martyr of blessed memory; 
 while the bones of those who put him to death lie 
 mouldering under the gallows. 
 
 " Yet who shall say that the final sentence is given 
 yet ? Higher and higher the cause is carried from 
 tribunal to tribunal, from the angry present to the 
 ■calm-judging generations to come, from these again 
 to the Tribunal above, from which there is no ap- 
 peal. 
 
 " Of what avail for us to judge ? 
 
 "The sentence is given there already; given, and 
 known to those whom it most concerns. 
 
 " What matters it what we are prattling about it 
 here below? 
 
 "My husband has left among his papeis some 
 letters and journals from the other side of the sea, 
 which are well worn by much reading, and noted in 
 the margin in many places, so that in reading them 
 I converse with him, and find much comfort every 
 way, both in the text and the comment. 
 
 "The simple story goes straight to my heart, 
 nerves and braces it at once. Never, I think, wera
 
 43° 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 sufferings borne with more of courage and less of 
 repining. 
 
 " Frost, famine, salt water freezing on their scanty 
 clothing till it was hard as the Ironsides' armour. 
 Then ' vehement ' coughs came on, ' hectic,' and con- 
 gumption; still they bore cheerfully on. Out of the 
 undred, seventeen died in the first February after 
 their landing, sixteen in March, sometimes three die 
 in a day. At last, at the end of the winter, of one 
 hundred persons, scarce fifty remained; the living 
 scarce able to bury the dead ; the well not sufficient 
 to tend the sick. And in a notice which touches me 
 to the quick, the journal says: — 
 
 " ' While we were busy about our seed, our gov- 
 ernor, Mr. Carver, comes out of the field very sick, 
 complains greatly of his head ; within a few hours 
 his senses fail, so as he speaks no more, and in a few 
 days after, dies, to our great lamentation and heavi- 
 ness. His care and pains were so great for the 
 common good, as therewith 'twas thought he op- 
 pressed himself, and shortened his days; of whose 
 loss we cannot sufficiently complain ; and his wife 
 deceases about five or six weeks after.' 
 
 " She, belike, did not complain of his loss. She 
 endured ; and died. 
 
 "And shall I complain while Roger lives? and ol 
 bodily hardship I know nothing; though that, in- 
 deed, is scarce the hardest. 
 
 " Half the exiles dead, yet the rest never lost 
 heart or distrusted God ; but went on, and toiled 
 and conquered ; — and made a home and a ref.ige foi 
 their brethren; — began a New World.
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE CEA. 
 
 4JJ 
 
 " The sorrows were borne in unrepining silence, 
 as knowing God the Father would not try them on 
 many that could he spared. The mercies are re- 
 corded with grateful minuteness. 
 
 " After their first harvest from seed saved from 
 half-starving mouths, they appointed an annual 
 Thanksgiving Day; afterwards, after a time, an an- 
 nual fast. But the thanksgiving came first. And 
 they made it a right merry day : preparing for it by 
 a holiday of hunting game for the feast. A whole- 
 some and not gloomy piety theirs seems to me, like 
 John Bunyan's. Moreover, they have eyes to see. 
 The journal tells of forests ' compassing about to the 
 very sea, with oaks, pines, ash, walnut, birch, holly, 
 juniper, sassafras, and other sweet wood ;' of forest 
 paths and sweet brooks; of quiet pools and deep 
 grassy valleys; of vines, too, and strawberries; and 
 sorrel and yarrow, and cherry trees and plum trees 
 
 " Deer range the forests, and wilder animals. One 
 poor man whose feet were 'pitifully ill' with the 
 cold, crept abroad into the woods with a spaniel. A 
 little way from the plantation, two wolves ran after 
 the dog, who fled between his leo-s for succour: he 
 had nothing in his hand, but took up a stick and 
 threw at one of them and hit him. They ran away, 
 but came again, he got a pale-board in his hand, 
 and ' they sat on their tails grinning at him a good 
 while, and then went their way, and left him.' 
 
 "Cranes and mallards waded about the marshy 
 places an 1 plashed in the pools; and now and then 
 they started partridges and ' milky-white fowl ;' an<? 
 birds sang pleasantly among the trees.
 
 4}2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 "The world seems so wholesome there, so udven. 
 tnrous, so full of life. Sometimes I think if Roger 
 were out of prison, one day I should like to go there 
 with him and our babe, and all the rest ; away from 
 the conflicts of this distracted land; out of the way 
 of courts and prisons and Conventicle Acts, to con- 
 quer some more homes from the wilderness. 
 
 " But, perhaps, this is only restlessness and repin- 
 ing ; in which case I should be no worthy member 
 of such a company. 
 
 " I wonder if Roger ever thought of this, and 
 never liked to mention it to me, knowing how 1 
 love the old country and the old church ? The 
 pages are so well-worn and so carefully noted. 
 When we meet again, at all events, I will show 
 him I am ready for anything he deems good. 
 ' Thy country shall be my country ; whither thou 
 goest I will go ; where thou diest I w r ill die, and 
 there will I be buried.' 
 
 " Yes, none can rob me ever more of that sacred 
 right. 
 
 '•'•February 2nd. — A letter from Roger from tho 
 prison. 
 
 "Brief enough, as his letters and speeches for 
 the most part are, yet marvellously lengthy for him. 
 
 " 'Our case is but little to be commiserated,' he 
 writes, 'being so much lighter than that of others, 
 and we trust soon to be ended. 
 
 " ' I might, indeed, have as fair a room as at 
 Netherby, and as good eggs, cheese, butter, and 
 bacon as a soldier could wish for sold here in tli€ 
 prison.
 
 OJV BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 43i 
 
 "'But no mnn, liale and strong (as I am, sweet 
 heart, so never be downcast), could know that hun- 
 dreds of men and women, imprisoned for much the 
 S'vme cause as we, are under the same roof, ill-clad, 
 ill-fed, and worse lodged, and enjoy his feast alone. 
 
 " ' The Quakers, as usual, provoke the charge, 
 and hear the brunt of it. The men's sleeping- 
 room, till lately, was a great hare chamber with 
 hammocks hung between a pillar in the midst and 
 the wall, in three tiers, one above another; the air, 
 by the morning, enough to breed a pestilence. God 
 grant it do not. For although this is somewhat 
 mended, these crowded prisons are little better 
 than pest-houses at the best. And pestilences do 
 not stay where they begin. Whitehall is not so 
 far from Newgate but that the poison might 
 spread. The Friends outside do what they can to 
 succour, clothe, and feed those within, arranging 
 their help with a singular order and care. But 
 much is left for us to aid in. Wherefore, sweet 
 heart, send what warm woolseys and wholesome 
 country food thou canst. Leonard Antony will 
 bring it and see it well bestowed. 
 
 " ' We have good hope of deliverance, by pay- 
 ment of sundry fines and other moneys. Annis 
 Nye, we fear, is sentenced to the plantations in 
 Jamaica. But Aunt Dorothy will, no doubt, 
 gpeedily be freee, and bring thee tidings. So God 
 keep thee and the babe. And be of good cheer. 
 I was never of better heart. Farewell. 
 
 ttl P.S. — Thy brother Walter hath been to see 
 me. He was much moved. And he is doing what 
 37
 
 434 0N BOTH SIDE'S OF THE SEA. 
 
 he can for our release. But he looks sorely aged 
 and changed.' 
 
 " February ]0M.— Aunt Dorothy is at Netherby 
 again. 
 
 " She looks thin and pale after such prison-far* 
 and lodging. She brings certain tidings that Roger 
 will soon be free. 
 
 " Her wrath seems chiefly directed against the 
 exactions of the prison-officers. 
 
 " ' Harpies ! ' said she, ' unconscionable harpies. 
 I would not have given a groat of good money to 
 fill their unhallowed coffers, and to buy the rancid 
 lard and fetid oil they dare to call butter and 
 bacon, or demeaned myself to ask them the favour 
 of a lodging separate from the vagabonds and 
 purse-pickers, had it not been for that poor wilful 
 maid, Annis Nye. She looked like a ghost or a 
 corpse; a corpse with the eyes of an angel, and 
 the courage of a lion. Yea, the courage of a lion 
 more than the meekness of a martyr. Brave I say 
 she is as any woman ever was. And brave the 
 Quakers are. But meek I never will call them. 
 One of them was imprisoned for "finishing a job," 
 mending shoes, on the Sabbath morning ! On re- 
 ligious principles, quoth he ; breaking the Sabbath 
 " on religious grounds !" And when in prison he 
 let them nearly whip him to death, rather than 
 confess himself guilty by doing the malefactors 
 prison work. Indeed, he would have died but foi 
 the tender nursing of Mr. Thomas Ellwood and the 
 other Friends, dressing his wounds with balsams. 
 For that they are friendly to each other, these
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 435 
 
 fanatics, no one can deny, brave and friendly; 
 but meek — surely they are not. I had almost to 
 belie myself by pretending to want a waiting- 
 woman (a bondage I hate), before I could prevail 
 on that poor maid to let me have her in a room 
 apart, and nurse and cherish her as she needed. 
 For she had been sorely bruised and wounded in 
 the scattering of the meeting, where the soldiers 
 took her ; and had been busier since with her " con- 
 cerns " and her " callings," to all seeming, than 
 with mollifying her wounds and bruises. I am a 
 woman of no weak nerve, niece Lettice, but my 
 heart sickened when I came to see how she must 
 have suffered. And she as patient as a lamb , 
 dumb and patient those Quakers can be. I will 
 never deny that ; dumb and patient, brave and 
 friendly. And now there she is again alone, with- 
 out a creature in their sober senses near her to 
 keep her from her " concerns " and her " calls." 
 There she is with ever so many others, sentenced 
 to " service " in Jamaica.' 
 
 " When Job Forster heard this sentence, ho 
 brushed his hand across his eyes. 
 
 " ' Poor maid ! poor, pleasant, wilful maid !' said 
 he, 
 
 " But before Ions: he seemed to take a more 
 cheerful view. 
 
 " ' Perhaps it's for the best, after all, Mistress 
 Lettice. Who knows but she might have been 
 seized with a concern to go to preach to the Grand 
 Turk, or the Pope, or the Dey of Algiers? Several 
 of the women Friends have done such things. Not
 
 13 6 ON BOTH SIDES 0/" THE SEa 
 
 that the Turks are the worst foes for a Quaiter 
 They listen to them as meek as lambs for they 
 Jiink they are mad ; and they think the Almighty 
 speaks through mad people. And then they escort 
 them out of the country, as gracious as may be. 
 And I don't see what any saint could do better 
 with a Quaker, poor blind infidels though those 
 Turks be. Nay, the Turks are not the worst dan- 
 ger for a Quaker. She might have had a concern 
 to go to New England, to testify, as others of her 
 sect have done, against the severity of their treat- 
 ment there. And New England, they do say, is 
 about the hottest place a Quaker can go to just 
 now. They don't listen to them, like the poor 
 Turks. And they do escort them out of the coun- 
 try; but not graciously. They beat them from 
 town to town, and threaten them with the gallows 
 if they come back again, which makes it a stronger 
 temptation than any Quaker can resist to go back 
 as soon as they can.' 
 
 " This is a great perplexity to me. I thought 
 the people in New England had gone there on ac- 
 count of religious liberty. I must ask Roger. 
 
 "February 17. — Roger is with us again; scarce 
 the worse for his imprisonment, except a little 
 hollow in the cheeks, and a good deal of want of 
 repair in his clothes. I see he did not use the 
 clothes I had made, 
 
 " ' A little more in good campaigning order, he 
 says, if 1 attempt to condole ; ' a little relieved of 
 over-abundance of flesh. That is all.' 
 
 "It is the way of tli3 Draytons generally, »nd
 
 OS BOTH SIDES OF lilE SEA. 437 
 
 of Roger in particular, that their spirits rise be- 
 yond the ordinary level in a storm. I suppose tha 
 family has been used to stormy weather so long 
 tha*, they feel it their element. They are at home 
 in c, and like it. 
 
 " I have asked him about New England. Ilia 
 face quite beamed, and his tongue seemed unloosed, 
 when he found the thought of going to the planta- 
 tions was not so terrible to me. 
 
 " He confessed that he had often thought it might 
 be the best resource, if things do not mend here, 
 but had shrunk from mentioning it to me. 
 
 " ' We are all cowards, in some direction,' he 
 said, with a smile. 'How was I to know, sweet 
 heart, I had married a Deborah, whose heart would 
 never fail ?' 
 
 " ' Thou dost not despair for England ?' I said. 
 
 " ' God forbid !' said he. ' But the lives of na- 
 tions count by centuries, and ours by years, and 
 that but precariously. And, meantime, while there 
 is so little to be done here, I have sometimes 
 thought we might serve the old country best by 
 extending her dominion and anticipating her free- 
 dom in the new.' 
 
 "'But,' said I, 'I cannot make out about thie 
 freedom. Job Forster says they are by no raeang 
 gentle to Quakers.' 
 
 " He paused a little. 
 
 " ' The Quakers are not quite content with quietly 
 pursuing their own way,' he said. ' With all their 
 objections to war and teaching of passive resist- 
 ance, their warfare is certainly not on the defensive 
 HI*
 
 438 ON BOTH SILLS OF THE SEA. 
 
 but a continual assault on other sects. And at 
 present the New England plantations aie strug- 
 gling, not " for wellbeing, but for being ;" which 
 is a struggle in which men are apt to make rough 
 terms. By-and-by, they will feel stronger, and be 
 gentler ; and the Quakers, seeing that every man's 
 hand is no longer against them, will cease to set 
 their tongues against every man.' 
 
 " ' 1 scarce think,' he added, after a pause, in that 
 low tone to which his voice always naturally falls 
 when he speaks of his old general, ' that the place 
 is yet to be found on earth where such liberty exists 
 as the Protector would have had in England. 
 
 " ' But it has scarce come to the alternative of 
 exile yet. I cannot think that England will be 
 steeped much longer in this Lethe of false loyalty, 
 forgetting not Eliot and Hampden, and the Com- 
 monwealth alone, but Magna Charta, and all her 
 history : all that makes her England.' 
 
 lettice's diary. — ( Continued.) 
 
 " Londox, April, 1665. — The last weeks of watch 
 ing by my father's sick-bed are over. No bitterness 
 mingles with the sorrow At first it seemed as if 
 we could do nothing but give thanks for the peace 
 and patience of those last days ; and the rest for the 
 spirit, so weary and hopeless as to this world and 
 its future — so full of lowly, trembling hope as „o the 
 other. 
 
 " Then came the ebbing back of the tide of affec- 
 tion in a tide of grief, the sense of blank and loss 
 that must oome ; and Roger thought it best T should
 
 OK BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 439 
 
 leave the old scenes altogether for a while, and com* 3 , 
 to Olive's home. 
 
 "For the old home at the hall can never be a 
 home for us again. 
 
 "Roland and his wife took possession at once, 
 with workmen from town, and a train of new serv- 
 ants. Happily, my father had pensioned many of 
 the old household. 
 
