CHAPTER I.
FAREWELL SUNDAY.
The morning of Sunday, August 23, in the year of grace 1662, shouldhave been black and gloomy with the artillery of rolling thunder,dreadful flashes of lightning, and driving hail and wind to stripthe orchards and lay low the corn. For on that day was done a thingwhich filled the whole country with grief, and bore bitter fruitin after years, of revenge and rebellion. And, because it was theday before that formerly named after Bartholomew, the disciple,it hath been called the Black Bartholomew of England, thus beinglikened unto that famous day (approved by the Pope) when the FrenchProtestants were treacherously massacred by their King. It shouldrather be called 'Farewell Sunday' or 'Exile Sunday,' for on thatday two thousand godly ministers preached their last sermon in thechurches where they had laboured worthily and with good fruit, someduring the time of the Protector, and some even longer, becauseamong them were a few who possessed their benefices even from thetime of the late King Charles the First. And, since on that day twothousand ministers left their churches and their houses, and laiddown their worldly wealth for conscience' sake, there were also,perhaps, as many wives who went with them, and, I dare say, threeor four times as many innocent and helpless babes. And, further (itis said that the time was fixed by design and deliberate malice ofour enemies), the ministers were called upon to make their choiceonly a week or two before the day of the collection of their tithes.In other words, they were sent forth to the world at the seasonwhen their purses were at the leanest; indeed, with most countryclergymen, their purses shortly before the collection of tithes havebecome well-nigh empty. It was also unjust that their successorsshould be permitted to collect the tithes due to those who wereejected.
It is fitting to begin this history with the Black Bartholomew,because all the troubles and adventures which afterwards befell uswere surely caused by that accursed day. One know not certainly,what other rubs might have been ordained for us by a wise Providence(always with the merciful design of keeping before our eyesthe vanity of worldly things, the instability of fortune, theuncertainty of life, and the wisdom of looking for a hereafterwhich shall be lasting, stable, and satisfying to the soul). Still,it must be confessed, such trials as were appointed unto us were,in severity and continuance, far beyond those appointed to theordinary sort, so that I cannot but feel at times uplifted (I hopenot sinfully) at having been called upon to endure so much. Let menot, however, be proud. Had it not been for this day, for certain,our boys would not have been tempted to strike a blow--vain anduseless as it proved--for the Protestant religion and for libertyof conscience: while perhaps I should now be forbidden to relateour sufferings, were it not for the glorious Revolution which hasrestored toleration, secured the Protestant ascendancy, and driveninto banishment a Prince, concerning whom all honest men pray thathe and his son (if he have, indeed, a son of his own) may neveragain have authority over this realm.
This Sunday, I say, should have wept tears of rain over the havocwhich it witnessed; yet it was fine and clear, the sun riding insplendour, and a warm summer air blowing among the orchards and overthe hills and around the village of Bradford Orcas, in the shire ofSomerset. The wheat (for the season was late) stood gold-colouredin the fields, ready at last for the reaper; the light breeze bentdown the ears so that they showed like waves over which the passingclouds make light and shade; the apples in the orchards were redand yellow, and nearly ripe for the press; in the gardens of theManor House, hard by the church, the sunflowers and the hollyhockswere at their tallest and their best; the yellow roses on thewall were still in clusters; the sweet-peas hung with tangles ofvine and flower upon their stalks; the bachelors' buttons, thesweet mignonette, the nasturtium, the gillyflowers and stocks, thesweet-williams and the pansies, offered their late summer blossomsto the hot sun among the lavender, thyme, parsley, sage, feverfew,and vervain of my Lady's garden. Oh! I know how it all looked,though I was then as yet unborn. How many times have I stood in thechurchyard and watched the same scene at the same sweet season! On aweek-day one hears the thumping and the groaning of the mill belowthe church; there are the voices of the men at work--the yo-hoingof the boys who drive; and the lumbering of the carts. You can evenhear the spinning-wheels at work in the cottages. On Sunday morningeverything is still, save for the warbling of the winged tribe inthe wood, the cooing of the doves in the cote, the clucking of thehens, the grunting of the pigs, and the droning of the bees. Thesethings disturb not the meditations of one who is accustomed to them.