 "My sister-indaw has remodelled my mother's 
 oratory, and the old places so sacred to me, as the 
 wished, after the newest fashions at Whitehall. 
 
 "But these changes in things, however saend, 
 are little indeed, compared with the changes in peo- 
 ple ; the evil influences brought into the household 
 and the village by the dissolute train of serving m en 
 and wornen, trained in the wicked manners of 1 lie 
 Court. 
 
 "London - , May, 1665. — The spring seems to un- 
 fold her robes slowly this year, and feebly, like a 
 butterfly I saw yesterday, in which lii'e was so low 
 that it died whilst struggling out of its chrysahs. 
 There has been much drought. The scant foliage 
 in the parks ami by the road-sides grows old and 
 gray with dust and drought almost as soon as it 
 is out. 
 
 " There have been comets and strange sights in 
 the sky this winter. Aunt Dorothy thinks they aro 
 for the nation's sins ; but .Mr. Drayton, who attends 
 the lectures of the lloyal Society at Gresham Col- 
 lege, says they have to do with the revolutions of 
 the heavens, not with the revolutions in England. 
 ' The signs of the times,' says he, ' are not in the sky,
 
 4 jo ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 but in the Whitehall gaming-tables.' But Aun» 
 Dorothy shakes her head, and says the Royal Soci- 
 ety, the Quakers, aifd the Court together, are fast 
 ui'derrnining the faith of the people. 
 
 " There are rumours that one or two poor folk in 
 the villages of St. Giles' and St. Martin's-in the- 
 Fields, between Westminster and the City, lie sick 
 with a malady men like not well to name. 
 
 "But all just goes on as usual. The king feeds 
 the wild-fowl and plays pall-mall in the park, with 
 the throng of idlers about him. 
 
 " There is little, indeed, at Whitehall to recall 
 that it ever was what Roger and the foreign ambas- 
 sadors say it was in the days of the Commonwealth ; 
 a virtuous princely home ; still ]^ss to make it possi- 
 ble to think the king recalls it as the scene of his 
 father's martyrdom. A gaming-house, where wicked 
 women are lodged, and fill the galleries night and 
 day with licentious revelry; where the wife sits 
 apart, neglected and despised, while her husband 
 spends her fortune on the mistress with whom he 
 compels her to associate ! 
 
 " Is there no English gentleman left, no relic of 
 old knighthood, that these things can be? 
 
 " Queen was a sacred name to the cavaliers of my 
 youth, Were there no cavaliers left when the young 
 queen, after patiently sitting apart some time in her 
 neglected corner of the room while the base throng, 
 with a king at their head, gathered around the mis- 
 tress — at length rose and withdrew to hide her bit- 
 ter tears in her chamber; — were there none of the 
 old cavaliers left to rally indignantly round her and
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 44 
 
 shame the king back to her? Were there no Eng- 
 lish gentlewomen left to uphold her in the courage- 
 ous and womanly resistance she dared at first to 
 make to the degradation of such company as the 
 king forced on her? — To say to her, 'For his sake 
 and your own, never yield to such dishonour ! Bet- 
 ter weep alone, neglected for life, a widowed wife, 
 than stoop to be but the first of such a company !' 
 
 " Alas ! now, poor lady, she has learned to hide 
 her indignation, and to converse freely with those 
 any man with a spark of true manhood in him, prof- 
 ligate though he might be, would have kept from 
 her sight. 
 
 " And some still speak of the king as a model of 
 grace and courtesy, and extol his infinite jest and 
 wit ; comparing the polish of th^se refined days with 
 the rough, soldierly jokes of the Usurper! 
 
 " These days refined, and those coarse ! Roger 
 says there is more coarseness in the most polished 
 compliment of this hollow Court than in the roughest 
 joke a man like Cromwell could ever make. Just 
 as there is more coarseness in the theatre now estab- 
 lished than in the rudest jests in Shakspeare, whose 
 plays the king's courtiers and mistresses are too 
 ' polite' to act, and the courtiers too 'polite' to enjoy. 
 
 "For the royal favourites now are to be seen on 
 the stage. The 'lady' now, they say, does not 
 reign alone. The poor young queen has this 
 wretched revenge, at least, that the king can be 
 constant to no love, lawful or not. 
 
 " Bear and bull bailing, too, are restored among 
 the 'refinements' of the Court. Hut, perchance, I
 
 442 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF 7' HE SEA. 
 
 am the bitterer on this, in that this degradation 
 presses me so close. The gleam of better hope that 
 broke on us for Walter, when he appeared at our 
 marriage and was reconciled to my father, has long 
 since vanished ; and he is swept away again in the 
 whirlpool of the Court. 
 
 " It is this which obliges me to think of evils from 
 which otherwise I might turn my eyes. 
 
 " This Dance of Satyrs is to my brother, indeed, 
 a Dance of Death. These fires of sin are burning 
 away his very life and soul, and none can quench them. 
 
 ' i June 3. — The numbers of poor sick folk in St 
 Giles' and St. Martin's have increased fearfully 
 The nobles and rich men take alarm ; many houses 
 are deserted ; the roads crowded with coaches full 
 of fugitives. 
 
 " The Plague is amongst us ! The Plague ! 
 
 " To none of us not yet beyond middle life are 
 the terrors of that word fully known. Mr. Drayton, 
 Aunt Dorothy, and the aged, know the meaning of 
 the word too well. In 1636, nearly thirty years 
 ago, was the last great desolation of the City. Be- 
 fore that it recurred, with more or less force, every 
 few years. Then it swept away a fifth of the in- 
 habitants. But for the last sixteen years it has been 
 scarcely seen in London ; merely four or five people 
 in the year, in the lowest districts, dying of it, and 
 bo preventing its being altogether forgotten. 
 
 " Said Aunt Dorothy : ' The Commonwealth was 
 not all a godly people could wish. But during the 
 Commonwealth the Plague did not visit the City. 
 That scourge, at all ever ts, was not deemed needful
 
 OX BOTE SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 443 
 
 Nuw tlie Couit has come back — or I should not say 
 come back — such a Court as was never known has 
 come to us from those wicked, foreign, Popish parts : 
 and with the Court comes the Plague.' 
 
 " 'The real Plague has been among us some years,' 
 said Mr. Drayton. ' Heaven grant this Plague may 
 be thf purification. But take heed, sister Dorothy 
 take heed how we interpret Providence before the 
 time. The scourge has fallen on too many of late 
 for us to say too hastily this is the Father's rod, and 
 that is the Lictor's ; or this is the King's accolade 
 to smite his servant into knighthood, from the lower 
 place of service to the higher. What sayest thou, 
 sister Gretel ?' 
 
 " ' For me, brother,' she replied, ' there is little 
 temptation of being too quick to interpret, because 
 I am so slow to understand. So I find it the safest 
 way, when the rod falls on others, to hope it is the 
 King's accolade ; when it falls on myself, I know 
 well enough it is the Father's rod — the loving 
 Father's loving chastening, yet sorely needed.' 
 
 " But Aunt Dorothy set her lips rigidly. 
 
 " ' Some men's sins are open beforehand,' said she, 
 'going before to judgment. And all men say it 
 does seem very notable just now that death seizes 
 most on the profane, and seems to pass the sober 
 and religious people by.' 
 
 "June 3. — Rumours of a great victory over the 
 Dutch Fleet. The news scarce stirs up the smit- 
 ten city to the faintest semblance of joy or triumph. 
 Yet are victories not so frequent now as to be irade 
 common.
 
 444 0N BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 "June 25.— The Court has fled to Oxford. White* 
 hall is empty and silent. That mockery, at least, 
 is gone out of sight of the people's misery. 
 
 " The Court has fled, and the good Nonconfor- 
 mist ministers have come back, and are allowed 
 to preach in the churches from which they were 
 driven. 
 
 "June 30. — We have held a family consultation 
 to-day whether to stay or go. Roger and Leonard 
 Antony had no doubt of their duty. 
 
 "Many of the physicians have left (to attend 
 their fugitive patients, they say), which makes it 
 all the more needful, Dr. Antony thinks, for him to 
 remain. 
 
 " Many of the clergy, also (though by no means 
 all), have fled (to tend their fugitive flocks, they 
 say). And Roger deems it the plain duty of a 
 Christian man, who is here already by Providence 
 placed in the midst of the peril, to stay, and give 
 what help he can to the stricken and the bereaved. 
 by counsel, alms, and words of Christian hope. 
 This is the kind of season that unlocks Roger's 
 lips. He grows eloquent, when dying men and 
 women look to him to lift their hearts to God. At 
 least, the few words he speaks are eloquent, and 
 refresh the heart like cold water after a burning 
 drought — cold and fresh, because of the deep places 
 from which it comes. 
 
 "They tried a little to persuade Olive and me 
 and the children to seek refuge elsewhere. 
 
 "But not much, seeing that all pe/suasion could 
 be of no avail to move us to this.
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 445 
 
 * Thank God, it is not my duty to be parted from 
 n(m now. God spares us this agony. 
 
 "Indeed there is one mitigation to the anguish 
 of {.his time of terrors. Death comes to many 
 households now almost as the Glorious Epiphany 
 for which my mother looked ; as it were with a 
 groat trumpet, in the twinkling of an eye, smiting 
 whole families together, without parting, from earth 
 to heaven . 
 
 " For what richer mercy could we ask ? 
 
 " July. — The sunny sky, unshaded by a cloud, still 
 smiles its terrible steady stony smile on the droop- 
 ing city; like a countenance which despair has 
 smitten into idiotic vacancy ; like an eye from 
 which madness has dried the tears. 
 
 "It is strange to have such leisure as we have 
 now to listen and think. For in one thing Roger 
 and Dr. Antony are firm. They will not suffer us 
 to go into the infected streets, nor indeed to leave 
 the garden, save by the water-gate, to give the 
 children fresh air in the meadows by the river. 
 
 " We keep everything as much as possible in 
 its wonted, even course. Our family prayer and 
 psalm have not been omitted once ; Roger's father 
 leading it, for Roger and Leonard are seldom pre- 
 sent, 
 
 " Maidie and Dolly sew and help us in the house, 
 where there is much to do; since we hold it duty 
 by no means to suffer our servants to remain in 
 the infected city, unwilling as they were to depart. 
 Mistress Gretel, Mistress Dorothy, and Olive, there- 
 fore, do the kitchen and the household work, and 1 
 
 as
 
 446 OV BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 and the young maidens help all we can ; although 
 (being brought up too helplessly) I am not of half 
 the use I would be. 
 
 " This regular even living Dr. Antony deems the 
 best precaution. He believes a feverish convulsivo 
 kind of religion is as dangerous as any other ex- 
 citement, and that we have great need at such (as 
 at all) times of the exhortation, Study to be quiet, 
 and to do your own business. 
 
 " Much as he honours those who preach in the 
 churches, he could desire that their exhortations 
 were sometimes less alarming. The people are 
 roused and alarmed enough, he says, by the pesti- 
 lence. Death itself is preaching the Alarm and 
 the Call to the unconverted. What sermon can 
 preach 'Prepare' like Ten thousand Deaths in a 
 week? The preachers should preach Christ and 
 His peace, he thinks. And so no doubt many do. 
 
 " The magistrates do what they can to produce 
 the same regularity in the city. London is not 
 wholly abandoned by all her rulers in her sore 
 need. Bread is as abundant and cheap as ever, 
 though it must be brought to us at some peril. 
 
 " There is a great quiet in the streets. No holi- 
 day processions now. The merry-makers are all 
 gone from the city or from the world. No funeral 
 processions. There are no burials, except by night. 
 The sity is dying. But there are no tolling bells, 
 no reverent slow steps of the mourning train. The 
 magistrates dare not let the mourners go about 
 the streets by day. 
 
 "Death is- stripped of all the pomps with whiclj
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 44' 
 
 we seek to hide its terrors, and stands bare. The 
 only funeral procession is the dead-cart with its 
 ghastly drivers; the dead-cart met at the head 
 of each alley with shrieks of despair which break 
 the silence of the night. Twice the drivers of that 
 cart were lost, and the horses rushed wildly on. 
 But no one knows if the drivers died or fled. Thti 
 general tomb is that dread Pit in the fields where 
 the dead are thrown at midnight, of which we 
 scarce dare even think. 
 
 "The pestilence makes no distinction that any 
 of lis can understand now. Aunt Dorothy has 
 well-nigh given up seeking to read God's judg- 
 ments, which at first she and many thought so dis- 
 tinct and distinguishing. 
 
 "Yet amid all these horrors there are allevia- 
 tions such as "sometimes do make the meaning 
 shine through them, as if they were illuminated 
 from within. 
 
 " Divisions have ceased. Instead of disputing 
 questions of precedence as on a mock battle-field, 
 Christians draw inward to the citadel, which is 
 the sole and common refuge of us all. 
 
 " Mere religious talk has ceased. 
 
 " People whose talk is deeper than their life, do not 
 dare to talk for fear of having to prove their words 
 the same hour in dying. 
 
 " People whose life lies deeper than their speech, 
 do not need to talk of what they feel. The pe^ce 
 which sets them free to serve and comfort all 
 around, speaks enough, with very tew words, 
 
 u Persecution has ceased.
 
 44 g OX L9TH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 " The pestilence, with its cruel Act of Uniformity 
 Las altogether annulled that of the king. Divers 
 of the ejected ministers, now that ten thousand are 
 dying in a week, have resolved that no ohedience 
 to the laws of mortal men whatever can justify 
 them in neglecting men's souls and bodies in such 
 extremities. They therefore stay or return. They 
 go into the forsaken pulpits, unforbidden, to preach 
 to the poor people before they die ; also to visit the 
 sick, and get such relief as they can for the poor, es- 
 pecially those who are shut up in the smitten houses. 
 
 " The fear, and hope, which at first made people 
 avoid each other, have passed together. And the 
 churches are crowded whenever any preach whe 
 speak as if they testified what they knew. 
 
 ' " Religion,' Roger says, ' is gaining such a hold 
 of numbers of these weeping, silent listeners, as, 
 living or dying, will not be loosed again.' 
 
 "And (unless the Puritan preaching is different 
 from any I ever heard, or thought to hear) the ser- 
 mons are such as the evident possibility of the 
 preachers never preaching another, and the cer- 
 tainty of many of the congregation never hearing 
 another, alone can make them. 
 
 "They are messages, not statements or argu- 
 ments; scarcely so much appeals as messages. The 
 calmest allusion to danger penetrates the heart like 
 the archangel's trumpet, when ten t iOusand dying 
 lips are echoing it. 
 
 " ' You are lost — wandering and lost in sin? 
 
 " That has a strange power, when we know it to 
 be true, and see before us the edge of the abyss.
 
 GN BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 44g 
 
 ** ' The son of God has come to seek and to save the 
 lost.' 
 
 "He, Himself, not the plague, but the Saviour 
 ie here, seeking the lost now ; not to judge but to 
 save. 
 