At eight o'clock in the morning, the Sexton, an ancient man andrheumatic, hobbled slowly through the village, key in hand, andopened the church-door. Then he went into the tower and rang thefirst bell. I suppose this bell is designed to hurry housewives withtheir morning work, and to admonish the men that they incline theirhearts to a spiritual disposition. This done, the Sexton set openthe doors of the pews, swept out the Squire's and the Rector's inthe chancel, dusted the cushions of the pulpit (the reading-deskat this time was not used), opened the clasps of the great Bible,and swept down the aisle: as he had done Sunday after Sunday forfifty years. When he had thus made the church ready for the day'sservice, he went into the vestry, which had only been used since theestablishment of the Commonwealth for the registers of birth, death,and marriage.
At one side of the vestry stood an ancient, black oak coffer, thesides curiously graven, and a great rusty key in the lock. TheSexton turned the key with difficulty, threw open the lid and lookedin.
'Ay,' he said, chuckling, 'the old surplice and the old Book ofCommon Prayer. Ye have had a long rest; 'tis time for both to comeout again. When the surplice is out, the book will stay no longerlocked up. These two go in and out together. I mind me, now'----Herehe sat down, and his thoughts wandered for a space; perhaps hesaw himself once more a boy running in the fields, or a young mancourting a maid. Presently he returned to the task before him, anddrew forth an old and yellow roll which he shook out. It was thesurplice which had once been white. 'Here you be,' he said. 'Put youaway for a matter of twelve year and more and you bide your time;you know you will come back again; you are not in any hurry. Eventhe Sexton dies; but you die not, you bide your time. Everythingcomes again. The old woman shall give you a taste o' the suds andthe hot iron. Thus we go up and thus we go down.' He put back thesurplice and took out the great Book of Common Prayer--musty anddamp after twelve years' imprisonment. 'Fie!' he said, 'thy leatheris parting from the boards, and thy leaves they do stick together.Shalt have a pot of paste, and then lie in the sun before thou goestback to the desk. Whether 'tis Mass or Common Prayer, whether 'tisIndependent or Presbyterian, folk mun still die and be buried--ay,and married and born--whatever they do say. Parson goes and Preachercomes; Preacher goes and Parson comes; but Sexton stays'----Hechuckled again, put back the surplice and the book, and locked thecoffer.
Then he slowly went down the church and came out of the porch,blinking in the sun, and shading his old eyes. He sat down upon theflat stones of the old cross, and presently nodded his head anddropped off asleep.
This was a strange indifference in the man. A great and trulynotable thing was to be accomplished that day. But he cared nothing.Two thousand godly and learned men were to go forth into povertyfor liberty of conscience--this man's own minister was one of them.He cared nothing. The King was sowing the seed from which shouldspring a rod to drive forth his successor from the kingdom. In thevillage the common sort were not moved. Nothing concerns the villagefolk but the weather and the market prices. As for the good Sexton,he was very old: he had seen the Church of England displaced by thePresbyterians and the Presbyterians by the Independents, and nowthese were again to be supplanted by the Church of England. He hadbeen Sexton through all these changes. He heeded them not; why, hisfather, Sexton before him, could remember when the Mass was saidin the church, and the Virgin was worshipped, and the folk weredriven like sheep to confession. All the time the people went onbeing born, and marrying, and dying. Creed doth not, truly, affectthese things, nor t
he Sexton's work. Therefore, this old gaffer,having made sure that the surplice was in the place where it hadlain undisturbed for a dozen years, and remembering that it must bewashed and ironed for the following Sunday, sat down to bask in thesun, his mind at rest, and dropped off into a gentle sleep.
At ten o'clock the bell-ringers came tramping up the stone stepsfrom the road, and the Sexton woke up. At ten they used to begintheir chimes, but at the hour they ring for five minutes only,ending with the clash of all five bells together. At a quarter-pastten they chime again, for the service, which begins at half-past ten.