 " God has so loved the world; not hated, let these 
 horrors say what they may — not forgotten — but 
 loved; not willed this open world to perish, let 
 these grass-grown streets, and these shutters rat- 
 tling against the empty houses, these midnight 
 burials of thousands, these death-wails, this death- 
 silence, say what they will, not to perish ; the true 
 perishing, the perishing in sin, of sin, is not His 
 will, never His will, but the being saved, out of sin 
 and from sin. This salvation is as near vou as the 
 plague. Nay, the plague is only the merciful thun- 
 der calling to it. 
 
 "Few words are needed to move men now; no 
 new words. The older the better. If the old for- 
 gotten words once lisped at a mother's knee, better 
 than all. 
 
 u O Walter! Walter! my brother! Art thou 
 here still in this plague-smitten city, or hast thou 
 fled with that Court smitten with a plague so infi- 
 nitely more terrible ? Would God thou wert here 
 t< hear those sacred words of heavenly forgiveness 
 ai i strength, echoed back to thy heart once more, 
 as from our mother's lips, from among these congre- 
 gations of dying men! 
 
 " August 25. — It has come close to us at last. 
 
 "Our door is marked witli the red cross now. 
 
 "The sweetest and ripest souls among us -Uoger'n 
 38*
 
 45 o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 father and Aunt Gretel— have been stricken, and 
 are gone borne. 
 
 " Yesterday morn. 3g, before daybreak, I was rest- 
 ing on ray bed, having watched through the night, 
 when I heard the latch of the garden-door, which 
 was left open for Roger and Dr. Antony, softly 
 lifted. I thought it might be Roger, and crept 
 down-stairs. 
 
 " At the door I met Annis Nye. 
 
 " Her face was pale and worn, but serene as ever, 
 and her voice as calm. 
 
 " « I heard that you were all here, without any to 
 serve you,' she said, ' and I thought that was a call 
 to me to come.' 
 
 " ' Do you know into what peril you come ?' I 
 asked. 
 
 " ' I saw the plague-sign on the street-door,' she 
 said ; ' so I came round through the garden.' 
 
 " I clasped her in my arms, and kissed her, and 
 wept. Tears are not common with u* now ; but I 
 could not help these. Generous deeds always touch 
 the spring of tears, I think, more easily than sorrow. 
 
 " What was stranger than my being thus moved, 
 when Aunt Dorothy came down and saw Annis, 
 and heard why she had come, she did as I had done , 
 she took the maiden to her heart and wept. 
 
 " But what sounded stranger yet in that house 
 and city of death, when the children saw her, they 
 made the hushed home ring for a moment with their 
 j oyous welcomes. 
 
 " ' Annis is at home again !' they said ; ' Annis u
 
 CX BOTH SIDES OF THE SKI. 
 
 45< 
 
 •afe. She will nurse us all, and keep every on* 
 quiet, and we shall all get well.' 
 
 "Meantime, Mistress Dorothy had busied herself 
 preparing food, -which she set before Annis, and with 
 difficulty persuaded her to take a little bread and 
 milk. 
 
 " She had a strange story to tell, and she told it 
 in few words, as was her wont, at our questioning. 
 
 " 'I and other women Friends were sentenced to 
 the plantations in Jamaica,' she said. ' But the 
 ship-masters refused to take us. They held our sen- 
 tence unjust, and feared the judgment of the Lord 
 if they meddled with us. At last one was found 
 who taok us, he being denied a pass down the river 
 from the plague-smitten city unless he covenanted 
 to carry us. They had trouble in getting some of 
 us on board. For they would not acknowledge 
 their sentence so far as to climb willingly into the 
 ship. So they had to be hoisted on board like mer- 
 chandise. To this I was not called. For which I 
 was thankful. For it angered the sailors sorely. 
 "They would hoist merchants' goods," said they, 
 "but not men and women." But the officers took 
 the ropes, saying, " They are the king's goods." So, 
 as chattels, we were shipped for the plantations. 
 But we had scarce reached the sea when the pesti- 
 lence broke out among us. One and another sick- 
 ened and died. So that the ship-masters would pro- 
 ceed no further, but cast us on shore, and me among 
 the rest.' 
 
 "There was a kind of comfort in feeling that, 
 coming thus from an infected ship, the geuerou»
 
 4-ij 2 0JV £0777 67Z>£S OF THE SEA. 
 
 maiden had not really increased her risk by devoting 
 herself to our service, freely as she had dared to do 
 so. And our risk could scarce be increased. 
 
 " Having told her tale, Annis quietly folded her 
 out-of-door garments, laying them aside in the old 
 places, and said to Aunt Dorothy, ' Which way can 
 I serve thee best ?' 
 
 " We took her to Mr. Drayton's sick-chamber 
 Olive's eyes brightened with the soft moisture of 
 grateful tears as Annis entered, where she sate by 
 her father's bed. 
 
 " But that was no place or season for spoken 
 thanks or questionings. Annis at once fitted into 
 ker place among the nurses. And I know aot how 
 any of us could have survived those days and nights 
 of watching, but for her help. 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy said, — 
 
 " ' I will take heed how I speak lightly of Quakers 
 and their calls again.' 
 
 " Yes; the two readiest among us have been called 
 home. Roger's father and his mother's sister. Hon- 
 oured and beloved beyond any. 
 
 " Yet we speak of them quietly, almost without 
 tears. 
 
 " Death is so around us — without, within, every- 
 where — that it seems the most natural thins:. We 
 say, 'They are gone home,' with less sense of separa- 
 tion than in ordinary times we say, ' They are gone 
 to Netherby,' with far less than we should have 
 said, ' They have gone across the seas.' 
 
 " It is so likely we may be with them again to 
 morrow — to-day !
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4.53 
 
 "I look back a page or two in this Diary, and the 
 words they spoke and I wrote so lately have become 
 sacred, dying, farewell words. 
 
 " ' The Father's rod.'' Yes, that was what they 
 thought. ' The King's touch smiting them from the 
 lower service to the higher.'' That is what we think, 
 and we say it to each other as their epitaph. 
 
 September. — No distinction, indeed, this pestilence 
 makes as to whom it smites. 
 
 " What I wished, yet scarce dared to wish, for 
 Walter has come true. 
 
 " Could I have dared to wish it, had I thought it 
 could come ? 
 
 " Two nights since, Roger came to my bedside 
 and said, — 
 
 " ' Lettice, I dare not spare thee, even thee, from 
 a call such as this. Canst thou be ready to come 
 with me quickly, to visit one smitten with plague ?' 
 
 " From any voice but his, the sudden, midnight 
 summons would have set my heart beating so as to 
 rob me of the power to obey. 
 
 "But there is always a calm about him which 
 nerves me to do anything. Besides, he said, ' Come 
 with me? And that was strength itself. 
 
 "I did not waste time in questioning. He left me 
 to tell Annis Nye not to wake Olive. 
 
 " I was dressed in a few minutes. Then I wont 
 and kissed the babe. It might be perilous for me 
 to touch his soft cheek, rosy with sleep, when I came 
 back. If ever I came back to him! For that wa» 
 a probability which must be met in such a leave 
 taking.
 
 454 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 " As I stood by the child's little bed, Rogei* earn* 
 back. 
 
 " ' We will kneel beside him,' he said. 
 
 " And in a few brief words he prayed, for strength 
 to comfort, for wisdom to guide, for balm to heal. 
 
 " Before we rose, I knew what he meant 
 
 " ' It is Walter,' I said. 
 
 " He took'my hand in his, and we spoke no more. 
 
 " Silently we went out, our steps echoing through 
 the streets, the great bonfires, kept up now in each 
 street to purify the air, lighting us on our way, now 
 illuminating with tongues of fitful flame the red 
 cross and the closed door, now more drearily light- 
 ing up the empty chambers of the houses of the 
 dead, which needed no longer to be closed, whose 
 half-opened shutters creaked restlessly in the night 
 winds. 
 
 " We stopped at the steps of what had been a 
 stately mansion. 
 
 " The door was ajar, as Roger must have left it. 
 There were none to usher us into the lofty hall or 
 up the wide staircase, on whose stone stairs our 
 steps echoed so noisily through the deserted cham- 
 bers, step as softly as we might. 
 
 "Through one luxurious chamber after another 
 we passed, our steps hushed on soft Persian rugs, 
 ftnd softened by tapestried walls. 
 
 " In one lay virginals and lutes and song-books, as 
 if from a recent concert. In another, a table spread 
 for a feast — the wine still sparkling in the glasses, 
 and summer-fruits mouldering on the porcelain. 
 
 "And in the last chamber, upon a stately gildeJ
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 455 
 
 bed with silk curtains, he lay, ray brother, with 
 scarce open, half-vacant eyes, which seemed as if 
 their sight and meaning were gone, his hands 
 clenched in agony. 
 
 " Yet he saw and knew me, for he cried with an 
 energy which pierced the silence like a death-wail — 
 
 " ' Take her away, Roger ! take her away ! I 
 will not have that at my door ! Take her away !' 
 
 " But I went close to him, and gently unclasped 
 his clenched hand, and kissed his forehead, and 
 said — 
 
 " ' Two of us have been smitten already, Walter. 
 We are past peril.' 
 
 " ' Who have been smitten ?' he asked suddenly. 
 1 Not your child ?' 
 
 " ' No,' I said — and I felt my voice falter — ' not 
 our Harry.' 
 
 " Then his mind seemed to wander, for the far- 
 off past came back so vividly as to blot out the 
 days that had intervened. 
 
 " ' Harry, my brother Harry — don't speak to me 
 of Harry,' he said. ' He loved me, and sent a 
 dying message that he looked to meet me. And 
 he never will — he never will.' And then, — 
 
 "'I am dying, Lettice, don't you see? dying —   
 body and soul. For mercy's sake don't come near 
 me. If you can bear it, I can't. There will be 
 torments enough soon. Don't burn my soul thua 
 with your purity and your love.' 
 
 " I took his hand, and pressed it to my lips, for ] 
 could not speak. But he drew it away with a con- 
 vulsive energy.
 
 c5 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " Take ber away, Roger ! — don't let her ! Shft 
 doesn't know what I am, or who it wag these hands 
 touched last.' 
 
 " And then at intervals he told ns how, when the 
 Court left, a small company of the more recklesu 
 young courtiers had persuaded him it would be 
 cowardly to go ; and they had established them- 
 selves in this house, belonging to a kinsman of one 
 of them, and held wild revelries there. How he 
 had half intended, when he had heard we remained 
 in the City, to break witli these dissolute associ- 
 ates, and find us out ; and had once or twice 
 crept into churches by himself and heard sermons, 
 but had delayed and hesitated from week to week ; 
 until at last, towards the end of August, a singing- 
 girl, one of their company, had been smitten with 
 the plague. Then the door had been closed and 
 marked, and all the revellers had escaped through 
 windows, over the leads of other houses, or over 
 the palings of gardens to the river, and bo into the 
 country. But he could not shut his heart to the 
 dying shrieks of that poor lost girl, and abandon 
 her to die alone. 
 
 " ' I meant to wait till she was dead,' he said, 
 'and leave the men of the dead-cart to find her in 
 the empty house and bury her, and then to follow 
 the rest. I had enough on my conscience without 
 being followed through life with those dying cries. 
 But befoie she died I began to feel ill myself. I 
 tried to keep up my spirits with wine; but that 
 was of no use. And then I found half a dozen 
 leaves of an old Prayer-book — the sentences and
 
 OX BOTE SIDES ft*' THE SE 1. 
 
 457 
 
 die Confession, and the Absolution, and one or two 
 of the Gospels. I entreated her to let me read to 
 her, but she would not listen, but kept deliriously 
 singing, mixing up light songs, bad enough at 
 any time from a woman's lips, with strains of 
 music from the Royal Chapel, and melodies of in- 
 nocent old Christmas village carols, in a way hor- 
 rible to hear. And then she died, and I was too 
 ill to leave. And I crept into this bed. That waa 
 yesterday. And at night-fall there was a rattling 
 at the door, and heavy steps np-stairs, and heavier 
 down again. So I knew they would bury her. 
 But I lay still under the coverlet; for a horrid 
 dread came over me that they might find me, carry 
 me down, and bury me with her, to save time. 
 There had been horrible jests among us of such 
 things happening. But the door shut, echoing 
 through the empty house like thunder. 
 
 " ' And I knew I was left alone to die. And then 
 another horrible feeling came over me ; that it 
 would be better if they had found me, and taken 
 me out to die quietly among the dead, without 
 thinking any more about it, than leave me here 
 lingering alone to think of it: to look at death 
 steadily, alone, no one knows how long; with 
 nothing but dying between me and it. 
 
 " 'And to pass the time and break the silence I 
 took up the old Prayer-book and read aloud, — 
 
 ut Wken the ivicked man turneth away from hit 
 
 wickedness. But I thought, I can never turn away 
 
 from my wickedness. I can only turn round and 
 
 round in it for ever ard ever So I stopped, untU 
 
 39
 
 f c8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 the silence was worse to bear than the words ; an£ 
 then I read on again. But my own voice soundec 
 to ine like a parody. Dreadful jesting voices seemed 
 reading the sacred words after me, until I came tc 
 the Confession. 
 
 '"Then the jesting voices vanished. And, iu 
 stead, came my mother's voice, ai.d my own, as a 
 boy, saying it after her, " We have gone astray like 
 lost sheep." I might have said it once, I knew, and 
 have come back ; now I should have to go on saying 
 it for ever, with her voice echoing it as if from 
 heaven, and never come hack. If I could hear the 
 voice of some one good reading this Confession and 
 the Gospels, I thought they might seem true, even 
 for me, yet, but never in my own. 
 
 '"So I flung the book from me, and lay stn 
 until I heard a man's feet coming softly up the 
 staircase; and I thought it was a thief come to 
 pillage, and then perhaps to murder me. And the 
 insane desire of life mastered me again; and I 
 covered my face again and hushed my breath, until 
 I heard Roger's voice beside me saying, " There in 
 tw one living here." And then I looked up. And 
 all night he has been speaking to me, Lettice — 
 nursing me as my mother might, and now and theu 
 reading out of the Gospels and the Confession. 
 And if the merciful words would seem true to me 
 in any voice sister, they would in his. If I had 
 only gone to you all before ! But it is too late,, 
 Is it not too late? Is not my life wasted, lost- 
 lost for ever ?' 
 
 " He gazed into my eyes with that wistful, thirst
 
 OH BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 453 
 
 ing look of the souls who are departing. I knew 
 nothing but truth would avail. So I said as quietly 
 as I could, — 
 
 " ' Your life — this life, Walter — I am afraid it is 
 lost — lost for ever. Your life ; hut not you, Wal- 
 ter ; not you.'' 
 
 lie kept his eyes fixed on mine, and said, — 
 
 " And there is no second, Lettice. God Himself 
 cannot give us hack the lost life asrain.' 
 
 " Then all that he might have heen, all my mother 
 hoped he might he, rushed over my heart, and I 
 could not say any more. I could only kneel down 
 by his bedside and take his hand and sob out, — 
 
 " ' O Father, Thou knowest all he might have 
 been, all Thou wouldest have had him be. And 
 Thou seest the ruin they have made of him. Have 
 pity, have pity, and forgive.' 
 
 " He laid his hand on mine. 
 
 " ' Hush, Lettice, hush !' he said ; ' not they — L 
 I have ruined myself. No one could have ruined 
 me but myself. The sin is mine.' 
 
 " Then I rose. For I felt as if my prayer was 
 answered. I felt as if, weak, trembling woman 
 that I was, a priestly voice was in my eai'-s pro 
 nouncing absolution, ready to breathe the gospel 
 of forgiveness through my lips. For it seemed to 
 me these were the first words of real repenting I 
 had ever heard Walter utter. I had heard him 
 again and agair speak of himself or his life with a 
 passionate loathing. But that was not repenting: 
 Too often if any one admitted the justice of such 
 self accusations, he would turn them into self-ex
 
 4 6o ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 cusir.g and accusings of others. But now, it 
 seemed to me, he was indeed coming to himself, 
 coming home ; and I said,— 
 
 " ' Walter, you could not turn from the cries oi 
 that poor dying creature. Will you set your pity 
 above God's ?' 
 
 " ' I had none but myself to think of,' he said. 
 
 It mattered nothing to any one whether I did 
 
 right or wrong about it. He is King and Judge, 
 
 and has the whole world to tbiuk of in forgiving 
 
 any one.' 
 
 " ' Our Lord did not say so,' I said. When the 
 lost son arose to come home to be forgiven, it 
 seemed as if the father had nothing to do with any 
 one in the world but with him. He did not think 
 of what the servants would say, or the elder brother, 
 or how any one else might be tempted by the for- 
 giveness to wander. He was watching the wan- 
 derer! Oh, Walter, He was the first to see him 
 turn — the first ! He was the first to see you. I 
 know it by the parable ; I know it because, after 
 all — after all, Walter — He has let you die at your 
 post. Think of the mercy of that ! You might 
 have died helping to ruin some one. You die try- 
 ing to help. Think of the mercy of being suffered 
 to do that !' 
 
 " A softer light came into his eyes, and after a 
 minute he said, — 
 
 " ' I cannot doubt His pity ; no, I dare not. What 
 I doubt is myself. How can you know, Lettice, how 
 can I know, that if life were given back to me I 
 iniofht not waste it all asjain ?'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4.&1 
 
 • Then turning that intense searching gaze from 
 me to Roger, he went on, — 
 
 " ' How can I know whether I am clinging to 
 Him, as a dying man clings to anything, or indeed 
 as the repenting son to the Father ? How can you 
 know or I ?' 
 
 " Roger bent low over him and said, — 
 
 " ' Neither you nor I can know. One only knows. 
 He only can forgive. He knew, on the cross, when 
 He was dying for the world, and the thief beside 
 Him was dying for his own crimes, and dying Ho 
 forgave the dying. He knows now. He is as near 
 as then, and not dying ; living for evermore; al- 
 mighty to save. But even if you are clinging to 
 Him, as a drowning man to a rock, or to an out- 
 stretched hand, in mere terror of the waves, is He 
 one likely to wrench His hand even from such a 
 poor, desperate, selfish grasp as that ? Did He on 
 the Sea of Galilee ?' 
 
 " Walter drank in all Roger said, but made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Roger's next words fell solemn as a summons 
 from another world. 
 
 " ' What dc you want Him to save you from ?' 
 
 " Walter's answer was a cry of agony. 
 
 " ' From myself! — from myself!' 
 
 " Roger's voice was firm no longer, but low and 
 broken as Walter's own, as he replied, — 
 
 " That lit died to do; that He lives to do. 
 That He can never refuse to do for any that ask 
 Him, for ever and for ever.' 
 
 "Then, after a few moments, Roger said, — 
 39*
 
 f62 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " ' If He sees no other way to save ycu but that 
 you should lose your life, that you should not b6 
 trusted with it again, could you be content ?' 
 
 '"How can I be content?' Walter answered. 
 1 Think what my life might have been. It might 
 have been like yours ! And I have no second. I 
 would not complain. It is no wondei I cannot 
 be trusted. I cannot trust myself. But you can 
 never know how bitter it is to begin to see what 
 life might have been when it is all over, and when 
 you begin to see how well He you have grieved 
 was worth serving.' 
 
 " He lingered some days. And then the lost life 
 was over. 
 
 " The life those we had served not disloyally had 
 done their utmost to ruin. 
 
 "The spirit had departed, which He we have 
 served so unworthily even to the uttermost can 
 save. 
 
 " It was beyond comparison the bitterest sacrifice 
 we had ever made. 
 
 " Yet this sacrifice England is now making by 
 hecatombs on the same foul altar. 
 
 " A sacrifice not of life ennobled, and made infi- 
 nitely worthier in laying it down, but of honour, of 
 virtue, of all that makes men men. Of souls de- 
 graded in the sacrifice to the level of that to which 
 they are sacrificed. A sacrifice to devils, and not 
 to God.
 
 Chapter XII. 
 
 lettice's diary 
 
 jj ROAD OAK, February, 1 606.— For & 
 brief season we are in this haven, 
 driven into rest by many storms. 
 The Plague has left London. The 
 Court has returned to it unchanged, to pursue its 
 revelries. The ejected ministers who preached to 
 the dying city are once more silenced and driven 
 from their pulpits, and not only driven from their 
 pulpits but from the city, by the Five Mile Act, 
 which prohibits any ejected minister, on severe pen- 
 alties, from approaching within five miles of the 
 church where he was wont to preach. 
 
 " Roger deemed his work in London for the pres- 
 ent done. 
 
 "When we left, the streets were fragrant with 
 the smoke of sweet woods, burned in the houses, 
 and curling through the open windows day and 
 night. The air was laden with strange Oriental 
 odours of incense, of aromatic gums and perfumes, 
 floating the spirit on their dream-like fragrance (as 
 perfumes only can), within the spells <.f Enchanted 
 ground. 
 
 '* Yet the change is pleasant, to tin* \yholcsorne 
 
 'AW
 
 4.64 oy both s:bes of the sea. 
 
 country air, fresh with the smell of the new-plougheq 
 earth, of the young mosses and grasses shooting out 
 everywhere bright tiny spikes or stars of jewel-like 
 green, of the breath of cows, of gummy swelling 
 leaf-buds, and fir-stems warmed into pungent fra- 
 grance by the sun, of early peeping snow-drops and 
 rare violets, of sedges moistened by the prattling 
 brooks, of free winds coming and going we know 
 not whence or whither — from the mountains, from 
 the sea, or from the forests of the American wilder- 
 ness. It is invigorating to body and soul to change 
 those costly foreign manufactured perfumes for all 
 these countless, changing, blending, breathing fra- 
 grances, which make what I suppose is meant by 
 'the smell of a field which the Lord hath blessed.' 
 
 " It is a wonderful relief to be here, after what we 
 have gone through ; free to go where we will, living 
 with open doors, neighbours freely coming and go- 
 ing, guests, unsuspected, dropping in at the hospi- 
 table door from the highway. 
 
 " It is not so much like coming in a ship out of 
 the storm into the haven, as like being quietly laid 
 on a friendly sunny shore, after buffeting with pant- 
 ing chest and weary arras through the waves which 
 have made the ship a wreck. 
 
 " Something of this calm, indeed, began to come 
 bven before we left London. 
 
 " It is a thing never to forget, the change that 
 came over people's countenances on the first morn- 
 ing late in September, when the number of the dead 
 was in the week declared to have diminished instead 
 of increasing ; the tears that those first gleams of
 
 OF BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4 6j 
 
 hope brought to eyes long dry in despair ; the re- 
 awaking of neighbourly sympathy, as each house 
 ceased to be either a refuge against infection, or a 
 pest-house from which it issued ; windows opened 
 fearlessly, once more, to hear good news. The re- 
 serve which, like a fortress, rampart with rampart, 
 guards the deepest feelings of our people, broken 
 down by the common deliverance ; strangers grasp- 
 ing each others' hands in the streets, merely for the 
 joy of telling the good news, weeping aloud for 
 gladness, or uttering the brief fervent thanksgiving 
 — (, Tis all wonderful ; ''lis all a dream.'' Blessed be 
 God, ''tis all His own doing. Human help and skill 
 were at an end. Let us give thanks to Him.'' 
 
 "This melting together of men's hearts in the 
 rapture of a common deliverance, struck me more 
 than all. It made me think how the best balsam to 
 heal the wounds of Christendom would be for Chris- 
 tianity to be once more understood as the Gospel 
 of Great Joy which it assuredly is. There would 
 be little room for controversy, I thought, and none 
 for isolation and exclusion, if every heart could only 
 be penet rated with the joy of the forgiven Prodigal, 
 and of the Angels' Christmas hvinn. 
 
 "Some people in their eagerness to purify their 
 houses burned them down. Wild dospair was suc- 
 ceeded on every side by hopes as wild. Those who 
 had suspected every one, and crept along the streets, 
 fearing to touch each other's garments, grew so bold 
 (hat they no longer feared even the poor ghastly 
 scarce-recovered victims of the Plague, who began 
 to limp about the streets with the bandages af th«
 
 4 66 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 dreaded sores and swellings still around their headi 
 and limbs. . 
 
 "If even the reckless Court itself had lived th rough, 
 that peril and that rescue, I think it would never 
 lave affronted Heaven and this city of mourners 
 again with its profligate revelries. The City, in- 
 deed, was well fumigated from infection with per- 
 fumes, and with brimstone, to make it a safe dwell- 
 ing for the Court. But what incense, what fires, 
 can purify England from the infection of the Court 
 itself? 
 
 " We should have gone to Netherby, but that 
 is scarce a safe home just now for Roger. A vexa- 
 tious suit has been instituted against him, on the 
 ground of his aiding or abetting in some ' disloyal' 
 attempt of which he knew nothing. But we know 
 it is his work during the Commonwealth that is the 
 true ground of prosecution. Sir Launcelot Trevor 
 will never pardon Roger's detecting him in one of 
 the plots for assassinating Cromwell. It is not the 
 hard laws themselves, severe as their restrictions 
 and penalties are, that cause the most suffering. It 
 is the power hey give to bad men to annoy the 
 good. 
 
 " Already much of the Drayton property has been 
 sacrificed through vexatious exactions. But now it 
 is more than property that is threatened. And so 
 this pleasant home of Broad Oak, which is a house 
 of mercy to so many, has now become a refuge for 
 us. We are, in fact, here as in a hiding-place, untU 
 this tyranny be overpast, or we can find some other 
 refuge
 
 OK BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4.67 
 
 u Our host, Mr. Philip Henry's courtly deference 
 of manners, his listen, ng to every one as if he had 
 something to learn from each, has more charm for 
 ine than I like to confess to myself. It recalls the 
 stately courtesy of my brother Harry and of the 
 Cavaliers who were his contemporaries. 
 
 " The Puritan manners are severer and less chiv- 
 alrous than those of our old Cavaliers, though with 
 more of true knightly honour to women in them 
 than the courtiers of this New Court are capable of 
 comprehending. 
 
 " We read together often, Roger and I, these old 
 records of the early settlers in the American wilder- 
 nesses. We are beginning now to glean more par- 
 ticular tidings concerning the various village com- 
 munities into which the settlers have now organized 
 themselves. For more and more we begin to speak 
 of a 'New Netherby' rising beside some inland 
 mere or pleasant creek of the forest in New England 
 
 " ' Not that I despair for a moment of England. 
 Roger says. 'But we have but one life, and its 
 years are few and precious; and if the good fight 
 is going on victoiiously elsewhere, it seems scarce 
 a man's place to stay where the best he can do la 
 to keep quiet and hide for his life.' 
 
 "February) 1G6G, Broad Oak. — There is a serenity 
 and sunshine about this house which makes it like 
 an island of fair weather in the midst of the tur- 
 bulent world. Continually it recalls to me Port 
 RoyaL And even more by resemblance than by 
 contrast. 
 
 "It seems to me as fully as Port Royal a temple
 
 + 68 OX BOTH SIXES OF THE SEA. 
 
 or house of God. (In one sense I, as a Protestant, 
 should believe more, since the church, not the con- 
 vent, is God's sacred Order.) Every morning and 
 evening all the inmates and family assemble for 
 prayer and reading of the Bible. ' As the priests in the 
 tabernacle,' Mr. Henry says, ' used daily to burn the 
 incense, and to light the lamps.'' All pray kneeling ; 
 for Mr. Henry ' has high thoughts of the body as 
 God's workmanship, and desires that it should 
 share in the homage offered to Him.' 
 
 " Mr. Henry never makes this service long, so as 
 to be a weariness ; he calls it the ' hem to keep the 
 rest of the day from ravelling.' In the evening he 
 gathers his household, servants, workmen, day la- 
 bourers, and sojourners, early, that the youngest, 
 or those who have done a good day's work, may 
 not be sleepy. ' Better one absent than all sleepy,' 
 he says. 
 
 " He explains the Bible as he reads it, not merely 
 ' mincing it small, but by easy unforced distribution.'' 
 Above all, he seeks to lift up before the heart ' Christ, 
 the Treasure in the field of the Bible.'' 'Every word 
 of God is good,' he says, ' but especially God the 
 Word.' He closes with a psalm ; sometimes many 
 verses, but sur.g quickly, every one having a book, 
 so tha, there is no interruption to the singing. 
 
 Afterward* his two little boys kneel with folded 
 hands before their father and mother, and ask the 
 blessing, while he pronounces the benediction ovei 
 them, saying, 'The Lord bless thee.' On Thursday 
 be catechizes the servants on some simple subject. 
 
 u On Sunday, ' the pearl of the week, the queen
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF Ti. E SEA. 469 
 
 of days,' the perpetual Easter-day on which we 
 6ing, ' The Lord is risen indeed,' the whole house 
 Beems so full of tranquil light, all sounds and signs 
 of needless labour banished, all the sweet sounds 
 of nature, birds and bees and running brooks, heard 
 with a new music in the hush of human rest, the 
 men and maids in their sober holiday attire, that it 
 is difficult to believe there is not an audible, visible 
 increase of light and music in the external world, 
 that the fields, and woods, and skies, have not also 
 donned a festive attire, that the sun is not shining 
 with a new radiance, like the ancient Lamp of the 
 sanctuary, fresh filled and trimmed for the Sabbath. 
 It shines on the heart with a quiet radiance, like 
 the last chapters of the Gospels; the l-esurrection 
 chapters. The household, since Mr. Henry has been 
 silenced, attend the Church service in the little 
 neighbouring parish-church of Whitechurch, always 
 going early, before the service begins. The walks 
 through the field to and from the church are a sacred 
 service in themselves, by virtue of Mr. Henry's dis- 
 course. In truth, there is no silencing the music 
 of such a piety as his, unless you could make it 
 cease to flow. 
 
 "This temple also has its shrines and inner sanct- 
 uary. Mrs. Henry pointed out to me the little 
 chamber where her husband prays alone ; when he 
 changed it he consecrated the new one with a 
 special prayer. I remember Roger's father used 
 to call the direction, ' When thou enierest into thy 
 closet shut thy door, 1 'the one unquestionably divine 
 rubric of the New Testament.' And it Be< ma to 
 40
 
 f7 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 me beautiful that the inmost sanctuary :<f our 
 houses, as of our hearts, should be that which is 
 consecrated by solitude with God. 
 