At the sound of these chimes the whole village begins to moveslowly towards the church. First come the children, the bigger onesleading those who are little by the hand; the boys come next, butunwillingly, because the Sexton is diligent with his cane, and someof those who now go up the steps to the church will come down withsmarting backs, the reward of those who play or laugh during theservice. Then come the young men, who stand about the churchyard andwhisper to each other. After them follow the elders and the marriedmen, with the women and the girls. Five minutes before the half hourthe ringers change the chime for a single bell. Then those who areoutside gather in the porch and wait for the Quality.
When the single bell began, there came forth from the Rectory theRector himself, Mr. Comfort Eykin, Doctor of Divinity, who was thisday to deliver his soul and lay down his charge. He wore the blackgown and Geneva bands, for the use of which he contended. At thistime he was a young man of thirty--tall and thin. He stooped in theshoulders because he was continually reading; his face was graveand austere; his nose thin and aquiline; his eyes bright--never wasany man with brighter eyes than my father; his hair, which he worelong, was brown and curly; his forehead high, rather than broad; hislips were firm. In these days, as my mother hath told me, and as Iwell believe, he was a man of singular comeliness, concerning whichhe cared nothing. Always from childhood upwards he had been gravein conversation and seriously inclined in mind. If I think of myfather as a boy (no one ever seems to think that his father was oncea boy), I am fain to compare him with Humphrey, save for certainbodily defects, my father having been like a Priest of the Altar forbodily perfection. That is to say, I am sure that, like Humphrey,he had no need of rod or ferule to make him learn his lessons, and,like that dear and fond friend of my childhood, he would willinglysit in a corner and read a book while the other boys played and wenta-hunting or a-nesting. And very early in life he was smitten withthe conviction of sin, and blessed with such an inward assurance ofsalvation as made him afterwards steadfast in all afflictions.
He was not a native of this country, having been born in NewEngland. He came over, being then eighteen years of age, to studyat Oxford, that university being purged of malignants (as theywere then called), and, at the time, entirely in the hands of thegodly. He was entered of Balliol College, of which Society he becamea Fellow, and was greatly esteemed for his learning, wherein heexcelled most of the scholars of his time. He knew and could readHebrew, Chaldee, and the ancient Syriac, as well as Latin and Greek.Of modern languages he had acquired Arabic, by the help of whichhe read the book which is called the Koran of the False ProphetMohammed: French and Italian he also knew and could read easily. Asfor his opinions, he was an Independent, and that not meekly or withhesitation, but with such zeal and vehemence that he considered allwho differed from him as his private enemies--nay, the very enemiesof God. For this reason, and because his personal habits were tooaustere for those who attained not to his spiritual height, he wasmore feared than loved. Yet his party looked upon him as one oftheir greatest and stoutest champions.
He left Oxford at the age of five or six and twenty, and acceptedthe living of Bradford Orcas, offered him by Sir Christopher Challisof that place. Here he had preached for six years, looking forwardto nothing else than to remain there, advancing in grace and wisdom,until the end of his days. So much was ordered, indeed, for him;but not quite as he had designed. Let no man say that he knoweththe future, or that he can shape out his destiny. You shall hearpresently how Benjamin arrogantly resolved that his future should bewhat he chose; and what came of that impious resolution.
My father's face was always austere; this morning it was moreserious and sterner than customary, because the day was to himthe most important in his life, and he was about to pass from acondition of plenty (the Rectory of Bradford Orcas is not rich butit affords a sufficiency) to one of penury. Those who knew him,however, had no doubt of the course he was about to take. Eventhe rustics knew that their minister would never consent to weara surplice or to read the Book of Common Prayer, or to keep holydays--you have seen how the Sexton opened the box and took out thesurplice; yet my father had said nothing to him concerning hisintentions.