 " Then, like Port Royal, this is a house of mercy. 
 Standing near the way-side, it is seldom that the 
 hospitable board has none but inmates round it. 
 And Mr. Henry's simple, fervent thanksgiving at 
 the table must, I think, go along with the traveller 
 on his further journey, like the echo of a hymn. 
 
 " The order of the convent, moreover, can scarcely 
 be more thorough than that of this home, save that 
 it is broken, like the order of nature, by the sweet 
 irregularities and varieties which always come to 
 stir all Divine order out of monotony. The Hand 
 which can make Life the mainspring of its machin- 
 ery may dare irregularities. 
 
 "Port Royal was especially recalled to my mind 
 by a letter I received last November from Madame 
 la Mothe, in which she speaks of the return of the 
 nuns to Port Royal des Champs. Four years ago 
 they were dispersed into imprisonment in various 
 convents, in the hope that the courage of each 
 alone might foil, so that in isolation, moved by the 
 most plausible persuasions and the severest threats, 
 the community might separately sign the condem- 
 nation of Jansenism, which they had refused to sign 
 together. It was a simple question of fact. They 
 were required to declare that the five condemned 
 propositions were in Jansenius' books; thus assert- 
 ing what thev believed false to be true. But out 
 of the ninety-six nuns thus dispersed eighty-four 
 returned unshaken. Madame la Mothe writes:
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA ^ x 
 
 " ' Such a welcome and restoration home as the 
 holy sisters had was worth sore suffering to win, 
 as the various carriages met, bringing the Mother 
 Angelique and her scattered daughters once more 
 together. The church hells pealed joyous greet- 
 ings, and the peasants shouted or wept their wel- 
 comes, flocking by the roadside, along the steep 
 descent into the valley, in holiday dresses; gray- 
 haired tottering men, little toddling children, moth- 
 ers and babes in arms — not a creature that could 
 stir left behind to miss the joy of welcoming their 
 benefactresses back. And so the long procession of 
 nuns, in their white robes, with scarlet crosses, dis- 
 appeared under the great Gothic gates, into the 
 sacred enclosure. ' It was a sight indescribably 
 beautiful to the eye, but who can say what it was 
 to the heart ?' 
 
 " Martyrs not so much to truth as to truthfulness, 
 they would not recognize the distinction between 
 consenting to what they deemed a lie and tell- 
 
 ing it. 
 
 " Should not their enemies concede at least this 
 merit to the two thousand ejected ministers ? They 
 may be over nice, as I think they are, in some of 
 their scruples. But why cannot people, who see a 
 noble heroism in eighty nuns suffering ejection and 
 dispersion rather than declare that false which they 
 believe to be true — rather than bring on their souls 
 the degradation of a lie — see something of the 
 same heroism in two thousand English clergymen 
 with their families suffering ejection, calumny, and 
 peril of starvation rather than solemnly declare
 
 4,-72 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 they believe things true which they believe fills*;} 
 The families who have to share the misery wLethei 
 they will or no, do not make the sacrifice easier. 
 
 " Yet many a tender-hearted lady of our acquaint- 
 ance, of the old Cavalier stock, whose face has glow- 
 ed with interest when I have told her of the suffer- 
 ings and constancy of the Mere Angelique and her 
 nuns, and who has rejoiced with me when I read 
 the story of their restoration, can see nothing but 
 vulgar perversity and obstinacy in the conduct of 
 these ejected ministers. 
 
 " Why cannot these also be honoured as martyrs, 
 if not to truth, at least to truthfulness? 
 
 " Can it be that the white dresses and red crosses, 
 and the grand arched entrance gates make the dif- 
 ference ? 
 
 " Or is it merely that the one took place in France 
 and the other at home ? 
 
 " Building the sepulchres of the prophets is such 
 easy and graceful feminine work ! As easy as tapes- 
 try work, especially when the sepulchres are reared 
 in the imagination, and the prophets prophesied to 
 other people's forefathers. 
 
 " But it seems as if, in heaven, not the slightest 
 value was attached to those elegant little erections. 
 
 "The one thins regarded there seems to be 
 whether we help and honour those who are contend- 
 in^ or suffering for truth and right now. And this 
 is not always so easy. 
 
 "For, on the other hand, Aunt Dorothy was not 
 a little incensed when I once told her (intending tc 
 be conciliatory) that 1 thought the Nonconformist
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ^73 
 
 ministers quite as much to be honoured as the Mere 
 Angelique and her nuns. 
 
 " 'To compare Mr. Baxter and two thousand of 
 the most enlightened ministers in England to a set 
 of poor benighted papists !' said she. 
 
 "And she was only to be mollified by the con 
 sideration of the deficiency in my own religious 
 training. 
 
 " Perhaps for us women the safest course is to 
 render as wide a succour as we can to all who suffer. 
 Because then if we make any mistakes as to truth, 
 in the great account they may be counterbalanced 
 by the entries on the side of love ; which, on the 
 whole, seems to overrule the final judgment. 
 
 "March, 1666. — "We are to leave this friendly holy 
 roof for another shelter. 
 
 " Many a sharp-cut diamond of Mr. Henry's good 
 sayings I shall carry away with me. 
 
 " ' Repentance is not a sudden land-food, but the flow- 
 ing of a perennial spring ; an abiding habit.'' 
 
 " ' Peace is joy in the bloom ; joy is peace in the fruit.'' 
 
 " But more than all such sayings, I bear away 
 with me the memory of a sanctity as fresh and fra- 
 grant as any I ever hope to see, fragrant not as with 
 the odours of manufactured perfumes, but with the 
 countless fragrances of a field which the LoH has 
 blessed. 
 
 "An Endurance of affliction made all the lovelier 
 by the capacity for the happiness it foregoes, — by 
 the belief that every creature of God is good and to 
 be enjoyed with thanksgiving which prevents in 
 being stiffened into austerity ; -j. submissive Loyalty 
 
 10*
 
 474 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ennobled by the higher loyalty which prevents it4 
 becomiug servile ; an open-handed charity sustained 
 by busy-banded industry, by the thrift which leenis 
 waste a sin, and the justice which deems debt a deg- 
 radation ; a Devotion whose chief delight is to soar 
 and sing, and which sings never the less when it 
 stoops to serve ; a Religion as free from fanaticism, 
 worldliness, or austerity as any the world can see. 
 
 "A piety which would have been my mother's 
 element; worthy it seems to me of the sober joyful 
 liturgy she loved so dearly, yet to which Mr. Henry 
 cannot entirely conform. Yes ; it seems to me a 
 piety more unlike that of the Puritans of our early 
 days than unlike that of George Herbert or of Port 
 Royal. A lovely, patient, quiet, meek-eyed piety ! 
 It recalls to me the group of St. Paul's gentle graces, 
 ' love, joy, peace,' and the rest, which I used to think 
 pictured my mother's religion, far more than St. 
 Peter's belligerent virtues, godliness, faith, courage, 
 which seemed to me to stand forth in sword and 
 breastplate like the religion of Roger and the Iron- 
 sides. 
 
 " ' If tlie old Cavaliers, alas, are gone,' I said to 
 Roger to-day, ' it seems to me the old Puritans are 
 gone as well. Mr. Philip Henry is far less like you 
 Ironsides than like my mother. This is a piety, as 
 I deem, which would have suffered in prisons and 
 pillories to any extent, but would scarcely have 
 lifted its voice in the Parliament with Mr. Hampden 
 and Mr. Pym, and would certainly not have raised 
 the standard at Edgehill or Worcester. Where ar« 
 >Vie old Puritans gone?'
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 475 
 
 " * Where v e may follow them, sweet heart.' said 
 he; 'to fight the wolves and conquer the wilder- 
 nesses of the West.' 
 
 " ' Then, said I, ' are the wrestling manlike Chris- 
 tian virtues to migrate to New England to subdue 
 the New World ; whilst the feminine Christian 
 graces are to stay at home to endure the pillory and 
 the prison? That were a strange division. Me- 
 seems, what with prohibitions to speak, and impris- 
 onment, and the banishment of the fiohtinsr men, 
 this patient, passive nonconformity can never 
 spread. Rather, perhaps, in a generation or two it 
 will die out.' 
 
 " 'Scarcely, I think,' he Raid. 'The old country 
 id patient and dumb, and sometimes takes a long 
 sleep bnt I believe she will wake one day, and break 
 the npts they have entangled her in, and scatter 
 those who twisted them, simply by rising and shak- 
 ing herself. Only her sleep may be too long for us 
 to wait to the end of it.' 
 
 "'But who is to wake her?' I said. 'A piety 
 this of Mr. Henry's, like that of Mr. Herbert, beau- 
 tiful and pure enough to convert the world, if some 
 louder voice could only rouse the world to look at it. 
 But whence is this voice to come? For it seems 
 to me our liturgy, though the purest music of de- 
 votion that can rise to heaven if once people are 
 awake to hear it and to sing it, has scarcely the 
 kind of fiery force in it to arouse the slumbering 
 world. And if the Puritan religion becomes alike 
 meek and soft-spoken, whence is this- enkindling fire 
 to come?' •
 
 47 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 " You might as well have asked our ancesto* 
 Cassibelawn where the fire was to come from when 
 the. forests were cut down,' he said. ' While the 
 forests give fuel enough, who can foresee the coal- 
 pits? 
 
 " ' Perhaps,' he added after a pause, as in a muse, 
 ' when the spring comes and the ice melts and the 
 music of the living waters breaks on England again, 
 as it must and will, the new streams will find new 
 channels.' 
 
 " Our discourse was broken at this point by the 
 arrival of two horsemen who dismounted at the 
 door. The hospitable board was spread for the 
 midday meal, and as we went down to take our 
 places at it, Mr. Henry introduced us to these new 
 guests as friends of his. 
 
 " They were Dr. Annesly and Dr. Wesley,* two 
 of the nonconformist ministers." 
 
 olive's recollections. 
 
 Troubles came, as troubles are wont to come, in 
 troops, sweeping down on us thick and fast in the 
 year which followed the plague, 1666. 
 
 Through the whole year Roger was in conceal- 
 ment with Lettice and their boy. Lands and 
 houses are no safeguards in a persecution where so 
 much lies at the mercy of informers. And Roger — 
 and Lettice also — had an implacable enemy in Sir 
 Launcelot Trevor, the profligacy of whose early 
 rears had, at its second fermentation, soured into 
 
 * Maternal and paternal grandfather of the Wesley a,
 
 OV BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4.77 
 
 malignity against those who had reproved of 
 thwarted him It was Sir Launcelot, indeed, who 
 hunted us hither. In his youth he had made some 
 careless studies in the law, and now he was ap- 
 posed one of the judges. Vexations which ren- 
 der life impossible for all the best ends of living 
 are terribly easy to inflict when bad laws are exe- 
 cuted by worse men. And it was this which made 
 the misery of those times. The laws were indeed 
 (as Ave believe) harsh and unjust ; but it was the 
 authorities who made them and the judges who 
 administered them, it was the spirit in which the 
 letter was carried out that made them (at last) un- 
 supportable. 
 
 About the spring of this year the pressure of the 
 times fell hard on cousin Placidia. 
 
 Her son Isaac was arrested for attending a for- 
 bidden meeting near Bedford, and was thrown into 
 the old jail on Bedford Bridge, where John Bunyan 
 (though loyal as Mr. Baxter), had already been 
 incarcerated for six years. 
 
 Thenee, Isaac wrote as if imprisonment in such 
 company were not to be imprisoned but emparadised. 
 " Such heavenly discourse as John Bunyan makes 
 here," said he, "would make a dungeon a palace." 
 He gave hints also of a wonderful story, or alle- 
 gory, which the tinker was penning in the jail, and 
 which (said Isaac) would make as much music in 
 the world, when it came forth, as Mr. Milton's 
 poems. We smiled at the lad's enthusiasm, for it 
 was not to be thought that a poor tinker, however 
 godly, could write anything beyond edifying sheets
 
 47 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 suited to paste on the walls of poor folks like ilia* 
 self. Indeed, we had seen some verses of h's, 
 which, though full of piety and patience, were 
 scarce to be called poetry. 
 
 And that very year Mr. Thomas Ell wood, a 
 Quaker (and a friend of Annis Nye's), who had 
 once been reader to Mr. Milton in his blindness, 
 brought us marvellous accounts of a manuscript 
 Mr. Milton had given him to read at a " pretty box " 
 Mr. Ellwood had taken for him, during the Plague, 
 at Giles Chalfont. It contained the Epic Poem 
 called " Paradise Lost." Thomas Ellwood said to 
 him, " Thou hast said much here of Paradise lost, 
 but what hast thou to say of Paradise found?" 
 Some time afterwards, Mr. Milton showed him an- 
 other poem called Paradise Regained, saying, in a 
 pleasant tone, " This is owing to you ; for you put 
 it into my head by the question you put to me at 
 Chalfont, which before I had not thought of." 
 
 So that, seeing, besides all he had already done 
 to the marvel of Europe, Mr. Milton had these won- 
 derful epics in store, it naturally amused us not a 
 little that Isaac should compare this good tinker 
 with him. Nevertheless, we honoured the lad's 
 heartiness, and rejoiced that in his doleful condition 
 he had such pious company to comfort him withal. 
 
 Not so, however, his mother. Her distress knew 
 no bounds. This affliction tore her heart in twain ; 
 setting what was highest in her in fierce civil war 
 with what was lowest. For, in spite of all hei 
 protestations of poverty, rumour had rather mag' 
 nified than diminished th<> w»vuut of cousin Pla
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 47g 
 
 cidia's hoards. The more she sought to keep them 
 unknown, the more magnificent they grew in the 
 busy imaginations of her neighbours. And coffer 
 after coffer of her painfully hoarded stores had to be 
 confessed and emptied as she sought to bribe one 
 exacting officer after another to release her son ; 
 until, the more she gave, the more they believed 
 she could be tortured into giving, the more the 
 ingenuity of informers and the greed of jailers 
 increased, and the more distant grew the prospects 
 of poor Isaac's liberation. 
 
 My heart ached for the torture she went through 
 as, bit by bit, she had to offer up the money which 
 was dear to her as life, for the child who was 
 dearer. 
 
 " It was worse than the boot or the thumb-screw 
 with which they are torturing the poor Covenanters 
 in Scotland," I said one day to Job Foster, when 
 we were staying at Netherbv : " screwed tighter 
 and tighter till it crushes the bone." 
 
 " Never heed, Mistress Olive," said Job. " Thank 
 the Lord it isn't in your hands but in His, who 
 loves Mistress Nicbolls a sight better than you. It 
 isn't her heart that screw is crushing, it's the worm 
 in her heart which is eating it out." 
 
 "Thou art somewhat hard on Mistress Nieholls, w 
 gaid Rachel, " to my mind ; after all, she had saved 
 it all for the lad." ' 
 
 " Women's hearts are tender," said Job, giving 
 an emphatic hammer to the spado he was repairing, 
 " and thine tenderer than any. But there's a love 
 tenderer than thine. Glory to Ills holy name,
 
 + go ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 He did not put away the son owing cup for *L 
 His own pains. And He will not put aside th« 
 healing cup for all our crying. In His warfare 
 
 it isn't once setting us on Burford church roofs, 
 nor twice, that keeps us steady to the Captain's 
 lead." 
 
 This trouble of Isaac's meantime wrought much 
 on Maidie, who had always repaid Isaac's devoted 
 homage loftily, and not always graciously, since 
 the early days when he overwhelmed her with 
 the unwelcome offering of his best hen. Sharp- 
 sighted as these children are (flatter ourselves as 
 we may) to spy out our failings, and intolerant of 
 them as youth with its high standards will be, 
 Maidie had been wont to hear cousin Placidia's 
 moans of poverty with ill-disguised incredulity, 
 and to call her economies by very unsparing scrip- 
 tural names. But now Isaac's imprisonment seemed 
 at once to exalt him in the perverse maiden's im- 
 agination from a boy to a hero. She wrote to him ; 
 and what was more, Dolly treacherously reported 
 that she wept nights long about him ; and (which 
 was the greatest triumph of all), she began to love 
 his mother for his sake. " It was plain," she said, 
 "how unjust she had been to cousin Placidia; it 
 was plain thai it was only for Isaac's sake she hid 
 pinched herself, and sometimes also ether folk. 
 Otherwise, would she be ready to part with every- 
 thing for his sake now ? It was noble for a mother 
 to deny herself for her son," pronounced Maidie ; 
 " and if this denying extended to others sometimes, 
 it must be excused. It was but the exuberance of
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ,4.81 
 
 a virtue; ami she, for her part, was ashamed of 
 having ever spoken haidly of cousin Placidia, and 
 would never do so again." 
 
 So a close bond grew up between these two ; and 
 it became clear to me I should have to spare a por- 
 tion of my daughter's love to soften with its free 
 sunshine, and quicken with its own generous youth, 
 this heart that had grown so old and shrivelled with 
 self-imposed cares. 
 
 And it was also plain what would come of this 
 when Isaac, always so faithful to her, came out of 
 prison, at once exalted into manhood and smitten 
 into knighthood in Maidie's eyes — by persecution, 
 and found Maidie already ministering to his mother 
 as a daughter. Indeed, the betrothal was already 
 accomplished in all its essentials. And it seemed to 
 me that, so bewared and so enriched, cousin Pla- 
 cidia would have at last no alternative bat to throw 
 aside the self-deceiving and self-tormenting which 
 had made her youth old age and her wealth poverty, 
 and in her old age and destitution for the first time 
 to grow rich and young. 
 
 As the year went on, more and more our thoughts 
 turned to the New World on the other side of the 
 sea. Roger's mind had been turned thither ever 
 eiuce the Lord Protector's death, as the only place 
 where in his lifetime it was probable he Avould be 
 able to render England those " public services for 
 which a man is born." 
 
 Loyalty he believed England had refused to the 
 prince God sent her, and was Buffering for it. Lib- 
 41
 
 + g 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ert}- was a word which would scarcely come forth 
 again as a watchword of noble warfare with the men 
 of this bew ildered and subdued generation. 
 
 On the other hand, my husband, while the prisons 
 were fuller than ever of sufferers for conscience, 
 found it more difficult than ever to obtain access to 
 them or to give them succour. 
 
 Cousin Placidia, on her part, was ready for any 
 refuge which would keep Isaac out of the way of 
 John Bunyan and the informers. Job and Rachel 
 Forster still hesitated. They could not "get light 
 upon it." They doubted whether it would not be 
 deserting the post they had been set to keep ; and 
 move especially whether it would be safe to take 
 Anuis Nye, who had gone to live with them, to New 
 England. I think also they were more moved by 
 sympathy with Annis Nye's beliefs than they quite 
 knew themselves. Rachel thought the Quakers had 
 been set to give a wonderful testimony for peace 
 and patience in an age when there was too much 
 fio-hting; ; and for silence in an age when there was 
 too much talking. And Job said, " We have done 
 fighting and talking enough in our day, in my belief, 
 to ls~st some time ; and now the Lord seems to bo 
 saymg to us, ' Study to be quiet and to do your own 
 business? and, ' Where two or three are gathered together, 
 there am I in the midst of them.'' That's about where 
 the lessons for the day seem to me to be just now. 
 And I've a mind we'd better be in no hurry, but sit 
 still and learn them." 
 
 Aunt Dorothy was prepared at any moment to 
 ihake off the dust frcm her feet against the profli-
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 483 
 
 gate Court which encouraged Sabbath -breakings 
 theatres, and bear-baitings, and banished five miles 
 from its suburbs the loyal and godly ministers who 
 had laboured so faithfully to bring it back ; and 
 against the Infatuated country which could pay ser 
 vile adulation to such a Court. 
 
 She was also a little troubled at Mr. Baxter's 
 marrying so young a wife, and winced a little when 
 Lettice defended him and declared that at heart 
 Aunt Dorothy's place, after all, was beside the holy 
 maids and recluses of Port Royal. 
 
 Still we lingered. It was not so easy to despair 
 of the re-awaking of an England in which John Mil- 
 ton was still living and thinking, and John Bunyau, 
 and John Howe, and Dr. Owen, and Richard Bax- 
 ter, and through which thirty thousand of Crom- 
 well's soldiers wure still scattered, working at their 
 farms and forces throughout the land. Nor was it 
 easy to leave such an England, so few years before 
 a Queen of Nations, as long as she would but give 
 us a little space to work for her, and a little reason 
 to hope. 
 
 But slowly the necessities which pressed us from 
 her shores gathered closer and closer around us, 
 until we could linger no more. 
 
 The great Fire of London brought ray in sband to 
 a decision. 
 
 Our own house escaped; but many houses in the 
 city, in which much of his property consisted, were 
 burnt. And the misery of so many thousands, 
 whom our losses deprived us of the power to relieve,
 
 f 8 4 0N BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 made us at last resolve to make the voyage, whil« 
 we had the means yet left to pay the ship-master 
 and purchase such goods as we should need in be- 
 ginning life again in the wilderness. 
 
 At ten o'clock on the 2nd of September, ]666, the 
 flames of that terrible Fire burst forth. By mid- 
 night they raged. In three days the whole city was 
 a heap of smoking smouldering ruins. 
 
 To us who lived at Westminster, it seemed as if 
 the fierce eastern wind was driving: the flames to- 
 wards that guilty roof at Whitehall, which scarce a 
 righteous man in the nation but deemed to be itself 
 the plague spot and the Gehenna which was bring- 
 ing desolation by plague and tire on the wholo 
 land. 
 
 All the night the sky was fiery, " like the top of 
 a burning oven." In the day the air was so thick 
 with the coiling columns of smoke, that " the sun 
 shone through it with a colour like blood." Those 
 who ventured near said that the pavements glowed 
 a fiery red, so that no horse or man could tread them, 
 and the melting lead from the burning churches ran 
 down the streets in a stream. Now and then the 
 dense masses of smoke were broken by the stones 
 of St. Paul's flying like grenadoes, or by a sudden 
 burst of vivid flame making the smoke visible sven 
 in the daylight, as some of the coal and wood 
 wharves and stores of oil and resin along the river 
 side were seized by the fire. And the steady roar 
 of the flames was only broken now and then by ex- 
 plosions, as vast powder-stores split asunder, or by 
 the wailings and cries of the ruined peoph running
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 485 
 
 to and fro in helpless consternation, not even at- 
 tempting to save their goods. 
 
 Still, day and night, the east wind, so steady in 
 its fierceness, drove on the flames and smoke towards 
 vs — toward the Court; till, on the third day, they 
 crossed towards Whitehall itself. Fearful, it was 
 said, was the confusion in the houses of revelry. 
 Good men could think of nothing that ever could be 
 like it but the universal conflagration of the world. 
 But again, as in the Plague, the Court escaped. 
 The neighbouring houses were blown up, so as to 
 kill the flames by starvation ; and at last their im- 
 petuous onset was stayed, and Whitehall was left 
 without one of its gaming-tables or chambers of 
 revelry being touched. 
 
 Streets in the west, which were nests of unblush- 
 ing wickedness, escaped ; whilst the city, of which 
 Mr. Baxter said " there was not such another in the 
 world for piety, sobriety, and temperance," was 
 burnt to ashes. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy took this much to heart ; and from 
 that time I scarcely remember her attempting any 
 more to interpret the Divine judgments, which had 
 once seemed to her so easy to translate. 
 
 After the horror came the misery and the desola- 
 tion. It is when the ashes of the fires which deso- 
 late our lives are cold that we first understand our 
 loss. And it was many days before the ashes of 
 the great Fire of London were cold enough for men 
 to tread them safely and learn the extent of the 
 ruin; to see the fountains dried up, the stones cal- 
 cined white as snow. 
 41*
 
 <.S6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Two hundred thousand homeless men, and women, 
 and little children were scattered in the fields and 
 on the hill-sides, chiefly on the north, as far as High- 
 gate, by the wretched remnants of their household 
 stuff. They were ready to perish of hunger; — yet 
 my husband said they did not beg a penny as he 
 passed from group to group. Some of them had 
 been rich and delicately lodged and clothed three 
 days before, and had not learned the art of craving 
 alms. Others were, it seemed, too stupified. His 
 Majesty did his utmost to make provision for their 
 relief (said the admiring courtiers) by " proclama- 
 tion for the country to come in and refresh them 
 with provisions ;" which, moved by the proclama- 
 tion of the king (or by another proclamation issued 
 sixteen hundred years before by One who spake 
 with authority), the country people did, to the glory 
 of the king and the admiration of the courtiers. 
 
 It was not the easiest thing in the world as we 
 looked from one side of our house over the blackened 
 heaps of cinders, where three days before had stood 
 the City of London, and on the other towards White- 
 hall, standing unscathed ; when we thought of two 
 thousand faithful servants of God forbidden to speak 
 for Him; often thousand houses, from not a few of 
 which had gone up day and night true prayer and 
 praise, made desolate; of a hundred thousand, not 
 a few of them good men and true, swept av ay by 
 the Plague the year before ; and then of all the riot- 
 ous voices in the palace not silenced, but permitted 
 to speak their worst for the devil ; it was not al« 
 ways easy to keep firm hold of the truth that " all
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 4 8 7 
 
 power is given in heaven and earth" not to the 
 accuser and the enemy, but to "Jesus Christ the 
 righteous." It was not easy. We had to endure 
 in those days " as seeing Him who is invisible." 
 
 My husband said, indeed, that the fire might prove 
 to be God's fumigation against the pestilence ; and 
 that the pestilence itself was but (as it were) " the 
 ships to take us to the other side, being sent in a 
 fleet instead of one by one." 
 
 But in the pestilence which is inwardly and eter- 
 nally pestilential, the pestilence of vice and selfish- 
 ness, which was corrupting the inner life of England, 
 the raging fire of sin which consumes not the disease 
 but the soul, — who could see any good ? 
 
 Roger's and my old puzzle of the apple tree yawned 
 beneath and around us, a great gulf, dark and un 
 fathomable as of old. 
 
 If our hearts were less tossed about on the surs:- 
 ing waves of this abyss than of old, it was not that 
 the waves were quieter or less unfathomed. We 
 knew them to be deeper than we had dreamed. 
 For we had tried line after line and touched no bot- 
 tom. We felt them to be more unquiet, fur th« 
 times were stormier, and we w« re no longer on the 
 edge but launched on the sea. It, was simply that, 
 falling at the feet of Him who stood at the helm, we 
 could worship Him with a deeper adoration, and 
 trust Him with more confiding simplicity. "Th.)u 
 knoWest the other side," we could say. " Thou art 
 there. Thou art taking us thither. Thou knowest 
 the depths. Thou alone. Thou hast risen thence, 
 Thou knowest God. We see Him manifested in
 
 4 88 ON BOTH SIDES 0/> THE SEA 
 
 Thee And Thou hast said, good and not evil if 
 the heart and the crown of all. And we are satis- 
 fied." 
 
 So, after a heavy winter on the edge of that deso- 
 lation which we could do so little to restore, we left 
 our old house in London in March, and went in the 
 spring for a few weeks to the old home at Netherby, 
 before it was broken up and passed out of our hands 
 for ever. 
 
 Many of the old fields — we had roamed over every 
 one of them — had already been sold to meet the ex« 
 penses thrown on Roger by the lawsuit. And now 
 the old house itself was to be sold. Oliver's Parlia- 
 ment had not altogether reformed the Law. And I 
 suppose no reformation of laws avails very much 
 when the men who administer them are corrupt. 
 Besides, unsuccessful revolution must be dealt with 
 as rebellious; those who fail must expect to suffer. 
 Roger and most of us had made our account for 
 that, and it was not of that we complained. 
 
 It was not safe for Roger and Lettice to be with 
 us at Netherby. 
 
 Of this I was almost glad. The more the old 
 home was like itself, the harder it would be to leave. 
 There were enough voices silent for ever, making 
 every chamber, and every nook of garden and pleas- 
 ance sacred by their echoes, to make the paiting 
 such a wrench as scarcely leaves us the same ev ai 
 after. 
 
 All Aunt Dorothy's Puritan training had not 
 swept the heathen idolatry out of my heai't. For 
 what else was it to fee] as if all the dumb and life-
 
 0A- BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 485 
 
 less things had voices calling me and pleading ** for 
 eake us not, forsake us not, have we served you so 
 ill ?" and arms stretched out to cling to us and dra w 
 us back. 
 
 The store-room over the porch, where Roger and 
 1 had held our Sunday conversations; the chamber 
 where my father's books and mathematical instru- 
 ments still were, where he had taken me on his knee 
 and said, " Before the great mysteries, I can only 
 wonder and wait and say like thee, ' Father, how can 
 I understand, a little child like meV " — the wainscoted 
 parlour where "Mr. Cromwell of Ely" had talked 
 to us of " his little wenches," and looked at Roger 
 with softened eyes, thinking, perchance, of that 
 death of his first-born which " went as a sword to 
 his heart, indeed it did;" where John Milton (not 
 blind then) had played on the organ, and discoursed 
 with Dr. Jeremy Taylor; — how dared I have tears 
 to spare for leaving such as these, or even the graves 
 of our fathers in the old church they had helped to 
 build, and the pews where we and ours had knelt 
 for generations, when England had lost Liberty 
 and the strenuous heart to strive for it, and it 
 seemed almost the heart to weep for it now it 
 was gone, and could not afford her nc blest even a 
 grave ? 
 
 But there were other partings which went far 
 deeper into the heart,, on which even now it is best 
 not to dwell much, partings iron, (.hose whom it 
 was no idolatry to feel it very sore to leave, old 
 faithful friends — our father's friends; (and every 
 familiar face in the village, as it came to sec us go
 
 f 0C ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 was as the face of a friend to us, going we knew not 
 whither, among we knew not whom.) 
 