In his hand he carried his Bible--his own copy, I have it still,the margins covered with notes in his writing--bound in blackleather, worn by constant handling, with brass clasps. Upon his headhe had a plain black silk cap, which he wore constantly in his studyand at meals to keep off draughts. Indeed, I loved to see him withthe silk cap rather than with his tall steeple hat, with neitherribbon nor ornament of any kind, in which he rode when he afterwardswent about the country to break the law in exhorting and prayingwith his friends.
Beside him walked my mother, holding in her hand her boy, my brotherBarnaby, then three years of age. As for me, I was not yet born.She had been weeping; her eyes were red and swollen with tears; butwhen she entered the church she wept no more, bravely listening tothe words which condemned to poverty and hardship herself and herchildren, if any more should be born to her. Alas, poor soul! Whathad she done that this affliction should befall her? What had herinnocent boy done? For upon her--not upon her husband--would fallthe heavy burden of poverty, and on her children the loss. Yet neverby a single word of complaint did she make her husband sorry that hehad obeyed the voice of conscience, even when there was nothing leftin the house, not so much as the widow's cruse of oil. Alas, poormother, once so free from care! what sorrow and anxiety wert thoudestined to endure for the tender conscience of thy husband!
At the same time--namely, at the ringing of the single bell--therecame forth from the Manor House hard by the church, his Honour, SirChristopher, with his family. The worthy knight was then about fiftyyears of age, tall and handsome still--in his later years there wassomething of a heavenly sweetness in his face, created, I doubtnot, by a long life of pious thoughts and worthy deeds. His hairwas streaked with grey, but not yet white; he wore a beard of thekind called stiletto, which was even then an ancient fashion, andhe was dressed more soberly than is common with gentlemen of hisrank, having no feather in his hat, but a simple ribbon round it,and though his ruffles were of lace and the kerchief round his neckwas lace, the colour of his coat was plain brown. He leaned upon agold-headed cane on account of an old wound (it was inflicted by aCavalier's musket-ball when he was a Captain in the army of LordEssex). The wound left him somewhat lame, yet not so lame but thathe could very well walk about his fields and could ride his horse,and even hunt with the otter-hounds. By his side walked Madam, hiswife. After him came his son, Humphrey, newly married, and withHumphrey his wife; and last came his son-in-law, the Reverend PhilipBoscorel, M.A., late Fellow of All Souls' College, Oxford, alsonewly married, with his wife, Sir Christopher's daughter, Patience.Mr. Boscorel, like my father, was at that time thirty years of age.Like him, too, his face was comely and his features fine; yet theylacked the fire and the earnestness which marked my father. And inhis silken cassock, his small white bands, his lace ruffles, andhis dainty walk, it seemed as if Mr. Boscorel thought himself abovethe common run of mankind and of superior clay. 'Tis sometimes theway with scholars and those who survey the world from the eminenceof a library.
Sir Christopher's face was full of concern, because he loved theyoung man who was this day to throw away his livelihood; andalthough he was ready himself to worship after the manner prescribedby law, his opinions were rather Independent than Episcopalian. Asfo
r Mr. Boscorel, who was about to succeed to the ejected minister,his face wore no look of triumph, which would have been ungenerous.He was observed, indeed, after he had silently gone through theService of the day with the help of the Common Prayer-book, tolisten diligently unto the preacher.