 We could never hare left them had it been possi- 
 ble fo" it* to befriend and succour them longer at 
 home. As many as could loave went with us. 
 
 And hardest of all it was to pass the old forge, 
 and see no friendly faces there, and know that Job 
 and Rachel were praying for us in the old cottage 
 within not daring to see us go. 
 
 Cousin Placidia was away making the last effort 
 to release her son. 
 
 So we went at the beginning of April to South- 
 ampton, where the ship was. We had to wait some 
 days there for her sailing. Dreary, blank days, wo 
 thought they must be, suspended between the old 
 life and the new. But two surprises made them 
 bright to us as a beginning, rather an end. 
 
 Two days before we started, Isaac appeared, with 
 his mother. He looked very much as if the prison 
 had indeed been a Paradise to him ; and her face 
 sharp and worn as it was, seemed to me stamped 
 with the cares which enrich, instead of impoverish- 
 in^, the cares of love instead of the cares of covet- 
 ousness. There was a glow and a rest in her eyes, 
 as she looked on Isaac and Maidie, which I had 
 never seen there before. And as to Isaac and xVIai- 
 die, I believe distinctions of time and place were 
 just then so d'm to them, that if you had asked 
 them where those days were spent, they would have 
 been clear but on one point, and that was that it 
 was most surely not in the Old World, but in a 
 world altogether and for ever New.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. ^ 
 
 Thus, as so often in the music of this changing 
 life, the "dying falls" were interlinked with the 
 swell of the opening chords. And so, with nothing 
 to mark it as the last, the last evening came. 
 
 So the last evening came. Iio^er and Lettice, 
 with their little Harry Davenant, were already safe 
 •on board. We were to join them at the dawn. 
 And when we climbed up into the ship, very strange 
 it was to find my hand in the welcoming grasp of a 
 strong hand, certainly not that of a strange sailor's, 
 and looking up, to see Job Forster, with Rachel and 
 Annis Nye behind him. 
 
 "There was no help for it. That wilful maid 
 would come," he said, apologizing to himself for 
 doing what he liked. "She had the 'concern' at 
 last I have been afraid of all along. She was set 
 on going into the lion's den ; so, of course, there 
 was nothing for it but for Rachel and me to come 
 and take care of her." 
 
 So we sailed down Southampton water, by the 
 shoi-es the May-flower had left nearly a half a century 
 before. There were clouds over the wooded slopes 
 of the dear old country as we looked our last at her, 
 which broke ere we had been lon<x on board, blend- 
 ing earth and sky in a wild storm of rain. But be- 
 fore we lost sight of the shore, the clouds were span- 
 ned by the rare glory of a perfect rainbow, bridging 
 the storm will hope. 
 
 Then, as we sailed on, the clouds rose slowly and 
 majestically, detaching themselves from earth in 
 grand sculptured masses, like couchant lions guard- 
 ing the land; until at sunset they hud soared fai
 
 ^ 9 2 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SB A. 
 
 up the quiet heavens, and hovered like angels witn 
 folded wings over a land at rest. 
 
 And as we looked, Lettice said to Roger, — 
 " See, is it not a promise of the better sunshine 
 hereafter to come ?" 
 
 " It is a witness of the sunshine now behind," ha 
 said ; " of the unquenchable sun which shines on 
 both the Old England and the New." And he 
 added in a low voice, in the words of Oliver Crom- 
 well, " ' Jesus Christ of whose diocese we aref on Both 
 Sides of the Sea." 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 olive's meditations on the othek side of 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 JVew Netherby, 1691. — New always to us, but al 
 ready to many grown into " the old house at home." 
 
 Again I am alone in the house, as on the day 
 when the quiet rustling of the summer air among 
 the long grasses, and the shining of the smooth 
 water, and the smell of the hay from the hay-stack, 
 carried me back to the old house on the borders of 
 the Fen country, in the days of my childhood. 
 
 The crimson and gold of a richer-coloured autumn 
 than that at home glows in the forests and in the 
 still creek below, over which the great trees bend 
 And autumn is also on our lives ; its fading leaves, 
 and also, I trust, its harvests and its calms. 
 
 At many intervals, these recollections of my life 
 have been gathered together out of the old yellow 
 leaves in the oaken chest.
 
 ON BOTH SID A3 OF THE SEA. ^3 
 
 The past has lived again to me through thein 
 But net through these pages alone. The past lives 
 not only in the dried herbs and grasses, in memories 
 and monuments, but in every blade of grass and ear 
 of corn of the present ; in our new houses and our 
 old home customs, our new laws, our new conflicts, 
 our victories and our hopes. 
 
 Old England lives and breathes in every breath 
 of this our New England. Sometimes from what 
 we have heard during the dreary years of oppres- 
 sion, we have thought she lived more truly here 
 than in the England we have left. 
 
 The household is away, and the pleasant cheery 
 house is silent. It is not the harvesting that has 
 emptied the house and the village to-day. It is the 
 thanksgiving for the harvest ; the one festival which 
 the first settlers in the wilderness appointed, in the 
 first year of their exile, when the land was indeed a 
 wilderness and an exile, and the next harvest a pre- 
 carious blessing. More than half a century this fes- 
 tival has been kept. A venerable antiquity for New 
 England. 
 
 And now our hearts are rich with tenfold offer- 
 ings of praise. 
 
 For at last we believe the harvest of the seed 
 sown in the wars and suffering of early days has 
 been brought in ! 
 
 The great Englishman who, as we believe, served 
 England so well, has still no monument in our coun- 
 try nor even a grave. 
 
 But a true Prince of a race of princely deliverers, 
 a race whose deeds fulfil more than their wordl 
 42
 
 ^4 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 promise, the grandson of William the Silent, till 
 Liberator of Holland — is on the throne of England. 
 
 Once more, on the last days of January, forty 
 years after the death of Charles the First, the throne 
 was vacant. For King James had fled. 
 
 The link with the past, so sacred in England, which 
 failed Oliver, places William of Orange on the throne. 
 
 " Yet," saith Roger, " but for Oliver, King James 
 had never fled, nor William of Orange never reigned. 
 The throne of the one hero is the best monument 
 of the other." 
 
 Heavier and heavier the tidings came to us from 
 across the seas year after year; until the climax 
 seemed to us to be reached, when in one year one 
 gentlewoman was beheaded at Winchester for giv- 
 ing refuge to two fugitives of Monmouth's Rebel- 
 lion, and another was burnt at Tyburn for a similar 
 act of mercy. 
 
 The free Puritan spirit seemed to us often extinct 
 during those years of corruption and wrong. Hope 
 of deliverance for the nation seemed to have ex- 
 pired in men's hearts. The best men seemed to 
 gather up all their courage to suffer cheerfully. 
 Christianity appeared no more with the sword of 
 the warrior, keen to redress wrong, or the sword of 
 justice, heavy to suppress it, but with meek folded 
 hands as the martyr to endure it. 
 
 Yet we know all through the darkness the old 
 fires were burning still, thuugh they burned now 
 in the still fires of devotion, patience, and meditac 
 tion, rather than in the flames which consume ftt 
 ters or which evangelize the world.
 
 OX BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 4 y; 
 
 Beautiful words came to us from across the sea 
 *Mgh words of highest hope when lower hopes were 
 quenched ; of largest tolerance of difference of 
 thought, blended with a truthfulness ready for any 
 sacrifice rather than darken the soul with the least 
 shadow of falsehood. 
 
 The very names of the books written then, with 
 the circumstances under which they were written, 
 sounded to us like a psalm. 
 
 From imprisoned Bunyan, a " Pilgrim's Progress 
 from this world to a better," written in Bedford gaol. 
 
 From blind Milton, barely suffered to live, "The 
 Paradise Lost and Regained " sung in the darkness 
 which he felt to be " the shadow of celestial wings," 
 in that lost England he never lived to see restored. 
 
 From silenced Owen, "The Glory of the Person 
 of Christ," " The Mortification of Sin in Believers." 
 
 From silenced Howe, " The Living Temple,'* 
 " The Blessedness of the Righteous," " On Delight- 
 ing in God," " The Redeemer's Dominion over 
 Hades." 
 
 It was of little avail to the kingdom of dark- 
 ness the silencing of such as these. It was silenc- 
 ing their thoughts from "a life," to "an immor- 
 tality." It was giving them a planet to preach 
 from instead of a pulpit. 
 
 R was of little avail to crush with a weight of 
 oppression hearts such as these. All the oppressions 
 pressed out of them — no moans, but only immortal 
 
 9ongs. 
 
 And dear to us as any were the wise and mel- 
 lowed word-; of Richard Baxter, especially his decl3
 
 49 6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 ration of the "things in which he himself had chingtd* 
 as be learned, by tbe slow teaching of life. 
 
 In our hearts they were written in letters of 
 gold, the autumnal gold of harvests. 
 
 "Among all parties," be wrote, "I found some 
 that were naturally of mild, and calm, and gentle 
 dispositions; some of sour, froward, peevish na- 
 tures. Some were raw, inexperienced, and harsh, 
 like a young fruit. And some I found to be like 
 ripe fruit, mellow and sweet, first pure, then peace- 
 able, easy to be entreated. 
 
 " But the difference between the godly and un- 
 godly was here the most considerable of all. 
 
 " In my youth I was quickly past my fundamen- 
 tals, and was running up into a multitude of con- 
 troversies ; but the older I grew the smaller stress 
 I laid on these controversies and curiosities (though 
 still my intellect abhorreth confusion), as finding 
 greater uncertainties in them than I at first dis- 
 cerned ; and finding less usefulness even where 
 there is the greatest certainty. The Creed, the 
 Lord's Prayer and. the Ten Commandments^ are now to 
 me as my daily bread and drink ; and as I can sj)eak 
 and write over them again and again, so I had 
 rather read and hear of them than of any of the 
 school niceties. And this I observed with Bishop 
 Hooker also, and with many other men. 
 
 " Heretofore I placed much of my religion in 
 tenderness of heart and grieving for sin, and peni- 
 tential tears, and less of it in the love of God, and 
 studying His love and goodness, than now I do. 
 Now my conscience looketh at love and delight in
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 497 
 
 God, and praising Him, as the top of all my reli 
 gious duties, for which it is that I value and use 
 all the rest. 
 
 "I was once wont to meditate most on my own 
 heart, and to dwell all at home, and look little 
 higher; I was still poring either on my sins or 
 wants ; but now, though I am greatly convinced of 
 the need of heart-acquaintance and employment, 
 vet I see more need of a higher work. At home I 
 find distempers to trouble me, and some evidences 
 of "race ; but it is above that I must find matters 
 of delight and joy, and love and praise itself. 
 Therefore I would have one thought at home upon 
 myself and my sins, and many thoughts upon 
 Christ, and God, and heaven. 
 
 " Heretofore, I knew ranch less than now ; and 
 yet was not half so much acquainted with my igno- 
 rance ; but now I find far greater darkness upon 
 all things, and perceive, how very little it is that 
 we know in comparison with that we are igno- 
 rant of. 
 
 " I see more good and more evil in all men than 
 hei-etofore I did ; I see that good men are not so 
 good as I once thought they were, but have more 
 imperfections. And I find few are so bad as either 
 their malicious enemies, or censorious separating 
 professors do imagine. Even in the wicked gener- 
 ally, there is more for grace to make advantage of, 
 and more to testify for God and holiness than I 
 once believed there had been. 
 
 "I less admire gifts of utterance, and bare profe* 
 sion of religion than I once did, and have much 
 ' 42*
 
 +9 8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA 
 
 more charity for those who by the want of gift** dc 
 make an obscurer profession ; for I have met with 
 divers obscure persons, not noted for any extraor- 
 dinary profession or forwardness in religion, but 
 only to live a quiet blameless life, whom I have arte* 
 found to have long lived, as far as I could discern, 
 a truly godly and sanctified life. Yet he that on 
 this pretence would confound the godly and the un- 
 godly, may as well go about to bring heaven ard 
 hell together. 
 
 " I am not so narrow in my special love, nor in 
 my principles of church communion as heretofore. 
 
 " My soul is much more affected with the thoughts 
 of the miserable world, and more drawn out in de- 
 sire of their conversion than heretofore. Could we 
 but go among Tartarians, Turks, and heathens, and 
 speak their language, I should be little troubled for 
 the silencing of eighteen hundred ministers at once 
 in England, nor for all the rest that were cast out 
 here, and in Scotland and Ireland ; there being no 
 employment in the world so desirable in my eyes as 
 to labour for the winning of such miserable souls, 
 which maketh me greatly honour Mr. John Eliot, 
 the Apostle of the Indians in New England, and 
 whoever else have laboured in this work. 
 
 " Yet am I not so much inclined to pass a peremp- 
 tory sentence of denunciation upon all that have 
 never heard of Christ, having some more reason 
 than I had before to think that God's dealing with 
 such is much unknown to us. 
 
 '/I am farther than ever from hopes of a goldeu 
 age here, and more apprehensive that suffering must
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 49) 
 
 be the Chinch's ordinary lot, and that Christiana 
 must indeed be cross-bearers. And though God 
 would have vicissitudes of summer and winter, day 
 and night, that the Church may grow extensively in 
 the summer of prosperity, and intensively and radi- 
 eately in the Avinter of adversity, yet usually their 
 night is longer than their day, and that day itself 
 hath its storms and tempests. The Church will be 
 still imperfect and sinful, and will have those dis- 
 eases which need the bitter remedy. 
 
 " My censures of the Papists do much differ from 
 what they were at first. I then thought that their 
 errors in doctrine were their most dangerous mis- 
 takes, as to the points of merit, justification by 
 works, assurance of salvation, the nature of faith. 
 But now I am assured that their mis-expressions 
 and misunderstanding, with our mistakings of them, 
 and inconvenient expressing our own opinions, hath 
 made the dhTerences in these points to appear much 
 greater than they are ; and that in some of them it 
 is next to none at all. 
 
 " But the threat and irreconcilable differences lie in 
 their Church tyranny and usurpations, and in their 
 great corruptions and abasements of God's worship, 
 with their befriending of ignorance and vice. I 
 doubt not but that God hath many sanctified ones 
 among them, who have received the doctrine of 
 Christianity so practically, that their contradictory 
 errors prevail not against them to hinder their love 
 of God and their salvation, but that their errors are 
 like a conquerable dose of poison which nature doth 
 overcome. And I can never believe that a man maj
 
 S oo ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 not be saved by that religion which doth but bring 
 him to the true love of God, and a heavenly mind 
 and life; nor that God will ever cast a soul into 
 beil that truly loveth Him. 
 
 " I cannot be so narrow in my principles of Church 
 communion as many are. Many are so much for a 
 liturgy or so much against it, so much for ceremo- 
 nies or so much against them, that they can hold 
 communion with no Church that is not of their mind 
 and way. 
 
 " I am much less regardful of the approbation of 
 man, and set much lighter by contempt or applause 
 than I did long ago ; all wordly things appear most 
 unsatisfactory where we have tried them most ; yet, 
 as far as I can perceive, the knowledge of man's 
 nothingness and God's transcendent greatness, w T itb 
 whom it is that I have most to do, and the sense of 
 the brevity of human things and the nearness oi 
 eternity, are the principal causes of this effect. 
 