The people, I have already said, knew already what was about tohappen. Perhaps some of them (but I think not) possessed a copyof the old Prayer-book. This, they knew, was to be restored, withthe surplice, and the observance of Holy days, Feasts, and Fasts,and the kneeling at the administration of the Holy Communion. Ourpeople are craftsmen as much as they are rustics; every week themaster-clothiers' men drive their packhorses into the village ladenwith wool, and return with yarn; they are not, therefore, so brutishand sluggish as most country folk; yet they made no outward showof caring whether Prelacy or Independency was to have the sway.Perhaps the abstruse doctrines which my father loved to discuss weretoo high for them; perhaps his austerity was too strict for them,so that he was not beloved by them. Perhaps, even, they would havecared little if they had heard that Bishop Bonner himself was comingback. Religion, to country folk, means, mostly, the going to churchon Sunday morning. That done, man's service of Prayer and Praise tohis Creator is also done. If the form be changed the church remains,and the churchyard; one shepherd followeth another, but the flockis always the same. Revolutions overthrow kings, and send greatheads to the block; but the village heedeth not unless civil warpass that way. To country folk, what difference? The sky and thefields are unchanged. Under Queen Mary they are Papists; under QueenElizabeth they are Protestants. They have the Prayer-book under KingJames and King Charles; under Oliver they have had the Presbyterianand Independent; now they have the Book of Common Prayer and thesurplice again. Yet they remain the same people, and tell the samestories, and, so far as I know, believe the same things--viz., thatChrist Jesus saves the soul of every man who truly believes in Him.Why, if it were not for his immortal soul--concerning which he takesbut little thought--the rustic might be likened unto the patientbeast whom he harnesseth to his plough and to his muck-cart. Hechangeth no more; he works as hard; he is as long-enduring; his eyesand his thoughts are as much bound by the hedge, the lane, and thefield; he thinks and invents and advances no more. Were it not, Isay, for the Church, he would take as little heed of anything ashis ox or his ass; his village would become his country; his squirewould become his king; the nearest village would become the camp ofan enemy; and he would fall into the condition of the Ancient Britonwhen Julius Caesar found every tribe fighting against every other.
I talk as a fool. For sometimes there falls upon the torpid soulof the rustic a spark which causes a mighty flame to blaze up andburn fiercely within him. I have read how a simple monk, calledPeter the Hermit, drew thousands of poor, illiterate, credulouspersons from their homes, and led them, a mob armed with scythesand pikes, across Europe to the deserts of Asia Minor, where theymiserably perished. I have read also of Jack Cade, and how he drewthe multitudes after him, crying aloud for justice or death. And Imyself have seen these sluggish spirits suddenly fired with a spiritwhich nothing could subdue. The sleeping soul I have seen suddenlystarting into life; strength and swiftness have I seen suddenly putinto sluggish limbs; light and fire have I seen gleaming suddenlyin dull and heavy eyes. Oh! it was a miracle: but I have seen it.And having seen it, I cannot despise these lads of the plough, thesehonest boys of Somerset, nor can I endure to hear them laughed at orcontemned.
* * * * *
Bradford Orcas, in the Hundred of Horethorne, Somerset, is a villageso far from the great towns, that one would think a minister mighthave gone on praying and preaching after his own fashion withoutever being discovered. But the arm of the Law is long.
The nearest town is Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, to which there isa bridle-path across the fields; it is the market-town for thevillages round it. Bradford Orcas is an obscure little village,with no history and no antiquities. It stands in the south-easterncorner of the county, close to the western declivity of the CortonHills, which here sweep round so as to form a valley, in which thevillage is built along the banks of a stream. The houses are forthe most part of stone, with thatched roofs, as is the custom inour country; the slopes of the hills are covered with trees, andround the village stand goodly orchards, the cider from which cannotbe surpassed. As for the land, but little of it is arable; thegreater part is a sandy loam or stone brash. The church, which inthe superstitious days was dedicated to St. Nicolas, is built upon ahillock, a rising ground in the west of the village. This buildingof churches upon hillocks is a common custom in our parts, andseemeth laudable, because a church should stand where it can be seenby all the people, and by its presence remind them of Death and ofthe Judgment. The practice doth obtain, for example, at Sherborne,where there is a very noble church, and at Huish Episcopi, and atmany other places in our county. Our church is fair and commodious,not too large for the congregation, having in the west a stonetower embattled, and consisting of a nave and chancel with a veryfine roof of carved woodwork. There is an ancient yew-tree in thechurchyard, from which in old times bows were cut; some of the bowsyet hang in the great hall of the Manor House. Among the graves isan ancient stone cross, put up no man knows when, standing in asix-sided slab of stone, but the top was broken off at the time ofthe Reformation; two or three tombs are in the churchyard, and therest is covered with mounds, beneath which lie the bones and dust offormer generations.