 "I am much more apprehensive than long ago 
 of the odiousness and danger of the sin of pride, 
 especially in matters spiritual and ecclesiastical I 
 think so far as any man is proud he is given to (he 
 Devil, and entirely a stranger to God and himself. 
 It's a wonder that it should be a ]>ossible sin, to men 
 that still carry about with them, in soul and body, 
 such humbling matter as we all do. 
 
 "I am much more sensible than heretofore of the 
 breadth, length, and dept'a of the radical, universal, 
 odious sia of selfishness ; and of the excellency and 
 necessity of self-denial, and of a public mind, and 
 of loving our neighbour a3 ourselves.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF TJJJi SrfA. 501 
 
 " I am more and more sensible that most contro- 
 versies have more need of right stating than of de- 
 bating ; and if my skill be increased in anything it is 
 in that ; narrowing controversies by explication and 
 separating the real from the verbal, and proving to 
 many contenders that they differ less than they 
 think they do. 
 
 " I am more solicitous than I have been about my 
 duty to God, and less about His dealings with me ; 
 as being assured that He will do all things well, 
 and as knowing there is no rest but in the will and 
 goodness of God. 
 
 "I must mention it by way of penitent confession 
 that I am too much inclined to such words in con- 
 troversial writings which are too keen, and apt to 
 provoke the person I write against. I have a strong 
 natural inclination to call a spade a spade. I confess 
 it is faulty, because it is a hindrance to the useful- 
 ness of what I write ; and especially because though 
 I feel no anger, yet (which is worse) I know there 
 is some want of honour and love and tenderness to 
 others, and therefore I repent of it, and wish all 
 over-sharp passages were expunged from my writ- 
 ings, and desire forgiveness of God and man. .And 
 ye«, I must say thai I am often afraid of the contrary 
 extreme, lest wlien I speak againsl great and dan- 
 geivus erro-s and sins, I should encourage men to 
 then, by epcak : ng too easily of them, as Eli did to 
 his sous. 
 
 "I mention vh^e distempers that my faults may 
 be a warning 10 others to take heed, as they call 
 on mysfoit lo» T^eutance and watchfulness
 
 $02 
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Lord, for the merits and sacrifice and intercession 
 of Christ, be merciful to me a sinner, and forgive 
 my known and unknown sins." 
 
 These words are as familiar to us as a liturgy, 
 so often used Aunt Dorothy to ask them to be 
 read over to her; although to the last the part she 
 oftenest asked me to rtad was that about the dan- 
 ger of the " contrary extreme of speaking too 
 easily of dangerous errors and sins," to which she 
 always gave her most emphatic Amen. 
 
 She forgave Mr. Baxter, however, for his mar- 
 riage, on consideration of his young wife's generous 
 assistance of destitute ministers, of her own and 
 her mother's " manly patience" in adversities, and 
 of the faithful affection with which she shared and 
 cheered her husband's imprisonment. 
 
 And dear to Aunt Dorothy beyond all othef 
 uninspired writings was Mr. Baxter's prison-hymn 
 
 "THE RESOLUTION. 
 
 " Most I be driven from my books, 
 
 From bouse, and goods, and dearest friends t 
 One of Thy sweet and gracious looks 
 
 For more than tins will make amends. 
 The world's Thy book : there I can read 
 
 Thy power, wisdom, and Thy love ; 
 And thence ascend by faith, and feed 
 
 Upon the better things above. 
 
 " I'll read Thy works of providence : 
 Thy Spirit, conscience, and Thy rod 
 Can teach without these all the sense 
 To know the world, myself, and God,
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 503 
 
 Few books will serve when Thou wilt teach, 
 
 Many have stolen my precious time ; 
 I'll leave my books to hear Thee preach, 
 
 Church-work is best when Thou dost chime. 
 
 * As for my home it was my tent, 
 
 While there I waited on Thy flock ; 
 T\at work is done, that time is spent, 
 
 There neither was my home nor stock. 
 Would I in all my journey have 
 
 Still the same sun and furniture ? 
 Or ease and pleasant dwellings crave, 
 
 Forgetting what Thy saints endure ? 
 
 * My Lord hath taught me how to want 
 
 A place wherein to put my head ; 
 While He is mine, I'll be content 
 
 To beg or lack my daily bread. 
 Heaven is my roof, earth is my floor ; 
 
 Thy love can keep me dry and warm ; 
 Christ and Thy bounty are my store ; 
 
 Thy angels guard me from all harm. 
 
 * As for my friends, they are not lost ; 
 
 The several vessels of Thy fleet, 
 Though parted now, by tempest tost, 
 
 Shall safely in the haven meet. 
 Still we are centred all in Thee ; 
 
 Members, thought distant, of one Head ; 
 In the same family we be, 
 
 By the same fai*h and Spirit led. 
 
 Before Thy throne we daily meet, 
 
 As joint petitioners to Thee ; 
 In spirit we each other greet, 
 
 And shall again each other see. 
 The heavenly hosts, world without end. 
 
 Shall be my company above ;
 
 j04 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SILL 
 
 And Thou my best and surest Friend — 
 Who shall divide me from Thy love ? 
 
 " Must I forsake the soil and air 
 
 Where first I drew my vital breath ? 
 That way may be as near and fair, 
 
 Thence I may come to Thee by death. 
 All countries are my Father's lands ; 
 
 Thy sun, Thy love doth shine on all ; 
 We may in all lift up pure hands. 
 
 And with acceptance on Thee call. 
 
 ' What if in prison I must dwell, 
 
 May I not there converse with Thee T 
 Save me from sin, Thy wrath, and hell, 
 
 Call me Thy child, and I am free. 
 No walls or bars can keep Thee out ; 
 
 None can confine a holy soul, 
 The streets of heaven it walks about ; 
 
 None can its liberty control. 
 
 " Must I feel sicknesses and smart 
 
 And spend my days and nights in pals 
 Yet if Thy love refresh my heart, 
 
 I need not overmuch complain. 
 This flesh has drawn my soul to sin, 
 
 If it must smart, Thy will be done. 
 Oh, fill me with Thy joys within, 
 
 And then I'll let it grieve alone ! 
 
 1 1 know my flesh must turn to dust, 
 
 My parted soul must come to Thee, 
 And undergo Thy j udgments j ust, 
 
 And in the endless world must be. 
 In this there's most of fear and joy, 
 
 Because there's most of sin and gmm i 
 Sin will this mortal frame destroy, 
 
 But Christ will bring me to Thy face.
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA lot, 
 
 " SI all I draw back, and fear the end 
 
 Of all my sorrows, fears, and pain, 
 To which my life and labours tend, 
 
 Without which all had been in vain? 
 Can I for ever be content 
 
 Without true happiness and rest ? 
 Is earth become so excellent 
 
 That I should take it for my best? 
 
 " Or can I think of finding here 
 
 That which my soul 60 long has sought ? 
 Should I refuse those joys, through fear, 
 
 Which bounteous love so dear has bought ? 
 All that does taste of heaven is good ; 
 
 When heavenly light does me inform, 
 When heavenly life stirrs in my blood, 
 
 W T hen heavenly love my heart doth warm. 
 
 " Though all the reasons I can see, 
 
 Why should I willingly submit, 
 And comfortably come to Thee — 
 
 My God, Thou must accomplish it. 
 The love which filled up all my days 
 
 Will not forsake me to the end ; 
 This broken body Thou wilt raise, 
 
 My spirit I to Thee commend." 
 
 Such was the kind of whine or moan which per- 
 secution drew from the true Puritans ! Such was 
 the music oppression drew by its strain from 
 strings not otherwise deemed musical. It is the 
 solitary spontaneous songs of those whose natural 
 speech is a quiet prose, which, more than anything, 
 make me comprehend what is meant by the New 
 Song. 
 
 We sang that livmn by Aunt Dorothy's grave, 
 43
 
 <o6 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 on the hill-side, under the old oak-tree where she 
 loved to sit on summer evenings She used to say 
 the sound of the wind in the leaves took her back 
 to old Netherby; and from its shade she could 
 catch a gleam of the sea, on the other side of which 
 is England. 
 
 We had not expected, and we did not find New 
 England to be an Eden, where the conflict would 
 be over. It has been possible, however, tc wage 
 "the good fight" here, not only for our own souls, 
 but " in those public services for which a man is 
 born." For that end we took refuge here ; and we 
 are content. Yet of some wars we have, I trust, 
 seen the victorious end. Since the "being" of the 
 plantations seems secure, men have more leisure to 
 seek their "well-being." Since law has grown to 
 have firmer roots, the lawgivers have grown more 
 merciful. Magistrates and ministers have ceased 
 to persecute, and Quakers have ceased to provoke. 
 Which was the cause and which the effect, will per- 
 haps long remain a subject of debate. 
 
 Just now, however, there are terrible rumours of 
 witches, which recall the old witch-drowning and 
 rescue of Gammer Grindle on Netherby Mere in my 
 early days. Wretched old women are said to be 
 accusing themselves of riding through the air on 
 sticks, and of having evil spirits in the form of cats 
 to wait on them, knowing that if convicted they 
 will be hung. My husband thinks that, by-and-by, 
 when the magistrates cease to excite diseased fancies 
 by threats of the gallows, and thus the stimulus of 
 danger is withdrawn, the witches will cease to be
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 507 
 
 liev« they deserved a terrible punishment by having 
 committed impossible crimes.* 
 
 Meantime John Eliot has been fighting the devil in 
 more undeniable forms by preaching the gospel to 
 the Indians. He reduced the language to writing, 
 and translated the Bible into it. At first the Pau- 
 waws, their magicians or " clergymen," were furi- 
 ous, and threatened his life. But he went fearlessly, 
 alone, among them. " I am about the work of tho 
 great God," he said. " God is with me. Touch me 
 if you dare." Now there are six churches of bap- 
 tized praying Indians, and eighteen assemblies of 
 catechumens. 
 
 Yet when he was passing away, he said there was 
 a dark cloud on the work among the Indians. The 
 nation itself seems to fade before us. The praying 
 Indians perish like caged deer in their Christian 
 villages. 
 
 Now the life of love which has been shining 
 among them and us so many years, has at last faded 
 from our vision. 
 
 The firm, gentle hand which " rang the curfew for 
 contentions" is still; the voice and the life which 
 preached among us so constantly " bear, forbear, for- 
 give" are silenced. The eyes which flashed so in- 
 dignantly against wrongs to the weak and helpless, 
 and which glanced so tenderly on the little children, 
 are closed. The " lambs which Christ is not willing 
 
 * " When the persecution of the witches ceased, the Lord 
 chained up Satan, that tho afflicted grew presently well."— 
 r. Cotton Mather.
 
 5 o8 ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 U> lose" will watch for John Eliot's smile and kindly 
 word henceforth in vain. 
 
 Whenever bad news came from England (and it 
 came so often !), he would say, " These are some of 
 the clouds in which the Son of man will come." 
 
 And now the better tidings have come, he has 
 passed to better still. The Son of man has come 
 for him, not in a cloud of darkness but of light. 
 
 When he was too feeble to labour longer among 
 his Indians, he said, " I wonder for what my Lord 
 keeps me longer here." And then he turned to such 
 sufferers as his labours could yet reach. His last 
 efforts were to gather the negro servants of the set- 
 tlers and teach them. His last scholar was a blind 
 boy whom he took to be with him in his house. 
 
 His last words to us still in the battle-field were 
 "Pray, pray, pray." 
 
 His first words to the victors he has joined were, 
 " Welcome, joy." 
 
 And soon after this our " Apostle of the Indians " 
 died. Mr. Baxter wrote : — 
 
 " There was no man on earth whom I honoured 
 above him. It is his evangelical work that is the 
 Apostolical Succession I plead for. I am now dy 
 ing, I hope, as he did. It pleased me to read from 
 him my case (' my understanding faileth, my mem- 
 ory faileth, my tongue faileth, but my charity fail- 
 eth not'). That word much comforted me. God 
 preserve you and New England." 
 
 Thus New England has already her apostolic 
 fathers and her sacred graves. 
 
 A few months passed, and then we heard hew 
 Richard Baxter had followed Eliot home.
 
 ON BOTH SID US OF THE SEA. 
 
 509 
 
 " I have pain," he said ; " there is no arguing 
 against sense. But I have peace — / have peace? 
 And when asked during his mortal sickness how he 
 did, his reply was "almost well." 
 
 So the day he looked for as his Sabbath and " high 
 day " came to him, and he is gone to the great com- 
 pany of those he justly honoured, and some whom 
 he never learned to honour here, in the " many man- 
 sions" of that " all-reconciling world." 
 
 But alas, when shall we say "almost well" for, 
 what he called, " this distracted world ?" 
 
 In England the better days seem dawning, and 
 here in New England. 
 
 But from France Lettice's old servant Barbe, whe 
 has taken refuge here with her family, brings tid 
 ings too sad to think of. 
 
 Port Royal is extinguished as a source of light ; 
 the schools suppressed ; the nuns prisoners in their 
 own convent or elsewhere ; the recluses silenced and 
 scattered. Hundreds of the best men and women 
 in France, as Madame la Mothe deemed them, thus 
 rendered powerless for good. 
 
 But the sufferers of whom Barbe speaks count by 
 hundreds of thousands. " One soweth and another 
 reapeth." Who will reap the harvest of this sowing ? 
 
 Of these hundred thousand good Protestant men 
 and women scattered, killed, tortured, at the revo- 
 cation of the Edict of Nantes, and through all the 
 persecutions before and after it, of whom Barbe tells 
 us stories of horror such as England never knew, 
 those other good men and women, Port Royal, on 
 earth, knew nothing !
 
 5 10 02T BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. 
 
 Oh, joyful revelations of that "all reconciling 
 world !" Next to the joy of seeing Him in whom 
 God reconciles us all to Himself and to each other 
 will be the joy of seeing the wonder on the counte- 
 nances of saint after saint as they unlearn theii 
 wrong judgments of one another. 
 
 The joy of the unlearning. 
 
 Yes ! this joy of unlearning is one we shall cer 
 tainly none of us miss ! As John Robinson said, on 
 the other side of the sea at Delft Haven, to the 
 fathers of our New England when they were de- 
 parting, " If God reveal anything to you by any 
 other instrument, be very willing to receive it as 
 from me. Lutherans go not beyond Luther ; Cal- 
 vinists beyond Calvin ; yet though burning and 
 shining lights in their time, they penetrated not into 
 the whole course of God. But were they now liv- 
 ing, they would be as willing to receive further 
 light as that which they first received from the 
 Word of God." 
 
 They are living, living and learning, and ever 
 " receiving further light " from the Eternal Light 
 (oh, how willingly !), on the other side of that Great 
 Sea which we must all so soon pass over, to learn 
 together, with ever deepening love and joy, how 
 wide His dominion is " of whose Diocese we are ' 
 « On Both Sides of the Sea." 
 
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