Close to the churchyard, and at the north-east corner, is the ManorHouse, as large as the church itself, but not so ancient. It wasbuilt in the reign of Henry VII. A broad arched gateway leads intoa court, wherein is the entrance to the house. Over the gateway isa kind of tower, but not detached from the house. In the wall ofthe tower is a panel, lozenge-shaped, in which are carved the armsof the Challis family. The house is stately, with many gables, andin each are casement windows set in richly-carved stone tracery.As for the rooms within the house, I will speak of them hereafter.At present I have the churchyard in my mind. There is no placeupon the earth which more I love. To stand in the long grass amongthe graves; to gaze upon the wooded hills beyond, the orchards,the meadows, the old house, the venerable church, the yew-tree: tolisten to the murmur of the stream below and the singing of the larkabove; to feel the fresh breeze upon my cheek--oh! I do this daily.It makes me feel young once more; it brings back the days when Istood here with the boys, and when Sir Christopher would lean overthe wall and discourse with us gravely and sweetly upon the love ofGod and the fleeting joys of earth (which yet, he said, we shouldaccept and be happy withal in thankfulness), and the happinessunspeakable that awaiteth the Lord's Saints. Or, if my thoughtscontinue in the past, the graveyard brings back the presence and thevoice of Mr. Boscorel.
'In such a spot as this,' he would say, speaking softly and slowly,'the pastorals of Virgil or Theocritus might have been written. Herewould the shepherds hold their contests. Certainly they could findno place, even in sunny Sicily or at Mantua itself, where (save forthree months in the year) the air is more delightful. Here theyneed not to avoid the burning heat of a sun which gently warms, butnever burns; here they would find the shade of the grove pleasant inthe soft summer season. Innocent lambs instead of kids (which aretasteless) play in our meadows; the cider which we drink is, I takeit, more pleasing to the palate than was their wine flavoured withturpentine. And our viols, violins, and spinets are instruments moredelightful than the oaten pipe, or the cithara itself.' Then wouldhe wave his hand, and quote some poet in praise of a country life--
There is no man but may make his paradise, And it is nothing but his love and dotage Upon the world's foul joys that keeps him out on't. For he that lives retired in mind and spirit Is still in Paradise.
'But, child,' he would add, with a sigh, 'one may not always wish tobe in Paradise. The world's joys lie elsewhere. Only, when youth isgone--then Paradise is best.'
The service began, after the manner of the
Independents, with along prayer, during which the people sat. Mr. Boscorel, as I havesaid, went through his own service in silence, the Book of CommonPrayer in his hand. After the prayer, the minister read a portionof Scripture, which he expounded at length and with great learning.Then the congregation sang that Psalm which begins--
Triumphing songs with glorious tongues Let's offer unto Him.
This done, the Rector ascended the pulpit for the last time, gaveout his text, turned his hour-glass, and began his sermon.
He took for his text those verses in St. Paul's second epistle tothe Corinthians, vi., 3-10, in which the Apostle speaks of his ownministry as if he was actually predicting the tribulation whichwas to fall upon these faithful preachers of a later time--'Inmuch patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, instripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, infastings,'--could not the very words be applied to my father?
He read the text three times, so that everybody might fullyunderstand the subject upon which he was to preach--namely, thefaithfulness required of a minister of the gospel. I need not setdown the arguments he used or the reasons he gave for his resolutionnot to conform with the Act of Uniformity. The rustics sat patientlylistening, with no outward sign of assent or of sympathy. But theirconduct afterwards proved abundantly to which side their mindsinclined.
It behoves us all to listen with respect when scholars and wisemen inquire into the reasons of things. Yet the preachings andexpositions which such as my father bestowed upon their flocks didcertainly awaken men's minds to consider by themselves the thingswhich many think too high for them. It is a habit which may lead tothe foundation of false and pernicious sects. And it certainly isnot good that men should preach the doctrines of the Anabaptists,the Fifth Monarchy men, or the Quakers. Yet it is better that someshould be deceived than that all should be slaves. I have beenassured by one--I mean Humphrey--who hath travelled, that in thosecountries where the priest taketh upon himself the religion ofthe people, so that they think to be saved by attending mass, byfasting, confession, penance, and so forth, not only does religionitself become formal, mechanical, and inanimate, but in the verydaily concerns and business of life men grow slothful and lackspirit. Their religion, which is the very heat of the body, thesustaining and vital force of all man's actions, is cold and dead.Therefore, all the virtues are cold also, and with them the courageand the spirit of the people. Thus it is that Italy hath fallenaside into so many small and divided kingdoms. And for this reason,Spain, in the opinion of those who know her best, is now fallingrapidly into decay.
I am well assured, by those who can remember, that the intelligenceof the village folk greatly increased during the period when theywere encouraged to search the Scriptures for themselves. Many taughtthemselves to read, others had their children taught, in order thatthey might read or hear, daily, portions of the Scriptures. It isnow thirty years since Authority resumed the rule; the villagefolk have again become, to outward seeming, sheep who obey withoutquestioning. Yet it is observed that when they are within reach ofa town--that is to say, of a meeting-house--they willingly flock tothe service in the afternoon and evening.
It was with the following brave words that my father concluded hisdiscourse:--
'Seeing, therefore, my brethren, how clear is the Word of God onthese points; and considering that we must always obey God ratherthan man; and observing that here we plainly see the finger of Godpointing to disobedience and its consequences, I am constrained todisobey. The consequence will be to me that I shall stand in thisplace no more: to you, that you will have a stranger in your church.I pray that he may be a godly person, able to divide the Word,learned and acceptable.
'As for me, I must go forth, perhaps from among you altogether.If persecutions arise, it may behove me and mine to seek againthat land beyond the seas whither my fathers fled for the sake ofreligious liberty. Whatever happens, I must fain preach the gospel.It is laid upon me to preach. If I am silent, it will be as if Deathitself had fallen upon me. My brethren, there have been times--andthose times may return--when the Elect have had to meet, secretly,on the sides of barren hills, and in the heart of the forest, topray together and to hear the Word. I say that these times mayreturn. If they do, you will find me willing, I hope and pray,to brave for you the worst that our enemies can devise. Perhaps,however, this tyranny may pass over. Already the Lord hath achievedone great deliverance for this ancient Realm. Perhaps another may bein His secret purposes when we have been chastened, as, for our manysins, we richly deserve. Whether in affliction or in prosperity, letus always say, "The Lord's name be praised!"
'Now, therefore, for the sand is running low and I may not weary theyoung and the impatient, let me conclude. Farewell, sweet Sabbaths!Farewell, the sweet expounding of the Word! Farewell, sweet pulpit!Farewell, sweet faces of the souls which I have yearned to presentpure and washed clean before the Throne! My brethren, I go about,henceforth, as a dog which is muzzled; another man will fill thispulpit; our simple form of worship is gone; the Prayer-book andthe surplice have come back again. Pray God we see not Confession,Penance, the Mass, the Inquisition, the enslavement of conscience,the stake, and the martyr's axe!'
Then he paused and bowed his head, and everybody thought that he hadfinished.
He had not. He raised it again, and threw out his arms and shoutedaloud, while his eyes glowed like fire:
'_No!_ I will not be silent. I WILL NOT. I am sent into the worldto preach the gospel. I have no other business. I must proclaim theWord as I hope for everlasting life. Brethren, we shall meet again.In the woods and on the hills we shall find a Temple; there arehouses where two or three may be gathered together, the Lord Himselfbeing in their midst. Never doubt that I am ready, in season and outof season, whatever be the law, to preach the gospel of the Lord!'
He ended, and straightway descended the pulpit stair, and stalkedout of the church, the people looking after him with awe and wonder.But Mr. Boscorel smiled and wagged his head, with a kind of pity.
For Faith and Freedom Page 3